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Karma is now my personal hitman.

High school reunions are always a dicey thing, at best.

However, and this comes from crashing several high school reunions for years that I did not graduate in, but there may be a reason why some of us never stayed in touch.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some people I really enjoyed seeing. People that only life and circumstance has kept from hanging out with.

And then there are some that, 10 seconds after you start talking to them, you realize why you last saw or thought about them was in high school itself.

As a last minute thing, I recently went to a reunion for a year I did not graduate in.

Here is why it was last minute. Although I clicked on the “Going” button on Facebook, I was not planning on going, I was just tired of it sitting in the Invites section, staring at me.

It was in a beach city bar that I once got wildly drunk in and almost beaten to death. Call me superstitious but I am a big believer in bad vibes.

However, I found myself walking thru the front door.

And it was fine, I ran into a few people that totally reminded me of why that was one of the best periods of my life.

I also ran into a few that make me sooooo happy we were not closer back then.

A bitch rarely ages well, and there is a special brand of fugly that happens to the “Uber” bitches of our youth.

 Before you go all feminist on me, the primary bitch in my mind is a guy.

Several others were, in fact, women. That being said, I am kind of blind, sexism wise, on the subject of dislike.

Here are my top 5 reasons for dislike overheard at the reunion:

1. “She and I have hated each other since high school. She’s a slut”. (Translation- My boyfriend back then slept with her because I was holding out. I am incapable of blaming him.)

2. “She has hated me since high school, I don’t know why.” (Translation- I knowingly slept with her boyfriend back in school and I am incapable of blaming myself.)

3. “That chick is crazy.” (Translation- I cheated on my girlfriend with her in highschool and I am incapable of blaming myself.)

(Side note: Are you beginning to pick up on the Peyton Place/Jerry Springer drama here?)

4. “I hated you in high school.” (Translation- During the most insecure time in my life, you scarred me for life.)

5. “You were hysterical in high school.” (Translation- I took a lot of voyeristic pleasure in watching you torment others.)

And the only one I regret not hanging out with is the one I tormented. Its for the better, I was a rotten friend back then.

Now, here is the section of the blog were I get into the exciting part.

Just about every woman I went to high school with are at an intoxicating peak of hotness.

Its incredible what happens to a woman after she is done being a scared kid.

There is a level of confidence that only time can give but under the right circumstances, it can hit like a sensual meth for the libido.

Like a kid in a candy store.

But everybody, man or woman alike, breaks up into 3 catagories.

The first category is those friends who hit nirvana at some point, either married or not. They are worth a fortune, don’t talk about their money and seem genuinely happy.

Fuck em. I distrust these people on an instinctive level.

The second group is those who have kind of gone a different route. They have fucked up a lot since high school, but this seems to be the age that they get it together. They are innocent, like children, without that negative connotation.  They are warriors, fighting for every inch to regain ground they lost. More power to them.

The third group are my people. The functionally damaged. We are married or divorced and not wildly happy about one. If the career is high end, the relationship reads like a horror movie. If the career has had some rough turns, the relationship usually sucked in the past and they are on a better road. But the baggage is there, and the stories are better.

These are people who need to unwind.

And, sometimes, you find a little peace in the chaos. A little ray of sunshine among the dark. Some woman age well and then there are the ones that kill it. Always an odd thing to suddenly be overwhelmed by the earthy sensuality of a woman who is empowered and knows what she wants.

Enough said.

In all, I am glad I went, ran into some old friends, saw some old trash I once knew, and met one or two new friends.

And who doesn’t need some new friends?

In all, everyone seemed to have a good time, some more than others. Some, like the poor unfortunate that was being fed into the back of the police car as I was leaving.

Turns out she was the one who hated me, way back when.

I hate you too, sweetie. (And yes, I did laugh)

 
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Posted by on September 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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No shooting till I get my coffee.

“I paid for that fucking cup, and I can have whatever I want in my cup, bitch!”

Ok, so I added the “bitch” part, but I really feel like it was implied.

I am not sure if the guy who is hassling the cashier at this particular Starbucks is homeless, but I am sure he is drunk.

And so does the cop sitting in the back.

You can tell by the seated body language.

A little bit of tension that was not there before, right hand unconsciously moves closer to the holstered side arm.

I suddenly became interested in something a foot further back in the cooler case, this puts me further away from the drunk and more importantly, out of the line of fire if the officer “handles” it.

It seems the issue the drunk has his smelly panties in a twist over is that, since he bought a $2 cup of house drink, he can drink half of that, then demand that they refill it with a cappuccino.

It doesn’t work that way.

Thats like Ordering a hamburger, eating have and telling them to give you a hotdog because you bought the wrapper.

“Personally, I hate cappuccino.”

Enter the policeman, big smile on his face, confusing opener.

This guy is a pro.

While gun play or a dive tackle would have made the morning a WHOLE lot more exciting, I am satisfied with the officer walking the drunk off.

You see, I haven’t gotten my coffee yet and mayhem would delay getting it.

And I just can’t have that.

The java monkey is an impatient mistress.

The drunk and the cop are sitting at a small table, chatting amiably.

The manager has sent over a cappuccino, free of charge.

Isn’t that just so FUCKING cute?

I hate the holidays.

If Thanksgiving was not last week, they’d be cleaning up the blood at this point.

I finally get my coffee properly creamed and sugared and I begin to feel better about all this.

Maybe its ok that the cop didn’t come on like a shark with blood in the water.

Lack of caffeine does that to me.

Five minutes later, I am in a different place, physically and java-wise.

I have decided to enjoy my coffee at the beach.

The air is crisp and cold, but the rising sun is warm.

Winter in Southern California.

Winter here is different than anywhere else.

Most people have winter’s that kill the unprepared.

Worst case scenario here?

You are temporarily cold and/or wet.

But never for long.

Winter is a slightly cooler summer with a less rare chance of rain.

And we like it that way.

Property values in Southern California are sky high and rents are never cheap.

Mornings like this are why that is.

It would be perfect if, while sipping my coffee and staring out at the ocean, if a pod of dolphins were to swim by, a flying V of geese were to fly by, something.

Instead a seagull shit on the railing and the spatter got on my arm.

Nature is vicious at times.

At least the coffee is hot.

 
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Posted by on December 6, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Peeing is tough enough.

I don’t like being mad-dogged at the urinal.

Let me pee in peace.

There is kind of an unspoken etiquette at the men’s room urinals.

It is a lot like being in prison.

For the most part, guys are convinced that a possible prison rape seen could happen at any moment.

Its a tense atmosphere for most guys. Except the guys that are in the men’s room, looking for love.

Me? I don’t need any new friends.

That being said, could you look lovingly into someone elses eyes for 2 minutes?

No offense. This is a don’t ask, don’t tell. I don’t ask because I don’t want to be told.

Let me set the scene.

There are four stand up urinals against the wall, with the door on the right.

If I take the one 2nd from the left, that leaves one between me and the wall and two between me and the door.

If you come in, please take the one furthest from me, it causes the least trouble.

If you take the one next to me, on my right with the door, you will interrupt my urinating as I wonder if there is an attack coming.

And god forbid you take the one between me and the wall. At this point, I am done urinating and I KNOW you have an agenda.

And I don’t need to have my urinating interrupted. I am at that age where any issue with the flow has me worrying about my prostate. You have to watch that sucker like a hawk.

Back to the urinal.

I realize how all of this sounds. There are some of you screeching “Homophobe!”

And?

I think a little fear is good for you.

So is guilt.

Keeps you on your toes, your head in the game.

I was raised Catholic, so the whole fear and guilt thing goes with it and I get that.

We keep getting away from the urinal and I am starting to think that it is an ok thing.

Urinals smell horrible.

Ladies don’t realize how bad men’s rooms are.

I always refer to them as the Monkey Hut.

Like at the zoo.

Shit on the walls is unpleasant, but not all that unexpected.

Men will pee on the seat, on the floor, the wall.

You name it.

I once read a news article about a man who had never used a public toilet. He spent a huge amount of time travelling from work to home to use the bathroom.

The more I think about that one, the more I think that it would be awesome.

It would be clean.

It would smell nice.

And no one would maddog you mid-pee.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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A homeless coffee break

My new homeless guy, Juan Carlos, is on a break. He is sitting quietly on his corner with a blanket pulled over his head.

For those who have no idea who that is, Juan Carlos is the new crazy homeless guy on the block.

He just kind of showed up a few days after my previous favorite homeless guy, Garrett, died.

RIP Garrett.

He is still learning the crazy homeless game. He doesn’t put of a cup for change most days.

He also has the odd habit of singing loud Portuguese fishing songs.

It scares the mothers walking by with their kids.

Bad for business.

My deceased friend Garrett knew the game. His move was to argue with himself about corporate environmental policy all day long, but he always stopped to say thank you when people put money in his cup.

They should have some sort of homeless bootcamp for new homeless. Just something to show them the ropes. Kind of a “How to maximize your profits” workshop for the crazy and unemployed.

Like anything, its a business.

I could never make it as a homeless person. I have a thing about showering and especially about my hands being dirty.

I would be one of those starving homeless that no one would give any money two because my sign would suck. I would get too sarcastic.

Real quick, top 5 homeless signs in recent memory.

5. “Natalie Portman is pregnant and I need money for a nice gift.”
This one I find hard to swallow. Natalie is a bit of a bohemian, but she did go to Harvard and when you roll with that crowd, the stick up your ass is not optional. So the thought of her having a homeless friend to the baby shower is slim.

4. “I slept with Lindsay Lohan last week. Please help.”
Entirely possible, that girl turns into a half naked, hot mess when she gets shit-faced. The homeless guy’s sign is more likely true than not true.

3. “Why lie? I need money for a cold beer.”
I will not give money to this, but at least its honest. The question is, does honesty pay? Historical evidence says that it does not. You get no cold beer from me.

2. “Bet you can’t hit me with a quarter.”
I actually did this. He didn’t even move, so I threw another one.

And now for number one, drum-roll please.

1. “Ninja’s killed my family, need money for kung fu lessons.”
This guy got an entire dollar out of me for shear originality. I walked passed him, saw the sign and lost it. The guy just put his hand out and I paid. He had me and he knew it.

I have an old school mate who posted the following on Facebook. “I am shocked that people are so accepting of the homeless problem. The homeless is a modern problem.”

Thats so cute. Actually, the social voices of every generation back into the dark ages make comments like that. These voices always live comfortably and are always outraged, but not to the point of giving up their own comforts.

I usually slap down that kind of ridiculous comment whenever possible, however, she is hot, and I am just an evil sexist at heart, so I will continue to be nice, but essentially treat her like hot useless furniture that you might get to sleep with if you bide your time.

Some of you are now laughing, some of you are just pissed. But, ask yourself this.

Are you laughing/angry because its bullshit, or because its true?

Me, I am laughing because I find the whole thing amusing.

But that’s just me.

The long and the short of it is, I started putting a cup out for Juan Carlos the other day, starting it off with a dollar of my own. It has stayed out since, and the money disappears.

See, I am not heartless.

I’m just an asshole.

 
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Posted by on October 5, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Open Seseme…

Oscar the grouch.

Represent, bitches.

Oscar was a grumpy shit way back when. Back when you were young enough to get in trouble for being in a bad mood.

I think it had to do with living in a trash can and being the unspoken homeless guy on the show.

Bert and Ernie had a house and they didn’t seem to have jobs at all. They were either mediocre kids, living without parents or retarded adults who might be gay.

Take your pick.

Back to Oscar.

I seem to end up dealing with the homeless a lot on this blog and I can’t figure out if it is an obsession or just good choices on writing content.

I saw a new Muppet Movie is coming out and it got me thinking about Oscar.

Oscar came at us during a time in our life when we were being bombarded with vanilla, black and white views of life. The cartoons reflected either a good guy or a bad guy. The good guys were always good and the bad guys were always bad.

And then there was Oscar.

Oscar was a good guy that bitched about everything. but everyone seemed to like, and he was just kind of made fun of, but he spoke his mind and was more or less accepted by the majority.

All without getting a time out.

I am seeing scary similarities between myself and Oscar.

And, in a way, I kind of like that.

Oscar pretty much demanded that you accept him and his shitty attitude at face value. He taught us to be pushy and outspoken way before that was allowed by school or our parents.

And never once did he get the recognition.

Hell, some of us have personalities based on it.

Willy the grouch.

Has a nice little ring to it, ay?

When my kids were growing up, I started watching Sesame Street again. I was a little twisted up by it at first.

The Muppets were puppets and never aged, so all my old friends were still vibrant and funny.

But the people changed.

They were older and what was once friendly and helpful was now kind of creepy and moist? and made me afraid to leave my kids alone in the same room with them.

But I got over it and sat with my daughter and clapped and sang. Daddy stuff.

And then your kids grow up and, at least mentally, you put the Muppets on the shelf again.

Until the grand kids show up. Then you can watch again.

And I will still be creeped out by the overly sugary-sweet delivery of the cast of humans then, too.

But the Muppets will still be there.

And, fuzzy pound for fuzzy pound, Kermit the Frog is the elder statesman of childrens television. He kicks the shit out of Spongebob with one thin furry arm held behind his back with a little black stick.

And he will bitch slap Hello Kitty without working up a sweat.

Although, Hello Kitty has a Japanese following that is fanatical and well monied, so maybe that’s a bad comparison.

Getting back to Oscar the Grouch, I like to think he was a roll model for some, if not all of us.

He catered to the inner asshole.

Thank you Oscar.

I would follow you into Muppet hell, you magnificent fuzzy bastard.

 
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Posted by on September 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Its a dirty subject.

I have a friend who is recently divorced and said she was shocked at how guys are just a bunch of horny dicks now.

Now?

I am shocked to find out we were something else back when. Or maybe that was just me.

She was at a local watering hole and met a guy, made an innocent comment that he took in the worst way and proceeded to stalk her for the rest of the night.

And?

I had to take a long moment to understand, or at least try.

And in the end, I had to agree with her, even though it took me a little while longer to get there.

I’m sorry, throw anything resembling dirty or a go ahead at me in a bar when I have a drink in me, and I become a vicious combination of a drink-buying Daddy Warbucks and a horny dog that will follow your around and hump your leg all night.

Just saying.

I think it all breaks down to this.

Its the same sentence for both of us.

Women love sex.

Only to men, it looks like this
Women love SEX

Women, however, see it like this:
Women LOVE sex.

AND WE HAVE NO CLUE.

And its not like we take things out of context or wrong on purpose, we take it wrong because we have no choice.

Its a difference of perspective.

Lets call it the Penis Perspective.

Having a penis is like having a best friend that your parents hate. He gets you in trouble, leaves you hanging sometimes, but every now and then, he comes up with something really cool.

But we can talk about masturbation later.

When a guy is in an environment where he thinks he might have a shot at getting laid, which pretty much means that he is awake and in the vicinity of a woman, his penis begins filtering everything he hears and understands.

Its like being drunk on a liquor called horny.

Yes, its that sad and primitive.

So taking things the wrong way is not a choice, its the only option.

The only one we have.

Guys are the epitome of what your mom use to say.

“If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t say anything.”

That’s true, but care means “Viewed as fuckable” (For the record, I wanted to leave Fuckable out. However, the friend in question loved it and declared it “Word of the Day” So it stays.)

Her other comment was that she was in a place right now that she only wanted some “Me attention”. But, all she seemed to be getting was the “Fuckable attention”.

Its about fifty-fifty in that half the men out there are capable of both types of attention. Unfortunately, the other half can only achieve the “Fuckable attention”.

And theres no way to tell ahead of time.

But, if you are hetero, it is the only game in town.

The only alternative would be to get a gay male friend for the “Me attention” and a high end marital aid with attachments in order to get your “Fuckable” on.

My advice usually sucks, so I normally keep it to myself, but I advised her to go out and play the game her way.

Because dangling the “Fuckable” carrot can get a lot of “Me attention.”

In the Texas Hold-Em game of sex, being a woman is like always having a pair of pocket aces.

For a man to have sex, he just needs to find a woman to say yes. A woman just needs to say yes.

I heard two women in Starbucks the other day, whispering.

Whispering means dirty, and I know this, so I do the discrete adjusting for better listening.

One of the women was complaining that, since her break up, she hadn’t had sex in months and missed it.

WTF?

That amazes me. All she has to do is walk up to a guy, pretty much any guy in a bar, and ask him to go home for some “No strings attached” play time.

And for those reading this that are saying “My man would never do that”. Yes he would and lets not lie to each other here.

I’m just trying to help.

A woman could walk up to 5 different men in a bar and ask them to go have sex and most likely 5 out of 5 would green light it.

However, a man could walk up to 5 different women and ask the same.

Mace is usually involved at this point.

Not that I have ever done this, but when one of the 5 does say yes?

Its like magic.

 
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Posted by on August 19, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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