get outta myspace

If you live in Tucson, and are over the age of 20, there are only two suitable activities you can do on a Saturday night; go to a club or go to a house party. I chose the house party.

My friend Steven had just sold his seventh house in the past month, a real record at the real estate agency he worked for, and to celebrate, his wife Ashlee had thrown him a formal soiree, a real high-class affair with catered chicken and mixed drinks so elusive, they could only be found in the middle of a bartender’s bible.

Of course, being a tequilla-shootin', pretzel bowl-eatin', beer game-playin' kinda guy, I knew I couldn’t ignore such an experience, so I took full-advantage to the entrance of this frosty-glass world. It wasn’t half-bad. In fact, the more drinks I tried, the more I wondered if I myself would ever have a signature drink. In classic American culture, when everyone dressed in suits and fedoras, pearls and white gloves, signature drinks were just as much a part of the classic lifestyle. Cocktails were socially accepted and before the health officials stepped in, smoking was just plain sexy. Of course, before I could partake in such adult affairs, I would have to learn to hold my alcohol down.

As I sat on the floor, performing the classic head-over-the-toliet-bowl routine, my friend Maria was downstairs, performing the classic head-over-heels-in-love routine. His name was Michael, one of the real estate agency’s newest prospects, and one of Maria’s newest prospect for boyfriend material. Smooth, classic jazz played in the background…candle lights hid every facial blemish and flaw, showcasing only what was true and smooth…and the intoxicating aroma of Michael’s after shave blended with the smell of bourbon on his lips made Maria weak in the knees. It was the most perfect night of her life. Or at least it was, until the two lovebirds parted ways.

After they exchanged cell numbers, Michael left Maria with one last thought; "Look me up on Myspace." Those five dreaded words any respectable woman fears when dating the six-figure dollar man of her dreams.

After it’s humble beginnings in 2003, Myspace.com had been changing the world all over, connecting people with their pasts and their futures. But unless you live in a dorm or your record label demands it, do you really need a Myspace page? Does anyone really need to know that Nip/Tuck on FX is your favorite show of all time? Do they need to know your body type and sexual orientation? And do they really need to know you have over 7,432 friends? My guess is no, but as my good friend Madelaine pointed out, in an age where the old strive to be younger and the young strive to be older, does age even matter anymore?

Maybe not. And maybe, so. Either way, I feel that if you are over 26, have a respectable career, and do not live in government housing, here are a few tips to keeping a good Myspace.

1) Let your pictures do the talking. It's the first thing anyone will see, and as we all know, a picture is worth a thousand words. It's also the basis for a good first impression, which really is the only opinion that matters the most. All school photos should be omitted, along with any where you are, or appear to be, drunk, topless and/or in a cement holding cell in Mexico.

2) Wow 'em with something sensational in your headline. Since it's the second thing they'll see, next to your picture, your headline better be more than just, "Hello." Try something unique that relates to your latest interaction with the world. If you went downtown to the historic Fox theatre and caught a double feature of Breakfast at Tiffany's and Funny Face, you might want to include a memorable quote. Something along the lines of, "Thursday?! It can't be! It's too gruesome!" or, "When I'm done, you'll look like...what do you call beautiful? A tree. You'll look like a tree." That'll get their attention and will open the lines for further communication.

3) Make yourself look good, but not too good. If one of your friend's went to high school with Cameron Diaz and another friend is Diane von Furstenberg's godchild, dont try to make your own claim to fame. Chances are, you'll be outed and will have a whole list of embarassing comments that'll be too hard to run from. Plus, I hear once you delete yourself from Myspace it's hard to go back and not be discovered again.

4) Myspace is no time to bare your soul. It can be tempting to reveal something mysterious, deep, or unusal about your life to hook your audience in, but chances are it'll only come across as odd. Honesty and openness is one thing, but psychotic and confessional is another. For example, talking about the person you love, is ok. Describing in painstaking detail about how you love to be spanked with a horse crop, while your lover wears a leather mask, is not.

5) Keep it simple and short. Sure, novel-length blurbs about yourself do show that you have a talent for writing, and that you do indeed lead a full life, just brimming with endless stories, but it also shows that you have way too much time on your hands. It's like that old showbiz saying: "Always leave 'em wanting more."

Maria has a date with Michael this Thursday. As for their future? Well, we'll see.

nobody buys you flowers

In every low-paying, under-appreciated job, there are certain customers that one must deal with from time to time. There's the customer that smells like the stentch of death. The customer that likes to explain in great detail their life story, starting at birth. And last, but not least, there's the customer, so extremely perfect in everyway, that it takes your breath away and makes you say, "Damn."

Her name was Christina, and she had come into the flower shop to buy her mother a flower arrangement for her birthday. According to Christina, nobody ever gave flowers to anyone anymore, so why not be original and break tradition? It was the most thoughtful and sweetest gift idea I had ever heard of, that I knew I had to make one amazing floral arrangement. The only problem was, since it was Friday, our floral stock was way low and so was my creativity.

Nothing I put together worked. The flowers were too open, too short, too ugly, and really too bad, since I had hoped to impress Christina with my artistic abilities. But no matter how hard I tried or how many flower stems I cut, it was just not happening. Fortunately, for me, Christina was kind and patient. That's when she asked if she could step behind the counter and help. Working for a local catering company, Christina had managed to pick up a few tricks of the floral trade and put together a really stunning rose and lily arrangement. When it came time to pay, I couldnt full-heartedly charge Christina the full price, since she had put together everything and saved my ass. So I gave her a discount. A huge discount. And in return, Christina invited me to her mother's birthday.

It was the most thoughtful and sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, that day. But it was also a little weird. So I decided to ask my friend Hadassah, a major party girl who worked across the lobby at Mike's Coffee Shop. When Hadassah wasn't at work, she could often be found sneaking into a club, flirting with older, drunken men, trying to score a cocktail or two.

ME: You know that girl, that just stopped by? The one with the ponytail?
HADASSAH: The one with the flowers? Yeah. What about her?
ME: Do you think she was cute?
HADASSAH: Yeah, I guess. Who is she?
ME: Well, she came in to buy flowers for her mom's birthday, but I couldnt put anything together at all.
HADASSAH: Is that why she was behind the counter?
ME: Yeah. So, she made her own arrangement for her mom and left and...well, she invited me to her mom's birthday dinner. Is that weird?
HADASSAH: Wait! You dont even know her and she invited you to her mom's birthday? Yeah, dude, that is kinda weird. I wouldnt go.

So I went. I knew, from personal experience, to always do the opposite of Hadassah's advice, since she herself was a backwards kinda girl.

An hour later, I was standing at the front door of Christina's mom's apartment, with Christina and the flowers on one side, and a shaky hand on the other. I didnt know what I was getting myself into, and sadly I couldnt find anyone to rescue me. But as it turns out, it wasnt I that needed the rescuing.

For someone who just crashed the party, Christina's mom and Christina's mom's boyfriend were oddly warm and welcoming. But it was Christina's own boyfriend, Gabe, who was even more odd. I, of course, use the term "boyfriend" loosely, as Gabe was clearly gay.Or was he? He wore a bright canary-yellow shirt that matched his flip-flops and glided across the carpeted floor in the tiny apartment with such grace, such poise, and such balance, that I almost thought he was dancing for us.

CHRISTINA: David, this is my boyfriend, Gabe.
ME: Hey.
GABE: I love your rosary! It's fabulous!
ME: Oh, thanks. I like...your...shirt?
GABE: Thanks! It's Paul Frank! And this, my sweet love, is for you!
CHRISTINA: A flower?
GABE: A red anthurium! Beauty for beauty!

One man's beauty, was another man's tasteless gift. Gabe's flower to Christina looked like a yellow penis sticking out of a crooked heart, but the very thought of recieiving a flower made Christina swoon and jump into his arms giving him a kiss that was usually only reserved for sailors on leave.

There we were, in Christina's mom's tiny apartment; me, Christina, her mom, the boyfriend, and the "boyfriend", all enjoying the cocktail and hors d'oeuvres part of the dinner, and ignoring the ginormous elephant in the room. The ginormous elephant being, of course, Gabe's sexuality. It got me thinking if Christina, or if the rest of Christina's family for that matter, knew her boyfriend was gay. Or was I just being a sexist? Was Christina so starved for romance she was willing to settle for a flamboyant boyfriend who gave her flowers? And though I only knew the girl for a total of only two hours, I wondered if it was my place to meddle with someone who had obviously settled for a guy who buys her flowers?

sex, lies, and no videotape

It all started late Thursday afternoon. I was online in the computer lab at school, chatting with my good friend Madame D, when my not-so-hot friend Corrie walked in. A whole summer and a day had gone by, since I last saw my journalism crush, and my, how she had grown. Or at least the amount of tissue in her bra did. As we caught up, I realized I still had some feelings for the girl, but at the same time, despised her. Her little laugh? Sweet, yet annoying. Her outfit? Hot, yet slutty. Even the way she curled my hair around her finger was pure ecstasy, but at the same time it made me mad that she ruined my perfectly messy, coiffed, second-day dirty hair. Still, there was something enticing about Corrie that made me accept her invitation to dinner, later that day.

An hour later, I was at Gentle Ben's, introducing myself to all of Corrie's friends. I realized that this wasnt an impromptu dinner date, as Corrie had suggested, but was actually the result of a month long friendly get-together. I was a last resort date. And though I should've been upset by Corrie's manipulative actions, I wasnt. Normally, I hate going out to dinners where I dont know anybody, but this time, I was actually having fun. Until the waiter came and took our drink orders.

CORRIE: I'll have a Tucson Blonde.
WAITER: And you?
ME: I'll have...I guess water.
CORRIE: Oh, that's right, David. I forgot. You're only 20. You cant drink, because you're still too young!

What a bitch. Humiliating me in front of all her friends, I couldnt understand why Corrie was being so vindictive and spiteful. Had my life been a gangster movie, this is the part where I would have stood up and pumped a full round of lead into her body with my machine gun. Instead, I just pumped myself into Corrie, as we later had sex in her car.

During the course of dinner, Corrie's friends felt bad that I couldnt legally drink along with the rest of them, and so they offered to sneak me their shots and mixed drinks which I happily obliged to. Too drunk to drive, I sat in the passenger seat of Corrie's car, waiting for my buzz to go down. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, Corrie had straddled her legs around me, running her fingers through my hair. All thoughts of Corrie destroying my perfectly messy, coiffed, second-day dirty hair flew out the window...as did my right foot, when I cracked the windshield of her AMC Pacer.

Mortified about my after-dinner aperitif, I decided to talk to my friend Maria, who had a lot of experience in embarrassing hook-ups. She explained that since I, the hook-ey, didnt see Corrie, the hook-er, daily it wouldnt affect our relationship, which had undoubtedly crossed the friend/enemy barrier so far, Webster himself couldnt come up with a word. The only problem was, whether I wanted it or not, the infamous Corrie character would continue to play a role in my life. And hopefully it would only be until I finished paying off her cracked windshield. There went my upcoming birthday money. Depressed at the very thought of losing money, Maria changed the subject and moved on to my upcoming birthday nupitals.

MARIA: What about a little birthday dinner? Like that Poca Cosa place you're always talking about. Something nice.
ME: I dont know. Maybe.
MARIA: Yeah, come on! We'll invite Madelaine and Alice and her husband and all your friends. Just give me their numbers and I’ll put the dinner together. All you have to do is show up!
ME: Well, that might be ok.
MARIA: Should I invite Skye and Isabel?

No sooner had the names come out of my friend's mouth, that I knew I was going to be sick. Isabel was my mortal enemy and Skye was her evil gay sidekick/henchman. Isabel and I used to work at Forever 21 during our senior year but after this huge debacle at the senior prom, Isabel simply told our manager, that I was the ringleader of a recent shoplifting fiasco that had gone down at our store. Of course, it wasnt true, but Isabel lied so well, that I was fired and she was promoted to head window designer, which led to the great divide of 2004, causing many friendships at our school to cease and dismiss. Ever since, I've hated Isabel, but have recently just gotten over the whole thing, after I learned that karma paid her a visit and stayed with her for a whole year.

ME: Are you trying to make my brithday not fun?
MARIA: Well, technically we are all friends now, right?
ME: I dont know. I havent spoken to Skye or to Isabel in forever. Do you think I should invite them?

Maria thought I should, but I wasnt as sure. The truth of the matter was, even though I had no strong feelings towards Isabel or Skye, I wasnt really in the mood to have them help me celebrate my 21st birthday. So I decided to ask my friend Sean for his advice. Sean was currently living in San Francisco with his new bride and had some surprising news for me. Originally, I had decided to go away for my birthday and fly away to somewhere exotic. Like New York. But considering the fact that all my college friends were in debts way over their head, a fly was not feasible. And though I was totally fine with just an intimate dinner, Sean sensed a disappointment in my voice and promised a trip to New York after February.

ME: Why February?
SEAN: Oh, didnt I tell you? I'm gonna be in a soda commercial.
ME: Shut, up. For reals?
SEAN: Yeah, for reals. They called me up, asked me to film a few scenes, and I did.
ME: No, way, you're lying.

As it turns out, Sean wasnt lying. In the commercial, Sean plays an office nerd, which was a far stretch for someone who up until last year discovered the benefits of eye contacts and hair product. He gets a surprise from a certain soda brand, that comes flying in and disrupts the files he's looking at. And though, Sean only made five hundred off the commercial, the company promised him anywhere between 30-50K after it aired during the Super Bowl. Which means, a trip to New York was plausible, but is it still considered a birthday gift even though it's four months late? Should I accept Sean's gracious gift? Should I invite Isabel and Skye to my dinner party? Or should I just forget about everything and do my own birthday my own way?

apathy doesnt live here anymore

Gifted with my new pshycic ability powers, I had to find out more about my odd déjà vu experiences. So I went with my good friend Maria to see our mutual, hollistic healer friend, Rainbow. According to Rainbow, it's been reported that recreational drugs increase the chances of déjà vu. Duh. But what's also been reported is that pharmacological drugs also have the same effect. In fact, it seemed that there was a greater effect if antihistamines were taken. And considering the fact that I had taken a combination of Benadryl, Dimetapp and some herbal allergy medication earlier last week to battle my uncontrollable sneezing fits, I couldn’t rule out the possibility. But what I could rule out was I had a liar for a friend.

RAINBOW: So...somebody’s birthday coming up...
ME: Yeah, but not for like another month.
RAINBOW: Oh. No. I was talking about Maria’s birthday. It’s this Sunday, right?
MARIA: Yeah...
ME: No it's not.
MARIA: Yeah. It is.
ME: Really? Why did I think you’re birthday was in the spring?
MARIA: Uh...I don’t know.

As it turns out, Maria had been lying about her birthday all these years. She was not born in March as she had once suggested, but rather, was born in the fall. A year older and still, none the wiser, Maria didn’t recognize her birthday as a day of celebration, but rather as a day of re-evaluation of how her life was turning out so far. According to Maria, she was no closer to achieving her life goals than when she first thought about them. The social life she once had, was slowly disappearing due to the demanding work that was required of a pre-med student. But the worst part of it all, was that on her special day, Maria didnt have a special someone to wish her a happy birthday.

And while Maria was wishing for a special someone, her ex-special someone wasnt doing any better. It happened last Tuesday, after school, in the computer lab. Topher and Maria were just walking in, as Ray was just walking out. He was disheveled, a total mess with baggage under his eyes and absolutely no color coordination in his wardrobe. For a few slow-mo seconds, Maria almost felt sorry for her refugee-looking ex. But when she remembered that he had broken up with her, she felt thankful that she had worn a low-cut top, because on the off chance you should run into the person who broke your heart, you never want to be caught looking tow-up.

Still, there was something about seeing Ray in his natural school habitat that sparked old feelings in Maria. In fact, seeing Ray had ignited something in Maria so fierce, she had actually considered talking to him just so she could have someone to be with on her birthday.

It was really sad. But Maria’s birthday of re-evaluation got me thinking about my own upcoming birthday re-evaluation. It was like that time Ms. Tyler had made me consider my contribution to the world. And considering that this is my 100th post, it seemed only fitting. So I gave it some thought. Maybe I wouldnt do anything for my 21st birthday. Maybe I would just lay low. But did I really want to lay low, or was this just a bad after effect of feeling low?

Five minutes later, I saw that the day’s mail had brought me the newest issue of GQ. Reading articles of what the new 21st century man should strive to be, I came across an article entitled, "50 Things a Man Does Not Have to Do Before He Dies". I realized I had already done ten of them, which meant I still had a lot more rules to break and a lot more living to do. And if I had a lot more living to do, I couldn’t just sit around like Maria, thinking about what I hadn’t yet accomplished.

Still, if Maria was gonna be sad and cynical on her birthday, I figured my gift for her would have to help her see life the way I saw it. They say that you should live life to the fullest and so to help my friend start living life instead of loathing it, I came up with the ideal gift that would help her out.

• Kermit the Frog’s book, Before You Leap: A Frog's Eye View of Life's Greatest Lessons to remind Maria she still has a lot of life to see.


• The new Beyonce CD, B'Day, to remind Maria to live life with a smile in her step and a song in her heart.


• A chocolate scented candle, to remind Maria that sometimes, all you need is a good scent to help you remember the good ol’ days.


• A gift card for Applebee’s, to remind Maria that no matter how many new things you experience, you cant beat the simple pleasures in life, like boneless buffalo wings.


• And a vibrating cucumber, because really, what’s a good gift without a little sexual humor?

my déjà vu, my déjà vu

We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances - of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if we suddenly remember it. Charles Dickens wrote that, a very long time ago, in his classic book David Copperfield, a young man living in classic Victorian England. But this was Tucson, circa now, and the same truths held then for the French phrase, déjà vu, were still as strong as ever. Maybe even stronger.

It all started on Tuesday, while I was at work. A customer had just left Mike's Coffee Shop and crossed the lobby of the Frontier building to the flower shop, where she commented on the lovely aroma the flowers gave. Immeadiately, something in my mind clicked and for the next three minutes I was living a very weird, very real, déjà vu moment, it could only be described as déjà vécu. Everything that was said and done, I had seen and heard previously from somewhere else, not so very long ago. As if my history were repeating itself. And like any good déjà vu, I immeadiately shared it with all around me, but didnt give it a second thought.

The next day, my sense of déjà vu was even stronger, when I saw my old friend, Chloe. We ran into each other on the corner of Stone and Pennington, while I was heading off to school, and she was heading off to work. As we laughed, and caught up for the next few minutes, I realized I had had a similar conversation with Chloe, and was struck with another déjà vu moment.

ME: Déjà vu...
CHLOE: Well, call me, ok?
ME: I will.
CHLOE: Here, let me give you my number.
ME: Oh, I already have it. Three-oh-eight...something, right?
CHLOE: How did you know?
ME: I think you already gave it to me.
CHLOE: David, that's my new number. I just got it last week.

I couldnt believe it. Was Chloe serious? Or was she playing some sort of cruel joke on me? How in the world would I know the first three digits of her new number. Unless it was magic. But then again, magic isnt really real...right? At least that's what I used to think. At one time or another we all believe in the possibility of magic. That somewhere out there it exists, waiting to be discovered by us and to be used whenever we need help. But I wasnt in need of help...was I?

The only thing I could possibly think of that I needed help in, was my psychology test. Being a talented procrastinator, I had managed to put off three weeks of studying up until the day, or rather, hours of my first test. But trying to memorize psychology terms and the history of the practice was as useless as trying to finish an episode of Laguna Beach: Season Three, without wanting to strangle half the cast. And so it was with a furiously heavy heart that I entered the testing lab to take my psychology test. But I would surive. I was young and us young people have a way of rolling with the punches.

But surviving my dreaded test, I needed not. As I sat in the flourescent-lit room feeling all low, I realized I had seen this plastic, paper-protected test once before, in the same testing room, not so very long ago. And I had seen this multiple choice answer sheet once before too. Only, when I saw it, it was already filled out with a big purple A on top. It was a déjà vu so extreme, I knew I couldnt ignore my nagging gut feeling no more. I quickly penciled in the empty circles with my number two and finished the test within a mere seven minutes. It was a personal test taking record and I knew it could go two ways: I could turn it in and fail miserably, forcing me to grovel at my teacher's feet for a second test re-do, or I could turn it in and question this whole déjà vu thing later.

Five minutes later, after my test was graded, I got my answer...it was a big purple A. This wasn't a coincidence. This was just plain weird. And I wonder...how long does déjà vu last and how does it all work?

labor weekend of love

Two years ago, my best friend Madelaine and my good friend, Selina, had a falling out because, of many things, a boy. A boy named Andrew. Selina knew of Madelaine's longing desire, so when she saw how long Madelaine took to make her move, she went in for the kill and snatched Andrew, closing him for business, and closing any possibilty she and Madelaine had for a life long friendship.

Of course, Selina's senior year romance had the shelf life of a gallon of milk before it began to currdle, proving once and again that choosing a date over a friend is never good. And seeing how Andrew chose Selina over Madelaine, I wasnt sure what to make of the situation, when Madelaine told me he sent her a text last week.

MADELAINE: It was just weird that he remembered my number after so long...wait hold on, I have another text coming in.
ME: Madelaine, I dont know. I wouldnt get...
MADELAINE: It's from him! "Hi Q-T! Uve ben on my mind all day...hope u had a good day 2!" Isnt that sweet? What should I text back?!

The girl was gone. One text from Andrew and Madelaine was already making weekend plans with her new beau in mind. But I didnt trust the guy. If he chose someone else over my friend Madelaine once before, what was to stop him from doing the same again? Still, Madelaine believed in second chances, which meant, Andrew would be a part of her life, whether I agreed or not.

Meanwhile, in a school campus across town, my other good friend Maria was also finding love. His name was Topher, a "hot" twenty-one year old, biochemistry/physics-major. AKA nerd. According to Maria, seeing Topher in his white lab coat made her beaker boil. It was a scientific expression gone good...or would have been, had Maria not made the horrific discovery that Topher was already spoken for.

MARIA: He's so perfect for me David...but he has a girlfriend. She's twenty-six, and already she's having him think about his future and finding a job and settling down.
ME: Well, that's good then. She wants to prepare him for the future.
MARIA: But he's not ready to settle down like she is. She wants kids and a house and she's even telling him what kind of job to get. She wants to turn him into her perfect match.
ME: Oh, that's so not good.
MARIA: Yeah, and it's because they're not on the same page. When you have that much of an age difference, it never works out.

I couldnt tell if Maria was just speaking about Topher and his relationship, or if she was hinting towards my own illicit affair. And if so, I knew I had to take notice. Maybe everybody had a point. Maybe conducting a sexual relation with an authoratative figure who had a family, wasnt the best choice of my college career. But then again, neither was Maria's.

MARIA: And he keeps talking about moving out and breaking up with her. And I think I should help him break up with her, so he can be single and then we can date and then we can be together.
ME: But Maria...that means you're gonna be dating a guy who left his girlfriend for another, younger woman. You're the younger other woman!
MARIA: Yes, but it's ok, because we're perfect for each other. They're not. Why would you keep perfect and non-perfect together?

What was it about Labor Day weekend that was making otherwise smart people become fools in love? And why was it ok for everyone else to have a horrendous hook-up, but me? Are there certain exceptions that I just dont know about or what?