One of Many Random Thoughts to Come...

I may be late in the game, in terms of making this discovery, but drunk texting is the New Drunk Dial. Pass it along...

Zoning Out

What's more frustrating than entering The Friend Zone? Trying to bust out of it.

For those of you reading this who have never left their homes or have never, ever had any kind of human interaction, well, The Friend Zone is that dreadful Hotel California of relationships where you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.

That is, the strictly platonic relationship.

It happens to everyone. You meet someone and you get to know them so well and for so long that you can almost read each others' minds. And sometimes--not always, but sometimes--for some people, that deep-seeded familiarity with the other person can lead to intense--and often misplaced--feelings of infatuation and desire.

And if you are that other person, the object of affection, you have two ways of moving forward. You can nip it in the bud and say, "sorry...I just don't dig ya like that" ORRRR "hmmm...interesting. We should see where this goes." Either choice is fine, but as with anything, actions have consequences, every cause has an effect...so on and so forth.

Say you take the former (and, if you ask me, the safer) route, you risk hurting them and doing irreparable damage to your friendship. I mean, the next time you call them up to hang out, to say it would be awkward would be an understatement of the highest order. You're sitting there, trying to watch a movie with them, wondering if they're actually watching the movie or actually cursing you in their mind, wishing your head would shrink to the size of a peanut. Meanwhile, they're giving you looks of longing, practically trying to will you with their mind to look at them passionately, move in for a kiss...or more.

Now, say you take the latter, riskier route. That opens up a can of flesh-eating, soul sucking worms you don't dare want to take your prized Pampered Chef can opener to. For one, you know the person so well, there would be no surprises. Relationships are built on spontaneity and a spark of mystery. That's why they are so exhilarating. You never know what's going to come next. You put two friends together who already know each other so well that there's a damn-near psychic link, you can look forward to a short-lived outing of lots of boredom and yawns. Secondly, for whatever the reason, if things go south, you've quite possibly ruined a great friendship that's possibly lasted for decades.

Long story short? You are absolutely, positively fucked either way.

In a way, The Friend Zone is like that mystical baseball diamond in "Field of Dreams." Everything is fine and dandy--you're playing baseball with the boys, kicking back a few beers--then some unsupervised little rug rat gets a piece of goddamn hot dog stuck in her throat and you have go grab your fucking medical bag in the middle of the game!!!

Wow. Do ya think that maybe, somewhere along the line, I lost focus on the topic at hand?

...Anyway, you step past those little rocks at the edge, right? Once you pass those, your relationship with the other person has the life-expectancy of a ninety-year-old. And after that line is crossed, there is no going back, no matter much you wish you could. You made your choice...now you have to live with it.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am all for taking risks (well, more so than I had been) as well as being honest and sharing your feelings (I am, after all, what many people would refer to as a "'90s Sensitive Male"), but sometimes, repression isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, there are things that you need to keep inside yourself for the greater good. And the beauty of it is, those feelings, those desires are yours. No one can take those away from you. I mean, yeah, it can be the hardest, most torturous, painful thing you'll ever have do--holding back something as powerful as love and desire.

But that's the beauty--or tragedy, depending on how you want to look at it--of life: There's always something to distract us from the holes inside of us, the pieces that are missing.

I don't know if you're reading this, but I hope it helps. You know who you are. We're best friends, come hell or high water, and I love you dearly.

Egg Hunt

Ya know what? Hey, if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen...I'm no worse for wear. It was fun, I had a good time, we had some really nice conversations, but fuck--it only lasted for a week.

Thoughts like that serve as my own emotional auto-defense mechanism. Even though I don't believe a word of what I'm telling myself.

So, today, I'd pretty much given up with no plans to call her again. I was chatting with my dad and he's like, "If it were me, I'd try one more time tonight. Just to be sure. It's your call, though."

So, I did and she answered.

"Well, I'm pretty busy, the next couple of weeks...pretty booked up. It's not you. I'm just really busy."

Ya know, just for once, I'd really like a gal to just be like, "Ya know, it's not me...it really is you. Yeah, you're just really fucking annoying, you're a horrible driver with an even worse sense of direction. You've got nose hairs (Blogger's Note: okay...I embellished a little there...I think) that don't quit and, um, frankly, you come across like some degenerate mongoloid. So, yeah, it's totally not me...it's you."

Okay...so, maybe nothing that harsh, but wouldn't it be so cool if people actually were honest with you. At least then, you could take something away from it, you could--GASP!!--learn something.

I'm gonna just come out and say it. It's been on my mind for the last few days so, here it goes: I fucking hate dating. I do. There is nothing more wretched and awful as going out on a date. In fact, here's a selection I have on my J-Date profile regarding the perfect first date:

Anything with quiet, non-threatening conversation. The truth of the matter? I kinda hate the whole "First Date" thing. I mean, if you think about it, Jerry Seinfeld is right: Dates are essentially glorified job interviews ("what are your interests, goals?" "what kinds of services can you provide?") Same awkwardness and tension, but with the dwindling prospect of sex at the end. I know, I know...totally cynical, but totally true. At the end, you're like "Did I get it? How'd I do?!"

And the thing is, everyone gets rejected. It's a fact of life. Ya gotta kiss a few frogs (For the record, The Girl wasn't, by any means, a frog. Quite the opposite actually) to find your prince or, in my case, princess. Everyone knows that. Lately, though, I find myself wondering if maybe I should just keep my lips sealed.

And then I think to myself, who am I kidding?! People who say that you will only find love when you stop looking for it are full of shit. No matter where they are or what they're doing, single people are always looking. It's only human nature to want what we don't have--especially when other people have it.

Not only that, but I have to--HAVE TO!!--believe that this rejection, pain, frustration isn't all for naught; that there's some bigger plan, whether it's a plan to make me a stronger person or just a plan as simple as me finding The One that I'm meant to be with, spend the rest of my days with.

But is it a plan worth sticking to and, really, why would anyone want to?

Normally, I have some sort of witty aside to end each entry, but I think I'm going to answer the above question by stealing a quote from the mother of all relationship movies. Five gold stars to the first person who can name the film it comes from.

"I...I realized what a terrific person she was, and... and how much fun it was just knowing her; and I...I, I thought of that old joke, ya know, the, this... this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; ya know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd, and...but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us...need the eggs."

Friday Night's Alright (For Dating)

So, tonight was the night. I went out with Chatty Cathy.

Actually, perhaps I should just drop the nicknames (i.e. the aforementioned Chatty Cathy, J-Date Girl, Omaha Girl, etc.) for now and just call her by her name: Nikki.

So, tonight, Nikki and I went out on a date. Nothing too fancy. In fact, some might call it less of a date and more of an initial meeting (we both insisted on sporting very casual attire). I mean, all we did was go to a movie ("In the Land of Women"--I'll get to that in a bit). I picked her up, we went to AMC and watched the movie, and then I took her home. Bing, bang, boom...The End. Right?

Come on! When are all of you going to learn that nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Yours Truly?

For starters, once I got to her apartment complex, I couldn't find the piece of paper that had her actual address. I looked fucking everywhere: pockets, the different consoles in my car. Hell, I nearly stuck my hand down my pants to make sure I didn't stick it there (I didn't, in case you were curious). However, I talked some sense into myself and just decided to bite the bullet and call her. Lucky for me and little did I know, I was actually in front of her place when I called. Of course, it might have been nice had I actually parked on the right side of her building. I had parked in the back, rendering her unable to buzz me in. So, I had to do a little walking. Hey, nothing wrong with a little exercise!!

So...first impressions. For starters, on a physical level...totally beautiful and not in an overwhelming, holy-shit-what-is-this-girl-doing-with-me type of way, but just--she had this natural radiance that I was really attracted to. That, and she is, by far, the shortest gal I've ever met who wasn't a little person. That should not, by any means, be taken as some sort of criticism. I'm just stating the facts. Besides, I thought it was really adorable, especially when we walked side-by-side. Plus, it was kind of cool actually being tall for an evening. Don't get me wrong, my ex was shorter than me, thus making me taller, but last night, I was TALL!!

So, after about 15 minutes or so of chit-chat, we hopped into my car (apparently, I was so nervous, I forgot to park between the lines--which she didn't fail to point out) and headed toward the thee-ay-ter. The drive there was an interesting one. I'll be honest...I'm not the best driver at night, especially if I'm driving in an area that I'm not as familiar with (or, at least, haven't been around to in a while). So, it came as no surprise that I went the wrong way and that I ended up having to make an illegal U-Turn (at her urging). All the while, we're immersed in conversation which, you know, I'm good at.

So, we got to the theater and I parked. No, to those who are asking, I did not park in the handicapped section. In fact, I hid my tag in the glove box, if you really want to know. Hey, insecurity is insecurity! What are ya gonna do? As for the traditionalists out there, yes, I paid for the movie.

Okay...mini-review time.

"In the Land of Women," written and directed by Jon Kasdan (yes, the son of Lawrence--the writer/director of "The Big Chill" and writer of "The Empire Strikes Back") in his debut, is a sweet little film that's better than it has any right to be, thanks to a sweet, charming lead performance by the Jewish Geek God himself, Adam Brody (TV's The OC), a graceful, wise turn from a now middle-aged Meg Ryan (in what has to be her most complete performance yet) and an emotionally vulnerable, honest one from the lovely Kristen Stewart (whom you may recall from "Panic Room" as Jodie Foster's diabetic daughter). The movie tries really hard to be The Next Garden State, but on that level, it fails. It lacks the latter film's edge and the ending is awkward and pat. I also agree with many critics in that, with as much melodrama that ensues during the film, it really kinda is a Lifetime movie writ large. Still, between the terrific performances and a lot of the witty, intelligent dialogue, the film earns a solid B.

Okay...that concludes the Movie Review portion of this blog. Back to the date.

I must admit, watching the movie was a frustrating experience. For one, the audience was as fucking annoying as shit. I think we were the oldest ones in the crowd. Now, I was a huge--HUGE!!--fan of The OC and I love Adam Brody, but did I talk through the entirety of the film?!?! NO!!!! OF COURSE NOT!!! Maybe that's because I'm not 15 or 16 years old, goddammit!!!!!!! The dude behind me must have been under the impression that watching a film is akin to watching Monday Night Football, where everything must have a running commentary. I wanted to be like my boy Mikey B. and yell, "SON, IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M GONNA COME UP THERE AND KNOCK THE TASTE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!"

But, um, I didn't. I gave a lot of stern, harsh looks at no one in particular, though!! That has to count for something!!

The second reason that the movie-watching experience was so frustrating was because I just didn't really know how to just...be. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to do the yawn-and-put-your-arm-around-her-shoulder thing or lift the arm rest up. I was clueless. Now, mind you, I've never had any game and, ya know, it was only just the first date, but come on! These are things a guy should know how and when to do. Needless to say, I just kept my eyes peeled on the screen. Like I said, pretty good movie.

The ride home was fine with lots of lively (read: we were both so tired--me from my usual lack of sleep, and her because, well, she's a lawyer/law intern who works her ass off--that we couldn't stop yawning) conversation. And then came the awkward, End of Date portion.

I parked the car (this time, in front of her place) and we talked for a bit. I walked her to her door and she held it open for me to come in. I stopped and said, "oh...I, um, thought you were tired. I don't need to come up." She goes, "ummm...I am. I thought you wanted to come up." I replied/stammered with "No...I was just kind of getting overheated in the car and thought we could talk outside, get some fresh air." She comes outside for a moment and I go on a mini-Hal rant about how my mom has taken on the nasty habit of using the phrase "biotch." I went on to say that my mom has never sounded quite so white or Jewish as when she uses that phrase. It's like the equivalent of an African American saying "dayenu" (which means "enough" or "it was sufficient" in Hebrew) or "oy vey" ("Oh, G-d," in Yiddish). Anyway, she thought that "biotch" was less a Black Thing than it was a Rich, High School Cheerleader Thing. I asked her if she ever used that word and she answered, "No, I was neither rich nor a High School cheerleader."

Duh.

At the end, I asked if she wanted a hug and she expressed that she wasn't much of an after-date hug person. She seems to be a person who kind of has her own little Personal Space bubble. Fair enough. I know what that's like. I used to totally hate being hugged by people. That's a totally different can of worms, though. So, I ended the date with a handshake, commented jokingly on how awkward that was and we parted ways for the evening.

And that's The Date. The. End.

The big question is this: Was it a good date? Honestly? I dunno. Seriously...I've never been good at gauging the quality of dates. And my ability is even worse now because I'm a little bit more insecure and a little bit more lacking in the confidence dept. than I previously was (which, ya know, is kind of saying a lot, if you think about it).

Now, did I have fun? You bet! I had a great time with Nikki and I really hope she's up for Round 2, date-wise or, at the very least, up for continuing to chat on the phone. Truth is, I don't know where to go from here. Then again, it's less than one complete day later. So, for right now, I'm just going to play things as they've been laid.

I mean, I had a great time, this week. I really did. We had some great conversations (FIVE HOURS ALONE JUST ON SUNDAY!!!), a lot of laughs and if that's how it ends, well, that's how it ends.

Que sera, sera.

Of course, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have my fingers crossed. Well, at least just a couple of 'em.

SPLAT!!

You know, they say that some days you're the windshield and on others, you're the bug. Well, today, I was, without a doubt, the windshield.

I'm back, people.

The Hal that everyone used to like and enjoy being around is back. And ya know what? It's pretty fuckin' great to be back. In fact, everything is just...well, it's great. Life is great. I wish I had a better word to use, but I think, just this once, I'll use the easiest one that I can think of.

After all, when you have friends like the ones that I have--the ones that love you and look out for you and want you to do well and succeed and live life to the fullest and just be happy--well, ya know what? I only have one thing to say to that.

Bugs beware.

R-Rated Conversations

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I finally met someone who talks even more than I!!

Please re-adjust your seats and trays to their upright and locked positions and do feel free to realign your jaws.

So, as I stated in my previous blog, I had begun e-mailing back and forth with this gal who, for once, lives in Omaha. We met off J-date. Cross your fingers, right? Anyway, the first e-mail I sent was pretty short and simple (for me, anyway--hehehe!!). She then replied with this monster e-mail that even made me nearly shit my pants!! ME!!! So, I sent her a long one back, thinking ha!! By god, no one can top this!!! Sure enough, her e-mail was even longer!! Finally, a girl after my own heart!!

So, we continued exchanging e-mails for about three or four days, asking each other burning questions and all of that good stuff until finally, on Saturday, she asked me a question I really wasn't sure what to respond with. Or rather, if I wanted to respond at all.

Why did your last relationship end?

It hit me hard. It was a really simple question that called for a very complicated answer. I started writing one, two, three, four paragraphs (in addition to the 13 paragraphs beforehand), telling her how things went down. Finally, I stopped, feeling somewhat insecure about what I was writing, and asked my friend Emily what she thought and she said, "Hal...girls really don't wanna hear the details. Keep it simple." Truth be known, that's kind of how I wanted to answer all along. So, I deleted those paragraphs and wrote the following:

How did my last relationship end? Well, in a word, badly. I got hurt and it's still kind of painful for me to talk about. If you really want the nitty-gritty details, I'll tell you about it sometime but just for now, I rather not discuss it. I hope that's okay. Whew! Next question!

I don't know why but, for some reason, I felt relieved after I wrote it. I know I tend to be long-winded. It's true. Sometimes, I write too much and to my own detriment. It was nice to keep something to myself. It doesn't happen too often. I'm an open book that could, on occasion, use a lock.

Anyway, moving on, after all of the e-mails, we agreed that I'd call her on Sunday night at 9:15. And so, I did. Well, okay, I didn't call her until 10 minute past the designated time. Oh, well. I'm fashionably late!! Or wait!! Wouldn't that be considered S.J.T. (Standard Jewish Time)?! If that's the case, I'm totally in the clear!!

Boys and girls, dear readers, I kid you not when I tell you that, except for one 30-second break (blasted Bluetooth battery!!!) we talked on the phone for no less than five hours. Now, many of you, at this point, are thinking to yourselves, my god, Hal!!! Are you an ogre?!?! How could you subject that poor young woman to your incessant blathering?!?!?! Talk about a horrible first impression!!

On any other occasion, I would consider the following reply as childish, immature and downright lame, but here goes: WELL, SHE STARTED IT!!! Seriously, this girl gave as good as she got!! And then some!!! I was probably silent and just listening for half of the time. And ya know what? It was kinda nice. Finally, I can die knowing that there's someone besides myself who will continue talking even after they've run out of things to say. Do you know how abso-fuckin'-lutely REFRESHING that is?! We talked about anything and everything!! It was fantastic!! (And, as a side note: I did give her a very brief rundown of the demise of my last relationship. Hey, she wanted to know and once I got to talking with her, strangely enough, I felt a little more at ease with the topic. But like I said, I kept it pretty brief. The end.)

And the thing is, I'm still not quite sure about her yet. And I don't mean that in a bad way either. Oh, I think she's really awesome and I can't wait to meet her in person, but when I think of her, I'm kind of reminded of Vince Vaughn's bit of dialogue in "Swingers": "I don't want you to be the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone's really hoping makes it happen. I want you to be like the guy in the rated R movie, you know, the guy you're not sure whether or not you like yet. You're not sure where he's coming from."

Long story short, this girl is like the girl in the rated R movie. In a way, she kind of reminds me of Catherine Keener, personality-wise. Well, at least, the hard-edged Catherine Keener circa "Being John Malkovich," as opposed to the softer "40-Year-Old Virgin" version. For example, when I told her that I cry in a lot of movies (including--shut the fuck up!!!--"Meet the Parents!!" They were so mean to my man, The Stiller!! I felt really bad for him on the airplane, when he was telling that bitchy stewardess that he had feelings and to leave him alone--er--to "step off, bitch!!"), she replied with, "Are you some kind of wuss or something?!" I didn't know how to answer and there was like this extremely awkward moment of silence before she went, "Um, I'm KIDDING!!"

Anyway, we talked again tonight for another two hours before I told her that we should probably not talk as long for fear of exhausting things. I asked her when she wanted to talk again (I've decided to put the ball in her court) and she was like, "Well, I'm not tired of you yet, so whenever." I asked, very hesitantly, if she wanted to talk tomorrow. Seriously, I'm really learning that one shouldn't overstay their welcome. She laughed and said, "YEAH, THAT'S FINE!! I have no problem talking with you!!!" And then she added, as a joke, "Just as long as we're not, you know, IM-ing each other eight hours a day."

We hung up around 11:30 p.m. and the same thought is still echoing through the windmills of my mind:

Curiouser and curiouser...

Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Da!!

I'm going to be brief, tonight--er--this morning, but I want to touch base.

Without going into too much detail for right now, in the last few days, I've begun e-mailing back and forth with this really sweet gal who--believe it or not--actually lives in The Big "O!!" Go me, right?!?!

Truth be told, I thought it was going to be a long time before I met someone nice again. Then again, good or bad, this year has already been full of surprises.

Anyway, it's late, I'm tired and I really don't want to say more for fear of jinxing anything. I will say this, though. It looks like my mopey, mournful period of darkness is slowly but surely coming to an end.

Day by day, people. Day by day.

Luckily for me, somewhere in the world, a sun is rising and a new day is beginning.