Don’t speak to soon!

“Don’t speak to soon, Man.” Those are the words Tripps, my Texan Longhorn buddy, threw at me today. He uttered this warning following a flighty moment where I expressed that as much as I wasn’t searching for a relationship, Samantha was so cool, I’d be open to the idea. I was crystal clear that I was not about to get ahead of myself. Seriously, I wasn’t ahead of myself at all.

The last few nights were magic. I’d go out and party with friends and there would be a warm, sweet text saying, “Hey what are you up to?” followed by, “Well, come over and crash here when you’re done.” No pressure. I’d go over and it was sweet comfort and pure passion. Sometimes she’d have her friends over, but I was immediately made to feel at home. A couple of times I came by and I was greeted by her and her girlfriends who wanted to give me their seal of approval. Usually these are moments that get under my skin. I really don’t want to be put under any microscopes, nor do I do that to anyone else using my friends. I can honestly say, they were just cool and easy going. I’m sure the weed they smoked helped, but I let that slide.

The passion was great, the “mornings after” were sweet. They involved coffee and conversation, lying around in bed and the kind of cuddling that felt relationship-y. Yes, I said it. What? Fine. I’m a cheeseball! Deal with it! It felt good. There are different types of guys in this world. Big Boy’s last relationship incinerated in the inferno of blazing fights his crazy woman would start. However it also bares mentioning, that Big Boy, by his own admission, can come home, open a book, and shut everyone and everything out for the rest of the night. Every woman has the right to a reasonable amount of attention. Please underline the word “reasonable” as aforementioned. I theorize all women are a little psycho and crazy in their own way, but shutting someone out who loves you is bound to set loose the hounds of hell. Then you have The Kid. I like the cuddling and sappy stuff, as long as it doesn’t totally kill my manhood. I’m not trying to get whipped here.

Samantha and I hung out last night. It started out well enough. Dinner and drinks, her treat. Can’t complain on that one! From there she wanted to head out to a party one of her girlfriends was having. Sounded like good times. Why not? Sure!

Racing down the freeway together, I neglected the low drone of orchestral strings playing the theme from Jaws in the background. We should all have such a soundtrack, and take heed as it warns us of the impending doom. This is when the barrage of questions started rolling in, and me without my bulletproof vest.

“What do your parents do? Where do they live? What were you like as a kid? Where did you grow up? Do you have brothers and sisters?” This is when I considered jumping out of the car and doing a tuck & roll. Unfortunately it dawned on me that it was my car that we were driving in, I was going 60 mph, and I might die getting splattered on the LA freeway. Meanwhile the theme to “Jaws” played louder and louder, nearly drowning her out in the distance.

I tried the diplomatic tact, doing my best to wiggle myself out of this. Still, no dice! Finally I was left with saying, “Listen, I’m not great with talking about myself. Tell me more about you. You’re far more interesting.” Perhaps it was my delivery. Cheesy, I know. Hey, I tried. She wasn’t buying it. She wanted the goods and she wanted it now. My female friends have always warned that if sleep with a girl too soon and she feels like she has showed you her soul. At the same time, a girl’s femme friends will be harassing her, “Is he into you? Are you guys a couple now? Is he sleeping with anyone else? Have you been to his place yet? What do his parents do? Does he have brothers and sisters? How much do you know about this guy?” You can see the trickle down effect, where the pressure and harassment gets to her, culminating in the torture I was about to endure.

Understand this is dating in 2009. It’s also dating in L.A. Everyone’s a flake, and everyone is out to selfishly fulfill their own needs first. In our case, we were both in moment of need and had out fun, and now we found we might like each other. I’ve gotten “sprung” before. That mistake that occurs when you have a few good dates, maybe sleep with a person, and realize you might like them and want something more. Maybe a relationship, perhaps? Dare I say it? Nonetheless, if you get excited and move too fast you scare people off. Especially in a city as jaded as LA. Move to slow, you lose the person for seeming disinterested. You begin to fear making any moves at all. Slowly, the realization dawns that the entire game is a losing proposition, kind of like playing a real life version of Tic Tac Toe. No one really wins.

Dating in 2009 defies description. Hell, you can’t even call it “dating”. I’m serious! Define yourself as dating and you might hear back, “Hey! Slow down! We are just “seeing” each other.” “Seeing” can also be replaced by “Talking”, “Hanging Out”, “Sleeping with”, “Partying with” and a host of others that are so ill defined, and written with such vagueness, a lawyer surely had to have designed the entire dating process. Any way you put it, I wasn’t ready to tell my whole life’s story to this girl. I barely came to the realization earlier in the day that I might possibly like her for anything beyond filling the role of “fun girl with whom I have an attraction”. Only a few hours earlier had I decided I wanted to remotely pursue things much further than they had gone. It had only been a few days.

This is when she upped the ante. Cue the “emotional terrorism” tactics. Emotional Terrorism, it is what it sounds like. Remember all those crazy terrorists that you see on CNN? They wear masks, and threaten to destroy you if you don’t believe what they say. They live off of threats. They take hostages and ramble on about their fanatical beliefs, 99% of which don’t make sense to sane human beings. There is no low to which they won’t sink. Well it’s not much different, except it happens in your ordinary dating life, and CNN isn’t there.

You’ve had it done to you. Trust me, you have! You’ve had your relationship taken hostage, where your significant other figuratively holds a gun to the relationship’s head and says, “Do as I say or the relationship dies!” You’ve seen the random crying, screaming fits. You’ve heard the nonsensical ramblings, followed by the best moments of your life being hijacked by these Emotional Terrorists.
My choices were clear. I could go to this party with a psychopath ready to explode at me in front of a bunch of random people I didn’t know. Been there, done that! Or I could take it here and now, like a man. I choose the latter. I see it coming. She starts by leaning against the window, staring off blankly, and then pouting. I try some defensive maneuvers. I turn up some dance music, and say, “Hey, c’mon. Let’s have fun tonight. It’s so beautiful out. I bet this party is going to be great!” You know the routine. No luck. Remember the mantra, “You can’t negotiate with terrorists”, especially emotional terrorists.

Now cue the crying, then followed by the screaming. Some mumbojumbo about “her needs”, “love”, “loss of identity”. Loss of identity? WTF? Now comes the classic, “Pull over the car and let me out now!”

Eddie Murphy has a great bit about the 1950s versus dating today. He said in the 1950’s a girl would scream, “Pull over, let me out!” to which the cheesy 50s guy would respond, “Now, now! We’ll have none of that!” as he drives her home. Eddie says, “This is 1987! Now the dude just pulls over and says, ‘Well, get the fuck out!’” 1987 was 22 years ago. In 2009, things haven’t changed.

I tried diplomacy again. Of course, this is diplomacy with an Emotional Terrorist. I remind her that we are in a rough part of Downtown. I tell her, I’d rather drive her home. She won’t relent. I remind her that if she really wants me to drop her off I will because she is free to go at any time. Hey, this is 2009, whatever a woman says goes! She now pulls the silent treatment. I start pulling off the freeway into Downtown saying, “Okay, the silent treatment. Well, I’d rather not drop you off in Downtown, but I will do as you ask.” Boom! The crying tantrum begins again. Something about me being unreasonable and not doing her “her way”. At this point I think I have officially been taken hostage, in my own car!

She tells me she doesn’t want to go. I say that’s fine, I can take her home. The tantrum erupts again. Ladies and Gentleman, I am not thick in the skull. I get it. She wants to break me. She wants me to admit I was wrong, tell her I am sorry, console her, and eventually have her night with me and go to this party or what not. This was going to end one of two ways – 1) I break down, apologize for nothing I did wrong while being yelled and screamed at, and do everything her way, when I’ve only known her 5 days. 2) I stand my ground and realize I barely know this girl and it’s not worth it. Any suggestion that I am ending the evening or dropping her off at home results in horrible outbursts. I get her game. Do you really think I want to hang out with a girl who is pulling this shit? In the first 5 days? C’mon now!

I have been through so much emotional terrorism that I should be assigned to one of those crack Special Forces Anti-Terror Units. I could sense the “perfect storm” about to unleash, and all I could do is brace myself.

The argument continues a while longer, wherein I finally turn to her and tell her out and out, “You are an emotional terrorist! I don’t even know what we are arguing about or how we got to this point. Actually, it’s not even an argument. She cries and screams something nonsensical, and I try decipher her code, while I drive confused, trying not to crash.

But tears? Really? Screaming? Do you really think I want to continue this evening like this?” Now I’ve done it! The yelling gets worse. I’ve only known this girl 5 days! Holy Shit! I am having flash forwards of the horrors of how a relationship with her would turn out. There was no negotiating with an Emotional Terrorist. Everything starts with screaming and crying, and only spirals downward from there. I value peace of mind. This moment definitely shows me there is no peace to be had here.

When we finally get to Beverly Hills, I pull over by a restaurant and let her out. The area looks safe, and I am good for a getaway. She gets out of the car, ready to have the last word. I refuse to give it to her. I pull the door shut and pull away. She wanted out, she was granted her screaming, psycho wish…lol. Hey, I tried really hard to talk her out of it. It was her way or the highway. As much as I would have liked her to destroy my ego and pride while she screamed and cried and played the victim, and I was reluctantly cast as the heavy, I had to decline the opportunity. Thanks anyway!

Thus ended my wonderful night.

Lesson learned: Never speak to soon! Lest the whole thing blow up in your face. Oh, and, you can’t negotiate with emotional terrorists.

There isn’t an Asian girl in the world…

…That’s attracted to me.

At least that what I always believed. Mind you, I am one of the few males on the planet that does not have an Asian fetish of any kind. If I find someone attractive, then that’s the deal. I don’t chase women based on race or some sociological pressure to fit into any mold. Ladies, when reading this remember, most males do indeed have an Asian fetish, which must really suck if you are a tall and curvaceous White, Hispanic, Black, etc (you get the picture) girl and your boyfriend is downloading porn of skinny, petite Asian girls at this very moment. If you are petite, Olsen Twins slender, and non-Asian, then feel even more horrified that he might be fantasizing you are a tiny little Asian girl as you make love. Okay, just kidding. Just messin’ with your heads.

Somehow my last little tryst at the bar got my confidence up a little. I decided to try my luck online. I posted myself on a popular internet site with a couple of photos and a few paragraphs about yours truly. I got a few responses. A few I had no attraction towards, and another few I had some interest, and then there was this intriguing post from Samantha, a very cute, witty, and athletic Asian girl.

Here is where I think to myself, if I truly want to be back in business, why not break my mold entirely and see what I am truly made of? I write her a short paragraph or two. The next day, I get a few paragraphs in return. Back and forth we go for three days. This feels good. I realize I get kind of excited to check my mail. I have that school boy anticipation again. Today arrives and she emails me her phone number.

On the phone she is a little dry, but easy going with a decent sense of humor. When you are as campy as I am, you will laugh at just about anything. Anyways, the better looking you are, the more a woman will fight to make you look and feel like you are witty. I have yet to figure out how good looking I am but she cracked a smile or two I am sure. I hint that I feel like getting a bite at Jerry’s since its open late. She tells me to pick her up and she will go with me.

I arrive in front of her apartment. She looks exactly as I expected. Tall, long hair, slender, and pretty headed towards sexy if she dawned makeup and the right set of heels. She is dressed casually, and her personality still comes off dry. Our conversation flows freely as we share a plate of breakfast-y food. (By the way, sharing a plate is usually a good sign, esp when a girl is into it on a first date!) Check time arrives and she makes the rock star move and reaches for her wallet. I say, “What are you doing? Your money’s no good here.” She double checks to see that I am sure about this – another rock star move, else she is a great actress and I fell for her act … lol.

We head back to drop her off and she asks me if I want to hang out, maybe smoke a bowl. I oblige, though I don’t really smoke. I cough a lot if that counts as smoking? Slowly it’s 2am and somehow we end up on her bed falling asleep. I wake up about an hour later and without missing a beat I begin to kiss her. She kisses me back. The heat builds and next thing, clothes come off. We make love, or whatever you want to call it. It’s good, she is slender and athletic, and we fit well together. We connect, and the rest is wonderful. We are off to an awfully fast start, but this doesn’t worry a guy who is barely getting himself back together.

Oh, and apparently there is an Asian girl in the world that’s attracted to me. Is that bonus points?

Dearly beloved we are gathered here today...

… to get through this thing called life. You know the line. Apparently I am 80s obsessed and couldn’t think of my own original blog name. The title is appropriate. Allow me to introduce myself, I am The Kid, and yes, that’s what they called Prince in the Movie. I coulda gone with Fight Club, and maybe I should have. I digress.

Where do I start? It starts with a breakup. Every good story should start with a breakup. That and it should skip the beginning. Yeah, who needs beginnings? They make for good flashbacks as LOST has proven.

Breakups should never happen near or around national holidays or big events, yet for some fucked up cosmic circumstance they do anyway. Mine did and I was wrecked. I played it off. I lied to people and said she was on vacation or was busy working, etc. Eventually I owned up to it, after spending at least a month crying my eyes out every night. Add two parts bad economy and another 3 parts stress to the breakup and 4 parts emotional terrorism I endured and I had a nice Molotov built to ruin me. Yup, I was that close to the edge. Closer than anyone who knows me will ever want to see again, according to my friends.

Here I am, a few months later. We go to a bar that I love in Hollywood right off Vine. We are crowded around the lounge, myself (The Kid), Hipster, Big Boy and The Doc. Pause one moment as I must explain I will spare real names to save anyone the embarrassment of ending up written about in these pages. In walk these two girls. I won’t give them nicknames because I really don’t remember their names to be honest. One was cute but obviously doesn’t own a gym membership, and the other was the same build but lacking the face.

We somehow end up talking. I’m sure I said something stupid and flirty to start things off, but I am not sure what I said. Regardless, they wouldn’t have sat down beside us if they were totally repulsed. Right? Well, let’s assume. Fifteen minutes pass and I decide to spread the love, and pull Hipster into the conversation. He gravitates to the cuter one pretty darn fast. It doesn’t matter, since I owe him. Usually when guys pick up on girls, there is at least one in the group that is a cock block of the greatest magnitude. She is often very unattractive and incredibly annoying. We call these girls “Grenades”, after the old war movies where a member of a platoon would jump on a grenade and sacrifice himself to save his comrades. Hipster has willingly jumped on many grenades for me, the least I can do is take one for the team for a change.

Things seem to be moving well, and then a group of lame tools come in. You could say that’s just my opinion, but you’d agree if you saw them. They are friends of these two girls and pull them away. *Shrug* Oh, it happens. Ten minutes later, the less cute of the two comes over and says, “Hey, those guys are our friends so we can’t ignore them, but we are gonna find an excuse to come back over here and hang out with you.” Ah, back in business.

I am normally not this lame or not this much of a loser to get excited that a girl talked to me. Let’s be real now. It must be my aura or something, but I have had no game for months and I imagine the scars from my last relationship follow me everywhere to the point I can’t seem to get it right with women. I think I have found a new profession as a Turn Off. Okay, I am being a drama queen here. Enough!

Amazing! The two ladies return. Flirtation continues and I subtly resent being stuck with a girl I find pretty unattractive. I mean, her laugh, her teeth, her face, all turn me off. She isn’t ugly or anything, just not my type on every level, so I feel like “Why am I trying?” On the other hand, I feel a spark of my flow and confidence coming back. Its about damn time! What’s there to resent? There’s no pressure when there is no attraction. Isn’t that the best part? It is! Indeed! This is so liberating! I can’t begin to describe!

Finally, the moment of truth arrives as I ask for her number. She turns me down saying she doesn’t want any stalkers. I tell her I don’t have time to stalk anyone but I fully understand. She laughs, 2 minutes more of banter and she offers her number. On the way to another bar I text her something flirty, she flirts back, and that’s a good thing. Hipster insists I tell her that he thinks her friend is cute. Are we in High School? I shouldn’t have done it but I relented. She texts back kinda pissy, and I don’t blame her. She wants to be flirted with, not to hear that her friend is cute. Hipster should speak for himself damn it.

Note to Guys: Don’t have anyone do your dirty work, its lame!
Note to girls: Sure you get away with sending your friends to do your dirty work, but in the end cool guys don’t like lame girls, and you are being lame!

Oh, and the point of this story, if I finally think I am back in business!