Vanguard: A Miscellany

Van

Van.  It's short for Ivan or Vance, derived from the Greek Ioannes from which John is also derived.  I don't think my parents knew that.

The way the story goes, the decision was arrived upon by following some of the strange naming practices of the Philippines.  There's quite a few of them.  Like alliteration; our neighbors kids were Jerome, Jason, Joy and Jonah.  Or a theme; our cousins are Faith, Hope and Charity (technically the Filipino versions Fe, Esperanza and Caridad).  Amalgamation is also big; frequently the combination of parent's names or the stranger desire to combine random shit like geographic areas of the Philippines.  My aunt?  Luzviminda from the areas Luzon, Visaya, and Mindanao.  Wow, how fucked up is that?  It's like naming my non-existent kid Calicarobraska for the states that I have lived in.

My parents?  They were overachievers.  Not satisfied with satisfying just one rule, they shot for the stars, trying for some karmic triple word score or something.  Alliteration?  Check.  My sisters Virna and Vanessa.  Oh and our last name?  Starts with a V.  

Amalgamation?  Check.  My mom says that my name is the the combination of the first letter of her name and the first two letters of my dad's.  My sister is the first three letters of her name combined with the first two letters of my dad's...just in reverse. I call bullshit.  You can't just randomly decide to reverse the order of letters?  Bull shit!!!!

And theme?  Oh hell yeah.  Virna, Van and Vanessa?  Come on!  It's totally obvious.  Movie stars!  My sisters were named after Vanessa Redgrave and Virna Lisi, a smoking hot Italian blonde.  I first saw my namesake on the 60's Batman TV series where he played the Minstrel but knew little else about Van Johnson.

I think I may have been one of the few who recognized the name on the Yahoo headline "Actor Van Johnson, '40s heartthrob, dies at 92".  The article was accompanied by a picture of him smiling in his later years.  It was a particular type of smile, sort of uncomfortable and too toothy.  I did a little more reading up on the man.

His death came up a few weeks later, at Christmas dinner.  "Van, did you know that Van Johnson died?" Mama asked.  "You know you were named after him."  That I did know.  But I'd never heard the rest of it.  "We were at the movies, one of Van Johnson's movies, and I was pregnant with you.  And you started kicking.  Hard.  So that's when we decided."  

They say that people grow into their names.  To a certain extent, I guess, I had.  And it was everything I could do to not ask her, "Hey, did you know he was gay too?"  Van Johnson, the guy who had played the Minstrel, the guy that I was named after, the guy that had apparently set off my gaydar in utero, was gay.  

How awesome is that?

Home for the Holidays

"What are you doing for Christmas?"  A friend of mine asked about a week or so before the day.  I told him  I guessed I was going to my parents house.  I wasn't sure.  We hadn't really planned anything really.  Just that we were supposed to get together for Christmas.

"You guys don't have any traditions or anything?"  

Bastard had a lot of questions apparently.

But I thought about it and no, we didn't really have any traditions to speak of.

We've always spent Christmas together as a family, for as far back as I could remember.  So there was that.  When we all lived under one roof, I remember the excitement my sisters and I shared especially on Christmas Eve.  We'd stay up as Mama got started on the cooking.  No, not for Christmas Eve, but for Christmas day.  She'd get all the fixings together for lumpia and pancit, chopping up carrots and green beans and jicama, preparing shrimp and chicken.  She'd stuff the ingredients into egg roll wrappers or prep them for easy mixing with pan fried noodles the following day.  And there was the ham.  Everyone who ever had the ham loved it.  She does something with beer and pineapple juice and brown sugar and cloves.  The house smelled amazing. Of course, there was the turkey.  She's slow cook it, shoving the thing in the oven at 11:30, just before we headed out for midnight mass.

When we got back, my sisters and I would run in from the garage, racing to the tree to find which presents were ours.  In the space of a few minutes and a flurry or wrapping paper, we would have opened up all our presents.  We didn't do that pacing thing that most other families do, allowing one person to open one present at a time to allow full appreciation of the gift by everyone around.  And we'd be off to bed soon after.

Christmas day would be the day of the feast.  Papa would fry up the lumpia, and Mama would put all the ingredients for the pancit together.  The ham would be done to perfection, and Papa would take the turkey out of the oven.

Everything was good.  Everyone love the ham and the lumpia and the pancit.  Everything was good.  Everything but the turkey.  My sisters and I hated turkey.  Always did.  We'd gather around the table as Papa brought the just cooked turkey, presented on a nice platter and garnished with sprigs of parsley and turnip rosettes, and set it at the center of the table.  He's pick up the electric carving knife, turning it on and filling the house with what sounded like the miniature chainsaw that it was, then carefully placing it on the flesh of the bird.

I think they discovered that that knife was the only was to get through that tough meat, and it was appropriate that it sounded like a chainsaw because as it cut slice after slice, there was a fine cloud that dusted upwards from the blade like sawdust, microspopic bits of dried up turkey flesh like sawdust kicked up from sawed through dried wood.

But Mama couldn't have known.  Even after we had gone to college and spent time at friends' homes for the few Thanksgiving dinners that we had attended away from home, discovering that turkey can actually be really moist and tender and juicy and yummy, even after that, Mama didn't believe that turkey could be cooked in under ten to twelve hours.  Despite telling her house good turkey could be if only a little bit of moisture was allowed to remain, but no, Salmonella or something.  Again, she couldn't have known, I guess.  Not a lot of Filipinos ate turkey in the Philippines, I guess.

Five years ago, when Virna bought her condo and invited the family for a sit down Christmas dinner a dinner where we, my sisters and I, insisted on doing the cooking, Mama begrudgingly admitted that the turkey was better.  And for the last four years again at our insistence on doing the cooking, she finally admitted that she had been cooking the turkey wrong, way too long.

This year, Christmas was back at my parents' home.  And it was nice.  The pancit was as good as ever.  For some reason, there wasn't any lumpia which we were all a little upset by.  In it's place was a mediocre green bean casserole, probably in an attempt to have a meal not too overly Filipino for my brothers-in-law.  And the ham?  Perfection.

And as Papa took the now ancient electric knife to the turkey, I think for a split second, we held our breath in anticipation.  And there it was, as the twin serrated blades slid back and forth against each, cutting into the bird, a definite cloud of dried turkey dust kicked into the air.

"I oberslept," Mama quickly cried apologetically.  "I wanted tu take a nap, but de alarm deedn't go op."  As Papa served up slices of the dehydrated meat, she went on about sleeping an hour and a half longer than intended and that Papa should have known to take it out and on and on and on.

We doused our slabs of turkey leather with twice its weight in gravy, swallowing and allowing the sharp corners scrape down the insides of our throats as she continued with the saga.  My sisters and I looked at each other, smiling and stifling chuckles as their husbands tried politely to eat the inedible, and we told her, "Don't worry *cough* about it.  It's *hack* actually good."

And this year Christmas felt like Christmas.  It felt like tradition.  It felt, moreso than in the last few years, like home.

Week in Review '08.5

Holy shit!  Only one more week.

12/20 - Well, it was day six of yet another six day work week, but for a number of reasons, it didn't matter because this night had been planned for weeks and it was going to be awesome.  But before the evening, there was little strangeness going on at Job #2...something about the previous owner.  The hot previous owner.  And a hug.  A hug that lingered on a little longer than was comfortable.  But that's for another time.

So that evening...

It was going to be huge!  Guido was back in town!  And when we found out, Sunshine, Razor Burn and I got a gleam in our eyes knowing we'd have to tear up this town like we did back in the day (and by back in the day, I'm really only talking about earlier this year).  It would be a night to throw caution and cash to the wind.  

We had it all set up.  I invited one of my girl friends (not grrl friend, but the kind who actually has a vagina), who by virtue of her hotness is well connected with a ton of club promoters, and between her and Razor Burn's stripper friend, we had our choice of tables at Crown Bar, Foxtail, or Apple.  It was all set up--great venue, bottle service, good friends.  Perfect.

As an homage to our routine before Guido moved away, we started out the evening with dinner at Chan Dara which gave us guys a chance to catch up over a leisurely dinner.  It turned out not quite so leisurely as Razor Burn was barraged with texts from the club promoter telling us there was a change of plans.  The venue was now Bar Delux...which was OK since it was just up the street and walking distance from us.  None of us were quite sure how the change had happened but after a flurry of texts to my girlfriend and Razor Burn's stripper friend, we were soon all on the same page.  

So we sauntered up to Bar Delux.  It's a cool venue, very art deco, but it was also very dead at that time.  Dead is definitely what we didn't want.  We spoke to some of the bouncers who promised that by 11:30 it would pick up.  Stripper however was already on the phone talking to some of her friends who had all gone to Apple for a bachelorette party.  

"Apple?" one of the bouncers said, "Yeah a bunch of us used to work there.  It's in the middle of boys' town.  You don't wanna go there."

"Why," we asked.

"It's just not my flavor, you know.  Kind of left.  You know...way left.  You don't wanna go there.  It's gay night tonight."

"Actually sounds perfect for me," I said, making the guy squirm and try to come up with some excuse for being a dick. 

It turned out that the club promoter had just moved from Apple to Bar Delux and was trying to shift people over to Delux.  Needless to say we went to Apple Bar, met up with my girlfriend and her girlfriend, and we all had a great time.  Oh, by the way, Apple Bar on Saturdays is most definitely and most disappointingly not gay.

12/21 - After a very late night, I had to wake up early, well relatively early.  I promised to go to church with my sister Vanessa.  It was this whole gratitude about the pregnancy thing.  So I went, as did Virna and my two brothers-in-law.  I actually didn't spontaneously combust.  It was great.  Actually it was kind of cool because at the end of the mass, the priest asked those in the parish who were expecting a child to walk up to the altar to receive a special blessing.  Vanessa and her husband went up.  What was cool about it is that this is not a blessing often given, and none of us knew that this was the mass at which this would be done.  Coincidence?  

Still I couldn't go back home to sleep.  I promised Barbie I would go to Ken's surprise birthday party at Father's Office.  I really like both of them, and it was good catching up with Fishering--the only other gay at the event.  After the previous night, the mass of the actively breeding and this party, I needed a breath of gay air.  

Thankfully there was a holiday party up in the Hollywood hills that Shutterbug and I had been invited to.  It was fagtastic with beefy bartenders, amazing hors d'oeuvres and a shitload of alcohol.  And by the time I went to sleep, I felt the balance in my life restored.

12/22 - Session with my trainer.  That was it.

12/23 - I was on call.

12/24 - Ah Christmas Eve.  My sisters, brothers-in-law and I gathered at my apartment, ordered Chinese food, watched Dark Knight on BluRay (fucking awesome), opened presents then went to sleep.

12/25 - I went home for Christmas, sort of transported back to my childhood again for the first time in about five Christmases.  I'll write more about that later.  I stayed at my parents' from 1:00 to 6:00.  That was about enough for me.  

Then I met up with Dutch to grab drinks and appetizers before the screening of Doubt.  Clearly Oscar worthy performances, but and I know I'll get shit for this because I have already overall it felt a little unsatisfying to me.

12/26 - I had to work.  I had to fucking work, and I had to work fucking hard!  Then I went to my trainer and got my ass handed to me on a plate.  I finished up in time to get to the Century City mall where I got to enjoy a little 50% off Bloomingdale's purchase before meeting up with Razor Burn and Unicorn for tuna burgers and mojitos and Gulfstream and then a 9:50 showing of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button which, unlike Doubt, I absolutely loved.

Week in Review '08.50

12/13 - Mmmm woke up with a man in my arms.  :) 

Most of the day was spent Christmas shopping.  Razor Burn had recruited my help.  He knew Unicorn wanted a purse, just not exactly which one.  So after a nice brunch, we all hit a bunch of stores, Bloomingdale's, Macy's, Burberry looking at purses which was supposedly for my sister.  Of course Unicorn loved the purses that carried a $600 or more price tag.  So we left purseless.  Who knew those fucking things were so expensive.  It wasn't a total loss, however, someone made off with a great deal on a Playstation 3 system, and I took care of my parents' present too.

We parted ways, giving me just enough time to get in a seven mile run before heading up to the Job #2 holiday party.  Holy shit those girls get crazy drunk!  I left early though.  I promised to meet my houseguest at 9:00 back at my place where we curled up on the couch to watch TV before going to bed.

12/14 - I woke up with my houseguest for the last time (at least for now).  It was moving day for him.  Other than that, the day was relatively uneventful.  Just a Runyon Canyon hike and post-hike meal with JewMex.

12/15 - Worked out with my trainer.  Then the houseguest came back.  Just not to stay :(  No it's not a potential anything thing.  There are no aspirations of a more substantial relationship on my end.  It was just nice to have a man around.  We just grabbed dinner at a nearby sushi restaurant, and I turned in early.

12/16 - I was supposed to run.  Didn't happen.  I got sidetracked.  Dutch sidetracked me.  So instead of shedding fat, I had pizza and three pomegranite margaritas over happy hour conversation at Palomino.

12/17 - It was 40 degrees.  It was raining.  Totally shitty day for a run.  And yet....  It was only 4 miles.  I was supposed to do 7, but still, given the conditions, I was pretty happy I even got off my ass to do that.

12/18 - A Hello Kitty gift bag.  A David Beckham photobook.  A bottle of Veuve Cliquot.  Presents for my nurses.  What an odd bunch.  Guess which one was for the gay male nurse?  Anyway that was my afternoon after working out with my trainer.  I actually found a Sanrio store at Hollywood and Highland, then drove to BevMo, then to the Grove for the book.  Lots of driving for three very specific presents. 

Then it was OBar.  It's sort of been resurrected, and I think I want to keep going again now that I'm in love with Jed, the hot bartender who was incredibly attentive, hot as shit, and multilingual (Dutch, Spanish, French, German).  Multilingual = all kinds of hotness. 

12/19 - It was the official Not So Secret Santa gift exchange at Sunshine's.  It was "Not So Secret" because two weeks ago, while on the phone with Unicorn, I asked, "So what did you do today?" and she replied, "I bought your present."  And I was all, "You did what?"  And she was all, "I bought Razor Burn's present."  And I'm like, "That's not what you said."  And the secret was not so secret after that.

It was fun.  Just a mellow evening of take out Chinese food with a bunch of friends in front of a Christmas tree.

Houseguest

I think the best part of it was the sleeping.  I love my bed.  It's a pillow top mattress with goose down pillows dressed in 1000 thread count white cotton sheets.  The goose down comforter is covered in soft ultra suede.  And it's a queen-size, more than enough room for me to sleep in whatever position I desired.  It's nice.  Until he snuck in under the covers.  Then it was nicer.

He would stay up to watch TV, generally getting tired around 1:00.  He'd carefully tiptoe in, gently lift the covers and slide in next to me.  I would fall asleep soon after he wrapped his arm around my torso, waking up in much the same position.  The sleeping was really nice.

Although getting ready was nice too.  We shared the bathroom.  As I brushed my teeth and did my hair, he'd shower, humming all the while.  I would sneak peeks, making out the silhouette of his naughty bits through the shower doors of frosted glass.  As he dressed, I brewed us fresh cups of coffee which he always thanked me for.  Getting ready was nice.

I could be wrong though because leaving was also nice.  He would have just finished washing our coffee mugs, and I would have just finished getting dressed.  He would say, "You look so cute all dressed up."  He'd walk into the hallway first, allowing me to lock up after us, and I'd say "Have a good day."  He would lean in for a quick goodbye kiss on the lips and say, "you too."  Yeah, that was nice.

Actually all of it was nice, and I miss it already.

White Knuckling

"So...um...did you talk to her?"

We danced around the subject a little.  It was the pink elephant in the room, the eggshells on which we were walking, the figurative conversational landmine.

"No.  Haven't heard a word."

It sucked.  We'd both left messages, not a whole bunch really.  At least I hadn't, one message maybe four days prior.  And even then it was just to tell her how I'd run into a friend of hers at the charity event.  He loved her, couldn't stop going on about how she was his favorite sales rep and how he and his husband loved hanging out with her.  But she hadn't returned even that call.  So we were worried.

"How about Mama?  Has she heard?"

As far as I knew she hadn't heard.  Neither of them had heard, and I knew because I'd called them asking the same thing several times over the course of the day.  

But we knew better than to call and ask directly.  She was a mess.  We knew that she had to be a basket case.  We knew.  After the first two attempts at in vitro fertilization, after getting her hopes up twice only to find that the transfers hadn't taken, we knew how much of a mess she was.  And this time, the third time, the purported final attempt, she had to have been distraught and returning phone calls would be the last priority.

And frankly, we would have all been bummed, my parents without grandchildren.  My older sister didn't want children, and me?  Well the gay thing poses some problems.  Although it's really more the single and gay and near forty thing.  She was the family's only real shot at extending the line.  

But more than that, far beyond that was my sister's well being.  I saw the look in her eyes, the all-too-calm countenance, the barely perceptible, yet Herculean effort to smile through clenched teeth at the annoucement of our cousins pregnancy...and then her second not long after a year of marriage.  I saw it when her friends, one by one, became pregnant.  The mere sight of young parents with their infants brought her almost to tears.  And to have this happen right before Christmas, I think we all knew how devastating it would be.  

But regardless of the outcome, she had to call.  We all knew it was the day of the doctor visit.  She had told us.  We all knew the visit was scheduled at 10 a.m.  And by noon we'd all called each other, "have you heard yet?"  

Nothing.  Nothing all day.  I drove home from my trainer's at 7:30, on the phone with Razor Burn.  I stopped midconversation when I saw her name pop up on my iPhone screen: "Listen dude, I gotta call you back."

Third time's the charm; I'm going to be an uncle.

Week in Review '08.49

12/6 - He took me to his office holiday party.  After taking me to see Into the Woods on Friday, he asked me to go as his date to his holiday party.  Actually, he'd invited me the week before.  It wasn't the typical office party.  They had closed down Citizen Smith for the event--open bar, hors d'oeurves, entrees.  They even provided free cab service for those who got too drunk.  Oh, and there were the celebrities.  He actually works on one of the five Emmy nominated television dramas.

12/7 - I had one of those ambiguous invitations--an offer to have an intimate dinner cooked for me followed by a quiet evening watching Desperate Housewives and Brothers & Sisters.  We've had a long history with my having asked him out...and being turned down.  Then his having asked me out...and being turned down.  There's always been some attraction, but somehow nothing else has ever evolved.  And after Sunday, that is how it will always remain.  

12/8 - Mastro's Steakhouse, it's a staple for restaurant goer's in Beverly Hills, and I've been lucky enough to be treated to dinner here.  This was my second time, this time with Dr. Faux and our hosts, two pharmaceutical reps, one of whom may very well be the hottest drug rep I've ever met which, in that industry, is saying a lot.  The best thing about her is that she and I get along really well, and she's determined to set me up.  

12/9 - I actually only worked a half day on Tuesday.  I got a lot of stuff done--Christmas gift shopping, laundry (ugh laundry!), and a session with my trainer.  

I had a houseguest that evening, Shutterbug.  He had been forced to vacate his home with only one day's notice.  For some reason his roommate/owner of the house no longer wanted a roommate.  And so he asked to stay with me for the night.  We've had some history (I'm starting to think maybe I have too much history with way too many people).  Regardless, it was actually nice.  For a million little reasons, it was nice.

12/10 - Shutterbug stayed again.  It was a little sketchy since I was also on call that night, but fortunately there were no hospital admissions and only two calls.  

12/11 - Another half day.  Another day with my trainer.  Another day of Christmas shopping.  And then that evening, I went out with the guy from Sunday, the guy who cooked me dinner.  But it was most definitely not a date.  He and a friend of his picked me up, and we went to a beautiful home in Beverly Hills.  It was exactly my aesthetic with a gorgeous view of the city.  

The reason for the get together?  A group of gay men who had for many years gotten together for Saturday hikes throughout L.A. decided that it would be a good idea to try to do something philanthropic, and this would be the first meeting to decide which charities to donate time to.  So we all converged on this beautiful home with a potluck of amazing food (gay men do potlucks like no other) and planned it out.

Now I have been involved with different charitable organizations in the past and was glad to once again get involved, but this time, there may be an ulterior motive.  There were a lot of really cute single men.  There were sexy accents--Spanish and Brazilian and German.  There were a wide range of careers--architects, designers, lawyers, other doctors.  They were all interested in donating time for deserving projects.  They were friendly and interesting.  And I think there's quite a few with whom I can in the future have some history with ;)

12/12 - What is the worst way to spend a Friday night?  Office party...unless it's an entertainment industry office party that is.  If it is a medical staff office party, you're guaranteed a shitty time of playing nice and making small talk, all the while looking at your watch thinking "have I spent enough face time?"

I bailed after an hour and two drinks to meet up at Falcon with Razor Burn, Unicorn, our friend Balladeer (his schtick for getting girls is picking up his guitar and singing rock/folk Damian Rice-y stuff and waiting until they swoon). Unicorn brought along one of her cute friends to see if she and Balladeer would hit it off.  She didn't swoon.  

Not only did she not swoon, she stole his thunder.  She was one of the funniest girls I'd met in a long time.  

He asked her, "Do you want to hear me sing?"

"NO!" she said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a bad liar, and if you suck I'm going to tell you."  Loved the response.

Also, we weren't aware that Friday nights at Falcon caters to a predominantly African American crowd.  Funny Girl who obviously has balls of steel, tapped a guy on the shoulder and asked, "Hey, why do you guys always call girls by what they're wearing?"  Apparently, if you're a cute girl people will put up with your bullshit a lot better than if you were, say, a thirty-something Asian homo.

"What do you mean?"  The 6'3" slightly perturbed black man asked back.

"Well, one time I was at a bar and I had on a ponytail.  And a black guy tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Hey Ponytail, whas' up witchu?'"

"What the fuck are you talking about?  We don't always do that."

And as if on cue, the DJ gets on the mike as a woman in tiny white shorts strutted across the dance floor showing off her booty, "White shorts, white shorts!  What up, white shorts?!"

It was awesome.

Got home.  Cuddled with Shutterbug. 

Please Don't Bomb Nobody This Holiday

One of Razor Burn and Unicorn's favorite bands wishing the world a peaceful holiday...and a spanking.

Week in Review '08.48

11/29 - Ahhh a full weekend. It should have been a four day weekend, being Thanksgiving and all, but I'll take a two day weekend.  I'd planned on taking a morning run.  Maybe sit back with my Sedaris book with a Tassimo coffee on a Saturday morning.  Sounded really good.  

Then Sunshine called, "Hey dude, you know that you've got two clients today, right?"

Motherfucker!!!!!!!  Yeah, turns out my two day weekend devolved into a one-r.

That night was a blow off steam, bar hopping night with Razor Burn, Unicorn and Slow Talker.  Drinks at the new Palomar hotel bar, then the Wilshire.  

11/30 - Honestly, I don't even remember what I did this Sunday outside of praying at the shrine of Bloomingdale's for the sum of a stupid amount of money (but seriously some of the shit was more than 50% off).  But what's the deal with these sales where they tell you you get more off but only if you pick up your shit a few days later?  How does that make sense?  Just give me my shit now!

12/1 - After a session with my trainer, I met up with Dutch for tapas at Tinto's.  I'd forgotten how much I like this place.  White wine sangrias and dates stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon.  Mmmmm.

12/2 - I did nothing...well after work, I did nothing.  Glorious.

12/3 - Razor Burn and I had one of our bro-bonding dinners.  At Tinto's.  Did I mention I like this place?

12/4 - I worked out with my trainer, then went to Bloomie's to pick up my shit.  Oh and they offer additional savings to pick up your already purchased shit at a later date?  It's so you set foot in there again and buy additional shit!  At least I got my Secret Santa present purchased and out of the way. Actually the whole presents thing is going to be pretty spare this year, and I'm all for it.  Even my family is doing Secret Santa.  Honestly, one of the good things to come out of the recession is finding ways to focus on the holiday that doesn't focus on buying stuff.

12/5 - What a weird and crazy day.  

My clinic ended with a conversation with a patient's daughter.  While my patient was in a room getting IV fluids because she was severely dehydrated, her daughter was in my office bawling.  I wouldn't have expected less.  It's not easy facing the death of a parent, and less so when given about a week.  She hadn't understood or didn't want to understand the concept of Hospice Care the way her mother did.  So we spent a lot of time, making sure all questions were answered.  She left with more understanding, but with no more comfort.  And I felt ineffectual.

After all this time, I've become good at compartmentalizing.  And I'm not so sure that that's a great thing.  Once in my car and on the road, all I focused on was the date with the guy from last week.  He's really nice.  Really nice.  Very considerate and polite and well-mannered and well-spoken and very, very nice.  It's kind of funny cause his last name means asshole.

So Asshole and I met at Bossa Nova.  We were joined by Sunshine and wife, and the four of us went to see a local production of Into the Woods.  And strangely, while on the date, Smooth called.  I didn't pick up; that would have been rude.  But seriously, Smooth rarely calls, but he called then.  And so did Shutterbug--the guy who basically walked off with some of my camera equipment almost two weeks before.  Actually he texted: 

"Van I am sure you hate me.  I have gone through hell and have had nowhere to live for two weeks.  My roomate [sic] gave me 1 day notice....I will give u everything I owe u and then some.  I love u and have had zero support from the universe these days.  I am just holding on and trudging through best I can.  Please, please forgive me."

So on a date with a really sweet guy, a guy whom my friends really like, I get correspondence from two douchebags, and yet, for some reason, I haven't yet been able to find enough of a connection with Asshole to be able to see a future.  

Grrrr!!!!  Issues much?

Oooh Pretty

"How do you like your car?" 

I had just gotten to the gas station, on the phone with a friend mentioning how I had just parked immediately behind a guy filling up his car, the exact make, model and color as my own.  And the middle aged, overweight owner of the car, came up interrupting my phone call to ask, "How do you like your car?"

Cars are a weird thing. It happened when I first got my Audi TT roadster, not too long after they had first come out. There was this strange assumed brotherhood of same-car ownership.  On the road, another TT owner would honk and give me the thumbs up, indicating approval of the purchase.  It was sort of cool.  Except that the car ended up being a piece of shit.

In any case, I told my friend I'd call him back later and told the stranger, "Love it. It's fun to drive."

"Yeah," he said.  "Handles like a dream with the mid-body engine and everything.  It hugs the road on hairpin turns.  I don't know though, I think I should have gotten [the more expensive model].  I think the steering is a little better."

He went on for a while talking about the differences in the engine and the horsepower and the torque and...well you get the picture.

"I don't know," he concluded.  "What do you think?"

"Oh me?  Um...honestly I just got it cause I thought it looked pretty."

With a quick "oh...cool" he breathed a sigh of relief as the pump clicked off and he rapidly made his escape.

Yeah, I'm not really much of a car guy.  I just like pretty.