The Facebook Blues

Ramblings Post #131
There are a number of things that shouldn't bother us. If they can get American Cheese in Central India, exactly how much poorer than Bill Gates you are, is the price of piece of cheesecake in Borneo fair? None of these matter, unless you're in Borneo and the cheesecake is looking mighty tasty. And why this is bothering me, I don't even know.

I've been defriended.

I can't believe it irritated me to realize that my friend count on facebook is below where I think I thought it was, which means at some point in the past few months, I haven't made the cut when some people have started culling out the useless. It shouldn't bother me at all...there are a lot of folks I don't even remember friending on my list so I'm certain it must be the same for other folks with me. I should be getting igged on the regular. And apparently I am, but only just noticed.

Still it kinda bothers me for some reason. I mean, a facebook friendship has got to be the easiest friendship to maintain. You don't have to do anything! No meeting for drinks on odd nights, missed calls, no promises made to avoid an argument, no boring activities only they enjoy, no changing plans to help someone bury a dead body at 3am, no requests to help move, none of that. You update, they update and click..it's over. No effort buddies. You can even click the occasional "like" button to keep it lively. What could be simpler?

I mean, I'm not worth doing nothing? You actually actively decided to remove me? And we haven't seen each other in ages? Gee. That kinda stinks.

I used to have conversations with people who had been defriended. Their voices would rise, they'd get a little heated about it, but I figured they were getting upset about nothing. Who really cared if that friend from summer camp in 1982 that was your best friend for a weekend defriended you? "Did it really matter?" I would ask, a little derision in my voice.

Apparently it did.

I thought for a minute it might have been a privacy issue, but unless you count that first minute after you friend somebody, where you do a quick browse through their photos to see how bad they've aged - the vast majority of us don't really look at each others pages. So you're connected, and still private by dint of casual laziness.

And yet, I've been cut.

Forsooth, for I am wounded by the harshest cut of them all. The cut of oblivion, the cut of indifference. For they cared so little the blade only hit me on the way out...by accident. I am ...undone.

Barkeep, the dramatic scene calls for me to die WITH a martini...hello!

How it feels sometimes....

They say nice guys finish last. There are moments I believe they don't even get to finish. Maybe I'm too sensitive, but now that I've stuffed something in my gullet, I'm gonna take some more cold medicine and put on some jazz. That kinda night.

A Question for the Ages

Ramblings Post #130
There are many great questions in the world. Some are mysteries that will span the ages like how they really built the pyramids, or the the real purpose of Stonehenge, or why you never can quite get that last bit of milkshake. Some are simple questions that can be given direct answers like "So, Melyssa Ford, what is your phone number and are you free Friday?" Still there are more pressing questions, and ones I actually expect to get the answer to...

A lady friend of mine asked this question:

A straight female asks a straight male friend to hang out the following evening. They meet up to go to dinner, then they leave to go to their own homes, with no romance involved. Is that a date?

My opinion, as was the opinion of most of the people in our little circle, was no, it wasn't a date. We didn't go into specifics or the various permutations that could apply, but the general idea of two people who already know each other going out to eat didn't really qualify as meeting the fuzzy parameters of what we like to consider a "date". I think she was trying to clear something up. Now, I did qualify my answer by indicating a one time situation is one thing, a continuing affair needs to be discussed. Once it becomes regular, it helps if you're both on the same page.

My answer was based on the reality that Sporty and I went out a lot, and looking back I think that for a long time we were in different books, never mind not on the same page.

So, with the idea that my mind needs a break from this befuddlement that is work and the bafflement that is law school, what is exactly constitutes a date? I mean what are the parameters, not necessarily the activities, which can vary greatly. Can friends go on a date? Does a date have to involve romance? If you've gotten buck with them, are they still considered dates or something else? Let's just say, as a nice guy, I have vested interest in the answer.

One thing I can attest to is that both people have to agree that it is a date. I know it ruins some of the magic, but also eliminates surprise moments; like the one Shade and I had once where it turned out she was eating with a friend and I was on a date. Awkward. In my defense, it looked like a date: two people, food was served, I was paying, light conversation. But apparently I was incorrect. Which is odd, and odder still because I've been in similar situations with Shade that were actual dates, and similar situations with Schmoopy, Spanky and Spur which weren't.

So it's not the activity, it's the intent. Did both parties intend to go out on a date? And like most things, it's the intent that gets you.

There are, and always will be, women who use men as "entertainment centers": men who are great to foot the bill for a meal or a night in the club but that's it and in the reverse guys who don't call until 1am. I think here is where the breakdown occurs and where bad feelings originate. My initial answer included the qualifier for frequency, in that as a friend I'm happy to take a pal and eat a meal or two, catch up every once in a while. But a guy - and I'm referencing this to the guy since, well, I am one and he's usually the one with the misunderstanding - but a guy who takes the same person out for drinks and eats again and again and some more begins to develop concepts. Assumptions if you will. These concepts are not always shared by the other party.

His situation is less than optimal. I'm just sayin'

One night - some semi swank eatery in Atlanta...
His thoughts: Gee, we go out all the time, she really likes me. Maybe this going somewhere.
Her thoughts: He's so nice, its like going out with a girlfriend. He and Joe would make such a cute couple.

And when people have gotten buck a few times *cough*ladies *cough*, things can flow the other way as well.

One other night, someplace else dark and sweaty in Atlanta...
His thoughts: Man, after this I hope she don't catch no feelings.
Her thoughts: Do I suggest to him to move in now, or do I wait for him to ask me?

You see. Two people. Same place. Same conversation. And we have a miss....

Thinking about it, I'm suddenly even more baffled, as we all seem to know the game in college, but forgot it after graduation. Whole different post.

So a date is about what the parties think about the date. Circular logic I know but that appears to be the case. Now I've paid for a meal for a friend a thousand times and I'll probably pay for a thousand more. The answer here, if you weren't paying attention, is communication. Say something. Which is the key to most things.

Or you could end up sitting there drinking a fucking lemon drop watching her purse, the purse you gave her for her birthday, while she freak dances that guy she JUST met, you know... Dexter St. Jock, because, after all...you're like one of the girls. Go ahead. Laugh.

Barkeep, um, separate checks. And no, I really don't want to hear how sensitive Joe is.

And so, we go to war

Ramblings Post #129
Sometimes you get busy. Things you didn't think were going to happen for a while suddenly start. Something you were working on starts to take longer and longer. Things you thought you were done crop back up. There is no perfect moment. I have to keep telling myself that, sometimes all you can do is take a deep breathe, close your eyes, throw up a prayer and hope you're still...well, you're just still.

The first week back in Law School after a long, way way too long summer break is just about over. I've done the three classes I'm taking each week - oddly 10 hours IS part time - and I'm about to head into the first weekend. I'm already looking forward to a long two days in the law library. I have a plan. But later for that.

First up is Family Law, which is crowded! Probably because its on the bar exam, but I think it's more because of the engaging course of law. This class and I got off to a rocky start, not because I didn't read or wasn't prepared, but because the first thing the teacher did upon arrival was wheel in 16 pizzas. I'm on a diet...er, I've changed my eating habits...and as such pizza is currently not on my menu. I was so hurt. Other than that, with its 72 hour window for the final, I think I should be okay.

Which begs another tale.

Okay, so Monday, I was offered free pizza.

Tuesday at work - yes, I go to law school and work a full time job - there is the pervasive smell of hot wings. For hours. Turns out management is giving away free hot wings as a reward for something. I am not amused.

Tuesday night, is Evidence. Again, the class is packed. It's the old crew though, the other people in the core evening classes. Since we've all hit second year and entered the elective section, I'll be seeing less and less of them. But this day is the same old faces, including the prof. Other than the class being four hours long, it's also fairly enjoyable. And uniquely, she gives a midterm, so I'm in there.

Tuesday night in evidence class, the prof offers us soft batch chocolate chip cookies. I cave and have some cookies.

Wednesday is my off night, so I catch up on the reading for my Thursday night class, since I just manage to snag the last copy of the book in the bookstore.

Thursday, the job offers free hot wings. Again. You can smell the wings over half the building. This is not funny.

Thursday night is Wills and Trusts, another elective course that just happens to be on the bar. Finally, a professor who doesn't offer us food! Other than that, she's lively, though decidedly non-linear. That and she learns my name the first day, because as apparently everyone knows; I'm a talker. Which is good, because according to her syllabus, you can bump up a half a grade on class participation alone! This is so cash!

Later on I'm fairly certain I'll be complaining about the absurdity of something that happened, or the insanity of something else, or that I'm just not getting another thing. But for now, I'm feeling good. This weekend, library and start on my outlines, make minimum 20 flash cards per class, do reading for next week.

Let's see what happens.

Barkeep, a round on me. For those three chicks in the corner, no not everyone!

Parking Lot Blues

Ramblings Post #128
This should have been a vent post, but it got so long I just turned it into a rambling joint. I am usually a slow starter, but a strong finisher. I go in and get started, taking in all the info. Then having learned what the rules are, I attack the situation wholeheartedly. Strong finish. That or I am an asshole at the start and mellow out later. One or the other. Meh.

I have an old rule: Below 10th street, I always pay for parking.

It was rule born of the reality that the two times my car has been broken into, successfully, I was trying to save a few dollars and found an un-metered spot on the street. So instead of paying the $10 or $15 to park in a lighted area, I spend $70 or so bucks to get my window fixed. Twice. For a while after that experience, I didn't even lock my doors...as the the most expensive thing in the car were the windows.

I now have a new rule : If it is a option, I will always valet.

I was just this last Thursday evening, trapped by a faulty ticket machine and personal ethics. This threw off my diet, my sleep, and the limited amount of casual entertainment I can still sneak in.

See, what had happened was, at the urging of classmates, I attended the Black Law Students Association's Mixer for the new, returning and former students. I hadn't planned on going, the diet keeps you pretty hemmed in, but as about 35% of law is knowing other lawyers ( the rest is split between knowing the law and knowing procedure) I realized I needed to make the effort. They held it at Shout in Midtown, around the corner from Atlanta's Thursday night party nexus - the Crescent Ave & 12th Street Lick.

Sidenote - On Thursday night, There are 5 clubs hopping on that one block. And the "scenery" is spectacular.

But I eschewed all that, because I'm dedicated. *cough* So, because I drive a "bucket" and am a little self conscious about it, I parked at this lot next to the Four Seasons and walked up the block instead of using the restaurant's valet. The Mixer is a nice little affair, there aren't all that many black law students anyway, and it was a chance to catch up with a few folks I hadn't seen since springtime. I ended up meeting a few practicing attorneys who explained a few realities I probably wouldn't have learned anywhere else, cards were exchanged, and I ended up staying a little longer than I planned. But that's okay.

Or it was until I got back to my car and the little ticket reader kept saying invalid card, and wouldn't read how much I owed.

>So I pushed the assistance button, which went to voicemail.

>There was no attendant. I re-parked my car.

>I called the number on the sign, but got the corporate voice directory.

>I walked around the corner to the next lot to see if it was the same company but it wasn't. The guys from this rival lot told me there just had to be a lost ticket button, which would let you pay the maximum amount. I walked back, checked the machine, there was no button.

>I inquired at the Four Seasons, they were legally bound not to get involved.

>The guard at the Marriott wouldn't even speak to me.

>I used my phone to look online, and found three or four other numbers for the parking lot company, all of which went unanswered.

>I looked at my ticket and found another number, which reached a live person. Finally.

>I explained my predicament, and she said she'd call an attendant. Nobody answered her calls.

>She decided she could let me out, if I could call through the pay box assistance line. It continued to go to voice mail.

>I played brick breaker on my phone while she called around again, looking for an attendant. I played for an hour.

>She finally got someone on the phone, who suggested it get the Four Seasons to let me out through the bus entrance. Well, the city of Atlanta was doing road maintenance and had torn up the sidewalk. There currently is no bus entrance. I would have had to drive over rubble in my 2004 POS.

>Finally...at about 1:45am...roughly three hours after I intended to leave, I get a guy who tells me to get one of the cabbies to pull up and get a ticket, give it to me and use that to get out. All the cabbies think it's illegal despite the fact that we have permission.

So at 2am, I just pay THE FIRST HOMELESS GUY I'VE SEEN ALL NIGHT (amazing, I know) ...to hold the bar up while I drive under. I call the nice phone lady who had tried for so long to let her know how I got out, so if they look at the security tapes they'll understand.

So, I intended to be home at between 10 and 11pm. I ended up getting home at 2:20am or so. No dinner. Sweaty - I wasn't going to run the AC in the parking lot, gas prices. Frustrated at the ineptitude.

Now, the funny part was, I was trapped by my own ethics. I could have gone under the gate at the start. Been home and dry at 11: 20. I could have moved the cones and gotten over the broken sidewalk, possibly. A few ways I could have done it. BUT, as a budding legal professional, that is an ethics issue. If you're going to try the law, you can't break the law. It's like a Rule. So I used every reasonable effort to get out without breaking a rule, until they gave me permission to do so. Which cost me three hours.

This is gonna take some getting used to.

Next time, I valet.

Let'em laugh.

Barkeep. Water. And a Five hour energy shot. Classes start next week!

Let's see...

Relapse Post #8
When we're young, we make plans. At this point in my life, I'm supposed to be doing X, making Y amount of money and married to a fine Z who does that crazy thing with their....um, I digress. We make plans. Sometimes set in stone. But life doesn't always go according to plan. You make adjustments, you change, you take in the lay of the land and make course corrections based on previously flawed information. But in any case you end up keeping moving forward. And if you're smart, you always have a plan. Not inflexible anymore, but a plan. When I was young I made plans. But I didn't know anything then. So now I have better plans.

It is that time again.

Time to get out your costumes, get your dance moves down, decorate the house and cook the feast. It happens every year and you don't want to miss out, so be ready. It's Sporty's birthday.

Well, actually isn't for a minute, a month or so, but one doesn't just run out at the last minute with these things. Am I wrong for thinking in advance?

In the past I planned as much as three or four months in advance, looking through shops and pricing things trying to find stuff she might like. Sometimes I'm successful, sometimes it still comes down to the last weekend I'm wandering through some little shop trying to find that certain something just before we'd go out. I actually liked doing it, and I don't particularly like shopping.

There was always something about her face, the way it lit up when she would open the bag after we'd had dinner. I say bag because it was rarely one big gift, but instead a series of small gifts. She's complicated, so I tried to get something for all the various facets of her. For a long time I considered getting her *cough* jewelry. First girl in a long time. But it seems that when my mind leans in the direction of such grand gestures, fate swings out of nowhere and shoots me a quick painful jab to the eye. Or the throat.

But when I got her gifts her face would glow a little. She would grin, peer into the bag, and then go through it all, taking the time to remark on everything, good or bad. There is a happiness there I just can't put to words.

She likes the tees with the cool slogans on them, so look for them but have never found any I thought were, um..."suitable" is the term I'm gonna use. She likes to read, so I've given a book or two. I'd get her bath stuff because well, girls like bath stuff, even when she said she didn't like bath stuff she liked it. She likes bracelets, so I get her bracelets. I throw in the quirky. Sometimes I see stuff that makes me think of her and I've learned enough to know I need to get it now, or find myself trying to remember which store I was in when I saw that. I've gotten her gift cards, which I think are so impersonal sometimes, and hats so she looks like the cool chick in the back of the jazz club who you just know owns a motorcycle and knows walks around the house barefoot.

Making her happy makes me happy.

Made me happy.

Well still does really, only some of the magic isn't there because of the distance. But I can hear her smile through the phone. It's hard to describe.

As I said, in the past I would plan three or four months in advance for that one night, considering and re-jiggering. I'm a little late this year, only got a few weeks. Hope I can find something good enough. Yes, I really do have a list. And a plan.

Barkeep, a little traveling alcohol.