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Diary 4/2/11: David Foster Wallace

6 Mar

I got the new David Foster Wallace. It doesn’t come out for a few weeks, so, I got it early. Because I am the type of person who can call swanky book agents and request early copies of high profile books because I can pretend I am interested in making it into a movie. So now I am taking this book everywhere. Hoping someone will notice. Hoping someone who is a) attractive, b) a woman, and c) between the ages of 18 and 33, will know a) who David Foster Wallace is, b) despite the fact that he is dead, he has a new book coming out, and c) that this book does not come out for two more weeks and therefore this man who is carrying it must be interesting and important.

This has never worked in the past. Particularly not with my galley of THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING that I conspicuously left on my end table for months before it was published, taking care to write the name of the book in sharpie on the unmarked ICM covers. Even though everyone says they love Joan Didion.

I think, for this to work, it would have to be something by David Sedaris. All girls say they love David Sedaris. In fact, every single girl in the entire internet dating universe lists their favorite book as “anything by David Sedaris.” So now I will have to find out when David Sedaris has a new book coming out, procure a copy from his agent for film and television rights consideration, and walk around town with whatever side says (book you’ve never heard of by David Sedaris,even though you love David Sedaris and know about everything he’s ever written) facing out, and then make quick eye contact with whatever attractive woman happens by and squints briefly in puzzlement at the cover. Which sucks, because Sedaris just had a new one, that one about animals, and he only comes out with a book like every three years.

Protected: Reader Mailbag: How to Suck a Dick

5 Mar

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Douches

4 Mar

I told a couple people to come to a pool party I’m going to at some Hollywood club. They said no, it would be “douchey.”

This is accurate, but what people need to understand is that douches fuck. Douches dress like douches because there are girls that like to fuck douches, and girls who hang out with douches like to fuck. They don’t like to read David Foster Wallace and discuss vegan restaurants; they like to fuck.
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Protected: But I Can’t Get Laid

3 Mar

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Diary: I Need to Get Laid

2 Mar

I could have fucked her.  If I had played my cards right.  If I had gone for the makeout earlier.  I got her back to my house.  I got her shirt off, anyway, although she kept buttoning her pants back up.  But when I was kind of kissing around her hipbones, she was getting really hot.  So, I should have played it better.  I should have gotten those pants off.  I could have done it.  I could have gotten her hot enough to get her pants off, and then I would have fucked her.  And I would be just as hung over, just as sleep-deprived, just as tired, but I would have gotten laid.

Because now I need to get laid.  Getting laid by a new woman is like methadone and my maintenance dose is running out.  Last new girl I fucked was the end of January.  So that’s how long it lasts.  About a month.  About a month between fucking a new chick and feeling again like I’m completely undesirable. Continue reading →

Protected: Game Part 1

1 Mar

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The Power of Prayer Part 2

29 Feb

Seriously: do not read this if it’s about you.

A little background.  Remember the future wife?  I prayed to God that I meet my future wife at the Short Stop; that night a hot chick talked to me.  I  went out with her, and a) I wasn’t that into her and b) I kind of blew it.

More background:  last week I went out with a girl off OkCupid.  She was kind of (REDACTED), but a) really, really, really beautiful and b) turned out to be literally my next door neighbor.  Like, she told me a bunch of stories about my cat.  I (REDACTED), but God damn she was fucking gorgeous.  One of those girls— like, beauty is just the absence of ugly.  It’s impossible to describe a beautiful woman’s face.  For a guy, you can say “strong jaw,” “high cheekbones,” etc. etc., or “chiseled” features, but for a girl, it’s basically— all beautiful women have the face of a six year old white child. And she does.  And I took her home; it got physical. We didn’t fuck but (REDACTED). But it was a win. I texted her the next day and said come over Friday and have some chicken.

Nothing back.  Nothing for days.  You start thinking– oh shit, did I blow it? Did I have no game, and should have waited, etc.  Well, fuck that.  Fuck “game.”  If you even have to think about game you have already lost.  I text girls when I want to see them.  Or when I think of a funny text.  I call them when I feel like talking to them.  Which is rarely.  The second you start communicating with a script and an agenda you are completely fucked; you are trapped in this counterintuitive, mercenary process, undermining yourself at every turn.
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It’s Never

26 Feb

going to work. You want Edward Cullen to teach you how to tame a magnificent but previously abused horse. I want you watching Mexican soaps in the lobby of Planned Parenthood with a sense of dread.

Protected: Reader Mailbag: Professional Dominatrices

25 Feb

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Dear Nicole: The Future Wife

23 Feb

Here’s what happened.  As you know, Nicole, I despair of ever finding a mate and hate & resent that you have a live-in boyfriend.  In fact I hate and resent anyone who can find a relationship.

Anyway, I was driving home Thursday night and despairing about this.  I actually resorted to prayer.  I said, please, God, let me meet my future wife.  And I had this kind of premonition that said: if you go to the Short Stop tonight, she will be there.

Normally I would dismiss this sort of thing, but it felt different, and realer than my other crazy thoughts.  Also, last time I actually prayed, it was “please, God, just let something good happen to me tonight,” and I went to the Short Stop, and a hot girl was actually there, alone, and I took her home and boned her.  So God has come through for me at the Short Stop before, seriously.

So I went.  I was tired, and had shit to do, but I went, just in case God was sending my future wife there.  The idea was that if I sat down and had two drinks, I would meet her.  So as soon as I walk in I start scouting out the talent.  Fat Mexican chicks, ugly girls— one cute girl but clearly a Lesbian…. nothing.  But as I’m ordering my second drink I see a really cute but just flawed enough that I might actually have a shot type chick, with a dude who is way better looking than me.  I assume this is her boyfriend.  But just as I’m getting down to the LAST SIP of my second drink this girl comes up and stands next to me, and asks me what I’m looking at on my blackberry. She needs to stay by the bar to give the dude, her roommate, space to hit on a chick.

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