Starting Over at 24

The Signing

2011-12-19T11:30:00.000-08:00

Is this thing on?

Ahem.

No sir, this is "Retired Blogger Updates 134", you're looking for "Is This Internet Meme Still Cool 101", which is down the hall on your left there.

I wanted to take a moment to share some news about Starting Over at 24. Over the past year or so I've been trying to take this little slice of the internet and turning it into a manuscript. Turns out, writing a book isn't easy. Who knew?

A lot of blood, sweat and beers.

While it's still going through many revisions, it's certainly at a spot I'm proud of and excited about:

* adding more entries about the initial break up: what it was like the day I got my "Yo, it's over" email.

* adding a few more stories about some other girls that didn't make it in the blog

* adding more details about how things ended with some of the others

* punching up and editing a lot of the earlier entries

I have great news though! After many, many, soul-crushing "Sorry sir, we don't see a market for this" templates typed out by interns, I finally found an agent who actually "gets" the blog. Last week I signed with a great agency, The Rights Factory.

BAM!

Securing an agent is not easy, I think Harry Potter had a more enjoyable time finding horcruxes. So what does that mean exactly? The work isn't over yet. While it's still pretty exciting and I want to throw a sexy pizza party and invite all of you and your kittens, there is still one crucial step before the blog actually becomes a book you can buy on the shelves. My agent has to sell it to a publishing house.

Hopefully I'll have that news to share soon. Send positive mind bullets my way. And, as always, thanks to everyone who continues to email and check in.

I also just signed up for this "Twitter" all the kids keep talking about. I have no idea how it works. I feel like the old man in the neighborhood who finally cracked and is trading his VHS players in for Blu Ray. You can follow me here.

Keep rocking the free world,

So@24

Cherry Pop, Couple Skating, and RL Stine: A Mortifying Childhood Tale

2011-04-08T12:53:00.000-07:00

3rd or 4th grade? I can't really remember, but what's the difference anyway? The gossip was thick within the walls of Salmon Creek Elementary school. Morgan Baker was having a birthday party. And I was invited.

Now this was Morgan-fucking-Baker. This was a big deal. The cutest girl in school. A combination of big brown eyes and a spatter of freckles on her nose that would put Wonder Years' Winnie Cooper to shame.

And she liked me. And I liked her. And everyone in the school knew it. Of course, I couldn't tell her that. And she couldn't didn't dare tell me. But that's how shit rolls when you're in love at a time when long division is the most stressful component of your life.

Morgan was having her birthday at the go-to spot of the times; a classic skate rink where the carpet was shaggy, cherry pop was the most popular drink on the menu, and if you leaned up against the wall for too long, you'd get stuck to it. This was Golden Skate.

It was the day of the party and I completely forget to get a gift, which I'm going to blame on the nerves. How could I think strategically about getting the love of my life the perfect birthday gift when I had really needed to focus on how I was going to keep my fries down when I asked her to couple skate?

So when the old man drops me off at the rink, I beg him to make a run to Vancouver Mall to pick something up for her. There's no way I could go into the ball empty handed! I'm already fucking up the most important day of my life.

Dad: What do you want me to get her? What do you kids like these days?
Me: I dunno, get her a book.
Dad: Oh, like a Tin Tin comic?
Me: No, Dad! RL Stine! RL Stine is radical.

After what seems like an eternity, Tho rushes back and hands off a wrapped gift. Whew. Crisis averted. I owe you big time Pops; the next report card won't have a single check-plus. Only pluses.

Fast forward to the opening of the presents. Everyone is peeing their hammer pants in anticipation to see what I got the birthday girl because, I'm the unspoken-but-everyone-knows-it crush. Mrs. Baker reaches for the last present, my present, and hands it over to Morgan.

"I wonder what this could be?" Mrs Baker says with a smile and wink.

I have no idea either. Huh. I'm kinda curious myself actually.

Morgan Baker opens it up and gingerly pulls out two paperbacks. Her brown eyes bulge and her trademark freckles vanish in a wave of blush.

The Girlfriend by RL Stine.
The Boyfriend by RL Stine.

Now it's my turn for my eyes to get as wide as dinner plates. I want to die. I want to fucking die. I want to reach over the table and grab an ice cream scoop and take out my eyes.

My so-called "friends" erupt in giggles and gasps. Mr. and Mrs. Baker have their hands covering their mouths hiding (not very well, I might add) their smiles, their bodies are shaking, barely able to contain themselves.

The deal is off, dad.

So@24: Le Pilot

2010-11-08T11:36:00.000-08:00

It's been a tough little road to see what life is beyond this blog. A few promising leads have lead me to bleak, dead-ends or floating patiently in oblivion. With all the meetings I've had with people who are interested in seeing the blog take its next step, one thing has been consistent: everyone wants a pilot script.

I haven't given up on this project yet. Although I'll admit that at times I feel like that guy who keeps performing CPR and vigorously rubbing chest paddles together while the victim's rigor mortis has clearly set in.

Who knows? Maybe it'll be like when Timmy got revived after getting electrocuted on that big ass fence in Jurassic Park? "Tim! No, TIM!"

"I believe in you"

I thought I'd share some of the first few pages for the pilot. I had a lot of fun writing it, which is the most important part. I took some creative liberties, as those who have read the blog in its entirety will see immediately.

However, I feel the tone is pretty in step with blog and there most of scenes that are actually things that actually really happened (e.g. me on the porch in nothing but a Russian hat, a parka with a beer and Leo telling me find my manbits). But I'll let you be the judge.

Enjoy!

PS. Who would you cast for some of these roles? If Zac Efron is Leo, I would die a happy man.

Recapping at 27

2010-06-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well hello.

It's certainly has been awhile since I cracked a cheap beer, sat at my sticky keyboard and pounded out a blog entry.

In fact, it's been almost a year exactly since I smash cut to black. Time certainly does fly.

Before I begin, I must say that I feel like the guy in high school who graduated and came back to school pick up his girlfriend during lunch. He's high-fiving the people who might remember him, but really, they are all rolling their eyes and wondering when he's gonna finally let it go.

I can accept that.

::adjusts collar on letterman's jacket::

Believe it or not, my old So@24 gmail still has emails coming in from past readers and people who have just discovered the blog even after a year of my "final" entry. The response has been amazing and I'm still shocked (in the good way).

A lot has happened in a year and I felt I owed it to those who have taken the time out to write me and ask "Dude, seriously, wtf happened?" to give a proper response.

Man, so much has changed in the blogging universe. People are making Facebook fan pages of their own blog?? Jesus. Now I know how Brooks felt when he finally got out of his stint at Shawshank.

After a lot of urging from Beth and emails I've received, I thought I would try and see I could get the ol' blog a book deal. Might as well give it the old college try right? And if not, I still had a hellva run. But I figure if some dude can get a TV deal by simply hitting the key CTRL and V every time his father says something mildly amusing, why can't us working stiffs have our day in the sun? It's been a lot of hard work, but unfortunately no biters yet.

Glamour.com reached out to me a while back and asked if I would do an interview with them. A few mere HOURS after the article was published, I was surprised to find out that bloggers were posting the link on this little website called "Twitter". I had no idea people still cared!

So what has happened to some of all-stars on So@24?

My bestfriend and (ex) roommate with the devil-may-care attitude Leo is still single and doing his Leo thing. Mo fo actually had a girl from Australia (he briefly met during his travels) pay for his plane ticket if he would go out and stay with her for 2 weeks. I can't make this shit up.

Ballin.

Crazy Janice recently moved back to Los Angeles. I received a nice handful of passive aggressive texts from her when I didn't show up to her "Welcome back" party. Oops!

Beth (the original) and I reconciled after our falling out. She was the first to break the silence with a heartfelt apology and our friendship was rekindled. I met up with her when I was back home for Christmas.

In a surprising turn of events, Leo and I met up with the infamous Irish blogger Caitlin when we traveled to Dublin. The clouded and muddied fizzle of whateverwehad was never brought up, but a good time was had by all after plenty of shots and pints. We don't keep in touch often.

Not sure what happened to Amber. I never heard from her after our last encounter, but I think she's engaged now?

Bree and I are still friends. She's still bloggin and still dating. I have no doubt she'll find what she's looking for. She'll find her Tetris piece. And for the record, she never did get that headboard upholstered.

Lynn. Can't have a 1 year recap without bringing up the girl who stamped the passport for this whole trip, right? She's doing well and we're friends. We've met up for dinner a few times, but those are few and far between. She might catch me on gchat to share a funny YouTube video or I might post some nonsense on her Facebook wall. She's dating the same guy and as far as I know, things are going well for them.

Her mother Andy and I still chat on the phone.

And now, I thought I'd share a picture with you of me and my one, true love:

me + vids

Just joke, just joke!

Beth and I are still together. When people ask us how we met, we always share a look of "Welp, here we go" and spin our tale to keep it as succinct and low-on-the-creepy scale as possible. I did the fly out and met her folks in New York.

I never had the experience of meeting "the dad" before (Lynn's dad passed away when she was young). Within seconds of the classic Dad-meet-the-boyfriend hand shake, he was showing me his brand new camera, asking me about my high school wrestling stories, and insisting that he teach me how to drive a boat. Again, I can't make this up. Fucking classic.

Beth made the move out to Los Angeles and we're inching our way into the cool waters of cohabitation together and cautiously holding up our swim trunks up in case we get really wet before we're ready. But so far, it's been great; we constantly are checking in with each other: "Are you having any doubts?" "You think we're doing the right thing?" "You're cool with watching Glee on your laptop swishing a glass of wine while I play Red Dead Redemption in my undies with a bottle of suds?"

That dude in the back really enjoyed his clambake.

We have a lot of fun and a lot of laughs. What more can you want? For awhile, Beth and Leo were living at Sexy Dojo for awhile. Living with your best gal and your best friend? It really could have been a sitcom. I like to think that the promotional poster would have gone something like this:

Insert Hilarious Sitcom Title Here

Alright alright, it was actually more like this:

Beth as Dr. Love, So@24 as The Spandex Sensation, Leo as Disco Dan

I wish I had something more exciting to say about where I'm at and what the future holds. But maybe that's the best thing?

Before I sign off again, I want to again, thank all the readers new and old. As I stated before, I'm always blown away that people are still discovering my little nook of the internet and take the time to write such personal, thoughtful emails to me. I still check from time to time and I always write back.

Blogging has been good to me and I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing.

Best,
Brandon
fka So@24

What WAS This??: My Farewell

2009-06-08T01:30:00.000-07:00

To and fro
Stop and go
That's what makes the world go round

No real sexy Euro stories from Leo and I. Except for the fact that we both agreed that we love that girls in Berlin and Amsterdam will get dressed up to go out for the night and ride their fucking bikes. I mean, that's just what you're supposed to do. Girls throw on a scarf, put on a cute overcoat, get into tights and get dolled up to go out. They hop on their bike and their friend (also dressed to go out) hops on the back part and side saddles. Then they ride to the nearest bar to start their night. There's something really hot about that. Leo and I give that a Euro thumbs up.

Anyway, onto the post...

I should first start out and say that I honestly didn't plan on a specific date to write this. But as I look at today's date, I realize that today marks the anniversary that I started this blog.

The fucking cosmos must have aligned because today also marks the day that I am ending it.

It's hard for me to really explain why I felt the need to end this blog. For starters, loyal readers can agree that about the time I started writing about my experiences with Bree... my writing was on the decline. It's difficult to maintain a blog like mine when you're forced to censor yourself.

I've had to have putting-out-the-fire conversations about specific blog posts with Caitlin, Bree, and Beth. Shit gets real complicated when the girls you are interested in (not to mention their scrutinous friends and family) have access to your 100% honest, dating blog. You suddenly can't write like you used to. A blog with a theme such as mine simply can't survive.

It's unfair for me to put the onus completely on the fact that I have this Big Brother-esque, monkey on my back. As the cliche' goes, every beginning must come to an end (ahhh, NOW The Sword in the Stone ref at the beginning makes sense...).

It's just time.

I guess I have been thinking:

how long can I really go on comparing my dating life now to what it was when I dated my ex-girlfriend Lynn?

So much has changed since then. I've had my own experiences to compare to now.

I'm thought back to where I was when I first started writing. I was drinking 12 packs of beer on the porch alone in the evenings, my ex-girlfriend of 6 years Lynn refused to speak to me, and I had the legitimate concern that no smart, attractive, funny girl would ever be romantically interested in me.

I had no idea that this blog would take me where I am today. When I plopped down at Leo's desktop a few years ago to create my blogger account, I struggled to think of a name for myself. "Starting Over at 24." Shit. I guess that's what I'm doing. Sounds appropriate enough.

I remembering thinking to myself, "I am going to write something for those people out there who have gone through the same shit I'm going through right now. Maybe some other poor soul out there can see what it's like to go from beginning to end. I'll create something to show definitive evidence that there really is light at the end of the break-up tunnel!"

I wrote whatever came to mind and I was lucky enough to get a comment on any given post. But what seemed like out of nowhere, my humble lil' blog snowballed and I was receiving more hits and comments than I thought was imaginable (as of this post I currently have 1,314 Google reader subscriptions. Hot damn!).

It's a strange little community, this blogging world. If you think about it, it's pretty fucking amazing that people are taking time out of their day to read your writing! Not only that, but the countless emails I received from people relating their own personal dating stories back to me or just saying "thank you" for my writing or even going as so far to ask ME for advice on dating. Incredible.

I don't know if I'll ever stop having questions or conjure up theories about dating and the opposite sex. This is coming from the guy who, in the 3rd grade, read books like The Babysitter's Club and Are You There God, It's Me Margaret so he could find a clever angle to engage in conversations with girls.

I still don't have it figured out, but I'm having fun trying.

But every story has to have its ending and I think this where I get off. I want to thank everyone who read from the very beginning, who picked up and caught up, and those who have passed it onto friends. I can't tell you how flattered I am that you took the time to read my ramblings.

Maybe it's the numerous empty Bud Light cans piling up around the desk as I furiously peck away at this last post, but I wonder if you're getting nostalgic as I am:

Moonwalking out on Crazy Janice?
The giddy turned "wtf" period with an Irish girl?
Leo's heartfelt goodbye?
The super fucking instense period with "Beth" that was destined to turn sour?
The makeout sesh with a girl who had a secret?
My failing online dating experiences?
Meeting Bree, a fellow blogger, for the first time?
My ex calling me for the first time since her embargo?
Finally losing that pesky, ever illusive second V-card to the real Beth?

Fuck. I'm getting eMisty over here.

I guess it's time for this blogger to fly. I'm only an email away if the urge strikes you. I promise I'll try and be better about checking that account!

Thank you so much for the memories.

Best,
So@24

Goodnight.

When the Cat's Away... Pt. 4: No Sex, No City

2009-06-03T05:58:00.000-07:00

Logan Bruno approves of the following guest post

* * *

No Sex, No City

I don't know what So@24 was thinking.

I mean, he knows. I complain about it in a manner he somehow finds charming (judging by typed laughter simulations, at least): I am not exactly living the Sex and the City sort of single life.

Also, I hate Sex and the City.

There is no city. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions about the amount of sex.

It's probably my parents' fault. How dare they meet in high school and embark upon a successful thirty-plus year relationship? Thanks for the unrealistic expectations, Mom and Dad. I've already failed! (I suspect my mom also thinks I've already failed, judging by the meaningful looks she gives me whenever I'm back in New York and we see a Match.com commercial on tv. Mom, just because I'm a goof looking for my ball doesn't mean I'm ready to hit up the whole online dating thing. Damn.)

A little history: So@24 and I have similar backstories. For a long time, I was in a Relationship. Yeah, a capital-letter relationship. We lived together for three years. The last seven months were post-breakup. Those seven months were just as awesome as you might imagine; there was even a wall of cardboard blocking off half the living room at one point.

No joke. Here's where I reference the Kaiser Chiefs: settling down in your early twenties sucked more blood than a backstreet dentist.

So here I am, a year and a half later, 25 years old and a swingin' single. Except, you know, not so much.

Then there's the whole “college town” thing. I live in Amherst, Massachusetts. (Okay, technically I live in Sunderland, a bustling metropolis with exactly 1 traffic light and, like, some mountains. Like I said, no city.) Home to the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Also known as UMass. Also known as ZooMass. Also known as 'the college that makes me feel really fucking old.'

I'm becoming more Liz Lemon-y by the minute. Yes Jack, my date nights do involve me at a nice restaurant* with a good book.

Thanks for rubbing it in.

Like, there are bars downtown. It's the scene or whatever. People go there to get rowdy and – from what I can tell – grope each other. Strangers! Groping! Those wacky kids!

My last experience downtown resulted in me telling my friends in a horrified and confused manner about the random guy who came up to me and put his hands on my waist “as if I was his girlfriend.” Quelle horreur! This is how you meet people?

God, I am way too old for this.

Ripe ol' age of 25. Somebody get me a shawl and a cane. I guess I'm from a kindler, gentler time. I'm not completely opposed to getting drunk. But can't we just split a bottle of wine and put our feet up and maybe have an Arrested Development marathon and then go to bed early? Spoon a little? I'll even be the big spoon for like five minutes (admit it ladies, we all want to be the little spoon).

I should just get some damn cats already, shouldn't I.

- Kim
whatclaudiawore.blogspot.com

* Burger King

When the Cat's Away... Pt. 3: I am Apathetic

2009-05-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

I am apathetic.

Isn't that sad? I used to equate apathy to an apartment littered with pizza boxes, lots of video games and a grey sweatshirt stained with marinara sauce. What I didn't know is that apathy toward the opposite sex could happen at the very moment that you thought you were at the peak of your game.

I'll start by saying that I consider myself a fairly attractive guy with good teeth and great hand-eye coordination. I think that's what most women want, but I'm sure I've failed to account for some little nuance here or there. So what have I done to wind up in a never ending spiral of hanging out with couples, scouring Match.com in utter disappointment and mulling over my most recent relationship that still has me more confused than Sarah Palin during a Katie Couric grill session?

If So had asked me to post a blog a few months ago, it would have been a three to four paragraph nonstop mushfest. I would have told you how I had a girlfriend who was completely worth the 400 miles I had to drive round trip every weekend just to see her. I also would have told you I had met someone I thought I truly understood despite the fact it was a new relationship.

What I wouldn't have guessed is that one random Thursday night I would get kicked to the proverbial curb during a ten minute phone call that consisted mostly of her silence interspersed with an occasional "Bwwwwuuuuh?" from me. There I sat, slackjawed as I tried to find the deeper meaning behind "It's seriously not you, it's me."

That was it. No further explanation, no response to the letter I sent her a week later to at least give myself to get some of my feelings out of my head and in front of her. This rattled me to the core because I had assumed things were great, and I was now confronted with this idea that I had no idea what the other person was thinking. I was totally convinced my feelings were reciprocated and that either wasn't the case or I wasn't getting the whole story. Either way, it was enough to make rethink a lot things.

So, understanding there are other fish in the sea, I used the breakup as a way to stoke the fire within me and embark on a little self improvement. I worked out in the gym like a man on fire, ate the most careful diet known to man, dressed a little better, and decided that I had to get right back on the horse.

Unfortunately I'm in a social situation that lends itself to me hanging out with either couples or girls who I'd never be interested in. This seemed like the right time to embark on a little online dating. I think So has talked about it before. It becomes very hard to meet new people, and you have to assume that there are others just like you in the same scenario in life. I put a little effort into Match.com and quickly discovered that it solely exists to frustrating the living hell out of me.

The idiot buried deep inside me surfaces every time I log on. I expect to click through a few profiles and stumble across a fit, educated girl who appears emotionally healthy and interesting, but I'm either way too critical or not using the site correctly.

As soon as I log on I am greeted by the five "suggested matches". About a minute later I have discovered five girls I would NEVER date.

Seriously, match.com? I'm 26 years old and work out five days a week so you suggest a woman over 30 who is out of shape because she's looking for someone who is athletic and toned? How in the hell does that make a match?

If I'm lucky enough to have a message, it's either from a girl who is religious or who "totally hates drama." I'm pretty clear about my agnosticism in my profile, and as for the drama girl, well...'nuff said.

My frustration is usually building at this point, but I make a point to see if anyone interesting has joined the site. The one hot girl is usually a conservative, so it's a choice between the girl who claims to have an average build despite ten pictures that tell me otherwise and another girl who, rather that post pictures of her face, has decided to upload images of flowers and rivers. Listen, I like a peaceful body of water as much as the next guy, but I'm going to need to see your face.

So, here I am, 26 and feeling a lot like George as Kramer asked him if he had a woman, anything on the horizon, or any prospect at all. Luckily the George Costanza parallel ends there, but it'd be awful nice to have something to peer at on the horizon.

- Will

When the Cat's Away... Pt. 2: Delicious!

2009-05-26T06:43:00.000-07:00

Maxie's preface.

Classic fucking Maxie:

"So hopefully you get it before you go on your excursion to pay for sex. do some blow for me. too bad you didn't get to grow your pinky nail out in time.

the post is about sex instead of relationships b/c i dont do relationships so if you don't want to use it just let me know and i'll post it on my blog.

have fun and don't sleep with any trannys! as you would say xoxo <3>

* * *

Delicious!

While SO@24 is off taking over Europe, he asked me to entertain y'all. That's a lie. I told him that I was sending him a guest post and he had to put it up whether he wanted to or not.

My name is maxie and I write pretty much the coolest blog ever-- i hate so much . Since sex has been so freakin absent from this blog, I decided I would spice it up a little bit and tell you about the worst sex I've ever had. Take note boys, this is what NOT to do.

In high school I was one of those BAs (thats bad asses if you're not in the know) disguised as a goody two shoes. For some reason my parents trusted me and would let me have free reign on the weekends. My junior year I scored an older friend who had his own house and his own booze.

He was always pretty responsible and would cut me off after a few beers, but one night I managed to sneak into the corner with his friend who kept giving me beer after beer. (natty light = i'm classy)

One thing led to another, and I was promising parts of my body for just one more beer. You remember before you were 21 and you got to that point where there was no such thing as too much alcohol? I was totally there and somehow I convinced my corner buddy I'd bone him for a 6 pack. Like I said, CLASS.

We hopped into his car, but because we were both drunk we didn't want to drive very far. The only place nearby that was a little secluded was a church parking lot. He drove up the hill and we got down to business. Now I was young but I had been around the block a little and I knew something was WRONG. The dude was sticking it in and then making these weird circular motions instead of well...thrusting. Imagine a soft serve machine swirling around and around.

About halfway after filling up the double scoop he stopped and I was pretty pumped because I thought it was over. I had done my deed and it was time to get my beer. Boy was I wrong.

I looked up to a light shining in the window. I started to freak out a little because 1) I was naked and 2) I was underage and drunk. I saw my freedoms flash in front of my eyes and imagined the cop taking me off to the county jail. When I threw on my clothes I realized it wasn't a cop at all...it was a priest. He lived beside the church and noticed a strange car in the parking lot.

Instead of calling the authorities he had our friend come pick us up and gave us a very long lecture about pre-marital sex and underage drinking. After giving me a few "come to jesus" pamphlets he sent us on our way.

I guess the moral of the story is:

- Don't have sex in a church parking lot.
- Don't trade sex for beer

But if you're going to do either of the above, at least make sure it's good.

When the Cat's Away... Pt. 1: Get Out of My Grill

2009-05-22T01:28:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

Or I guess I should say, "Farewell!" In a few hours I'll be heading across the Atlantic to join up with my pal Leo for some European adventures. Sexy adventures.

You laugh now, Beth, but...

If Hollywood has taught me anything, it's a fact that all European women are:

extremely openly sexual
always fascinated with the American accent
hot (see: brunettes with glasses that look like saucy librarians or voluptuous blondes with pearly white teeth)

The good times are inevitable right? Hilarity will surely ensue. I hope to get a few good stories in me before this blog kicks the eBucket.

But in the meantime, I decided to have a couple of good friends share their own stories and views on the single life. However, I am mixing it up a bit. Some are from bloggers that you've come to know and love and others are from friends of mine who don't have blogs at all.

You'll read entries from:

Maxie at ihatesomuch
Kim from What Claudia Wore
my good friends Michelle and Will

... and, if I can put enough pressure on her, from good ol' Beth at Bethis.

I hope you enjoy them. I'll see you back stateside.

Best,
So@24

* * *

Get Out of My Grill

It all started when I was five. I was hanging out on the top of the jungle gym, ruling the shit out of kindergarten, when I was called down from my post to celebrate Lauren’s last day before he moved. Lauren was the first boy who had a crush on me. This made me suspicious.

Maybe it was the fact that he had a girl’s name that raised my eyebrow, or perhaps it was because he was moving to the “Grapevine”, a place that I thought must be all about licorice. (I recently drove through that beast and finally realized that while they rhyme, this place has nothing to do with Red Vines.)

Either way, he confused me.

The way he hung on my every word as I recited that month’s reading of “Chicken Soup with Rice”, or how he’d put his head on my shoulder during our weekly viewings of Barney… I just didn’t trust it.

I guess Lauren loved square dancing because on that morning in ’92 his mom made us all square dance for his big sendoff. Take one guess who this prick wanted for his partner. So I line up across from Lauren, trying like hell to pay attention to the instructions while he is grinning at me like a fool. Finally the music starts and he grabs me, trying to carry out the painfully douchey dance moves.

Although this was merely my first time square dancing (and his passion) I still thought I knew better. I resisted every turn, every spin.

Fast forward to seventeen years later. I am in a salsa bar in Seattle for a bachelorette party. There is a live salsa band and we are all dancing. Despite my square dancing blunder with Lauren, I truly love to dance.

But let me clarify: I love to dance alone.

Unfortunately, this man, we’ll call him Curly Sue, did not know this about me. I saw him make his way through our crowd of girls, dancing with each one of us. Curly was an amazing dancer and made everyone he danced with look great. And then he came to me… he would step forward and instead of stepping back, I would step right into him. He wanted me to spin left, I wanted to spin right. He pulled me into him, I resisted backward. I wish I could blame it on the alcohol consumed or my five inch heels, but I had to face the facts: I cannot follow a lead.

Perhaps this is Lauren’s doing, or maybe it was because I grew up in the bump and grind generation and have felt one too many boners in the small of my back. Whatever the reason, I hate when people make me follow their moves. Since when do people just get to dip and twirl you at their own will? Why would they know which way I want to spin better than me? Maybe I don’t want to move quite so fast, or perhaps I do not want your sweaty body to soil my clothes. All I know is that I did not sign up for that shit.

I hope I am not the only one that is so opposed to another’s choreography.

How I ever have sex, I really don’t know…

- Michelle

When Are You Ready To Meet The New Guy?

2009-05-18T00:41:00.000-07:00

Being friends with your first love can be downright fucking tricky.

Durrrrrrrrrrrr.

My personal philosophy on this (and I'm well aware that a majority won't agree with me) if that if you're going to truly and genuinely be friends with an ex, you have to be prepared for everything that comes with it. That means, at some point, you're going to have to be "down" with meeting his/her significant other.

And while there is no strict time line of when these things come about, but if you're going to be friends, they should at least be blips on the radar.

Not too long ago, when my little brother was visiting, Lynn asked if we wanted to go out with her and her friends.

She doesn't live close. And if we're going out on the town and drinking, I'd need a place to ~~sleep~~ pass out.

The days of me pressing my nose up against the window pane, waiting for Lynn to come running back to me are long gone. But I had to take a moment to really ask myself: what's the worst that could happen in this scenario?

First time meeting the ex's new boyf
Drinking a lot of booze
Forced to stay the night at the ex's place

I know that I'll have to meet the new guy at some point if I want to legitimately be friends with Lynn. And I'm alright with that, he seems like a nice guy and doesn't hate my guts like the other one.

But who knows how one is going to react if there is booze flowing. And to sit there across the bar and see your ex be all coupley (sitting on laps, hand holding, shit like that) while I'm sipping a low ball trying to plaster a smile on my face doesn't seem appealing. Furthermore, I don't want to ask them to alter their behavior just because of my presence, but at the same time... who wants to subject themselves to that?

This goes with the sleeping scenario as well. I imagine myself drunk as fuck, squirming to get comfortable on the living room couch with my legs hanging over the side in a hilarious cartoony fashion in one of those worthless guest blankets far too small for even my body. And then knowing that upstairs, only a few feet away from my head, my ex is drunk jamming down.

fdifdofdbncjsabc fbe

Point is, they SHOULD be able to do this if they wanted to, I just wouldn't feel right if they changed their normal routine because "it'd be weird if So@24 is here...". I wouldn't feel right asking that, but at the same time... I'd be lying if I said I was eager to experience my vivid scenarios.

See what I mean?

I'll be ready to party and have drinks with Lynn. There's no doubt I'll shake the hand of Lynn's boyfriend and buy him a pint. Hell, we might even karaoke a song together. I'm thinking we could do Ray Steven's "Mississippi Squirrel Revival"

But when do you know you're really ready to face all that?

Undies.

2009-05-05T10:37:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've had the pleasure of seeing lady's underwear strewn around the bedroom. When you come across one of these, it kind of makes you want to pound your chest like a silverback gorilla.

As I was tidying up my bedroom last weekend, I kept coming across pieces of underwear that Beth must have left behind on accident.

One lacey pink number tucked in between the sheets at the foot end of the bed.

Another frilly white thing under a pile of clothes.

And then this kind of standard, run-of-the-mill, plain kind that fell behind my dresser.

One of these thing does not belong...

I grabbed the foreign underwears and placed them in a neat pile on my dresser to give them to Beth when she arrived this weekend.

When I dropped her suitcase off in the corner of the room, I laughed and showed her the treasures she left behind on her previous trip.

Beth: Wow, I didn't realize I left this many. ... wait...
So@24: Yes?
Beth: This one isn't mine.

Beth pointed to the plain pair.

So@24: What do you mean?
Beth: I mean that THAT isn't mine!

Huh. I picked up the black underwear. Who else could leave these behind?

So@24: It has to be!
Beth: I think I know my own underwear!
So@24: Well no other female has been in my house... unless... OHGOD. OHGOD!

I shrieked like a banshee, chucked the pair across the room and they landed in the laundry basket.

Beth: What?? What?? Whose underwear are those??

No time to explain or theorize. I needed to go straight to the source.

I lunged for my cellphone.

BEEP BEEP BOOP BEEP!

Women on Line: Hello?
So@24: Mom??
Mama So: Yes?
So@24: Did you leave any underwear behind when you were here for your visit?
Mama So: Oh yeaaaaaaaah! I was going to ask you about that! I've been looking all over for those. Black, right?
So@24: Ughhhhhhhhhhhh.

The Great Euro Adventure Map

2009-04-30T04:06:00.000-07:00

May 22nd.

The adventure begins.

Waltzing with Closet Skeletons

2009-04-28T00:12:00.000-07:00

Beth and I were polishing off the last few pieces of the pizza we had made together earlier that evening.

We were on my living room couch and her legs were draped over my lap. I shoved the last piece of pizza in my mouth when Beth asked me, "So tell me the story about Lynn."

My mouth swung open a like a trapdoor and I'm sure a few crumbs tumbled onto my shirt. Soon after, a smile came across my face, "Are you sure?"

"Wait," she said, jumping off the couch and heading toward the fridge, "I'm going to need some wine for this one."

Beth returned with a glass and a bottle of wine. She immediately poured herself a healthy amount. Girl was all business.

So I did. I told her my story, from start to finish. Beth sat and listened tentatively, refilling her glass when it was empty. But, I'm not shy about discussing my past regarding my first real relationship (needless to say), but she was a real trooper to sit through it all.

When I finished my story, I figured it was only fair to quid pro quo the situation. I wanted to know about her history of relationships.

So@24: So what about you? What was the story about your first love?
Beth: Meh. We don't need to talk about it. Trust me, it's not worth discussing.
So@24: Hahahaha. Come on! I told you mine! It's only fair!

Beth's signature smile faded and her lips transformed to a thin line. The bottle of wine was now empty (good girl!) and she gulped the remainder in her glass.

Beth: No. Really. I don't like to talk about it. Some other time though, I promise.

I definitely was taken aback by Beth's stern reaction. Every interaction I have had with her thus far was all fun & games. One of the most carefree, jovial, relaxed persons I have had the fortune of coming across thus far. We really hadn't had a "serious" conversation at this point.

But me playfully trying to get Beth to talk about her ex was like when you rough-housed with that one really cool babysitter, only to take things too far and the babysitter suddenly breaks character and says, "No, seriously. Quit it. I mean it." It really throws you for a loop.

I knew that it wasn't my place to push the issue further, but a part of me couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. What was making this natural Ferris Bueller turn to Ben Stein?

Why couldn't this girl discuss her ex? Why couldn't this completely open, down-to-earth girl tell me the back story of her ex? This wasn't like her.

I have no frame of reference for this type of situation and it's hard for me to relate to. I mean, I have no problem discussing my past relationship (coming from someone who created an public domain based on it) and so I always forget that most people don't have the fortune of still being friends with their ex. Or at least of having it not end on extremely devastating terms.

But still, I can't deny the fact that I was a little thrown off by this. I mean, what was there to hide? The a variety of absurd scenarios flashed through my mind and they got more ridiculous at I allowed my imagination run wild:

"He's actually a distant cousin. But I honestly didn't know at the time."
"I kept his eyelids in a mason jar. But it wasn't a big deal as the courts made it out to be."
"Long story, but he's the reason I have a peg leg. See?"

I feel like if there's a strong potential for a girl to be around for the long run, she should be forced to give this information up, right? I mean, it's like when you buy a potential car... you always demand to see the history to determine the Blue Book value, right? I should know how many times this car visited a mechanic and for what reasons!

I guess I have a theory that past relationships tells a lot about who a person is today. It really shapes you and molds you.

Or maybe that is just me.

I'm exaggerating my concern for comedic effect, but I'd be lying if I didn't raise an eyebrow about the conversation (or lack thereof). But I'm fine with waiting for her to tell me when she's comfortable and ready to do so.

Because really, who wants to force this thing out of someone? It'll come naturally.

I just hope she doesn't have a peg leg. Or at the very least, scurvy.

Slaying the Dragon

2009-04-23T02:58:00.000-07:00

I recall a conversation Leo and I had a little over a year ago when I had to make a quick stop at the bank to make a deposit. We were discussing blogs that we both read and a recent trend we had noticed:

Once a blogger (who was single) found themselves married or in a relationship, their blog suddenly became... well, shitty. The entries that suddenly turned sappy, gushy, and shouted to the world how "perfect" their lives were. I'm almost positive that everyone can think of a once-favorite blogs that have followed down this path. They once had great stories and theories of the opposite sex... now they are just bullet pointed lists of what Netflix movies they plan on watching with their "hubby" that Friday night.

Leo and I tried to theorize why we thought this was. And we agreed on this: a great story always has a conflict. Once that central challenge is gone, the story is over. As much as we root for our hero, the real joy comes in seeing the hero overcome obstacles and struggle to achieve something greater.

Leo: So what are you going to do when you find that next girl?
So@24: Fuck. I don't know. I guess I haven't thought that far ahead.

* * *

The last few weeks have been an intense whirl wind of "whatthefuckisgoingon". Dizzying, exciting highs and extreme patches of confusion. A lot of emotions coming at me all at once like the furious jabs of Great Tiger in Mike Tyson's Punch Out!

Damn you Mirage Dance!

I needed some time to unbend a paper clip and reset my brain's alarm clock. To take a breather and evaluate shit.

And in these past few days, I've thought back to the conversation that Leo and I had long ago and how it might apply now. This isn't to say that I'm married, that I've found that "next girl", or even in a definitive "relationship".

But my time with Beth has been something that I haven't experienced in years and instead of over-analyzing everything to death, I've made a pledge to myself to just enjoy it for what it is at the moment. It is, what it is.

As I said before, when I started this blog, I was in a place where I actually thought I'd never get to experience certain things ever again with anyone. Probably an irrational fear, but one that felt very real at the time.

When you find yourself suddenly completely separated from someone after 6 years, you think that no one else is going to laugh at your lame jokes (I totally get it now Mark Hoppus!), to accept your fucking bizarre quirks... and to just overall "get you".

There are things that I considered sacred between Lynn and me. It was scary and extremely difficult to imagine that I might do/experience these things with someone else. Little things. Reaching over to turn off the lamp on your night stand and to have someone right there next to you, or reaching over to pick food off the person's plate and not thinking twice about it (and vice versa), or to pick up groceries to sustain both of you for an entire weekend.

But to my pleasant surprise, everything came naturally.

One night, Beth asked me to tell her about Lynn and what really led to our demise. I took a breath and laid it out for her. Like a trooper, she sat and listened to me spew my tale and guzzled a bottle of wine in the process. You gotta respect a girl who seeks out that knowledge and takes it like a champ. With booze. Yessssssssss.

I don't know what is going to happen with Beth. But what I know now is that what I once was terrified of, I don't have to be anymore. I can't put that kind of relief into words.

And I guess that's where we come full circle to what happens with this blog now. I've been struggling as to how to write now. My fears have been slain like some fairytale dragon. I started this blog as a means for guys in my similar position (and really, for myself) to see that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that there is nothing to be scared of. I've proven to myself and others that, there isn't.

So now what?

I need some time to think about where I go from here.

eTumbleweed.

2009-04-21T03:42:00.000-07:00

"So where does the blog go now? It seems your central conflict has been resolved."

- Jack

The ol' eTumbleweed has blown across 'round these here parts for the past week.

There's an explanation for that, I promise. And you'll get it soon enough.

Stay tuned.

Unforeseen Consequences

2009-04-13T00:55:00.000-07:00

My best friend and old roommate Leo, doesn't like to guest post often. I'll ask him on occasion to write something for me when I suffer some serious writer's blog (see what I did there?). Most of the time, he'll graciously decline, saying that the blog is my palate in which to paint my own story and thoughts on dating.

But he's been known to come out of the wood works to give his two cents every now and then.

It wasn't a huge surprise when he had asked me if he could write his thoughts on some recent events.

How could I resist such an offer? Especially since so many readers have asked for it as of late.

So let's get right to it.

Enjoy!
So@24

* * *

Hello my darlings.

So has been in recovery since the events of last weekend, so I'm taking a moment away from dabbing his pallid brow with a damp cloth to post a little something. Dear boy hates to neglect his readers.

As we all know, So recently ended what can only be described as an absolutely titanic dry spell. For context, the last time he had sex, Anna Nicole Smith was alive, no one had heard of a dude named Barack, and our solar system had an extra planet. Yep. You can literally measure his abstinence on a cosmic scale.

And as we all know, this all came to a rapturous end (cue glorious choral music, montage of time-lapse rose blooming, rocket blasting off, train going into tunnel, Old Faithful, fireworks). Jack and I rejoiced. We had coaxed and coached for, well, years. And now we relished the catharsis.

So@24: Should I really be sharing details with you guys?
Jack: I puked in a bag for you. And Leo kissed a dude. You owe us.
So@24: So I had sex this weekend. A lot.
Leo: -wipes single tear of joy-
Jack: like it's the end of Return of the Jedi and So is Luke all partying with Ewoks and whatnot, and you and I are like the ghosts of Obi Won and Yoda that appear beside the campfire nodding approvingly.
So@24: HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHA
Leo: -sigh-
Jack: -wistful sigh-
So: I can't believe after all this time, I can finally join you guys in locker room banter. It's like I've been back into the Forbidden City. I'm like that kid who finally got his Super Nintendo after all the kids in the neighborhood have had it for years.
Jack: Well ours are broken apparently, so looks like we'll be playing at your house.

[Beat]

Leo: I need to have sex.
Jack: Seconded.

We were happy. But this victory was to be bittersweet, and Jack and I were its foreshadowing. You see, So has not yet grasped the consequences of his actions. As the dude who invented those fig cookies wrote, for every action there is a reaction. For every Yin there exists a Yang. Where there is light, so must there be shadow. And oh, what a beastly shadow it is. It's name?

No Sex.

We've all been there. You're coasting along, enjoying healthy sexual endeavors, then one day they cease... and a terrible terrible fiend fills the void. It strikes in the loins and lingers, slowly eating away at your standards, judgment, and resolve. Left untreated, it only grows, consuming your thoughts and making you send inadvisable texts. And sex? Sex is merely a temporary treatment... Beastie will lurk, dormant, until it's time to rise again.

It's a burden that comes with the blessing. So had the blessing. But in resetting his coital switch, he's awoken this succubus once more.

And mark my words... one night a week or two from now, he'll be tossing and turning in bed, trying to figure out the source of his restlessness. Suddenly he'll realize it. His eyes will snap open and he'll whisper the tragic truth...

"I need to have sex."

Unfortunately there's nothing we can do for him. He and his lovely share a geographic disparity that makes regular boinking impossible. And so I welcome him into the ranks of The Infected*.

Godspeed, my friend. It's going to be a bitch.

*If you get the L4D ref, you're rad. Also, a nerd.
**If you got the title's HL2 ref, you're really rad. Also, a nerd to the point of it being kind of sad.

Welcome Back.

2009-04-08T02:09:00.000-07:00

Clouds parted.

The sun cut through the thin layer of dust on my bedroom window panes.

I leaped from my bed, threw open the shutters.

Two little bluebirds fluttered in and I sang a very cliche' Disney-esque song as I raised my arms as they put a robe on me.

Also, a unicorn served me breakfast.

Yes.

I had sex.

I'm going to say that again for all the skimmers and also because it bears repeating.

I had sex.

Let me backtrack a bit and explain how this came to be.

* * *

A quote from my best friend Leo is an appropriate way to start things off:

Leo: Where do people meet people? Everyone is in a fucking relationship... I'd like to see the sociological stats/bar graph on where people meet. At least for our age.

I complain about this constantly. It's really fucking hard to meet people, especially if there aren't any prospects at the job and you don't have any help from your friends trying to set you up.

Despite popular belief, I didn't create this blog to meet girls. But as time went on, well... it was almost inevitable. I mean, there are some pretty brilliant fucking people in the blogosphere and a girl that is witty in writing is going to get an eyebrow raise. They just kind of happen.

How Bloggy Romance Works:
A Universal (and fucking toolish) Flow Chart

Read blogs > Comment exchanges > Emails > Gchats > Social Networking Access (to judge/stalk photos) > Phone number exchange > Phone calls > Meet up

That is how I met Beth.

Beth, unfortunately, shares the same name as another alias I had in my past. But, well, what can I do? It has been written.

* * *

After the natural progression of things, Beth booked a ticket to fly out to stay with me for a weekend. Shit like this doesn't scare me or intimidate me; a girl who is willing to take a leap with you and do something so incredibly insane/spontaneous is a good sign in my book. It means she's just as into you as you are of her.

I was incredibly nervous. Not to meet Beth. There wasn't any surprises from my end; she's just as funny, cute, and smart as I thought she would be. But my real fear was the anticipation of having a girl stay over at my place for an entire weekend.

Shit I Had Forgotten About But That Make Up "The Good Stuff"

Walking out of the shower to find a girl laying on top of your bed in a messy ponytail, wearing your t-shirt and in her undies checking her email from a laptop
Seeing multi-colored bottles of shampoo/body wash in your shower
Girl smell lingering on your pathetic pillows
Grocery shopping with a girl on your arm
Have a girl legitimately laugh at all your shitty attempts as jokes

And I don't mean to always "wax nostalgia" about my ex girlfriend Lynn all the time, but it's really the only thing I can compare things too.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't knocked back a few times during the weekend when things like what I just listed above didn't bitch slap me. Weird flash backs of snapshot-polaroid-esque memories I had of Lynn. Like someone reeling back and smacking a fire extinguisher across my dome.

It's embarrassing to admit, but if I'm going to be honest here... it happens. The main reason being: I thought that I'd never be able to have these experiences (see: bullet points above) with someone else.

It's nice to know that it actually is possible, because it's a very real fear (during that period of your life) to think that it can't ever happen again. I have the weekend to prove it. So... to all the So@24s circa 2007... take note.

I had some encouragement from my friends along the way:

Maxie's chart:

And, of course, what would a landmark So@24 post be without a great 3-way gchat convo between Leo, Jack and myself? Look at how much respect I get from these guys:

Leo: I can't even imagine you having sex. I'm actually trying, bizarrely enough. It just comes out wrong.
Leo: Like an Escher illustration. Looks okay, but something's definitely going on that isn't quite right.
Jack: I tried and it was like a confusing cartoon. But with old Batman sound effects.
Leo: And the occasional clown horn.

She Arrives Today.

2009-04-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

Thanks chubby kid from the Disneyland commercial...

I couldn't have said it better myself.

The Big Prep

2009-03-31T09:07:00.000-07:00

On Sunday:

I had 3 huge loads of laundry all going at the same time. I'm talking the works: clothing, bathmats, towels, my fucking duvet cover, fresh linens.
Swept
Mopped (alright, alright Swiffer'd)
Got on my hands and knees and scrubbed the shower.
Made a run to the grocery store. Picked up some greek yogurt, a bag of salad, cereal, milk, eggs. I went with a few items I figured were pretty safe.
Clipped and tossed the dead leaves on the last remaining house plants I've managed to barely keep alive.
Tossed half of lemon into the garbage disposal to achieve the natural dope freshness
Grabbed the piled of books on my nightstand and actually organized them on a bookshelf

I haven't had to prepare for a girl staying staying with me for an entire weekend in... well, over two years.

Holy piss that was ages ago. I almost forgot how to go through the motions.

It's certainly been awhile.

Closing the Bree Chapter

2009-03-27T00:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I forget that this blog is not just about drunk stories or random ponderings as to why I seem to can't seem to understand women.

It's actually about the journey and the harsh lessons learned by this hideous, bitch goddess we most often refer to as "dating".

Learning shit is the backbone of this humble, lil blog. And I learned a valuable dating lesson I'd like to share.

Fuck yeah you did.

When I've been excited about the prospects of a girl, I'm not one to do so quietly. I'm that little hen who clucks all over the farm about it.

Of course, I'm nearsighted and I never think about having to explain to people what happened to the girl when things don't turn out as expected. Then I have to go through the humiliating process of explaining WHY things fell apart.

I can't tell you how many times I've had "So, what happened with Bree?" asked to me. Emails, friends... whew, it's been tiring. I guess I'll feed you, baby birds.

And as many times as I have had to answer that question, my answer is always the same (and kind of lackluster):

Nothing.

A phone call with Bree, shortly after meeting her in Santa Barbara, was one of the most refreshing, no-bullshit, honest conversations I've ever had the pleasure of being a part of.

I had wanted to know where I stood. However, before I get raged on by commenters, I'm no idiot. I wasn't wanting a relationship or trying to force a weird, ultimatum out of her... I simply wanted to feel out if we were on the same page. We had always been pretty upfront up to this point and Bree's straightforward approach was something I always admired.

Not to bore with intimate details, but basically she told me that she was happy with her life as it was, didn't want change. She's extremely driven and work is her #1 priority. She wanted to keep things casual.

And I was... actually fine with that! It was so nice to not have to play some tortuous guessing game and to just be up front. I got what I needed out of the conversation.

But really, what can you do after that point? Phone calls and IM conversations suddenly stopped being so frequent. Everything is fine and cordial, but once a conversation like that takes place... you have to be prepared for the pixie magic to kind of just... fizzle out. After all, where is it supposed to go?

Again, it's not like I was anxious to change my Facebook status to "In a Relationship" or anything. To be honest, I didn't even know what I wanted. But if there isn't a chance at all for anything to move forward... then you're really just sitting in murky tub water wallowing in your own filth.

This is the lesson I learned. Shit like this happens all the time in dating situations and it doesn't HAVE to always be some agonizing, terrible experience. It's like getting barbecue sauce all over your face while eating ribs: it's supposed to happen! If you aren't getting messy, you aren't doing it right.

I spend so much time cutting through the thick, dating jungle vines with a dull machete, trying to find that perfect (albeit cliche') combination of the smart, cute, funny girl... that I lose sight of the fact that once I find that girl, there's still one large hurdle to cross: she has to be into me too.

That's what dating is. Trying to find someone that links up to you like two L block Tetris pieces. Sometimes you come close to a perfect Tetris, but sometimes you're going to get that at-first-glance-seems-ideal-but-ultimately-fits-awkwardly Cross shape.

It's just the way it is.

Playing Mouse Trap with Monopoly Money

2009-03-24T00:37:00.000-07:00

** Please note: This post was written quite awhile ago. This story sets the stage for things to come and will make much more sense later on down the line.

February 2nd, 2009

I write this post extremely confused what to think. So let me lay it out on the line and I'll let you be the judge. Maybe the answers will be clearer in the future. This post is an experiment with time travel to the ordinary blogger.

Things with Bree have been going pretty well (at least I think so. Oh fuck, excuse me for a second while I furiously knock on some wood). It's been a nice balance; I've texted her just as much as she's texted me. I call her when I feel like calling her and I think she's comfortable in calling me when she's comfortable calling me.

But a conversation last night took a bit of the wind out of my sails.

Bree had given me a call just as I was nodding off reading A Prayer for Owen Meany.

The conversation was running its usual coarse, until she dropped anchor out of nowhere:

"Oh, by the way, on Friday I kissed a guy. It wasn't a big deal, but I just thought you should know."

At this point, I was caught completely off guard and not sure what to think. But I felt my cheeks redden and reach temperatures that would rival a potter's kiln.

So I did what I normally do when I get extremely uncomfortable and nervous; I used humor to mask my pain. I was quick to make a joke out of it, "... you've been worrying about losing your touch and here you are making out with 23 year olds!" I kept it light and even threw in a sly compliment.

She was apologetic (I think legitimately) and I could feel the slight discomfort coming from her end of the phone line. I reassured her that she didn't owe me any explanation or any apology, because really... she didn't.

After all, I wasn't sure what else to say! What could I say??

The conversation switched gears; I asked her about hotel suggestions of where I should stay when I meet her in Santa Barbara. But I just couldn't keep up the charade, I was now starting to sweat and needed to get off the phone.

So@24: Hey, it's already 1 in the morning, I'm pretty tired. We'll talk tomorrow?
Bree: Oh. Yeah. Of course. Goodnight.
So@24: Goodnight.

About 10 minutes later, while I'm tossing and turning to try and go to sleep, my cellphone beeped. A text.

Bree: Hey, I feel weird about that call. I'm sorry if that upset or bugged you. I would sort of be bugged if roles were reversed. Sorry for being such a weirdo.

Still unsure of how to take in all the information, I decided not to respond right away and tried focus on getting some shut eye.

I woke up at 6:00am, having that terrible feeling you get when you groggily discover that you JUST found sleep. I texted her back the following:

So@24: I'm not going to lie, it rattled me a bit. But like I said, you don't owe me any explanation. I appreciate the sentiment though.

Within a few seconds, I was surprised to get a text back:

Bree: Crap. I'm sorry. I just wanted to be honest and it came off so casually because it was weird and I didn't know what else to say.

* * *

On paper, technically Bree did nothing wrong. She's absolutely in the clear. She's an attractive girl in her 20s who is allowed to enjoy alcoholic beverages in large doses if she chooses. And yes, she can make out with dudes if that's what she wants to do.

And yet, I just felt... funny. Humiliated. I'm not exactly sure why and I know that it's not justified. I know I wasn't justified by being weirded out by the whole situation. I haven't even met the girl face to face yet. I don't have any reason to be rattled.

But I guess I also have to recognize that I'm also flesh and blood. And human beings don't always operate on technicalities. Especially when it comes to dating. Lesson learned, So.

Maybe it's because I was hit with the idea that Bree might not really be on the same level as I am. Who wants to hear that a girl you're interested in is making out with other dudes? I finally got what Rivers was singing about when he wrote "No One Else"

I just don't want to be stuck holding a stack of Monopoly money when I've actually been playing a game of Mouse Trap the entire time. Know what I mean? We'll see if this is just a foreshadowing of things to come...

How Dora the Explorer Will Save Future Generations of Short Guys & Other Random Thoughts

2009-03-19T00:26:00.000-07:00

I bring you...

My first bullet point entry.

* I was in New York last week and I haven't been in 10 years. For some reason, I fell in love with every girl there. Maybe it's the girls and their liberal usage of the scarf to protect themselves against the harsh New York weather. The cute, little waitresses, the girls thumbing through books in coffee shops... I dunno, it drove me crazy. Maybe it's a "grass is greener on the other side" kind of phenomenon. But New York? I love you.

* I decided that if I were to ever get to the point in my life where I need to come up with an elaborate lie to get the attention of a complete stranger, I concocted the greatest story:

Cute Girl: So what do you do for a living?
So@24: Oh, I'm a junior executive at Sephora. It kind of fell into my lap right out of college, but it's a great gig. Maybe you've heard of us?

How perfect is that? Because we all know that girlies love chapstick. It's a universal fact.

* There's been some controversy over Dora the Explorer growing up. I'm not sure what the big deal is, but angry blogging mommies are up in digital arms over it. If you don't know who Dora the Explorer is, you've obviously been living in a outer space. In a cave. With a blindfold on. And giant headphones.

Please view exhibit A:

Go forth and do good.

I, for one, embrace this change.

These angry parents are missing the point completely. Dora will actually be doing an enormous favor for future generations of short guys (such as myself). I have been waiting for the day (perhaps ignorantly) when stilettos will go the way of the buffalo (I made all my prom dates wear flats; thanks for being such a champ, Lynn). Waiting for heels to go out of style.

Dora sporting the fashionable round-toed, FLATS is going to show future generations of females:

"Hey kids, you don't need to wear footwear that's extremely uncomfortable and makes you tower over your dates just to be hip & cool! Because your hero Dora doesn't either!"

Maybe this bubonic plague of the eternally short guy will finally have the vaccine we've been waiting for. Dora the Explorer. In flats. Not heels.

So to all the future short guys out there, this is a big win for the lil guy!

Why Girls Remain The Most Mysterious Creatures of All Time

2009-03-18T00:27:00.000-07:00

I just returned home from a particularly long day from the rat races when I received a good phone call from a female friend of mine.

As I was whisking eggs in a bowl to prepare my omelet din din, I held my cellphone between my ear and shoulder while she was telling me a story about a "cute boy" she had met. Earlier this evening, he had asked for her phone number and she had given it to him. She was interested in him.

Now, this isn't anything groundbreaking. Girls meet cute boys and if they seem harmless enough, the average girl will most likely give them their phone number to perhaps set up a time to later meet up to get to know each other better. This is one of the socially acceptable means in which we begin our mating dance, courtship rituals, etc.

I listened to her story and starting to add my diced mushrooms when she dropped a bomb on me. I dropped my spatula.

Before going further, I need to emphasize that my female friend is quite the fucking catch. Pretty (I would say "cute", but I've learned how well THAT goes over...), smart, and most importantly, hilarious. And I would like to ask my commenters to please be CIVIL when commenting on what I am about to reveal. She is a friend of mine and I know how harsh some of you can be when it comes to the decisions some people make. Such as what I am going to explain.

Bless her soul, she knows not what she does.

My Friend: You aren't going to believe it, but when I gave him my number and he started to put it in his cellphone...
So@24: Yes... yes?
My Friend: I caught a glimpse of his cellphone background and it was one of those wallpapers you can purchase...
So@24: What was it?
My Friend: ... a woman in a gold bikini.
So@24: ...
My Friend: When I asked about it, he got really embarrassed, tried to cover it and said, "People never really look at my cellphone"

...

...

...

I'm going to type that out again because it bears repeating.

The guy who she gave her number to and would like to see again, has his cellphone wallpaper as a woman in a gold bikini.

We caught up? Alright.

My mouth swung open like a trap door and I let my spatula drop to the counter. I didn't care if I could smell my eggs burning. What the fuck...

Maybe I'm jumping the fucking gun a little bit. Maybe I'm not giving her White Knight the benefit of the doubt. There has to be an explanation for this. How could this possibly be acceptable? I can really only fathom three reasons for this behavior:

"Oh shit. Yeah about the picture of the woman in a gold bikini set as my wallpaper on my phone? I was visiting a sick child at the hospital who lost all her hair due to chemo treatments and she told me her 'Make a Wish' would be that I purchase a wallpaper on my cellphone to a woman in a bikini."

or

"When I was rescuing a batch of Boston Terrier puppies from a burning building, my baby niece got a hold of my cellphone and must have accidentally pressed a series of buttons on my phone causing me to inadvertently purchase this picture of a woman in a bikini. Then she mashed some more buttons with her tiny knuckles and made it my background picture. I haven't had a chance to change it back yet because I've been volunteering at a local hospital's burn victim's unit"

or

"I'm 14."

However, I don't think this is why this particular dream boat did this. Because he didn't even try to lie about it. He said, "People don't usually see my cellphone" and tried to hide his cellphone like a hooker in a hollowed out bed spring.

Please. I'm begging the blogging community... why, why, why do quality girls do this? Apparently my friend didn't thoroughly read my entry on "Not Settling".

So@24: Are you serious?? And you still plan on seeing this guy? Why!?
My Friend: I'm not in the position to be turning guys away.

My omelet was now ruined. The smoke alarm was beeping incessantly. But instead of finding a fire extinguisher or dialing 9-1-1, I was imagining ways to throttle her with my frying pan.

I swear, I encounter this shit all the time. It's the biggest injustice in the world. Is this something that everyone eventually grows out of? Do the girls who hold the elusive tri-fecta having the qualities of being physically attractive, witty as hell, and smart as a whip have no idea that they possess this rare plutonium? It fucking baffles me. One of the greatest injustices of the world that guys with cellphone wallpapers of girls in gold bikinis are dating girls like this.

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with my exgirlfriend Lynn about this. I told her, that as someone who spent 6 intimate years with her, that I should at least have a say in the next guy she dates.

1. Don't settle.
2. He's gotta make you laugh.
3. He's gotta appreciate your humor and laugh with you.

I don't think that's too much to ask. And really, most girls should heed my advice. My criteria for my exgirlfriend's next boyfriend should be the same to every girl who possesses the ingredients of the perfect partner.

Let the douchebags dudes date the douchbag girls. Checks and balances, people.

Alas, this is why girls remain the most mysterious creatures of all time.

... to Don Quixote. Pt. 2 of 2

2009-03-10T00:41:00.000-07:00

A la' Billy Crystal in "When Harry Met Sally":

Please to repeat.

"I will read 'From Don Juan Pt. 1' before reading further"

Trust me, you'll be doing yourself a huge disservice by reading ahead without backstory.

We all set? Good. Let's continue.

* * *

Last Friday, I was in my cube busting out some serious Outlook shit when I got a text message from my friend May.

I didn't particularly like a lot of Lynn's friends in high school. But one that stood out was May. She's very blunt, sarcastic, crass and has the mouth of a sailor. She's good people to have around.

I still stay in contact with May and occasionally, she'll give me a call or text me to let me know she's in LA and meet up.

May's Text: Sorry this is last minute, but I'm in Pasadena. Do you want to meet up for a drink?
So@24's Text: Of course! Text me when you head to the bar.

I hadn't seen May for awhile, so I was excited for the reunion. I called up two of my buddies, Dave and Geoff to join me for drinks at my place before heading out.

Around 9:00, I get a text from May, "On my way! I should be there in 5!"

I wasn't in a rush. Dave and Geoff were still finishing their beers and it was still early. I didn't usher every one out of the door and into car until around 9:30.

On the road, I get a text from May, "Hey where are you??"

May is the type to get a little sassy at times and we have a playful banter so I shoot her one back, "Chill the fuck out, we're on our way!"

By the time we park, it's about 9:45. Dave, Geoff, and I head toward the bar. May calls me as we're walking up to the bar.

May: You here?
So@24: Yep, walking up now. Wait, you didn't pick a bar with cover did you? I never carry cash on me.
May: Uh... no. You should be fine.
So@24: Whew! See you in a bit!

As we step into the bar, I give a quick scan for May.

Nothing.

Must be in the bathroom.

Suddenly a girl stands up and addresses me, "So@24?"

So@24's Inner Monologue: Why does this girl look so familiar? Must be one of May and Lynn's friends that I met once and don't remember... better play it cool until I can place her.

So@24: Hey... you! Are we missing someone?
Girl: No...

It was at that very second that this happened...

Quick Idea of What's Going On in So@24's Brain in Approx .00456 Seconds

This was the Match.com girl who had emailed me earlier in the week asking me for drinks.

Her name also happened to be May. I just hastily put her in my phone and forgot about her.

Oh fuck.

My high school friend May was not in town. She did not text me.

Oh fuck.

This is technically a "date".

Oh fuck.

I'm wearing ratty jeans, a dirty tshirt and haven't shaved for two days.

Oh fuck.

I'm 45 mins late.

Oh fuck.

I texted this girl, "Chill the fuck out" when she asked where I was.

Oh fuck.

I just came off looking like a complete cheapskate by bitching about paying cover.

Oh fuck.

I brought two of my friends with me.

Analysis: I am a complete and total moron.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Quick decision! Damage Control! It was like red alert in my brain. The submarine was hit and was flooding quick. Tons of sailors were scrambling to keep their balance and shut all the valves. The sub was going down.

So@24: Hey! Nice to meet you. Let me grab you a drink! What are you drinking there?
May: Just a beer.
So@24: Alright, I'll be right back.

I grabbed a confused Dave and Geoff by the collar and dragged them with me to the far corner of the bar. I gave them a 20 second explanation of what's going on. They laughed hysterically.

I tossed Geoff the keys. "Sorry buddy, you're driving tonight. Bartender? A pitcher of Bud Light and a shot of Jack please."

* * *

Epilogue

The rest of the night actually wasn't so bad. She didn't seem pissed or annoyed with my jackassary (I kept checking with Dave to make sure that she seemed fine). I bought all her drinks for her and I never caught any sign that she caught on that I was completely oblivious. She didn't show any signs of being phased by the unusual situation. We hung out until closing time, but the banter was what I had expected... beige. -shruggy-

I felt terrible! Augh! I went into this situation hoping that I could show this girl a good time and that not all online dating sites have guys who are complete tools.

And I came out looking like a total dick. Complete, complete failure. Not that I was remotely interested in her to begin with, but still...

How was I supposed to explain my mistake to her? "Oh sorry, you weren't important enough to remember your name." I panicked! I didn't know what to do.

Ugh. Maybe I should give her a call?

If there was any doubt how clueless I am... I think this settles the score, wouldn't you say?

From Don Juan... Pt. 1 of 2

2009-03-09T00:12:00.000-07:00

This one is a doozy.

A fucking doozy.

As you may recall, a while back Match.com offered me a free trial period if I would blog about my experiences. It was an epic failure and after I got eServed, I stopped going on the account completely. It wasn't until about two months ago when I noticed I was getting charged.

I logged back onto my account to sort those fuckers out, when I noticed I had an email from a girl.

Well, shit. It had been sitting in there, unopened for quite some time and I felt obligated to respond. After all, I had bitch n' moaned about girls never writing me back, so I wanted to do this for her.

I'm just going to come right out and say that she wasn't my cup of tea in both physical and personality departments. She was just kind of... vanilla. Plain Jane, nothing to write home about (I'm a dick. But an anonymous dick, so it's all good). Her interests included music, her favorite movie was The Notebook, and she loved reading US Weekly. It wasn't ever meant to be.

But she was nice enough to take the time and reach out to me so I wrote her back.

It was a delicate situation and I think I did a pretty good job of executing the whole, "Being courteous and polite, but not doing anything that might show her I'm at all interested." I kept my answers short, I never asked more about her.

And then I dusted my hands after I clicked "Send" thinking that would be the end of it. She'd walk away with a good feeling that a guy responded and I walk away feeling like Johnny fucking Appleseed, spreading good deeds everywhere.

This would not be the case.

She wrote me back an email. I waited for like 3 or 4 days before responding, thinking this might help give that friendly nudge that I wasn't that interested. Again, I wasn't a dick or anything, I just was very to the point and not inquisitive; very blah.

It wasn't until the next email she wrote me when things started to get a little... sticky. She ended her email with, "Well, I don't normally do this, but would you like to get drinks sometime?"

Well fuck.

I had to say "yes" at this point. Why? Because I ALSO complain about how girls don't take initiative and depend solely on guys to get the ball rolling. I didn't want to politely decline, only for the girl to chalk it up to me being freaked out that a girl asked me out and then to have her never ask a guy out again.

Drinks. Casual. Not that big of a deal. I can do this.

So I agree, but again, I make sure I'm not enthusiastic in my response. "Yeah sure. Text me or something next time you're out".

She gave me her number, I hastily threw it in my phone and went back to playing Mega Man 9 on the Wii.

...

To Be Continued.

To the Girlies I Might Have Lead On...

2009-03-06T00:40:00.000-08:00

... sorry about that.

Now I've never claimed to be extremely knowledgeable in the ways of the mysterious fairer sex also known as "the female". For proof of this, please read this entire blog. But I thought I was pretty well prepared when I was oh so young and oh so naive.

Yes, I even read "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret" in grade school hoping that this would be the key to get a step up on my competitors. I'm not kidding. I actually did that for the sole purpose of getting ladies.

They call that "foreshadowing" of a complete tool.

I digress.

While I might still be clueless now, I was a fucking lobotomized patient back in college. This realization only came to me a few days ago when I got a text message from an old friend of mine in college wishing me a happy birthday.

For a brief amount of time, Mia and I were pretty close, but out of nowhere (or so I thought) she stopped calling. Mind you, this was in college, when I was still very much with my ex girlfriend Lynn.

Mia used to call me up on any given weeknight and see if I was going to the bars. I'd usually meet her in the median and walk with her. Occasionally, we'd come back after a frat party and bust out some amazing, drunken Weezer ballads. One time, she called me in the middle of the night asked if I wanted to sit on the steps of her sorority and eat Bagel Bites with her. And I did.

And then one day she stopped calling me. Just out of nowhere. It really bummed me out at the time and it left me scratching my head. What had happened?

It would take me years to figure out why. Mia's text forced me to think back and analyze the situation. I had to experience years of being single and misreading signals in order to finally understand; like a fucking vision quest.

Mia was one, in a string of girls, that suddenly stopped talking to me once they found out I had a girlfriend. I had totally (unintentionally) lead them on!

In my defense, I didn't know better. I was so completely oblivious, especially because I was legitimately (yes, legitimately) friends with so many girls in college. And I still, to this day, believe that guys and girls can be just friends.

But thinking back on other girls besides Mia, I had left a trail. There was one girl who used to always sit next to me in lecture and expressed interest in coming over to hang out. When she did, she brought a six pack of Killian's and I didn't think twice about it! When she asked what I was up to one weekend and I told her that Lynn was coming to Seattle, I never heard from her again. I always assumed that she just lost interest in being friends, because SHE got a boyfriend or something.

This happened a few times, but I think two examples are enough.

Same thing with Mia. When I told her a story about Lynn, shortly thereafter I stopped getting calls to join her at the bar.

I never put two and two together, even after all of those times. What did I tell ya? When it comes to females, I'm a donkey laying under an apple tree listening to "Turkey in the Straw" on a broken victrola.

* * *

I'm not sure exactly why it has taken me years to finally come to this obvious conclusion. I was always sad as hell that I lost friends and never knew exactly why.

I wonder if you have to be single and go through the experiences yourself before you can come to appreciate these conundrums in the past? To get the questions answered that left you baffled before you gained perspective.

So.

To all those girls who I might have lead on, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to.

I just didn't know better. It just took having it done to me to figure it out.

A Cinderella Story (with booze)

2009-03-02T13:45:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago, Leo and I were discussing what we were going to do to celebrate my turning twenty six. Naturally, I had assumed that he would fly into Los Angeles and we'd spend the weekend hitting up our old haunts.

Leo: Hey, here's a nutty idea... what if we went to San Francisco?
So@24: Well then. That is a nutty idea. Fuck it, let's do it.

So that was it. We were heading to San Francisco. Leo and I emailed a few other friends and everyone hopped on that party train (unfortunately, Jack couldn't make it. He said it was work but I'll put my money on he still recovering from Santa Barbara).

I was looking forward to a weekend away from Los Angeles and reuniting with old friends. And of course, there was the possibility of hanging out with Bree again. Since our first encounter, I wasn't sure when I'd see her next.

Over the next week, the boys and I started finalizing San Francisco plans -- dinners, bars, bbqs, Frisbee golf, more bars... you know, a packed weekend. When I told Bree I'd be in town , she seemed enthusiastic. Unfortunately, she could only come out for Friday night, she would be out of town the rest of the weekend. My timing wasn't the greatest; figures.

Within an hour of landing in San Francisco, I was well on my way to checking off "throwing back lots of booze with old friends" on my list of things to do. I was texting back and forth with Bree, trying to find a location to join both her group and mine.

It was already close to 10:00pm at this point (you know what it's like to mobilize troops) and I was getting more worried that my time with Bree was going to be extremely truncated. Also, as it came closer to catch a cab, my nerves grew and in turn, so did the shots of scotch. Leo would have probably stepped in to make sure I wasn't getting too drunk, but this was his vacation too. No rest for the wicked.

The group piled into cabs and we were dropped off at a bar that was located in a side alley of San Francisco; pretty cool. There was a good crowd forming and the jukebox was pumping out the hits. I stood in a circle with my friends, but I admittedly was torn between conversation and looking over their shoulders at the doorway, keeping an eye out for Bree. Leo gave me a pat on the shoulder and we took a tequila shot.

I went to the bar to order a round for the boys and when I turned, Bree was standing right behind me. She flashed her signature dimpled smile and I, in turn, grinned like a fucking goon. I quickly introduced her to all of my friends, but noticed that none of her friends made it out. Bree had come to meet up with us solo. Ballsy.

After introductions were made, I pulled her to the bar so I could order her a drink. I think she did her fair share of prefunking as well and we were both tossed at that point. While we were waiting for the bartender to catch our attention, she gave me that headtilt that girls do that I absolutely love.

You know what I'm talking about? It's just a slight tilt of the head and a coy smile. That shit can stop a man in dead in his tracks, I swear to God.

It was then I went in for a kiss and it was reciprocated. No nerves, no second guessing. I didn't overthink it. And it was good.

I've written before how I hate when a guy and a girl kiss in public settings. It grosses me out. But I was 100% fucking guilty of this on Friday night. However, if I have any room to make a plea to the court, it wasn't that disgusting, humping on the dance floor kiss you see all the time. I'm talking like the "hold her face with two hands, put her hair behind her ears" kind of kiss. The good shit. The kind that's so goddamn sweet, those who were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it might now have diabetes.

Again, I'm not usually the type to do these acts in public arenas, but I remember thinking to myself, "I just don't care." I didn't know when I'd get the chance to do this again and my time with Bree was limited. I was fine with being "that guy".

I stuffed a couple of wrinkled bills in the jukebox, we both decided that MJ's "The Way You Make Me Feel" was the best song to play at that point (that's a fucking winner, ladies & gentlemen), and we danced.

After seemed like only a few minutes, Bree said that she needed to head home. I walked her to a cab and offered to see that she made it back safely. She insisted I stay so I closed the door, wished her a safe trip and wave "goodbye".

And with that, she was gone. Like fucking Cinderella and that cab was the fucking pumpkin carriage.

All in all, it was a great weekend. Had a great time hanging out with Leo and the rest of the guys, and it was a welcome escape from the tedium of LA. And seeing Bree was nice. All too brief, but such is life.

Why I Blog

2009-02-27T08:02:00.000-08:00

I'm always grateful to get letters from readers.

The idea that people are actually sitting down and taking time out of their day to type out a well though out email is extremely flattering. I'm always shocked when I see a new email pop up in the ol' So@24 mailbox.

Most of the emails I receive are people asking me for advice. 99.9% come from the female community and they will tell me about a current dilemma they are having with a guy and ask me to weigh in with my opinion. I'm always happy to analyze the situation and share my two cents, but I can't help but chuckle to myself that these girls are trusting me with their romance dilemmas.

I'm tempted to respond with, "Have you READ my blog? Am I the person you really want to be going to for relationship advice??

I digress. I actually wanted to talk about an email that arrived in my mailbox yesterday that caused me to do a double take.

I've mentioned this before, but I believe it deserves repeating. When I originally started this blog, I actually intended it to be a tool for men to use that have just recently gotten out of a long term relationship. Not only did I want to keep a personal record of the steps I took and the experiences I went through to go from 6 year relationship to single to a successful relationship; I wanted other guys to see that it was possible too.

I received the following email from a guy named Justin. I wanted to share it with my readers and to say, "thank you".

Thanks for reminding me why I blog.

Best,
So@24

* * *

Hey So@24,

I am sure this isn't the first thank you note you have received, but I just wanted to thank you for sharing your journey in recovering from a long term relationship. I have been reading your "mini stories" for couple hours now (while I should be studying for midterms) and words can't describe how your blog has touched me.

It has been 9 months since my first girlfriend broke up with me, although I am getting stronger everyday, from time to time I will stumble and think about her and all the memories we hold. I know I am not fully moved on but like you have heard many times, time heals all wounds.

In your passages I really felt like I was in your position numerous amounts of time, like I was actually in your shoes. I guess in some ways I am. But your blog has showed me something that none of my friends or family were able to do, which is the light at the end of the tunnel. Its funny how you are just one person in the world with a simple little blog yet you don't know what you have done for many people in this similar situation.

You have sparked my interest to start my own blog, something that will get my emotions out and hopefully help me reach the end of the tunnel.

I want to keep this short, but thanks for sharing this part of your life, you have no idea how much your stories have helped me take another step to healing from my break up and I am sure there are many other individuals that have benefited from your blog as well.

Justin

The Sun'll Come Out...

2009-02-25T07:15:00.000-08:00

So@24: I really hope I get to feel a boob again. Think it'll ever happen?
Leo: You will. Just chill and the boob will come to you.
So@24: And when that day happens...

Butterflies & Zombies

2009-02-23T05:58:00.000-08:00

Via text messaging, Brandi invited me out to her birthday party on Saturday evening.

"We totally need to do a joint birthday!"

I was, at first, a little hesitant to respond positively. My first meeting with Brandi was an absolute shit show. And by meeting, I mean Brandi. In fact, I bet Brandi doesn't even remember meeting me.

However, I always like to give people second chances.

That and I have been in desperate need of a social life since Leo's departure. Hurry the fuck up, Leo.

I agreed to join Brandi at her favorite haunt; yep, you would have answered correctly if you guessed Hollywood's own Happy Ending.

I whispered a silent prayer to myself as I walked into the bar. "Please don't be blacked out. Please don't be blacked out. Please don't be blacked out."

As I opened the doors, the sweet, sweet melody of Jermaine Stewart's classic "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" flooded my ears. "Well," I thought, "a bar that plays my theme song can't be that bad!"

My optimism quickly faded as Brandi bounced over to me, lifted me up and spun me around. She was blacked out.

Brandi grabbed my hand and led me to the bar.

Brandi: We're both turning 21 tonight tonight, So! That means 21 drinks for you and me!
So@24: Dude, I have to drive at some point.
Brandi: Well how about a birthday drink then?

I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket, but the bartender happened to be listening to our conversation, e.g. Brandi's slurring, and stopped me.

Bartender: I can't serve her. If you want a drink, that's fine. But she's cut off.

It was 9:30pm.

I don't mind when people over drink while celebrating. Hell, I've been known to do it myself numerous times. The problem is, if the person blacking out is a complete social butterfly in the worst sense possible. I didn't know anyone else at the bar, but Brandi was all over the place. I maybe spoke to her for a combined total of 5 mins the entire evening.

I was awkwardly left alone on the sidelines scratching the back of my head while Brandi hugged and chatted up complete strangers; anybody that walked within her sight. What a fucking night.

The rest of the evening only got worse. I have to admit that plenty of Hollywood eye candy shows up to bars like Happy Ending, but the scenes that play out are depressing as all hell.

The tipping point came when I saw a girl, could have been straight from the pages of a Playboy magazine, "dancing" with two guys at rubbing up on her shit at each side. I put dancing in quotes because it was more like unenthusiastic swaying. While each guy, who definitely were not guys she came in with, were trying their darndest to mark their territory. Each one of their faces were like fucking zombies: dead, starring straight ahead. Like they were just forced to go along with it. Fuck it was sad.

Maybe it was the shittiness of the evening. Maybe it was the single shot of Jack Daniels bubbling in my stomach. But suddenly, I felt this strange philanthropic urge. I was going to approach a girl who didn't fit this Hollywood bill and say something nice. Just to have something to show for this terrible evening.

I left Brandi with her new friends and didn't bother to say "goodbye" or wish her a happy birthday. She wouldn't have remembered anyway.

A girl sat by herself in a corner. I'll be honest, she was quite homely and certainly stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like Happy Ending. She looked like something that Hot Topic digest and puked up. She was clearly bored and kept scanning the room as if to spot a friend bringing her a drink. She wore a ratted hoodie with a patch of GIR on the back, a cartoon character from a cult hit cartoon that most people didn't even know existed.

So@24: Hey there.
Hot Topic Girl: Hi.
So@24: That patch of GIR you have is awesome. Invader Zim was a great show huh?
Hot Topic Girl: Uh. Yeah.
So@24: ...
Hot Topic Girl: ...
So@24: Well then, have a great night?

Swing and a miss.

Starting Over at 26: A Retrospective

2009-02-19T06:55:00.000-08:00

I sit here at my computer. 30 mins away from turning 26. The beer cans are piling up as I've been staring at a blinking cursor for the last 45 mins trying to think of a way to write a birthday post.

I pulled up my birthday post from last year and thought I should comment on how things have changed since then.

Let's go through them together (at least the relevant ones)!

~~It's official. The last time my genitalia has made contact with another genitalia was when I was 23.~~

Mother fucker. Unfortunately this one is still true. So very, very true.

I really don't want to dwell on this one too much before I have to drag myself into the corner and weep in the fetal position.

And I swear, if one more person says, "But you live in LA!" I may have to punt a kitten.

~~Never met up with Beth.~~

Fuckadoodledoo. I haven't thought about my old friend Beth in a very long time. But it was about this time last year when I was to book an impromptu flight up to Portland to figure out what the hell was going on between us.

And then in one enormous, guns-blazin', no-holds-barred evening our friendship was over. One of my closest friends in college, gone in a flash.

Now, it takes something massive like a blog retrospective to think twice about her. Someone I was ridiculously close to dating a year ago is someone who I don't even know anymore.

~~Lynn emailed me on Sunday wishing me a happy birthday and wanting to meet up. She wants to come visit soon. Are you ready for that situation, Leo ol' buddy ol' pal?~~

It seems so bizarre to think that this only happened a year ago. In terms of my friendship with my ex girlfriend (the girl who essentially jump started this blog) has progressed so much in a year, for the better I should add.

Hanging out one-on-one for lunches, visiting her during the holidays, being notified that she's dating someone new and dusting it off like this guy.

My how I've grown.

* * *

Maybe it's the booze talking and I'm getting more contemplative than I normally would be, but does the title of my blog even make sense anymore? I mean, besides that I'm obviously not 24 anymore.

But what about starting over? Am I doing that still?

I guess so. There's still so many things I haven't experienced with someone new. Still haven't gone on a serious date yet. The road is long ahead, but there's some sunlight peeking over that hill, I think. Looking back from the events of the last year up until now, events in my life (strictly dating & romantically speaking) have changed dramatically.

And all for the better. Wouldn't you think?

* * *

Next weekend is when I am offically celebrating my escape from the womb. I am flying up to San Francisco to meet up with Leo. I have friends flying in from the East Coast, Portland, OR and Seattle, WA; an assault from all flanks. Who knows? I might even get Bree to join my band of rapscallion and me for drinks.

I expect all good things. And hopefully, some great blogging.

Who says nothing exciting happens in only a year?

Things I Spend Way Too Much Timing Pondering

2009-02-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

I never understood how Dagwood scored a hottie like Blondie...

But it gives me hope.

Come on. Really?

Sparta.

2009-02-17T07:36:00.000-08:00

Jack: I'm more or less that sidekick in the movie who fights off the bad guys long enough for the hero to storm the castle and then dies in a blaze of glory.
So@24: It feels good to be alive again. Jack: I'm going to ask that you take my cellphone when we get there.
So@24: Done.
Jack: Ahhhhh! -pounds chest- Okay, whew. Gotta calm down a little bit.
So@24: Haha! Why are YOU? I should be the one freaking out here.
Jack: Sure you should, but unlike you, my job is to talk to 8 people, girl people, I've never before without seeming awkward in such a way that casts you in positive light. It's like 300.
So@24: With great power comes great responsibility.
Jack: And arrows.
So@24: Well, yes. And arrows.

* * *

The term "wingman" comes with so many negative connotations. I'll even admit that the first thing that comes into my head is "douchebag". You think of popped collar guys scheming with his buddies, sitting down with a WWII-esque map trying to figure out what the best strategy is to get laid.

But there are instances when a friend takes a bullet for you. Not in the sense that he's going to sleep with the ugly friend a la' a "grenade jump" to help out a buddy (apparently this really happens, kind of sick, if you ask me). But in that he's going to put himself in a "not-so-ideal" situation without thinking twice about it.

This is what Jack did for me in Santa Barbara when I was to meet Bree for the first time.

Allow me to explain the difference between the socially accepted term of "wingman" and what a true friend is.

* * *

Let me bring you back to that evening.

I was asking my friend Jack to drive with me to Santa Barbara to meet up with a girl who I essentially met via the internet and her friends. This would be my first encounter.

I was asking a lot of Jack and he agreed to accompany me without hesitation. That's loyalty, my friends.

But let's fast forward to the latter part of the evening.

Jack had faked a phone call on his cell (it was nearing 3:00am at this point, perhaps Bree and I were both too drunk to call him out on this) and went back out into the shit weather alone.

Jack and I had never been to Santa Barbara before. Our knowledge of the surrounding area was subpar at best. Needless to say, Jack had a hellva time navigating his walking route from Bree's friend's house back to the dingy hotel. A Magellan, he is not.

He was without an umbrella and it was pouring sheets. And he was MC Hammered.

From what we've recollected of his journey, he stopped by a local 7-11 and picked up a microwavable DiGiorno's pizza. He continued his sprint to the hotel, but stopped at another one on the way.

He climbed a fence and stripped down to his jeans. Jack knew that he needed a quick remedy for his extreme drunkenness. The most logical answer at that time was to dive into the pool for a night (very early morning) swim. Jack was already drenched at this point and remembered that I had warned him of the reputation Santa Barbara police have for having low tolerance for this type of boozey shennanigans.

Jack bundled up his sopping wet clothes, tucked his frozen pizza under his arms and continued his jaunt back to the hotel.

Jack soon realized that the hotel I had booked for the evening did not come with a microwave. He ran back to the 7-11 to ask if they had one. They did not.

* * *

I awoke the next morning to a sickening gargling sound coming from the bathroom.

Yep. Jack was in the shower trying to make himself puke. A soggy pizza box sat on the table, ripped open from the middle.

Jack emerged from the bathroom looking like absolute hell. He was in no shape to operate heavy machinery. Jack bundled up his wet clothes into a trash bag and I pulled the car around.

He grabbed an extra bag and held it in his lap the entire ride home. I still had a giant grin plastered on my face as I cranked up the volume to the stereo when Jack released his stomach contents into his sad little trash bag. He barely spoke a word the entire ride back to Los Angeles.

When I dropped him off at his house, Jack took about 10 mins to release himself of the seatbelt and tumbled out of the passenger side.

He dragged himself to the porch and as I pulled away from the driveway, he had his bag full of puke and held a fist in the air as he called out to me,

"Spartaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

* * *

Take note, gentleman. I hate to use the word "wingman", but this is a true blue friend to let himself get absolutely destroyed for purely the sake of his friend meeting a girl. That's how it's supposed to be done.

Thanks, Jack.

The Next Line I'm Going to Use: Vol 2

2009-02-12T08:40:00.000-08:00

Part 1...

I go up to a girl sipping on an appletini.

So@24: Do I need to go to the vet?

Appletini Girl: What?

So@24: Do. I. need. to. go. to. the. vet?

Appletini Girl: I--uh...

This is when I roll up my sleeves and flex my arms.

So@24: Because these puppies are SIIIIICK.

So@24 wins over Appletini Girl & her friends.

Held Hostage

2009-02-10T14:05:00.000-08:00

The 'rents and Lil' Bro flew down to stay with me for a couple days to help me whip The Sexy Dojo into serious shape.

This mo fo will be the ultimate of bachelor pads, I shit you not.

I spent all Saturday (hung over as hell from the night before) tearing out the disgusting, red-wine 1970s carpeting and hauling it to the dumpster in preparations for the hardwood flooring. It's going to be real cherry. I gotta grow up and live in a big boy house.

The Lil' Bro needed to get away from things back at home. After the infamous lube incident, like most shitty couples, him and his girlfriend got back together. I don't know how many times they've done this tango, I can't keep up. The chalkboard tally of Get Back Togethers VS Break Up Agains is ridiculous. Oh. At this point, they broke up again. Okay, I'm caught up.

Although he voiced to me that he was a little depressed that "this might be it", Lil' Bro didn't really show any signs that he was upset. This isn't surprising, we're known to put up a tough front when we need to. We've been watching Groundhog Day, drinking beers and laughing it up.

Last night, I left to brush my teeth and Lil' Bro went into the bedroom to make a phone call. Mom was downstairs blowing up the air mattress.

Mid-brush, I heard my brother holler from the bedroom. His voice was quivery.

Uh oh.

Lil' Bro: Mom? Can you come up here?
Mama So: What is it?
Lil' Bro: Can you just come up here, please?

Toothbrush still in hand, I peeked out and looked into the bedroom down the hall. My 24 year old little brother was wailing into the shoulder of my mom.

Maybe the beers wasn't such a good idea. They obviously were the keys to opening the floodgates.

Believe it or not, I actually have a history of not being able to express my feelings vocally (typing it out for strangers on the internet? No problem). Although extremely upset during the initial period when my relationship with Lynn was over, I never once shed any tears. And my ex girlfriend can attest to this; I'm not the most comforting person when it comes to crying. I physically stiffen up, grit my teeth, and get weirded out.

But there are few things more upsetting to hear than a grown man bawl. So while my little brother broke down and sputtered out questions like, "How can someone just change their minds after all these years?" and "Why does it hurt so much, Mom?", I put the toilet seat down, sat, and kept brushing.

I couldn't go into the room, I felt too uncomfortable interrupting that scene. Soon there was no toothpaste left on my brush. I had to go into my room at some point, who knew how long this was going to last?

My brother sat on the floor, his eyes red and sniffling. A grown man brought down like that... fuck, that visual is heartbreaking. My mother standing in her pajamas, not sure how to answer his questions, letting him just vent it all out.

My mother, ever the blunt tomboy, turned to me and asked, "So, you went through this when Lynn dumped you, what did you do?"

Lil' Bro turned his eyes to me, looking for some kind of golden ticket out of this hell.

For the first time, I didn't have a response. I pulled my mental pockets inside out and two moths flew out. I clammed up and didn't know what to say.

So@24: You just... get over it. It just happens with time.

I fucking hated it when people said that to me when I was going through it. It's not an acceptable answer to the ears of someone who has just been told by the person they have been dating that "they aren't it" anymore.

But really, it's the truth. There is a reason why that cliche' is a cliche'.

Is there any acceptable response? I doubt it.

"Great shot, kid, that was one in a million!"

2009-02-09T01:13:00.000-08:00

The hours fucking CRAWLED by at work on Friday.

I had gotten the green light from my bosses to leave early to meet up with Bree in Santa Barbara. Bags were packed. Until I received an email informing me that a last minute meeting was scheduled for 4:30.

I would have to wait. Some higher power was really making me work on that whole "patience" thing.

As soon as the meeting ended, I got in my car and picked up Jack from his house. Once we got out of the Los Angeles traffic and onto the open road, we cranked up Bad Religion's "Los Angeles is Burning"; a staple song of ours we rock out to when we anticipate good things from the evening.

We pulled into the beautiful, beach side town of Santa Barbara and tried to locate the hotel. Fortunately, Jack and I were arriving in town around the same time as Bree, but we weren't to meet up until 9:30. Jack and I had some time to kill.

We decided to walk to the local 7-11 to pick up a six pack, something to calm the nerves a bit before heading out to dinner.

I sat at the edge of the queen size bed with my feet dangling and Jack sat across from me. We had an hour. At one point, we both started cracking up; the realization just hit us:

It was a Friday night, we were sitting in a dingy hotel, in a town we've never been to, sipping on Coors Light while waiting to meet a girl who I met online through blogging.

My stomach was flip flopping when it was time to walk to the restaurant. Jack and I chugged the last of our six-pack, zipped up our jackets and headed out. The restaurant was on a pier and as we walked, Jack turned to me and asked:

Jack: What are the chances we end up in one of those docked boats by the end of the night?
So@24: I don't even want to think about it.

Meeting Bree for the first time, there was nothing really surprising or shocking. I had already been talking to her for a month and I knew what she looked like. Dinner with her and her friends felt comfortable; like these are the people I would have been friends with in college anyway. She was just as pretty as she was in pictures and funny as she was in our phone conversations.

The rest of the evening coasted smoothly for the most part. Jack and I followed Bree and her friends around to various bars in Santa Barbara. Pints were downed and shots were shot.

We were having a lot of fun, but understandably her attention was divided among many people. And Bree is not a flirty person. As the drinks piled up in my 5'3" frame, Mr. Alcohol was sloppily mashing his hands on the keyboard of my overly-analytical brain.

She never brushed a hand on my shoulder, she didn't stay particularly close to me when we walked from one bar to the next. These observations are poison to a drunk, self-admitted paranoid, bastard like myself.

I began to read into her actions (or inaction, I should say) more than I should have. The idea that perhaps this was the beginning of a friendship and not something else was starting to engulf me.
At a point in the evening, after we had just taken another round of shots, Jack pulled me aside.

Jack: You're shutting down, So. What's going on?

I zipped my jacket up all the way to the top; a bad habit that surfaces when I become extremely insecure.

So@24: I don't think she's into me. I just have that feeling.
Jack: Don't shut down. You hear me? The night is young. Do. Not. Shut. Down. On. Me.
So@24: You're right, I'm not going to let this ruin the night. We're still out having a good time.
Jack: You have a fighting chance, trust me. Come on, I'll get you a beer.

I tried to push my worries aside and enjoy the rest of the evening. Jack, Bree and I got separated from her friends at some point and went to another bar to polish off a round of jager shots (or as I say "YAY!ger"). But it was closing time and we had to head back.

At this point, the weather turned to bullshit. Bree pulled out her umbrella and I held it high as the three of us huddled underneath it, sloshing our way back to her friend's house. It didn't matter, we were soaked to the bone.

Bree changed into sweats and t-shirt while Jack and I peel off our jackets to dry them by the fire. Beers and wine were handed out and we warmed up in Bree's friend's living room sharing a few more laughs. However, the little hand was close to the 3 and the big hand at the 12 and Bree's friends said their "good nights" and retreated upstairs.

My phone vibrated. A text from Leo.

Leo: Status report.
So@24: I don't think anything is going to happen tonight. She's not flirty and when a girl isn't flirty, it means she isn't interested.
Leo: You need to have patience. Unfortunately, this isn't college anymore.

Jack followed me to the kitchen while I grabbed a beer.

Jack: Are you going to kiss her?
So@24: Are you serious? I still don't think I have a chance. Besides what do I say?
Jack: How about, "Can I kiss you?"
So@24: That sounds so fucking lame.
Jack: It works for me. Just do it.

With a quick gulp, Jack finished the last bit of his Stella. He reached into his soaked jeans and grabbed his cellphone.

Jack: Ooooh, I have to take this call. I'll be back in 10.

The twinkle in his eye told me he wasn't coming back. He was Han Solo at the end of of Stars Wars, pulling the Millennium Falcon out of the Death Star trench saying, "You're all clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing so we can all go home!"

"Wahoo!"

Off he went, and with that I turned back to Bree. She held a glass of wine in her hand, her hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail while a few raindrops dripped off the longer strands. She looked radiant.

I threw back my beer and set the bottle on the coffee table. "You better be right about this, Jack," I thought to myself.

"Can I kiss you?"

* * *

And here, dear readers, is where I must bid you farewell on this tale. Perhaps further details will emerge down the road, but again, I'm still trying to do the whole Tao of the Cucumber thing. It's been extremely difficult, trust me.

* title of the post taken from a Star Wars quote. For those readers who don't share the same level of nerd-dom as me.

You said it, Kevin McCallister.

2009-02-06T02:11:00.000-08:00

My backpack is loaded with the essentials:

A clean shirt for Saturday morning
A 3/4 bottle of Maker's Mark (to calm the nerves)
A stick of deodorant
Two packets of tangerine flavored Emergen-C for the inevitable hangover drive back to Los Angeles (the only working hangover cure in existence besides pho)
Two bottles of Vitamin Water (again, for the hangover)

I pick up Jack in a few hours and we're taking the 101 straight West.

Here we go.

*

*I know I have used this before, but it's too perfect. Besides, it was written in 2007. No one remembers that.

Cucumber.

2009-02-03T00:06:00.000-08:00

There are a couple of strict blog rules that I have followed since the very beginning.

One of them being, you never apologize for your own blog. E.g. "Well, this is kind of boring..." or "Sorry I'm going to ramble on for awhile".

That shit is rookie. Don't do it.

However, I feel like I should take a moment to explain the decline of my "regularly scheduled" programming. The few posts I've been able to barely churn out within the last few weeks have lacked their usual luster. I'm a big boy, I can admit that.

Usually when I have a hard time writing a post, I'll chug a couple of beers and stare at my blinking cursor until I can take what normally is a boring subject or train of thought and spin it like Rumpelstiltskin into blogging gold (see: something significantly less valuable than gold, but I had to use gold because that's what Rumpelstiltskin spun out of hay; see how it works?).

As I discussed in a previous post, my blog only runs on two ingredients:

1. cheap beer
2. my personal current events

I've found myself in a situation where my current outlook on the opposite sex, theories, and overall dating experiences have all revolved around a girl who actually reads my blog.

...

You can see why this might be problematic for someone who writes about subjects that I do.

In the two years I've blogged, I've never come across this problem. Where I've had to carefully watch what I say in order to not fuck shit up in my real life. That's what the blue bar is for, people. Can't be having worlds collide.

So, it's been pretty tough in this last month. Having a million thoughts and questions swimming around my brains like family of sea monkeys just waiting anxiously to get my readers' consistent and much-appreciated feedback.

Don't fear, you won't be left out of the loop for long. I have been writing posts, but for now, they sit idle in my queue; chomping at the bit to be released and read.

But for now, I gotta take care of Real Life So@24. I think for the first time in my blogging history, I am going to heed the advice of my friend Leo and keep him from having a coronary. I am going to take the path of the cucumber. Cool, collected and try my best to keep my cards close to my chest on this one.

This Friday, I'm taking off work early, and forcefully shoving Jack into the passenger seat of my sweet, sweet ride. I'm driving to Santa Barbara where I'm going to meet her face to face.

I'll whip up a good post then; regardless of the results.

Honest to blog.

Cute is Safe.

2009-01-30T07:22:00.000-08:00

The female species (yes, species) are even more complicated and complex than I have previously conceived.

I had a conversation today with a girl friend of mine who absolutely reamed me for a single word, a simple adjective if you will, that I had used to describe Bree in a previous post.

My friend might as well have taken a shiv to my kidney in a prison yard. Because of that one word.

Apparently the word "cute" is the absolute worst insult you could ever give a girl.

Ladies, to prevent future instances such as this, can we please get a fucking Venn diagram or a damn flow chart of some sort as soon we (males) escape the womb? We really need to start reading this shit from day one, as soon as that slime is wiped from our eyes newly developed eyes; we should be studying for exams like this.

First off, I am going to bring my proposal to a higher court: my fair and shrewd jury of readers. Should we not be calling girls "cute"?

Webster's definition of the word "cute":

Main Entry:
¹cute
Pronunciation:
\ˈkyüt\
Function:
adjective
1 a: clever or shrewd often in an underhanded manner b: impertinent , smart-alecky

2: attractive or pretty especially in a childish, youthful, or delicate way

I'm going to cash in all my poker chips and say that most of are using definition 2 to describe these girls who are pleasing to they eye.

And strictly based on my pal Webby, it looks like a compliment to me. At least that's what I spent the last 25 years believing (along with the idea that someday I'd hit a growth spurt).

But according to my friend, I might as well have drawn a Hitler mustache on my upper lip and drop kicked a fluffy hedgehog like a hacky sack.

Apparently I'm also not allowed to also use the word, "attractive" either.

So I can't call a girl "cute"??

I feel like "cute" is a safe word. It's not as dull as "attractive", but not as creepy as "gorgeous" or "beautiful". I'm going to even say that the word "pretty" is border line uncomfortable.

I mean, sure, I can THINK a girl is "gorgeous", "sexy", "beautiful", "stunning", "take-my-shoe-off-and-beat-myself-on-the-head-and-howl-like-a-wolf-good-looking" to a girl I'm admiring from a distance and have never met.

But I shouldn't SAY any of those descriptors to the girl I don't really know, right? That's just fucking weird.

Please discuss. Or open MS Paint during your lunch break and bust me out some kind of chart that expkains acceptable and not acceptable compliments to give a girl.

You'll be doing my gender and me a huge favor.

Sadomasochistic Teakettles

2009-01-28T00:15:00.000-08:00

Jack: What did everyone get into this weekend? I've got time for some fucked up stories.
Leo: Which I'm thinking have merit, considering her requests for some, uh, violent... physicalness... in bed.
Jack: Crazy? Violent? Tell me more.
Leo: She wanted to be hit.
Jack: That. is. wow.
Leo: Not with a closed fist, but more like a slap.
Jack: Like where?
Leo: Ass mostly. She asked for it on the face once.
So@24: ...
So@24: ...
So@24: I bought a teakettle at Target this weekend.
Leo: Needless to say, I freaked the fuck out. It got too close for missiles, I switched to guns.
Leo: By which I mean: it's masturbation from here on out. Which by the way, I woke up the next morning to her doing to herself right next to me. It felt like that scene in American Beauty with Annette Bening waking up to Kevin Spacey squealing one off.
So@24: I was going to get the one for $11.99, but decided to take caution to the wind and get the one for $17.99.
Jack: Leo, I miss you.

Bikes and Booze

2009-01-26T09:26:00.000-08:00

I was still working late on Friday when my coworker informed me there would be a party at her place.

I decided it would be best if I dropped my car off at home and pedaled my bike to her party.

The sole purpose being so I could get really drunk and not worry about driving home.

Doy.

Of course, there's nothing quite like making an entrance by strutting into a crowded room with a bike helmet under one arm with a Spongebob Squarepants sticker plastered to the front.

"Hey ladies."

The company at the party was a lot of fun. I ended up downing quite a few voda-crans and then joining in for a few group tequila shot rounds. Gotta get drunk and make friends sometimes.

Do you ever end up at a party and get stuck talking to someone extremely obnoxious? Someone who is way more drunk than you are? Yep, that was me toward the end of the night.

I somehow got stuck in the hallway entertaining this random party guest. My mind kept wandering and I kept fading in and out of the conversation. I think it's because she had this really high pitched voice and kept talking uncomfortably close to my face. For some reason, she felt that I was the best choice out of every person at the party with whom to have a conversation about her boy troubles with.

The only part I really remember her telling me was something about how this guy wasn't interested in her:

"And for some reason he just instantly shut off! I was like, "What the fuck?!" But then I discovered out he was a Libra and I'm a Leo, so I was like, DUH! Of course it was never going to work out! It totally made sense after that."

I smiled and nodded politely taking a sip off my alcoholic concoction, but really I was thinking:

"The reason why he didn't like you was because you're a screeching close-talker, who actually fucking believes in horoscopes."

I eventually couldn't put up that charade any longer and excused myself to play some Rock Band 2. As the evening progressed, the more I became "that guy" at the party who hogs the Rock Band. At point, when someone wanted to hear AFI's "Girls Not Grey", I demanded that someone hold the microphone up to my mouth while I played guitar so I could do both.

95% singing on Hard difficulty and 90% guitar on Medium. No biggie.

...

I wonder if I'll ever meet a girl where I can say shit like that and it will impress her.

I'm not counting on it.

This is serious shit.

When the party was winding down at around 2 or 3, I hopped (drunkenly) on my bike and put a call into Bree. She was fairly tipsy as well, but we had a pretty damn entertaining conversation for the remaining hour (or so) while I attempted to aim my bike straight riding home. So, even if she did read that post, I think I'm in a good place still.

We'll see.

* * *

It looks like I wasn't the only one experimenting with biking and boozing. A conversation with my friend Jack later that night:

So@24: So how was your night?
Jack: Pretty good. I'm pretty hammered right now though and I had to come home early to keep from going home with Ashley which was about the hardest thing I've had to do in awhile.
So@24: ...
Jack: So I chained my bike to my bookshelf to keep me from being a weak bastard and changing my mind and going over there.
So@24: That's about the saddest thing I've ever heard.
Jack: Well I'm into this other girl now and I don't want to blow it. So I called Ashley earlier today and broke it off.
So@24: Wait a fucking tick... you broke it off with this Ashley girl earlier today. You saw her at a party LATER that night and she still wanted to sleep with you?
Jack: Well. Yes I suppose, but it's not as weird as you're making it sound.
So@24: And you found it necessary to chain your bike up to keep you from having sex with this girl even though you JUST slept with her? That's like Odysseus ordering his men tie him to the mast of ship and to keep him from swimming to the Sirens.
Jack: That was LAST Friday. And I'm drunk.
So@24: I hate you.

I Think It's Time for a Zach Morris' Time Out

2009-01-22T00:10:00.000-08:00

"TIME OUT"

Remember when Zach Morris in Saved by the Bell used to do that? Everyone would freeze and he would approach the camera, breaking the fourth wall, to give his opinion when shit was getting a little too real at Bayside High?

I need to use use one of those right about now.

* * *

Whew.

I'm beginning to see the price in having a completely, 100%, honest blog about my "dating" life. It completely drains you emotionally.

When you do a "juicy" or controversial post like the one I did yesterday, you can expect to get a spike in both blog hits and blog comments. Comments that are pretty fucking harsh. It almost makes you want to throw up your hands and not continue to write. I either read these and think to myself, "Did you even read what I wrote?" or "Why are these people even reading?"

However, these comments are also balanced by the good ones. The readers who come out from the woodwork and actually will leave an extremely heartfelt, thoughtful, constructive comment or spend time to send me an email. One with genuine concern. It's a little reminder about one of the best perks of blogging.

So, thank you.

* * *

I feel like I need to clarify some things about the voice my blog in direct relation to the response I got from yesterday's post.

I wasn't trying to ask the girl's hand in marriage.
I wasn't trying to go steady with the girl.
I wasn't trying to sleep with the girl.
I wasn't trying to fondle her lady bits.
I wasn't trying to play sleep over (although I'm confident she'd build an excellent pillow fort)
I wasn't trying to force my way into her weekend plans.

Please give me some credit here, I'm not an idiot.

I just thought she was a genuinely cool person who I wanted to meet in person. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting a lot of quality people in recent years... so when you happen to come across one: you want to see what it's all about.

I'm an average guy who has average thoughts who happens to write them down in a public forum for the sole purpose of entertainment. No, I don't get paid for it. No, I don't get laid because of it.

Leo, of course, had thoughts on his own. I won't write them all down here, but he did have this sage advice to give in a way only Leo can:

Long and the short--I think you've got to be more patient. Rome wasn't built in a day. There's that old weird science fact--you drop a frog into boiling water, it'll hop out, lightly blanched. But put it in warm water and slowly raise the temperature...it boils alive. Basically, I think you should boil Bree alive.

She will learn in due time that you are charming, funny, witty, and most of all, completely genuine and a genuine sweetheart. I can't believe I just wrote that.

Anyway, too much too fast isn't good. You always say you're not a patient man, but dude, you have got to become one.

However, an email from Jack, was something I felt held a little more weight... or at least I felt that he understood me better. I guess you can be the judge:

As much as you consult and seek opinions etc. I think deep down you usually retain the option and end up doing what ever the fuck you want regardless of what we say.

There is no one correct way to pick up and meet girls, everyone has to evolve their own process and method. The problem with game, in my experience, is that it's what one uses to finesse a pick-up/hook-up that lacks sufficient chemistry to run on it's own. One essentially acts like someone they really aren't, and the flip-side is you can't act surprised when the girl you then end up with is a bad fit/the kind of girl that would date the person you were pretending to be.

Sometimes game is useful to get past the awkward nervous parts like the initial pick-up, but at the end of the day, the more you can just be you with a girl from day 1, the better you're gonna be down the road.

I write all of this to say that you seem intent on doing it your way and I don't begrudge you that. You think you've figured out something that works, so embrace it. While I guess, statistically, you're going to meet with less broad success, maybe your targeted results will be better. Regardless, you're committed now, so might as well play this one out.

He's right. I don't keep myself up til wee hours of the morning, with a pencil tucked behind my ear, three different colored highlighters in hand, pouring over books like The Game.

I go with my gut and what I feel is right. My theory is, if the girl is "weirded out", than I filtered out the one who wasn't ever going to work out in the long run anyway.

I can only be me.

* * *

The misinterpretation from a lot of readers yesterday is rooted back to an even larger issue about my blog (or maybe my writing style isn't doing its job by being effective in communicating).

I rarely censor my blog. And I there's a part of me that's has a sense of pride about that fact. I think that's why people read it. It's unabashed and I try to stay true to that. I write about whatever comes into my head or whatever I am experiencing at that specific moment in my life as it happens; specifically about my dating life.

I don't retell stories of the past (very rarely) and I don't make up stories when ye' olde blogging material be slow (and yes, I have been directly accused of doing this).

But because I just write about whatever comes into my head, I think that people read into it and take things more seriously than I actually do in "the real world".

And maybe Leo is right. Maybe with me being too loyal to the creed of my blog, I sacrifice some of my well-being in my real life.

Time in.

So@24 VS. the Headboard

2009-01-21T00:26:00.000-08:00

If a T-1000 from the future approached my ass 3 years ago and told me in a thick Austrian accent that I would one day be smitten with a "blogger", I would have laughed my little ass off.

And then I would have gotten the shit kicked out of me. Cyborg style.

Alas. This is where I find myself as I sip on my sixth Corona and type to you (sloppily) this evening.

Bree* was a blogger that I've been reading for a long time, almost around the same time I started writing down my dating woes for the world to read. She was one of the few I read consistently from the start, because she was one of the few bloggers who actually had me laughing out loud in my cubicle.

It wasn't until Christmas of this year, when we actually made contact outside of blog comments. I suppose I should breakdown how I'm sure most bloggy romances come about. A quick flow chart, if you will:

Flirty blog comments > An email > multiple emails > gchatting/IMing > social networking friends > phone calls

That's about as far as I've gotten at this moment and thus, a great segue way into my regularly scheduled rant about dating.

* * *

As far as I can tell, Bree and I click pretty damn well. I've found that we have so many things in common, it borders on creepy. Like, cut from the same cloth.

Quick So@24 Checklist/Shortcuts to get into Valhalla:

Shorter than me? Wow, not a deal breaker, but Check!
Cute? Check!
Atheist? Check!
Liberal? Check!
Career driven, but enjoys the sweet nectar of the Gods (see: booze)? Check!
Swears that pho is the cure-all for hangovers? Check!
Loves Strangers with Candy? Check!
Listens to NPR / This American Life? Check!
Knows that the original UK Office is far superior than the US version? Check!
She's hilarious? Check!
The One in a Million Question: Doesn't see what the big deal is about Flight of the Concords? Check!

Our phone conversations have averaged about an hour (at the very LEAST) each time. These phone calls range from playful drunk dials to discussing the intricacies of our families.

Yeah. Intense, right?

However, we've only been talking for a little over two weeks. I'd really like to make a trip up to San Fran to see her and see if there is any chemistry physically.

I'm not a patient man and I pride myself on my spontaneity. I don't like to wait around... what's the point?

The one quote always jumps out at me (although an extremely watered down version) from When Harry Met Sally. Billy Crystal is delivering an epic monologue to Meg Ryan on New Year's Even when he says to her, "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Alright, alright... I'm not a complete psychopath. I'm not saying this quote fits perfectly into my scenario, but the mentality behind it is true. What's the point of waiting around when you can find out right away?

During the last few conversations, I've tried hinting that I'd like to go up and see her. Especially since it was a 3 day weekend, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to hang out. She said that she "couldn't because she was set on putting up her headboard for her bed".

...

Did I just fucking lose out to a headboard? I'm not a smart man, but I know a sad excuse when I come across one.

Man, I thought things were going pretty well. I thought that she would be just as excited and interested in meeting up as I was. Apparently, this wasn't to be the case. Dejected and utterly confused, I confided in my blog friend Dolce.

So@24: She hates me. She fucking hates me. "I have to put up my headboard"? What the hell happened here? This is so humiliating.
Dolce: First. Calm the down. I hate when you do this to yourself. You need to be patient; 2 weeks is nothing. She's just hesitant. You have to try and understand where she's coming from.
So@24: This girl knows more about me than most people!
Dolce: I understand that, but you have to realize that you're still just "a guy on the internet"

There's some injustice to all of this.

It's totally socially acceptable for a guy who is at a bar on any given Saturday night to approach a girl and ask for her number and then to ask her out on a date. This guy knows absolutely nothing about this girl, except that she's physically attractive.

However, Bree has had full access to an extremely personal insight into my life (see: blog) and hours and hours clocked in of quality conversation. Yet, it's not socially acceptable to meet someone unless there's "more time"... just because he happens to be someone you met initially through the interweb.

Isn't this a fucked standard? With this mindset, I would have a better chance getting to meet her for a date if I were to be reeking of Crown Royale, drenched with sweat on a dance floor rubbing my boner on her thigh during the good part of J Kwon's "Tipsy" (I know I used this joke recently, but it fits so perfectly) and then asking for her number.

I thought girls liked the spontaneous guy. The one who goes with his gut, who's impulsive? Where's the romance in structured, planned-far-in-advance meet-ups?

Or was this over before it even begun?

* she has agreed to not read this post. ... what the fuck have I done...

I Remember This Being Easier in High School

2009-01-19T00:08:00.000-08:00

How do you ever really find out if a girl is even remotely interested? What tactics can you execute in order to gain this extremely valuable insider information?

Fuck. It used to be so much easier back in high school.

You used to have at least a little something to go on. A mole on the inside. A friend to give you the real insight into that complex female brain.

I remember it use to be as easy as buttoning up my letterman's jacket, confidently strolling over to a crowded table of her friends and asking one of them to speak with you while she was in the mid-dip of a cafeteria curly fry in ketchup. You pulled them aside and got the inside scoop on whether or not her friend had any interest in you.

It was that simple. It gave you peace of mind and you were able to keep doing what you were doing.

I'm beginning to realize that you don't get that luxury anymore. Once your ass is booted from the cushy social circles that are high school and college, you're left to fend for yourself.

You don't have that "friend's net" to fall back on like you do when you're in high school or college. Sure, a lot of people today meet potential romantic interests through friends, but what happens when you meet someone who isn't friends with any of your friends?

How are you ever supposed to at least know if you're steering the Santa Maria on its correct course? Or if you're just wasting your fucking time?

I hate having to figure this out on my own. I feel like I've been dropped off on a deserted island with nothing but a giant palm leaf covering my genitalia and told, "Goodluck, you bastard!"

The Pep Talk

2009-01-15T07:20:00.000-08:00

You may remember a while back, I was pursing a girl named Amber with high hopes I'd get (at the very least) a drunk, make-out sesh.

Having been with only one girl for six years, I missed out on opportunities to have drunken, make-out sessions with girls who I didn't have any interest in beyond the physical. These types of things usually happen during high school and, for the most part, college. It's like a twisted rite of passage. And I missed out.

Although I was pretty sure that Amber was as prime a candidate as any, I was ill-equipped to prepare for an evening under these circumstances. The only girl I had ever actively "planned" to make out with was my girlfriend; someone who wasn't just there to fulfill some physical need. Get my drift?

I found an old conversation between Leo and myself during the night I had Amber over for drinks. As almost all of my conversations with Leo about girls, I found it absolutely hilarious as well as insightful.

I think you might too.

Who says guys don't think about these things?

Listen to me, young grasshopper.

Leo: Whatever the signs, whatever the signals.... assume nothing. Treat her like... I wouldn't say a dude, but you know...
Leo: And don't forget to flirt. If you remember how.
So@24: Fuck you. I can flirt.
Leo: And I can fly.
So@24: Hang tight, I'm searching Google for a "suck it" emoticon.
Leo: Anyway. Small moves. Baby steps.
So@24: Uh huh.
Leo: Oh. And shampoo your crotch.
So@24: Fuck, man!
Leo: And clean your shit up before she comes over.
So@24: I'm heading to the store on my way home. What should I pick up? Rum?
Leo: It doesn't really matter--vodka or rum. Clear is better.
So@24: Chasers?
Leo: Vodka and Vanilla Coke are very effective clothing solvents
So@24: Vanilla Coke is risky.
Leo: Explain.
So@24: It's not an effective go-to. Some girls love it and some girls loathe it. I think I'm safe with Diet Coke.
Leo: Diet is safe. Libations check. You have a pre-funk playlist?
So@24: What?? For just me and her?
Leo: Absolutely. You have it playing when she comes in. Not loud, just background music.
So@24: Oh fuck me.
Leo: AND, most importantly, don't make it YOUR favorite pre-funk, make it her favorite. You're looking for crowd pleasers, not pop-punk.
So@24: Fuck you.
Leo: Maybe some shit that'll start a conversation. "You heard this/Who is this?" shit.
Leo: You need a second playlist though... This one is the tough one. You need a Naughty Business Mix.
So@24: No! This is where I draw the line. I'm not making a fucking "sexy" playlist. I can't do it. I just can't.
Leo: There's nothing more awkward than a silent, first make out.
So@24: It's cheesedick.
Leo: No man, it's not like... breathy-"Hang on, let me put on some music" shit. Unless shit goes down earlier in the evening, the make out isn't going to happen until later, perhaps even an hour or two AFTER you get home.
Leo: So you just put that shit on as background noise. Don't think of it as a "sex mix", think of it as a "chillax mix"
So@24: My curiosity is getting the best of me, what do you suggest?
Leo: Well, there's a fine line. Can't be too obvious (Manilow), but there's nothing worse than music that's too upbeat. Which you have a lot of.
Leo: When in doubt, go classic. Some slower Beatles. "Norwegian Wood" is a great example of a nice balance in vibe. Not too much percussion, but not "cheesedick" either.
So@24: What do you think I'm going to throw on? Fucking Sting's "Fields of Gold"?
Leo: ...
So@24: Fuck you.

Toga! Toga! To- - ah forget it.

2009-01-13T00:29:00.000-08:00

"It's a toga party."

I couldn't believe I was hearing these words coming from my friend Chad's mouth. I was going to go to a fucking toga party. This was the only option available to me on my Friday. I tried to shamelessly invite myself up to San Francisco to get blasted with D, but she must not have picked up on the subtle desperation in my voice (or maybe the problem was, she did).

Well fuck. I had nothing else to do on a Friday night. And I wasn't about to spend it in my undies, sipping on Maker's Mark, watching back to back episodes of Freaks and Geeks for the third time.

Because then what would I do on Saturday? Doy.

So despite my better judgment, I grabbed an old sheet from my closet and fashioned myself an old fashioned toga.

I showed up at Chad's apartment with a six pack.

Chad: Well, it's time to put what you're always saying to the test...
So@24: They really need to bring back Sodalicious?
Chad: No. "Time to get drunk and make friends"
So@24: I only say that when we've discovered we don't know anyone at the party.
Chad: ...
So@24: You fucker. You don't know ANYone at the party? And it's a TOGA party??
Chad: An old coworker passed on the invite to me, but I don't even know if he'll be there.

Chad and I were going alone. To a toga party. At 25. Did I mention we didn't know anyone there? Like, at all?

* * *

You ever go to a party where there are too many attractive people? You just feel awkward and out of place? It's everything you've ever wanted, but you just can't get comfortable.

Maybe it was just my really short toga. I knew I cut that bitch too short.

Chad and I made our introductions and it wasn't too long before he had spotted his interest of the night. Chad leaned into a guy we had just met.

Chad: What's her story? She's cute.
Guy We Just Met: Well, her boyfriend is that huge tank right over there.
Chad: Shit.
Guy We Just Met: Don't let it get you down, they're on the rocks. She cheats on him all the time.

And that one little saying would foreshadow the rest of my night.

The thing you have to know about Chad is, he's a masochist; he has this unexplainable attraction to girls with boyfriends. Sucks him in like a tractor beam.

I'm not sure if I can convey how awkward it is to "run interference" for your friend while he blatantly hits on a girl, whose boyfriend is a few feet away.

I didn't know anyone besides Chad, so I wasn't going to leave his side. And the girl's boyfriend wasn't going to leave her side with Chad. So really, the boyfriend and I were forced to become friends and make conversation.

I'm not doing the awkwardness justice. Just take my word for it.

When I was finally able to peel Chad away from the girl, my social scientist brain wanted answers.

So@24: Chad, what are you thinking?? She has a boyfriend! He's here at the party!
Chad: You heard the guy! They're relationship is on the rocks! I'm just laying ground work.

Not wanting to sit around and try to make sense of Chad's warped logic, I was determined to have fun at this party

The dance floor was packed with young, beautiful Hollywood folk shaking their asses to Beyonce's "Single Ladies". Sweaty dudes rubbing their erections on the hips of girls just trying to dance in a circle with their friends. You know the drill.

It was time to see if this party could totally redeem itself. I walked up to the toga-draped DJ mixing behind the booth.

I asked him to play the classic toga/college-party song "Louie, Louie". His eyebrows furrowed, but he agreed to play it next.

As soon as he switched it to my song, a giant grin formed across my face and I turned to see the dance floor's reaction to MY amazing pick. I would be a legend!

One by one, the dance floor cleared.

"God I hate this town."

I sulked back to my backpack and pulled out my cellphone.

Maybe D was still up...

Hair Today, Blog Tomorrow

2009-01-09T06:48:00.000-08:00

A while back, my blogging friend To Kiss The Cook messaged me with an interesting proposal.

TKTC: Do you want to attend an event in LA structured around bloggers?
So@24: Are you going to be there?
TKTC: No, but I can get you on the list.
So@24: Mmmm... I dunno. Sounds weird.
TKTC: Open bar.
So@24: My google map is open.

I never thought that this blog would ever carry me places that would provide me with unlimited alcohol. I went into the event head first without really knowing anything about it. Except that the guest list consisted only of bloggers. And something about Axe (yep, the body spray). And that there was an open bar.

Fuck it. Could be interesting.

After work, I ditched the bike and headed straight to the salon. Don't worry, I too thought it was bizarre that this event was taking place at a hair salon. But I wasn't going to question the free booze. I was like Frodo determined to make it to Mordor.

I walked in and was immediately handed a name tag.

Nice Lady @ Counter: You just write what blog you write for in the name space!
So@24: Oh.
So@24's inner monologue: Dammit, I wish I would have chosen a cooler blog name...

I walked around the salon and noticed that the other bloggers there all knew each other. Groups of people gathered around in circles laughing and clinging their drinks.

Needless to say, I b-lined it for the bar. A girl was at the bar and looked over her shoulder once she heard me approaching.

"Hey, how it going? I'm So@24 (I used my real name, I'm not that big of a chauncy)," I said extending an arm.

"Good. I'm _____. What do you blog for?"

I took a large gulp of my vodka soda, "Oh. Uh. -cough- Starting Over at 24? Heh heh heh?"

"Never heard of it. My blog is ____________."

"Hmmmm, I can't say I've read that one."

"Really? It's only been called one of the most influential blogs in LA."

I instantly took another swig of my drink. I figured if there was liquid in my mouth, it would prevent me from laughing or saying something I'd regret later. Who opens a conversation like that anyway?

"Nope. Sorry, I can't say I've read it. But I'll be sure to check it out. Oh! Excuse me, I think those crab cakes are calling my name."

At that point, I was done meeting bloggers. I wandered around the salon aimlessly, trying to figure out what the hell I was there for. A gentleman approached me as I was straightening out a cardboard Axe poster I had accidentally knocked over.

Gentleman: Are you enjoying yourself?
So@24: Yes, thank you. Um, I'm a little embarrassed to ask, but what's the purpose of this event?
Gentleman: We wanted to bring bloggers together to try out Axe's new hair product. We figured you're male, you're single and you blog about it, that this would be a perfect event for you. Would you like to get your hair done by Diana Schmidtke?
So@24: Hair done?
Gentleman: She's the hairdresser for George Clooney and Matt Damon.
So@24: Uh. Okay?

Diana introduced herself and I had a seat. Diana was extremely nice and shot the shit with me before getting down to business.

She dipped her hand in a canister of Axe and massaged my scalp as she went through her spiel about how a lot of guys don't think twice about their hair or the "product" (I didn't even know it was CALLED product) they put in it.

Diana went on to explain how girls really care about how a guy's hair feels when they run their fingers through it. Or when you're watching a movie on the couch and they rest their head on your shoulder. They don't want something crunchy or oily. Bad hair product might be ruining my "game"!

I just smiled and nodded as she finished up her demonstration.

It was great advice. But that's like telling a 12 year old Achilles that someone is going to seriously fuck up his ankle in the distant future. I'd be lucky if I was one of those guys where my HAIR was the most pressing issues with girls.

Heels = Bad Hair?

Oh Diana, if you only knew. Girls running their fingers through my hair? Resting their heads on my shoulder?

If only!

He Said / She Said Vol 2: Dating an Atheist

2009-01-06T11:33:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Volume 2 of the He Said / She Said.

Two different views, one male, one female, on the same topic.

This edition is written with the blogger Emmeline from Harmful if Swallowed.

Read her response here.

Emmeline had written me an email a few weeks ago (amongst a few others in response to a sentence in this post). Here is a quick excerpt:

The main thing that piques my interest is our different religious associations. You call yourself an atheist. I call myself a Christian. In the end, we are both two American, 20-something Democrats with a good sense of humor and a penchant for drinking on the weekends.

It just makes me wonder . . . why am I Christian and you're not? How can two people who live halfway across the country from each other share so many similarities but be so different on this fundamentally important issue?

* * *

I can't begin to count how many times I've come across a girl (in some form or another) who seems to have the makings of some one who I'd be interested in learning more about and discover that they usually are a combination of the following things:

cute
witty, funny, or at least appreciate things that are
short
we share the same obscure interests (e.g. she might casually mention that her favorite feeling is when you come back from recess and you see your book order waiting on your desk)

If a girl has even just two of these things, it's enough to get me giggling like a school girl.

But then I found out that they are "religious".

And then I ironically yell an exasperated, "Goddammit!"

As an atheist, it's like racing down a hill on your brand new Huffy only to have someone suddenly shove a ski pole through your front spokes.

A very quick, Reader's Digest version of my religious upbringing and how I came to be an atheist. I was brought up in a Christian household. We said prayers before meals, we went to church on Sundays, during the summers my aunt had us watch McGee and Me. I didn't grow up in a insanely strict, religious environment. It was never forced down my throat.

However, for as long as I can remember, it never clicked with me. I'd go to Youth Group or sit at Sunday service, look to the person on my left, then to the person on my right and think to myself, "I just don't believe any of this." I felt extremely guilty that I couldn't force myself to believe in The Bible and God. At the age of 8 or 9, I finally built up the courage and told my mother that I wasn't going to church anymore. And that was that.

Of course, if the cute, Church girls in high school were going on a field trip... well, I had to go. Oops.

I have spent a lot of this blog bitching and moaning about how difficult it is to date girls. It's been an unfruitful journey to find decent, attractive and intellectually stimulating girls who, in turn, find the same qualities in me.

It's even harder to find a girl who fits all the above AND ALSO doesn't believe in God.

da girl chart.

I'm slowly coming to the realization that I'm going to have to be okay with dating someone who isn't an atheist. If I were to immediately dismiss every single girl based on this, my dating window becomes smaller than it already has been.

However, I get that I might be presumptuous thinking it works that way for the other team. From my understanding, it's either all or nothing. It's one area that can't be compromised; especially if you're investing for the long run.

I feel like a fucking leper (See? I can drop a bible ref when appropriate!) when it comes to being an atheist in the dating world. I wouldn't say I'm scared to admit it, because I'm proud of who I am and will defend my view if asked. But it's not a shocker that we get a bad rep. I just happen to live in a country that is predominately Christian.

When I constructed an online dating profile, I was warned by a reader to completely take out the word "Atheist" and simply stick with, "Very respectful of others' beliefs as long as they aren't proselytizing." Of course, that's completely true. I'm NOT attracted to anyone who doesn't accept and respect another person's ideas or beliefs (and this goes for atheists too).

I suppose it's all about how you spin it in the beginning, right? And later on down the line, it has to be about compromise. She wants to get married in a church and a traditional Christian wedding? Alright, fine. But she'll have to compromise on her end at some point. After all, it's all about compromise, right?

If I can leave all the religious folk with one thing, I'd like to urge you to keep an open mind with us atheists (if you don't already). We're not Bible burners. We don't think you're unintelligent or less of a person for your beliefs. We love our families, we're good with kids, we got choked up during Slumdog Millionaire, we know the lyrics to Paul Simon's "You Can Call me Al".

We're just like you.

Except for that one part.

It's Not the Holidays Until a Family Member Humiliates Me

2009-01-05T06:16:00.000-08:00

When you've grown up in a Vietnamese family, there are a few things you can always count on being asked about the following items when you return home for the holidays:

a. Your education or career e.g. "Why didn't you do engineering or pharmacy?"

Immediately afterward, you will be interrogated on the second most important subject on the agenda:

b. Your love life.

You see, in a Vietnamese family, nothing is off limits. Your business is everyone's business. No one is spared.

I've discussed before how my aunt grilled me during a family trip a few years back, but this year my uncle received the distinguished honor of having the most uncomfortable conversation with me.

My uncle was over for dinner at my father's house. This would be the last time I would see him in awhile as he was retiring from his job to move to Vietnam to be with his new wife.

The details of how he met his wife aren't quite clear to me and I follow a strict, "the less you know, the better" policy when it comes to family.

... but the circumstances of my uncle and his young, Vietnamese wife's union it's pretty damn well implied.

I had just finished scooping my uncle a bowl of rice; he wasted no time getting down to business.

My Uncle: So So@24, you have a girl yet? You in a relationship?

I intentionally didn't make eye contact as I reached for a piece of shrimp with my chopsticks.

So@24: No, no girls yet.
My Uncle: What!? You in LA, man!
So@24: That's what everyone says, but well... here I am. Can you pass me the Hoisin sau--?
My Uncle: I can help you out.

...

So@24: wat.
My Uncle: I'm serious. You like asian girls? I can give you email addresses.

Partially chewed rice dropped out of my gaping mouth right back into my bowl.

Did my 60 year old uncle just offer to help me out with my dating life? By offering me email addresses of some asian girls?

...

Wowza.

The Mark(us) of a True Wingman

2008-12-29T05:00:00.000-08:00

It's been an ongoing joke on this blog (and my actual life) that Leo is the worst friend to have with you when you're single and looking for female companionship.

I've discussed it before: he's the worst wingman ever.

It's not intentional. Leo has actually been known to say to me (verbatim), "Let's get you out of that condo and into vagina." He always wants to help me out. But it's a problem when you're a hot piece of eye candy for girls. It's not his fault.

* * *

I haven't seen my old roommate since he moved home to save up for our European adventure, so needless to say I was excited to reunite with him for a night of boozing... just like old times. Leo met up with me and a group of our high school friends at The Blue Moon bar in Portland. He walked in the door in a long, black pea coat and Chuck Taylors. He gave me a hug and offered to buy my first drink.

Monica, a friend of a friend not known for her use of subtle hints, shot me a look as soon as she took notice of Leo. She quickly beckoned to me when Leo was occupied elsewhere and I approached her.

So@24: What's up?
Monica: Um. Your friend over there is fucking hot.
So@24: So what... you want me to put in a good word for you?
Monica: God yes.

I know Leo doesn't ever need it, but I always like to feel like I'm helping out when the opportunity arises.

So@24: Hey, my friend over there thinks you're cute.
Leo: Who? That girl?

-stared ahead-
-slurped beer-
So@24: Yeeeeeup.
Leo: Oh. Cool.

Leo clearly wasn't interested. Another one bit the dust.

Moments later, Nancy walked into the bar. Nancy was a coworker of mine when I worked at my very first job in high school. It had been years since I've last seen or even had contact with her, but through the magic of Facebook... these things tend to be possible.

She had texted me and wanted to meet up, so I told her I was at the bar with friends.

Nancy and I weren't extremely close when we worked together at the movie theater, but I do remember sharing good conversations with her while we slaved together cleaning out the greasy popcorn popper.

She was much more attractive than I remembered her; I guess people tend to grow up and change physically from high school to post college, eh? Or maybe she looked better when she wasn't wearing that beloved movie theater uniform: the vest. In any case, she had a pretty smile, ample bosom, and cute freckles. Nancy had grown up.

Nancy gave me a hug and I bought us a round of shots to start the night off. It was fun catching up with her and reminiscing over our movie theater days. I was starting to feel pretty confident about the situation. We were both drinking (heavily) and the conversation never had an awkward moment.

At some point in the night, Leo took notice of this and pulled me aside.

Leo: So what's going on? Think something might happen with you and Nancy?
So@24: I dunno... maybe?
Leo: I think you're doing alright. Remember: cool as a cucumber, baby. Cool as a cucumber.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. I mingled with old friends, bought rounds of shots, introduced Nancy to a few choice members of the old gang, etc.

However, as fun and light as my exchange with Nancy was all evening... my Spidey Sense was tingling and not in the good way. I think this sixth sense develops when you're single. If you have to question whether or not the girl is interested: she's probably not. I had a feeling Nancy's interest were elsewhere...

Nancy: So your friend Leo is pretty cute.
So@24: Ahhhh... yeah, he gets that a lot. He's a good guy.
Nancy: What do you think?? Should I go talk to him?
So@24: Sure, go for broke.
Nancy: I just ordered you and I drinks, I'll be right back!

Leo was at a different part of the bar, catching up with our friend Markus. Nancy jumped out of her bar stool and bounced in his direction. I wasn't too upset, this was a situation I've run into before. I raised my whiskey and coke and downed it in just a few gulps.

Moments later, Leo tapped me on the shoulder.

Leo: How's it going with Nancy?
So@24: She's not into me!
Leo: Really? I thought things were going pretty well.
So@24: She's into you, you bastard.
Leo: Oh fuck that.
So@24: Eh. It's not a big deal.

Leo left to rejoin our friend Markus. I turned back to my conversation with my cousin Mimi and other friends.

I felt another tap on my shoulder again. It was Leo.

Leo: I just kissed Markus.
So@24: ... ... what?
Leo: I told Nancy that Markus and I were a couple.
So@24: You told Nancy you were gay??
Leo: Hahaha! Yeah! She didn't believe me and called me out, so I grabbed Markus and gave him a big long kiss.

I choked on my drink and busted up laughing.

So@24: Wow. Just. Wow. You really didn't need to do that, man. I wasn't that into her.
Leo: Eh fuck it. It was pretty funny. You should have seen the look on her face. Fucking priceless.
So@24: A for Effort, but I don't think I'm down with being "default". I still got your next drink though, you fucking weirdo.

Leo threw an arm around me and lead me back to the bar.

Leo: Besides, she wasn't that cool anyway. We still got New Years to look forward to.

I've heard of friends talking up their buddy to girls. I've heard of friends taking home "the ugly girl" in order to help out their friend in need.

But I've never, ever heard of a friend kissing another guy as a means of helping his buddy get the girl.

Maybe Leo is a better wingman than I thought.

Chutes and Lad-Her's

2008-12-23T00:25:00.000-08:00

A few emails have popped up in my inbox asking me, "Are you really as okay as you sound in your response?"; referring to when my ex girlfriend dropped the news on me that she started seeing someone seriously.

To be honest, I'm actually strangely calm about it. This will be the second relationship she has been in since our break up (that's a total of 3 relationships for Lynn, if you're keeping count) and her revealing it to me this time is astronomically better than the first time around!

That being said, am I going to invite her new guy out to join me for a couple of suds, go in for a bro hug, and bond over "Have you tried this one on her?" stories? Probably not. But I meant everything I said to her in my email back to her and I do wish her well.

Lynn and I have talked a couple of times since she informed me about her new relationship. She'll subtly try and slide him into the conversation ("He came over for dinner the other night" or "... and since I'm kind of seeing someone now..."), but I refuse to take the bait. I think that she wants to tell me about him, like any friend would want to when they are still in that honeymoon stage of new relationships.

I'm sure she wants me to ask questions and have me be interested, as any good friend should. But, I just can't bring myself to indulge her and urge her to tell me more about him. I'm still very much an "ignorance is bliss" kinda guy. I'd rather delay for as long as I can the fact that some day, I'll have to eventually learn his name, what he looks like, and all other details until that come with knowing someone.

I mean for this to be a segue to something I've found myself struggling with, these past couple of weeks. I've found myself comparing where I'm at in the romance department with everyone around me. Probably not healthy and I know that I gain nothing from this, but I've discovered that it's force that I can't stop!

For example... Leo, who makes a conscious effort to keep his toe out of the dating pool, gets set up by a friend to a cocktail party with a very attractive girl. A cute blind date (although if you mention the D-word within earshot of Leo, he'll fight it tooth and nail) who he ends up having uninhibited, drunken sex within the very first night of meeting her!

God, I miss drunk sex.

Jack happens to mentions in conversation, that at a party, he made out with a girl in her car. I'm barely able to focus on any of the other details about the party as I am completely baffled how he can be so damn casual about this! To him (and the rest of the world, it seems), it's like a fucking to-do list one would quickly scribble on a notepad on a lazy Sunday afternoon:

Pick up milk, eggs, and jar of sweet pickles
Drop off a package to Aunt Silvia at the post office
Meet girl at party, follow her to car and make out
Walk the neighbor's border collie

People are still making out in cars??

God, I miss making out in cars.

And out of complete boredom (and maybe a pinch of masochism), I've clicked through Facebook profiles of my old high school acquaintances and said through gritted teeth, "This fucking guy better not have a cute girlfriend" and when this indeed turns out to be the case, I quickly close out the window in bitter frustration.

I just reread that. I'm disgusted with myself.

I know I'm not being fair to myself by trying to compare where I'm at on the game board of romance to those around me. But, fuck! I keep landing on the damn chutes and everyone else is climbing ladders.

But what we know to be good for us and actually acting on it, often times we find that it isn't a union that comes easy. I'm finding myself more and more obsessed with the "when is it my turn?!" mentality.

"I've paid my dues!" is all I can whine about though. I should be happy that my best friend is breaking his dry spell and sleeping with hot girls on Date One. And good for my buddy Jack for bringing it back to the roots and coppin' a feel in a motor vehicle.

I really am okay with where Lynn is at now. As okay with it as I can be as an ex boyfriend of six years.

I think that when I am steadily seeing someone (or at the very least, having sex consistently!) I will be even more "okay". Maybe even able to have full conversations about it like real friends do.

I just can't do it feeling like I'm such a loser for being so far behind, awkwardly adjusting and readjusting my position in the starting block while she is near the finish line about to enjoy having a giant victory tub of Gatorade poured on her.

A Tale of Two Dudes: Pt. 2

2008-12-19T00:50:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Part 2 of the dating debate between my friends Leo and Jack.

I'm gonna go grab a hot dog and a giant foam finger while these guys wrap this beast up with their closing arguments...

On the side lines,
So@24

* * *

Leo

I feel like it doesn't take much to get an decent idea of someone's personality. In a remarkably short period of time, you get the feel for their humor, intelligence, manner, etc. From that one encounter you can extrapolate where they lie on your own personal rubric. This is the founding principle of speed-dating: 1 minute per person, high-turnover, maximized results. Also the basis for Malcolm Gladwell's "Blink".

If we're talking about some cute girl I have never spoken to, exchanged a glance with, or otherwise interacted, then yes, there's no way to know if she's the lady of my proverbial dreams. However, asking someone with whom we've never interacted on a date never happens.

You're introduced, you engage in conversation, even strike up a tentative friendship. It can be hours or weeks before a date is proposed. Now, what if you got the impression that hey, while this girl is fun, cool, etc.,there was something just not... there. Call it what you will--spark, chemistry, whatever. For me, if it's not there, I forgo the date. That may be presumptuous, but I haven't proven myself wrong.

Basically, I know what I want. Or more accurately: when I find what I want, I know it. It hits me like a ton of bricks. Until then, dates are superfluous. Simply put--it's spending time, money, and energy finding out something I already knew. And I should add, wasting the girl's time, energy, and money as well.

Regarding converting a girl who's a friend to an NSA* partner - It's true that NSA sex via drunken drunkery is dying off at this age. Yes, one must change with the times, and yes, I'd rather be having drunkery sex with a girlfriend. However, I would rather not have sex than involve myself in a dating situation where I know I'm not into a girl, and yet in order to bone, I'm going through the motions of dating. That'd be disingenuous, and it can lead to sticky situations, especially when it becomes necessary to extricate yourself from it.

And that's the Leo Way--there's a cute girl I'm attracted to but not totally sold on, we become friends, there's some sexual tension, and before it's acted on, I make it clear beforehand it is what it is--physical fun. Often a girl just wants to get hers, and we have a mutual agreement. If they want more than just physical, then the brakes go on (delicately), thereby avoiding a very sticky situation down the road and remaining decent friends.

This is often not the case with a dating situation--it ends, the friendship ends. I'd rather preserve the friendship and lose the sex, instead of lose the sex and the friendship along with it.

Jack

It occurs to me that it's going to be impossible to prove absolute "right" vs. wrong in what is essentially I suppose a matter of opinion.

So I'll reiterate that you are of course entitled to your point of view, but I will say also, that I think this is a good recipe for sitting out a lot of what might be very pleasurable experiences in your life on a principle that seems to assume dating is necessarily this all-serious means to the end of finding "the one."

Dating, I think, life, if we're getting deep about it, isn't about the end result: you're gonna get married just like you're someday gonna die, but rather the experience you have on the way there is what matters. I'd also point out that this mindset you're trying to sell me as selectivity is one seemingly based upon really jaded assumptions about something (dating) that is ultimately supposed to be fun. It isn't obvious to me how when given the alternative choice, one would choose to see such a subjective (and again, potentially enjoyable) thing as negative.

Now, that said, I think you've gotta do what you feel is right and at the end of the day there's a fundamental flaw in me trying to tell you how you "should" feel about dating. And really I don't think you all the way believe what you're defending anyway, nor are you (or I for that matter) here with a willingness to have your opinion changed, so it's a bit of a moot point.

I think like me, you enjoy the challenge of trying to justify your point of view and you're intelligent enough that you could probably just as ably surround whichever other side of the debate you were assigned. So there's my big cop-out ending. BUT I'd be willing to bet that if you took the next three potential dates in front of you, you'd be a happier man for the trouble.

Leo

Valid points and yes, this is undeniably a matter of preference and opinion. I really don't think you'd be happy working it my way, and I wouldn't be necessarily happy working it yours. I will say this--I don't think dating is unpleasant. There were dates in college with girls other than the one I ended up with. I have dated, albeit not in a long time, and it is (you're right) a pleasant experience save for a few bad eggs. Dating is fun, sometimes a lot of fun--that I agree with.

However, pleasure is a linear scale, and the average date I'd stick around a respectable 7.6. Truth be told, I'd rather be kicking it with my fellas discussing the finer points of True Lies over beers. I've always been male-centric, I've always enjoyed the company of my nearest and dearest, and until that abates (perhaps by the arrival of a girl who wows me), it's going to take precedence of dating every time. I'm a guys guy, balls to bone. I simply enjoy you fools more.

Again, remember I'd love to date a girl who impressed me. That's exciting. Alas they don't come 'round that often (perhaps a reflection of me and my proclivities, not of the female populace).

So yes--I agree. Life isn't about the end result. Truer words have not been spoken. I'm in no rush--I'm not looking for The One.... I haven't even figured out if I want a girlfriend right now. And yes, the experience you have "on the way" is what matters, absolutely. For me though, I'd rather spend it with my closest friends than at a restaurant with someone I'm lukewarm about.

Fin.

* No Strings Attached, 'member?

A Funny Happened on the Way to Check My Email

2008-12-18T00:50:00.000-08:00

To: So@24
From: Lynn

Time: 9:42pm
Date: December 17, 2008

Heeeeeey.

All right Nervous Nancy...

So just because Facebook might have awkwardly 'informed' you (and I don't want you finding stuff out about my life that way), I thought you should know that I am seeing someone. Not that you want to hear about that kind of stuff, and not that you like to know, but I figured I should show you the courtesy of telling you instead of you finding out via Facebook.

Anyways he's not my boyfriend yet, and it's still new, but all I did was make a change to my profile and it informed all of Facebook world and everyone is freaking out (i.e.: "ohohohlalala" and "go Lynn!" comments). I assumed you were doing so in private. Hahaha.

Mmmk so that is that. Dunno how much you want to know, etc... but he knows about you, knows we are close friends, etc and thinks you sound like a cool guy.

Hope we can be cool with all of this... Sorry if I am making it more awkward than it really is.

Come home in one piece beardy and stop obsessing with my roommate :)

- Meeeeeeeee
[Lynn]

To: Lynn
From: So@24

Time: 10:35pm
Date: December 17, 2008

I was waiting for this message to come.

I can't tell you how many gchats, emails and phone calls I got asking me,

"Dude, what's going on with Lynn? Facebook says Lynn is 'no longer listed as single'. What's going on??"

And all I could respond with was shrugging my shoulders and saying, "Well, maybe she's in a relationship?"

I don't need to know the details or anything. I'm glad you've found someone and I hope that it blossoms into something great. He just better appreciate everything about you!

You know my only rule for you: No settling!

We're cool as we always have been, no awkwardness... I promise.

Hope things are well (and it sounds like they are) and I'll see you next week!

As for your roommate, you don't need to worry. She's short, cute, funny, and can quote some of the great movies that most girls don't appreciate. Unfortunately, she's your roommate and probably isn't interested in atheists.

Best,
me
[So@24]

A Tale of Two Dudes: Pt. 1

2008-12-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

Let me start off first by saying that I know I've done a title already playing off Charles Dickens' masterpiece. But I couldn't think of anything else. My b.

From time to time, I usually post direct quotes or lines of dialogue between myself and two of my good friends Leo and Jack. I do it, because they both have much more experience with woman than I do. Besides, they are both very well written, well spoken and have a lot of good things to say.

Both of my buddies do very well with members of the opposite sex. Similar builds, similar features... hell, they even usually will agree in the attractiveness of other girls.

However, they differ greatly in how they go about dating. Leo is extremely passive (even prides himself on this fact) while Jack is much more proactive (almost to the point where he'll almost willing to try anything to the point of self-delusion). I find myself unable to contribute in their debates, so I sit back with a giant Slurpee and nod a lot; usually finding valid points in both their arguments.

I thought I'd let you be the judge. Leo and Jack had a friendly debate the other night and I thought I would share it.

You might view these posts as a cop out. However, I find that they show a unique insight into conversation that goes on between your average, everyday single males.

You won't hear much from me. Because, well, what the hell do I know about "dating" and "women"?

Enjoy,
So@24

* * *

Jack

Who hates dating though?

Leo

-Raises hand-

Jack

Dates are largely pleasurable experiences, they aren't all bank-braking, duck feasts where you have to have sex with an undesirable afterward.

Leo

I think this is where you and I differ.

Unless the date is with someone I'm totally sold on, it is, for all intents and purposes, a fantastic way to waste time and money. Time, money, and to a lesser degree effort are commodities I value highly-- I'd rather spend them on friends than on lukewarm dates.

If I'm not playing for keeps, I'd rather scrimmage with buddies.

Jack

But short of knowing and being friends with your potential date forever and ever (which is just as much a waste of time) how do you know if you're excited about someone if you don't go out and engage them in a cage match [date]?

Leo

Simple-- cage matches are unnecessary. For me, a cursory meeting with a girl gives me all the appropriate knowledge to make an accurate compatibility judgment call. I have met a few-- and I mean 2, maybe 3-- girls in the last 4 years that I was genuinely impressed by to the point of date-consideration. Beyond that, I can tell immediately that no matter how hard I peddle, it ain't ever gonna get off the ground.

Friendships, on the other hand, require comparatively little work. There are no strings attached. They work when they need to, and can lay fallow as well.

Jack

I just feel like there's no greater rush than going headfirst into some kind of unknown territory and just seeing what happens. Best case scenario you get surprised, worst case scenario I feel like you're getting valuables reps so that you've got your shit together when the big games come.

I mean, would it be the worst thing in the world to acknowledge that you are a single person interested in spending time with another single person toward either:

1. Some kind of deeper relationship
2. Some wonderfully carnal, yet meaningless sex?

Leo

And therein lies the catch-- for you, it's an unknown territory. For me... well, I wouldn't say it's known-- I don't know what the lay of the land completely looks like, but I know there sure as shit ain't oil there. Sure, there may be some cool fishing holes and some nice natural vistas, but that does not a superpower make.

Invariably, my supposition is realized-- they've got some great qualities, but ultimately aren't for me. Basically a date with someone I'm not totally sold on would never lead to 1. a deeper relationship, although of course it may lead to 2. However, I've managed over the years to hone NSA* sex to an art that make Sun Tzu blush. So accomplishing 2 through dating is really a moot point.

Jack

But how are you supposed to get "totally sold" on somebody you don't already know? You show up for dates in order to hear a pitch. E.g. "This is what I've got to offer, please tell me what you have to offer."

Also, what girl worth the time is going to get "totally sold" on you from a distance if you don't attempt to interface with her one on one?

I would argue that NSA sex via drunken drunkery is an outmoded and quickly closing window for men like us in the post college era. Converting friends to "partners" is:

1. abusing a non-renewable resource and...
2. not nearly as exciting because if they were so great in the first place, why be friends with them instead of "partners"?

Curtain.
Part 2 on Friday.

* No Strings Attached

Taking a Second Look

2008-12-15T09:50:00.000-08:00

I loathe going to the post office, but a pink slip I received in my mailbox brought me to one on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

The slip notified me that the post office had a package for me, but it was too large to fit into my mailbox. I would have to pick it up in person.

The government worker behind the counter looked miserable to be working on the weekend. No surprise there.

Post Office Lady: Here's your package. Looks like you have a friend in Ireland.
So@24: ... Ireland, you say?

I tossed the beat up box in the passenger seat and made my way home. At red lights, I'd raise an eyebrow and sneak a glance at the Irish package.

I placed the package on my living room table and took a seat on the couch. The poor box had a rough trip over the Atlantic, but luckily the box INSIDE that box was unharmed. It was decorated in panels of a Spider Man comic (wow, she remembered).

Caitlin had placed a random assortment of candies and knick-knacks inside. A box of Irish tea, two bags of Irish sweets "clove rocks" and "sour apple balls" that proudly advertised "Handmade in Ireland", a giant rubber centipede who went by the name of Cyril, and a few Aero Bars just to name a few.

A wave of emotions came over me as I investigated each of the box's contents one by one. It has been quite sometime since I really thought about Caitlin for a prolonged period of time. Ever since I discovered that she thought I had "the wrong idea" about how she felt about me, I would turn pink with humiliation and was quick to change subjects whenever anyone asked me her whereabouts.

Or I said she died in a devastating explosion when her car crashed into a gas station.

I would have to explore the rest of the box at a later time, I needed to stop by the bookstore to visit Jack.

Stepping into Skylight, I made my way to the childrens' books. Jack wore a scarf. I made a mental note to make fun of him later, there were more important things on the docket to discuss.

Jack: Well hello.
So@24: I got a package from Irish Caitlin.
Jack: No shit. How do you feel about that?
So@24: I'm not sure yet. It brought up a lot of old shit... it's weird. I still feel stupid and that I was duped somehow. How did I read that wrong, you know? It's fucking scary when you can't trust your own instincts.
Jack: From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like you misread anything. You were doing all the right things. She might have just freaked out. It happens all the time without explanation. Look at me.

I put what Jack said in the back of mind until I returned home much later that evening. I grabbed the box from the table and made my way to my bedroom. I crawled into bed and continued my investigation.

At the very bottom of the box was a relatively thick stack of journal-size pages bound together by tiny clothing pins. Back in the early days of Caitlin, she had taken a trip to Madrid for a few weeks. She had hand written mini-notes to me almost every day of her trip. Her handwriting was like a font of its own and she doodled all over the pages. She discussed her day, her thoughts and went off on random tangents (or what she calls "waffling").

I sat in my bed and read all 44 handwritten pages and for a moment, fell for her all over again. I found myself actually chuckling out loud and smirking like an idiot at her completely random string of thoughts and sketches. She even made a mini collage of all of our inside jokes.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

I closed the Spidey-decorated box and put it aside when I finished reading. I thought about what Jack told me in the bookstore.

Maybe it was time to look at my brief time with Caitlin in a different light. I learned an extremely valuable lesson from her. For a very long period of time (and I still get this way on occasion), I thought that no one else would be able to stir up the kind of giddy emotion that can only come from a member of the opposite sex. I didn't think anyone would make me laugh like my ex-girlfriend Lynn. That a cute girl would actually pay me any attention. Although nothing ever materialized, Caitlin brought me out of that dark moment... if only very briefly.

Someone ELSE besides my ex-girlfriend could do those things. There was hope.

She burned me, there's no doubt about that. But maybe it's time for me to stop being bitter about never knowing "what happened" and get over my obsession of always having to have the answer. Time to stop beating myself up over not reading the signals right and focus on the positive aspects.

Who the fuck knows what girls are thinking anyway? Every other guy in the history of time has complained about complexities of the female brain, why did I think I was so special to sidestep it?

So@24's Book Review: You Lost Him at Hello

2008-12-12T09:26:00.000-08:00

I received an email a few weeks ago from a woman asking if I would be willing to review a book on my blog. I would normally politely decline, but this was a book about dating. The blogger thought it would be an interesting twist to get a male perspective on the book.

My interest was immediately piqued and because this request actually fit with the theme of my blog, I accepted her offer. The book was soon in the mail.

I knew I had quite a task ahead of me. I've had my fill of self-help books. I can't recall how many evenings consisted of me trying to distract Lynn by nibbling on her shoulder only to be shoved away, full palm to the face, while she poured intensely over a self-help book (she's getting her masters in psych, what do you expect?). I'm not a fan of these books.

Here's the quick down low of Jess McCann's "You Lost Him at Hello". It's an advice book for girls on dating, but set to the tune of how business folk close deals.

The first thing I noticed was that Jess McCann is attractive and she has been on television. In the first few pages, McCann goes on quite awhile about how she doesn't have any trouble getting dates (which is fine, I suppose... you're trying to establish credibility). My issue is that these dating books about how ANYone can get a man would hold a lot more water if the author was a complete cave troll. Right?? Since when did attractive girls ever have problems getting dates? And who doesn't want to be seen with a reality show celeb?

McCann goes onto list her "successful" dates; she's dated celebrities, pro athletes and one guy on Fortune's 40 Richest Men Under 40. I have a beef with this. I don't really see dating like this as an indicator of "success". Money? Fame? That doesn't preclude the guy from being dull, disrespectful, self-centered, etc. These kinds of men may be successful, but that doesn't mean they're the paragon of dating material. In fact, the trend may be opposite.

What about just dating guys who made you laugh? Who you genuinely connected with? Maybe it's the same problem I have with Sex & and the City, in that Sarah Jessica Parker ends up madly in love with the insanely rich dude who is kind of a dick, but in one episode is a total bitch to a previous boyfriend who surprises her by fixing her laptop as an act of kindness. At the end she never actually apologizes. Women salivating like Pavlovian dogs over wealth, fame, or both.

I didn't make friends with that one. Moving on.

McCann finds her niche though, which sets her book apart from other dating guides. She found a way to basically say the same thing that every dating book repeats, but sheds it in a business-minded light. She uses business phrases to highlight her points (e.g. closing the deal, nonverbal communication, selling the product, etc.). And it works for what she's trying to do. It's a different way to look at things.

However, McCann doesn't really touch on anything new. The advice she deals are things that should be commonsense to girls (God, I hope so). If these girls aren't realizing on their own that they need to put their best foot forward on a date or that they shouldn't incessantly call guy over and over and over and over again if they haven't returned a phone call... I think that we have deeper issues to deal with.

On the other hand, there are some absolutely fucking fantastic moments in her book that I believe every girl should read. McCann dedicates an entire section about, what she refers to as, "Prospecting". Women needing shed the skins from the era of Anne of Green Gables and need to take action. Basically, girls need to start initiating.

She writes exactly what I've tried to explain to girls all the time, "Just think of how hard guys have it".

Thank you, Jess McCann. Fucking thank you. I'd like to send you a giant fruit basket on behalf of my gender.

Unfortunately, she balances this great part out by also advising her readers to play hard-to-get or as she puts it, "holding back the bullet".

"A good salesperson knows when to use her bullets. If you throw them out too soon, you can jeopardize the deal."

This means if you want to kiss the guy on the first date, don't do it. Fight that instinct at every cost, even if you really like him.

I can't speak for all guys everywhere. I can only speak for myself. But if I like a girl, I'm going to want to kiss her and I hate the chase. Some guys love it (see: Leo), but I fucking loathe it. If a girl flirts with another guy or turns a cheek when I go in for the kiss or any other form of rejection... I check out. My mindset is simple, "If she really liked me, she wouldn't be pushing me away." I have to strongly disagree with you on this one, McCann. Like I've said before, "do what you want". It makes things much easier.

One nugget of goodness is that McCann holds her readers accountable. Something that "He's Just Not That Into You" does the exact opposite of. I really appreciate McCann's proactive and "walk it off, rub some mud in it" mentality. If you're complaining, do something about it.

But I think that there's a happy medium between placing the blame squarely on females (You Lost Him at Hello) and blaming it all on males (He's Just Not That Into You). Has anyone ever thought... if it doesn't work out, it just doesn't work out? It wasn't meant to be? Sometimes it's NO ONE's fault?

I guess my view wouldn't sell books.

McCann's book is effective in that it delivers what it advertises (huh. a business strategy). She wrote a dating book using business models.

I do get a little uncomfortable the idea that people have to SELL themselves to get a date. To try and strategize means to convince the guy to take a second look at you. It just seems too cold and calculated. What child wants to hear the story of how their parents met with, "Well kids, when your mom first approached me... I thought she was mediocre and kind of annoying, but she totally convinced me by sticking to her business strategy."

It just doesn't feel right to break down romance like this.

"But don't take MY word for it! Ba da da!" - LaVar Burton, Reading Rainbow

I'm a man of science; I like sciencey things! My advice is, if you really are interested in learning about the opposite sex, pick up books by accredited psychologists.

On girls: "Reviving Ophelia" by Dr. Mary Pipher
On boys: "Raising Cain" by Dr. Michael Thompson and Dr. Dan Kindlon

Nostalgia Goes the Way of Old Yeller

2008-12-11T00:12:00.000-08:00

I'm an extremely nostalgic person.

I'm a pack rat for all things that will tie me to some memory of the past. And it used to irritate the hell out of my old roommate Leo. When he'd help me load milk crates of my possessions during a move, he'd pick every single thing apart.

Leo: Okay, why in God's name do you have this?
So@24: That's a squirt gun my first crush in 4th grade used to spray me

Leo: I can't believe you still have this old picture of you and I. Did we really think it was acceptable to wear socks with our Samba sandals?
So@24: It's memories, man.

Leo: Oh fuck! What the hell is this??
So@24: It's a piece of a gingerbread house Lynn and I made once.
Leo: Dude. Throw this away.
So@24: No. Memories.

I'm the guy who stays in constant contact with his elementary school friends. I hate the idea of people who were once close just forgetting each other because of time. It's always been a quirk of mine that's very distinctive to me.

* * *

When I was at Chardy's party, I was anxiously awaiting another incoming drunk text from Dizzy. My cellphone beeped at me, declaring that the "Inbox was Full". I felt it was a good of time as any to clear out the bad boy.

I came toward the end of my list, I found a text message from a number I didn't recognize. A 503 area code. Well, that could have been anyone from my hometown. It was from the beginning of the year, a really nice text which is probably why I had such a difficult time deleting it:

hey you. it was great seeing you, i'm only sad that you live so far. miss you.

"Huh," my drunk ass thought to myself. "Who the hell is this?" I couldn't for the life of me figure out who it could be. So naturally, I texted the number:

Who the hell is this?

I never got a response back. But my goldfish memory didn't think twice about it for the remainder of the night. I was too busy making an ass out of myself (via text) to Dizzy anyway.

* * *

The mystery would not be solved until the next morning. I awoke to the sun piercing through my blinds disturbing my dull hangover and my cellphone vibrating on my chest

1 text message from the mystery number:

beth.

Goddammit, So@24. The answer was so clear in hindsight; I just haven't thought about Beth in "for. ev. er." (said like Michael "Squints" Palledorus). I had deleted her from my contacts after our last encounter and never looked back. But her number was saved due to an old forgotten text message I saved this whole time.

I took a moment to just think.

My friend once told me of this "Bucket Theory". I'll butcher it I'm sure, but basically it states that everyone is essentially a bucket filled with liquid. It takes a little bit of our liquid to be friends with people in our lives. We give our liquid, our friends take our liquid; it's a balance.

Unfortunately, there are those people we let enter our circle who take more liquid than give of their own and it never balances out. This is when you need to let these people go.

This is especially hard for me, keeping in mind my personality and how much I like to value memories and the past.

I took it a step further. This is something that I need to get used to; something that becomes normal in the dating world. You can't always stay friends with everyone who meant something to you at some point. Sometimes it fades for reasons out of your control and you're doing a disservice to yourself by hoping things will turn around.

It's interesting to go back and think about my time with Beth. We had some great times; she was extremely important at a point in my life... there was time when I thought that she would be my next relationship. But when you grow up, your friends need to be more than just the kid down the street who also an unnatural obsession with Army Ants. It has to be something more. Beth took and never gave.

People have learned how to do this before during the crucial dating years. It's nothing new to people my age, it's what you just do. You can date someone and share some pretty fucking intimate moments, say some pretty fucking intimate things, but something goes wrong and you might never speak to that person again. I guess this is something I'm just getting used to now. I can't always hold on for holding on's sake.

It took me awhile to really think about what I wanted to say back. I didn't want her to think I wanted to reconnect or that I was extending the olive branch. But I also didn't want to come off as a total dick. I ultimately decided on this:

Sorry, I was clearing out my inbox and didn't recognize the number.
Hope things are well.

I hit send and deleted that old text message. I doubt I'll hear from her again.

I let her go.

I don't normally post twice in a single day, but...

2008-12-08T11:57:00.000-08:00

Oh.

Mo.

My.

God.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Scrimmage

2008-12-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

Chardsy's birthday party was on Saturday. There are very few things in my life in LA that are constant and I can depend on. One thing that always delivers at Chardsy's birthday celebrations: Getting rip roaring plastered with good people.

But Chardsy and I have been friends for awhile, so I've come accostomed to predicting who will be at her gatherings. In the strictest sense of the single guy mentality, there wasn't going to be any "fresh prospects".

The party arrived at 9 and we closed down the bar. This was to be expected.

About a half an hour before closing time, I had lost Beardsy and found myself in the middle of the bar by myself. I glanced over at a table and a girl sitting by herself smoking a cigarette was beckoning to me.

I looked both directions making absolutely sure she was addressing me. I guess I should have known that since I was alone. I made my way to the table and took a seat across from her.

The girl across from me wasn't particularly attractive (at least, not my type), but she was kind enough to have me join her and strike up a conversation. It's a little embarassing to admit now, but at the time my initial reaction to this situation was, "Oh this will be a perfect opportunity to practice talking to a completely random female stranger one-on-one without the pressure of having to impress. Like a scrimmage."

She was clearly three sheets to the wind; I picked up on it instantly when I noticed her eyes weren't blinking at the same time. We did the usual, go-to, stranger dance. Discussed how we both knew Chardsy, what we did for a living, where we lived in, etc. I sat back in my chair and watched her take long drags from her cigarette. She did most of the talking (as most drunk girls seem to do) and I nodded when appropriate.

The conversation lasted about 20 mins before she mentioned that her live-in boyfriend was also a friend of Chardsy's and at the bar.

Now, I think this is something I've become hyper aware of since being single. When I was dating Lynn, I would never once think twice about something like this. But I suddenly got really uncomfortable; a minor panic.

Was this guy watching me have this drawn out conversation with his girlfriend?

Is he the jealous, insecure type? Is he an angry drunk? Oh God, what if he's an angry drunk?

I'm not even remotely attracted to her! I can't get in trouble for this, right??

I know that girls with boyfriends are free to talk to other guys, make friends and it's not a big deal. I feel that way, I just don't know if that's something that EVERYone is comfortable with.

I found myself instantly adjusting my body language. I turned my legs so they were facing out from under the table. I sat back in my seat with an arm thrown over the back. I made a point to casually browse the room instead of keepign eye contact. I figured that these subtle changes should make some difference to show my general disinterest to the general public (more important her boyfriend, if he was watching me).

I wanted to scan the room to make sure I wasn't stepping on any toes. Beardsy suddenly appeared behind the girl and gave me the double thumbs up. Fuck! He thinks I'm interested in her! If HE does, then what must other people think??

I gave Beardsy the quick, "no no no!" headshake hoping that no one saw him give me the "good work bro"-thumbs. I don't even remember the rest of the conversation at that point (I don't think she did either) as I was much too preoccupied of giving off the wrong impression.

There was no way to exit that conversation in a easy way. I made up some reason to leave and excused myself. I felt bad leaving her alone with her ciggs, but I felt much too awkward.

Where does this hypersensitivity come from? Is it something that you only become aware of when you're single? Is it a justified concern or are we all becoming too paranoid?

So@24 & Leo's Big European Adventure

2008-12-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

I've made the executive decision to join my former roommate and childhood chum Leo on the first leg of his trip around the world in April 2009.

Fuck it. I'm young, I never take days off and the opportunity to travel with your best friend doesn't come around very often.

Besides. It should be interesting. I could use the blog material.

Ol' Leo and I will sit down with a map over Christmas break and decide exactly where I can go based on how far the almighty US dollar can take me.

We've already agreed that we are heading east and Ireland will be our first stop.

Perhaps Denmark??

Stay tuned.

Signs You Need to Get Laid. Like. Now.

2008-12-04T00:17:00.000-08:00

a friend: I always wanted a library like the one in Beauty & the Beast
So@24: Belle was always the hottest Disney princess.
a friend: Okay, but which princess had the best personality?
So@24: Come on, Belle wins that one again. No contest.
a friend: Just checking.
So@24: She reads all the time. She's independent. She's disgusted with Gaston while every other girl in the village is in love with him.
So@24: Alas. That's when I knew it was a fantasy.
a friend: Gastons are disgusting, pulease.
So@24: Is it weird that I thought the french feather duster was sexy?
a friend: You would.
So@24: She turned out to be a fox when she turned back into human form, so I get half credit.
a friend: ...
So@24: God I'm lonely.

Please Hammer, Don't Settle.

2008-12-03T00:33:00.000-08:00

I've had this post rattling around in my brain for awhile now. I wasn't sure of how to go about writing it and I didn't want readers to think I was pandering to my audience. However, keep in mind when reading, it's really a selfish act on my part. It's more for me than anyone else.

I think the catalyst for this post comes from a few recent experiences. In a few days my trial period for my failed online dating profile expires, so I thought I'd dedicate one last evening to eBrowsing.

It just depressed the hell out of me. Not a single one out of this round was the least bit funny or witty. It was the same bland shit, but the worst part is... these girls thought they were being original. Apparently the only piece of reading material readily available in the city of Los Angeles is US Weekly. Really? You love sushi? Oh and you "work really hard, but also know how to party"? Music is important to you too, huh?

I think I actually took off my glasses and rubbed my bored eyes at one point before I closed the online dating window for the last time. I don't mean to be harsh. I also enjoy going out for uncooked fish. I don't care (that much) that you indulge in shitty celebrity gossip magazines, I can accept that... I have my guilty pleasures as well. I too am a guy who takes his career very seriously, but also likes to abuse my liver on weekends. But for fuck's sake, where's the funny? Where's the wit? Where's the effort?

The second catalyst came from an email from an author of one of the funniest blogs I've come across, Kim from whatclaudiawore. It's primarily a fashion blog; if I'm forced to categorize it. But if you take a moment to read, it's fucking hilarious. I don't give two shits about fashion, but her writing alone is worthy of an instant "bookmark". Trust me.

Kim wrote to me asking for my thoughts on a dating situation she found herself in. I won't go into details, but I found myself shocked that a girl with her sense of humor had any trouble at all with the dating scene. I don't know if I helped her out at all with my opinion on her situation, but I did stress to her at the end of my response, that if anything... the other guy should be stressing about being able to keep up with her quick wit. Not the other way around.

And I didn't just blow through that email. I actually found myself erasing entire paragraphs and starting over, because I felt I wasn't being funny enough in my response.

This is my plea to all the genuinely funny girls* out there. To the girls that have actually caused me to laugh out loud. Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Don't settle for guys that don't appreciate your humor. They may be good looking, they may have that devil-may-care visage, they may be "nice enough", but if they "don't get you" than turn and run. Make them show up and play to your level.

You're too rare of a resource to be wasted on mediocre dudes. Let the unfunny girls be with the unfunny guys. And don't feel sorry for them, there are plenty of both to go around; they won't be lonely for long. That's the way it should be; we have classes for a reason people!

I've seen it happen too many times. A girl ends up with a guy who has no idea how hilarious she is naturally. Sometimes, even the girl has no clue that she is funny. And each time I see this tragic scenario I do a Captain Jean Luc Picard face palm:

Yeah. One of these.

I want Violet to be able to strategize with her next boyfriend about how they are going to survive the zombie apocalypse. I even want Beth to whisper in the ear of a boy her secret fantasy of having relations on Snick's Big Orange Couch and have the guy know exactly what she's talking about. I don't want Lynn to try and explain to deaf ears why purchasing Hostess' Snowballs purely for the sake of smushing them in your barehands is fun.

Girls. You few-and-far-between, hilarious girls. Don't settle for just being eye candy. I'm not saying that your boys have to funny, I'm just saying that they have to legitmately think YOU are funny.

I think I feel so passionately about this subject, because it's a fear that I have too. The same paranoia I have for you, I have for myself. I worry that Future So@24 is going to go into panic mode and just pick someone just because I feel fortunate enough to find someone who shows interest in me and is "kinda cute". I don't want that. I want a funny girl.

Hey. Let's both not settle.

Deal?

While there are moments of disbelief, I don't despair. There are those who despair when single -- they feel compelled to find the one, move in, get married. I see my tenure in singlehood as exercise in the refinement of taste. When I choose, I know it'll be a fuck-all great choice. So yeah. I'm going to take my sweet ass time.

- Leo, via gchat

* Dizz, Saratoga Jean, D... you're just some of the few I'm looking at.
** The title of this entry was a play off MC Hammer's hit album "Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em"

What's in a Cobbler?

2008-12-01T00:59:00.000-08:00

This one goes out to all the guys who have remained friends with their ex girlfriend and then get invited to spend Thanksgiving with her only to discover that you need to bring a dish or else you look like a total chancy.

...

Just me?

Lynn had invited me to spend Thanksgiving with her roommate and her roommate's friend when she heard that I planned on being alone that day.

So@24: Should I bring something?
Lynn: You're going to make something?
So@24: What? You don't think I can make something? Oh, I can make something, sister.
Lynn: Well, if you'd like to make something, you're more than welcome to.

That was it. Now I had to make something. My ex had thrown down a gauntlet (teasing, of course), but now I had to rise to the challenge.

I felt an unexplainable urge to show up and play ball. I'm at a loss for words on how to describe this weird obligation to prove to this figure of the past that I am capable of at least constructing something of worth. Maybe it only makes sense to those guys who there who have been in this similar situation. This dish would be a representation of who I am! A symbol that I am accomplished!

Now what the fuck was I going to make?

I immediately called up my cousin Mimi and told her, "I need to make something to bring to Lynn's Thanksgiving feast. It needs to be delicious. It needs to be something that will not bring the fire brigade of North Hollywood to a burnt out shell of a condo."

Mimi suggested I make a simple cobbler.

I don't even know what a cobbler really is. What's the difference between that and a pie? Fuck it, I don't really need the details I just need to make it.

My cousin emailed me a list and I was off to the grocery store to embark on my quest to prove my valor.

Mimi's list was pretty easy, but with the added pressure of having to make this cobbler edible, I began to second guess myself on every item. I must have made at least 4 separate phone calls to her while wandering the aisles aimlessly.

So@24: What the hell are "pineapple tidbits"? I mean, I see pineapple "halves", pineapple "medley". Did you actually mean to say "tidbits" or are you just trying to be cutesy?
Cousin Mimi: Yes, I meant to write "tidbits". It's a real thing. There should be a can listed as "tidbits".

So@24: You said a can of pie filling. What size?
Cousin Mimi: -sigh- Not the size of a "normal" can. Think short and fat, like a Progresso soup can.
So@24: Oh, that's much easier. Why didn't you just say it that way?

So@24: Shit. I know you said to get cake mix, but I see that they actually have premade pie crusts here! I should just get that instead, right?
Cousin Mimi: You aren't making a pie, idiot. You're making a cobbler. The cake mix makes the crust.
So@24: How does powder just "magically" turn into a crust? I don't need milk or eggs? I'm pretty sure you need milk and eggs.
Cousin Mimi: Goddammit! Stop calling me and follow the recipe! Trust me!

I went home with my ingredients and prepped everything so that I could make it first thing the next morning.

On Thanksgiving day, Lynn met me outside of her apartment to let me in. She took a glance at my pathetic pan of cobbler and gave an "Awwwww..." like you do when you see a Youtube video of a puppy trying to take its first steps, but stumbles adorably.

I scratched the back of my head and tried to explain my finished masterpiece.

So@24: It has some weird powder on the corners, probably the cake mix, but I think it turned out okay?
Lynn: I wasn't going to say anything, but since you pointed it out... -coy smile-
So@24: Alright, alright just grab this icecream and go inside will you?

Turns out, Lynn's roommate's friend is a fucking culinary student. He prepared the entire meal and even a dessert. Lynn just "happened" to not mention that to me so that I would be forced to bring something. She thought it was "funny" to see me go through all that stress and wanted to see what I would bring.

Goddammit.

The result: It turned out to be decent. I made something edible and proved my worth. Mission accomplished for the single guy.

I guess the cobbler really did turn out to be a manifestation of myself; Not much to look like, but if you give it a taste you might be surprised that you can choke it down.

...

Alright that was lame even for me.

So@24's Easy Cobbler for Those Who Need to Put on
a Decent Showing for Your Ex-Girlfriend's Dinner

Ingredients

2 short, fat cans of pie filling; I used cherry, but I'm sure you can use whatever.
1 stick of butter
One box of yellow or white cake mix; I used "vanilla bean" because it sounded fucking fancy
9" X 13" pan
1 can of pineapple tidbits; yes, it should actually say "tidbits"

Directions

Cover bottom of pan with tidbits. Spread evenly.
Throw pie filling on top of that. Spread it.
Sprinkle the entire box of cake mix on top of that.
Slice butter into thin slices and place on top of cake mix making sure it covers as much area as possible. The places you don't place it will be powdery.
Toss that bitch in the oven on 375 degrees for approx 35 mins.
Serve with ice cream

Note: I guess having powder on the corners where you missed the butter spots isn't that bad
Note 2: When you check on it in the oven and the cobbler starts waving and bubbling, I guess that's totally normal. Don't panic, like I did.

Turkey is an Aphrodisiac

2008-11-27T11:13:00.001-08:00

Paxty: So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?
So@24: I originally planned on getting a mushroom pizza and lounging around in my underoos all day. But Lynn invited me down to spend it with her and her roommate.
Paxty: Holidays are a vulnerable time. Is this going to be the blog twist everyone saw coming?
So@24: Haha! I seriously doubt it.
Paxty: Damn. Now I kind of want to see it happen just to see all the predictions come true.
So@24: What the hell am I to you? The Truman Show??
Paxty: You're right, that's the next logical step.
Paxty: Instead of rooting for it to happen, I should pay off Lynn and her friends. Take destiny into my own hands. It will be the best Thanksgiving ever.
So@24: By paying off my exgirlfriend to manipulate my emotions in a sick social experiment to be publisized in blogdom?
Paxty: Sounds even better when you put it so succinctly!

Guys Love Unicorns

2008-11-26T00:57:00.000-08:00

Leo: Question.

Are we the only sane people in this world?

So@24: I ask that to myself all the time.

Leo: Fuckertinton.

It's absurd.

When did everyone go and get crazy?

So@24: We just need to keep our eyes on the prize. Hot girl with a cute pony tail in a ratted and torn soccer jersey, wearing boy shorts, cooking bacon on a skillet, waking you up with a kiss on your eyelids while whistling Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now".

So@24: She's sane. She's logical. She's dope as fuck.

Leo: I just popped a chub.
Don't fucking show me a unicorn then tell me it exists.

There's a Time and a Place...

2008-11-24T10:25:00.000-08:00

The town of Pullman, Washington will always have a special place in my heart. At face value, it's insignificant. It's a small town, isolated in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Washington... home of the Washington State University campus. My college's rival university.

But it was the home to some of my best college-partying stories. Back in school, I always made a goal to make the 5 and a half hour drive at least once a year and every time I'd come back with an epic tale of college debauchery.

When my good friends Jim and Eric invited me to join them for Apple Cup (the annual football game between the rival universities) this year, I couldn't refuse.

It should come to no surprise that my lack of physical-romantic interactions with women is well known within my circle of friends. The guys had high hopes for me this weekend and kept reassuring me, "we'll find you a nice little filly". I must admit that I was feeling particularly optimistic as well.

One thing that Wazzu has always been consistent at delivering: cute college girls that can drink anyone I know under the table.

* * *

I wish I had a story of conquest to share. I talked with a few girls where the conversations lasted more than a minute, but it wasn't a matter of trying to "get anywhere" with them. It was a matter of meeting new people, retelling the great stories of our college glory days (like the time our friend blacked out and woke up only to discover he purchased a gold plated iPod and couldn't return it because he had his name engraved with the words "Good Times."), and reconnecting with friends who I haven't seen for years.

New ladies would have been the wrong way to spend that time. And I was okay with that. It doesn't always have to be about trying to find that next one (or fix).

On the drive back to Seattle from Pullman, my buddy Jim turned around from the front seat to face me. I had just woken up from my third nap that morning, my body trying to recover from feeling like a punching bag.

"Oh man, I totally forgot about trying to set you up with a lady friend this weekend. We dropped the ball. Sorry about that."

It didn't even cross my mind.