Revisiting the Old Crazy

Don’t do it. From my crazy “are we in goddamn New Jersey?” weekend, I’m gong to say: Don’t try to work it out with an ex. It’s not going to work. You were exes for a reason.

What happens is that tired old bullshit from last time resurfaces this time, but you don’t know it’s resurfaced. All the pent up hate and remorse from the last time, jumps up on your ass on a simple afternoon on the beach. One minute, you are happy as two stupid clams. Next minute, your ex is pulling out everything possible out of his ass to make you feel like shit. He may even set the shit up in advance, which I like to call the premeditated fuck you.

Only people who have been stewing over some shit you did or some shit you said will bust out a premeditated fuck you.

It happened to me. The best explanation I could get for his premeditated fuck you was: “That’s what you get for talking shit to me about other guys.”

Hmmm. Okay.

His premeditated fuck you was severe, what crazy people do, what people who secretly hate you do, what people who want to humiliate you in public do, what your ex will do when he wants to really fuck with you, etc, etc…

He made his point. This was his pay back for the other guys in my past/present life. Regardless, yawn. This was just like last time only amped up on crack cocaine.

In summary: Don’t reason with the unreasonable. Go out and find yourself some new crazy. Don’t waste your time revisiting some old crazy. No point in that. (Unless he’s a musician. Then, well… You can’t help revisiting that a few times. No one can really fault you for that.)

I’ve been crushing on Bill Murray since 1984.

You might be wondering 1984? What?! Yes. I developed a little crush on Bill Murray when I was about six years old. Remember Ghost Busters? Ok. Well, I thought he was swell in that. Funny. Cute. Strong leading man.

Yup. And you know that bedroom scene with Sigourney Weaver and she’s all over him? Well, I was six so I really wasn’t sure what that was all about, but boy, did I want to know more about it.

Then, I grew up. I developed crushes on Keanu Reeves, Matt Damon, Jack White, Paul Walker… You know my roster. And then: “Lost in Translation” happened. I thought: Oh my. It’s Bill Murray again. And Scarlett Johansson is living out my dream.

So, yeah. I’m crushing on a sixty year old man. You talking shit?

It so happens, that Mr. Murray lives here in Charleston. Many of my friends have had Murray sightings. But, a couple of people I know made a trailer (It’s fake, but funny!) with him. I cried because how could people I know work with him and I was not there. Okay. Probably because I would try to distract him and bone him somehow. That is a good point.

I commend Barnfly Productions, Butcher Media, and all the other dope people involved for putting this funny little trailer together. I wish I would have thought of it myself. Applause. Hugs. (Ummm.. Pass my info on to Murray if and when you get a chance. Wink wink.)

Here's the awesome-ness.

New {fake} Trailer from David Walton Smith on Vimeo.

To Snoop or Not to Snoop

I’m not usually a snooper. I don’t do it. But to each his or her own. I don’t look through dudes' phones, computers, pockets, drawers, wallets, etc., etc. I don’t do it because I don’t want it done to me. Not that my behavior will somehow affect what some guy I’m seeing behaves, but I like to function on karma. I cringe when a guy so much as hands me my phone. If a dude wants to look through my cell phone when I get up to go to the bathroom, he deserves the inadequacy he will feel when he finds what he finds. (Errrr. Umm.You know... Not that there’s anything there to be found.)

I was over at my ex (not really my ex because we were never together together but only kinda together)‘s apartment. I was using his bathroom and saw through the crack of the bathroom cabinet a black and bright pinkish thing.

All I could think was: That fucking asshole! I was pissed. I was irate! However, I did not open the cabinet to see what this black and pinkish thing actually was. I knew, goddammit. I knew what it was!

It’s some chick’s makeup bag. That fucking slut!

I finish up in the bathroom and climb in bed, but I say nothing. Not a word about the slut’s makeup bag. First of all, we are not together anymore and have, for the most part, been estranged from each other because if you know us, we are both crazy mentally dysfunctional people when we are together. We are either madly in love or desperately trying to kill each other. We are that bat shit cuckoo for cocoa puffs crazy about each other that we can move from love to hate in a matter of 15 seconds. Hence, this is why we were together but not together. We couldn’t keep a steady state of emotions for each other longer than two hours. True story. Go ask someone who had to hang out with us. -Those poor people.

Anyway, I get in bed and act like nothing happened. We have a nice pleasant evening and in the morning, I’m still quiet about the makeup bag.

But for the next week, I stew about the makeup bag. I imagine what the slut looks like and what kinds of things they do together. I envision walks on the beach, romantic bike rides at sunset, lovely brunches on Sunday mornings. I’m angry. I’m going to kill him. That asshole. That slut. I hope they are happy together. I hope they get married. I hope they have dozens of children. Dozens! So that her slutty uterus falls to her knees. (Mind you, I know that the chick is not really a slut. She’s probably really nice. It’s just that with him any girl that isn’t me is a dirty skank.)

By the time, I saw him again, I couldn’t hold in my anger. I let him have it. Of course, I really can’t say anything because we are not together, remember? But, I said: Fuck it. I tear him a new asshole about his little girlfriend and her stupid makeup bag. I ask him how long they’ve been together and how cozy their relationship must be since she leaves her things at his place. How cute. How fun. Hope you two burn in hell together.

He sat there in the usual way he sits there when I yell at him. He says, “Go look. Open the cabinet. It’s not a makeup bag.” He smiles. He is goddamn laughing!

I yell, “No! I don’t need to. I know what I saw.”

Then, I actually go the bathroom and open the cabinet.

It’s not a makeup bag. It’s a magazine. A car magazine with black and neon pink writing.

A car magazine?

That fucking asshole! Then I begin to rationalize how it’s his fault that I suffered the imagined tryst. But, when I get out of the bathroom, he’s still sitting there with that look on his face. He's still smiling. And then I remember this is why we were together but not together and will never really be together. He makes me crazy. It’s that kind of love where it’s too much, too intense that it can’t be functional. I adore him, but really detest him too, for reasons to be disclosed at a later date.

If in this one instance, I had snooped and had opened the cabinet to see what it was I could have avoided the entire fiasco.

So, I may revise my absolutely no snooping rule for the sake of my future guys and future ex’s (but not really my ex’s because we were never really together together.)

My Royal Wedding Assessment

I didn’t wake up at some ridiculous ungodly hour to watch the Royal Wedding. Mostly because I was still awake and still drinking at 4 am this morning. I did catch a glimpse of the ceremony on CNN.

Here is my assessment. I know you are dying to hear it.

1.Kate Middleton is just lovely.

Most of my motivation to see the ceremony is to see this pretty girl. I love pretty people. Her dress was beautiful and demure. She looked magnificent.

2. William is looking more and more like his father everyday.

Dare I say it! William is going bald. Poor boy. That’s all I have to say about this for the sake of not being an asshole.

3. When did Prince Harry become such a hottie?

I was like: who is that ginger hottie next to William? OMG. Harry? My, my, look how you have grown?! Nice work.

After watching the clip, I thought how sad it was that the Prince Diana could not be at her son’s wedding. That was a beautiful elegant woman.

With that, those are my quick tidbits of wisdom on the “Event of the Century.” -The media's words, not mine. Century? It’s only 2011. Don’t you think when the machines take over or when aliens invade Earth that those may be better candidates for the event of the century? And not a wedding of two beautiful people?

Way to have priorities media.

Meanwhile, in less important news: there were some tornadoes or something in Alabama, Japan is still missing 88,000 people, some sort of crisis is happening Libya, and blah blah blah.

Support Fast Five. Support Mr. Walker.

Since I am the president of the Support Paul Walker organization, of which I am still the sole member, I am campaigning weeks in advance for Fast Five. Most purport that my interest in the Fast and Furious franchise is purely due to Paul Walker. I resent that vehemently.

Paul Walker is only 89% of the reason I've seen these movies hundreds of times. I like cool cars. Must you forget that I'm Asian? For god sakes! I watch Top Gear. (The BBC version. The American version is not nearly is good). I know what's up about cars. It's all good and dandy to remember I'm Asian when you need help with your math problems or need to borrow someone's wok or rice cooker, but you forget I'm Asian when it comes to cars. Asians love this shit. Have you ever heard of the term "rice rocket?"

Watch the Fast and Furious movies. This is important because there are actual Asians in them! The Fast and Furious movies have employed 96% of Asian actors in Hollywood, which is yet ANOTHER reason to watch Fast Five. (My statistics are based on whatever number pops in my head. There is no validity to what I claim to say.)

What is another reason to watch Fast Five on April 29th? T & A. I haven't seen that much T&A packed into a two minute trailer in my life. At 0:21 of the trailer: naked chicks. Genius! The makers of this film know what makes for a great entertainment experience and that's girls in their underwear twenty seconds into the trailer.

Can you even imagine what the entire film is going to be like? Most likely, an explosion of naked girls and ripped guy walking around in the background. The F&F filmmakers make sure to put hot people in every nook and cranny of the shot. The waiters are hot. The pedestrians are hot. The random girls dancing on top of cars are hot (0:52).

The people in this movie are breathtaking. Combine that with engines revving in the background. I'm sold. I'm bought. I will be this movie's whore.

Paul Walker's triceps never looked better. (I like triceps. Shut up.) Vin Diesel is brawny and brooding as ever. Jordana Brewster is smoking hot. (God! I wish she made more movies.) And there is a whole slew of other beautiful people to gawk at for two hours.

Is it Oscar award winning acting? Hell, I hope not! I can't be asked to pay attention to nuances in acting talent while there are all those hot people speeding around in beautiful cars.

Watch the trailer here:

You'll love it, if you know what good shit is. And go watch the movie when it comes out. I want them to keep making F&F movies forever and ever.

Amen.

Paul Walker: The Cadillac of Action Stars

I was involved in a heated conversation about the credibility of Paul Walker as an actor. I am an avid Paul Walker advocate and have much to say in defense of his career.

Do you remember Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift? Of course, you don’t! Nobody does. Why? Paul Walker wasn’t in it. No one cared.

Paul Walker is the meat (This is a euphemism.) and potatoes (again – a euphemism) of the Fast and Furious franchise. You might want to argue: What about Vin Diesel? Yes, he’s important, but Paul Walker brings the pretty boy element that made these movies so popular. He's the dude that dudes want to be and girls want to... um... hang out with (euphemism).

What about his other films? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the classic film Varsity Blues. Every time you hear that Foo Fighter’s song, you think of Paul Wallker and Dawson Leary. Don’t lie. And Pleasantville? His acting was impeccable! What about Eight Below? I cried and you did, too.

Paul Walker is the vehicle that drove those movies to make millions. Therefore, he’s the Cadillac of action stars. Does that make sense? No. No, it doesn’t. That isn’t the point.

The point is, once again, I’ve wasted moments of your life reading about the greatness that is Paul Walker.

Ha.

I win. Now, go watch some of his movies, like this one:

I’m not an asshole; I just can’t hear you.

It’s true. People get so insanely pissed off when I ask them to repeat themselves or when they think I’m not listening to them.

Angry person: “Hey! I’m talking to you! Did you hear what I said?!”

Me: “Um. No. Were you talking to me?”

Angry Person: “You trying to be funny?”

Me: “No. I just couldn’t hear you. I don’t have all my hearing in my right ear.”

Usually, the person feels awful for getting so worked up. I smile politely and tell them that it’s okay, but secretly I’m laughing inside because now, that person feels like a dick.

This is usually what happens, but the other day at work I got the opposite reaction.

Angry person to my co-worker: “Can you believe her!? I asked her a question! She’s not even looking at me!”

There were a lot of people at the nurses’ station. With lots of noise, talking, commotion, paper rustling, and such, I tend to not be able to locate sound well. So, I just tune out and sit quietly to myself.

However, at this point, all my co-workers are looking at me like I’m some asshole. I still have my eyesight and half a brain in my head. So, although I can’t necessarily hear what’s happening, I deduce that I’ve done something wrong.

Me: “Huh? What’s going on? Something happening? I don’t know.”

Angry person: “Ya! I was talking to you! What’s wrong with you?!”

All eyes are on me.

Me: “You were? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

Angry Person (Getting angrier by the second): “What?! You didn’t hear me?!”

Me: “No. Sorry. What was it you wanted?”

She is now irate and says to my co-worker: “She says she couldn’t hear me!”

Me: “I don’t have all my hearing in my right ear. So, no, I didn’t hear you.”

The nurses’ station’s commotion stops to a dead silence.

This is where most people feel terrible for trying to publicly humiliate me. They apologize profusely and walk away feeling like a real asshole.

THIS IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED.

Instead, this little tidbit about my hearing impairment just sets Angry Person over the edge. She doesn't give a fuck.

Insane Angry Person (YELLING REALLY REALLY LOUD): “Can you hear me now? Hey! Hey! Can you hear me now?”

Everyone is in shock. Mouths open. Speechless.

Me: “Ya. I can hear you.” (We are literally 3 feet away from each other.)

Mentally Unstable Angry Person (STILL YELLING OBSCENELY LOUD): “You can hear me?! Huh?! You can hear me?! Good!”

And then she does a kind of “pshaw” type sound with her mouth, shakes her head, and looks at my co-worker with an incredulous look on her face, as if to say, “Who the fuck does this deaf person think she is?”

My hearing problem gets me in all sorts of trouble. I find myself in situations like these or worse. Because I know how pissed people get when I ask them to repeat themselves, I usually just nod and agree. I try to read lips closely, but if someone (like a boyfriend or some other significant other type person) is turned away from me, instead of asking him to repeat himself, I just nod and agree. But, really: I have no idea what’s going on. I should learn by now that this is no way to conduct relationships, because whatever the fuck I agreed to will come up later.

Oh, yes it will. Don’t think it won’t.

I will obviously not remember anything about the conversation because I never heard it in the first place and the boyfriend will get really mad at me and tell me that I never listen to anything he says.

Which is somewhat true, but it’s because I can’t actually hear the dude well enough to listen.

In most situations, I AM an asshole, but not when I can’t hear you.

So, have mercy on me.