Napkins and Milk

Friday night we re-visited The Room.  Within 10 minutes of walking in I decided I was going to give one of the bartenders my number.

What?!

I know.

I never actually ordered a drink or talked to a bartender the whole night.  But I wrote my number on a napkin and kept it in my pocket until it was time to go.

First Date

With my reoccurring failures at the bars, you may wonder if I ever make it to a first date.

For better or worse, I do.

The other night I met a guy, Chris, at a bar in Santa Monica.

Don't worry, that's his actual name.

Frozen Grenade Anyone?

For the record, I'm not the asshole who stands there texting while you talk to me.  I'm the asshole who stands there taking notes on all the b.s. coming from your mouth.

There's a difference.  At least I'm listening.

I had pleasure of having a friend in town for the weekend.  She's hot and married, hence the perfect wingman.  Within hours of her arrival she witnessed me get ridiculously excited when I heard two guys were moving into the apartment above mine.

Is he cute?  Is he brown?  Would he like to join us for a cocktail?  Is he polite?  Is he clean?