-- I hate work. Have I mentioned that before?
Phil and Maverick (Phil's bud from college) have called me at work the last two mornings. I hadn't actually spoken to Phil for, like, three or four months, and then I called him last week after I hooked him up with some ecstasy for himself and his woman, Jenny. But then they conference call me from the East Coast to ask me shit about Duc and Akiyo and other shit (Phil's in DC, Maverick is in NY. Of course, Duc is like right around for most of this time, so I have to code my answers the best way possible -- lots of "Yeahs" and "Uh-huhs." Maverick said he'll beat Duc's ass for me when he comes out in June. That's be appreciated, but then it'd just give Duc something else to bitch about. Maybe they could just break his jaw so that it would be wired shut.
Then the two started bugging me about Akiyo and threaten to call her and shit, and I got all defensive. If you've never met me, getting under my skin is great entertainment. Not for me, but for everyone else. Ray loves it.
At some point I wrote in Stark Raving Mad about this other girl at my work, Emily, who I was thinking about getting to know last summer, around the same time I was getting interested in Akiyo. Emily had the advantage in that she was actually here in Downtown and I could physically see her, but then I talked to her and found out she was married. Anyhow, she was asking for the Business section of the LA Times about some front page article on Soap Shoes. Apparently soaps are the latest thing with the young people -- they're skater shoes with plastic grind pads on the arch of the sole, so you can slide down hand rails and shit on em'. So I leave it on her desk, and then she calls me today. Turns out her boyfriend (what happened to her husband?) is the fucking president of the company. It's a white guy, natch. Traitor Bitch! Damn, talk about high maintenance. Glad I didn't go after that ass -- how the hell am I gonna compete with that dood?
Fuck, how the hell am I gonna compete with anybody? Some friends pointed out to me a few years ago that if there wuz a girl that I was interested in, and if I hypothetically hooked up with her, then I'd feel like she'd deserve better than me. I wouldn't feel good enough for her, which would lead to me feeling more insecure than usual. I'd be totally afraid to bring her around my friends, b/c I'd be frightened that she'd get interested in one of them and I'd lose her to somebody else. Knowing my dumb ass, I'd probably try to pawn her off to a guy I thought was more deserving: "You deserve better than me. How about that guy! He looks nice, and he's driving an Infiniti!"
If I feel that I wouldn't deserve any girl I'm interested in, then the flip side is that it'd only leave girls I wasn't attracted to in the first place and wouldn't be interested in hooking up with. What a fucking Catch 22. Goddamn story of my life -- I should make 22 my lucky number.
Speaking of honeys, Phil's woman Jenny is hell dope. Not it in the physical sense (Not just in the physical sense -- body of a ten-year old boy!), but she's superfriendly and outgoing. She doesn't drink, but she smokes up and is open-minded and shit. If I had a girlfriend, I'd like her to be like Jenny. Phil's a lucky man. And she's not a traitor bitch!
Quick Das story -- A couple of these really nasty coworkers of his used to hang out in West Hollywood (the "gay district" of LA), and Das tagged along a couple of times. I believe the non-PC term for them is "fag hags". One of the girls moved to Tennessee, but she came back to visit, and so the three of them went to some place in West Hollywood. Das and the visiting girl sit down while the other girls goes up to the bar to get drinks. Just as they sit down, this guy walks up to Das and sticks his face right next to Das'. The guy then says, "Well, aren't you beautiful," and plants one right on Das' lips. Then he walks away.