Happiness is a warm gun (bang bang shoot shoot).
So I meet this girl and I meet a lot of them. I am pretty simple: I write comedy, tell jokes, drink, run (sometimes when I’m drunk) (not really) and meet women (mostly when I am drunk) (yes, really).
I have a magical belt that attracts crazy chicks. Perhaps I am the common denominator in this equation and perhaps I live in a city where the average girl was the hottest girl from wherever she used to live and doesn’t want a relationship, she wants to further her career. Nothing wrong with this. I am here to do the same thing, but in the interim, I would like some extracurricular activity.
I am more open to having a girlfriend than I am to randomly sleeping with people, but in this city that’s not very realistic. So, I comply. No one here wants to date, they just want to have fun. So, where is the problem? I guess I am getting older and the lifestyle of a 22-year-old male occasionally wears on me.
Fact: There was a two-week period a few weeks ago where I slept with six different girls. A singer in a band, (see: actress/bartender), a stripper (see: drug addict/actress), a girl from a TV show (see: expensive), a comic (see: actress/waitress), a music video dancer (see: bendy…and while you are there also see: thank you kindest heaven above) and a groupie (see: thank you again, lucky stars).
I haven’t spoken to any of these girls since and it’s not because I haven’t tried, it’s just how you do it here. When I was in Michigan this would never happen. I would have to court a girl with flowers or dinner. Not here. Flowers are the kiss of death.
Oh wait, I forgot I hooked up twice last week. Damn you David Duchovny and your show that tells the truth!
Where was I? Oh yeah, crazy chick. Never mind, I will break down that night in this short poem that would appear to be the set list for a Nine Inch Nails Concert:
Hot, at this moment
Underwater Hiding
My roommates dead
You don’t Care
I’m floating
You scare me
Is that tattoo a live Dragon
You’re breathing like Zool from Ghostbusters
Where is my computer?
I need to wash (again)
So, I would like to do what I do best and that is say, that I am a sucker for a pretty face (my first CD Available on iTunes) and a hopeless romantic and although, I am not a fan of random thoughtless sex, it’s everywhere and who am I not to have a few extra orange slices at the half time of any soccer game?
It’s like this is 1970’s Miami and women are cocaine. It’s like Lollapalooza and woman are plaid flannel shirts. It’s like gym class and women are the boner. What? It’s like a John Hughes movie and women are neon. It’s like a Poison CD and women are songs about F’ing.
I’m telling you that I guess I go along for the ride. Why not? I am safe and clean and willing, but sometimes I feel that I have fucked myself ambivalent. Is that okay? Isn’t ambivalence the battle cry of 2008? Oh well, whatever etc.
I am going out tonight and I am sure that something may or may not happen, but my life is about my art and my art is driven by dissatisfaction and girls. Sadness and hope have always been the new hope for me and African American has pretty much always been the new black. I hope I’m rich by the time I get married, because there is nothing funny about happiness.
My Hollywood ending will be happy, but right now my happy endings usually involve a towel and a tip for the chicken head and I don’t mean tip of money, but tip in the sense that maybe we all need to try a little bit harder.
I am I am I am J Chris Newberg.
J Chris Newberg is a comic, actor, producer, song writer, and author living in Los Angeles and occasionally Detroit with his loyal and aging Cocker Spaniel, Flower. You can find him at jchrisnewberg.com, myspace.com/jchrisnewberg, or just google him because you know you want to. His column runs every Thursday.
