Friday, July 31, 2009


I'm the guy you recognize:

"Hey, Equinox! Hey, Katana! Hey, Western!" (Western is what Michael Rosenbaum calls me. We both went to WKU)

This is because I'm not important enough to actually know. I validate parking, I lift the rope. My name is the place you see me.

And it's cool, because I'm the same way with a lot of people. Remember that scene from Swingers where the guy approaches Jon Favreau at a party in the hills and Jon Favreau pretends to remember him? I've been there so many times.

"Hey, Equinox!"

Forgetting a face is worse than forgetting a name. It's like the person never existed. Some people should never exist. Anyway, let's get to my overanalytical sensibilities:

1. The Initial Meeting

Wherein we shake hands and introduce ourselves. I'm usually not paying attention because most introductions in life are bullshit formalities that begin and end with both parties not giving a fuck who the other is. If nothing can be gained from the other person why reserve valuable brain space for something as inconsequential as a name? We're dumb enough as it is.

2. Forgetting Your Name

If I forget your name, I tend to forget it within seconds. Some people have the balls to call themselves out on this ("I'm sorry, I already forgot your name"). Not me. Once I realize I've forgotten your name, I spend the next few minutes trying to remember it. It's one of those tip-of-the-tongue feelings where you feel like a complete retard for not being able to remember something so simple. It makes things worse if you're using my name every chance you get. It's like you're daring me to say your name, even though I know it's just a device so you won't forget my name and be stuck in the same embarrassing position that I'm in.

3. Remembering Your Name

Wherein I shut the fuck up and play Encyclopedia Brown. At parties and other social events, introductions are usually solicited by a third party:

"Hi, Jeff."
"Hi, Jill."
"This is my friend, Bob."
"Hi, Bob."
"Hi, Jeff."

(Bonus points if you can figure out what this introduction really means. Answer at the end of the blog.)

This means I can play the child role and not speak unless spoken to. If I'm in a position where I need to remember your name, I shut the fuck up and listen for clues. Actually, no. There won't be any clues. I just listen for someone to say your name. It'll happen eventually. Either that or I'll extract myself from the situation, go somewhere else, and then find our mutual friend later and quietly ask her what your name was again.

4. Saying Your Name

This is key. If I haven't said your name the entire conversation and then spit it out after someone else says it, it's obvious that I forgot your name and am just piggybacking. Most people will overuse someone's name once they relearn it to compensate for all the times they didn't say it. This is socially transparent behavior (but then isn't most?). One well-placed "Bob" at the end of the conversation brackets it nicely and makes Bob feel special:

"Oh, wow. He remembered my name. Cool."

Then I can move on and forget someone else's name.

(Answer: Jill wants to fuck Jeff, or she used to fuck Jeff. Now she's fucking Bob, or is close to fucking Bob, and she wants Jeff to be made aware of this because she wants him to know what he's missing. Jeff doesn't give a fuck because he's already fucked Jill or doesn't care to fuck her. Jill's plan to make Jeff jealous backfires and she ends up sending Bob home early because she's upset, or she sleeps with him and fantasizes about Jeff. )

This is an entirely fictional scenario. Or maybe the names have just been changed.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Complimenting* a Girl on Her Breasts

I know I shouldn't, but her fake, oil-filled, kickball tits are pouring out of her low-cut top like two fucked up Kuatos. Plus her face is carved to shit. She looks like a past-her-prime Nascar wife who graduated from the University of Florida's community campus with an associates degree in Sociology. And she's only in her twenties. I know I'm supposed to ask her a bullshit question, compliment her smile or her eyes, but I don't give a fuck. Her shit is outside of her shirt in an overfilled water balloon manner. If I don't mention the elephant in the room then I'm as transparent as she is. Plus I'm not attracted to her in the slightest, so it makes it easy to be an asshole.

"I like your tits." (even though I don't)
"I'm sure everyone's told you this, but you have really nice breasts." (lie)

She gets a look of disgust on her face. How dare I!

"That's rude."

I walk away with a buzzed smile. If no one else is going to call her out it may as well be me. Don't come to a bar dressed like a former Hooters girl and think you're the hottest thing since an oozing dick, because you're not -- no matter what the chubby Mexicans tell you. You're the equivalent of the tanktop douchebag with an armband tattoo. To take offense, to pretend you're not trying to show off -- and actually believe it -- is pure naivete.

I'll be the realist. You'll be the bimbo who gets free drinks and walks away from her benefactors.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Utility Belt

Like Batman, a guy should strap on his utility belt before heading into that dark unknown that is the night. No matter the characters you meet, the places you go, these are the essentials:


There are two things in this world that people can never seem to find: pens and lighters. Drunk girls could lose the key to the universe, so it's a safe bet that any given number will be looking for a flame on a blurry Saturday night. This is where you come in. Lighters are opportunity creators. In-givers. But they're not a license to stick around. Lighting a girl's cigarette is a classic, polite gesture. Don't creepify it. Swoop in, compliment her, see where the conversation goes, and then swoop out. If things go well, you have a good chance of bumping into her later when she's more-than-buzzed. The extra alcohol in her system will distort the memory of the cigarette-lighting and make it seem even more romantic and gentlemanly, especially now since she's dealt with assholes trying to grab and hit on her all night. You'll stand out. Maybe even be her hero.


The lighter squared. Alcohol turns non-smokers into smokers. Cigarettes enhance the buzz and give people something to do. Even if you don't indulge, you should always carry a pack on you for those pretty girls that do. They're a good icebreaker and provide you with an in you otherwise may not have. The trick is to keep the girl around after you've lit her Parliament. Difficulty will vary depending on her situation (attitude, friends, drunkenness, etc.), but at least you'll have a chance. Be careful not to become the cigarette dispenser, though. This is the bar equivalent of the cuddle bitch. If you've seen a girl rubbing on some other guy all night or making eyes at some almost-model with a square jaw, she gets nothing. Never give a girl a cigarette for her friend or "for later". This means she has absolutely no intention of sticking around or even pretending to be somewhat interested in you. Politely tell her you don't have anything and watch how quickly she drops the sweet girl act. On to the next one, sugar pie.

Big Flask

What'd you start off with, vodka? Then this is what you'll keep in here. Order a drink or a mixer and add accordingly. No matter how drunk you are, always refill in a bathroom or remote corner. Don't get bold and pour in the middle of the club. That's when security sees you and throws you out. Not that it matters to them, but they look bad-ass if they bounce someone and that could net them pussy at the end of the night. Never let a girl know you have a flask. She'll be turned off by your cheapness and think you're an alcoholic when in reality you're just trying to get fucked up at an economically sound rate: free.

Small Flask

This is your backup. Or it can be your alternative. Think you may want to switch to tequila as the night progresses? That's what this is for. Keep the alcohol in here ultra-cheap though. I'm talking $6 a bottle shit. By the time you dig into this you should be sufficient. That's when your tastebuds are asleep being spooned by your judgment. You don't need anymore, but you keep going because it feels right. You'll hate yourself for it in the morning.

Money Clip

Wallets make you look like a grandfather, and they take up too much space. A simple money clip with a few bills, your ID, and an emergency credit card is all you need for a night out. Just be careful not to lose it. I recommend checking your pockets every few minutes to ensure that you didn't drunkenly drop it when you pulled out your cell phone.


When you're drunk, there are few things that feel better than the vibration of a new text message in your pocket. Your phone is essential for number-getting and backup plans. It can also be a conversation-starter if you have something new and/or fancy. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people discussing their BlackBerries. If things aren't looking promising by midnight, shoot a few texts to potentials you've already met, or a safe bet that you wouldn't mind seeing. Never text your last resort until closing time. Premature texting can kill unforeseeable hookups, so play it safe. The last thing you want is to invite an old girl over when a new girl is ready to come home with you.


Keep these hidden. A girl will feel like a slut if she thinks you anticipated sex with her and deep-six the entire hookup. Still, you have to be prepared. Raw sex is always an option but it really isn't. Not with easy club girls and definitely not with easy LA club girls. As important as your nut is, it's not worth the silent panic you'll endure the morning after. Strap it on, deal with the warm discomfort, and then finish yourself off when the condom bunches up, kills her lubrication, and dwindles your hard-on. You can still tell your boys you had sex. And that's usually what matters.

Thursday, July 16, 2009


All late night drive-thrus should become express-thrus after 11pm. Five items and that's it. Baconators and other specialty items count as two because they take so long to prepare. Oh, you're in an Escalade full of your boys trying to get your grub on before you hit the club? Tough shit. Pull back around and wait in line again. That'll teach you to wait until the last fucking second and inconvenience everyone else.

The snaking line of cars that runs into the parking lot is a weight on the appetite, a plague on the soul. No one should have to wait half-an-hour for a five-piece nugget. Most people in the late night drive-thru are just looking for a quick fix anyway. Not a fucking Thanksgiving dinner.

But there's always that one car -- usually with blaring subwoofers and tilted-hat silhouettes. You'll be moving along with a Jamaican's speed and then all of a sudden... nothing. It takes you a second to realize that progress has stopped. The song on your radio becomes another and you're still a car back from the menu-before-the-menu. An asshole up ahead is taking too long, ordering too much. Everyone must suffer because of it.

Maybe five items isn't the way to go. Maybe there should be an abbreviated menu with easily prepared late night essentials: hamburgers, french fries, chicken nuggets. None of that fancy, for-a-limited-time-only shit. When we're drunk and ravenous, we don't need bacon. Maybe extra barbecue sauce, but definitely not bacon. Our palates are anything but refined at 2:30 in the morning.

And so things must change. No more should we have to wait for the asshole-packed SUV with the obnoxious figures inside. Let's speed things along. Let's sate that hunger.

Who's with me?

Monday, July 13, 2009

The Girlfriend Face

The Girlfriend Face is something I've long tried to define, but have never been able to fully articulate or explain. It's my opinion that some girls have faces that are more conducive to long-lasting relationships. I call them Sunday Girls (because you can spend all Sunday with them and feel like it's the greatest day of your life). Perhaps it's just me and my tastes, but I think I'm onto something objective here. And so I shall proceed.

Girlfriend faces are comprised of softer, sweeter features. Maybe a perfect imperfection or two. A misplaced dimple, a stubby nose, an eye that squints too much when she smiles. Girlfriend faces are more cute than hot. More pretty than beautiful. They're mostly defined by their sunshiney smiles, their pleasant demeanors. A true girlfriend face does not drastically change if makeup is added. In fact, makeup can detract from a girlfriend face if not applied correctly. If a girl can look as good in the morning as she can at night, there's a good chance she has a girlfriend face.

Girlfriend faces belong to the movie girls the guy doesn't get until the end. The girl the guy doesn't realize he wants because he's too caught up chasing the bitchy, overly hot girl who's preoccupied with money and status. The girl next door, the cool best friend, the wallflower -- these are all girlfriend face archetypes.

Remember the cinematic teensploitation explosion at the end of the 90s? There was a new, shitty unlikely-high-school-romance movie hitting the theaters every few weeks. And who was always playing the bitch? This chick:

Jodi Lyn O'Keefe. The object of desire until the end of the second act. She made a killing in these roles because of her harsh beauty. Downturned eyebrows and piercing eyes, she's a sexy, somewhat thick demoness who probably smokes cigarettes like she sucks dicks: film noir, genie lamp style. No wonder she ended up playing the femme fatale in a direct-to-video Poison Ivy sequel.

Now compare her to her She's All That costar Rachael Leigh Cook (who I see all the time and who is as cute as fucking ever):

Contrast, what? We just went from hard-on inducing late-night phone call to heart-on inducing "wanna maybe see a movie sometime?" RLC has a spritely look to her that suggests fun, faithfulness, and longevity.

A girlfriend face.

Here are a few more celebrities with girlfriend faces:

Late 90s Jennifer Love Hewitt
Emmy Rossum
Anne Hathaway
A Walk to Remember Mandy Moore
Garden State Natalie Portman (as much as I hate that fucking movie)
Olivia Thirlby
Vanessa Hudgens
Blake Lively
Shenae Grimes
Brenda Song

Here are a few with non-girlfriend faces:

Megan Fox
Olivia Wilde
Posh Spice
Paris Hilton
Charlize Theron
Nicole Kidman

See the difference?

What's beautiful about girlfriend faces is they're warm and inviting even if you don't have a shot in hell. You'll spot that mile-wide smile from across the bar, feel your heart quiver and spasm with a rush of warmth, and feel like you're in a pop song for however long you'll let your mind picture you two together. Other girls are too coldly beautiful to allow you that deranged escapism.

A girlfriend face does not a good girlfriend make, though. I've bumped into my fair share of cuties with enough bitchiness to fuel a thousand MTV shows. And I've bumped into maybe two or three extremely beautiful model types who weren't all about money. It all comes down to the individual. You can never know for sure, but you can play the percentages.

Who knows? Maybe you'll find your next Sunday Girl.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Back like the McRib

I must confess: I've been scared. Scared to continue this blog, scared to face the wrath of my readers. I know I've disappointed you and I'm sorry. But I do have a life to live (and oh how I've been living it) and I do have people in my life who would cease to remain if I chronicled every fucked up detail I've experienced.

As you can probably tell, I was mostly seeing someone for the past few months. An Indian princess. A Bengali beauty. My Bombayshell. A girl who made me give a fuck about the outcome of us. Work took her from me, though. Six figures on the east coast -- which is fine. If it wasn't her job it was bound to be my dick. I don't think I'm built for relationships. I don't think relationships are built for me. Ideally, I'd like to be involved during the week and single on the weekends. I had a friend who used to start a fight with his girlfriend on Thursday. They'd break-up on Friday, he'd go out and have a vodka-drenched, pussy-filled, guilt-free weekend, and then get back together with her on Sunday night.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. I miss you so much..."

That's the thing with guys: an unbusted nut is the most important thing in the world until we actually bust it. Then we can't fathom how it was so important in the first place. It's a deadly, deadly, beautiful cycle -- one that I'm beginning to feel right now.

We said our tearful airport goodbye. I cried hard. I've noticed I sound full-blown retarded when I cry. Deep, body-rattling sobs. My soul gagging on the sadness of reality like an amateur bulimic who can't believe she just ate that hamburger. You never know someone's true impact until you have to let them go. As long as they're around you can treat them like shit and take them for granted. Just ask Michael Jackson.

I guess now I'm technically free again. Summertime singletime in the sun-soaked city. So what should I write about? Nightlife? Women-juggling? The deaf transsexual pornstar who threatened me? I think I'll start with this:

"Fuck Me"

I'm strongly considering banning all "fuck me's" from my bedroom. Well, bedroom area (I have three walls and a curtain). I'm thinking about putting up a sign and everything. Why? "Fuck me" creates pressure. Expectation. When I hear "fuck me", I fill with silent panic:

"You better fuck her, Jeff. You better impress her. Don't disappoint her. Then she'll tell all her friends you're a limp-dicked dud, and you're not. You're really a large-cocked stud. So you better fuck her and you better do it well. Impress her with that dick. Do it!"

That's my mind telling my body to get its shit together and perform. My body, which to this point has been going with the flow and running full steam ahead, which has not even considered the possibility of not filling her vagina with penis, begins to act defiant:

"You can't tell me what to do, motherfucker. I run shit."
"I know. I'm just saying..."
"Don't say shit! I got this!"
"Good. Fuck her then."
"Fuck you, motherfucker. I don't have to do a goddamn thing!"

And the dick. Shuts. Dowwwwwwwwwwn. During sex, your mind has to be a silent spectator jacking off in the corner. If he starts barking orders he's going to kill the moment. It's like telling a kid not to touch a hot stove. Now that you've told him he's suddenly aware of it. And he focuses on it. See, the body functions best as a child. Let it play, don't interrupt it. It'll be fine. The second you ask it to do something is the second it throws a temper tantrum. Regardless of how horny I am, how badly I want to have sex, if my mind is thrown into the equation my penis will take a cigarette break. It's a trade-off: only one head works at a time.

For me, the only time "fuck me" is acceptable is when I'm already fucking. Then it actually fuels the sex, the moment, the animal horniness.

"Fuck me!"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Oh fuck yeah!
"You like getting fucking fucked?"
"Oh yes! Give me that fucking cock!"
"This fucking cock, yeah? You love it? You love fucking this fucking cock?"

Is it just me or is "you like that?" the number one question asked during sex? Maybe I'm just insecure and want to know I'm doing a good job. I don't know.

So, in closing, pre-sex "fuck me's" are a no-no. Heat-of-the-moment "fuck me's" are perfectly acceptable, so long as everything's going okay.

Goddamn it feels good to be back.

Alienating My Fanbase...

All 20 of you. :P New post this week. PROMISE!