Our Thursday

Quick Book Update

Dave Glenn — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:35:01 +0000

As many of you know, I published my book a couple weeks ago. In the coming weeks, it will be available on Kindle, and I will also be releasing an audio book read by the one and only Dave Axe.

In the meantime, the retail price days have come and gone, and the book is now $9.95. Loaded with all new content, you’d be unquestionably insane to not own a copy. On a serious note, I’m not looking to make any money off all this (A teacher salary suits me just fine). Just looking to get my words circulating through the occasional bookshelf for centuries to come. Go to amazon stat and check it out here.

I want to thank you all for your support over the years. You help put me on the map and kept the journey alive.

D…

10 Things About Praying Mantises

Rebecca Pardess — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 20:36:55 +0000

Insects make many of us want to light ourselves on fire, and understandably so. Spiders (technically not insects but just go with it) are nightmares on eight legs that climb into your mouth while you sleep, and cockroaches are bullets of septic waste. June bugs float in your iced tea in the summer and moths molest your genitals. The jury is still out on bees, but only because their vomit is delicious. Butterflies are morons.

But there’s one bug that’s totally bitchin’: The praying mantis. At first glance they appear as pious pocket Martians with their green, triangular heads and grace-giving hands. However, they’re so much more.

1. You and I are more alien than these little dudes. They’ve been on Earth for .3 million years, which means their abuelos hung out with stegosauruses.

2. They have one designated ear located between their legs for the sole purpose of detecting bats. Just like Chaka Khan.

3. Praying hands? More like, preying hands! Their endearing green limbs are actually sharp, thorny claws for crushing unsuspecting lunch meat like wasps, tarantulas, small birds and your teacup poodle.

4. Males can mount females for 24 hours! But don’t go trolling for mantises yet, Ladies and Gents. It’s only because …

5. De-mounting results in post-coital cannibalism. “Oh yeah! Don’t stop!”

6. They’re out to kill Aladdin.

7. They can see up to 50 feet away with their sets of five eyes.

8. They win Oscars!

9. Their heads can rotate 180 degrees.

10. They ask themselves, “what if?”

So before you run away in terror or point a can of Aqua Net at a mantis in your vicinity, take a moment to remember that really, they’re not so different from you or me or Tilda Swinton.

16 Days Into 2012, Procrastinator Announces Favorite Albums of 2011

My Quite — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:48:04 +0000

Chalk it up to a gradual cultural apathy that grows with age, a soul-numbing breakup, or the fact that I spent the last six months listening to nothing but Springsteen, but there’s little doubt in my mind that I discovered less new music in 2011 than in recent years. Thankfully, a deluge of heartbreak, euphoria, stress and experimentation spread over the year opened my ears to an increased array of sounds.

Anyway, I’ve put this off long enough— without further ado, my 20 favorite albums of 2011 (and a few others), in 140 characters or less:

Honorable mentions certainly worth a listen:

The Weeknd - House of Balloons

Grouplove – Never Trust a Happy Song

The Vaccines - What Did You Expect From the Vaccines?

Deer Tick - Divine Providence

Little Dragon - Ritual Union

20. Dawes - Nothing Is Wrong

First of several entries with a common theme: “More-than-decent sophomore discs which hardly hold up to predecessors, yet still trump most.”

19. Washed Out - Within and Without

I’m unapologetic in acknowledging I’m happier in a relationship. This mix makes me loathe my single status a whole lot less, however.

18. Yuck - S/T

Remember the ’90s? This catchy assortment of tight little jams should bring it all back nicely. Sadly, POGs sold separately.

17. Jay-Z & Kanye West - Watch the Throne

Learning Hova named his new daughter ‘Blue Ivy’ in reference to his Blueprint albums + Roman numerals for 4 (IV): good for a bump-up.

16. Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues

Something indefinable kept me from falling madly in love with this album. A beautiful collection of ornate, poignant folk, nonetheless.

15. Cults – S/T

Tooth-achingly sweet with more hooks than a bait shop; I’m shocked it’s still in my constant rotation and not played out months ago.

14. Diego Garcia - Laura

Elefant frontman Garcia takes his act solo as romantic guitar & seductive strings sing his sadness. This Laura chick must’ve fucked up. Bad.

13. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - Belong

Doubting POBPAH could do much to improve on their eponymous debut? You’ll find yourself hooked on this slightly poppier second take, too.

12. The Dustbowl Revival - Holy Ghost Station

If you still haven’t heard Dustbowl, let’s hang out. We’ll see ‘em in Venice, Echo Park, my buddy’s backyard, any which way the wind blows.

11. Smith Westerns - Dye It Blonde

Vastly more produced than their first go-around; quick, infectious record dripping in Lennon influence. Look no further than ‘Imagine, Pt 3′

10. M83 - Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming

Well behind on M83, who’ll probably never receive adequate praise from me. That being said, this is a staggering double dose of electronica.

9. Bon Iver - S/T

If you’re anything like me (requiring music to fall asleep), this is a must. Prefer For Emma, Forever Ago, but comparably pastoral, serene.

8. Cut Copy - Zonoscope

Matching 2008′s In Ghost Colours seemed impossible, very well may be the case. Opener ‘Need You Now’ maybe CC’s best track to date, though.

7. Girls - Father, Son, Holy Ghost

Given the way my love affair with San Francisco blossomed in 2011, only fitting I include this impressive follow up from these native sons.

6. The Decemberists - The King Is Dead

Ironically, I’d all but left the Decemberists for dead after 2009′s Hazards of Love, convinced they wouldn’t put out a decent record again.

5. Tennis - Cape Dory

Charming, breezy and clocking in at just over 28 minutes, this debut had me longing for Atlantic beaches as it melted my winter into summer.

4. The Black Keys - El Camino

Just because the Keys are now part of the mainstream (UGH!) doesn’t mean their rock’s gotten any less forceful, memorable or downright sexy.

3. Youth Lagoon - The Year of Hibernation

Cascading synths and echoing vocals lathered over soaring crescendos and lush melodies make for a sublime escape.

2. Okkervil River - I Am Very Far

Seeing Will Sheff & Co. play Tucson’s Rialto in June was drunk, nostalgic bliss; I’m hard pressed to name a finer current singer-songwriter.

1. Beirut - The Rip Tide

Parents, please expose your kids to genuinely gifted musicians like Zach Condon before they’re even old enough to know what a Katy Perry is.

>>DOWNLOAD: My Quite’s 2011 Mixtape

My Quite is in no way qualified to write about, talk about, or dole out advice on music. To be perfectly honest, he’s surprised he’s even permitted by law to wax it on the internet—and EVERYTHING’S legal on the internet! He knows the Bon Iver LP is better than he lets on. He knows Radiohead put out a great record in 2011 called King of Limbs, but he still prefers their more melodic fare, like OK Computer and The Bends and In Rainbows. He doesn’t really mind Adele that much; he just can’t help but imagine most of her songs are about a Meat Lover’s Pizza. These and other reasons are why this list is clearly marked his “favorite” albums, not “the best.” If you haven’t listened to certain selections, he’ll be pleased if you check them out. If you don’t, he really has no way of knowing, unless you go out of your way to tell him personally that you aren’t listening to his recommendations, in which case you’re, well, kind of a dick. He hopes you get some grade-A booty as a direct consequence of the mix he’s included, because God only knows he won’t. My Quite is hereby entitled to 10% of said grade-A booty received, at his discretion.

5 Things I Love About L.A. [Bonus Material]

Matt Zbrog — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 03:07:17 +0000

Brian’s blog yesterday gave a Michael Vick-like view on dogs. Many animals expressed disapproval. It’s okay. Sit. Stay. Listen. You’re in for a treat.

THE REASONS

1. My Building feels like a dormitory for troubled youth with a propensity for creative behavior. At any given time, at least one apartment is crackling with activity – but never someone’s TV. If I want to see a DJ work on her next mixtape, a chef prepare her recipe list, a band jam before tour, or a horticulturalist plant his next strain – uh, then I… go do that. I use my knuckles to double-click on their door. While being there, I inevitably learn something about their human experience, and thus, something about mine, which adds to the experience. We chat, with our mouths.

2. The Beach – I live 50 feet from the sand. I’ve always lived in close proximity to the ocean. I can’t live without it. You hear it all the time. Waves crashing, the volume scrolls up and down randomly. The whitewash rolling across itself in the background like white noise or Rice Krispies (sp?). The water and the sun change people’s moods. Everyone here is on vacation when it’s sunny, especially the people who sleep in their shoes. I deal with a lot of stress indoors, on screens. I don’t deal with any outside. I don’t take smoke breaks so much as reality breaks. Ten minutes from my door, in the sun, I’m a different person. Gasp of air. I usually meet an actual new person, too, because I smile at people.

3. The Boardwalk is as much of an entity as the beach. It is a creature that sleeps like the sun. It has moods. I wake up to the sounds either Hendrix on loudspeaker or a live, acapella version of Lil Wayne’s ‘ Six Foot Seven’ done by the Jamaicans on the boardwalk. ’If it’s sunny, it’s summer.’ Clack of clay wheels on pavement – carts and skates. This is Dogtown and we have our own economy. The skeleton is made up of pot collectives and tattoo shops – our population is highly docile, but dedicated. We live in peace, we will defend ourselves.

The boardwalk dresses up differently all the time. Ads. Spraypaint. Murals. Graffiti. She changes clothes constantly, but she’s got perfect taste. She’s art.

4a. The Alleys (Day)

My first love was film. They’re shooting all the time here. Even though I don’t watch many, I’m always walking through a set. Lighting rigs. Actresses in sundresses. Director screaming cut. PAs funneling traffic and escorting the way-too-real-people out. No one minds the disruption, because the industry pays the city. Locals, housed or otherwise, consider this fair, because we all enjoy the irony of an expensive shoe stepping in a smelly pile of shit.

Speaking of which, I rewatched Richard Kelly‘s Southland Tales the other day for the first time since it came out. I generally like everything I watch now (because of the scarcity), but the fact that I am in 50% of the scenes (just 4 years later) made me enjoy it tremendously. I can relate to JT, SWS, and TR that much better now.

4b. The Alleys (Night)

My part of the city is 100 years old. That might as well be a million to me. It’s haunted. This place has been counter-culture since the 60s. Time stopped here. We won. An ordinance ’allows’ people to sleep in certain areas.

Example: I take the dog for a walk at night. There are areas I can’t go. The local population gets territorial around winter. They’ll defend themselves. They have secrets here and you can get into trouble if you don’t notice things. There’s always something going on. Ignorance of the law is no excuse, they say [first rule i'd take out, by the way]. I can’t offer much advice, but I look someone in the eyes. Like a fellow Canadian, they just fucking know. And so do I.

There are severe anthropological explanations for the diverse population’s interpretation of this – BUY MY BOOK (purchase/press link pending).

5a. The Streets (Night)

Graffiti all over. Never used to know what it meant till I moved here. That font is so hard to read. It gets taken down so quickly. You know most of them are love letters?

They use chalk on the ground a lot. It’s washed away by morning. Used to be messages for the people without phones – now it’s propaganda or ads. Getting crowded.

5b. The Streets (Day)

There’s no parking, anywhere. This is good for me because I usually do not have gas, but I enjoy using my feet. Crosswalks slow me down, and I haven’t jaywalked since the last time I got arrested for it (May). And I can’t afford the ticket, but I like the city’s pace. She knows when I need to stand there, do nothing, and just listen.

The streets themselves are cracked, severely. I have tripped here before. There is dog shit everywhere – not everyone picks up on it. That’s okay. I am functional enough to not step on shit that is directly in front of me. Don’t be mad, it was probably a stray. I like dogs and have met several here – each has a very distinct personality. Not a single one leaves their shit out in the street w/o securing it in plastic.

CROSSWALK. Stop.

Go.

Bonus! The Sky

I also enjoy the sky. Great sunsets.

Don’t you hate when the sky is overcast, the color of rotting cottage cheese? Whites and grays. Bumped with stucco clouds.

Sometimes, often here, there are no clouds, and in those instances, I remember the earth is round. Well, I remember that I remember the earth is round, if that translates. 26 years old, I still find that concept mind-blowing. Right up there with the constellations.

When it comes to talking about my home, I need to set ground rules, or I’ll never shut up. I learned that a long time ago. I’d talk about the weather, but I’m going for under 1,000 words.

That Song From That Commercial!

Rebecca Pardess — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 04:13:24 +0000

You know that song from that commercial where you think the woman is going dancing or to dinner theater because she talks about needing nylons, but instead she climbs a treacherous orange rock and looks out onto the vast landscape of Utah? Or Arizona? Either way, I found it!

It’s called Into the Wild by LP and you can trade it for your email address and zip code here.

Here it is on YouTube: LP – Into the Wild

Anyway, why does Brian hates dogs so much?

5 Things I Hate About L.A.

brian — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 21:30:11 +0000

I’ve lived in this city for over eight years now. As much as I enjoy walking along the beach in January wearing shorts and a t-shirt, or listening to live music any night of the week, or spotting Dimitri Martin and that guy from Love Potion # 9 at Whole Foods, there’s still plenty of things that bother me. Here’s five.

1. Crosswalks

I have an irrational fear of prison. If I ever make it there it will be for involuntary manslaughter after looking down at a text message and running over some asshole using the crosswalk. One thing I love about Europe is the respect they have for cars. It’s YOUR job to look both ways and make sure YOU don’t get run over – not the motorist. Everyone out here is so scared of getting some bullshit ticket or getting sued that they drive extra cautious. This has instilled a false sense of security in pedestrians. People will confidently stride into the middle of a busy street (often with small children), as if the painted white stripes offer some sort of natural force field. Treat the crosswalk as protection from getting a jaywalking ticket, not protection from the girl who’s playing Words With Friends while driving an SUV at 40 mph. And don’t stroll along like everything’s cool – you’re already assuming it’s more important for you to cross the street than it is for the ten cars piled up to get where they’re going – hurry your ass up. If you can’t at least jog across, it’s not that urgent – use the light.

2. Parking

If you fail to see the street cleaning sign you will have a $68 dollar ticket – even if the street sweepers already came by. When you receive the ticket in the mail you will have less than two weeks to pay it before it doubles. DOUBLES. Minimum wage in California is $10 dollars an hour. This means almost two days worth of wages are lost if you park in the wrong spot and don’t send your check in 14 days. Since handing out petty tickets is the only way to generate income, Los Angeles is constantly raising the fines along with the monthly quotas for douche-bag parking enforcers (who’s salaries we already pay for). Money takes priority over everything else. If you parked your car in front of a “No Parking” sign, then tossed a molotov cocktail into the bush next to the sign, parking enforcement would arrive before the police or the fire department.

3. Melrose Ave

This is a cool strip packed with small clothing stores carrying an eclectic mix of new and vintage attire. The problem is getting past the over zealous employees who befriend you the instant you walk in. Leaving immediately after a greeting feels rude, so I’m forced to walk around their 400 sq ft store pretending to be interested in overpriced leather jackets.

“Can I help you find anything?” they’ll ask, as if I’m supposed to say “Yes. I need a large, blue and red checkered shirt with very thin yellow stripes outlining the pattern. It needs to be 90% cotton, 10% polyester, with white buttons and white seams.” . . . It’s a fucking clothing store! I don’t know what the fuck I want. Leave me alone and let me browse. Ironically, in stores like Best Buy where you actually need help figuring out which kind of charger to buy for your camera, there’s no one to be found. After an uncomfortable two minutes of flipping through the jeans rack I’ll finally make my escape. Feeling guilty for not buying anything, I’m not sure if I should say bye, or thanks, or sorry. I think twice before entering the next store.

4. Ranchero Music

One of the side effects of having so many great authentic Mexican restaurants is the not-so-great authentic Mexican music. Ranchero music is the worst form of art ever created. It’s worse than MAD TV, Wayans Brothers movies, graffiti art, and Nicki Minaj. Combined. Like a shitty beer that only tastes good extremely cold, the’ve decided Ranchero music only sounds good absurdly loud. I don’t feel like shouting over horns and trumpets to place my order. Just put on a damn hit list station like everywhere else, keep it at a reasonable volume, and let me eat in peace.

5. Dogs

I’d love to take a time machine back to the 60′s, walk into an ad agency, find the west coast version of Don Draper and explain to him the future - ” No one is allowed to smoke in the office, but you can bring your dog in. . . No, it’s not like a one time, bring-your-dog-to-work-day thing — you can bring him in EVERY day ALL day. Oh and fedora’s are still in fashion.”

Besides turning Runyon Canyon (L.A.’s best hiking trail) into a giant outhouse, dogs have also taken over the workplace. This has created a hyper-needy breed of canines that whimper and whine after being left alone for more than two minutes. When they are being walked around, I inevitably get a disappointed face from the owner with my unsatisfactory response to their precious Moopsy. I don’t feel like going “Awwww! and who is this!?? Aren’t you the cutest! Yes you are!” when I’m trying to work at my desk. Actually, I don’t feel like doing that ever. People think I hate animals when I don’t gush over their pet walking by, or pick him up and get his stupid dog hairs all over my clothes. Moopsy is super cute, now keep walking and leave me alone.

Dave Glenn’s Sexcessful Failures now available on Amazon

Luke — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 01:54:33 +0000

I am absolutely giddy to announce that our very own Dave Glenn has sexcessfully published his first book and it is now available on Amazon for a measly $12.95! And with never before seen content, there is really no reason you shouldn’t check this book out.

I don’t care who you are or what you think of this guy, his writing is damn good and you know you can relate to at least a few of the situations he so eloquently describes for us and drags and spooges all over our faces.

A very sincere and heartfelt congratulations from all of us here at OurThursday Mr. Glenn and we look forward to your continuing saga of debauchery, enlightenment, education, and sleaziness.

BUY THE BOOK AT AMAZON

Dave’s Guide to Texting

Dave Glenn — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 00:28:35 +0000

There was a time when I insisted on talking on the phone, saying what needed to be said, and moving on with my life. Over the last five years, however, I’ve learned that writing almost always possesses more conviction than talk; and girls aren’t about walkie-talkie-like communicating. There is an artistic and literary urge in every human being; and only texting allows for such communicative playfulness women so desperately crave.

Not in a million years did I think typing into a two-and-a-half by five-inch device would surpass the time I spent jerking off—and ultimately become the elixir to women. Texting has turned the ever-evasive bar number into dates and lays; it’s sustained fuck buddies, revived old sex partners, salvaged middling first dates, and bred second chances. It’s restored dormant desires and attraction levels that had been in hibernation for as long as three years. Most importantly, however, texting has strengthened my connections with women, whichever type of relationship that might be.

Of course, none of this could be done without failure. Lots of it. While my texts have led to dates, hook-ups, and sex, they’ve also led to turn-offs, rejections, and aggravation. I’ve ruined my chances with countless women, even pissed a few off. I made adjustments and tried a different approach on the next girl. When that didn’t work, I tried something else. I identified and internalized what yielded a positive outcome and what didn’t. In the end, I was able to refine my texting skills into something tangible. To this day, I’m still refining—because even now, I still make mistakes. But with tens of thousands of sexts stored somewhere in my memory bank, I’ve finally been able to develop a blueprint for success.

(Please note: This blog has been in the works for some time now. All of the included conversations are verbatim, saved to a Word document at some point over the past eighteen months. I have only edited some of them for clarity purposes. To women reading this: Much of what is outlined in this blog apply to you as well. Guys appreciate girls who understand cellular lingo.)

The following is a texting exchange I had with a recently acquired Plenty of Fish phone number (She was very hot).

Me: What’s up Kayla. This is Dave from pof :) What u up to?

Her: Hi Dave. Not much, just relaxing and watching tv. You?

Me: The same. Had a long day. We on for tomorrow?

Her: Oh, sorry to hear that. Yeah :)

Me: Awesome. Only thing is I don’t know any good places in Whittier. You have any hotspots?

Her: Yeah there are lots here. There’s a place called the Havanahh house. We can meet there.

Me: Sounds good. 8:45ish cool with you?

Her: Yeah that’s good

Me: Cool I’ll shoot you a text before I leave :)

Me: Have a good rest of the night. Talk soon ;)

Her: Ok sounds good. Can’t wait! :)

Her: Thanks, you too.

I’ll let you predict the outcome:

a) Date was awesome. So good that we ended up at her place for wild sex.

b) Date was fun. We kissed next to her car and made plans to hang out two days later. Relationship possibility!

c) Date was okay, but there was something…off about her.

d) She flaked.

The correct answer is d. Her text the following day: Hey Dave, I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to cancel :(

So what went wrong?

For starters, this conversation was too predictable and way too robotic. I didn’t make a single attempt to tease, banter, or even converse, which subsequently fizzled her spark, causing her to lose interest and flake.

In analyzing my side of the conversation line by line, my first text was solid. It’s always best to start off with some sort of inside joke to be playful, but our online messages were rather brief, so this “what u up to” thing was the best route.

Note: Unless you’re familiar with the girl (girlfriend, fuck buddy, etc), it’s always wise to write out words–“you” rather than “u” etc. I know it’s stupid, but shortening words comes off as lazy. The little things add up.

Text #2: The same. Had a long day. We on for tomorrow?

Everything went downhill from here. I immediately asked her out on the second message, thus revealing that I didn’t really care about what she was “up to,” and it was all some sleazy ploy to get to the date, and ultimately in her pants. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already sniffed out my bullshit. Everything from here on out is dead weight—but we’ll discuss my blunders further.

Text #3: Awesome. Only thing is I don’t know any good places in Whittier. You have any hotspots?

Another abomination. As the guy, I’m supposed to pick the places. Even though I’m more familiar with Transylvania than I am Whittier, I should have done some minimal research and at the very least suggested a place because I “heard it was cool.” Try this approach: Awesome. I hear Chotchkie’s is a good spot. You ever been?

The rest of my texts were good, but because I screwed up these two lines, particularly the we-on-for-tomorrow text, it’s irrelevant. To my defense, I was on a roll with my sexts in the two weeks prior, so I started thinking I was invincible, becoming impatient in the process. And impatient texters always get flaked on.

Another conversation under the exact same circumstances (also hot):

(Thursday)

Me: What’s up Valerie. This is Dave from match. What you up to?

Her: What’s up Dave. I’m doing good about to go swim in a bit. Life is good how are you?

Me: Doin good. Got home from work a bit ago. Perfect beach weather right now.. Any plans tonight?

Her: Yeah im going dancing with my girls. You?

Me: Not sure yet, something low key though. One more day of work til the weekend :)

Her: Yeah I just had my weekend, unfortunately I work on real weekends. When are u free?

Me: You had your real weekend? No fair. How bout we get together next time you have your weekend. When’s that? Tuesday?

Her: Yes my weekend starts Tuesday so that would be good for me

Me: K sounds good. Anything crazy going on for you this weekend besides work?

Her: Not much. I usually go up to long beach, I like the music they play. You?

Me: Having a bunch of people over Sunday for a bbq. Long beach? What kind of music they play there?

Her: Hip hop and classic rock, I won’t leave the dance floor with that mix

Me: Lol not into the oc techno hype huh

Her: Yeah I can’t stand techno, it’s just a very long song. Do you dance?

Me: If the music is right, yes of course..

Her: Good. Well I’m going to take a swim. It was nice talking to you. Talk with you later.

Me: Yeah for sure. Talk soon :)

(Saturday)

Me: Heading to long beach tonight?

Her: Yes!! It’s been so crazy at work, I need to get out! What are you doing?

[Bunch of the same banter]

(Sunday)

Her: How was your bbq?

Me: Awesome.. still going actually :) How was your night?

[More banter]

[Eventually] Her: Yeah that works. I kind of have this thing where I like to talk on the phone once before I meet someone so if you get a chance at some point.

Me: Lol yeah I’ll call you tmrw

Her: Ok thank you. After some of my experiences on match they were interesting that’s why the whole phone thing. Not that I think you are.. you know what I mean

Me: Yeah totally..

(Monday)

[I didn’t call her]

9:41 p.m. Her: Hey just wanted to see if you were still down for tomorrow.

(I’ve stated before that all phone conversations—with online girls—should be kept under five minute. These days, however, I’ve stopped calling them. Often nothing is gained from speaking to her before meeting; all you do is give her another opportunity to judge you out of her life. It’s actually way riskier to call them than to blow them off, so I’ll consent to it like I did above, but never text her again. They usually let it slide and agree to the date anyways. But trust your instincts, and if you feel the phone call request is legitimate—and not some judgmental test of hers, then go through with the call.)

So what happened this time?

a) She flaked the next day with the following text: I’m assuming that because you didn’t call me, your voice sounds raspy and gargly. Therefore, you’re ugly and I can’t see you.

b) Date was awful. She looked nothing like her pictures and was 30 pounds overweight.

c) Date was good. We made out afterwards, but she tasted like tomatoes.

d) Date was good. We made out; she tasted good; and two dates later, we fucked.

Answer is d again.

(Before I get into why this exchange was a success, let me first state that when it comes texting, every girl is different. Some are born flakes, cynics, and time-wasters; and your texts won’t change shit. While with other girls, a Call of Duty geek with the texting literacy of a fifth grader could close a date. The majority of girls, however, Kayla and Valerie included, lie in the middle of the bell curve, where the details can make or break us; and every text matters—hence this blog.)

Notice I started off the conversation with Valerie in the same way I did Kayla. In the second line, however, Any plans tonight is completely different than asking if we’re still on. Asking about her plans doesn’t necessarily imply I’m jumping the gun and asking her out. Depending on how I continue with the convo from here, it can mean I’m just testing to see if her life is exciting.

Me: Not sure yet, something low key though. One more day of work til the weekend :)

Usually when a girl asks if you have plans (and you know she won’t be in them), either invent some fun activity to portray your exciting lifestyle—barbecues (my favorite), friends in town, road trip to San Diego, bachelor party—or just tell her you aren’t sure. Those initial texts were on a Thursday (a work night), and I was actually laying in bed watching Sportscenter, so I decided to save my fun shit for another text—a small risk. “Something low key” isn’t exactly a scene from The Hangover, but it’s safe.

Commenting on the weekend was borderline lame, but I felt I needed to say something uplifting in order to compliment my “low key” thing. Also, throwing in the smiley at the end made it textable. More on smileys later :)

Me: You had your real weekend? No fair. How bout we get together next time you have your weekend. When’s that? Tuesday?

Girls hate pushy guys, and impatience oozes out through our texts like pre-cum. This text was effective because I back-handedly catered to her schedule and didn’t force the issue. I sensed Valerie was tight with her work nights, so I accommodated.

The “No fair” is also in the there for a reason. One, it boosts her up—even though she’s a moron for having the wrong fucking weekend off. Two, it simplifies the text. For example, imagine this alternate text:

Me: You had your real weekend? No way. What kind of job do you have that allows for that!? But I guess it kinda sucks you have to work Friday and Saturday :( How bout we get together next time you have your weekend. When’s that? Tuesday?

The three additions turn this text into a literary monster. “No fair” was all it took to communicate all three of those hideous sentences. The simpler the text, the better. By writing unnecessarily long texts, you’re surreptitiously communicating that you’re trying too hard and are way too excited about the possibility of dating her—all major turn-offs. If you constantly find yourself writing complete sentences, you’re doing too much. Texts should mostly consist of quick fragments, one-word confirmations, and half sentences with no subject (but periods, commas, and apostrophes are always to be used in appropriate spots).

Observe the following texts…

Me: Lol not into the oc techno hype huh

Me: If the music is right, yes of course..

Me: Yeah for sure. Talk soon :)

Me: Heading to long beach tonight?

Me: Lol yeah I’ll call you tmrw

Many of the rules of good writing parellel good texting. In the above five texts, there isn’t a single unnecessary word or character. Cut the fat, or she’ll cut you.

Moving on…

Her: Yes my weekend starts Tuesday so that would be good for me

Me: K sounds good. Anything crazy going on for you this weekend besides work?

Now that she has agreed on the date, I didn’t stop there. I continued with the conversation for a few more texts to communicate that my goal isn’t simply to “land the date,” but rather that I’m actually interested in her world. I’ve learned the hard way that these extra post-close texts (with new girls only) go a long way—even if it means having to lie about “dancing if the music is right,” which was her test to see if I was good in bed (Never tell a new girl that you dislike dancing. Wait ‘til after you’ve slept with them.).

Timing

Not mentioned in the above exchanges is the timing between messages. Always return your texts close to the rate at which she’s returning yours. For example, if you text her and it takes her anywhere from 15 to 45 minutes to get back to you, you have to wait at least 10-15 minutes before texting her back. If you text her right away she’ll think you’re some loser with no life who has nothing better to do than sit around and wait for her text. Girls always assume the worst when it comes to texts (as do guys), so be patient; if she hasn’t texted you back, relax—she’s probably busy fiddling with her eyebrows; she’ll hit you up eventually.

If she’s one of those quick-texters who are always responding within the minute, it becomes okay to return-text her IM-like. But switch it up from time to time; throw in a delay here or there so she can ponder your whereabouts—even though you’re sprawled on the couch eating Flaming Hot Cheetohs. Make her sweat and second guess herself—be a challenge. If she sends a dull or needy text, just ignore her altogether. Often times the best text is no text. She’ll eventually realize her lameness and message you again.

E.G.

…Her: I know, I love that place. What you up to this weekend?

[three minute wait] Me: Some friends in town. Not sure what the plan is yet. You?

Her: I dunno, my married friends want to go dancing Friday. Saturday I may have to baby-sit.

[I didn’t respond]

An hour later…

Her: I can probably get out of baby-sitting. Were you going out with your friends Saturday?

Me not responding communicated that I was moving on to more exciting things (other women). Instead of hanging with me, she decided to spend her time dancing and babysitting? Only a zit-ridden poindexter would respond to that crap. Ignore her; she’ll be back.

Smiley Faces

Texting without smiley faces is like a movie with no music. Smileys are the staple of all fun and playfulness in every form of messaging—emails, texts, IM, Facebook chat, Words With Friends chat. Everything. They shouldn’t be used in every text, but they must be a part of your repertoire.

There are three kinds of smileys: smileys :), frownies :(, and smiley face winks ;) (Smileys don’t need noses (hyphens)—just eyes and a mouth.) Smileys are given for pleasantries and to portray excitement. The best use for them, however, is for goodbyes. When a girl says any form of farewell—“good night,” “have a great day!” “ttyl,” “see you soon”—my return text is a lone smiley face. That’s it. Saying “you too” is too boring and predictable. A simple smiley is all it takes to end the convo on a positive note.

Frownies are to be given when sarcastically communicating that you’re in a strange situation—heading to the dentist, tired from a long weekend, hungover, feeling sick, the person standing in front of you just farted, etc. Also post frownies to show sympathy for her when she whines about something.

Ex:

Her: I’m hungry and no one will feed me!!!

Me: :( I just ate Chipotle. You missed out :)

Smiley face winks on the other hand, are the most potent thing any texter can ever use. Winks single-handedly elucidate flirting; they distinguish voice tone, clarifying the line between serious and sarcasm; and they bolster sexuality with unsequestered grace. They can be used with any girl—new, dating, girlfriend, long lost fling, or fuck buddy (though the longer you’re with the girl, the less necessary they become). But they must be placed strategically. In the above exchanges, I never used a single smiley face wink because the conversations never took on a route where it became necessary. One must not dish these out carelessly; they are only to be used in appropriate spots or they’ll become cheap and lose their power.

Some recent examples that are in my phone at the moment:

-Upon receiving the final text of a long convo in which the girl said she’d text me tomorrow. The wink here communicates sarcasm and flirting.

Me: You better ;) K have a good night..

-Upon receiving a text from one of my illiterate fuck buddies who incorrectly said “your.” Again sarcasm and flirting.

Me: You’re* ;)

-Upon hearing that she was cooking. The wink initiates playfulness.

Me: Oh yeah? What are you cooking? Green bean casserole? ;)

-Upon joking with her that I was flying out to see her, to which she replied “Really???” The wink in this case is purely sexual.

Me: If I can stay w you, maybe ;)

Without the wink, all these texts fall flat.

To hammer this point home, here is an old wink-infested convo I had with a girl I brought home after blacking out at bars (I literally woke up and found this petite blonde hottie with fakies—fully-clothed—laying in my bed. No recollection whatsoever. I immediately tried making a move, but she was self-conscious about her morning breath and pushed me off. I took her to breakfast to try and piece together the night…and figure out who the hell she was. Then I dropped her off at her car a few blocks down. Two hours later, she texted me.)

Her: oh man hot tub sounds soooo good right now ;)

Me: Lol do you have one?

Her: heck yes…might have to make my way there later

Me: I’m jumping in w you ;) how does your butt feel? (she had whined earlier about ass cramps or something)

Her: LOL it hurts still but I’ll live ;)

Me: Ima take a dump but let’s hang later..

Her: Good call! K ttyl ;)

(2-3 hours later. And just kidding about the dump thing. I actually said nap.)

Me: You overslept, I can tell ;)

Her: OMG I feel sooooo much better!

Me: Same here. Awesome beach day today. You should come..

A couple hours later, she was back in my bed, naked this time. Unfortunately her vagina smelled like freshly cut toenails (a first).

Had I not thrown in the winks, would she have had the same anticipation? Perhaps. But with our sexual energy still fuming from last night, every wink fired a surge of electricity through her womanhood. I certainly had a legitimate semi after that convo.

Quick Note: Anytime a girl says something daring—hot tub sounds good right now—

or something that is meant as a joke (however lame it might be), you have to throw in a “Lol” at the beginning of your response. To be an effective texter, you have to be an active listener, and “Lol” has to be in there—to make them feel as if they’re funny and entertaining.

Notice my final text: Same here. Awesome beach day today. You should come…

As mundane as it sounds, had I botched this last text, the entire exchange could have crumbled. One lame text can ruin everything.

For example, imagine if I had texted something like, “I know me too! What are you up to right now? Do you wanna come over?”

She may still have hung out, but by sounding overly excited and putting her in the power seat, I’ve exposed that I’m unsure of myself and that I’m basing my day and schedule on her. Tell. Don’t ask. This shit adds up, and in the long run all these weenie texts become embedded in her memory like parking tickets and will ultimately affect her decision of whether to hook up. He’s kinda cool, but…I dunno.

Tread carefully as the conversation comes to an end. You’ve probably picked up some momentum during the course of the convo, and it’s easy to become cocky with your closing-texts, fucking up the ones that matter most. Compare the following “asking-out” texts:

Guy 1:

-“Would you want to get a drink sometime?”

-“Do you wanna kick it tmrw? How’s 8?”

-“Wanna hang out?”

-“I’m hungry. Wanna get some food?”

-“I need new pants. Can you help me shop?”

Guy 2:

-“I got a bunch of crap tonight, but free tmrw. Let’s get a drink..”

-“I’m free after 8. Let’s get together..”

-“I’m hungry. Come eat with me..”

-“I gotta do some shopping. You should come..”

-“We’re partying over here. You should come..”

Both these guys are communicating the same things, but Guy 1 is clearly in a place of weakness, while Guy 2 is in control of the situation and himself. For one, never say the word “need,” “help,” “want,” or “wanna” in any text. To a girl, these are trigger words for neediness and dependency. Chicks want to be told what to do; they want MEN to make the decisions. You decide when is good to hang out. You pick the place. You decide whether to get a table inside or outside. You decide EVERYTHING. Girls actually resent guys who put all the decision-making on them. Also, think what is implied by saying “You should come..” as opposed to “Do you want to cruise over?” Telling her she “should come” implies that you don’t care if she does or not because you are independent and can have fun without her. You are simply inviting her into your fascinating world—even if it’s just a facade. Women want men with a life. They don’t want to be put on a pedestal, and they don’t want to be depended on for fun.

Lastly, notice the “..” at the end of all Guy 2’s texts. This dot dot (always use two dots, not three) thing is a simple way of communicating that you are expecting a reply without using a needy question mark.

Bar Numbers

Phone numbers attained from a bar or club chick are about as promising as trying to win the $10,000 sweepstakes on a Starburst wrapper (It’s actually more like 1 in 6, but it feels a lot worse.). Don’t expect much from these, but they’re still worth a shot.

I always get the number within the first five minutes (and don’t ask for the number; get the number), and then continue talking to her so she sees that the phone number wasn’t my goal. I’ll pull out my phone, say, “Let me get your number,” and then I call her so she has mine (You’d be surprised how many fresh girls will call you at 2:15 in the morning that same night for a Plan-Z hook-up.)

You have one shot of turning this bar number into a future date or fuck. And it must be done within 24 hours of getting the number—so basically the next day. I know it sounds too soon and borderline needy, but I’ve tried every time frame, and this is the best. After that first day, you are no longer fresh in her mind and your chances drop exponentially—though there are always exceptions.

Your first text must never be a generic re-introduction: Hey it’s so-and-so from last night. How are you? Lame. If you had spoken with her for more than ten minutes, you should have at least one subtle inside joke by now. If not, think of a topic that made her laugh or smile and revive those feelings of positive energy. Some “first-text” examples of mine:

- Green apples are so good ;)

- I am so much better at crossfit than you ;)

- Are you sure you didn’t strike out at your softball game? ;)

- Vodka-sodas are so deceiving ;)

- Your friend’s dress had the hugest rip in it ;)

These were all inside jokes I gave life to in the ten-plus minutes we’d spoken/made out. Remember, you’re not trying to impress her on the first text. You’re simply opening the doors to something fun, playful, and mysterious. The majority of them won’t even text you back (get used it), but some do. If she doesn’t remember you and pulls a “Who is this?” then throw some hints her way: Psh I’ll give you a hint: I can kick your butt at golf ;) Be a challenge; turn it into a game if it appears she’s looking for one. Even though most girls hand out their real number for ego purposes, there are some girls who genuinely took an interest in you at the time. It’s your job to rejuvenate those feelings of attraction. Keep teasing her until eventually she starts asking you questions. Once that happens, you’ve semi-succeeded. It’s time for an “ask-out” text as mentioned before.

Note: When asking out these bar girls, always shoot for the soonest time possible—“tonight” or “tomorrow”—all the while maintaining that you’re busy “later in the week” (to show her you have a life). “Next weekend” is way too far away; the longer it goes, the creepier you get. She’ll flake.

Lastly, if your next-day texts with that bar/club chick—or any previous fling—were falling flat, add her on facebook. It can’t hurt—she has a chance to check out your stunning looks again, and it opens the door to the almighty yet less-intrusive facebook chat. Capitalize when the timing’s right.

Second Chances

We’ve all had those girls that slipped through our fingers, or the timing wasn’t right, or the date went awry, or we just outright blew it. Some can be saved, some can’t. But if you’re looking to revive things, texting (and facebook if you still haven’t added her yet) is your best hope. Remember, she’s been out of your life for a while now, so you have nothing to lose. Sometimes I’ll text them out of the blue with one of following movie quotes:

-How are we supposed to teach children to read when they can’t even fit into the building.

-I have all your equipment in my locker. You should probably come get it cuz I can’t fit my numchucks in there anymore.

-I can’t believe what a bunch of nerds we are. We’re looking up money laundering in a dictionary.

First off, if you don’t know what movies they’re from, there is no hope for you. Just give up. Second, these can actually be used for almost any situation involving neglect. It doesn’t matter what type of relationship you had—new, old, whatever. Some won’t respond at all; some will say “Who is this?” in which case you play the hint game; and some will text “hahahahaha” and piggy back off the quote. Salvage what you can and give her a hard time for being “so crappy at cell phones.” She’ll usually make up some junk about being busy and begin to banter with you. Chances are she’s lonely as hell, discouraged with all the awkward guys she’s been meeting on eharmony. In her frustrating dating/sex life, your novelty is like a fresh spray of Cherry Blossom.

Here’s one exchange between a match.com girl I went on a date with; she then ignored my texts in the days that followed. Two weeks later, I gave it another whirl:

Me: Hey haven’t heard back from you in a while, so I’m assuming your phone has fallen out of a helicopter. Hit me back when you find it ;)

Three minutes later…

Her: Hahahahaa I know sorry. I’ve just been soooo busy! What are you doing?

Me: [I attached a super hot self-picture of me eating at a sushi table—a couple friends in the background—I had taken weeks earlier to send to a different girl] Eating sushi with some friends. So yummy. You jealous?

Her: I am! You should order a California roll :) How have you been?

Me: Doing good, of course :) I may be moving to Newport next month.. Stoked… You?

Her: I’m good. Newport??? I’m so jello. What are your plans this weekend?

Me: May head to San Diego for a friend’s bday. Not sure yet. What about you? Hitting up another art gallery (inside joke)?

Her: LOL! Nooo not this weekend. Well let me know if you go to SD. If not let’s hang out :)

I dated this girl for close to a month following this exchange, but she became whiny and clingy—among other things—so I ended it before a Vegas weekend. Also, the helicopter lifeline is one of my most dependable. Girls usually always respond. Use it at will.

As for the “super hot picture,” this is probably the most underrated move in the texting business. I don’t do it enough—mostly because I lost that sushi pic when I switched to the Driod and have been too lazy to take another. Basically take a self picture of yourself in a semi-social setting—sushi, bbq, group lunch/dinner—and make sure it’s your hottest pic ever (there must be food somewhere in the corner of the photo to hedge your bullshit). It took me three snaps to get the one I wanted, but once I had it, it became my most prevailing card in the deck. Throw it in when she asks what you’re doing as demonstrated in the convo above.

Fuck Buddies

In all my writing and experiences, I still cannot say I’ve come remotely close to understanding women. But I can say one thing about them: they’ll always embrace a good challenge. It is our job as men to be the source of this fearless entity, constantly maintaining our ground and mystique. So easily we forget.

An exchange with an old fuck buddy after bantering all week about hanging out:

Me: Hey we still on for tonight?

Her: Yep yep.. 7:30 right?

Me: Awesome. See you soon ;)

15 minutes later, after more banter…

Her: Make sure you clean your room! Don’t be lazy

Me: Lol don’t worry. I’ll surprise you..

Silence followed. Then thirty minutes later…

Her: You’re gonna kill me. I can’t make it tonight. Patrick (her son) is puking everywhere. I need to stay home with him. So sorry. Maybe tomorrow…

I didn’t see her again for over a month. We had screwed like sixty times, had texted each other over fifty times in the two days prior, yet suddenly I had turned her off on the 55th text, causing to her fabricate some crap about her son being sick.

So what happened? It’s simple—I fell into her trap:

Her: Make sure you clean your room! Don’t be lazy

Me: Lol don’t worry. I’ll surprise you.

Her “clean your room” thing was a test to see if I’d roll over for her. The funny thing is, she didn’t even know she was testing me; it’s simply in the female genetics to do this to men to make sure we have a backbone, and most importantly, aren’t just looking for sex. Me complying to clean my room communicated that I expected to end up there—with her. Had I turned it around and busted her balls, she would have come over.

What I should have said:

Me: Lol who says you’re gonna see my room? ;)

Fifty good texts keep the boat afloat. One bad one sinks it.

Not all fuck buddies are so fickle, just make sure you don’t fuck up like I did and break one of the two cardinal rules: expecting sex, and making them out to be a whore.

Observe the following exchange initiated by a different girl:

Her: Hey dork what you got going on tonight?

Me: Workout in a bit then not sure later. You?

Her: Just finished my workout. Get with it. You’re so slow pssh… doin nothing right now.

Me: Dumb. Can you drive yet? (she recently got a DUI)

Her: Technically no, but if I’m not driving around all night places I’m fine. I drive really slooow at night

Me: K come over 9ish

Her: K

We had actually texted each other earlier in the day but I had purposely never mentioned anything about “tonight.” One of my tactics is I’ll try and get them to ask me out. I’ll tease them sometime in the morning or afternoon, then right when things are getting hot and they sense I’m about to ask them out, I’ll simply stop texting them (works great for facebook chat as well—end the conversation on a high note, and don’t ask them out). Fishing for a date or fuck is what they’re expecting, so take the opposite route—welcome the silence, and wait it out. They usually come back.

Note: Since I had slept with this particular girl just a week earlier, throwing in a smiley face at any point during this convo would have been cheesy. When it’s obvious she wants sex, there’s no need to get cute. Just get to the point and tell them when to come over for “a hang out” or “a drink” or “din din.” The sex, however, must always go unspoken.

Miscellaneous

-The following are strictly for girls’ use: lmfao, hehe, tee he he, rotfl, omfg, j/k. The only acronyms acceptable for guys are lol, omg, and wtf.

-Never replace words with numbers: I’m going 2 the store 4 beer. No.

-If she hasn’t returned your text, never send a follow-up text—especially one asking if she got your last text. Yes, she did—now stop thinking about it so much. Either she isn’t digging you, or she’s legitimately busy. Move on; she’ll text you when she texts you.

-Don’t include her in any group texts. No one likes those people.

-Unless she’s in the bottom 25% of your phone chicks you give a shit about, don’t drunk text. Though it’s pointless to even tell you this, because I break this rule all the time, and it’s my own rule.

-As your texting relationship builds, come up with teasing nicknames for her. “Lame ass” is my favorite (girls hate being called lame).

-If she enters PMS/psycho mode and starts calling you a player/dick/asshole, do not text her back. Wait until she texts you something normal, then respond.

-When making plans to hang out, if she ever says “maybe” anywhere in the sentence, it means she either doesn’t want to hang out, or plans on flaking. Time to ignore her; eventually she’ll become aroused by your new facebook pictures and hit you up.

Final Thoughts

While every girl is different, they’re all wired the same. Applying these techniques won’t guarantee anything. But I believe in probability and percentages. By learning from all my royal screw-ups and making the necessary adjustments, I have maximized my chances with women, increased my sex and relationship opportunities, and developed a better overall understanding and connection with chicks in general. Women aren’t what life is all about, but they’re certainly a significant component. And today, as we enter the New Year, texting is becoming an increasingly essential part of the dynamic between male and female.

Funny thing is, on the surface I’m a soft-spoken, easy-going, introvert–with an occasional stutter and possibly a mild case of tourette’s (unless there’s women and booze involved). But the moment I get my hands on a cell phone, I’m a bad-ass motherfucker.

Get on it..

My Year in Exile

My Quite — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 00:17:11 +0000

Less than a week into 2011, I was over it. I wanted out. I wanted 2012.

Well, here we are.

January was rocky, at best. I found myself constantly dwelling on abandonment issues I didn’t even know I had. My best friend/roommate had moved up north and my girlfriend had been off on her own circling the globe since October. I was half a world away from the person I cared about most; when she returned, that distance remained. From across a dinner table, a bed, a car’s center console, we were suddenly miles apart. What followed was three months of playing chicken to see who’d draw first blood. I stood my ground, refused her an easy way out, and when the inevitable happened, I bit my lip, took up smoking again, and did my best to move on. After all, by April, I had six months of preemptive mourning under my belt; as much as it hurt to process at the time, at least I was prepared.

As is often the case, a two-year relationship had given me ample material from which to learn: I was fully aware I’d become complacent and that I’d been an exemplary boyfriend and partner, but also that our split wasn’t my own doing. It took me a while to grasp, but when the ashes settled, it struck me: I’d cared about her more than myself. Yes, there was work to done- but it was on me.

After being expelled from my own comfort zone, that’s where I spent the following eight months: on the outside, struggling to find my way back in. (This is exceedingly difficult when one doesn’t exactly know what his comfort zone consists of any more.) I started by saying “Yes” a whole lot more, and I haven’t looked back.

Immediately, I found comfort in the love of a new friend. A week before the breakup, I’d started fostering a 75-pound pit bull “puppy” named Jack; he was both the symbolic and literal beginning of my “recovery.” Although I’d only have him for six weeks due to the small quarters of my Brentwood apartment and even smaller quarters provided by my work schedule, he deserves substantial credit for helping me get back up on my feet, for showing me I could still care. Coming home from work to a wagging tail and that watermelon of a head on my lap was a joy I could hardly comprehend.

Memorial Day in Laughlin was somewhat of a turning point. I dropped acid for the first time. An hour later, mushrooms, also for the first time. (Here’s where “Yes” starts factoring in.) I collapsed as a crucifix in the Colorado River and stared at clouds, kissed my friend in a sandstorm (complete with fireworks, I shit you not), collapsed upon a table of dining tourists while “speaking tongues” (allegedly), and came to on a casino floor with a flashlight in my eye and an oxygen mask over my mouth. “The Summer of Mike” had begun; it’d last well through November.

As July drew to a close, I drove across the country with my little brother. There were breakfast burritos at sunrise at my alma mater in Arizona, abandoned hotels and a speeding ticket in New Mexico, and 900 miles of barren Texas highway. I found love chasing music and hickory coffee in New Orleans, waded in the warm, oily Gulf waters off Mississippi, and smoked pot in pitch black Alabama backwoods. Seven years later, I finally made it back to Steak ‘n Shake in Georgia. We stopped for gas in South Carolina, and wound our way through a several hundred miles of North Carolinan Appalachia. In Virginia, I bought a NASCAR lighter and Andrew finally tried Waffle House. We stayed with one of my best friends from college, Katie in Maryland; I hadn’t seen her since I kissed her goodbye at the Tucson airport after her graduation in 2007. I finally met her girlfriend. We grabbed a beer in a Delaware bar and acknowledged we’d now been to Delaware. After fifteen minutes in Pennsylvania, we made it to the Jersey shore in a full-blown thunderstorm. We drank and smoked our way around Brooklyn, sat in traffic through Connecticut, and arrived just in time to see the Decemberists at the Newport Folk Festival. It took me two days to fly home. My car was waiting at my mom’s with a flat tire.

Creatively, I didn’t grow as much as I would’ve liked in 2011, but at least there was movement. I wrote on two comedy pilots. I blogged for WELOVENICE and joined the OT family. I increased my audience. While I talked to myself more than ever, I managed to process a decent chunk of it into legible words. I got over my irrational fear of being on camera at work and I’m on TV now. Every weeknight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s something to be (gasp) proud of.

For the first time as a Los Angeles resident, I moved east of the 405, into a Culver City apartment with an overwhelmingly positive influence in September. I celebrated as friends got married, commiserated with friends as they broke up, and learned to talk to women again (an ongoing process). I got a tattoo. I was fortunate enough to find myself involved in new social circles. I continued to make bad decisions, but I like to think I’ve learned from some of them. (I love my tattoo unconditionally.)

Despite old habits like apathy, marijuana, and procrastination, I’ve positioned myself to accomplish a significant array of personal goals in the coming year. I’ll spend more time with my family. Show more patience, more tact. Talk less, do more. Make new friends, but not cast aside the old ones. Write more (and read more). Quit smoking. (Again.) Take an improv class. Get a pug. Finally watch all five seasons of The Wire. Run like the wind. Return to selflessness. Continue saying “Yes.”

All in all, my year was defined by a series of ecstatic highs and soul-crushing lows. I don’t give a flying fuck if people think the world’s ending this year— I’m welcoming it with open arms. Bring it.

Shush!! The Game is On..

danielle — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 19:42:39 +0000

I am a lady, a lovely lady. I wear makeup, get pedicures, own a closet full of heels, cook, clean, giggle, flip my hair and sit with my legs crossed and my posture poised and dignified. Here’s a real life picture of me:

My mother grew up in a family full of sports fanatics. Her father and grandparents suffered from a deep obsession with the Angels, Lakers and Rams. In fact, my grandfather requested that he be buried in a Lakers shirt, which is an image I will never forget and it warms my soul to think about.

I grew up under the care of a mother who, due to her upbringing, encouraged me to watch sports, attend sporting events and join pools because “it’s the American way.” She believes it is of grave social importance to understand sports because we live in a country that celebrates the Super Bowl in grandeur greater than the end of the Iraq War. My mom owns season tickets for the Chargers, as well as the Clippers (ok, so the Lakers are a bit pricey, but go Griffin!). She has commissioned a football pool for ten years and, when forced, is known to seek out a manicure place that plays the games on Sundays. Her genuine appreciation has rubbed off on me, which has brought me a wealth of joy in my heart, a healthy count of lovely people in my social circle and stealth at sports bars.

My last boyfriend loved hockey and if I wanted to see him for nine months out of the year, I figured I would participate by attending games and high fiving or sobbing when our team (LA Kings) won or lost (usually lost, usually sob). When we watched games, I didn’t blabber about my recent bout with a girlfriend, I didn’t dish about the drama between my sisters and me, I didn’t stand in front of the TV and whine; I learned the rules and the players and there we sat, watching games and conversing about one of his greatest passions. Is there something wrong with this picture? If he enjoyed horseback riding or needle point, I’d make an effort to support that too.

Since then, as a single woman, I continue to follow hockey because if you’ve ever been to a game, it’s one of life’s greatest events. I also belong to a Fantasy Football league, which has enhanced my knowledge of football and has allowed me to converse about the sport and its infinite number of players aside from the usual suspects like Brady, the devastatingly handsome Aaron Rodgers and anyone who has appeared on Dancing with the Stars.

I don’t act like I know what I’m talking about when I engage in sports talk, because I DO know what I’m talking about. I don’t rub it in; I simply discuss what’s going on in the sports world when appropriate. Does this make me less attractive as a woman? If so, why?

She likes sports? DIE!!!

It is my true love for sports that makes me unique. I would never fathom standing in front of a TV during a game, threatening to turn it off because I need to talk or eat or watch Desperate Housewives of Wichita. The thought makes me want to vomit the very homemade meal I made for dinner last night while watching Flacco get sacked seven times.

So why is it icky that a woman like me enjoys sports? What is so wrong with having the ability to talk about a man’s passion with him?

Please, indulge me… Game on! Here are some recent comments that inspired this post:

“Guys (the cool kind) hate it when girls make it known they like football. We crave you for your womanliness, not for your unwanted opinion of who is the best team in the AFC. Shut up. Talk about that creep who stared you down at the mall; whine about having a splinter in your boob; bend over and check out your ass in the mirror, and then ask a guy if orange is a good look for you; complain about how the rain made your hat “all soggy”; carefully examine your new manicure and make a face; argue with us about irrelevant shit like who gets to sit the aisle, and why; banter like there’s no tomorrow. Be a woman, a bitch, a slut. Just stop talking about fucking football. No attraction will come of it.”

“And if you knew what men liked, you’d leave football out of your conversations. The guys you’re dating are simply going along with the discussion because they want to get into your pants, secretly thinking, “Oh Great, another one of these…but I guess I’ll act entertained. God dammit.””

“Female football fans can be very unsexy. Being an actual fan puts you in an unfortunate situation Danielle. I don’t want to talk football with my girlfriend. Baseball on the other hand….”