Scott Has Flown the Coop

Scott moved out. He admits that he owes me for a new TV or at least fixing the screen on the one he broke but he said he has “absolutely no way to pay for it.” [singlepic id=83 w=320 h=240 float=right]He thinks it’s best if he finds a new place to live so he moved out yesterday.

The weird thing is I don’t know if Scott was ever truly a friend. It seems so juvenile, but I feel kind of used. I haven’t questioned a friend’s motivations since like 7th grade but now I’m left wondering how much I can really trust these people I meet randomly.

Who knows, maybe Scott will pay up and we’ll continue to be friends. But now I’m doubting my own judgment on these people.

Bad Parker, Bad Dater

Bad Parker was a dud. She picked me up 45 minutes late, explaining that she “hates Brentwood” and “always gets lost.”[singlepic id=82 w=320 h=240 float=right]

We went out to see The King’s Speech which I thought was amazing. Really incredible performances and an engrossing story I didn’t want to end. But Bad Parker said it was “too confusing.”

“Why didn’t the other guy just marry that women and stay king?”

I explained that back then you couldn’t marry a divorced woman if you were king. I mentioned the King is the head of the Church of England. I asked if she remembered the whole story of Henry VIII.

Her response: “Oh, my God, why do you care about all this stuff?” Then she laughed/snorted, like I was the weird one.

We went back to my place and had sex, but I don’t think I’ll see her again. Just kidding. I wish. No, she dropped me off, I said see you never, and she drove off into the sunset. Or probably a fire hydrant.

Bad Parker

Last night I went down to the garage to get my car to leave work and I noticed the car next to me was parked like an idiot. [singlepic id=81 w=320 h=240 float=right]You know the type, some asshole who’s too busy to line it up, so he just leaves it diagonally across the space. I literally couldn’t open my door.

So I go to leave a note. Like, “Nice parking job, asshole.” That counts as talking to strangers, right? The only problem is, as soon as I put it on the windshield, the driver shows up! And it’s not some Jersey Shore asshole, it’s a cute girl.

“You’re leaving me a note because I parked like a moron, right?”

I quickly pulled the note off her windshield and tucked it in my pocket. “No. Well, yes. It’s just, I can’t get into my car.”

She apologized. Seems she was in a daze this morning because someone stole her phone and she was trying to remember all the data they have access to now. I asked her if she could do a remote wipe and she said she didn’t download that app.

Anyway, long story short, we’re going out Friday night. She felt bad about blocking me in (I exaggerated how long I’d been waiting) but only agreed to go out on the condition that I show her what I wrote in the note.

I showed it to her and she laughed. (The note said, “Fuck you, you fucking inconsiderate fuck. Get some fucking parking lessons.”)

“I didn’t think I’d run into the owner.”

“Obviously,” she replied. She said she was impressed by how many “fucks” I’d worked into the note. And that I had rage issues. And that she’d pick me up at 7:00.

While the Cat’s Away…

So first of all, I get back to find my TV with a big crack in it. [singlepic id=80 w=320 h=240 float=right]Seems Scott decided to throw a party while I was away and things got out of control. Some guy Scott didn’t even know got into a fight with Scott’s friend Ryan and the mystery guy threw a beer bottle that hit my TV. Then he took off and no one seems to know what this guy’s name is.

There are about ninety-three things wrong with this story. Yes, Scott pays rent now, but it’s still my apartment. And it’s my $3,000 TV. Plus, what am I, Scott’s parents? Who waits for their roommate to go out of town to throw a party? I think that’s the biggest dick move of all.

Scott says it wasn’t something he planned. He just invited a bunch of people over to watch football and then more and more people just kept coming. And people wonder why I hate sports.

Not sure what to do next. Scott has apologized profusely and even offered to move out. But he has not offered to pay for a new TV. No real attempts were made to find the mysterious bottle hurler, so it’s unlikely he’s ponying up.

So do I just let this slide? Just because I can technically afford it doesn’t mean I want to pay for a new TV. And why should I? I didn’t break it. Plus, now I feel like Scott has been using me. Like he was just pretending to be my friend so he could live in a nice place. Maybe he should just move out.

You Want Strangers? You Got Strangers!

About 600 million of them. I am in Mumbai. [singlepic id=79 w=320 h=240 float=right]There are people everywhere. It is kind of freaking me out.

A guy at the airport asked if I needed a wife. Seriously. I thought he was a pimp but it turns out he was offering his sister. I joked, “What does she look like?” Big mistake. He thought he had me on the line and proceeded to harass me for the next half hour with pictures of his butt-ugly sister.

Then this other dude outside the hotel said he could get me hash. I think he meant drugs but it could have been corned beef hash.

At the office, I met up with Palak. He laughed when he saw how freaked out I was. We got to talking over lunch and he laughed at me again. He said, “In India, you don’t need to talk to strangers. Here, strangers talk to you.”

Mum-bye bye

I’m going to India. [singlepic id=76 w=320 h=240 float=right]Not to live but for at least a week to close this big deal I’ve been working on forever.

Fuck! I need to be here to keep track of things with Michelle. It’s my big chance to make a move here and now I’m going to be stuck in fucking India.

If I get back and she’s dating someone else I’m going to go postal on my boss.

Coffee Shop Girl

Had coffee with Paul this morning at this place on Main Street in Santa Monica and as usual Paul was running late. [singlepic id=77 w=320 h=240 float=right]So I ordered my coffee and I noticed the woman had a cool accent. That was my in.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Santa Monica,” she replied.

I laughed. “No, I mean, originally.”

“Florida,” she changed her answer to.

Now you have to understand that this chick was clearly from Europe. Not only was her accent French or Swiss or something, she just looked foreign. I mean it in a good way. She looked different. Two-tone hair like that singer from that band. And a nose stud, like that fashion was still big where she was from.

So I challenged her, “You’re not from Florida. Where did you grow up? France?”

“Fuck you, I’m from Belgium!” She said it with a smile so I guess she wasn’t that offended.

So I said, “Hey, if you don’t want people to insult you by calling you French, don’t tell them you’re from Florida.”

We talked for ten minutes till Paul got there. Apparently, the reason people from Belgium don’t say they’re from Belgium right away (at least in L.A.) is because they always get asked about Jean Claude van Damme and they’re sick of it.

Elevator Girl in Play???

I had lunch with Michelle yesterday to catch up, wish her a New Year, etc., and she drops a bombshell. [singlepic id=75 w=320 h=240 float=right]Dr. Perfect and her are having problems. Now they didn’t break up or anything but she said she went to visit his family over Christmas and it did not go well. Now she’s giving him ultimatums, he’s feeling pressured to propose, and she’s talking about going into couple’s therapy.

I mostly just listened. It was a dicey situation because I didn’t want to seem too eager for things to fall apart for her. So I said vague things like, “You have to do what’s right for you.” Which actually came across as very supportive.

If it goes south on her, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the next ticket at the deli counter.