the last resort

she couldn’t resist the smile that stole across her face.

she turned away suddenly to keep me from noticing, but she couldn’t go very far.

her hands were twined amongst mine, and the wind kicked and pulled her hair across her face.

briefly obscuring that smile.

she looked back towards me, more composed, more serious.

but i loved the way she couldn’t keep her rosey cheeks from dancing at the corners.

barely beneath the surface was that spring loaded smile, and she was having the darndest time trying to push it back inside its box.

i pulled her in for another kiss, and the smile broke to the surface again.

it made my heart skip – a million little high fives resounding in one loud clap inside my head.

at that moment it crossed my mind that the key to making this ‘work’ would be to keep her smiling like that.

forever.

and then i realized that it was impossible.

****

for all my tough bluff – strong words and angry rhetoric, i am secretly the worst kind of closet romantic.

i am a believer.

i eat that shit up with a spoon, a knife, and a bulldozer.

and it doesn’t take much for someone to figure this out – im actually quite open about it.

ill admit this to the first person, the last person, and anyone in between - but i doubt that many people realize how far the rabbit hole really goes.

if alice tumbled down far enough, the rabbit hole would drop straight into my heart.

and that’s why i refuse to settle for anything but crescendo’s and a thousand violins and the 1812 overture and fireworks on the fourth of july.

i want a nuclear implosion – a soundless explosion that i hear not in my head but feel in the tips of my toes.

i want it all.

and i want it on the first.

first look.

first touch.

first kiss.

our first.

the first.

of many.

****

and she wasn’t any of these things.

but she was very cute.

cuter than i expected, and certainly cuter than i deserved.

she was four feet and eleven inches tall, and she stood four feet and eleven inches tall.

she wore flats on our first date, and i almost fell in love with her for it.

her hair was flippy, just like i liked it.

she looked nothing like her pictures – which was a relief because i couldn’t decide if i liked her in her pictures.

even now as i draw upon a mental image of her, i am met with a confusing montage of memories of our time together mixed with memories of her in pictures that ive seen. sometimes i think im making my memory of her into something else – someone that isn’t her at all.

someone that i like. someone that i would like more.

but other times i think i remember her as i saw her.

and i hope that this is true sense of what she looks like.

not necessarily who she is, but what she looks like.

****

we were seated.

we sat for an hour emptily staring at our menus.

we didn’t order.

we spoke instead.

i don’t remember the words that we uttered.

they just tumbled as new words have a tendency to do.

skipping like rocks across a still pond – not really making a dent in anything, but causing little ripples within our consciousness before eventually sinking to the bottom.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually discussed.

and yet so much is weighed, so much information is gathered, and so much is decided immediately.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually decided – except perhaps the future of a budding relationship.

and of course words have no basis of influence in the matter.

words are superfluous.

so we ordered dinner.

****

she played with her hair a lot.

flipping it one way. then another. then back again.

they say this is a good sign.

for me.

of course, what the fuck do they know.

****

they also say don’t talk about ex’s. don’t talk about marriage. don’t talk about engagement rings, and the future, and white picket fences, and what you want your kids names to be.

we talked about all of this.

thumbing our noses at what they say.

and what they say to do.

we say what we do, and we do what we say to do.

words are superfluous, but actions never are.

****

our first kiss was a throwback to middle school.

we were shy almost to the point of immaturity.

a gradual progression from walking, to casual touching, to holding hands, to clutching, to kissing; it was a freight train set in motion by the first words we uttered.

it was inevitable.

which is presumptuous to say, but actually presuming very little.

i think its natural for any date (even a bad one) to progress along the same lines as ours.

a kiss at the end of the date is not a flashing neon sign of guaranteed success.

but a partially concealed smile (dancing on the heels of a first kiss) may be the next best thing.

st. elsewhere

for men, dating is a lot like (pardon my explicitness) a big dick swinging contest.

woman may not understand what this means, but most guys probably get the gist - dating is about showing someone how ‘big’ you really are.

of course dating is never as straight forward as the above mentioned contest; in fact showing a women how ‘big’ you really are can be accomplished in a myriad of ways, which is WHY dating is so complicated - no two woman can agree on the criteria, no two woman will admit what they secretly want.

but its hard to refute that dating fundamentally boils down to (in women’s terms) a man’s ability to ‘wow’ his date.

if we (as men) can figure out what ‘wows’ a woman, we are in like flynn.

if we cant… we are out like a trout. ha!

****

obviously every women is different – thus the criteria for success is always a moving target.

anything is up for review: a man’s height, weight, looks, car, money, job, ethnicity, religion, personality, girth, attitude, build, eyes, hair… the list can go on and on (im not a women, so even EYE don’t know what the heck is on that list… ha!).

some of these criteria are verifiable immediately (profile pic!!!), while others can only be unearthed over time.

some of these criteria are ‘nice-to-haves’ while others are absolute dealbreakers.

and SOME of these criteria are completely ethereal and are just a ‘feeling’.

and unfortunately those criteria are usually the most important.

****

everyone’s got their fair share of dealbreakers – some of them are completely logical (i wont date someone who’s been to jail), while some of the others are completely superfluous (i wont date someone who’s been to new orleans) and yet still valid.

for better or worse, i have a long list of deal breakers.

and match.com has only added fuel to this fire, by providing all the information that i need to make an ‘informed’ decision about someone (even tho im fairly certain that every girl in boston is lying).

but of course the swords slices bread both ways.

and as i peruse my ‘matches’ it often makes me wonder what OTHER people’s dealbreakers are.

what is it about me (my wink, my email, my profile, my photograph) that causes some people to think, ‘nope, not for me’.

don’t get me wrong, this isnt a sad thought.

im not hurt or frustrated by someone who isnt interested in me - because i can be just as picky, and just as judgmental the next person.

and ultimately isn’t that what we all want?

don’t we want someone who is just as picky and just as judgmental, but yet (for some reason) we still chose them and they still chose us?

****

im taking a ‘match’ out for dinner on saturday night.

our connection surprisingly progressed much along the lines of how match.com was designed to work: i looked at her profile a couple of times and then winked at her, she looked at my profile and winked back, i wrote her an email, she wrote me an email, i disappeared for a couple of weeks, then i replied to her email and gave her my number, she replied and gave me her number, finally i called her flinging flanging number and got a flinging flanging date out of it.

i like to claim that i don’t want to meet a girl in a bar because it will be an awkward explanation for our future kids. it would probably go something like this: ‘i was pounding beers when i saw your mom from across the crowded bar, and from the way she slammed those tequila shots, i just KNEW that she was the one. later that night as she projectile painted the ladies bathroom floor, i fell in love…’

its strange to think that THAT sounds more acceptable than talking about how we traded winks and scoped out each others profile via the interweb.

blah

****

but we’ve made it this far.

and that has to say something – we know alot more about each other than most people on first dates do.

we know what each other looks like*. we know how tall each of us is (a surprisingly important requirement for women searching for men). and we know what each person likes to do for ‘fun’.

im not super excited for this date, but i cant decide if that’s because match.com has sucked the intrique out of this, OR if its because im not vibing this girl. i hopes its the former, not the latter.

ive decided that profiles, winks, emails, and phone calls don’t count when getting to know someone.

so it still comes down to that very first meeting.

saturday is THE night - will i impress her with how 'big' i am? will she hit one of my dealbreakers?

no matter what happens, at the end of the night we will either know or we wont.

so be it.

* this reminds me of something that i commented to another blogger - 'appearance is the marijuana (i.e. gateway drug) of relationships. its the introduction, but never the addiction. its why we meet other people, but never the reason we continue talking. in the end, i want a relationship that is based on crack or speed, not pot. i want someone who likes my looks, but craves my personality. dont you?' - hooizz

'you can never really know another person, except by your first glance at him. because in that glance we know everything. even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge' -ayn rand

gnarls barkley

its my own damn fault that i am a putz.

this weekend i missed the opportunity to meet some fabulous bloggers (jenny, sandra, sarah etc.) at tequilacon because i tried to do too much – and ended up doing too little.

i guess i get to blog in anonymity for yet another year.

****

check out gnarls barkley’s song ‘crazy’. i am stoked for their appearance @ lollapollala.

in my own words...

writing about yourself is often an exercise in flatulence.

which is ironic since it feels AS unnatural to write about yourself, as it would to fart on a first date.

modesty and humility are characteristics that society has ingrained in all of us – much like the societal conditioning that forces you to clench your butt and cross your legs when you get the urge to fart in mixed company. ha!

fortunately our conditioning CAN be broken down (embrace your inner gaseousness), and eventually our true selves can be released…

released in the form of noxious vomit inducing fumes –or- equally bad match.com profiles.

***

writing a match.com profile is actually a lot harder than you would expect.

if you don’t believe me, you should think about your answers to the questions below.

(jess you get brownie points for completing this assignment early)

what do you do for fun?

what do you do for work?

what are your favorite ‘hot spots’?

what are your favorite things?

what did you read last?

what words do people use to describe you?

what do you want in someone else?

those are the topics, now write something that will make you appear to be a desirable ‘match’ AND do it in under two hundred characters.

go.

***
even tho it is SOMEWHAT difficult to write a profile, it is still just WRITING a profile – its not rocket science or saving the world.

and yet many people inevitably find themselves saying, ‘i don’t know how to describe myself… im not very good at writing these things… i don’t know what to say, but here goes…’

how the fuck did these people get into college? is this how they started their college admissions essay?

c’mon people, you have a thousand characters to describe yourself, and you just wasted twenty of them to admit that you are a moron.

i can already tell that we’re a perfect match. ha!

***

some people* avoid the issue altogether by writing practically nothing about themselves.

they are a one paragraph sink hole of bland sentiments – ‘im nice, im friendly, i like the color white, i like to eat chicken etc.’

they say nothing about who they are, or who they’re looking for.

humility (can be) is a respectable quality in a person. but boredom is not.

while i was looking into potential roommates last year, i asked someone what they like to do for fun.

her response, ‘i like to watch tv and eat buffalo chicken sandwiches for fun’.

are you serious? do people like you actually exist (duh a rhetorical question)?

the scary part is that she was seriously hot, and didn’t need match.com to meet people.

***

the irony of this whole post is that the match.com profile is completely superfluous.

why the hell did i waste so much time whining about it, when it’s totally a moot point.

nobody actually cares what someone says in their profile, because the truth (and the vibe) can be derived by a quick perusal of that persons profile pic.

profile pic hot. or profile pick not.

its a binary switch.

and if you don’t have a profile pic, you’re not even in the running.

ive been contacted by several ‘blind’ matches with absent profile pics.

call me superficial but i don’t talk to girls that i don’t ‘know’ (‘know’ in the ‘know what you look like’ sorta way)

this philosophy is akin to something that my friend matttius once said, ‘i don’t date girls who wear one piece swimsuits because it makes me wonder what they’re trying to hide’.

we were only fifteen.

mother russia

i have a brand new toy

its not flashy

or shiney

or even really that fun to play with

but it IS time consuming

and strangely addictive.

so if i haven’t been blogging, its because all my free time is going to something else.

but dont be jealous of my new obsession with match.com, because lets face it, anyone who uses match.com is kinda sad.

which is how i should feel.

but i don’t.

you know why?

because match.com is effin hilarious.

***

my first ‘match’ was a russian mail order bride.

it was awesome.

she was tall, blond, gorgeous, and way out of my league.

so i winked.

and she winked back.

so i wrote her a quick anonymous email.

and she wrote me one back…

she told me all about herself, where she was from, what she liked to do, who she wanted to be with (typical match.com fare). she said she felt a connection with me, and directed me to contact her using her ‘real’ email.

uh huh… im not falling for that one.

the ‘real’ email wasn’t the tip off – the tipoff was the whole ‘im a poor HOT blond girl who lives in a kibbutz in the motherland and all i want is a man to keep me warm at night’ schtick.

im not even sure if there ARE kibbutz’s in mother russia.

those russian-mafia-mail-order-bride-green-card-needing scams are TRICKY sometimes. ha! but even tho i knew it was a trick, even tho it was SO obvious that this was an attempt to defraud me (probably a couple emails down the line), a small aspect of my psyche pulled on my groin and actually made me feel (hope? remorse? wishful thinking?) for poor poor super model natasha.

afterall, i COULD be wrong about her... couldnt i? hah!

despite my nagging doubts, i didnt write back.

but i did think about playing along with the ‘game’.

i think i could have convinced them to send me noodie pics of her.

probably, but then again probably not.

in the end it probably woulda cost me my mastercard or something.

which is why i just dropped it and LAUUUGHHED my ass off.

what a way to start my online internet dating experience.

***

match.com can warp your mind.

when i think of girls – when i see girls on the street – i don’t think of them as women.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t objectify them as just tits and ass, i just objectify them as ‘slender’ or ‘firm and toned’ or ‘a couple extra pounds’ etc.

these are the categories that match.com uses to 'describe' your body type.

and there are a lot of girls on match.com who think they’re in one category when they’re really in another.

i want to write them and say YOU ARE A LIAR!

but that would be mean.

so instead i LAAAAUUUUGGHHHH my ass off some more

***

i would love to say that im incredibly successful at this online dating gig.

but im not.

ive winked at a couple of girls – and when that didn’t work, i started writing detailed emails.

i didnt even use form emails (hi ______, my name is ______. i think we have alot in common. you like ____. i like it too) ha!.

and i still don’t get responses.

it’s a pretty big blow to your ego, when you realize that on paper (on the net), you SUCK as a potential boyfriend.

of course, im also batting WAY out of my league.

why flirt with ugly girls, when its all virtual reality?

***

i think every relationship should be based on three things - trust, friendship, and truth.

which is why its effin hilarious that EVERY single girl in boston (at least on match.com) absolutely loves the REDSOX, and DOESN’T fucking smoke.

every SINGLE one of them.

yeah fucking right.

because if you believe that, i know a really lonely blond girl in russia who would love an email from you. ha!

the wheels on the bus

the world can be broken down into two types of people – those who wait for the bus, and those who don’t.

which may seem like an oversimplification of humanity (especially since most people don’t even RIDE the bus anymore), but let me explain.

lets say you need to go somewhere (i.e. downtown).

and you decide to take the bus.

you go to the appropriate bus stop, and you wait for the appropriate bus.

there is no schedule posted, but you ask some people at the bus stop about your bus, and you learn that there are several other people who are also waiting for the same exact bus.

an old lady kindly tells you that the bus will come eventually.

but she doesn’t know when.

several buses pass by in the meantime – but none take you close to where you want to go.

people get on. and people get off.

you wait.

and wait.

and finally you are faced with a dilemma – do you continue to wait for the bus or not?

if you wait for the bus, you may wait for a very (very) long time – but eventually you will get where you need to go.

if you don’t wait for the bus, you may find a faster way to get to your destination, you may find a slower way to get to your destination, or you may not get to your destination at all.

but at least you’re not standing still.

if you were put in this position, what would you do? which kind of person do you think you are?

and more importantly, what do you think this reflects about WHO you are?

what is interesting is that the answer (no matter what it may be) is not an indictment on anyone.

because there is no WRONG answer.

this decision - like many in life, is composed of no absolutes, only varying shades of grey slush.

in life, there are many people who refuse to wait for the bus.

these are the people who take action when faced with an obstacle, and an objective.

they’ll take a different bus.

or they’ll walk.

but no matter what they decide to do, they refuse to stand still.

and sometimes this will work for them.

and sometimes it wont.

because although these people have the determination to MOVE around an obstacle, they may lack the DIRECTION to translate this movement into forward progress.

movement does not necessarily equate to progress.

movement without direction is merely movement.

and is movement (for the sake of movement) really better than standing still?

some might think so.

others may not.

after all, there are just as many people who refuse to move (and decide to wait) as there are those who simply get up and go.

and just like in the tortoise and the hare, those who wait may get where they need to go sooner than those who hurry (perhaps in the wrong direction).

because you never know when the bus will actually show up. ***

***in case you were wondering why the hell im preoccupied with buses, you should realize that this whole post is an analogy for dating. i often equate my friday night meet-market escapades with this ‘public transportation’ scenario. is it better for me to stay at home and wait for my bus? or am i doing the right thing by going out and running in traffic?

of course this is all absolute bollocks, because there is ABSOLUTELY no guarantee that A) im waiting at the right bus stop B) a bus even exists for me to get on.

in other words i am fooked.

note: if i ever meet the ‘one’ – it will be our little secret that i used to refer to her as a bus. ha!

the only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage

valentines day is for eight year olds.

im not saying this because im single.

im not saying this because im bitter.

im not even saying this because im a guy.

im saying this because im right.

im right – and you know im right.

because if you think back to when you were eight, that was the FIRST, and the LAST time that valentines day actually meant something.

valentines meant eight year old butterflies flitting about in eight year old stomachs.

valentines meant eight year old hearts resonating in eight year old chests.

valentines meant eight year old eyes widening as eight year old fingers lifted up the top of that eight year old’s desk.

and amongst the papers and pens, maybe that eight year old found the valentine that they sought.

or maybe they didn’t.

but for that one afternoon (and perhaps only for that afternoon), valentines day actually meant something to someone.

even if it only meant something to an eight year old.

car pay muthafukkin dee em

to me, bloggin’ is a lot like dating...

you shouldn’t do it unless you actually want to.

and ever since i moved to boston i havent had much of an inclination to do either.

which is a total effin lie, because if i had the opportunity to do 'it', i would.

which is another effin lie, because i believe that people (i.e you and me) make our own opportunities – so if i haven’t blogged, and if i haven’t dated, its because im a slackass bitch and i haven’t been ‘seizing the day enough’.

which is kinda sorta true.

for instance,

i haven’t seized every opportunity that’s presented itself.

i didn’t call a cute doctor girl who gave me her number on new years eve. even tho she was cute and i really dug her vibe.

i tried to call, but not very hard.

i also haven’t taken the moment to blog down everything that’s happened, and every thought that ive had over the last two months. even tho alot has happened, alot has been thought, and alot has been forgotten.

i tried to write, but not very hard.

which is really the crux of this issue – why do something, if you’re not going try to do it right?

why call a girl that lives in RI, when you know that its not going to work out?

why write a work in progress, when you know that you don’t have the time to finish it?

why?

****

you tell me.

i totally effed up on the girl from new years.

she looked how i wanted her to.

(tall. short jacket over a dressy tank top, w/ tight jeans and a pair of heals. great auburn hair. clear blue eyes)

she acted how i wanted her to.

(bubbly. engaging. animated. vivacious)

she was who i wanted her to be.

(med school. well spoken. intelligent)

so why didn’t i call her?

i don’t know.

****

my best friend and i crashed a house party for new years.

small – intimate gathering, but surprisingly a decent amount of cute single girls.

i noticed her immediately – it was hard not to.

but i played it cool.

i grabbed a beer and started a conversation with my friend, and another guy.

the three of us clustered, until she segued into the group.

first she started talking to the dood. apparently they knew each other.

then she introduced herself and spoke to my friend.

whats your name? what do you do? how do you know the host? etc etc.

her laser-like concentration was directed at my friend – so much so, that i actually made a mental note that she had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever (but maybe my friend had a chance).

not even a glance in my direction.

im standing RIGHT there.

and she walks away.

no prompt.

no break in the conversation

no one saying, ‘hey laurie, come over here and check this out!’

she just picked up and left us.

so we dispersed.

the end.

****

im standing by the cocktail table picking over the drink selection when she floats back into the room.

and i don’t even remember how things started, but suddenly we’re talking.

i have no idea what we’re saying.

the words tumble and jumble out of my mouth, but i have no idea what they MEAN.

but it seems to be working, she’s smiling and nodding.

she’s laughing– an uproarious knock your head back laugh.

and every so often, she reachs out and touches my arm to emphasize her point.

point about what?

i don’t know.

but at that point in time, i didn’t really care either.

its all good in the hood

****

we talked for more than an hour.

but eventually our conversation waned (as conversations will) and we drifted apart.

the new year rang in, and i sang auld lang syne alone.

i didn’t mind

i had tried to position myself next to her for new years, but that shit only works in movies.

shortly after midnight, i convinced my friend to leave early so that we could catch last call at a local bar.

on our way out the door, i took a detour into the kitchen to say goodbye to the girl.

she gave me one of those, ‘oh you’re leaving?’ kinda looks.

she said, ‘let me give you my number in case you want to talk more about italy’.

i said yeah that would be great, and punched it into my cell.

she said, ‘let me give you my email address too.’

and clip clopped around the party looking for something to write with– eventually settling for an eye liner pen.

****

i forgot her name.

****

which is no reflection on her, im just horrible with names.

and i did call once – hoping to get her voicemail and find out what her name was…

but i never called back a second time.

****

i have my doubts over whether or not i misread that evening.

was it deliberate when she blew me off the first time?

was she interested and playing hard to get?

did i blow it?

why did i blow it?

or is this situation, and this blog entry the perfect example of not doing something right?

i don’t know.

my russian mail order bride

From: Natasha Selantiwa

Mailed-By: yahoo.com

Reply-To: Natasha Selantiwa

To: HOOIZZ

Date: Mar 2, 2006 8:56 AM

Subject: Hello my new friend!!

hello *****! It was very nice to receive a message from you!
it is my first time I try to correspondence with man in internet world.
I do hope you will be enough patient to understand my writting.
My friend helped me register and write on the dating site and
I hoped that I would be lucky to meet a good man! I want you to know that I have
only good intentions and I don`t have big secrets. The
thing is that I will work abroad for three months or so and I would like to meet a nice man to be my guide
or just be good friend to spend time with.I think that it is hard enough to live in foreign town without
friends and I have never been abroad.I am from so small town here in Russia,I am afraid to be
lost.and I want to see real life and it is impossible to see without
person who knows all sides of the life. It doesn`t matter what age is he or what is his eyes
colour, I just want to know that he is kind and open-hearted inside.
I don't want to live in Russia because I have not any chances here,it
is hardly possible to explain it by the first time but I want you to know my plans.
My best friend last year met a man from USA when she worked
there for three months . She had two jobs. From morning till 4 pm she worked in amusement park and after
it she worked as a waitress in the bar till midnight. She was very
tired of course but made very good money there.But much more important that
she met a man of her dreams and I think it is so nice.
My friend used a special program "Work and travel" for young people who want to work abroad.
I also decided to do so and to use it. This program just helps to register documents and gives suitable work
in several countries all over the worls: Usa, Canada, Europe, etc. I just need to choose.I already started to register
documets and now I need to decide in which city I want to work. I think it is the right way for me ,I am
lost here, and I think that I look pretty enough to find a better place .I want to repeat the same way,it is only
my chance to change my life. I am full of plans and different dreams.I have real blonde hair and green-brown
eyes,you know that sometimes my friends call me Barby.to be fair I don't like this name . I am not doll and
I have my own mind.I do hope that you will be not disappoined to meet me in the real life if we meet.
Well,I will close this letter and I do hope to get your reply.
I will leave my town in a few days or so (I can't tell you everything exactly right now) and I would like to
be sure that I have a man who waits for me there. I will work all day and I would like to find a man to spend all free
time together to get to know each other better.if you have any interest to meet me I will be more than happy to meet you too.
My be it sounds silly but I just don't want to be alone in the evenings,and I want to be sure
in advance that somebody waits for me!
I will tell you all details about me and my life if you will like my
pictures and want to meet me! I will send different pictures!
I don`t have a yahoo messenger, so pls answer me on this e-mail, it is my personal one, ok?
With best regards Natasha

to be jolly

tis the season for evites.

big parties.

intimate gatherings.

office shindigs.

family affairs.

white elephants running amok.

and dem yankee's swap.

ugly sweater parties.

and a reason to regift.

tis the season of december.

a time for old friends, and new beginnings.

...

december is a month full of potential.

some people say that january is the beginning of the new year, but they are dead wrong.

december is the beginning of the new year.

a new year is marked with the philosophy of opportunity.

the opportunity for great potential.

a potential to achieve new goals and resolutions.

a potential to remake what was not made in the past.

a potential to talk the walk with a completely clean slate.

and although january may MARK the starting gun of opportunity in the space/time continuum...

i would argue that the catalyst and momentum in search of potential was gained much earlier.

like in the month of december.

...

amidst the flurry of evites, the happiness of being accepted, the warmth of being desired, and the joy of being requested, is the dirty secret that there arent enough hours in the day, enough minutes in the hour, or seconds on the dime to be everywhere and do everything.

amongst the plethora of invites/evites, one must make a decision about which soiree to accept, and which to decline.

inherent in the ebb and flow of acceptance, and denial, is the judgment process by which someone determines which course of action to take.

perhaps you accept because you're a close friend and your attendance is mandatory.

perhaps you accept because you've heard that they always throw a ragin kegga, and ratio of girls (or guys) will be three-to-one.

perhaps you accept simply because you dont have anything better going on that night.

everyone has their own system. everyone has their own reasons. everyone makes their own decisions.

the number one reason(s) most people would be inclined to attend a function would be because of the presence of gorgeous people, a cadre of like-minded friends who will also be attending, or perhaps because of a top-shelf open bar.

the number one reason most people would decline to attend a function would be because of a lack of potential.

a potential for... what?

a potential for fun?

a potential for drunkenness?

a potential to hang out with friends?

a potential to meet someone new?

ask yourself, what kind of potential are you looking for?

...

for me its quite simple.

the pleasure in the pudding is simply the potential to connect with someone new.

id like to think im in search of the 'one', but simply connecting with someone new is usually enough for me.

meeting new people is fun.

but connecting with someone - on an intellectual level, on a physical level, on a psychological level is what really gets my turkey baster cookin (ha!).

THATS what i seek out at parties.

and THATS what i want out of life.

i was notorious for seeking out the party that i knew the least about. the party thrown by someone outside my circle. the event that i barely knew a soul at. i was in search of opportunity – the opportunity to meet someone with potential.

searching for potential is not a comfortable feeling; which is fine because, had i wanted comfort, i would have gone to a movie, and grabbed dinner and a beer with a friend.

i would have done something where i already KNEW what the outcome would be.

searching for someone to connect with NEVER has a guaranteed outcome – the potential for failure exists just as much as the potential for success.

which is why going to a party, attending a function, crashing a wedding, and/or moving to a new city, is so much fun for me.

a fact never so boldly prominent as i begin to construct my new life in boston.

this city is a party, and every person has potential.

a potential for me to talk the walk with a completely clean slate.

happy holidays from beantown uSA