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  • At Least Our Waitress Was Fine

    Okay, she was the waitress for the next table, and we, in fact, had some guy serving us; but still. That simply doesn't make for as eye-catching of a title, now does it? And, yes, her ass was quite eye-catching when she bent over to set those folks' orders on their table.

    But first...

     

    Free Isaiah (J.R.) Rider.

     

    Baseball season is now officially underway. Taking the under on how long it is before Kerry Wood is done for the season and my man Carlos Marmol is officially anointed the Chicago Cubs' closer. Although, if Wood stays the course, more power to him. It's not like I root for injuries, merely rely on the inevitable and plan accordingly. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst. Insure everything. And folks say I'm too negative.

     

    Jamie Lynn Spears is engaged. And thus ends the usage of Who's the bigger slut; Britney or Jamie Lynn? around these parts. Sigh. It was gold, I tell ya. Pure gold.

     

    Found out that O.J. Simpson et al attempted their ill-fated ''perfect crime'' at Palace Station. Been there. Loved it. Took it for a decent profit on my nickel slot investment (try the progressive, everybody playing wins-type slot conglomeration). Preferred Sunset Station, where I would've stayed last month if it'd been just me. But alas, it weren't.

     

    I went and saw Vantage Point last week. First in-theatre flick I'd been to since Spiderman 3. Not worth the trip. Convoluted plot. Too many P.O.V.'s to sustain. Looking forward to catching 21, however. Mostly because of the Las Vegas footage. You can always tell how old a movie involving LV is by looking at the various casinos pictured therein.

     

    Why is it that nobody ever mentions Nick of Time when the ouevre of Johnny Depp comes up in polite conversation?

     

    And now, back to our Fractured Fairy Tale (to drop some Rocky & Bullwinkle on y'all):

    Yes, of late I've been whining about how the GF came to her senses upon spending an entire week with me in LV and realizing that I have no values and can never give her the relationship she thinks she wants. And likely deserves.

    Yes, it hurts.

    Yes, I stand up like a man and take all the blame on this one. No, I still have no justification for getting married at the end of an ONS in LV.

    Yes, I took her some tea the other night when she wasn't feeling well. Tim Horton's was out of chicken soup that night. That's just how I roll. Besides, she brought me soup once when I was under the weather.

    Yes, I have a history of burning bridges whilst smack dab in the middle of them.

    Yes, I'm more than capable of putting out many of the conflagrations I initiate but...

    I work alone.

    No, I don't need somebody to pour the (Song of the Day: Seether-) Gasoline for me.

     

    So, I'm at breakfast this snowy (like a foot on the roof of my car) a.m. at Perkins (love me some Perkins; it's no IHOP, but still) with an old friend from the old days who's been back in town a smidge over a month, after we hadn't seen each other in maybe 6 years. We've been hanging out off and on of late. It breaks the day to day monotony of moping, dwelling and wallowing in which I currently find myself; being between jobs (until tomorrow night, my first day with a new retailer, after 17 years) and getting kicked to the curb and all. And having WAY too much time to get back into my own pretty little head.

    Thinking bad.

    So I'm simply enjoying my 2 breakfasts, not bothering anybody, when my companion drops the bombshell on your humble narrator. And the bombshell is this:

    Turns out that, upon seeing how much I'm hurting (nowhere near as much as she imagines she perceives, by the by), she presumes M is hurting also (from reading her inside joke-type relationship status on Facebook) and takes it upon herself to...

    Yes, that's right kiddies, my estranged friend E-MAILS MY EX-GF (her complete fucking stranger, by the way; they've never even met) ON FACEBOOK!!!!! And offers her services as a listener or some such. The blinding haze of fury kinda prevented me from hearing the rest of whatever she said.

    Back up and read that again. I'll wait.

    There's a fine line between having someone's back and going behind it.

    Anyway, whatever slim chance there was of me getting to have closure sex with or at least be the late night loneliness option for the ex is now completely Gone. Yes, I know I should've cut the ties myself, maybe Gone back to pining away for my lovely neighbor again. But that decision was mine to make the wrong choice on.

    Noone else's.

    But I forgive my flaky friend. Her heart was in the right place. I think. I hope. No, I'm gonna let shit go. Life's too short to hold the transgressions of others against them for longer than a day.

    Besides, I'm going to need her to pivot for me. Now that I'm single. Me! Can you believe that shit?

    Oh yeah, breakfast was good. The pancakes were light and fluffy. With 3 kinds of syrup.

     

    And yes, I'll be getting the ex to pivot for me also. Now that I'll have every Saturday and Sunday night off work and all. Now, If Only my other friends (whom I've lost touch with the past 9 months-working 60+ hours a week, at night, will do that) will procure for me also.

     

    Enjoy the last dregs of your weekend, y'all. Monday's coming to town. And all over your face.

     

  • Cheerleaders Are Always Happy

    I read that somewhere. Or maybe heard it on an episode of One Tree Hill. Fuck yeah, I watch OTH. It was either that or The O.C.. My parents watch The O.C. Okay, I'll admit it:

    My name is Christian and I've seen an episode of The O.C. But it was the episode that The Killers were on, and I was going through a whole sordid 'I like The Killers' phase. It was an ugly period in my life and I really don't want to talk about it. Fucking sue me.

     

    I went through a lecture last night. About how I should be trying to woo the ex-GF back (yes, I still have feelings for her; again, fucking blow me, I'm almost human...but I'll never be the same; to drop some Goo Goo Dolls on y'all) with flowers and poetry. And I nearly lost it on my old friend from the old days for even suggesting such a thing.

    I don't write poetry anymore. Besides, someone almost always died in said poems. What can I say? I used to have me a great deal of teenage angst bullshit (to drop some Heathers on y'all) to work out for my ownself. And don't even get me started on my college years, as the court records are still kinda sealed.

    I gave a woman flowers once. Once. Why, yes, it was the pseudo-wife. She was having a bad day, someone in her office was planning her ''real'' wedding, and B was kinda morose about it.

    Needless to say, I don't do either anymore. Both kinda reek of Average Frustrated Chump, and I ain't NEVER going back there again. In fact, when I was coming up, I used to make with the whole send a single rose Secret Admirer bit. I could Cry for how weak that boy was. And so should you.

     

    Math don't care. And neither do I.

     

    Then I got to hear how our relationship was all one-sided in favor of me. Well, duh. That's where I'm supposed to be leading things, ain't it. After all, you need to be the man, otherwise she will. Yes, she bought me things. Yes, I made her drive us everywhere. Yes, I took her for granted a little bit.

    But...

    I'm the guy what bought her a present on MY birthday, simply because it was the 2 year anniversary of the day she received her professional certification or accreditation or what have you. And whenever I came across something that reminded me of her (after a suitable amount of time had passed, naturellement), I surprised her with it.

    I passionately HATE driving. After all, I went 16 years in between times spent behind the wheel with any sort of regularity. I'm confident enough in my masculinity to let my gears be shifted for me automatically, and I'm more than Cool with someone else doing the driving. Whether it be woman, mineral or vegetable doing so is kinda immaterial.

    Let's just say that I knew what I had. And it went away, anyway. But at least I wasn't trapped in the prison of my own pretty little head the way I usually am. Yay, me! And yes, it's my own fault for not knowing she was looking for a serious ''relationship'', as we never discussed it. No, we don't really have anything in common, but what does that matter?

    I kept her for so long because we rarely got to spend any real time together, what with me always being at work at all. So, spending an entire week with her in Las Vegas was a mistake. She was able to see me for who and what I'm really not. And can likely never be. Although, in my (admittedly flimsy) defence, I had NO idea she was looking for something more. The subject simply never came up. And I was too busy being in the Now. Just enjoying wherefore we were and not worrying about where we should or could be.

    That's just how I roll. So now, here I sit, contemplating the embers of my life. Although I DID do me some badly needed Spring cleaning today.

     

    And yes, I fully realize (and am constantly reminded) that I need to seek me out a more positive outlook. What can I say? My philosophy has always been (even before Seether put a name to it) that things are just as wrong as they seem. Likely always will, but I'm working on it. Fuck, I'm kinda getting all emo up in here and shit.

    And yes, it kinda scares me a little bit, too. Although I really do need to get back to honing my brooding skills.

     

    So I'm driving home from the 'rents house the other night, hopped up on caffeine pills and java and yet still half asleep. Oh how I long for those carefree days when I still remembered what alert felt like. I know, aim for the stars. Anyhoo, I'm pretty sure that I ran over an already dead roadkill-type thing sitting in the middle of the highway. Primarily because I was too sleepy to swerve. Car seems all right, though. Yay, car!

    Saw about a dozen cops going the other way. Three by three by three by two. Which I reckon would be 11. Even with the new math. The 2 had stopped some random speeder.

    I stopped at a rest stop and looked at the stars. The frigid night air was quite bracing. Woke me up a little bit, too. Then I was approached and engaged in conversation by another weary motorist. Who insisted I take HIS digits. What can I say? My charisma knows no bounds.

    Yes, my version of sarcasm is still in the planning stages.

     

    It troubles me that the only contact we have may soon be our Scrabulous games on Facebook. And it terrifies me that she might think I've wasted the last 13 months of her life the way my last gig wasted 9 of mine. Don't get me wrong, I've got strong and broad shoulders, but that would be a kinda Atlasesque (it's called a vocabulary) burden for anyone to bear.

     

    I really need to fucking MAKE the time to get back to my writing. I'm good. Or at least I was. But I want to be great. Who doesn't, right? And, worse comes to worst, at least I can work me out some anger. Or not. Whatever.

    I can't remember the last time I read an entire book. And I used to love me some reading. But it's a new day. Time to re-prioritize and shit.

     

    On the when a door shuts, Jesus peeks in a window tip:

    Things are strained between us. Now she even flakes on me occasionally. Yes, it happens to everyfuckingbody sooner or later. We had tentative plans for Saturday night. She called about an hour ago to say that she's sick and is staying in for the weekend.

    Now (see above), math is hard for me, but I'm reading that as my cue to show up at her door (preferably with chicken soup from Tim Horton's; yeah, like I can make that shit) and play the role of the concerned guy. With no ulterior motives.

    Or would that definitely relegate me to LJBF land?

    See, this is whyfore intelligent men tend to get in their own way. We think too much. And then overthink it to Death.

    Anyway, feel free to weigh in with your opinion on what your humble narrator should do to escape the horns of this dilemma. Enjoy your Friday night, y'all. Be good and be safe. Especially if you're being bad.

  • Women of the Day 03/24/2008

    In honor of Britney Spears making a cameo on tonight's episode of How I Met Your Mother. 2030 EST. 2130 MST.

    And, of course, the fact that someone once close to me, someone I'd considered stable...has essentially let her chickdom show. In the sense that she's, essentially, to, you know, briefly summarize, flipped her lid. And then, someone from the old days, who's been somewhat off for years (although her heart's in the right place), has blown back into town. Insanity loves company, I reckon. And misery loves me.

     

    So...today's list. Long overdue. See if y'all can pick out a pattern.

     

    1) Britney and Jamie Lynn Spears (I'm pretty sure that the lawyers, the shrinks, the paparazzi and K Fed have said damn near all that needs to be said on this one, so I'll leave it be. however, since I've recently been kicked to the curb (see above), I'll be dusting off my pop culture-type openers, particularly the 'who's the bigger slut, Britney or Jamie Lynn?' and, of course, mine own little version of The Cube.)

     

    2) Margot Kidder (yeah, you know. especially if y'all were coming up in the '80's, like I was. back in the day, she was kinda fly. and had seemingly no problem with ending up in the celebrity upskirt section of Beaver Hunt magazine. now, I don't know about you, but, to me, that just screams lady of class and taste. what? I ain't done one of these in, like, 6 months, I'm outta practice; they'll get better. besides, I simply pulled this little ''idea'' out the ether about 30 seconds afore I began typing. or, should I say, before I set them monkeys to flailing away at their cute little toy typewriters. and this mess is what resulted. note to self: monkeys at typewriters-type material is pure fucking gold.)

     

    3) Tara Reid (yeah, the nipple slip was totally an accident. a mishap. a gaffe and/or faux pas, even. it's too bad about this one, too, as anyone who saw her in the timeless American Pie classics can attest, she was well on her merry way to joining the cinematic greats. maybe winning that Oscar, although, maybe she already did: it ain't like I'd ever catch one of them awards shows. I will admit that her travel program, think Wild On, but only with Tara Reid and her drunken leech friends; was kind of a hoot at times. of course, I'm the guy that roots for schadenfreude, too.)

     

    4) Lindsay Lohan (if there in fact is a god (or whoever), she'll soon, along with Ms. Reid, go the Teri Weigel route, career-wise. again, I'm a simple man with simple dreams and aspirations. and I firmly (yeah, I went there) believe that Karma will provide on this one. although her version of I Want You to Want Me is damn near enough to make folks forget about all them other versions. or at least the Letters to Cleo cover.)

     

    5) Amy Winehouse (nope, I don't know if it's art, but I know what I like. her cleaning up at the Grammy's was almost enough to restore my faith in...hmm, let's see...wait for it...nope, I got nothing. sue me. no, I wouldn't date her, and I ain't even got a bunny rabbit; and I wouldn't exactly lend her the keys to my car, but I do support her. what can I say, I'm an enabler.)

     

    Again, consider this one practice. They'll get better. Or not. Whatever. Y'all know I pretty much just do shit just to do it.

    The last month has been kinda stressful, what with discovering that my not having any values whatsoever but having me a pseudo (if legal) wife in Texas are apparently dealbreakers with some womenfolks. Who knew? Sadly, those are 2 of the scenarios that all the dating/pickup gurus I've been learning from haven't covered yet. On the plus side, at least she waited until after we spent Valentine's Day in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada (she paid for the flights, I got the room;we split the rest) to spring this on me. During a full-contact Scrabble match. Why, yes, said revelation kinda DID fuck up my game that night. Very clever of her, n'est pas?

    Added to the fact I was simultaneously in the process of getting ridden out of town on a rail at work. Good Times. Better timing.

    But...

    Today's the first day I'll spend with your wife (or however that one goes). I gots me a new job, which I don't start until next week. I gots me some free time, which I've productively devoted to moping, dwelling, wallowing, hitting the books and avoiding Spring Cleaning. I've also attempted to add some folks I ain't seen in 6 months as friends on Facebook. To no avail.

    Duh, I'm moping because UNLV got knocked out the Tournament already. Getting kicked to the curb is merely an incidental for me.

    And I'm debating going to see Taylor Swift and whoever she's opening for tonight at the 'Dome. I do need to get me out the house more. Since my friends seem unable to procure for me and all. Although I AM going to be (once I start talking to her again) the ex-GF to pivot for me. She's totally the type that'll run the ''Hi, Have You Met Christian?'' opener for me.

    Or not. Whatever. May Monday be YOUR bitch instead of vice versa.

     

    And yes, I've told her how I feel. See previous post. Yes, it went about as well as expected. I just don't have time to find AND train someone else to buy me shit and be all pliable. Like. You know.

    Sigh.