Don't Lie, You Want To Be James Bond

An article discussing how "evil guys" get more girls: BadGuysGetGirls , left by an anonymous commenter, had this to say:

The study found that those who scored higher on the dark triad personality traits* tended to have more partners and more desire for short-term relationships, Jonason reported at the Human Behavior and Evolution Society meeting in Kyoto, Japan, earlier this month. But the correlation only held in males.

James Bond epitomises this set of traits, Jonason says. "He's clearly disagreeable, very extroverted and likes trying new things - killing people, new women." Just as Bond seduces woman after woman, people with dark triad traits may be more successful with a quantity-style or shotgun approach to reproduction, even if they don't stick around for parenting. "The strategy seems to have worked. We still have these traits," Jonason says

Shortly after reading this article, I saw the latest trailer for the new James Bond film, QuantumOfSolace.

After nearly wetting myself from the incredible trailer, I regrouped and came to my own conclusion regarding women, my "shotgun" approach to sex and my somewhat roguish behavior. The conclusion?

I enjoy my actions, I love the thrill of the hunt and the locked stare of two people in the night looking for nothing but the pressing of skin on skin. I love taking new girls to Belle Isle (Yes, I did it again) and holding them against the rocks in some hidden crevice while I make moves that would be deemed inappropiate for most guys and most first dates. I like being that rogue, that guy that a girl hates but ends up secretly liking.

I find that as the days pass, I care less and less about what people think about me or my actions. My actions get bolder, I get wiser and I start to figure out who I am. Is this my end game? To live life on my terms, and not on societies opinions or boring descriptions of how life "really" should be lived? Possibly. Will this change? Sure it will eventually, but theres no urgency on my part. Why should there be? I'm happy.

Oh and James Bond's role in this blog post? Other than my extreme excitement about the new film, he epitomizes who I want to be sometimes (If I had money, a license to kill, more suits and less t-shirts, and a cell phone that wasn't made in 1997.)

* The "dark triad" personality traits referred to above are as follows: The self-obsession of narcissism; the impulsive, thrill-seeking and callous behaviour of psychopaths; and the deceitful and exploitative nature of Machiavellianism. Ummm, check, check and double check.

Atlantic City (Haiku) Recap

After 3 days of partying and 11 hours of driving, only to be topped off with a six hour shift at work tonight, Jack Goes Forth is a battered and tired young man. Sitting in the bar as I was waiting for my tips, I started doodling on a napkin in an effort to think of something to blog about when I got home. My brain was refusing to work, so for whatever reason I wrote a few haikus about my weekend in Atlantic City. I liked them. So instead of actually blogging coherently about what happened this weekend, I've instead left you with a few haikus in somewhat chronological order. Read them and fill in the blanks for yourself.

First hour blackjack/ Down three hundred very fast/ Drinking heals pain

Strippers hotter there/ Play us like "rich kid" fiddles/ They're stone cold pros


Mom- Daughter Combo/ Jack is in it to win it/ Alcohol fools eye


Ballys is monstrous/ Walking places pain in ass/ Casino rapes me


Discrete sunglass looks/ Beach bar drinking, Sun makes worse/ Chat up many girl


They look underage/ How did they just buy that booze?/ Lets re-examine


Why take bong hitter?/ Afternoon pass out naked/ Rally for nighttime


Seagulls are angry/ Tourists have hardened resolve/ Eat in fear of birds


Dancing like Jagger/ Many hot girls at beach bar/ Booze makes me charming


Two German Au Pairs/ Take them to Jay Z's nightspot/ Twelve-fifty vodka


Hall way making out/ Not a proud moment, again/ Alcohol fools eye


Atlantic City/ Many women, surprise us/ Fun weekend, now broke

AC Baby!!

Trent: They're gonna give daddy the Rainman suite, you dig that?
Mike: Do you think we'll get there by midnight?
Trent: Baby, we're going to be up five hundy by midnight!
Mike: Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh!
Trent: Vegas baby! Vegas!
Mike: Vegas!


I'll be on a blog hiatus til at least Tuesday due to the bachelor party. Not that this actually matters to anyone.

I'm also extremely confident in my ability to quote lines from the casino scenes in "Swingers" at least once every half hour for the entire duration of my trip.


Trent: Look at this, okay? I want you to remember this face, here. Okay? This is the guy behind the guy behind the guy.


Til next week, remember these things: Being rude to girls still works after elementary school, a "drinking problem" isn't a problem if you can afford it and you can remain in decent health, and hesitation is the key to going home alone. Oh and forget what the style experts tell you; always underdress. You don't care about convention, hell, you haven't washed this t-shirt in months! Apathy wins.


Trent: Baby, that was money! Tell me that wasn't money.
Mike: That was so demeaning.
Trent: She smiled, baby.
Mike: I can't believe what an asshole you are.
Trent: Did she, or did she not smile.
Mike: She was smiling at what an asshole you are.
Trent: She was smiling at how money I am, baby.

Funny Bar Exchange Of The Night

My buddy and I were holding an Atlantic City pre-planning party at a bar last night (although I don't recall any "planning" actually happening) and we started chatting up these two girls. Here's what was said between my girl (cute, blonde, short hair, nothing to write home about) and myself at one point in the evening:

Me (As I'm about to leave the bar around 10 PM): Well listen, I need to head out and get some rest. Do you want to come have a drink at my place?

Her: Umm, I just met you like, 10 minutes ago. I'm not just going to go home with you just like that. We can go on a date after you get back from Atlantic City next week, if you want.

Me (with a perplexed look on my face): Oh, well I mean my rolodex is pretty full with dates for the next few months and I was actually out searching for new booty calls this evening. You do have potential in that area. (this said with an unblinking straight face, no smirking or indications that I'm even remotely kidding.)

Her: You're such an asshole. I will never be your booty call...


10 Minutes later, this is what I text her when I get home: Last chance for booty call? Any takers?

She texts back: I'll give it further consideration next week :) Have fun in AC and call me when you return.


Is it really this easy? I mean seriously? The more of a cad I am to girls, the more successful I tend to be. This shouldn't be news to any guy, but stop being so nice. Girls will say the opposite and that they only want nice guys, but don't listen to them.

Just Keep Pushing (At Life)

(Calm down Mommy crowd, this post isn't for you.)

*I couldn't figure out if this image was pro-communist or anti-communist, or just some Asian people reading a book in a factory, but whatever it is, I think it fits this post. Possibly.

"Never give up. And never, under any circumstances, face the facts." -Ruth Gordon.

The facts are, I'm tossing a college degree into the shitter. I'm tossing a solid resume and solid work credentials into the trash. I'm wasting the time that should be spent building credibility with a company and climbing my way up the corporate ladder; to fuck around, bartend, and write. Oh and I've also been known to get my drink on at wildly inappropriate times.

I barely make enough money to pay all of my debts and bills, but I do. I hardly save a dime. I blog and I write and I sleep late. I get invited to local newspaper's open houses, where I'm introduced as some cool "trouble-making blogger" (I'm still baffled by that one). I have no strings attached sex with women that I don't deserve to be with. I make friends by the boatload even though I'm about as courteous as a rabid pit bull. Why is this????

What I've come to discover, and the action that will always improve your lot is: Work Ethic. Good things happen if you work hard at whatever you're doing at the moment (bartending, bricklaying,blogging, some boring 9 to 5, etc) . It doesn't matter if that thing isn't what you've set out to do. Luck will invariably happen if you just put your best work in and show up on time. I can be really lazy, but I show up to work on time and I kick the fucking ass out of some bartending when I'm on the clock. And guess what? Good things are starting to happen. Granted, it really helps that I enjoy my work, but still...

I understand that this post contradicts my message of "escaping the grind" and "living life". But I've seen the light. The only way I'll ever get to where I want to be, is to focus and just be the absolute best at what I'm doing, even if it's as simple a task as bartending.

Great things are coming my way. Of course it would help if I can come back from Atlantic City in the black. Oh and without contracting any STD's from the "private massage therapist" I happen to meet at the casino bar at 4 AM on Saturday morning. The No STD thing should always be the main building block when one is attempting to turn one's life around.

Tired Bartender Thoughts From 4 AM

- At one of the bars I work at we have a "wall of shame" on which we plaster any phone numbers we (the bartenders) get during the course of the night. There's probably about 30 numbers on there from the past few months. I like to tap the wall before my shift for good luck. (similar to the Notre Dame, "play like a champion" sign in their football locker room.)

Well, yours truly added two numbers tonight. It's not really about the girl I meet or the number, it's more about making the announcement to your fellow bartenders after you're shut down for the evening, that they "can all suck my ass!!!! I got two numbers bitches!!!!" That's what is really important here. Belittling other people that you refer to as peers.

-When counting our tips for the past few weeks, I always demand the pile that has the most C-notes in it. I want to roll to Atlantic City packing some benjammins, not a bunch of crumpled up 10 dollar bills.

-As I got home and began trolling RVA Blogs, I came to see that my blog has been deemed a "popular blog" by whomever has the authority to make that decision. My first thought: "Tobacco Avenue, watch yo back bitch!" Next time I invite Tobacco Ave out drinking, he may want to keep an eye on his drink... One sip and the next thing he knows he'll be lying in a shallow grave somewhere out in Powhatan county, surrounded by Bookstore Piet, In Vino, Jon Baliles and myself. All of us wielding aluminum bats, Goodfellas style.

Morva Goes All "Jerry Maguire" On Us

I woke up this morning and was really motivated to get out of bed before 10 AM (I almost did it too). So I get up and pour myself some OJ and commence with pulling the newspaper out of its little yellow bag and what do I come to see?

A picture of convicted killer and former Richmond resident William Morva, his hair and beard making Ted Kaczynski look like a male model, and his face a twisted mask of anger as he shouts his last words to the courtroom.

So if you haven't heard, William Morva escaped a Montogomery County Prison in 06', killing two men along the way and yesterday he was sentenced to death. In his final rant to the courtroom after the sentencing he apparently announced that his new name is "Nemo", declared his innocence and then predicted society being violently overthrown by people like him in the future. I should also mention that he announced that he was dropping his slave name in order to be called Nemo. Umm, Will, you're white man. So I'm not sure if you can call it your "slave name", you know, because... well nevermind.

Now I have no issue with the death sentence or his crazy rants in the courtroom, If anything I applaud him for going out in a blaze of twisted glory. If I knew death was staring me in the face (although due to VA's complicated appeals system he won't fry for many many years, if ever), I would probably pull a Jerry Maguire speech too. I guess his rants just left me a bit baffled. I mean you really want to be called "Nemo"? The lovable kids underwater franchise star? Why not something more tough? Max Power for instance? T-Bone? Ice-Pick? I mean, really, anyone can think of a better moniker than "Nemo".

His speech left me wanting, but that picture splashed across the front of the Richmond Times Dispatch? Well I'll admit it, that shit sort of freaked me out. Check it out here: MorvaScaresMe.

Even Whores Get Lonely

Had a few glasses of wine tonight at a pleasant dinner with my Mom and then I tacked on a few Tecates at the local pub with my buddy. I got a nice buzz on and still managed to make it home by 9 PM. I got home and ended up passing out, laptop on my lap, sitting up on the couch. I woke up at midnight feeling pretty good and decided to take my laptop to bed and listen to music before I went back to sleep. I listened to music for two hours and seeing as I was slightly tipsy and listening to slow jams, I got to thinking about stuff that I usually don't have the time or energy to think about and when I think, I tend to want to blog.

I heard from someone tonight that a recent fling I was involved with had gotten back with her ex (this being the reason she stopped talking to me). I didn't really care about that particular incident, but it got me wondering about my other flings and my other exes. In the past two years I've had 6 solid, one to four month "things", all of which were ended by my hand. Why did I end these? I couldn't even tell you now and there probably wasn't even a reason to begin with. What was wrong with these girls? Nothing. They were all smart, all beautiful, and all of them challenged me and made me happy in one way or another.

I laid in bed and thought about a few of these girls and even went as far to imagine them back by side, in the sheets with me. I only remembered the awesome times, the road trips, the drinking bouts, the day dates.

Why can't I settle? Is it the thrill of sex with someone new? I doubt it. I just get bored, I get antsy, I go out to a bar for the umpteenth time with the same girl and my eyes wander and I just don't get the same thrill that I got when I first started hanging out with her. I get annoyed very easily.

Maybe it's the youth, maybe I just need to find the right girl... whatever. I like being single. I like being unrestrained. It fits me and aside from the occasional "fling", I don't see this changing for a long time.

Besides, high school just got out for the summer. If not for me, who would be there to send off all of the 18 year olds to school?????? I would say I'm kidding, but, well... no comment.

"The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters." -Nietzsche

Jack Goes To Atlantic City

*The chances of us seeing this many hot girls over the entire weekend combined are slim to none, but rest assured, if we do, I'll undoubtedly say something really witty as I saunter up to the table.

I'm leaving for a weekend in Atlantic City after work on Thursday Night. In preparation for the trip I've already learned how to play craps. But trust me when I say, craps will be but one small part of the equation this coming weekend. Here is the percentage breakdown for AC:

15 % Strip Clubs: When I say Atlantic City has good strip clubs, what I'm really saying is that Atlantic City has strip clubs. My boys and I go not for the quality of stripper, we go for the peace of mind that the strippers are so low quality that we may actually have a chance at bedding a few of them. Although when I'm in any strip club, I'm usually hammered, so in my head I always have a chance with any stripper, whether it's true or not.

35% Gambling: Simple fact: You gamble in a casino, you drink for free. They pump oxygen into casinos and the red bull vodkas flow like the James River, meaning I'll be jacked the fuck up all weekend. We'll be the guys at the blackjack table shouting and cursing after every card, calling every new dealer a derogatory term based on their weight and/or attractiveness level and then fruitlessly trying to convince the floor managers to comp us a free breakfast even though it's only 8 PM.

(100 %) Drinking: It's a bachelor party. I'll probably have to restrain myself from drinking on the drive up I-95. Meanwhile my friends will be chugging from flasks and having to piss in empty water bottles in my backseat because I refuse to pull over for them.

2% Eating: Let us be real here, we're a bunch of young professionals (except for me) and the money that it will cost to actually eat at a decent restaurant would be much better spent on other pursuits. That being said, I guarantee some of the entourage will want to have a nice dinner somewhere. Umm, yeah, I'll be at the Craps table, drinking my dinner.

0% On The Beach: There's a good chance I won't see the light of day all weekend. Besides, Atlantic City's beach makes VA Beach look like Hawaii. Which is to say: It's fucking awful.

15% In Bars/Clubs: Women go to bars/clubs, meaning we will go to bars/clubs. I do have some misgivings about dealing with the high number of New Jersey, Gatti boy, guidos that run in that scene though. Of course I sometimes wear my hair like I'm Sonic the Hedgehog, so I can't really make fun of them that much.

45% In The Company of Females: This is where it gets interesting. Most of the bachelor party crew is married, engaged, or tied down. Now even though this is a bachelor party for my boy, I will not be sitting at a bar the whole time reminiscing with the groom about how we used to do balloons of nitrous and then go around smashing mailboxes (we did and it was fun). I won't force any "relationship guys" to come along on my escapades either, but if I dissapear for hours at a time, well... don't be surprised. The life of a single guy is far different from the life of a relationship guy. That being said, I still love ya buddy.

5% Sleeping: I'm not even sure how many rooms we have (and there is at least 8 of us) and I haven't bothered to ask. For all I know we could be sharing one room. I personally won't be there much so the people who will inevitably sneak off at midnight to get some sleep can have it all to themselves, unless of course a few of us decide to go on a prostitute hunt, then those "sleepy" people may be thrown out into the hall with a pillow.

(Okay okay, the percentages don't add up, mainly because a lot of these activities overlap, and I'm to lazy to make everything add up correctly.)

*If any readers have some good AC suggestions for me please leave them in the comment section.*

How NOT To Pick Up Women

-Saying to your buddy "I'll jump on the grenade" before going over and talking to two girls is perfectly acceptable. Calling that girl "the grenade", to her face, five minutes into the conversation is not advised though. I somehow managed to talk my way out of that one.

-Getting two decent looking girls (Okay, one was hot, one wasn't. (The Grenade)) out of a neighborhood bar where everyone knows each other is akin to playing that video game "Paperboy." People start coming out of the woodwork with lawnmowers, strollers; they're random bowling balls coming down the street at you, and meanwhile I'm just trying to make sure the right houses get their newspaper. I mean seriously, last night my buddy and I walked through a cockblock minefield just trying to get these girls out of the bar. Some assbag who works at the bar told these girls that I'm a whore. Who? Me? Jack? Never....

-We ended up at IHOP where I managed to have both of these girls say they "hate me" multiple times over the course of the meal because "I was insulting their intelligence". What intelligence?

- At one point I looked at my buddy and in front of the girls said, "Look man, I'm trying to help you out by coming along on this death march, but I'm not sure I can handle these two anymore."

- I'm really not a good wingman. I thought very seriously about just going for my buddy's girl even though we had both already "paired off". What can I say? She was hot. I didn't because even I have some moral boundries and completely trying to fuck over a friend would be a bit much.

- Unsurprisingly they both ended up warming up to me by the end of the meal, although I'll admit, I was a raging sarcastic asshole the entire time. It proves my theory that nice guys simply cannot win. These were somewhat smart, 27 year old girls too, not my garden variety 19 year olds.

-To answer your question... No, much to my chagrin, nothing happened. I blame society and their rigid guidelines against hooking up with a guy in an IHOP bathroom that you had just met one hour before. We really should look at revising some of the guidelines that govern "normal" society.

Bar Guide/ Style Weekly (Suggestions)

Since apparently I feel the need to put in my two cents on every single topic in the Richmond blogosphere (trust me I annoy myself more than anyone else) I've decided to make a few suggestions about Style Weeklys BarGuide. The reason for this is that I commented on In Vino Veritas post about the Bar Guide, and the editor of Style responded and asked me why I disliked the bar guide. I didn't have an immediate answer. Now I do.

-Overall I enjoyed the Guide, especially Brandon Reynolds' piece "Catch A Cougar By The Tail" and the Bar List by category, which you can only find on their website. Oh and Brandon, I work on the West End 2 nights a week at a Cougar Den, I date 19 year olds and I date 40 year olds (okay I wouldn't say I "date" them...) and if you ever want to go on a real hunt (ummm, for journalistic purposes of course), contact me. I'll show you the seedy underbelly of cougardom.

-Also Brent Baldwins web exclusive on hangovers was pretty good. It's 11 AM on Friday morning right now, and I can barely see the keyboard to type this mess, so it was good to hear some alternative solutions to getting out of this hangover haze.

- I'm not going to bitch about any specific articles. I will second InVinos words about "The Bank" though. The place was hot for a second, but seems to have cooled off. I may just have been there on the wrong nights, but I'm a man of the streets, and the streets also say that The Bank has fallen off. I do understand that the article was meant to portray how The Bank is the Richmond international contingents bar of choice, and maybe this is the case. But the place still kind of sucks.

- Talking about Patios and Glasses and why Infuzion is so cool is just not really what I personally would like to see in a bar guide. In the end I basically felt like the bar guide was an advertisement for 6 or 7 bars. Although, admittedly, I love me some NY Deli. In fact I'm upset that it got a focus article because now rubes from all over the outer-buroughs of Richmond will "have to come see what the fuss is about" and I'll have to wait longer for my Guinness as the bartender makes these people Long Island ice teas or pours them white zinfandel (Another stereotype: The Uneducated masses (black, white, purple,etc) love them some White Zin. It's true, I don't care what you say).

-I need more first person perspective pieces. I need a bar crawl with details like: Service, The Crowd, Anecdotes, etc. I want more grime, more dirt, more interesting shit. I want less softball lobs and more risk. Call some bars out, crown some others. I want a guide on whats hot on specific nights, not just on happy hour and weekends. I want to know where I can hear 90's hip hop and enjoy a cheap vodka soda on a Monday night while chatting up girls in the 23 to 30 age range.

-I guess I just felt like the Guide was sort of glossed over for the masses, which is fine because Style Weekly writes for the masses and makes its money from the masses and wants to be read by the masses.

- I honestly feel that Richmond is a great drinking and bar city. I'm not embarassed to show people the nightlife because we have some good stuff to show. But to someone who just moved here or lives elsewhere and had read the guide, well, it sort of makes Richmond seem a bit stale, a bit to... ummm, corporate?

(Ed Note:No offense to Style. It's tough to criticize a publication that's been around 25 years and one that I read religiously. But Style deserved some sort of explanation for my comments on InVinos blog, and now they have it.)

Richmond. Blogging. Community. Wet. Blankets.

So I got sucked into this whole vortex of anti-racist, cry-baby, blah blah, fucking blah BS yesterday. I did. I admit it. I cried foul with the rest of the sheep and you know what?

It was a mistake.

I want nothing to do with any of the blog gang-raping that went on. I don't care to make friends with a blogging community and I feel like an idiot for sheepishly agreeing with everyone.

I thought Jocelyn Balls was a funny parody and I won't sit here (anymore) and just be a bitch about it like I was and everyone else is.

I do like a few blogs from RVA blogs (and they should know who they are), but for the most part, stop coming to my blog if you're a wet blanket Richmondite (and you should probably know who you are).

Getting one hundred and fifty extra hits in one day is cool, but not at the expense of my dignity and honesty. I could care less about almost all of the opinions I saw and heard from today. I'm not racist and I won't sit here and backpeddle about it again (Like I did when I repeatedly changed my Juan Conde/Ric Young post, so it was more palatable for readers).

That only leaves a few things for me to cling to: Boozing, whoring and attempting to be a somewhat normal human being in this backward ass city. I think I can manage :)

PS: I know I have quite a few readers who don't live in Richmond, and to you, I apologize. I'm putting myself to sleep with all of this shit....

The Ric Young/ Juan Conde Incident

(The people involved in this post may only interest my Richmond readers, although the drunkeness involved will pretty much be a universal interest. Also this post isn't very PC, so just squash the urge to point that out to me. )


Last Friday I had my first night off in months. The plan was to start drinking at 3 Monkeys and then... Wait, that was the plan. So I met some friends (a mixture of guys and girls) and we got to drankin. I started off with a Ketel One Martini and when I start off with a big bowl of vodka, craziness will generally ensue.

We left 3 Monkeys around 6 PM and decided to have dinner at Metro Grill. As we walked down Robinson, being loud and obnoxious, we spotted who appeared to be local newscaster and anchor for channel 8, the man, the myth, the legend--Juan Conde. In our drunken state we began shouting his name and making yelping noises (Seinfeld- Joe Dimag Episode) to see if it was really him. He turned around and it was actually local newcaster and fill in for channel 6-- Ric Young. Okay, okay so Ric Young is black and Juan Conde is... umm. Really tan? Spanish? Asian? I still don't know what he is (Calm down, it was an honest mistake) . Ric Young scowls at us and we keep walking and of course laughing our fucking heads off.

We tuck into our table at Metro and think nothing of this. It wasn't over yet though.

So in walks Ric Young and his brother (his real brother, not his "brotha"...nevermind) and they end up sitting a few tables behind us. Now admittedly, at the beginning of the meal we were not being responsible adults and we were being a little rude. My two buddies, who are 30 I might add, kept saying "Juan Motherfucking Conde" in our conversation and they were saying it with some volume. We weren't yelling anything and we didn't think it was that loud, but I guess it was. Next thing you know, Ric Youngs' brother is standing over our table with his arms crossed like Mr.Clean, just staring us down. Ric Young and his brother are two huge dudes, so we politely shut the hell up, and then the rest of the meal Ric Young and my table kept exchanging strange glances.

Here's the kicker though, we befriended our waitress who also happened to be Ric Youngs' waitress. After they left, the waitress came up and told us what a complete asshole Ric Young was to her and how local celebrity Ric Young only left 4 dollars on a 50 dollar tab. Now I understand he was probably annoyed with us, but don't shaft this sweet little waitress you big shot. And another thing, get the fuck over yourself, you should be happy people recognize you and if you can't handle some drunken kids then stop being a "TV personality".

Also, and you knew this was coming, 4 dollars on a 50 dollar tab???? I really hate to say this again because I'm not even remotely racist, but way to go Ric Young-- Maintaining stereotypes one tip at a time. Seriously though, don't misconstrue this as hate, I have many African American friends and I don't want to be put in the same boat as this new Jocelyn Balls character.

Anyways, I'll be tuning in to my boy, Juan "Motherfucking" Conde from now on.

Sober Bartender Thoughts From 9 PM

*My friend sent me this in an email yesterday. The email read: "You ready for Atlantic City?!" and yes, I am emphatically ready for the debauchery of AC in a week.

-My buddy who I bartend with, got maliciously attacked on Saturday night while he was walking home from the bar where we work downtown. I visited him at MCV today and brought him a copy of my favorite book: American Psycho, although I doubt he'll be able to read very much for awhile. I won't elaborate, but I will say this; the barren factory wasteland/ghetto that is South Richmond should be nuked off the fucking map. Screw the gentrification, screw the "lofts" that are being built there, and screw the crooked Richmond cops.

- I feel like everyone and their mother has told me they're going to Bar Louie out in Short Pump tonight. Okay okay I get it. 5 dollar/5 beer buckets of Bud Light. Yes that's a great fucking deal. I myself have been contemplating making an appearance but judgement has got the better of me this time. In15 or so visits there, I have come to this conclusion about Bar Louie: Cool bartenders, and always crowded, although the crowd sucks. It could also be the fact that various, ummm, flings have invited me there tonight. I'm not really in the mood to be ducking and dodging those bullets all night.

- As I've said, bartending can sometimes come down to loyalty v. money. I'm broke. You do the math. *Foodies, I may be coming to a bar near you soon....(One you all know and love in fact.)

- The tip gods can be a strange bunch. Working at the "college bar" last night I found myself at midnight, just standing there. Usually at midnight I'm a whirling derby of bartending. It was slow to say the least. But still, at 3:30 AM, counting our tips, we made out okay.

- Don't like Gin? Try a well-made Tom Collins. I had one today before I went to MCV (I need a few drinks before I can withstand a hospital) and it made a really good day, even better. Take a shaker, fill half with ice, put 2 1/2 ounces of gin in (Personal preference- Bombay Sapphire or Hendricks), put 1 ounce lemon juice in, 1 teaspoon of sugar and then shake it like you would an unruly baby, which is to say, really fucking hard. Then strain into a medium height glass (slightly bigger than a rocks glass) with ice already in it, then top that with club soda. Stir and then garnish with whatever you have (lemon, lime, orange). It was refreshing and had a nice alcohol kick. It made for a pleasant stroll through the nurse hotness capital of VA which is of course, MCV.

- On that note, where in the hell do all of these amazingly hot nurses live and hangout? I don't see them anywhere except the hospital. This is really begging for some research because I saw a very high number of super good-looking nurses today. Hmmm. No one really stops you from just walking around hospitals. Now I just need a reason to be there and communicate with nurses... and a few drinks in me of course. I will figure this out, because lets be honest, what the hell else do I have to do???

- Okay, I'm still contemplating the Bar Louie thing. Women and rediculously cheap beer can be hard to say no to. Damn you Jack, you weak willed, horny bitch!

A First Date and Restaurant Review

When you are broke and/or would rather not waste a dime on girls you barely know; you tend to get creative. Indulge me....

11:00 AM: I wake up and realize that I told this girl we would meet around 11 AM. Hmmm. I text her and tell her to meet me at Belle Isle at 3 PM. The message this sends her: "I'm still in bed and you're not important." A masterful first "check" in the game for total date domination.

3:15 PM: I get to the parking lot at Belle Isle (15 minutes late). I text her to see where she's at. She hits back with a well-planned text (I got caught up, will be a few minutes late.) Touche (Too-Shay) my beautiful adversary.

3:30 PM: She arrives. I like her style with the whole half hour late thing. We walk over the foot bridge and find a spot on the river to frolic like little children.

3:50 PM: After frolic-ing, some light touching, rapid riding, etc. We lounge in a shallow pool and look at the Richmond skyline. Her face is somewhat close to mine and in my head I honestly recite the words , "you can do this...you're Keith Hernandez." -(Seinfeld Reference) I move in for a kiss, sans alcohol, in broad daylight, 20 minutes into a first date.

3:51 PM: I am in fact, Keith Hernandez. I do what I want to do and I don't ask permission. Sure I'm probably giving off the "I'm horny and this means very little to me" vibe. No deterrence here.

4:10 PM: We decide we're hungry. She hints at a few restaurants downtown near where she works. I shoot down these places like I'm playing Duck Hunt. I formulate a plan and tell her to follow me to a place on southside.

4:30 PM: We hit the Downtown Expressway (we both live in southside) and she follows me to a little place called Sino American Cafe. That's right, I made her follow me to an all you can eat, 9.99 a plate, Chinese/Japanese/American fusion buffet.

4:40 PM: She pulls up beside me and gets out of the car a bit bewildered. I casually say, "I'm hungry, you're hungry. We eat now." After this quote I stomp towards the front door. *I do hold the door open for her, although I briefly considered not doing this...such is my mania.

4:50 PM: As we tuck into our first plates, both piled high with fried rice, orange chicken, a slice of pizza, a few sushi pieces and Chinese donuts, I get a call from my best buddy.

Me answering: "Yooooo! Guess were I am? Sino American Cafe!

Him: "Whaaaaa?!? I'm close to there and hungry. I'm on the way!"

Me: "Cool, I'm on a first date, but she's cool..."

She again looks bewildered by my actions. I smirk and act as if me inviting a buddy to join in for dinner on a first date is the most natural thing in the whole world.

5:00 PM: Buddy arrives. We immediately begin spitting out inside jokes, although to my dates' credit, she managed to hold her own in the conversation.

5:10 PM: I tell my date that if she doesn't at least attempt to consume 4 plates of buffet food, then she voluntarily forfeits her free dinner and will be paying for herself.

Overall impressions of Sino-American and the first date: Sino was excellent as always. The huge vat of chicken with cashew nuts was superb, as was the soft serve ice cream machine. I found a hair on the california roll/pepperoni pizza slice combo I mushed together, although I came to realize that it was in fact, my own hair. My buddy waxed off his third plate and a bowl of ice cream, he then decided to wash that down with a huge bowl of corn (seriously). He did mention how good the corn was though. I commented to our waitress that it looked like they had put a new fish in the aquarium next to our table. She looked at me like I was a crazy person, although she barely speeaky de engleessh, so that may explain that situation.

The date itself was good. We kissed, I only spent 25 bucks, and it turned out I didn't completely turn her off (I think). I think the addition of my friend and his brand of humor helped inject a bit of life into the date. (My humor, which can be on the dark, sarcastic side was going over her head a bit.)

Interesting side note: After bashing how poorly black people tip last night on the blog, I went on a date with a black girl. I wouldn't really call it ironic, just interesting.

Child Abduction Emergency?!?

I'm sitting here at 2:20 Pm on Monday, calmly watching the US Open playoff before I go to meet "the curious female" from last night at Belle Isle, when the broadcast goes black. What the fuck?

Across the screen runs the message: Child Abduction Emergency. Issued for the counties of: State of Virginia.

This is all it says and this runs for 5-6 minutes, making me miss two pivotal putts on the 11th green.

Ummm, what does this mean? Does this mean I should go out and invite some of the neighborhood kids into my place and after restraining them with duct tape, put them in the hidden closet beneath the stairs to ensure that they won't be abducted? Is this what NBC wants? Is there a child abductor on the loose somewhere in the State of Virginia that I should be keeping an eye out for? That doesn't even make sense to me. I'm confused. I need more details before I go on a kidnapping spree.

As I'm looking for my duct tape and a blunt object, the golf broadcast resumes, and I forget about the safety of the neighborhood kids for the moment.

Don't let anyone tell you that not being in a cubicle all day is some stress free adventure. It's really tough man.

Bartender Thoughts From 3 AM

-While cleaning the bar tonight (by myself) I tried a shot of 13 of the 25 or so beers we have on tap. Some were good, some sucked. I really liked Sam Adam's "Boston" Ale (not the same as Sam Adam's Lager). My final analysis: I'll stick to Ketel One with the occasional Guinness thrown in.

-A curious female came by to visit me tonight and by "curious", I mean mind-numbingly hot. I have a luncheon planned with this female to discuss current events, Obama, the U.S. Open, etc... Or we may just not talk and get drunk instead. I'll play that one by ear.

-I tend to get other bartending gigs offered here and there. I ponder some of the offers because some of these jobs are pretty big money gigs. It comes down to loyalty v. money basically. For the time being that's really all I can say about that.

-Two women were at a table tonight and they kept ordering some different exotic/pain in the ass drinks every order (Mai Tai's, Mojito's, Bahama Mamas). I like making drinks, but when I'm the only bartender with a full bar in addition to making these drinks for the service bar, it kind of sucks. I made the drinks without complaint because it's my job and I like the server I was making them for. What REALLY pissed me off is that these two women had a 55 dollar tab and left a 0 dollar tip. The server told me this and lucky for them they were already gone. I'm not above calling out people for completely shafting others on tips. sidenote: I don't like stereotypes but these women were African American. I get shafted by every race, but it is predominately black people. I'm not racist, and I also routinely get awesome tips from my African American patrons, but lets just put this out there: Black people tip like shit. On that note, so do Mexicans and so do white trash people. Thats just blog honesty my friends...

-I was working at a sports bar tonight and the entire bar erupted when Tiger Woods made that putt on 18. I have to admit, I got chills. A more clutch putt, there has not been... ever.

-I have a bar patron editing my first 60 pages of writing, in addition to whatever else I can crank out. He's smart and is some sort of grammar nerd. His motto: "Chicks dig the semi-colen." Seriously, he said this. Proclivity with women isn't really what I look for in an editor anyways. He does take drinks for writing help though. Now that's a deal I can get behind.

-It's now Monday morning. Here is what you should be focusing on this week:

1. Not killing self (This one's a biggie)
2. Sex with strangers (Easier said than done...even for me)
3. Maintaining your dignity (Look at yourself in the mirror... eww, wait, umm, actually this may be a bit much to ask for the week.)

Go get em champ!

Inspiration Station #5

"If your going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs and maybe your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery, isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance; of how much you really want to do it, and you'll do it. Despite rejection and the worst odds, and it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If your going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that, you'll be alone with the gods and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. Its the only good fight there is." -Charles Bukowski

I read this Bukowski quote here earlier today and it really got me thinking.

I've openly embraced a different lifestyle, a life of working in the service industry, a life of writing, and a life of hedonism. I've shunned the "9 to 5" world publicly; to any and all that will listen or have an internet browser.

I admit that there are still times that I think about getting a "real" job with health insurance and benefits and more of a future. There are also times that I'm scared, scared that nothing will actually come of my time spent writing, reading, fornicating (Living as I call it). As the days go on though, I find myself happy. Hell, I find myself borderline euphoric half the time.

I read that quote from above and it steels my resolve. Not my resolve to write this rediculous book (my 45 minutes of agony everyday), but my resolve to maintain this lifestyle, to maintain my freedom. To see it through til I'm on the ground, starving, bloody, near death...

You won't be seeing me behind a desk for a long time.

I'm Going Out

It's 2 PM right now and I'm going out tonight. I'm not going to start drinking at 4 PM and be hammered by 7. I'm not going to make a preplan of bars I intend to go to before I go out. I'm not going to iron a button down shirt and pants to wear. I may not even shower (and I'm about to hit the gym.)

I will not have a few go-to anecdotes for hitting on women. I will not be "doing my hair" (it already looks like it got bukkaked in from months of non-washing and plenty of "product" used). I won't worry about what friends are up to or why people can't come out.

I will go someplace dark. Someplace with booze, cigarette smoke and women. I won't press and try to hit on tons of women, because they will come naturally. I know this because I'm a natural.

I won't even consider texting ex's or ex-flings or any of the girls I always backslide with.

I will meet someone new, although it's doubtful I'll ever want to hang out with them again either. I'll make out with them in some brick alley next to a bar. I'll be forceful but they will resist and then insist that we go on a date and that they aren't that type of girl and although they just met me, they really like me and blah blah blah. I'll keep trying, and finally, weary of playing a nice guy, I'll walk away with a number.

Throw in the occasional date, the occasional girl that consents to sex and the frequent heavy drinking with friends; and you have the perfect representation of my last 6 months of going out. (Or more accurately, the last 6 years of going out.)

For other people who like things that go bump in the night... I'll be somewhere in the Slip, or the Bottom, or maybe the Fan. See ya there.

Letter To JackGoesForth, From Jack

Dear JackGoesForth Blog,


Its been an interesting 6 months, eh?

You have been a somewhat fulfilling creation of mine and I will no doubt continue to chronicle my wretched existance on your pages, but quite honestly, we need to have a little talk. Now I'm not pissed with you and this relationship will not be ending, but I just feel we need to discuss some matters:

1. You cockblock me with impunity almost every chance you get (which is quite often). I mean seriously, I lay all of this groundwork with a women, only for her to read you and then all of a sudden I don't hear from her again...ever. (This has happened twice now, with girls I somewhat liked, at the time.) Now I can't blame this all on you buddy. If a girl gets that uppity about a few written words then she was probably a frigid bitch to begin with, but still. Let's work on this one. I'll stop getting drunk and telling girls I'm a blogger, you stop being such a raging badass of female hatred... wait... how about I'll just stop telling girls I'm a blogger.

2. You claim an existance that is full of random and new hook-ups. Is this the complete truth? I mean hooking up with the same 4 or 5 twenty year olds week after week isn't exactly some mind-blowing statistic. Maybe we should both stop resting on our laurels and meet some new women. I'm a bartender, you're a figment of my imagination.. Together we can do this!!!

3. Some of my friends and both of my parents have turned a blind eye to you (thank god). I guess you tell a side of me that very few people knew existed? Well guess what? I. Don't. F-in. Care. We have to keep writing now... It's for our own good.

4. Be more consistent. Let's make the next 6 months doing 5 posts a week, with quality writing. If we're going to work together at 4 AM when I'm drunk, you need to start spell-checking me better also. Got it?

5. Stop making me backslide with Hooter's chicks and Women with 16 year olds and girls that I have no business screwing around with. Wait, this one is supposed to be in my letter to alcohol. Forget about this one.

6. Commenting on other people's blogs is fine with me, but don't start promising to attend blogger meet ups or any of that shit. If I like a blogger and their blog then I will gladly meet them, but going to a blogger meet up full of Christian right wing nut jobs and creepy, basement, D and D, internet people is something I will not do. Unless I'm on a three day Adderall bender and I know some hot blogger will be there. Then I'll stumble in and try my hardest to do something outrageous, offend everyone and end up getting banned from RVABlogs.

7. Finally, thank you. You make me write and I'm really starting to like this writing thing. You give me some direction in a life that had very little hope 6 months ago. But seriously dude, I enjoy getting laid, so lay off these poor simple-minded girls. I mean they grew up in Richmond for christs sake.... They just aren't that smart. :)


Sincerely,

Jack

Bartender Truisms

- When a bartender smells the shaker after he has poured you shots, the shots are probably made wrong. Trust me, I've made some pretty rank shots and the only way I confirmed this was by smelling the shaker tin before I rinsed it out

- There is no other profession (except for professional pornographic actors) that have the ability to get laid more, and this includes real actors, models, extremely rich guys, NBA benchwarmers, firemen, etc... The quality of girl that a bartender will get is much much lower than these other professions and I contribute this to a lack in "super hot" drunken bar skanks, and an overabundance of "mediocore" drunken bar skanks. I made this ground-breaking scientific break through after many months of trial and error.

- On the note of shots. I know A LOT of drinks, but there are some I can't remember. Don't look at me funny when I admit that I don't know what some bar in Hoboken NJ refers to as the "The Big Blue Giant" and unless you and I are the only people in the bar, I do not want to have a discussion about it. Pick a common shot and I'll make it well, unless you're an aforementioned "drunken bar skank"; in that case I'll be a little heavy handed when I'm pouring the harder booze into the shaker... wink wink.

- It's called a BUY BACK. I give you a few free drinks and you give me a higher tip. You are essentially just paying for the free drinks and not having to leave a real tip. There are people who don't understand this and still leave the same lame ass 15 percent or whatever. Do you think I'm giving you a free drink because I like you? Because you and I are such trusted associates? Ummmm, no. While I do slip drinks to people I like or trusted regulars, lets be real: I got kids to feed bitch. Well not exactly, but I got random shit to blow my money on so you better learn the tipping rules.

- Don't ever ask to me to pour this one extra heavy. I know pour counts. You want heavy, ask for a double and pay for the extra hooch. I'm not exactly pouring light as it is and I can assure you that the bosses bottom line is not my main motivator in bartending. Tip well on the first drink or your first time in the bar, and I will remember you and treat you accordingly. I don't forget a face or someones drink. Names are another story though.

- I can smile and nod with the best of them, but lets be honest here, I probably don't want to talk to you. There are some people I genuinely enjoy speaking with while I'm working, and then there are some I'd like to shiv in the gut with my fruit knife. Here's my advice, either tip huge or be more interesting.

- You don't see this much in a cubicle or office setting, but trust me when I say, "There will always be another girl (or guy) coming down the line." You heartbroken? Sad about gettng dumped? Don't be. The best way to get over someone is to meet someone else (or have a romp in the hay with a "drunken bar skank"), and in my work environment there is never a shortage of new (somewhat sexy) people.

- Waitresses and hostesses are generally in the 18-23 year old range, and there is an unlimited amount of communication between them and the bartender. My advice: If you don't work in a bar, try and not date one of these people. There is to much temptation when you work in a restaurant, especially with charming rogues like me behind the bar.

Drunken Bar Skanks. I just wanted to make sure I mentioned them at least 4 times in this blog post.

Saturday Running Diary (Hooters Week)

*That's me with some classy hookers... Okay, I'm just kidding. That guy is much better looking than me.

(As per usual I've blown a single day (Sat) way out of proportion and it was basically a disappointment, although there was some hilarity I'll share with you.)

11:30 PM: Wake up. Groan at the thought of another day of existence even though it's Saturday and I don't have to work. I field a call from my best buddy and cohort, who wants to move the time up to Noon from our originally scheduled 1 PM meeting time. We agree on 12:30 and I hit the shower.

12:15: I write a stupid blog post, complaining about drinking at Hooters with friends. What a pussy (myself, I mean...)

12:35: Walk into local Hooters. As I see my buddy and walk up to our table the first pitcher of Bud Light arrives. They're on special for 8.99. Some fucking special.

12:40: See our beautiful Russian waitress from last Saturday. She comes up and wants to know the nights I work downtown. I tell her and all of a sudden, life is good. Meanwhile, our new waitress from today is a complete and utter retard (I won't name names though), and I wonder how easy it would be to for me to get in her pants. (My buddy and I come to conclusion that it would be rediculously easy.)

1:15: We're two pitchers deep and our other friends start to filter in. Someone we know from middle school is sitting behind us and he keeps prattling on about some stupid basketball league we were all in a few months ago. I briefly consider slamming a half full pitcher on the back of his head. Judgement gets the better of me though.

1:30: The third pitcher is ordered and the voice level at the table is about 3 octaves higher from when we arrived. We eat their "Daytona Grilled" wings for lunch. (As of this writing, my shit is Tenn. Volunteer orange....and not in a good way.)

2:00: The gambling begins. The entire table (6 of us now) begins betting on how long it will take for our next two pitchers to arrive. I have 3 minutes in the pool and around the 2 minute mark I get up and try to influence the bet by meeting the retard waitress by the bar. It works! But I actually get her to arrive about 15 seconds to early and I lose the bet by a hair. After the first bet, our entire table begins making crazy prop bets and some ill-advised sport bets. (I took the field v. Big Brown on multiple bets for the Belmont..... although I'm sure I'll never see a dime from my cheap ass friends. See ya at the glue factory Big Brown!)

2:30: We are drunk. (Seriously, we have no self-control.)

2:45: We start yelling for our Russian waitress in voices that can only be described as "similar to the Russian General/Villain (Ouramov) in the first Pierce Brosnan installment of Bond; Goldeneye." Translation: We are being very obnoxious, very drunk and basically insulting the great nation of Russia, or what we are now lovingly referring to as, "The Eastern Bloc."

3:00 : We start playing a mutated version of flip-cup, in Hooters, much to the managers dismay. I lose 11 dollars due to my suddenly decreased chugging ability!? What the fuck?

3:45: We're on pitcher number 12 (they're six of us at the table). The manager at Hooters is now blatently staring at us from about 15 feet away. I wonder why they don't have bouncers at Hooters? They probably have tasers in lieu of manpower, which sort of scares me.

4:15: I ask for the check as I have a cookout to attend (My bar owners birthday cookout...details forthcoming). The check comes to 170. It takes about 20 minutes for us to figure out how to settle up. My buddy and I get stuck for most of it (No fucking surprise there.) Our waitress was slightly less attentive than an ADD riddled 6 year old, but I can't really blame her. I would be the same way if I had to deal with a table full of immature twentysomethings. Her name is (redacted) and she works on Saturday days. Heres to her getting fired or at least sternly reprimanded!!!! (I'm joking. It's one freakin trip to a restaurant! Not really anything meaningful in the grand scheme of things.... No offense IWICC :)

4:30: Stop by 7-11 to get my boss something for his birthday. I settle on 7 dollars worth of scratch off tickets (I wrapped his presents in a plastic bag).

5:00: I get to the cook out. I'm drunk. They're kids and families there. It's not a good combination for me. I spend the next hour trying to keep my mouth shut and not say anything to outrageous. I see friends from the bar where I work. We take shots. I'm the youngest person there other than my bosses 2 and 4 year olds. I seriously consider going out to the back yard and hitting the slip and slide with my bosses kids ( They had some sort of Moon-walk/ slip and slide gigantic structure in the back yard...Much more advanced than the plastic mat and sprinkler head combo that I used to rock.)

5:30: I make Smirnoff Razz and Coke Zero cocktails for people. (I think I'm some sort of bartender, although who can be sure at this point.)

5:45: I'm smoking cigarettes on the back deck even though I don't smoke. I try to look cool while I'm smoking... To no ones surprise, I look like an idiot.

6:00: I convince some rich guy to go in with me on a bet against some other rich guy. I take Big Brown vs. Field at 4 to 1. (I know this goes against my prior bets....what can I say? I was drunk.)

6:20: Big Brown pulls up lame and my rich backer has to write a check for 80 bucks. I laugh and I watch money I lost, exchange hands at no loss to myself, of course.

.....

The rest of the day is black out. I sleep.

Addendum: As of this writing (1: 50 AM Sat/Sun), I did not have to remember to wear a condom (check last posting). In fact I would consider it a bit silly to wear a condom when I'm completely by myself...

ugh. You can't win em all.....

Find The Energy

I wake up after 6 hours of sweaty, twitchy sleep. Work was tough and my body is tired. I think to myself, "do you really want to go to Hooters at 1 PM for beers?"

.....

I dig deep and find some energy to get dressed. I'm reluctantly going.

This life is to fleeting and it's times like these (drinking with the friends I grew up with, and possibly bagging a Hooter's girl) that I will remember. Wasting time sleeping or watching TV is for the elderly. Using the "I'm to tired" excuse is bullshit too.

Come Monday I'll probably be ending "Hooter's Week" with a running diary from what is sure to be a fun Saturday. Here's to trying to remember to wear a condom, and to a SAFE Saturday.

Jack

Snapshot Of A (Drunken) Saturday

*Hot bachelorette parties are like my Game 7, although Richmond isn't known for "Hot" bachelorette parties, they're more like obese, thank god that girl has been taken out of the singles pool, bachelorette parties.

My best buddy and I are planning on spending Saturday at the bars, drinking. Big fucking deal right? But wait, this is different. Usually we don't plan our drinking escapades. We just meet at a bar for one or two beers, then the next thing you know, we're inexplicably naked, playing quarters, with two twenty year old waitresses, on a Tuesday, at 8 PM. What makes this different is the fact that we've done nothing but talk about how crazy Saturday will be, which means it won't be crazy, it'll be a drunken bloody trainwreck (my favorite word) of the first order.

It's like a perfect storm of bars (Hooters being the first stop...I know how sad this is), drinking, women, gambling (Belmont Stakes, Go Casino Drive!), and the potential and inevitable trouble (the good kind of trouble) that my buddy and I tend to cause. We've already warned our local neighborhood bar of our plan because they'll probably have to bear the brunt of our antics at some point during the night.

I've put out the word to my harem of underage girls and drinking buddies, and a cleansing diet has begun, effective from now until noon on Saturday in order to prepare my body for the invasion of booze and bar food. Now..... we wait.

(PS: A beer's on me if you decide to make the trek to Hooters(1 PM). Not telling which one, but if you read my blog, you can easily figure it out. You can also identify me by closing your eyes and listening for extremely inappropiate comments at a high volume.)

(PS II: I'm not sure why I put the bachelorette party photo and caption up top. Wishful thinking I suppose.)

Thoughts From 4 AM

-There are no guarantees in bartending. Some nights you get your ass handed to you and you walk out the door with hundreds of dollars, other nights you may just stand around with your thumb up your ass and end up walking with 80 dollars. The tip gods can be extremely generous at times, but other times (like tonight) they can act a bit fickle. Not having a set pay check can make life very interesting sometimes.

- Hooters get a bad rap for having trashy girls and shitty food, but I feel that both of these are completely unjustified and just plain wrong. I've found the girls and food at my local Hooters to be exemplary and in some cases, down right sexy. Hooters has found in JackGoesForth, a new, loyal patron, and someone who will gladly take advantage of his ability to prey on sexy, underachieving, orange short shorts wearing waitstaff.

- I'm tired and I think I still have cleaning fluid on my hands from the bar...which is now in both of my eyes. Fuck.

-I finally stumbled across this Tucker Max guy (http://www.tuckermax.com/). I can write some nasty stuff (especially with some of my recent book writings), but my shit compared to his makes me look like Tucker Max Lite. This guy is a fucking animal with absolutely no shame. I found myself howling in the middle of Barnes and Noble as I read some of his stories.

-Alexis Texas. Blonde, trashy looking, big booty, freak in the sheets. You Porn her and share my excitement. She's a nice collage of my ex-girlfriends.

- Just when I think I know how to handle women and get exactly what I want in the female/male relationship, I get tossed a fucking curve ball. I won't explain this one, but I will say this: I still have A LOT to learn.

-I'm such a contradicting trainwreck. One minute I'm discussing the virtues of some porn star and the next minute I'm bitching because I'm beat up and having women troubles. I'll try to stick to Hooter's girls and trashy porn stars (the two are the same I think) from now on.

Bars and Richmond

Sundays it was Banditos. It was waking up hung over at noon and walking to Banditos for the Sunday Poker tourney. It was shots of Tuaca and a few beers. Sometimes it stretched late into the night, sometimes not. Work on Monday was a blur and the residuals of the weekend still fogged my head and after a long Monday I laid in bed at 5 PM and could barely remember what I did that day. If the hangover subsided by 7 PM (and it usually did) I would be off to Baja Bean for their poker tourney. Maybe I would drink, possibly I wouldn’t. Tuesdays were a wash since my unofficial weekend began on Wednesday nights at Lucky Lounge for SIN night. More Tuaca, more Guinness, more Miller Lite, more fogginess. Thursdays were a hop and a skip all over the fan. Buddys (which was right next door to my place, to my detriment), Starlite, Metro, Café Diem, 3 Monkeys, The Border, wherever the action was. Thursday and Friday days were basically a long nap punctuated by an hour or two of work. Friday night was the main event, the jump off so to speak. Friends who had humped a desk all week showed up out of the woodwork.

"Where we heading Jack? What’s the plan?"

Well lets go to the Slip, the Bottom, lets hit Richbrau, Tobacco Co, Luckies, Cha Cha’s, Europa is a must, Stool Pigeons, Kobe Steakhouse for shots, Mars Bar, Element, Tiki Bobs? Why not? Let’s do drugs, lets drink, lets fornicate. Saturday was then a complete blur with a hangover that lasted until sometime in the late afternoon, if it ever went away. Then, pick some of the bars from the previous nights and that was probably my Saturday night.

If I’m hungover now at 24, I can’t think, I forget shit, colors aren’t bright, sunny days are hidden from like I'm a fucking vampire, and I’m extremely unproductive. I wonder how I used to do that all week and still maintain a job (although the job was as a sales rep for a liquor company…still). I love to drink and party, I guess I just don’t love the volume of it that I used to partake in.

Sober writing is good writing, sober bartending is good bartending, and a sober Jack is actually a decent human being…most of the time.