jack Archives - Memos and Mirth

Jack meets Seth Rogen

September 13, 2009

Jack’s boyfriend dumped him on Friday, so we went to the clubhouse, and my job was to play wingman/matchmaker.

Jack’s problem is that he’s absolutely oblivious at the bar and never notices when someone is hawking him. We eventually come across a guy who looks like Seth Rogen. Seth not only shoots Jack the eye, but completely turns around in his seat to gawk!

Of course Jack does not notice this guy practically falling out of his seat to look at him, so it is time for me to go to work as cupid.

Seth and his sidekick go to the dance floor. I grab Jack and go into hot pursuit. On the dance floor I walk up to Seth’s sidekick and tell her that Jack is interested in her friend.

What does Jack do? He flees the room!

It took 10 minutes for me to convince Jack to go back to the dance floor. Once I coax Jack back, Seth’s sidekick and I practically shove Jack on the dance stage (seen here), and Seth grabs Jack and goes to work.

For the next half hour the sidekick and I awkwardly dance together and watch Seth dry hump dance with Jack.

Seth was sort of slimy…but at least he was interested?

We eventually leave the room and go back to the bar. That’s when Seth apologizes to Jack:
Seth: “Oh, I totally mistook you for my friend John! You look JUST like him! But hi.”
I gasp. Jack glares at me.

Dammit. The one time that I’m actually sure that someone is interested in Jack it turns out to be a case of mistaken identity! Drats. Drats. Drats!

A few minutes later Jack is chatting up Seth’s sidekick and Seth comes over to talk to me. He tells me that he’s 23 years old and that he is studying “prelaw” at some no-name university. Seth tells me that his ex stole his money and that he wants to sue. Seth tells me that he went to undergrad in Arizona before dropping out… the longer this fool talked the less attracted he became.

I open my mouth to ask Seth about his “prelaw” classes when he suddenly lunges forward and inserts his dragon-breath tongue down my throat.

I am absolutely mortified. We are in a crowded portion of the bar and this guy who is SUPPOSED to be interested in my newly-single friend is now molesting me! Fail.

I politely shove Seth Rogen off and spit out his spit into a napkin.

Both Jack and Seth’s sidekick are glaring at me. I’m suddenly a homewrecker.

Seth disappears to the restroom and Jack and I linger around with Seth’s sidekick. During my small talk with the sidekick I learn that Seth is “maybe 21” and definitely living with his parents….

Seth’s sidekick is a heavy girl that looks like a boiled-over clam. I chat her up but she looks terribly bored. After 30 minutes and no word from Seth, we become concerned. The three of us then go from room to room looking for Seth.

We can’t find him.

After an exchange of texts, the sidekick informs us that Seth had been waiting outside of the club for the past half hour because he fell over the fence of the smoker’s area and didn’t want to pay cover to get back into the club.

The sidekick excuses herself and we say good riddance.

The rest of the night was fun, but I didn’t find another guy for Jack…and I’m not sure that he wanted me to. Ugh.

1L summer

Best Summer Ever Week 5

June 21, 2009

The fact that it’s already week 5 of summer is sort of scary.

I’m half-way through my summer classes. My law school application essay was about my desire to become an estate planning/probate attorney, so of course I love my Wills & Trusts class.

Professional Responsibility has also become much easier since I’ve stopped using my laptop. Without the laptop I’m that obnoxious, fully engaged boy. Now if only someone could just stop the girl who sits in front of me from playing full-screen video games…

This has not been a good week for Harley, who was diagnosed with Heartworms. The medicine and animal hospital stay completely discombobulated him:

The night after the hospital stay, Harley and I were leaving my apartment building he starts peeing on downstairs neighbor’s door… I was mortified! I drag him outside, and inadvertently created a trial of urine from the hallway, down the stairs, and out to the street.

And yes. That was joy to clean up. My 4’6 Mexican neighbor pointed and laughed as I scrubbed the floors. And I politely informed him if he found dog poop in front of his door that I wasn’t me…

1L summer / overheard

Do Not Park

June 6, 2009

Yesterday I left work around midnight and drove back to Minneapolis.

During the drive home I receive a text from Jack, who was at the clubhouse.

The problem is that Jack’s trashy ex-boyfriend is a stripper dancer at the clubhouse. So of course I had go support Jack to prevent the trashy-ex from getting too much joy from seeing Jack at the clubhouse by himself.

When I arrive at my building there is no street parking available, so I decide illegally park at a nearby business. I was just going to quickly walk the dog before going to the clubhouse, so I figured that briefly parking in the empty business lot wouldn’t be too much trouble.

And of course I was wrong.

I get out of my car and see teenagers running past me. I look across the parking lot at the apartment building that they ran from. There is a boy wearing a hoodie on the apartment building’s garage staircase. The boy raises his arm towards to the building and I hear two gunshots.
The shooter then starts running across the parking lot towards my car.
I scramble to my apartment building while calling 911, thinking “this is some bullshit…” I leash my dog while on the phone with the 911 dispatcher. The dog gives me the “what’s wrong bubba?” look.

Five minutes later I’m walking the dog towards the neighborhood bank so I can get cash for the clubhouse. I receive a call, it’s the police, they want me to come and talk to them on a street near the business:

Police Officer (talking to me on the phone): “Where are you?”
Me: “Oh, at the bank down the street…uh, I’m going to walk towards you.”
Officer: “Do you see me?”
Me: “No, but I see your cop car I think…”
Officer: “Well, you should see some cars… I mean we have seven squad cars out here.”
Me: “Hmmph,… they didn’t send seven squad cars when I got shot…”
Officer: “What was that?”
Me: “Nothing! I see you, I’m here. Hi!”

I walk towards the officer on the sidewalk.

Sure enough, there are seven cop cars lining the street. The only problem is that the police are busy searching the wrong apartment building.

Officer: “So what happened?”
Me: “Well, I was parking at the business over there…see what I get for parking illegally? Well, anyway, I was parking over there behind these buildings and some teens were running past me as I got out of my car. Then I saw a teen in the back of that apartment building shoot twice.”
Officer: “Which building?”
Me: “That one. Not the one you guys are searching…”
Officer: “Crap.”
(the officer screams orders into his radio to the tune of “WRONG BUILDING YO”)
Me: “Sorry that I’m so freaked out. I got hit by a stray bullet last month.”
Officer: “Oh heck, I’d be freaked out too. Can you tell me anything else about the teens?”
Me: “Oh, and the teens were…um… East African.”
Officer: “You mean Somalis?”
Me: “…uh, yeah.¹ I guess.”

I leave the officer, let the dog crap, and then book it to the clubhouse.

At the clubhouse I try my best to ignore Jack’s ex, who keeps inching closer to Jack and I. It felt like one of those DiscoveryChannel clips of a preying snake in the jungle…except this one had bleached hair and intermittently shot us the stank eye.

I also ran into Yogi and his entourage:

Yogi: “Hey, do you want another shot?”
Me: “I’m not a big drinker. You know this.”
Yogi: “But you just texted me and said you had a shot out at your apartment building.”
Me: “No, I texted you that I had a SHOOT out at my apartment building.”
Yogi: “Again? Minneapolis is not treating you well. Was it Somalis?”
Me: “Why does it always have to be Somalis?”
Yogi: “Because it’s Minneapolis. You’re saying it wasn’t?”
Me: “No, it was. But still…”

I had a fun, concise² time at the clubhouse, and then snuck home hoping that none of the supposedly-Somali teens saw me talk to the cops…

¹ Here I am trying to be politically correct for once in my life…pfft. Besides, we have Ethiopians in Minneapolis too! Why does it have to be a Somali?
² Clubs in Minneapolis close at 3am on the weekends. I left work at midnight, had the commute/shooting fiasco, and got to the club around 1am. So it was a 2-hour affair.