1. Monday, November 25, 2002

    no doubt is in town so you’d think ashley would be happy 

    but shes not happy unless im with her.

    and sometimes i look in the mirror and when i do i dont see anyone who you’d be depressed not to be around.

    ashley loves attention and normally i dont mind letting our favorite twenty year old princess steal my eyes away from you, beloved computer screen, but this weekend i had to work on some projects and root on the bears and the raiders, who both won, and clean my apartment, and fight crime, and be stinky, and not shave, and read the good book, and read some bad books, and water the plants, and, you know, be a dude.

    im 109 years old and i have never had to tell a girl i needed my space, but this weekend i did. it felt weird. not as weird as telling this one supermodel that i didnt care if we didnt have sex because i cherished our friendship so much, but weird nevertheless.

    men are not programmed to say no to good lovin from hot young girls who like to fulfill fantasies, but my plants had the right answer.

    they said, tony, if you watered us every day, we would die. we love the water, but it would drown us.

    the flowers said, and some of us only bloom when we think we’re going to die, the day to day look of many flowering plants do not include the beautiful colors that we know them for being.

    the flowers dont know english too well, please excuse them.

    still, i got the point.

    but ashley didnt.

    she called crying and sobbing and left the saddest messages on my phone. please dont leave any more sad messages on my phone, dear angels of the moonlight.

    im a stubbly olde man who walks with a cane who has carpal tunnel and types with a pencil scotched taped to the center of my reading glasses.

    my hips are about to go out, my breath is foul, my words are foul, my ways are foul, i lie in my blog, and worst of all, i dont respect the president of the united states of america. i think he’s gross.

    surely there must be a handsome young man in orange county who could take care of the daisy princess in ways that she deserves.

    but strangely there isnt.

    and shes not the only one.

    i work with some of the hottest women in showbusiness. educated, intelligent, totally together, gorgeous young women who definately know how to please a man, i am sure, and yet they go out into the wild and come back empty-handed and unsatisfied.

    and i think about all of the supercool single men who i would fix them up with, and i think, i dont know any supercool single men to fix them up with.

    i mean i do, but these women are looking for different types of men.

    perfect ones.

    im a good job, two inches, and a vette away from being perfect, but ashley doesnt care. she also doesnt care that im old enough to be her dirty neighbor across the street. she loves me for who i am and tells me all the nice things i want to hear but the only thing i can tell her in return is youre far too good for me. go to the skatepark with a big pizza and a mini skirt.

    she only says i dont want to go to any skate park, i want you!

    and i want her too, america. of course i do.

    but i also want to save the world first. and i want to do the right thing. and i want to figure out how im supposed to have thanksgiving with a vegitarian poolside in orange county and not consider myself a sellout.

    these are the biggest dillemas i have this week.

    dont ever let me bitch about shit.

    azarok