It took one month to find someone willing to go on a date with me, and one night for them to decide they never wanted to see me again.
I had been in town for a few weeks and was ready to meet some ladies. After hearing all the horror stories about the pretentiousness of LA women and seeing the low dollar amount in my bank account, I was hesitant. Eventually, I met a nice girl while at a bar in Westwood. She was tall, attractive, and for some reason was interested in me.
A back and forth of flirtatious phone calls and instant messages ensued. Then, going against everything I ever stood for musically, I accompanied her and two of her friends to a line dancing bar deep in the valley. We continued to hit it off, so I made a move and asked her on an official date.
Of course, I wanted to keep it casual, so I used the term “hang out” just in case she said no. She agreed and I began planning for our night out. My main obstacle was money. I was working my first PA gig and had low funds. How could I woo my lady while pinching pennies?
Instead of coming up with something creative and romantic, I went with in-your-face frugality.
My date came to the frat house, ready for a night on the town. I told her I knew a place nearby with a great all-day happy hour on Wednesdays. She was game, so we got in my car and drove to Del Taco since it was 3 tacos for $1 night.
I ordered and ate nine soft tacos. She downed a modest three. Ever the gentleman, I paid for our bill which was about $7.50 after drinks and taxes.
Not ready for the night to be over, I invited her back to the frat house to continue the “hang out.” She agreed, so I figured my blatant poorness wasn’t a turn off.
I escorted her to my room and shut the door, wedging the Phillips-head screwdriver into the slot where the chain lock was supposed to be so we could have some privacy. The buzzing of a lit neon sign added extra ambiance. We sat on my air mattress and watched a “How I Met Your Mother” rerun that got minimal static when the rabbit ears atop my television were placed just so.
With all my ducks in a row, I made my move. We made out for a while until she was suddenly tired and had to leave. I walked her out and kissed her good night, suggesting another date. She agreed, then blew me off the next few times I contacted her before I finally gave up.
Disappointed, I analyzed our relationship and wondered why her attitude abruptly changed. The possibilities were endless, but in the end I came to the conclusion that she must have been a Taco Bell kind of girl.
While driving in Los Feliz recently, my car was struck by a runaway avocado that bounced off a rickety fruit truck while my vehicle passed it. I saw it coming, but didn’t have enough reaction time to swerve. The result was a loud noise and a hole in the driver’s side headlight of my 2001 Pontiac Grand-Am.
There wasn’t enough time to turn around and get the license plate of the prick who doesn’t know how to secure the fruit with one of the biggest, hardest seeds known to man while he drives 10 miles above the speed limit. I did, however, have time to be thankful that the avocado didn’t bounce up another foot and smash through my windshield, which could have potentially killed me.
Like all people, I’ve envisioned how I might leave this world. Most of these visions involve me dying while engaged in a threesome with two women who didn’t make the cut to be one of Charlie Sheen’s goddesses. In none of these scenarios has a fruit of any kind been involved, unless you count an alcohol induced nightmare in which I was killed by a coked out Andy Dick.
Thankfully, the damage was minimized to my headlight. A mere flesh wound for a car that has survived a cross-country trip, two rear-endings, and countless sexual disappointments by its driver.
I was at a Mexican restaurant in Sylmar after a round of disc golf a couple weeks ago and came upon the greatest hairstyle in the history of mankind. Or humankind if you’d like me to be more politically correct. Though I always hate when people say humankind since the traditional meaning of “mankind” factors in both sexes, so saying humankind is just a bunch of bullshit.
Anyways, the woman was face to face with me, and the true scope of her wondrous hair was not realized until she turned sideways to feed her child. Upon doing so, this is what I witnessed:
Turned sideways, her giant, wave-breaking-on-the-shore curl was exposed. Many thoughts ran through my head concerning how she got her hair to curl that way. Beer can? Tree stump? Her husband’s girthy genitalia?
I hope for it being the result of hair-banging her better-half, but my practical side says she did it with an empty Coors Light. Either way, I’ll appreciate this woman’s avant-garde approach to hairstyle innovations and think of her the next time I body surf.
My roommate and several friends raved about Nutella, but I had never eaten it. A few days went by and it sat in my pantry until I had a hankering for a midnight snack.
I settled on a toasted English Muffin with Nutella spread. It was delicious and my life will never be the same. Its blend of chocolatey, hazelnutty goodness filled my taste buds with joy. How I went 26 years without ever trying this treat is a mystery that will never be solved because I’ll be too busy eating Nutella with everything that it could possibly be spread on. Any food or object would be better if it were covered in Nutella.
Toast. Fruits. Celery sticks. My roommate’s bald head. Carrots. Cardboard. Salad. Styrofoam cups. Sexual partners. More Nutella.
I could go on, but then I’d just end up naming every object in the universe and that would be a waste of everyone’s time.
Until I had my first bite of Nutella, I felt a lot like Britney Spears in the song “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman,” in that I did not have the necessary life experience to be called an adult until I peeled the seal from the Nutella jar and plunged my butter knife into it. Now, I am one step closer to entering manhood.
And one step closer to licking Nutella off a bald man’s head.
We’ve all heard many magical stories about the wonders of Craigslist. While I’ve only been an intermittent user over the years, friends of mine have found love, goods, jobs, and apartments from the site. I decided to give the site a shot and post an ad in the personals section. If you can’t find true happiness on an anonymous classified ad site, where can you find it?
It was immediately following the Super Bowl, when Denny’s advertised free Grand Slam breakfasts to customers who went to any Denny’s location throughout the United States. I crafted a personal ad that was funny, thought provoking, classy, and sexually arousing. And now, I post it on my blog for you:
Subject: Looking for a lady to enjoy a free Grand Slam breakfast with! (M4W – 26)
If you watched the Super Bowl, you saw the Denny’s advertisement stating that the restaurant chain is giving free Grand Slam Breakfasts from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Tuesday. There are two things I enjoy most in life: Grand Slam breakfasts and the company of a lovely lady. I’d like to combine the two into one fun event, and that’s where you come in.
Let’s meet up at a Denny’s in the Hollywood area and have a free meal together. Hopefully we’ll have a couple laughs and, if we get along, a new friendship. I’m a cool, fun guy and I guarantee that we’ll have some good conversation. And even if you don’t like me, at least you get a tasty meal and a good, healthy start to the day.
I’ve posted my picture. If you’re interested, please send me a reply with your photo. I have a hat on in my pic, but I promise a full head of hair lies beneath my baseball cap. Now let’s go get some scrambled eggs.
I was sure that the replies would soon come in by the thousands. I was wrong. It soon became apparent that I miscalculated the amount of women in the greater Los Angeles area that would be willing to accompany me for a free breakfast. One person replied, and it was fake.
My ad expired after two weeks with no legitimate replies, and I marked the occasion by laying on my bed in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth, knowing that I’ll likely die alone.
Jack In The Box released their “Mini Sirloin Burgers” a few weeks back and the buzz has become an unstoppable force. Thanks to the genius marketing campaign and a catchy tune, you can’t escape from it. The question is: Does the burger live up to the hype?
I left work a bit early and drove to the nearest Jack In The Box. After a long, stressful day at the office, nothing comforts better than some greasy fast food. My hands were trembling with anticipation as I ordered from the middle-aged Latino who ran the register.
“Mini sirloin burger meal please!” I said with a genial smile.
He nodded with a knowing smirk, understanding what a milestone this was. I waited a few moments and my meal came. The first bite went into my mouth as the other two parties in the restaurant enjoyed their food. An asian mother and son enjoying time together, and another man across the room who ordered a taco.
“Everything She Wants” by Wham! provided delightful eatin’ music, and I bit into the first of my three mini burgers in tune with the song. Both me and the guy across the room rocked back and forth, grooving with the song.
The food was enjoyable, though the burgers were bare. They were dressed with a little barbeque sauce and American cheese. The same kind of toppings as a $1 McDonalds cheeseburger. The actual beef was juicy and tender, and overall, the burgers were on par with other Jack in the Box menu items. That being said, the hype and the actual meal did not match.
By the time both the Wham! song and my meal were finished, I couldn’t help but notice the parallels between the group’s front man, George Michael and the burgers. Wham! had lots of hype, commercial appeal and glitz, but it wasn’t until George Michael left the band to become a solo artist that he was respected critically AND commercially. He made bigger hits solo.
The sirloin burger would work well as it’s own normal sized burger, maybe with a slice of lettuce and tomato on it, to enhance the flavor. But, the hype machine will serve the mini burgers well, just like Michael adding some facial hair and a leather jacket made him the major sex symbol of the late 1980s.
And also like George Michael, it comes down to the fact that I’d rather have one big slab of meat in my mouth instead of three little ones.<–>