photo taken by me of my friend Laura.

I got a special request to do a post about blind dates. I always take special requests into consideration, btw. Just email me or internet me in some other form.

Is it still politically correct to use the term “blind date”? The more I think about it the more uncomfortable it makes me.

Right, so I’ve been on one blind date in my life. And here’s the thing: in this world we now live in, with so much information on the internet about everyone, there really is no such thing as a true blind date anymore. I guarantee you that your blind date has combed through your Facebook. If your settings are very private, then they’ve found something else on the Internet about you, somewhere. The most awkward thing is when you’re on your first date and you pretend not to know what that person is telling you right at that moment because you’ve already seen it on Facebook.

So that’s the first thing, no blind date is without sight.

Ha.

Secondly, how does one handle a blind date? Remember the show “Blind Date?” If you don’t, the show was about filming people going on blind dates, complete with commentary that was hilaritrocious. I would pretend that you’re on that show. Pretend you’re being filmed and remember, you want to look good on camera. Your grandma could watch this. Don’t do anything on this date that you wouldn’t want your grandma to see. If your grandma is dead, then these rules don’t apply, because she’s always watching you anyway.

So it’s fun to pretend you’re on a TV show because it makes the whole situation just silly. Silly as a toad in a top hat.

Like all those jerks say, be yourself. If you can’t be yourself, be Faye Dunaway. Try to avoid being Kanye West. Few can pull that off. But if you’re nervous, just say you’re nervous. Don’t say it more than once (twice at most) because then you’ll make the other person nervous and/or annoyed. Because the person is probably a little nervous too. After all, you’re strangers. As children we’ve been taught to avoid them but then the Internet happened and that pretty much went out the window.

My best advice for blind dates? Show up. There is nothing crueler than standing up a blind date. At least get to know the person before you dislike them.

Have you ever been on a blind date? How did it go?

If you want some other dating tips/advice, there’s this post about running into my Facebook crush at a party and this post about the time I was stood up. (Though it was more like being blown off than stood up. Such a fine line.)

I wrote this on my facebook and it seemed to resonate with a lot of people:

Today I saw something on Facebook that made me jealous and instead of wishing that person got hit in the head with a sled and wondering why my life isn’t like that and what’s so bad about me and screw everyone, I instead thought, “How nice for this person, I’m glad they’re doing well, and I ate a lot of cheese tonight so I’m pretty okay too.”

I’ve talked about overcoming jealously before but it seems like now that Facebook is as big a monster as ever before, and now that Google+ has arrived (LOL just kidding, no one cares about Google+) I’ve noticed that a lot of my friends feel more insecure about themselves. Someone will say something about how so-and-so has a great life and career and call them a “bitch” or a “slut” and I say, how do you know this, I haven’t seen that person since high school, and the answer is always the same:

Facebook.

Here’s what you can do: you can feel bad about or yourself or you can comment on that person’s post, “That’s awesome!” or something. It’s okay if you don’t fully mean it, as long as it doesn’t come off as sarcastic. Because eventually you will mean it. “The more you give, the more you get.” — Paul McCartney and probably lots of other people. This was a really hard lesson for me to learn. First I had to realize it. My thinking was, “Why the hell should I be happy for this person, they’re a jerk and I’m awesome and nothing great is happening for me.” But thinking that way didn’t make me more successful. And it didn’t make them less successful. It just put me in a bad mood.

And I guarantee you that for every Facebook post you see about someone’s awesome life, there’s about two that you don’t. Remember, few people are going to post things like, “Today I cried on the phone with my therapist and gave up on my life.” Actually you might see me post that. But that’s not because I’m looking for sympathy, it’s because I have no filter at all, and just tell it like it is. This actually got me in trouble today and I feel horrible about it. I have to learn to say things in my head before I speak them. (And I really am sorry and I heart you very much.)

OK so. Conan O’Brien kind of changed my life when he said, “If you work hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.” Work Hard & Be Kind has become my motto, my mantra, my manatee. (I needed to keep the alliteration going.) When you do this, amazing things DO happen. When you help your friends, they help you. At the core, all people really want is to feel okay. Not even great, just okay. And it’s so easy to make someone feel okay. All you have to do is sign onto Facebook and “like” something. Again, at first it will feel like you’re lying to yourself, but you’ll soon realize that people are honestly touched when you reach out, especially if you’re the kind of person who never does. Some people are genuine assholes, but those people have terrible parents, so it’s only half their fault and really you should feel badly for them. Even if they have their own house that their parents paid for and they have a great job that their parents got them. Because again, there’s no reason to wish them harm. It’s not going to get you anywhere.

Geez, this went on long enough. Tell me, does Facebook make you jealous? Studies have shown that it has this effect on people. What do you do to overcome jealously, or do you not bother?

I don’t know what’s going on with me lately, or if this is something I’ve always done and haven’t noticed, BUT I CAN’T SHUT THE FUCK UP. By which I mean, if you engage me, I will go on tangents like they’re a free trip to Paris. If I’m introduced to a group, I am shy, unless I start drinking or unless you engage me. And if you engage me, watch the fuck out. You know those movies where there’s that adorable quirky girl that is fascinating? Or is supposed to be, but actually she’s not quirky, she just has no filter and won’t shut the fuck up?

HI!!!!!!!!

Last night I was at a dinner and I felt the need to tell this guy about myself, but 90% of what I told him was totally unnecessary and not remotely interesting. Example:

DUDE: What do you do?

ME: Oh I’m a writer, I mean sort of, I have this blog, wait here’s my card! I don’t mean to be weird it’s just I have these cards and I really like them but I’m trying to get rid of them because I should have gotten them glossy but I didn’t, so now I want to get them glossy but I should give these out first. But you seem really cool so I actually really want you to have my card. (Takes out card, gives it to guy. Guys says card is cool, thus making the mistake of engaging me further.) Yeah, I love these, I love the people who made my blog, they’re called Shaterboxx media, you should contact them if you need a website or blog or something, so I have this blog, it’s about dating and relationships and living in LA, but I don’t really know, so I do that, and I blog for other sites, and I used to have a part time job but I quit that, and now I’m doing something else, but this ring I’m wearing was from my old job, but anyway, I write and oh I also have a column for this magazine, it’s called Genlux, it’s this fashion magazine, I don’t know, I have a relationship column in it. We just did this photo shoot, it’s in the latest issue, with Emmy Rossum on the cover, where we did this fashion spread on bloggers and I was in it, but I wasn’t crazy about my hair at first but I don’t know, I always have issues with my hair. I just got my bangs trimmed.

YES. ALL HE ASKED ME WAS WHAT I DO.

Dustin, if you’re reading this, thank you for not punching me in the face.

There’s a fine line between Annie Hall and Annie, Get Your Gun And Shoot Yourself In The Face. Oh my God, these puns, I’m like Carrie Bradshaw. I mean I think she’s awesome, but she had some pretty bad puns. Isn’t it weird how she’s such a big cultural figure that she’s become more famous than Sarah Jessica Parker?

AND THERE WE GO WITH ANOTHER TANGENT.

I guess most of my blog is tangents, but I hope that they’re somewhat related to each other, like some weird inbred family. It’s just that my brain is constantly rambling with anecdotes and things that I shouldn’t say out loud, but actually most of the time it works out. Something that you would say to a normal person would get you slapped but maybe it’s because I’m charming or because I hang out with awesome people, but they get it. They go with it. If they don’t go with it, it’s awkward. It’s usually awkward either way, but it’s especially awkward when someone is on a totally different wavelength. It’s like what do you talk about? You talk about Facebook.

Facebook has replaced weather as the default conversation topic.

It’s sad but true?

I don’t know, I’m just going to shut up and drink my wine.

A few nights ago, I went to a house party with a dear redheaded friend. I love house parties. It’s the unexpected factor. Will there be good drinks? Will there be cute guys? Will this be the house party that you saw in the movies, the one where everyone had a good time and there’s fun indie music playing in the background and you all wound up jumping into a pool and then dancing in front of a huge fireplace? Who knows?!

This house party had none of those things. However, they did have food, which I will give them major, major props for. Then again, they also had minimal seating and a very loud band. Look, I’m an old person, I guess. I want to go to a party where I don’t have to drink cheap vodka out of a red plastic cup and where I don’t have to pretend to care about your stupid band that Pitchfork just loves. I want to have adult conversations and adult drinks. At least people are starting to dress better. Yikes, here I go. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I am an old gay man trapped in a young woman’s body.

But that’s not important right now.

Most of the party was spent with the two of us talking solely to each other. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize with others. I was just in the mood to look good and pose. Which is basically what I did. I admit, I could have been nicer. But when a drunk girl practically collapses into your lap exclaiming, “WHOA, I did NOT see those steps there!” and cackles like Bette Midler without the charm, am I supposed to smile and agree? Or am I just a huge bitch?

Here’s where it went from awkward to straight up uncomfortable. My friend and I wandered into the living room and I saw in front of me a very attractive man. He was tall, had the profile of Adrien Brody, and the glasses of Don Draper, if Don Draper wore glasses. Basically I’m saying he was a handsome, well-dressed man. He looked oddly familiar. I was pretty sure that he wasn’t actually Adrien Brody, so why did he look so familiar? And then, like a sharp hiccup, it came to me.

This was my Facebook crush.

A long time ago, I went “boy shopping” on Facebook. I scanned friends and friends of friends for cute boys. I found one and I messaged him saying, “I don’t know you, but I think you’re cute.” He added me back. I looked at his photos, came to the conclusion that he had a girlfriend, and that was that. Eventually I landed a relationship of my own (which recently exploded, like the rockets’ red glare) and never thought of him again.

Until I saw him, in person, at this party.

“Oh no,” I thought. “The internet is here.”

I didn’t introduce myself. I don’t think he noticed me. Probably because I tried my hardest to become one with the wall. But it was a shame. There he was, cuter in person, with a (most likely) girlfriend in tow, and I was doing my best to pretend like we didn’t have access to each others’ newsfeeds. Not like I’m assuming he even checked my Facebook profile. Which brings me to another “I am secretly an old person” eye roll: when did the Internet go from being a convenient way to meet people to a new way to make people feel awkward?

I whispered to my friend the whole messy scenario. We then escaped outside. Where I ran into ANOTHER guy I was friends with on Facebook but not in “real life.” We ignored each other. Or rather, I ignored him, while he probably took no notice of me and if he did, had no idea who I was. The Internet is here, and it’s a real thing, and it’s freaking me out. I do not like what this beast has unleashed upon my generation. Like we don’t have enough problems (hello, fucked up economy, nice to see you again).

As usual, I blame the internet for everything. Always.

We’ve Been Had — The Walkmen

Sometimes I worry that I’m using my friends’ lives too much for my own material. And I couldn’t help but wonder (TM Carrie Bradshaw) how did Carrie blog when she was in a relationship? Wasn’t it easier when she was single?

“Definitely,” responded Molly. “It’s easier. That’s why people stay single. For comedy. Once I told a guy I couldn’t date him cause I had to be celibate to write good spec scripts.”

Then Molly pointed out that Carrie used her friends for her columns all the time. I always wondered about that. I wondered if Miranda or Charlotte ever phoned Carrie shouting, “What the hell were you thinking printing that my date always has to shower after having sex with me!” Maybe they just never read her column. Honestly, I don’t think they ever read her column.

And suddenly, I realized something (TM Carrie Bradshaw). I write as much about my friends’ dating lives as my own. Molly doesn’t mind. She says that’s just writing. That’s just how it works. But she’s also a writer so maybe she’s a little more tolerant. And I never name names. But where does one draw the line? Is there a line? I’m again going to take the opportunity to blame Facebook for something. But really, I think Facebook changed the way people think about sharing. Twitter, blogger, all of them contributed to this outpouring of feelings. We’re all sharing in some way.

What did Carrie’s boyfriends think of their appearances in her columns? I know that when Big read her book he felt terrible about how he treated her in the past. I bet Aiden read it and thought, “Whatever, Carrie” and threw it in his hand-carved fireplace. I should take this time to mention that I still haven’t seen the sequel so please don’t spoil SATC2 for me.

Speaking of Sex and the City it looks like I’m going to interview Jason Lewis, aka Smith Jarrod, tomorrow. Anyone got any questions they’d like me to ask him? Aside from, will you date me/marry me/etc me?

Summerboy — Lady Gaga

A friend of mine (who will remain nameless, under threat of her fist to my face) is having a hard time finding a guy. She’s not even looking for something serious. She just wants someone to charge a little something to her AmEx, if you know what I’m saying. She wants Santa to give her a a bag full of toys, if you get my drift. She wants someone to sort out her recycling and maybe help her pick out a good paint color for her living room, something not too bold but not too boring, maybe something that will pick up one of the accent colors in one of her new throw pillows that she got from Pier One, which has surprisingly chic and modern home accessories at very reasonable prices, if you know what I mean.

She wants to get laid.

I went boy shopping on facebook (that’s when you look at all of the cute single guys you know on facebook, and cute single guys of friends, and then finally, cute single guys of friends of friends) in hopes of finding someone suitable. The candidates were underwhelming. All of the great guys I knew either a.) had girlfriends b.) were gay c.) lived in New York or d) wait who is this guy and why is he my friend on Facebook?. I suggested she would have a better time by herself, to which she said, “I don’t need to get any better at masturbating, you know?” Which I thought was a really solid point.

It should not be this difficult for a hot, smart, funny, and successful chick to find a guy to have a fun, casual, non-creepy time with. Guys think it’s very easy for women. “You’re the one with boobs,” they say. “How hard can it be?” It’s hard, guys. I blame the Internet. No, I really do. My friend wisely pointed out that Gen X had the same problems and they didn’t have the Internet to which I said, “Stop ruining my theory with logic, that’s so lame.” But I think that the Internet turned us into monsters. There’s two major extremes with finding people on the Internet: sites where you can find a quick “hook-up” in your area, which I personally think is really dangerous, or sites like J-Date where you can theoretically find a nice Jewish boy but can maybe be just as dangerous as say, Craiglist. Then again a good friend of mine found her cute and normal (!!!) boyfriend on Craigslist so what the hell do I know? Wait what was my point?

I just think we’ve become too used to the Internet as a way to snoop but not as a way to really connect. I think the best way to meet cute guys is at parties; that way you’re sure to meet a friend of a friend. Maybe that’s why I referred to parties as “real life Facebook”. Then I realized how completely sad that sounded. What is this world coming to? Or maybe not, world, but generation? Why is Justin Bieber always a trending topic on twitter? Who is responsible for this?

I’ve tried to find potential guys on Facebook, but when a girl messages a guy on Facebook, he automatically thinks it’s for sex. And I’m like, baby, baby, baby, oh. Like, baby, baby, baby, NO! I’m sorry, this Justin Bieber song has forced its way into my very soul. I played it at work right before closing and as I was helping the last couple in the store, asking them if there was anything else they needed, the tough looking tattoo’d guy said, “Uh, can you play that Justin Bieber song again?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not so I just laughed.

My friend deserves an awesome, attractive, creative, and smart guy. I know they’re out there. It’s just unfortunate that she’s so awesome, because maybe if she were less awesome we’d have an easier time finding someone for her. Few people are awesome.

Birds Of A Feather — Tim Curry

Rename all of the contacts in your phone with celebrity names. Then leave your phone lying out for someone to find. Chuckle when you say, “Kiki Dunst just loves texting.”

Write inside jokes on your friends’ walls. It doesn’t matter if they’re actually in on the joke. I find Simpsons quotes work well. Just pick a friend’s facebook page and write on it, “I call the big one bitey.” Everyone will read this exchange and think that you and your friend really have something special going. Note: you can do this with someone who isn’t really your friend but you want people to think you’re friends. And voila: instant private joke.

Get as many twitter followers as you can, even if they’re spam robots. If you can’t get lots of followers on twitter then don’t even get a twitter. Tell people, “Once I hit over a thousand followers it just got too difficult to deal with.” Then give a half smile that says something like, “You know how it is” and take a sip of your mocha latte.

When you arrive somewhere crowded alone pretend that you’re waving to your friend across the room. Smile, wave, and shout something like, “Are you going to David’s later?” Then laugh and clap and shake your head like, “Oh, that guy.” Then get to the bar and start drinking.

Write everything that you’re going to do in your planner but spin it. For example, going to Starbucks becomes coffee date or morning meeting. It’s important to fill your planner on the off chance that someone sees it. You’re going to want to appear busy. Write names under these plans. Find out the name of your favorite barista and put his/her name under “meeting, 10:30.” You’ll know what it really means but other people won’t. Patrick Bateman did something like this when he told Detective Kimball that he had a meeting at The Four Seasons with Cliff Huxtable. It’s just what people do.

Photograph everything you do and then put it on Facebook and then tag everyone and yourself. People will think, “Marcy sure does have a lot of friends and exciting things that she’s doing.” Maybe don’t photograph everything but just the events in which you’re dressed nicely and out with others. Don’t photograph yourself with your cat and then tag your cat. Everyone knows that cats don’t have Facebook profiles. Cats still use MySpace.

If you do all of these things then you will either be the most popular kid in town or the least. Ow, my eye! I’m not supposed to get pudding in it!

I think from now on I’m just going to stop caring about anything. So many of my friends have “accidentally” gotten book deals or small parts in movies just by chance. (This again reminds me that I should just stop checking facebook.) I am going to apply this to everything I do in life. I’m going to just keep eating whatever I want because I’ll just happen to stumble upon the perfect body, right? Or I can ask W Magazine to photoshop a supermodel’s onto every facebook photo of me, that works too, apparently.

Yes, friends, it’s another Facebook post. WAIT, DO NOT LEAVE, PLEASE. DO NOT CLICK THE LITTLE “X.” DO NOT GO INTO KARLA’S CLOSET OR INTO THE VAST DESERT OF ONTD. STAY WITH ME A LITTLE LONGER. DO NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.

OK now that it’s just us, let’s get really intimate. Let’s talk about stuff. Let’s throw it out there, like a deer carcass on a table.

Remember when you first got Facebook and you thought it would change your life? Wait, maybe that was just me. But remember when you first got it and you thought, “Oh this is cool and better than Friendster”? Yeah you have to remember that. Remember Friendster? Remember how there were “testimonials” and how when you wrote testimonials for each other you wrote them sincerely, because it was all so new? I had a friend who wrote things like, “Help, I am Rosie the Robot and I am trapped by George Jetson and forced to write things on Friendster!” Trust me, it was funny at the time. When the teacher pops a test, I know I’m in a mess, and the dog ate all my homework last night.

I think what upsets me most about Facebook is the jarring way it straddles the line between privacy and public life. By which I mean a lot of things, so let’s break it down (remember that deer carcass? We’re gonna take of its limbs and stuff. I’m sorry, I saw “The Queen” a few nights ago and I’m still thinking about that scene where Helen Mirren stares at the dead deer. God Helen Mirren was so fucking hot in her youth. She still is, in her own way, but that Mirren was like a girl from a David Bowie song or something, man. Wait, what? Oh right, let’s break it down):

– When someone posts news on Facebook or interacts with you in some way, do you then bring it up in public? Or is it like you have two separate lives? How many times have we been at a party and someone you know starts telling you something about their lives and you think, “Fuck I remember reading that on my feed, do I let them keep talking? Are we now both pretending like this is new information?” It’s the new “Uh oh this person has something in their teeth, do I tell them?”

– “It’s complicated” is your relationship status. Then why the hell are you hitting on me? Are you trying to make merde more complicated? Sweet sassy molassy, what does “It’s complicated” even mean, really? I take it to mean, “I’m currently fucking someone” but I could be way off.

– Between this blog, Facebook, and my twitter, it seems like I have no new banter left to present in “real life.” Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to use that Jurassic Park joke in person only to be told, “I read that on your blog” and have me feel dumb? Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with new material? Yabba Dabba Doo!

– This one annoys me to no end: I send you a message on Facebook, you haven’t responded, but you’ve updated your profile/status/done something to prove that you in fact have been on Facebook and are, for whatever aggravating reason, not responding to my message. Don’t you see how rude that is? To be honest, I’ve done that before, but only because I’ve totally forgotten that I had a message to respond to. So I like to give people the benefit of the doubt that think that they have also forgotten, but it gets harder to believe when they update their Facebook every day. Like, what the hell? Answer my goddamn message! I can tell you’re online, I know you got it, because Facebook you know, works, so what the hell?? What don’t you fucking understand??

However, I still can’t bring myself to delete my Facebook. I KNOW, I KNOW! I just can’t. I would feel way too disconnected from the world. For one thing, people use Facebook over email or telephone to send out invitations to parties/events. And you all know how much I love going to parties. I’m like Andy Warhol; I’d go to the opening of a cereal box. I just can’t risk that disconnect. I need to know what’s going on. Except for when I see something potentially upsetting, like when a love interest has moved/gotten a girlfriend/cut his hair. That’s damaging. But, like an abusive lover, I keep coming back. I let Facebook pummel me and then I just bleed all over it.

These songs describe in every way possible, from lyric to melody, how I feel about Facebook:

Total Eclipse Of The Heart — Bonnie Tyler
This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) — Talking Heads
Laura — Girls
Hate — Cat Power
This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both Of Us — Sparks
and finally
What’s So Funny ‘Bout Peace, Love And Understanding — Elvis Costello & The Attractions

Hey you. Thanks for meeting me here. Have a seat. No, not that seat. Don’t sit there. I swear to God if you sit there I will stab you in the throat. Oh, that seat? Yeah, that’s fine, you can sit there. I was kidding anyway.

I was thrilled to get your invitation. I can only assume that you’re bringing me here to tell me that those photos of you with that girl on facebook mean nothing. Yeah, I saw the ones of you in that canal in Venice. I guess it was very romantic but I’ve been in those canals and they smell like a house full of dumptrucks. Ok, fine, they don’t. I was just saying that because I felt like hurting you. Oh, that didn’t hurt you? Well yeah, I guess it wouldn’t. It’s not like you invented those canals. That was DaVinci. What? You’re pretty sure it’s not? Huh, that’s funny, which one of us went to college? Me.

I’m sorry. That was really, really mean.

Anyway you look well. I mean look at you, you’re fucking beautiful. You know it, I know it, that goddamn chair knows it. Look, I have no problem with the chair. It was a joke. This is great wine.

I just wanted to say that if you had a girlfriend you could have just told me. I wouldn’t have been hurt. It’s only now, after all this time of feeling like I’m in a cave with a single lit match, that I’m hurt. Oh, what I meant about the cave thing was that you left me in the dark. Yeah, that’s all I meant. No, I wasn’t implying that the match was burning my fingers. That’s dumb. That doesn’t make any sense. You’re an idiot.

I’m sorry, that was mean.

I’m just getting sick of this. All of this, stuff that you can’t even be held accountable for. I’m just getting sick of never being the girlfriend. I am always the girl on the way to the girlfriend. I’m Goodluck Chuck.

I am never the girl in photos.

What do I mean by that? Well, after a guy disappears from my life, lo and behold I see him on facebook with a new girl. They may not have even declared their relationship but it’s obvious. I always wonder, why isn’t that girl me? And usually I’m much more photogenic than these girls. I’m sorry if that shocks or upsets you but it’s true. But no guy ever wants to take photos of me and put them on facebook. No guy wants to have a photo tagged of us, of his arm slung around me, smiling at me with pure adoration. They save that for the girl after me. I am the girl the guy doesn’t show off.

This is what I mean when I say, I am never the girl in photos.

It’s OK, I’m fine now, I have Sven. Oh? Sven is my boyfriend. He looks like the guy in a 1960s ad for cigarettes. Sometimes. Other days he looks like a British guitar player. Sven isn’t exactly what you would call…real. Yeah, he’s my imaginary boyfriend. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Stop giving me a weird pity look. It’s fine. Really! Look, pretend I didn’t say anything. I was kidding. I was 80% kidding. Don’t worry about the 20%.

Never worry about the 20%.

Half of me wants to throw this drink in your face and the other half wants to kiss you. So what the hell am I supposed to do now? This is good wine, I don’t know if I should waste it on your face. Your beautiful, beautiful face.

I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna buck up. I’m going to stop looking at your facebook photos. I’m going to have to leave my iphone at home. I’m going to be the strong person that is hidden somewhere inside me, like a grape in a goat. Shh, I’m not done. I’m going to admit that I am the cliche who doesn’t feel validated unless it’s from a guy. But I’m going to be fine. I’m going to make videos and put them on this blog (really, I will). I’m going to keep writing. I’m going to get cast as a co-star in something.

I will realize that you are not everything I think you are.

And I’ll even pick up the check for this.

I’m just going to go to the bathroom first. I am definitely not going to slip out the back. Really. I’m not going to leave my credit card here at the table though because I…need it…in the bathroom. Yeah. I’m just going to be right back. I’m not not leaving forever.

Sike.

She’s Not Me — Madonna
Hello Stranger — Barbara Lewis
How To Quit — Sam Phillips
I’m Not Down — The Clash
Bloody Motherfuckin Asshole — Martha Wainwright
Ring Of Fire — Amanda Jo Williams
Brown Eyes — Lady GaGa
If You Close The Door — The Velvet Underground