The Next Podcast Right Here on the Gancer

I saw my good buddy, Crom, tonight, and it's really the first time I talked to him at length since he got a girlfriend. He had been living alone out in the suburbs for a long time, and he'd joke around that his apartment was nothing but stacked up empty pizza boxes and sex robots.

Now his ladyfriend is over all weekend every weekend, and he's banging away like a son of a gun and happier than I've ever seen him.

This got Crom and I thinking about our next podcast. How about the top 10 loneliest moments of singlehood. Look for this to hit the world wide web for 10's of people on this blog very soon.

Very Superstitious Plumbers

I have this friend, I'm going to call him Plumber, and every time he comes out to the bars with me, he gets lucky with the ladies. He's a good looking guy, but I think when I'm out with him I force him to be more social because he can be shy. I'm fearless out there because I have a girlfriend, so what the hell do I care, right?

So, he had gone home with girls 2 straight times when he went out with me going into Saturday's outing. We were having a burger cook off at my place, and then the second we stepped out into the alley to go to the bars, the neighbor girls, who I don't even know, hollered at us to come join them on their garage deck. I thought it was unsafe move on their part, but luckily for them, Plumber and I are not rapists. We mingled with them for a while, one seemed interested in Plumber, he got her number, and she's been blowing him up ever since.

Then at the karaoke spot, we met a number of women. One had a tight dress that looked like tin foil, like a baked potato, but she wasn't very cool. Then another girl thought I was an MMA fighter, I think because she has seen me in the bar with my friend, Gung Ho who trains. I was too drunk to be clever enough to lie. Then there was a pair of girls we were chatting up, and while I ran interference on the not pretty one, at some point Plumber had a barroom make out deal with the pretty one. Boom!

You ever get superstitious about things when you were single?

I know there were certain shirts I was convinced were vagina deterrents, and I'd never wear them out. Some bars I would go to I would see friends having success, but I'd be like a damn leper in the joint. Then other shirts and other bars would be really consistent for me.

Anyone have anything along these lines they'd like to share?

Today's Facebook Status Is . . .

"I still ride my shopping cart like a skateboard, and I don't care if I look like an overgrown kid because it's just plain faster; deal with it, haters."

It's true. I'm impatient, and I just don't care how stupid it may look to some folks. Also, it's more fun, and I'm all about fun. It's one of the joys of doing things alone; of being alone. There's no pain-in-the-ass significant other (and no, that's not directed at anyone in particular, just partners in general) telling me to stop acting like a damn dumb ass. Guess what? I'm-a-be a dumb-dumb any time I damn please - no fun police allowed.

I also like cooking for myself because I can just throw together any old kind of shit that I have leftover, and sometimes it tastes kind of so-so, but who cares? As long as it's healthy-ish, I'll choke it down, and I don't have to please anyone.

I'm also not on anyone else's schedule. I almost never have to skip a workout, miss catching up on work, and I can spend a token night watching fights taped on my DVR, read 200 pages in a book, or write useless crap like this on my blog for you fine folks.

Speaking of you fine folks, what are some things that my Seven Readers enjoy about being alone?

Set Ups

When you're single and people think you're not a psycho and a decent human, women are wanting to set you up with their friends all the time. This usually isn't good because it makes you feel like you're going to disappoint someone if you don't hit it off with the friend.

So, the other day we're having lunch at work, and one of my coworkers says she has the perfect girl for me. Luckily, my good friend was on the scene with some valuable information, and he said, "You try to set her up with everyone, so what's wrong with her? Is she desperate? Plus, she's not that great looking. I've been out with Dr. Ken, and he gets tens.*" Then the female coworker countered with, "She is, too, pretty. I mean, Dr. Ken, you're not going to hear "Who's That Lady?" when she walks in the room."

But I want to hear "Who's That Lady"; that's just it.

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*I don't get tens. Plus, I don't want to date tens because really, really hot women have Hot Girl Entitlement Issues (HGETs), they have a warped sense of reality because everyone treats them extra nice their whole lives, and they're hit on all the time, so you're fighting off every penis in the room with a stick. But, I'm a little ashamed to admit that I like that feeling of walking into a room with the prettiest girl under my arm, and it's nice to be loved by a beautiful woman as opposed to a so-so one. Let's face it: I'm dying alone.

I'm lying in bed here typing with tons of rice expanding in my belly. The problem about me cooking for myself is that I almost always finish everything. Today I put what didn't fit on my plate in a Tupperware and put it in the fridge, but then I was still hungry. So, I dumped some hot sauce in the Tupperware and worked it all down.

The thing is, I like cooking for myself. I like that there's no pressure for it to be any good. If it's shitty, oh well; I'm eating it anyway because I spent thirty minutes on it.

I'm definitely far from being a good cook. My dad can cook like a master chef, while I can't even cook like a Dungeon Master. But I don't care! I just like it to be easy, be not hungry anymore, clean it up, and get back to Dr. Ken time. I don't ever see myself slaving over something you have to wrap up, baste, flip it over, slap it up, flip it, rub it down. Oh, no . . .*

This post was kind of boring, so I'm now going to post a video of a big lady beating the holy snot out of a drunk guy. This woman beat the tar out of this fella for all the women out there who have experienced domestic violence. The beauty of it is that she knew she could take him because she kept daring him to fight back! And what's more pathetic is that he threw the first punch, when she was helping him up, no less! I really think she should get a UFC contract. Actually, there's one point where I thought she was going to curb the guy like in American History X. As always, turn off the music player to the right if you want to really hear the beating and the guy filming it comparing her dragging down the street to someone "walking the dog." Brilliant. Oooh, another good part is when the little girl comes up to show her that something was broke, and she says, "Please don't show me that at this point in time" and goes right back to walloping that fool! I absolutely love this clip.
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*First person to get that reference gets a virtual high five - maybe even a pat on the back.

I forgot about the mentality of the single man. I was in a committed relationship for so long that I completely forgot all the nuances of daily bachelor life. I'm not going to say meeting someone consumes me, but it certainly affects my thought patterns and decisions.

When I plan my weekends, I don't necessarily have to meet someone, but I do have to put myself in a position where I could conceivably do so. There's also that pressure on you when you're out, where you know that if you don't approach the person you're attracted to in the room, you're going to regret it. Even if you strike out miserably, you gotta go for it; you gotta fish with a big net.

It can be a little stressful, but it can also be a lot of fun if you have a few good things going on. Right now, there are options, I'd say, but some options are complicated.

The trick is getting in the groove with this sort of lifestyle again so that I can settle in and get more work done in terms of my career and my writing like I know I can. I know I get a lot more done as a single man once the dust settles, and I see a lot of great work down the pike for Bachelor Ken.

The Horizon

The key to being single is to keep things on your horizon. You don't need to be steadily laid with a line forming around the block - people taking numbers like at the deli; although that would be good. No. All you need are a few things working for you on your fires at all times so that you don't want to off yourself. Maybe a couple opportunities are long shots, sure, but they're there. Some of them might be horrible ideas, sure, but you have the option of making that awful, awful decision if need be.

You can never have too many fires going because any one of them can fizzle out at any moment. Never, ever put all of your eggs in one basket when you become way too excited about one prospect. That's like going out for fondou and concentrating all on your beef cooking in the oil and forgetting about all the vegetables you have in that juice. No? Piss poor analogy? Probably.

Point being, keep that horizon going because when it's bleak, you'll start to get desperate, and that's when you will find yourself very much not laid. People smell the desperation on you. The person with that bountiful horizon is the one going out with the confidence that he/she needs, and that's when something great can happen.

Weird Is Beautiful

One of my favorite authors of all time is Chuck Klosterman, and I remember somewhere in one of his books he thanked his wife for letting him be weird. Because he's my boy, I totally knew what he meant.

The thing is, I am weird, and I love that I'm weird. To be normal is to be boring, or better yet, it is to be like everyone else; what people would expect you to be like. Now, I don't mean I'm full on crazy - I'm not wrapping myself in aluminum foil and yelling nonsense at pedestrians or anything. No, I just mean weird, and the worst thing in the world for a weird guy is to be totally not understood because then he's trying to be a normal, bastardized version of himself to suit those around him. I hate that watered down crap version of Dr. Ken.

On the other hand, the best thing in the world for a weird guy is to be completely understood, and then I can be that wonderfully goofy bastard that can just say messed up stuff that's actually kind of creative, if you're open to it. That Ken will leave a lasting impression on you at a party because he'll never bore with mundane crap; he'll entertain you. That's the Ken that I know and love, and that's the one I want to let loose upon the world because he's got a lot to say.

"Talk To Me, Goose . . ."

When I was in a relationship, around a week ago, I would always think that if I found myself single, I'd be screwed because all of my friends are married. Well, here I am, and I'm finding myself in a very wingman depleted market.

Now I look at dudes I know and think about how they would be as a potential Goose to my Maverick or maybe Maverick to my Goose depending on the chemistry between us. I play volleyball with a guy who I went to high school with who is good looking, funny, and he looks a little like me, so we could tell ladies that we are brothers and stuff, but he's so, so married. Darn!



I have a couple of other dudes to work with, but it's just disheartening to know that the most compatible wingman of all time for me was Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP), and I'll never do better than that one. We used to be out together, talking/dancing with a pair of girls, and one of us would lean in and say, "Which one do you like?" and the other one would always say, "Whatever. Either one." We never had any conflicts with that sort of stuff, and whether or not we found love/other things that night, we always kept each other laughing.

How about you, Seven Readers? Did you/do you have a Goose or a Maverick you want to tell us about?

Operation Stay Insanely Busy

That is the plan right now. I can have no idle time at all right now because that is no good for me. Not only that, I need plans at all times or figuring out what to do will turn into turmoil, somehow.

So, I'm kicking ass the rest of this week and beyond.

Tue: Cleaned the bathroom, worked out with weights and then yoga with the television, helped rescue a very elusive stray dog, and rode the rickshaw bike by Wrigley until 11pm, watching a drunk get pummeled by bouncers. Who gets that lit on a Tuesday?

Wed: First day of work back at the old schoolhouse, first day at my new gym with a lifting group (which is cool cause you don't have to pay a personal trainer when you do it like a class), and then trivia at the bar with friends. I just want to add that I hate when there is a sports category, I suck it up, and all the girls expect me to know the stuff. Now, I'm good with sports stuff before 2000, but current stuff I'm clueless. So, when that happens, I say, "Yeah, would you beat up a sewing category because if we're going to assign gender roles here . . ."

Thur: 2nd day of work, volleyball at 5:30 and then again at 6:30 if we win (playoffs), and then watch the Bears and Northern Illinois either at a friends or at a bar (I know, two bar nights on a school night, but I'll behave. Just being social, not schnockered).

Fri: 3rd day of work, yoga class at 5:30, and then for the rest of the weekend, ride the rickshaw to make extra cash and then at night, as they said in the film "Old School," reintroduce myself into the wild.

Operation Stay Busy will be good for me. You won't see me sitting still much, and if I am, I'll be writing. Keep it Gancey, y'all.

I'm 45% Better Today!

Today, as I was getting ready for a shift on the rickshaw, I was playing a song by Yo La Tengo, I think "Deeper Into Movies," and I noticed that I clapped my hands. Wow. I was enjoying a song and not just farming the music to get the cries out of me. Sometimes it really feels like there is a certain amount of crying in your heart that you can actually feel, like mucus, like you would take an expectorant to knock loose your phlegm, you use the sad bastard songs to get all the crying loose and out of you.


But this wasn't that. This was genuine enjoyment. Then once I was working, I was enjoying the company of people and making jokes. Oh yeah! I'm funny too! I'm not worthless. Then, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) met me out for a couple of dollar Leinenkugela, and I put down a whole plate of tacos. My appetite's coming back! I may have overdid it because my stomach wasn't quite stretched out enough for that undertaking, but I'm thrilled that things are looking up.

Still, there is that pressure of being single, and I felt it tonight. You get that feeling that you should always try to be meeting people, putting yourself in situations where you could meet folks, and not necessarily sleeping with everyone, just talking to them and having some laughs. All that pressure was off when you thought you were on your last stop. Suddenly, the bus lets you off earlier than expected, and it becomes somewhat of a race against the clock. I'm 33, still relatively good looking, have a decent head of hair, I'm in good shape (but need more muscle mass), so I could still meet someone. But, by the time I have kids, am I going to be 40? Also, when you come out of something like this, you just can't see yourself loving someone else. Sure, it's going to happen some day, but do you fall madly in madly, deeply in love with someone in your 40's?

Am I just over thinking all of this? Probably, but still, I'm 45% better, tomorrow I'll feel even better, and by the weekend I'll be ready to go, only I have so few single friends and I'm not quite ready and . . . Ah, fuck it. I'm on the home stretch here, so let's just feel good about that.
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Update: I just inadvertently caught a glimpse of her face in a picture. That shot me down to 30% better. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight is starting to really suck all of a sudden.

Tip Your Waitress. Try the Veal.

Last night, The Roomy and I actually met some cool, attractive girls that we are both excited about calling. It wasn’t one of those times where I was talking to a girl all night, hoping that I could take her home, and then settling for a phone number that I have no intention of ever dialing. Jeez, that sounded mad sleazy. It wasn’t one of those, “yeah, I guess I’ll call her. Maybe she’s cooler and/or smarter when she’s sober. . .” The point is, I’m tired of meeting, and what’s worse, following up with, girls who I’m indifferent about. Love is supposed to start with a spark, maybe an explosion, but never apathy, right? So, The Roomy and I are stoked to have met girls who actually got our blood pumping a little.

Oddly enough, the events leading up to us meeting the women in question started when my roommate, our friend Jason, and myself were watching NCAA games at Finley Dunne’s, a great dive bar to watch sports. Our waitress was cute and likeable, and she was laughing with us because our television was about 5-10 seconds ahead of the other 6.* We would see a big play, have a given reaction, and then look around to see if the patrons had a similar reaction moments later. We tipped this waitress tall and went home, thinking that was the last we would see of this lovely bar maid.

So, last night (Saturday) we were out at The Liar’s Club, having fun, but the lady front was not looking good. We had a pretty big group with us, at least one of which was female, and it looked like we were going to fall victim to, what I like to call, the “bringing sand to the beach” effect. We were dancing in a circle formation, which makes it tough to infiltrate into other groups, or for other girls to penetrate our defenses. I hate when that happens. Just to shake things up, I spotted The Naked Guy, fully clothed, see two posts ago, so I requested Hot in Here by Nelly to get him good and naked. As I looked anywhere but in the direction of his flaccid penis, I noticed that the talent in the bar was looking slim. Sure it was good for my ego to have a mediocre-looking girl make me dance with another mediocre looking girl who was getting married in a week while her mediocre-looking friends cheered, or to have a so-so looking girl try to coerce me into taking my shirt off. I remember Tom Petty’s American girl was playing while I pushed my shirt down as she fought back pushing upwards. That’s all well and good, but now that the ego had been thoroughly massaged, I was hoping to meet a more pleasing to the eye woman.

Not long after the Tom Petty shirt pulling fiasco, just when I thought all was lost, the waitress from Thursday spotted us and said, “hey, I waited on you guys on Thursday.” She really likes us for some reason, and she insisted that we meet two of her friends, who were both really good looking and, as it turns out, a lot of fun. My roomy and I chatted up these girls all night, and when the ugly lights came on, which thankfully didn’t make either of these girls ugly, I remember typing my girl’s number into my phone as I saw The Roomy at the end of the bar typing in his girl’s number. The Roomy and I had a little spring our step as we went off into the night. I actually have to break a cardinal rule and call mine today. She is leaving for Switzerland tomorrow, and I’m going out of town tomorrow too. If this works out for him, myself, or even better, both of us, we will have to stop into Finley Dunne’s on another Thursday to watch sports on the super-fast television, and thank the match-making waitress for setting us up. Moral of the story: Tip your waitress? Don’t give up until last call? How about simply remembering that while life as a single guy can be lonely, frustrating, unfulfilling, and it has any number of other negative aspects, sometimes you have one of those nights where you meet someone great, and you remember why sometimes it’s great to be single, and you also remember why some of your not-single friends sometimes envy you.

* I want to add that I found this waitress photo on Google Images, so that's not her, and those guys aren't me or my friends, but how funny is that picture? Those guys look so drunk, and it looks like the Asian Indian fella is giving her the stalker look from hell glare.