Tag: story

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personal

The California Sun

Location: Santa Monica in my head
Mood: tired but hopeful
Music: something always comes up something always makes her stay


Me and my Mom
Her: You’re always seeing someone.
Me: No, I mean I’m seeing someone…
Her: (puts down hula hoop) Wait, what does that mean? (excitedly) Are you getting married soon? Is she nice? Does she want kids? What’s her name?
Me: (sighs) Clearly, I’ve just made a grave error in judgment.

Me and my Brother
Him: When I left NYC for LA, I had two suitcases and a guitar. Then when I left LA for Miami, had a house fulla crap, a cat, and a wife.
Me: And now that you’re moving back to LA?
Him: Well (thinking) I still have a house fulla crap and the cat (pause) But I’ve since shed the wife tho…

The cool thing about the people that you’re close to is the shorthand language you’ve got.

My brother used to sing in a bar while in med school. One song was about this singer in a bar that loved a waitress named Rachel who wanted to move to LA. The guy didn’t know what to say, so he just said, if you find me one, I’d love a picture of the California sun.

For years my bro said he’d move to LA. Always joked that if he ever did, I’d want a postcard from LA. Then one day he just up and left with two suitcases and a guitar. Spur of the moment thing. Poof.

Week or so later, got a postcard with a picture of the California sun and not much else. Didn’t need much else. I remember that I sat down on my striped sofa and cleared my throat. Then I cleared a place for it on my fridge.

Somewhere through the years, lost it. Stupid roommates.

S’ok though – lookee what I got today:

YASYCTAI: Send someone a nice picture. If y’got time, send me one too. (1 mins/0.5 pts)

Categories
personal

Miami

Me: You look like a betting man. If I can get you 25 people, mostly girlies, will you get me a table?
Him: I’ll do better than that, I’ll get you a bottle.

Went to Florida for 20somthing hours over the weekend. Last minute decision; my brother’s moving to Cali so he was having a last hurrah. Started out at the Chesterfield Hotel which was fulla doctors, nurses and booze. Lotsa booze. Onea the guys was getting frisky with onea the girls.

Her: (to guy) Why are you touching me? I’m unclear on that.

Then we hopped over to a club called Cameo where, fortunately, some guy floated all of us in.

Unfortunately, a bunch of guys in masks, dogs and guns stormed the club. Fortunately, they were cops. Unfortunately, they shut the joint down, arrested all of the owners and bartenders and, more dismaying, didn’t lemme finish my drink.

Him: There’s some malfeasance going on.

The group decided to hit up another party but I ended up chatting with a promoter at another joint and managed to convince him to float us all in and comp us a bottle of vodka. He ended up buying me a buncha shots too. I like Miami.

The bartender leaned over and said she was buying me a shot of Tequila too. Told her that Tequila and I weren’t on speaking terms but she bought me one anyway. At around 2AM, she pulled me onto the dance floor. Afterwards:

Her: You’re fun. (pause) Did you say you were leaving on the 20th?
Me: No, I said I’m here for 20 hours.
Her: Are you coming back soon?
Me: Don’t think so. Gotta head back to see the girlfriend.
Her: Lucky lady. (smiles) Thanks again for the dance, Logan.
Me: I’ll let her know. Thanks for the dance, Lana.

Crashed with everyone for a coupla hours. Woke up and ate, what I later found out, were cream puffs that were in the fridge for possibly a year.

Rushed to the airport, missed my flight, so went back to brother’s. Try number two worked and I ended up in Newark airport at 21:15. Dropped my buddy Paul off downtown and zipped off to my favorite lady in the world.

Him: Mom went to bed already. We’ll get breakfast tomorrow. Nite.

Heartgirl, my favorite lady whom I’m not related to, is away for a few weeks. In Africa. Think I miss her already. But it’s probably for the best. The next two weeks are gonna be rough.

Location: finally back in NYC
Mood: tired
Music: Turning back she just laughs The boulevard is not that bad
YASYCTAI: Go somewhere completely different soon. You need a change of latitude. (Two weeks/3 pts)

Categories
personal

Strawberry Swing

Location: home, and running late
Mood: tired
Music: without you it’s a waste of time

Him: That’s the way to make an entrance. Walk in, demand a drink, and drop your pants.

Met up with Heartgirl on Friday for a quiet night in. Saw the interactive art project at Madison Square Park and then ate dinner at a nice restaurant. Always good when you don’t have to unwrap your dinner.

Saturday, saw my brother for massive amounts of pizza. He doesn’t live in NYC so whenever he’s here, he gets his fill.

Saturday night, went to HEI’s for her birthday party. Got absolutely soaked in the rain so as soon as I arrived, ask for some pants to wear. Spend the night walking around in women’s sweatpants and slippers.

Met some nice people and one girl that asked, “Can we be friends?” Brought HEI a bottle of rum. We all almost kicked it that night. Rolled home at 2AM and woke up the next day without a hangover. Love that rum.

Sunday, go with my brother to grab sushi. For some reason they gave us a bottle of sake and I had to drink it myself. Quite a way to start off a Sunday morning.

Sunday night, go with Heartgirl and one of her friends to see Coldplay in concert. Heartgirl doesn’t like being in pictures. She does like being with me though. Fair trade.

Duffy was the opening act. Spent $11.25 for a diet coke, pretzel and package of Reese’s Pieces. Coldplay was amazing in concert. Seem like nice fellas.

Got home five minutes to midnight. Now I’m home getting ready to run out the door. And you? How was your weekend?

YASYCTAI: Treat yourself to a small concert. The last major one I went to was 20 years ago. (90 mins/1 pts)

Categories
personal

Glory Days

I know something you don’t know

Inigo Montoya: I admit it, you are better than I am.
Man in Black: Then why are you smiling?
Inigo Montoya: Because I know something you don’t know.

When you get beat up as often as I did as a kid, you either get all decked out in black and go Columbine, or you just learn how to fight. And for those of you that know me, I never do anything half-assed.

Bryson’s one of my best friends and was a striker like me. He outweighed me by 20-40 pounds but I was fast and flexible. We were always toe-to-toe. Until he started grappling. So I started too.

Then, a little after 9/11, I got injured. A kimura gone horribly wrong. Doc said I could either get surgery and lose 10% of my range of motion or rehab it and lose as little as 2%. Chose the latter. He said it’d take up to four years. It took seven. Stopped watching NHB stuff cause it made me sad. Didn’t wanna be one of those guys that spent his time talking about his glory days.

During those seven years, Bryson worked to the point that he’s a Pan-American Bronze Medalist. And he knew something his opponents didn’t – that as good as he was on the ground, he was even better on his feet. I knew that. My jaw knew that. Me? I stopped. Got fat. Settled down with a girlie.

The only place I’m still better than Bryson’s with a sword. But even then, he’s almost my match. We both know he’s better than me, he’s just too polite to ever say it. Some days, forget that I’m 35. Then my body reminds me. The last time I felt good about my right lead was in the mid-90s.

We spoke recently and he told me that he just got a similar injury. He finds out next week if he can roll again. I understood. Told him that he got seven years on me and he agreed. Small comfort, I know.

After we got off the phone, sat back and remembered when we weren’t old men. Instead, we’re in the muddy backyard of my college house. He’d swing on by, we’d laugh. Then we’d knuckle up and roll.

Man in Black: And what is that?
Inigo Montoya: I…am not left-handed.

Location: my parent’s living room
Mood: nostalgic
Music: hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it

Categories
business personal

First of the Month

Location: a beige sofa
Mood: awake
Music: can’t think of the right words to say


Secretary: It’s that bitch Janet from Bill’s office on the phone. Man, I can’t…
Me: (interrupting) Please tell me she’s on hold!
Her: I’m not you, Logan…
Me: Hey, what…?
Her: (turning back to phone, singsongy) Helloooo Janet, Logan’s right here. Please wait? (turning to me, flatly) Bitch, line one.

The first of the month is always…stressful. I have to write five-figures worth of checks every first of the month:

  • mortgage
  • office rent
  • salaries
  • utilities
  • equipment costs
  • car payments
  • credit cards
  • insurance

The Devil’s laughing in my head all the damn time.

Got home close to ten that night and a redhead I was seeing stopped by to drop off something so I invited her in for some rum.

Her: I’m just killing time with him. He tells me things like he misses me and I just don’t wanna hear it. At least the extra-curricular activities’re interesting. Most of the time.
Me: And the other times?
Her: I fake it.
Me: Jeez.
Her: I’ve got things to do! (pause) Y’know, he doesn’t even drink. I mean he lets me drink but…
Me: Man, that’s like giving yourself a roofie.
Her: (laughs) I suppose it is. So…tell me about Heartgirl.
Me: (grins)

Speaking of Heartgirl, saw her on Thursday.

Her: I think I’m afraid of being in a relationship.
Me: Yeah. I know what you mean.
Her: I hate your taste in music. (pause) But I like you.
Me: (shrugging) Works for me.

YASYCTAI: Clean the bathroom; you know it needs it. (30 mins / 1pt)

Categories
personal

A Tale of Two Conversations

Me: You ever read Tale of Two Cities? Charles and Sydney look alike and both love Lucie. But Lucie loves Sydney. Sydney’s arrested and about to be killed when Charles appears and takes Sydney’s place. So Charles asks, why would you do that for me? And Sydney goes, I’m not doing it for you; I’m doing it for her.
Him: If I break up with her, it’ll kill her.
Me: If you marry her cause you feel obligated to – that’d kill her. (pause) If you really do care about her, cut her loose. Then again, what do I know? Sometimes, you do the right thing and you hate yourself. Sometimes, you do the wrong thing and you hate yourself. After a while, you just get used to hating yourself. Hence, rum.

Caligirl: But I realize that there is something we have in common.
Me: And that is?
Her: (softly) Don’t you see it? I’m seeing someone else. PCD’s seeing other people, BEG’s seeing someone, the accountant never wants to get married and Heartgirl’s unavailable. You like the ladies you can’t have. Cause it saves you from the messy things. From having to look someone in the eye and telling them that you’re not the guy. (contemptuously) You’re such a sad and pathetic person, Logan.
Me: (pause) You’re in rare form today.
Her: I try, Logan. (pause) I saw that pretty blond at your birthday party and I knew you’d ____ it up. Just like you always do. You’re terrible at your two rules. What are you looking for?
Me: Something I can’t put into words. What you’re saying, has the ring of truth, but isn’t true at all.
Her: I wonder if you really believe all the crap you say. (pause) I hope you get your heart broken. Into a million little _____ pieces. Put this conversation in your sad little blog.
Me: I’ll take that under advisement.

Funny thing is, sometimes you forget why, exactly, you hate yourself but you get so used it to doing it that you keep doing it.

Location: 22:00 yest, parrying a dagger in the UWS
Mood: pensive
Music: A little less conversation, a little more action please

Categories
personal

McGuffins, Caterpillars and Pepe le Pew

I’m a bit like Pepe le Pew

With nods to a friend.

According to Hitchcock, a guy on a train sees something above and asks another dude what it is.

Guy2: It’s a McGuffin. It’s used to catch lions in Scotland.

Guy1: There’re aren’t any lions in Scotland.

Guy2: Well then, a McGuffin’s nuthin at all.

Used in stories or film, a McGuffin’s just a device that the characters place meaning onto to move the story along, like in Ronin where they’re all chasing after some briefcase but we never find out why it’s important. It’s just important cause they made it important.

With the exception of health and family, I submit that a lot of what you put your heart and soul with, it’s nuthin at all. A lot of what I put my heart and soul into is nuthin at all.

At the end of the cartoon above, the characters are the same; the situation’s the same. The only thing that’s changed is each character’s perception of reality. But, man, that’s everything, that’s the whole nut, yeah?

Heard once that, On the day he thought he died, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. It’s dorky, overly sentimental and hopeful. Like me.

Speaking of which, y’know, I pretty much am Pepe le Pew when I’m out and about. And ’bout as successful.

It’s ok, I have fun…Bonjour Week-end! Où sont les filles?

Location: home
Mood: beat tired
Music: tell your white knight that he’s handsome in hindsight

Categories
personal

Armed and Dangerous

There are three types of people in the world – maybe four

Me: There are three types of people in the world. Single, sorta single and not single.
Her: Not true, there’s a fourth.
Me: (puzzled) Really, what’s that?
Her: (laughing and flashing a ring on her left hand) An MBA – Married But Available.

We all carry our homemade weapons with us. The everyday items that, when against the wall, we flick out and stab others with.

My intellect instantly becomes arrogance; wit, sarcasm; focus, aggression. Faster than the blink of a teary eye. It’s parta why I don’t curse – that’s just gas on a fire.

At some point in every relationship, you got that split-second choice on whether or not to draw those weapons. Once those daggers come out, man, there’s no going back. There’s no putting toothpaste back inna tube.

A monster, No. 6 once said of me. We’d such a bloody end; I said things no one should ever say. Then again, so did she. Just spoke to her not that long ago. My fine handiwork’s still in her voice.

Cause I’m the skillest with my sharp objects. The killest with my blunt instruments.

Every fencer knows to take care when drawing. Cause you’re always just as likely to cut yourself as your adversary. I don’t recall a time I ever drew first and didn’t cut myself more. Not once. And I’m never unarmed.

The skillest and killest. It’s a horrid gift.

Me: I think I should go now.

———-

A different girlie:

Her: Hey Logan. (pause) I’d like to be friends. I think we could be friends.
Me: I’d really like that.

Location: my childhood bed
Mood: wicked once again
Music: another evil force tellin’ me to do what I gotta do

Categories
dating personal

Mother’s Day 2008

Location: 20 mins ago, making a smoothie in my kitchen
Mood: anxious
Music: I still believe there’s something left for you and me

Another weekend – pretty much like every other. Crashed a few parties, met a few girlies, the usual spring twirl. Spilled a drink on this guy that was too blotto to realize it. Clumsy me.

Told you that I’m terribly clumsy, yeah? Fell down some stairs a few years ago and the left side of my face was crushed in. After some work, the doctors sewed me up. Met up with each of my family individually and they each said, I can’t see it. But a second after my mom walked upstairs, she immediately, and wordlessly, burst into tears . The first thing she said was, I’ll pay for plastic surgery. I laughed.

Mothers know their kids, I think.

When my drama first came down, she called me to tell me to come home. Told her I was too busy. But she demanded that I come. So I rummaged around for the best smile I could find and wore it home. You look great, my dad said.

But my mom took one look at me and burst into tears. Like I said, mothers know their kids.

She told me I could always move back home and that made me laugh. Great, I said, I’ll be a 35 year old man living with his parents. (on the positive side, that’d certainly solve my dating dilemmas right quick).

I’d cook, she said.

That made me laugh even more. So I gave her a kiss and told her that if it came down to it, I’d do that. That seemed to make her happy. She says that she knows I’ll be fine. Mothers know their kids so I hope she’s right.

Did I ever tell you my mom’s a writer? She gets published a lot more than me. It’s from her side of the family; my grandfather’s a writer too. All this comes from her.

Off to see her now.

Categories
dating personal

Monday Always Comes a Day Too Soon

Location: all over the damn place
Mood: confused
Music: risk all this for just a kiss I promise I will not resist

Friday night, Sheridan invites me another one of his high-society parties and Gio invites me to a club; woulda been floated into both but I need some downtime.

Using a broken chopstick and four rubber-bands, spend the night mounting a 2.5″ HD into a 3.5″ bay in my DVR. Used to spend a lotta Fridays like that. No lie.

Saturday night, hit up a girlie’s party in Jersey. Met someone whom I may have kissed over New Year’s, but I don’t think so. Then again, been wrong before. An hour into it, get a call from SX. She’s in Jersey too.

Her: Let’s meet up half-way.

Me: (thinking) OK, I’m game.

We end up at a diner just east of no-freaking-where. Her blond hair falls into her eyes when she walks in, laughs and says, This is crazy. I smile and nod. In one of our conversations, I tell her that I occasionally kiss the women I meet.

Her: You’re a tongue-whore.

Me: Do people say that?

It’s almost 5AM when we call it a night. Sunday, wake up, do my situps and clean up my train-wreck of a pad. Meet up with a Hazel-Eyed Italian for caramels who lives around the way with an easy laugh. She asks about my dating life so I take a deep breath and tell her.

Her: Oh…you’re a tongue-slut.

Me: Wow, people really do say that. And I prefer whore, thank you.

We walk around the big city for a bit. Pointing at some violets, she says that she never sees enough of them here. I smile in agreement before she slips underground and I dash off to church.

I slide into a pew and sit by my lonesome in the back. Find myself staring just a little too long at the smug couples around me. I excuse myself, go to the restroom and wash my face for no particular reason. Then trudge up the steps to sit alone again.

Monday always comes a day too soon, yeah?