Echo

My mortgage check is due. Someone please remind me to pay it. I actually had a check written out and the enveloped stamped and everything, but somehow lost it on my way to the mailbox. If that doesn’t epitomize my life, I don’t know what does.

Work was hectic so I met up with some friends for drinks to unwind. I got there first and ran into Tom and Ben from Reno 911. It’s funny cuz I ran into them at this same bar, almost exactly one year ago. So we chatted for a bit and I asked Tom about that complaint that was filed against him (discussed in a previous post, I don’t know when). The whole time I was talking to them, I was thinking how lean they had both become, and how good their skin looked…definitely hotter than the last time I saw them. I guess it’s the vanity price of your show getting picked up for another season. You have to look good for your public. They’re still working on that competitive ping pong movie with Ali G. I hope that gets made. Balls of Fury.

I think some people plan to get old. They make preparations to ensure their survival into old age, be it consciously or subconsciously. I think others do not. Perhaps this is the key to sticking around longer. Knowing that you want to early enough to make sure that you prepare yourself to have a fighting chance.

I saw this kid once, about seven years old, at one of my parents’ parties. He was moving around some mingling adults, legs somewhat unsteady, when he threw up on himself. His instinct was to cup the vomit with his hands, but when he realized what had just occurred, when he realized what was in his hands, he froze, looking horrified. He looked around furtively to see if anyone had seen him, his hands pressed against his mouth. Luckily, the hallway was somewhat dark so that most people, other than bizarre folks such as myself who make a sport of people watching, hadn’t noticed. He teetered around, desperately looking for a place to drop the vomit while obviously about to be sick again, trying to be as discreet as possible about it. I could tell he was hoping for a garbage can but the low, rising whine of anxiety was making sinks, plates or even a potted plant a suitable alternative. He managed to throw it in the sink of a little wet bar with about a quarter of it actually making it in. The kid looked miserable.

FBI AND CIA PARTY OF 7.2.04
FRIDAY, JULY 2ND 2004

THE PARTY STARTS AT 8PM AND ENDS AT 2:30AM.
THERE WILL BE FOOD PLUS LIVE

MUSIC AT THE PARTY. THE MUSIC WILL BE PLAYING ON THE BOSE SOUND

SYSTEM. MICHAE J. S***#1 FBI AGCENT IS THROWING THE PARTY. SHERRY WILL BE THERE.

THERE WILL BE CHINESE FOOD AT THE PARTY. BLONDIE, REM, JUSTIN TIMBERLAK

E SO ON WILL PLAY AT THE PARTY. THERE WILL ALSO BE A DRAWING CONTEST OF

AIRPLANES CARS AND SO ON. THERE WILL BE 12-25 PEPOLE AT THE PARTY.

THE PARTY IS AT THE HOUSE IN FREMONT,CA. THE ADDRESS IS 2590 S******T CT. FREMONT,CA 94539.

PLEASE CALL ME AT 510-656-**** OR IF I AM OUT WITH JULIA MY BIG SISTER AND

MY FRIEND BIG BROTHER #2 JAKE C. K****** PLEASE CALL ME ON MY CELL PHONE 510-364-****

OR CALL JULIA, MY SISTER’S CELL PHONE AT 310-795-****.
THERE IS ALSO SWIMMING AT THE PARTY TOO.
THANXS MICHAEL J. S****…

You know the ones. The ones that come back and bite you on your ass.

Have you ever given out a fake name?

I have. Sometimes as a joke. Sometimes it’s because I don’t want people to stalk me. Sometimes it’s because I’m wary when I first meet strangers in places like bars. I once told this guy in college that I went by Bambi because that’s the name I stripped under when I had to raise money for my grandmother’s cataract operation. I apparently said it with such earnesty and forgot to tell him that I was just kidding, that months later, he was confused when he couldn’t get a response from me while yelling my name from across a busy street. We laughed about it later, and he always called me Bambi, though when I later told him that I was born in Dallas, he wouldn’t believe me.

Have you ever given someone a fake name and then regretted it?

This is what happens when you’re wary of the opposite sex. I’ve given a fake name before because for some reason, I just didn’t want some stranger getting too close to me, but then, he or she turns out to be cool or interesting. Then I’m pissed at myself because what am I supposed to say, everything has been a lie? When in fact, the only thing I was dishonest about was my name? Oops.

Someone I met a long time ago just got in touch with me again about potential creative endeavors. I felt stupid because I gave him a name that wasn’t my birth name when we first met because sometimes I don’t trust people in bars and I didn’t trust his intentions, but after getting to know him and finding out that he was a normal person who wasn’t a shark, I didn’t know how to correct it; then I felt guilty about it so I stopped talking to him. But of course, how dumb do I look to say, all these years that we’ve been minor acqaintances, I couldn’t even be honest about the most basic thing?

Then I think about the time that I didn’t want to date someone anymore because I knew he had been deceptive about his age, but also that he didn’t know how to backtrack and tell me. I didn’t want to date him anymore not so much because he had lied about his age, but because he didn’t feel comfortable enough or trust me enough to tell me later.

Which I guess is one of those things you can look at both ways; I probably should have just confronted him about it because in hindsight, it’s not a big deal and we’re actually friends now, though I’ve never mentioned that I actually know how old he is. That was a missed opportunity for communication and honesty.

I guess if someone told me that they gave me a fake name because they were being stupid or were wary or whatever, I would undertand. So maybe other people would, too. I just find it amazing how a small little deception can sometimes escalate. Or maybe, sometimes we subconsciously set ourselves up by doing something like telling a small but blatant lie, so that we can sabotage things later on if they end up getting too good. Way to go, kids.

Weekend Highlights:

I’m back from spending the 4th of July Weekend in the Bay Area. It was a great weekend and I have little interest in being under fluorescent lights at the office today; I plan to show my discontent in suitable passive-aggressive fashion.

On Friday, Michael threw me a welcome home party. I thought it would be a “party” consisting of just Michael, my mom and a cake, but he actually packed the house with family friends and relatives. He put up an announcement sign on our door describing the highlights of the party, if you call 12 sheets of paper covering the entire door, detailing EVERYTHING, from day/month/year/time in which this party will take place, all music CDs that will be played, and every phone number imaginable that will be needed to contact us about the party, a sign. I’ll post a picture of it with all the text later. It was funny as hell.

Jake wanted to shower when we first got there, and finding soap became a huge ordeal. He asked for some soap since all that was in the guest bathroom was shampoo. First they presented him with another bottle of shampoo. He clarified that he wanted soap. After more searching, Michael tried to tell Jake that they don’t manufacture soap anymore. I think shampoo was brought out again accompanied by the question, “Are you sure this isn’t soap?” I decided to get involved and found a bar of soap hidden in one of the showers. It seems there was a misunderstanding about what exactly we were looking for. My family thought we were looking for specifically a bar of soap, and they explained that they don’t have bar soap because they use mostly liquid soap now.

The next day, we went to Costco to get get some meat for the bbq. I opened our spare fridge in the garage to store the meat and found…a 12 pack of Irish Spring soap on the top rack.

I mean, OF COURSE. Why WOULDN’T the soap be in the fridge?

We went to visit my grandfather’s grave in the afternoon. I caught a frog, but let it go when it was time to leave.

Around dinnner time, my mom asked us, “What do you guys want for dinner? Italian, Caucasian or Chinese?” Caucasian?

I had called Aubrey to let him know I was in town and he told me that Simar was having a birthday party that night. I went over around 1:45am, and we all sat around in Simar’s backyard, shooting the shit. Jeff is proposing to his girlfriend.

The next day was 4th of July and we had a bbq. I spent the day preparing the food which included:

Cantaloupe with Prosciutto
Goat Cheese and Strawberries
Stilton Cheese w/ Apricots and Crackers
Filet Mignon marinated in Kickass Secret Sauce
Korean Short Ribs
Jerk Chicken Drumsticks
Louisiana Hot Links
Grilled Salmon in Butter, Crushed Garlic and Thyme
Buttered Corn

For drinks, I made a pitcher of a new drink that I improvised that day, which was made with:

Vanilla Stoli
Coconut Rum
Pineapple Juice
Lime
Pina Colada Mix
Berry Sprite Remix

Food, drink and company were awesome.

Candice, my cousin, Bohr, and I played drinking poker by the pool, with the stakes being quantities of beer. We got suitably drunk, at which time I stripped and jumped into the pool.

I drove back the next day with Jake and one of his friends (identity not disclosed), who was intent on scoring weed. He asked attendants and fellow patrons if they had any whenever we stopped for gas. He had a profile and everything about likely people who would have some. We never scored any but we sure did stereotype many, many minivans full of Hispanics.

For all you bloggers out there…do you ever find cryptic messages to people in your blog, messages you would never tell them in person in a place that they’ll probably never find? Maybe not consciously, but do you ever get the feeling that sometimes when you post, there is subtext directed at someone specific?

All of the writing here is stream of consciousness for me but sometimes I read an old post and wonder who the hell I was talking to.

And off the topic, Spencer, I owe you an email. Thanks for the response.

6/29 Recap:

I had a busy, somewhat stressful day at work today. Plus, I was feeling a little bit low so I kept to myself. I stayed a little later than usual at the office IMing, then headed over to Starbuck’s to return a video next door and to see if Calvin was working. It was just the new girls tonight so I just dropped off the video and went home. I watched a new episode of Reno 911 that I was pleasantly surprised to find on my Tivo. I read in Entertainment Weekly that while the show was filming in a real police station, Thomas Lennon (Dangle, the cop in the daisy dukes) had a formal complaint filed against him by a female police officer, requesting that he not bend over so much.

Fucking. Awesome.

It was the one where they think Weigel’s boyfriend is a serial killer. I loved it when Weigal comes back into the room, pissed at them and says, “‘F’ you! ‘F’ you and…FUCK you.” She’s one of my favorite all-time television characters. I think you have to be insane to improvise a character like that.

I was at a birthday party at a bar on Saturday and I see a girl we’ll call “K.” K was once a friend but during college, someone really fucked me over and stabbed me in the back at the newspaper when I was home for a semester having knee surgery, and she went along with it, letting me take the fall. When the shit came down the wire, I emailed her and asked her to be straight with me about what was going on and she made it clear that she was not standing by me. The people on my staff made a lot of noise for me and uncovered some unethical, scandalous stuff, and it all worked out. The Michigan Daily is so fucking corrupt. But it didn’t matter. She came back after the shit hit the fan and said that it was all this one guy’s doing and nothing to do with her but I was so fucking disappointed with her that I could barely even look at her anymore, let alone be friends with her. But being the way I am, I was still cordial after that and never said anything about the disgust I felt over her role in everything that had happened.

On Saturday, I saw her but was wrapped up in too many conversations to say hi. I was at the other side of the bar playing darts when she came up to me and said that she had seen me and wanted to say hi. I said hi but was really short with my answers, not really making eye contact and immediately turning to talk to Jason, the guy I was playing darts with, right after answering each of her questions. I wasn’t trying to prove a point or be rude; I just couldn’t find it in me to talk to her and act like everything was great between us. Finally, she gets it and says, “Well, it was nice talking to you, Julia.” I smile, shake her hand warmly and say, “It was good seeing you, K.” I was very nice about it, but I couldn’t fake the fact that I just didn’t want to talk to her because I didn’t respect her.

So somewhere near the end of the night, Jason wanted to play a game of darts for a blowjob. So I won, and I transferred my blowjob to Max, since you know, I don’t have a penis.

As we were all leaving the bar, I saw Max and I said, “Jason’s gonna give you that blowjob at my place.” (which was me letting him know that we were all heading to my place to afterparty). But at that moment, K walked out of the bar and heard me. So she says, ” Bye Julia.” And I say, “Bye.”

She takes a few steps then turns around and yells, really nastily, “Good luck giving out those blowjobs.” So I say, “I’m not the one who’s giving it out.” And she says, “Right. Good luck giving out blowjobs.” And walks off.

So all the guys outside the bar are like, “That was AWESOME! That was so fucking bitchy!” And I’m like, “What the fuck?”

But I guess I found out later from friends that she had seen me and had asked around about where I was, specifically trying to find me, so I guess she had been excited to talk to me. And then when I was unresponsive, it must have not been what she was expecting and it hurt her feelings.

This would have to be the theory that would have to complement the theory that men are biologically programmed to spread his seed in an evolutionary urge and thus, this desire causes monogamy to be counter-intuitive to men.

No one hates nobody. Nearly all people have, at some point in their lives, flirted with the thought or fantasy of killing someone, whether or not they are willing to admit it. I theorize that for there to be such strong hate, the flipside must have also been present at some time, that of strong love, desire or need.

So here’s the survey:

During the time(s) that you have fantasized about killing someone, was this person someone that you either have/had a close personal relationship with or have/once had very positive feelings for? (ie relative, friend, lover, etc.)

Today, I asked my brother what he wanted to be for Halloween this year, and he said, “A gay FBI agent.”

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