Like Clockwork

Oh, hello. how is everyone doing tonight? I’ve got to tell you guys, I’m both excited and challenged to speak here this evening. I’m excited about the opportunity to give something back to a lifestyle that I’ve taken so much from. I’m challenged because I can only hope to get my message across to all of you. Now, something that I truly believe in is immersion. How does one learn a language? You can’t do it by simply learning principles or rules. You learn by getting deep into the art and practicing it so much that it becomes real and, eventually, a part of you. So, are you all ready to hear about my plan on how to get the most out of your bachelorhood? As I’ve promised in my brochures, I speak from experience. Everything I am about to share with you is based on real-life experimentation. My theory has been tested in the lab known as “My Past” by a doctor named “Me.” And the lab rats are, in these cases, club rats.

Now, before we start, I understand that there are some of you who are still unaware of my background and qualifications. So, for your sake, here’s a little bit about me. This is intended solely to help you better understand where I’m coming from and why I may suggest the things that I do later on in this seminar. During my short time on this under-appreciated rock we call home, I have sampled two lives: that of the hopelessly romantic and that of the emotionally unattached. I have practiced self-control as much as I have recklessness. I have acted every bit as much as “Mr. Right” as I have of “Mr. Right Now.” I have been both unselfish and narcissistic, precocious and sophomoric. When I look back at this, I can’t help but think that, as I’ve grown older, I have found it increasingly difficult to compare the lives of others to that of my own. I am constantly dumbfounded when thinking about what friends have been doinggoing on dates, asking women out, celebrating anniversaries, getting married, having kids, etc.with the bullshit I’ve been doing: hitting on strange women with sexy if unintelligible accents, asking several women not out, but rather if they are models, and drinking a little too much followed by wandering the bars and streets until drowsy.

After sampling both of the main courses, I have made one clear decision: Being single trumps all. Any salute to singlehood, whether wanted or not, is a celebration of freedom! The advantages to being single are not limited to the ability to pursue any woman, anytime, anywhere, though those certainly are the most notable bonuses. The advantages are just as much about what you don’t have as much as what you do have. One cannot truly live the dream without both the presence of options and the absence of obligations to a significant other. Gentleman, your presence here tonight means that your goals have changed. You want your mornings to become mornings after. If that sounds like you, then I think it’s safe to say that you’ve come to the right place. Here, my friends, is the path to liberation. Here is the path to you being able to say, on any given night, to any given person, in any given bar, “I’m having more fun than you.”

Though before I proceed, I would like to remind everyone that this seminar is 100% non-refundable.

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The 12 Days of Christmas

Day 1

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree. Such a thoughtful gift, since she knows how much I’ve been meaning to eat more fruit. She also knows my building’s pretty strict about pets so the bird threw me off a little. Ah, but he’s a cute little guy.

Day 2

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves. Weren’t those from Home Alone? They’re, um… thank you? I guess I’ll just put them in the kitchen with the partridge and the pear tree, which suddenly seems a lot bigger than it did yesterday.

Day 3 & 4

On the third and fourth day of Christmas, she gave me three French hens and four calling birds. Wow, she’s, like, super into the avian theme this year. Damn, there are a lot of birds in here. You know what would have been nice? Some bird seed. I’m all out of Saltines and things are starting to get weird in here. Continue reading

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Good Women Who Made Dirty Friends

On most Sundays (when I’m not out hustling Chevys, of course) I like to take Bella and Diego to festivals (Retro on Roscoe, Renegade Craft Fair, and Wicker Park Fest). We’ve made our way through countless face paint stations, have lugged around several animal-shaped balloons, and chowed down on plenty of overpriced food vendor concoctions together. And while I enjoy myself with these wonderful, lively siblings, I can never help but notice all of the beautiful couples that litter the grounds. What has followed, more often than not, is a cathartic-like daze. Somewhere between delight and depression; beyond content but not yet quite covetous. That is to say, I’m quite pleased with my dating life, yet still can’t help but think that being in a relationship would be, dare I say it, nice.

Relationships are, from my experience, warm and cozy. They can be capacious yet accommodating, cheeky, but not impudent. Wonderful things, really. And so whenever I feel this way, that I can make a commitment to a single girl for an elongated period of time, I start to imagine what type of girl I’d potentially date. I don’t think of celebrities, not even ex-girlfriends or girls I’ve merely hooked up with before ever seeing our potential come to fruition. Rather, I tend to think of girls I’ve liked who have slipped through the cracks; girls that I have never gotten a shot with, those who never let me sweep them off their feet.

As with every man in America—even Ryan Gosling, probably—I’ve experienced several unrequited crushes over the years. My God, are they painful. Horrible. But worse, still, is the repeated exposure to a special subset of unrequited crush. And that is, I believe, of the absolute cruelest variety. Namely, crushes on women who talk dirty. As in, women who are dreaded just friends but who discuss with you in vivid detail their exploits with other men who are not just friends. Avoid this situation because it is hell in its purest form—a constant and excruciating reminder of that which you will never experience. The following cases are culled from my own experience, and are offered with the expectation that such anecdotal evidence is but the first step in the long march toward a comprehensive knowledge of preventing the “just friends” label. In other words, I hope my notes will help.

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Things More Majestic and Miserable than You Could Ever Imagine

Christian, we need to talk.

This from the voice on the other end of the phone. It is in this feeble, insecure, and uncertain frame of mind that I am hearing these words. It’s always good to watch the news when you’re being broken up with, I’ve come to learn. Like, tell your girlfriend or boyfriend or whoever to hold on for a sec, then change the channel and raise the volume. Somehow, the news always manages to put things into perspective. While you’re being broken up with over the phone, you can see that a snowstorm somewhere has claimed several victims and that there has been another shooting in Humboldt Park, maybe even something simple like eating a single piece of fruit a day will reduce your chances of heart disease. And you feel this surge of confidence and gratitude that comes from knowing you’re not dead in a blizzard somewhere and that you have a chance at beating cardiac arrest by hucking a big-ass apple at the Grim Reaper and nailing him right on the side of his head.

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Women Are Never Too Young to Mess with Your Head

From the moment I realized I was going to have a sister, I was in love. The months leading up to the birth were filled with sweet notions of sibling bonding, trips to Wrigley Field, and my unavoidable spoiling of her. This was going to be the first sure thing with a girl I had ever experienced. She was entering my life and planning to stick around. Aware that it would take some time, I remained confident that I could someday become a role model. Not necessarily an apotheosis because, let’s face it, this is me we’re talking about here. But for the longest, that’s all I thought it was about: my being there for her.

I have come to learn, however, that things don’t quite work out that way. Only now, after several months of realization and glasses of whiskey, am I able to cope with the sad truth that, even at such a young age, this little girl is already more mature, aware, and, dare I say it, adorable than I could have ever aspired to be. At her age, I was nothing more than a world-class stone in my mom’s shoe. But Bella? Eighteen years younger and somehow as many years smarter, she has taught me not only how to be a brother, but how to be a better person. She makes me human. Above all else, she has taught me some invaluable life lessons that I can’t say I’d have learned elsewhere and on my own. Continue reading

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