Last Night...

I feel weird today.  Invigorated somehow.  Powerful.  I don't know what's up with that. But I totally feel like I could get any chick I wanted. 

I was just at the grocery store, picking some stuff up.  And there were some totally hot chicks there.  And I'm pretty sure I scared one of them.  It may have been my expression.  It was probably predatory.  Like a fox eyeing a chicken. Licking its chops. Drooling.  

On the other hand, the other chick looked like she might not mind an advance. It's a crying shame I got tied up at the register, because I would happily have asked for her number.  

Where is this all coming from?  It's coming from last night, baby.  

It was a weird night.  Around 10:30 I moseyed on over to my bar.  It was a sausage fest of alarming proportions. But the bartender made up for that.  Oh, this girl is unbelievably gorgeous. In the cute way, not the haughty "I'm too sexy for this planet" way that is so popular in SoCal.  Dark hair, strikingly bright green eyes.  Great smile.  Very sexy body.  Which she had on display in her tiny skirt.  

Apparently she and one of the regulars (Tron -- a good guy. Bastard's so ripped he could be an underwear model) have started fucking, because they were pretty much making out all over the bar. Tron was playing pool at a table near mine; she went over to him and started cheesecaking on his table, jumping up onto the edge of the table, leaning back and shaking her boobs.  I happened to be lining up a shot just as she crossed her legs. Let's just say I totally fucking missed my shot.  Damn. 

Anyway, they were interesting enough to keep me there for a couple beers. There was also Jamie, a cute blonde chick. Can't decide whether she's flirting with me or not.  It's  been a few weeks now, still haven't figured it out. But she doesn't mind me being around, so whatever. She's been drama queen all weekend, so there wasn't much flirting lately.  Instead I got to talking with some random dude there; turns out he's a graphic artist, like me, so we end up having a fifteen minute conversation about fonts and graphics programs. He's into Corel, I use Illustrator, etc, etc.  

Still and all, in spite of the ongoing softcore porn show behind the bar, I decided to go to my other bar and see what was what there.  What was what was that hardly anyone was there, either.  Which is just weird, because usually on a Saturday night there are a lot of people there.  A few I knew.  A Carrie Fisher-lookalike was giggling at me across the bar.  She was with a friend and a gentleman with an iron-gray beard had his arms over both their shoulders.  I'm pretty sure he was trying to set up a three-way.  I went over to her and asked her about it.  She giggled some more, said, "I don't know, I'm just going with the flow.  I'm easy."  She looked up at me and actually batted her eyes.  

Now, when I compare her to Carrie Fisher, I'm not talking about Slave Leia.  She looks like Carrie Fisher does now.  No thanks.  I nodded and patted her hand.  "I'm sure you are."  My teeth are bared, but I am not smiling.  Bye bye.  

The band was pretty good. I even knew some of the songs they were playing. Such patrons as were there and ambulant were on the floor getting their groove on.  The bulk of these were a bevy of South American women.  One was playing with her scarf, draping it over her face so just her eyes showed.  It was an improvement.  She caught me looking at her and crooked her finger at me.  I was saved by one of her friends distracting her.  

I circulated around the bar a few times, making small talk with the staff and some of the people I knew.  Suddenly someone was at my elbow. It was one of the SouthAm women.  Up close her crow's feet made her look almost Asian.  She said, "A lot of people are looking at you."  

Great, I'm about to be mauled by a pack of cougars, I thought.  "Is that so," I said instead.  

"Yes," all smiley.  "What's that you're drinking?"  

"Rum and coke."

"Wow, that is such a coincidence.  I'm from Guatemala and we make rum there."

Holy crap, it's a sign!  We must be made for each other!  Ravish me now, cougar lady. "That's cool. What's it called? Can you get it here?"

"No, no, I don't think so.  They're local. But it's the best rum."

"Well, I'll be sure to ask about it if I'm ever in Guatemala."  Right, give me the no-name rum that the cougars like.  It's the best stuff.  

"Would you like to join us?  There are five of us here."

Why yes, I can count, thanks.  "Hmmm." What the hell -- what else am I doing? And only one of them is actually gross.  "Sure, why not? Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.  Those names have way too many fucking syllables.  I'm sorry, there's no way I'm gonna remember them. I'm not even sure I'm going to want to.  Oh, I said, sorry, I'm not getting your names. It's too loud, I'm deaf, it's how it is."  Actually, a couple of them don't look that much older than me.  That one, I make 35, tops. That one could actually be my age.  But damn, she's tall. They grow 'em big down there. Hel-lo Amazon woman.

The women arrayed themselves on stools around the booth, most of them wearing their coats.  "Oh, you were about to go?  That sucks.  Come on, you guys were checking me out, now's your chance.  Sit down, relax!"  They did.  

I hate the questions that inevitably come next. I hate asking them, I hate being asked them.  But they always happen.  It's part of the trifecta: "What's your name", "what do you do", "do you live around here".  Sometimes "do you come here often" replaces "do you live around here".  But they're always asked. It's inescapable.  

Then the band started playing Sweet Home Alabama.  You can't not dance to that song.  And here I was with five women.  "Hey, I like this song."

"You wanna dance? With all of us?"

Someone please get a camera.  This shit needs to go on YouTube.  "Yeah, let's hit the floor!"

The began. And it was fun.  There was no thought on my part of getting it on with any of these women, so I could just enjoy myself.  Two of them sat down after the second song, so for the third I gave them lap dances.  They were two of the younger girls (although "younger" was still older than me).  The youngest had been pretty distant, but she warmed up after that.  

Then there was the girl in yellow.  Her, I danced with more than the others.  She was short and had hazel eyes and a nice laugh; she was probably about 35.

We pretty much danced until last call. My legs were, by then, killing me with malice aforethought and my forehead was sheened with sweat.  I am sadly, sadly out of shape.  I seriously need to deal with that. 

The girls all got the coats back on, I made my goodbyes as everyone went outside.  The woman who first spoke to me said, "You like my friend, don't you?"  

"Eh?"

She pointed.  The girl in yellow was standing by the car.  "Go kiss her."  

I did a double take. "You're seriously telling me to mack on your friend?"

"We'll wait in the car," she said, suiting action to her words.  It was just me and yellow girl.  

"Thanks for the dancing," I said. "It was nice to meet you."  We hugged.  "Your friend said I should kiss you," I laughed.  She tipped her eyes up at me, her lips quirking.  "Oh," I said.  "You actually want me to kiss you. Cool, okay."

What followed was hands-down the best kiss I've had since 2006.  When we broke, we were both pretty dazed.  "Whoa damn."

"We need to do that again," she said.  "But only once, or the girls will get mad."  

"Hells yes," I said.  

After a few minutes: "You know, I really don't live far.  You could totally..."

"No, I'm driving," she said.  

"Heh.  I could go with you, then."

She was actually considering it when the first lady appeared at my elbow again.  "No no," she said.  "You have to get to know us first.  We're not...  We're not...  not..."

"Sluts?" I offered.  

"Yes, sluts.  We're not sluts. You have to get to know us first."

"What do you think I'm trying to do? I want to get to know her very intimately."  She put her hands on her hips and gave me that stern look women do.  Yellow slipped out of my arms and got in the car. "Are you seriously cock-blocking me now?  After you threw me at her?"

"Call her later.  We need to go now."

"Call her?" I protested as she got in the car.  "How the hell am I going to do that? I don't have your number?"  They backed out, waving at me.  "You gonna give me your number?"

Yellow smiled sweetly at me and waved.  Then they drove off.   

What the fuck?  

There's a 7-11 across the street; I went in.  "Can you still sell beer this late?"

"You've got about ten minutes, yeah."

"Ring 'em up."

Guy stirring coffee: "Dude, you were on fire out there."  

"What?"

"That was you just now, in the parking lot? I saw you at McClure's, too.  You get her number?"

"No man, her friend cockblocked me and they drove off."  

"Ah, sucks man.  She was really into you."

"Fuckin'... I could see myself getting it on with her," I replied.  "I suppose. I'm getting tired of being cougar bait but this chick wasn't that much older than me."

"No yeah, she was like 35, tops."  He was still stirring the coffee.  

One of the 7-11 guys came up, holding yesterday's unsold doughnuts.  "Guys want free?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, helping myself.  "Anyway, what's up with that," I continued, for the benefit of the other guys, who looked like they hadn't seen a real vag since birth.  "She was the one that threw me at the chick, and then she cock blocks me?  But that girl in yellow, she was a damned good kisser..."

Dude was still stirring the damned coffee.  "I think they come here now and then, you'll see them again."  

"Thing is, I don't go there that often.  Say, if you see them, would you give them my number for me? Or get theirs for me?"

"Oh sure," he replied.  "Be happy to."

"Cool," I said, and walked out of the store, secure in my knowledge that some random drunk guy who I've never met before would help me take care of business. 

It didn't occur to me until I got home that I hadn't given that guy my number, either.  So much for that idea.

The rest of the night is kind of a haze.  I watched "How I Met Your Mother" and slammed back the whole six pack.  I smoked some cigarettes, I went to the bathroom a lot.  I fell down three times.  Fortunately not while I was going to the bathroom.  

At some point I fell asleep. I could still smell Yellow's scent, could still taste her.  

I really hope next time I see her, I don't discover that alcohol was all that made her attractive.  I mean, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm unlikely to score with a chick like the hot bartender, but I've still got some kind of standard...  But still, whatever.  Those kisses were bloody amazing.  Hence my good mood today.

Now I just gotta work on the predatory thing.  Predatory bad.  

K is for "Kill me now"

My head hurts. It's not as bad as it was when I woke up this afternoon, but it still hurts. 

I got way too drunk last night.  The "falling down for no reason" kind of drunk.  The "willing to at least mack on anything with a vagina" kind of drunk. But unfortunately, not the "can't remember anything that happened" kind of drunk. 

Not that it was all bad. But seeing a beautiful young girl with red underwear throwing herself at men old enough to be her grandfather still causes me emotional anguish. 

No, I wasn't at a strip club. That I would have understood. It was one of my two local bars, and it was thanks to her low-riders that I know the color of the pretty girl's undies. I forget her name. I learned it when I offered to dance with her. (She refused, citing exhaustion. Thirty seconds later she was dancing with her friend. Mmm-hm.)

I did end up dancing. Some woman whose name I also forget. She was probably about 40 and frankly not very pretty. But she had on blue suede boots. Royal blue, my favorite color. And she was friendly. So I danced with her because she wanted to dance, and a few drinks later there was some macking outside. I'm not proud of it but at that stage of insobriety I'll kiss pretty much anyone who's willing. It's one of the major reasons I don't drink that much anymore. 

The irony of this, of course: If I'm that drunk, my junk goes on strike.  Essential services only. Which is actually kind of awesome. Because it prevents me from going too much further down the "anything with a vag" path.  

Before the debauchery I was up in LA visiting a friend and her friends that she wanted me to meet. That was interesting and fun.  But the night would have been a lot better -- and the two hour drive there more worth it -- if I could have met up with some of my other friends in the area afterward.  Sadly, my primary contact wasn't returning my calls or texts. 

Note to self: Don't drink a can of Red Bull immediately before plunging into the Friday-Night Crawl.  Not unless the drive also involves a catheter.

This put me in a somewhat foul mood exacerbated by the endless stream of Valentine's Day-themed commercials on the radio.  Hence: debauchery. 

I know. I'm telling this all out of order. This is essentially a stream of unconsciousness blog, a otnemoM blog; ramblings of a man drinking lousy coffee and pushing too-curly hair out of bleary eyes.  Trying to jump-start my mind, trying to bootstrap myself to humanity. This is my second cup of coffee and I want to go back to sleep. 

This morning my phone chirped from somewhere. I'm pretty sure it wasn't what woke me up. Might have been.  More likely it was the necessity for various types of excretion. My clothes were all over the room, my computer was on the floor, unplugged.  Miraculously, the half-emptyfull can of beer on my makeshift bed-table was still upright.  

It took a few minutes to find my phone. It was in my pants pocket, half under the bed. I had three messages; the first made no sense but appeared to be a recording from Verizon. I think someone paged me, but the recording doesn't wait for your greeting. It just starts.  Another was from a friend here in OC who wanted to go see a movie tonight. And the third was from my buddy who didn't return my calls last night.  Apparently he's been unwell and had gone to sleep at an early hour last night, well before I called him.  

So I needn't have been worried about possible friend alienation. But I could still be annoyed by the Valentine's Day commercials. 

J is for...

Well, I sure could go easy and use my name for this.  But frankly, that's boring.  

So I have to think of something else.  

Now that I've started writing this, though, I suddenly realize I don't really feel like thinking of something esoteric or interesting.  I could be watching my Netflix DVD or even working on one of my books (which I really should be doing). 

I could do a movie-review thing and talk about Jumper, a movie I own primarily because it filled out the 4 movies requirement so I could get three others for $20 at Blockbuster.  But aside from the fact that it was a halfway decent movie about teleportation that I would have enjoyed a whole lot more if Darth Emo hadn't been the lead actor -- there isn't much to say. It's too old a movie now anyhow. If you haven't seen it yet, odds are you won't anyway.

So.  That leaves funny.  So the topic will be juice. 

It must be exterminated. 

I did my part today. I visited a Jamba Juice where my order was taken by a young lady with a terrific smile (making me wish suddenly that I was about a decade younger, if that doesn't sound creepy, ha ha).  I bought a Razzmatazz and I consumed it. 

Do your part today to end the juice menace. 

How to Talk to Deaf People

This one might actually be saleable, ha ha. 

Okay, so it's occurred to me that a lot of people don't know really how to deal with deaf people.  We've all seen the funny episode of [blank] (in my case, it's some old episode of Family Ties) where the gullible nice guy screams in the face of someone who is supposedly or in fact deaf. 

Yeah, that's never a good idea.  

Honestly, talking to deaf people simply requires a little common sense.  But that common sense only comes with a certain understanding of the realities of deaf people.  To help you achieve this, a few things to know:

A) A person may be able to hear, but can still be deaf.  Like me.  I have approximately 25%-50% normal hearing, unassisted.  I'm deaf. We're supposed to call it "hearing impaired" now.  Fuck that.  Deaf is deaf.  The only people who will be offended by that are the ones who are knee-deep in denial. (Which is just gross. Animals shit in there.)  The point is, someone tells you they're deaf, don't assume they can't hear at all.  The polite thing to do, as far as I'm concerned, is find out just how deaf they are, and actually establish their comfort level in terms of your volume. Find out if they hear better in one ear, and if so, try to direct your speech to that ear.

B) Almost every deaf person I know, has learned to fake normalcy. We do that for a reason. We don't want any well-intentioned screaming.  We don't want to be treated all that differently or be made to stand out.  We just want to hear you.  

C) We're deaf. Some of us are also mute.  This does not make us retarded or otherwise mentally deficient.  Keep that in mind.

Okay, so how does one make a deaf person hear you? 

1) Make sure you have the deaf person's attention before you start talking.  This is numero uno on the list.  Realize that we need to employ various shifts to get around the hearing loss.  In order to do that, we first need to be paying attention. You can get it by saying their name (like you would anyone else), but be prepared to get physical -- a polite tap on the shoulder, a nudge in the ribs or lightly grasping an elbow all serve as a cue for your deaf person to listen up. 

2) Talk to ME, not the fucking wall or the TV set. Now that you've got MY attention, I expect to have yours.  Look at your deaf person when you talk to them, and in particular, make sure your mouth is visible.  Many deaf people, possibly all of us, supplement what hearing we have with lip reading.  If you cover your mouth when you talk, or look away while talking, you're wasting your time -- and ours; you're forcing us to strain just that much more to hear you.

But most importantly: Straight ahead is where your voice goes loudest and most clear.  Much less so in the other directions.  So aim your voice to our ears. And, as stated, make it the one we hear best at.  You may not think it's a big deal, but in actual fact it can make all the difference in the world. 

3) Proximity doesn't always help.  Don't crowd a deaf person or intrude on their personal space, thinking that by talking normally a few inches away, they'll hear you better.  For one thing, that's just rude in many circumstances. For another,  you may actually be doing damage.  For me personally, within a certain (very small) distance, my hearing is perfect. So if you talk to me in a normal or raised voice, one inch from my ear -- it's going to hurt my ear, just like it would yours. Don't do that. It might also overload my hearing aid, which can also hurt. 

Instead -- again as stated -- establish a comfort zone for your particular deaf person.  It'll take some trial and error, but knowing how loud and how far away you need to be will save you a lot of time in repetition.  It'll also keep the deaf person from punching you in the teeth.  

4) Be aware of ambient noise.  Part of the problem we face is ambient noise, which can totally drown out all other noise, even if it doesn't sound so bad to you. Well no shit. You're not deaf.  

We may have a difficult time distinguishing the sounds of your voice from other sounds in the area, particularly if they are loud or a certain pitch.  There's not a whole lot you can do about it other than be aware and be prepared to take extra care with your speech in such environments. 

5) When asked to repeat yourself, listen to what your deaf person is asking for.  I've made a habit of asking for specific things to be repeated.  Ever have someone mumble something, then you ask them to repeat something, and they just repeat one or two words of it over and over again?  Like those two words somehow hold the key to unlocking their whole bloody sentence in your poor retard mind?  Didn't you wanna smack 'em?  Right, try dealing with that in every single conversation you have and see how quickly you end up at the gun store. 

It's a wonder we don't up and kill more of you people, honestly. You probably get off the hook because most deaf people are also old people who used to be able to hear just fine. Plus people find enough other reasons to be condescending to them that it all kinda comes out even.

Anyway, seriously though: If your deaf person asks you to repeat the last few words, it's because they GOT everything but those last few words. You don't have to backtrack to the beginning of the anecdote or whatever. Just repeat what you're asked to repeat.  

Part of this too goes back to point 1.  They'll miss the first part of your communication if you don't get their attention first. Then you'll have to say it again anyway. Saved yourself a lot of time there, didn't you?

6) Don't prattle and expect us to listen carefully.  Unless your deaf person is a total wanker, he'll know he has a responsibility in the conversation as well.  When you're talking to a deaf person, you're getting their agreement to give you a lot of their attention. A lot more than you're likely used to giving OR getting.  Make it worth it.  Don't jibber jabber about something inconsequential, especially if you've interrupted something they were doing to talk.  Many of us cannot listen to you properly AND do something else. We actually have to pay attention and think.  

So if we think you're wasting our time, we will stop listening, and you won't even know it, because a lot of us are damned good at faking it. I'm perfectly capable of holding a one-sided conversation with someone and have that person leave entirely happy with the discussion.  I won't have understood a damned thing but I will have nodded, interjected and smiled (even laughed) at all the right places.  Because I knew that person wasn't talking to tell me something. They were talking just to talk.  Sorry if it sounds bad, but that's a waste of my attention. 

Realize that for deaf people, listening to people talk can be like listening to a discussion in a foreign language that you are not fluent in.  Most of us don't want to be spoken to like a child or an idiot, so we forgo the "loud and slowly" option and simply try to keep up by listening and watching.  Which brings us to:

7) Don't talk too fast either. Or mumble. Enunciation helps.  Don't be overly exaggerated about it, because this makes us feel foolish watching you, and we might feel embarrassed on your behalf.  Or we might just point and laugh. You never know.  Exaggerating actually screws us, because we need to learn how your mouth moves normally, so we can read your lips when you're talking to others or to us.  

A lot of hearing loss involves not being able to hear specific sounds, ranges or pitches.  Vowels or consonants may well fall into this category. So we might just be hearing your consonants and we have to piece those together and match them to vowels like a continuously-streaming game of Wheel of Fortune.  If you're going too fast, slurring or mumbling, it gives us less time or fewer clues, and that's not fair to anyone.

8) If you are having unusual difficulty getting your communication across to your deaf person, gently suggest they clean out their fucking ears once in a while.  By so suggesting -- and seeing that they do it -- who knows? You may actually solve their deafness entirely.  

Otherwise, take a hint and bugger off, yeah?

This has been a Public Service Announcement mainly for my own amusement.  

But seriously, I hope this helps should anyone ever encounter a freak like me.  

Update on the Financial Crisis

Okay first of all, I gotta say I do feel like a douche for saying I was pissed at my mom in that other blog.  Considering what an expensive little bastard I was growing up, I surely have no right to complain because she needs some monetary assistance from me.  

Then again, much of my expensiveness was paid for by my stepdad. 

Oh well. Still.  

So I've got some lines in on some job possibilities. And I'm actually getting kind of excited about the prospect of working at a Blockbuster. I don't know why. It just seems right somehow.

But here's the kicker: My mom somehow landed a part-time job that, all by itself, will solve all of her monthly money woes.  It means she'll have a little less time off, but only a little. Amazingly small change of schedule for her (although her regular job will take a bit of a hit).  So she's in the clear even without my help!

This is great news! But guess what?  I'm still gonna go for that second job.  Because A) I do owe her money anyway; B) I can use the funds from the second job to help me pay off the DUI fine much faster, to say nothing of various other debts and C) I can build up a cushion in my savings so I don't HAVE to live paycheck to paycheck AND maybe start socking away toward my own personal, private accommodations and whatnot. 

It's actually a good idea all around.  I'm making a decent wage right now, but sometimes it barely covers my shit. Sometimes, in fact, some of my shit has to go uncovered. Because more important shit had to be covered sooner. Granted, I'm lousy at managing my money, but that's all the more reason to make more of it, right. And I don't just want my existing shit covered.  I want more shit. And that shit needs to be covered, and covered well. I want that shit so covered it doesn't smell anymore.  

So yeah, having killed that analogy -- I'm all set to give away the bulk of my weeknights. I just need to convince one of the store managers to take me on. Which I feel very good about doing.

I can't believe I'm actually kinda stoked about this now...

Okay, seriously...

...What the HELL?!

What do the following have in common: Kristen Kreuk, Missy Peregym, Grace Park,  Emmanuelle Vaugier, Shiri Appleby, Erica Cerra, Leela Savasta (a new find for me but OMFG)?  This list just off the top of my head. I'm pretty sure there are quite a few more that should be on it.

Well, aside from half of them being relative unknowns, I consider all of them attractive (ranging from "Holy Busted Zipper, Batman" to "Yeah, I guess I'd get her number if I met her") and all of them grew up in my hometown. Many of them still work there today on American TV shows and movies.

Add to the list of Canadian actresses (these, not from Vancouver but other provinces): Sarah Carter, Ellen Page*, Emmanuelle Chriqui.  Again, short list, just off the top of my head.  

Where the hell were these women when I lived there? Seriously.  I left Canada thinking that hot Canadian women were totally a myth.  True, I left when I was 14 and some of these beauties had yet to blossom, plus I of course wasn't exactly part of a thriving singles scene, ha ha -- but still.  

I did not move to California because of the storied hot women.  I didn't, honest! But I did fully expect that to be a perk of living here.  

Well, it's not that there aren't quite a few attractive women here. It's just that most of them are in one fashion or another, entirely unsuitable. A large percentage of these are so because they are stuck up bitches.  Much of the remainder due to the fact they're already in a relationship. (Please note these two factors are in no way mutually exclusive.) Many of the nicest ones are just off the market, at least as far as I'm concerned (I'm not stupid. I know that this is a kind way of saying, "I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last straight man in Hollywood." [Which could actually be the case; it's becoming increasingly hard to tell these days.]). 

Meanwhile, back home, while I'm away, all of these girls that I would give my left nut to date are coming out of the woodwork.  Well, okay. My right nut. Except for Savasta. For that face, I'd give the left one. I know, these are the ones that made it to the screen, but with the sheer number hitting the celluloid, there have to be at least as many who aren't actresses but are as attractive.

I've mentioned this before but it's starting to get ridiculous.  Honestly, if I thought I'd have as good (or better) chances of getting properly published in Vancouver, I would be back up there in a fucking heartbeat.  I'm sure they're nicer than the vast majority of SoCal girls. They're Canadian, after all. Good manners is practically genetic, ha ha.

And look, I know how this sounds. I'm not really that obsessed with beautiful girls. That would be kind of fucked up.  But I gotta tell you, the number of good reasons to stay in Southern California in general (and Orange County in particular) are dwindling faster than an ice cube in Arizona August.  This is just another item on the "GTFO" list. 

* Note: Ellen Page makes it on here because her acting ability is un-fucking-believable. Not because she's hot or because I want to do her. Because she's a little young for me. I am not going down that road. But she's probably the most recognizable name on these lists, and she's Canadian, so she gets a mention. 

PS: This doesn't actually change my current vow to focus my attention on writing over finding and creating a relationship.  I'm merely making an observation that I'm beginning to wonder if I'm a fucking idiot for continuing to live here.