Bleh

Wed, 1 Sep 2010 22:40:27 -0400

I’m in kind of a bad mood and am trying to soldier through it with thoughts of the fun in store this weekend. I’m spending the whole time at Dragon*Con, the annual sci-fi/fantasy/comix convention that’s a slightly smaller version of the great San Diego Comic-Con. There will be geeks and dorks and nerds galore, and I can’t wait to be among my people.

Most of the fun of DC apparently involves A) hanging out in one of the hotel lobbies, laughing at people, B) hanging out in a nearby bar, laughing at people or C) partying. All of which is, by and large, free. But I decided to go all-out for my first Con and bought a badge, which will allow me access to the panels and seminars. And then if I don’t think it’s worth it, next year I’ll just do the free stuff.

This is also the latest step in my long-awaited plan to kidnap Ben Browder, stuff him bodily into the trunk of my car and bend him to my will. Stay tuned.

In other news, boys are still stupid.

‘Men are scum, darlin’

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 22:00:52 -0400

As spoken by my father, in an almost-apologetic “what are you going to do?” tone, in one of his most memorable lessons to me.

Brad, as it turns out, has some issues.

This is not the forum to air said issues, though if you really want to know, you can e-mail me, and I’ll be happy to speculate at length about their specifics and origins. No, let us suffice to say that he has them, and I would be willing to help him tackle them if he would let me, but he won’t. So we go our separate ways.

We texted off and on when we got back into town, and I badgered him into agreeing to hang out with me on Monday. But before it could get to that point, I was at a shindig at Emanuella’s on Saturday night when we started texting again. He was at a friend’s birthday dinner and bored. We decided to meet at Cafe Intermezzo, a slightly snooty restaurant/coffee house/bar in south Buckhead.

He was drunk when he got there (via taxi). We were having a good time, laughing and being stupid as usual. At one point a group stopped next to our table on their way to get settled at the table behind ours, and some dude’s butt was treacherously close to my face. Only when he turned to sit down did I realize it was Stevie Wonder. Brad freaked a little bit because, as he said, “‘Part Time Lover’ is only the greatest song ever!”

He was mentioning a bit more than usual how he’s an asshole, I shoudn’t be wasting my time with him, etc., but I didn’t really think much of it.

Let’s pause here to note how borking crazy it makes me when guys say that. It goes back to college, when I was often told how I should be dating other people rather than the person in question, and it infuriates me even more now. If you don’t want to hang out with me for whatever reason, say so. Don’t make it out to be my problem when it’s clearly your problem. I know you have faults, whether they’re insecurity or narcissism or pure assholeness, and yet I’m here anyway. Because I want to be. If I want to leave, I will. Until then, don’t tell me what to do.

We resume a couple hours later, and I’m leaving out some details here because it’s a family blog, sorry. I insisted on giving him a ride home, a mile or two up Peachtree, because I could not imagine him walking that far in his condition. His mood swung wildly between playful and stupid and angry. He continued to insist, more often and with increasing urgency, that he’s an asshole and a douchebag, and we shouldn’t hang out anymore. I was just focused on getting him somewhere he wouldn’t do any damage.

His mood really tanked on the drive home, even though I had been telling him that I don’t care if he’s a jerk; I enjoy spending time with him, and all I want to do is hang out and have a little fun, not go pick out china patterns. He wasn’t hearing it. I semi-seriously told him, “Well, it was nice knowing you, then.”

So when I pulled up to his door, he sort of halfheartedly waved a hand at me and said, “Yeah, handshake, kiss, whatever ... but drive safely, seriously,” and got out. I was angry and confused, but I knew he was in no state to discuss matters, so I went home.

In my kitchen, I texted him: “I just have three things to say. One, nothing you said could have infuriated me more than that I shouldn’t be hanging out with you. Two, that I’m sorry you feel that way, because I really like hanging out with you, asshole or no, so let me know if you change your mind. Three, I made it home fine, thank you.” No response.

The next morning, I tried one last time: “Just checking: Does sober Brad agree with drunk Brad about not hanging out again?” His reply: “Yes.” Me: “Okay then.”

Fin.

I’m going to close on two comments, both of which begin with “What’s the flipping deal with ...”

Guys who tell you that all they want is to find a girl over 30 who’s smart, never married and not on psychotherapeutic drugs, but when they actually find one, they freak out?
Guys who “aren’t dating right now”? Did I mention that? Add him to the list of men of my acquaintance who have sworn off dating, for whatever reason. As I’ve said, both to my friends and to them, it really just means “I’m not dating right now ... until I meet somebody who makes me change my mind.” Grr.

Bong bong beach

Mon, 16 Aug 2010 22:29:33 -0400

The beach was, as expected, lovely. No drama or craziness, just sleeping and eating and swimming and drinking and playing games. The guys went through a massive bottle of Scotch, and I found true love in a bottle of Three Olives bubble gum-flavored vodka. Curt came almost directly from visiting family in Maine and brought three live lobsters with him, so those were dinner one night. Plus we tried a new game, Things, which will surely be added to our repertoire.

We all hated to leave, but we gots to pay dem bills. My pictures are here, and Ken’s are here.

And before I left, I got in a date with Brad. We had dinner at Goin’ Coastal, this new sustainable seafood place in the village where Figo (RIP) used to be. Then we tried to play some pool at the Independent, but the tables were all taken, so we just sat and drank vodka. It was very nice. He didn’t talk about himself nearly as much as he had at East Andrews, although I did discover that when he gets truly drunk, he just rambles on -- sometimes at volume -- about totally random stuff.

We texted all weekend but haven’t made any more plans. Will I see him again? I think so. I hope so. But I guess you never know with these things.

Mohammed and the mountain

Thu, 5 Aug 2010 22:38:02 -0400

So this is the new, more aggressive me getting results.

Friday night, I had dinner with Christina at MetroFresh, and then we met up with Natalie and Paula at East Andrews, an extraordinarily douchey club in extraordinarily douchetastic Buckhead. We were there to see Yacht Rock, a local band with a huge following among the prepsters of Atlanta; they do '70s and '80s cover songs and really rock it, I have to say.

It was absolutely packed. I spotted a couple other friends but couldn't possibly make my way over to them. There was barely enough room to dance a little. A few songs in, I started noticing this group in front of us: two blonde girls, a dark-haired guy who looked about 12 and a cute guy in a gray polo and jeans, with a shaved head. He was very tall, about 6'2", and kept turning around to make sure we could see. Finally he just had us come stand in front of him. Natalie and Christina insisted that he was checking me out. Meanwhile one of the girls kept leaning over to us and shouting, "He's a really great guy!" And then eventually they headed back toward the main bar.

I waited for them to come back during the intermission, but nada. Then Christina came back from the bar behind us and indicated that he was there. Before I could talk myself out of it, I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper from my bag. It was too loud to talk, so I pushed through the crowd, smiled at him, handed him the paper and walked away.

Please note that I have never ever ever done anything like that. Meekness, c'est moi. But I guess I was caught up in the music and the fun and figured, worst case, he never calls.

I enjoyed the rest of the show, and we were dancing to the DJ afterward when I spotted them again. I edged closer, but nothing happened. Then they went to the main bar, and I thought I'd seen Christina go that way, so I followed to look for her. I stood nearby and chatted with Natalie and some guy she'd picked up, and nothing happened. I dithered. Natalie kept nudging me that direction. So finally I walked over, stuck out a hand and said, "Hi, what's your name?"

It was Brad, as it turns out. We talked about Haiti and the ground zero mosque and a bunch of other randomness. We danced to Usher and Salt n' Pepa. We smooched, and that's all I'm going to say about that.

So I left and figured I'd never hear from him again, but then he texted me last night (while apologizing profusely for texting instead of calling, because he said it had been a rough weekend and he wasn't up to being witty on the phone). We chatted for like three hours; he's a CPA, 35, originally from Atlanta, went to college at Tennessee and grad school at Georgia State. We made plans to meet up next week, after we both get back from out of town.

The best part was when I said I couldn't remember the last time I'd given someone my number (not strictly true; I exchanged numbers via Bump with a drunk guy at the bowling alley last weekend, but that doesn't count), and he said he didn't quite believe me because I seem like such a player. Lols.

Woot! Look at me with a real date!

Speaking of out of town ... The lovely Ken took some initiative and booked a house on St. George Island, off Apalachicola, Florida. It's smaller than last year's, but there are only seven of us (and Henry the dog) going. He also made a spreadsheet for us to list what we're bringing and who's driving, because he's Ken. Leaving Thursday morning. Cannot. Wait.

Ohai

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 21:52:16 -0400

So, I guess it’s been a while.

Updates:

Work is fine. When things get stupid, I remind myself how happy I am to have a job.
Amy has left for her dream job, teaching journalism at the University of Florida.
I’ve been hanging out with some new pals, like Rachel from our spectacularly mediocre spring kickball team, and Annie (co-worker Nick’s fiancee) and her frends Natalie and Paula, in addition to co-workers Christina and Emanuella. I’m just trying to get out of the house more often in general. So far, it’s working pretty well.
Kyle got a promotion and seems happier than in a long while. We’ve been hanging out all the time, and I consider him one of my dearest friends.
Eliott and I have had some ups and downs, but I think things are going to be fine. He continues to party harder than everyone else I know put together, and yet he manages to be a (mostly) responsible adult. It’s something to behold.
I just spent a long weekend in Little Rock, visiting with my parents and old school pals Erika and Heather in addition to Jennifer and Patrick and the world’s most awesome godson. Unfortunately Jen’s mom is really sick, but she’s hanging in there like the tough old broad that she is (and she would be the first to laugh at that, so).
Mom retired last month but still manages to work almost as much as she did beforehand. She and Dad marked their 40th anniversary. In honor of both, we’re going on a weeklong tour of Italy and then a weeklong Mediterranean cruise in November.
We’re still planning a beach trip in two weeks, though Lord only knows whether we’ll find a place or just end up camping out in Manav’s living room and running through the sprinkler all day. The place from last year is unfortunately oily at the moment, and everything else is booked solid.
I’m also planning to visit Amy in Gainesville at some point, as well as a trip to Dubai and then Bali in March.

And now I leave you (hopefully not for as long this time) with Kyle’s and my latest venture, which I have dubbed the Metagame. It involves predicting movies’ scores on Rotten Tomatoes.

The rules:
1. Predicted metascores are locked in two weeks before release date.
2. Participants alternate revealing their predictions first.
3. At noon one week after release, participants check the metascore on Rotten Tomatoes.
4. Points are added based on the difference between the prediction and the actual metascore.
5. 20 points are taken off the total if a person's prediction is within 5 percentage points of the metascore.
6. The winner is the person with the fewest points.
7. Loser buys the winner a DVD ($15 maximum) and a ticket to the movie of the winner's choosing. Loser also must attend movie of winner's choosing.

The movies:
"Step Up 3-D," August 6
"The Expendables," August 13
"Eat Pray Love," August 13
"The American," September 1
"Machete," September 3
"Resident Evil: Afterlife," September 10
"Devil," September 17
"Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps," September 24
"The Social Network", October 1
"Paranormal Activity 2," October 22

The predictions so far:
"Step Up 3-D"
Katherine: 24 percent
Comments: Why do they bother having dialogue in these movies? I've seen porn with better lines. Also, men should not wear v-neck t-shirts.
Kyle: 19 percent
Comments: The 3-D will be both a curse and a blessing. It will make this a salvageable form of entertainment, but I suspect it spends so much time trying to maximize its cool 3-D effects that the story/dialogue/acting sucks worst than the first two Step Ups. And that chick is hot.