One of the essays deals with Real World's changing of how we act and present ourselves. The show casts people as stereotypes to create "real" conflict. Because the show has been running for so long, each cast now falls into the trap of making conflicts and acting a certain way to capture valuable post-editing camera time. They've all seen previous seasons and know what behavior makes it to the screen.
He contends that the show has changed people. More and more MTV heads have begun acting as one-dimensional characters. "We need to confront him/her about her behavior" has become part of our language because of the show. Has life begun to imitate TV?
Do you catch yourself categorizing others as a past cast member (he is so Puck)? Do you find people seeking simplistic conflict as if they are on the show?
I've noticed a change. Outbursts and grandstanding are more common in public. People create a scene more often now as if they were on camera. In the airport, on queue at the grocery store... I've seen the shift.
I've noticed more drama within social circles that center on personalities. I've noticed more people feel the need to "confront" others on their behavior. What ever happened to just talking to someone? What ever happened to just IGNORING someone and not validating their behavior? Are we now required to "confront"?
For my long-time readers, Miss Child is a product of the Real World Generation. If she is not defining herself in simple stereotypes to you (because we are too stupid to do the casting ourselves) she is creating conflict based on childish outbursts.
What does this all really mean? It means I am turning 33 next month and I am an old fart. Not only am I too old for MTV... I becoming too old for VH1.
My long-time readers are up to speed on the Miss Lookatme/Hofzinser saga. For you new readers that have not gone archive-diving (shame on you) here is the cliff notes:
Sister, one of her coworkers and I went out for drinks several weeks ago and one of the coworker's friends showed up. We all talked and drank and chatted then went our seperate ways. My interest in this girl (Miss Lookatme) was piqued despite the fact that she lives in NYC. I followed up and Miss L and I have been talking on the phone and IMing for weeks now.
Somehow in that time, her and I have developed feelings for each other. I am amazed at everything that is her. Neither of us are sure HOW this happened but both admit it HAS happened.
I am going to Vegas a week from tomorrow for work. The company that invited me out to speak has put me up in a 750 square-foot suite at The Paris (nice!). I sent Miss L a plane ticket to come out for the first three days of my trip. Keep in mind, we have only been with each other IN PERSON for 4 or so hours and that was several weeks ago. This will be the first time we've seen each other since a little phone affair has started.
Much to my shock, I went to a sportsbook website and came across some interesting proposition bets (people will bet on anything).
Here are the current odds best as of this morning:
Odds when Hof and Miss L have their first kiss In baggage claim when they first arrive (2 to 1) In the cab on the way to the hotel (2.5 to 1) Once they get to the hotel room (3 to 1) Sometime the 1st day (1 to 5) Sometime the 2nd day (12 to 1) Sometime the 3rd day (85 to 1) Never - No Kiss (10,000 to 1)
Odds on what they will do when they see each other in baggage claim Big hug (1 to 15) Kiss (1 to 1) Awkward handshake (106 to 1) Prentend not to notice each other (982 to 1)
So where are you betting and let me know if you come across any other bets (be sure to post the odds too!)....
Just finished watching the new Batman Begins trailer. I grew up reading comic books. At 32 I will still pick one up when given the chance. How can stories of people in tights saving the world still capture my attention and imagination?
The big secret; its not about the tights. Granted, the ideas of justice and great powers are what attracted me as a ten year-old. The ideas of flying, kicking ass, shooting beams out of hands and eyes are exciting and perfect for an adolescent mind.
Though I probably did not realize it when I was ten, it was the alter-egos that captured me. The people behind the mask are what drew me in and keep me reading, even today.
At ten I was just starting the bizarre journey towards adolescence. Within the panels of those comics I found people with secret greatness. Nobody knew clumsy Clark was also the celebrated man in blue with a red cape. No one suspected awkward zit-ridden Peter was the arachnid that swung yards above the streets of New York. At ten I dreamt there was secret greatness inside of me too.
Adolescent hofzinser was Clark and Peter and hoped that he might also have some Super and Spider hidden inside of him. (extra points for talking about myself in the 3rd person?)
My 7th grade crush, Jessica, would never fall in love with Clark, Peter or me. She fell for the good-looking cool boys. I was a lot of things at ten, none of which were good-looking or cool. I use to dream of flying in and rescuing her from certain peril. Once I took her to a safe place above the chaos and injustice of the world she would lift off my mask and say, "I love you" as we kissed atop the water tower.
I chuckle now because I really had dreams like that. What did they really mean? I hoped that someone would see past The Mask and find The Me. I hoped that someone would discover that I was more than I first appear. The easy-to-look-over kid was actually a witty, smart, funny and artistic hero if you just dug deep enough... if you just waited till he came out from the phone booth.
So why will I still run to the movies to see these characters brought to life? Why will I still, on occasion, pick up a collection of X-Men comics as I buy the latest Ben Franklin Biography?
For one, the characters in those pages are old friends. I grew up with them and they with me. More importantly, the world has found out my secret alter ego and things have reversed.
Before I was Peter and those that got close saw the Spider. Those that got close got to see my talents, wit and humor. Now people see the Spider first. I parade the confident software executive out for the public. Only a select few get to meet the Peter Parker now. Only the most trusted get to see the shy, artistic, goofy and clumsy kid under the mask.
I know that my future wife, my future Lois Lane, might be drawn to the confident success-object at first but will fall in love with my secret identity. She won't say, "I love you" until she lifts off the mask and sees me. After all was said and done, Lois fell in love with the clumsy socially challenged Clark. My future partner will protect my secret identity from the rest of the world. She will covet, cherish and love the shy insecure kid that is still there, behind the mask.
My father is a landlord. He owns several condos and one of his tenants, John Shauer (pronounced shower), despite his short stature, lost hair and career as the local bait shop cashier had been single for most of his 43 years (including the most recent ones).
One day he met a lovely woman and the fell in love. It was a short service and they signed the certificate. She decided to take his name.
"Decided" being the important thing to keep in mind.
Ms. Hopson loved her Johnny boy.
During the service the pastor turned to her and said, "Anita Hopson, do you take..."
The newness is the first gust of wind that sends the relationship leaf high above the ground. The first day/weeks even months spent together is the effortless slow flutter. Everything clicks, she's funny, you're funny. She's prettier every day, you're more handsome than ever. Flutter flutter flutter.
As the leaf nears the ground the first arguement and/or misunderstanding happens. You're an asshole and she is crazy as fuck.
Most relationships just hit the ground and never fly up again.
The moment before the grounding, some relationships get a second gust - a second wind. What happens at that moment that sends everything back up again; often higher than it was the first time?
When the first trouble hits, when the you are first threatened and she is first bruised both of you stop at that moment and decide that the "US" is more important than pride, envy, scars left by others and your own silly paper armor.
You decide that what's at stake personally is nothing compared to what she gives you and what you give her. You cut the ropes off, grab her hand and tell her, "come on, let's go get some ice cream."
As you walk away you steal a glance back at the severed twine and anchors you left on the ground.
A smirk appears.
So many times before they were what you knew and what you had. They were stronger than what you might have and what may come.
This time the promise won. The "what if" was bigger that the "what is".
You shoot back up into the air and enjoy the slow effortless flutter knowing how to summon another gust if you ever get close to the ground again.
I am the token single man in my circle. All all of my friends are either married or in serious relationships. Being the only real single guy in the group comes with certain benefits.
1) Unregulated Flirting. I am very close with my friends so their significant others are given a free pass to flirt with me. I, in turn, am allowed to flirt back. I am not a threat so it is safe and fun in a senior year passing notes sort of way.
2) Ample Representation. "We need to find you a good girl". The mates of my buds are on a constant search to find me my future wife. "I can't believe you still single", "I have a friend...", "I work with a girl..." It is all very flattering. They love me and want to find me love. I am not a set-up guy so seldom follow up on their leads. I do laugh at the idea of having love agents out on the beat.
3) Appointed Delegate. My friends lament their long passed single lives through me. "Dude, you should go after THAT." "Did you hit that yet?" Details, details and more details. I think I keep their personal image roladexes updated.
4) Persnickety Screeners. Each new girl I "bring home" has a gauntlet of tests to pass. Each wife/girlfriend has their standards for anyone who I date. "I approve" or "She's not the one". I don't have to decide what I feel, they will let me know.
All of these things come from love and are very endearing. It is a lot of heat to endure sometimes but I don't stress it.
Word of my current situation with Miss L has spread like wildfire. Mr. Drinker talked to her on Saturday night (he came by the house while I was on the phone with her). Later that night he called his wife and brought her up to speed. Within seconds the news was spread to all that care (or don't). I half expected Katie Couric to call Sunday morning for an interview. The "so tell me about this NY gal..." calls are already flooding in. They all start the same way, "SO....".
(WARNING: the following story may change or reinforce your opinion of men. If you already hate men, consider this can of kerosene a gift. If you don't, keep in mind this is a story about One Man, not men. This story will make some of you laugh your ass off too.)
Sister recounted the following story to me about a bartender and waitress she worked with in South Carolina. The story is true.
On the surface, he had a quality we should admire and strive for. Digging deeper it becomes obvious that perhaps caring what other people think of you is not such a bad thing.
He was fun to have around and always good for a laugh. He did not care what other people thought about him. He was indifferent to how others judged him or his actions. He said and did with no concern what others would think. This makes for a fun guy to go out with on Friday night for beers and laughs. Always saying and doing what many of us secretly wished we had the courage for. He just didn't give a damn.
He never hesitating and missed an opportunity to get a laugh from anyone around. He loved to say or do anything at anyone's expense (especially his own). The resulting circle of friends bent over in uncontrollable laughter fed his unfiltered actions and words. He was a clown with no social constraints or tact.
Great for a laugh, he was not someone anyone should make an emotion investment in.
She was a waitress in the restaurant where he bartended. By all accounts, she was an angel. Attractive, petite, always with a smile and a kind word. How she could start dating someone as callous and indifferent as him was beyond anyone's understanding. She saw the good inside of him, even if he had no regard for what was inside or even around him. Everyone is entitled to mistakes, even angels.
He went out drinking that night with his buddies. After stumbling into his apartment and feeding the drunk hunger with some leftovers in the fridge he called her cell.
"Hey Baby" "Are you drunk?" "A little. I really want to see you, can you come over."
She hesitated at first but knew that without supervision it would be nothing for him to hurt himself, his apartment or even jump in a car and be a danger to everyone in his potential path. She told him she would be right over and changed out of her pajamas and hopped in her car.
She was making a rescue call in response to his drunken booty call.
When she got there he was half passed out on the couch. A small smirk emerged from the corner of her mouth. He looked kinda cute and helpless sprawled across the cushions.
"Come on, baby, let's get you into bed"
She had to laugh at herself as her 105lbs tried to help his 190lbs up. He seemed to grasp some consciousness as she finally got him up and heading towards the bedroom. Either he was half awake or grope while sleep walking.
"Almost there, sweetie"
She got him into bed and got his clothes off. He smelled like a brewery run by a brewmaster that smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. There was no call for modesty. She had seen him naked many times in past few weeks. With him firmly planted in bed, she went to his closet and changed into one of his T-shirts. She loved how his shirts coverved everything from her neck to her knees. Exhausted, she got into bed next to him.
Even though he could not even open his eyes, his hands did all the work. With mumbles of something close to sweet nothings he tried over and over to grab and grope her as she fought him off cuddling him as a controlling method.
"Honey, you are too drunk. Sleep it off and we can have some fun tomorrow", she whispered in his ear.
If she could control him for a few minutes longer the beer would catch-up and send him sleeping. After a few more attempts as starting something he was in no condition to finish, he finally succumbed to the haze. After he was safely sawing logs, she drifted off to sleep next to him.
She was startled awake with a healthy dose of his DNA on her face.
Opening her eyes, she found him standing over her with his flacid friend still gripped in one hand. The other hand was defiantly pointed at her. She went to wipe the proof of what he did from her face. The only thing more vulgar than what did was what he then said....
"I hate that you're so calm." I know I must have seemed so cold to her. Last night I finally had "the talk" with Miss W. My buddy Mr. Drinker called and had not seen me since I got back from Vegas. His wife was dropping him off at my house (he lost his license, his name should tip you to why) and he wanted to go up to Scooby's for a drink. He knocked and I answered the door because that is what friends do; they answer the door when you come a-knocking.
We went up to the bar, Miss W showed up (I know, shocker) and we played cards with some friends. I drove Drinker home and came back to the bar for the traditional Late Night Saturday Poker that breaks out after the bar closes. Miss W, I and the regulars played poker until around 5am like we usually do every Saturday night. Of course, I won both tourneys because that is what I usually do.
As the place finally emptied while the sun threatened its pending return, I realized the desolate parking lot was probably the best combination of public place and privacy I was going to find. We walked to her car. In her mind she was going to follow me back to my place and spend the night (um, morning).
"We need to talk"
The slammed-on warning horn words before every relationship accident. She stopped I held the car door open for her.
"I don't think we have what it takes to maintain a relationship and move forward. We are both good people who enjoy talking and spending time together. I don't think we have enough to maintain things at this level."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't think we should continue our relationship at the romantic level." She froze. Despite my neglect and inattentiveness to our relationship, despite my avoiding intimacy for the past three weeks, she did not see this coming. I could see it clearly in her face. I emotionally kicked her in the stomach and knocked all of the air out of her lungs. She couldn't catch a breath.
I explained that we could not continue at the level we were. "We do not have what it took to move things any further."
She kept her composure, asked how should she get a book and sweater back to me. She added that she did not agree but if it is what I thought and felt there was nothing she could do to change things.
"There is no chance of this working, is there?"
"Not at this level, no."
"Seeing you're being so honest, I have have to be honest too and tell you something."
"I fell for you big."
"I hate that you're so calm. Whenever I broke up with someone I cried just because I was hurting them."
I explained that my lack of tears and calmness was not a reflection of me not caring or hurting. I hate that I was hurting her.
"I am such a fool."
"I don't think you are. The only way we could find out if we could have a relationship was to do what we did. This ending does not take away from the times that we did work. It says nothing about us as people. We are not supposed to be together like this, that's all."
We talked and I answered questions for around an hour. Finally she got in her seat and before I closed the door she mumbled, "I'm sick to my stomach." She drove off and I got in my car. I finally did the right thing and it went better than I expected. I still hate that my day today started with laughs and wit with Miss L on the phone. She woke up today feeling discarded.
I hope she thinks I am a fool. I hope she thinks I let the best thing that would ever happen to me slip by. I want her to think I made a big mistake last night. Of course, I didn't but I want her to think I did. It will make it easier for her to pick herself back up from the curb and get back on the sidewalk. I hope she finds someone who appreciates her more than I could. She is not a bad person, she is just not a person who I can be with. I'll be rooting for her.
It sounds awful, but I can already feel the weight lifted as I focus (unfettered) on everything that is Miss L.
It was obvious that I hit a raw and exposed nerve and she was coming out swinging. You could hear the pain in her voice and see the vinegar in her eyes. You leave me alone with anyone long enough and I will likely walk into a personal door jam or catch a case of foot-in-mouth disease. I don't need any help; I can make an ass of my own damn self. As luck would have it, the Seanachai was there to push me into the throbbing nerve.
The Seanachai was in town working and we caught up with each other on Wednesday night. He, Miss W and I ate sushi and I spent all of dinner catching up (he lives in Charlotte now). We then retired for some after-dinner poker at Mandalay Bay. I am a very social poker player. I like to get an atmosphere of casualness at the table. By getting everyone talking and laughing, it is much easier for me to win. Money flows if everyone is taking the game a bit less seriously. Seanachai fell right in step and we got everyone chatting it up and betting away.
After an hour of cards a new player joined the table and sat between S and me.
She had a scarecrow's physique and, despite the enormous time and money spent on her facial skin, her hands confessed her age. I venture she was in her late thirties and something about her smelled unmarried and unattached.
She fell into the flow of the game and jokes and chatter at the table. Seanachai and I kept the mood of the table going (and it was already paying off in our stacks). Miss W showed up to check on me and I walked over to the rail after I folded my hand.
Apparently, in my absence the subject of me came up (what else would anyone talk about?) between Miss Scarecrow and the Seanachai. When I returned I caught the tail-end of the conversation.
"You two are talking about me... I can tell."
"I was explaining to her how you are definitely not the bad guy but you not the good guy either", offered Seanachai.
I motioned to where Miss W was a moment ago, "So you explained the whole 'me and her' thing?"
"Yep, I could have handled the thing better but I could have handled it worse as well." I settled back into my seat and got ready for a new hand.
Then the probing started. "Why have you not told her how you feel?"
Her questions were simple, harmless and obvious. She sounded very curious about the situation. I explained the state of affairs and justified nothing. My clarification seemed to satisfy her and she continued playing.
I thought the subject was over.
I restarted some conversations with some of the other players and the dealer kept dealing and chips kept flying. Little did I know, Scarecrow was climbing up the ridge to get a good angle on me in the gully. She took careful aim and fired.
"Is it really that you are so cruel and insecure that you can't function without someone tagging along and adoring you?"
She is aiming for the head but the shot only grazed my shoulder.
I took a second before I responded. Your first reaction when blind-sided is seldom the best reaction.
"Nope. I have the insecure in spades but lack the cruel. I see how it can seem that I am just keeping her around but it's not like that." I went on to clarify, again, how the trip and the other couple complicated things.
"You are a liar and cruel jerk and you should feel ashamed of yourself."
The second bullet flew and this one was probably going to hit its mark. I will talk to anyone all day about my behavior. I will let anyone critique my actions and choices. I don’t stand for name calling. Never been a fan of it and I never will be. It is one thing to say what I am doing is cruel, it is another thing to say the I AM a cruel person.
As great friends do, Seanachai saw it all unfolding. He was the guy on the wagon train that saw the flick of the sun off the gun barrel at the top of the ridge and yells "Bandits!" just in time.
She fired and he pushed me out of harms way.
"You mean you've never allowed a situation to slide farther than you wanted?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"...and have you ever hurt someone - you know - broke their heart?"
"Do you think they saw it as cruel when you did it?"
"Probably" "Do you think if they told us the story of what happened you would be cast as the cruel one?"
"Are you a cruel person? I doubt it. Well neither is Hofz here. Believe him or not, he was trying not to be cruel and it led him here.
"Remember when he said he could have handled it better? Trust me, he could have handled it worse. He is not a cruel jerk anymore than you are a mean bitch."
She gave some non-committal shrug of acknowledgement and played two more hands, losing all of her chips. She stood up and left with a purpose, "I'm tired and wanted to go to sleep anyway."
Seanachai looked at me, "Where the hell did THAT come from?"
"No kidding, she decided to pull the sniper rifle out and take a few shots from a distance", then I though a bit, "I know what happened. Someone did it to her recently."
"Bingo", Seanachai gave me the finger-gun firing gesture.
A gentleman took her place at the table and caught Seanachai and I recounting what happened.
"Where was this chick from?", he asked.
"I think she said LA."
Then he summed it up for us.
"Shit son, what do you expect? Girls from LA are barely held together with hairspray and bailing wire anyways."
Last night Miss L and I talked quite a bit. I know, hard to fathom but just believe me.
The subject of me being a romantic optimist (as in romanticizing not optimistic of romance) came up. As expected, I've been obsessing over the conversation. It was about me; what would you expect?
Why am I a RO?
Optimism is the single greatest gift my mother gave me. Granted, I think I asked for the Star Wars Death Star playset that year but that doesn't matter.
She was an optimist in the truest sense. Luckily, my Dad gave me realism. That makes me a romantic optimistic realist? Put that in your smoker and cure it.
Reality is; it just Is. Reality happens and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. I know it, I embrace it and live it. I can do many things but have yet mastered the art of bending reality to my will.
I cannot change reality... (I'm working on it... so stay tuned. I will probably sell it on Ebay)
Seeing I cannot change reality, I choose to take complete juristiction over how I perceive it. I can control how I digest the reality that surrounds me. I believe people are inherently good. I believe people do very bad things. I believe there are bad people but the are the exceptions, they are the oddities. I believe good people can do bad things. Good people do bad things knowing they are bad. Good people do bad things that they thought would be good things too. *takes breath* Let me explain, that will take to long; let me sum up (two cookies if you can reference that line): As a rule, people are good and they do the best they can.
To make my coffee even sweeter (in a make-your-stomach upset sort of way), I am also a romantic.
I believe in love, karma and right and wrong. I often see the gray and understand it. I then make it black or white by my own standards. I can do nothing with gray, I make it black or white so I can move forward.
I see an unbendable reality and choose to look at it with colored shades. Whatever that makes me, I am that. I can tell you that it works well and makes the day-to-day much easier to survive.
So there. If you are in my world... things are going to work out as long as you do the right thing, love them even more than they love you and take credit for your success knowing they were more luck than your own doings.
I've been in NYC at least 20 or so times. In all of those trips, I've never found the time to go to art mecca.... I've never been to The Met. Tonight I found out that she is taking me to The Met. Tonight I found out why I'd never been to The Met before. Without knowing, I now know why I waited.
The Seanachai just called me. He will be in Vegas all next week. Funny how things work out. BTW, if you have not heard his stories... go. I mean now, the link is on my list to the right. Why are you still reading this? GO!
The Vegas trip draws near. When the plans for this trip came my world was very different (it was only 5 weeks ago!).
I decided, despite the self-invite from her (to Vegas and my life), I would give Miss W a chance. In the last five weeks it has become abundantly clear she has no place in my life.
Miss L has happened too. Though my feelings for Miss W would not be different if Miss L had not appeared, Miss L has changed the dynamic of the situation. Before her, what was happening with W and I only effected W and I. Now Miss L has granted me a small part in her life. What happens in my life, in whatever large or small way, now also affects Miss L.
I spent a good bit of yesterday with Miss L (on the phone, of course). We laughed and talked about movies and music. She let me read some of my favorite lyrics to her. I love that I don't have to explain things to her. She gets it. She gets a lot of things. Scary thing; I think she gets me.
I want to be every bit the person she sees as me.
She is always laughing at my off-the-wall comments. I want to be the person that makes her laugh. She talks of my intelligence and cleverness. I want to be the person that she thinks is quick and brainy. She admires my creativity. I want to be a person she admires.
I know that I am that person... but suddenly I feel she is in charge of Quality Control. Suddenly I feel something bigger than me. She inspires me to step-up to the plate and be closer to the person I am capable of being.
How does someone thousands of miles away do this?
I'm not sure but she has - and I like it.
From the very beginning I've been very open and honest about Miss W to her. Miss L has come into my life at a moment when I am closing the door on another part. Not too long ago our conversations about Miss W were more analytical more Dr. to Patient. Miss L would offer her thoughts, judgment and condolences with a dash of shame-on-you.
Yesterday I could hear something else. I could hear her wrestling with my trip. I could hear her wrestling with her feelings about me being in Sin City with Miss W. In its own strange way, I loved that she has started to care about me enough to care about my trip.
"You know there is a good chance you will sleep with her out there"
"Yes, I do"
I had to be honest. Miss W and I are staying in the same friggin room. Miss W and I, by glorious inaction on my part, are technically dating.
Last night I went up to Scooby's and Miss W was there (shocker!)
We sat with friends and played cards until the place closed. Normally we play after-hours poker on Saturday nights but I was dead-ass tired. I was exhausted. Why? Because all night I was somewhere else. I was in New Jersey and running back to the booth at Scooby's so I did not seem completely unsocial. Any second that did not require me at the bar was spent in Jersey.
"Hello? Where are you? It's your turn"
"Sorry, just spacing..."
I was missing a just-woke-up graveled voice. I was missing a laugh. I was missing banter. I was missing an unsaid but authentic caring in the voice on the other end of the phone line.
I spent all last night missing her.
So I've made a decision. One I should have made on my own but didn't. At no point has L said what I should or should not do this coming week. She has made no attempts to control or lay down directives (and that is VERY hot).
I decided last night, as I lay in the gross contrast of my feelings for W after a day of basking in Miss L, that I would not sleep with Miss W. Not in Vegas, not ever again.
I'm stepping up and in the midst of so many wrong things. I will do at least one thing right. Miss Waitress is going to get dumped next Friday after we get back. She is likely to get her heart broken. I don't want to be the selfish bastard that sleeps with her knowing this. Despite how it all appears, just because I don't want her does not mean I want to hurt her. I, of course, am going to hurt her but I don't want to hurt her.
As I've said before here, I don't know where L and I are headed. I am not real sure where we are right now. I do know that I've not been this happy in awhile. I do know that the world seems more orange and yellow and less brown and black since L has come into my life. I know this is something and I know I want to see it play out without fucking it all up.
Miss L does not hand out her caring like candy at the end of October. Her giving a shit about me is one of the biggest compliments I've gotten in a very, VERY long time.
After seeing the results of my recent bizarre need to draw Miss L, someone pointed out to me that I once also sketched an Ex (Miss Child). Miss C works with Sister. I don't remember doing this but cannot deny it. I'm lucky if I remember what I did yesterday.
The same person then asked if Miss L was prettier then Miss C. My short response was, "Yes, no comparison"
Here is the long response:
Miss C is pretty. As an artist I was drawn to her eyes and smile. She has a nice figure as well. Miss C is also a frightened little girl who never grew up.
Do you remember when you were about 10 or so and began transitioning from being a child to a teenager? You started to have adult feelings about others and the world at large. You were scared shitless.
Miss Child never left this stage of development. She never found the confidence we all find (to some degree) to become a functional adult. C has no center, no foundation, and no point of reference inside her to navigate from. She drifts emotionally with the prevailing winds and her sail will fill and change direction at a moments notice.
Miss C acts on a whim. Whatever she feels like doing or saying she does with no awareness of how words and actions affect those around her. Whatever she wants, she wants right now or she will hold her breath until she gets it.
As we mature we develop a sense of impact. We learn that our words and actions ripple out and touch those around us. We learn that despite how it felt our first ten years on the planet, the world does not function to please us or punish us. The world functions and we fit ourselves in it as best we can.
Miss C missed all of this. She is still ten. She has good inside her, it is what attracted me to her in the first place. She is just a little girl in a women's body. Unlike the men before me, I treated C like a person, an adult and a woman. She was not my trophy, she was not my concubine. She was not use to being something more than an accessory in a relationship. She as not ready for me.
I presented Miss C a chance at an adult relationship and she had no way of coping with it. She never developed a sense of Other that one needs to be with another person. She looked to me as a potential father-figure to help guide her from where her father apparently jumped ship emotionally. She did not want to be loved by me, she wanted to be raised by me. I was expected to cash a check her parents wrote years ago.
Bottom line; I saw the beauty in a very sad, broken, scared and scarred little girl. That beauty was only a flash, though. She is not a pretty woman. She is actually plain-Jane unsightly.
Now take Miss C and compare her to Miss L. My short answer was perfect. There is no comparison. Physically they are in a dead-heat at first glance. With Miss C, the more time you spent with her, the closer you got, the uglier she became. She was a wax doll whose face melted under the heat of an adult interaction. Miss L’s beauty only rises to the top under the same heat.
I've only spent three or four hours with Miss L in the same room with me. It has been two weeks (to the day) since the first and last time I saw her. She is as physically removed from me as possible.
She is more stunning to me today than the day she walked into Scooby's and caught my attention. Everyday since that serendipitous Friday night she has gotten a makeover... she is the most eye-catching girl I know – even when I can’t see her.
I close my eyes when I talk to her now. I can see her through her voice.
And she takes my breath away.
So, like I said, when asked last night if Miss L is prettier than Miss C:
"Yes, no comparison" was the best short answer I’ve given to a question in awhile.
hmm... not as cartoony, more illustrative... (sidenote: if you close your eyes first and imagine I can actually draw this looks pretty damn good. Those that have met Miss L in RL know it holds not a candle to her, though)
A real man never hits a woman. It is that simple. No confusion, no discussion, no debate. Real men don’t hit women. If you like, get this tattooed anywhere on your arm and you will never need to laser it off later.
Somehow I had this image of him being Ethan from the Searchers. He was the Quiet Man, the Duke, the guy who is content to sit by himself at the end of the bar. A man, his Bud and his thoughts who only spoke if required and stayed in his stool unless an injustice arose that needed correcting.
He is a regular at Scooby’s. I play poker with him. Mr. Fire Fighter Man (he really is a fire fighter) stands like a six and a half foot burlap sack of coffee stuffed so tight you can set it on end without it falling over; square and solid.
With the occasional sheepish grin and simple words, he won me over months ago. I liked the guy. Somehow I had the image that he was the gentle giant that needed a deep moral violation in his midst to rise up and take action.
Somehow I thought I read the screenplay of his life and cast him as the noble hero that pulled kittens from burning apartments.
Last night I discovered that the screenplay given to me had been edited. Someone cut out some key scenes and characters; one of which being his loud-mouthed drunk bitch of a sister from out of town and Mr. FFM’s apparent ignorance of a certain RULES.
Drunk Bitch Sister, her friend and Mr. Fire Fighter Man came into Scooby’s last night trashed. It seemed like such a cozy scene. His sister was visiting, he missed her and let himself release in celebration. He had a grin and a genuine “I miss you” in his eyes every time he hugged her.
Some of the regulars at Scooby’s are USDA Angus Grade-A pieces of shit. They are people with dim futures and no promise for the advancement of the species.
Scooby’s is a haven. Here everyone gets a beer and a smile. You act nice and treat the other regulars like friends and your failings as a person are ignored. We are all equal here and you only pay for three out of four of your beers.
One of the regulars (Mr. No Future) sized like Mr. FFM comes up to the bar leaving his circle of friends at one of the booths.
“Miss Smile, I need 2 beers and three shots of Yeager”
Drunk bitch sister leaks out an inept and hazed seductive line sounding more Dudley than Demi Moore…
“Hey big man, buy me and my girl a shot”
With a friendly smile and a chuckle, Mr. No Future turns and faces her, “I’m here with my girlfriend and I doubt she would be real happy if I bought two girls at the bar shots.”
“Where is your girlfriend?”
Mr. NF calls over the girl who deserves a boyfriend with a future.
“Honey, meet… I’m sorry; I didn’t get your names”
Fire Fighter Man is sitting on the other side of his drunk bitch sister. He is half-eyed and silent but still sporting the happy-fucked-up grin.
Bitch Drunk pokes a finger in the girlfriend’s shoulder, “This is why you’re not buying us a shot? Fuck you and your little whore”
I was only half-listening as I watched the basball game playing on the TV but somehow instinct kicked in. I turned just in time to deflect the rocks glass so it hit my shoulder instead of shattering on my forehead.
The air changes in a bar when violence is on the brink of eruption. Most people can just feel it coming… we all have that sixth–things are about to get ugly-sense.
Drunk bitch was not aiming the glass at me. In her numb state she overshot Mr. NF and I was next in line.
Fire Fighter Man, time to take your Bitch Sister home... party's over.
No Future’s girlfriend, still feeling the finger poked in her shoulder, gives a deserved push to Drunk Bitch, “What the FUCK was THAT for?”
Then it happened.
My image was shattered.
My typically good judgment of character was about to take a beating.
Fire Fighter Man stood up and walked over. Once front of the girl measuring under 110 and five-feet tall that pushed his sister, he cocked back a fist and let it rip.
She flew up and back three yards and landing on her back.
He hit her; made a fist and hit her. He hit her the same way he would hit Mr. No Future a second later.
All hell broke loose.
We all saw it unfolding and this is our house. We don’t all have to like each other; here we are family and you, sir, just broke one of the unsaid codes. Nobody fights in here, let alone hits a woman.
As if cued from off stage, I grabbed Miss W by the arm and got her as far from the fray as possible. Priority one covered and secured, I turned and went into the madness.
I am not a brawler and I abhor violence but this was not cool. No Future grabs a beer bottle and rears it back ready to swing. I grab his wrist and stopped the thrust. It was easy to slip the wet bottle from his grip.
Over his shoulder I see No Future’s booth clear… his back-up is coming to escalate the situation.
Miss Smile yells for her husband, Mr. Cooler, who was already there, his radar went off when mine did. Cooler gets between the primaries; I flank and hold back No Future’s cavalry before they close the distance between the booth and the fray.
As all bar fights do, things stopped, started, stopped and started again. The men were restrained only to have the women go at it until other regulars deputized themselves and jumped in and locked them down as well.
Peace finally came once Fire Fighter Man and his insane escorts were tossed from the place.
I sat back down, lifting my stool from the floor. Miss W came back from the safe zone sat next to me. I took a swig of my beer and shook my head.
Damn it that sucked. I thought I knew the guy but there was no mistaking it. He stood up calmly walked over and hit her. In one swing he gave her and my typically good judge of people a shiner.
You’re fired, Fire Fighter Man. Give me your Real Man membership card.
You don’t hit women - even if they push your sister. It is that simple. No confusion, no discussion, no debate. If you like, get this tattooed anywhere on your arm and you will never need to laser it off later.
I am a huge John Irving fan. A movie's opening scene, the start of a good joke, the story of how happily married people met... how the story opens means everything. How can you not glue your nose to the binding when a book opens with:
Garp's mother, Jenny Fields, was arrested in Boston in 1942 for wounding a man in a movie theatre. This was shortly after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor and people were being tolerant of soldiers, because suddenly everyone was a soldier, but Jenny Fields was quite firm in her intolerance of the behavior of men in general and soldiers in particular. -The World According to Garp
The summer my father bought the bear, none of us was born--we weren't even conceived: not Frank, the oldest; not Franny; the loudest; not me, the next; and not the youngest of us, Lilly and Egg. -The Hotel New Hampshire
One night when she was four and sleeping in the bottom bunk of her bunk bed, Ruth Cole woke to the sound of lovemaking - it was coming from her parent's bedroom. It was a totally unfamiliar sound to her. Ruth had recently been ill with stomach flue; when she first heard her mother making love, Ruth thought her mother was throwing up. -Widow for One Year
In the hospital of the orphanage-the boys' division at St. Cloud's, Maine - two nurses were in charge of naming new babies and checking that their little penises were healing from the obligatory circumcision. -Cider House Rules
and my personal favorite opening to ANY book:
I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice--not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany. -A Prayer for Owen Meany
...and that, my fellow blogheads, is why I have not the courage to start writing even a short story.
Played poker last night (and won). Miss W obsesses about me calling her. I had not called her since Sunday morning. I expected her to show up at the bar last night with both sigh guns loaded and eyes loaded for rolling.
That did not happen.
When I came out of the back room to get a beer from Miss Smile I saw W at the bar. She was all decked out. Dressed like she was going out for dinner. I came over with my asbestos suit on prepped for the third degree.
She was all smiles and happiness. No mention of the no calls, no negative words.
She talked to someone. No doubt. She must have bitched to someone about how distant I've been. They gave her the 'get off his nuts' advice... he will come to you if you stop hunting him.
How do I know this?
I smelled it. How about that? I know it.
I know the act I saw last night took an amazing amount of effort on her part. She wants this to work... she has big plans for us. Seeing the effort broke my careless shitbag heart. I hope I don't do too much damage.
L is getting a package I overnighted. It should be at her apartment around noon... there when she gets home. She was the highlight of my day yesterday and I want to get all my work done today so I can call her. Now I am a shitbag careless ogre who is acting giddy like a twelve-year old who just made a mix tape for the girl in his math class.
But I'm a creep I'm a weirdo What the hell I'm doing here? I don't belong here *Radiohead
she loves words.... so last night I made a CD collecting tunes from my favorite wordsmiths. I will drop it in the mail to her when the post office opens. Picking the artists was easy. Tom Waits, Ani, Pumpkins, Radiohead, Maynard's Perfect Circle and Tool... Lennon/McCartney missed the cut because I could not pick one song to show their prowness. Dylan's there... so is Lovett. Because the songs are chosen for their words the music is very eclectic. A.J. Croce and Cake on the same CD... bellissimo.
The Tillman's made it. His words with her voice... I forgot about them until last night. Here... you blogging fools... feed on this:
Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning hits me straight in the eye guess you forgot to close the blind last night Oh, that's right, I forgot, it was me
I sure do miss the smell of black coffee in the morning, the sound of water splashing all over the bathroom, the kiss that you would give me even though I was sleeping, but I kind of like the feel of this extra few feet in my bed
Telephone's ringing, but I don't answer it 'cause everybody knows that good news always sleeps till noon Guess it's tea and toast for breakfast again maybe I'll add a little T.V. too
No milk! God, how I hate that Guess I'll go to the corner, get breakfast from Jenny She's got a black eye this morning, `Jen how'd ya get it?' she says, `Last night, Bobby got a little bit out of hand'
Lunchtime. I start to dial your number then I remember so I reach for something to smoke and anyways I'd rather listen to Coltrane than go through all that shit again
There's something about an afternoon spent doing nothing Just listening to records and watching the sun falling Thinking of things that don't have to add up to something and this spell won't be broken by the sound of keys scraping in the lock
Maybe tonight it's a movie with plenty of room for elbows and knees a bag of popcorn all to myself, black and white with a strong female lead and if I don't like it, no debate, I'll leave
Here comes that feeling that I'd forgotten how strange these streets feel when you're alone on them Each pair of eyes just filled with suggestion So I lower my head, make a beeline for home Seething inside
Funny, I'd never noticed the sound the streetcars make as they pass my window Which reminds me that I forgot to close the blind again
Yeah, sure I'll admit there are times when I miss you Especially like now when I need someone to hold me but there are some things that can never be forgiven and I just gotta tell you that I kinda like this extra few feet in my bed
God, you get funnier and funnier every day. Don't stop on my account.
Miss L and I talked more tonight...
No really, God... keep it coming... it is funnier everytime you do it
I could have talked with her even more...
Seriously, I can't breathe now.... you are killing me... my gut hurts
So how about I look forward to talking to her again... soon
Where do you get these... who is writing your material? So friggin' funny....
NYC is not close and I don't get up their for biz often. Fuck it. I'm not doing anything. I'm letting this one play out. I'm letting this one take its own course without me trying to drive it like a drunken oil tanker captain.
I'm going to just see where the current takes me.
(holy crap... that could be the cheesiest analogy I've ever come up with) its her fault.... if not then... nope... We blame her.
"It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you place the blame." Oscar Wilde
Until two hours ago, Million Dollar Baby and Sideways were my picks for best movies this year.
I just finished watching Closer.
Top movie I've seen in a very long time - not just this year.
Screenplay - I wish I could collect that much honesty into one piece of fantasy
Actors - Even bassfishfaced Julia Roberts was good. No one to love, no one to hate. They nailed it. Its nice that I can have a big crush on Natalie without feeling like a pedophile. She was 13 when I first saw her in the Professional.
Sidenote: Miss L called. She meditates. I like her voice and I like her tone when she talks to me. I can hear her smirk.
Miss P, her husband, my sister and I went to see Sin City last night. We went to the 11pm show that let out around 1:30 or so. We are at an intersection turning left. It is a double turn lane with a line of cars to our left also turning.
The light turns green.
The SUV to our left starts to move and turn left. So do we.
For no apparent reason the SUV to our left stops.
By some miracle, Miss P notices this as odd (stopping in the middle of an intersection while turning left). She slows.
She edges a bit ahead of the SUV and for the first time we can see to our left (the SUV blocked any view to our left).
He was going at least 80mph and he was not stopping
The car blew through the light and Miss P stopped... I think the light-runner came close enough to the front bumper to clean off the dead bugs.
One inch more before Miss P broke and you would not be reading this. The halo, which no one reads but me, would have no more readers... or posts.
Miss L and I talked for over five or six hours via IM on Friday. I HATE instant messaging yet there I was. The shocking thing is how open I feel to her. Is it her or the 1,962 miles between us at let me open up?
The Tarheels did it! Nice to be at the top of the food chain again after years of poor coaching between when Dean left and Roy came in.
Could not say "No"
I love to play poker and have for over twelve years. Mr. Cooler and I started talking about going out to Vegas for a poker trip. His wife, Miss Smile, wanted to come out as well. No biggie, I love them both and she would make a perfect wingman in Vegas.
Everything was set, the three of us were headed to Vegas!
Then Miss Smile could not keep her yap shut.
Miss Waitress was in and I was in the back room of "Scooby's" (the name we will use for Mr. Cooler's bar where Miss Smile bartends) playing poker.
Miss Smile: "So are you going to Vegas with us?" (WTF?????? SHUT UP!) Miss Waitress: "Um, you guys are going to Vegas?" S: "Yea, Hofzinser, Mr. Cooler and I! Hofzinser didn't mention it to you?" (Let's make my life harder while you are at it, Miss Smile) W: "Nope"
Later she brings it up and tells me she wants to go.
Life Shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. --Anais Nin
If I had balls I would have said, "no" but it was tough with Miss Smile going. Could not pull the "guys trip" line. Excuses, excuses. I am really being cruel by being a coward with this entire situation.
So we are going to Vegas in two weeks. Tickets bought and reservations made.
In my own head (which is tough to keep upright without a GOD DAMN spine) I have the break-up happening after we get back. How do I do this while inflicting minimum pain to her heart and my ass? I cannot be totally honest....
H: "Um, I am not attracted to you and, um, you constant droning about how imperfect everything is around you makes me want to drain the fluid from my ear canal."
W: "Thanks for being so honest. I hope you find the love of your life soon. See you around at the bar!"
Somehow I fell into a relationship. I am not sure how I got here but I want out.
How do you end up in a relationship with someone you don't find attractive? I did it and still would love to know how it happens...
Let us call her Miss Waitress.
Miss Waitress is a regular at the bar I spend too much time in. She is there every night.... We always saw each other, we always said hello and exchanged BS small talk. Pleasant words between familiar faces.
On Monday nights I play poker in the back room of the bar and had a huge night. I emerged from the game up hundreds, buzzed and (to be frank) horny as all-hell-and-get-out. Dry spells are very dangerous.
Miss Waitress was at the bar (SHOCKER).... We get talking, my standards faded like the side of the couch facing the window. Next thing you know she is meeting me at my place. We fooled around...
Handy Dandy tip from yer Uncle Hof: Sometimes being nice and a gentleman causes more trouble than good. Sometimes being a prick is the only fair path to take. If you meant it to be a one-night stand you are NOT doing anyone a favor by being vague after the fact.
Though I never got the memo, I found out I was her boyfriend. Sucks to be the last to friggin' know. Now I am stuck. Now I need to be a dick but I, despite some extensive practice, suck at it.
Find the courage, young man....
I found some on Friday night. Miss Pessimism, who works with my sister, introduced me to a friend of hers (Miss Lookatme) from NYC. I cannot expect anything to come of it.
"Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded" -Perfect Circle
It became very clear (amazing how vodka makes everything clear) that Miss Lookatme was still buried to the neck in a recent Ex. I don't tread those tundras anymore; age does teach us a few things.
I was being me and trying to see if I was the only one "getting the feeling". Too hard to tell.... and I suck and putting out the VIBE.
"Well I threw you the obvious, just to see if there's more behind the eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy." -Perfect Circle
Back to the courage....
I found courage - she reminded me that smart passionate people are out there. Without even realizing it I had let MY optimism slip away'