Janice, I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested--And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions? Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip." Just for a second, just to see how it feels. Or, ouch, ouch you're on my hair.
JUST A COUPLE OF KIDS WHO LIKE TO FUCK TRYING TO MAKE IT HONEST, I GET THAT...
My cousin got an engagement ring for Christmas. The two of us have never been all that close, either because we're nothing alike or because she lives in another state, but whatever the reason I can't for the life of me recall a single conversation we've ever had that lasted longer than two minutes. Regardless, she lives in a small town where, within a year of graduating high school, most girls get married and knocked up--ideally in that order--so I'm actually surprised she lasted this long. She's about the year older than me, so lord knows she's of appropriate age to get married, but what bothers me about the whole thing is that she's only been with the guy for about three months.
Now, I'm not too big on rules. This might seem strange given my raging hard-on for consistency, but my desire for regularity is trumped by my love of freedom. There are only a small handful of rules that I live by; none of them are all that life changing or difficult. For example, I believe in never using one word when I could use ten, and I always, always make it to the movie theater before the trailers start. And when I heard about my cousin's impromptu engagement, I added one more to the list.
When I heard about it, my first thought was that I've got stuff in my refrigerator that's been there for longer than three months, and I don't think you should marry someone when you have a longer relationship with a carton of eggs. I started thinking about it and even though this pseudo-rule is, at best, moderately funny, there are a couple of problems with it. First of all, I'm pretty sure I stole it from somewhere--I want to say something akin to it was mentioned in an episode of Sex and the City, but I'm not entirely sure. Secondly, it's almost too arbitrary to be considered a rule. The more tidy among you might clear out the fridge every two weeks, leaving you free to marry someone after fifteen days and that's just a terrible fucking idea.
So I gave it a good, long think and came up with a new rule: that you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone until you've been together for at least a year.
Granted, a year doesn't sound like that long either, and I can't envision a situation where I personally would propose to someone after such a short duration, but there is a logical reason behind that time frame. The way I see it, if you've been with someone for a full year, then you've seen all there is to see. Not that it necessarily takes that long to get to know someone. You can probably get to know someone well enough after only six months or so, but there still might be some mysteries.
For example, maybe every year on the anniversary of their cat's death they lie around all day, sobbing incoherently and pounding down tub after tub of Cherry Garcia. Or maybe, come February, their blind racism is revealed as, for 28 straight days, they make continual references to "the good ole days when those fuckers weren't allowed to vote or read." Or maybe they celebrate Labor Day by shitting themselves and then they just sit in it while watching Titanic on a continuous loop.
You might think all that sounds crazy, but none of those are, like, outside the realm of possibility. And if you married someone at the six month mark, you'd be entirely unprepared.
So as of right now, "the year rule" as I'm calling it is in full effect.
Looks like the absolute earliest I'm getting married is February of 08.
I WANT TO PISS ON YOU
Now that I live in L.A. I see homeless people every day. Believe it or not, you become desensitized to it after a while and honestly, I don't really notice them all that much anymore, which may or may not say something negative about me. Anyway, I've seen guys rooting through garbage, guys talking to themselves, and even guys beating themselves in the chest. And usually you can rationalize it. He's going through the garbage because he's hungry, he's talking to himself because he just needs someone to talk to, or he's hitting himself in the chest because he's just straight crazy.
But the other day, I saw something crazier than all of these things put together, and I'm yet to come up with any sort of explanation for it.
I was driving home from work at about 8:30 in the morning, and I saw a guy walking along La Brea Boulevard with a quilt slung over his shoulder. For a second I figured he was homeless, but then I realized he was dressed nicer than me, which isn't saying all that much, but he had a swagger totally uncharacteristic of folks who are without homes.
So I watched him for a second, and damned if he didn't throw that quilt down on the sidewalk and commence to pissing all over it. He gave himself a quick shake, picked the quilt back up, and then walked back down the street like he'd just come to the corner to pick up a newspaper.
As I just said, I have no explanation at all for this. The best I can come up with is that the quilt belonged to his girlfriend who had recently cheated on him and he was exacting some revenge before the breakup. But beyond that, I've got nothing.
I guess, my point is, you kind of expect homeless people to do some crazy shit. They live hard lives and, in a way, they've earned the right to act a little schizo. But when a regular Joe goes onesy on a quilt on the side of a major street, well, it sort of catches you off guard.
DAD, HE'S FUCKING FAMOUS
Being in L.A. I feel it is my duty to pass on little bits of information I hear about celebrities. Now, I'm not talking about the recent Cameron Diaz-Justin Timberlake split and, honest to God, I'd be hard pressed to come up with three things I care about less than the recent Donald-Rosie spat.
No, really all I care about is what celebrities are like in real life. So, here's what I hear from trustworthy sources:
Apparently, Edward Norton is a huge, arrogant fucking prick. Conversely, Steve Carrell is incredibly humble and nice. As is Will Smith.
Yeah, that's all I got for now. Sorry...in my mind it sounded grander, but oh well.
That's usually how things go.
JUST A COUPLE OF KIDS WHO LIKE TO FUCK TRYING TO MAKE IT HONEST, I GET THAT...
My cousin got an engagement ring for Christmas. The two of us have never been all that close, either because we're nothing alike or because she lives in another state, but whatever the reason I can't for the life of me recall a single conversation we've ever had that lasted longer than two minutes. Regardless, she lives in a small town where, within a year of graduating high school, most girls get married and knocked up--ideally in that order--so I'm actually surprised she lasted this long. She's about the year older than me, so lord knows she's of appropriate age to get married, but what bothers me about the whole thing is that she's only been with the guy for about three months.
Now, I'm not too big on rules. This might seem strange given my raging hard-on for consistency, but my desire for regularity is trumped by my love of freedom. There are only a small handful of rules that I live by; none of them are all that life changing or difficult. For example, I believe in never using one word when I could use ten, and I always, always make it to the movie theater before the trailers start. And when I heard about my cousin's impromptu engagement, I added one more to the list.
When I heard about it, my first thought was that I've got stuff in my refrigerator that's been there for longer than three months, and I don't think you should marry someone when you have a longer relationship with a carton of eggs. I started thinking about it and even though this pseudo-rule is, at best, moderately funny, there are a couple of problems with it. First of all, I'm pretty sure I stole it from somewhere--I want to say something akin to it was mentioned in an episode of Sex and the City, but I'm not entirely sure. Secondly, it's almost too arbitrary to be considered a rule. The more tidy among you might clear out the fridge every two weeks, leaving you free to marry someone after fifteen days and that's just a terrible fucking idea.
So I gave it a good, long think and came up with a new rule: that you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone until you've been together for at least a year.
Granted, a year doesn't sound like that long either, and I can't envision a situation where I personally would propose to someone after such a short duration, but there is a logical reason behind that time frame. The way I see it, if you've been with someone for a full year, then you've seen all there is to see. Not that it necessarily takes that long to get to know someone. You can probably get to know someone well enough after only six months or so, but there still might be some mysteries.
For example, maybe every year on the anniversary of their cat's death they lie around all day, sobbing incoherently and pounding down tub after tub of Cherry Garcia. Or maybe, come February, their blind racism is revealed as, for 28 straight days, they make continual references to "the good ole days when those fuckers weren't allowed to vote or read." Or maybe they celebrate Labor Day by shitting themselves and then they just sit in it while watching Titanic on a continuous loop.
You might think all that sounds crazy, but none of those are, like, outside the realm of possibility. And if you married someone at the six month mark, you'd be entirely unprepared.
So as of right now, "the year rule" as I'm calling it is in full effect.
Looks like the absolute earliest I'm getting married is February of 08.
I WANT TO PISS ON YOU
Now that I live in L.A. I see homeless people every day. Believe it or not, you become desensitized to it after a while and honestly, I don't really notice them all that much anymore, which may or may not say something negative about me. Anyway, I've seen guys rooting through garbage, guys talking to themselves, and even guys beating themselves in the chest. And usually you can rationalize it. He's going through the garbage because he's hungry, he's talking to himself because he just needs someone to talk to, or he's hitting himself in the chest because he's just straight crazy.
But the other day, I saw something crazier than all of these things put together, and I'm yet to come up with any sort of explanation for it.
I was driving home from work at about 8:30 in the morning, and I saw a guy walking along La Brea Boulevard with a quilt slung over his shoulder. For a second I figured he was homeless, but then I realized he was dressed nicer than me, which isn't saying all that much, but he had a swagger totally uncharacteristic of folks who are without homes.
So I watched him for a second, and damned if he didn't throw that quilt down on the sidewalk and commence to pissing all over it. He gave himself a quick shake, picked the quilt back up, and then walked back down the street like he'd just come to the corner to pick up a newspaper.
As I just said, I have no explanation at all for this. The best I can come up with is that the quilt belonged to his girlfriend who had recently cheated on him and he was exacting some revenge before the breakup. But beyond that, I've got nothing.
I guess, my point is, you kind of expect homeless people to do some crazy shit. They live hard lives and, in a way, they've earned the right to act a little schizo. But when a regular Joe goes onesy on a quilt on the side of a major street, well, it sort of catches you off guard.
DAD, HE'S FUCKING FAMOUS
Being in L.A. I feel it is my duty to pass on little bits of information I hear about celebrities. Now, I'm not talking about the recent Cameron Diaz-Justin Timberlake split and, honest to God, I'd be hard pressed to come up with three things I care about less than the recent Donald-Rosie spat.
No, really all I care about is what celebrities are like in real life. So, here's what I hear from trustworthy sources:
Apparently, Edward Norton is a huge, arrogant fucking prick. Conversely, Steve Carrell is incredibly humble and nice. As is Will Smith.
Yeah, that's all I got for now. Sorry...in my mind it sounded grander, but oh well.
That's usually how things go.
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