Sam Malone

Someone once told me that a true judge of character is how someone reacts after they’ve made a mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes lately. More in the last two months than in the entire last two years. The realization I’ve come to is that I’m absolutely no good for anyone, but that I’m unquestionably great for someone. In a time such as this, I like to turn to my good friend Sam Malone for some advice. I mean, making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot… Sam is undoubtedly one of the best womanizing characters in television history. It has nothing to do with the quantity of women he’s had relations with but it’s the fact that everyone still loves him afterward. That’s what elevates Sam into legendary status, he possess a certain charm which we all wish we had a piece of. Here’s the thing with Sam. Sam Malone will forever be Sam Malone. You know that going in. He’s self centered, self reliant, self serving, charming, fun, youthful, passionate, witty, romantic and 100% non committal. He’s not a tough man to figure out, yet he’s irresistible. Here’s where things go wrong. For some reason the next woman in line thinks she’ll be different then the last. She thinks she’ll be the one to change him, instead of simply enjoying the time she has with him. Once things end, which they always do, the woman is in a fit of rage. Not really over Sam, but because deep down she’s angry with herself. She feels foolish. She knew Sam was never going to change but somehow she lead herself to believe that he would- for her. By Sam teaching me this little life lesson, I don’t feel nearly as bad for my recent activities. I can’t control what other people think, how they interpret things, and the expectations they build. The problem is that once you start your way down the slippery slope of involvement, socially certain expectations are inherently placed upon you. Knowing this, I was always upfront and honest about my intentions in one way or another. I come stamped with an invisible “will not commit” tag, though we’ve been trained to believe that actions speak louder than words. So who’s at fault here? The both of you. You both wanted different things out of the encounter, you both knew that, but you both went along with it anyway. Diane had to go and screw everything up though. Oh sweet, sweet Diane… Diane is the x factor that both parties hold on to. Sam deep down hopes that every girl he messes around with will be of Diane quality and secretly every girl wants to be “Diane” to Sam. While Sam is absolutely no good for anyone, he’s unquestionably great for Diane. According to Cheers, it’s just a matter of time before she stumbles into my life… Love me for who I am and leave me for who I’ll never be.

The Forbidden Zone

I like to reside in my imagination most of the day. To the causal observer I must seem alert, coherent and productive because I haven’t gotten into much trouble over it. However, as I’m going through the daily motions a fantastic screenplay is flickering in my mind. For example, I spill a carton of orange juice and think to myself “what would Peter Griffin do?” I chuckle as I search for paper towels. Peter would probably blame it on Captain Jean Luc Picard at which point the entire crew of the USS Enterprise would walk into the kitchen where there’d be a long awkward silence. Peter in a condescending tone would ask Jean Luc if he is going to clean up the sticky orange mess.

“Why would I clean it up? You spilt it…” Jean Luc appallingly responds.

Peter with his half shut glaring eyes replies with a quick “No, I didn’t”.

Jean Luc angered and shocked follows with a “Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t” Peter says before Jean Luc can even finish speaking.

Picard become riled and starts using hand gestures as he goes right back with another “Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t” Peter cuts him short again. This continues for far too long, just as all Family Guy side antics do.

Finally LaVar Burton walks over to the sink and picks up a rag. He dampens the cloth while scowling at Picard and Peter. LaVar, never taking his eyes off the two of them walks over to the mess and wipes it up. Peter and Jean Luc don’t say a word as LaVar walks back to the sink where he rinses out the rag and returns to where he was standing. Peter and Jean Luc then stare at one another where Peter blurts out “I always knew he was gay…”

By this point my juice mess has been fully cleaned up and my dream world took me away from the reality of consciously doing it. I smile to myself and wonder if that’s how the rest of world gets through their day.

It wasn’t until a baseball bat to the chest awoke me from my amusing alternate reality that I became fully aware of how much I relied on it. While the details still haven’t been worked out, being blindsided by matters of the heart is always quite sobering. With my imagination all dried up and reality being too real to deal with, I decided to do my best Slash impersonation and finished off a bottle of Old Grand-Dad’s. The tall glass of nitroglycerin and ice warmed me more than any Campbell’s Soup commercial until my shortness in breath and anger induced adrenaline burst melted into a smirk.

I had entered The Forbidden Zone where the current actions of a so called friend, or even worse a potential love interest, were as foreign to me as a planet ruled by damn dirty apes. Maybe it was the unfair expectations I had of her. We were by no means “together” but by having known her well before I started growing armpit hair I assumed a deep level of honesty and communication. Maybe it’s because I had placed her on pedestal. I’ve never seen her do wrong, therefore I thought she was incapable of it. By this time the ice in my drink had completely melted away and I chuckled at the symbolism. Who needs ice anyway? The glass was filled once again and heartache was my only mixer.

The next afternoon I woke up feeling like I had been given the I Am Legend vaccine but couldn’t get one of Dr. Zaius’ quotes about man out of my head: “From the evidence, I believe his wisdom must walk hand and hand with his idiocy. His emotions must rule his brain. He must be a warlike creature who gives battle to everything around him, even himself.”

Leave it to a talking ape to teach me a little bit about myself. As much as I wanted to blame her for everything I was feeling, hangover included, I knew it was my own fault. My continual battle with the relationship reality of my past, present and future- not to mention the expectations of living up to my inner George Taylor- has created a wasteland far greater then that of The Forbidden Zone.

"The Forbidden Zone was once a paradise. Your breed made a desert of it, ages ago." Sounds like Dr. Zaius dealt with his fair share of lady monkeys too...

The Blunder Years

Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV? Casual drives over the Golden Gate Bridge and neon windbreakers to protect from that brisk Bay Area sea breeze? Back when times were simpler and the world had three fathers- and by no means am I referring to the holy trinity. I’m talking Danny, Jesse and Joey. All were miserable failures with personality dysfunctions but somehow were able to pull themselves together to raise America’s favorite girls. What this country’s fascination is with “three men and a baby” is beyond me.

Aside from the horrible acting and after school special “the moral of the story is” writing style, Full House was mashed potatoes and gravy to a generation. When the theme song kicked on, you felt good. Because, “everywhere you look there’s a heart and a hand to hold on to.” I always acted as if I was bored while I watched the show though, even at an early age I was aware that it wasn’t socially acceptable for a dude to like chick flicks. And that’s what Full House was, a weekly soap opera for young girls.

I watched habitually though, especially once Rebecca became a regular. I’m not afraid to say it, Lori Loughlin was hot. She still is. In 1989 I didn’t even really know what hot was, but whatever Rebecca was- I liked it. That was the beginning of my lifelong hatred for John Stamos. The guy makes me sick, he’s too fucking cool. His gelled up hair, scruffy metro shave (before the world even knew what metro was), black Italian boots, a rock n’ roll attitude but with a sensitive and understanding side… What a prick. Moreover, he was briefly married to a super model. Still, Romjin aside, the only Rebecca that really mattered to me was the one on Full House.

I remember sizing Stupid Ass Stamos up every episode. I’d sit there and scowl at the TV as I’d watch his performance. The majority of my Full House viewing must have been around the age of 10, so looking back that must have been quite the sight. Back then I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t clearly put my feelings into words but I certainly knew that Uncle Jesse was a pretentious asshole. The Elvis impersonations are eventually what did me in. One too many “Teddy Bears” made Rebecca’s love for Jesse unforgivable and I eventually had to move on. I learned early on that chasing after women that were attracted to Jesse’s was fruitless. I’d never be that guy.

I tried to seek out solace in DJ, but she just didn’t have what made me tick. Kimmy was way too easy, so I figured I’d give Steph a shot and maybe try someone my own age. I appreciated her wit and subtle vulnerability but the fact she shared a roof with Stamos was a deal breaker. I finally had to part ways with the San Francisco family and I found myself becoming best friends with Kevin Arnold. His lifestyle was much easier to swallow then three misfit dads living in the gay capitol of the world. He rode his bike, played football with Paul, thought way too deeply about the world around him, and had a crush on Winnie Cooper- the single greatest young female character up to that point in television history.

Kevin and I got a long great, primarily due to our strikingly similar inner monolog. Yes, that’s what it sounds like in my head all day. Winnie was off limits, however. I admired her from afar but the show taught me trust and loyalty, one of the lessons that always seemed laughable coming from Jesse’s mouth. Winnie was everything a 12 year old boy could ask for. She had her own set of wheels, enjoyed milk shakes, and was never afraid to make the first move. In the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t sound too bad to someone in the their mid twenties.

Kevin was my boy though, even through their on-again off-again late adolescence. We shared a comradely, an understanding of sorts. Kevin ultimately always did the right thing, learning life lessons along the way. I took notes and mentally never had an affair with his girl. That’s how it all went down until the final episode. That night I turned on my TV half depressed. I was anxious to see the big finale, but I felt like my childhood was ending just as Kevin’s was. The suspense ate me alive as I slurped from my juice box. The show ended by flashing forward to present day. Winnie got off a plane from studying art in Paris only to be greeted by Kevin, his wife and new son. Those fuckers. I dropped my fruit flavored beverage and let it seep deep into my favorite childhood blanket.

From that moment on it’s been nothing but Guns n’ Roses, cheap strippers, Wild Turkey, and an immense Winnie Cooper void I’ve been unable to fill. Rebecca’s are a time a dozen, just like the Jesse’s they date. But not Winnie Cooper. Only a Winnie can make you… melt.

You Know How I Know I'm Gay?

"Where do I fit in, where's my place here? What do I need to say, what do you want to hear?"

The last couple of months have been filled with rock stars, strippers, drugs, girls and way too much alcohol. Cool, right? Late nights and lots of confusing mornings… If being backstage has taught me anything it's that I am completely out of my element.

It's 6:30 pm as I'm wiping the drool off my face and fumbling around the nightstand for my glasses. I laughed and shook my head, instantly followed by a long swallow and a groan- I could feel my brain still sloshing in last night's bourbon. I submitted back to my pillow and continued to chuckle. "What the fuck am I doing…" I muttered as Cassidy hopped into bed, realizing I've finally come to. Her brown eyes told me everything I already knew, and I hated her for it.

I pulled her close and we hid from the cold under the blankets. Her warmth angered me, why hadn't she been here the entire time? The sun had already set and the outside world was muffled under newly fallen snow. She began to nibble my fingers as my other hand caressed her back. The painstaking silence was broken with Slash, who seemed to be turned up to 11, shred my ringtone.

"Jumpy, are we?" I said to Cassidy as I reached across her to answer the phone.

"What it do!?" I greeted the caller who had also been a cohort from the night before.

"Dude, you're the biggest pimp I know!" His voice was crackly but managed to show some amount of enthusiasm. "So, how'd go last night, playa?!"

Cassidy didn't take her eyes off me as I let out a long "goooood…"

"Shit, man. I'm so hungover. I've been puking all day." He sourly admitted.

"Yeah, I just woke up. Feeling a little fuzzy…" Cassidy had weaseled her way out of the covers and let out a whine, thinking I was finally getting up for the day.

"So what's the deal, man? Did you take that chick home? She was all over you at the bar!" He already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear it from me.

"Yeah… I'm a pussy though, I didn't do anything… I think I'm gay, haha!" I paused for several moments, giving the statement way too much thought. "Kept it old fashion, we just cuddled."

"Nice. Always leave them wanting more…" I could tell he was disappointed, not the story he was hoping for. "Well, whatever you're doing is working. Pussy or not, you've got more chicks then anyone I know!"

"Wha…?" I said, completely confused by his statement.

"Yeah, man. You've got a different girl every time we go out! How many numbers did you get last night?" He was being completely sincere which further confused me.

"They're just friends, man. It's not like anything ever happens." I quickly tried to repiece last night's debacle and reached into my pocket, still wearing my jeans. Sure enough, two cards. I tossed them on my desk. "I don't know, a couple I think. They just gave them to me..."

"See, that's what I'm talking about! Pimp." We both laughed.

We continued to banter back and forth until Cassidy grew impatient with our conversation. She kept nosing me, she must have had to piss as bad as I did. I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled to the back door, the air took both our breath away. She hesitated a few minutes before mustering enough courage to put her paws in the snow. "Sucks to be you!" I said as I shut the door behind her and headed to the bathroom.

The conversation lingered with me throughout the rest of the evening. I'm not a pimp. I'm anything but… He was right though, there have been a lot more girls sniffing around then usual. It's not like I've suddenly become hot, what am I doing different? I couldn't pin point one thing other then my lack of caring has somehow been confused as confidence. I honestly could careless about having sex, last night was proof of that. Maybe girls can pick up on that and they feel comfortable around me? Like, they don't have to "worry" about being hit on? Or maybe they see it as a challenge, that they will be the one to "break" me? I'm certain it's the first one, if anything at all, but I find it pretty odd.

It's not that I don't like sex, because I do. Any girlfriend I've ever had knows I have a healthy sex drive, maybe to the point of annoyance. That's just it though, any enjoyable sex I've ever had has been with someone who has meant something to me. The "random encounters" just can't live up. It's takes a certain comfort level before you can truly enjoy the moment. If that hasn't been achieved with someone, why force it simply to spill some fluids? After all, I can do that on my own...

The arrogance in this rant has made me sick as well, but bear with me. I am not Leon Phelps. I am the anti Phelps, which has apparently given me an edge. I am not ruled by the vag and in most cases I don't even think about it. In conventional warfare, most women don't know how to react to this. They're certainly not interested in my striking good looks or the car I drive. However, something needs to be said about a genuine conversation, eye contact, and a few smiles. I usually leave it at that and walk away. What a mind fuck. They're left standing there in disbelief.

There are thousands of reasons for why I walk away and almost every single time it has absolutely nothing to do with the person I was talking to. I've been able to talk myself out of feeling anything for someone for so long that I've lost all ability to take things to the next level. As sad as it is, my phobia of anything beyond casual conversation may have sabotaged potentially one of the greatest relationships of my life… But then again, maybe I'll surprise everyone and "sell my car and go to Vegas. 'Cause somebody told me, that's where dreams would be…"

My Cocaine

Recently I decided that I needed to take a sobering look at my life. In an effort to figure out why I've constructed an impenetrable barrier of genuine feeling, I cleared my mind and went exploring. I thought about my past and how every decision I've made in life has lead up to this exact moment of contemplation. I thought about the future and how completely selfish I am. The next several years seemed to have no consideration of family, friends, or the inkling of a significant woman. That disgusted me. My stomach went into knots and I realized I might be worse off then I thought. That's when my phone rang and Slash started shredding the solo to Paradise City as my ringtone. All the self-deprivating thoughts I was having prior to the ringer completely melted away as my mind was flooded with sights and sounds of Guns N' Roses. My imagination ran wild as the band rocked sold out arena shows and Slash pounded Jack from a brown bag while sitting on a dark Hollywood sidewalk. I didn't feel bad about myself anymore, I wasn't even thinking about myself anymore. The montage of Guns N' Roses continued until the room became silent, the phone stopped ringing. Suddenly the pit in my stomach didn't ache, the thought of being alone didn't scare me, and the realization of me being a selfish prick didn't bother me as much.

Fantasy is my cocaine. One little dose of alternate reality can make anything in this world good and it transcends into every portion of my life. Pop culture is my Dr. Feelgood who's constantly hooking me up with movies, television, books, blogs, videogames, and music to mentally take me away from my existence. Every aspect of my day is in an effort to leave behind the world I've created for myself, subconsciously or not.

The thought will be completed soon. Well, as soon as I stop daydreaming...

Declaration of Honesty

The façade of my vociferous "happily single" column onslaught can no longer be kept up. That really bums me out. It has nothing to do with putting my foot in my mouth or the painstaking conversations that will ensue once a certain few get their hands on this confession. No, the lies can no longer continue because an amazing woman has crept under my skin. "Under my skin" is such a disgusting and horribly visual phrase. Like a splinter starting to fester, turning red as it swells. That exactly is how it figuratively feels. That's right, I just said exactly and figuratively in the same breath.

"You know what I mean though" as I scratch my head and start to back-paddle. I had just finished explaining to one of my many "relationship experts" how I've finally found someone who has everything I want in a girl but that I just don't want it right now.

She looks at me like a disappointed mother, "what's wrong with you?" Her eyes were piercing and the question was so simple and direct.

I took a deep breath, my mind raced with thousands of brush-off answers until 'fuck it' popped into my head. I stalled for several more moments, looked her right in the eye and said, "I'm scared…"

"Sean, I've never taken you for a liar but that's one of most honest things you've ever told me…" The disappointment disappearing from her face was followed by intrigue that my pea-sized heart might actually be beating. "This girl is good for you," she continued.

"Yeah, as good as a hole in the head." I've always had a way with ruining moments.

The fear of the past, while still ever present in my mind is greatly overshadowed by my fear of the future. Things are good. Yesterday was good, today wasn't bad and I'm sure tomorrow will be fine. I love that. Life is stable, controllable and running fairly smoothly. Allowing someone to become close to me could seriously screw that up. I mean, for all intensive purposes, life has taught me that things will eventually become messed up. I'm not necessarily saying that the girl who gives me the warm-fuzzies will be the one who fucks it up. I'm pretty sure I can handle that on my own. That scares me the most- I don't want hurt her. Not now, not ever.

I try to look at things as objectively as possible and I realize how pessimistic that sounds. What else do I have to go off of though? The formula I've concocted to achieve life's goals over the next several years is an extremely selfish one. There's never been a thought of someone else in my plan and I'm struggling to figure out how to incorporate that.

"Woah, slow down, Sean." I keep telling myself. "You're not even with this girl and you're talking about 'life plans'." However, this is a declaration of honesty and it is something that honestly needs pondering. I'd hate to sabotage something before it begins. Scratch that, I refuse to sabotage something before it begins. If I'm going to allow this constant festering to grow into a full-fledged infection then I need to be prepared for the sickness. Too bad love isn't something that a dab of ointment and a few days rest can cure.

As it stands at the moment, I am certainly not "happily single". I am horribly confused, brain beaten, stomach twisted and trembling with excitement as I write this. Though a splinter is the perfect analogy for what I'm going through, it's a horrible representation of what she means to me. I'll work on that. Along with allowing my mind to wrap around the concept of someone becoming significant to me. And me, possibly, becoming significant to them…

Reminiscing With The Roadie

Reminiscing With The Roadie- Sammy Hagar

Ever been to Cabo Wabo? Haha, what a shit hole! I mean, the way everyone talks it up I expected to see Sammy in a top hat and cape serving drinks to Gerry Garcia and Mama Cass. No sir, it was more like Chris Carrabba in a speedo doing body shots with drunk college chicks. I did a 180 and got the fuck out of there. I'm not sure what kind of Mickey Mouse operation Hagar is running but that's no way to operate a respectable business. Shit, I can't imagine the liability on drunk college chicks. One of them gets knocked up by a local and suddenly she gets thrown in jail for smuggling illegals across the boarder. I don't know the facts or anything but I was talking to the boarder patrol while I was sitting in the integration room. They were ripping my car apart- said the dogs smelt something. I tell ya, that shit just won't leave the seats! I mean, I've been clean for at least three months now...

Reminiscing With The Roadie- Axl Rose

Did I ever tell you 'bout the time I met Axl Rose? Haha, that son of bitch is a few Mexicans short of a chalupa, if you know what I mean- weeohhh, complete wild man! He once had this chick up on the table dancin', she was shakin' her ass and everyone was hootin' and hollerin'- haha, never seen acid washed jeans so tight. All I could think of was Theo Huckstable, not many men have an ass like that. I'm not gay or anything, I just appreciate a good pair of jeans…

Reminiscing With The Roadie- Lita Ford

I banged Lita Ford. Yeah, it's true. Well, I mean, I had sex during one of her movies once. God she was a babe, that red hair and freckles. Never understood how she got involved with John Hughes, must have been dating the director or something. She was sweet though, wasn't she? Heard she ended up marrying the guy from the Wonder Years. Guess that bastard finally got the girl next door, haha, huh huh?

Reminiscing With The Roadie- Ted Nugent

Hey man, take a look at this. Pretty gnarly scar huh? Haha, yeah, Ted Nugent did that. Caught an arrow right in the leg. Crazy back woods bastard was target shooting before a show. I happened to be hanging out back stage with one of his roadies, we had become friends at a roadies convention. Pretty sweet deal really, the union gets together once a year at the Marriot. Usually get some sort of lunch and they tell us not to lift with our back. Never mentioned anything about getting shot with arrows though, I guess I was the first.