No Sleeves

Oh no. No no no no no. This is NOT how this shit works, right?

This is the sort of sight that rains guilt and shame upon one’s head, that brings into focus the insignificant accomplishments of a limited time thus far on earth.

This is enough to bring a man to question the very fabric of his being. So let’s examine mine:

I’ve refused to let old ladies take my seat on the subway. I’ve lied about donating money to charity. I’ve stomped on 50 different species of insects. I’ve shoved little kids out of the way for a $3 t-shirt. I’ve used women for sex. I’ve forgotten my mother’s birthday. I’ve broken my ex-girlfriend’s heart 2 different times. I leave my messes [physical and otherwise] for others to clean up. I’ve ignored people reaching out to me for career advice. I never give money to homeless people who ask for it. I’ve regularly shunned and shirked responsibility whenever possible.

Now let’s examine Jared “Former Fatass” Fogel:

He willed himself into losing several hundred pounds. He has starred in several commercials and written a book. He is a role model for obese people across the country. He is the very definition of a self-made success in contemporary America. He is also sitting next to an obscenely attractive woman he will likely have sex with later that night. He has an enormous, shit-eating grin on his face.

None of my sins match up next to that grin, I tell you. I’ll proceed as usual.

Re: getting that monkey off the back? Big Daddy Drew is making with the funny on KSK.

Hi! I’m Peyton Manning, And You Can Go F–k Yourself

A friend of mine suggested taking in a Variety Shac show over in Williamsburg last Thursday, and since I happen to be fond of a) comedy and b) attractive women and especially c) all of the above, I hauled my ass aboard the L and made the long, treacherous, one-stop ride to Bedford Ave.

The plan was to see the show, fill ourselves with mirth, pour down a couple pints, and make my way back to the East Village.

The plan was NOT to get drunk, butcher “Summertime” in front of 20 people, and get to second base with a slightly nutty-but-in-the-good-way geekette at her friend’s apartment in Bed-Stuy. Following the plan is so 2006.

Now, after a 40-minute phone call (!) on Monday and an hour on IM (!!), we’ll be going out again this week, but after an unintentionally risque comment by me, followed by a “no, i was kidding” and eventually the “maybe not [wink] “, now she’s probably going to end up spending Wednesday night at my apartment. No couch this time.

This is significant because I’m actually fond of this girl, and can actually tolerate her presence, which is all too rare. My brain’s top warriors (Gen. Prudence, Gen. Libido) are slugging it out in an epic battle, because this is new territory for the invading army.

I’m used to the slow date progression/lurch: swerve around the land mines, sleep together, get itchy, decide to end it after a month or two. Or, drop the A-bomb and take care of everything in one night (much less frequent).

Like myself, this girl’s damaged enough that ordinary rules of engagement don’t apply.
In other words, I’m probably shooting Prudence in the ass with a tranq dart when he’s not looking.

My advice is to bet the farm on Libido. He’s a crafty bastard.

So I saw someone is a-hoppin’ on the “alkeehall is bad, but not THAT bad” train. that Now, having subjected myself to a month of self-imposed draught last year, my tiny, tiny sense of moral superiority is forcing me to comment. (It’s tiny, but it has a very loud, annoying voice).

There’s a litany of reasons to stay off the sauce (money, weight, chemical dependence, health); I think I threw all of them in there when I was explaining why I was sipping a Diet Coke when everyone else was downing shots of Jager. The dirty secret of the sober month, which sounds so great in theory, is this:

It SUCKS.

It sucks because you feel slightly left out when you’re at a bar with friends.
It sucks because you catch strange looks from people you’re just meeting, like you’re a leper or something.
It sucks because people GIVE you those looks and you feel compelled to justify your abstention for no real reason.
It sucks because going out with your buddies becomes extremely depressing.
It sucks because getting laid, sadly, gets more difficult.
It sucks because beer is good.
It sucks because whatever weight you lose will be back by the next month, no sweat.
And finally, it sucks because you realize the extent of your dependence on alcohol…and that while you may not be an alcoholic, it still ends up leading you around by the nose far too often.

Then, like a ray of sunlight through the clouds, the month’s over, and it’s time to grab a pint and see how long it’ll take to forget the torture you just inflicted upon yourself. Yay for booze!

“According to a recent study from Scotland, HALF of all women make their minds up within 30 seconds of meeting a man about whether he is potential boyfriend material, according to a study on speed-dating.”

Great. I would have guessed about 10 seconds, so it’s nice to know there’s a little extra time to play with. Plenty of time to convince them they’re actually not too good for you.

Are Girls Quicker than Boys?