Location, location, location

I went down to Long Beach on Saturday for a run and picnic called "Hashstock". It was put on by the same folks who do the annual Red Dress Run in San Diego and the Mexican Mardi Gras so I figured it would be a good one. The premise was to be a modern day Woodstock but with a run preceding the concerts. I had high hopes for this event until I remembered that it was Long Beach...

The festival was to begin and end at Police Academy Park. Upon arrival I immediately did a stop, drop and roll and ducked for cover at the sound of gunshot. I had flashbacks to my brothers firing BB guns at me as a child but that is another story for another day... It turns out Police Academy Park is, as the name would suggest, right next to the Police Academy and directly borders the shooting range. No kidding. There was a whole squad of cadets toting their glocks with only a chain link fence and about 20 feet to separate them from Hashstock! In the meantime, the tie-dye clad runners amassed for a pre-run pint from one of the many kegs already set up for the run. I still haven't decided if the choice of location was meant to be ironic - or just poor planning.

Cynic that I am, I began to think...only in America. Then I remembered the antics of the Chinese Army Cadets when I was abroad. You see, in China each male must do four weeks of military service. Yes, it is a short committment but they have no GI Bill or clever slogans to lure the boys in. Anyhow, I recall the first spring morning of "boot camp" on the Guangxi University campus. I exited my dormitory and thought I heard gunfire but assumed it was the kitchen staff at the cafeteria out procuring the traditional giant garbage rats for lunch. As I rounded the corner to cross a bridge I saw about 100 students lined up in their Mao outfits on the other side of the canal. They had set up targets - leaning against the base of my dormitory (which housed all the foreigners) and were firing across the canal at the targets. Other cadets were in the rooms on the bottom floor changing targets through the windows and ducking to avoid the firestorm. Just moments before I had been in my third floor room preparing for the day and now I watched as these young men fired aimlessly, literally, at the foreigners' building. Windows were broken, bricks chipped, air conditioning units obliterated. Part of me was frightened, part amused, and part dumbfounded. The cadets clearly had no training and the weapons dated back to at least the Opium War.

I inquired further about the Chinese Army training in Guangxi and learned that in addition to shooting at the foreigners' building the students were trained in guerilla warfare by watching such western movies as Rambo and Predator. No wonder so many of my male students wanted the "English" names of Sylvester and Arnold. Many were also taught a "swimming theory" course in which they directed hoses at one another and paddled (the canals were filled with various forms of waste, human included, and not fit for swimming).

At least we can rest easily knowing that the Long Beach PD could probably take the Southern Chinese Army if such a need arises...but I would suggest avoiding Police Academy Park in Long Beach if gunfire might interrupt your picnic.

The Uberheisse

The prolific poster known as Anonymous has posed the question of how I can be single if I am so HOT, as was reported by Mark (friend from college).

Of course, everyone knows that all hot chicks are spoken for by the age of 31 so there must be something wrong with me, right?

Anonymous has posed a valid question regarding my hotness/singleness so I will attempt, with tongue in cheek, to explain the protocol we hot folks operate under...

It is a little known fact among the truly hot people of the world, secretly referred to as the Uberheisse, that we must remain single until our hotness has peaked. We take a vow, often in our early 20's - after the majority of the population's hotness has faded - to remain single until such time as we begin to cool. Indeed, there is a secret handshake, a password, several acronyms, even a membership card. Among the many rules under which live, the Uberheisse consider taking oneself off the market prematurely to be selfish and recognize that it can, in extreme cases, lead to societal upheaval as a result of no single hot people being available for the fawning and fantasizing of the masses. The members of the Uberheisse who have broken their vows and married often find that it is impossible to be super hot and be committed to just one person as the masses just won't allow it. Examples include many famous actors, actresses and models who end up divorced and really, unable to recover their hot status.

And then there is the moral dilemma each uberheisse must face at a certain age: accepting when one's hotness has peaked. As a member approaching age 32, I realize my days of a member of the elite group are numbered. It is only when my hotness begins to cool that I shall be forced to act as an average member of society and quickly grasp the last, best person that is interested in me. Until that time, however I shall do my best - no matter the sacrifices I must make - to remain single and seemingly available to the average adult male.

So Anonymous and others who doubt the ability of a hot chick to remain single, please take a moment to reflect on how your quality of life would be affected should all the female uberheisse members suddenly be snatched up into relationships. After all, without hope, hand lotion and a hot chick, what does a straight man really have?

The Great Picture Debate

To post a picture...or not to post a picture...that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to enable the reader to use one's imagination or to appease in to the attention-deprived, uncreative masses and just post a damn picture.

I choose not to post pictures because although I am willing to share my stories, for entertainment and humor, I am unwilling to share myself for those purposes. Besides, what would it matter anyhow? It seems better that the readers who don't know me exercise their imaginations and dream me up however they choose and those who do know me, well, you know me so it's not a far stretch.

Enough said.

SINGLES NIGHT 1

Why I agree to these things I'll never know.

My friend L has been trying to arrange a singles dinner night for weeks. The ill-fated event took place last night. The premise was that each person bring a single member of the opposite sex that they are not interested in to meet other singles no one is interested in. You can imagine how fun a mixer full of uninteresting people is...

I arrived at Winchester's in Ventura early to meet L for a drink. We downed a pint each before the others came straggling in. L has been single as long as I've known her but has made great strides in getting out and actually dating in the past year so I can't say anything bad about her. I just thank god I got her that vibrator for Hanukah last year...'Nuff said.

The first unwanted single to arrive was M, L's neighbor. L has been trying to set me up with M for a while. She has lauded him as perfect for me - older, active, attractive, adventurous, well-traveled, intelligent. My hopes were as high as a chronically single girls' hopes can get...Unfortunately M arrived in white pants with a baggy white shirt, longish thinning hair and a lisp. The resemblance to Ricardo Montalban was such that I was sure he was going to say "Welcome to Fantasy Island". To make matters worse, he was a constant hands folder. You know how when a person is talking to you and they lean back in their chair, clasp their hands as if to prey and then fold and unfold them? That was what M was doing while talking to me. M's favorite topic of conversation is his dog, Pearl. I am open-minded but I've never met a straight man with a pet named Pearl. In fact, the only time I've heard a man refer to pearls of any sort was to less-than-tactfully offer me a pearl necklace - and we weren't near a jewelry store. Back to M and Pearl...I just about lost it when he later cut up his steak into little pieces just for Pearl...Who was waiting for him out in the car! Correct me if I'm wrong but I thought it was single women who had the little dogs named Pearl and Diamond that they dress up and take everywhere with them???

Next to arrive was T, whom I'd never met. T arrived around 8 pm as the sun was setting. Funny thing about T was that she had these super-dark sunglasses on. Remember the old Vaurnet's from the 80's? They were a knock-off of those. She kept them on through introductions and dinner. It was very odd.  She sat directly across the table from me so I had plenty of time to consider the reasons behind her sunglasses-at-night style. Having lived in Humboldt County I have seen the phenomenon before, but not in a 30 to 40-something professional female. I eventually inquired whether she'd been to the optometrist to have her pupils dilated that day. She seemed surprised that I noticed her sunglasses then briefly flashed her eyes for all to see and complained of a sensitivity to light. After a couple of beers the shades did come off and she proceeded to tell us all about her $6,000 boob job. Why is it that people with boob jobs feel compelled to tell everyone about them? I have another friend who had a boob job and she loves to show them to everyone. Since we have the same size boobs she likes to do the real vs. fake comparison at parties. Problem is that I've had mine since puberty and don't feel the same compulsion to show them to everyone. But I digress...Back to singles night.

My contribution to the event (other than my charm, of course) arrived next. The ink on P's divorce filing had just dried the day of singles night so I invited him. That's right, the filing, not the decree. Anyhow, he's an attractive late 30's single guy and I figured he might meet someone at the dinner. P was on his best behavior even though I could tell he was bored and even a bit frightened by the sunglasses-at-night character and Pearl's father. By this time my friend L was a sheet and a half to the wind and we were discussing the merits of waterproof vs traditional female massage toys. She wanted to march down the street to the store to get a waterproof model before dinner arrived. I advised her to just order a bigger cut of meat...

The final arrival was J, a recently divorced mid-30's male massage therapist I had met before. I think he looks like Tom Hanks but no one else does so who knows? J announced that he was late because he had a date. I usually go to singles outings after a date too...don't want to put all my eggs in one basket, right? I think he made up the date story to make himself appear desirable. I won't spend much time on him because, well, this blog is getting too long for such a lame topic. 

Dinner was basically uneventful but the best part of the night was after M had ordered an appetizer. The waitress came by the table and asked him, "Was it you who wanted the sausage?" I just about choked on my duck strip. I don't think anyone else noticed.

And people wonder why I'm still single...

CATWOMAN

Seeing all the promos for the new Catwoman this week reminded me of my own unique experience (at least I hope not many girls had to go through this!) while I was in college at HSU...

Being a typical undergrad I had a crush on my scruffy, intellectual, not-yet-tenured-because-he-was-too-recalcitrant philosophy teacher. He was a typical philosopher - he drank, smoked and partook in certain other less-than-legal substances. The crush was derived from the combination of his roguishness, a missing finger and the scent of Obsession that wafted my way as he passed my desk during lectures. I'll just refer to him as A and admit it was a phase I was going through and haven't revisted...

Stellar student (and cute blonde?) that I am, I somehow managed to attract A's attention in class. One day after class he mentioned that he would be hanging out at Jambalaya downtown to listen to some blues that night. I took this as an invite and showed up. We ended up dancing and having a blast. One thing led to another and, needless to say, a relationship (and an A in philosophy) ensued.

Early on in the relationship I learned that A's wife had died and he was somewhat obsessed with her. I also found that my resemblance to her was nothing less than freakish. Also freakish was a fetish of A's that I was soon introduced to...

It began innocently enough, he asked me to wear some of the wife's lingerie. Being open-minded and eager to please, I complied. The next week he brought home more racy lingerie. The next it was a school girl outfit, followed by a Little Bo Peep outfit (ironic since my parents are ranchers with sheep), cheerleader outfit, and even a request for my Navy dress whites. With each outfit I would be expected to be in character upon arrival. I'll admit I found it a bit disturbing as he would also assume a role - teacher, big bad wolf, football player, commanding officer, etc. After each session I would return home to tell my roommates of the latest activity. I admit that near the end I was only continuing to see A so I would have great stories to tell my friends the next day. It was actually more entertaining to them than me.

Everyone has their limits, even me. The final straw occurred on a rainy Saturday night that I still remember as if it were yesterdat. I arrived at A's as usual. The house was pretty dark. Downstairs in the extra bedroom was my attire for the night - none other than a CATWOMAN outfit - leotard, ears, tail, the whole works. I donned my outfit and applied some whiskers reluctantly, not quite knowing how to get into character for this one. I went upstairs where A was waiting. He asked me to get on the bed like a good kitty. I was perched on the bed on all fours when he began petting me and rubbing behind my ears. I was doing all I could to hold back my laughter when he suddenly said, "Meow for me little kitty." I couldn't take it. I rolled over convulsing in laughter. He was so serious, telling me I wasn't acting like a kitty at all. It just made me laugh more. Once I was partially composed I went home, in my catwoman suit for my roommates to see. We all about died laughing that night and still have the code of "Meow for me" when we talk on the phone. You can bet I'll be at the movies to see how Halle Berry pulls off her Catwoman gig...