Oh Don't Leave Home

Hey Urban Hipsters. Just a note to let you know that, no, Ford Festiva Chick didn't abduct me and that I wasn't festering in some well trying to keep together the last tatters of my sanity as Ford Festiva Chick used me for nefarious purposes ("It will put the Zirh moisturizer on it's face, it will wash it's hair with seperate shampoo and conditioner"). I spent the last week or so just catching up on sleep and generally putzing around. Then I went up to visit my pals in Silicon Valley for the weekend. My mind isn't in write a coherent blog entry mode, so I'll just do one of those random list things.

1. I met one of my new neighbors today. She (yes, she and do I mean she, va va va voom) was in a panic, trying to find her cel phone. Neighbor Chick apparently heard my TV, introduced herself as one of my neighbors and asked if I could call her cel. Given that Neighbor Chick is blonde, blue-eyed, with a slender waist, curvey hips and legs that go all the way down to the ground and spoke with a hint of a southern accent, all the blood rushed from my brain down to my, well, you know. I don't know how, but I managed to say, "Sure, what's your number?" without adding "Hey bay-beh, wan't some hot Asian action? Got your numbah one lunch special right here." That took great effort let me tell you. Then she invited me to her place to help her find her cel. Her pad was just as messy and dark as mine, plus she has a cat. Neighbor Chick's cel was apparently wedged in between her matresses. She thanked me, then asked for my name. I gave it to her and asked hers. Her name makes me 90% sure she's originally from the south. Then she walked me out her pad, shut the door and began making her calls. Knowing my karma, that is the last I'll see of Neighbor Chick. Plus, I think she's the one I've been hearing (as well as everyone else in the complex) having sex at one a.m. in the morning. Yeah, that metal hitting something hard sound you hear? That's me taking a hammer repeatedly to my crotch now.

2. I love my friends up in Silicon Valley dearly, but the trip just reconfirmed that my decision to move back down to Lalaland was the correct one. The ratio of men to women still sucks ass through a straw up there. A single straight guy has more of a chance finding a girlfriend in Anchorage, Alaska's World's Most Manly Man competition than he does in Silicon Valley. The single straight women up there (all four of them) have bad attitudes as well. I wanted to say to one of them, "Look, you ain't all that. There are Taco Bell cashiers hotter than you in L.A." I did manage to hone my wingman skills. For the night, I was Marty Stark, CIA Agent. (Yeah, and not a big surprise, Marty Stark, CIA Agent went home without a number, but the CIA cover story wasn't my idea). As for attitudes of chicks in Lalaland, see point 1.

3. OK, there is no third point, but hey, 2 points isn't a list. I don't know what it is, but it isn't a list.