Friday, September 14, 2007

Cars, Restaurants, Bars, and Lies Part III

Fast forward a month and a half- Morgan and I are on our first official date. She is staying with a friend from college who lives about a half-hour from my apartment. I went to pick her up and I met the friend. Another friend, another hottie! She wasn’t in Morgan’s class, but her level of hotness was the same as the friend on the ski trip that Bobby hooked-up with it. The apartment looked like it was decorated by a ten-year old girl. Lots of pink and ruffles, and that’s just the living room. I imagined the bedroom contained many stuffed animals and New Kids on the Block Posters. “Hi I’m Candy” she said bubbly. “Candy? Isn’t that sweet” I said jokingly, which drew blank stares from both Morgan and Candy.

I walked to the passenger side of my Mercedes (for the night) and opened the door for Morgan. She said “Wow, this is really nice” I couldn’t tell if she meant the car itself or the fact that I opened he door for her. I was hoping for the latter since the car wasn’t mine in the first place. If she was truly impressed with the door opening gesture this time, surely see will be equally impressed for our next date too. If she was impressed solely by the car and not by the gesture, she is really going to disappointed when I pick her up for the next date….in my 1988 Hyundai Excel

On the drive to the restaurant Morgan talked how about close her and Candy were and how they were in the same sorority in college….. (Delta, Gamma , Swiiing-I thought to myself.) She said Candy is like her sister they are so close. Then she went on to properly list everything about Candy that she truly despised. It is comforting to know they are the best of friends, I could only imagine the verbal beat-down if they were just acquaintances. This in-depth chronologic critique took us right up to the front of the restaurant.

The place where all my problems began…

At this point I should drill deeper about the Mercedes not being mine and all. After all the shit I talked about my three houses, my hedge funds, and my movie project I had to enlist some wheels that would scream “success”. Nothing against Hyundai here, but it only screams “just getting by…barely”. The Mercedes E-class belongs to my brother-in-law; Derek. To say the E-class is the only class he has is no understatement, believe me. He’s a lawyer, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some people are proud to call themselves lawyers, not Derek. He prefers the term “ambulance chaser” to lawyer. That fact alone speaks volumes about the rest of his character or lack thereof. The personalized plate spells out the following: AMCHASE. I made sure to walk Morgan by the front of the car when I picked her up, just to avoid the possibility of having to explain the personalized plate. I was fully prepared to make something up about jogging with my dog in the early morning hours and how I chase him for the last ¼ mile or so. What’s one more lie on a house built entirely of lies? But, luckily I didn’t have to go there.

Since I wasn’t getting a straight answer from the valet parking attendant Morgan asked why I don’t call the police. This seems like a logical thing to do. If your car or your brother-in-laws car which you happen to be driving gets stolen, you should call the police. At this point I feel compelled to add another crucial piece of information…Besides being a ambulance chaser, Derek has another lucrative side business---drug dealer. I’m sure my sister knows but chooses to play ignorant for her own reasons. Derek has told me that my sister knows. I’ve never had the conversation with my sister but I know I should, I just never did yet. As I was driving away from Derek and my sister’s house he leaned into the window and said “Don’t get in any accidents, I have a drop-off in the trunk for tomorrow morning.” A normal person (not one constantly thinking about getting laid) would have come to his senses and gotten the hell out of the car. But, I didn’t and now the car is stolen and I can’t call the police to get it back without ruining the lives of countless people namely my sister, Derek and their two small children. You could throw me in the mix as well, and all the people Derek would undoubtedly rat-out to save his own ass. The body count will be high that’s for sure.

I’m now in the awkward position of praying to God the car is in a chop-shop somewhere far away, never to resurface. Or the valet just went out for an extended joy-ride and would pull-up any minute will everything in tact, including all trunk contents. But the latter of the two seemed to be impossibility. So confident of his employees the owner of the valet service now appeared and quickly apologized for not seeing the “intruder” enter his lot and make off with my car. He handed me his cell phone. On the other end was Sergeant Harris; who wanted to know all about the missing car….

Quick to cover my own ass, I slowly walked away from Morgan and told the officer the car isn’t mine and how I borrowed it from my brother-in-law for the night. This may have seemed an awkward answer to the officer’s question which was “Tell me the make, the model, color, and year”. “Let’s make a deal” he said. “I asked questions and you try to the best of your ability give me answers to the questions that I ask, okay chief?” he added. “Sure, sure, sorry about that, I’m just worried that my brother-in-law’s car has been stolen and how I’m going to tell him” I said. “I understand” Sergeant Harris sympathized. “Anything of personal value in the car? he asked. “Like what?” I countered. “You know money, jewelry, thing like that” he said. “Nothing of mine, I mean nothing in that car is mine, nothing” I nervously answered. “Remember our deal, answer what is asked?” he said. “I don’t know anything about dealing” I said with foot firmly lodged in mouth.

“Something just ain’t right here” he surmised as he grabbed at his chin. “Something just ain’t right”

In the following minutes I gained enough composure to not get myself locked-up for acting like a paranoid asshole. I mean I certainly had the right to act like a paranoid asshole with what was at stake. But since so much is at stake I should’ve done anything at all but act like a paranoid asshole. Paranoia is based on a fear that everyone is out to get you. These fears are mainly unfounded since nobody generally cares about you one way or another. The paranoia is really the minds way of granting self-importance. But in this case, I guess you could say I’m not paranoid at all. I’m more a clear-minded realist than I’ve ever been before in my entire life, and they all will indeed be out to get me before it’s over.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Cars, Restaurants, Bars, and Lies Part II

My experience with beautiful woman, limited as it may be, has always been they don’t do the talking. They are used to guys falling all over themselves to get to know them, so they don’t have to say much. If they stay quiet the guy will eventually say something stupid to kill any shot he had. That way the hot girl doesn’t have to be the bitch. The guy will just verbally hang himself, she’ll just walk away, he on the other hand, will realize he never had a shot in the first place. You go your way, I’ll go mine. She will tell her friends the guy was a total pig, he will tell his friends she’s a stuck-up bitch. No harm, no foul.

Keeping this principle in mind and now feeling a quick buzz, I’m thoroughly prepared to bring my verbal A game. The chances of me seeing this girl ever again are slim, so I had to bring it strong. I’m rich, (trade hedge funds) I’ve traveled the world many times over (mostly to buy art), I have two houses (East and West coasts), wait three, the one in Costa Rica still under construction. I’m producing a movie; I throw some mid-level not quite C-list actors who are attached to the project. I want to be somewhat believable. Even Bobby was blown away with my impressive stream of bullshit. He just looked at me, the way a young impressionable student would gaze at his favorite teacher; in awe, in total awe…

She then asked me “What’s a hedge fund?” That’s when I diverted her attention replying “ It’s complicated” since I don’t know a hedge fund from a hedge hog and then yelled “Who wants shots?”. Bobby and number two, me and number one, threw down a quick shot of Sambuca. Let the good times roll!

Bobby pulls me aside and offers “These girls are fuckin’ hot”. Now I know he’s not interested in the hotter of the two. Then he says “I wanna hang out with this guy with the three houses and the hedges and all”. I said “You are hanging out with him tonight, so don’t screw it up by talking too much. I’ll do most of the talking and if we play our card right we might just get laid tonight”
”They want to play us in cards?” He dumbly asked. No, you fool. Just don’t talk so much. I shot back.

“EYE-EYE CAP’N” he said happily.

Regardless of what Bobby would have you believe, neither of us closed that night. Morgan is the name of the girl I was with. I didn’t really believe that was her first name, but it is. The name “Morgan” reminds me of either a porn star or rich WASPY only child, who is waited on by a staff of domestic help. They could be one and the same. I mean Morgan could be a rich little girl who has had everything handed to her in life. But, as a teenager she rebels against her parents and heads west to the San Fernando Valley with nothing but a backpack and a million dollar trust fund and pursues a life of porn. It could happen I guess?

I made out with Morgan for awhile, we played a little grab-ass together but no clothes were shed. I left her hotel room with four things; a hard-on, blue balls and her phone number. Frustrated and happy all at once, I went back to my room and rapidly lost three of the four.

We all skied the next day and got to know each other a little better. Morgan and her friend, Lisa left to go back to Connecticut later that day. So we didn’t get to spend another night in the bar together.

Cars, Restaurants, Bars, and Lies Part I

“Sir, we can’t find your car. Are you sure you used our Valet service.” asked the man with the red vest. “Fuckin’ right I’m sure!! I wouldn’t be standing freezing my ass off if I wasn’t sure!!” I entered the parking lot in a new Mercedes E-Class, after an excellent meal, and a few choice cocktails, plenty of good conversation, now I’m stuck in a cold parking lot discussing whether or not I used the Valet service. I’m doing all this along side the hottest woman I’ve ever gone out with. One I’m sure I will never see again.

“Do you remember what the guy who parked it looked like?” he quizzed. “Is he still here?” he asked. The first question was valid, the second ridiculous. Why in the world would the guy who stole the Mercedes still be in the parking lot? Did he forget something? Like my wallet maybe.

To make matters worse, or better depending on your opinion, the car isn’t mine or wasn’t mine I should say.

I need to rewind….I was trying to impress this girl I met on a ski trip the month before. I was in Stowe, Vermont, standing at this very crowded bar waiting to buy a Heineken, when the most unbelievably beautiful girl walked up next to me, handed me a $20 dollar bill and asked if I would buy her two Gin and Tonics. I said sure as I turned around to look at her. I’m glad I said sure before I actually saw her because I became hopelessly tongue-tied once I did. A few thoughts jumped to mind, she asked for two drinks- obviously a woman this hot isn’t here alone. These drinks must be for her and the lucky guy who is with her. Or could she have an equally hot friend? No, that’s never the case, especially with a woman this hot. It’s usually the hot chick and the fat friend, that’s been my experience anyway. And I’ve been stuck with the fat friend more time than I would like to remember. Wingman my ass! Earth mover, maybe!! Could she be alone and the second drink is for me, because she saw me from across the bar and just had to get near me. That’s a good one. That’s never happened to me…ever. Not even with the fat friend. Maybe she’s alone, she’s an alcoholic and both drinks are for her? That might work in my favor. The drunker she gets, the better looking I become, the more interesting and funny I become, and she wakes up in the morning, head throbbing, not remembering a thing. Conversely, I imagine waking up right next to her, grinning ear to ear, remembering every last detail…

The closest scenario is the drink being for the friend; who was hot too. Not as hot as her, but a solid second place. One of my friends from the trip; Bobby, had already started moving in on the friend about twenty feet away from the bar. Bobby didn’t see me as he was talking to her, and he apparently did see me now talking to the other friend. This I know as fact even before he told me later. The reason I know is because Bobby is ultra-competitive about everything. If he saw me talking to the hotter of the two, he would have ruined for me by trying to join in on the conversation. He’s a real dick like that. In reality, neither of us are going to be gracing the cover of GQ anytime soon. We are both average looking guys, but just don’t tell Bobby. I figured I’d better work fast with this girl before Bobby swooped in like a Seagull and shit all over it. I grabbed a shot of SoCo to go with my Heineken and said hello to her as I hand her the two Gin and Tonics.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Top Ten Signs Your Kid Has a Bad School Bus Driver

10. Only other “kids” on school bus are Budweiser tall boys…empties
9. He likes your mailbox so much he ran it over
8. He wants kids to kick in lunch money to cover some gambling debts
7. Has the amazing ability to simultaneously piss out the bus window and drive
6. Bus bumper sticker reads: “Don’t like my driving, dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT
5. He wears suspenders but no pants
4. During latest DUI arrest told trooper he was the designated driver.. he was the only one in the car
3 Can’t stop at certain houses without violating restraining orders
2. He has 20/20 vision in the good eye, lost the other eye during Mardi Gras

And the number one sign your kid has a bad school bus driver…
1. Likes to open the bus door using only his ass

Sunday, September 02, 2007

High School Subcultures- Where are they now?

The Valedictorian- He had it all: brains, looks, charisma. The sky was the limit. We thought he would breeze through Georgetown Law, clerk in DC for some political movers and shakers, become a Congressman, then Senator, then President one day. We can consider those plans dashed since he is serving fifteen to twenty years on a cocaine trafficking wrap. I guess he made the wrong contacts while down in DC?

The Band Geek-
He could only get laid with band girls who nobody else wanted either; with the exception of Jill the Trombone player for obvious reasons I need not explain. He went on to major in music in college, he interned on Broadway and landed a musical director gig a few years after graduation. He went on to write, produce, and direct a few major Broadway shows and in his down time travels the world with some of the hottest actresses and models in the world.

High School Jock- So juiced up on steroids and so filled with ‘roid rage he once punched out the cafeteria lady for not giving him enough gravy for his mashed potatoes. He was an all county linebacker in those days, so he never got suspended. He received a scholarship to a big time school and found out quickly that most players were bigger and faster than him. So, he tried more heavy duty stuff like human growth hormone. His head soon began to resemble a Macy’s Day float. His ligaments and tendons began to tear underneath the chemical induced muscle mass. His football career ended in his sophomore year, his scholarship was revoked and he was sent back home; a has-been at the ripe old age of twenty.

The Weirdo- You remember that guy at the lunch table who refused to move when someone ripped a nasty stanky fart. Instead he just sat there with eyes closed, taking deep inhales while saying “My complements to the chef”. He always had the creepiest porn collection of any kid in school. The kind no one wanted to look at, even his fellow weirdos. He was just arrested for the second time on NBC Dateline’s To Catch a Predator.

The Beauty Queen- When she was seventeen she had an ass that wouldn’t quit, now at thirty-four with five kids she has an ass won’t end. She wouldn’t look your way in high school, now she looks at you right in the eye as she’s working the cashier line at Wal-Mart. She asks if you went to high school together, as you quickly try to rewind the high school fat girl index in your mind. She tells you her name and your mouth drops the way it would if you were told a loved one died suddenly. You fight with all your inner strength not to blurt out “What the hell happened to you”.

The Motor Head- We all thought he was wasting his time cutting class to work on his car and other people’s cars. The only classes he never cut were the shop classes. I once saw him change the oil on his ’69 Pontiac Firebird in five minutes between classes. He is now the crew chief for a major NASCAR driver.

The Class Clown- He used to tell bad jokes and makes inappropriate comments at the worst possible times back in school. He was suspended for sexual harassment of a teacher not a student. Talk about irony, he is now a Director of Human Resources for a Fortune 500 company. He has co-authored a book about diversity and sexual harassment in the workplace.

The Nerd- He was able to solve any PC problem in class. He usually gave the computer science teachers easier alternate methods for teaching certain theories . He hacked into the high school mainframe and gave all of us our graduation grades two weeks before graduation. After graduation he hacked the mainframe again, this time pulling all of the teacher’s salaries and anonymously e-emailing to all, starting a civil war among teachers that still exists today. He went on to start two internet companies in the late ‘90’s and was smart enough to sell his shares before the bottom fell out. He netted somewhere in the neighborhood of $50mil. depending on who you ask. He retired to the Caribbean and emails us all frequently; it’s usually photos - himself surrounded by hotties on either side.