Saturday, August 30, 2008

Exchange Of the Night...

"So where are you from?"
"DC area."
"Oh. I've never been to New England before."

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Arrested Development

There's this cunt on Facebook that I went to college with. She made a status update the other day, misspelling a word with an E when she should've used an I.

She teaches AP English.

Naturally, I called her on it because that's how I am. She replied:

"too bad either way is both...they both come up as correct. its like spelling blond or blonde or even better...grey or gray...thanks though for the tip...riiiiiiiight"

And then she replied again (five minutes later):

"yep...and i see you work at a gym in hollywood"

I'm 25 and I work a 16-year-old's job. Not because I can't do better, but because it gives me a chance to do what I want to really do, what I came out to LA for in the first place. Unfortunately, people often mistake this for a case of arrested development. Jeff's afraid to grow up. Jeff's afraid to get a REAL job.

I'm a gym employee. Not someone chasing his dreams.

This is what I replied with:

One way is more correct than the other. Also, blond/blonde has gender connotations. As far as my employment goes, sometimes you make sacrifices to go after what you really want. I'd say it's a lot harder to work my shit job than take the easy road and teach English in bumfuck Kentucky. But hey, that's you. By the way, you should be ashamed a gym employee had to correct you.

She deleted me from her friends list.


Duplicity gets you laid. Honesty gets you a pat on the back.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Game's New Album...

A disappointment. There's maybe only three or four tracks I can roll down Sunset pumping in the Subaru. Is it possible for this motherfucker to make a song without comparing himself to Jesus or mentioning Kanye West? And where the fuck are those grimy, piano-driven west coast beats? You're from Compton (something you also won't shut the fuck up about). Act like it and hit me with some shit that makes us whiteboys feel invincible. We're your core demographic.

Sunday, August 17, 2008


Following an argument or altercation, the first person to defriend on Myspace or Facebook loses.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Random Thought

DJs are plagiarists.


Like a copy of a copy of a copy of an original. Like Corey Haim's career. How did I find the strength to get home? A Herculean motherfucker I am. Citron vodka on the rocks. Am I strong enough to jack it? Do not think so. Night, everyone.

Friday, August 15, 2008

The Prius Remark

"Prius, huh?" I say to my friend Sarah, a member at the gym. We're on the elevator up from the parking structure.
"Oh yeah."
"I could never drive one of those. They're so dorky-looking."

A gay guy with perfect stubble and a yoga mat chimes in.

"I drive a Prius."
"Oh... nice."
"You know, it's not about looking cool."
"Well yeah, obviously."

He gets this look on his face like I'm an asshole, which I am. But if Priuses weren't about looking cool then why would he be offended?

Sarah attempts to inject some humor into the conversation with a jokey, pro-Prius comment. I say something about my '92 Subaru with 230,000 miles and an environmental bumper sticker on the back (thanks, Mom). The elevator doors open and we walk out.

Gay Yoga Guy keeps pace.

"Maybe you should think a little more about the environment."

What's funny to me is that the Prius is more about image than it is about the environment. It's the vegetarian's BMW. An avatar of awareness. And I'll tell you this: if I'm going to drop thirty Gs on a new car, it IS about looking cool. The environment can suck my dick. I'm not going to roll around in some glorified hatchback because it makes the air a tad bit cleaner. What's the point anyway? Some bum's just going to breathe it up before I can.

"Look, I'm not hating on you, man. It's just not for me."
"Don't knock it until you try it."

He huffs off. Sarah and I exchange looks. I know what she's thinking.

I have Prius envy.

Monday, August 11, 2008

SoCal Local checklist

-- Wide-brimmed hat, either backwards or forwards
-- Black, oversized Stars and Straps t-shirt or a wifebeater or a variation thereof
-- Gauged piercings
-- Soul patch or a goatee
-- Tattooed forearms that look like an Ed Hardy shirt
-- False sense of thuggishness
-- Zero brainpower
-- Angels fan

Basically any X Games-looking motherfucker that models himself after Travis Barker or Vanilla Ice 2.0.

And yes, I did get kicked out of a bar in Newport Beach last night for arguing with these jokers. I guess I wasn't welcome because they didn't recognize me from high school or something.

Maybe they would've let me stay if I landed a kickflip.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Ex Sex

I'm convinced this is the greatest thing since Goldeneye. The same nostalgic relationship rapport with none of the pressure. No stakes fucking. It's like playing Mario Bros. with Game Genie, except it doesn't get boring.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008


Kanye West's "Champion" playing while I staple papers at work.

Saturday, August 2, 2008


This is how old I wish I was.

When you're 25, you're too old to connect with younger girls and too young to be taken seriously by the older ones. Your failure with women is purely circumstantial.

"Oh, you're so cute! You're so smart! I love your muscles! But you're a baby!"

I've done nothing wrong except being born in '83. Nevermind that we hit it off and shared a couple moments. No. Fuck that. There are less rings on my trunk than there are on your bark. Therefore there is no room for my tree in your forest.

"I'm old enough to be your mother!"
"Why? Were you sexually active when you were 11?"

Why are women so self-conscious about the age thing? Do they feel perverted if they fuck a younger guy? Like cradle robbers? Violating whores? Or do they feel objectified? Lusted-after novelty-fucks. Because I have news: when you're a guy, every fuck is a novelty fuck. The stories we tell, what we share with our friends, there's always a hook.

"Dude, she used to play softball!"

Why even mention my age then? I don't. But if somebody asks me I feel I should answer truthfully -- which is a motherfucking mistake I won't make again. Maybe I'm honest because I'm from the east coast and have spent some time in the South. Maybe I'm just a sucker (this is closer to the truth). Either way, don't eye me and flirt with me and make me abandon my current prospect just so you can pinch my fucking cheek and ask me if I know who fucking Hall and Oates are. Because then my prospect gets jealous and leaves and I end up going home with my calloused hands.

And what the fuck are you doing at a dive-ish bar on Sunset anyway? Is it a game for you to brag to your friends about that baby who hit on you? About that thick-haired sweetheart you cockblocked? Because if that's the case then you win. The prize is yours. He's alone blogging at three-in-the-morning while you're in your nice apartment dreaming on your duvet, feeling good about yourself. You can wake up and check for lumps in the morning with a smile on your face. He'll wake up with a headache and a hard-on -- both in vain.

Thanks for the drinks though. That was real grown-up of you to pay.