As you lie…

Something special will come up that will give her motivation to get dolled up.  She must look forward to these moments because she spares no detail in getting ready from her hair to her makeup all the while agonizing about what outfit to wear.  I try to be as patient as possible, which is quite a stretch for me because I’m ready to go in twenty minutes.  I have an unfair advantage though because I know what makes me look good isn’t anything I’m wearing, but who I’m with. 

Her dirty blonde hair is straight and shiny with her bangs falling ever so slightly across her face to accent her big hazel eyes.  Her elegant neck slopes softly down to her shoulders that look soft to the touch and feel even softer on my lips.  My eyes are transfixed on her body as she moves from one side of the room to the other trying on different pairs of shoes soliciting my advice every step of the way.  I’ll mumble a word or two of encouragement without letting on that I’m entranced by her presence.  She’s absolutely stunning, a gorgeous example of my extremely good fortune. 

When we’re out I can feel the eyes of every guy in the room.  I can sense the inquisition looming within their heads, “she’s with him?”.  Yes, yes she is.  What they don’t know is that as beautiful as she is on these special occasions, she’s at her best when she’s fast asleep lying in the glimmer of the moonlight peeping through the curtains.  I’ll give her a smattering of kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, and her lips, then whisper in her ear to dream about me.  I’m wide awake but being in love with her is a dream.

An Epiphany

I once mused that you didn’t inspire me because I didn’t write about you.  I was wrong.  You don’t inspire me to write because I seem to only write when something’s wrong.  You inspire me to live with the happiness you bring into my life, and to me that is worth so much more…

Restroom Etiquette

Quick refresher for the idiots who don’t have a freaking clue…

1. Do NOT use an adjacent urinal to one in use.  We need at least 3 square feet of personal space at all time, and invading it at a time when someone’s in the most vulnerable of positions (unit in hand) is forbidden.  NOTE: crowded bars/clubs/sporting events excepted, but you must look up or stare at the wall ahead.
2. Do NOT converse at the urinals and especially not to the next stall.  We’re not women.  We don’t need support groups to answer nature’s calls.  There really isn’t information important enough that can’t wait until you’ve exited the restroom.  Making friends at the urinals is strictly forbidden.
3. If you’re taking a dump in a stall and you hear someone else enter the restroom, wait until that person leaves before exiting the stall.  It’s uncomfortable enough to walk into the restroom while someone’s taking a crap with the odor, the farts, and the grunts.  Don’t make it worse by forcing a face-to-face acknowledgment of your “work”.  Don’t exacerbate the awkwardness by then making conversation at the sink.  
4. Tip the bathroom attendant sometime during the night.  Grab some mints if you need to make it worth your dollar, but the poor guy has to put up with jerks like us all night while hanging out in the armpit of the establishment.

There’s more that I can’t think of at the moment, but just remember the important commandments and you’ll be fine.

Happy Trails Paisano

Boy, I must be getting old.  The thought creeps into my head as I hide my eyes from the world as tears well up.  For what?  Because a ballplayer is retiring?  This seems insane.  But Mike Piazza wasn’t just any ballplayer though.  The Greatest Hitting Catcher That Ever Lived was a symbol of the downfall of my beloved Dodgers.  A homegrown superstar who starred in his own all-American tale of rising up from nothing through hard work and determination to reach the pinnacle of his profession, Piazza was a Hollywood script played out on the baseball diamond. 

He was drafted in the 62nd round of the amateur draft as a favor to Dodger manager, Tommy Lasorda, who happened to be his godfather.  Of the 1,433 players selected that year, Piazza was 1390th player taken.  Only five scouts turned in reports about him, and none of them said he had a future playing the game.  His defense at prime defensive position was god-awful and after a 16-year career approaches one of the worst of all-time, but boy could he mash.  And mash he did.  Here are his stats for his Dodger career starting with his first full year in the majors (1993) to his last full year with the Dodgers (1997):

Year	AVG	HR	RBI	OBP	SLG	OPS
1993	.318	35	112	.370	.561	.931
1994	.319	24	92	.370	.541	.911
1995	.346	32	93	.400	.606	1.006
1996	.336	36	105	.422	.563	.985
1997	.362	40	124	.431	.638	1.069

He was named Rookie of the Year in 1993, was selected to the All-Star game each year he played for the Dodgers winning the All-Star MVP in 1996, and won the NL Silver Slugger Award given to the best hitting catcher in the league each year he was in Los Angeles.  Coming off his monster 1997 season in which he was robbed of the NL MVP award by Larry Walker, it was expected that the Dodgers would sign him long-term to a lucrative contract making the best player in baseball the highest-paid in the game.  Unfortunately, the Dodgers were going through an organizational transition period as the longtime family owners, the O’Malleys, were selling the team.  Peter O’Malley felt it wasn’t economically feasible for a family-owned ballclub in these modern times and decided to sell the team to News Corp’s Rupert Murdoch (Fox media).  Gone were the days of the “Dodger Way” and all the tradition that had made the Dodger brand one of the most prominent in all of sports.  My beloved Dodgers were now in the hands of a company who brought us A Current Affair. 

Piazza wanted and deserved a big pay day.  He was the biggest star in the LA sports stratosphere, he was homegrown, and he LOVED being in LA.  He wanted to be the first $100 million player and asked for $105M over 7 years.  The Fox people balked at the idea of paying that much money to a player everyone loved and traded him mid-season to the Florida Marlins.  To further rub salt into the broken hearts of Dodger fans, that offseason the Dodgers signed pitcher Kevin Brown to the most lucrative contract in baseball history, $105M/7 years.  Yup, Kevin Brown stole Mike Piazza’s money.  That’s what happens when you have TV executives trying to run a baseball team.  You pay $105 million to a pitcher who only plays every 5 days instead of the best hitter in baseball.  It only made matters worse that Kevin Brown was everything Piazza wasn’t and in a bad way.  Known as the quintessential “red ass”, Brown was surly with the media, aloof in the clubhouse, and distant from fans.  It didn’t help that Brown only turned in a couple productive years before injuries got the best of him.  The players the Dodgers picked up in the trade with the Marlins didn’t exactly replace Piazza’s presence either.  Gary Sheffield, every bit the offensive star as Piazza, was just as offensive as a person teaming with Brown to the give the Dodgers a two-headed douchebag monster.  Bobby Bonilla could never replicate Pittsburgh numbers when he had Barry Bonds protecting him.  Jim Eisenreich was just too old, and Charles Johnson never wanted to be a Dodger. 

The Dodgers have a history of making bad deals and the Piazza trade ranks up there with the Pedro Martinez trade except the Piazza deal set the entire organization back a decade that we are now just scraping our way out of.  That group of the players from the 90s that won 5 consecutive rookie of the years – Eric Karros, Mike Piazza, Raul Mondesi, Hideo Nomo, and Todd Hollandsworth – was the last heralded group of homegrown Dodger players until this new crop of today’s young stars: Russell Martin, Matt Kemp, Chad Billingsley, James Loney, Jonathon Broxton, and (*cross your fingers) Clayton Kershaw.  The Dodgers got away from what made the Dodgers successful through the years: scouting and development, and it all started when the Dodgers traded its heart, soul, and face to Florida that disastrous summer of 1998.  It might’ve help to ease the pain if the Dodgers could have signed Piazza this offseason to a one-year deal to back-up Russell Martin just so he could retire in Dodgers Blue like he was supposed to.  Lasorda even suggested the idea to general manager, Ned Colletti.  Unfortunetely, Lasorda was a couple hours late as Colletti had just signed steroids-abuser, Gary Bennett, to play back-up.  Stupid Dodgers, we can only win in spite of ourselves.

Beginning at the End

After finishing up my reading homework, I decided to start writing what is probably the most personal piece I’ve ever decided to tackle.  As I sat out on the outdoor patio of Border’s listening to Rilo Kiley’s “Pictures of Success”, something just didn’t feel right about starting it then and there.  Losing myself and my thoughts in the soft tones and Jenny Lewis’ melodic voice, I packed up my stuff and started driving like old times.  There was a time when I would gather my thoughts while driving aimlessly to nowhere in particular except this time my heart led me westward as I pathologically drove to the beach.  I parked my truck on the street, spread a blanket in the bed, and took out my laptop to begin writing my story. 

As the sun began its daily descent to the edge of the ocean, I was overcome by the memories that scatter my life of being there watching the end of day searching my soul and my heart for the words to describe what led me there in the first place.  I had finally found that feeling of calm that I had yearned for all those years traveling to the same spot.  I had gone there to look for the words to write, but instead realized that for this moment in time words couldn’t approach what I was feeling inside.  This indescribable jumble of emotions made me pause and reflect on the spectacle staring me in the face and warming my body for the last fleeting moments of the day.  There’s just something with me and sunsets with the day passing into night turning the page of another episode in my life.  In this uncertain world I know I can always count on something so reliable as the sunset to bring my life back into focus.

A romantic isn’t born.  There isn’t a gene carrying a predisposition toward emotion and sensitivity.  It’s an acquired trait that is developed through socialization over a period of time like any other aspect of one’s personality.  A psychologist can explain how certain brain synapses fire off to create certain actions to particular stimuli, but luckily for me I know why I am the way I am…

I’m not a creep. Creepy? A little.

I stumbled onto this video while randomly surfing youtube one day.  In an instant I was charmed and fell under the trance of a girl, her guitar, and her soft lullaby voice.  Her lack of expression only adds to her simplistic appeal as she performs in the intimate confines of her bedroom.  Her name is Ria Ritchie and she belongs to some band whose name escapes me at the moment.  I searched her on myspace and sent her some fan mail and now she’s my buddy.  Creepy?  I guess so.  But so what!

 

There’s something about the sound of the piano that will aways get me.  It makes anything and everything sound beautiful.  This artist is named David Sides whom I discovered randomly surfing youtube one day.  He plays by ear and magically turns today’s R&B hits into soulful harmonies that soothe the ear.  After listening to his rendition of T-Pain’s “Bed” you probably wouldn’t guess that the song he is covering goes something like:

Girl, change into that Victoria Secret thing that I like
Alright
Ok, tonight your having me your way
Perfume, spray it there
Put our love in the air
Now put me right next to you
Fittin to raise the temp in the room
First rub my back like you do
Right there, uh-uh, right there uh
You touch me like you care
Now Stop
And let me repay you for the week that you’ve been thru
Working that 9-5 and staying cute, like you do
Oh, oh, oh

I love it (I love it)
You love it (You love it)
Everytime (Everytime)
We touchin (We touchin)
I want it (I want it)
You want it (You want it)
I’ll see you (see you)
In the morning (In the morning)

I wanna put my fingers thru your hair
Wrap me up in your legs
And love you till your eyes roll back
I’m tryin to put you to bed, bed, bed
I’mma put you to bed, bed, bed
Then I’ma rock your body
Turn you over
Love is war
I’m your soldier
Touching you like it’s our first time
I’mma put you to bed, bed, bed
I’ma put you to bed, bed, bed

You were inspiration.

Muse  (myōōz)

noun

1. A guiding spirit.
2. A source of inspiration.

I didn’t know what to call you at first.  I didn’t know much of anything actually, I was just pretending to know.  Inside me was a hurricane of inexplicable emotion that didn’t make sense until I focused on you.  You came into my life at a time when I needed you most.  I needed your warmth because the world had become a cold, desolate place.  I needed your compassion because I turned my back on myself.  I needed your innocence because cynicism had disillusioned my disposition.  When my world was at its darkest, you were the star that got me through the night.

You were beautiful in ways unquanitifiable, and to me it was better that way.  Any Joe Schmoe could tell you how pretty you were, but to me you were the dew on a flower petal at the first light of dawn.  You were the rusty collage in the sky as the sun dipped into the ocean at dusk.  You were what made words unworthy, and the emotions you conjured are why poets use metaphors.  Never before had anyone held  such a monopoly on my thoughts.  It wasn’t just from my waking moment until the last blink of the day, it was every spare moment and auxilary thought.  With my head a fixture among the clouds I was consumed by blissful, hopeless reverie.

Getting through that episode of my life made me a stronger person.  Finding the calm within the storm helped me discover new ways to express the emotions that drive me as a person.  You opened doors to unreached depths of my heart and uncharted territories of my psyche.  You have no idea what kind of effect you have had on my life and who I am today, and the extent shall forever remain a mystery to you.  I’ll be sure to thank you one day; a day when it won’t much matter anymore.  By then words won’t be necessary and all it would take would be one of those coveted glances that used to make my night. 

Seriously…

Video: NSFW (Not Safe For Work)

Why you comin’ home 5 in the morn

Something’s goin’ on 

Can I smell yo dick?

Don’t play me like a fool

Cause that ain’t cool

So what you need to do 

Is let me smell yo dick.

What the hell happened to R&B?  Jodeci is turning over in its grave. 

 

What’s my age again?

It was a time of reckless abandon with life going at a minute-to-minute pace, and even then it was still all about the moment.  The main characters in this episode were myself and my boys, Peter and Brandon, living life to the last drop/puff/drip/dose.  Looking back several years after the fact I have an inkling inside that I didn’t appreciate those times enough.  You really don’t know how much fun it was until those times are no longer available due to the progression of time, person, and station in life.  “The Boys” wasn’t just an expression of my closest friends, it was a connection, a synchronization of people who had traveled disparate paths to reach a similar plane of consciousness. 

While doing some spring cleaning I came across an old CD that encapsulated all the emotion, the angst, the tomfoolery, and the disconnect from the real world I enjoyed during one of the most significant phases of my life.  Everyone says being 21 is the greatest year of your life, and damn it I tried my best to ensure it was.  The Mark, Tom, and Travis Show albums brings me back to the 2001: Brandon’s S10 on airbags, Peter’s rice rocket GSR, checkered shirts and Dickies, blonde highlights with a fade, bars during the week and raves on the weekend, E-parties with chicks whenever and wherever, big bongs and baby bongs even though we only picked up 8ths, Puma shoes and jackets, cruising the Strip, hanging out at the Block, trying to get more numbers than the other guy, disappearing at Spundae, coffee shop sluts, worrying if B is going to get us in a fight, Main St. Huntington Beach without going in the water, finding as many free clubs as possible, what the hell is the name of that club @ Grand Ave circa 2001 that was free for 21+?, Peter’s standards that were lower than a slammed Civic, B always having something to say and Peter having something to counter, acid trips in the room for hours on end, patio man-to-man’s, smoking then BBQ’ing then smoking some more, the back of the house room, popping circles in the jungle room, e-hoeing in the dark, every party was the last party, hanging out at colleges we didn’t attend, Tony Hawk Pro Skater 1, impromptu road trips to the Bay Area, Vegas onE, driving to SD to go to ONE bar, internet superstars, hanging out @ the TGIF’s in Mission Viejo, taking a premeditated risk everytime I got into my rice rocket old school integra, gooOOoOOOoOD acid, Boo Paa Loo Soldierz dreadlock rasta…

If there was a mantra we lived by it was, “oh hells, might as well” and we incorporated it into most every facet of our lives.  It worked so well back then.  Nowadays, not so much.  We put off growing up as long as we could but the inevitable happened and with came the redefinition of almost everything we used to hold dear.

For a group of guys who attempted to live life a million miles a minute, we sure let time and distance get the best of us.  There’s a part on the CD where Tom is talking to the crowd and he says something to the effect that he, Mark, and Travis are the best of friends.  The band is now defunct as most good things come to an end.  Sadly,  Brandon has relocated to Texas where he’s doing well for himself, and I wish Peter hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth just so I could feel assured that he’s okay too.  After all these years I still wish we could get together for a drink and reminisce about old times over a Laker game.  One day.  Maybe.

Here’s the story of some friends on EE

… and they were having such a very boring day.

All of them had jobs at desks, 9 to 5ers

Emailing every day.  

You have to love the 21st century and its technological advances that allow for a group of friends separated by miles, areas codes, and county lines to sustain a correspondence for the past several years.  What exactly is EE?  It started out 7 years ago when a few of my friends were still weening themselves off chatrooms, but needed an outlet to the outside world while toiling away in their prison cells, I mean cubicles.  Email Express was born and with it came flooded inboxes of hundreds of daily emails.  While I loved the diversion from my daily tasks of appearing busy, it was more work to go through all those individual emails.  

Enter Gmail and the new age of organizing emails as “conversations” rather than singular correspondence.  Gmail had the appearance of a messageboard and the absence of job-related productivity reached unforeseen heights.  

So here’s a shout-out to my EE friends — Jessica, Roxan, Sarah, Diana, Young, Sally, Patty, Xavier, and Viet — whom I don’t get the chance see all that often anymore, but are still a big part of my day.  May we never take ourselves too seriously to send each other a daily reminder of the immature brats we once were (and still are in my case).