The Bachelor

I've been given the reputation from friends as being a bit of story teller. I might not be the best writer of them, but I can surely spin a story when asked to tell one. I've also been accused of exaggerating a bit. In my defense, I rarely do and they often sound unbelievable when I retell them. Last night was not exception, it was pretty unbelievable.

Upon entering my apartment's elevator, I heard two young ladies chattering as they approached the building's entrance. I politely held the doors for them. They didn't press a floor which lead me to believe and had invited female stalkers to share the ride to the 41st floor. A comment was inevitable," so, are you ladies new to the building?". A benign remark, I thought. The one, more attractive girl, had been living on my floor for the past two weeks and informed she was leaving on Saturday and the other would be in New York City for another three months. They, of course, asked me about my situation.

"Well, I bought here a year and half ago"

"Do you plan to stay?"

"Sure...or for as long as a can pay the mortgage"

Although cheeky and undoubtedly sarcastic, I thought the last comment was clever enough to deserve a chuckle. I had no such luck and the lift began to feel a little tighter. I'd like to think they were taken off guard. They carried on talking as the elevator doors opened onto our floor. Intrigued, my neighbor continued the conversation to her door.

"I want apologize. I hope I don't keep you up by doing my laundry so late...". Each small floor has a washer/dyer closet it. Ours happens to be right in front of my apartment.

On a roll and feeling testy, I replied "Oh! So, you're the one using the machine at such obscene hours."

"Yes. Has it bothered you?"

"Actually...yes it has. I filed a complaint with the building manager yesterday."

Her uneasy smile immediately left her face.

"Are you serious?"

I smiled back, "Absolutely not!"

Her friend broke out into laughter and she followed suite. I wished them both a pleasant night and the rest of their stay in the Big Apple.

Not to disappoint, my interaction with these ladies didn't end there. I will explain why I've entitled this posting "The Bachelor" with a follow up as soon as I get an email from the producer of a certain TV Reality Show. I promise to live up to my rep...

The Chicken or the Head

Disclaimer: This post is published by a befuddled soon-to-be 30 year old.

Is the correct order of event's in one's life career then marriage?

I suppose it's different for everyone but I repeatedly meet people who have lived different combinations and complain about or recommend their experience.

I've found it true that woman can be a source of self-confidence. They can help allay the fears associated with living life alone and help to satisfy sexual needs. Although others reveal that females can destroy the ego and negatively affect your business. Sex/love becomes an addiction rather than a comforting act.

One thing is certain, I am different person with a girlfriend. It's been a while since I've known the more patient side that a steady brings out in me. May be the time has come for one? If it happens, I just hope I am a better person with her around.

Happy Hour

During the trading week, thirsty young professionals, boys and girls alike, frequent the local well to enjoy a few pints of half priced ale. It's Five O'clock Happy Hour!

We enter high-stepping , no need to weave through the freestanding patrons, soon to be intoxicated and draped on each other. A swanky young yuppie loosens his tie while a young little thing caresses his chest, eyes locked on his mouth, head nodding, a hungry grin apparent on her flushed face.

Take notice of the "cougar" sitting on the bar stool, her left fingers wrapped around the stem of her Martini glass, her right fingers riding the rim. Forty-year old woman can be friendly and generous.

A perky blond winks to my right, a casual offering. To my left, a gnarly beast- "She's yours Jim". He agrees. The flanks acquire their targets and roll out as I approach the corner of the saloon. My back to the action, I slowly turn to the crowd and reveal my stance. I settle in and wait.

Omnidirectional

My title isn't just a type of recording technique. I've been trying to come up with a less critical way of describing my inability to focus of late. I do find the word scatterbrain to be useful but I imagine it applied better to a talkative disheveled professor or a flighty hippie with a carbonized corpus callosum. By describing my thoughts as omnidirectional, I re-establish the will and self-determination. My mind is as directed despite the occasional crossfire between desire and logic. Yes, I feel better having written this on my blog than as a song on my guitar.