Friday, October 14, 2005



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10:48 PM<br> 
<div style="clear:both;"></div><strong>PROFESSIONAL <em>douchebag</em> thinks back to high school days</strong><br /><br />When I was on a morning walk last week in Orange County, California, just outside Jenni's apartment in Lake Forest, I found a note.  It was hand written on a single looseleaf sheet of paper in purple ink.  The style and tone took me back to days of innocence, when I had insurance and a job making $6/hour.  I laughed when I read it, many thoughts racing through my head.  So I wanted to share some of the thoughts with you here.  I'll rewrite the letter in bold and add my thoughts right after.  Enjoy.<br /><br /><strong>Dear Jake,<br /><br />Hey what's up nigga?  We are not planning anything for my B-Day probably go out to eat ot dancing I don't know.  My mom doesn't hate you because she doesn't care.  Yes, I love Lil' Fizz so bad and you don't need'r'in Lil Fizz.  Well you don't need a girl to go to the dance you could just find one there.  Well I liked the questions your wrote LOL!  Well we didn't answer all the questions so deal with it.  Know you have to answer our survey.  So lets get started.  First of all I wanted to let you know that I am going to call you "Jack" is that okay or not?<br />You beter start walking with us again!  Or did you get your car back</strong><br /><br />I'm going out on a limb and guessing Jake isn't black.  Raise your hand if you've ever known a black dude named 'Jake'.  I bet Jake is a white kid with baggy jeans and the writer of the letter is a hefty white chick, both of whom think they're black.  Neither she nor Jake are 'niggas'.<br /><br />Goin' out to eat for her B-Day.  I'm guessing to Pizza Hut or maybe a step up to Olive Garden.  I used to work there and loved to wait on high school kids, especially the white ones who called the others white ones in the party 'nigga'.  One time they even threw me in the racial mix.  "Yo Scott my nigga.  Can we finna get some more breadsticks up in this bitch?"  "Fo shizzle my nizzle," I replied.  Oh wait.  Snoop hadn't invented that shit yet.<br /><br />Dancing?  Where the hell do you 'go' to dance?  Tammy's house in the basement only if her brother is at Dave's?  Seriously.  Maybe it's 'cause I've never been a dancer so I was never on the inside of the dancin' hotspots.  I would bet the mall or the movies would be better than dancin'.  What about roller skatin', bitches!?<br /><br />Nice to know that mom doesn't care.  It's likely that the author of this note has had sex behind the liquor store at the end of her block and will do so again after dancin'.  Just like mom.<br /><br />I went to a few dances or 'sock-hops' back in the day, usually without a date.  Believe it or not, I was an even bigger douchebag in high school, my curly mullet, braces, huge glasses and spiked hair, accompanied by my turtleneck and cardigan sweater with Z Cavaricci parachute jeans.  One sexy S.O.B. was I. Maybe it was just me - and chances are that it totally was -  but I never 'just found one there'.  Never ever.  Me and the rest of the not total dorks but far from cool guys just huddled together and made fun of each other.<br /><br />I can't believe the LOL! has tranferred from the computer to looseleaf paper.<br /><br />She's gonna call him 'Jack'?  Really?  Jack?  That's not a far cry from Jake, so why bother.  Call him Dusty or Angelo, but not Jack.  If it's a pet name, make it stand out.  Again, if she calls him Jack, it further reiterates that he's white and not a 'nigga'.  Anyone know a black Jack?  I know Jack Black and have played Black Jack, but never have a met a black guy named Jack or Jake.<br /><br />And call me crazy, but if Jack's not walking with them, I'd assume he got his car back.  Either that or these are some nasty bitches who wear shirts a few sizes too small and jeans serving as girl-gut shelves.<div style="clear:both; padding-bottom: 0.25em;"></div>
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Sunday, October 09, 2005



<br>
12:33 PM<br> 
<div style="clear:both;"></div><strong>PROFESSIONAL <em>douchebag</em> buys Hollywood watch and cologne, parties till 5 a.m.</strong><br /><br />It's currently 10:35 a.m.  Awoke excited that football is on out west at 10 a.m. on Sundays. Another bonus of Hollywood livin'.  Gorgeous outside.  I'd love to go grab a soda or maybe, of course, some coffee, but the gate will lock behind me.  I'm in the apartment of two comedians from Chicago, Matt Braunger and Kyle Kinane.  I never really hung out with or so much of Matt in Chicago, but Kyle is a different story.  He's a laid back, cool guy and one of the funniest guys I know on and off stage.  He's smart and delivers well-written jokes.  "Man, if you're still not on TV or doing anything noteworthy, I'm sure as hell not coming out here yet," I said to Kyle last night, walking to my car after a party in 'the hills'.  It was really in the hills, up a winding round that could barely fit the small Mitsubishi Spyder.  "What the fuck am I doin' here," is all I could think.  It was just after 1 a.m. and I was about to enter a Hollywood party.<br /><br />(Okay.  Really need something to drink.  Gonna gamble and hope to be back soon.)<div style="clear:both; padding-bottom: 0.25em;"></div>
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