A Fight Club Tattoo

I happened to stumble across this insane Fight Club tattoo.


Click the image for full size. Original Link to Picture

Me, a Crazy Man, and My Car

I was driving a few days ago and stopped at a stoplight. A homeless looking guy comes up to my driver’s window. I, in my infinite wisdom, decide to see if I can make eye contact. I look him straight in the eye and shake my head—like I’m not going to give him anything.

He starts freaking out. He starts pounding on my window. At which point I think, woah, maybe that wasn’t a great idea. But for some reason I didn’t fee intimidated.

I look back at him, straight in the eye, and he walks away. I’m still wondering why I wasn’t afraid. Two years ago, I would have been an emotional wreck, but now I really don’t feel any different.

Testing Testing One Two Three

So I went and got tested the other day. No I don’t actually think I have anything or have any reasons to believe I do, I just went because my friend was going and she needed someone to go with her. I wanted to go because I would normally be afraid to do it. I looked at it as a “face your fears” kind of challenge.

Since I was going to be there, I figured I mind as well go through the whole gauntlet and give myself a clean bill of health—still crossing my fingers.

We walk in and we each grab a ticket. Mine was 53. Three other people were waiting—they all look seriously distressed. I can’t imagine waiting there worrying and praying about getting AIDS. Meanwhile, I, on the other hand, ran off some statistics and estimated that only about 3 heterosexual circumcised non-drug user Asian males in Hawaii (people like me) get HIV/AIDS ever year. Three. Yes, this number involved a lot of guessing, so don’t quote me on it, but I assure you, the number is very small. Put simply, I wasn’t worried.

What I did worry about was the “inspection.” Needles don’t bother me so much; it was the old lady nurse who’d be visually inspecting “my goods.”

I walk in and they ask for my ID, all kinds of information—including where I work and my address. They ask why I’m there and I tell them my friend wanted to come and she wanted someone to go with her. (This was the honest truth, but I felt like they didn’t believe me. I didn’t care)

Next, I go in the back and a nurse asks me all about my sex life. How many partners have you had in the past 3 months, 6 months, 12 months? Do you use a condom every time? Has your current partner been tested?

If there is ever a time when I felt someone was judging me, this was it. This was my biggest test for indifference, ever.

She finally gave me the spiel, “only when you are in a committed one on one relationship and you completely trust that other person and you have both been test, can you stop using condoms.”

“Yes mam.”

At that point pulling down my pants wasn’t really an issue. I thought I was a degenerate in her eyes for having oral sex without a condom, so showing my private parts wasn’t much of anything.

So down my pants went—undies an all. She pushed up against my area to check for anything and I got the all clear. Then, she asked me spread open up my urethra (the part piss and jizz come out) and then she pushed a q-tip up it. Yes, it WAS that much fun.

She thanked me and offered me condoms—they were the Durex intense sensation ones, which are ok. I saw some Durex super thin non-latex Avanti’s in the corner and asked for those. From what I’ve heard, they’re quite good, but I’m too much of a cheap ass to spend more than $2 per condom. She said she couldn’t give them to me since I wasn’t allergic to latex. Oh well, at least I tried.

Next, I went to the AIDS conversation guy. “number 53” he called. He then questioned my knowledge of AIDS. I told him all the stuff I learned in school and he was generally positive. I did learn that AIDS can be transmitted through breast milk. Interesting.

He also asked me how many people I had sex with in the past year, homo or hetero, protected or not, one nightstands or relationship, oral anal or vaginal. I was tempted to say I had forty one-night stands with other homos where we did tons of anal sex without condoms . . .but he looked like my little cousin and I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.

He also offered me condoms and thanked me for coming in.

And then, I was done: a little harder than voting, more stressful than jury duty, but overall a good experience.

A Cautionary Tale

Pickup has enriched my life.

It fixed many of my shortcomings.

What it didn’t fix though, it amplified.

Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day is the best day to hit the club.

Single girls: a plenty.

Not single girls: all with their boyfriends/husbands/lovers/partners somewhere else.

Avoiding the club on Valentine’s Day is like telling your boss you don’t want a raise.

Get your ass out of the house.

Follow Ups

Last night was fun. It wasn’t a major party-fest, but more like a really chill time. My other friends tried dragging me to 80’s Night at Next Door, but I turtled up and was home by 10 pm. Sad huh?

I’m not exactly sure if my friend was consciously using me as social proof, but I guess it worked—even though I brought my own social proof. I’m still not convinced that a girl bringing another guy actually makes the target guy jealous. I don’t think guys’ minds work that way.

I was also getting frustrated at how the target guy was totally blah. I wanted to grab his hand and glue it to her arm. Kino man, kino.

On a sorted related note, one of her other guy friends also showed up. He sat down, told a story, and I began scratching my head with “can your DHV spikes be any MORE obvious?”** I’m sure I’m the only one who recognized them.

**DHV spikes, aka Demonstration of Higher Value Spikes, are short elements in a story showing that a guy is a person of value. One good DHV is having the Governor walk up to you, recognize you, say hi, and ask you something important. A DHV spike in a story is “so then after my meeting with the Governor . . .” (implies that the speaker is someone of importance because he had a meeting with the governor).

On a totally unrelated note, today, high school crush girl sent me back a facebook message. I thought she’d take a day, not two. Facebook is the devil. I’m not interested in her—just interested in expanding my social circle. Plus she’s good friends with my ex, who’s friends were REALLY REALLY mean to be when I saw them out a year ago. So I’m going to be a dick and steal her away. (that’s serious mad scientist speak right there).

I’m No Jealousy Tool

I don’t consider myself a player; more like a benchwarmer who only gets on the field when the spread hits 50 points. In any case though, players hate getting played, but at the same time, they love the challenge.

One of my friends invited me out. She was really persistent that I go out and even called a few times to make sure I wouldn’t flake. I thought that it was a little odd, but I just assumed she wanted me out because I’m such an awesomely fun person (and because I’m humble).

Rewind a little: a few weeks ago, she told me about a new guy she was sort of dating. We hashed out a plan and I left her to her devices.

I find out that “this dude” is going to be out with us tonight. Suddenly, I think of all the other times I called girls out to make my current “focus girl” jealous. So they way it works is that if I was into a girl and she was on the fence about me, I’d call her to hang out AND then I’d call another girl to hang out too. As stupid as it sounds and as ineffective as a thought it would be, calling other girls out is a surprisingly effective tactic to get a girl to like you.

Jealousy is the most powerful of all emotions.

I’ve lost count on how many times a girl told me “I wasn’t really into you until I saw you with that other girl.” Chick logic for you.

I’m no catalyst. I’m not the third-wheel jealousy maker; I’m the chemical reaction that goes BOOM!!

Time to call in my girls.

This is my most absurd post yet.

TV Junkie Returns

Ever have one of those days where every just begins talking to you? Elevator, parking lot, sidewalk, standing in line at McDonalds. Is everyone doing the Style Life 30 day challenge?

On a totally unrelated note, I’m back to TV junkie mode. Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles is a damn good show. Mondays on Faox.

Also, the season premiere of the nearly dead Jericho was last night. Woah, I think people are going to start paying attention from now on. Tuesdays on CBS. Well worth however many nuts those doods sent to CBS.

Facebook Shenanigans

So this girl I had a major crush on in high school adds me as a Facebook friend. Ok cool. I guess I now have license to send her messages whenever I want. I surf her page, check out her pics, find out she lives like ten thousand miles away: aight that’s nice. I file her away under my other “facebook friends” and expect that I’ll probably never talk to her.

She posts on my wall (that little comment thing); ok aight, I might make a reply post in a few weeks . . . or never.

Suddenly, I find out she’s in town. WOAH, hold up. “Self,” I say “you’d better grab your balls and get on that shit. She added you as a friend because she wants to hang out. Post on her wall at least.” So I did.

RumFire at the Sheraton Waikiki

Each new club has a 6-month shelf life until it gets too damn crowded. For the early part of 2008, that new club is RumFire located in the Sheraton Waikiki.

Inside, a large selection of rum, duh!


Outside: Fire.

And just a short walk from nice views of the beach.

www.rumfirewaikiki.com