“Ladies and Gentlemen, Please Lock Your Cell Phones”

So, my best guy friend for the last 2 years had been coming around a lot lately. Always calling, always stopping by, always listening to my dating issues: my let down heart and hopeful thinking that I would somehow stumble upon Mr. Right, not Mr. Right Now. He was always there when I needed him , and it was refreshing to know that I could count on him . So, when he came over for dinner one night it all made sense when he opened up the conversation with “Jenny, I am still in love with you, and I want to be with you, and I have been sitting around watching you date these guys who treat you like shit and I can’t take it anymore because I want to be the man that is there for you and the man that you can depend on, because nobody loves you like I do”.

I took a big chug of wine, and then another. I replied with “you know, I have always wondered why we weren’t’ together if we are such good friends, so I think this is something for us to consider”. I mean, here is my best friend confessing his love for me, telling me what an amazing woman I am and that I was basically the one he wanted to spend his life with because nobody loved me like he did.l Why wouldn’t I believe him, and why wouldn’t I think, wow, maybe HE is Mr. Right?

It all started to go downhill from there .

We watched a movie after dinner, and we did the whole “make out” thing. It was safe, this was my best friend and he loves me, right?. Now, I am not a professional call girl , but I can tell if a guy is aroused or not during a make out session, and well, he wasn’t. That kind of surprised me. Yes, if I am kissing a guy, he SHOULD be aroused instantly. So I asked him about it. He said that he couldn’t be physical with me because he loved me too much, he respected me as a woman and didn’t want to give me the wrong impression, and wanted to wait until we were both ready. Wow. I am thinking, this is serious, this could be IT!!!! Wrong.

The next morning, we had a sweet conversation on my way to work, and I told him how much I was impressed with what he had to say and how he wanted to hold off on the physical portion of getting romantically reacquainted. After we hang up, the phone rings again, it’s Eric, and here is how the conversation went:

“Hello”

No Answer

Hello, E J , are you there”

No Answer, but I hear his voice talking to someone else. I recognize that voice as a coworker that Eric works with, Mr.T. For the next couple minutes, I sit in my car, listening to a conversation with Eric and Mr. T. You see, EJ phone was in his pocket and happened to call me, on accident:

“yeah, shit man, that was Jenny. She’s all impressed that I finally told her how I felt and that I didn’t actually try to f fuck her fine ass . Yeah, but the thing is, shit I mean, I fucked 2 bitches this weekend, and one right before I got to Jenny’s house and shit , I was all fucked out, I was too tired to even try and fuck Jenny. Shit I tried to fuck her but my shit wouldn’t even get hard, that is how fuckin’ tired I was”

I hang up. HOLY SHIT Did I really just hear this conversation? Did E J’s phone really just call me on accident and let me listen in on an evil conversation that involved my name? My phone rings again, same thing, his phone is calling me on accident! I hear the remainder of the conversation:

“Shit , yeah, she was 23 and has a kid, but yeah we fucked and that shit was alright, not planning on calling her back or anything but it was alright”

So Ok, that was one of the other girls he was talking about because my old ass is 28. I was in total shock from what I just heard EJ say about me. Not to mention I was hurt, angry and devastated that my friend, the guy who supposedly loved me had betrayed me right before my own eyes. So I called his work and had him paged.

“Hi EJ I just heard your conversation with Mr. T at work, I find it interesting that you were too “fucked out” to try to fuck me Sunday. I thought you said that you didn’t want to sleep with me because you said about you wanted to be the man in my life and wanted to respect me and that you LOVED me ? ”

Silence on the other end.

“Hello, E J ? yeah, I heard the whole conversation , what do you have to say?”

More Silence

Then he finally says “That’s not what I meant, that’s not what I said, errh, uh, no, no, no”

“Goodbye E J ” hang up.

When things like this happen, when someone betrays me beyond what I can digest it’s time to just walk away , or what a friend of mine calls “delete delete” . Usually, I have to put out a little effort to find these things out, you know, I have to do a little searching and prodding or going through his cell phone to find out that someone is betraying me or is not what I think they are. Ha, but this one, this one just fell onto my lap! Someone, I call them “Fate”, decided to have E J’s phone call me and just let me hear it for myself. No time wasted.

Next application please.

One of my very good friends left for Tokyo last week. I’m very proud because its not easy to take a vacation as a single woman. Its tougher to travel to a foreign place where the only thing you have in common in the love of noodles. Despite some language issues I gather from this email she’s doing fine. I wish I would have saved my emails home from Paris. They were numbered and titled; much like this blog. It started with; “I hate french keyboards, pt. 1”. I think Ms. W. is trying for the same effect.

Ms. W, writes:  

it is Wednesday morning - 10 am - nothing in Tokyo opens before 10

I am waiting for the museum of photography to open. Please forgive the fact that I am writing like a robot. I keep hitting the wrong keys, and turning the letters to other languages. Also, I can not figure out where the apostrophe is, so there is that.

One, the maid told me I am the first American guest the hotel has ever had, and they are glad I turned out to be so nice. Two, a baby girl was staring at me from her stroller during breakfast. I smiled at her, and she cried. Her mother apologized to me, but I could tell she was mad. Three, this internet session is free, because I bought a bag of candy. Four, that horrible shooting in PA has been all over the news here. I tried to explain to the noodle shop lady (Oh, the noodle shop ladies of Tokyo - I LOVE LOVE LOVE you) what the Amish are. Finally I said, “Harrison Ford - movie - cows.” Aaah, she said wisely, “Wit-tu-nerss.”

Yesterday in an ice cream parlor (sort of) in Asakusa I tried to explain the meaning of the lyrics to “You better shop around” to the guy behind the counter. He seemed to think it was very good advice. I also wrote out, “Smokey Robinson and the Miracles” for him, because he wanted to buy a CD.

Also Yesterday, I went to the big fish market. I got tired of the hostile glances, so I bought something. Now I had a bag, and everyone was my friend. I told them I was a chef, and now everybody wanted to give me free tastes of everything. I may have eaten raw manta ray liver. Whatever it was, it was pretty good. I threw the bag of some kind of fish (about $4’s worth) away in a public trash can. It’s been really hot and muggy here, so I probably can’t go back to that corner again.

I can count on one hand the number of non-asians I have seen each day — of them, only 3 women. I spend most of each day thinking I am lost, but then it turns out I was wrong. Not knowing that you are where you intended to be is NOT the same thing as being lost. So there, Tokyo. Wait, there’s the apostrophe. This is awesome, I rule Tokyo!

Miss you all - see you soon,

The Sis finally married on Sunday. More to come after I recover from the humiliation of my camera breaking before the ceremony (since I was the photographer). It�s time for new equipment and I think I�m going digital.

And, An Actuary’s Odyssey in Peru - Guest Post


Hi all. Just a few words from South America. We are flying to Cuzco today, then will start up the Inca Trail on Friday. We have all been experiencing Altitude sickness in various shapes and sizes, Mrs. C and I decided we would be curled up in the fetal position and crying by the third day of the Inca Trail. It will be a 3’day, 10 miles each day, hike, up and down, up and down. We have all decided that moving slow is the key then the light headness experienced is more akin to drinking 2 Buds rather than 2 bottles of tequila.

Mr. C tried guinea pig last night since it was our last night in this
region. Not bad. Fatty but well spiced and grilled. You get the whole little piggy on a plate and the waiter asked if Mr. C wanted them to cut off the head, but Mr. C wanted it all so they left it. However, when I asked him to pose for a picture w-his dinner, he tried to prop up the little piggy and the head, which was already detached, fell off. Mrs. C declined to look, taste or talk about the whole experience.

It�s lovely and sunny and hot here. The people are friendly. As I was making my way around town today to track down some sunglasses and the internet cafe, I happened by the riot polizcia who were walking down the road to quell some sort of protest which my poor Spanglish thwarted me from reading the signs they were carrying. I wanted to hang out and watch how such matters and crowds were handled but then I thought maybe I didn�t need to be in the middle of the impending squirmish.

Hasta Luego. Ms. T

More to come……

“Do you want to start a new blog or a new post?”
“A new post? “
“About what?”
“Maybe about drinking beer on the golf course or, maybe just about drinking beer in general.. “

KMS HERE:

OK, I’ve never blogged, think it sounds like a throat infection, but i’ll give er’ a shot…

Maybe I’ll try a half drunk George Carlin list of shit i just can’t stand, and can’t figure out why there aren’t more drunk bloggers out there blogging about how they can’t drunkenly blog enough about this fucking annoying ass shit.

OK, so i’m a little sympathetic, right? i used to go to church, agree with my grandma, and try not to swear around kids. But the next time some asshole asks me for fucking change to support there smack habit while i’m trying to shake a hangover and pull myself together en route to work i’m going to pull some serious Jimmy Super Fly Snuka shit and make it on the six o’clock. i mean really… I don’t care how long it’s been since your dogs been fed or how witty you thought your sign was after your morning bowl of crack, leave this guy alone. I feel for you, trust me, just don’t ask me to express it.

I wanna get mad for a second about the beer manufacturer putting all these bottle cap gimmicks on my beer�. You know, this pseudo retro shit aimed at your kids. I’m talking about the word games, the puzzles and this rock paper spoons shit. Whatever it takes to get us all to drink more, or at least have a little fun doing it. That reminds me of a story, of a time, that was spent sitting in a basement playing caps with my good friend Al on a putting green carpet, drinking ourselves retarded while some brewery in New Hampshire issues out pay raises because our little game reached it’s 10 year anniversary. Rock, paper spoons? Who fucking markets schwag beer and gets a good nights sleep? “Hey, billy, that gimmick about having hairier balls if you drink oly light over pbr raised our quarter profit margin 3/4 of a what the fuck?” - sorry, I guess I blame my lost train of thought on playing caps for 10+ years.

I saw this guy driving around with one of those signs in his back window asking “how is my driving” with a # attached. This guys driving around like me trying to find a taco bell at 3am one-eying it while trying not to spill the beer in my lap. So I give the # a call. I figure it’s gotta be some high risk multi-dewy asshole no one wants to insure whose maybe rigged some mattress inflator next to his breathalyzer. But I’m pretty sure it was like his mom’s house. Which got me thinking, wouldn’t it be funny to drive around like some ass clown with a sign up in the back like that with like your ex-girlfriend’s #. Your just over arguing your case that your not a drunk so let someone else whose pissed off and might agree talk it out with her.

What else�, how about that guy who wants to befriend some poor traveler on the 14 bus at 6:45am… I mean occasionally you’ll find some sort of entertainment in hearing some old loony toon trying to strike up conversation about how all the tall vacated buildings are run by the secret service and should be run by jesus or how the price of gasoline has a direct effect on the price of oranges or whatever. As long as that cookoo clock isn’t sitting next to or across from me I’m good. …

who else cares less about paper or plastic?

so it’s funny when you don’t golf, but your out there trying to fit in at some classy country club where you can’t yell fuck at the top of your lungs while your club catches flight after a bad shot or you have to sport a borrowed polo shirt in order to score whatever over-priced beverage that some trust fund 16 year old whore is pushing from her 4 wheel drive golf cart.but anyway, i played… i drank, and i refrained…, I lost 6 balls, threw up at the turn, rolled our golf cart and got my photo posted up at the clubhouse as the guy that shouldn’t be allowed back at the fancy park. I guess I get to thank that dirty 16 year old bitch with her squeeky “have a nice round” and “would you like another”, shit that shouldn’t have cost 7.50 in 1989� fuck polos anyway.

ok, so maybe i’m drunk n drinking from a bottle thats cap has a pair of scissors, but i can still be upset right?… i can still pretend - so i didn’t pay but i still paid… you know.

KMS has left the throat infection…

Drink count:

KMS - 6 (over-priced) beers at the golf course, two jack on the rocks at the nineteenth hole, i guess a couple beer chasers there too, and 3 bottles of beer with rock paper and spoons on the caps over at chantel’s… prompting a random blathering blog attempt (breaking the cherry and my innocence)
Your hostess - 3 coors light tall boys, 1 bottle of Coors encased in plastic, 2 vodka soda’s finishing a damn fine evening with 2 Session lagers.