The Man With The Cigar

Have you ever noticed that no one messes with a guy who smokes a cigar and walks the streets at night?

Recently on a very slow Saturday, I decided to take a walk through my neighborhood. I live in Van Nuys, CA. The place where a lot of things happen, and nothing happens at the same time. It's nestled deep in the San Fernando Valley and has a reputation of being, not shady, but low-rent. I won't dispute the lowliness of the neighborhood, but there are pockets of its past that has a very classy sense to it. Apparently there was a guy named Van Nuys too, which is where it got its name. A piece of trivia I also recently found out.

I'd purchased a cigar a few weeks back. Well, the truth was that all I wanted was a lighter, but I only had my debit card. Store wouldn't accept purchases under $10 (which is against card policy to shopkeepers) but I wasn't about to argue with the Russian lady behind the counter. Oddly enough, in this hole-in-the-wall mercantile store was a sliding glass humidor. Which is where I found a cigar. The quality was clearly garbage, but the presentation made it out to be something better. The prices were ridiculous. They obvious jacked up the price to pretend they had some knowledge of cigars. Or to pretend they were afficianados. Just because it says Cuban leaves doesn't mean they're Cuban. Hey, listen, I'm no expert either, but most of us can tell knock-offs from miles away. Something about having brightly lit colors on its label seems to be the dead giveaway.

So I bought a few stogies and stashed them away. Didn't even think about them, since they were pretty much garbage. I dropped them on a bench and didn't think about them.

A few weeks later, it's the very slow Saturday I mentioned. I don't have the foggiest clue as to what inspired me to do so. But I decided to take a walk through my neighborhood...

The place is all about auto repair shops, Thai restaurants and massage parlors and strip clubs. It's the industrial side of the valley that consist of train tracks and VERY shady people. It's a mish-mash of humanity. A LOT of Russian/Eastern Euros who saw America as a better place, but inexplicably make it as low-rent as the country they escaped. Peppered within all this were familiar fast food joints.

It was raining this night. More like sprinkling. And the atmosphere added an extra melancholy to the walk. I lit up the cigar and hit the street.

I think it's a strange site when you watch someone puffing on a cigar that isn't A) over 50 years of age B) Schwarzenegger. I'm a short Taiwanese guy with a hoodie. Now, I'll stop short of a Trayvon Martin reference, but it's a weird site for this town. Strangely enough, I'm really unaware how strange it is. I take the backstreets. Which is a very long path that follows the train tracks. I put in my earbuds and listen to 80's music. A contrast to the grunginess I've put myself in.

It's quiet. The streets are lit with sodium vapor glow. The lights gives the rain form and looks like distinct rays. I puff away at my cigar. There is NO ONE in back streets. There is noise from Sherman Way (the busy street). But it seems like a million miles away. There are crushed boxes in the road. I get a closer look and see it's powdered detergent that has spilled. Seems the road is getting a good wash. I continue on walking parallel to the train tracks. The silence is really nice. Anyone who lives in Los Angeles realizes you can't seem to get away from noise. And it's not even loud, just noise. It's loud how silence can be. I pass by a lot of auto repair shops. There is a car in an alley that is left running. A group of men speak in some language I can't discern. I push forth. The shops in the off shoot alley ways of the main row are so random. I see a plaster mold shop. A shoe warehouse. A paint store. One after another of me thinking "how exactly do they stay in business?" I puff away at my cigar.

Eventually, I reach a shop, that I knew years back. I'm talking when I first arrived in Los Angeles. On my first film project. Chapman/Leonard is a dolly grip house that specialized in dollies for motion picture work. I knew it was in the valley but COMPLETELY forgot it was this close to me. Walking distance. It just reminded me of my days in school. How bold I was to go to this shop and ask for free rentals. And THEY ACCOMMODATED! The building was dark. The lot was empty. But I saw their rigged trucks with extended crane support. They were really beautiful in the dark. Artwork.

Then further down the street, I came around Deja Vu. A strip club. My friend Leon and I once worked in the back offices. Which looked like converted porn studio. We had been working on some editorial things and would come across magazines promoting their t.v. show. I remember a rack of VCRs still in place. So I think they'd do dubs there too. But it had been long abandoned. And Leon and I set up shop for shooting documentaries. I went up to the main entrance. An attendant was there. "Need something?" he asked.
"I use to work in the back lot there, the offices. I use to have an office back there" I replied.
"No one back there now"
"Mind if I just go back there and take a look for old times sake"
"No one is back there" he insisted.

I walk away.

And into the night rain. Me and my cigar.

Thanksgiving

So this year I've decided to take a turkey break and go for a more non-traditional Thanksgiving. I was actually inspired by "A Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving" and will be making chili cheese dogs and fries....with chili and cheese.

The previous years were a cornucopia of everything Thanksgiving. But it always ended up being just a handful of guests and A SHITLOAD of leftovers. I remember getting real crazy with the menu one year, going as far as to make my own mash potatoes from scratch. I learned from an ex-girlfriend her secret to perfect potatoes. And it came out perfect. I added in my own kick one year with roasted garlic. Too bad I had about 10 lbs. of it left after the fact.

The turkey itself was its own headache. I make perfect stuffing. I would inject the bird with melted butter. Then rub it down with salt, pepper and other herbs. Then massage it with more butter. It was just ridiculously tender when it was done. And it was always a hit. The stuffing went the fastest. Made green bean casserole. Buttered corn. Mmmmmm....I won't lie, I really enjoyed cooking for people who appreciated it. I remember it now all being a coma-filled eat and booze fest. So much fun.

Nowadays, yeah...maybe if I had extended family I would want to volunteer to make the grub. But, this year (and since my job has really worn me down), I am content with the chili cheese dogs and fries. And football. And the small group of friends who appreciate the same thing. Much like what Charlie Brown learned.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Football Season

People who know me, know that I am a rabid Cincinnati Bengals fan. And aside from a handful of celebrities (George Clooney, Nick Lachey) there isn't a single Bengals fan in Los Angeles. In fact, I've been dubbed "The Lone Bengal Fan" at the sports bar I haunt.

Yes, it feels good to be a member of a loveable loser team. But...MAN! DOES IT SUCK. Technology has made it now that you can vent your anger towards the people who've made your Sunday horrid. But you restrain yourself b/c God forbid you come off as a pathetic football fan who has nothing to do but to let a loss consume your life. I will let it consume my miserable life. Why? Because football is all about pride. So it kills me that our QB is a Texas Christian player/fan over Ohio State. Listen, you dirty traitor, Texas may be your home, but your daddy pays the bills, and those benefactors want you to show a modicum of loyalty to the people who make your lifestyle possible. Not that we own you...but at least show some disappointment at losing to our hated rivals. Even Carson Palmer displayed some disgust at our divisional rivals. Just a small amount. Instead, all I feel is that you go back to your awesome home and let this failure wash over you. Hey man, it's time to feel hatred towards your opponents. Get angry. Play with heart and entitlement. That's what all these elite QBs understand. You are a part of history and people will talk about you long after your dead. Do you want to be dismissed in the annals of pro football. Maybe you don't care. At least let us know so that we can move on with someone else.

My Friend Johnny Lewis

He took the guitar, swung it over his head and pounded it into the ground, over and over again. Smashing it to bits. A splinter caught me in the eye. He proceeded to shove a stack of books off the shelf and onto the ground. He collapsed into a pile, head in hands and weeping freely.

This was Johnny Lewis. And he was in his element in acting. And I was on the other side of the camera to watch this commitment.

The tragedy that befell Johnny is still a mystery. I'm sure many people are going to want to draw their own conclusion. But the Johnny I knew was such a generous human being, what is being written about him is truly confusing.

About a few months ago, I emailed him to pick his brain about getting into the acting business for a fellow friend of mine. To be honest, it was me trying to hook him up with a very attractive girl in hopes that I would score brownie points with her. He didn't respond. Which was very telling. Since, good or bad, he'd always respond. The last time I saw him, I was on location scout with a fellow friend to shoot a very dark story dealing with a man who is being led to his final destination and having a conversation with death. I dropped from the project, but watched the final cut of the short film. Looking back, this is one of the saddest scene I can imagine now. He was working out demons. And it wasn't at a point where I could help him. He NEVER once showed anger. He NEVER raised his voice. He NEVER exhibited anger. I've NEVER seen him do drugs. Drink. Or as much as smoke a cigarette. This is so confusing to me other than he finally succumbed to the map of his life.

Of those who've read my blog, you realize that I bitch, moan and whine about my addictions. It dawned on me that maybe a true addict doesn't realize that they need help. That it's a person who has gone beyond wanting people to help them. That reaching out to anyone would be weakness.

I am not even going to begin to tell you the psychiatry behind this. I'm so unbelievably sad right now. Because I just remember the last conversation we had. Which was...he asked me how my life was going. And he shared his joy of being a father. Yes...Johnny is a father. Before he was an actor, he was someone's father. The joy he exude was priceless. He had hope. He had a new life. And we all wished him the best.

I wish...I just wish he could've shared his true pain. I shouldn't have outlived him. And to read this in the news...you can't imagine the pain and shock this feels like. Johnny just gave too much to the world. And the world seemed to want more.

Ride well, my friend.

The Grudge

My eldest sister carries grudges. Not just any grudge. We're talking years. And she's openly proud that she can dismiss people out of her life forever, if need be. I don't wanna be like that.

I think a lot of us consider grudges sort of childish. Growing up in a tough poor neighborhood, we dealt with a lot of racism. I fought every day with black kids at my school. Getting beaten on a regular basis by ANY ethnicity could forge into your brain a sense of dread of that particular race. I, myself, have certain prejudices that come with having fought my way through 2nd grade (before my parents had had enough and moved us to the suburbs). Sometimes I catch myself with my anger towards the black race. It's ridiculous since one of my closest friends out here is a black guy. In fact, the only one I have had contact with on a regular basis, which INCLUDES even my closest high school friends. Do I carry a grudge against blacks. I'm not sure. I think there is a type that just gets under my skin. The type that walks around with a chip on their shoulder and can't let things go. Specially because American history has been so ruthless to blacks. I feel a level of empathy for their cause. Oppression and the underdog will always be the side to root for, in my case. Since I've always been the underdog.

The other day, at a bar, I got into an altercation with a black guy. Total thug. Mouthy. Loud and obnoxious (kinda like yours truly). But this guy called me out and wanted to box me outside the bar. I declined. I'm much too old with too much responsibility to deal with jail time. And in these cases NO ONE wins. Afterwards, I extended my friendship to him. He waved me off. Then proceeded to pretend like I didn't even exist as I was attempting a friendship. As I was raised to do. If you can't be the enemy you might as well be incahoots. He couldn't drop the fact that we'd had an argument. His pride was injured. As was mine. But I refuse to let those things get in the way of humanity. Not he. He made it a point to make it clear we weren't going to be sharing football tales anytime soon. And you know what?...at first I was pissed and wanted to take him up on the fight offer afterall. But then I realize, this is a guy who will (unless he sees the errors of his ways) be an angry guy who lets him emotions guide his intellect. In the world that we live in common sense is the more productive angle. Although, we run on knee jerk reactions.

I was incensed that he didn't want my friendship. Which is fine. He can go away angry and share an opinion about me or my whole race in general, since it is the first thing we see. But he has to live with that. He has to go home with this much built up anger and deal with his wife and kids. Me, I choose to forgive him. Does that make me a better person? No, it just makes it okay for me to move on and let his life go in whatever direction that deep seeded anger will take him. Statistically...probably not in a positive incline.

Which brings me back to my eldest sister. I don't think she's a racist. But she's experienced things through the late 1970s that probably etched in her mind her disgust for the black community. Out here in Los Angeles, blacks are so diverse, you can't make blanket statements as she's made in Cincinnati. There, it's a culture of attitude. From looking on the outside in now, I can see how Cincy police have been laying it hard on the black culture for so long. Blacks, in that community, seem to have a sense of resentment to any other race that has gotten beyond the long arm of the law. Historically speaking, blacks have never gotten a fair shake in that city. AND there's no plan to even think about changing certain mindsets. And that resentment continues to seethe. Out of all American cities, a race riot (another one) in that town is imminent. Just a matter of time.

Blacks have the same grudges my sister has. They'll be really polite (as my sister will be) but deep down inside, they're hateful and resentful and petty. Which is why I don't feel she's had upward mobility in life. Grudges and resentment stunt your emotional growth.

My sister still refuses to deal with my Dad's old business partner's family. His partner died years ago, and she refused to go to his funeral. Because she felt slighted one time, a long time ago. It wasn't so much she should've gone to respect our parent's wishes. It was that it was just the human thing to do. And, if anything, bury your anger and disgust with the person. I mean, to me...I'd want to go just to make sure the cock knocker was dead. But even that would lay to rest resentment. She choose to make a stand (to whom, I have no idea). Give them an ol' snoot of her absence. As if people would even notice. She just didn't want to bother.

I seriously have to get off this path myself. And I'm making an effort. Because I really envy the people who have just let bygones by bygones and can live happily ever after. I worry my sister will build up such a stone of hate or resentment that she passes away old and angry.

So my message to everyone who lives with this, learn to forgive and forget. Don't let that base emotion contour your life into something worse. The best thing to do is to live life to the fullest with as little possible pain as possible. I think it's worth it.

Plenty Of Fish

Hey friends,
Just waiting at your local Starbucks for a date I set up with someone I met on a site called "Plenty Of Fish". It's been around for a while, so a lot of you will know their deal. Some people call it plenty of flakes or plenty of fatties. I'm not sure what to expect. It's a strange thing. Online dating.

I remember creating a profile a few years back. Very few responses. My sister once told me that the whole ordeal is a numbers thing. The more you send out the more response you may get. Duh!

Well, that may sound obvious, and maybe I wasn't really absorbing what she was saying. But she didn't mean send out ten and you get eight back. She was thinking hundreds. I mean, selective carpet bombing. AND to boot, you have to know your type. I really don't know what my type is. I've gone out with a variety. I think if she said "yes" that's my type. That's right. The one who accepted is obviously my type. You would think at 37 one would know their type by now. But I'm not sure. I'd just like someone who isn't annoying and is pleasant to look at. It's not a tall order, but in Los Angeles it may as well be a needle and a haystack.

That reminds me, this city is not big...per se. But...and big but...WE are really spread out. What that means is that in order to find someone and have any hope of spending any time with them, you have to more or less live within a five mile radius. Otherwise, the aggravation may not be worth the trouble.

So far, my luck on the site has been hit or miss. I've dropped notes on women I thought would make a connection. No response. I've attempted a chat. Shot down. Rejection online is slightly better. I mean, marginally. I think it is easier simply because you don't see their expression as they click past your profile. I can only imagine a level of disgust, but that's only in my mind.

So off I go to meet up with Ange. Not sure who spells their name like that. Hope it's not a guy messing with me. Which seems to happen. Or a really old lady. Which I'm told also happens. We can only cast that line into the ocean.

Dating For 37 year olds

Hey friends,
When I was a kid I remember seeing all these older muscle building dudes (like Jack Lalanne) close to 50 and still be yoked. Not that I ever wanted to be THAT tortuous to myself. But I thought that just looking and feeling good at that age would be a goal in itself. Not that I'd ever want to be a gym rat or fitness fanatic. But I'm starting to be very cautious about the next era of my life. Here I am at 37 years:

I realize once people live a certain age, they are suppose to look a certain way. As an Asian man, it's difficult to see what others see since we're known to never age. I think that comes from having very oily skin though. It seems it's also sometimes very difficult to figure out some dark skinned Italians as well. Then one night you look in the mirror and can't believe what you see.

For me the salt-and-pepper sideburns are definitely from my mother. Her gray is very distinguished but she spends time dying it. I'm shocked, since she is married. EXACTLY who is she trying to impress? And I know my pop is too lazy to go looking for anyone else at this point.

Suffice it to say, I think we all have a tendency to want to hold onto youth. Because youth is alive. Youth is beauty. Youth gets attention. And youth is hopeful.

I see the aging process now. I see bags under the eyes. My face is starting to sag a bit. I may have been able to extend this a bit, had I not tapped into alcoholism. But...I think most people can see the "fun" I've had.

I've recently joined a dating site (as I've mentioned in previous post). And a lot of women seem lie about their age. Yes, I fall under the same judgmental category as most people. But if I were to pick out my contemporaries, I'd see women closer to their 40's and 50's. They want the young hotties to pick them out of the litter. A lot seem to be really anti-social misfits begging to want approval. Others...I think boredom. While others, re-living something that they missed out the first time around because they were too afraid to go out there and figure it out (which I fall into).

I think a lot of women past their 30's on these dating sites also lived past their party prime and now...trying to hold on to something that passed them by. Case in point, a guy had posted a very smoking hot photo of a dude on the site. It wasn't his photo, his mailbox was blown up by women. Yes, that also happens to smoking hot women as well, but here's the caveat...it happens to EVERY woman on dating sites.

I think most people like to think women aren't as shallow as men in the "looks department" but that's not true. Think of it like this, women spend a fortune on makeup, jewelry, shoes, sometimes plastic surgery, perfume, clothes etc...all in efforts to look good for men, but more importantly to impress other women with how well she is put together. She knows women talk to other women. And they want to give men whiplash. That being the case, what makes you think she doesn't hold you in the same regard?

And I've mentioned this before, social media makes it so that not only her friends are going to comment and praise or criticize you, a gazillion people as well. So what you end up having is women who are bombarded with quick messages (even overweight unattractive ones, out of the hope that this is much easier) and with them having the pick of our male litter. And guess what fellas, if you aren't all that, she'd rather take her chances in public. Or the hottest guy online.

Think about it, yes, we guys really like beautiful Playboy models. And we really dig porno (I mean, 3 minutes at a time), BUT what we come to being acceptable...well we really aren't that discriminating. Wanna know why? Because even if we got lousy pussy, we'd still brag to our friends. Otherwise, a woman is SO paralyzed with fear that her friends would rag on her incessantly with psychological pain, her ego wouldn't be able to stand the onslaught. I've witnessed it first hand.

So dating at 37 as a male is very daunting in the new era of social media (sorry to reiterate if you've read my past blog). I'm not bitter about it. I find my chances better in reality anyway. It's just something to consider as you age (or about to age) towards your 40's. You shouldn't be bitter either. It's an adventure to be sure.

Getting The Six Pack Back

So I shed a lot of doughy-ness recently.

From what I can gather, been eating more vegetables and meat. I start the morning off with a whey protein shake. About 16 ounces.

And later in the afternoon I'll take some steak and steamed vegetables. They got these steam bags at the grocery store that are so great and convenient. At night, I sometimes go to a ramen place. I realize the noodles and salt aren't necessarily a good thing, but I take dandelion root now and drink a lot of water. I figure it gets expunged by the next day. I can't stop eating ramen.

As far as working out, I've been doing more leg presses. In between, I'll sprint in place for 30 seconds and do another set of leg presses. I end most workouts with the stairclimber. Maybe for 15 minutes. I use a resistance band and stretch while I'm on the machine. I call this the "slave walk" since I wrap the bands around my shoulders and draw the cables underneath in my palms, that replicates what I think a person in chains would walk. I feel the pull in shoulders and chest. It really amps up the stair workout.

Stair climbing machines are great. The really work the core. I can feel a constant pull at my abs. I think the imbalance also causes even more of a workout.

I still do weights for upper body. But not as much weight as I use to do. I see guys at the gym doing two 45lbs plates on the bench, and remember when that was a starting place for me. I'm kinda glad I don't do that anymore since my shoulder blades were in constant pain. Which is not good.

I do a lot of what you see in P90x too. I don't overdo it like them, since I don't want to shed all muscle. My goal isn't weight loss as much as it's to get that shrink wrapped muscle. Still gotta look into quitting the booze. That's the one thing the liver is painfully holding on to. As well as my midsection.

All in all, I can see definition again in my abs. And that just is more encouragement to keep doing what I've been doing.

If I were to say what exercise that cuts the abs the quickest, I'd go with the leg press/squats. I can really feel the resistance.

The Stripper That Licked My Arm

I get in trouble when I'm by myself. I mean, I get in trouble when I'm hanging with the boys, but somehow when I'm out partying by myself, things get...surreal.

Take for example, my night at The Burlesque.

It'd been a night of gentle imbibing of adult beverages (as my friend Leon calls it). It really was going to be a pint of Guinness and then back home. Well, my dumbass thought that I had an extended weekend, why not see what the action was "out there."

I first stopped off at a regular bar I'd gone to. Watched some pre-season football. Bored. Crowd was mostly guys and lame. I texted a friend. Didn't want to hang. Texted another. Busy. Texted one last friend...I think he may have been under house arrest, this one. Anyway, these were the three dudes I knew in the valley. Since I was out already, didn't want to text anyone else in the greater city of Los Angeles, since it would entail waiting for them to show. Which is why I dislike how spread out we are.

Well, I just had it. The girl situation at all the places I visited were pretty lame. So I thought to myself, well...what better place to find women than at a strip club.

I am the strip club patron strippers hate. I'm really cheap since I equate the money I'm handing them, to a good meal. Which would be a LOT more satisfying (if you're playing the odds). So I drove around the San Fernando Valley hitting up most of the places I remembered or saw a billboard for. The places had cover charge or dress code. Both of which I was clearly under the bar for. After some lame cruising, I decided that I should go back to the place I knew before. The Burlesque is a bikini bar. Sorry to fake you into reading about a stripper. They don't get nude. Because they have a full bar. Anyone who knows me, would know that this, to me is better than full nude.

I go in and order a drink from the middle aged Russian lady behind the counter. She's nice and chatty and is curious about me. The same way a bored night security guard would be pulling a double shift. I order a really high end single malt scotch. The bar is stocked really well. But doubt ANY of the patrons I saw this night even knew what they were. AND, to boot, super cheap drinks.

Since I didn't pay a cover charge I figured it was a good time to throw some the ladies way. I use that term loosely since these ladies were loose. Not loose, but...since you don't have the easy ice breaker of being nude, you have to have some personality. The first woman came up to me was a black woman. She asked me to buy her a drink because (in her words) "she was worth it".

To which, I have to admit, she was not. She was a really heavy black woman from Louisiana . Far as I could tell, I think we were the same age. But she looked haggard and tired. She'd just gotten off the phone with someone, and really upset. I bought her a drink. Which ended up being much pricier than mine. Apparently, the phone call had been about eviction. As in, she was about to be. She laughed through her whole story and then asked what I did.

"Male exotic dancer" I replied.
She laughed "no, really"
I said "really"
And then she asked where I danced.
And I said "Thunder From Down Under". Drawing from a male strip club my friend's wife went to on her bachelorette party.
To which she followed "Lemme guess your stripper name...uh...Hung Lo"
That cracked me up. I was in a Bukowski nightmare (or dream depending on where you stand on his life).
Then she asked me where I was from.
I told her Cincinnati.
No...my heritage.
I told her I was born in Taiwan.
Then without missing a beat...I kid you not...she started speaking Mandarin.
I looked at my snifter of booze. At her. Then back at my glass. She'd spoken the language. My shock was not lost to her.
"I was a military kid."
Aaaaahhhh...

It was then, I felt an soft hand touch my shoulder. I spun around to see a stunning woman. She was about five feet eight, six in heels and absolutely breathtaking. She had the kind eyes of a sweet girl, light brown skin. Puerto Rican.Very skimpy lingerie. I turned my attention to her.

I used the male stripper line on her as well. She drew her hand across my chest and said she could tell. Uh...I was using that line as an ice breaker. She was using it as bait. To which she started rubbing my bicep. She seemed to be really turned on. I followed up that male stripper thing with the whole idea as to why you don't see too many Asian strippers is because of the penis size thing. She looked confused as her nails went from my chest to my abs. She missed the joke. She purred the whole time. And smelled like cocoa butter. The unofficial pre-requisit exotic dancer cologne. She also seemed to like my arms a lot. Running her hands up and down them. She pointed to the bicep and said "I would lick here" and pointed to my other arm "...to here". Earlier, she'd told me she had a boyfriend. So I asked her how he would feel about that. I'm not sure where they learn this but she said "he doesn't have your body." My junk 'bout exploded.

So the line was casted. Time to reel in this chump. She then asked if I wanted a dance for $20. I said I didn't think I had enough. She asked me how much money I had in my pocket. I drunkenly drew it out. Which I wish I didn't because she would've given me a lap dance for a few bucks. I had roughly $24. To which she brightened. I handed her the $20 but she took the extra $4. She laughed "funny, you wanted to keep that extra dollar." Her accent...whoa. It was that sexy smooth talk that always ended in "honey". She knew her trade because even though I tried getting rid of her, she liked being around me. Knowing full well, I could be fleeced if I was drinking single malt scotches. She kept calling me "the hot guy" and I was eating it up like a true pigeon.

So she took me to the back booth. It wasn't really private since the booths faced the stage. I sat in the chair as she straddled me. Not sure this was okay, but I put both my hands on her thighs as she gyrated against me. She worked it hard. Spinning around to lay her breasts against my face. I naturally kissed them. She laughed. Then I grabbed them. She didn't say anything. She was what I wanted her to be. And this is where it got really outrageous, from behind I reached into her panties and stuck my fingers in her. And she was okay with it. Wow. The economy must be bad. Then she licked herself off my fingers. My brain went crazy. She pulled up my shirt and gasped. She started rubbing my chest. And undressing me! I rolled up my sleeves so that it couldn't be pulled over my head. And her eyes widened...our fingers intertwined with each other and she pulled my arms above my head. She then bent over...

...and licked my arm. Straight up licked a complete stranger's arm. AND she repeated with the other one. I was confused. But a bit turned on. Since by then I had a raging boner.

So I'm not going into a "Dear Penthouse..." letter moment here, so I'll keep it simple. The dance ended and she reached down grabbed my crotch and said "y'know, you're pretty big down there."

I told her I was really out of money this time, and she kissed me. And disappeared into the darkness.

Altogether I spent less than $80. Drinks with two women and a lap dance.

The reason I mention this is because...of the girl who recently dumped me.

I took her out for multiple dates. Drinks. Activities. Which costs four times what I spent last night only to get, more or less the very same thing. I'm no economist, but what the Hell was I thinking trying to wine and dine someone who would later ditch you? In hopes of a relationship? Or that that person would learn to love you because of your financial support. I got that from this dancer. AND she catered to me.

My friends, the one thing I do understand about life (amongst the majority of the moments that confound the shit out of me) is that we are all prostitutes. We do things for other people that we don't want to do (a job) to pay for things we don't need (wall sized plasma t.v.). I think if we were honest with what we wanted in life, prostitution would be universally accepted. But doing things strictly for money, is...somehow more dishonest than a stripper being forthright about your relationship to services rendered.

A guy has SO much to have to deal with when it comes to selling himself out for just a glimpse of tail. To which I conclude a strip club is not a bad place to be, if your life couldn't stand, nor if you've had past bad experiences with crazy drama filled girls.

Most girls in this country are very much like the first woman I met at The Burlesque. Very entitled with a high regard for themselves, even though they've shown nothing to deserve it. The other one is much craftier and more accepting of their "clientele". Learned to read the situation and enhanced the relationship with an intention that is much more clearer. The entitled one took. The other knew in order to get what she wanted ($$) she had to actually work for it. To that, I subconsciously was drawn to her work ethic. Because that was what America use to be. If you worked hard enough, you can have what you want.

I rather enjoyed having my arms licked. Good for the ego. And definitely worth the $24.

We Are Not Meant To Be Alone

I recently joined a dating site. Without sounding too douchey, I really was turned off by the whole first time I'd tried it out. Mostly because guys have terrible odds finding women. The inbox of women versus that of men (if you'd never experienced a dating site) is ridiculous. Women's mailbox explode with e-mails. Which men, in turn, like a graveyard. Not a ounce of life. And it's not just me though. I've read testimony after testimony about how awful its been for people. There has also been a study out there too about how Asian men and Black women have it the worst. They get next to ZERO responses (in roughly 6 months of posting).

So I found it funny how specific my posting was. Without expecting crap in return. I start out with a declaration that I am tired of the B.S. and that if we're honest we're going to be honest.

So I went into it. First saying the girl had to be pretty with nice legs. Had to have a job. Drove her own car. Doesn't wear a lot of makeup but looks naturally pretty. Isn't a party animal. Has nice breasts. Anyway, you see how specific it was getting. Moreso, I came off as a guy who wouldn't bow to these traits. You know why?

Because THAT'S EXACTLY how women word their specifications. If we guys were honest about it the same way women were, we'd be seen as losers who lived in their mom's basement playing Xbox while waiting for Kate Upton to show up. Instead, women pull it off that they can be just as superficially shallow as men. And get away with it online. That's sometimes the crushed part about it. You do get a glimpse at the honesty women have in their hearts. Forget it ever existing in front of you you know...like in real life.

I'm seriously not bitter about it. I think it's funny AND refreshing. The one that stands out was a woman in her mid-30's. Her statement "We're not meant to be alone"

My reaction: "lady, we die alone"

And yes, while it may be true, it is sorta' a crappy thing to think. I think so many people fall into terrible relationships because of this thought that we weren't meant to be alone. Really?

There is a huge difference of being alone to being lonely. I often find I have so much alone time to do the things that I enjoy doing. Mostly stupid things. But relationships are a compromise. Most of the time it's a benefit to the girl since they can drain all their flaws and self-consciousness on a guy and we'd have to sit there and absorb it. Meanwhile, if it were the opposite, very often that's seen as weakness. She's more than willing to find someone else to let her vent while you STFU.

I'm not mad at the situation. I consider myself a pretty good listener. Not that I care, but people fascinate me. Women fascinate me. Such a psychological study. I think that may be why I am not with anyone for a long period of time. Because there is just WAY too many combinations of interesting that can't be contained within one girl. And vice versa.

My sister said a long time ago (when I was crying in my beer about the girl I thought I was going to marry), "Dude, so what? She ain't all that interesting. Next!"

Yeah, she's really blunt like that. And pretty damn funny. And now true.

My other sister: "Your odds are good in finding someone in life, but the goods are odd". Yeah, that's life. We aren't meant to be alone. But probably, we're meant to enjoy being alone.

The Gays

It astounds me that I've actually gone this deep into my blog without having to mention what is very common knowledge (unbeknownst to my dumbass) that Hollywood is full of "the gays."

Apparently, a lot of wheeling & dealing is done beyond what has been known as "the velvet mafia." I'm not sure what that reference is other than a the gays really enjoy velvet. And the mafia. I dunno, by mentioning this, I could be dead in a very stylish dumpster in West Hollywood tomorrow with a dildo in my mouth.

When I first started going to the gym, I hadn't noticed this before. But it seems to me that a lot of gays frequent the gym a great deal. Maybe I'm in my own world with headphones on, I don't really hear the very effeminate voices. All I see are some incredibly yoked bodybuilders. It's sometimes shocking, for instance today, when a tattooed biker looking fellow was bench pressing what is equivalent to a Miata, talk to his friend like he just fell out of a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical.

The fact that I know R&H probably sets me up for all the gay vibes. Which sucks since I really love having sex with women. I think if I were gay, I'd have a better batting percentage. But my stupid brain always equates the peek of interest from a homosexual as the same interest that I should be getting from women. Which doesn't happen. Which sucks A LOT. I've been accused of having female tendencies from females. Talk about losing play upfront. Next time, less crying at "Yentl" on my part.

Oh yeah...gyms:
Yeah, so flamboyant Latin dude who straight (sic) up asked me if I went to that gym often while in the sauna. Yeah, I freak when that happens. I'm from Ohio. Comments like that get you killed. But I'm not homophobic. Yes, sometimes it pisses me off, because I would rather hear it from a big breasted leggy chick than a hairy El Salvadorean. And most people think I should be flattered since it takes a lot for a gay to take that risk of getting pummeled. But...I just put on my deepest voice and use my most heterosexual references to ward off the stench of gay "No, Paco, I usually watch NFL football on Sunday, drink some Miller Lite and crush the can on my large very testosteroned forehead."

I say "queer" & "fag" a lot because I think those words are funny. And I knock on my other friends for being "homos" or "faggy queers". But it means no disrespect to the gays. To me, it's straight guys hitting each other where it counts. In the sexuality department. AND when I say these things, it's also a bunch of us working class stiffs punk'ing each other out because we know we're not homosexual.

Anyway, are gays offended when we goof like we do? I don't think so. They know it's part of being guys. I hope. I suspect the gays actually enjoy when straight guys bash each other, instead of them. And, to be perfectly truthful, I would never use it as a hate term if I knew someone around me was homosexual and would be hurt. And there are a LOT of people who would.

Being gay in this town is not as forbidden as it use to be. Most flaunt it. Doesn't offend me. Some people it does. Some just don't like PDA in general.

But I only mention the gays because in these days where gay marriages are the talk of the country, I think to myself how unprogressive we are to deny that freedom. It's so stupid I can't even believe anyone could stand on the side of being against it. Like...similar to interracial marriages. I didn't even know it was not even legal until after the mid to late 60's. Was it really that taboo that if two people cared enough for each other, that you could pass a law to forbid it? Talk about playa' hatin'.

Yes, the very thought of homosexual activity is still strange to me. But a lot of guy friends I have want their girls to do anal. To me, that's pretty raw, and somewhat gay. So, why is it that it can be a fetish between man and woman and so seen as gross between two guys? Last I checked we ALL have anuses (as the martians have probed). So to me, it's really freakin' stupid.

Also, what self-respecting hetero dude would hate on gays. Let's face it, for the most part, they're better looking than us. Seriously better looking. They're also off the market to women, so how awesome is it that that just means more women for us?

Swagger

I was talking to my friend Ken today. Ken is an interesting guy in that he has lived life. Not necessarily a great life, but he lives the life most of us would probably judge as reckless. He’s changed so much. But changed so little. He’s in his late 40’s and has a very great perspective of the eccentricities of living in Los Angeles. As he's spent the majority of his adulthood here.

He’s painfully honest sometimes. For instance, I brought up that I’ve recently been dumped. His response “So what? You dodged a bullet.” Having never met the girl. That’s a great pep talk.  There ‘aint no elaborating with him. You’re either for us or against us. Even better yet, his opinion of Los Angeles women.

It’s not so much they’re from Los Angeles, but they adopt that attitude. What attitude is it? Same attitude we guys have been for years: there’s always something better around the corner.

It’s terrible. But there is no filter anymore. Well, there is and there isn’t. Truth is, you make up ANY excuse as to why you’re alone. What it comes down to is that we do sabotage ourselves A LOT. I, personally, allow the stupidest things to drive my emotions. I think a lot of that comes from having a chemical imbalance. For which I’ve brought on myself. Through the hardcore boozing. I wake up and look at myself in the mirror and feel EVERY bit of the binge drinking that has sapped me of much of my clarity. My old friends I haven’t seen in years, in their very kind words see that I’ve been put through the ringer. Even though my friend’s wife is ruthlessly candid with her opinions of people.

I realize that this woman who openly shares her disgust towards people probably sees herself in that same light. Just such a harsh critic of her existence. To that, I can only feel a sense of sadness for her.

Oh, know what else I learned today? When women look at you, they give you 3 seconds to make a decision as to whether or not they'd like to have sex with you, and after that time is up, they look for reasons NOT to screw you. In other words, we're our worst enemy. The minute we open our mouths, we start to backtrack in fuckability. ANYTHING. And I mean it could be a syllable, will be a reason to discount you. That's an alarming truth.

So if she even returns a greeting, it means you're in the running. For at least the amount of times it takes to suck in air. After that, depending on you flapping gums, it's downhill.

You're Gonna Fit In Well With Us

Man, oh-man.

A crazy Saturday night. So crazy that I got into an argument with someone today that it was Saturday. Today is actually Sunday.

It's also my sis's 39th b-day. I wouldn't have guessed, had it not been for an email I sent Friday. Now which day was that? Who cares. I celebrated on her behalf.

Anyway, I woke up this morning really pissed at myself. For starters, I was being really douchey last night to people. I called a bar-back "retarded" and snapped my fingers at him like a kid who is a deaf mute. To make matters worst, he snitch on me to the bartender, whom scolded me for calling people names. That wasn't the funniest part...it was that I apologized to him for calling him retarded and then told him that I was surprised that he understood what I was saying, since he was seriously retarded.

I signed my bar tab and launched the receipt at these guys. Which I felt terrible about now. They weren't ignoring me. They just were too confused to know I was looking to pay my bill. I think it just got on my nerves that the dude was just standing there washing dishes without acknowledging that I was just standing there waiting. It would've been a TOTALLY different scenario had he told me "just hang on a sec, she's getting it together to get to you, really sorry." Nope, nothing like that. It was like the DMV, where the employee knows you won't do shit about it, no matter how much you throw a fit.

I 'aint gonna lie, it felt good to mouth off to these guys. A little too good.

Anyway, so we left that dive and went to another dive. Which is where I lost my phone.

Things suck when you lose your phone. You can't really call it. And you're left wondering if anyone picked it up, the photos and texts could get into some really interesting fingers. Damage could be done.

And it did.

I woke up missing my phone. It's a bad feeling. Backtracking I had to figure out which bar would've been the most opportune place to lose it. And it's the morning so I doubt any place would be open either (more on this later). So I started backtracking, hoping upon hope it wouldn't end up at the worst possible place. The place where I mouthed off to the employees. I just imagined my phone in a gazillion different parts in the parking lot, while the two I mouthed off to sleeping at home with a satisfying grin.

Well, I would try that place last. Since...well, if it was the last stop, I could just get a drink anyway.

But it wasn't the 2nd place we went to. It was the last place.

This divey bar is actually pretty famous. You've seen it in movies. It's a dive. Anyway, it's 8:30AM and I drive up to the back entrance. The door was open and I heard music. I thought I was out of my mind. It might as well have been noon. I go through the door and see the bartender. An old grizzly guy. Looks like he'd been there just for retirement benefits. He was talking about finding phones. I couldn't believe my luck. I piped up: "Hey, my--"
And before I could even finish he finished my sentence "--you lose a phone?"
Sure enough I jumped for joy. They'd found it. But getting it back wasn't going to be so easy. At the end of the bar, a middle aged guy and a middle aged woman were hovered over my phone--

"Are you Hung?" said the cougar.
"What?" says I
"Are you Hung?" she repeated (with a cackle this time)
"No, that's not my name. Hung? What? What's going on?"
"Oh we were calling a guy named Hung. Says here he's your nephew"

So they've been calling everyone on my contact phone trying to look for me. Keep in mind, my first thought was, "that's very kind of them to do this...wow...incredibly generous." Then I realized, they had absolutely NOTHING more interesting to do than to solve this mystery. They were already a few drinks in.

"What time does this place open?" I asked.
"6 AM" says the duo.

They woke up to booze. And, I kid you not, there was a butt in every barstool. It was already raking in customers! Yes, my friends, these are real drunks.

"Well, I called Hung"
"Lady...you just dialed up my nephew in Taiwan"
"Wow" she started laughing to tears "Thailand people up this hour?"
"Taiwan" I corrected her. It's actually Monday morning there.
"Well, Hung...hahaha. Well Hung, get it" His name is Ryan Huang, but I wanted this to end. She gave me back the phone. "Well, Hung (giggle) here ya' go."

Anyway, the middle aged guy and I started rapping about bars, since they were clearly barflies. He offered to buy me a drink. I declined since it was only 8:30AM. The cougar kept screaming that I needed a bloody mary. I really didn't want to drink anymore.

I told the middle aged guy my bar was usually this other place. He told me he had dated a bartender there, whom I'd known for a LONG time and to quote him "crazy as a loon but fucks like a pornstar." That was my impression when I first met her. In fact, one bartender whom I remember vividly, I mentioned to him that she'd gotten really wasted and we started making out. To which he replied "oh yeah, totally, she's known to have blown guys in the parking lot." I won't lie. I got ill.

To make this very long story, longer...he basically knew everyone that I'd been around in the valley. The divey places I'd love as an Ohioan. Translated to the San Fernando Valley in California. These were white trash. The middle aged woman was sweating vodka. The guy with a leatherette fedora declaring how she was going to go home with either me or the other guy while showing me topless photos of his very old, but well-endowed saggy breasted wife. The Irishman who kept making "Hung" jokes and wouldn't relent, since it was his only form of entertainment, and that dog wasn't going to let go of that bone. And finally, the middle aged dude I was rapping with finally said the words I dreaded hearing:
"Buddy, you're gonna fit in well with us."

My guts hit the floor. Yes, this deck of castaways from polite society...considered me an easy fit. And it really shocked me.

I really try not to be judgmental. But a lot of times, your company is who people judge you by. I mean, porn stars generally don't hang with the Amish. And if I relate to these David Lynch throwaways, how must I be perceived in society? A dirtbag? A loser? A drunk slag humper? I must take on these very same traits which bound these riffraff together. And here I was, at the mercy of my phone being lost and Hung jokes.

And you know something? It's not bad to belong somewhere. Or maybe I'm a chameleon and know these people more than I realize. The working class that appreciate the penis jokes. At one point I related to them how I'd been dumped by a fat chick. To which they all seemed to relate. Even the haggard cougar. And, I hate to say it, but...I really did feel comfortable around them. I took their pity. Wow, they pitied me.

Think about it like this, I guess...how are you going to offend people who have NO threshhold in the dignity department. You can say the DUMBEST crap, and they eat it up like it was chocolate ice cream.

These were the great un-wash that have taken what life has given them and said to themselves "Wow, life really is going to make me go through this, well, I'll show life...I'll live it my own way." And decline slowly into maybe...just maybe a step below mediocrity. And to be even more honest, it's not really a horrible place to be. You can forego the B.S. that really brought down our society. The ones where we had to keep up with the Joneses. This grouping are happy-go-lucky drunks. They're only abusing themselves and enjoying the hell out of being inebriated. Some may have already been diagnosed with cirrhosis and death was imminent. WHO CARES? They're going to live in on their terms. To that, I can only envy them.

Later in the day, I got a phone call, it was my friend Adam whose idea it was to hang last night. He was with my other friend Vince, who is in my contact list. His first sentence "I got a message from a lady..." Apparently the cougar had left a message with him.

Vince and Adam...you're going fit in well with us.

The Hiatus

So the girl and I are taking a break. Mostly that she’s taking a break from me. Seems that her friends are in town and would like to make some time with them. Not a big deal. I figure the type of partying they want to do isn’t going to be conducive with my inability to drink as hard as I use to. I get the feeling they’re going to really give their liver a workout. For which I’d rather not deal with. ESPECIALLY if I am the designated driver. Talk about being emasculated right in front of my eyes.

In this time, I've really enjoyed getting back to writing. Not only on this blog, but I've been wanting to make a short film about a man like Robinson Crusoe. But in post nuclear apocalypse. A man who is a survivor and lives in a missile silo, realizes his connection to the outside world may be his only hope for sanity.

Sounds familiar, I guess.

Except, since I live in L.A., it's more like my only hope for sanity is if I STAY in my missile silo. Or in this case, home in Van Nuys. Which probably is more radioactive than a nuclear fallout.

I haven't decided what is the reasoning for the world imploding onto itself due to nuclear war. I want to imply that maybe it was all the information superhighway giving out bad information at an alarm speed. For which there wasn't even time to evaluate information but to react. Not sure if it even really matters, since society boned itself with the new technology. My assumption is that we just blew ourselves up to the stone age and that the very lucky few who were able to survive, had survival instincts to begin with. Unless you're at ground zero, for which there is no merit badge that's going to protect you from instant incineration.

I always liked that story of a man alone in his daily routine. Slowly realizing that he isn't alone. To spitball here...I think my main character wants to piece together a familiar surrounding. One that he can control. The question being that if society could be rebuilt by you, how would you remember society? Is it the people that aggravate you daily that make your existence notable. Since if you accomplish anything, and no one is there to appreciate, it really doesn't seem to be that big of an accomplishment. Mean, do we also enjoy the evaluation of others to validate us?

I think in the long run, we do seek connection. A familiarity that we crave. That we intuitively know is part of us. Otherwise, there is no living. Because if you stop to think about it, we do a LOT of things to show to others who we are. 

Maybe we do need an organism that speaks like us, that looks like us, and can share dreams or thoughts like us because if we're left alone, there is no more a dialogue that progresses life. In other words, what reason is there for living?

I really need to explore this further, because I have to dig up the universal truth which others would appreciate. See there I go again, finding validation in the world.

Tony Scott & Some Thoughts On Directors

On August 19th 2012, Tony Scott leapt to his death off the Vincent Thomas bridge.

I got the text that night from a friend and still could not believe what had happened.

A year and a half ago, I'd been standing next to him in a line waiting for the buffet table at my job. He flirted with the girls there. Told off-colored jokes. And seemed so filled with life. He'd completed "Unstoppable" and seemed immensely light-hearted. I remember his pre-requisit two bottles of Grey Goose in the freezer. His red cap. And a love for cigars (to which I gravitated towards due to him).

I'm not about to even theorize what he may have been thinking, only to say that he was my hero in the film world. So many times during film school, I'd reference his work. He was punk rock artist at the finest. A collage of melodrama and slick salesman. His loud rock, shameless music video style was ground breaking and I longed to emulate it every chance I had. It took all the willpower in my body not to break down and gush my admiration for his talent. He was film God to me.

And it ended a hot day in San Pedro.

Most people complain today that the filmmakers of late, have zero signature to them. When you saw a Tony Scott movie, you knew it was a Tony Scott movie. His fingerprints were all over it. The lighting. The buzz. The energy. That was quintessential. I hear his voice now through commentaries, and wish on that Sunday afternoon, there was something that could've talked him down from that ledge. But with his movies, as much as himself, the legacy was about resolve. That you may struggle to do the right thing and you will not delineate from the set plan. It was the kid in me growing up in suburban Cincinnati going over to a neighbor's house and watching "Top Gun" till the tracking lines were too much to get a picture. It was trying to purchase a film print of "The Last Boy Scout" off the first generation of EBay, when you could do illegal things like that. It was trying to convert my film camera into a crank camera like he did with "Man On Fire" and countless commercials. His uncompromising style spoke volumes to the anyone who loved the medium of film. And I thank him for being alive long enough to make an impact.

DIRECTORS
If you've never worked in movies or been around movie productions, I'd like to share a few thoughts on what the Director of any movie actually does. I'm talking feature films.

While it's true, I am NOT a director by trade, I have been around a few to get the gist of their everyday life. I've met many in my day. And they come in different flavors. And different temperaments. One of the ones I whole heartedly respect once said, that directing isn't what most people think it is. Directing is having a list of 30 shots and having two hours to shoot it, so you have to cut your list down to 3 before the sun sets.

That's so great for a few reasons. First, directing isn't that guy who sits in his comfy director's chair and yells "action" and "cut". In fact, most of the time the assistant director does that. He is the guy who has to steer the ship to get to the destination. He is the guy who lives and dies by the product. A babysitter for moody actors. A sounding board for out of control drama laden weirdos. A visionary. A task master. A brother. A father. A mother. And a drinking buddy. He is the person everyone turns for as a barometer of the project. In short, he's the movie itself.

Recently, Kristen Stewart was lambasted in the press for having an affair with her director. ANYONE who has been around an established creative person as a director, knows the responsibility and power that goes with this position. And most would fold under its pressure. A lot of directors do have that mystique to their actors. A person whose strength and grace under pressure and singular thought is absolutely attractive. Why most of us poor unfortunate lads with no social skills can live out our love story with a leading lady of our choice.

Yes, with great power comes great responsibility. I think Spider Man said that once. Speaking of which, Peter Parker is a boy, what is the "Man" part in "Spider Man".

Anyway, I think directing is very misunderstood. A lot of the times, on a big budgeted project, there is an army following the general to either glory or doom. But there is also a contingent that enjoys acting like a director without actually having to direct. Most of these phonies are very obvious in that they contradict themselves in trying to coach an actor while babbling mindlessly in hopes they'd get to a point. I've been there on a lesser scale with my student films. Can't imagine losing a $100k day doing the same thing. But it's happened.

A very well known director I've met once has this babbling thing to a science. He answers questions like he's lecturing a film class. But most of him speaking consists of just tangental junk. Like talking about a parking spot on some studio lot. Or which cafe in town has the best omelet. Just jibberish. Meant to confuse others to think what he says is profound. When they're just in their own heads.

The other part of the quote about directing is that it is nothing but of practical nature to get into post-production. That is where most directors can relax and have the grueling days of being on set behind them. I've dealt with directors in post that will come to meetings with a handle of vodka to view their material. My guess is to suppress all the nightmare scenarios of each day. To the best of my knowledge, they've only come with great stories of drama off camera.

The very few I've had the privilege of observing that truly care about their projects do present themselves. You can tell they were made to make movies. A certain wonder and love for the medium of story telling. In my experience Gore Verbinski & J.J. Abrams are the quintessential movie lovers/makers. Anyone who's spent time around a film set know immediately these two are NOT new to the scene. And most, having experienced their vision of directing, would move mountains to get their  ideas across on film. They are well-versed in every aspect of filmmaking. Understanding how each department runs and how each one is vital to the finished product. They know people by name. Remember the favors people do for them, and pay them back a hundred fold. And...here's the best part...
...they are constantly grateful. They know this job can be bought with just a few connections and the right money. They are grateful that people share in their exuberance to make movies. That they were given an opportunity to share their stories. And they value the audiences they want to entertain. They know, NOT because they have to know, but because they wanted to know. Nothing was handed to them. So, where there was their will, they found a way. If it sounds like I'm kissing their tuckuses, it's because it is a refreshing to know that there are successful people out here that got where they are with a LOT of hardwork. Meritocracy lives...in some form. And gives us hope.

Being Dumped Sucks

Being dumped sucks. I mean really sucks.

Duh!

What may be worst is not knowing why you were dumped.
No, you know what's worst...whining about it...but why not? I think many people have gone through it, so I think it bears some thoughts.

So begins my week. After the girl I'd been seeing spent time with her girlfriends from out of town. They left early last week. I kinda waited for the smoke to clear before contacting her. On Saturday, I texted. And haven't gotten a response back. You'd think someone who was interested in furthering a relationship would respond immediately. Even go as far as to have genuinely missed you. But that isn't the case. Kinda' have to trust your instincts on this one.

It sucks for a few reasons. And NONE are really reasonable. For one thing, she lived so close to me. I mean walking distance close. In Los Angeles terms, that is maybe at the end of your driveway. Really it was more like a mile. So having someone that close was a great convenience. Secondly, she was always available. Well, until now...when I was dumped. But that was a big deal since my work schedule is crappy. So, none of these reasons is valid enough to seriously start a real relationship. My buddy Jared is going through the same thing. Even worst is that the girl he is with is leaving town soon. Well...so she says.

Anyway, yeah, no rhyme or reason. Just no response. No text. No call. No nothing. Some women would take this opportunity to make the guy feel jealous. Or play mind games. Maybe. But I don't think so. My mind first goes to think that she found someone else. Which is fine. But...we all need closure. Or maybe not.

Closure is such a funny thing. Because no amount of finalization is going to satisfy the person who was dumped. I've been on the other end before and know that you can't give bad news and good news at the same time. It's far easier to sidestep people than it is to confront. Since most breakups require a lengthy...explanation. For which none of us want to deal with.

It goes back to the days when I was casting my student films. We went through a LOT of headshots before finding a few for auditions. After finally selecting the right actor for a role, I decided to give "closure" to the ones I didn't select. I thought, because the person spent their time preparing, I felt obligated to give them an explanation. It didn't dawn on me that maybe telling a person that they weren't right for a role may actually be cruel. Think about it like this, if I'd never called, the actor could make up ANY excuse why they weren't selected and move on. For me to call and specifically tell them why they weren't selected is. That's adding insult to injury. Chances are when one calls for things like that, they're expecting the best. Having the rug pulled from under them is really douchey. And psychologically scarring.

So, in this case, I wouldn't want to know that she had found someone else and that they're better than me. I'd rather feel that she may have somehow driven off a cliff in Malibu and can't reach a phone. For which I wouldn't want a follow up and would consider myself a complete dick for the lack of concern.

Y'see, being dumped seriously sucks. It makes you think of the stupidest things. Worst, it makes you wish the stupidest thing on other people. For me, I think it was a bunch of laziness on my part. Maybe it was too easy. Or not. Maybe I fell into another trap of being boring or too available. Or too low brow on the totem pole with no possible future. But that's my story and I can hang my hat on it. Rather than knowing she probably hated making out with me. Or can't stand my stupid face.

I like my story better. It, at least, has an ending.

sob...sob...sob...sobriety

Today is my 7th day of getting off the booze again. It's been a weird one this time, in that I've never felt this tired. Research has told me that it has to do with my body having so much refined sugar suddenly yanked away. Much like a kid who's been eating now n' laters for years for breakfast, lunch and dinner now switched to solid foods. Like a steak. You break out in sweats. And that's what's happening.

The physical ailments:
I feel a lot of congestion behind my eyes
I am paralyzed with fatigue
I zone out
I can't recall simple things
Anxiety
depression
and the rest...

I also snap at people, because now I sense I'm really hyper-aware of others who interrupt my sentences OR just the slightest slight, I get pissy. That just may be that I'm getting older as well. I HATE people telling me how the world is when I know how the world is (yet I know shit about how the world is).

I read recently that it may also be the result of a fatty liver. That would be awful. Without sounding like a hypochondriac, it is indeed a scary thing. There is a fine line between that AND cirrhosis. Damage, in regards to one, is irreparable.

Let's flashback to the blurry night for which we went out hunting for women. The night where I met the girl I'm seeing now. Y'know what, forget that...let's flash forward to the morning...

...I woke up absolutely paralyzed. A sharp pain in my upper chest to which I can't explain other than I felt what death must feel like. It wasn't so much that it was sharp, is that it was rolling. As if my body kept wanting to expunge the pain. I've only heard of this when reading about another person who drank heavily, and his pancreas exploded releasing droplets of stomach acid that destroyed his lower colon. Ugh. But that's how I felt. I kept thinking of that scenario over and over again. I don't think I've felt this bad before. And I was sweating profusely. I covered myself in a towel and still felt drenched. I rushed to the sink, only to vomit out everything in my stomach (which was nothing since I forgot to eat that night). It was a large amount, but only water. It came rushing out. And instead of feeling better, I went back to sweating. Then the shakes kicked in. Oh boy...the shakes. I was tightened up in a ball, trying to figure out the best angle to sleep. There was no relief out of ANY angle. Maybe face down. But my stomach was pulsating. I just got done watching "Prometheus" and that scene where Shaw has her stomach Cesarian'd out...yeah...it was like re-living it. It was gruesome.

I basically passed out the entire Sunday and then re-woke as I had survived that night. The instant relief and gratification that I wasn't going to die in my boxer briefs while holding desperately to a towel is insurmountable.

So I decided to call it quits for a while.

That night was more fascinating to me, in that...it wasn't that night that stopped me from drinking. believe it or not, that very same night I polished off a few more beers. What it did show me was that I really had to know true pain from drinking before I knew I didn't have to cycle through it again...like that. It was a living horror show. And I think to myself, that if I died that night, with so much left to accomplish, I'll be pissed. Yeah, dead and pissed, what a goofy thought.

I'll admit that this ass-dragging fatigue is alarming. It's like an anchor. I can't control certain things when it hits me how tired I am. Almost like narcolepsy.

I did this to myself. And I'm fixing to undo it.

I went to read on a website recently everyone who suffers from this debilitating fatigue. It's not a pretty forum. Everyone I read about looks back on their lives and candidly regrets. I heard somewhere recently, that is what is the most destructive thing in the world...regret. I think it was "Men In Black 3" which is a pretty good movie. I think regret is about forcing yourself onto the right path. Or at least, making aware that our survival wasn't meant to go with volunteer suffering. It was meant to live a content life and share experiences with others. And maybe leave a legacy that carries on your name. I think we all seek to further our lives. I mean, otherwise, what is the reason for living. Is it something we just drudge along waiting for the inevitable or make the most of it while we're here.

There's a guy at work who is waiting for the latter. I feel so bad for him, because he lives in deep regret. And is brutally honest about it. The fact is that he believes in cryogenics. And although I don't have enough research to argue it's merits, I do know that I don't want to chance the next life when the one I was given now hasn't played itself out. To me, it's a cop out. Not cheap, mind you. But people seem to want to cheat what nature has given us.

Yeah, there are no answers to tragedies that happen. If death were to befall us on any hour of any given day, what can you draw on your life to accept was worth that trip here.

Yeah, you think stupid shit like this when you sober up. Could be all that lack of refine sugar talking.

Social Media Closed The Window On More Potential Dates

As if guys didn't have more to worry about. Social media, this insidious peer to peer evaluator has closed more windows for potential relationships than we'd like to admit.

The irony.

Because isn't social media suppose to be used for...y'know...socializing. Instead, it's reduced the average man's ability to date properly.

I've touched on this in the past, but I think it bears examining.

A woman, despite what she may deny, is constantly on the judgment page. They evaluate EVERTHING. Clothes. Hair. Butt. The other girl's butt. Boobs. Job. Face. The other girl's boobs, etc..

They've carried this hyper-criticism into their internet lives. Now, instead of having a circle of friends judge their potential mate, you have a gazillion bazillion people. With opinions. And NO ONE online is remotely kind.

For every YouTube video put on about them and their boyfriends, you see the comment page. Count them. More negative then positive. While I understand that it's sometimes fun to crack wise on people who would dare post this (and true, they are putting this up for scrutiny), the comments go from mean to ruthless.

You think women want to post a picture of the man their seeing on Facebook and have their wallpapers blow up with comments? Do we really wish people well with their relationships? No. Because we're all haters in our own way. Mean angry lonely haters. Who would love to pass on their misery to others who may have had an opportunity to find happiness. Instead, now women may be looking for mates that, if posted would make their friends and extended network jealous.

Think about how often women dress up to go out. This dressing up isn't for us men. It's to make their girlfriends look plain. To paraphrase Chris Rock "women hate women."

Yes, there are friendships. And some would claim to have masculine tendencies. But for the most part, women are only happy when their envied.

To the "normal" guys...that sucks. The comments will be polite. Rarely will their social network friends write "oh, he's a hottie, you're really lucky." Instead, they're comments such as "Good to see you going out again!" or something more innocuous.

Yeah, a lot of this comes from a very personal place. I understand that when you interracially date, the stakes become higher. And it takes two parties with self-confidence and esteem to overlook the cruel cruel world. Conversely towards the women side though, I can see the self-conscious pain you may face. For example, you see comments that draw attention to their age, weight, hairdo and clothes. How are you going to win?

This is social media. And it blows. Use to be, all you needed was approval of each other. Now, you may be facing the world. Good luck to us all.

You're Not Immune

Booze is a crazy thing. It feels like you can conquer anything but at the same time sap your energy up and make you not even take the first step.

Remember when prohibition started? How there was a ban on the stuff and people went batty and they amended that? How crazy is it to think that for a block of time, it was illegal to drink. People find a way. Much like marijuana in today's world. People find ways to suspend reality.

Lately, I waned off the sauce. But the effects are unmistakable. Bloated face. Irritability. Anxiety. Dizzyness. It's all there. I just feel tired all the time. Have absolutely no thrill for things I use to be gaga over. These days, it's just "meh".

And that shocks me.

Because I use to have sensory recall, and would love revisiting certain memories of places. A few nights ago I took my date to my old apartment. The one I moved out of after 11 years. The less foggier version of me would've felt the impact of the memories that should've come flooding back. Instead, it was a dead calm. I looked at the front gates of the ol' apartment complex and maybe blinked once. I told her I had lived there for that many years. She was shocked. Mostly since that would've been over 40% of her life. I felt nothing. It was a dead shell of a memory.

What happened?

Does getting older make you less nostalgic. Or did all these years of booze filled nights just flush this history down the toilet. It got me thinking of people who get Alzheimer's. I think they think they should feel a certain way towards something or someone but they don't, and it gets really frustrating.

I would've never thought of the many years I've spent absorbing the gravity of my existence in Los Angeles, that those would not yield a modicum of fond memories. Instead...blank.

Much like as I'd mentioned...I think I should feel a certain way, but I didn't.

Maybe that was why I hung on to alcohol so long. It was to quell those sad thoughts. But the side effects was that they also squashed the good memories. Now I have a few memories. Which consist of the day I moved from the place. And mostly because there is video to accompany it. The man in the vid is a stranger though. It's a different era of me.

I seemed to have turned my back on my own history. Which is fine. Since I don't feel much about it anyway. And it's weird since I think I should feel a certain way towards it, but it doesn't register. I'm probably losing it. But as my sister once said, if you recognize that you're crazy, you're not.

3rd Hang out: A Few Things About Dating Younger Women

A few things about dating younger women.
Or maybe I'm just a sucker.
Because I have 12 years on her...I always feel like paying on our outings. I realize she is young and, to the best of my knowledge, poor...so it doesn't bother me that I do pick up the tab. Especially as I've invited her to more things now. She's invited me to one thing, but I was working and couldn't make it. She was going to pick up the tab for that one. Aside from that...

...yeah this has mostly been on my dime. I wonder if it would be the same if it was a girl my age. I think women my age tend to be more self reliant and would be sickened by being "bought". They tend to feel obligated to pulling their own weight.

So I spent a night in the backseat of the car with my younger girl. We decided we were going to make out in the park. it was a really nice feeling because it was in the open air. And surprisingly private. I think she was hoping the sprinklers weren't on so we could go out to the grass and really go at it. But the backseat was fine. AND it was cute sexy in an adolescent way. Like if Mom & Dad were at home and this was the only way we were going to get it on. It bugs me sometimes, like in the back of my mind, that somehow...this generation of girls may just like the "older man" scenario due to having nothing better on the horizon...so why not? My attitude has always been: it better be worth my while to make time with this person. Hers may just be: I had nothing better to do.

So, in regards to the very uncomfortable backseat of my car, I am surprised how restrained she has been. She told me she was constantly horny. And what she described as "perma-wet". Being more candid, she told me about how she sat around in her office, fantasizing really kinky sexy thoughts and getting all the more saturated while thinking these things. I thought she'd like to share some of those thoughts with me. To which she replied that girls need their secrets. My bewildered expression said it all..."honey, I just put my fingers in the holiest of your holy and we need to keep secrets from each other?" Yes, Chuckie, apparently women DO have a filter that prohibits these truly intimate ideas from escaping.

But yet, nothing felt better than to be the function of her orgastic moment. Something I shared with previous girlfriends. And getting re-familiarized with this girl.

The age thing does play in my mind. Maybe it's just my mind, but I know at something point, our decade gap may be a subject of contention. I do think about it. Here and there. And I DON'T take pride in it. I thought a younger woman would make me feel more virile and alive. Some parts...yes. Other parts, I feel like I just got the keys to the Ferrari, but the tires have flats. In other words, the most basic functions that need something sophisticated to operate could sideline you because it's still a needed function.

I also think younger women may expect more from older more supposedly experienced guys. I think at whatever age..guys will always fumble around blindly trying to figure the girl in front of them out. Everyone is so similar but also so very different.

This has been an eye-opening foray into a world I never thought I would visit.

2nd Hang Out - BOWLING!

Bowling. Is there any other game that evens the playing ground? You aim. You toss. You talk smack. Seen babies bowl. How much more universal can this be?

I went bowling yesterday with my date. We went as a group since that was what her friend wanted to do. Her friend was "hooked up" with my friend Jared. I knew very little of this girl, since the first time I met her, she said very little to me, and nervously chatted up her friend sitting next to her. I took that cue to mean, she's not remotely interested in what I had to say. Which I came to find out later, she was just a very socially awkward person. And when actually some time invested, she was somewhat chatty and sweet.

Impressions are hard to shake. I chose my bowling moniker as "Ballz Deep". Yeah, I went there. I'm classy like that. I'm not sure how funny my date considered that. But I think the uncomfortable sex connection is funny. Plus it was very appropriate for bowling. I think.

So there are three girls and three guys. My co-worker friend came out to even out the ratio. I think one of the girls felt out of place. My friend Mike is in his 40's. I think he felt out of place. But he's so fun loving, I'm not sure it was a big deal. He's a good guy. And normally, a group like this would seem kinda' odd, it came as a very nice monotony breaker. Mike cracks wise all the time. He finds the humor in so much, and my date seemed to enjoy his jokes. Sometimes crass, but more jovial.

I bought the first round of bowling for the group. Being that we were in Sherman Oaks...the games were surprisingly expensive. That said, my date didn't remotely offer to cover her cost. That irked me a bit, not even an offer to do so. I think most women feel obligated to, at least, make an effort to pay her own way. Not my girl. She clearly enjoyed being taken care of. Which reminds me...I went to get drinks for everyone. She disappeared to get a drink for herself and didn't offer to get me one. That's struck me as interesting. Women should take care of men if they find themselves connected to them. This threw me off a bit too. How exactly this new dating world has changed.

Have we gone back to the good ol' days where the man paid for everything and I didn't even know it. Or does she think I'm just some weasly old schmuck.

I'll go for the schmuckness.

So far, she hasn't impressed me. Or rather, I haven't impressed her. Being a man, means being a man. I gotta man-up. Resistance is good. She needs to be challenged soon. Such is the life of an over 30 year old going out with an under 30 year old.

The 1st Hang Out

It's hard for me to use that term: "date". I think "appointment" may be too formal. So, maybe, "hang out" is the best way to put it.

But I texted that we should get tea. She countered with a movie.

Okay, lemme preface this whole BORING exchange differently:
I texted: Let's go get tea.
she responded: Tea? What about our movie, Big Dick Tom?

As you can tell, she has very little filter. Which is ridiculously attractive. It's so refreshing to find someone who has decidedly chose to not spend the effort to dilute her words. She enjoys this.

And I must admit, I really enjoyed her enjoying this. Her delivery is typical American. Long drawn out tired phrasing. Life is WAY too beneath her to deal with. And it totally cracks me up. I can tell she is also smarter than me. I guess the only way I could explain this is that she crunches numbers faster than I could with a calculator. Her brain is always moving, even though she sounds like a head injury victim. That's pretty amazing.

So we went to see a really raw vicious movie. At a real low discount theater. She already understood this place to be ghetto. I say she needs to get in touch with real people. Come down from that cloud you  stand on above others.

The thing about her is that she is smart. And that was a humongous find since most women choose to act dim to impress the guy. I mean, I guess some guys like that. But I like that she is constantly keeping me on my toes. And I think most people starting out in their relationships are always on their best behavior. What effort we must go through to hide who we really are.

It may be truly easier just to be ourselves.

Women Are Easy Math Is Hard

I figured the irony already being that I am Asian and math should be easy and well...you know the rest.

I think some people might find it interesting...the dating world in Los Angeles, so I've set aside a block of time to speak about it from my perspective.

As some may have read, I've had a really rough time with alcohol. I think it's done permanent damage to my psyche sometimes. I get anxious when there is no cause. And I snap rather openly at people as I probably read their intentions wrong. Quite simply, I'm a total douche.

Okay, that said...I also think this has effected my dating life. By life I mean, for the most part, I've enjoyed hiding in the darkest corner of my dwelling and downing a fifth of something while harassing women online. Sad and pathetic?...you betcha'. But...and a STRONG BUT...it's kept me away from drinking and driving AND BONUS, I can always click away if the conversation turns to rejection.

Yes. My brotherhood that reads this blog, WE are the conduit of most (if not all) rejection. And you will not get out of it.

Los Angeles is a town of rejection. The most prettiest of the prom and the most hunkiest of studs come to this town to make it in front of the camera. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on where you stand) there is a surplus of the genetically blessed. And they steel themselves for the harshest critics of all. The casting director who looks NOTHING like them but has the palm of their lives in a black Sharpie.  So vindictive they must be to have a plain Jane or a Simple Simon turn THEM down. Yes, these beautiful creatures are the byproduct of being feigned upon in their respective towns ONLY to be another face in the crowd here in sunny Southern Cal.

How would you feel if you were known for your blueberry muffins and people relied on you to save their bake-off year in and year out, ONLY to have the owner of Hostess be the judge?

I'd boycott Hostess for the rest of my life (which I know is impossible, but still...).

That's how these pretty people are. They boycott us norms. Because at some point a few of us decided to use our brains to get the career advantage over them. Some, even deviously made it a point to make it in the industry to exploit this loophole of genetics.

*speaking of genetics, there is a rash of attractive people here in Los Angeles whom seem to have been spawned from unattractive people. I think God or whomever you want to believe, balances the world through the use of high intensity drugs, dark mood lighting and weak primal urges, similar to urinating.

Los Angeles is SUCH a strange place for dating. So much to do, yet, so limited in what one wants to do if it isn't eating, watching movies or screwing. I think you can combine all three sometimes.

For me, and let's be frank...

...being short as I am, dark complected and Asian also carries its own stigma. Yes, there are a few known facts between Asian men interracially dating. And oddly enough, in Los Angeles, the melting pots of all cauldrons, we see very little of this. Sure, there are pockets where it's not such a big deal. But Asian dudes tend to stay with Asian chicks. There's biology somewhere out there about this...maybe. But I'm too lazy to read. All I know is you see more interracial dating with Asian women than you do with Asian guys. Draw your own conclusions. Here's how it is with me...

I grew up in the midwest. Cincinnati to be exact. The center of all things white. In fact, it use to be called Germantown. And I won't even get into Marge Schott. Wiki her. She's a laugh riot.

So my exposure to relationships have always been geared towards Caucasian women. It's just what I saw growing up. In middle school, there were some girls I had crushes on. Okay, I 'aint gonna lie, EVERYDAY I was smitten over some girl. I think it's because their features were so different than mine. Maybe deep down inside, to be a part of this dating pool would've been acceptance into this society.

I had two girlfriends in high school. Yes, two. One liked me because I was in band (not A BAND, but BAND, as in french horn; as in dork) but was really cut since I worked out a lot back then. The other was a longer term girlfriend. Both were exceptionally smart, really sweet, liked that I was different as well. The long term girlfriend took forever to get her to see me in a different light. We had trigonometry class together and we'd make out after school everyday. She was a year younger than me, but we still had the same math class together. Again, what did I say about the title of this post?

Anyway, my mom saw that we were really close. And quietly disapproved. Not of her as a person. But I was introducing a strange racial divide that still wasn't all that acceptable in southern Ohio into her isolated world.

I went to prom with this girl. We spent some time in the long distance relationship thing when I went off to college. The most poignant part of that conversation was the one day that her father came to our house. Without being confrontational, he spoke with a firmness about his daughter. The gist being that he didn't approve of us together. However, his tone, unlike my mom's, was more in tuned with the color of my skin.

It was crushing, since that was the beginning of the end of our relationship. Just in the back of her mind, we were always going to be different. She would have to live under the ceiling of her parents for another year. I couldn't possibly put her under that type of scrutiny. She dumped me.

College wasn't any easier. I'd like to think that I was a smooth operator. But it was embarrassing the things I did to get girls (and never got them). I joined theater at this time. NOT really theater but took drama classes. They were total b.s. but the prettiest girls were there (remember my rant about L.A....they start out in these classes). I was clearly not an actor. I could barely put together a few sentences together before I'd forget my line. They could tell I was a masher. Weren't that many Asians in Northwest Ohio. Certainly none in the drama department...try science.

I met the one girl my senior year in college I thought I was going to marry. She hit me hard. She was tall. Strawberry blonde. And sad grey eyes. I thought she was a model (even though others bypassed her). Not sure what she saw in me or what others didn't see in her. But I loved being with her. I'm sure I've mentioned her in previous blogs. Probably sounded lame.

Oh, so...back to dating in L.A. My advice to most young guys going out there to meet their mate is that...your mate doesn't have to be a "meet cute" scenario. It happens so rarely since, the people who believe in this probably don't fall under the "cute" category (but their children might) anyway. You have to play the odds. And keep a really open mind to what is available. SOOOOO many single people in this town because of this ridiculous notion of "standards". I'm not saying lower them, I'm saying be realistic. A leggy big-breasted blonde driving a Ferrari can't possibly be hanging with a guy with Converse Chuck Taylors with jeans and shirt that come from Ross.

And why would you want that standard anyway. You know how much a woman like that would cost you on an ordinary night? You do the math. I wasn't any good at it.

I'm 37...No...Really

I was at the bar last night. First time in...I would say in years. The scene hasn't changed much. The drinks are still Los Angeles overpriced. And people seem to be mismatched. This was a place in North Hollywood. Can't remember the name of the place but...for a Saturday night it was surprisingly empty.

I was told the mai tais were good there. I went with my friend Vince and Jared. These two crack me up big time. It's almost like the perfect balance between really sleazy greasy Quagmire from "Family Guy" dude and the very reserve intellectual who quietly surveys a room. Which most would probably think hipster. I'll leave you to guess who's who.

So, we'd been drinking and I spot a table with a group of ladies sitting and drinking. Three. I figure, three of them, three of us. I struck up a conversation with one of them. Surprise, surprise...turns out she was a writer from Minnesota. I guess she wanted to be a screenwriter, but didn't go into details. Mostly since the mai tais were kicking my ass. But because I could only imagine what a young woman in Hollywood as a writer would write about. Nothing a guy almost in his 40's is remotely interested in.

I asked her her age. She told me 25. I told her I was 37.

And that...my friends, is where it became a war of attrition. She didn't believe me for a second. She asked for my driver's license. Even did the math to pinpoint me in 1975. She thought was the youngest of our trio. I went as far to tell her I was lying and am actually 25. She dropped it, but still...I could tell it was eating her up.

Now...I'm not trying to fall into conceit here, but I always imagined I looked my age. I kept telling her that Asians age backwards like vampires. Maybe it was my short stature or hairless features. But she would not believe it. Even getting her friends into the conversation, even though they could care less about me and more focused on my bud Jared. They confirmed I was ancient.

With that, it got me thinking about age. If you just listened to my oldest sister talk, or even get a text message from her, you'd think she were a 16 year old. NOT that she's immature. Shit, she's bought her own house and pays her bills with ZERO debt. But because she has an air about her that screams goof ball. She'd rather be weird than boring. Most adults choose being boring.

I think I share a certain immaturity as well. I got this girl's number and, more or less forced her to go to the new Bourne movie with me on the 10th of August. When she took down my number, I gave her my name as "Big Dick Thom Kuo" for which she actually typed it in as such. I wonder if she thinks I think I have a big dick, or that I act like a shithead so I AM a big dick.

This is NOT grown-up behavior. Oh well, got a date for Bourne.

What really troubles me more than anything...it was the number that slid out of my mouth. 37. Shoot, I'm almost 40 and have very little to show for it. I think L.A. is all about that though. I know 5 other people at work who, one is searching for a Eastern European wife EVEN after a disastrous first attempt which resulted in a lawsuit and much wasted time. And another who didn't hear the cautionary tale of the first guy's attempt at mail order brides. They're both over 40. Knuckleheads.

Not to say you have to accomplish anything by 40, but this time has really crept up on me. I don't remember certain events of my life anymore. And what thrilled me when I was younger, definitely has mellowed out going into the next phase.

I got 12 years on this girl. But she's got at least 30 lbs. on me. Yeah, that was really mean to say. But I like her face. And she made me laugh. So, she could be fun. But, I do think more than a decade...hard to tell. To me, that is already a generation. And as far I knew, that could be a lot of confusing esoteric references...kinda like when "Family Guy" switched from 70's references to 80's references since their audience didn't understand a bunch of them.

Man, where did the time go. It happened to me. Gonna happen to you.