28 September 2006
25 September 2006
Guy v. Guy
It's always an interesting situation when you have two dudes who are interested in the same girl and the dudes happen to be good friends as well as roommates. It certainly makes for solid entertainment.
Take my roommate for instance. He's been on a ridiculous hot streak since the beginning of the summer in reference to women and he's hoping to keep it alive through the Fall and into the Winter. I'm not a seasonal guy when it comes to the hunt, but lately the fields have been barren of any fatted game. His cup has runeth over, however and of course now that I have a few things on the horizon, he has felt the desire to enter the mix and see who's got more game. Bad news for me. Here's why:
1. I'm fucking lazy. I'm not someone who will go out of my way to land a lady. I don't like to approach, I hate calling and I don't go on dates. My hope is that she will approach me, push me up against the wall and do her thing and ultimately we'll end up in my bed later on that evening.
2. I can't dance. I very uncomfortable on the dance floor. I liken my general state of mind in those situations to that of a feline in water. If you've ever seen this, you know exactly what I am referring to. I don't know what hit me, but I know the only thing on my mind is GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. Unless I'm drunk beyond recognition, in which case I'm fine.
3. I hate the whole process of going out with a girl. Why can't it be acceptable to do it caveman style, wherein you could just point your finger at a woman, beckon for to wander in your direction and then she's yours, in your cave at all times and expected to procreate with you? That would be ideal.
So I will undoubtedly lose this battle. I do have a few bullets left in the chamber though. Unfortunately my roommate has ZERO fear of rejection, a ton of charm with women and good-smelling cologne. He's favored by 5 1/2 with the current conquest, who shall remain nameless. There will certainly be some hijinx along the way with any of these battles though. For instance, we stumbled up two new birds this weekend who happen to live very close by. We ended up in their apartment at 3am on Saturday and I was in NO SHAPE to be social. Factor in my general distaste for the whole courtship process and you have my nickname for the night as assigned by one of these new ladies: 'Les Miserables'. Need I say more?
Take my roommate for instance. He's been on a ridiculous hot streak since the beginning of the summer in reference to women and he's hoping to keep it alive through the Fall and into the Winter. I'm not a seasonal guy when it comes to the hunt, but lately the fields have been barren of any fatted game. His cup has runeth over, however and of course now that I have a few things on the horizon, he has felt the desire to enter the mix and see who's got more game. Bad news for me. Here's why:
1. I'm fucking lazy. I'm not someone who will go out of my way to land a lady. I don't like to approach, I hate calling and I don't go on dates. My hope is that she will approach me, push me up against the wall and do her thing and ultimately we'll end up in my bed later on that evening.
2. I can't dance. I very uncomfortable on the dance floor. I liken my general state of mind in those situations to that of a feline in water. If you've ever seen this, you know exactly what I am referring to. I don't know what hit me, but I know the only thing on my mind is GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. Unless I'm drunk beyond recognition, in which case I'm fine.
3. I hate the whole process of going out with a girl. Why can't it be acceptable to do it caveman style, wherein you could just point your finger at a woman, beckon for to wander in your direction and then she's yours, in your cave at all times and expected to procreate with you? That would be ideal.
So I will undoubtedly lose this battle. I do have a few bullets left in the chamber though. Unfortunately my roommate has ZERO fear of rejection, a ton of charm with women and good-smelling cologne. He's favored by 5 1/2 with the current conquest, who shall remain nameless. There will certainly be some hijinx along the way with any of these battles though. For instance, we stumbled up two new birds this weekend who happen to live very close by. We ended up in their apartment at 3am on Saturday and I was in NO SHAPE to be social. Factor in my general distaste for the whole courtship process and you have my nickname for the night as assigned by one of these new ladies: 'Les Miserables'. Need I say more?
18 September 2006
Strangebrew
Yesterday was a weird day, namely because I chose to watch the Pats' game at a friend's apartment that I have only been to a handful of times. What a weird crew.
He whose apartment it is holds a miserable existence as a fan, in that watching a game with him is like watching the shuttle launch with an astronaut's wife. I have no idea how this kid has any fingernails left. Two of the others in attendance were his brother and father, equally as rabid fans and doubly weird if referring to his father. Hell of a nice guy, but out of his mind for the Pats. I may be mistaken, but I think I saw him do the Arsenio a few times following a Maroney run. Very entertaining, needless to say.
Then there's this one guy that I am not too fond of that showed up. He's that guy that, no matter how many times I meet him, always introduces himself. And every time, I say to him that this has gotta be the fourth of fifth time we've met and he gives some incredulous look and says, "No shit?" And it's not like we've only been acquainted a few times, either. I've been down right hammered with him, talked to girls with him and even hung out soberly a few times. He's just brutally retarded. Anyway, we all had to deal with his inane remarks the whole time which I could have done without. I'll never watch a game in his presence again. You should never watch a meaningful game in the company of people you don't care for. It makes it just a miserable experience.
My saving graces were two of the mainstays in my social life, one being my roommate and other being something of a new old friend. You know, one of those that feels like he's been your boy for years but you've only known for a short time? Yeah, one of those. He showed up absolutely torched, completely unbeknownst to the fact that a dad would be in attendance. Hilarious. But he brought some sort of flatbread pizza which was glorious. Sorry I ate so much of it, Fono. But it was truly a tasty treat. So between Fono's pie and the looks Carl and I exchanged in relation to the aforementioned company, it was totally bearable. And the Pats did win, although it turned out to be a painstakingly stressful victory. I got nothing else.
He whose apartment it is holds a miserable existence as a fan, in that watching a game with him is like watching the shuttle launch with an astronaut's wife. I have no idea how this kid has any fingernails left. Two of the others in attendance were his brother and father, equally as rabid fans and doubly weird if referring to his father. Hell of a nice guy, but out of his mind for the Pats. I may be mistaken, but I think I saw him do the Arsenio a few times following a Maroney run. Very entertaining, needless to say.
Then there's this one guy that I am not too fond of that showed up. He's that guy that, no matter how many times I meet him, always introduces himself. And every time, I say to him that this has gotta be the fourth of fifth time we've met and he gives some incredulous look and says, "No shit?" And it's not like we've only been acquainted a few times, either. I've been down right hammered with him, talked to girls with him and even hung out soberly a few times. He's just brutally retarded. Anyway, we all had to deal with his inane remarks the whole time which I could have done without. I'll never watch a game in his presence again. You should never watch a meaningful game in the company of people you don't care for. It makes it just a miserable experience.
My saving graces were two of the mainstays in my social life, one being my roommate and other being something of a new old friend. You know, one of those that feels like he's been your boy for years but you've only known for a short time? Yeah, one of those. He showed up absolutely torched, completely unbeknownst to the fact that a dad would be in attendance. Hilarious. But he brought some sort of flatbread pizza which was glorious. Sorry I ate so much of it, Fono. But it was truly a tasty treat. So between Fono's pie and the looks Carl and I exchanged in relation to the aforementioned company, it was totally bearable. And the Pats did win, although it turned out to be a painstakingly stressful victory. I got nothing else.
14 September 2006
Ramblin' man/guy
Here's a phrase that I come across all too often that I'm not fond of: hot buttons. It's a phrase we use as recruiters to determine what drives our candidates. But all I can picture is a guy putting on a dress shirt and burning his fingers. I would be so aggrevated if I was in a hurry in the morning and I couldn't rush getting dressed due to scalding hot buttons. That would really grind my gears (Griffin).
I get a lot of guff for wearing a blazer to work every day. We're business casual, which means a button-down shirt (with tepid buttons) and slacks. I prefer the blazer and tie so have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up. I went to Catholic school for a few years, uniform and all. Maybe that bred me into this jacketed man. But it's not like I'm wearing some sharp, pressed blazer. It's half of a suit I own and the elbows are almost completely worn out from overuse. And it makes me happy.
How about a one-line review on a restaurant? I'm sure you'll be able to find a full review from Rich Levine in an upcoming Improper issue, but here's my dig:
75 Chestnut in Beacon Hill: charming Beacon Hill atmosphere with few options on tap but good options; food is excellent and moderately priced and the help is marvelously young.
I recommend: steamers for an app. and the Pasta Caprese with chicken. The crab cakes are very good, too. Just don't get them as a meal.
What else, what else...I found this interesting: the Northern Colorado punter that stabbed the backup punter in the leg might not play this weekend against North Texas. Might not play. He also might not be trusted by his roommate anymore, who coincidentally has a sweet knife collection under his bed. http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2006/09/14/sports/NA_SPT_FBL_College_Punter_Attacked.php
13 September 2006
Blown cover
If you're staring at a girl from a close enough distance so that she would be able to see your eyes, do not quickly look away when she makes eye contact with you. This only proves that you were trying to steal a glance and that perhaps you think she's attractive. Your cover is blown. On the other hand, hold the stare and make her look away first. You'll establish upper hand at the first possible chance to do so (which could prove to be valuable if, by chance, you ever get together with said girl) and also come off as kind of unpredictable. She'll be intrigued and want to know more.
Of course, she might wonder what the hell you're staring at and come right out and ask you, thereby embarrassing you in front of co-workers and making you feel two inches tall. But, if that does happen, just tell her you were staring at the enormous zit on her face. Touche.
Of course, she might wonder what the hell you're staring at and come right out and ask you, thereby embarrassing you in front of co-workers and making you feel two inches tall. But, if that does happen, just tell her you were staring at the enormous zit on her face. Touche.
08 September 2006
Train thoughts
There are daydreams and there are fucking daydreams, man. Here's what I mean.
My usual daydream consists of picturing a young lass in my arms/in my lap/on me somehow and it escalates really quickly and suddenly clothing is optional and body parts are just flying around indiscriminately. It's never too much more than that. Sometimes though, and rarely, my daydream turns into a veritable Danielle Steele novel.
I'll find myself in some serene setting with said lass, enjoying a sunset or perhaps a neil diamond tune. Things don't progress so quickly though. It's more of a long and drawn out fantasy that winds through various scenarios such a romantic dinner, a friendly-yet-suggestive wrestling match in the sand or perhaps even a session on a hammock at dusk. The next frame will ultimately dictate the outcome of the daydream. You can be sure, however, that it's not really a sexual thing going on there. There might be some hand holding, some petting or necking (sorry to sound so antiquated) and then a few smiles exchanged before one of those movie kisses.
I'm not sure where this one is going, but I'm pretty sure that it can only mean one thing...I am not getting nearly enough ass these days. Is that all it is though? I'm very reluctant to attach the whole 'helpless/hopeless romantic' tag to myself because it's self-defeating. But it could be something to that affect. Someone help me out here. Anyone have such differing daydreams? Do all straight men daydream about women and only women? It would seem right seeing as we supposedly think about sex every 14 seconds or something outrageous like that. I can't really refute that statement though.
My usual daydream consists of picturing a young lass in my arms/in my lap/on me somehow and it escalates really quickly and suddenly clothing is optional and body parts are just flying around indiscriminately. It's never too much more than that. Sometimes though, and rarely, my daydream turns into a veritable Danielle Steele novel.
I'll find myself in some serene setting with said lass, enjoying a sunset or perhaps a neil diamond tune. Things don't progress so quickly though. It's more of a long and drawn out fantasy that winds through various scenarios such a romantic dinner, a friendly-yet-suggestive wrestling match in the sand or perhaps even a session on a hammock at dusk. The next frame will ultimately dictate the outcome of the daydream. You can be sure, however, that it's not really a sexual thing going on there. There might be some hand holding, some petting or necking (sorry to sound so antiquated) and then a few smiles exchanged before one of those movie kisses.
I'm not sure where this one is going, but I'm pretty sure that it can only mean one thing...I am not getting nearly enough ass these days. Is that all it is though? I'm very reluctant to attach the whole 'helpless/hopeless romantic' tag to myself because it's self-defeating. But it could be something to that affect. Someone help me out here. Anyone have such differing daydreams? Do all straight men daydream about women and only women? It would seem right seeing as we supposedly think about sex every 14 seconds or something outrageous like that. I can't really refute that statement though.
07 September 2006
I hate New York
I'm clearly in the wrong profession. Well, maybe not profession per se because I love being a headhunter; I should NOT be a headhunter for the NYC/Long Island marketplace, though. It's so effing annoying to hear the same shit, over and over, when you tell a client that you're physically located in Boston. "Ah, I thought I smelled a Sox fan", and this will eternally be followed by a snickery, sneery, make-me-puke-my-fucking-guts-out-y type of chuckle. How you smell a Sox fan through the phone is beyond me, but New Yorkers are weird folk, aren't they?
Today has been particularly painful because I am ill with a headcold (see my post from a few days back) and very irritable. I've talked to multiple New Yorkers today who also happen to be Penn State fans. I am a devout Notre Dame fan, have been since I was old enough to emulate 'Touchdown Jesus' and his signal of a touchdown. Of course all of these PSU folk have mentioned their love of the Nittany Lions and their excitement for the upcoming game this weekend and I have to retort by telling them I am an Irish fan. Interestingly enough, it has been easier to throw in some jabs at these fans moreso than it ever is to a Yankee fan. The reasons are obvious I guess, but I'm just not used to having a pot to piss in when it comes to throwing darts. I love poking fun at Paterno, aka Father Time. The man looks like he should have an oxygen hose under his nose, a cane and hunchback. He's got that paper mache skin, you know? Don't get me wrong, I admire his awareness. I applaud his longevity and I am in awe of his rapport with his players and the media. But aside from last year, Happy Valley hasn't seen a promising team in a while. I think JoePa has expired, much like the 2% in my fridge that smells like a caveman's ass.
I digress...I do enjoy ribbing with PSU fans as an Irish fan. I don't have too much ammo in defending my team, which makes it fun on both sides because ND certainly has its share of black marks itself. I really wish there was more to my Sox ammo than 2004...it just doesn't come close to all the shit that comes out of a Yankee fan's mouth and right into my brain, piercing my ears and heart on its way in. I hate it more than the Brady Family's little cousin Simon. (shit, that kid should have died long ago, no?) I suppose it wouldn't be the same, however, if we Sox fans had ammo...of course, that will never happen unless we can muster 25 more titles before the Bombers get another one. That's about as realistic as Paterno living through the 2006-07 season.
Just kidding. I hope he lives many more years and coaches for all them.
Today has been particularly painful because I am ill with a headcold (see my post from a few days back) and very irritable. I've talked to multiple New Yorkers today who also happen to be Penn State fans. I am a devout Notre Dame fan, have been since I was old enough to emulate 'Touchdown Jesus' and his signal of a touchdown. Of course all of these PSU folk have mentioned their love of the Nittany Lions and their excitement for the upcoming game this weekend and I have to retort by telling them I am an Irish fan. Interestingly enough, it has been easier to throw in some jabs at these fans moreso than it ever is to a Yankee fan. The reasons are obvious I guess, but I'm just not used to having a pot to piss in when it comes to throwing darts. I love poking fun at Paterno, aka Father Time. The man looks like he should have an oxygen hose under his nose, a cane and hunchback. He's got that paper mache skin, you know? Don't get me wrong, I admire his awareness. I applaud his longevity and I am in awe of his rapport with his players and the media. But aside from last year, Happy Valley hasn't seen a promising team in a while. I think JoePa has expired, much like the 2% in my fridge that smells like a caveman's ass.
I digress...I do enjoy ribbing with PSU fans as an Irish fan. I don't have too much ammo in defending my team, which makes it fun on both sides because ND certainly has its share of black marks itself. I really wish there was more to my Sox ammo than 2004...it just doesn't come close to all the shit that comes out of a Yankee fan's mouth and right into my brain, piercing my ears and heart on its way in. I hate it more than the Brady Family's little cousin Simon. (shit, that kid should have died long ago, no?) I suppose it wouldn't be the same, however, if we Sox fans had ammo...of course, that will never happen unless we can muster 25 more titles before the Bombers get another one. That's about as realistic as Paterno living through the 2006-07 season.
Just kidding. I hope he lives many more years and coaches for all them.
06 September 2006
Head colds
If anyone actually lays eyes on this post, I'd be happy to know what everyone thinks about the common head/chest cold. You know how that shit comes in stages? What's the worst stage?
1. Sore throat
2. Runny/stuffy nose
3. Hacking cough/congestion
4. Headache/body aches
I'm in the stuffy nose stage, and I gotta say that this one really puts a cramp on my day. In the event that I don't catch the opportunity to blow the stuffing out of my nose and it drips down into my throat, I then have to run to the bathroom and hork it up or even better, spew it out in my trashcan in my cubicle. I know how much my cube neighbors love that, not to mention Juan, the guy who comes around after hours and switches the trash bags. I'm pretty certain he's going to come into contact with a giant clam tonight, since I've already built up quite a mound in there this morning.
I fucking hate being sick.
1. Sore throat
2. Runny/stuffy nose
3. Hacking cough/congestion
4. Headache/body aches
I'm in the stuffy nose stage, and I gotta say that this one really puts a cramp on my day. In the event that I don't catch the opportunity to blow the stuffing out of my nose and it drips down into my throat, I then have to run to the bathroom and hork it up or even better, spew it out in my trashcan in my cubicle. I know how much my cube neighbors love that, not to mention Juan, the guy who comes around after hours and switches the trash bags. I'm pretty certain he's going to come into contact with a giant clam tonight, since I've already built up quite a mound in there this morning.
I fucking hate being sick.
05 September 2006
Hola Carlosito
Carlos Pena walked us off last night, restoring a modicum of belief in me. It's a nice story, whatwith him being a local dude with family in the stands and shit. Not sure how long my infinitesimally small belief will last, but it was a good night nonetheless. David Murphy pinch-ran, Manny looked healthy and Papi begged Tito to let him hit. Me likey. Oh, Tek and Trot were in the lineup, too. Me also likey.
Here's what I don't likey:
1. Tito didn't let Papi hit. Sure, he hadn't been cleared to play but he took BP, fielded grounders and was visibly fired up for the rally in the 9th and the eventual walk-off. Fuck the doctors, let him do what he does.
2. Tina Cervasio's mouth. Has anyone else noticed how gapingly large her pie hole is? I mean it's massive. Otherwise, she's pretty tight. She's certainly no Hazel though.
3. I believe both the WC lead and the AL East lead to be insurmountable. We don't have the pitching, we're still pretty beat up and we're looking up at some good fucking teams in front of us. I haven't mailed it in, but it's a shitty forecast.
Whatever. I'm wondering if my blog addiction will last more than a day.
Here's what I don't likey:
1. Tito didn't let Papi hit. Sure, he hadn't been cleared to play but he took BP, fielded grounders and was visibly fired up for the rally in the 9th and the eventual walk-off. Fuck the doctors, let him do what he does.
2. Tina Cervasio's mouth. Has anyone else noticed how gapingly large her pie hole is? I mean it's massive. Otherwise, she's pretty tight. She's certainly no Hazel though.
3. I believe both the WC lead and the AL East lead to be insurmountable. We don't have the pitching, we're still pretty beat up and we're looking up at some good fucking teams in front of us. I haven't mailed it in, but it's a shitty forecast.
Whatever. I'm wondering if my blog addiction will last more than a day.
Bridesmaids
Before I post this--my first blog and hopefully not my last--I have to thank Rich for showing me the way. Thanks, guy (for those unfamiliar with the French language, the use of guy will appear often and it's pronounced gee).
I spent the weekend in NYC for my buddy Jake's wedding; I also served as a groomsman. My question is this: what is the policy on bridemaids if you are a groomsman?
I was paired with a lovely specimen of a woman. She was young, blonde and slender with bedroom eyes and ample curves. I was told she was single and subsequently the only other Gentile other than myself in the wedding party (this was a Jewish affair). Seems like a layup, does it not? Not so fast, Earnhardt. Turns out she's a recovering pill-popper/alcoholic who would not be partaking in the evening's festivities of gassing beers and pounding shots of Patron. That did it for me, because my fate would ultimately turn out in true French fashion, with me getting kicked out of a bar just after the reception. Would this have deterred everyone else from trying to take it down? My good buddy Nate suggested that I should try to persuade her into falling off the wagon for just one night. I thought long and hard about this one, but it seemed very wrong.
I don't know, perhaps I squandered a golden opportunity (if you read this Russ, I'm sure you'll concur) and granted, I did have her giggling as we ambled up the aisle following the ceremony. But I just couldn't bring myself to get after it.
I spent the weekend in NYC for my buddy Jake's wedding; I also served as a groomsman. My question is this: what is the policy on bridemaids if you are a groomsman?
I was paired with a lovely specimen of a woman. She was young, blonde and slender with bedroom eyes and ample curves. I was told she was single and subsequently the only other Gentile other than myself in the wedding party (this was a Jewish affair). Seems like a layup, does it not? Not so fast, Earnhardt. Turns out she's a recovering pill-popper/alcoholic who would not be partaking in the evening's festivities of gassing beers and pounding shots of Patron. That did it for me, because my fate would ultimately turn out in true French fashion, with me getting kicked out of a bar just after the reception. Would this have deterred everyone else from trying to take it down? My good buddy Nate suggested that I should try to persuade her into falling off the wagon for just one night. I thought long and hard about this one, but it seemed very wrong.
I don't know, perhaps I squandered a golden opportunity (if you read this Russ, I'm sure you'll concur) and granted, I did have her giggling as we ambled up the aisle following the ceremony. But I just couldn't bring myself to get after it.
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