Category: Journal

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Vacation plans shot to hell

I have a friend who’s getting married in Las Vegas on April 3rd. My parents and I had considered buying me a round-trip ticket that’d fly me in and out the same day. However, they were heading out a couple days early and overshooting the final destination: Los Angeles on March 30th. They could cruise around, visit some friends and family, then use a rental car to make the four-hour drive up to Vegas.

“Hey, I know plenty of people in that area! I lived with a bunch of them locked in a big mansion for up to two weeks! I can hang out with them, spend a night on a couple couches, then meet up with my parents on the 2nd for driving to Vegas. What an awesome idea!” Or so it seemed at the time.

I first wrote to everyone about my trip a few weeks ago and got an immediate response from Lauren—she was flying out to Texas that weekend. “Well, there are still plenty of people who I can stay with for three nights.” It still seemed like a good idea until early this week.

I finally wrote an e-mail directly to the few people left on my official “wanna visit” list and got the worst possible responses. (They responded, so they weren’t dead, but what they had to say was still bad.) I already had a confirmation from Tyson (from Season 2), but something happened and he had to leave (but I was still welcome to stay with his roommates). Caitilin wrote to tell me that she’s heading to Cabo that weekend. Then Erika let me know that while she and Scarlet would love to hang out with me, they don’t have space for a living room, let alone a couch, so no spending the night at their place.

Now I have a rental car for a couple days with nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I think I can stay in a hotel with my parents on the 30th since they’re visiting with my cousin who lives in the area. (They might have to sneak me in past management since I wasn’t on the reservation, but I’ve always been a bit of a rebel… a very small bit, mind you, but still a bit…) So that’s one night. I’ve chatted with someone from San Diego a couple times and if I gave her a ring, she might be willing to accommodate me for a couple days. Plus the car has a back seat that wouldn’t be long enough, but I betcha I could curl up and snooze for a few hours before my legs started cramping and I woke up screaming…

Still, I’m pissed! This was supposed to be an awesome trip and I’d be able to visit some friends who I haven’t seen since we taped the Aftermath! And everyone’s leaving! Crappity crap crap crap!!! And if the weather sucks, I think that’ll be a sign that God wants me to stay the hell away from that part of the country for the rest of my life. Unless I’m locked up with security cameras on me 24-7. I could always get arrested for slashing the tires on the rental car, given that I don’t have to drive anywhere anymore…

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HISSSSSSS!!!

I’m spending the night at my older brother’s house and his family has a cat named Raz. (According to his wife, they’ve cut off certain of parts off him—claws, nuts, etc.—but apparently he can still take pleasure in licking himself.) Right now, it’s about 10:45 and I’m thinking about going to bed. But then I looked across the room and saw Raz… I’m not sure I want to sleep anymore.

He was lying on his side with his head twisted so his mouth was up in the air. As gravity took hold of his jowls, they drooped down, giving him a wicked semblance of a snarl. Also, with the angle of the light, it looked like his eyes were glazed over and completely black. In essence, he took on the appearance of Satan as a feline. Except for the licking himself part.

Now, I’ve slept over here before. I’ve experienced the hazards that spending a night on the couch can bring, which is primarily comprised of Raz jumping on me just as I’m drifting off to sleep. As a general rule, I don’t like getting pounced on, but when it comes to Raz, it’s not a question of whether he’ll pounce—it’s how many times he’ll do it. If he’s the devil tonight… all I ask is that you pray for my soul. And any other part of my body he might be aiming for when he’s airborne.

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“I like my women like I like my drinks.”

“Full of alcohol.”

Last night, I went to a dance club for BG’s birthday party [short for “birthday girl”]—first time I’ve ever been to one. I know, scary, but true… Some of us stayed until closing and I had a lot of fun there, but part of me is seriously disgusted after experiencing first-hand what women have to deal with when they go out to party on the weekends.

There were so many times when we were walking around that guys asked the girls to stop, sit down and talk, have a drink… my friends were obviously smart enough not to. Still, it was strange to see them going around together as sort of a support network, helping each other avoid any guys who thought they might get lucky with one or more of them. Or maybe it wasn’t seeing the network that was so strange—it was the necessity of having one.

Towards the end of the night (i.e., 1:00 in the morning), people started to leave and I became BG’s official protector. It isn’t hard for me to switch into “Big Brother” mode—I tend to be protective of my friends as it is. I also tend to be a people-watcher when I’m in the middle of a large group, but this time, I was doing it out of caution, not curiosity.

Unfortunately, there were several times that required said caution. One guy started hitting on BG while they were sitting at the bar, so I kept my hand on the small of her back to make sure they both knew I was there. If he thought that meant we were a couple, made life easier for me. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to lose interest, though that probably had more to do with her sudden loss of conversational skills than anything I did.

Later on that night, I was sitting in a tall chair and BG was leaning back between my legs, talking to a friend she’d recognized while we were there. Some guy walked up and started whispering into their ears. When he asked them out loud if they were sober… well, they weren’t. Then he asked if I was. Mind you, I don’t drink, but BG turned her head and mouthed the words, “Say no,” so I shook my hand to signify “sorta.” He started whispering into the friend’s ear again and she said something to the effect of “No, I don’t want to go and meet your friend.”

I figured I needed to do something. I moved my hand up to his shoulder and gave him a slow shove (dunno if that’s how people shove when they’re drunk, but that’s what I was aiming for). “Dude, she doesn’t want to go, just leave her alone.” He looked at me, then started to walk away. As he did, he was saying I needed to chill out and reached out to pat me on the cheek.

I’m not sure why that pissed me off so much, but I snapped my hand around to grab his wrist and glared at him. It took a second for him to respond, but he did: “Shake your head. Shake your fucking head.” I wonder what he might have done if I hadn’t done anything—it would have been a little strange to get into a fight with a drunk guy the first time I’d ever been to a club like that—but I figured it’d be a lot easier to do what he said. I shook my head, let go of his wrist and he walked away. Once again, “girls go through that all the time when they go out.”

It was easy to see why—there were plenty of women (with states of sobriety equal to or worse than BG’s) bumping and grinding and making out with random guys on the dance floor. If you’re looking for action and acting like an asshole works, why not, right? Don’t worry about me, I’m too much of a nice guy—I could never bring myself to do something like that. Being nice isn’t a bad thing, of course, and I think that’s why being at the club felt so disturbing at times…

I’m afraid I’m not in a position to apologize to all women for all the assholes out there who are looking to take advantage of you on a regular basis, but at least I can take comfort in not being one of those assholes—I’m much better at gettin’ my groove on while playing the role of “Big Brother.” Anyone wanna dance?

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Un-Fuckin’-Believable!

I graduated from high school in ‘95, making this our class’s 10th year reunion. Every once in a while this summer, I’d wonder whether or not we’d be doing anything to celebrate—time was passing by awfully fast and nothing was happening. Sure, most of my close friends from school have moved a couple thousand miles away, but I thought it might be nice to catch up with some other people (especially since I’m a TV semi-celebrity now…).

I suppose it was bound to happen—someone would iron out a schedule with a few times and places we could get together. Upon picking up the mail this afternoon, I discovered that someone finally did. There’s just one problem: I got the notice today. The festivities start tomorrow. And I’ve already got plans for the entire weekend. Un-fuckin’-believable…