I Promise to Update Soon

I just started the new job a coupla weeks ago and haven't yet gotten a computer at home. this is posted from my desk in a snatched-away moment before I am plunged back into the soup to finish out the job I'm working on. just a couple of little pieces of eye-candy here, to help divert myself during work hours. both married, though. and well, i swam in that pool for too long and have taken my pruney little self out of it.

The theme of my next post will be: Sometimes Nothing is Better than Just Anything.

Story to come.

Throwing Myself On the Mercy of the Universe

The universe isn't personal, that I know. Sometimes, though, it feels like it has one SICK sense of humor.

Last night I met The P for dinner and to go to something called "The Slurred Word" over at Fish Bar. I have mentioned the host of this particular event in a prior post. A 6-foot 7-inch Brit. Well, last night, we re-met. Turns out he hardly remembered meeting me that first time, only, as he claims, that I was somehow important.

We ended up outside during the break, having a smoke and chatting. After the Slurred Word we ended up sitting in a corner of the bar, talking head to head for what seemed like hours. I like him. And he is not married and has no girlfriend.

I took him home. And we just went to sleep.

Now, here's where this gets comical.

Guess who his best friend is? That's right ladies and gentlemen, the EVG is Tall Brit's best friend.

Tall Brit and I have made a plan to have a date on Saturday. We are going to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden to look at the Cherry Blossoms.

The EVG is supposed to come over to my house TOMORROW to talk about some more shelves.

Here is my plan: Full disclosure. Tell EVG tomorrow, in person, that I have met his friend and that I would like to explore the potential there, where there is at least a possibility of a better outcome. And the hard one will be to tell Tall Brit that I have had a thing with his friend EVG going on for the past couple of months. I would rather he find it out up front from me rather than through the gossip mill of Salem's Lot where I would have to "confess" something in the future. At that point the transgression would be concealment rather than actually fucking his friend before he met me.

Any help, anyone? I welcome input from anyone and everyone, but a guy's perspective would be good.

I Feel So Strange Today

Wow, I feel so weird today. A little off, a little sad, a little hungover, a little tearful. Yet strangely light and joyful as well. Peaceful. And oddly, really, really clear.

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Today is my second-to-last-day at my job -- I resigned to move onto a better-paying job in another sector of my industry. While I am so excited to move on, I am feeling so sad about leaving the people here. I don't really like to write about work, as I firmly believe in the old saw, "you are not your job," and this just doesn't feel like the place to write about the people and personalities here in my office.

But -- we're a small office, so you get close with people, no matter how much you try to keep a businesslike distance. When you are working in a 20 x 20 space, with no offices, just cubes in a bullpen, you hear the comings and goings of peoples' lives. I learned that the hard way when my boss commented one day, "You have the BEST life of anyone I've ever met! You are constantly making plans to go out and socialize!" Lesson: Take the cell phone outside to make plans. One of my co-workers asked me to get pot for him because he heard me talking about smoking a couple of times. We know that our receptionist dates married men. I imagine they know all about me and my shenanigans, too.

So -- I'm sad about leaving these people. They are, for all intents and purposes, my dyfunctional 9 to 5 family. Leaving is never easy, even when you are going on to something that will be better for you. Jesus, I hate when I write cliches.

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Last night a text message showed up in my inbox from EVG: "Are you interested in company?"

Finally, EVG gets the Booty Call done right! Spur of the moment, when he is drunk and horny and ready to hop on the L train that second.

Unfortunately, when he showed up, he was well past just a little drunk -- he had been drinking since about 3 o'clock, and though he hid it well, I guess he was pretty well 'faced. Then he had a beer at my house (of which I drank about half), smoked a few bowls, and the makeout session started. It was actually really nice to be kissing someone. Does anyone love to kiss more than I do? I lurrrrrve to kiss. I could go on for paragraphs about the wonder and joy of kissing. People just don't do enough of it anymore!

Then, damn my I-should-never-ever-play-poker face. He stops kissing me, pulls back and gets all serious and says, "What's going on in there? I can see it in those eyes." I am a little freaked, because that is practically verbatim what Bill the Firefighter once said to me. He stops what he is doing (playground activities have progressed to naked at this point), and we start to have A Talk. Feh on talking. Feh feh feh on talking. I'm not in this for The Talking. He needs to get over this Talking shit.

So we proceed with the reindeer games, and um, well, the alcohol has a, well, how you say, negative effect on him. Oh, well, it happens. But, see, when fuckus interruptus occurred, I kinda thought what would follow would be the quick get-dressed and don't let the door hit you in the ass. No, what followed was MORE TALKING. and MORE TALKING.

For the luvva Mike, as my mother would say.

What's with the damn talking?

Unfortunately, what I find happening with all of this freaking talking is that now I'm more than just sexually attracted to this behemoth of a guy. I am finding myself pulled and drawn a little closer (see those heel marks in the dirt behind me? That's from me resisting). I LIKE him. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. And now, having established what we are (People Who Have Sex With Each Other), I can't say anything about it. Because, after all, he is Girlfriend Guy. And Girlfriend Guy is about to get put onto Girlfriend's insurance, which means that he is in THAT and not ever going to be in THIS.

And he looks at me with a strange sad expression.

I think he was just drunk.

I put him into a car and send him away at midnight.

Wake up this morning feeling as if that half beer was a gallon, as if I have a hangover.

This needs to end, clearly. Because all that's going to happen is that it will end in tears (for me).

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So today, I call J and tell him I need to cancel going to dinner tomorrow night, because it is my last day and I am going to have to pack up my shit here and get it home. He proceeds to get all sniffy and says, "Well, why don't you call me when you have time because we've had a lot of canceloni pizza going on here." Oooookay? I've been racking my brain for the past three hours trying to remember the last time I canceled a plan with him. Let's see, was it the twelve times I invited him to come to my apartment for dinner that he kept refusing and finally said he wasn't interested in coming to Brooklyn -- EVER? Hmmmmm... maybe it was the time I GOT OUT OF BED at 10:30 at night to take a car service from brooklyn to attend to Her Majesty in the Emergency Room in Manhattan for a CUT FINGER? Or maybe it was that time I CANCELLED plans with someone else because Her Majesty was sad that he didn't have someone to fuck that week? Jesus, it's exhausting to cater to him.


Maybe this is all supposed to happen as part of all the changes that are taking place.

Why I'm So Very Eggzited Today - The Arrival of The P

First of all, it's the start of my last 1/2 week at my current job before I start my new job next week. Moving on to greener pastures -- GREEN being the operative word. When someone says, "Here is a 50% salary increase," the proper response is, "When would you like me to start?" quite possibly followed by, "Do you want me to play with your balls while I blow you?"

Second of all, and more importantly , my pal The Principessa is here in NYC this week!!! She's way cooler than I am, she does adventure racing and badass shit like that, but she likes brown likker the way I do, and she's just all around good people. And oh. my. god. so much fun to party with. A slope like me, but a hunnert percent, whereas I'm a hapa.

One of my weirdest memories of The P goes something like this: Friday night, 10:30 or 11:00 pm, 44th Street & 8th Avenue, Times Square, rush hour post-theater. Roni, The P and I emerge from the subway en route to a cocktail at Scruffy's, I sling my backpack off, feel it catch on my watch, break the band and listen in disbelief as I hear my watch fall down the sewer. Tink! tink! tink! tink! There follows an hour of the three of us on our hands and knees, crouched over the sewer, drawing a crowd including a policeman who shone his flashlight down the sewer to no avail. I'm a little sad because it was my 30th birthday gift from the ex. But it could be the title of a really great anti-capitalist punk rock song: "Movado Down The Sewer."

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Introduce....

THE MAN.

I love music. I love music so much. It means something to me. And I collect it obsessively. I thought my knowledge was encyclopedic. I thought my collection was enormous.

But.

I may have met my musical match. My friend from the East Village (to be always differentiated from EVG), who is a DJ and music lover and music collector, well, he just spanked me, and because of that, he will heretofore be known, simply, as THE MAN.

See, I got all cocky when I had Chilliwack and he didn't.

So I started throwing out names to try to Stump the DJ:

Hurricane Smith.... he's got it.
Badfinger... got it.

And then, he dropped me to the floor: FEARGAL SHARKEY.

I concede. I cry uncle. I offer my baboon-red ass up as proof of the musical spanking I just received.

And to THE MAN, I bow down before you, because clearly, I'm not worthy!

And the Winner...

of the award for the STUPIDEST name, EVER, EVER foisted on a defenseless infant:

His mother.

I mean, what the fuck?