Bad News and Good News

The bad news is that my wife implied a few weeks ago that she wants a divorce.  I'm not going to get into the details.  It's all he said, she said stuff, you promised this, you promised that, etc.  I happen to think that we are on the brink of having a stable, normal relationship due to the current circumstances- the place where I just moved to (where I've always wanted to be), my current very stable employment, etc.  In any case, I made a pretty strong argument for why we should stay together, and she's considering it.

Now, this next part is mainly to make myself feel better and to bolster my own ego, even though it is based on truth.  Throughout my whole life, I have always looked significantly younger than my actual age, and my aging, apparently, is decelerating.  When I was in my late teens, I probably looked about 75% of my age.  Of course, back then, I viewed it as a curse.  In my mid- 20's, I could pass for 66% of my age.  By then, it didn't bother me so much.  At present, without exaggeration, I can pass for approximately 50% of my age or slightly less.  I seriously get carded on a regular basis for alcohol.  In Canada.  Where the drinking age is 18.  I often laugh when I am carded, but they are not kidding around at all.  They seriously think I'm 17.  It's getting to the point where the server, bartender, or bouncer sees my birthdate, and you can tell by the look on his or her face that they suspect the ID to be fake.  They look at me, then at the picture, then at the birthdate, then back at me, then at the picture.  Then they look at the card at an angle in the light, so they can see the holograms, etc.  While this is mildly annoying to me, it also really gives me a power trip.  I feel like I'm a friggin' vampire or something.  Like I'm immortal.

It's now fairly apparent to me that women are checking me out.  It's getting to the point where there is no way that it's just in my imagination.  I've always been very insecure about my looks, and, when I was in my teens all the way up until I met my wife, even if I was being blatantly flirted with, I would somehow dismiss it as being in my imagination, or I would try to purge it from my memory.  I've had someone's little sister be sent after me to initiate contact, then been physically pursued across an amusement park.  Yes, I was actually running away, from shock, embarrassment, or what, I don't know.  I've had one of my sister's friends sneak into my room while I was sleeping.  I've heard my sister's friends quite blatantly talking about me while I was driving them around.  I've been followed around by a female classmate so obviously that her friends started calling her by my last name.  I've been "accidentally" bumped into.  I've had a girl ask a friend about me.  I've seen a girl blush profusely and then look abruptly away from me when I tried to talk to her.  I've asked a classmate to dance and have her stare in utter disbelief at me, then at her friend, then back at me, before saying, "ummm... OK!" and then having her friend storm off.  All of these incidents, among others, I always managed to shove to the back of my mind or completely misinterpret as repulsion.  Clearly, when I think back on them, I can see what was really going on.  I used to think that there was no way in the world that any female could find me attractive.  My wife finally convinced me otherwise.  I know now that it is unlikely that what I viewed as strange reactions to me over the years were due to repulsion.  More recently, like in the past week, I have had people comment about my youthful appearance and my looks, including a few ostensibly straight guys.  Just this afternoon, a group of four women in their 20s were walking several feet in front of me on the sidewalk while eating ice cream.  Each of them, one by one, turned to look at me.  They were more than glances.  I avoided eye contact.  Then I heard giggling, and one of them said, "No, I didn't notice anything.  I was just... looking at my ice cream."

I really think that it's in my wife's best interest to keep me around.  Because if this keeps up, I'll be looking like I'm in my 20's for the next 24 years.

Invincible Heart (or just very lucky)

I don't know why, lately, I have been so into stories of heartbreak or unrequited love, such as that told in Airborne Toxic Event's "Sometime Around Midnight," if I have never had my heart broken and probably never will.  I certainly have had crushes on various people and have even been very heavily infatuated before (because I don't think you can call it "in love" if the other person views you as merely an aquaintance) without having my desires fulfilled, and at those times it certainly seemed painful, however nowhere near as painful as it would be to completely lose something that could have been, such as in the movie Vanilla Sky and what pretty much happened in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in its own bizarre way.  Sorry, that was a run-on sentence, but I'm too lazy to edit.

Basically, the first person I was in a real relationship with, I married, and it certainly looks to be a permanent arrangement.  I tried to break up with her once, and she tried to break up with me once (actually, twice, but the second time was really more like an ultimatum, like "you won't propose to me, therefore I'm breaking up with you," so I don't count that, because there was a known and controllable solution to the break-up).  But both times, somehow I was not all that affected by true emotional pain as I've heard expressed by others, both fictitious characters and real, meatspace people.  Maybe it was because I somehow subconsciously knew that it could not be over, that somehow, as cheesy as it sounds, we were fated to be together and, even if someone were to come from the future and try to break us up, the fabric of time would heal itself, and what was meant to be would happen anyway, to maybe even greater effect (like in The Butterfly Effect?).  I will write more about why I think this later, and no, it's not just because I'm a hopeless romantic- it has to do with how we met.  Maybe I just watch way too many movies.

But why, especially recently, am I so curious about the fragile and often-damaged human heart, if, technically, I should not be able to relate to real heartbreak?  I can really feel it, too, during that part of "Sometime Around Midnight" when he is leaving the bar, or the climactic guitar solo in "The Nurse Who Loved Me" by Failure.  I can even feel it when I listen to the string cover version of that by The Section Quartet.  I can feel it when Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey are in that collapsing beach house, in the dark, as the very last of his memories of their relationship is erased.  I can feel it as Jason Lee and Penelope Cruz ditch Tom Cruise on the darkened DUMBO street, leaving him alone with his delirious, drunken desperation.  I can feel it during the engagement party scene in (500) Days of Summer, where Tom's expectations are juxtaposed against the cold reality of Summer moving on without him.

Maybe I'm fascinated in it the same way I am fascinated, in a way, with death, or the end of the universe.  I have never experienced any of those things either (or, at least, the current iteration of myself has absolutely no recollection of them), but my curiosity about  the cessation of existence, of life as I know it, abounds.

Is this all just existential angst?

Music and Food

Why is it that the best food comes from areas with warm, even infernal climates, but the best music (and now that I think about it, comedy and sense of humor) comes from areas with cooler or downright permanently frozen areas of the planet?

I guess I should consider myself lucky

So, tomorrow will mark day 6 of 16 straight days of work.  But, I guess in a time when so many people are unemployed, it's better to have way too much to do than too little.  And, after the sixteen days are up, I will get a nice five-day weekend.

I'm freaking tired right now.  I can't think.

I'll just go over to http://www.twitter.com/shitmydadsays and see what's going on over there.

Ferrets and Weed

May 2014 Update:  Not that there is anyone reading this that would desire an explanation, but the two girls in the story below represent two specific American political parties.  No, this in no way even remotely resembles anything that has happened to me in my lifetime.

So you keep hearing your friends complaining about the girls they are dating, all of whom vaguely resemble either the cheerleader or the smart chick.  They have mentioned a few times what their ideal girl would be like.  You point out to them that they are pretty much describing the girl you're dating.  The response is always something like, "err, no, dude, she's not quite what I had in mind."  You ask how she is NOT what they are describing.  No one can seem to put his finger on it.  They just know that she's not really their type, it really wouldn't be cool to hang out with her, no offense, man, but if she's so great then why hasn't anyone else dated her before.  You keep trying to get one friend or another to hang out with the two of you, so others would realize how great she is.  One Tuesday night in November, your group of friends invites you to hang out with them.  After you respectfully decline, and try to convince some of them to hang out with you and the outcast girl instead, the smart girl says, "look, are you going to hang out with us or what?"  After further protest, she says, "Dude, stop trying to convince everyone to hang out with your creepy girlfriend- we're all sick of hearing about it already," while rolling her eyes and wearing this dismissive, self-righteous bitchy look.  You throw her a brief hurt, then a longer angry look, turn your back on the group, then walk away.  You know you're girl's not perfect, but they won't even give her a chance.  "You're just going to ignore your friends, then, weirdo?" mocks the smart chick.  You shoot back, "Look, at least she doesn't 'borrow' (you make exaggerated air quotes) so much money from me all the time, you freeloading bitch," without even looking back or breaking your stride.  You immediately feel guilty.  She's really a good friend of yours, and most of the time you really like hanging out with her, but she's so goddamn stubborn and preachy sometimes.  "Have fun with the fucking FERRETS, you pothead!"  There are some muffled snickers and mumbling in the crowd as they all walk off in the opposite direction.  That wasn't really fair of her.  She smokes weed, too- it's just that she's not talking about legalizing it every waking minute of her life.  And ferrets are cute, after all.

Dear Internet,

Hey, so it's been a while.

I'm not going to say much about who I am.  I don't really want my friends and family to see this blog, not because it would get me in trouble or offend people necessarily, but, well, a lot of this will just be cathartic and/or very self indulgent (as if there is a blog that is truly NOT self-indulgent), and I kinda just don't want to be embarrassed or seem any more shallow than I am.  From time to time, in this blog, I may come across as douchebaggy.  I assure you that I really am not.

There are some things I will reveal about myself that you will probably be able to cross-reference and, by process of elimination, determine just who exactly I am.  If you are someone I know in meatspace, I would appreciate it if you do not continue reading.  However, if you must, please don't tell anyone else about this.  I would be glad if you told me that you have found it, just so I know, even though I will be embarrassed.

Oh, who am I kidding.  Hardly anyone is going to read this anyway, so I should just relax.

I'm Tom.  I'm in my early thirties.  I live on the peninsula in the SF Bay Area.  I'm in the design industry, but really, lately it has been more like the engineering and paperwork industry.

I'm just gonna start.  You're in the thick of the action, now.

So, yesterday I had lunch at The Bitter End, an Irish pub in the Clement shopping district of San Francisco.  The area is one of a few "satellite" Chinatowns in SF that's actually probably bigger than most other cities' main Chinatowns, but there seem to be a lot of Irish Pubs around, frequented by actual Irish people.  Ethnically Irish, anyway.  I had two Guinness and the Gaelic chicken.  Now, I don't know how authentic the food was, particularly since it appeared to have been cooked by a Hispanic woman, or if there really is such a thing as Gaelic chicken, but it was damn good, if just a little bit salty.  The only thing I really know about Irish food is that it includes cabbage, corned beef, potatoes, Guinness, Jameson's, and Bailey's.  Anyway, the Gaelic chicken had this garlic wine mushroom sauce, and it came with vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes.  Like I said, it was just damn good.  I think I might go on Yelp and give The Bitter End five stars- or I might just wait until I've eaten there a couple more times to make sure.

I like Irish girls.  I believe, come to think of it, that every girl I have ever had a crush on was of full or partial Irish decent.  Oftentimes, another part is French (I'm just guessing based on last names).  But almost always some Irish in there somewhere.  I currently have this gigantic, very distracting crush on a celebrity who is mostly of Irish descent and slightly younger than me.  I mean, it's as distracting, as, say, a major cramp in your calf that won't fully go away.  I'll let you guess who she is for now.  I'll probably write about her later.  My S.O. has told me about her celebrity crush, so I don't feel too bad about it.  Actually, since she shares a lot of the same physical characteristics with this celebrity I have a crush on, and I share absolutely none with the one she likes so much, perhaps my crush is more justifiable?  If that makes any sense?

So, for the last four weekends, I have had this routine:  I drive into San Francisco to the Clement shopping district, and I go to 6th Avenue Aquarium and Green Apple Books.  I buy a few super cheap books from the sale and/or clearance tables upstairs at Green Apple, and sometimes buy a couple betta splendens fish and/or some sticks of bamboo from 6th Avenue Aquarium (technically the place that sells bamboo in front is a separate business, but whatever).  On one of the first three weekends, I once stopped for a Guinness at The Bitter End, but this past weekend was the first time, I think ever, that I have eaten anything there.  After that, I head down Geary all the way past the Cliffhouse to Ocean Beach.  I park just south of the Cliffhouse and walk down the beach well past Beach Chalet.  I've decided that I need to see, and preferably touch, the ocean at least once a week, tsunami warning or not.

Tonight, Monday night, I ate at the burger place Citrine for maybe the eighth or ninth time.  I like that place, but a couple times I have ordered the Mediterranean burger and it tasted like it had been sitting around for a while.  I know it has the potential for being very good, however, because on a particularly sunny Saturday morning I ordered it, and it was absolutely superb.  My mood was likely affected by the fact that I was dining al fresco, it was very warm, and I was listening to something I particularly like on my iPod shuffle- The Smiths, I think.  But tonight I ordered the horseradish steak sandwich, and I think it's my new favorite.

You're probably thinking that I am a big disgusting meat eater, and you would be right.  I do, however, completely understand the validity of veganism, and I realize that to be a really responsible and considerate citizen of the 21st Century, I really should be a vegan, as well.  I don't know what's really stopping me.  Apathy?  Habit?  Addiction?  Something having to do with my ego/id anyway.

I don't believe I've ever truly been addicted to a substance.  I've maybe become dependent on aqueous caffeine solutions and fat, usually in the form of animal flesh and other animal-derived products.  But alcohol, nicotine, and a couple illicit substances I have tried have not led to anything even remotely close to an addiction.  I actually despise nicotine.  I've always hated the way it makes me feel.  Don't ask me why I was actually trying to force myself to become a smoker.  Obviously, it was for social reasons.  Anyway, there was a period of a few weeks during college when I thought I was smoking regularly enough to finally start getting used to it, but no.  It was still disgusting to me- both in terms of taste and physiological effect.

I do believe in the strength of my own willpower.  It shouldn't really take that much effort to become a vegan.  Right?

I'm a kind of half-assed liberal.  I eat amounts of meat and dairy products that are unhealthy for me as well as the planet.  I own a ridiculous amount of leather.  I believe most liberals in government don't understand how to manage money properly and efficiently, so why should they have the right to take so much of mine and do whatever they want with it?  I'm registered as Libertarian, but I think maybe I'm at odds with a lot of that party's philosophy.  For instance, if I have to choose between not being taxed and not having future generations properly (and truthfully!) educated, then I would rather have all my income taken from me and live in a cardboard box.  As far as I'm concerned, the only reason I exist is to contribute to the future progress and enlightenment of human civilization.

But I think it's wrong for hypocritical limo liberal bureaucrats to take my money and blow it out of their complacent, inefficient, lazy, enabling, special interest asses.  So sue me.  That being said, I would rather have my money completely wasted than used to kill millions of people I don't even know.


OK, I have to get this off my chest right now.  I may not fully understand what it means to be a Libertarian, but I do know this.  If you are registered as a Libertarian in the State of California, and you voted in favor of Prop 8, then you, sir or madam, are a bold-faced hypocrite.  I know for damn sure that a vote for inequality, particularly in a matter that does not concern you at all, is the opposite of Libertarianism.  You, sir or madam, are meddlesome and nosey, and that is no way for a Libertarian to be.  You're stifling the happiness of others due to your own pent-up, repressed, prudish issues.


I at first thought I might vote for Meg Whitman.  I've sort of admired her ever since I started bidding on ebay in the mid 90's.  I think she has a lot of good ideas.  I think she does have the potential to save California economically.  But why, oh why, Meg, do you have to be pro-Prop 8?  Deal breaker, right there.  Sorry.  Principles are principles.


So, the way I came to be a Libertarian is this.  Actually, I'll use an analogy, or metaphor, or whatever.  I like using those.  Let's say you're a straight male in high school.  In your circle of friends, there are two girls that are getting almost all of the attention.  One is the super-attractive cheerleader type, but unfortunately she's not too bright and she's kind of a selfish bitch.  The other one is very smart and sarcastically witty, but also charming and fun to hang out with.  She's not really that easy on the eyes, though, let's face it.  And she's always "borrowing" money from you and not returning it.  Outside of your circle of friends, there's a girl who appears to be both attractive and intelligent, and, from the few interactions that you've had with her, it would seem that you would get along great together.  You wonder why more people don't pay attention to her and even avoid her- at first glance, there seems to be nothing wrong with her at all.  But there are rumors that she's kinda crazy, gets into trouble, sometimes embarrasses herself and those around her in public, and hangs out with the wrong crowd.  She also has this uncanny obsession with ferrets and weed.  You decide to date her anyway, and find out the hard way that not all the rumors were unfounded.  OK, maybe that wasn't the best analogy, but it's the best I can think of right now.