Alive at IHOP 1917. Sorta.

These are my ideal coffee-drinking companions. Unfortunately, they were too busy to come hang out tonight...


Unfortunately, I'm sitting in the smoking section with these two dipshit metalhead pseudo-intellectuals. The only thing worse than listening to pseudo-intellectuals is listening to teenage dipshit metalhead pseudo-intellectals. They are much louder and as smart as they purport themselves to be, they still sound like loud, pretentious Jeff Spicolis.

Oh shit, the bald one with the long ponytail is talking about Buddhism. And his "dharma". Fuck you, shithead. You're eighteen years old, don't know shit about shit, and pull up your pants!!!

The soundtrack for this evening's proceedings has gone like this so far...

"Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper
"Red, Red Wine" by UB40
"Walk Like and Egyptian" by the Bangles

The Bangles are acceptable. But those other two songs defeat me.

Ah, hell. Now Dumb and Dumber are talking about their "hungry spirits" and how doctors are full of shit and they don't know how to truly "heal humanity".

Oklahoma City--Two teenagers were left dead after being beaten to death by an angry patron at the International House of Pancakes on Northwest Expressway and Classen Avenue. The two victims were bludgeoned severely by the suspect with a Dell laptop computer. While other patrons lauded the use of "long overdue vigilante justice", Oklahoma City Police contend that the slaying of "shitheads", no matter how seemingly justified, is still a serious crime.

I read an article today about how 50,000 currently active U.S. military servicemen and women were going to have their service commitments extended against their will. Ah yes, another gold star for our fearless and verbally-challenged president. What I really want is a president who will take a true leadership role in eliminating our true enemies at home--starting with these two assholes to the right of my table.

Shall I go ahead and jump on the obvious bandwagon?

It's funny that my inclination to be more right-wing in my thinking and tactics is directly proportional to how annoyed I am by the shithead youth of America.


Kenny Rogers was just on. And I find nothing wrong with Kenny Rogers.

So now, for what I'm really on here for tonight. I am here, children of the congregation, to backtrack from my silly, girlish rant from the other night.

I read into things that weren't really there, as many of you so enjoyed pointing out to me. Terms like "lame", "whiner", "paranoid", "idiot", "girl", and "bitch" were all used to help describe either myself or my sentiments on Tuesday by you, my caring and loyal readers.

And I can't really disagree. I've calmed down a lot since then. So what is jingle jangle jingling around that Puerto brain of mine this evening?

Ah yes, "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benetar is now on...

Well, I am at peace because I now view all of this with Candy Girl for what it truly is: A casual thing.

And "casual" is not a four letter word. In fact, it is a six letter word. I just counted. You see, the entire proposition of dating this girl was a referendum on whether or not I could successfully transition from casual encounters to casual dating in the great mystical journey of recovery from the Great Big Bad of 2005. Unfortunately, I took the first seemingly negative development and made it a referendum on the entire subject of hope in terms of future relations with women. Of course in reality, it was nothing nearly that epic. It rarely ever is. I suppose that everything that happened last year seemed so epic in the grand scheme of my existence, I'm having to learn to live and relate simply again. I am having to learn to deal with normal (or normaler) women--something I don't have much practice at.

Candy Girl is just a girl. And I am just a boy. A damn fine, tasteful, intelligent boy. But a boy nonetheless. And all we're doing is getting to know each other. All I've claimed to want for the last little while is simplicity. A girl to hang out with, make out with, talk with, etc. and blah diddy blah blah blah. My problem is that I somehow balked when simplicity (which sometimes means a normal human conveyance of fear) was staring me in the face, if even for the briefest of evenings.

On Friday, Candy Girl invited me over to hang out with her at a friend's place that she was housesitting for. She was wearing sweats, a t-shirt, and funny socks to go with her cute, black-rimmed indie glasses. We ate pizza, watched Comedy Central, and then watched Spaceballs until she, who had gotten no sleep the night before, fell asleep in my arms. A kiss goodnight, we parted ways, and I felt the way a boy should feel:

Happy, though hoping for a next time. I wasn't too anxious or high or low. I was even.

Peace accompanied me to sleep that evening and I felt that I had learned something important about all that is going on with me. I've met someone I enjoy spending time with. But if I never see her again, it will all be alright. Sure, I'll be disappointed. But I will be the same person and I will still believe that hope exists. Even for a dumbass like me. I will still get up tomorrow, go to work, go out with friends, and wait for the next revelation/disaster/encounter/epiphany. Such is life. And life is a business that's rolling right now, no matter what I may think...

Having said all that, I may need someone to bail me out and find me a good attorney after I'm done with these two idiot kids...



Song of the Day: "Let Me Go"

Artist: Rancid

Album: "Rancid (2000)"

Lyric of Possible Relevance:

"Correction, I need no direction
Oh let me go just one last time
I spend my whole life searching for direction
Oh let me go just one last time."