First impressions

The other day I was talking to a friend about meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time. He was pretty nervous about it. I told him the story about the time I was dating a girl (whatup Dana), and I went to her house to meet her parents. I was nervous too. I got even more tense once I met her father. Not because he was imposing or menacing, but because he had a lazy eye. It was swimming around in his head like a dolphin in a tank at Sea-World. I didn't know what to do. You can't make a good first impression on pops if you can't even look him in the eye. I couldn't even concentrate because I was sitting there trying to decide whether to look him in the eye and risk him thinking that I'm staring at his eye, or looking away and having him think that I can't look him in the eye. I decided to try and act busy when I was talking to him—looking for things in my pocket, petting the dog, moving food around on my plate—so I never really had to look at him. I purposely stepped on my shoe laces to untie them so I'd have to bend over and lace them back up. I went to the bathroom a lot too. That was the only place I could take a minute to decompress. I could go in there and laugh to myself or regain my composure. Luckily the relationship didn't last too long. I don't know if I could've kept doing that. And everybody knows how dads are. When a relationship is over they give each ex a nickname. I'm sure I'm the guy with IBS who couldn't tie his shoes or look a man in the eye.

Self-important drivers not wanted

And those are the same people (read previous post) who turn their ring on loud on the subway or in the grocery store so everybody can hear when their cellphone rings. As if they're so important they can't miss a phone call. And then they talk like they're at a Metalica concert as if somebody else gives a damn that their dog had to go to the vet. I think that if somebody wants to talk loud on the phone in a public place, others should feel free to add their input.
But those people are also the ones who do the one thing that really makes me want to tap dance on somebody's forehead. They creep up to the white line at a traffic light like it's the starting line at the Daytona 500. Are you kidding me? Are we racing? I'll answer that for you. No. Because races end up in the same place, and since I'm not going to the Asshole Convention we couldn't possibly be racing. Where the hell could you possibly be going that the quarter of a second you're saving by creeping up to the line really matters? Unless you've been shot, your wife is in labor or you're driving a getaway car, creeping to the line is unacceptable. Not wanting to miss the results show on American Idol is not an excuse. And your online Halo group will still be playing once you get home. They're not going anywhere. So don't patronize me by cutting me off and sticking up your hand in thanks. I didn't let you in—you muscled your way in. It's like breaking into somebody's house and leaving a note thanking them for all the cool stuff. Asshole.

Looking busy doesn't make you busy

I used to work at a place with two, maybe three, people that would run to the copy machine to get their documents from the printer. It didn't really frustrate me so much as it made me laugh. I can't stand self-important people. They're the same ones who act as if they can't take a breath lest they be buried helplessly beneath a pile of work. The people who get to work early, not necessarily to do work, but so they can tell everybody they were there first. Or the ones who stay late playing online Scrabble and Facbooking, trying to ride it out like they're working. That's until the boss leaves, whereupon they're out the door before his tires leave the pavement in the parking deck.
Those are the same kind of people who fast-walk to the copy machine. What's up with that? Where the hell are you going so fast? I guess walking double-time adds to their productivity by shaving useless seconds spent walking. I guess I'm supposed to think, Wow, they must be busy!? I can almost assure you if I asked them why they were in such a hurry they would say, "So much work," (too busy for complete sentences) with their Red Bull, Starbucks coffee or the newest herbal tea sloshing in their hand as they run. So busy the printer that does a gazillion sheets a second is too slow for them? You going to catch the printer taking a break? Now, don't get me wrong; there are times when you need to be running, just not everyday, and certainly not every couple of minutes. If you do it every day, it's like the little boy who cried wolf. People are sitting there thinking, yeah right, I don't believe you. Is it a game? Do you get extra points for a fast time?
It's a defense mechanism. If you're running to the copy machine you must be busy, right? But it doesn't really mater. Nobody believes you—much less cares. They think their drastically fast pace to the copy machine somehow equates to their station or importance at work. It doesn't. Running to the copy machine is not a proxy for effort. It's a proxy for douche-bag—like wearing too much cologne. You can be busy and not run to the copy machine. In fact, most people who aren't self-important do it regularly. I guess in the days of layoffs and the mortgage meltdown, actually working hard isn't enough anymore. People need to go that extra mile to prove their importance—to make themselves look better in the eyes of somebody. The thing is, the people they're trying to impress aren't stupid. They didn't get to where they are by thinking that the guy running to the copy machine is more important than the guy who walks there like a normal person. The shame of the matter is that the people they're trying to impress are probably too busy to notice.

Say it with a song

Since the beginning of time it has been well documented that women love a man that can sing—even better if he writes the words he croons, or can play an instrument while doing it. I'm sure there were regular cavemen in Pangea who despised their more musically inclined brethren who sang their oogas and boogas with silky smooth voices. And almost certainly there were cavewomen who didn't even have to be bonked on the head to be dragged back to their cave. We regular guys have always hated men who sing. Why? Some say it's just hating, but I say it's envy. Not BECAUSE they can sing, but because they can say whatever they want to a woman as long as they're singing it. The rest of us don't have that luxury. We actually have to think before we speak. We have to think of the consequences of the things we say. It has come to my attention that instead of despising these men, we should take a page from their song book and start writing on it. I am almost certain that you can say just about anything to a woman as long as you sing it. I give you the lyrics to Dave Matthews' song Dreamgirl:

I was feelin' like a creep as I watched you asleep face down in the grass, in the park, in the middle of a hot afternoon. Your top was untied, and I thought how nice it'd be to follow the sweat down your spine.

It has been widely recognized that some Dave Matthews songs are more creepy than sweet, yet because he is singing them, women don't hear it. And I must say, Dave, you were feeling like a creep because you are one. It sounds like he's describing the scene of a rape. And I'm not a girl, but that shit sounds pretty creepy to me. I don't know many girls that would find that sweet. But Dave sings it with a nasaly, throaty twang that would make hippy girls throw their panties on the stage if they were wearing any. Why? Because he's singing the words. You try saying that to your girlfriend and see how long she's your girlfriend. But she'd be stand in line to date next long haired guitar player who sings creepy lyrics just like that.

But it doesn't just apply to long haired, guitar playing singers. It extends itself to R&B artists as well. Take this song by Jaheim lovingly titled Me and My Bitch. (Sorry mom, that's the name of the song).

It's on tonight. Cash up in the dash and I'm feelin' right. Got heat up in the seat just in case of beef for anyone who wanna come test me and my baby. Honey don't be afraid. See this cat ridin' in that Escalade? Plotting on my riches, yeah he will get slayed. Messin 'round with me and my lady, me and my bitch.

No matter how much she wants a bad boy, getting your girlfriend caught up as an accomplice to murder isn't exactly sweet. This brand of thuggery is usually reserved for rap. And If this were a rap song Delores Tucker and Oprah would be all over it. But hoodrats with stab wounds and women with 401ks all swoon together over this thugtastic song. I guess the smooth chocolatey way Jaheim sings makes the b word sound more like sweetie pie or honey drop.

So, you have bad news to tell your girlfriend? Sing that shit. Whether it be, I want to see other people; I'm sleeping with your friend; I'm sleeping with your mother; or, that dress does make you look fat, I urge you to write a song about it. It doesn't matter if you can sing or play an instrument. Hell, play the air drum or air guitar if you have to. Sing it acapella. It doesn't even matter if it rhymes. She will be so excited that you penned a song and sang it to her, she may totally forget what the hell you're saying anyway. You may get halfway down the street before she realizes what you said. It could at least buy you some time to run.

The cuddle cure

There are many things that anger women about men. One of the biggest is that we fall to sleep immediately after sex, and girls usually want to cuddle and talk about feelings. What can we do? Apparently we're from different planets. Actually, mens' brains excrete tryptophan, a natural sedative, when they get off. We can't help but roll over and fall asleep. Women, on the hand, are the exact opposite. They release oxytocin, a bonding chemical after sex. That's why they want to chit-chat, cuddle and feng shei the livingroom afterwards.
Well fellas, I'm about to blow your mind. In my 11 years of sexual studies, I've found that women also desire to fall asleep after sex—but only under certain circumstances. When you are finished having sex with your girl, ask her questions about something you know she doesn't want to talk about. For example: what was that threesome with your best friend and her boyfriend like; or, was it weird when you say your best friends dad's junk; and my favorite, was it weird when you caught your parents doing it. Or ask her to do something you know she doesn't want to to. For example: Do you want to go down on me again? She couldn't fall asleep any faster. Turns out we aren't so different after all. Basically, they have the same reaction that we as men have to the exact same things. The only difference is that we generally want to fall asleep after sex no matter what. Women have what I like to call Selective Narcolepsy. The disorder is always there, but under normal circumstances it is masked by an irrational desire to do ridiculous things like cuddle, talk and look at each other after sex. But when pushed into uncomfortable situations, their unnatural girly desires are overridden by Selective Narcolepsy.
So guys, if you want to fall asleep after sex without hearing mind-numbing whining, beat her to the punch. Ask things she doesn't want to talk about before she has a chance to as you. She'll be asleep before you can roll over. And yet we get the bad rap for falling asleep after sex. Women are much worse than we are. We do it because we're physiologically unable to stay awake after sex. It's the chemicals. When they fall asleep it's simply because they don't want to talk about something.

John McCain to play PC in new Mac commercials

Whether after four years or eight, there are plenty of options for an ex-President to keep themselves busy. Some hit the motivational circuit (Bill Clinton is said to earn $250,000 a speech). Harry S. Truman, among many others, received a $670,000 deal for his two-volume memoirs. But what of ex-Presidential candidates like John McCain? Some continue their political careers after losing an election. Some even survive to run for President again. But for all intents and purposes, the water in John McCain's Presidential well has run dry. There have been many speculations as to what he will do. He could turn to his deal-brokering ways with the added stature of having been his party's most recent presidential nominee, serve the role of the loyal opposition to the Obama presidency or simply play out the string for the next two years and retire in 2010.
I personally think McCain should explore an acting career. He would be great as PC in the Mac vs. PC commercials. I think it's a perfect fit. They both had their moment in the sun, and now they're both outdated.
PC is always trying to come up with some gimmick to fool consumers into buying a PC. Doesn't that remind you of McCain's choice of Palin as Vice President? If that's not a gimmick I don't know what is.
And once PC realizes that you aren't buying his gimmicks, he tries to convince you that he's just as hip, cool and in touch with you as Mac is. From the beginning Obama's mantra has been Change. Once McCain realized that's what people were looking for, and that he was percived as a Bush clone, he adopted the Maverick tag. Translation: "Hey, me too. I'm different." And then there was the time PC taped a camera to his head showing that he had the same features as Mac. And what about the new commercials that feature Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Gates? They even hired Crispin Borter + Bogusky to do their advertising. I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?
Ultimately, I think John McCain is the personification of PC and would be a perfect fill in if the guy who normally plays him gets sick. I'm John McCain, and I'm a PC.

Long time no write

Hey everybody, it's been a while since my last post. Five months to be exact. To the three people that read this (not you Mom, you sort of have to), I apologize. I'm going to try and do a better job of keeping up with this. In actuality, I have a lot of stuff written in the tablet of my mind and in my little sketch book, I just haven't put it on here. That said, you three look out for more posts coming soon.