A truthful recount of recent events that has led me back to my blog:

• Last week I met a cute girl visiting from out of town that I gradually grew attracted to, the feeling wasn’t mutual
• I purchased my very first place and got the keys last Friday
• I spent Saturday night with some new friends watching YouTube videos and not saying much
• I looked at my ex’s Facebook profile photos

Point number one, the out-of-town girl, is a short story. Friend of a friend of a friend, she was visiting for the weekend and she seemed very sweet. Nothing happened, nothing was going to happen. But it was nice to meet people that were so vibrant and seeing everything with fresh eyes and open minds. I’ve been feeling so close-minded lately, cynical of opportunities and unable to say ‘yes’ to myself.

The big thing on my mind right now is the new condo that I bought and am in the process of moving into; vaulted ceilings and practically too much natural light. I’ve been moving boxes over little by little but the big move should happen this Thursday when the professionals come to shuffle things out. Internet should hopefully be set up on Wednesday (obviously the number one priority). I’m not buying any new furniture yet but I would love a new desk. I’ll have to start looking.

As for the silent YouTube watching with new friends, this kind of night has happened before with other friends. But I hate it so much because it’s just so draining. It feels so lonely to do this, as if I’m going to movies alone just for the chance to sit next to someone. It reminds me of curling up with a girl and watching a movie but that’s exactly what we’re not doing. I’d rather just sit and talk to these people. Should this happen again, I need to say something. I hate staring at a screen in silence unless it’s with close people I’m ok being silent with. I went home with a profound sense of loneliness and I tried to drown my feelings with food.

The (non) rejection, the transition and the alienation finally came to a head, I looked up my ex on Facebook and flipped through her profile photos. I don’t know if she’s with somebody new but it looks like she’s doing good things with her life. And I do genuinely wish her every happiness in the world. It’s just that, you can’t help but compare and look for a “winner” in the breakup. And despite all my amazing progress and experiences in the past year and a half, I still feel, from time to time, that I’m still the same idiot that couldn’t get his shit together.

The idea popped into my head that maybe I just need to see my ex again. Reconcile and find closure, eliminate this idea that she’s somehow a competitor, remove the spectre of her from my life. Even though she’s not in my life and the moment and we have zero mutual friends, the idea of her still haunts me from time to time. So if I can just see her as a regular person, maybe I can exorcise her ghost from my mind.

After talking to Lachlan, I could better see the events in their totality. I had no idea why I decided to look at her Facebook but reflecting over the past week, it makes sense. And in all honesty, these problems that I have are solely my problems. They are not problems she gave to me and they are not problems I can reasonably expect her to solve. Sure, the right phrases coming out of her mouth might bring me some peace but if this break up has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t rely on her for happiness. I make my own happiness and I bring the people around me into it. But I can’t always be that sad gloomy child expecting to be picked up off the ground.

So, the decision is to continue on as I have and fix myself in all the ways I know how. If she wants to see me, I’d welcome it. But to go to her to find answers to my questions is the wrong approach for me. She’s not my savior or my therapist or a person that can address the insecurities that ricochet inside my skull. That’s all on me.

(Yay, I wrote a big substantial post in which I was honest and not hiding anything from my life. That’s a big step back into blogging.)

Life is good. It is sometimes complicated, sometimes leaves me wanting and sometimes disappoints or frustrates but overall, I can’t complain about anything that’s happened this year. It’s been an astounding six months and I couldn’t ask for much more than this.

I’ve been overdoing the going-out lately. Which is surprising because that is not something I have ever overdone. I’m a hermit, I’m resigned to my quiet little fortress of solitude but somehow I’ve managed to expand this fortress outwards and my world has grown a little bigger. Now I’m out most days of the week.

I had to stop and think about this last night when I went to see a movie with friends and we just kinda sat in silence next to each other and immediately parted ways afterwards. Super lame. I must resolve to stop going out for the sake of being out.

I found I’ve been getting a little pushy lately. I’m not sure yet if this is a good or bad thing but I’m certainly a little more aggressive in some aspects. I tend to pursue people I like hanging out with, maybe get a little clingy. I quickly dismiss people that are too negative or too depressing, mostly because they remind me too much of myself. I’m instigating my own social occasions and inviting people along, I no longer wait to be invited.

Mostly, I think I’m on to a good thing. I’m figuring out how to kick it as a single person living alone. But I need to juggle my priorities a little. I’m still way too hung up on girls. There’s a whole novel I could write on that. There’s this crazy need for me to let a woman run my life, I blame this on my mother.

I need to figure out my work situation. I’m still feeling very unmotivated but I have gained motivation to actually examine this and work it out. It’s a whole lot of navel gazing but I think I’m on the right path. My old co-worker last night said something to the same effect, it is good that I’ve realized I need to change.

Friday

Dinner at a Chinese place near work; I ordered the regular fried rice and enjoyed the simplicity of it. Oddly enough, this place did everything. They were officially a bakery stuffed with Asian pastries but they had a lunch and dinner menu of the typical Chinese dishes. Also, there was bubble tea. So it’s a one-stop shop to visit if you need to act like you’re from Hong Kong.

It’s been such a long weekend, I actually had trouble remembering what happened next. I looked up my credit card history but that held no clues. Turns out, we were meant to meet some friends who were going to hit a club or a bar somewhere. There was the promise of nightlife and alcohol which is great because I’ve been really sober lately and going to bed at like 10pm. These guys were still at the Mariners game so we had to kill some time at my apartment. Hours passed and it was decided that they were too drunk to check their phone.

I fell asleep watching Ever After, a re-telling of the classic Cinderella story, starring Drew Barrymore. No, I did not pick the movie but it was in fact a lot better than I had expected. As a side note, I don’t know how having Leonardo Da Vinci instead of a fairy godmother is any more “real”.

Saturday

Brunch in Ballard at this Italian restaurant. You should have seen my face. Finally, I have some decent Italian food since arriving in Seattle. Admittedly, I have not tried many other Italian places. If you have recommendations then please leave them here. When I talk about decent Italian food, I mean stuff that hasn’t been changed too much to suit the American palate. I want sensible portions, al dente pasta and sauces that complete the dish rather than completely overwhelming it. Evidently, I am an asshole when it comes to Italian food. That’s not to say I can’t enjoy the Americanized food that are really just dressed up versions of Mac & Cheese. I just have a preference.

Saturday was hotness. Seattle is finally entering its stages of summer and we’re blessed with sun and humidity and people shedding the exoskeleton that they call an SUV. “You don’t realize how many people live in seattle until the sun comes out.”

As if perfect Italian food was not enough, we had a late dinner in Madison Park at this lively Mexican place. The funny thing is that I have no idea what authentic Mexican food is and I’ve been able to embrace this idea of Tex-Mex which is just fantastic. Also, there is nothing more delicious than the flavors of lime juice and coriander on a hot day. Then we finished the night with flan. Flaaaaaaan.

Sunday

Umm, breakfast was KFC. Not only that but leftover KFC. I do not want to dwell too much on this fact. One thing to note though is that Australia’s KFC stocks bread rolls which are about as interesting as a scrunched up ball of paper where as here they serve Southern-style “biscuits” which are flaky and a tiny bit buttery.

Lunch was a BBQ at the south end of Lake Sammamish. I don’t want to diss the food too much but it was generic hot dogs and some chicken fillets. Pretty ordinary but who the hell cares because it was a birthday party and there was an astounding amount of people and sunshine and I engaged in sports for the first time in a long time. I threw around a football and a frisbie and I played several games of volleyball. Go me.

Now it’s Monday and I have muscle aches all over because I am old and cynical. My body is far more tolerant of grease and alcohol than it is of really tough physical activity like throwing a ball.

I started this morning with a defrag. That’s not some weird type of espresso or hangover cure and it’s not some horrible euphemism for whatever bodily processes that may take place in the morning. I literally sat down at a computer, clicked Disk Defragmenter and then shuffled off to work. You know how some people cannot stand a messy room or a sink full of dirty dishes? I cannot stand a slow computer. I sit down at friend’s computers and, without them asking, I tinker with things.

SR 520 Evergreen Point Floating Bridge

On Saturday, I was backing out of a parking spot. So was some lady opposite me. I didn’t notice her until I was part way out and, in hindsight, I just kind of stupidly sat there and wondered if she saw me. When it became obvious that she had not seem me, I should have honked. Instead I tried to make the car go forward but I was not fast enough. She scratched my bumper. She was apologetic and kind of sweet. I was not angry but I don’t know, I was all business. We exchanged phone numbers, I took a quick photo of the damage. Now that the repair estimate has come back for $640, I feel kind of bad for her. It would be easier on my conscience to take money from an asshole and not a sweet Japanese lady.

Last night was dining with Diana. A sushi restaurant in Madison Park where I stupidly thought I had the palate to appreciate expensive stuff like delicate little pieces of foie gras. She spent $20 on dinner, I spent closer to $50. The cheaper stuff was actually really good so next time, I know what to do. Namely, I need to stop being so goddamn pretentious. Besides the price, it was good to catch up with an old friend (Diana is hella old, she’s like FIVE MONTHS older than me but I love her all the same).

Last Friday night was not the best night to guzzle alcohol.

That’s not to say it was bad, it was a very fun night. But the alcohol goddess was vengeful that night and I was all too easy seduced by her siren call. The frustrating part is that I obeyed the rules! I had a decent-sized dinner and I stuck to only one type of drink.

But like Diana says, Soju fucks you up. We were at our favorite Korean restaurant at a table of about 20. As per our tradition, we kept ordering these small teapots filled with “Soghurt” which is really just soju mixed with a peachy kind of yoghurt. Sounds disgusting but it goes down pretty sweet and you get a whiff of alcohol in the aftertaste. I spent the first half of the evening describing to the guy next to me how evil this drink is. You take the teapot and pour our shots so it’s a great social event and the first shot is always deceptively weak. You can take maybe four to seven shots and only start feeling a slight buzz.

After seven shots, I was in a good place and I was running my mouth to whoever would listen. And then the drinking games started and in short time, another seven shots were working their way down into my stomach.

Dinner ended and I was drunk enough to be tempted by the remaining alcohol in the teapots. I may have snuck in another two shots. Maybe. Sorry. Don’t tell my mother.

The gang wanted to kick on to a club. I had already planned to leave the group so I said my goodbyes and I took my drunk ass home. One of my favorite things about living in downtown Seattle is that I can do shit like this. I don’t like the anxiety associated with “am I ok to drive?” The walk back went surprisingly smooth, I was on auto-pilot so my subconscious navigated whilst my conscious brain focused on walking in a straight line and not looking like a too-easy target for a mugging. I have a feeling that it’s not possible to get mugged here and the biggest danger is the singing hobo that shakes a Starbucks cup full of change.

Home now and the room was spinning. Everything was spinning. I knew one place that wouldn’t spin though. For whatever reason, the bathroom floor is a very stable place. It’s not the most comfortable place but it represents stability to me. Cold hard tiles paired with porcelain things that you embrace like an old friend. My body set to work reversing the poisoning process I put myself through.

“I was invited to a game night. You know, a night where we’d be playing board games or card games and I thought it sounded kind of lame and geeky but I decided to go anyway because I didn’t have anything else on.”

My friends did not understand why I expressed such hesitation. “I’ve always found game nights to be really fun.” “Yeah, me too.”

“Oh, there was no alcohol,” I told them and their faces fell silent in exactly the same way mine had done. My first thoughts of an alcohol-free gathering of twentysomethings were of a church group. Surely, only the fear of God could wring the alcohol away from these children, it’s not so much a choice amongst our age group as it is a natural instinct.

I drink, therefore I am.

Turns out… not true! Here were twelve sober, young people crammed around a table playing Uno. We did not even engage in the debauchery of hip-hop music; there was no music at all. Just our loud voices and laughter. We played Uno, some crappy card game called Apples to Apples and two rounds of Mafia. In the second round, I was awarded the non-standard role of Prostitute and this elicited copious amounts of giggles from the peanut gallery but I held my head high. The world’s oldest profession is not an easy one but let me tell you I carried it out with my dignity intact, sir. Which is more than I can say for your 9-to-5 spent chained to a desk.

This night did make me question my motives for drinking though.

P.S. I hate anyone that uses the term “social lubricant”. The world of socializing is much more closely associated with sex than it is with, say, the internal combustion engine and the term “lubricant” does not accurately convey the intended meaning of the phrase. I will, however, accept the Newspeak abbreviation, “SocLube”.

In a recent post, Women can be so tactless, Dave describes a female friend with such kind words as “magnificent”, “aristocratic”, “positive”, “beautiful” and “uplifting”. In one paragraph. I don’t mean to sound harsh but he’s just jerking off with a thesaurus. He talks about how she’s been on a string of bad dates; had the absence of common sense to sleep with the lot of them; and meanwhile he’s getting nothing from her. He’s “doomed to receive a ‘sweet’ kiss on the cheek at the evening’s end.”

This gets me angry. It reminds me of my own failings and nothing gets me angrier than having to confront my own shortcomings embodied in another person. All the self-loathing subconsciously transforms into regular loathing. It’s like when some smokers quit and they don’t become non-smokers, they become anti-smokers.

Let me preface this by saying I’m not trying to beat up on the author. These are my own issues that his writing has captured so well and it’s succeeded in drawing out a response from me. I, too, used to look up long adjectives to describe my crushes. In fact, I still do when I’m feeling particularly verbose. I’ve had terrible situations of falling head-over-heels for friends and they were none the wiser or willfully ignorant. These situations ended in disasters comparable to the hot girl sleeping with all the guys that she doesn’t fancy.

I wrote in the comments:

If it were me, I’d give her a stark and hopefully refreshing honesty. A woman that smart and perceptive understands, on some level, every bloke would love to see her naked.

It’s ok to admit that. If she says or wears something that turns you on then go ahead and tell her. It definitely won’t get you the girl but by doing this I learnt that it’s ok to be a man and to have desires and to be honest to them rather than be the creepy sexually frustrated chump that gets off on listening to his friend’s escapades.

I was honest, and I somehow dispelled this pedestal that I put my female friend on. Instead, I found a much stronger and more open friendship and I’m less afraid to let any girl know I’m interested. I still find her attractive, sure, but now this freeing honesty and mutual respect between us is worth far more than any old roll in the hay.

I absolutely mean that and I’ve been trying to apply it more and more. In the last few years of my life, I’ve told girls if I see an attractive quality in them. It’s called a “compliment”. I don’t wrap it up in weaselly “politeness” as would be expected of an Elizabethan-era gentleman caller, there is no need for fancy words. Tell them they are hot or they have a great laugh, a nice smile, legs that go all the way up to Canada, etc. By not telling them you find them attractive, you’re bottling your attraction just like you’d bottle rage or fear or Johnny Walker. Any psychologist will tell you that these are not things you should keep bottled up.

Platonic friendships between men and women have only gained traction in recent history. We still haven’t worked out a widely accepted model for them. Watch any Hollywood movie and if you see a man and a woman you still automatically assume they will hook up unless they fall into certain stereotypes that would define them as un-dateable (gay, married, fat, ugly, old, etc.). The thing is that the majority of your female friends will be totally dateable and Hollywood offers no advice for that. Maybe books have the answer but nobody knows where the lie-berry is. The internet certainly doesn’t have the answer, it only has a huge network of “seduction” salesmen that will try to transform you into something you’re not.

Add to this that we’ve become a society infested with over-mothered boys. We all grew up respecting women but it’s a twisted kind of respect that one would give a nanny, an authority figure or perhaps a cobra. It’s not the respect of equals. We’ve grown up hating our own sex and restricting ourselves only to the psuedo-lesbian pornography aimed at mama’s boys because God forbid we see a man enjoying sex. This man-centric “lesbian porn” they sell probably hints a lot of problems with the attitudes of men.

Ok… I get manifesto-y in that last paragraph but I think the point still stands. Be honest and upfront, enjoy their company by actually being a friend instead of a Cold War spy trying to get into their pants because, like I said, platonic relationship between men and women are still new to this world. There’s a lot we could learn.

Friday I met with friends and we dropped into Umi Sake House. The food was fantastic and they really take a lot of pride in their sushi. We had this shrimp (née prawn) sashimi as an appetizer and I can tell you it was amazing and not unlike slow-kissing a mermaid: smooth, velvety and supple with a distinctive ocean flavor. Not only that but you can ask for the heads and they’ll batter and deep fry them; it’s the perfect way to take the edge off the very robust flavor of prawn heads.

I ordered a too-big bottle of sake but luckily we ran into two guys that were happy to help us finish it off. I think I can now safely say that I can’t enjoy sake unless it’s accompanied by lots of sweet snacks and preferably around a kitchen table in suburban Japan. People are right when they say rice wine is accompanied by unusually light hangovers though.

As an aside, I regularly get hangovers now. I’m no longer 18 and bouncing back in the mornings. It’s a painful ritual of drinking water, nursing my stomach and “sweating it off” with some light exercise. I guess I’m not invincible anymore.

Saturday is probably a night I’ll remember for a long time; a post-Christmas event at The Baltic Room meant forking over a $35 cover charge and then helping myself to the open bar. Open. Bar.

In all my years, I have never dealt with an open bar before and in my infinite wisdom, I drank myself a new asshole. Mix in the fact that I hadn’t eaten since 4pm and every drink was accompanied by a dangerous amount of Red Bull, and I was well on my way down a path of self-destruction. I did split a cab with some very nice strangers and they invited me to brunch the next day.

When I got home after all that drinking, everything finally caught up to me. It’s funny but whilst gripped with nausea and rediscovering religion, all I could think of was a recent post from Molly:

Low: Waking up at 1 a.m. with just enough time to run to the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach every hour, on the hour until 4 a.m. At one point (sorry, this is gross) I was sitting on the toilet with the garbage can on my lap, not knowing where it was going to come out of and shaking from the nausea.

Mind you, I didn’t sit on my toilet with a garbage can but thank god no one was there to see me. I was all ready to be a melodramatic sympathy-whore: crying out for my mummy, asking for the sweet release of death and wondering if anyone has ever surgically removed their own stomach. Irony is that just earlier that night I was on the phone with my mother telling her I was only going to have one or two drinks tonight.

So today was probably the biggest hangover I’ve ever had. A hangover that should have been saved for January 1st. I managed to nurse myself back to a functional human being, attend brunch (which turned out to be an annual gift exchange thing that this group of friends do) and even meet a friend for dinner. Over pizza, I explained to him all the different components of my hangover and wondering why I still feel like shit when it dawned on me that I hadn’t slept at all. Getting home at 2, being very sick and finally getting out of bed at 8 didn’t leave much time for shut-eye. My body and I have communication issues.

All in all, a very great, social weekend. I’m going to keep New Year’s Eve to a dull roar and not touch more than a drop of alcohol. Perhaps just one glass of birthday champagne (thanks Diana!). For those that are worried, I’m feeling much better now. I’ve learned an important lesson about my limits and I lived to tell the tale so there is no need to worry about me.

Here’s to all of you: have a happy new year and enjoy the last hours of 2007. This has really been the year that I found myself.

I went paintballing for the first time ever on Saturday morning. I had to wake up at 6-ish, catch a bus at 7-ish to meet a friend at 8-ish. Then he drove us to the paintball field and we arrived about 20 minutes late. Which is pretty good considering that we’re both lazy programmers that typically start work after 10am.

It was cold. Weather forecast said it was a low of 32 F (that’s the freezing point of water) so I could feel the cold through my three layers. It warmed up during the afternoon but I did not shed any layers.

Anyway, the important thing everyone wants to know: No, paintballs don’t really hurt. The rule at this field was that guns had to fire less than 300 feet per second. One girl did get hit in the neck and she was quite shaken but there didn’t seem to be much of a mark. I was only ever hit in the torso and legs at a distance and there was definitely pressure but it was fleeting, like being pinched.

I suck at paintballing but I can see myself getting better if I invested the time and money. I say money because there were some people there who were in full camo (seriously), they had a pod pack (utility belt full of pockets to store pods full of extra paintballs) and guns that would get you interrogated for hours if you ever took them to the airport or a New York City subway.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t score a single kill that day. I did get better with moving between cover and watching my back but I could not get used to how useless these guns were at a distance. Paintballs are slow and they arc as if you were throwing rocks.

I recommend: go with at least 3 or 4 friends, bring a change of clothes, pack a lunch, bring lots of paper towels and make sure people they’re going to get muddy.

Highlights: I threw myself prone and grunted like a big macho guy. My friend got shot in the mouth on the first round. I almost stomped on a teammate because he was wearing camo and I didn’t see him until the last second. Some guy pleaded for me not to shoot him, I was weirded out by this and his teammate tagged me before I could figure out why this guy was being such a pussy. I ruined my (old but formerly presentable) jeans. I caught the bus home wearing mud and fluorescent paint.