House Arrest

Whenever I begin to consider visiting my hometown, I remind myself of the goings on of Las Vegas.  Not the strippers or the gambling (even though I mastered both early in life) - more so, the goings on of the quaint two-story house in the middle of a cul-de-sac of a master-planned community - the house I grew up in. Home sweet home (allegedly).  

During my last visit, over a year ago, I had been enjoying my vacation away from the big city reminiscing with my siblings and old friends. Of course, all of this reminiscing took place at bars or pools with bars - as is necessary. The final day of my trip, my sister and I returned to our mother's house during the wee hours of the morning, dodging her glares and piercing judgments as best we could.  After a few hours of recovery and fluids (the nonalcoholic kind), we were able to pull ourselves together to head back out and meet our friends for some day drinking quality time. 

We braced ourselves for the task at hand and walked outside to the car. With a quick click of the remote entry button, the doors unlocked and my sister opened the passenger door as I walked around to the driver's side - I had requested to drive seeing as I was a Manhattanite whose feet acted as a main form of transportation powered by Jameson instead of unleaded - it had been too long. Apparently, I wasn't as recovered as I had thought I was (similar to Lohan's lack of understanding of her readiness to accept sobriety) because it wasn't until I sat down in the driver's seat that I noticed my ankle monitor - my ankle monitor in the form of a club.  Yes, the steering wheel club invented to thwart would-be car thieves from operating a vehicle.  We were being treated like common criminals. Our mother had placed this bullshit device on the car before leaving in her club-less vehicle. 

It was a Sunday and, as a product of a strict Catholic upbringing, I immediately attempted to use this to my advantage. Grandma would see things my way; she'd have my back. Standing in the driveway, I enthusiastically dialed her up, woosah-ing with every dial tone to calm my frustration. Similar to enjoyably aggressive intercourse suddenly surprising you with a mistimed hip thrust resulting in penetration of the wrong opening, I was shocked and angered when my mother's voice answered the call. A quick glance at the screen of my cell phone confirmed a correct dial. "Put grandma on." As soon as gma picked up the receiver, I began explaining the situation. "Hi, Grandma! I'm not sure if your daughter already told you what she did, but there is a club on the steering wheel, and we can't get to mass." I figured this was a perfect story. I simply mispronounced "the bar" as "mass" - a common mistake, especially if you're born and reared in Las Vegas.

"Well, why don't you walk to mass?" Grandma, you snake! You know we're Catholic. We're not a couple of Orthodox Jews on our way to synagogue who must abstain from operating vehicles on Shabbat. What do you think this is? Additionally, it's sweltering at over 100 degrees outside and you want us to walk five miles? Immediately, I realized there was no winning in this situation. My mother had already polluted her mother's thoughts with images of us shooting tequila in little-to-no clothing (in our defense, please note it was over 100° outside).

Our mother's plan worked. She successfully circumvented our attempt to enjoy life further - story of my life. We were left with no other choice but to retreat back into the house and finish out our sentence. Fortunately, as the one of her four children who moved 3,000 miles away and emancipated herself years prior, I was not under her control nor the control of some device that acted as a dedicated deterrent. Single mothers sure are creative in their attempts to materialize an absent father.

Soon after this inconvenience, my sister wised up and hid the club as soon as she located it in the master closet. Too bad our mother presumably bought in bulk. She produced a fresh club each time my sister assumed she had successfully outsmarted her. One can never outsmart crazy.*

Yes, I plan on keeping a cab service on retainer the next time I visit.


*The use of crazy in this instance is meant in the most loving and respectful way.**
**In case my mother reads this.

Getting Naked is Dangerous

Brian and I were thoroughly reveling in our last night in Miami.  Stumbling out of the club, bidding adieu to the South Beach nightlife, we made our way down to the beach to enjoy one last free pedicure the sand always so cordially provides.  We passed a few people on our stroll across the shore while the remnants of waves splashed at our ankles; some homeless, some couples, all enjoying the moon's reflection on the dark water (OK, so the homeless person was sleeping, but it's likely his glazed eyes smiled at his surroundings before he passed out).  When it came time for us to travel back up the beach toward our hotel, we exchanged a knowing look.  "Let's do it," was the general consensus.  

Removing my jewelry, dropping my purse, and losing my dress as quickly as I lose my dignity at bars, I skipped into the ocean allowing the salty waves to try their hand at sobering me up.  Occasionally squinting at the dark shore from the water, whose sand mirrored the 3am night sky rather than the hotel lights of Collins Avenue, we kept an apathetic eye our belongings. We gleefully splashed through the ocean whilst screaming inside jokes from our trip, our way of immortalizing the good, the bad, and the inappropriate before we had to hop in that death trap that is a South Beach cab to the airport a few short hours later.

Brian and I were in heaven.  That is, if you can be drunk, naked, and swimming in the ocean in heaven (I'd consider sinning less if that were the case - yeah, I know, that's unlikely).  In those moments, I was the happiest a person can be.  Don't believe me?  I snapped and texted that picture just before stripping down. Pure, unadulterated joy right there.

As Amanda Bynes famously said, "All good things must come to an end." We couldn't remain carefree floating in the ocean forever (though we considered it).  We were forced to reclaim responsibility and make our way back to shore.  Slowly trudging through the waves, unacknowledged goose bumps started forming.  We felt nothing - clearly the brisk water did little in the way of moderating our inebriation.  Where the water failed, however, a war veteran succeeded.

Our shoes were all that remained of our belongings - my $2 flip-flops and Brian's flashy Adidas sneakers.

Vocalized panic started erupting from Brian's mouth while my internal panic manifested itself in nail-biting. All I could think was - which of our friends were playing a prank on us.  Too bad all of our friends were at least 1,300 miles away.  This couldn't be happening; we were leaving for the airport in two hours.

We noticed some people about 50 yards down the shore.  I told Brian to go ask if they saw anything.  He insisted that I come with him.  I shot him a piercing look and motioned to my hands fully occupied with covering the goods (or the OKs - whichever), and responded that I would not be joining him on this endeavor.  Besides, I was busy chomping the last of my manicure off.  

Moments later he was back with the bleak news that our useless neighbors had seen nothing.  He checked inside his shoes for the second time and felt something that the hysteria had previously caused him to miss - his phone and wallet. He had tucked them into each of his shoes before jumping in the water.  While his sense of alarm began to dissipate, mine was still violently attacking me as I stood naked on the shores of South Beach.  

We tried calling my phone - it was off.  This war vet was good.  Oh, I suppose I should explain how I knew the thief was a war vet. Simple - the only way he could have stolen our things unnoticed is if he had been army crawling through the sand (important to note: this theory was later endorsed by a friend who watched a man do exactly that in an attempt to steal his friends' belongings during a similar night's swim in South Beach). So, either this person was a war vet or an infant in its pre-walking stage.  I'm going to stick with my gut on this one.

Thankfully, Brian's phone proved rather useful with its flashlight app as he was able to locate our clothes about 100 yards up the beach. I assume the vet determined our duds were neither his style nor size.  Flip flops in hand, I threw my dress back on and we agreed it was time to head to the hotel to sort things out.  En route, I called and made the necessary cancellations to cards (at least I had the sticky magnificence that is the material used to adhere credit cards to the trivial piece of paper enveloped and expedited for your convenience to look forward to - God, I love that stuff - so underrated). I then dialed the boyfriend who so wonderfully answered what could have been an annoying drunken rant and, after following my sloppy directions leading him to my passport, sent me a picture of my last available form of photo ID.  Not sure if TSA would have let me anywhere near my gate without something showing I was who I claimed to be.      

The front desk printed my passport and called up a cab.  I regretted finishing off every finger nail because the return flight was close at hand.  It's pertinent to mention that I'm a nervous flier. Ignore the fact that my father was a Naval Fighter Pilot and my mother served as a flight attendant during my youth - I should be most comfortable in the air - but as we all know, I'm most comfortable in a dive bar surrounded by my friends, Jameson and self-doubt.  I digress.  What was already a stressful situation was exacerbated by that damn vet.  I suppose I should be thankful for his service, though. Ugh.

Overall, it seems I have become a bit too comfortable neglecting protection; specifically, protection when it comes to nudity and my goods.  I suppose getting naked in any capacity requires a form of safety, but it's always a bit more exciting when safety is ignored - amiright? 

Girls, Avoid These Guys (Continued)

(Supplement to Girls, Avoid These Guys)

What your name says about you, gentlemen (more so - Who to avoid, ladies):

Jason: [Origin: Greek - Healer] Carefully disassembling every toy in your youth resulted in a successful career in medicine.  You are the greatest in your professional field but a recluse in your personal life due to an absence of socializing in your formidable years.  You concentrate so intensely on convincing a date to accompany you back to your apartment that you completely forget to hide your collection of surgically removed foreign objects.  The date (only having agreed to go out with you to appease a mother's constant disapproval) enters your home, surveys the countless number of murky liquid-filled jars, and makes a run for it.  Not to worry - you quickly capture the fleeing victim and inject an immobilizing serum.  You got one.     

  

Justin: [Origin: Latin - Just or True] You always tell the truth no matter the consequence.  Sadly, you cannot expect the same from others.  Many will lie to you, and most of those liars will be women.  Keep in mind they are doing it to spare your feelings.  At least you can revel in your rare and coveted ability to be punintential with your name as often as you find amusing. "This Just-in: My dick!" "I pulled out Just-in the nick of time!" "Just-in case you finish first, I don't mind fellatio!" It's unfortunate that you will never follow through on the latter, however, because your sexual prowess is, in the kindest terms, lacking. Just-in case you finally figure out how to bring a woman to orgasm, give me a call - no lying necessary.

Matthew: [Origin: Hebrew - Gift of God] Even though your parents didn't plan for you and your mother's desperate wish for her monthly gift failed to come, they still refer to you as their little gift.  Even after their hate-fueled divorce.  Just because your father went on to start a completely new family and no longer takes your calls, doesn't mean you're less of a gift.  You're the gift that keeps on giving. Just like your herpes.  Of course, it upset you at first, but things are looking much better - Valtrex approached you to headline their awareness tour, "Matthew: Gifted for life. Can't keep me down." Are the flare-ups less frequent now that you're a hundred-thousandnaire?  Does poppa take your calls now?  I'm sure you'll be happily married sans prenup in no time.

Michael: [Origin: Hebrew - Who is like God]  Your parents, having superior genetics themselves, were not concerned with building a family as much as they were with breeding god-like beings. As such, you were created. Because your svelte physique and modelesque features make you so desirable, it's like Easter every day with girls dropping eggs following each glance in your direction. Unfortunately, many of the girls with comparative genetics are either related to you or have stopped following you on Instagram due to your excessive post workout gym selfies.  Duckface selfies should be limited to two a week - max.  How will you continue your family's legacy if you are slowly evolving into a cold-blooded-fly-south-for-the-winter douchebag?  Figure it out, demigod.

Ryan: [Origin: Irish - Little King] It is much too unfortunate that "little" is the operative word here.  However, you've never let that stop you.  You wore your prom king crown to every party in college, attributing to a few more vertical inches.  Too bad it couldn't approve another set of combined inches.  OK, so you have come to the realization that the fraternity letters tattoo was a mistake, but at least all those girls you roofied slept with while fratting around college will never be forgotten.  Now you're the "King of the Force" having become an officer of the law to make up for all of your shortcomings.  A career of making better men cower to your authority becomes you.  Stop hitting your wife.  

Sean: [Origin: Irish - God is gracious] Your abs are gracious, as are your grandparents for letting you live in their garage. All of the money you save on rent goes into your body. There isn’t enough protein on the planet to meet your needs, and it shows. You spend too much time in the gym to get a regular job, so you have opted for gym guru by day, club promoter by night. You love staying up late at the club, not because of the booze – you don’t pollute your body with such filth – because it allows you to maintain your eating-every-three-hours schedule. You die a young death because you forgo a spotter early one morning. Should’ve lived a little.

Girls, Avoid These Guys

When we were kids, we were constantly reminded not to pick on others.  Now that we're adults, we live to judge everyone that passes by.  We simply found a better term for it: People Watching.  It's similar to revamping a resume to read better.  Instead of "teach asshole high school students who will likely become dropouts," you opt for, "create curriculum and implement lesson plans for the leaders of tomorrow."  There is always a way to manufacture a preferred representation.  Unfortunately, too few of us take advantage of changing a few details here and there to actualize a better outcome. Take your name, for example.  When was the last time you changed it?  If the answer is "never," you have some work to do.

What your name says about you, gentlemen (more so - Who to avoid, ladies):

Alexander: [Origin: Greek - Protector of Men] As the eldest of four, you grew up looking after your siblings - acting as their protector.  It's too bad you weren't a better protector of your swimmers.  You never wanted a big family, but because your high school sweetheart didn't believe in birth control as much as she did in alcohol or sexual promiscuity, you have six kids (two of which you're not sure are yours). True to your name, however, you watch over your six mistakes heroically whenever you stumble home from the bar, which you frequent after your 11-hour shift at the car wash.  They all respect you as much as your wife respects her fidelity.  On the bright side, they serve as an excellent tax write-off, which funds your nightly escape into a bottle of whiskey.

Anthony: [Origin: English - Highly Praiseworthy] The CEO of a tech startup, you are the envy of all of your peers.  Sure, you were bullied as a kid, but look at how far you've come!  Now that you have enough money, anyone will like you for the right price.  So your wife spends more time with her trainer stretching her legs overhead than she does with you, the important thing is that she loves your wallet and always will as long as it stays as thick as her trainer's -er - biceps.  From the outside looking in, you've got it all and you have convinced yourself of the same. No one guesses for a second that you are trying to prove a thing when you reach across two pews to drop a hundred dollar bill into the collection plate at mass each Sunday.  Everyone yearns for your level of happiness.

Brian: [Origin: Celtic - Strong One] A star athlete from a young age, you have always been bigger, faster, and stronger than everyone around you.  You have never had to try with women and guys are always trying to be one of your bros.  Peaking in high school, though, was an unfortunate circumstance.  Having to leave college after tearing your ACL and losing your scholarship has landed you back in your hometown where you now coach the high school football team, stroking your beer belly from the sidelines.  The tattoo that meant so much to you at the age of 18 - "desire to play" written in Kanji - has acquired an entirely different meaning in your mid-twenties - "desire to play...with yourself." Try to keep your hands off the underage cheerleaders and you'll be just fine leading your mediocre life.

Christopher: [Origin: Greek - Christ-bearer] Just an "opher" away from Christ.  That alone paves a meticulous path to a beautiful life.  Similar to Christ in every way but his young death (and that whole God thing), you experience every happiness just as you provide it for so many.  A self-starter, you built your fortune through your exquisite carpentry and have never let it get to your head - never once have you showed off by walking on water.  All you need to remember is to avoid prostitutes so you avoid poverty and always bring your own booze to a wedding in case you become too intoxicated to pull off the water-to-wine trick (read: miracle). Save that one for the ladies.

Daniel: [Origin: Hebrew - God is my judge] Too bad you'll come to meet the faces of many a judge when you live a life I'll refer to as Felony-Misdemeanor.  Similar to pot acting as a gateway drug, your failure to return crayons to your classmates in first grade will lead to your seven year stint in the Big House for neglecting to return that car you found parked in an unmanned lot.  Fortunately, your continued focus on carefully handling the soap leads you to the development a brilliant invention now found in every shower across the nation. You've become institutionalized, however, and cannot help yourself from embezzling money just for the hell of it.  At least your commissary account will always remain full.

David: [Origin: Hebrew - Friend] You've met and charmed the parents of every one of your girl friends...as the best friend. A combination of the excessive acne you battled in high school and your overall diminished self-esteem have created a personality that always lands you in the friend zone. Even your own penis friend zones you at times because of your refusal to take down the yellowing posters you've had taped to your wall since the 90s.  If Ferrah Fawcett's family could bury her, you can retire her red swimsuited smile you've been jerking it to since the moment you figured out what your sweaty appendage was for.  It's time to move on - from your platonic friendships and your monotonous past.  Try online dating.

How to Nail the Interview

The majority of us, at one point or another, will be required to sit for an interview, during which we will be asked a multitude of questions.  While some of these questions are straightforward (i.e. Are you willing to travel? What is the highest level of education you have completed?), others are designed to provoke different ideas on individual levels allowing the interviewer to better interpret your likelihood of success in the position you have applied for.  You know the ones I'm talking about - strengths, weaknesses, biggest failure, etc.  We are constantly told to put a positive spin on all of our answers.  "My greatest weakness is that I typically operate with urgency to complete a project while triple-checking it for accuracy." Not only do you sound like a kiss-ass, the interviewer knows you're simply regurgitating premeditated answers.  Instead, I would suggest honesty.  So, what are the right and honest answers to the tougher, complex interview questions?

What are your weaknesses? I consider myself a strong person; however, if I had to admit my weaknesses - a strong jawline coupled with five o'clock shadow and Jameson.

What are your strengths? I wish we had more time for this question, as I possess many strengths.  Narrowing it down to the mental rather than the physical (even though you didn't specify), I would have to say my strengths are disguising a low self-esteem with sarcasm and an innate ability to convince people in positions of authority of my sobriety regardless of my level of inebriation.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? 10 years? I'm more of a live-in-the-moment person, as is typical for my generation - you're, what, a few years older than me?  You get it.  Actually, should we take advantage of this moment right now?  No?  OK.  Well, if I were to really consider it, I suppose, in five years, I see myself heading this company.  I'm a bit of an overachiever when I can score some Adderall, and fortunately for us, my friend's kid was just diagnosed with ADD/ADHD; so, I'm good to go for the near future.  In ten years, I'll likely be drinking 50% more than I currently do.  Coupled with a new Adderall addiction, I imagine that would lead to a stability problem.  We'd likely both be out of jobs by then due to my inability to lead this company.  It should be a fun run, though.

Why do you want to leave your current company? Well, we recently hired a new girl who's "real life hot," and this has really put a damper on my "office hot" title.  That and it's not so much that I want to leave them as it is they want to leave me.  I grew up without a father, though; so, I'm fairly accustomed to abandonment and the drinks steps you take to overcome it.

  

What can you offer us that someone else can not? An unbridled sense of self-loathing coupled with a curious level of narcissism that makes for some good stories at the water cooler.  Oh, and I am a great time at office parties.

Tell me about an accomplishment you are most proud of. Well, I wouldn't say that it's an accomplishment that I'm most proud of, but it certainly yielded immediate results. In high school I was awarded free fries at lunch because I put my entire fist in my mouth.  No, I literally put my fist in my mouth - here, watch...

Tell me about a time you made a mistake. Other than just a moment ago? Well, how much time do we have?

What is your dream job? We're getting a bit personal talking about dreams now, aren't we? My dream job? I would have to say, Heiress.

How did you hear about the position? Which position?  Most I learned in my early 20s, but some of the less intricate ones, I learned in college. 

Tell me how you handled a difficult situation. Once, I accidentally texted my mom when I had meant to text a boyfriend, and when I use "text" here, I clearly mean "sext." I just turned off my phone for a few days after that.  I have found that such strategy can extend to other circumstances.  Avoidance is key.  If you never admit a problem exists, you haven't any problems.  I think Gandhi said that.

What are your salary requirements? What are your attendance requirements?

What was your biggest failure? To date or a projection of things to come?  My biggest failure to date would have to be my inability to successfully date and wed a billionaire.  My biggest projected failure will likely be motherhood.

What motivates you? The letter B, generally.  Booze, boys, billionaires, bars, beer, bacon, blackouts, bed, bachelors, blindfolds, dicks (Ugh! I hate when I get my Bs and Ds mixed up), bail, beans, bored, and brevity, specifically.

How do you handle pressure? Quite well.  Often times, if I've been drinking, I even suggest a little more of it. 

What are your career goals? To get rich exerting as little energy as possible.

Are you a leader or a follower? Leader in shots consumed to body mass ratio.  Follower in the sense of orgasms - I never seem to finish first, if at all.  

What was the last book you’ve read for fun? I was babysitting this obnoxious miniature person last weekend.  She refused to go to sleep until she heard a bedtime story.  I pulled out my Kindle and read her the only bedtime story I had - Go the F**k to Sleep by Adam Mansbach.  That was fun.

What are your hobbies? Please refer to my motivations.

What is your availability?  Well, I'm currently dating, but nothing too serious.

What makes you uncomfortable? Panties.  Not the word.  Actual undergarments.

How would you fire someone? The same way I break up with boyfriends - treat them terribly until they leave on their own.  Confrontation is just so confrontational - Abraham Lincoln.

What questions haven’t I asked you? Am I single?  However, you're a smart man - did I mention rather attractive in a mid-level-management kind of way? - I'm sure you've inferred my relationship status from my previous answers.

What questions do you have for me? Are you single?

Hopefully these suggestions help you land the best job of your career.  Of course, don't memorize each response.  Instead, tailor them with your common vernacular so that it appears organic and, most importantly, honest.  I cannot emphasize enough, honesty is essential.  In the spirit of candor, I suppose I should acknowledge the mistitling of this post.  Would "How to Nail the Interviewer" make more sense?