The world according to, as it pertains to and how it revolves around me.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Dammit
Who ever wants a rainout? Well this guy right here does. Because I'm an idiot. An idiot who thought he had tickets to tomorrow night's Sox game. The game where Schilling would make his second turn back in the rotation vs. Scott Kazmir, the hard-throwing lefty D-Ray. NOPE I have tickets for tonight's game. I just realized this about 45 minutes ago.
It's late in the season and no one wants to have to reschedule games, so they'll try to get this one under way, no doubt. Ugh...
Not my proudest moment, but it had to be done. It was sink or swim and I wasn't going down with this particular ship. Not for her, not for anyone last night.
As we left bar #1 for bar # 2, Stefan was worried that we were going to have a run in with a recent ex. But lo and behold, it wasn't him to have the awkward encounter but yours truly. Talk about ironic. We're at the bar chatting ordering drinks and all of sudden I see her rounding the corner. Bam, it was 8-Minute/TupperwareGirl. Talk about a potentially game-salting encounter. Hmm... this could be potentially awkward as the last time I talked to her, I was supposed to call her back about going to her birthday party. I was in San Diego at the time and who bothers checking their called ID when it's 74 and sunny year round?
So I do what any other red-blooded guy on the make would do:
Casually pretending not to see her till she comes over. "Oh hi, how's it going? It's so funny to see you here this weekend. I'm only here for the rest of the week and I run into you. Oh, I didn't tell you? I'm living in California now. I found this great job and moved in with my buddy. Yeah things are great. Love it. It was good seeing you."
Flat out lying? No, just one of the risks associated with dating. Kinda fun, though.
Maybe if I was a lesser man (or a freaking woman) my biological clock would be ticking. I'm sure it's just a matter of circumstance, but it seems that quite a few acquaintances I know are taking that long walk to blissful matrimony, slowly being picked off one by one without even knowing it. I know I felt differently at a much earlier age, but now, I feel that getting married at our relatively young age is very much akin to rushing into getting a tattoo. Hopefully it will work out for the best, but odds are pretty much a crap-shoot. At least some of these heathens will finally stop living in sin...
Call me old-fashioned but that's the problem, kids just don't have any sense of proper marriage etiquette. I think that we need to bring back some tradition to the modern wedding. And we should start things off with the age-old tradition of Fortnight. What's that you ask? Well anyone seen Braveheart? It's essentially the Gaelic tradition of a two-week all-you-can-eat sexual free-for-all with the supposed bride-to-be (just broke the land/air record for number of hyphenated words in a sentence.) Talk about liberating. This is the Bride's last chance to sow her wild oats, unless she wants to be branded with the A of shame. Frankly it's a no-lose proposition, unless you're the Groom. But if he complains, it's not like he'll lead any sort of brutal uprising. He's got a giant wedding bill to foot. Don't get me wrong I'm all for the idea of marriage, but I still got at least another year of making stuff up to get girls in bed.
"You certainly look cool today. Too bad you're at work," my friend says to me. So yeah, I've spent the better part of the morning trying to do some writing. Inspiration is so hard to muster when you sit in a cubicle. I figured that an extra early carbonated boost would get me going, but if anything I think I am developing an addiction to Diet Coke (fourth one in less than 14 hours). And instead of words dancing together, the chorus from Beck's "Girl" is floating through my head, interlaced with bits of Gwen's "Holla Back Girl". The soundtrack to uninspired writer's block.
Officially too old to be on the Real World, unofficially too old to date a 19 year old. Them's the breaks of being 25.
Well technically I will be 25 in a few hours (Western time zone and all) but for all intents and purposes I'm a quarter century old, as my good buddy Ben pointed out to me just as the clock struck midnight. As usual I put too much emphasis on my birthday, it is just another day after all. I think it's the only child in me, but I treat my birthday as if I was a woman or a despot leader (making a HUGE deal of it). But the one thing I can do is look back and realize that I'm firmly entrenched in my 20's and things have been good.
But onward and upward. My best friends are flying up tomorrow for what promises to be a weekend Birthday extravaganza. And ultimately I realize that's what's important.
And my first moments of being 25? Sitting back, enjoying some of the lovely ice cream cake that my dahling roommates surprised me with and playing some Madden 06 (a little treat for myself) before I drift off to bed. I got a full day ahead of me: I'm going to rent me a car!
UPDATE: 9:11 am Matt, Hooray Matt!
Further that my two roommates are the bestest in the whole wide world.An awesome fruit bouquet, that brought the requisite joy and embarrassment to me. Nice work girls. God I love pineapples, even morethan a thousand girlfriends put together!
I'll admit it I always wanted to be a DJ. And I made some half-hearted attempts at it previously. And quite frankly why wouldn't I? You're a DJ. You play other people's music. You get to stay up late, party like a "rock star", drink on the job, wear t-shirts to work and dabbling in recreational drugs can be expensed off your taxes. Oh yeah, did I mention that you get to play other people's music for a living. If I were to apply that to my trade it would be called plagerism. But other than that I'm halfway there: I'm Asian and have unruly hair. The rest is just some bleeps and bloops and a slick handle.
But that phase passed almost as quickly as my infatuation for emo-girls with bangs. Although claiming to spin D&B is one of my all-time fave half-truths to tell girls. Just the right mix of "wow he's cool" and "no way I know what he's talking about, so I'll just move on and be impressed," to carry on a night's worth of conversation. Sure beats the pants off of, "I drive a Dodge Viper." Honestly sometimes I even surprise myself.
Long story short, Saturday doing some shopping on Newbury and I decide that what I need is another pair of sneakers. Head into the PUMA store where it's a mob-scene. The crowd is a cross between an animie convention and a Miss USA pageant: my kind of gathering. All I want to do is grab a pair of kicks and enjoy the gorgeous day, but the help is nary to be seen. Wait but what's this? A rather cute looking blonde 20-something, head-to-toe in PUMA attire, oozing cool standing behind a set of turn tables.
I guess it was Tang I was drinking because her ass made start to see stars. Well I'm just waiting here so I might as well take advantage of the situation. I approach her with witty aside in my head and ask her, "Do you happen to have these in a hightop?"
Oh comeon what did you expect? She's a DJ, I couldn't possibly date her.
A wise man once told me that the woman you love is the first bed you go to after a long time away, with that being said here is the first burger I ate within 20 hours of landing in California.
Being bleary eyed is not an excuse for enjoying a great burger.
I don't know. It's not like I've been out of state or anything, but just haven't been able to muster anything to write of late. I've been pretty busy at work with the new position and I've been actually going out during the week so I guess I'll go with the cliff note's version for now.
A regular college-era gastronomic tour de force.
Helped Keith move and in honoring the guy code he repaid me in kind with $6 steak tips at White Ho and General Gau's at Chef Chang's. Wednesday was burritos at Anna's. I really regret not going to Boca, but the Jule wanted to try something else. Then again after reading her latest thought's I bet her fave restaurant is Old Country Buffet.Continuing on... Coming back from a night at Big City I hit up First Bite, home of the legendary Fat Chicken. For you troglodytes out there a Fat Chicken is very much like a chicken Parmesan sandwich, except that it also has mozzarella sticks and French fries beneath the marinara and melted cheese. What? Don't look at me that way! It's not like I got the Fat Cow (same thing but with Steak and Cheese) or the Fat Cat ( again mozzarella sticks and fries, but with a fish fillet hold the marinara add the tartar sauce). Friday was back to White Ho with Jess for another fine night of "going out". We followed that up with attempted cartwheels and slices at Redneck's. And not to sound like an old man, but the times are a changing. A post-2 am drunken staple was hitting up Redneck's for some BBQ ribs and sadly they have been replaced by, I kid you not, tuna melts and hummus wraps. I blame the PETA for this. Some basketball here, a party there, etc etc etc but no one wants to hear anymore silly week/end recap drivel. So instead I'll go with something different.
Three people I know are either pregnant or just got someone pregnant. And man oh man, hearing about it has been fantastic. The reactions I've gotten have ranged from adulation to shell shock. So seeing as I have not had any direct involvement with the miracle of life of late, I figured I need to do something about it. Here's the latest odds on people I know getting knocked up. Ready or not you're having a baby!
Roomate 3:2 College sweetheart 9:1 Cousin 10:1 Best friend 15:1 So with great power comes great responsibility. Clearly something's going to give.
I wish I was more qualified to write a proper eulogy, but quite frankly I wasn't the most avid of attendees. But it still comes with great sadness that this weekend marked the passing of one of the areas night timelandmarks. Without question the greater Boston area has suffered another devastating loss in the name of gentrification. This past weekend was the last hurrah for ManRay. Say what you will about the club's reputation or clientele, but whenever something that has been around for 25 years plus closes down you know it will be missed.
So here's what I remember. I would never go willingly, "but sometimes you gotta dance." By no means was I a regular, but random Saturday nights (always Saturday, not Friday night for those of you in the know), my uber-cool girlfriend would always talk me into going. And as much as I hated to admit it, it was a lot of fun.
Going for the first time I needed to ask my somewhat edgier roommate about what to wear. His suggestion: anything black, the tighter the better. I knew that this meant either leather or vinyl and I didn't think that a few nights a year demanded an entirely new life-style change, but this did lead to my brief shopping flings at Allston Beat. Traditional club wear be damned. I also remember running into a classmate of mine there who certainly seemed to be in his element. Sadly (luckily) I was never able to ascertain the rumor that one of my profs was a regular, who was known for wearing some very non-class appropriate attire. If there was ever a place to break out the leather chaps and bondage gear this was the place. And I saw that and much more (less) than I could of imagined. If I had one word to describe ManRay it would be writhing. Interesting people dancing to synthesized sounds, wearing interesting outfits and always teaming with energy, mostly sexual, but that's a good thing. Maybe it was seeing my girl writhing around in a boa and fishnets. Maybe it was being 19 and carrying a flask full of whatever we could get our hands on. Maybe it was the utter freedom of being who you were and no one giving a fuck about any of it. And the fact that they handed out single-serving sizes of water-based lubricant and tootsie pops was always a nice touch. Whatever it was a night at ManRay was certainly not your standard night out, but running jokes aside I always had a good time.
