Jumping the Shark

"Didn't watch it. Instead I played with pets, made dinner, and resigned myself to the fact that anything Ben Affleck touches turns to shit." --My pal Rach after I mentioned that last night's Alias sucked ass.

Not So Instant Karma

Hey Mr. Delay, before you start calling your indictment a political witch hunt by a Democratic partisan hack, maybe you should check this "partisan hack's" record: Eleven out of fourteen of the politician's that Travis County's District Attorney Ronnie Earle has prosecuted have been Democrats. These include a Democratic state treasurer, a Democratic attorney general, a Democratic Supreme Court Justice, and a Democratic speaker of the Texas House. Now if the fucking mainstream media will take their collective heads out of their asses and call bullshit on Mr. Delay's shrill cry of partisan politics.

Come On Everybody

Ohmygod go listen to "Nth Degree" right now! I'm not fucking kidding. Go listen to it!

You done? You fucking bobbing your head like a kid on a pixie stick bender? You got a fucking grin on your face and jumnping up and down? You have that hook running through your head? You chanting "M-O-R-N-I-N-G-W-O-O-D" over and over again? Good. Thought so.

Now here's the part you fucking hate me. Morningwood's debut album doesn't come out until January 6th. Grrrrrrr.

Go To Sleep

You'd think that, now that I was free from the lawyer lifestyle, I'd be able to pour more attention on my blog, provide fanciful snippets of prose and creativity that crackle through my brain onto the computer screen. But obviously, that hasn't been the case.

I write about five to seven pages a day, and I still have other ideas flowing through my head. A day without writing feels like wasted time. I have so many ideas, so many turns of a phrase that pop through my head without any context. Maybe too many. But even though I've fiddled around with prose on this blog before, I don't think you want this turning into all prose all the time. Hell, even author blogs aren't clogged up with their failed experiments--though that may have something to do with copyright issues. Who knows, maybe I'll set up a new blog just to deal with stuff that comes through my head.

But as for this blog, well, there just isn't that much happening in my life. I write. I hang out. Wheeee. By necessity, there's less drama, less shit I can get into. I'm not saying I'm shutting down the blog. I'm just trying to work out where I'm at. As much as I like David Eggers, I'm not sure I can spend a whole entry writing about waking up at 9:00 a.m. and how weak my shower pressure is these days and boy do I like oranges.

Is It Something So Good . . .

Of course, the whole smitten phase was too good to last. I learned something from Berkeley Chick which has thrown the situation for a loop. I'll figure out my next move by next week. So what was it, like a week from smitten to confused? And before, it took a month for the drama with CFC to play out. At this rate, with everything speeding up and compacting, I'll be living the my life in tight 30 minute sitcom mode.

In the meantime, the novel is coming along slowly but surely. I think I'll hit 75 pages by Saturday. But I still have those moments of doubt that will wake me up at night, wondering if this is it, if this is all to life. I guess you can tell I've decided against taking the Lexapro.

Betty Blue

"You're so cool." --Alabama Whitman to Clarence Worley in True Romance
--Berkeley Chick to Marty Stark, also referencing True Romance and yours truly

So I'm trying to enjoy that smitten feeling for what it is, pure unadulterated giddiness knowing that some adorable yet sexy chick is also smitten with me. And I'm trying to ignore the fact that she's 359 miles away, although I'm trying to bridge that temporarily, or that she is just as cynical and jaded as I was nine years ago (probably because she's nine years younger), because she's also just as weird, eclectic and did I say weird as me now. Holy fucking shit is she adorable. Plus she curses like a sailor. And she told me she felt the way Alabama Whitman felt about Clarence Worley.

She's probably right. If we were closer in distance, it would end in disaster because we're both insane people and it would go sour and then we wouldn't be able to talk about weird shit. We might end up not meeting in person ever if she's too afraid to wreck that feeling we have now. But right now, who cares. I'm fucking smitten and I'm trying to enjoy that. What a difference two weeks can make. Fucking aye, man, fucking aye.

"She said--
You wanna go for a ride?
I got sixteen hours to kill
And I'm gonna stay up all night,
all night"
--Teenage Wristband

Uptown Again

It's been two fast weeks since I've left Gateway Gig, enough time to look back at the crap I had to do and breathe a sigh of relief that I'm not there anymore. It's been a while since I've written a law related post, so I figure why not pitch one out there.

I won't lie--CFC was a reason for leaving. But another significant reason was Morally Flexible Partner. The man is a disaster. He knows the short term strategy for surviving in a firm--get your associates to do all the work. Unlike associates whose value is measured by how many hours they billed, partners are generally measured by how much revenue they generate. Thus, it doesn't matter who bills, the partner or the associate, just so long as six figures a month keeps coming in. And the easiest way to do this if you take two hour "business" lunches and go home at five is to have the associates do all the work. Churn baby churn. This is probably why Morally Flexible Partner was in two firms in two years before landing at Gateway Gig. You get clocked as the lawyer who's not pulling his weight pretty quickly. He already has a reputation among a couple of partners as the guy who does jack shit.

But enough of the firm reasoning why Morally Flexible Partner won't last, and into the trenches. The man is a disaster organizationally and in the quality of his work. For a whole week after I left, I got one call a day asking me where shit was even though I had given MFP all the work or placed it on the server. He didn't recall whether he had filed shit that I had given to him to review. He would throw out stupid shit ideas ranging from harmless to get you sued on a weekly basis, and I ended up being the guy who told him that his ideas were shit. He had me doing secretarial shit. He was the hurry up and wait type of partner.

And now I don't have to deal with him, a feeling of blue skies and fluffy clouds.

You're So Cool

Oh my God, she throws movie quotes around like rag dolls. She's freakin' insane, but in a cute, adorable way. And I make her blush. Looks like I should plan a trip to the Bay Area soon.

Amber Headlights

And then you're reminded why you went off Lexapro. Putting in that album you've waited for, pressing play, hearing that drum and roundhouse rock n'funk guitar and that voice with the drunken swagger. And suddenly you're that guy in the dive bar, peanut shells crunching beneath your shitkickers. That beat, that guitar is making you a fuck monster, walking toward that not so sweet but oh so hot thang in the corner. And you get that feeling from thirty seconds of the first track. There's eight more tracks. Do you really want to give all this up?

Heartache versus inspiration. Not an easy battle.

"Get the wheel let's go for a ride,
If you're trouble then I'll follow you down."
-Twilight Singers, "Cigarettes"

"I got my hand on the wheel and another on my fire."
-Twilight Singers, "So Tight"

Maps

This non-thing with CFC has scarred me deeper than I thought. During the day, I still have thoughts about her every once in a while. That's to be expected. The Secretary blew me off, but I have Harmless Chick lined up. And if Harmless Chick doesn't work out, I'm just a random meeting away from a hookup. Upward and onward, right?

That animal part of the brain though, well, it's a bit tenacious. Last night, I dreamt I had to go back to Gateway Gig to pick up something. I saw CFC but she didn't see me at all. Then I thought how much I wanted to change things, but couldn't. I knew absolutely nothing at all would change the way I felt about her, and even worse, nothing at all would change the way she didn't feel about me. I left to go meet my pal the Big Jew at his gig, and NC was there. He saw me and gave me that shit-eating grin. I couldn't avoid the guy. I woke up pissed and not a little bit sad. It might be time to go back on the Lexapro.

In the meantime, I'm trying to get used to writing full time again. I did it before. Half a year of almost complete solitude. That's the toughest part. At two in the afternoon, most people can jaunt over to their co-workers office, shoot the shit. I have the commentary track of "Undeclared." But I chose to live this life for the next couple of month. The hanged man. A sacrifice for a better and brighter future.

Recovery

On my first day, I wrote about 1,600 in five hours. Over the weekend, I plotted out a work that will either be a novella or a screenplay. On my last day of work, my friend Rach said "I think this is a turning point. Better things will come your way."

Like moving in the three spatial dimensions, moving along time takes you farther away. Each second that passes is no different from a footstep toward the horizon. Eventually you'll look back, and you won't be able to see where you left. What will be ahead of you will be such a lovely warmth.

Honky's Ladder

Before I get into moving on mode, there's one loose end I have to tie up. I'm afraid for most of you, this will sound like some uncharacteristic scary shit, but it has to be said. Sorry to be cryptic, y'all, but this reader knows what I'm talking about. And if he hasn't been following this shit as it was going on, I know that he'll be peeking in sooner or later.

So here it goes. Yeah, you won. You got the last laugh, and I'm sure you were feeling so fine with your honey when I left on Wednesday. I saw that shit-eating grin in the lobby as I saw y'all going to lunch. You pulled that whole male dominant this is my girl "So, what're are you all doing" when I was having my last heart to heart Tuesday. Fuckin' aye man, you choose anyone more experienced, she'd clock you in five seconds for the insecure guy you are--and insecure does not play out well. But as I said, you have the last laugh for now. I was played, whether or not she intended to play me, and now you have that sweet thang all to yourself. Go ahead and write that in your blog. Feel free to link to this shit. But here's the thing.

I've got five years on you.

Here are some of the things I've learned the hard way in those five years. If you start out insecure in a relationship, your insecurity will not go away. Hell, it'll get even worse. She's young, intelligent, sweet. You pull that pissing to mark your territory move when I'm talking to her? Guess what, you will be having a lot of sleepness nights in your future.

And fuckin' about with a coworker? Not exactly a smart move. I know, you think you'll remain friends even if this doesn't work out. But three months from now, when you're totally sweatin' when she's out with her guy friends or out of town, and then she comes back and you see her everyday and it just gets to you, that uncertainty. I would say that's almost as bad as when she tells you she's seeing someone else, and then you have to walk past her everyday, knowing that she's not thinking of you. But the reality is that she won't tell you she's seeing someone else, because she doesn't want you to feel awkward, and when it comes out, it will feel like the ground has dropped from beneath your feet.

Yes, I am bitter about the situation, but not out of jealousy. If she wasn't into me, so be it. I can accept that. I'm friends with women who I've had feelings for, and women who've had feelings for me. I'm bitter because a yearlong friendship, the hours of talking and getting to know each other and laughing, that easy feeling when you know that someone gets you, disappeared almost overnight because of a two month relationship. I'm bitter because the last goodbye was simply a terse goodbye where she couldn't even bother to look at me. I know it was her choice, but I also know that you had a hand in it. You confirmed that with your dickwaving on Tuesday.

So you won. Enjoy the next month--it will be the best. Speaking from a guy who hasn't been exactly a good guy myself, these things play themselves out past that month. And that life you'll be living, let's just say you've read this blog and you know you better be praying to fate, chance and Lady Luck that this is the one time it will actually work out.

Now I'll get over it eventually, or if not, at least get some good writing out of it down the line. I'll be out away from the office, away from the bad drama, while you will be living some major bad mojo--it's not a matter of if, just a matter of when.