the search for 'neo'...

29.8.05

a mixed bag of deez nuts

maggies is the kinda meet market bar that used to drive me nuts.

the music is loud. the trixies are cute. the meatheads are plentiful. and the scene is so effin vanilla.

in other words, it typifies all that is lincoln park – everything i love, and everything i hate.

including everything i love to hate.

BUT it is stumbling distance from my new home, which makes it a perfect launching point either before heading out, or for closing a night out.

in other words it’s a perfect place to be stupid.

which is why it shouldn’t surprise you (or me) that THIS is where i chose to break ALL of my dating conventions by asking for a cute waitress’s phone number.

and of course she had a ‘rule’ – i.e. not to give out her number to bar patrons – so the night ended with me shrugging my way home alone, and laughing at my own stupidity.

stupid maggies, i should have known better.

and the worst part, is that i DID know better.

i knew that she probably had a rule.

i also knew that i probably wasn’t cute enough for her to break her rule.

and even if she DID break her rule, i ultimately knew that id probably be stupid and always worry about how many drunken lecherous assholes she had previously broken her rule for.

so it’s a good thing that she didn’t give me her number, because i am an emm effin jerk, and i definitely deserved to walk home alone that night.

but having said that, it wasn’t a completely wasted experience – in fact i drew two major epiphanies from the evening…

(one) old-school hollywood romance can not survive in the year two thousand and five. grandiose gestures, and over-the-top sentiments are no longer the bread and butter of relationships. every girl wants to be swept off her feet, but many a girl wouldn’t know the difference between a broom and a toothbrush. in the unlikely event that a guy DID showed up with his game face on (and his broom in hand), most feminists would be inclined to wallop his ass for simply trying to subvert their domestic independence. ha!

i write this in jest, but there is a certain level of truth to this observation – dramatic attempts to win a girls heart are no longer acceptable. in fact, (in this day and age) they can sometimes be downright stalkerish and creepy.

maybe even illegal.

as i finished up my beer, and stepped out the door of maggies, my mind skipped through ALL of the different ways that i could convince ‘my’ waitress to give me her number – meet her after work, talk to her boss about giving her a five minute break, drag her outside of the bar, grab the microphone from the dj and propose to her in the middle of the shitty beer sludged dancefloor – each one of them a GREAT idea if i was living in ‘the notebook’ (and SO worth the humiliation for rachel mcadams), but a bad idea if im grounded in reality..

and an even worse idea if i don't look like ryan gosling. ha!

(two) the dating approach is so precarious. there are so many checks - and - balances - and - opportunities - and - failures - and - moments - of - luck - and - divine - intervention that it’s a wonder that ANYONE is dating.

meeting someone is tough. getting their number is tougher. calling them is even worse. having a good first date is horribly difficult. and yet we continue to smack our heads against the wall.

its pavlovs dogs all over again.

and the worst part (for me) is that im too easily hungup on the phone number step.

i meet PLENTY of girls.

that’s actually pretty easy for me.

unfortunately i have difficulty capitalizing on the meat-and-greet to get their number. most of the time i get too hung up on figuring out if im interested enough. the entire night, im like a big effin squirrel who keeps tilting his head from side-to-side while trying to figure out if the acorn he holds in his hand is big enough, and juicy enough, and soft enough, and tasty enough.

sometimes i need someone to shout, ‘just eat the acorn you fucking nutjob!’ (ha!)

because i FORGET that committing to eat the acorn is still a far cry from actually tuckin’ into some planters peanuts. there are still PLENTY of opportunities for things to go awry.

case in point – my dad promised to call my mom after he asked her to write her telephone number on a dollar bill... and then he spent it. ha!

in their case it worked out for the best (i.e. my mom hunted my dad down to kick his ass). unfortunately don’t think i can depend on being so fortunate. ha!

ULTIMATELY i need to get out there and and i need to get the digi’s – there will be plenty of opportunities for head tilting at a later time and on a later date.

i really am a fuckin nutjob. ha!

nuts! is compliments of threadless tshirts~

24.8.05

bill murray i am

last weekend desperation was oozing out of my pores in the form of mr. wheat, mrs. barley, and mr. hops.

as ive gracefully aged over the years (to a vine-ripened twenty six), i have noted that my nightlong rock-outs have rapidly degraded to a nights where i am out like a rock.

i cant party like i used to, and quite frankly, im not sure that i really want to.

this common lament has been whispered by many an aging party-goer; a result of a sharply declining alkeyhall tolerance, a brutal five day work week, and a growing propensity to ‘hate’ drunks.

when did we become such haters?

it wasn’t that long ago that i was slamming beers nonstop, shaking my ass like a porn star, and picking on the dregs of the four am bars*. now i find myself, drinking fast (but getting ‘inebriated’ faster), catching up with friends that i haven’t seen all week (talking against the back wall of the dancefloor), and jumping in a cab as soon as its safe to say that ‘all the hot girls are boring, and blah’.

when did we become so quick to give up?

some like to say that weve become wiser (and less likely to put up with the bullshit) as we’ve aged.

i like to simply say that we’ve all become old farts - me included.

which is why my recent decision to live with four twenty three year-old roommates has been a welcome shock to my system.

a shock in the ‘everyone-has-to-shotgun-three-beers-before-going-out’ kinda welcome.

an announcement that i barely blinked at when my roommate made it (im already back to my old form. ha!)

as a disembodied observer, i am not surprised to note that there is direct correlation between the increasing level of my consumption (shotgunning beers, playing quarters, and a beer paaaarty or few) and my declining level of social cynicism.

LP bars that were once deemed cheesy have been revisited and enjoyed. and the trixie type girls who were once deemed stupid have been upgraded to silly and fun.

in a nutshell, hanging out with four less-than-cynical versions of myself has been tremendously liberating.

at least that’s how it felt as i rocked-out this past weekend.

unfortunately my twenty six year-old body was wide awake by eight am the next morning. and even tho i was up at eight, i was barely cognizant until three pm.

my twenty six year old weekends have now become as worthless as my twenty three year old roommates.

which is quite disconcerting, since, like my elder(ly) peers, i have developed quite an affinity for activities that are scheduled for early mornings.

my preference for tennis, volleyball, volunteering, bike rides, long runs, reading, and writing has been supplanted by mindless viewing of saturday morning cartoons, entourage reruns, and episodes of weeds (on-demand cable is another ‘perk’ garnered from living with my roommates).

i would love to get up and do what i used to do, but sadly my mind fog refuses to lift after only four hours of sleep – and yet my body is pre-programmed to wake up early, which ultimately leaves me in limbo till late afternoon.

which is why i found myself pounding out my sixteen mile training run on a hot and humid saturday afternoon, instead of a cool and crisp jog at dawn.

by mile five mister, missus, and mister were oozing out of my body like slimer visa-vis ghostbuster, and their squishy voices were mocking me every step of the way.

its no wonder that i bonked at six and barely completed a twelve mile out-and-back.

i didn’t finish my training run, and which means that ill have to pay for it this weekend. a payment that i dread since ive already got some pretty heavy party plans lined up for friday and saturday night.

i can probably keep this lifestyle up for a little while, but somethings gotta give eventually.

and hopefully its not going to result in an elderly women (i.e. diane keaton) gettin nekkid. ha!

11.8.05

my voice-over (a cheatin repost from may 7th)

my life is a hollywood movie. it may not be a hollywood blockbuster (i dont look like will smith, and i dont shoot a big gun or drive a porche), but it does have constant drama, and a rockin' good soundtrack. but thats not REALLy why i think my life is a movie. what really makes me think that, is the booming voice-over that has taken over the narration of my life.

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' (cue ominious churchbell)

thats what my voice-over has been saying lately. for example, sometimes ill think to myself... 'geez! why do i have to get up so early for work? what a pain in the ass... i dont want to go to work... i want to sleep... how many more mornings do i have to do this for?"

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

theres nothing like a godlike voice-over to really drive a point home.

i started off this blog talking about the future (and my obsession with it). and although ive meandered my way through a myriad of different 'life' topics, i have deliberately opted to avoid the majority of my relationship landmines. the 'one-wrong-choice-and-you-forfeit-life-as-you-know-it' kinda landmines. in otherwords, the 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' kinda landmines.

lets start off with the facts.**

  • i am 25 years old.

  • i have been dating my girlfriend for 1.5 years.

  • i dont feel any rush to get married.

...except i do

its so cliche. and i hate to be cliche. but she wants to begin her life (potentially OUR life), and i want to live my life (MY life). we've talked about it several times (as people in longterm relationships will inevitably do) and we understand that our timelines are out of synch. but both of us are flexible and willing to come to some middleground, as long as thats what we both want.

is that what we want? is that what she wants? is that what i want?

this is NOT a new storyline. its sad to say, but if my life was a movie, the plot would be pretty formulaic. --- boy meets girl, boy dates girl, girl waits for marriage proposal, boy drinks beer, girl dumps boy, boy has an epiphany and realizes that he has lost the best thing to ever happen to him, boy breaks up girls wedding (ha!), boy and girl get married, the end.

we've only made it as far as the 'boy drinks beer' segment, but i can see the plot developing as we speak. (so stay tuned)

i wouldnt mind skipping all those superfluous steps and jumping straight to the marriage bit, but therein lies the problem at hand... therein lies the rub.

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

im willing to throw it all down on the table and jump into the ring, but only if im sure. and sure i am not. if this is for the rest of my life (which i want it to be), then this had better be damn near perfect. and perfect this is not. and once again therein lies the dilemna.

having the weight of 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' residing on your shoulders adds dramatic emphasis to EVERYTHING in a relationship. small idiosyncratic flubbles that may mean nothing while you're dating, may mean a great deal if its FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. suddenly every action, every choice, every personality trait needs to be scrutinized for their potential impact down the road.

if you're dating, and she has a tough time deciding between several different entrees at dinner, its no big deal. but if she cant make up her mind about dinner FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, then it may be a bit of a problem down the road. not a big problem necessarily (but a problem nonetheless).

the bigger problem comes when you begin to extrapolate this observation (can't choose dinner entree's) and try to apply it to the rest of your life together... if she cant choose her dinner entree, how can she make the choices that will define the rest of our lives together? how can she make big decisions and help take care of our children, if she cant even decide between chicken or beef?

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

i think you get the picture. as a result, ive begun to politely (and sometimes not so politely) push for changes. she accomodates what she thinks are reasonable requests, and disregards ones that she does not. i know what some of you may be thinking... 'how can he ask her to change? if he loves her, he would accept her as she is, for who she is...'

'love is not blind - it sees more not less, but because it see's more it is willing to see less' - anonymous

which is terrific in theory, but if put into practice, it means that either A) you accept her and don't want to change a thing B) you dump her and keep looking. looking for what? the one. the one that you love so much that you dont want to change (and lets not get started on THAT whole discussion again).

i have a different philosphy. i believe that there is a perfect person out there for me, however they are not going to be perfect when i meet them. rather they will show the promise of becoming perfect (which my girlfriend does). because to meet the perfect person RIGHT NOW, does not gaurantee perfection in the long run (and this is for the long run). because in order to maintain that perfection, both she and i will have to grow together, in the same way, in the same direction, with the same goals and aspirations. its not important if we are perfect right now, so long as we can grow towards being perfect in the future.

if you are already 'perfect' for one another, you have learned NOTHING. you have not gained any insight into how the person will grow, how they will adjust, how they will sacrifice... FOR YOU. i want someone who needs to be molded (just as i do), and i want to watch them match me, change for change.

'relationships do not fail because people are incompatible... relationships fail because people are inflexible' - anonymous*

because lets face it, i talk alot about the need for change (and how 'she' does things that scares the bejeezus out of me) but i know that i too have character flaws that need to be outgrown. in other words, im not her prince charming either (yet). i need to change. and im willing to do so. if she doesnt want ... me to be friends with other girls (another post, another time), i have to adjust to HER needs and desires.

we both have the same choices: change for him/her, or say fuck it and start anew. there's always a choice. unfortunately we may not like the choices we have. but decisions need to be made... GOOD decisions need to be made because otherwise this really will be 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

* this is my all-time favorite relationship quote. i refer to it ALOT. my girlfriend dislikes it, because she thinks its not necessarily true. if she ever finds this blog, and reads this post, she's going to know this is me in a heartbeat. (who else would come up with this kinda crap)

marinate on it for a while, and let me know what you think.

** way out-dated since this is a cheat. sorry guys, life is busy.

2.8.05

b&t doesnt just mean bridge and tunnel (a cheatin repost from jan 21)

when my friend tonic invited me to go out last saturday night, i had a sneaking suspicion that she was holding something back.

but she’s a bit of a mixer - shes always hanging out with the hottest most interesting people in chicago - and i always have fun partying with her, so i opted to forego my better judgement.

its been a while since the two of us had partied together, so i figured that a couple of drinks couldn’t hurt. afterall it’s a saturdayfuckin night - im twenty five, not forty five.

so despite my nagging suspicions, i agreed to meet up for a drink or few.

she chose the venue - cherry red.

warning sign number one.

her choice of venue was surprising - normally tonic has the hottest hookup on the heezy (ha!). cherry red is not hot, and it hasn’t been for quite a while. in fact i normally avoid the place because of the sheer cheesiness that emanates from its doors.

but i wanted to party with tonic, so i figured that’s where i was headed for the night. a soldiers gotta do, what a soldiers gotta do. so be it.

the club was already crowded by the time we rolled up - who the hell goes out in chicago at 9pm? apparently we do. ha!

the bass was thumping, and the drinks were flowing fast and furious. people were mostly standing around, but there were already a couple drunkards swaying to the beat - it wouldn’t be long before the dance floor was hopping. a thought that made me suddenly realize that i was awfully thirsty. so made a beeline for the back.

our party was in the ‘vip’ area. which is basically cheesy club code for the ‘back room where they normally keep the kegs’. to step through the ‘vip’ doors, i had to part with a jackson, but i did get handed a plastic mug in return.

i had to laugh out loud- i had forgotten how ‘classy’ tonic can be when she’s slumming it.

not that i was too good for a plastic mug. in fact, i grabbed the pre-offered cup, and quickly stepped right upto the bar for a drink.

one sip and a single slapped down on the bar later, i was already half-way through my captain and coke.

which was probably a good thing, because i turned from the bar just in time to catch my old friend bombay stepping through the 'vip' doors - had my cup been full i probably would have sprayed everyone in a five foot radius.

i ran over and greeted my old friend with a big fucking bear hug, all the while thinking, ‘aw the shit just got crazy tonight’.

cause when bombay, tonic and i party, we throw down HARD.

warning sign number two.

tonic and bombay were quick to grease our social circle in the back ‘vip’ area - they made the rounds introducing everyone to everyone. the music was too loud to talk, and too lame to dance to, so we stood around doing what we do best - drinking.

i was really disappointed, normally there’s at least ONE person that i can have a conversation with. normally there’s at least ONE person that has something interesting to say. then again, the music isn’t normally jacked up so loud that the bass knocks out the vowels in every word you say.

with no one to talk to, and nothing to say, i stood around and did what i do best - drink and watch people.

the back room was filling up pretty rapidly and other groups were crowding in and taking over corners of the room. coats and hats were quickly piled on chairs, and plastic cups were quickly being filled. it seemed like everyone was doing what we were doing - fake talking and scoping out the rest of the room.

maybe it was because i hadn’t gone out with bombay and tonic in a while, but i suddenly had an urge to talk to someone - anyone, i didn’t care. which is a stupid idea considering the sub woofers were kicking through convo’s like king kong at a scrabble convention. i didn’t even know why people were still trying to talk.

and yet, i had this urge to meet someone new.

which is REALLY weird, because i don’t meet women in bars.

but i thought, ‘eh!?!? what the fuck?. its saturday night. im young. im drunk. im bored.

i have nothing to lose.

so turned around, smiled, and said hello the girl to my left.

(smile) ‘hllro, my nmmm ssss hhhhsssss. whtzzzz yrsssss’?

im not sure if it was the bass, or the alcohol that made me sound like that, but im pretty sure that’s what i sounded like.

talking irregardless, i kept smiling at her and did the whole pantomime thing with the drink and the hand gestures that nobody can interpret (yet we all keep doing it anways).

i liked how her hair was parted, it swept across her forehead and her eyes, and she kept raking it aside with her hands while she bounced words off the side of my head.

me: (head tilted towards her) ‘whhhhhhht?’

her: (lips to my ear) ‘my nmmmmmm sssss srhhhrrrrrr’

me: (head tilt) ‘whhhhhhht?’

by now im starting to think it’s the music that’s getting to me. because suddenly i fast forward to me fast and furiously typing her number into my cell phone. i don’t even WANT to transcribe how that event went down. but i DID get her number. i called her right then and there so i KNEW i wasn’t getting another bogus chinese take out number. (ha!)

suddenly my mind skips another chapter and i find myself on the dance floor watching my friend grind on an indian guy that she just met. im miming the white man shuffle over his shoulder to get her to laugh (successful). he thinks she’s laughing at him until she manages to explain what i was doing behind him.

high fives all around, and its all good in the hood.

fast forward again and im suddenly giving the girl a hug and telling her that im leaving. im not sure if my vowels have returned, but she seems disappointed and wants me to stay.

one final fast forward and its four thirty in the morning. im in my apartment doing what im not supposed to be doing, and i have to get up in three hours to volunteer.

i throw my phone against the wall and fall asleep on my couch.

the next morning in a real GE ‘light bulb’ moment, i remember to check my outgoing text messages.

‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’)

because suddenly it all comes rushing back to me.

first there was the moment that i decided that it would be a good idea to call the girl. then there was the moment when i decided that i was WAY too drunk to be talking to her. so i decided to be smart and text her instead. (because THATS a better option) ha! then i remember being so drunk i couldn?t see straight, so i had to text with only one errant eye open. and of course this process eventually culminates with me throwing my phone against the wall.

i wont torture you with the message, but needless to say it wasn’t pretty.

is anyone else channeling visions of mikey in ‘swingers’? (because i am) ha!

so let me reiterate, ‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’)

im thoroughly embarrassed. but there’s nothing to do about it. i can only laugh. in fact i found myself laughing more than once that day (out loud) at the sheer stupidity that i am capable of.

but do you want to know the worst part? i really could have cared less about being such a jackass. i found it extremely funny (and embarrassing), but i wasn’t ashamed or dejected. in fact i kept smiling with chagrin. in fact (it sounds awful) but i could have cared less.

because i don’t (normally) pick up women in bars. ha!

this is the point where the story should end... but theres more.

after many laugh out loud moments, i finally laughed myself to a point where i could logically decide not to compound insult to injury by calling her again. i figured that i had already acted badly, so there was no reason to continue the pattern.

at least that’s what i thought until i meet up with some friends for football the next afternoon.

him: ‘so i heard you were hardcore making out with this girl last night on the dance floor at cherry red. in fact i heard you left with her.’

me: ‘who me? what the hell are you talking about?’

and i seriously didn’t have a CLUE what the man meant by that.

i didn’t make out with anyone on the dance floor at cherry red. did i ?

so i asked another friend who was there that night. and her response, ‘naw, that was me. i was making out with everyone i could get my hands on. dont worry about it’.

so i didnt. phew! i dodged that bullet.

at least that’s what i thought until i got home that night. because i flipped open my camera to find pictures of me with several girls random that i DON’T remember taking pictures with.

suddenly i was pinged with a cold sweat - if i dont remember these pics, its POSSIBLE that i dont remember what happened on cherry red's dance floor....

did i really make out with a girl on the dance floor? and which girl? the one i got a number for... or one of the girls in the pictures?

‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’) ha!

to be continued...