That Time I Avoided Getting A DUI

I have been drinking alcohol a lot lately. Pretty much every day after work and on my days off I enjoy one or two or sometimes three or four alcoholic drinks. Within the last week, I have started to notice some negative repercussions and have come to the realization that I need to take a break, at least for a few days because even though I DO love to drink, I love myself a little more to know when to take it easy.

I started drinking late in my life. When I was 27 and living in L.A. I found out that the way to socialize with friends and the way to date women and get to know them was to be able to share a drink here and there and chat about life. It worked for a little bit, until that one time when I went out to dinner with an older woman, and she ended up having to drive me back to her apartment until I could sober up and drive myself home because I had reached my limit of three glasses of wine, which is now just another Tuesday night.

How embarrassing was that?  Needless to say my low tolerance and adolescent behavior when I was drunk was probably a turn off and led to less dates until the point when she eventually decided to stop seeing me. Years went by and I was able to get a hold on my social drinking and since then I have been very conscientious about it, have built up my tolerance, and haven’t made any dumb decisions when I was drunk…..well, maybe just a few last year and earlier this month, but for the most part I’m a fun drunk to be around.

Fast forward to the last month or so, I’ve been going through a somewhat difficult time. My job is stressful, my gf and I love to drink when we go out, and my cat has gotten really sick and I can tell that the end is near for her. I would start drinking before work at lunch and then go into work and just feel kind of shitty once I became less inebriated. All these personal issues and this alcoholic diet has started to make me moody, lazy, a little bit dramatic, and has left me feeling a lot less productive. In the past week I have noticed my tongue has been coated every day, my appetite has almost disappeared, and my apartment has been a mess. These are not good things to have happen, and I can’t continue this way.

But what really woke me up was when this happened yesterday afternoon.  I had had a few drinks on my patio, but wanted to go out to this video store on Roosevelt to rent a movie.  (Yes, there are a few video stores left in Seattle surprisingly)  I got into my car and started driving but hadn’t gotten very far when I realized I had left my wallet at home.  I turned the car around and headed back to my apartment, ran upstairs and grabbed my ID and on my way back down to the car a conversation from the night before popped into my head.  All I remember thinking was how we were talking about how someone almost got a DUI, otherwise known as a “duey” I just kept hearing the phrase “don’t get a duey” in my head. The words stopped me in my tracks in the hallway on the way back down to my car, and I decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea if I drove anywhere including to this video store, so  I parked my car back in my spot and went upstairs.  I think it’s the most responsible decision I have made in awhile.

Look, I enjoy drinking alcohol, but I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t get mean, or am unable to live my life, or allow it to have a negative effect on me, but waking up three times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat all last week has led me to believe that my body is trying to tell me to take it easy for a little bit, and I have to listen to what it’s telling me, just like I listened to that voice inside my head yesterday afternoon.

I’m starting a three day cleanse today, however I won’t be drinking a gross concoction of honey, cayenne pepper and water any time soon. I just want to take the next three days off from alcohol and get myself back into a healthy lifestyle of working out, eating right, and going into work with the idea of being there to make money and not let the shit get to me.

Even though I am off today, I still feel like it’s a good time to start. My Monday included a diet of a four cheese pizza, and about four Manhattans, just to even out the numbers, but by the time I avoided a possible DUI,  I ended up sobering up, taking a Melatonin at 9:45 last night, and slept until 7am this morning. I think I needed it. I know I need to take some time off from the bottle, so here I am. I’m going to try and post something everyday for the next three days so

A. I can feel like I’m being held responsible for my life, and

B. I know that I’m not going through it alone.

Today I woke up, made coffee, and cleaned my entire apartment. I’m going to work out, go see a movie, and eat something healthy for lunch, and when I come back to my place and I see how nice it looks, I can only hope that it will motivate me to be as clean and alcohol free on the inside, as it is on the outside. Day one starts now.

Don’t Shit Where You Eat (or Drink)

I had the weirdest experience last week. The short of it is, I went out and had a drink with a girl I met at my bar after work. The long of it is, it turned out to be the strangest and most awkward situation that ended up with her calling an Uber for herself at the end of the night. I always tell myself “Don’t shit where you eat” and up until that night I thought that meant don’t date your co-workers, but alas I have a new definition for that saying.

April and her friends kept coming back to my bar last week at this show. To protect the innocent, I will not name the place I work at, or the name of the show they saw, but it was clear to me at the beginning of the night that this girl was trying to work me. It had been awhile since I had even kissed a girl up until last Thursday night, so I went with it, and when her and her friends asked me what my ideal girl was, I quoted a line from a blog I wrote last week. I said “27-35, dark hair, light eyes and hopefully enough of a hot mess to compliment my hot mess.”

Just because I have a type doesn’t mean I always stick to it, but after I stated what my particular wants are in a girl, I noticed that she didn’t come back to the bar for the rest of the night. At one point, I saw her come out of one of the doors in the venue, spotted me talking to a co-worker, then she IMMEDIATELY went back inside the theater as if she saw a ghost. It was quite odd to witness that happen but I just figured, who cares and I went back to work.

At the end of the night, I was coming down the stairs as she was coming up the stairs. I spotted her and said hello, and she seemed really receptive so I asked her if she wanted to get a drink next door at the bar. She agreed and we walked out of my work, half a block to the bar and sat down and ordered a drink. Her friends told us they were on their way to meet us so I figured, I’ll have one drink with her, say goodnight and maybe give her my number in case SHE felt the desire to call ME. April was pretty, aged somewhere in her thirties with dark hair and light eyes, but even though that kind of matched the description I gave to her and her friends earlier that night, something was off.

We’re sitting at the bar, and she is clearly inebriated. I start wondering where her friends are and should we be drinking these beers at all. I was on my first, and I could tell she was on her fourth or fifth or sixth for all I know. She started accusing me, in a playful tone might I add of “working it” to get tips.

“You’re just doing this to get more tips” She slurred.

Now, it’s true that I am a bartender and part of, if not almost ALL of my income depends on the tips I get, but A. I wasn’t working now, and B. I PAID for these two beers so what the fuck is she talking about?

This is when I started to see the red flags. In addition to her thinking I was trying to work it for money, she went on to ask me how old I was.

“I’m 39.” I stated confidently

She was taken aback by that statement. She then continued with her extremely self sabotaging ruse and tells me she was embarrassed earlier because she is 36, and thought I was 28 and that she didn’t fall into the category of women that I normally date, plus, up until that moment, she thought SHE was robbing the cradle so to speak. Now all the red flags started to pop up with every other sentence that came out of her mouth like a pinball hitting a target.

I should have gotten up and left the moment she told me she was divorced, but her friends were nowhere in sight, and at this point I couldn’t leave her all by herself in a drunken state at a bar in Korea Town, so we went outside to have a cigarette, hopefully find her friends so she could go home, and then I would continue with my after work ritual of stopping at a Denny’s because I was especially hungry that night.

Outside on the patio we sat next to white girl with glasses who told us she was from the ghetto in Pasadena which was surprising to me considering Pasadena is a predominately well off city in Los Angeles. She was also dating the black bouncer who was currently putting a customer in a headlock while she was putting coins into baggies like a drug dealer would package up his cocaine to sell. I remarked at how odd this situation was, and I offered to drive April home after witnessing what I thought was a bar fight, but actually turned out to be two dudes who knew each other just fucking around. April goes on to tell me that she feels a little better about our situation since I am older than her, I am acting like a gentleman, and we both used to live in Seattle. She is definitely still drunk though, and I suggest we leave just to make sure she gets home ok since at this point her friends never showed up and have apparently ditched her and left her in the company of a bartender she met about a hour ago.

“Let’s get another drink.” She says.

I know its probably not a good idea, but I say ok, and I drive us up the street to another bar I used to go to after work. There we meet some latino guy named J.T. who buys us a french connection, and then cheers us and leaves the two of us alone at the bar. What a nice gesture, I think to myself. Free drinks are always a positive, and over the next fifteen minutes April begins to loosen up a bit more, make out with me in at the bar, and start tugging at my the belt loop on my pants making me think that there is a small possibility that they may come off at some point in the night.

You want to get out of here?” I ask knowing that her answer is going to be yes.

Yes.” She responds.

So I head to the bathroom real quick, ask J.T. to keep an eye on her, and when I return from the bathroom I leave a couple dollars on the bar and we head out.

I should probably take you home.” I say

I ask her for her address, type it into my phone and then like a good boy I do the responsible thing and start driving to her place in Silverlake. Not one minute into the ride, she asks where we are going.

I’m taking you home.” I say

Let’s go to your place.” She says with a tone that makes me change my mind, AND the direction we are headed.

Now look, I knew in that moment there was a possibility that this was going to turn out to be the worst idea all night, but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, I haven’t gotten laid in awhile, and this is starting to look like an opportunity for me to do exactly that. Somewhere deep inside my brain I know that it’s not going to work out that way, and that taking home an insecure girl who’s friends left her at a bar with a stranger who she thought was 9 years younger than her earlier that night is a HUGE red flag, but like an idiot, I ignored my gut instinct and we headed back to my place.

We enter my apartment, I put on some music and she grabs me and pulls me down on top of her onto my couch and starts making out and grinding on me until something odd causes her to stop everything.

You put on Taylor Swift??” She asks with an obvious distaste in her statement.

This isn’t Taylor Swift, It’s Rilo Kiley.” I said.

I can’t believe we’re listening to Taylor Swift.” She says.

This ISN’T Taylor Swift!” I snap at her.

Now I’m getting a little pissed. She’s insulting my intelligence, and I need to remind her that she’s the one who has been drinking since 8pm, and I’m the one who drove us to my apartment and then put on a playlist which I made two years ago called “Songs To Make Out To” cause that’s what we are doing, and I KNOW I didn’t put any TS on that mix. And who cares if I did? Taylor Swift isn’t that bad anyway.

She begrudgingly accepts the fact that this song isn’t who she thought it was, and we continue to make out until she starts to take off my clothes, which leaves me laying there in nothing but my underwear, and her in her black silky one piece jumper which apparently takes the place of a bra and underwear nowadays.

I offer her a non alcoholic drink, but she insists on ordering what’s left of my tequila with some tonic. I get up, start to make the drink for her, and then she starts insulting me from the living room.

What you wearing?” She antagonistically says to me.

I’m wearing red CK briefs because I’m almost forty years old and the last time I wore boxers was back in the 1990’s when I was a teenager. As I got older, I stopped liking boxers because they ride up my ass, so I switched to fashion briefs. You know, black, or blue or red or sometimes green $20 pairs of underwear that Marty McFly was wearing in the movie Back to The Future? However I don’t remember Marty McFly being harassed for wearing the same kind of underwear that I am. This is starting to piss me off. Don’t come into MY world and start complaining about the music you THINK I put on, and the banana hammock I choose to wear under my pants since I was 29 years old.

I can not believe I have to defend my choice of underwear. I don’t even want to fuck this girl now because I get the feeling she will probably start whining about it at some point during the night. I have never been in a situation like this before, and as I make my way back over to the couch in my “horrific” CK briefs that I love wearing, I start to look for a way out of this debacle.

What time do you work tomorrow?” I ask her politely.

She has to be up at 6am. I look at the clock and it is clearly after 3, and I know what needs to happen. I need to wrap this up, and when I say that, I mean the situation and not my cock because I am so turned off by her now that even as she continues to force me to make out with her, I’m doing it with my eyes open, watching the time until it hits quarter after 3 and I tell her it’s time for her to go.  She’s an ok kisser, but I just don’t think it’s worth it anymore.

I say to her I’ll be right back, and then I’ll drive her home. A minute later I emerge from my bedroom wearing some quick clothes I just threw on, and I’m soooo looking forward to dropping her off, then dropping by the Jack in the Box down the street for food because as I forgot two hours ago, I am STILL really hungry. I come out wearing adidas pants and a t-shirt I cut the sleeves off of, pretty much what I wear to the gym every day.

What’s with that outift?” she says to me as she is trying to fit back into her BCBG skinny jeans.

That’s it! I’ve had enough of this chick. I don’t even want to know why she is being such a fucking weirdo at this point, I just want her out of my house. My cat looks on from the hallway waiting to see if the coast is clear for her to come back in, but April’s insensitivity to my clothes, my music, and my decision to drive her home keep my cat far away form the living room.

You ready to go? ” I ask her

I called an Uber” she said

Wait, I was going to drive her home, or at least pay for the Uber she is about to get into, but before I say anything about that I figure to myself…..why would I continue to act like a nice guy at this point? Why would I offer to sit in a car with her for another twenty minutes when all she has done throughout the night is project her insecurities on to me, and then insult my choice of clothing and style of music?

I don’t say a word. I’ll let her get home all by herself because at this point the only thing I want more than her out of my apartment is a jumbo jack with cheese and a large order of curly fries.

As April is waiting for her Uber to arrive, I notice what appears to be a silver button that fell on the floor. I pick it up and it says BCBG on it. Clearly, this is not mine as I don’t own anything from BCBG, in addition to the fact that it is a women’s clothing store.

I think this is yours” I say to her as I hand her the silver accessory and then notice that her jeans are missing a few of these “button snaps” or whatever the fuck you call them.

That’s not mine” She says.

Yes it is.” I say.

“No, it’s not.” She snaps at me.

What the fuck is up with this girl? What do you mean this isn’t yours? This is OBVIOUSLY yours since you are wearing black BCBG jeans, you can’t button them because the button is missing and is currently sitting on my coffee table. And by the way, no one else has been to my apartment and taken off and put back on their pants in the exact spot where I just noticed this thing sitting. And….now she’s calling me a liar!

After a few minutes of complete silence, April’s Uber arrives and I offer to walk her down to the front door, which she immediately says I don’t have to do, but I do anyway. We make our way down the stairs and she is startled and stops dead in her tracks when she sees a shirtless neighbor of mine waiting for the elevator.

Come on, you’ll be fine. He’s probably wearing boxers under those pants.” I say sarcastically.

I walk her past the elevator, out the front door to my apartment and ask the Uber driver to make sure she gets home alright. She gets into the car, and as I go to say goodnight, she closes the door on my face before I could tell her to text me when she gets home. Unbelievable!  What the hell did I do so wrong?

As the Uber takes April out of my life, it hits me… I never gave her my phone number, and I don’t have hers. I smile because this is my way out, and probably the best thing that could have happened at the end of the night. Most likely I’ll never see her again, which is fine with me because I would never WANT to see her again. I’m sure she’ll tell her friends that I was an asshole, so to combat that, I wrote this blog about how much of a weirdo she was.

As I return home from Jack in the Crack with my dinner, I look down and see the back of the other silver button that April claimed wasn’t hers to begin with.  I still have them for some reason,  but before I throw them in the trash with my empty bag of fast food I snap a picture to remember this night and what to never do again.


I always thought “Don’t shit where you eat (or drink)” meant don’t date the people you work with because it causes drama.  Now I’m starting to think it means something more like “don’t go out for a drink with a drunk chick I met at work who has issues that she hides behind by being catty, unreasonable, casually mocking my choice of clothing and calling me a liar at the end of the night after I offer to drive her home or pay for a car service.”

Thanks for clearing that up universe.  Lesson learned.

The Flight Attendant: Part 2


I watched a few episodes of OITNB while Robyn and I went on to text each other back and forth for the rest of the day after I spent the night. Like I said before, I don’t really like spending the night at a girls place. Why? Well, first of all, I normally don’t have a change of clothes in the morning so not only is my hair all messed up from sleeping on it, I’m also still wearing the same wrinkled shirt and jeans from the night before. Second, I don’t know whether or not she has a drip coffee machine or one of those weird K-cup ones which I swear is slowly poisoning us as a race. What if she only has half and half instead of non dairy creamer, or sweet and low instead of equal? What if she doesn’t drink coffee at all? I can’t take those chances that early in the morning.

Truth is, with her I probably wouldn’t have cared and I would have stayed all morning over there if I didn’t have to feed my cat at 7am and I’m not just using that as an excuse to leave, it was just what I had to do. Having pets are like having children, but with less crying and no diaper changing. Besides, she was headed to the Gay Pride Parade that afternoon, and even though she kept begging me to meet up with her, I had absolutely no intention of going there. Not because I’m homophobic, but because the company I sometimes tend bar for was working the event and they had scheduled me, but I got out of it because I felt like there was something more important I had to do that day which ended up being going on a date the night before, and laying around the apartment watching Netflix with Robyn even though I didn’t know either of those things were an option a week before when I requested the days off. See, sometimes as a highly creative person like myself, I just go with my gut feeling, and my gut was telling me to stop at McDonald’s for a sausage egg and cheese McMuffin and hang around the apartment that Sunday with the A/C on.

Around 11am, Robyn sent me a selfie of her having a drink in the Hollywood Hills. Even though she pointed out how tired she thought her eyes looked, I still thought she was beautiful and I let her know that as well as the fact that there were a few other things I liked about her. I listed them in a text, and I even rhymed them like a Dr. Seuss poem. I got skills. I was feeling pretty good. I had just gotten laid unexpectedly, I felt like there was something new and cool happening, and I felt lucky for having met her being as though I wasn’t even supposed to be off the night I did. We went back and forth texting each other all afternoon, until I convincingly made her decide to come over around 5:30 to hang out with me before her red-eye flight back home to Florida at 9pm.

Can we eat something when I get there?

I have a cheese pizza waiting for us in the freezer.

You’re the best.

(Sent 5:01 6-14-15)

I know I am, and I don’t mean that in an egotistical, cocky kind of way, I mean that because I know I’m a good guy and I treat the girls I like with respect and honor. See, if I don’t like you, I just don’t make an effort at all. But if I do like you, I remember that you’re a vegetarian and I know to buy a pizza for us without any meat on it. Pretty simple really. I got her a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and ginger ale and she came over and we hung out, ate some food, had a drink, and lougned around and watched the NBA Finals until she had to leave around 7pm. I so didn’t want her to go, but I know she has her own life and this whole thing was new to us both and I wasn’t quite sure where it was going, but I knew I’d see her again, so I walked her down to the car like I did a few days earlier, kissed her and sent her on her way. She text me 20 minutes after she left.

Do you miss me yet?

Nope. And I’m definitely not making you a mix CD right now.

🙂 🙂 🙂

(Sent 7:55pm 6-14-15)

I’m not going to tell her I miss her, because that would be too soon to admit that….. but I am going to indirectly tell her that I miss her by saying I don’t miss her and then adding the part where I mention that I’m thinking about her by making a playlist/mix CD. I feel like nowadays you got to do stuff like that. I know it sounds weird, but I think both girls and guys appreciate slightly sarcastic and somewhat non offensive backhanded compliments when made at the right time in the right tone.

The beginning of dating someone is the best. Discovering who they are, their idiosyncracies and just basically getting to know each other are the times I cherish the most. She had been gone less than a day but we had text each other a lot and she called me the next night on her way home from shooting pool when she was pissed because the Blackhawks had just beaten her Lightning in the Stanley Cup Finals and no one in south Florida seemed to care. Another selfie and a few random pictures of lunch with her parents later, we would continue to communicate with each other every day until she returned to L.A. on Thursday. I knew I had only known her for less than a week, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for her a little.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was in love with her or anything like that, but I was thinking about her a lot and I was trying to plan out things for us to do when she got back into town so she would know that it wasn’t just a random act of sex and alcohol we had experienced but that I was really into her. On Thursday morning, the day she was meant to come back, I let her know I wanted to see her when she landed. She told me her schedule that day and we agreed to meet later that night at Jones in Hollywood for a drink. That night would change everything I had going for me with the Flight Attendant up to that point and it wouldn’t necessarily turn out way I wanted it to. Even to this day, I still don’t know why or how it happened.

I had been at Pink Taco with my friend Scott getting hit on by gold digging drunk girls who just came back from Vegas and who told us they had sex with guys for airplane tickets. Now, Scott and I were in no position to entertain these birds, and I so wanted no part of the conversation they were trying to have with us but I got to be honest, sometimes it’s amusing listening to and watching a trainwreck in action. After a few drinks and as it was getting closer to when I was going to meet Robyn, I started feeling happy, mainly because I was going to see her, but also because it was a way out of the situation with the party girls sitting next to us, otherwise known as  Dumb and Dumber.

I got to Jones around 9:30, and went outside to answer her call.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m walking up behind you.” she replied.

I turned around and there she was, dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans and boots. It certainly didn’t look like she just came from ballet class at all. She looked really good, but there was something off about her. Was she a little apprehensive? Maybe. I couldn’t really tell what was going on yet, but I would soon find out. Albeit I was a little tipsy and in hindsight, maybe drinking since 6pm wasn’t such a great idea but regardless, I got us a round of whiskey and we took a seat across from the bar and stared at this guy who was apparently oblivious to the fact that his ass crack was hanging out.

“There it is.” She said as the guy leaned forward just enough to give us a birds-eye view of his butt.

She was being funny and sarcastic, but the overall tone of the night seemed kind of weird. Not weird in a good way like the night I met her and we both spent three hours cuddling which is something you obviously don’t do the night you meet someone, weird in a bad way like she was casting off and fishing for information that said to me I’m going to not like what is about to happen. She told me about how in the past she always screws up relationships and how she wanted to go to therapy and that she wanted to take things slow, and she wasn’t too keen on getting involved really quickly. Wait, what? Was she talking about me? Is this an extension of the convo we had for a second from last weekend where she told me that she didn’t want to talk about herself? Was she referring to another guy she recently met at a bar? Also, therapy? Would I have to go to with her or was she mentioning it as an option for her own self improvement? It seems a little too soon for us to meet with a mediator, and besides I had no health insurance. I couldn’t really comprehend what she was saying because yes, I was a little drunk and I couldn’t be sure, but all I kept hearing was things that sounded like that she didn’t want to see me anymore.

Backing tracking a bit…earlier in the night I had asked if she wanted to come by my place instead of going out. I only said this because I was already at home at 8:30pm, and maybe it was easier for her to come by my place but maybe, and I think possibly she might have misinterpreted that offer as me just wanting to have sex with her again.

If we go to your place, we’re going to go upstairs for a drink and then the bedroom, and then you know what’s going to happen next….

A part of me was baffled by what she was saying, that I didn’t know how to react. Did I want to sleep with her again? Of course I did, but it wasn’t the reason why I wanted her to come over. I mean if anything, I really liked her and wanted to be with her in a private setting to get to know her better and maybe we could play some darts or listen to some more music and maybe she would stay over and we would NOT have sex. Up until this point, I hadn’t seen her for like a week and every time I heard a text notification go off on my phone I got a little excited because within a few days we had sent something like 500 texts to each other and 250 times when I heard that sound go off, it was her texting me and my brain would release a little more dopamine. It’s true. Your mind enjoys the sound of a text or e-mail notification. Look it up.

Getting back to the night at hand, I feel like I’ve heard this song and dance before. When a girl starts pulling away and says to me “I’m not where you’re at,” I immediately turn on the defensive and I try my hardest to protect myself so I don’t get hurt. Look, I’m a highly creative person and I recently read an article that put things into perspective for me when dating a highly creative person like myself. (see article here)

What may not seem like a big deal to her, i.e. telling me she thinks we should take it slow, etc. etc. was kind of coming off to me as her pushing me away. It may not have been her aim to do this, but in my head it was kind of devastating. I might have been stand off-ish or asshole-ish, but that was really never my intention. To be honest, I don’t know what I said that rubbed her the wrong way and made things awkward between us. I don’t know how I acted that made her think twice about being there with me, and I can’t remember for the life of me why I didn’t just say “Yeah, that’s cool. Let’s take it slow.”

The one thing I do remember is how much of a blunder the last 15 minutes put us in. It wasn’t like an argument, and it was never even that dramatic, but all I remember was this horrible feeling in my stomach, walking her to her car and barely saying goodbye. I would take an Uber home where I would spend the next 48 hours physically and mentally destroying myself for acting like such a jerk and I didn’t even have to live out the next few days to know that whatever happened that night, fucked up whatever good thing I had going with her. It was a mess right now, and I hate mess so of course, I tried to fix it.

I would find myself looking at my phone, trying to replay the night over in my drunken head by trying to match the texts we sent each other with what events my brain could remember actually transpiring. She said she was sorry that night because it made me sad, & I apologized for acting like a drunk jerk the next day because I thought she didn’t want to see me again. She said that wasn’t the case at all, but the next day she also said that it caused her to take a step back and that she just felt weird about the whole situation. Great. Now I’m just a weirdo she slept with on the first date. Miscommunication is the death of me and the last relationship I had back in 2009. It is the worst, and I wanted so dearly to un-miscommunicate and explain myself, so I asked her if we could talk about what happened. This is the response I got back:

I’m working this weekend, but maybe next week we can chat. Although you know where I stand so I don’t know what there is to talk about.

Sent 8:55pm 6-20-15

Ouch. That hurt. I let it go for a few days. During that time I thought about her a lot, but moreover I thought about how I totally screwed myself by being drunk and disorderly that night, and the misconception of how I felt and what had happened vs. how she felt and what she was saying. I mean, was it just a big misunderstanding, or was there something else going on? Did she have five guys she was talking to on the side like a sailor has a girl at every port? She does fly around the country for a living, and I don’t pretend to know everything about her, but a part of me thinks that maybe she got a little freaked out. Maybe she doesn’t sleep with guys she meets three days earlier, or maybe she felt something for me and just wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. Maybe she just didn’t care. I knew I had to make an effort to talk to her, NOT text her anymore so I called her on a Tuesday morning, left a message and then she called me back twenty minutes later and I played it cool. I was all like, “Hey, I have this problem and I think you can help me.”

“Ok, what is it?” she asked

“I have this wedding coming up next month, and I could really use a smart, pretty girl like yourself with good fashion sense to help me pick out a matching shirt and tie.” I replied.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at that.” She said. “I’m working all this week though.” (starting to wonder if this was an automatic response)

“Well, whenever you have time. I know it’s a lot of pressure” I said sarcastically.

I could tell she was smiling when she was talking to me by the tone of her voice, and I thought to myself… “alright cool, we’re never going to talk about what happened that night, but maybe we’ll go to Macy’s together and shop for dress clothes.” Ok, she called me back, so I’m not a total freak and there is still a chance, right? The thing about being in this predicament was that I didn’t want too much time to go by without seeing her again. I wanted to make another impression that wasn’t some uncomfortable 45 minutes at a bar where things were stranger than fiction.

I spent the next few days giving her space, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t in my head trying to figure out what went wrong. It was a mess, and like I said before, I fucking hate mess. I either want it to be cleaned up so we can start over, or I want to know it’s done so I can move on with my life. I don’t feel this way about everyone, in fact I don’t even know how I was feeling, but I can’t remember the last time I spent so much time thinking about someone I had only known for a week and a half. Obsessive compulsive disorder much you might be saying? No, that’s not really it. I just hate being left in the dark. I’m from the “Why” generation that asks questions and expresses themselves and sometimes doesn’t relate to the quirks of this Millennial generation who seem to lack the ability to actually feel a feeling, then turn those feelings into words that they will then use to create sentences to communicate to people what they really think and how they really feel.  Maybe try it some time.

Four days went by and I hadn’t heard from her at all. I was watching old episodes of The Office and I spotted that Indian actor Frank who was hitting on her the night we met and I sent her a pic, but I never got a reply back. Having no idea where I stood was driving me crazy. I talked with a few friends of mine that week, and got advice about what to do, and the only thing that made sense to me was just putting it all on the line and telling Robyn how I really felt. I mean, she’s either going to reply, or she’s not…but either way….. what did I really have to lose?

On Sunday the 28th, I shot a scene for a web series where I played the head of an talent agency. It was like my Ari Gold role, and I relished in it and I did a good fucking job and was complimented by the director and the writers. I had deleted all of Robyn’s texts the night before at work and I had written a text of my own that I was planning on sending that afternoon. I thought to myself, she’s a Capricorn like me, we have a lot of traits in common, and playing it cool and trying to be funny just wasn’t working. Maybe she wanted to hear exactly the way I felt because to be honest, that’s what I would want. Let’s cut the bullshit, and get to the heart of the matter. I got home from my shoot, and before I changed out of my Calvin Klein suit I sent her these words….

Ok, here’s the deal. I have not stopped thinking about you for the last week. You’re always on my mind and it’s driving me crazy the way we left things. I freaked out that night at the bar because the exact same thing happened to me a year and a half ago when this girl told me she wanted to take it slow, but then I never heard from her again. I panicked. I thought the same thing was going to happen. Look, I’m far from perfect and I know I have my own issues to work out, but you are really special to me, and I respect you and I felt a real connection which I haven’t felt in awhile and I wanted to take our time getting to know each other, but I realize that’s not up to me anymore. For what it’s worth, I just needed you to know.

Sent 11:11am, 6-28-15

I changed out of my suit, into some relaxing clothes, did a few shots of Don Julio, grabbed a beer and went down to the pool to relax and get some sun. An hour later I got a text back from her.

These texts are a bit excessive.

12:21 6-28-15

Ok, NOT what I was hoping for so I had to ask what she meant, even though I kind of already knew the answer. Was she referring to the content or the amount of texts?  This was her response:

Both. I appreciate what you’re saying, but that’s a bit much. And the exact reason I don’t want to get into anything.

12:26pm 6-28-15

Wow…how insensitive. You know, there is a nice way of saying what she said, but that wasn’t it. I get it, she’s not into me anymore, but I’m pretty sure she definitely was a week ago. How does somebody just turn on a dime like that?  Sure, it was a relatively new situation and things happened quickly, but I didn’t do it all on my own. I admit, I may be guilty of being a bit impassioned and romanticizing things in my head, but come on now….I didn’t make it all up. I know when someone feels a certain way about me, then changes their stance because they’re afraid of getting close. I know when someone likes me, then acts like they don’t to make me go away. Maybe it was never meant to be, maybe I dodged a bullet, or maybe she should renew that prescription for her bi-polar medication.

I know I’m a good guy, I just sometimes make stupid mistakes when I get drunk like that night. Sometimes your mind understands something exactly the way it was intended, while at the same time all your heart hears is “blah, blah, blah.” It was true, a similar thing happened to me a year and half ago when I met a girl and after two weeks I guess I made the mistake of telling her how I felt because she broke it off the next day. I wrote a blog about her too. It’s under Ok Stupid because that’s how I felt at the time and in some way, I guess history really does repeat itself.

What’s so wrong with telling someone how you feel about them? When did “I really care about you” turn into the scariest phrase a guy could say to a girl? I’m a big boy, I can handle taking it slow, as long as I know that you’re communicating with me and being honest and candid. I don’t really understand how I meet women who are attracted to me, laugh at my jokes, hold my hand and kiss me back, but then the second I say “I like you” it makes them run for the back door like an illegal working in a restaurant that was just raided by the INS. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it, and that doesn’t mean I condone it.

It’s been almost a month since I received that text, but I never wrote her back. Why would I at that point? I mean, who was I even talking to? That’s not the girl who admitted to me that she had her friend strike up a conversation with us that day at the bar so she could meet me. That wasn’t the girl who used to kiss me with her eyes open, and that definitely wasn’t the girl who tried to convince me that her dragon emoji looked more like a dinosaur than my camel emoji. That girl is gone, and I’ll probably never see her again…. unless of course I happen to be on a flight on her airline to Vegas and she is working, but what are the chances of that happening? It’s not entirely my fault, I know that. I tried to fix it, I really did, but I guess this was the way it was supposed to play out. I got to admit I ignored some of the red flags she raised in the beginning, but eventually they all show their true colors. I can’t be mad, and I’m not upset by what happened, just disappointed because I don’t want to be thought of as this guy she was into for a week that eventually made her feel weird and then wrote a blog about it. That would totally fucking suck. On the other hand, her thinking of me in that way is taking the easy way out, and maybe that’s what she wants to do.

When you listen to your heart, you sometimes get caught up in what you’re hearing.

I live life with no regrets, but if Doc Brown showed up outside my place in the DeLorean I probably would choose to take a ride back to Birds ten minutes before I met her and tell myself to take it slow and get to know this one, unless of course that would have caused a paradox in the space-time continuum. On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t change anything. I may be out a pair of underwear and an extra set of T-Rex socks, but I took a shot and I do have a great song and a killer playlist I made that I never got a chance to give to her.

Look, it may not have worked out, but I was true to who I am, and I put myself out there even if it was only to come back with a few fleeting memories and a lesson learned. It’s not like I lost any sleep over it, and to this day I still love that one song even though every lyric reminds me of her. I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe that’s a good thing.

The Flight Attendant: Part 1


I met the flight attendant at Birds in Hollywood. I was there to have a few happy hour drinks with my friend, and I had been taken off the schedule from work that night, due to a totally unrelated issue with a liquor license at the club.

Birds is a local neighborhood bar on Franklin in Hollywood. I’ve been drunk, embarrassed myself, been kicked out of, sobered up, done blow in the bathroom, and felt right at home at this local watering hole. It’s my go to bar for when I feel like I want to be home drinking, but not at home. I’ve had a couple first or second dates there, but this night in particular was not a planned date. I got there early and took the last two seats at the back bar.

As soon as I got there, I noticed her. She had on white pants, a baby blue tank top, and these amazing eyes that caught my gaze immediately. I ordered a Stella from the bartender, sat down three seats away from her and stared….at my new smart phone while I waited for my friend to join me. About five minutes later, John arrived and we ordered another round of drinks and some food. It was great to catch up with John as I hadn’t seen the kid for three months, but in between conversations about work and what we’ve been up to, I kept looking over at this girl, and she kept looking over at me. At one point, I left to go to the bathroom and when I came back I saw John engaged in a conversation with her and her friend. Things progressed from there without a lot of effort, and I eventually bought her and her friend a round of shots, sat down next to her and got to know her name, her job, and the instantaneous attraction we had that neither of us could ignore.

What immediately freaked me out about her was this sudden sense of familiarity, followed by how she kind of looked like two of my ex girlfriends, peppered with a dash of Christen Press from the U.S. Women’s National Soccer team. I know I have a type, and Robyn had shoulder length dark hair, big features, hazel eyes, a great body, and her birthday was 18 days after mine. Capricorn on Capricorn could be good. Could also be disastrous, but I was willing to find out.

She loved dinosaurs, told me about her T-Rex tattoo that she couldn’t show me in public, and I told her how I wanted to take her to see Jurassic World and how I would even wear a button down shirt. Classy huh? Guess it worked because she agreed to our first date, and then right before John left for the night, I kissed her in the middle of the bar. Look, I normally hate public displays of affection, unless of course I’m involved in the PDA. Is it a double standard? Yeah, maybe it is, so feel free to call me a hypocrite because at this point in the night, I didn’t care and it was time for us, minus John to go to another bar.

At the end of the block lies the French wine bar La Poubelle. This is another cool hip hot spot in small town Hollywood. The two flight attendants and I walk in, and again I grab the last two seats at the bar. I order three glasses of wine from the bartender who I recently saw in that Jack In The Box “Sriracha” commercial. We chat for a bit more, then I excuse myself to the bathroom where I proceed to look at myself in the mirror and tell myself to play it cool, just like Travolta in Pulp Fiction.

“You’re gonna go out there, finish your drink, go home, jerk off, and that’s all you’re gonna do.”

Except when I returned from the bathroom, there were two guys talking to the flight attendants. One of them I recognized from TV. His name was Frank something, and he’s the token Indian guy in every sitcom or procedural drama on television that didn’t cast Kal Penn. His friend is some goofy Asian kid who was wearing sandals and probably just feeds off of Indian Frank’s leftovers, if there are any. After about thirty seconds of wanting to get rid of them without any luck, I pull out the big guns.

I know you. You’re that dude on TV, right? You were on Entourage!  Agent Raj!” I say in a sarcastic “now it’s time to leave” tone.

“Yeah man, I’m Frank.” He replies

“Hey Frank, I’m Christian. How do you know my girlfriend?” I say as I put my arm around the flight attendant who I had met literally four hours ago.

And that’s really all it took. Frank and his Asian flip-flop friend disappeared into the night and the flight attendants and I finished our drinks and I walked them home. One of the girls lived right across the street from the bar, and it wasn’t the one that I was interested in. However, when we reached her apartment building, she turned to me and said…

“Can you take care of her?”

“Yeah, she’s in good hands.” I replied.

And with that, I got into Robyn’s car, and we headed back to my apartment a few blocks down the road. She parked her two door Honda coupe with tinted windows in front of my two door Honda coupe with tinted windows and we went upstairs. I turned on some EDM which she made fun of me for, we played some darts, and we made out for the rest of the night while she tried unsuccessfully to befriend my cat. My cat is kind of a bitch and she makes you work for her affection. It doesn’t come easy, but Robyn was willing to try for a bit.

“I have to be up at 4am for work” She tells me at midnight.

“We should probably go to sleep then.” I replied.

It has never been easier to get a hot 27 year old flight attendant into my bed before that night. However, I had never really met a hot late twenties flight attendant at a bar before that night either. I know what you’re thinking….but the thing is, we didn’t have sex and I didn’t even try to. Don’t get me wrong, she was beautiful, and I was VERY attracted to her and I wanted to sex her up, but there was something about her that made me so fucking comfortable that all we did that night was cuddle. I know, what a fucking loser right? Well, fuck you! I don’t cuddle AT ALL!  I NEVER do it. In fact, the last time I cuddled someone was 2008, and the last time I had gotten laid was 2014 so you can OBVIOUSLY tell that I take one much more seriously than the other. It was one of those moments where I knew what I was happening was unnatural because I had just met her, but it just felt instinctive.

“This is weird, huh?” I asked her.

“Yeah, this is kind of weird, but I’m ok with it.” She replied.

With me laying on my back, and Robyn laying on my chest, we dozed off into the night. At 4am, the jarring alarm went off on my brand new smartphone I had gotten the day before. I didn’t know how to adjust the tune it plays, so we awoke to some strange and random female voice singing “Good Moooorning.” It was still dark out, but Robyn had to leave for work, so she took off my Flyers pants that she was reluctant to wear the night before because she is a Lightning fan, put her clothes back on and I walked her down to the parking garage and sent her on her way.

I immediately liked her, even though there were a few things about her that I chose to ignore. She was vegetarian, and I have NEVER dated a vegetarian before, but we had just met and I wasn’t really thinking about long term things, so I didn’t care. Now if she were vegan, THAT would be a deal breaker. Over the next couple days we texted each other and made plans to go see Jurassic World on Saturday for which I bought tickets ahead of time, in her neighborhood, on a Saturday night. She was really excited to see this movie, and I was really excited to see her, and a little bit excited for the movie. When she asked if I wanted to come over her place for a drink before the flick, I absolutely said yes.

She lived close to Venice, but far enough away that I didn’t see any pot shops or homeless people on my way to her place. I was wearing a pair of T-Rex socks I had bought a couple years ago. They’re blue, and have an orange Tyrannosaurs on them which matched the Tyrannosaurus tattoo she had on her upper left thigh which she showed me the night I met her when we weren’t in public. Truth is, it was an awful tattoo, but then again I can’t say anything because I have an awful tattoo of a cat getting electrocuted on my left leg. Come to think of it, we had that in common too.

I arrived at her place and she came out to meet me. She looked hot. Like cheerleader hot. She was wearing a black skirt, a fitted grey top, and white Keds on her feet. Literally, like what teenagers wear, but she pulled it off because

A. She had a good fashion sense and style, and

B. It made her just short enough that I looked kind of tall walking next to her.

Of course she tells me she deliberately made that choice so she didn’t tower over me, but in reality I’m 5’10 and she’s 5’7, and I totally appreciated her sarcastic sense of humor. She asked me what I wanted a drink, so I asked her what she had and she opened a cabinet in the kitchen and revealed to me exactly what I thought the liquor cabinet of a flight attendant would look like. It was filled with tiny airplane bottles of booze that she had probably stolen from work.

“I’ll have vodka….no…. whiskey” I said.

I don’t know why I said that because up until that evening, I didn’t drink whiskey, at all. Occasionally I’ll have a shot of Jameson but I feel like a new experience with someone is the perfect opportunity to start drinking something I hadn’t before?  Maybe.

We chatted for a bit, watched her weird neighbor do push-ups on the lawn in front of her place  and then caught an Uber to the movie theater. We sat through a pretty awful movie that night. I know some people really liked Jurassic World, but we both kind of felt a little disappointed. Like, how the hell is that chick running in high heels throughout the whole movie, and why did they have to show so many Brontosaurus deaths, and don’t you think the Velociraptor trainer should know that the huge dinosaur they created in a lab that is terrorizing the park was mixed with Velociraptor DNA???

Luckily, that would be the only disappointment in the night.  After the movie, we took another Uber to a bar on Venice Blvd. called Bigfoot West. Our driver had mentioned there was a warehouse party down the street, and creepily almost dropped us off in some alley until we both stated we did NOT want to go to some shady warehouse party. He kept making uncomfortable statements which made us more eager to get out of the car and into the bar where I got us two shots of Bulleit Rye, her favorite, and two Bulleit and gingers because after that piece of shit movie, we both needed a stiff drink or two.

We talked, watched people at the bar and after our first drink, started getting a little more comfortable with each other in the booth. I noticed how after a drink, Robyn became a lot more sociable and let her guard down. It seemed like she was really into me. I mean, I thought she was anyway, and I noticed a difference in the way she presented herself to me after a shot of whiskey.

An ex of mine told me that when a woman points her knees towards you while she sits, she’s into you. If she’s NOT into you, her knees will point away. Well, Robyn’s body language was telling me everything I needed to know about how she felt. They were pointed in my direction, therefore…into me.  We started talking about our past relationships, and I could tell after a few questions I asked, she didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore.

“I don’t like talking about me, let’s talk about you.” She said.

Now look, I’m no psychologist, but I could tell right then and there that there was something in her past that she didn’t want to divulge to me, which was totally fine. We had really just met.  I will tell you anything when we just met so I went on to tell her how I had gotten arrested in April of 2000, and how a few months ago I had to go back to Jersey for a court case that I thought was taken care of until I tried to renew my passport and it got denied. I told her stories about my drug days when I sold ecstasy in Philly for a week, and sold pot in Vegas to make my rent one month. Even though I was coming off as a bad-ass, I assured her that I wasn’t into that lifestyle anymore. I mean, that was like 15 years ago and I had gotten past that time in my life, but it still makes for good conversation.

She told me how she hates Vegas but has to fly there a lot for work, and how she doesn’t really like Los Angeles but just like me has a love/hate relationship with it. We had a lot in common. We were both born under the same star sign, the same Chinese zodiac sign, we looked really good together and we both drove almost the exact same kind of car. As I kissed her in the booth that night and we made a spectacle of ourselves in front of a bar packed with hipsters I felt like this was really starting out well.

“Wanna get out of here?” She asked.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” I replied

We stood outside and she told me she had a great ass, so I had to see for myself. She was right. She had a great everything. I gotta say, I would have been sick to my stomach watching her and I with our arms around each other making out on the sidewalk of the bar that night with my hand occasionally checking in on her butt while we were waiting for our third Uber of the night, but luckily, I wasn’t an onlooker.

When we got back to her apartment, she led me into her bedroom, I took everything out of my pockets and got into bed with her where we continued to be that annoying couple who can’t take their hands off each other, but the thing is, I really COULDN’T keep my hands off of her. There was this innate sexual attraction between us that instantly needed no introduction. We were on auto-pilot and there wasn’t anything weird about it for me at all, until a few minutes later when I could tell what was about to happen, was going to happen.

“Umm, I didn’t bring a…”

Now, truth is, I did have one, but how presumptuous of me would it be to admit that I brought it?  Would she think less of me?  Would it be something like “Oh this scumbag thought I was easy and figured he was going to get laid tonight?”  By the way, I don’t like the word condom so I was having difficulty even writing this part of the blog, but in reality, the dome was in my car and I wasn’t about to break the mood and get up out of bed to go get it. Without another word, she reached over and took one out of the drawer and handed it to me. How presumptuous of her!  (kidding) Even though I was nervous and kind of excited and in total disbelief that this was happening, it happened. I didn’t expect any of this three days earlier when I met this girl at a bar in Hollywood and then spent the next 11 hours with her NOT having sex but tonight, things were a little different. A full ten to fifteen minutes later, it was time to go to sleep.

“You should probably throw that out.” She said.

“I think I’m gonna frame it.” I replied as we both laughed.

But of course, I didn’t. What kind of weirdo freak would even consider something like that? I got out of bed, threw it away, and then I fell asleep with my arms around her. I think I woke up at 4 in the morning, it was still dark out, but I couldn’t really tell what time it was. I laid there for a few minutes and I looked at Robyn as she slept next to me. She was stunning even when she was asleep. Then, she rolled over onto her back, and she started to…snuffle a bit. I remember thinking to myself  “Please don’t snore, please don’t snore.” There is nothing less attractive than a hot girl that saws wood when she sleeps.

But then, it stopped, and I breathed a snuffle of relief. I couldn’t get over how crazy this was. For one thing I had just met her, but everything about her seemed so familiar. Even though I hadn’t slept with anyone in 6 months, and even though I hadn’t slept over a girl’s place in 4 years, none of it really seemed to be awkward. I’m very cautious when it comes to dating someone I really like, and I know I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve, which is quite obvious by the name of this blog. Normally, it takes me years to find someone I care to see more than twice, and rarely do I find someone who I knowingly allow to deliberately pull me out of my comfort zone. I don’t stay over girl’s houses, I don’t refrain from cigarettes if she doesn’t smoke, (yeah yeah yeah, I’m quitting soon) and I don’t sleep with someone on the first date, unless of course that’s what naturally happens. I did all of those things that night, and even though I know right from the beginning if I’m into someone or not, it still made me feel a little uncomfortable to admit it to myself. However, the way I look at it, I’d rather feel something than nothing at all.

I dozed off for another hour or so, and right around dusk I woke up, and I started getting my things together. I couldn’t find my underwear. I’m sure it was somewhere in the bed, but I wasn’t going to make her get up for a pair of Calvin Klein’s that are easily replaceable. I grabbed my phone, wallet, keys and clothes, kissed her on the lips and told her I’d talk to her later that day. I quietly left her apartment, walked out to my car commando style, and played “The Heart That I’m Hearing” by Galantis.

It’s funny how music comes into your life at a time when it perfectly describes the situation you are in, almost like it was meant to find you. Ever feel like that? Well, that happens to me a lot, and that’s how I felt that morning. I had just downloaded it the day before I met her, and when I listened to the lyrics that morning, I heard that track in a whole new way.

“I’m gonna let my heart decide if this is real. A thousand pictures can’t describe how I feel. It’s like the world doesn’t exist, but I can still see it. And when I focus on your eyes, it’s your heart that I’m hearing.”

I got back to my apartment around 6:30am, fed the cat and put on the third season of Orange Is The New Black. I wasn’t tired, and even if I was, I don’t think I could sleep. About an hour later I get a text message from Robyn.

When I woke up and you weren’t here this morning, it made me kind of sad.

sent 7:17 am

That is kind of a great text to receive. I don’t know if she really meant that, or if she was still drunk, but regardless I appreciated it. Come to think of it, we only had two drinks the night before, so no way she was still inebriated. I liked her. I knew that, and I was pretty sure she liked me. At that point things were at an all time high with the flight attendant and we were crusing at 30,000 feet. But as I would come to find out, it wasn’t all clear skies. We were in for a little turbulence in the week ahead….

Part 2: Next Thursday July 23rd

Part 6: Ok Alize

January 3rd, 2014

It’s been a couple weeks since I had a date. My last encounter with OkJessica left me feeling a bit perturbed and slightly slighted. The week after was Christmas, and then New Years followed almost immediately, like it always does. I called OkLipgloss on Christmas Eve. I kind of forgot it was a holiday and not just some random Tuesday. Maybe that was a mistake, but the one thing I did appreciate was the fact that she text me back saying “I know it’s rude to text back a callback but I’ve been sick and bedridden all day.” I think she’s telling the truth, and I’m surprisingly impressed by her text-side manner. There were a few other possibilities for dates in hand but unfortunately both OkLipgloss, and OkManda got sick the same week. I never met OkManda, but OkLipgloss called me back two days after Christmas and I got to know her for about half an hour on the phone before we hung up. We talked about music, food, and doing ecstasy which I told her I hadn’t done in about 7 years. She hates molly and so did I. She mentions her favorite pills were the “crowns” And I tell her, that’s actually a Rolex symbol, not a crown. She’s impressed with my drug-related knowledge, and she tells me a project of her is wanting to give ecstasy to senior citizens and watch their behavior and make a documentary movie about it. That’s a great idea I say to her. We make plans to go out the next week when she is feeling better and meet at the French bistro on Franklin Ave in Hollywood called La Poubelle. Christmas was over and the New Year was upon us and I had been texting with her a lot the last week and she had this really fun and silly sense of humor that I immediately bonded with. She sent me a picture of her squeezing a rubber chicken and in the picture the eggs were coming out of it’s butt.


“How does this make you feel?” She asks.

I responded with “It makes me hungry for an omlette.” So weird and random, but I like that style of humor. We had an instant rapport. Her name is Alize, and that name is very close to her real name. I almost decided to change her name completely like some of the others, but I feel like I would be doing her a disservice if I decided to change it because it’s such a cool name and it’s really unique. I practiced saying it at least 25 times before we spoke on the phone. It’s like saying “Ah-LEE-zay.” On the morning of our date I wake up with a funky ass scratch on my forehead so I inform OkAlize and I ask her not to stare too obviously at the center of my head tonight because I have this obnoxious scratch in the middle of it.

“Ok.” She says. “I’ll just stare at the spot to the left of it.”

I get to La Poubelle a full fifteen minutes early on January 3rd, but beforehand, I stop at the Gelson’s to pick up a pack of gum. I need fresh breath. I’ve also had this weird tradition of chewing a piece a gum before every date, and then putting it in a bar napkin when I get to the bar. I don’t know why I do this, but the most obvious reason is it’s a nervous habit. I’m kind of nervous and completely confident at the same time. The Gelson’s doesn’t have my brand of gum so I grab a pack of something peppermint and walk over to the bar. It’s filled with all sorts of people as it should be on a Friday night in Hollywood. There are no seats at 9 o’clock unless we are ordering food and there nothing at the bar except for a big douchey hipster with a beard, who is being loud and obnoxious while he drinks beer and sips what I assume is some sort of cheap whiskey like Evan Williams. His slurred words are echoing throughout the bar and I’m hoping that Alize makes an appearance soon cause I somehow managed to save one seat. I get a text from her telling me she is running little late. Traffic. Of course. Thanks L.A.

With nowhere to sit, and a low tolerance for loudmouth bearded craft beer drinking toolbags, I decide to stand outside and wait for her. This isn’t going exactly how I planned, but that wouldn’t really factor into the rest of my night. About five minutes later I see her pull up to the valet in an early 2000’s black Mustang GT. I am instantaneously impressed. She’s gorgeous, dressed in heels and wearing some skin tight black jeans and leather jacket. It looks like she stepped out of a music video. She reminds me of and Asian Joan Jett, and she would later tell me she sings and writes music so I wasn’t that far off. Her looks are anything but deceiving. I have this feeling she is exactly who she says she is fromt he start. We hug each other, and it’s nothing short of familiar to me. I tell her about the overcrowded La Poubelle and the douchey hipster, so we decide to go to the somehow less crowded Birds further down the block. We walk in, and two seats immediately open up for us at the bar. That’s some impeccable timing might I add.

The next two hours go by so much faster than I remember. I order vodka and tonic, she retaliates with vodka and water with slices of lemon and lime. I make fun of her for her “Bella” tattoo on her wrist which she absolutely got because of the Twilight books, and she gives me shit for having a tattoo of a cat getting electrocuted on my leg which I got for no real good reason other than I had a friend who tattooed people out of my kitchen back in 1995. She likes Entourage, but hates Vinny Chase just like me. She has big features, and huge lips and I catch myself staring at them for a few seconds every time she says something interesting, which is every other word. I’m interested in her, and I forget for a minute that Alize is 25, she was born and raised in Los Angeles, and right around the same time that I was getting ready to graduate high school in New Jersey, she was in Van Nuys getting ready to graduate…to the 1st grade. She is mainly Korean, but mixed with some sort of European decent because I also notice the freckles on her face. She tells me her roots but it’s kind of a mixed ethnicity and I think the last thing she says is that she is part Welsh. I would later tell my friends that she is Korean and British, and she thought that was actually really funny. I can’t help but notice that we both have tattoos on opposite arms. I have one on my left wrist and right forearm, she has one on her right wrist and left forearm. I immediately think to myself that she is some female mirror image of me… give or take 13 years. Wow, look how self indulgent this date is making me look. I don’t really care.

It starts to get loud in Birds and at some point, we decide to leave the bar because they are blasting Led Zeppelin at such a enormously high decibel level that I feel like both my ears are going to fall off. We make our way back to La Poubelle which has cleared out a bit, although the hipster douchebag is now barking some story to his friends out on the patio.

“Good…stay there.” I say out loud as we walk in. She smiles and laughs and we take a seat at the bar inside and order some food.

Here is one major revelation I can make from going out on all these dates. Chicks love brussel sprouts. They are the coolest most hip vegetable in the coolest and most hip cities in America right now. You tell some girl you know a place with really good brussels, and you’re almost guaranteed to get a response, maybe even a date from it. It’s the latest pick-up line. Works every time for me. Seriously. So of course we order the brussels and some frittes, and I have one more drink because I want to be coherent for the remainder of the date and the three block drive home. She has four drinks, and I have three. She drinks me under the table the first night I meet her. She thinks she sees someone from a CW Vampire TV show at the bar, and I do not recognize who it is, and I have no idea who she is talking about. This is the only time I felt like remembering our age difference is 13 years. It never bothered me again. But what bothers me is the fact that I have to eventually tell her that I’m really 13 years older, not 8 years older like she thinks now. Things are going pretty good and I’m having a great time and I know it’s not going to be tonight. Definitely not tonight. I’ll tell her on our next date. I swear to God.

I pay the check so enthusiastically, that you would think I actually enjoyed it. Oh wait…what’s this feeling? It feels like I a spark with her and that I had fun on the date, and I’m attracted to her both two AND three dimensionally now. This is like… I want to see her again and I don’t mind paying because I actually WANT to pay for her because I enjoyed her company, instead of paying out of the idea that it’s part of a man’s basic dating protocol to pay. I haven’t felt like this since I met my last girlfriend 7 years ago.

We share a cigarette as we wait for the valet to get her car, and I want to kiss her, so I stare at her lips to tell her so, but I don’t see an opening yet and then neither one of us see her car pulling up in front of us until it’s already there. We do the whole verbal “I had a good time, maybe let’s do this again” dance, and I know we both mean it. She hugs me goodbye and then smells me and says….

“What is that?”

“You mean my cologne?” I ask.

“Wow, you smell like whiskey and vanilla.”

“Thanks?” I say

She laughs and asks me for a piece of gum. I pull out the pack I bought earlier and she sees it and freaks out.

“Oh my GOD!” She exclaims like a valley girl, “I have the SAME kind of gum! “Sweet Peppermint!

I’ve never bought this gum, but before I have a chance to say that, she pulls out her pack and I am staring at two identical light blue pocket packs of Stride: Sweet Peppermint flavor gum. I NEVER buy stride. This is so weird that I think it’s cool. I immediately think this girl is the one…. for right now.

She texts me the next morning thanking me for last night and thanking me for the drinks and the food and reiterates that she had a really good time and hinting to the fact that she would like to do it again. So would I.

January 8th, 2014

I’m hiking with a buddy of mine, and we’re talking about and comparing OkCupid date stories. I tell him about the crazy girl, the frumpy girl, the invisible girl, and the typical asian girl I went out with, and then I wrap it up with OkAlize. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

“We have another date tonight.” I say proudly.

“Have you gotten laid yet?” He asks?

“Nope, not even anywhere close.” I say.

And I really don’t care either. He tells me about his stage five clinger and some crazy psycho bitchy blonde west side girl he banged on New Year’s Eve. I’m not jealous or envious at all. Ok, maybe I’m a little envious that he is getting some and all I’ve managed to do was make out with one girl whose tongue reminded me of kissing wet pasta, but I have another date tonight and we’re doing something I love doing. Drinking beer, and eating burgers. For the record, that is the sexiest and most intriguing date a woman can ever suggest to me. I’m sure there’s something sexier, but throw in watching some hockey or football, and add some chicken wings to the tab and it would be hands down the best date ever.

That night, I pick up Alize and we head to the Blue Dog Beer tavern in Sherman Oaks near where she lives. It is ironically crowded for a Wednesday but we put our name in and we go to the bar to get a beer. She already has her debit card out in her hand when she asks me what I want. That was sweet, I think to myself. She’s not totally expecting anything, and she is making an effort to be equals. She must like me because this is not typical girl date protocol. Or is it? I’m not a girl, so I wouldn’t know. But this seems like this is “I like this guy and want to buy him a round” type of stuff. It’s rare on the first or second date, but it’s always appreciated.

We get our table and look through the menu and we settle on some burgers and fries and more beer. Eating a hamburger with someone on the second date means you throw all your inhibitions about etiquette out the window. I’m a messy eater first of all, but it doesn’t seem to bother Alize one bit. She works for a family as a nanny most of the time watching their kids so she is used to being around mess. She writes and sings and works on her music with a producer at night and on her days off. She’s a huge lover of all different types of music and I can tell she has passion for her craft. It’s sexy. She has confidence that is beyond her years and she knows of these cool and obscure bands that I’ve been wanting to listen to. I tell her about this group called HAIM and how they are all sisters and it’s off kilter modern new age indie rock and I just got their album and she gets excited cause they’re playing Coachella and she’s going and I promise her I’ll burn a copy of the cd. She has three more episodes of Breaking Bad to watch before it’s over. I ask her how why on earth is she out with me when she should be home watching the last three episodes of the best television show ever. (in my opinion) I can’t believe I have so much in common with her, especially since she was born in 1988, the same year I was getting my first cd player and watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit in the movie theaters. I don’t want the check to come because I don’t want the date to end, but when the waitress drops it off, I pick it up like it’s no big deal and I pay for the food. She thanks me and suggests we go outside for a smoke.

OkAlize and I are sitting in my car smoking when I notice there are apartments right above the burger place and I comment on how convenient and difficult it must be to live within a stones throw of a burger bar.

“So do you have a roommate?” She asks.

Hmmm…ok. What do I say here? The “I have a straggler” line? The “I’m roommates with a hot girl” one? We share an apartment and used to sleep together five years ago but don’t anymore, and BY THE WAY there are two beds in the same room that we have to share because all our money is tied up in paying for this TV pilot we’re about to shoot? Maybe I can go with something in the middle, but I settle on something so close to the truth that you’d think I have an honesty policy in my glove box next to my insurance card.

I start with “It’s a weird situation” and somehow through the fumbling of my words and the natural selection of the phrases I used, it all comes off so eloquently and she isn’t even the least bit turned off or weirded out by it. Do I tell her that my roommate used to be my ex? No. Definitely too much information for tonight has been offered up, and if this date continues and we get a little drunker, I feel like a lot more will be on the table too.

“Do you want to go to this dive bar I know of.” She asks. “It’s called the Chimney Sweep.”

There’s really only one way to answer this question. Do I want to continue to hang out with an attractive Korean-British hybrid girl with freckles and good taste in music who I met on OkCupid who is a lot of years younger than me, but who also hates Vinny Chase and loves Breaking Bad as much as I do?

“Absolutely I do.”

We arrive at the bar, park, walk in, and head to…the bar. It’s divey and dark and there’s barely anyone here except for a few locals and the deejay that is setting up for karaoke. She starts a tab and orders me a beer and we sit back and chat about her singing and her family life and her parents and her little brother. She grabs the book of songs at the end of the bar and asks me if I’m going to sing. Hahaha….There Is NO way I’m doing that tonight. She teases me a bit, and I take it and then I tell her I used to sing in a band and play guitar regularly but I’d have to be kind of drunk to sing karaoke in front of a girl I just met less than a week ago who I’m out with on a second date. She doesn’t call me a pussy to my face, but I know she’s thinking it. She smiles and then she orders us two shots. She goes with Fireball, I go with Jameson. I tell her about my mental allergy to cinnamon and she gets it. I’m going to end up drunk with her doing something I shouldn’t be doing later tonight, and by “something I shouldn’t be doing,” I mean she’s somehow going to convince me to get up in front of everyone in the bar and sing a song.

There is a free shot to the first person who signs up for karaoke. OkAlize puts her name down first, takes the free house shot, and walks over to the deejay corner and tells them which song she wants to sing. The music starts playing, and I know this one already. It’s “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morisette. I fucking love it. She is a real good singer, and an even better performer. She is making out with the microphone as she exudes a captivating sense of sensual sexiness, and somehow when she sings the line “And every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back” I sure do feel it. I wonder if she is the type of girl who really would go down on me in a theater, just like Alanis says she does. Maybe I’ll find out if I’m lucky.

She finishes her set, the audience claps and she makes her way back over to me at the bar. Then I say the dumbest thing ever.

“You were really good, babe!” “BABE?” What the fuck am I saying?!! I never use that terminology, especially not with someone I just met kind of. I actually despise the word “babe” but somehow I hear it coming out of my mouth as the most natural and instinctual first thing to say to her as she returns to take a swing of her blue moon. Babe. It will always remind me of that talking pig movie, but I guess it didn’t for one split second. I never called her babe again, but it doesn’t seem to phase her either way. The next thing that happens is her kissing me….hard. It’s our first of many public displays of affection at the bar that night, and another shot of Jameson for me and Fireball for Alize later, it’s time for me to get up and sing. They didn’t have any Counting Crows in the book and it’s a bummer because it’s my go to for the ONE other time I did karaoke in Southern California. And if you don’t like Counting Crows or think they are douche rock, that’s fine with me. You are entitled to your opinion. I also share that same opinion about Dave Matthews Band which to me, is like the epitome of douche rock, on steroids. I settle for another song that has been given a bad reputation, but I know is in my vocal range. “Iris”, by The Goo Goo Dolls.

I’m a little buzzed, and I’m taking this song WAAAY too seriously but from five feet away Alize and some random couple she just made friends with all seem really into it. They’re sway dancing as my voice almost cracks slightly on the high note and I reach the end where the people on the smoking patio can hear me belting out “I just want you to know who I am.” I feel like such an idiot, but somehow it doesn’t even bother me one bit.

If you looked around the bar after my performance, you could find me and Alize making out sitting in a leather chair next to the fireplace in the bar. You could also find her sitting on my lap in that same chair doing the same thing near the same fireplace five minutes later. It’s then that I realized how much I hate public displays of affection…. unless I’m a part of them. We played some pool, had another drink, and then we went out on the patio for a smoke. It’s there that I tell her I’m really 38 years old, and it’s there that I come clean about my living situation and tell her it is in fact a one bedroom apartment that I share with this girl, but she is my business partner and my friend and we’re doing this because we’re helping each other out and all of our money is tied up in shooting this pilot which we’ve been working on for the last six months. She asks me if I hook up with my roommate and I tell the truth when I say no, but I don’t remember if the question she asked was “have I ever” or “do you ever.” I just shake my head and say no, because that’s the best answer for now. Who needs to know that I once dated my roommate way back in 2007, but we broke up for good in 2009? I know she isn’t a threat or an issue…ok maybe an issue but Alize already knows I’m 38, I live with a girl, and I share a room with two queen sizes beds in it, and she is still making out with me and putting her head on my shoulder…albeit because she might have been a little drunk, but still. We’re way too comfortable for me to take a chance of ruining this night with the truth. I’ll tell her on the next date. I swear to God I will.

We leave the bar, and we drive back to her house. She lives a few blocks from the 405 and Sepulveda and I make my way through the back streets using my GPS because Alize is a little confused as to where we are. Ok, she’s really drunk. I got to just be a good guy here and drop her off, kiss her good night, and make sure she gets in ok. I eventually pull up to her house and I keep the car running.

“I had a great time tonight. Thanks for making me get up there and sing.”

“You’re welcome.” she says with a smile. “You want to come sit on my porch?” She asks.

After about three seconds of deliberation, I decide to turn the car off and hang out for awhile. I spend the next two hours sitting on a futon outside of the house she rents with two other girls that luckily has a fence built around the outside so no one can see us while we make out and run our fingers through each other’s hair. We’re kissing each other and prodding each other, and I go to make a move that I think might be a bit premature, and of course she agrees by pushing my hand away from her jeans in a playful manner. I’m not even the least bit disappointed. I had to try, I tell myself. I had to. It’s chilly outside and there is a blanket over her and I’m dying of thirst and need water, but I don’t want to break up this session by asking her if she has anything to drink, so I put up with it for a few minutes more before I realize it’s after 4am and I should probably get going. Reluctantly, I somehow pull away from her lips and from her embrace which is actually comforting me and it is unlike anything I have felt in awhile. I like it. I really like this girl I think to myself, but I got to keep one eye open, much like I have to do on the ride home because I’m starting to think I’m a little too drunk to be driving. I make it home safe thanks to my prayers and the emptiness of the 101 at 4am and I promise myself NEVER to drive that intoxicated again. But was it the alcohol, the night with Alize, or a combination of both that made me this way? I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m home, and I’m happy, and I’m alive.

I text her the next morning that I had a blast last night and she responds a few minutes later expressing she had fun, but is a little hung over and paying for it at work today.

“Yeah, we were a little crazy last night.” I say. It’s ok to get a little crazy sometimes I think. Everything went great on that date and we text each other back and forth the next day and already are making plans for the weekend which is only two days from now. It’s my cat’s birthday I tell her, and I send her a picture of her, (the cat) that I posted on Facebook, and she tells me to tell my cat she said Happy 13th birthday. Aww, that’s cute….it’s also kind of gay that I’m sending her pictures of my cat but it doesn’t seem to matter because she asks me if I want to go see the movie “Her” with her this weekend. I haven’t had a third date with anyone yet because I haven’t liked anyone enough, but when she asks me if I want to see the new Spike Jonze film, I almost text her “yes” as I simultaneously go online to the Arclight website and purchase tickets for the movie in advance. She then goes on to tell me how much she liked the HAIM song I sent her and then that gives me the idea to do something I haven’t done for a girl I like in a long, long, long time. I make her a mix CD. Oh God….it’s over. I’m done. I must really like this one. I know because I have now chosen to use the words from someone else’s music to try and express to her how I really feel about her in this moment. It’s a big step for me. I’m channeling my inner John Cusack from the film “High Fidelity.” The 80s & 90s would be proud.

My roommate has been out of town all week. OkAlize knows the truth now, so I should definitely take advantage of having the place to myself for the night, right? Right. I make these plans for her to come over here tomorrow night for the date and I tell her she can park her car “underground” in my extra spot (like from the movie Singles) and then we can Uber to the Arclight so neither one of us has to drive. We can be responsible adults, and most importantly, she has to come back to my place to get her car. Hahaha…it’s a set up, and she goes for it because I knew she would.

Friday Night, January 10th 2014

I’m putting the finishing touches on a playlist I’m going to burn for Alize called “Songs To Make Out To.” I also burn her a copy of the HAIM album and I wonder if it’s too much to give her BOTH cds tomorrow night. Isn’t that like overkill? Maybe. Maybe I’ll hold off on one of them, but then something happens that completely takes me out of my creative mood and changes my focus for the night. I get a text from her that says…..

“Hey. I wanted to bring something up….I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. But I looked up your FB when you sent me that cat pic, and I saw some things that lead me to believe that your “roommate” is in fact an ex. Are there some things you were withholding? Or am I completely wrong?

FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! FUCK ME! This fucking SUCKS!!!! Oh man, this is the fucking worst. This is absolutely the fucking worst thing that could have happened. FUCK YOU FACEBOOK! Why do you have to even exist! Why the fuck am I even on Facebook? I thought my privacy settings were up to date! Why does facebook keep changing them, and what did she see on my profile that made her believe my roommate is an ex? Oh right, the 124 mutual friends my roommate and I have in common, the status updates where I tag her and I at dinners at cheesy chain restaurants, and the four dozen or so photos of us at numerous sporting events, vacation spots, bars, restaurants and other friend’s weddings. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s true Alize was snooping, but I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. I can’t blame her….and A part of me is a little bit mad at myself for leaving such a firewall like that open and unprotected. But another part of me knew that this would eventually have to come to light. I just wished it could have been me who told her the truth like I was planning on doing tomorrow night.

I text back and forth with her that night, and I try to explain to her that I really like her and it’s tricky because I don’t want to push her away by giving her that much information all at once. I know I should have just told her the other night, but against my better judgement, I didn’t. All I can do is apologize and listen to what she is saying when she tells me it’s a heavy subject, and when she tells me there are a lot of red flags, and when she tells me she’s “absorbing” after I ask her “Is that it then?” I have no idea how this is going to go. I have no idea if I’ll ever see her again, but I bet if I consulted the magic eight ball it would definitelty say “not very likely.” My heart sinks deep into my chest like the anchor of a boat thrown overboard to the bottom of the ocean floor. This is the worst feeling ever. I know myself and I know the truth and I know that I deserve to be happy at some point in my life. Maybe this is my chance, and this ONE fucking living situation in my waking life is blowing it for me. What a cockblock.

I’m angry. I’m angry that it isn’t five months from now that I met Alize when I won’t be living with my ex. I’m angry because what’s the fucking point of all this? Every time from here on out, as long as I still live with my “best friend/business partner/roommate-ex” of mine from 2009 and try to date other girls, I’m going to have to eventually tell them about this part of my life and they will most likely run away, laugh at me, or not take me seriously at all. What is the point of meeting anyone new? I can’t find the point anymore.

I make the decision to end it once and for all. I choose to break it off before anything else happens. It HAS to be done, so the very next thing I do is log on to OkCupid, and I deactivate my account. It’s over. Say goodbye to NJSS777.

Sometime after midnight, after a lot of going back and forth with “how would you feel if it happened to you” questions and “I understand how you might be a bit apprehensive” responses, Alize comes to a conclusion, and sends me this text:

“Ok, thank you for apologizing. I’m just going to give it some thought. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

Have a good night? How the fuck can I have a good night now?

Joe & Nicola (Part 2)


I woke up at 4am on the pull out couch in the motel, freezing and feeling like I slept with a rod up my back the whole night. It was still dark, and I was very uncomfortable, so I jumped in the bed which was slightly more comfortable, but filled with Tasha.

“Get out.” She said.

“I can’t sleep on that stupid couch. Move over.” I said.

Eventually, I dozed off and next thing I knew I woke up and it was 7am, I felt a little more rested, so I got dressed and headed to the Wawa for some coffee. The weather outside was ominous. It was overcast, wet, and I knew that Nicola’s biggest fear was going to come to true. She was going to have to have an indoor wedding. On the positive side, people say it’s lucky for it to rain on your wedding day. I mean, even Alanis Morrisette wrote a song called “Ironic” which states this idea, but there is a part of me that feels like even though it might be “good luck” for it to rain the day you get married, it’s certainly not what anybody hopes for. Regardless, I feel like at this point no amount of rain is going to stop this wedding from being the best day for Parr and Nicola.

To say Tasha and I were hungover would be an understatement. My body had somehow recovered from the pain I was in at the beginning of the trip, but now I was dealing with a whole new demon. I felt sick. Not like a fever, cold, or sneezing sick, like I was just faded and not feeling like I wanted to drink any amount of alcohol at all. It was then that Parr texted me and asked if we wanted to come over the house for breakfast and bloody marys.

“I can’t drink any alcohol now.” Tasha said to me.

“Me neither.” I replied.

Then about 8 seconds went by where we both looked at each other with the notion that we kind of needed to support our friend on the morning of his wedding.

“Let’s just go and have one drink.” I said.

“Ok, I’ll get dressed.” Tasha replied.

We came by Parr’s parents house and met up with him, Shaun, and Ron who were staying there, and Steve who showed up a few minutes after us for breakfast. Mr. & Mrs. Parr have been like parents to me. I’ve stayed at that house many times over the past few years, and I’ve drank with his family even more so. I love them. They are great people and sometimes I wish I was still living in NJ for that reason among others. It just feels like home. We all ate a little bit, thanked Mrs. Parr for making us food and then with the slightest amount of coaxing, we decided the next thing we should do is definitely to go across the street to the now defunct Woody’s Bar and have a few drinks with the Groom.

Here’s the funny thing about alcohol. You may feel like crap for a little bit the morning when you’re hung over, and you may think you want to take it easy and just drink some water and eat some food, but what your body really needs to recover…. is more alcohol. I am so glad I took a zantac to protect my stomach against the wrath of a tomato juice and vodka breakfast because by the time I ordered my third bloody mary, I felt great. We were laughing and having a good time and somehow we started talking about Parr’s groomsmen, the location of all of us at the alter, and the TV show Gilligan’s Island. This is where it just got silly.

At the end of the theme song, to Gilligan’s Island they introduce all the characters in the show. I’m sure you remember the tune…

”With Gilligan…..The Skipper too……The Millionaire, and his wife. The moooovie star….the Professor and Mary Anne! Here on Gilligan’s Isle!”

However, the FIRST season of Gilligan’s Island didn’t mention the Professor OR Mary Anne.  After “The movie star” it just goes “…and the rest!” It’s as if the Professor and Mary Anne are just so insignificant to the show that no one needs to know their names in the opening titles. We tried so hard to fit all of Parr’s groomsmen into the Gilligan’s Island theme song that morning, but it never worked out. We could only say three or four names before adding ”…and the rest” at the end. I know it’s stupid and silly and you probably aren’t laughing if you don’t get the joke…. but I guess you just had to be there and  had three or four bloody marys to appreciate the last paragraph that I wrote.

When we stepped outside of the bar that morning, it was pouring rain. Like a torrential downpour. There was no way to avoid an indoor wedding at this point. Mr. Parr gave me and Tasha some tips on how to get to Cape May using back roads and shortcuts so we thanked him, said goodbye to the boys for now, and went back to the Lollipop to pack up our shit and head to Congress Hall. We left the motel around 1:30pm so we could arrive in Cape May at the Hotel before 3pm to check in and get ready. I had our bags and my tux all packed up in the car, and I followed Mr. Parr’s directions all the way to Cape May. There was just one slight problem.

The backroads of North Wildwood were easy to maneuver through, however once we got into  Wildwood Crest, the roads were suddenly blockaded by a large amount of rainwater that had pooled up in the intersection like a small pond. There was nowhere to go other than right through it, but the issue I was having was being able to drive though it in my medium sized rental car without stalling out, and without another car driving though in the opposite direction and splashing water up on the hood of the car at the same time. We had made it though a few small sized puddles, but there was this big one coming up ahead, and sure enough in the other lane was an SUV who was going 30 mph and didn’t give a shit.

I did the only thing I could do in this situation that I hoped would work….I gunned it straight into the water hazard and kept my foot on the gas the whole time. The car started to sputter, the SUV splashed all over us just like I thought it would, and my fear of us being stranded in the middle of the road in a three foot deep hole of water was almost realized, but luckily it never quite manifested. Somehow, and by some miracle, we made it to the other side of the intersection with nothing but dry asphalt ahead.

A little further down the road we had to cross this rickety old toll bridge and give the guy 35 cents to get to the other side. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the clouds in the sky definitely weren’t looking like they were going to break free and let the sun in anytime soon, and when we arrived at Congress Hall ten minutes later, it was official….the wedding was taking place indoors. I could tell by the look on Nicola’s face that she was disappointed, but at the same time, years from now when we’re all grown up, no one is going to remember that it should have taken place outside. Instead they’ll remember how gorgeous she looked in her gown walking down the aisle, how much fun we all had at the reception, and how her and Parr and her son Giann became a family.

Oh wait, did I not mention that Nicola has a son from a previous relationship yet? Well, she does, and he’s a pretty awesome dude. That day Parr was not only becoming a husband for the first time, he was becoming a step-father too. I’ve known this kid, meaning Parr since he was a teenager, and a part of me never thought he would get married, let alone get married to a woman who had a son. I know all too well that level of responsibility and what it takes from someone to commit themselves to a family situation and I know first hand from my own childhood that sometimes it isn’t easy and unfortunately I also know what it’s like when a father figure comes into your life, and doesn’t want to stick around for the long haul. Yet, as we get older and mature, our wants and our needs change and sometimes we grow up to be better people and better parents than the ones that came before us because we learn what we want, from finding out what we don’t want.

Unlike my step father, Parr wants that level of responsibility and I know he can handle it because he’s one of my best friends and I know he’ll be good at it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like dudes sit around drinking beers telling each other how much they love their girlfriends and how they can’t wait to marry them. That just doesn’t happen in my world. But I could see first hand that day how much he loved Nicola and Giann just from the smile on his face when he saw them walking down the aisle. Sometimes, that’s all you need.

Before the ceremony, all the groomsman got dressed and gathered in Parr’s room to have a few drinks together and put the finishing touches on our tuxedos. I guess there is something that runs in Parr’s family that prohibits him and his brother Shaun from understanding how to put cuff links and tie tacks on, because at every wedding I’ve been to with either of them, someone else has to help them dress. So, Adam took care of the Groom, and I took care of the Best Man, and I gotta say I think we did a damn good job in the process.


After we were all dressed and looking spiffy, the groomsman and bridesmaids filtered into the hallway one by one to make our procession into room filled with guests where we would proceed to take six steps, turn right, take six or seven more steps and then part ways at the alter in the correct order we were supposed to be in. Parr and Nicola followed, and then Giann, the ring bearer strutted his way down the aisle in his pint sized tuxedo and sneakers. It says I’m taking this seriously, but I’m a kid and I wear sneakers so I’m not taking it THAT seriously.



The ceremony was from 4:30-5pm, but I think we got through it in about 22 minutes thanks to Nicola wanting to have a brief wedding, and Chad being able to speak quickly and efficiently, and everyone being aware of where they were supposed to be, and who they were supposed to be with. He said “I do,” she said “I do,” and everyone applauded and snapped photos as Parr, Nicola and Giann were officially a family. I mean, just look how jazzed Parr is in this picture. He’s even giving a fist pump.


The guests made their way into the Boiler Room for cocktail hour which was technically a bar downstairs and not a real boiler room like you would automatically think. The wedding party stayed upstairs to take pictures and get drinks from the bar because now that the wedding was over, the REAL party was about to begin. Before all the food and the dancing and the selfie taking was to happen, we needed to snap a few real photos for posterity and I think we nailed it.


We mingled downstairs for awhile with all of the guests and gorged ourselves on a plethora of appetizers which included all the classic Italian specialties like garlic bread, a pasta bar, and deli meats and cheeses. It was obvious from the lack of potatoes and cabbage that no Irish person had any say in the spread of food that afternoon. I stayed close to the “Marlton” corner of the room where everyone who I’ve ever known from high school who came to the wedding was hanging out together and catching up with each other until it was time for the guests to take their seats upstairs and for the wedding party to be announced leading all the way up to the Bride and Groom. One by one each groomsman made our way into the dining hall onto the dance floor with a bridesmaid in one arm, and a cocktail in the other. I don’t think Parr would have wanted it any other way. At this point in the night, I had the bridesmaid on my arm, I didn’t feel sick, I had no qualms about drinking more alcohol, and just like those stupid Bud Light commercials, I was up for whatever happens next, or so I thought.

We all found our tables which were aptly named for different cities along the Jersey shore. There was L.B.I., Ocean City, Wildwood….and the rest. Then there was the Seaside Heights table where I sat with Tasha, Chad & Mary, Gary & Desiree, P-Nut & Efia, Jenna & Tim, and Woofy. Now, I hadn’t seen Woofy for like 15 years. In fact, no one had seen him in that amount of time. Pretty much after he graduated college in Rhode Island he got a job and met a woman in Massachusetts and married her and spent the last two decades or so in obscurity. He also dated Jenna at one time who was sitting right next to him at the table who he hadn’t spoken to in forever, and Jenna had also dated Chad for many years going back to the mid 1990s. I guess it was not a coincidence that they all ended up at the Seaside Heights table which ironically was the exact name of the beach city where 5 seasons of the reality show “Jersey Shore” took place. I still don’t know if it was a joke by the Bride and Groom or if that’s just the table where Woofy ended up but either way, I found it very amusing.


The dinner service was underway and Shaun was on the mic saying some kind words to his brother and his new sister-in-law. I had a few things I wanted to say too, and I even wrote them down on a piece of paper and brought it with me that night, but I never got a chance to go up there. I figure whatever I wanted to say then that I didn’t get a chance to say, I have said so far in this blog, but I had a another moment planned that I got a chance to execute and Jenna caught on video.

Goodfellas is our favorite movie. Hands down it is the one film Parr, Shaun, and Gary and I have probably watched 1000 times and have quoted it over and over again to each other. There’s a scene in the movie where Henry and Karen get married and all their friends and family walk up to them, and hand them a wedding gift which in this scene turns out to be multiple envelopes filled with cash. During the film there is a jump cut of all these envelopes filled with Benjamins being handed over to them, and there is one huge, fat, thick envelope the size of a brick that one of the guests places in Henry’s hand. I wanted to re-create that scene for Parr at his wedding, but Tasha and I are hardly rich enough to put THAT many hundred dollar bills in an envelope. However, we COULD afford to take a hundred ONE dollar bills, stuff them into an envelope and walk up to Parr and Nicola and tell them “Here’s a little something to help you get started,” Just like Pauly does in the movie. You can watch that video here.

After most of the eating was done, the deejay started up the night of music and rug cutting with the first dance starring the new couple Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Carr, and son. I snapped this pic with my shitty camera phone, and even though it’s not very crisp or clear I think it says all there needs to say about these three.


The next two hours were pretty epic. Parr and Nicola had the most amount of guests dancing together at one time at any wedding I had been to. I mean it was like god damn American Bandstand that night. Old people dancing, young people dancing, people who didn’t even know how to dance were dancing. At one point I even slid across the floor on my knees during a Michael Jackson song and looking back now I could have seriously injured myself, but I didn’t care. I danced with Maggie, I danced with Tasha, I danced with Mary, Parr, Shaun and Gary. People were raising the roof, picking up change, and I think at one point Chad started to do the running man. I was having such a good time, when I turned around and there was the bridesmaid I had been paired up with looking at me like she had an agenda.

Wanna get a drink?” She asked.

Now, when you’re a little bit drunk and a pretty blonde girl at a wedding who you just happened to be paired up asks you to get a drink, there is only one response that you should ever give, and this is what I said to her…

“Absolutely I do.”

“Let’s do a shot” She said.

“Ok. Can we get two kamikazes?” I asked the bartender.

Now I know what you’re thinking…. Who the hell orders kamakazes anymore right? Well, I’m not a big shot guy unless of course it’s tequila or sometimes whiskey, and I had been drinking vodka all night so I thought I should stay on the same train.

“Can’t give out shots tonight.” He replied.

What the fuck was that about? No shots? I thought this was a Irish-Italian wedding?

“Let’s go to the other bar,” She said.

So we made our way to the other bar across the dance floor, took two shots and I threw the bartender a few dollars for hooking us up. Next thing I know I’m outside with the bridesmaid having a cigarette and talking. I told her I was from California, and she started telling me about how she’s been dating this guy who she met at work and how he wants to marry her and she thinks it’s a good idea because she has a son at home, but she also doesn’t even like the guy who she is currently dating. She also mentions that she just had surgery and is currently on some sort of medication. Now, I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure drinking alcohol and taking pain meds is NOT a good combination. Don’t they have warning labels for stuff like that?

She went on to say her boyfriend is a pit boss at a casino in Atlantic City, where she deals blackjack and that he offered her a new job at a casino in Delaware and he wants her to move down there with him and get married. So, me being an idiot and painfully honest like I am, told her that if she really isn’t into him, then she probably shouldn’t accept the job, and furthermore she probably shouldn’t be dating him if she doesn’t even like him. Look, I’m always going to tell people the truth of what I think, even if it’s not what they want to hear. Otherwise what kind of a person would I be?

“He didn’t come with you to the wedding?” I asked

“No, he’s here.” She replied.

Wait, at THIS wedding?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She said.

Great. All I need now is some big fat six foot nine pissed off burly pit boss from the Taj Mahal beating the shit out of me at my best friend’s wedding for talking to his girlfriend who doesn’t really like him, and probably sees me as the catalyst to the eventual fight they will get into later on that evening.

“Let’s go back inside.” I say.

“I’m not finished my cigarette.” She says.

“Well I am, so I’ll see you later.”

I was right to get out of there. This girl may have been cute and sweet, but she was bad news. There is NOTHING about what she just told me that appealed to me in any way shape or form. I made my way back into the dance hall and spent the rest of the time dancing around with Parr and Mary and Tasha and Maggie and Chad and everybody else who didn’t come to the wedding with pit boss boyfriends that they don’t like.


Everyone was having a really good time but before we knew it, it was late, the deejay was spinning his last song, and the wedding of Joe and Nicola was coming to an end. We all stood around after the music had stopped, I grabbed my coat and stole the picture frame from our table that said Seaside Heights on it and was almost ready to call it a night when I see Chad who runs into the wedding hall and tells us how he had been downstairs the last half hour in the Boiler Room which was now rocking and rolling with a live band and room full of people.

Here comes the afterparty…..

First thing I did was grab the key to the room from Tasha and I went upstairs to change, wash my face, spray myself with more cologne, and then I headed back downstairs to the Boiler Room. I could hear the music from the stairwell, and right around the time that I walked into the bar, I see Nicola with a concerned look on her face. I grabbed Parr and asked him what was going on, but I think I already knew.

“The bridesmaid’s boyfriend is here. He got into it with her and I guess he’s pissed.” Parr said.

“At me?” I asked.

I didn’t even need to hear the answer to that question. This is so not what I wanted to have happen at their wedding, but what was I going to do? Hide in my hotel room the rest of the night?

“Fuck that, he’s an idiot and he’s not going to do anything with all of us here. Don’t even worry about it.” Parr said.

And I didn’t worry about it one bit. I just got myself a beer, and went out to the dance floor and we all kept the party going to the cool sounds of 70s and 80s music from a live band who were really good and really tight. A few songs later I saw the bridesmaid enter the bar. She looked a little sad and I kind of felt bad for her. No one wants to be depressed  at a wedding so I bought her a drink and brought her onto the dance floor into the crowd of my friends.

“I broke up with him.” She said.

“For real?” I asked.

“Yep.” She said with a smile.

What did that mean? Did she really break up with him? Did I cause this to happen? Was it something I said outside? Was this some sort of play to make him jealous and more pissed off? I mean, I would have said the same thing to anyone who told me they were in a relationship with someone they didn’t like. I don’t even know this guy but now, I kind of felt bad for HIM, wherever he was.

“He’s right there.” She said.

Then I look up, and there he is leaning on the stairwell watching this all happen, but specifically shooting hate rays with his eyes directly at me and the bridesmaid. He was barely 5 foot 5, slightly overweight, and he had this really gross stringy black hair and the creepiest look on his face. If there was anyone at that wedding that fit the profile of someone who would have stayed at the Lollipop motel that night, it would have been him. Instantaneously, I stopped feeling bad for him. This chick was WAAAY out of his league, and to be honest this whole scenario was way out of my comfort zone.

I’ll be right back.” I said.

And with statement, that I made my way to the far back end of the bar where Steve, Adam and Maggie were hanging out, under the air conditioner and far away from the drama on the dance floor. I took a seat next to Maggie at the bar and started talking to them about what just happened. The last hour was just an absolutely insane experience. I mean, who breaks up with their boyfriend at a wedding in Jersey because some groomsman you were paired up with who’s name you probably don’t even remember said that you shouldn’t be in relationship if you didn’t really like the guy? Has NO ONE else ever said that to her? Can I get her to do anything else tonight by just telling her what I think? Like maybe she should quit her job and move to California to be with me, but before she does, I want her to rob a bank and murder all my enemies along the way, and just so you know, that’s a few more people now than it was last year. I know she didn’t do it for me, but man…. it’s just so fucking crazy.

I went on for a little bit joking around and recapping the highlights of the night with the boys, and then Adam decided it would be a good idea to leave me and Maggie alone and head to another part of the bar. Damn, we were getting match-maked on both ends. I talked with her for awhile and we had couple drinks and we took a handful of selfies, a few of which Chad photobombed and yeah, we made out a little bit. I mean come on, it was bound to happen. She was wearing this cute little superman tank top that night and my ex girlfriend and her best guy friend were pushing us together through no fault of our own since the night before.

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She looked good that night and I told her that. I think we had always liked each other but the timing was never right, and to be honest this was the only opportunity we would have. It was almost 2am, and the bartender did last call, so we ordered two more beers, paid the tab, and then Maggie and I started to walk back to her room upstairs, when out of nowhere, the bridesmaid and her friend cuts us off.

“Ready to go upstairs?” The bridesmaid asked.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I mean first of all, this girl had some balls inviting me to go upstairs to her room with her and her friend after what had happened that night, and especially right in front of Maggie. This kind of stuff never happens to me. I looked at the bridesmaid, then looked at Maggie, then turned back to the bridesmaid, and I said with a smile.

“I don’t think so.”

Maggie and I walked past the girls, went up the stairs and into the hotel lobby and up a few more stairs until we found a place to sit down and finish the last beer of the night.  The truth is, we couldn’t go anywhere because I was staying in a room with Tasha, and she was staying in a room with Adam. What were we going to do? Knock on the door of one of the rooms and ask our friends to hang out in the hall for twenty minutes so we could bang each other? That just wouldn’t be right, so we did the only thing we could do for the next forty-five minutes we made out on a white couch on the third floor of the hotel in front of the elevator while we took little breaks to talk and drink our beers.


That’s where it all went down. Compared to the last wedding I went to where both Tasha and I hooked up with someone else, this seemed to happen a little more naturally, with a little more help from everyone, and of course without me vomiting in my suit.  Eventually, I said goodnight to Maggie and we both went our separate ways into our separate hotel rooms and eventually, fell asleep.

I really had a blast at Parr and Nicola’s wedding, and I got to be honest, it was hard to fit all of what happened into a two part story. I wish there was more to tell, but these are the highlights as I remembered them.  I’ve never been more happy for Parr then on this day.  I was proud of him.  He now has a beautiful Italian wife, and an incredible son to call his own, and I know he’ll be the best husband and Dad he could ever be.  I guess Parr’s all growns up now.

The next morning, it was bright and sunny, which meant of course the ONLY day it rained that weekend was the day Parr and Nicola got married, but maybe that’s good luck. Tasha and I had a plane to catch back to L.A., so we packed up our bags, said our goodbyes and headed back to Philly to drop off the rental car and catch our flight by 4pm.

“That was a great time.”  Tasha said.

“It was.”  I replied.  “Hey, thanks for being a good friend.”

“And not a blocker of cock?”  She asked.

“Yeah, that too.” I said.

As the airplane started to taxi down the runway, I put on a movie and my headphones and thought about the last few days.  I wish we could have stayed longer, and I wish that every wedding had an afterparty, but most importantly, I wish that everyone had a such good friends like the ones I have.  They look out for me like family.


I guess this is the part of the story where I think back to how it all happened 8 years ago when I met this girl at a wedding and her and I would go on to date for two years, love each other, break up with each other multiple times, share two cats, a rabbit, and three apartments together all while somehow becoming best friends and business partners who created a TV show pilot and attended 7 weddings together over the past 8 years. It may sometimes have been stressful, but I don’t regret anything that has happened since I met her. I might have done things a little differently early on in our relationship, but ultimately we weren’t meant to be together in that way. We both know that now.

Something happened to me while I writing this blog. Over the past twelve weeks I have spent at least three or four days working on every entry, reminiscing about the good times I’ve had at my friends weddings and what it was like to see them all grow up and witness their love first hand and literally be a part of it for one day. It’s been a great feeling because every wedding I’ve attended and have written about has brought me closer to the realization that I never thought I would say in writing let alone out loud, but here it goes.

I’m going to get married someday. I’m going to meet someone that I can love and share my life with, regardless of how much work it might be, regardless of what I thought in the past. Love has always eluded me, or love has disappeared or it doesn’t reciprocate, or it changes form, or sometimes, I just fuck it up because I’m scared. But I’m not scared anymore. I know that there’s someone out there who is the perfect match for me, and I’ll meet her one day, but to be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if I’ve already met her.

In the year since the last wedding we attended, Tasha and I have remained good friends, but we don’t live together anymore. We’re still working on selling the show and we have a pretty big meeting coming up next week with a pretty big manager who has the power to take our show to the next level. I mean like network next level, not some crappy start up cable bullshit like before. It’s our third meeting with him since October of last year, so maybe this is it.

In the meantime, I wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time over the last few weeks to read this blog. With the exception of the proverbial lawsuit that never happened, people have told me they really enjoyed it, and I wanted to extend my regards to everyone who has commented, texted, shared, or retweeted it. I truly appreciate it, and a special thanks to all my friends who let me use their first and sometimes last names in the process.

In the very first entry of this blog, I wrote:

“as I’ve gotten older I keep getting these save the date cards in the mail and I keep watching my best friends get married and I keep attending these weddings with the same woman that I haven’t dated since 2009.”

So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that there is one more save the date, one more best friend, and one more wedding we have left to attend……

Gary Des

(to be continued…)

See you in a month.

Next Wedding:  Late July 2015

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333

Joe & Nicola (Part 1)


It was the weekend of May 16th, 2014 and Tasha and I were in New Jersey to attend the rehearsal and wedding of one of my best friends from high school, Joseph T. Carr, aka Parr, aka “Mouse” which no one ever referred to him by, except for some girl from elementary school who called him that all the way up to his graduation day. First of all, I sincerely hope that the use of Parr’s full name and moniker just now doesn’t constitute a lawsuit from him, because if you’ve been keeping tabs on some of the ridiculous events that transpired since the start of this blog, writing that you don’t like someone and mentioning a silly nickname you had for them in high school is apparently cyber-bullying and grounds for defamation of character. But, since I like Parr and we’re friends, I’m not expecting to be served with papers anytime soon.

Parr had found someone really special a few years back when he met in my opinion the sweetest, coolest, greatest girl he’d ever dated… the one, the only, & most importantly Italian, (and therefore BEST) counterpart to his flagrant Irish personality, Nicola. I kind of knew from the first time I met her that she was going to be the one for him. She’s cool, laid back, beautiful, and she’s not crazy. Truth is, every Italian from Jersey has the capability to be crazy, myself included, but instead of crazy I like to use the word “passionate.” Nicola was passionately in love with Parr, and I was more than passionately happy to be a groomsman at their wedding. As it turns out, it would end up being one of the most memorable and slightly dramatic nights of my life, but we’ll get to that soon enough.

I met Parr way back in the early 1990s. I probably hung out with him the most back in the day and it wasn’t only because he is so god damn good looking, we had a lot in common. Look, I’m not gay, but I got to be honest, if I WERE to cross over to the “pride side,” I’d definitely get it on with Parr. I think most guys would have. He’s fun, charismatic, and for a short amount of time he closely resembled Bille Joe Armstrong from Green Day. I think we started hanging out sometime when my friendships with Chad, Gary, Boner and P-Nut were kind of on the rocks, because I did something really stupid and immature to one of them.

I wasn’t a fuck up per se, I just didn’t understand common courtesy. Moreover, I knew nothing of how to cultivate good lasting male friendships, (thank you very much step father who left me and my mom at my 8th grade graduation) So I started over with a new group of guy friends including Parr, Bezanis, Woofy, and Ian who no one has heard from since the late 1990s. Eventually, I was able to mend my friendships with Chad and P-Nut, but Boner and I never really saw eye to eye after that time. It’s probably for the best anyway. I never could tell what that guy was talking about. He used to tell this story about how the FBI confiscated his computer in the 1980s because he apparently hacked into some government mainframe. I believed him at first, but then I realized how similar Boner’s FBI story was to the premise for the movie War Games. He probably made all that shit up, especially the story he told everyone about how he had dated my sister, that is of course until my sister denied it to Chad and Boner was called out.

Anyway, Chad, P-Nut, and Gary had gotten over it, which led to the melding of two groups of my guy friends that I have known since sophomore year. Like I said in previous blogs, I love these guys, and it was an honor to be part of their wedding(s) Joe (who?) and Nicola were getting married in Cape May NJ that weekend, so Tasha and I boarded a Virgin America flight in L.A. a few days before and flew all the way to Philadelphia International. I was actually a little sick on the flight out there. Sometimes when I go home, I get nervous and anxious and I had recently pulled a muscle in my shoulder which was really hurting me at the time. I couldn’t even hold a coffee cup in my left hand without feeling some level of discomfort. I’ll tell you man, getting old sucks.

Before we drove into Jersey, Tasha and I had spent the last six months shooting, and editing sizzle reels, teasers and the pilot episode of our project that used to be a web series, but had now been developed in to a 22 minute TV sitcom, Trent & Tilly. We had been meeting with a start-up cable network over the last six months who loved our idea, and who signed us to a contract to produce and air it on their channel. We did a table read, a photo shoot, attended some events and gave some interviews and we even brought in a few C-list celebs to be cast in the two supporting roles opposite us. Things appeared to be going good, except here’s the thing about Hollywood. It’s nothing until it’s something, which basically means, that contract we signed doesn’t mean anything until we have that check in our hand. And even though this network was supportive and really believed in us and our idea, because they couldn’t come up with the purchase price of the show within 45 days of signing the contract, the agreement was null and void and the ownership of the show reverted back to us. So being the innovative creators we are, we shot the pilot ourselves using our own money and slapped together a sizzle reel, a one sheet, and our agents were sending it out to networks and it was just a matter of time before it was sold and me and Tasha were millionaires and subsequently considered an “overnight success.” We knew it was going to happen, it was just a matter of when and how. I mean, why else had we put ourselves through hell, and why else were we exes still living together in a one bedroom apartment in Hollywood, and why else were we able to find a way to use that uncomfortably awkward situation and write it into one of the premises for the show? It can’t all be for nothing.

We landed in Philly, drove over to Jersey, got a hotel room in Mt. Laurel and spent the first couple days hanging with my mom and my sister, finishing off two bottles of wine at the Carrabba’s on route 73 in Marlton while catching up. The wedding was taking place at Congress Hall in Cape May so after a few days on the main land we headed down the shore to meet up with the wedding party at the hotel for the rehearsal on Thursday afternoon. Congress Hall was epic. It’s this huge old historic boarding house from the 1800’s that is located directly on the beach in Cape May. It had a bunch of rooms, a bar, a view of the ocean, and an underground speakeasy where we would eventually congregate after the wedding where some, if not all of the shit would go down. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but bear with me. This is my last blog, and I gotta build the suspense.


Un like that picture, the forecast was for rain on Friday, which by the look on Nicola’s face, clearly sucked. She wanted an outdoor wedding, and who doesn’t? Currently, it was sunny and bright that afternoon on Thursday in May and the wedding party practiced our procession indoors, just in case the wedding got rained out. Parr and I and the rest of groomsmen had gotten our tuxes from Men’s Warehouse which did NOT fuck up the order unlike Jos. A Bank from such previous events as P-Nut and Efia’s wedding. This time around, Chad was again the aficionado of ceremonies, and me, Gary, Steve, Ron, Adam and P-Nut were the groomsmen. His brother Shaun was the best man, and of course we were all paired with bridesmaids to walk down the aisle with. My bridesmaid was pretty, and some might say that our pairing was the catalyst that lead to the unearthing of some chaotic events the next night, but for now, let’s just imagine us all rehearsing in jeans and tee shirts and everybody getting along and no drama to be experienced, yet.


Everyone in the wedding party on the Groom’s side had one thing in common. We all worked at the TGI Fridays in Marlton on route 73 at some point in our lives. With the exception of Shaun, everyone was at one time either a busser, a waiter, or a bartender. Gary got me the job in ’96, when Steve was already working there, P-Nut followed suit and was hired a few months after me, then after I got fired in ’98 for reasons that shall not be discussed, Parr got hired as a waiter, Chad worked there for a minute as a bus boy and hated it because if you know Chad then you know that he is NOT the poster boy for manual labor. In the years after I moved to Seattle, Parr continued to work there when Adam and Ron were hired so it was not ironic at all that a lot of the guests at the wedding were at one time part of the Friday’s crew.

Back to the rehearsal, we were all gathered in this small stuffy hallway with the drinks we got from the bar before we started proceeding down the aisle in a very odd format. Steve and Ron went first, building from the outside in, followed by me, then P-Nut, then Adam, then Gary which put Gary closest to the Groom, and by that rationale made Steve furthest from the groom.

Wait a minute, I look like Parr’s worst friend! Steve said.

This is where the groomsman location theory came about. Out of all of us, Steve and Ron should have been closer to the groom being that Parr lived with Ron for years, and hangs out with Steve on a regular basis. Shaun is Parr’s brother and isn’t going anywhere, I was smack dab in the middle, so any adjustments to the first two, or the last two wouldn’t affect me at all, so after Parr mentioned this to the wedding planner we all had to start over.  So, while the other guests were in the bar having many drinks, the groomsmen and the bridesmaids went back to the hallway outside the room, grabbed the cocktails and beers we had set down on the stairs before the FIRST rehearsal, finished them, and then proceeded into the room for the second rehearsal, this time in correct order. After we rehearsed the walking to the alter, which didn’t really exist, and the reciting of the vows which were sweet and to the point, but didn’t really mean anything yet, we were released from the muggy convention room and we all headed to the bar for more drinks.

Tasha was sitting at the bar taking selfies with all the girls who weren’t bridesmaids at the wedding which included Efia, Desiree/Destiny and Maggie. I found Tasha’s old sim card in the drawer today and came up with these gems.  She sure loves her selfies….


I had met Maggie a few years back in 2011 when I came home for the Eagles game/Irish weekend in Wildwood. I had a little crush on her, but it never really amounted to anything because A, she had a boyfriend at the time and B, she lived 3000 miles away in Jersey.  Of course and not ironically, Maggie also worked at the TGI Friday’s in Marlton for awhile and became really good friends with Parr, Adam and Ron. Maggie had sent me a Facebook message a week before the wedding asking me to save her a dance, but when I saw her commiserating with Tasha at the bar I started to wonder A. What were they talking about and B. is this is going to turn into a classic “cock block” situation.

The upside to having a best friend/business partner who is both smart and hot is that it works wonders when dealing with business stuff in a male dominated environment such as Hollywood. She does all the talking sometimes because she is charming and men like a woman who knows her shit. The downside to having a best friend/business partner who is both smart and hot is that every where I go with her, people assume we are boyfriend/girlfriend, so I never get hit on by any other woman. Tasha is sometimes what I like to consider a cock blocker through no fault of her own. It’s not her fault that chicks don’t talk to me when I’m with her, but it’s also her being “with me” that is the fault of why chicks don’t talk to me when I am. Regardless, I said hello to Maggie and a bunch of other guests that had arrived at the bar, and then I pulled Tasha aside.

“Talking to Maggie huh? How’s that going?” I asked.

She’s sweet.” She replied. “I told her we’re not together.

Really?” I said. “I just thought it would be a classic cock block situation.”

On the contrary I let her know it’s cool, so in a sense I’m cock allowing.” she stated

I don’t think that’s the way you say that.” I replied.

I’m allowing cock into your life.” She said.

That’s worse than the first thing you said!” I stated.

I knew what she was trying to say, I just don’t think there is a definitive term that means “not” cock blocking someone, but I thought it was nice that at least she was putting in some good words. I got to be honest, it’s kind of weird when your ex-girlfriend is trying to play matchmaker at your best friend’s wedding, especially since we had been sharing a hotel room for the past three days and that trend will continue tonight and tomorrow.

The last wedding we went to left me with a strange taste in my mouth, and I mean that both literally because I rolfed that night, but also figuratively because I wasn’t sure what to make of all this. We were in some kind of unchartered territory, but I would like to think our friendship has evolved past the point of jealousy, meaning that I’m cool if she hooks up, and she’s cool if I hook up, but I get the feeling that even though both of us are cool like that, neither one of us would actually want to witness the hook up first hand.

After about an hour of drinking and snacking from the bowl of pretzels and spicy crackers at the bar, the guests were getting ready to head to the Bayview in Wildwood for the rehearsal dinner, even though it wasn’t really going to be a traditional dinner. It was more like a bunch of Parr and Nicola’s friends getting drunk and eating bar food together the night before the wedding. Tasha and I headed back to the car which I had illegally parked somewhere on the backlot of the hotel, but before we made our way to the bar, we had to drive back to North Wildwood, otherwise known as “NoWo” to check into our room for the night at the Lollipop, otherwise known as that outrageous looking rainbow colored motel on the corner of 23rd and Atlantic whose main sign shows two close-up drawings of these random blonde haired creepy little kid faces. You see what I mean?


I had booked the motel last minute because we needed a place to stay that was close to Cape May, but not actually in Cape May because of the location of the Bayview. The motel was close to Parr’s parents house, and even though it got a bad reputation because it looks likes it’s the perfect place for a pedophile to hang out, I went ahead and took a chance. Steve booked a room there too, but he went straight to the bar first. We got to the motel office and opened the door and went in. In the office were some pamphlets, a few pictures of local sights like the boardwalk and the pier, and a couple house plants. I heard the sound of the TV from this back room connected to the office covered by a curtain, which I would assume is where the hotel manager and their kids slept. On the desk in front of me where the pamphlets and parking passes were laid out was this black and white cat who was staring at me and Tasha.

We’d like to check in please.” I said to the cat.

Naturally, it didn’t answer but a few seconds later a man in his mid thirties appeared from behind the curtain like the great and powerful Oz, and we started the check in process. He told tell us stories of how all these crazy “Jersey Shore” types started coming down in the past few summers.

In fact,” he said “one of them crazy I-talians threw a TV in the pool last year.

“Well I’m Italian, but definitely not crazy, just passionate…. and maybe a little crazy.” I replied.

I think his name was John and he seemed really nice to us and gave us our key which was an actual key, not like one of those cards with the magnetic strip on it that they give you in modern hotels. It’s been awhile since I stayed in a hotel room where you physically get a key to the place. It felt so antiquated. We went up one flight and entered room 202 which was directly above the office. The room was….how can I put this….very quaint and “oceanic.” There was single bed, a couch, a tube television from the late 1990s, some really tacky wallpaper, a microwave, a tiny little bathroom and a bunch of nautical instruments on the wall.

“I call the bed!” Tasha exclaimed.

Fine, I call the pull-out couch.” I said.

I had done a little research on some of the hotels in Wildwood before I left. What I found by reading some of the Yelp reviews of other places was quite concerning. The Lollipop however, had gotten some relatively good reviews, it just looked like a shit hole place that would have gotten terrible reviews. Still, I did the first thing I do when I check into a shady motel, I got my flashlight, and checked for bed bugs.


I actually had an issue with bed bugs a year before. My bed was slightly infested with them, and it sucked. For two months, I couldn’t sleep at all and it freaked me out right up until the whole apartment had to be exterminated. I won’t go into the details of how Tasha brought home a painting from her ex-boyfriend’s house and how that painting ended up against the wall next to my bed and how after I found out I had bed bugs I looked inside the frame of said painting and sure enough that’s where all the bugs had come from, or maybe I just did go into detail about that.  Regardless, I had to throw my old bed away so Tasha bought me a new one because even though I’m not pointing the finger directly at her, maybe she felt kind of gulity and maybe the whole the thing had “something” to do with that painting she brought home. Just a theory of mine.

After I found the sleeping quarters to be safe, we changed clothes, hopped in the car and headed over to the Bayview in Wildwood Crest. It was almost dark by he time we got there but when we walked in, everyone was gathered around the bar drinking and having some food. Most of Nicola’s friends and family were there, and of course ALL of Parr’s family and friends were there too, mainly because they are Irish and alcoholics, respectively. I went over to and said hi to my friends Halin, Rotzko, and Reynolds, who I refer to by their last names, and then we said hello to my friends Dave, Jenna and Tim who I refer to by their first names. There’s this weird thing about calling someone by their last names that I think only applies to guys. I’ve never heard Tasha refer to Mary and say “I’m getting a drink with Quinlan,” and I’ve never heard Mary refer to Tasha by saying “Do you know where Tacosa is?” I just think it’s a guy related sports thing, because that one time in 2007 when I did refer to Tasha as “Tacosa,” she stated “Hey, I’m not on your baseball team.” Point taken.

The next couple of hours reminded me of being at a mini-high school reunion. I caught up with people I hadn’t seen in awhile, put some music on the jukebox and ate some bar food that I think I remember was pretty good but to be honest, it was the company we kept that made it so much fun. It was nice to see all of these people in one place again, and it only made me look forward to the wedding tomorrow that much more. I ordered another drink and spotted Maggie at the bar. She came up to me and said hi, and then she told me she had talked to Tasha.

“Tasha’s really cool.” She said.

Yeah, she’s great.” I replied. “What did you guys talk about?

“Nothing.” She said.

“Did you talk about me?” I asked.

No.” She said with a smirk. “Just remember to save me that dance tomorrow.”

I didn’t know what kind of reverse bro-mance was going on with them. For all I knew this could be a set up, but in reality I don’t think that was the case. Did Maggie and Tasha have a little girl crush thing going on? Possibly, but at this point it didn’t really matter. I know Tasha has my back, especially in situations like this that we’ve NEVER been in before. It’s just the kind of relationship we have. We want each other to be happy, and we want each other to have fun and I’m sure that if there was some guy there that wanted me to try and sweet talk Tasha into “dancing” with him I would have done the same thing. That’s just what friends do, especially friends who I used to date 7 years ago, but who I don’t anymore, even though at this point we still shared a bedroom and shared many arguments about which one of us keeps leaving dirty dishes piling up in the kitchen sink.

Everyone in that room was a good friend of mine. I shared some great memories with each and every person going all the way back to 1992 when I first met Chad, Gary and P-Nut and we snuck out to the fields behind my house in the Vineyards in the middle of the night and saw what we thought to be the Jersey Devil. Then a few years later when I met Parr, Dave, Rotzko, Reynolds, and Woofy I threw a NYE party in a hotel room somewhere in Vorhees where I got violently sick and ended up puking and clogging the sink, and my boy Gary took care of me.

The friends I’ve known for years have each other’s backs, and they stick up for each other, and yes, it’s required in that same vein of existence they may also get into fights and bust each other’s balls in the process, but that’s just how it goes. We did almost everything together growing up, and I don’t have any regrets about the way things turned out, and I would hope the same goes for them.  As I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve been finding out who my real friends are, and that night on the eve of Parr and Nicola’s wedding I was happy to know I was in a room full of them.

Way back in the day we used to listen to this song by the hard core band “H2o” called “5 Year Plan” It wasn’t the greatest song in the world, but the first 8 words of the tune really emphasizes my point.

My friends look out for me like family”

That’s the way it should always be. For me, I didn’t grow up with a father or a brother, or any real extended family so naturally, my best friends became my family. I won’t ever know what it’s like to grow up as a kid in the world today, but I bet it’s not half as entertaining as it was for us back then.

Back at the bar, there was still drinking and chatting going on, but Tasha and I left a little earlier than everyone else that night because we were tired and tipsy and we headed back to the motel to get some sleep before the wedding tomorrow.

So….what did you say to Maggie?” I asked her

“I gave her my blessing” Tasha said with a smile.

It was a sweet and selfless thing to do.  I didn’t know what was going to happen the next night, but I do know that two amazing people were going to get married, and I was going to be able to be a part of it, and all of it’s legendary glory.

“Thanks Tacosa.” I replied.

You’re welcome, but I’m not on your baseball team.”

Part 2: June 24th, 2015

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Aaron & Marlowe


It was April 13th 2013, but you could hardly tell it was Spring by the weather that afternoon. The day Aaron and Marlowe got married in Malibu, California it was overcast and chilly, and in addition to their beautiful ceremony, and amazing buffet spread, an extra redeeming quality for me was being able to gather with my west coast Philly sports family for a celebration that would include so much food, so much drink, and so much debauchery.

Tasha and I had been living together as roommates for the past 8 months. Within the four walls of my apartment all the time were me, Tasha, all of our stuff, my pet cat, and her pet rabbit.



We were kind of like one small dysfunctional family the last few months however during that time, Tasha and I had somehow worked together to write and produce 8 episodes of our award winning web series, Trent & Tilly. It was a small accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but it was enough for us to gain some confidence moving forward as we tried to figure out how to make this little show into a much bigger show. The wedding couldn’t have come at a better time, as we both needed a little break to relax, unwind, and hang out with our big dysfunctional family, “The Nest of the West.”

I met Aaron at the bar one Sunday afternoon while we all were watching the Eagles game. Aaron loves his football, his wife, and yelling at Cowboys fans who try to taunt us.  Every Sunday it was usually me, Tasha, Shaun, John, Tim, Adam, Dave, Leland, Kerry, the Sinkler twins, our server Kym…. and the rest. We even harbored our friend Drew who is ironically a Redskins fan. Normally, I wouldn’t associate with the enemy on game day, but Drew gets a pass because I’ve known him since the 90s, he’s a good guy, and he takes the most amount of shit talk by sitting with us during the games. It’s great when we’re winning, but it sucks when we’re losing.  How would you like it if there is one guy sitting amongst you cheering loudly when your team fumbles the ball into the hands of the defense.  Sucks.  I always thought inviting us all to a wedding would be very similar to us all being at the bar, except we would all look a lot nicer, the food would be way better, and since Aaron and Marlowe provided transportation to and from the event, we would all be able to get a lot drunker, if that was even possible, but as I would find out later that, it certainly WAS possible.

Tasha and I parked our car at one of the valet pickup spots on Sunset Blvd. A few of us gathered into a pass van and made our way to the top of a mountain in Malibu wearing spring dresses and Calvin Klein suits. As the van climbed through the overcast skies into the upper stratosphere of this well known beach city, I stopped being able to see anything out the window than the road and the clouds. To be honest, it was pretty scary. The lanes going up the mountain were extremely narrow, and we had to pull over to let other cars pass us on the vertical trek to the house. Once we got there, it was pretty clear that we couldn’t see anything past the cliffs at the edge of the property. I had a few thoughts running through my head, one of them, was where the hell were we in relation to L.A., because none of us got any cell phone service up there. The other one was, just how much money did it cost to rent out a three million dollar mansion for the weekend, and how did Aaron get to know these people whose house he rented?

Aaron is a line producer and has worked on some big budget projects, and Marlowe is an exotic animal trainer, (hope I got that right) and she works at the L.A. Zoo, so I’m sure they have their connections. Still, I had been to Malibu before, but when we took a right turn off the Pacific Coast Highway and then headed up a steep road where I thought I was going to die a few times on the ride, I completely lost any sense of time and direction. Things would pretty much exist inside that bubble for the next 6 hours.

The location was decorated with black tablecloths, red roses, a stone patio, and a small set of chairs for the parents and the wedding party. We all gathered in the backyard of the mansion, and the ceremony took place just a few feet away from where we were standing. Most of us didn’t sit down for the ceremony, mainly because there weren’t any chairs for us to sit down in. I kind of liked the idea of Aaron and Marlowe having a wedding so quick and to the point, that within two minutes of them saying I do, and us all clapping and celebrating their union together, we were all at the bar, three feet away getting our drink on. It was just that kind of day. I knew from the start that this wouldn’t necessarily bring about any emotional revelations for me, nor would it bring me back to a time where I would reminisce about growing up with all these guys because for the most part, I had only known them for the last few years, but the people at this wedding are my west coast family, and I love them all, even if I don’t see them that much in between football seasons.

There was ahi tuna, steak, chicken, sushi, and other delicious food being passed around on server trays. Strong cocktails were being consumed all over the grounds, and a buffet was set up in the living room of the mansion where we could all gorge ourselves on many different types of meats, cheeses, salads and more apps. Aaron and Marlowe had what I called an “East Coast” California wedding. It wasn’t your traditional California wedding because there was so much bread and booze and food that you knew the Bride and Groom weren’t from California.  Aaron said that he wanted to keep the decorations and ceremony to a minimum, but he added one element we could all partake in that set this wedding apart from any other wedding I’ve been to. Gambling.

Not like real gambling where you lose your own money, however if we did run out of the fake cash in the perk pack we received at the start of the reception, we could pay for some more. I don’t remember if there were prizes or what not for the person with the most amount of chips, and I don’t recall any dancing or any other type of traditional wedding activities, although looking at this picture of Aaron and Marlowe below being held up on two wooden chairs, I could easily assume there was some traditional jewish element to it.


Before I made my way up stairs where the blackjack, roulette, and poker tables were,  I had a few drinks, took some pictures with my boys, and ate a good amount of food, or so I thought. I got to be honest, that’s where the pictures stopped for me. It was as if as soon as I got a little bit more drunk than normal, I stopped taking pictures, the sun set, or at least the hazy ominous light from the where the sun would be if I could tell what direction I was facing had set, and I went up stairs with my bag of chips and sat at a table with Kym, John, and John’s “not” date to the wedding, Zenobia.


John is like my brother from another mother. I mean, people literally think we are related. He’s a good guy with an creative sense of pride and he’s very opinionated, so we get along fine.  Kym was our server at the bar on Sundays for the past 6 years, and it may be true that Kym and I had a love/hate relationship sometimes, but that could possibly be attributed to the fact that we may or may not have gone out on a date or two that didn’t quite pan out, or ended with us getting totally drunk and screaming at each other in a public or private setting. Hey, sometimes those things happen and when they do happen, that’s when you know that some things just aren’t meant to be. She’s a comedienne, and a good person at heart, and maybe she’ll write me into her stand up routine one day if she hasn’t already. Finally, there was John’s “not date” to the wedding, Zenobia.

I didn’t really know Zenobia, but she kind of came off a little snobby to me, however I’m sure that had everything to do with the first question I asked her that night which was….. “What the hell kind of name is Zenobia?”

I never really got an answer. She seemed kind of…privileged. I don’t know where she is from, but I assume she probably moved here to be an actress from some place in the mid-west, possibly. She was younger than us, and acted very “west coast”  meaning she was not that friendly, kind of stand-offish, a little vapid, and trying so hard to be cool. It’s not all her fault, because if you put her in a room with a bunch of guys and girls who’ve all known each other for years and who have no filter on their mouths who also like to get drunk at weddings and on Sundays and don’t really care about the consequences, you might pick up on some or all of those traits I mentioned earlier. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, maybe it’s just someone being a bitch. I don’t really know.  I kind of wanted to say…

We’re at a wedding, lighten up. Life isn’t that serious right now. Maybe have another glass of pink champagne and stop trying to be the coolest person in the room”

But look, I get that my group of Eagles boys and gals are an intimidating bunch, especially since we bust on each other a lot, and we all have big personalities. Regardless, I don’t really know or wanted to know what her deal was at this point, so after I blew all my money on roulette, blackjack and two hands of Pai Gow or whatever game we were playing, I made my way back downstairs to get myself another drink.

I traded in my empty glass for a full one. I was on my fourth, or maybe fifth vodka because at this point in the night, they just go down so easily. I turned around and started heading back into the house when I ran into Kristin. Kristin and I had hung out a couple times over the last few months, but we kept it really quiet because we both didn’t like people in our personal business. Of course, all of that is negated now that I am writing about her in a public blog.

I liked Kristin. She was a pretty, down to earth, and not like most of the girls in L.A. who think their shit doesn’t stink. She’s a tom boy, from the east coast, wasn’t an actress, nor confrontational, and she had a high level of self esteem. The downside was that she lived all the way in Venice, and I lived all the way in Hollywood, and shared a bedroom with Tasha which definitely complicated any and all dating scenarios that may have arose during that time. Kristen knew about my living situation and I guess she didn’t really care, at least not at this point in the night. So, without really saying much we started a self guided tour of the mansion and eventually disappeared somewhere inside that house.

“What about here?” I asked.

“The bathroom?” She stated. “Not going to work.”

We tried to make the bathroom work for a minute, but as it turns out, Kristin was right… that bathroom was quite cramped and way too bright, so on to plan B. Next, we did what anyone who was drunk at a wedding and looking to hook up would do, we found a bedroom in the back of the house that no one was currently using, we went in, and locked the door behind us.

I don’t know if anyone saw us but to be honest, the idea that somebody might have was kind of exciting. I mean, it felt like we were doing something wrong, even though technically we weren’t but morally we might have been, and in a certain sense I think that added a level of intrigue to the events that took place that night. It felt like we were getting away with something….for now anyway.

I did know that some people were staying over at the house that night as I could tell someone had claimed this room due to the fact that there was a bag of clothes and other personal belongings on the bed, like a hair curler and blow dryer. Oh shit…was this Aaron and Marlowe’s room? I kind of felt bad, but then I thought about the relationship Aaron and Marlowe have and how they probably would have encouraged two guests to hook up at their wedding, and since this bedroom was kind of small and located on the ground floor, the chances of this being the Bride and Groom’s suite for the night were pretty slim, so we continued with our carnal encounter.

Then, five minutes later, and before anything erotic or carnal could actually transpire, we heard a knocking on the door and a very agitated high pitched female voice asking who was in “their” room.

“Oh shit, who is that?” I whispered.

“I don’t know.” Kristin said. “But we better open the door.”

I so did NOT want to open that door. I kept wondering is there a window we could crawl out of? Is there a secret pathway back to the living room that we could escape into like the underground railroad? Let’s face it, we were trapped together and we were going to be found out. I just really hope it wasn’t Marlowe. To have the Bride find you getting it on in their bedroom not only would be embarrassing, it would be very disrespectful, and that’s the last thing I wanted to have happen.

“Get your shit together, I’m opening the door.” Kristin said.

I grabbed my shirt, my tie, and my suit jacket and then the door to the bedroom opened, and in marched the one person who I didn’t really want to talk to before, and who I definitely didn’t want to talk to or see at THIS point in the night. The one, the only, the unequivocally pissed off cockblocker of the night, Zenobia.

“What were you guys doing in here?” She stammered.

Just checking out the rest of the house.” I said with a shit eating grin on my face.

Yep, she hates me.  If she hadn’t before, she definitely did now and with that, we left Zenobia to wonder what had or had not just transpired in her room, and we made our way down the hall and back outside to the party, slightly embarrassed but also incredibly relieved. Once we were back in civilization, one of our friends was smoking a joint,  and we both decided to join in for a few puffs. If I hadn’t learned my lesson from getting stoned at weddings in the past, here’s where I had a crash course in reality, as everything finally became unravelled.

At first, I was overcome with a sense of giddy pride and accomplishment for almost being found out and the feeling that at some point in my life, I would be able to tell the story of what just happened and laugh about it, maybe years later. Then I thought about how good the food was at this wedding, but how I don’t really remember eating a lot of carbs or bread, even though there were plenty to go around. Then I started thinking about how many drinks I had drank that night which led to me getting the spins, and the uneasy feeling in my stomach that this was not going to have a happy ending like I wished it would have. Was there a double meaning in that statement? Probably, but all that was in the past right now and I was living in the present, the present where I could feel myself stumbling around in the darkness, trying to find a secluded place out of sight from the rest of the guests where I could do my dirtiest work of the night.

I’ve never gotten so drunk that I puked at a wedding before, let alone puked while wearing a suit and tie, but there’s always a first time for everything, right? Inevitably it happened, right there in front of what I think was the garage of this three million dollar house in Malibu. I ended up vomiting out the five or so drinks, and whatever ahi tuna, chicken or steak appetizers I had consumed in the hours before. For a minute, I couldn’t really tell where I was, or what was happening, but I knew I wouldn’t be feeling very good for awhile. And even though I’m sure she didn’t want to witness it, Kristin, like the sweetheart she is was there to help me up from the ground after my exasperating bout of regurgitating everything I had enjoyed eating at Aaron and Marlowe’s wedding.

We sat on the stones near the edge of the property and looked out into the dimly lit sky. I apologized again for having to put her through such a disgusting experience, and when she asked me if I was going to stay over, all I could think of was how badly I wanted to leave, brush my teeth, take off my puke suit, and go to bed. My head was pounding, my stomach was rumbling, and I just needed to find Tasha so we could catch the last ride back to civilization and go home.

Speaking of Tasha, where was she? I hadn’t seen her in what felt like all night. I went back into the house and walked around trying to find her, but to no avail. I asked a few people where she was, and they had said they had seen her in the back about an hour ago, but I still couldn’t find her. Then, all of a sudden I ran into John outside. He took one look at me and said…

“Dude, are you ok? You look like you’re about to puke.”

“Thanks John, but I already did that.” I replied.

Then I turned around and saw Tasha and Adam approaching us. There was something weird about them. I asked Tasha if she was ready to go and she said yes, but with a strange look on her face. Then I looked at Adam, and he had the exact strange look on his face too, as if they knew something I didn’t.

Did they hear about me and Kristin in the back room, or worse,.. did they disappear into a back room of their own?  Nah, I couldn’t see that happening. Don’t get me wrong, Adam is a good looking guy, and I always knew he and Tasha kind of liked each other, but I don’t think one of my friends would bang my ex-girlfriend at a wedding that I was also a guest at. This is my life, not Californication.

“Alright, well I just vomited all over what I think was the garage, so I’m ready to go.”  I said

“Great.” She said. “Let’s go.”

We said goodbye to whomever was within ear shot, and we grabbed our stuff and made our way down the dark and dimly lit driveway to the street where the last passenger van of the night was to pick us up. I wasn’t drunk anymore, and I was actually pretty happy we had a half hour ride back to the car from Malibu so I could rest my eyes for minute. We headed down the mountain via that creepy winding one lane road, and instead of looking out the window and fearing that we would tumble off the edge of the cliffs again, I just closed my eyes, and fell asleep. When I woke up thirty minutes later, I was cold, I was hungry, but it was time to get into the car and go home.

This was a strange wedding. I was happy for Aaron and Marlowe, the venue was apocalyptically beautiful, I got violently sick, and I feared for my life on the ride up to the house. I hooked up with another girl that wasn’t my date, and even though I thought I had a good time, if I had it to do over again, I think I might have done things differently. Mainly, I wouldn’t have gotten sick, I might have bet a little more with my head, instead of over it, and I would have tried to have a more traditional experience, but I live my life with no regrets, and I guess in some way it was part of the process.

I know Tasha and I weren’t together, but there was a part of me that still felt guilty about the events that transpired. I mean, just six months ago I was in Florida at P-Nut and Efia’s wedding and I was coming to so many emotional and grown-up realizations about life and love, that compared to this wedding I felt like I took a step back tonight. Maybe I was being too hard on myself, or maybe I just didn’t feel good and I was taking things too seriously. I’m allowed to have fun, and not every wedding needs to be a positive learning lesson, right? I guess when it comes down to it, I just feel like in my life I want to evolve, not digress.

I started my car and let it warm up a bit and I turned on some music and put on my glasses I need to see the road with, but still something was on my mind and I had to get it out in the most honest and blunt way I know.

Did you bang Adam?” I casually asked Tasha.

“What? No I did NOT bang Adam. How can you ask me that?” She replied.

“You made out with him though, right?” I said in a matter of fact tone.

“Adam is cute, so yeah maybe we made out.” She said.

“Ok that’s fine.” I replied.

Honestly, I was fine with it. I know Tasha is a pretty girl and Adam is a good looking guy and at wedding two attractive people will flirt and sometimes get drunk and maybe they will end up making out with each other. I mean, I certainly had no room to talk.

You sure you didn’t bang him?” I asked half jokingly.

“Shut up Christian, let’s just go home.” She replied.

And with that, I put the car in drive, released the E-brake and I drove me and my ex-girlfriend/roommate/business partner back to the one bedroom apartment in Hollywood we shared with my pet cat, and her pet rabbit. Just one “sometimes happy yet always slightly dysfunctional” family.

It would be a little over a year before Tasha and I went to another wedding together, but before I made my final appearance as a groomsman in a wedding on the east coast with all of my best friends from high school in attendance, something really big was about to happen in me and Tasha’s professional life. However as we would soon come to learn, in Hollywood, something is still really nothing, until it’s really something.

Last wedding: June 16th, 2015

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333


All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Jason & Efia (Part 2)


Tasha and I woke up the next morning, and it would be an understatement to say we were a little hung over. Still, we made our way to the free coffee and continental breakfast bar and met up with a few of the guests and the wedding party. Most of them were there, except for Nicola who was still nursing her hangover in her hotel room. I grabbed a coffee and went outside to revel in the beautiful weather, and as much as I was looking forward to eating something free, I kind of wanted a breakfast sandwich which was not an option at the hotel so Tasha, Dave and I decided to take a drive into town past the area of last night’s post rehearsal dinner crime scene and onto the outskirts of the FSU campus.

We drove past a place called Zaxby’s which apparently is like the Chi-Fil-A of the south, and arrived at a well known college haunt called “Bagel Bagel.” Pretty much everything is served on a bagel there. They had pizza bagels, lox and bagels, & bacon, ham and turkey bagels.  After I incinerated the roof of my mouth from my breakfast sandwich, we all headed back to the hotel gym where Tasha and I would attempt to sweat out some of the alcohol from the previous night, while Parr and Chad sat in the hot tub enjoying the warm Florida weather in October. Shaun had to go to Jos. A Bank to pick up his tux which hopefully fit well, V.J. was shit out of luck when it came to acquiring a better fitting vest, and I believe Swift found a pair of pants which is evident in the photo below.


(From L to R: VJ, Swift, Parr, Nut, Chad, Gary, Me, Shaun)

We headed over to the Golden Eagle Country Club and were ushered into a room upstairs. We all sat at a big wooden table as Chad broke out his binder and went over his duties as the minister of ceremonies. This was Chad’s second go around marrying two of his friends, so he was definitely a little more comfortable than P-Nut was, being that A. Chad had been here before, and B. P-Nut hadn’t.  There were some chips and sodas and sandwiches in the room, but no one was really eating nor talking a lot, probably due to the fact that we were all pretty lethargic and still feeling the effects of last night’s boozefest.

I can’t imagine what goes through the mind of someone who is about to get married in an hour.  Perhaps their whole single life flashes before their eyes? Perhaps all the moments leading up to this day come rushing back as they’re overwhelmed with emotion and nervousness, or perhaps they’re just so excited and overjoyed to finally be able to say “I do” to the love of their life in front of all their friends and family that they find it hard to communicate their feelings, or maybe they just want to be still and contemplate the next few hours in the hopes that everything goes right. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have that moment in my life, but right now the only thing going through my mind was how dehydrated I was, how happy I felt for my friend on his wedding day, and how I wish I had gotten a hair cut before I flew out for the wedding because this mop on my head closely resembled an unkempt piece of shit.

I’ve always had an issue with my hair, that issue being that I spend far too much thinking about it. It’s amazing to me that we put so much emphasis on dead protein filaments growing out of our head, but ever since 3rd grade when I idolized Jon Bon Jovi and used to spend fifteen minutes in the morning sculpting and “mousseing” my hair, I’ve always felt the need to want it to look cool. Was I succeeding in that quest that afternoon when P-Nut and Efia were about to get married? Absolutely not. On the other hand, P-Nut was having no issues what so ever. His hair looked like a dirty blonde mane, perfectly textured and styled to resemble the crest of a wave breaking on the Jersey shore. Mine looked like a dirty pile of hay sitting in a puddle in the streets of Philadelphia after a long rain storm, but as I had to remind myself, it wasn’t about me that day.

The wedding party met up with the wedding planner who went over the procession one more time and made sure that none of us screwed it up but especially, none of the groomsmen. I was the first to proceed down the grassy aisle with bridesmaid number one on my arm, which meant that I would be the groomsman furthest away from the Groom, or according to my theory, the worst friend. Wait, is it possible that this was P-Nut’s way of getting back at me for being a dick to him in high school? I don’t think so, but did he even want me to be in his wedding party at all?  Come to think of it, I don’t remember him even asking me to be a groomsman. I recall a few months back he told me he had something to talk to me about, so when I called him I basically assumed I knew what it was and when he answered the phone I said…

“Hey P-Nut, I would love to be a groomsman at your wedding.”

That statement was immediately met by an awkward silence. I think there was a issue with having an equal amount of bridesmaids to groomsmen, but eventually, it all got sorted out and the six groomsmen and six bridesmaids made their way to the “shore of marriage” before the man and woman of the hour proceeded down the aisle.


P-Nut in his tux and perfect hair looked pretty good that day, but let’s be honest, Efia looked better. She was decked out in a gorgeous white gown, smiling ear to ear reminiscent of a classic Hollywood beauty as her father walked her down the aisle to meet “Jason” at the alter. I had a thought… What is it like to give your daughter away on her wedding day? I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a daughter, let alone multiple daughters, or what it must be like to go through the process of getting married and having to give these daughters away, but I would imagine by the time you got to that point in your life as a father, you’ve gotten past all that.

The minister of ceremonies, a.k.a. Chad presided over the formal tradition between his best friend and Nut’s beautiful bride to be. As he began to speak and reminded us all of why we were gathered there today, he was being slightly overshadowed by one of the children at the wedding who was not completely behaving themselves, and may or may not have started talking and screaming during the part where everyone was supposed to be contemplative and quiet. Chad continued on, but after a couple more outbursts, P-Nut’s mom took it upon her self to remind her grandson exactly where they were, and what the appropriate behavior was.

“Zip it! We’re in the middle of a beautiful ceremony!” She said.

I looked over to Parr the way Jim from the Office would look into the camera when Dwight said something ridiculous…or at least I tried to look over at Parr, but since I was all the way at the end of the line of groomsman, and he was at the other end, I’m not sure if he saw me. Regardless, Chad continued on with the reading of the vows, and then I started to hear weeping and crying. At first, from my vantage point I thought it was coming from where the guests were seated, like maybe a cousin or a mom was just overwhelmed with joy and couldn’t contain themselves, but then I realized it was coming from the same plane that I was on, a little further down the line right where the Bride and Groom were standing.  Aww, that’s sweet I thought. Efia is getting all teary eyed on her special day. Only thing was, it turned out it wasn’t the Bride who was crying tears of happiness, it was the Groom.

My initial reaction was at some point later during the reception we would all bust on P-Nut for balling like a little girl at his own wedding, cause that’s what guy friends do who have known each other for twenty plus years. I imagine Gary would grab a few napkins and hand them to P-Nut after the ceremony and tell him that “these are just in case you get a little too emotional on your honeymoon,” and we would all have a laugh and no harm would be done. However, in the moment as I watched one of my best friends cry during one of the most vulnerable and happy moments in his life, I got to admit, I was kind of envious.

Look, I’ve definitely gotten emotional and teared up a bit during a touching part of a movie, but I’ve never cried tears of joy. I don’t know what it’s like to be so in love with someone and happy to be with them that in the moment, I’m unable to hold back the water works streaming down my face while I look into the eyes of my soulmate on my wedding day. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve cried before, but not because I was happy, it was because I had lost something, or someone. I cried when Tasha and I broke up all three times, and I cried when our cat Jose died, and most recently, (and I can’t believe I am admitting this in my blog), but this past holiday season when I was sad and depressed for many reasons, I found myself listening to the EDM song “Leave It All Behind” by Dash Berlin.  It was Christmas Eve, I was alone in my apartment, and I was incredibly moved by the lyrics that apparently hit too close to home that I ended up balling my eyes out and breaking down on the floor of my kitchen while the song played in the background. Go ahead, you can laugh. I know it’s pretty funny when someone sheds a tear to “electronic dance music.”

Tears of sadness are a common thing, and there have been many times in my life when I laughed so hard I cried, but I don’t know what it’s like to be so affected by the love I have for someone else that it causes me to shed tears of gratification. I can’t even find the words to describe what was going through my mind that day, but I knew in that moment how much P-Nut really cared and loved Efia, and how for most of my life I’ve been missing that feeling and longing for that connection with someone. Truth is, I never busted his balls for crying at his own wedding. When the ceremony was over and he and Efia were officially husband and wife and everyone was smiling and clapping, the only thing I felt for my friend was a complete and total sense of pride and respect. If I hadn’t said it before, at least he knows how I feel now.

All the groomsmen and bridesmaids were now subject to the part of the wedding where we were secluded like prisoners from the drinks, the apps and everyone else at the wedding to engage in the arduous task of taking pictures.  The groomsmen had to wait while the Bride, Groom and the parents of the Bride and Groom were getting their pictures first, followed by the bridesmaids, then the groomsmen, then finally all of us together. I took it upon myself to grab some beers for us while we sat around and waited for our time to snap a few memorable moments. You can see in the picture below how Gary made use the groomsmen gift we got from P-Nut while we were waiting for the photographer.


Also below you can see how horrific my hair looked that day.


After the pictures, we were all announced to the ballroom full of guests by our legal names, except for Parr, aka Joseph T. Carr whose was announced to everyone who could hear the Emcee butcher his name…..

Now, making his way into the ballroom is ‘James’ T Carr.”

Yeah, that was it. Here comes our good ol’ friend “James.” How do you mess that up? Sure, Joseph and James are similar, because they both start with the letter J, but clearly one has an extra syllable plus a different vowel in it. As the kids used to say back in 2012, THAT was an “epic fail.”

After the wedding party was announced and all of our duties were completed, we all found our seats, got settled in, ordered a drink and then hit the buffet. Ahhh, the buffet. I think I went back twice that afternoon for more food. I must have had two helpings of the shrimp and grits because it was excellent, an extra large potion of the lobster mac and cheese, and I’m pretty sure I threw some greens and chicken in there, but it was pretty much all carbs all day for me. There was a lot of southern home-style food at this spread which is what I would expect from a wedding that took place in the panhandle of Florida. The food was great, the drinks were being drank, but I gotta be honest, none of us were really pounding down the alcohol, especially Nicola who was a few seats away from me and Tasha at the table, definitely still hung over and apparently “on water” that afternoon.

That’s me and Tasha speak for not drinking alcohol in case you didn’t know. It came about two months ago when we were at the Golden Nugget in Vegas, and we were pretty buzzed and I noticed these two girls sitting at the bar who could have been hookers, but could have also just been “randos” who were just on the prowl, but they looked suspect to the former. Anyway, I leaned over to Tasha and said to her.

“Watch me freak these girls out.”

Then I told the bartender “we” wanted to buy them a drink. He came back a few minutes later and told us their reply was “Thank you, but no thank you.” Apparently one the girls already had a drink, and the other one was, as he put it, “on water.” Is that anything like “on ecstasy” or “on LSD?”  Tasha and I started cracking up because I’m sure those chicks thought we were making an indecent proposal, but the truth is, we just like to fuck with people we don’t know when we’re drunk. Try it sometime. It’s pretty fun.

Anyway, we were on alcohol, Nicola was on water, and P-Nut and Efia were on the dance floor, while Chad stood in front of them, and asked for us all to quiet down as he raised his glass of champagne and gave a heart warming speech to the newly married couple. You might remember Chad from getting married to Mary in a past blog entry of mine, and you might remember P-Nut from such past speeches as “Diarrhea of the Mouth at Chad’s & Mary’s Wedding.” If you don’t, you can always go back and read “Chad & Mary (Part 2)” to recall some of the things he ineptly said to the Bride, the Groom, and the room full of 200 plus wedding guests that day. In the meantime, here we are three years later and Chad was finally able to give P-Nut a little payback as he toasted his friends, while bringing up the wedding speech within a wedding speech.

At this point, the wedding speech retribution was accomplished, life had come full circle, and it was time for the Bride and Groom to unknowingly predict the next two singles who were to get married. Efia stood in front of a small gaggle of single ladies, and on the count of three, she tossed her bouquet into the air over her shoulder, and into the hands of…. Tasha. That’s right. Tasha caught the bouquet, again. She caught it at CJ & Shauna’s wedding too, but I didn’t remember it happening until she told me two weeks ago after I wrote that entry. So there she was on the sidelines, bouquet in hand as all the gents gathered on the dance floor behind P-Nut and waited for him to wind up and enthusiastically toss the garter over his shoulder, and into a dwindling group of single men including me and three of my single friends. It was pretty much not a contest at all. Gary, Parr and Shaun were standing behind me and to my left, each with drinks in their hands which unequivocally gave me the advantage in catching it, and anchored to my right was an older gentleman in a blue flannel who had either changed clothes, or just wondered into the a wedding reception that day.


That’s me with the garter in my hand raising it up over my head after catching it like I just won the Stanley Cup, and that’s Parr, Gary, and Shaun, with their drinks in their hand and a look on their faces as if to say, “Of course he caught it” because as it turns out, it landed right in front of my feet on the dance floor. I had to pick it up.  P-Nut isn’t the most athletic guy I know, but also in his defense, a garter don’t make for a very good projectile.

So I caught the garter, and Tasha caught the bouquet for the first time in the five weddings we attended together. I knew this would eventually happen. To be honest, I was happy it was her who I was forced to humiliate myself with in front of all of P-Nut and Efia’s friends and family for next few minutes. In classic wedding tradition, she sat in a chair on the dance floor, and I got down to business. With careful meditation I assessed the situation, took the garter in my teeth and applied said garter to her upper right thigh with precise precision and calculated accuracy. It even might had tickled her a little bit, and it definitely made for a good show.


After looking at the pictures of the wedding, the reception, and the ones later on in the evening when a teenager named Brandon tried to teach us all how to perfect the “Gangnum Style” dance, it really brought me back to a joyous and wonderful weekend in my life.  Almost three years ago, I had gotten a speeding ticket at the start of the weekend, Tasha and I were flat broke and living together in a one bedroom apartment in L.A., and we didn’t know what raw deal life was going to hand us next, yet we were able to let all of that go for awhile and be a part of the start of Jason and Efia’s new life together.

This wedding was like a milestone in my adult life. I wasn’t the one getting married, or giving a heartfelt humorous speech to my friend on the dance floor. I wasn’t about to go on a honeymoon to Hawaii, nor was I making the last payment on a diamond ring I bought almost two years ago. However, I felt like I had grown up a bit that weekend as I watched yet another one of my best friends from high school start a new chapter in a novel new life with someone they love. Love is the only word I know where I can use all the other words in the English language to try and describe it, but it still can never be truly defined.

I may not be able to fully comprehend P-Nut & Efia’s love for one another, but they caused me see love in a different way, a way that I could define for myself.  The events of that weekend made me cry just a little, and laugh just a little bit louder because it reminded me of how even though life may stress us out or make us ask why, at the end of the day, if you have someone you can come home to and you care about them more than anything else in the world and they tell you “everything is going to be ok”.… then you love someone, and they love you, and you’re the luckiest person on earth.

I’ve loved Tasha as my girlfriend before, but situations change and now we love each other in a different way. She’s still the first one I go to when I feel anxious about where my life is headed, and she’s still the only one I talk to truthfully when I’m feeling down and depressed. Sure, I may not have cried at my own wedding like a little sissy boy, (just kidding Nut!) but I do understand what it’s like to love someone in my own way, and I think for now, I’m ok with that.

Yeah, living with Tasha over the next year was a little difficult, I’m not gonna lie. We argued at times, we wanted to kill each other a lot, and neither one of us got laid much at all. We were working together on this project that we really believed in, even if the synopsis of our partnership and the logline of the show still had some room to grow. Trust me, to put yourself in an position where you sleep a foot away from your ex, but on a separate bed, and split cable, power, and water bills each month, but still take separate showers shows that you must really love someone, or some thing enough to put up with those awkward and unaccommodating moments.

I may not understand crying when you’re happy love, but maybe one day I will. I know that Tasha and I share a love for each other, even though it’s different from P-Nut and Efia’s or Chad and Mary’s or different from the love that you share with your spouse or significant other. And I know what you’re thinking… could you live “the married life” within the same four walls as your ex-girlfriend and NOT sleep with her.  Am I right? Believe me, I STILL hear that question, and the answer STILLl is it just never happened. But you know what, it’s alright if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t expect you to fully understand “our” love.

When we all got back to the hotel, the wedding party sat around in the lobby drinking a few beers and eating pizza that I bought for everyone. We were all a little tired, yet somehow, still a little hungry and to be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the four hour drive back to Atlanta the next day so we could catch our flight home. I honestly wished we could have stayed a little longer and spent more time with our friends. As I’ve gotten older, and as my single friends have gone the way of the dinosaur, I’m starting to realize that there aren’t many more of these weddings left to go to. I guess that’s why I had a hard time saying goodbye to everyone that afternoon.

Dave and Shaun had to catch their flight, Parr, Gary, Desiree and Nicola had a long drive back to Jersey, and Chad and Mary had to pack up their stuff and their son Bastian and head back home. Sure, I know I’ll see them all again soon, but logically the next time we’re all together it will most likely be for someone’s wedding.  It certainly won’t be my wedding, even though the perfect unmarried couple caught the bouquet and the garter that afternoon. I guess sometimes life is bittersweet.

Tasha and I made it to the airport the next afternoon by driving exactly what the posted speed limit was the whole way through Georgia. It was a nice drive, and it only took us five and a half hours to drive 261 miles, plus I saved some money on the flight by flying in and out of Atlanta. What about that speeding ticket I got at the beginning of the trip? Well yeah, that part sucked, but I eventually did pay it when I got back home. No speeding ticket was going to negate the fact that I was honored to have been a part of my best friend’s special day.

On the airplane ride back to Los Angeles, I smiled to Tasha, put on my headphones and sat back in my discounted seat while I fondly recalled the events of the weekend, as I just kept telling myself  “I saved some money on the flight.”

Next Wedding: June 10th, 2015

Follow on Twiter @CMarc333

NutEfia collage2

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Jason & Efia (Part 1)


It’s the 18th of October, 2012. Tasha and I are sitting in our rental car, pulled over to the side of the road just across the border between Georgia and Florida. It’s about 8pm, the sun set a few hours ago, but there were these bright flashing red and blue lights in my rear view mirror that I couldn’t ignore anymore. Why? Because they were beaming from a police cruiser who had just stopped me for speeding less than twenty miles away from our planned arrival at the Hilton Garden Inn in Tallahassee Florida to celebrate the wedding of our friends Jason and Efia.

“Here you go.” The man said as he hands me the ticket.

“Thanks officer.” I say regrettably.

I wonder why I said that.  Why would I thank the officer for just putting me $225 into debt, which ironically was almost the exact amount I saved on our plane tickets by having us fly into Atlanta instead of Tallahassee? Some times you make decisions in life with the idea of saving money, and sometimes it backfires while you’re driving down a single lane highway in the backwoods of the south, trying to make up for lost time by going slightly above the speed limit. This is how the wedding weekend started off for us, but that would be just one of a few minor hiccups along the way. It could only get better form here, right?

I’ve known Jason since I was a sophomore in high school, but neither me nor any of our friends actually call him Jason. His nickname since his freshman year at Cherokee High School has been “P-Nut.” He got this nickname from that one time when he shaved his head and someone remarked at how closely he resembled the shape of an actual peanut. The name stuck, and to his credit he really embraced it. He even went so far as to wear a necklace with a gold nameplate charm attached that had “P (diamond) Nut” on it back in the 90s when Z-Cavaricci was cool, and sweater vests over turtlenecks were all the rage. I can’t blame him for that. In fact, I was kind of jealous because if I could have had a nickname stick that was cool and didn’t offend me, I would have done it too. But let’s be honest, who wants to spend $120 to get a gold charm with the moniker “Chris Da’ Lips” on it? Certainly not me.

People were pretty hard on P-Nut back in the day, myself included. I mean, we all used to bust on each other, but I met the kid in Concert Choir so I couldn’t bust on him for that. It’s just that teenage dudes break each other’s balls a lot. It’s a rite of passage to be made fun of by your best friends at your most awkward and graceless phase of adolescence. Nowadays, if you were to post some of the stuff we used to say about each other on the internet, it would be considered “cyber bullying.” I swear, America is turning into a country full of overly sensitive, self-righteous idiots and pussies, but that’s just my opinion.

Out of all of us, P-Nut took it on the chin more than anyone else. However, regardless of how many tasteless jokes I made at his expense, P-Nut grew up to be one of the most loyal and selfless friends I have. When Chad and I got locked out of our car (for a second time) in the parking lot of the EDC festival in San Bernadino, P-Nut was the guy that drove all the way from Los Angeles at 3 in the morning to pick us up and bring us back home.  A year later, when my ex girlfriend dumped me in a public restaurant right before Thanksgiving and I was balling my eyes out, it was P-Nut who gave me a hug and told me everything was going to be ok. He’s always been there for me when I needed him, and regardless of all the shit I put him through, I’m the lucky one because he remains as one of my best friends ever. With the exception of killing someone, I would do anything for him. In fact, I might kill someone if I knew I would get away with it, but I don’t think P-Nut has enemies like that. I’m grateful for having someone like him in my life now, and even though this trip started out with a five hour drive through the backwoods of the south and a speeding ticket, I was really happy to be able to be a groomsman at his wedding and be part of what I hoped would be the most happy day of his life. At around 9:15 pm EST, Tasha and I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, got our room and went to bed.

The next morning, everyone started to arrive for the wedding. The rehearsal dinner was later that night, but today all the groomsmen still had to pick up our tuxedos, go to the wedding rehearsal and make sure that everything went smoothly. All of P-Nut’s best friends were there. Rounding out the groomsmen were me, Parr, Gary and Chad who was not only in the wedding party, but also the wedding aficionado, or minister of ceremonies. I’m not sure what the official title is, but I thought it was pretty cool that Chad, one of Nut’s best friends was marrying P-Nut and Efia. There was Shaun, who is Parr’s younger brother and who also lived out in L.A. with me and Nut, and then there was V.J. who was a good friend of P-Nut’s for years who I think lived across the street from him since middle school. Then there was Swift who I didn’t know at all, but he seemed liked a pretty good guy and clearly he was winning the coolest name of the year award. I would imagine in that same competition you would find Swift at the top, and probably reality show sex tape entrepreneur Kim Kardashian and her once talented sell out rapper husband Kanye West’s stupid baby’s name North West in dead last.

Yep, all of P-Nut’s best friends were there to partake in this wonderful day….except for one. Normally, I would just out this person at this point but instead, I’m going to give him a fake name. Why? Well, recently I was subject to a lot of negative criticism for using someone’s first and last name in a past blog post who apparently didn’t like the fact that I wrote about them. That person also sent me a private e-mail where they proceeded to insult me and my blog by calling it a “half-wit-garage-band-wanna-be-Hunter S. Thompsonesque-revisionist-self-exploratory fable about love, liberty and whatever else ‘I thought I was doing’” (I don’t know about “liberty” being a theme in this blog, but I really do like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas)

This person also pompously stated that they were “kinda famous” and accused me of defamation of character while informing me that they would be taking legal action against me if I didn’t immediately take down the post. In my defense, and according to the opinions of a few of my good friends who read that post and enjoyed it, I didn’t do anything wrong which is exactly why I chose not to take it down. It’s not a crime to say you didn’t like someone back in high school, is it? I didn’t think so. It’s not defamation of character to recall how you used to have a silly nickname for someone, right? Obviously, the real crime here was this person’s inability to recognize a quintessential example of what we call satire. When writing a fictional short story based on actual events, a writer may some times have to exaggerate the circumstances to make it interesting, relative, or funny. So, with all due respect to the person who e-mailed me, GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF.

Anyway, getting back to P-Nut’s groomsmen, and to avoid any threat of being sued in light of the events that took place recently, the fake name I will use for the best friend who was M.I.A. from P-nut’s wedding will be “Boner.” I looked around for Boner, but I didn’t see him anywhere. P-Nut went on to tell me that Boner had some things he had to do and that he just wasn’t able to make it. Ok, I guess I could understand that. I mean, we all get older and get busy with our lives and certain commitments can’t be ignored and sometimes, we have to compromise. It’s just that I always thought that we would be able to make time for our best friends when they get married, especially when you are given three to four months advance notice. It was weird because me, P-Nut, Chad, Gary, and Boner were pretty inseparable for many years, especially early on when no one else had a license except for P-Nut who used to drive us to shows and to the diner, and NEVER asked for gas money, but  I’m positive Boner probably had a huge project he was working on that weekend, and I’m sure he regrettably told P-Nut he wasn’t able to make it because of those reasons, whatever they may have been…… But come to think of it, Boner wasn’t really known for telling the truth a lot back in the day. Oh well, his loss. I just hope out that of respect for his friend, he at least sent P-Nut and Efia a wedding gift.

After all the groomsmen arrived and were accounted for, the girls went to the liquor store to stock up on the booze, while the guys went to Jos. A. Bank to pick up our tuxedos. There we were all trying on our outfits in the dressing room together. (Well, not “together” more like all together in separate dressing rooms )  Mine fit pretty well. The pants were a little baggy, but apparently the M.C. Hammer drop crotch style was one P-Nut was going for. Plus, in retrospect I was a little fat at this wedding so I appreciated the extra room. Parr’s fit good, Chad’s was alright, but that’s where all the satisfaction with the tuxedos ended. Swift didn’t have pants with his tux, V.J.’s vest wasn’t even big enough to button across his chest, Gary was missing a key element and Shaun’s tuxedo was missing in action. We had all been fitted months ago and paid for the rentals at the same time, so I don’t understand how on earth a big company like Jos. A Bank could fuck this up so bad. Should have gone to Men’s Warehouse.

Needless to say, P-Nut started stressing out and needed a drink to calm him down. Only thing is, P-Nut doesn’t drink alcohol, so after some of us got our tuxedos and some of us didn’t, we all headed to a bar around the corner to have some beers, some apps, and calm our friend down as we tried to ease his pain through what we hoped would be a successful alcoholic contact high. The look on P-Nut’s face made me think otherwise. I get it, he wanted everything to go smoothly and who doesn’t want that on their wedding day? I could only hope that the rehearsal and dinner would be stress and drama free for all of us, but more importantly, for P-Nut’s sake.

We got back to the hotel and chilled by the pool for a bit while we told our sorted story about the amazingly horrendous customer service and incomplete tuxedos to our ladies. There was Chad and Mary, Parr and Nicola, Gary and Desiree and me and Tasha. Our friend Dave was there too, but unfortunately his wife Gwen couldn’t make it. It was at this point that the ladies pulled out the following: an enormous gallon jug of Stoli vodka, a bottle of whipped cream flavored vodka, a liter of Jack Daniels, a case of beer, and various mixers including tonic, diet coke and red bull that they picked up from the store while we were out getting our tuxes.

“Who the hell is gonna drink all of that?” I asked.

“We are!” Mary said with a huge smile on her face.

It appeared the girls had started pre gaming quite early that afternoon, but little did they know that we would be still be drinking late into the night after the rehearsal dinner until one of us couldn’t drink anymore.

We all piled into our cars to made our way over to the Golden Eagle Country Club in Tallahassee for the rehearsal. I got to say, out of all the weddings I have been to, P-Nut and Efia win the award for the most beautiful, gorgeous, and therefore “best” location ever. I will probably put up a separate post when this blog is completed with the top ten categories and the winners of each, but man, when you have a large open grassy field that is adorned by swooping trees and decorated with a make-shift alter and carefully placed white chairs and rose petals in sunny Florida, with perfect weather next to a flowing stream as you say “I do” to the love of your life, how can anyone compete with that?



We spent the next hour at this stunning location, with P-Nut and Efia’s friends and family, and our semi-buzzed lady dates, all while being carefully directed and scrutinized by the woman of the hour, the wedding planner. Planning a wedding is something no one really wants to do. It’s a huge task to make sure everything goes right, the location is perfectly set-up, and nothing is left to chance so that is why you hire someone to take care of all that. I’ll say this about the wedding planner… she may have been strict, but overall she did a really great job with everything especially because part of her job that evening was to show the bridesmaids and the groomsmen where to walk, where to stand, and of course, when to shut up. It may or may not be true that at some point during the rehearsal one or two of us groomsmen were not really paying attention and perhaps got yelled at for sneaking in a beer, not listening when we were supposed to, and just basically being a royal pain in her ass. However, after forty five minutes of rehearsal, and after one uncomfortable moment when I might have snickered to myself while one of my friends was getting scolded at by the wedding planner, we were released into the wild to convene at a place called Food Glorious Food for dinner. You can check out part of the special menu below.


We couldn’t be seated until the Groom arrived, but Nut was nowhere to be found for awhile. Then he finally showed up with the dreadful news that he had locked the keys in Efia’s mom’s car and had to wait for AAA to arrive to either jimmy open the door, or open it using a spare key.  I don’t pretend to know what method they use, but when a frantic Nut arrived at the restaurant, we finally, we got our table, and we did what most people do immediately when they sit down to a rehearsal dinner, we put our drink orders in.  Then we waited, and waited, and waited some more for the drinks to arrive. The waitress did come back ten minutes later to take our food order, but she didn’t have any beers, cocktails or wine in her hands.  I mean, rule number one at rehearsal dinners is simple: don’t deprive the alcoholics of alcohol.

Eventually, drinks arrived and we made the smart decision to order another round  as soon as they did and BEFORE the food came out.  In true form, the food was glorious, the drinks were flowing, and after we were all done with dinner, I decided to stir up some shit.

One of the jokes my friends and I constantly make to each other is to poke fun at the heritage we were born into. For example, Parr and Shaun are Irish, and me and Dave are Italian. So I am naturally subject to many friendly insults that may include the names, “dego” “wop” “guinea” or the classic term “Pasta eating, sweaty olive oil loving hairy greaseball Italian.” I take it with a grain of salt because I love my friends, and I know it comes from a place of respect and no one’s feelings really get hurt. That night however, Parr and Shaun were beating up on me and Dave pretty bad, so I pulled in some reinforcements.

There were a few little ones running around the restaurant that night. They were sons of P-Nut’s sister Tina, and Efia’s sister Heidi. I had known Tina since high school because we were in the same homeroom since freshman year, and her son Ryan and Heidi’s son Barron were coming over to me and Dave and asking questions and talking and just acting like inquisitive little kids. Then, Dave and I had an idea of how to get back at Parr and Shaun for ragging on my Italian background. Here’s what I said to them.

I’ll pay you a dollar, to go over to those two guys over there, pretend to pose for a picture and when I say so, start saying “dirty mick” over and over again. Can you do that for me?”

“Give me the dollar!” Barron said.

And with that, I shelled out two bucks and sat back to watch this onslaught of insults unfold. They took my offering, went over to where Parr and Shaun were sitting, pretended to pose for a picture and then proceeded to insult my Irish friends over and over again. You can see the video here.

Just a little harmless fun between friends right? I mean, I hope neither one of the kids grow up to be prejudice against Irish people, but if they do, now we all know the catalyst that started it all. After dinner, the parents went back to the hotel to relax, and the kids (meaning us) headed to a bar in town where our friend Lisa from NJ just happened to be working. I thought it was kind of ironic that out of all the cities in America for P-Nut to have his wedding, it just happened to be the same city in which Me, Parr, Gary and Shaun knew one of the bartenders from way back in the day. The name of the bar eludes me right now, but it was near the FSU campus so the place was packed with college kids dancing and binge drinking with those red solo cups in their hands. We all did a shot to celebrate our friends marriage, and we then spent the next hour or so drinking and talking and taking pictures, and just having an all around good time.

Not since Chad’s wedding had all of my best friends and I been together. I was happy to be there with everyone and I was even impressed that P-Nut made his way out to the bar even though he didn’t drink alcohol considering tomorrow was his big day. I thought about how the trip started out with me and Tasha being pulled over and getting a speeding ticket. None of that seemed to matter at all. I don’t even think I told anyone about that until right now. You know, I’ve realized that as I’ve gotten older I’ve looked forward to moments like these with my friends. We had been there for each other for half our lives, and there wasn’t a memory from high school or the years after that didn’t include one or all of the people in this room.

I had sat with Gary in Olga’s diner for years drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes while playing gin rummy. I used to cut school with Parr and go to Denny’s for breakfast then drive to New York just for the hell of it. We all used to congregate in Dave’s basement on summer nights playing NHL ‘94 on his Super Nintendo, or you could find us hanging at Chad’s house till 3 in the morning eating Doritos and drinking all of his soda and Snapple. I used to buy Shaun and his friends alcohol when they were underage, and P-Nut and I drove down to Disney World four days after I came back from my senior trip to Disney World just because we could. I don’t have one memory of my high school days without these guys, and even if I could remember one, I probably didn’t have as good a time as if I was with them. I am proud to know them and I am glad to know they all have found a lady to compliment them.

Chad and Mary are a perfect couple and had married two years back at an epic celebration. Gary and Desiree are a perfect match for each other and I would think eventually will get married soon, and P-Nut had found a perfectly sweet and beautiful girl in Efia and he did the right thing by asking her to marry him. Parr had finally found the perfect Italian woman to compliment his Irish personality, but at the moment none of us knew where Nicola was. And then there was me an Tasha, the perfect anomaly of the group.

Speaking of whom, a few minutes later I saw my ex-girlfriend/multiple wedding date and partner in crime come up to me with a concerned look on her face.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Nicola?” I asked her.

“I’ve been in the bathroom with her and Destiny.” Tasha stated.

You mean Desiree?” I said.

Right, Desiree. Anyway, Destiny and I think Nicola might have had a little too much to drink.” She said.

“How so?” I asked.

“She looked a little sick, so we took her to the bathroom and then she proceeded to tell us how much she loved Parr and how she was going to have his babies one day.” Tasha said.

“That was sweet.” I replied.

Yeah, but then she puked in the trash can” Tasha said.

I don’t think we were going to make last call. It was time to leave the bar, go back to the hotel, and get some sleep.

Part 2: June 3rd, 2015

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.