|
Fragmented Memories
|
2/28/2006
|
Disclaimer: The places are real, but the names of my friends...okay, I was going to ask permission to use their names, but then The Skirt had her biggest flash of brilliance since she decided to date me- "Just make up names for them. So-and-so can be Captain Unicorn or something." The names I made up are either descriptive of their personas, or just something I thought was funny.
This is one of those lessons I learn over and over and never quite catch on to. I'm 33 years old. On a typical night out, I can drink a few martinis or six or seven beers and still stagger home. If I manage to stay awake long enough and drink some water, I can even get out of bed the next day. Once in a while I forget my limits and stay out until what I estimate was 4 a.m.
On Saturday Night, The Skirt and I and four of our friends had our monthly "grown-ups night" where we go to a nice restaurant and enjoy the hell out of fine dining and good conversation. We have achieved possibly the perfect balance in the group- there is not one person who says or does stuff to ruin it for everyone else, and we all get along very well, having much in common and whatnot.
It's pretty obvious that I say that because I'm the one that everybody makes fun of afterward. Whatever, jerks.
We started out at Sotto Sotto for dinner, or as professional drinkers call it, a "foundation"- a food-based substrate upon which to pour alcohol for the rest of the evening and hope it keeps you under control. We all ate delicious food that none of us could pronounce, and we let Jamiroquai order the wine because he is the only one who knows anything about wine.
Me- "As the French would say- Damn, that's some good wine. Is it...um...(knowing that whatever I say is going to be wrong and sound stupid)...red?"
Jamiroquai - "Yes, Dusty. Now can you tell us what color my jacket is?"
Me- "Black?"
Everyone- "Yaaaayyy. Good job, Dusty!" (I'm getting really good at my colors)
* Jamiroquai throws me an olive, which I catch in my mouth, run to the corner and devour*
Jamiroquai - (holding glass up to the light, swirling it around like that guy who gets all of the chicks in the movies) "Actually, it is a Cafe Bourgionnese Min-Cwah. The grapes are harvested late in the fall from a region of Indochina known only to three Shirpa. They pack the harvest out on angora goats, and the musk from these animals actually gives the wine its rustic texture.
Me - (Topical yet wildly inappropriate joke about goat musk and Lonely Shirpa involving a play on Brokeback Mountain)
Everyone- (not laughing very much because Brokeback Mountain jokes weren't even funny when everybody thought they were)
Later in Dinner, Zoltar and Shortcake (husband and wife crime fighting team) told us a story about having bought a car earlier that day. Zoltar is a salesguy the likes of which you will not see very often. He actually goes into car dealerships to wheel and deal with the salespeople for drill. I can't think of a less enjoyable hobby, but this guy has been banned from several dealerships for making their salespeople cry. True story: He has walked into a dealership and had the manager come out onto the floor, saying "Not today, Zoltar."
I don't remember the details, but they left the dealership with whatever car they wanted and a check for 30% of the ticket price. They just roll that way.
These are the conversations you remember. Well, the conversations I remember, anyway. My last few ventures to the dealership have ended with my threatening the lives of several people and leaving without a car. Next time I go, Zoltar is going to be my wingman.
After we finished, the battle for the check ensued. As this is only the second or third time we have done this, the fight is still pretty civil, but by summertime I expect there will be bottles smashed over heads, piledrivers, flying elbows and guillotine choke holds.
As a group we are only smart in theory, so we went to another club afterward to drink and talk more. I'll do my best to recount the events of this fragmented evening.
Order first round of drinks, start talking about work and jobs and stuff, somehow quickly spiraling into a conversation in which someone said, "Yeah, I guess if you're buying anal beads, you don't want the floor model."
Zoltar then told the most disturbing story I have ever heard that involved one of the illustrious 45 year-old strippers at the Clermont lounge and some guy he was there with physically touching her. With his tongue. If there is one thing you don't do at the Clermont Lounge, it's touch anything with exposed skin. I used the bathroom there once and left my shoes in the parking lot when I went home.
By now we were all comfortably chatting, and Zoltar showed wisdom beyond his years by switching to water and winding down. He and Shortcake left an hour or so later because they are far smarter than the rest of us. I knew I could stumble 2 blocks and be at my front door, so what the hell? 'Nother round.
And another.
Here are some things I remember being said, in no particular order-
"See the chick in the wedding dress? A thousand bucks if you can get her to go home with you."
"I'll double it."
"Dude, you could totally make out with Jack Bauer and not be gay. He's Jack fucking Bauer."
"Latex fist"
"I've tried to teach Dusty to play poker. It's like teaching a hamster to play hopscotch- those synapses don't exist."
Then I remember something about a sidewalk, jelly, an omelet, and my shoes being too close to my face. And I think The Skirt and I made plans to take Jamiroquai and his lovely wife Q-bert to Hawaii with us this year. Hope so- I need to do something about this functioning liver.
Sweet shaken baby Jesus, Sunday was a painful day. For the record, I can fit 87 Advil in my mouth at one time, and I drank a gallon of water in ten minutes. One day I'll learn.
Unitl then, I'll keep making fragmented memories.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 8:14 PM |
|
|
|
Happy V.D.
|
2/15/2006
|
With all of the love in the air today (today being St. Valentine's day, the day of this blog's writing), I am reminded of my constant desire to run against the grain.
So here are a few things I hate, inspired by various commercials I have seen while trying to stay ahead of a merciless workload:
As with most things that make me angry, it started with Larry the Cable Guy. Also known as "The least funny man in the universe", "The comedy equivalent of Nickelback", and "Evidence that the terrorists might, in fact, deserve to win", Larry made the following joke in an ad for The Inbred Moron Joke Tellin' Giggle Hour-
"I made luv to a lady clown the other day. (Exquisite comedic pause) She twisted mah wiener into a poodle dawg."
Really Larry? Did her nipples squirt you in the face when ya tried to sniff 'em? Was her thong tied to a buncha' other thongs in different colors that just kept on coming out of her big ol' backside? Didja' git yer master's degree in obvious jokes from Spacktard University Online?
I was looking at a guy with an IQ of 40 who can pack stadiums around the country to tell the most predictable and unfunny jokes imaginable and get richer than Jesus while sardonic writers everywhere slowly realize that in many ways they will never be as successful he is.
I then beat the television with every object in the room, stopping only when I was too tired to move.
Later, I saw (and was mildly offended by) the marketing of Valentine's Day. The first thing to remember when writing a valentine's day ad is this: Men are complete idiots and all we want is to do something right for once in our pathetic lives. Secondly, sex is absolutely the only thing we care about because we are too stupid to understand anything else.
"Hey guys, order a big dumb teddy bear dressed up like an astronaut for $60. It comes with a card that says 'all I want to do is orbit you' and we don't even know what that means."
Fade to three exceedingly hot women having simultaneous orgasms at the sight of said bear.
"Why can't I find a guy who gives me worthless presents just because he watched a commercial?"
"Ooh, I can't wait to give him HIS present." As she points to her crotch with both index fingers and makes a violent humping motion.
Cut to every dude in the office frantically dialing his phone in the hopes of maybe getting laid.
Then the similar commercial about "pajama-grams": Send your girlfriend some pajamas, again merely for the vague promise of semi-nakedness, as this has become the only thing you live for.
If these guys are buying gifts just for sex, they might consider looking into a new girlfriend. Perhaps one that is not a prostitute. Just throwing it out there...
A higher-dollar version of that ad is a Victoria's Secret commercial. "Hey guys...this Valentine's day, get her something you both want..."
Boom chicka wow bahdadda boom chicka...
Cue freakish 7'2" 120 pound supermodel strutting angrily down a smoky tunnel in her underwear. Also cue my girlfriend elbowing me in the ribs to make sure I was paying attention.
"See, Dusty? You could get me something we both want."
"Another girlfriend? This is going to be the best Valentine's ever."
I have a problem sometimes with saying stuff out loud just because I think it is funny, as if trying to impress myself with my own wit even if it means a moderate to severe beating. Fortunately, The Skirt is not retarded and was therefore able to understand the difference between "joking" and "serious".
Just to be safe, I ordered a Luvvy-Tubbles pajama bandit teddy bear and made reservations at Red Lobster while she was in the bathroom. Someone is in for a very special evening.
Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 7:32 AM |
|
|
|
Is She Too Good for You? She'd Better be
|
2/7/2006
|
I have been asked many times, by many people, how exactly I and some of my friends are able to consistently date (and in some cases marry) women who are clearly out of our league.
First of all, let me review the right and wrong way to ask that question, should you ever find a need to pose it to a guy with whom you are not well acquainted. Notice I did not say "a guy or girl". You NEVER. EVER. Ask this question of a female. Ever. Are we clear?
Right way: "Dude. Wow. What's your secret?"
(Flattering him by making assumptions about his game will get you a positive answer and maybe some valuable insight. Not that you'll need it after reading this, of course)
Wrong way: "Whoa. That chick is dating you? Isn't it weird how the really hot ones are so insecure they'll sleep with anybody? Pathetic, but good for you."
Major points to remember:
1. The following methods only apply to women who have functioning brains and men who appreciate that quality in addition to the rest of it. If a girl finds abusive men exciting, dates drug addicts and alcoholics in an attempt to "fix them", or has other issues attributed to youth and/or a father who tried to tongue kiss her at some point, good luck and you are an idiot.
2. Don't lie to yourself. It never hurts to be tall or good-looking. I'm directing this entire article to people like me who are neither, so let's not invent a fantasy land where any given female would rather date you than a professional athlete. In point of fact, she is probably only talking to you because she lost a bet, so don't act like she owes you anything. You don't like fat chicks, and skinny chicks don't have to like you. That's why it's called "out of your league." Get comfortable with it.
3. It sounds cliche, but the adage "just be yourself" is your best friend. This is because confidence is the only attractive quality some of us have, and confidence can't be faked.
It amazes me how many adult men don't understand point number 2. Let's say you are an astronaut karate champion and you invented flowers. Put yourself in her sensible pumps for a moment. She just met you and you go blathering on about the complications of delivering a flying sidekick in zero-gravity. Then you launch into a story about the first time you made a rose out of puppy farts and passion. What you are doing here is trying to impress yourself, which will make her loins quiver exactly zero percent of the time. Why? That is best explained in point number 4.
4. There are things that men are better at than women. These things include Fixing mechanical stuff, setting up the stereo, beating people up, knowing which way is north at any given time, farting, lifting heavy objects, belching, and peeing while standing up.
Women are better at everything else.
I'm not lying. This is the single most important part of what you are reading right now.
"You're just saying that to kiss women's asses across the land." You'll say.
Nope. Believe me, if I wanted to try to impress women, there would be a video. I am stating a fact. Besides, only two women have ever read this blog - my girlfriend and my mom. I think my girlfriend is sticking around because it was part of her reality show contract and my mom doesn't read my stuff anymore because I use words like "shit", "fuck", and "shitfuckdickbitching fagtaint fartass" unnecessarily.
Back to the story. The fact that as a male, you can look at a bolt and tell the guy at the hardware store that it is a tempered 1 1/2" quarter 20 hex may be mystifying to your girlfriend, but take a gander sometime at what she can tell about someone just by looking at them. You will go insane with wonder.
Women are simply better at personal interaction. There is even physical evidence that the portion of the brain receptive to nonverbal communication is far better developed in women than in men. We use ours for knowing the difference between lager and ale because we were lucky enough to have been born that way.
Take the karate astronaut from point number 2. Imagine you and some friends are sitting at the next table eavesdropping on his monologue. You are thinking "Holy crap, what a chop. Is she really buying this load?" You and your male friends know it is a sad cry for help, and the girl he is talking to knows it too. Maybe she is acting dumb enough to fall for it, but it is vastly more probable that she either just wants to go home with someone, or is waiting for someone like you to salvage the situation. Bottom line: she knows what she's doing.
How you salvage the situation is entirely up to you, but learn from points 1-4. I'll even summarize it for you- First, make sure she is worth your time. If you like the bright type who have grown up making good decisions, look for good posture, no visible tattoos, eye contact, and a generally non-slutty appearance. If you like the dumb slutty kind, don't worry- you'll grow out of it.
Second, no matter how well you think you are doing, there is always a chance that a better looking version of yourself will come along. He's probably a good guy, too. Give him the benefit of the doubt.
Third, she will know before you do when you are lying or trying too hard, so don't try to impress her with all of your accomplishments and war stories, even if they are true. Do you think she'll be more impressed hearing them now, or when she happens to see you in the newspaper and realizes you had the class never to mention that you spent your weekends teaching blind orphans to square dance? Even if you only did it because it was fun to watch?
Lastly, understand that while you may want her to know you are a great person, she'll figure it out for herself if you give her time. Those of my friends who seem outwardly mismatched with their female counterparts (and that includes all of them) have some things in common; they know where their strengths end and hers begin, they are humbled by that fact, and they are genuinely content with who they are.
And they have lots and lots of money.
You didn't really believe all of that other stuff, did you?
Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 4:27 PM |
|
|
|
