suavely deranged

Mothers of the Day

noreply@blogspirit.com (Christian Manson) — Sun, 11 May 2008 11:30:17 -0600

To quote the Motleys, Tropicana's where I lost my heart.

Again, why do I take sand to the beach or, in this case, womenfolks to Las Vegas? Why keep beating my head against the writing on the wall?

It's been a long time since I've done a list, and today simply seemed apropos. Nope, never forget Mother's Day, especially this year, whence it falls one day after my birthday.

Chronological Age: 36

Mental Age: Oh, let's go with 12

Social Age: Going out on a limb, 3rd grade

Much love to all the folks what sent well wishes the past few days. Hell, I even got 2 cards from the powers-that-be at my new job. AND a paid flex day off (which I'm using tomorrow) for said blessed day. Two of my staff even bought me doughnuts, and it's completely a coincidence that performance reviews are due on the 16th. Completely.

Actually, since I'm not even doing said reviews...it just might be.

A hearty much obliged to the ex-GF (and a hearty FUCK you to whoever informed her that the limit on post-breakup-type casual sex is 3 occasions) for providing me with cake, jello, barbecue and gifts. The only thing missing from last year at this time was the lengthy blowjob. Yes, I will be consoling myself with cake later.

I did, however, get to watch Rounders again. Love that movie. Still hate Matt Damon. AND, said ex didn't make me drive home in my half-asleep, incapable of driving-type condition. In return, I didn't write a goodbye note in permanent marker on her arm when she passed out. See, I really DO have a soul.

And I learned the peril of associating oneself with a woman's negatory (in this case, PMS) headspace when one is seeking to be BF-Lite. All the perks, none of the drama. So the day wasn't a total loss.

Mindy McCready used to be FINE. Argument enough as to why steroids are verboten. But I digress. I do that.

I liked Miley Cyrus's Vanity Fair spread. Even if I was mildly troubled by it. See what I mean?

The list, in no particular order:

1) My Moms (okay, maybe this one IS in order. yes, I'll be calling her later, even if she IS screening my calls. after I recover from yesterday's crushing disappointment and go through the motions of moping and shit; typical Sunday hereabouts.)

2) Barbara Alyn Woods (the fine MILF from One Tree Hill, glad to see her back on the show. what? it's Doe Season, after all (to drop some Stephen Nash on y'all), and I suddenly find myself thrown back into the deep end of the dating pool this sunny a.m. and I've NO idea how to swim, yet another in my seemingly endless line of quirks.)

3) YOUR Mom (call her. send flowers. whatever. y'all know the drill.)

4) Mandy Moore's Mom (for blessing us with the divine Ms. M. why, yes, I'm circling the wagons and getting back to basics (ie. pining away for The One) today. I'm not really used to having me a 3 day weekend.)

5) The Geophysicist's Mom (what can I say, the ex-GF and I had a good run. yes, I knew it was over, I just didn't know the day. luckily, she had the decency to wait until after Valentine's Day, when we returned from the aforementioned Tropicana Resort and Casino, to kick me to the curb. let's see, other than the 8 years (off and on) that I once maintained me a fuck buddy, the year and change I spent with M would be the longest relationship I've ever sustained. and that includes the time I got married; which M was goodly enough to burst my every time I have sex (still being technically married and all), it's adultery bubble by theorizing that perhaps certain legal-type documents needed to be filed upon my return from LV in order to make my unholy matrimony official and shit. which was, to drop some (sorely missed) Stevie Ray Vaughn on y'all (did I mention my penchant for the digression?): a Cold Shot, baby. yes, I foolishly still have feelings for her, and hopes remain high that yesterday was merely a blip and she does not, in fact, know about the 3 occasions rule, post-breakup relations-wise. just in case, let's keep that one on the DL, 'kay?)

Wow, I really DO ramble, don't I?

The bright side:

- free 3 week trial of Playboy.com arrived in the mail

- free preview of 4 new movie channels

- the aforementioned Oreo cake

- Johnny Cueto's start against the Mets is on TV

- I don't have to be back at work until Tuesday night

- nothing's been decided yet, I simply need to revise my tactics and rebuild my skill set, as I've grown accustomed to having me a safety net

Anyway, cake and Two and a Half Men are calling. Enjoy your Sunday, y'all. Holla at your boy, he needs to get out the house. Although time spent at home can be devoted to homework. Pray for me.

Notes from the Underworld

noreply@blogspirit.com (Christian Manson) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 09:29:45 -0600

To paraphrase some Dostoyevsky for y'all. And no, he ain't that hockey player. I may not have had the time to pick up a book in WAY too long, but I have occasionally done so.

Newspapers, however, I reserve for those chilly nights when I'm sleeping in the park. With the other, you know, dregs of humanity.

In honor of a recent comment hereabouts: Have you heard about the new Pirates of the Caribbean flick?

It's ARRRRRRRRR Rated.

Groan. Y'all should catch the evening show. It's a smidge better.

Note to Self: NEVER do blow at the Chateau Marmont.

You'd think young Hollywood would learn that this can only end badly. Fortunately or un, they likely never will.

Speaking of dead careers, it turns out that Vanilla Ice is still alive. I know, I was concerned, too. Is it just me that finds it kinda sad that his only recent record is of the police variety. Something about a recent arrest.

Yep, it probably is.

And who knew that pushing your wife can be construed (it's called a vocabulary) as abuse? Man, I Wish I'd have know that sooner. Oh well, live and learn.

I recently heard s cover of Train in Vain. As a lounge song. Nope, NO idea who perpetrated this particular crime against humanity. I did, however, feel violated in a way that will likely never go away, no matter how many showers I take.

To briefly, you know, summarize: said song left me feeling like I'd been on the wrong end of a back alley gang rape. And not in a good way, either.

On the other paw, Fall Out Boy's live cover of Beat It kinda kicks ass.

And I firmly fall in the camp of Pete Wentz can do better than Ashlee Simpson. On the plus side, maybe if he produces her next disc, it won't suck quite as hard.

Although I like to think that SHE does. Again, spring, thoughts of romance and all the rest of it.

For the first time in many a moon, I ventured out to the bar last night.

My club game is non-existent. But knowing there's a problem is the first step. I did, however, manage to be all sociable and shit up until the point we venue shifted from pub to nightclub. Vibing and everything.

I should've made better use of the 3 attractive womenfolks I had with me. Both in terms of social proof and practice. Not to mention on the over compensating for recently being kicked to the curb in both my professional and personal life.

I did, however, learn a great deal about: a) the psychology of women and 2) exactly how weak the competition hereabouts in fact is. Invaluable.

As was the realization that I still kinda hate the clubs. But that's where the womenfolks are and if you can succeed there, daygame's a breeze. This first trip was just for immersion, refamiliarization and observation. Next we work on approaching. Although that's where I have to put my pivot, Denise, to better use.

It was, however, instructive to watch my companions work AFC's for drinks. Yeah, I know, but there apparently still ARE guys that try to buy women's attention with shiny baubles and such. I, on the other hand, get the womenfolks to mule reasonably priced cigarettes across the border for me.

It's awfully difficult to have to overcome the fact that one's pops was likely an AFC and everything your moms ever told you about women was wrong. Just trust me on this. I really need to land me a good wing again. Especially one that can teach me.

Although I'ma do my bestest to make better usage of the three singletons I was out with last night. Get some feedback and shit.

Well, Casino Royale's on Movie Central, and I'm out. Enjoy your weekend, y'all.

Alone

noreply@blogspirit.com (Christian Manson) — Sun, 6 Apr 2008 21:15:19 -0600

I hope y'all never feel it as much as I do tonight. No particular reason, this is one of them times when my free floating anxiety (which has left me pretty much to my own devices of late) simply remains that. There are times, not so much now, although more frequently of late, when...

Fuck, I don't even know how to say it. Let's just say that sometimes my rooms scream of alone.

Yeah, I know, I pop up once in a spell and blather on about some nonsensical pop culture something or other and it amuses me; possibly one or two others. Like a clown and shit.

But that's not me. I've always been the guy what you see walking off into the distance at the end of the movie. Beaten and bruised by whatever. Noone and nothing touches him. Whether it's done or said to or by him makes no difference.

I got a phone call from California tonight. Not knowing anyone in Cali, I assumed salesfolk and screened. Turns out it was a pal whose flight home from Singapore had been delayed in San Francisco. After I listened to the message, I felt badly. What if this was the last chance I'll ever have to have spoken to her again?

I'm still pretty shaken up by Charlton Heston's death.

So, I'm watching Reign Over Me tonight (Adam Sandler really DOES have range; you know, when he's not playing Happy Gilmore (a classic, by the way) over and over again and then once more for good measure), and I'm misting up because I know exactly how his character feels.

No, I've never had anyone close to me die, tragically or not so much (although I've used the recently dead fiancee opener a time or 2, but who hasn't, really?), and I've never really let anyone close enough to see the kind of things I'm babbling about now. Let them in close enough to matter.

But I still know that a Broken heart is a literal activity, not just a metaphor.

I'll admit, a lot of this is because I've recently undergone a great deal of (I fear) change in my day to day. I've been forced out of the company I've wasted the last 17 years of my life toiling for. Yes, I've found a better place, Somewhere I Belong (to drop some Linkin Park on y'all), but still.

And I've recently lost the best part of me. This week, it's in Jamaica.

She is.

Because of all that I'm not. All I can never be. All that I managed to pretend I was for the past 13 months.

Yes, a lot of it was convenience. Yes, I probably took her a little bit for granted. But that doesn't mean I didn't care for her.

I still do. But...

A week in girl time is an eternity.

She'll forget me, the way I wish I could forget me. Although she WILL still be my smoke mule on her way home. Dude, practicality comes first over everything else.

And yes, I'll go out and bang half the phone book on principal. All the while pining away for my lovely neighbor, as that's simply how I roll.

But I'll always wonder.

And I'll always know.

And on nights like tonight, when the demons come...

She'll always feel like home.