GIRL ON GIRL = Entertain Me

Its been one of those nights, the kind that leave you wobbly in the morning, filled with eighty percent smiles, ten percent regret and another ten percent of stuff you’ll realize later down. I’m at the GIANT food store in Columbia Heights, and my mini shopping cart reminds me that I’m not really that aware of what I’m doing. A quick peek into my basket would reveal a bag of Tostitos, shredded cheese, oatmeal cookies, Raisin Bran and some spaghetti. My head is throbbing a bit—Fridays will do that to you—and I realize I’m hobbling around with a post-inebriated gait. Ignoring the occasional glimpse I get from people (they must be wondering why the dude in the really cool jacket is walking so funny) I gather my things and prepare to leave, when I run into a friend of mine. He gives me a once over.

I don’t live in Columbia Heights. He does.

I’m sharply dressed doing afternoon shopping. He is in a hooded sweater with jeans and dirty sneakers. I save him from having to ask any questions.

“I’m still drunk.” I say.

“Nice.” He replies.

I briefly run through the events of the night. Girls kissing girls, me getting entangled with one of the girls who was kissing a girl, lots of drinking, hanging out with friends and eventually passing out on a couch.

“Nice.” He says again.

I notice that he has typical party material in his basket: Two cheap sodas, cups and some vodka. He tells me to come by his party later. I say “sure…” and wish him a good day. There are two parties slated for tonight. If I go, I won’t be drinking.

In the grocery line, I find myself staring at a place outside that says “Georgetown Valet” for what seems like an eternity, then I pay for my items and go. I sit on my bike, and my mind briefly flashes back my friend’s apartment. We were pre-gaming before heading to a bar (I was pre-gaming more heavily) and the conversation was about boys. It was me, Miss J and Miss M.

“So I met this guy.” Miss M says. “He is such a Jew… and you know I love Jews!”

She chirps a cute laugh.

“Yes, you are a Jew lover. But you know his mother will never let you marry him because you are Italian.” Miss J replies.

“Ah… my Jew boys, I love them.”

“What’s his name?” Miss J asks.

“Eli.” She replies.

I raise an eyebrow. Well it could be a Jewish name.

“Hrm, is he as Jewish as you know, Jesus?”

(she pronounces ‘Jesus’ as “Hey-soose”)

“No, no, no, “miss M replies. “He isn’t Mexican.”

I laugh to myself, watching the drunk conversation. We are almost ready to head out, and Miss M explains her rationale for the guys she dates. Apparently, as an Italian, she wanted to rebel against her parents by dating more Anglo-esque guys.

“I like pale, freckly boys with no hair. “ she says, flashing me a quick smile.

“No hair… you mean bald?” I ask.

“No, I meant no body hair.”

I laugh again, I really am a guy. She continues.

“Yes, every boy I’ve brought home my parents don’t like. All these blue-eyed hairless boys.”

She we go through a series of discussions about body hair, including information on how hairy her father is, which I find hilarious. She also mentions that her parents are “probably totally racist”. She said that when she told her mother she supported Barack Obama, her mother replied. “You know he’s black right?” Miss M says she then said: “Oh, he’s half-black mom.” To which her mother replied. “That’s half too much.” She then tells me a brief story about New Jersey and the migration of blacks into certain communities which threatened jobs and such. The information comes out in a stream—I drink all the while she tells me this—and for some reason I keep thinking about the Sopranos while she’s talking.

Miss J returns from her bedroom and sits on the counter of her kitchen sink.

“Don’t you rebel Marcus?”

I think about it for a second while the girls discuss another friend of theirs.

“You know,” Miss M says, “That friend of mine, in high school she had a black boyfriend, that was her rebellion.”

Miss J tosses the question back at me.

“Are you rebelling against your parents by dating white girls?” she says.

“Well I can’t say I’m rebelling per se.” I reply.

“I’ve always been an equal-opportunist, and I think who you date sometimes depend on who you hang out with the most.”

I make mention of my “Asian period” when I hung with a ton of Japanese people pretty heavily, a pleasant side-effect was a number of Asian girlfriends.

“So I think its relative…. But I must admit I probably shy away from some things that remind me of Jamaica. So in a way, socially I guess we all rebel in one way or another.”

By this point I’ve had two glasses of wine and three beers in the space of ten minutes.

HOME : I think about the conversation briefly as I carry my bike inside. Then I think about the bar.

BAR: The hours that followed after the pre-gaming session were a blur. All I know is that I think I was grossly overcharged for my tab (I had three Guinness’s and a PBR….wait I think my tab was right!) and then my friends bought me a few more drinks. I touched the hair of a bartender I know. It was normally blonde and it was an interesting brown colour. Kind of hot. People buy me drink while I do the same, which creates a nice sprialling effect for the next few hours which—

I’m in the Bar standing near the wall with my friend. We talk about the usual stuff, the week, work, life etcetera. I’m surveying the room, thinking of who, if anyone I feel like approaching. I approach anyone I want to generally, and with my growing buzz (which would lead me to certain ruin) my confidence was much higher than normal.

“I’ll be back.” I say to my friend, and head to the bar.

At the bar, I meet a girl named Erin, and accidentally call her cheap. (Note: Do not ask a girl if she works at a non-profit after she tells you she is buying the drinks because they cost much less money. )

I run into Liz, a girl I’ve been seeing at this very spot once a week. She gives me a perfunctory smile as I walk by. I run into miss J and miss M, who are hanging with this guy named Dave. Dave is wearing a full khaki suit, which I find interesting. The conversation lags a bit, then I return to my friend. The conversation goes into BS some more, then I’m ready.

A set of girls are in front of me, one or two of them give me a little smile. Suddenly, the crowd erupts into a roar of cheering and whooping. Apparently its someone’s birthday—and my buddy and I exchange confused looks.

“What’s going on?” I say to the group directly in front of me. A short girl who reminds me of an Elf replies.

“Its Beth’s birthday!” she says.

In seconds Beth arrives. I wish her happy birthday and she extends a hand to shake mine.

“I don’t shake people’s hands when its their birthday. Come here!” I give her a warm hug and chit-chat with her and her friends for a few. After that last Guinness, the night gets a little blurry. At some point during the night, a hand touches me on my back. It is Sam, a cute girl I met at a REALLY wack party last week.

“Marcus!” she says, giving me a hug.

“Sam!” I reply with equal gusto.

Another body floats by us almost a little too fast, its Tara, another girl I met at the same party. She’s Sam’s friend. I squeeze the muscle behind her forearm gently. Always gets attention.

“I sent you an e-mail this evening.’ I say to her.

“Ah, no way man! Nice try!” she says, and walks off.

The truth is, I did send her an e-mail. Regardless, my buddy decides to leave and I realize that I’m getting drunk. At this point I know I cannot safely ride my bike home, creaky and non-functional as it is. I touch miss J, letting her know that I’ll be crashing at her place. In the next thirty minutes, not only do I hit on Miss J, prompting her to say “If we do that, we won’t be friends anymore,” I hit on the girlfriend of a guy I know in a very roundabout way. She reminds me of an Actress on TV and I always remind her of it. I went just a bit too much this time. Then shortly before I left, a lot of girls started to kiss one another. (This tends to happen a lot at 2 a.m I realize). This time I wasn’t going to be left out. On of the really friendly ladies is Liz. With alcohol fueling me, I try to initiate a three way kiss with the girls, but the friend isn’t’ having it. She smiles at me then darts across the room and begins kissing another girl. I settle for Liz.

Soon afterwards, Sam tells me I should totally go for Tara and try to kiss her. I repeat this statement to Tara verbatim. She reminds me about the e-mail while grabbing her coat. I laugh. At this point I THINK I got a girl’s number… but for the life of me I can’t remember. I think I remember saying “So yeah, we should hang out.” But everything else is fuzzy. By the time I reach back to miss J’s place, (they almost left me) I’m hit full-on by the effects of drinking twelve or so dense beers in the space of an hour. What follows isn’t worth typing.

HOME – I’m drinking water and preparing to watch an episode of Stargate Atlantis. Two parties tonight? Hrm… can anyone say, “Rock n’ Roll?”

Candy Corn Makes Me Horny

I've found the latest aphrodisiac.

Candy Corn.


I'm not sure why Candy Corn of all things stirs my insides in a way that makes me wake up wishing I was in any number of pornographic films, but it does. The Candy I bought exactly one week ago has been sitting in my system, stirring up my desires and fueling my dreams in a strange way.

Then again, it might have nothing to do with Candy Corn. Sometimes when our minds are pushed to the limit, we can engage in what are called "mental extremes" which are spurred on by a sudden shift in emotional state. That might explain the hundreds of TV "sex after a huge fight" scenes, or the dozens of "bloody sex after i've killed a person" scenes i've seen during my lifetime.

I've had a huge deadline to accomplish this week, and I'm 99% done. In order to apply for a lucrative opportunity, I had to finish a film script i was working on in 4 days instead of 25 days. Between Monday and Today, I wrote about 80 pages, plus did multiple re-edits and still the bastard isn't finished. This is where my "shifting emotional state" theory comes in.

Yesterday I called Comcast, and laughed to myself briefly because the "hold" music sounded like cheezy 70's porn music. I wasn't on the phone all hot and heated with a Comcast representative, I assure you. I had to listen to that track for almost 5 minutes...which i'm guessing is the average length of a 70's porno.

Recently I watched this show with Robocop Alum Peter Weller called Screamers, which is an interesting sorta post-apocalyptic dystopia film where sentient aliens scream at a frequency that kills people.... in a nutshell. If you've watched any Peter Weller films, the man is like an 80's Charlton Heston, 100% man. What does a 100% man encounter in all his films? A saucy vixen of course. Even if it is on a mostly empty, frozen planet on the outer regions of some barely colonized area of space. In this movie it was a hot brunette. I personally didn't find her her that attractive, but the Candy Corn did. In an interesting scene in the movie, Peter Weller and this woman are speaking about escaping from the planet and heading to Earth and she removes her clothes (with no provocation) and proceeds to dab herself with warm water as they discuss these plans. I thought 100% man would have gotten some right there, but sadly, they don't have Candy Corn on planets covered in Frozen Tundra.

But this hasn't really been a "sexed up" week by no stretch of the imagination. This has been a week of shifting emotional states. When I write for more than 9 hours straight I tend to experience what I call "disconnect". I realize i'm disconnected when I`m typing and I realize I'm not even hearing the music playing on my computer, or noticing what's on the television behind me. When i'm in the mode of disconnect, if I go to sleep, sometimes I can wake up with such raging sexual tension I wonder if I was writing an explicit paper on the theories behind the origins of the "Money Shot" in pornographic films before I went into dreamland.

But at the end of the day, I always think its the Candy Corn. After all, I've gone into "disconnect" a few times this semester, and they have never had sexual side effects.

This has nothing to do with my Candy Corn tirade, but is it me, or has Vilo Ventimiglia's character in Heroes (Peter Petrelli) been shirtless in EVERY episode so far? I noticed that yesterday after wishing Masi Oka would be an asshole and sleep with the Japanese hottie and destroy the space/time continuum. Again, that was the Candy Corn speaking.

Heroes has been really annoying me lately, but I will save an entire post for that heroes rant. But since this is a Candy Corn post, I will mention, there has been only one Character who has been laid in Heroes so far who's significant other hasn't died or been written out of the show-- Adrian Pasdar's (Nathan Petrelli).

Anyways, I digress.

I am eating some Candy Corn as I type this. I didn't feel any effects today, so I believe it was all in my mind. When I woke up at 6 a.m this morning, ready to donate copious amounts of my manliness to any number of Sperm Banks, I theorized I probably hit a cycle, sort of like dogs in heat, but much, much more subdued. But i'm human, so I walked over to my computer, turned on some music and drank some water. I rubbed my head a bit, opened the curtains and hopped onto the computer.

I wrote more of my script, sipped on my water, and ate some Candy Corn. Even if the week was a Candy Corn induced high-low sexual madness period, at the very least the weekend is right around the corner. Which means I will replace Candy Corn with alcohol, and all will be right in the universe again.

Club a Dub Dub

I feel like a soggy bowl of cereal.

This is funny, because I'm eating a bowl of cereal as I write this. It is my latest addiction: Raisin Bran. Most people hated this cereal, and I must admit I found myself searching for the raisins as a kid whenever I had the opportunity to eat any. But after the evolution of "two scoops", I am more than satisfied.

Liking Raisin Bran has nothing much to do with feeling like a soggy bowl of cereal. Its one of those days, when it seems like the week is actually nine days long with four days of choir practice. Monday feels like it happened a really, really long time ago, and I keep hearing Leonard Nemoy talk about Star Trek just before I sleep. Maybe this has to do with me not sleeping.

Experts say that lack of sleep can lead to severe disillusion, sexual disfunction and increased aggression. Okay, Okay, no experts say that. But a lack of sleep can certain have an effect on us. For me sometimes I hear life on mute. Or slightly muted. I walk around and everything sounds more quiet, my vision narrows and colours aren't that bright. I'm in class and I can feel myself interacting, but afterwards it feels like someone tosed a cold glass of water in my face. Class becomes a single moment, populated by no memories, just that moment I made the class erupt into laughter. Maybe I am truly becoming a vampire.

I'm not one of those people that really likes to sleep. For years, if I sleep more than nine hours, my stomach cramps and I feel unwell for at least two hours. Sleep to me is injurious. The only time I really enjoyed sleep was when I had to sleep on a mattress for over a year. My room in my apartment was so small that my bedframe wouldn't fit into its confines, and I was forced to sleep near the grond, Japanese style for an entire year. When I went to the apartment of my girlfriend at the time, I was in heaven. She had a massive Sultan Ikea bed that could hold a small army in it. It was soft, extremely spacious and contoured for me. Her bed didn't make me want to sleep, but it definitely made the moments I slept a lot of fun.

Now, sleep is half and half. I know I need to, but I can't spend all day in bed hoping I have dreams involving nubile female ninjas and sports cars.

I went to a presentation yesterday involving creating a dream life through powerful thoughts and a positive attitude. I find this subject matter interesting--I've been studying it for almost nine years--and it was good to get a refresher in terms of my inner potential. But potential energy that sits too long can become dangerous, and I think that mine has not been fully released yet.

Maybe that's why sleep is so weird and I get cramped up. Maybe I need to be doing more than I am (if such a thing is possible). I haven't been able to truly "dream" about anything for a long time. There are moments when I feel excited by the prospects of a bright future, but I think the jaded Rayban glasses America hands to many of its citizens are slowly putting themselves over my eyes. I know things are possible if one has determination, a plan and constant reinforcement of these ideas... but sometimes, its a little difficult to feel uber-happy when you eat tuna and spaghetti five days in a row.

I think that's maybe why my stomach is cramped. It is annoyed by the monotony of my dietary habits, and wishing to change this stomach for one more worthy of this less that stellar palate. Lately i've been too busy to even cook, and I find myself making the fastest meal possible, which is the tuna dish. But sometimes when i'm pitter-pattering about my ratty Kitchen, I can see the well polished tiles of my future home and I see my future wife greeting me with a hug from behind and a kiss on my neck. In my mind I know that I am happy, comfortable and doing the things that I'm supposed to. My time right now is like this week: After I finish what I have to do, I will feel like someone threw a glass of water into my face. All the bad things will be a moment with no memories, and I will bask in the beauty of the present.

Or I could just sleep, and get cramped up and hope for the best.

RETURN OF THE MAC... PART 3

Having dreams about your ex-girlfriend can be really trippy. Partly because, your mind creates these amazing, Mills and Boon-esque scenarios, with you, a stormy night, an old mill, and of course your Ex. In this dream, everything feels so real, you can almost taste her lips artificially kissing you while you roll around like ruminants on fresh hay. This dream wasn’t one hundred percent real.

I was in a tower of some sort, in a massive city, that felt very futuristic and alien. This realization was a subtle one, as I didn’t use any weird devices or super-quiet public transportation. The city felt very polished, with the kind of man-made architecture that speaks of a more advanced intelligence, maybe, twenty to fifty years from now. The background in this city was flat and gray; quiet like the back of a Church on a Monday Morning. Somewhere in the dream, my sister was a part of it. I think this is because she was the last person I spoke to for the night. We had chit-chatted about making sure to be careful online, and I was an overly protective big-brother mode.

Then there was my ex-girlfriend. Something was different about her. Her hair was wet-looking and disheveled, and she seemed a few pounds heavier. Just enough weight to give her a little more shape, but there was no gut, no protruding skin. Her eyes had a smile in them that spoke of something far away, an inner happiness that had nothing to do with me. Yet, we spoke. About what specifically, I can’t remember, but if felt very real. In this dream, like in real life, I felt slightly sad as I was in her company, because I believe my waking self remembers the real situation, where we do not interact or speak that much with one another.

As realistic as these images were, my heart was being pulled into another plane of thought. The futuristic cityscape I could see outside the window of her apartment scared me. The look in her eyes scared me, because I knew it wasn’t real. I felt like she didn’t truly know me, and my mind was playing tricks on me. Everything began to ripple around me and she held my hand, asking me something I cannot remember. Then I woke up.

I don’t like dreams like these, because I wake up feeling foolish most of the time. Like most people, I tend to assume no one else dreams about me, so if I dream about someone else, I think I’m putting too much of them in my subconscious. Even though the subconscious is a roaring sea that people seem to be able to navigate with the help of psychedelic drugs and shock therapy, I feel that sometimes we can affect our own subconscious by being the usual, sappy-type. This is the second dream I’ve had about my Ex In the last three days, but the first dream ended with her lovingly hugging a short, chubby Latin guy.

Alas, the main point of this is obvious anyways. A person can feel strange, or foolish should they dream of someone they loved, because in their mind they assume that person has so little of them on their mind, they would not dream about them either. I know what people might say to this. “So, what if they dream about you, and just didn’t tell you about it?”

Well, that’s almost like them not dreaming about you anyways. If it wasn’t for this blog, no one would know I had this dream, and since so few people read this blog, only a handful of individuals will know I had this dream. And Even so, out of that handful, MAYBE one person MIGHT… (I do mean might) understand the references in this dream. I wouldn’t mention this dream to my Ex, because that’s a pointless exercise. If you think dreaming about an Ex-girlfriend makes you needy, trust me, the phone call to her after you wake up, filled with odd pauses and stilted displays of affection will make you want to toss your cell phone into a bowl of cereal, hoping it drowns in that brownish-white pool of milk. Maybe it has to do with the last vestiges of love rearing their ugly head. But I came to a realization (on my own, so it is not founded in academic theory, just madness) that one of the hardest things about loving someone is that you can’t really just stop. You can’t bottle it up like some old Sake and put It on the shelf. You can’t just run ten miles a day and do pushups and flush all the memories of that person out of your mind. You can’t meet someone new and immediately feel saved because you have this “new” person to think about. It doesn’t work that way. A person you love gets into the fabric of your being. Many aspects of them are delicately interwoven into your subconscious and conscious mind, and this framework of thought developed over a few years. It’s like my ex-girlfriends are all a part of my skin, like little scars I can rub and fondly think about and trace their origin to a certain moment. But a girl you love is that fat, ugly scar that stands out the most. It makes you smile the most, because you can pinpoint the exact moment you got it. As that scar is forever a part of me I can instantly remember, so is my Ex.

For example, I cannot look at anything labeled “Mac” and not think of my ex-girlfriend. This will probably stay with me for the rest of my life. Also, if I think about certain moments in my life, I may NEVER not think of her during these moments. This doesn’t mean I can’t love someone else mind you, (like that will happen anytime soon), but it shows the impact people can have on you. Now I know why people are really afraid to love. It’s not the blissful happiness they are worried about, or those love-romps that make you feel like an elite athlete. It’s that after-period, when you are single, alone and traipsing about trying to live your life, filled with feelings you can’t deal with, thinking about someone you can’t be with. THAT is what makes love really scary.

Trippy eh? Alas, it is the early morning and school work beckons. My little discourses on love will have to wait till I have another dream, which hopefully won’t be anytime soon.