Honking Guy.
Dear Guy who honks at women and then turns his head at a 49.3-degree angle checking them out on the sidewalk,
Honestly, has this ever worked? Does honking the horn of your Civic ever make a woman hop in your car?
Let’s play out best-case scenario just this once:
Step 1 - Guy Driving.
Step 2 - Guy see’s appealingly dressed woman walking on the side of the street.
Step 3 - Guy turns down his Akon, or turns it up.
Step 4 - Guy then honks at the girl.
Step 5- The girl turns simply because it’s a honk making eye contact Guy.
Step 6 - Guy stops and signals for girl to hop in the car.
Step 7 - The woman hops in the car.
Step 8 - Guy proceeds to indulge in whatever he thinks is going to happen and then drops the woman off at some random location, after the deed is done, calling his friends bragging about what just happened.
Now lets play out what happens 113% percent of the time:
Step 1 - Repeat steps 1- 5.
Step 6 – The girl shrugs and walks away creeped out.
Step 7 – Guy contemplates yelling something to the girl (any lame comment like “Hey Girl!”)
Step 8 – Guy drives away, turns up Akon and thinks it never happened. Or, if it did happened he mentally just had sex.
Getting back to the point – has any guy honker ever successfully picked up a girl? Come on? Seeing this happen actually makes me feel bad for females. Can’t the men just keep it to a head turn minus the honk, or a smile minus the headturn?
Either way, here’s to you creepy honking head turning guy. Godspeed. And to any woman who actually responded to this guy… Not sure what to say.
Woman and sports talk.
I was making small chit chat with my Starbucks barista:
Me: Hey where are you from?
Her: Cleveland.
Me: Very Cool. But I'm sorry about LeBron.
Her: (wait a moment) Oh, go figure, The Browns are destined for failure.
Didn't know what to say after that. Smile and nod. But the coffee was great.
Short Story Sunday: He Said, She Said - The Plan
The Plan and some history: My Buddy – MAN is going out on a date with a female friend’s, friend - WOMAN (Hang in with me on the names). They have been out a few times and my Man friend has assured me they will be sleeping together tonight. I have convinced my female friend to compare notes of what her friend says about the date.
What does the opposite sex say? What do they think? What do they talk about in their spare time? It’s a thought that has run through my mind for longer than I would like to admit. My friends and I have conjured up ideas but who knows if I’m right. I hear that the woman’s mind works just like the man’s, which I actually believe.
The wheels have been turning in my head for a while with a plan to actually see the difference for myself. How could this be done? How can I see how a woman thinks and how a man thinks given the same exact scenario?
One day, one fateful day, it happened. The stars aligned and God looked down at me and said: “This is your moment.” The proper mixtures of people and moments have made what George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg would call The Perfect Storm.
Now, let me refer to the top and reference “The Plan.” What will he say? What will she say? Thanks to my female friend for allowing this to go through, after all, I think we’re all curious.
Disclaimer: I will not be telling Man nor Woman we’re doing this and understanding this is completely wrong is part of the appeal, but it’s in the name of Science.
The Morning After…
Question: Well, How’d it go?
Man: Dude, it was awesome. I took her to the pizza place that serves the pizza with every beer during happy hour. I started off with a Blue Moon, and she was drinking too, so you know…
Woman: It was okay. He took me to that place ——- he kept talking about. It was actually kind of disgusting because they served these little pieces of pizza with every beer you ordered. It’s a good idea, but bad execution on the restaurants part.
Were you drinking a lot?
Man: I was trying. Uh, you know, I ah, was definitely trying to plant the seed and keep her drinking you know. It’s all about seed germination.
Woman: I had to, the pizza tasted like shit.
Were you into him/her?
Man: When?
Woman: Ugh, he was getting annoying. He’s hot but annoying.
What did you talk about?
Man: I don’t even remember half the shit I said. I did the small talk you know, I made jokes about dogs and self deprecating humor jokes, so she can think I’m cute… That kind of talk, then midway through I just let her talk for a bit… to feel important.
Woman: I have no idea what he was talking about. He went on a rant about “E.T.” for about 35 minutes, and why he was a dork. He may have been nervous? He was asking me about movies, he’s never seen “Never Ending Story” so he asked me to tell him about it. Like, literally… tell him the whole thing from beginning to end, it was Godawful.
And you guys kept drinking?
Man: Yes, she was DOWN.
Woman: Unfortunately, I passed the threshold and just kept going. I had to, I didn’t want to listen to him much longer and I wanted to vomit the disgusting dinner.
Did you guys go home together?
Woman: Uh, Yes.
Man: Dude, I told you I was going to bang her.
How was it?
Man: Like Peanut Butter and Jelly.
(??)
Man cont: It didn’t take long but yeah we were going at it.
Woman: His house is gross, it smells like a t-shirt… or feet… or something thick you know? Which is surprising because he doesn’t really smell. But, I went into his bathroom and found his grooming supplies. I knew he plucked his eyebrows. But, yeah we slept together.
Wow, How was it?
Man: Awesome.
Woman: I don’t remember, and it’s not because I was drunk.
Did she/you spend the night?
Man: No, I told her she could but she didn’t. We laid there for a bit but she eventually took off. Perfect.
Woman: God no, I made something up to get out. But first I had to wake him because he was trying to cuddle with me.
Are you going to call him/her again?
Man: I’ll text her, in a few days.
Woman: I’m not calling. I don’t care if he calls me. Maybe I’ll call him sometime down the road… you know, late night.
Okay so are you happy I set you up or what? Final thoughts?
Man: Dude she’s hot. I don’t know what more I can say. I definitely kind of like her, I think? I don’t know. I try to stay away from likes and dislikes when it comes to this kind of thing. I don’t want to give the wrong impression you know? Girls are like, clingy. I don’t need clingy.
Woman: We’ll he’s totally confused. He’s a typical guy. Of course, you have to give into it on some level. It’s like a stroke of their confidence, no pun intended. You know the alpha who thinks that they know more than anyone else? That’s him. I feel like he has a dating plan. Or he may be a jealous clinger kind of guy. Who knows? But yeah, thanks for setting me up.
And so it is, the always-evolving man and woman. But what doesn’t change is the primal need for company. I don’t know if women are as sensitive as we make them out to be. Actually, I’m sure they’re not. I think the “games” aspect of dating is completely necessary even though both sexes knows it’s happening. I’m not too sure if dating has come a long way simply because of lack of experience. I’m just happy to have a girlfriend right now because I don’t want a random chick looking through my bathroom.
Final Note: Thanks to YOU, who participated and didn’t know it.
Short Story Sunday: The (crazy) Woman
The (crazy) Woman
Feeling lost and confused is starting to become abnormally comfortable. Living a life of constant change isn’t what I imagined at this point in my life but it’s definitely what I chose. This unfortunate feeling seeps into my system from time to time and I resort to an activity that I know best: Roaming around Los Angeles on foot looking for clarity.
It’ about 11pm and I just started heading towards a grocery store more known for it’s people than produce. It’s called Ralphs but I found out that everyone calls it “Rock and Roll” Ralphs, why? No Idea. But, I’m making my steps towards Rock and Roll Ralphs and I’m feeling a major mental block with work. Currently I have a writing deadline, I’m supposed to have a writing sample submitted to someone in two days, and in about an hour when it reaches 12am it will be one day.
I’m confused on a few levels. First: “What the Hell am I going to write?” Second: “I’ve had one month to write this, I can’t think of anything, what the hell is wrong with me?” Third: “What if this writers block never leaves? What if my ideas are just somehow gone?”
The typical questions about my placement in this world begin to arise, I try and tell myself to stop looking so much into things but I can’t help it. I start wondering, what does it say about me that I analyze everything? Then - Shit, what does it say about me that I analyze me analyzing everything? I’m starting to fear that I’m the guy who just can’t get things done because I’m too busy thinking about doing it.
This walk leads me no choice, it leads me right into the very busy Ralphs grocery store to sit and people watch. If there’s one thing I need right now it’s to sit and make shallow assessments of people. I wish I didn’t have these thoughts and make these assessments sometimes but I’m human, it happens.
As I walk in I notice the groups of stereotypes. I see the husband and wives, the boyfriends and girlfriends, the single women buying vodka already drunk walking around the store, the single men trying to talk to the single ladies buying vodka. The Ralphs is a gathering of every culture in Los Angeles, and fortunately it has a seating area off to the side by a coffee bean. I’m planning to sit and just let my thoughts go, I’m about 30 seconds away from people watching mode when a piece of luggage is rolled next to me.
The luggage belongs to an older woman, probably about 65 years old, instantly I smell something sour and notice that her clothes haven’t been washed in who knows how long. The woman has a perpetual deer in headlight look, she may have had some eye surgery at some point in her life but I doubt it. She’s got some dirt scattered on her, I checked her hands and fingernails to see if they were clean – they weren’t. But, something was in her hands, a US Weekly magazine (which consists of all the Hollywood gossip) my mystery woman was clearly homeless, and she was standing looking at me.
She said:
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Should I lie? Should I tell her I am so I don’t get caught in this conversation?
“No, I’m just sitting here…. I’m Josh”
“I’m Beth.”
It was at that moment without hesitation my Midwestern roots popped in and I heard my dad’s voice echo in my head – Always extend yourself and shake someone’s hand when you meet them.
I stood up and extended my hand.
“Pleasure to meet you”
I felt the dryness of her hand hit mine, it felt like I was shaking dirt. I instantly knew I had to wash my hands. I’m naturally a person who likes to use my hands to think, which means I touch my face a lot. I really need to wash my hands, but I can’t be rude so I’ll do it later… just don’t touch your face.
Beth sat down in the unoccupied space next to me plopped her magazine on the table and said:
“I knew he was gay.”
“…What’s that?”
“I knew he was gay. Ricky Martin, I knew it.”
“Oh. (fake smile) Okay”
“My girlfriend was the one who injected the blood into him.”
This woman is starting to fill the shoes of the stigma she carries. Unfortunately many of us have encountered unfortunate individuals who at some point in their lives start losing touch with a certain reality. Which isn’t a bad thing, because something tells me this woman lives in her own reality, and that may be a different place than mine… good or bad.
“Blood? What?”
“You know the man’s blood into his penis. To make him homosexual.”
WHAT!?
I just nodded and gave a half -hearted smile because quite frankly I didn’t know what she was talking about. Although I’m about 250 percent certain one’s sexual preference isn’t determined by blood being injected into their reproductive organs I let her keep talking about her US weekly. She proceeded to make assessments about random celebrities and then began to discuss her former life as an actress. Apparently Beth had worked in a few films in her life and now she’s still waiting for her big break.
Beth discussing her former life made my head wander. How can I not think my fate will take her road at some point? It sounded like she and was chasing a dream, a dream that never stopped or maybe never happened. There is something I find admirable about chasing what you actually want to do, probably because I’m currently doing it. But, more so because I like the idea doing what you want to do, and once you attain your dream it’s instantaneously your reality, and for me that’s what makes life exciting.
Beth is all over the place now talking, I should have been paying better attention but I wasn’t. I clicked my head back into gear and started to listen to her talk again, I thought I would engage for the sake of being rude.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Waiting to cook.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I love cooking, and I’m waiting for them to bring the organic flour, not that generic shit.”
“I didn’t know flour could be generic.”
“Flour can be anything.”
Not sure if her comment just then was insightful or completely nuts but I nodded as if I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“You know, there’s a place called Whole Foods just down the street, I think all there stuff is organic, maybe they have the stuff that’s not so generic.”
“No! It’s from here. They told me they’d have it from here but their shipment isn’t in yet.”
I’m uncomfortable and I want to go. My Mr. Nice guy talk to this woman routine is dried up, I felt sorry for this woman but now I feel sorry for myself for even being here. In some odd way I think I was hoping this woman would create inspiration for me to write later on but actually she’s created fear. I’m planning my escape.
“Well, I think, I uh – “
“Will you look and tell me if there is flour?”
“What’s that?”
“Organic flour, I want organic flour. I need the flour, I need it for my daughter, and she likes the organic flour. It’s right over there in aisle 7 or 8.”
I feel bad for Beth.
“Sure, but I need to get going after, is that okay?”
Not sure why I just asked her if it was okay for me to leave but screw it, I’ll find this organic flour and be on my way. Maybe I should do some more walking and not get stuck sitting anywhere. Maybe I should just go home and try to write and wash my hands. One way or another, I need to find this woman some flour.
I stood up and smiled at Beth and started to make my way to look for some organic flour. As I did I immediately noticed the security guard begin to walk over towards me. Security and cops always make me feel like I’m up to no good, as he makes his way to me I subconsciously put on my annoyed face so he won’t talk to me. But, he talks to me.
“Excuse me man.”
I’m looking back at a harmless 20 something security guard in a grocery store, he’s staring back at me like he knows more than me.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, that woman over there, she’s nuts man, she’s crazy.”
“Okay.”
“The one you’re talking to man.”
“No I know who you meant, I’m just looking for something for her.”
“I know, she always comes in here, she doesn’t buy anything. Man, I’m telling you she’s crazy man, crazy. I always kick her out, but she just keeps coming back in.”
That word crazy stuck out. I admittedly also think this woman is crazy but to hear it from this guy made it sound worse for some reason. Crazy carries a connotation of… well… crazy. It’s a word that get’s loosely tossed around and could potentially actually tell you if someone is crazy or not.
“Well, let me just find something for her.”
“Is it about that flour she wants? We don’t have it, that’s what she’s always talking about, some special flour for some cookies or some shit.”
“Listen man, I’m just going to get going okay.”
“Can you just tell her we don’t have it, tell her we never have it?”
This is just weird now. I walk back to my lady who, I can tell has been eyeing me like I’m in the wilderness. I tell her that they don’t have organic flour, even though I already think flour is organic. She tells me it has to SAY it’s organic, and they never say organic flour.
Whatever.
“Hey, I’m going to get going, good luck, I have to get home.”
As I extended my hand again (MAKE SURE I WASH MY HANDS!) she didn’t extend back. Apparently she knew I had a conversation with the security guard:
“What did the rent a cop say to you?”
“Oh, uh, nothing.”
“I know he thinks I’m crazy, he tells me I’m crazy and I need to go home, but I’m not crazy, I don’t think I’m crazy. Do you think I’m crazy?”
If there is one thing I have learned in my life it’s to never tell a WOMAN that she’s crazy. I don’t care who the woman is, you never tell them they are crazy…. Especially one’s you’re dating… But that’s beside the point. I don’t think you can tell a homeless woman she is crazy because who knows what will happen, she has nothing to lose.
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Liar!”
Woah! Her yell caught me off guard.
“Okay good luck Beth.”
As I started to make my way out she stung me with something, whether or not it she meant it when she said it I thought about it the entire walk home.
“They told me they would have the organic flour! And now they don’t! I’m not the crazy one. I’m trying to make something perfect, something that requires the perfect flour, okay! I’m not crazy, I just want what they told me they would have, this is what I want, I want the perfect flour.”
Then she mumbled…
“People don’t understand that passion and crazy are the same thing, and I want to cook all night. I want perfect flour.”
And that was it, that’s what led me to the door. That seemingly odd conversation to an even odder previous set of events had me walking at a fast pace to get home, I knew exactly what I was going to write.
I walked into my house quickly and quietly and headed straight for the computer. I knew I should go and give my girlfriend a kiss and let her know I’m home but I needed to type. I had been gone for almost 2 hours and I need to turn in a story to use as a sample. I began typing at a very rapid pace. It was as if my walk of clarity worked even though I didn’t do much walking, I immediately typed the title:
Adventures of Ingredients
It was about a woman banished to a grocery store, only able to leave when the perfect ingredients come in, and she has to cook her way out.
Sounds cheesy yes, but it was somewhat of a child adventure. Most importantly I was flowing with ideas. Before I knew it, it was 3:47am and I’m not too sure I had moved from the computer. I heard the bedroom door open and footsteps coming to me. It was my girlfriend.
I imagine that when she opened the door only to see the light of my monitor blasting off my face I may have looked like a mad scientist. She said:
“Babe, what are you doing? Come to bed.”
“I can’t, I can’t I need to finish this writing, I’m almost there.”
“How much longer?”
“Not sure? Maybe a few hours?”
“You’re crazy babe, just come to bed when you can.”
My girlfriend meant no harm but little did she know she used the keyword of the night – CRAZY. As she headed back to the bedroom I wanted to yell to her that I’m not crazy I’m just passionate about this and it needs to be perfect, I need to get it done. My perfect ingredients are coming together to make my story and I need to utilize them.
Whether or not Beth knew it she really got to me with those final comments:
“People don’t understand that passion and crazy are the same thing, and I want to cook all night. I want perfect flour.”
Sure, the context sounded completely ridiculous but I get it. The store told her she would have exactly what she needed and now she’s waiting it out, is she really that crazy? Is she crazy to want that perfect thing? Is her craziness what got her to that position in the first place?
My girlfriend gave me a moment to let this all sink in. With some sort of passion there is most definitely some sort of crazy. These two words are holding hands as far as I’m concerned and this is in every area of life …love…work…family’s…emotionally…physically… sport…the list goes on.
I don’t know where this leads me and I certainly hope one day I’m not roaming into Ralphs for perfect food, but I do know that my passion to do what I want is not going to go away, and I’m not sure where that will lead. I’m pretty sure this lives in all of us, and the more we express our crazy the more we express our passions.