Recovering

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I'll get to the realtor story one of these days. Really, I will. But it won't happen today. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I can barely lift my fingers to type. I'm tired and sore and am feeling the effects of a 30-year-old body.

My friends know I get a bit impulsive about things. I tend to do something hard and fast, get burned out and move on. That's why I try to pace myself with the blog. I'm really surprised I've lasted this long with it. Yay me!

I left the Santa Monica sunset behind me on Friday afternoon as I went to pursue the champagne powder of Utah. It is an intoxicating mix of high altitude and fresh drop that I can't seem to get enough of. I have only been on the slopes a few times this year, last weekend in Park City and around Xmas in Pennsylvania. But no snow in the world can compare to Utah. Seriously, it's like a cold drug.

In my latest effort to save money, I decided to drive to Utah. There's a place Brianhead, that is only three hours outside of Vegas. So, you could get there in 7-8 hours, depending on your skills on the 15. Mine were sub-par on Friday, but I made it in 9, including dinner.

I put myself on autopilot and just enjoyed the ride. I brought Cali with me to teach him the art of seduction along the way. All the principles and practices I learned in "The Game," came out effortlessly along the darkened California highway. He is a good student in spite of how green his teacher is with the material.

We reached Brianhead around 2 am on Saturday. Alex met us there after coming down from Park City and we all shared a cozy room with one king bed. There would be no romance for anyone this weekend. At least we hoped.

Sunrise came and I was up. I tuned my board and tried to wake their sorry asses. It didn't work, so I hit the lifts, boarded all day Saturday and Sunday and drove Alex and Cali back Sunday night.

All in all, the drive was worth it. Brianhead has absolutely no social scene, unless you like pizza parlors. I do, and it was a refreshingly different pace than last weekend at Sundance. And at $40 a lift ticket, gas, a few cheap sandwiches and new and old friends, I think the weekend turned out just right.

Read the Rest

I love D.C.

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I'm overwhelmed by the kind words that are coming from the D.C.-area bloggers. I've always had a soft spot in my blogheart for this crowd, but at the same time I always felt a bit inferior because of just how smart they are and how effortlessly words seem to flow with them. This readership forced me to push harder than I would normally have with this blog. It was almost like trying to show Kobe a pick-and-roll. If you're attempting to be relevant to that level of audience, you better bring something new to the table.

Fictional Rockstar, who is at the top of my list for D.C. bloggers asked me a few questions that became the basis for a Hookers and Blow interview she pulled together with the grace and charm you'd expect from such a skilled writer. The comments were really nice too. I was going to comment myself, but wasn't sure about the whole etiquette on that. Maybe someone with a greater sense of blogging do's and dont's can shed some light.

Anyway, the Hooker interview was picked up by DCblogs, who also had a bunch of nice things to say about me. All in all, the whole experience was very uplifting.

If you haven't had a chance to visit any of these blogs, I suggest you do. They are all funny, intelligent and they kind of have a Jerry Macguire effect (they make you want to be a better blogger). Don't be overwhelmed by the literary references and the skilled vocabulary. These are all very intelligent people we can all learn a lot from. Like not ending a sentence with a preposition. Anyway, be like me and keep a Google window open when you read them. It helps.

In the next day or so I will share a memorable story about our nation's capital, one of the greatest cities in the world. Until then, give some warm blogger love to these amazing DC-area bloggers. They're probably cold right now.

DC Blogs
Momentary Academic
Hookers and Blow
Megarita
Mystery Girl
Retrodragon
DC Shenanigans
Jordan Baker
Washington Cube

Read the Rest

Drunk on Cheese

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I'm taking the day to recuperate. I've been in a trance for the past 24 hours. The chorus of my internal dialogue being muted by sleep depravation and over-indulgence through all that is unhealthy. I can't do this shit anymore. This time, I really mean it.

The only thing that is remotely keeping my eyes from drying up and falling out of my head are the comforting melodies of Neil Halstead and a gallon of water I chug openly from the heavy container. I've thought about puking more than I've thought about sex today. That's not good.

Sundance was a strange acid-like trip. I didn't go to any screenings, but did end up at a few events as the "plus one." Sundance is full of them. Stars bring their half-brothers, friends, etc. Walking along main street is surreal. It's a world of Kevin Dillons (before Entourage) and Chris Mastersons. Strange family members of the famous looking for some free suds and leftover pussy. And as I was judging these less-than-famous siblings, I thought about one thing. This is one sad place.

Alex was the one that sent the plane ticket, but I also saw Tracy and about a dozen other people from their friend group. I felt like someone had drawn an imaginary graph from me to the other people to let me know they were third-degree friends. I prefer smaller groups.

Snowboarding was amazing. I stayed at The Canyons (kick-ass place) and was treated to a little happy hour mini-birthday party on Saturday night, complete with twinkie cake and a match for a candle. But I appreciated the resourcefulness of my friends. It was very comforting and personal. I needed it.

I did several body shots with Tracy during a free concert on lower main. Try doing body shots in Utah, sometime. By the way, we came very close to macking. Luckily, neither of us were that drunk or that dumb. But the eyes held a bit too long late Saturday night, and I thought there may be no turning back. Thankfully, there was. Having her boyfriend there helped with that.

I got a free place to crash, free flight and free food/drink at events. Makes me wonder how I spent so much money. I must have lost some. And this comes less than 20 days into my resolution to spend less. That's how I rationalized this trip to myself, it would be free. But Alex and Tracy generally expense everything down to their snot rags. I don't really feel comfortable having them buy me stuff, so I usually just take care of expenses on my own.

Anyway, I need to go in front of the TV and veg for a while to ready myself for work tomorrow. That's the great thing about calling in sick on Friday and Monday, it makes it more believable than simply calling in one day.

I was at Sundance back in 2002, and actually remember seeing "In The Bedroom." Shit has changed since then. There are so many pseudo celebs and commercialization it makes your head spin with cheese. Here are a few of my favorite encounters.

1. James Vanderbeek grew a beard and is sporting some bangs. Makes his head look far less bulbous. There may be hope for him.

2. Rob Lowe (you know that actor) was at an event at the Silver Queen Hotel and Tracy wanted to introduce me. I chickened out.

3. That cross-eyed bachelorette girl and firefighter dude from the reality show were every-fucking-where. They had their hand in every goodybag imaginable. I felt embarrased for them.

4. The VW party was a great party. No Celebs, albeit James V. and Lance Bass. I could hang with those guys. Plus they gave out great T-shirts, had a photo booth that no one was using, and had great dumb party hats. It was the highlight of my trip.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. I will bask in the glory of electolites, get my PJ's on, and treat myself to a hangover day.

Hopefully tomorrow, this post will make sense. I don't have the fortitude to re-read it.

By the way, check out Hookers and Blow this month and give a big kiss to my girl MA for making me look cooler than I am.

Read the Rest

Happy 30th Fucknuts

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

The time showed 6:02 am when the knock came on my door. But it was actually more like 5:40, since I set my clock ahead. I thought it was an ex-girlfriend, drunk current friend or some Bin Laden shit a reactionary neighbor was poised to warn me about. It was none of the above.

Standing wearily sassy outside my door was a 20ish girl. She offered no explanation of her presence, but simply handed me an envelope. Too hot to be a courier, too mannered to be a FedEx chick. Her caste was unmistabable. Standing before me was a young, semi-hot, smarter-than-her-present-task-justified, production assistant.

She looked at my confused face and offered a smile as I examined the manilla envelope. In large writing across the top, with the authority of a sharpie, read: Happy 30th Fucknuts.

With eyes that were trained to be apologetic, she explained her instructions to write those exact words. I'm sure if she stays in the entertainment business, this will not be the most degrading task she's ever asked to perform. Even with my morning wood flapping about uncontrollably.

"Do I open it?"

"Yes, please," she said.

"Well, come on in," I offered, and led her to the couch.

"Nice TV," she said, looking for a conversation point.

I opened the envelope, not knowing if she was being rhetorical. I was in my underwear with no shirt. I probably should have put something on, but I was way too tired. Her eyes scanned the room, looking everywhere but at me. Finally, I excused myself to grab a piss and throw on a pair of pajama bottoms. I don't like to see people uncomfortable.

I opened the envelope, and pulled out the contents.

"They are tickets to Park City, well actually Salt Lake." she said.

"But they're for today, at 3."

"Yes, and I will be back to pick you up around 1:55."

I looked at the rest of the contents, in it was a name, Frank Alan Gomez. I had no idea what it meant.

"Frank Alan Gomez?" I asked.

"Look for that sign when you arrive in Salt Lake. It'll be your driver. It's about another 45 minutes to an hour to Park City."

"But why, Frank-" Oh, I got it, mid-thought. FAG are the initials. This is going to be one sophmoric weekend. Or week, I didn't see a return flight on the ticket.

"Ok, then, thanks," I said, sidestepping the fag thing, but I could tell she got it, probably even before me.

She walked towards the door, in too much of a hurry for 5:45. Is her day always this hectic?

"Uh, there's no other name inside, but I assume these are courtesy of Alex."

"Yes, she said," and others. "I'll fill you in on the ride to the airport. It would be easy if you can just look for me outside at about 1:55. I have a new black Civic."

But then it dawned on me, why did she have to deliver these so early? I had to ask.

"I need to go to Costa Mesa, and then back here, I wanted to get it to you first thing," she answered.

"Ok, I said, great. 1:55"

"1:55," she said, finally cracking a legitimate smile.

"Nice friends, by the way, and happy birthday."

"Thanks," I answered back, not wanting to explain that actually my birthday was in July, and I spent it with two hookers instead of with two friends. My judgement is spot on, even in the pre-dawn hours.

I didn't even get her name, but knew her car and the time. I wrote it down before I thought it was a dream. I hunkered back to bed and in my best "sick voice" I made the call to work. Rob was not coming in today. He was going snowboarding.

Anyway, hope everyone has a safe and fun weekend. And the real estate chick, well, that will have to wait.

Read the Rest

Love Wrench

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I rarely use my cell phone to just shoot the shit. Most of my conversations consist of brief interludes about very specific meeting-type information. But cellphones can do more than just set up rendevous or find a friend at a concert. Sometimes they can get you out of a bad situation or into a good one.

Daniel is up for any adventure. He is one of those guys who will do just about anything to get out of the house. I’m sure everyone has a friend like that. But the best thing about Daniel is his enthusiasm for life. It is refreshing, especially since so many of my other friends are complete cynics.

I picked him up in West Hollywood and drove through Laurel Canyon to the Valley. It was definitely out of my way, but the adventure wouldn’t be the same without the scent of Guerlain swirling in my car for days after. My plan to close this realtor came with the cerebral help of an effeminate wingman, and there was no one else who could procure such a title.

I briefed Daniel on the new mission and how it related to this realtor. He was in, maybe even more than I was. To me, it was a challenge. Something that precluded my teaching of Cali. A shit test. To him, it was entertainment. Because whether this adventure would be a home run or a train wreck, he knew the experience would be a memorable one.

“Ok, Rob, well if you’re going to try and pick up this woman, you need to clean up. We can go back to my place and shave that horrible mustache. You look like a leatherman," he said, almost immediately.

“D, you’re missing the fucking point here. I don’t want to look conventional or handsome. That’s the true test of game.”

“Oh my God Rob, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. But, whatever, you obviously have an agenda.”

And I did. One that was formulated on Wilshire Blvd., between Westwood and Fairfax. It’s wasn’t the most extravagant plan, but it was one I hoped would work. Daniel was entranced by his role. It was integral, to say the least, even as the mission evolved.

We cut through Laurel Canyon, traversing the hillside shacks and mansions. LC is definitely Hollywood’s version of Topanga, a funky mix of disparate real estate and interesting characters. I always pay close attention to the sign for Wonderland Avenue, and allow my consciousness to race back years, to Frank Zappa and Danny Sugarman, and absorb the amount of debauchery that took place along that stretch of glam road. More recently, Wonderland came to light with the Val Kilmer movie, and his recount of the John Holmes story (don’t need to tell the ladies who he is, right?)

Sugarman, on the other hand is lesser-known and now-deceased former inhabitant. He co-wrote “No one here gets out alive,” the story of Jim Morrison and the Doors. He also wrote "Wonderland Avenue," another book about his personal addictions, as well as drug habits of those around him, including Mackenzie Phillips.

But, I was brought back to the turn, to the night, to the mission by Daniel.

“She’s going to think you’re gay. I mean with me and everything. And the Volvo,” he finished, snickering.

“I know," I answered, not wanting history to release me.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“She’ll probably think you’re gay," I said, as I snapped back to present, "You’re wearing a Ben Sherman beanie. Does that bother you?”

He laughed. In a “My God Rob Lowe, you are so lucky you’re not gay, because I would destroy your body with my love wrench,” kind of way. I was flattered. Hopefully I had saved some charm for the realtor chick.

“It’s all covered,” I told him, “Just follow the plan.”

And the plan was foolproof, as choreographed with “The Game” as the testimonial underpin. The first thing I needed to do was Neg her, which is basically a backhanded compliment, or a forehanded slam, depending on your feeling about tennis metaphors. This helps establish a dominance, and a slight disinterest in the subject. It communicates that I will not fall under her spell the way others have.

Next, I would be nebulous about my sexuality. This would help rationalize the “Neg” in her head. But again, this was another misdirect. This woman would be used to getting everything she wanted based on her looks and probable charm. She would not know how to react to someone was not immediately enamored by her beauty. The part of her brain that was not trying to compute that internally would be looking externally for answers, gleaning information from Daniel and me. Taking us in. Deconstructing.

Daniel, on the other hand had to keep his macho together for a bit. I told him to downplay his flame, at least until the neg set in. Then, he could introduce his flamboyance slowly. As the sun of discovery began to rise, she would rationalize me as a catty gay man, easily explaining away my apparent disinterest in getting into her presumably fantastic undergarments.

From there, I would allow her to regain her heading, once-again enabling her beauty-based comfort zone to guide her through the showing. But as her heat began to rise, I would do the same and thoroughly lay on the charm, allowing her to elevate me from woman hater to man she wanted to save. The takeaway of this stage would be, “Why are all the good ones either married or gay?.” The emotional connection would be there from the start, albeit a negative one. It would be simple to spin it into a positive.

But that would be just the beginning. Still ahead would be fake cell phone calls and the most important part of the plan, the close.

I thought it through once, and rehearsed a few lines inside my head while Daniel wheeled through the limited collection of Erasure on my Ipod. He was getting in character as well.

I was ready for this woman. I was ready to test my game. I was ready to take the flack from Alex for stealing his realtor girl. I was ready for it all.

I drove slowly along the twisty valley road until I reached a darkened circular driveway. A petite blonde woman in her late-30’s smiled in our direction from the porch. I didn’t smile back. At least, not yet.

Let the game begin.

Read the Rest

Good as Gold

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I got a call last Wednesday around lunchtime. It was Alex who was up around Whistler working on a movie. I picked up the phone, wondering what he needed this time. He is quite needy when he's away from home.

“What’s up?” I answered.

“Nothing,” he said distractedly. I could tell he wanted to pace ahead with the small talk. So I made him work at it. Just like any good friend would.

“How’s it going up there?” I asked, stretching things out, being deliberately vague.

“Good, good, good,” he said, “Great weather.”

“Magic,” I answered. That’s a new word I’m trying to substitute for cool. I used to say “hot” all the time, but then Paris made it commonplace. Hopefully Copperfield won’t play this one out as well.

It didn't phase him.

“Rob, I need you to do something for me,” he said compactly.

“Yea, shoot.”

“There’s this place I’m interested in and it just came on the market Tuesday. I need you to check it out and see if it’s a piece of shit or not.”

“Seriously?” I asked, being taken back by his disclosure and his request. Was this his way of saying he was moving out?

“What the fuck? I go from being your landlord to your errand boy? You know I don’t like going into other people’s houses like this. And now you're moving out?"

“C’mon dude, I would fly back but I can't. My fucking assistant was trying to get a flight, but it’s not in the cards. Can’t do it. Please.”

“All right,” I said, "what do you need me to do?”

“Just meet this realtor lady there after work. It’s in Woodland Hills, just off Topanga, I'll have someone e-mail you directions."

“And what do you want me to say to the realtor?”

“Start with, ‘Hello, I’m Rob,’ and take it from there. Seriously dude, I just need you to check out the place, take some pictures and e-mail them to me. I never trust those realtor pics. They totally fake the angles. I should fucking know, I fake angles for a living.”

“Ok, I’m not signing anything, right? Just looking around, taking some pictures, shit like that?”

“Yea, yea, that’s all. If It looks good, I’ll deal with the agent from here.”

“Ok, you’re going to buy a house, sight unseen, based on my thumbs up?”

“That’s it in a nutshell, Robby.”

“All right. No pressure on me or anything. Well, I’ll take my time and check everything out.”

“You do that. Oh, and as an added fucking bonus, the realtor is smokin.’”

“Really? Did you meet her?”

I perked up.

“Na, not yet. Just saw her picture. It’s the blonde one with the fake fur thing.”

“The one we were checking out in the mag? Did you beat it to her?”

Note:(For as long as I've known Alex, he likes to masturbate to fully clothed women, preferably in business suits.)

“Jesus, of course. But don't fucking tell her. It would make things weird signing the papers and shit.”

“It makes it a bit weird for me.”

“Everything is weird for you Rob, you’re a fucking neurotic.”

“Whatever, I’m in. I was sick of having you around anyway. Just as long as you leave me the TV. I can't go back to my shitty Sharp."

"It's yours. Just do this for me."

"All right. By the way, I would bet my life that this chick is not even close to being as hot as she was in that headshot."

“Fuck that Rob, we both saw it.”

“Those were glamour shots. Every chick looks good."

“Why don’t you take a picture of her then.”

“Yea, I’ll do that.”

“I owe you one.”

I hung up the phone and laughed. I never say goodbye anymore. Is that rude?

Anyway, this house thing started to make sense. Alex was willing to buy a place because he wanted to meet the seemingly hot agent. And the rub was, he wasn’t even meeting her, I was.

I needed to take advantage of the situation. Hot or not, I made it my goal to close this woman. Alex was too proud to admit his libido-driven motives, and too stubborn to not see them through.

But for me, this was more than a drive to the Valley, it was an opportunity to try my game firsthand. And, as much as some people's game depends on appearance, I wanted to minimize that variable for me. So, I shaved the mustache into a strange trailor-like thing, and made my hair look like Jason Lee in Earl. If I can close a hot realtor looking like a trailer park reject, I can close anything. I may even go shirtless. Bitches love tattoos.

I called Daniel and explained the situation. He was in. I would pick him up around 5:30 and we would drive to the Valley to buy a house for Alex. He wasn't even phased by the request.

Gay wingmen are fucking gold.

Read the Rest

Lunchin'

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

Dated Monday 1/10-Fucking Blogger's site was down yesterday and I'm too lazy and indifferent to change the details.

I thought it would be tough getting up this morning. It was a weird night last night. The smell of paint was still faint within my room, although I know it’s probably just my imagination. The holidays brought out the “Lunchbox” in me. Which is basically a college term my friends used to use for a slacker. "Lunching" is the verb equivalent. But now that the disastrous month of December is behind me, I am starting to get back to real life. And my real life includes Monday night basketball.

I play in a small gym in the valley with a random group of guys, the oldest two being in their 70’s. Both are actors. Probably no one you’ve ever heard of, but still they have made a living at their craft. I respect them for that, especially since one shot a soft-core porn in the 1970’s. I get a bit squeamish thinking of his now-wrinkled ball sacks slapping against a blonde-wigged housewife, but it’s soon forgotten, only to be remembered once again.

Last night, I played pretty bad. I am generally the tallest guy there, but we’ve brought some new guys in that are in the 6’5” range. I got taken to school almost all night. I thought I would wake up and be hurting, but for some reason, my body felt fine. I thought the absence would make the body grow weaker, but I guess I lucked out.

The lowlight of the game was getting accidentally smacked with a ball in the right eye, full speed by an ex-marine. It still hurts. I immediately called for sub and sat my ass down. I come prepared with a little first aid kit, and removed my ice pack. I felt a bit self-conscious using it because it seemed a bit fem. My inner dialogue was shouting, "This metrosexual guy is so worried about his face, poor fucking baby." But actually, I just didn’t want to have to explain a shiner to someone I merely pass in the hallway at work. Thankfully, I healed and the ice pack worked.

I got home around 11 and cracked a beer with Alex. He’s going on location today and we just shot the shit for a while and watched that marching penguin documentary. I still haven't charged Alex rent because he's away alot, plus he's a friend. And he hasn't taken advantage of that. He replaced my old crappy Sharp TV from college with a sweet 60" Sony. That thing makes even Two and a Half Men seem watchable. I drowned in Antarctica last night. It was pure HD heaven.

I grabbed a leftover burrito from the kitchen and had a late dinner. A Luna bar kept me going through the game. That’s another thing that’s a bit strange. I’m not a big energy bar kind of guy, but recently I’ve been using them when I don’t want to eat (like before a basketball game). I’ve been eating the Luna bars, which are the female version of the Powerbar. Strange, but I feel a little soft in line at Whole Foods with women’s power bars. It’s a bit like buying tampons, but in this case the tampons would be for myself. Thank God, that doesn’t make any sense. But I’ll leave it for you to chew on anyway.

I also had a dream about one of my blog friends that I’m attributing to the late-night Sharkey’s bean burrito. She doesn’t really post her picture on her site, but I remember her glasses. It was very strange, and the first time the netherworld of blogosphere entered my subconscious only to retreat, once again.

Read the Rest

Hello 2006

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

The best part of L.A. is being away for a while. It allows me to get my head on away from the silly callousness I experience on a daily basis. Because the absense of L.A. allows me focus on the ideal of the city. To remember the reason I came in the first place. There really is no city like it in the world, and when I return after being away from a bit, it really feels like home.

I was in Pennsyvania from 12/22-12/30, flew to Vegas for a New Years event and woke up in a strange bed, fully clothed in a Ryan Seacrest-like tux, yet missing my friends and about $300 cash I had won at blackjack. Yea, I was so bored I actually gambled.

Vegas included the usual cast of characters, minus Pepperdine Barbie-who went back to meet her friends and see REO Speedwagon at the Canyon Club in Agoura Hills. We had seen enough of each other at that point, having spent the week together in Pa. Plus, I knew Tracy would be in Vegas, and although she has a supposed new boyfriend, I didn't want to flaunt my relationship in her face. Actually, strike relationship from the record, and replace it with something less committal. Maybe "banana." Yea, that works.

On the intellectual front, I got my SATs back. I beat Alex but lost to Summer. I ended up with a 2200. I can live with beating my best friend but losing to a fictional OC character. That's just how life is. Also, I decided to give the two hookers to Alex. I've already lived that fantasy. I would only be comparing things if I did it/them again. He really needs that experience more than I do. Stay tuned for that weekend.

I am ramping up the game right now and preparing my student. The end of 2005 tired me, and it was nice to get away from life for a bit. But now I'm ready to return.

Peace to all, and have a safe and healthy New Year.

RL

Read the Rest