Always Remember Where You Parked

**This is a Story I revised from an old blog**

“I can trust you right?” the voice said on my phone. It had such a calming tone as if the person on the other end already knew the answer. I could tell it was just a knee jerk reaction. Ol’ boy and I had never officially met in real life yet, but we had messaged back and forth on a forum we both write on. He was a vet and I was just a young grasshopper in training.

“Yea man, I got you.” I said in a chill voice.

“Okay, I’ll hit you up where we are heading in a bit,” He answered back.

I hung up. My mood was already high from hitting on group of girls at H&M earlier. The main chick had a blonde daddies little girl attitude, that screamed for me to playfully put her in her place. She was standing at the checkout line having a serious internal crisis about whether to buy a necklace.

“I’m really hoping you take one more step, because I am totally taking your spot in line.” I said with a coy smirk. My eyes locked with hers. She froze a bit, and had a confused look about her as if to register that this total stranger has read her body language. From there it was classic back and forth teasing. During pauses, I would stare at her ass determining if it was more onion or apple shaped. I never reached a definite verdict, but leaned towards apple.


My boy hit me back and I hopped in my 2016 Navigator rental to meet him. Never mind the fact that I’m late returning it and have Jerry from Alamo leaving me stern voicemails. Ol’ boy called with an SOS flag needing a wing man to run interference, don’t be an ass Jerry. Plus, he dropped the line that she was from France. Never met a French chick before, but I’ve also never met a normal person from the internet before. Hopefully this will be a first.

The spot was popping off as I pulled in. The street was all blocked off due to the debauchery. I parked at a random garage and proceeded to get lost multiple times on my way to the bar, typical occurrence for a new Floridian. No worries though, I’ll just ask the nice citizens of South Florida for directions. “Excuse me miss do you know whe-”


Got to love the hospitality around these parts.

Finally, I find the place and meet up with my internet friend. He’s right up my alley, chill guy, and has a vision for his future, which is one of the things that brought us together.

He introduces me to his friends and without hesitation drops a hint of information about how this French girl looks more like Crystal from the blueberry farm. No curve-ball my way, saw that one coming. But I’m here for the fun of the night.

And like a scene from a bad horror movie she walks in. 7 feet tall, short hair, and broad shoulders. My money is on her if she challenged Shaq to a 1-1 game. But being the polite guy I am, I introduce myself to her and shake hands.

“Jesus Fuck!” I say out loud. Her meaty calloused hands are twice the size of mine. One hand job and my dick will become dust! No bueno!

We plow through the rest of the night. I’m having a blast chilling with my new homie, flirting with some women, and he is all over his girl. Everyone parts ways and I’m left with Frenchy. We chit-chat about why she’s in the states. She won a scholarship and is living out a dream to study here. As a poor educated man myself, I can respect that.

Eventually, I say my goodbyes and roll outside. I get the street corner and realize I have no idea where I parked. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to this city. All the parking garages look the fucking same. While, I’m trying to retrace my steps in my buzzed head, there is a tap on my shoulder.

I turn.

”Could I get a ride from you?” said Frenchy with eyes that said she wanted more than a ride. You gots to be kidding me.

I immediately forgot about where my car was. I had a serious dilemma. I’m on a cold streak, should I fuck this monstrosity of a women or not? The pros and cons get weighed out very quickly.

Pro: I’m drunk, horny, and will break my cold streak

Con: There is a good possibility that she does kegels as a part of her workout and her washboard pussy will snap my dick off.

Pro: That could be a funny story to write about later.

Fuck it, pros win.

I grab her waist and pull her close. We begin walking. “The car is this way.” I said in an assuring tone. To kill some time I began teasing her about how french girls don’t shave their armpits. This goes on for a bit and she eats it up.

I’m like a magician doing misdirection. I’m flirting on the outside, but scanning around the street on the inside.

Remember Dammit! Where the fuck did you park!

After walking down different blocks in circles, 30 minutes later I start to get the sense she knows somethings up. Time to kick it up a notch.

“Oh there is the 7-11,” I say.

My old roommate taught me that trick. I throw in another for good measure.

“Here I thought we where on 4th street, ohhhhh. Sorry I’m an idiot sometimes.”

Nailed it! This works for another half hour.

Unfortunately I still can’t find the damn parking garage!

The jig is up and it’s painted all over my body language. She senses it. Nothing I can do at this point. I know what’s coming.

“You don’t know where you parked, do you?”

No hesitation, “Yea, I have no idea.”

She takes a step back and let’s go of my hand. She pulls out her phone.

“I’m going to Uber home. But it was nice to meet you.”

And just like that, the factory closes down for business.

Tinder Date #137: A Review


Today at noon, I received a message from her about an argument we had the night before. It said something about the Mexican refugee camps and how the kids born in this country aren’t citizens. It was one of the first conversations we had and I wanted to leave right then.

It wasn’t about what she was saying. Truth of the matter is, I could give a flying fuck in the night about her stance on political issues. But it was something about how she was saying these statements. Each one was connected to another idea with no supporting structure, like a tangled mess of cords in the bottom of your suitcase. I snacked on kung pow chicken as I listened further.

“Look people don’t believe me, but I know. I’ve lived in 14 countries and can speak several different languages. I use to live with a rich Jewish family that had connections. Like they told me Obama was going to be president back in the 90’s. Like I knew then!”

I took a sip of my Moscow Mule. This girl fully believed every syllable she was saying. It reminded me of a group of 70’s year olds sipping coffee at 6 am in a Greek Restaurant and talking about the Illuminati.

“I believe you. I’ve heard some of these conspiracy theories before.


I smiled and ordered another drink.

Things actually calmed down after that and we started talking about cities in Michigan. Then moving out of mitten.

She mentioned that she always had to keep moving to the next thing. It’s why she traveled so much. It’s why she had these crazy lifestyle stories. Like living on the streets in London, or stealing a passport from an Irish drug kingpin and leaving it in a taxi.

After she told me that, I knew exactly who she was. I think that is the reason why I wanted to leave. A lot of people I’ve met who travel have this calmness to them that’s hard to put into words. I like to think it’s the things they’ve experienced coming through their actions. But I think it only happens when you reflect and compare which is hard to do when you’re chasing the next thing.

Her stories were like a season of Weeds or Orange is the New Black (Yes I know, same writer). Lots of self induced shit, piled on with more self induced shit. I mean the reason she’s in Chicago in the first place is because she is traveling back home to Michigan and decided to not get on the last bus. All I kept thinking about is what is this girl running from? Do I really want to find out and get tangled in all that?

I sure as fuck didn’t but I’m always game for an adventure and a good story. So I stuck around.


Later today, at 5:00pm a few more messages came in from her. All this is really strange considering she still has my number. It’s never good when someone jumps back a level of communication.

They read:

“What’s it like being gay and dating women? Like I’m just curious?”


She was cute. Definitely one of the better looking girls I’ve met off Tinder. She was throwing the cat at me all night. But I wasn’t interested and ended up going home alone. My mind kept running with the last handful of shitty one night stands where I felt like an ass hat.

Hank Moody would say “A morning of awkwardness is better than a night of loneliness.” That fucker doesn’t know what he is talking about. There are worst things than being alone, but it often takes a while to figure that out. I’d rather be alone than with someone I can’t seem to find anything beautiful about. It feels too much like settling.

I had my first one night stand when I was 18. I was at my buddy house and I didn’t catch her name. It was like a badge of honor. Friends cheered me on. But 10 years later, things are different. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me and most of the one night stands go one of two ways.

Sometimes they’re like a cherry on top of a gorgeous night where two people meet randomly, click on different levels, and have an adventure around the city. Those ones stick with me forever.

But the ones I have off this app are closer to the other kind. Their all business, like the red light district in Amsterdam. Two humans borrowing each other to masturbate with because they have this emotional urge inside of them. I use to be okay with that, but lately it’s been feeling less like free will.

Dating use to be fun, why does it suck now?


In summary,

Don’t use the phrase “Conspiracy Theories” ever.

Cute girls aren’t use to getting rejected by their personalities.

Always follow the golden rule: “Never bump uglies with crazy” even if that means you get called gay.

Tinder sucks.

And I feel like an alien for preferring some type of deep connection with a few people as apposed to just skimming the surface with hundreds of people.

2 out of 10, would not date again.

Well Shit….

You spend the first 5 years feeling shit around you

While the next 5, you spend getting told about all the cool shit out there.

So you spend the next 10 years daydreaming about all the shit you want.

Then you spend the next 10 years figuring out how to get the shit you want

Which makes you spend the next 10 years upset that the shit didn’t make you happy

That forces you to spend the next 10 years even more upset because now the shit you’re made up of, stops working.

So you spend the next 10 years taking care of some of the shit and giving the rest of your shit away.

Then finally, you spend the last of your days upset about the shit you didn’t do.


However if you’re smart,

and very wise,

you’ll figure out there is nothing better,

than just appreciating the beauty

in all the shit around you,

simply the way it is.

And accepting that all this other shit you’ve been told,

is simply




The Hard Part

Everything is in front of you.

It always has been.

Getting promoted

Getting 100k followers on Instagram

The satisfaction of seeing your son’s first A on a Math test

Being a better Christian

Being a Better Atheist

Meeting that girl across the crowed bar

Meeting the guy reading on the train

Owning a Ferrari

Getting a book published

Traveling to Europe

Making new friends

Getting promoted

Starting your business

Being featured on Kayne West’s new album

losing 50lbs

Being more productive

Becoming a vegan


All this and more, is real

Regardless of what anyone tells you.

They are real

and obtainable as a gallon of milk.

It’s Easy,

But you got to break the goals down into bite sized pieces

And attack them



That’s the hard part.

Book Review: Bright Lights, Big City – Jay McInerney

I ran through this book in an entire sitting where I couldn’t sleep because I’m a dip shit who won’t buy A/C. Fuck You, I live in a city where winter last 9  months out of the year. I figured the odds were in my favor.

I started with page 1 and almost gave up aster the first paragraph. It’s all in 2nd person.  It’s not that I’m against 2nd person but it sometimes feel too much like someone yelling at me. It’s like writing in all commands all the time. I mean who the fuck am I, some one first year Army Recruit? I can think for myself.

No. I’m a reader. I’m not going to do all the things that the Michael does. Then again, he talks to a punk rock girl with a shaved head at a club when it’s 6:00am. That sounds like me.

You clever fuck you, Jay.

So I kept going. Screw it, it’s 6am , 90 degrees and only going to get hotter.

A hundred pages in I WAS HOOKED!

This man is compensating. The boose, the women, the parties, the coke. We all know it. It’s like a six sense that comes out as you turn the page. I don’t acknowledge it. You don’t acknowledge it. But it’s there and it bothers us.

When he realizes a he loves the girl that he always forgets to buy shit for and she tells him to fuck off, I realized I was this man. My friend Jen will call me tomorrow. She gorgeous, has depth, but unless I’m in a super self loathing mood, I probably won’t give a shit.

The majority of the book is centered around this idea of him and his exe wife Amanda. He remembers all these vivid emotional gems throughout the story. But towards the end he realizes he never really knew Amanda at all. It’s a simple story you can hear in line at Starbucks, but Jay paces it quite masterfully. I found myself realizing it just as Micheal did. Well done.

I won’t give away the ending, but it’s where you lost me Jay. I’ve had my fair share of break ups. Sometimes they end before they begin, but very seldom does anyone just “win” in a big way like that. Sure is the main character living in his own world, you bet your ass he his. Does this lead to everything changing, and him not recognizing it? Damn right. But all that kinda sounds like his fault, not hers.

Things seem to work out a little too perfect for Michael. Plus he gets a little needy to Tad’s sister. Why call her at the end, when it’s in the early am during the week and say a bunch of shit that doesn’t matter because you’re hopped up on Coke? We learned in a previous chapter y’all hit it off. A little bit over kill for me.

Overall, I loved this fucking book.

9 out of 10

My Dad is a Passive Aggressive Asshole

No story.

Just a title,

or rather a statement.

About my loving father

Who has to always leave these bread crumbs

instead of being honest.

It drives me fucking crazy.


So, I’ll walk to the coffee shop to get my mind off it.

“What are you having?”

“Iced Coffee”

“In a light roast or dark roast?”

“I don’t really care either way”

I lied, I hate dark roast.

I drank two sips and threw it away.

God I love my parents.