THE TOUCHY-FEELY POST

Some women accuse me of never talking about myself or my personal life. I find this to be quite puzzling considering every single thing ever written in the history of the human race ever has gone something a little like this (I did some research):

Messopotamia c. 200o BCE:
"Lulbula sat idle in the mountains; in the faraway places. He is wise and achieves many exploites. Lulbula went to the carnelian mountains of seven mouths. Lulbula fed sheeps fat to the Anzud chick and smeared fat on its beak. Enlil joined Lulbula on the mountain with sparkling eyes. Enlil had cedar affixed to her head. Lulbula and Enlil talked where no cypris grow. Enlil spoke of Dumuzi's holy butter churn and reed-arrows like moonlight. Lulbula spoke no words. Enlil was pleased and placed her Lion Helmet on the head of Lulbula."

Greece c. 5th Century BCE:
A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in. A man who does not speak but asks many questions shall father many children.

Rome - Ovid - 43 BCE:
Jupiter from on high laughs at lovers' perjuries. Hold your tongue so that she may speak of herself, for at night there is no such thing as an ugly woman.

China 140 CE:
Wise is the man who lets his wife speak. With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes satin. With time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.

Scene II in the Capulet's Orchard carries twice as many lines for Juliet as it does for Romeo. Does Romeo get laid (in the Shakespearean sense, of course)? Yes he does. Coincidence? Perhaps not.

And then there's my personal favorite:
"The problem most men have is... they just plain straight up have no clue how to talk to women. Just ask a question, okay? That's it. Because women do not care about what you have to say... at all, anyway, you know. And all they want to do is talk about themselves. So you're just gonna let them do that, okay? So remember, ask questions, be cool, and be kind of a dick. Here... be David Caruso in Jade."

So, there's where it is. I got lazy in the middle there, but we ended on a high note. And if you're still wondering if I'm one of those Bastard-covered Bastards with Bastard filling, and I have an icy-dead tree stump where my heart should be, I'll tell you this: today I found a dead dog by the side of the creek. It looked like he had just up and decided it was his time, and you know what? He laid himself down, chased one last car in his doggie-imagination, and went to sleep forever. That shit made me pretty sad, you know? But he looked like a good 'ol dog to me. So I figure he's chasing cars in doggie heaven, and that's a pretty good thought on a Tuesday.

...More...

GHOST OF ROOMDRAW

The last couple of days weeks months have gone by in a bit of a whirlwind, with the majority of my sleep coming in short bursts while I chew, bathe, or try to slow things down in bed. Powernaps, while somewhat refreshing, still require time in which I am not talking to someone important or driving. I submit to you that the following story could very well be a figment of my fallow imagination, though I prefer to enjoy it on a "reality based" level.

The story begins thusly:

Picture me as a freshman in college, cocksure, charming, Billy Idol haircut. I have a bottle of Pick 'N Save vodka on my desk, a lemon, and a stack of sugar packets I stole from food service the day before. There is also a svelte, redheaded ultimate frisbee player in my room. I became aware of her thong at shot #7 (did not see, but became aware of). Sometime between shots #12 and #14 I remember thinking to myself, am I almost too drunk to perform? wow! College is kewl! Then there was a temporary loss of traction near or around key elements of my anatomy, I think, and some sweating, a little cursing, possibly some giggling (or name-calling), then kind of a grey + red blur for 20 - 90 minutes or so, and perhaps I may have done a couple lines of Sweet 'N Low. I think.

Anyway, turns out she had a boyfirend. It made the next three years kinda awkward.

Fast forward a little to the end of Junior year during the sinister horrorshow bloodbath that is the housing draw, where lifelong friendships are torn to pieces, bribery and threats of violence mingle with the desperate pleading of underclassmen, and the trading of human capital hearkens back to a sadder American age (if we can get the quint, I'll take the two Sophomores, but if we don't, I'm ditching one so we can get the quad by the gym).

As you may have already guessed, these two events are somewhat connected. For you see, the jilted boyfriend from freshman year sent spies into our super-secret housing draw caucus (midnight on the 4th full moon after the Equinox) to steal our strategy. At the last minute he scraped together 5(!) random people to steal our sextet right out from under our noses, forcing us to reshuffle and improvise a sub-par plan B.

Now I know, and when I see him again? Some motherfucker's going down. Housing Draw is forever, bitches.

...More...