Back by popular demand...

Yes, I am aware popular demand doesn't really exist since this blog has one measly (yet magnetically beautiful) follower. No, you (alter ego) don't have to be a dick about it.

The long-awaited recap is here.

Day 1

Remember learning about Newton's 3 laws of motion in HS physics? Me neither. No worries, I have discovered 3 indisputable new laws regarding the universally desired Emma. I call them Emma's 3 laws of e(motion)! I hope you creepos nipping at her heels are scribbling copious notes because I'm only sharing this one time:

Emma + alcohol = happiness
Emma - food = crankiness
Emma + alcohol + food = sleepiness

These are the rare constants I've discovered during my brief yet fortunate time with the crazy one. Like any great scientist would, I decided to tinker with the formula by testing the following:

Emma + mountain biking = ?

My hypothesis included the following possible conclusions:

the next Lance Armstrong (with amazing tits)
wrongful death civil lawsuit from angry Chinese family
opportunistic mountain lion attack on straggling/wounded biker
longest piggyback ride of my life

To be honest I was hoping for #1. Here's how it panned out:


Nance Armstrong gearin' up



Spirits were high as we set off to conquer Eagle Rock Canyon. It's a relatively easy mountain if you stay off the single-tracks (we did) but a difficult climb for first timers because the ascent consists of 90% climbing. No that's not obvious information you dumas because in mountain biking the ascent and descent usually have a close to even ratio of climbing and coasting. Eagle Rock forces you to work hard on the ascent and we all know how E feels about work!

She started out strong, charging up the mountain one-handed.


I am Emma, hear me roar!




Started lagging behind after 100 yards...




And off in the distance...yep, she has dismounted.



E took a break, wiping sweat off her brow and downing my entire ration of water at the 1/24th point of the climb.


All done! Wait, baby are you thirsty?


At this point I was unsure how I could get E to the top of this rock. I knew it would take every last ounce of my master persuasion/manipulation skills but I was determined to make it happen.

After a couple "breaks" I told E we were a stone throw away from the halfway point (a motivational lie), the Eagle Rock sign. I promised a lengthy break and the cold frosty Gatorade I was secretly hiding under my shorts if she made it without stopping. She agreed.

To my surprise, she trucked her way up to the sign without directing a single expletive filled tirade in my direction.


Emma at the "halfway" sign



Boy, was I relieved she forgot about the fictional Gatorade condensating in my pants. Last thing I needed was her throwing a hussy fit before I revealed we were only quarter-way up. We soldiered on...



Can we pull an about-face now?



A walk in the park!


I could include a photo montage of E huffing and puffing as she walked the bike up but the reality is she worked her bodaciously tasty J-Lo booty off to make it to the top. Kudos for making it to the summit where she enjoyed this beautiful view:








Yep, I made it too.


Where's my gatorade, jerk?

We celebrated by tracking down the infamous Kogi truck afterwards. After a couple of aimless loops we finally stumbled upon the legendary vehicle conveniently (and illegally) parked in front of the UCLA children's hospital.


Thar she blows!





Our expectations were sky-high. The line was modest (I'd hear rumors of drunk partygoers waiting hours) and we ordered a smorgsabord of spicy pork and bulgogi tacos, kogi sliders, and a mammoth burrito.








The tacos were so good I was oblivious to the fact I was covered in dirt, illegally parked in front of a kid's hospital, and eating with my hands on a curb. While I enjoyed my meal, E ran off to carouse with this douche:



You like my sticker tats?



I wear Ed Hardy at night!


She was so enamored by the Kogi truck founder when I urged her to flash him to get us free Cokes she could only smile, shyly intimidated. I nudged her forward and--

She flashed her sports bra, earning us a free coke and some extra napkins. She went on to express her renewed fetish for Korean men, no doubt inspired by the badass Kogi truck namja. I ushered her away before the police could arrive -- several balding children had witnessed her shameless behavior through the glass windows.

TO BE CONTINUED...
*passes out on keyboard*

To Move or not to Move

So we've been official since February 11th, 2010! It hasn't even been three weeks but it feels like an eternity since I've seen crazycakes (feel free to vomit at our pet names).

My postings are growing infrequent. As much as I'd like to allocate hours towards the worthy cause of entertaining E at her overstimulating job, I've found myself focusing more on well...myself.

Before you call me a self-centered jerkface, hear me out. I'm doing it for us. That's right, us.


This is us.

So what exactly am I doing? I am...drumroll, please...going Hollywood on ya'll!
*waits for snickers to subside*
That's right, this Michigan boy is ready to become a TV writer out here in LA.

Wait a second, you toolbag. You've already been out in LA four years and all you have to show for it is IKEA furniture and an overpriced neon clock! What makes you think you'll ever make it?

Fair enough. I concede I've spent most of the last four years doing this:


chinky eyes, take two!

and this


asleep at the wheel...

Still, reflecting on my time out here as an immature gamboholic I managed to accomplish the following:
1. Write coverage for an independent film company.
2. Intern for the acquisitions and development departments of the Weinstein company.
3. Work production for a scripted television show.
4. Work as a production coordinator for an Emmy winning reality TV show.
5. Write as a journalist and reporter for both a print magazine and sports newspaper.

Not too shabby, right?

There remains one gaping hole on my resume...

5. Work as a television writer.

If I can make this happen I can woo E out west with my lucrative salary where she can roam freely in the warm pastures (unintentional cow metaphor!) of Southern California.

My vision of utopia is cruising along the Pacific Coast Highway in my rice rocket Camry with this bodacious broad at my side:


Every picture of E is a good picture to me :)

Here's the rub (there's always a rub). I can't make it happen overnight.

This adorable face sums up how difficult a long distance relationship really is.


Haarrumph!

Seeds of doubt and uncertainty flourish in the twisted tree of long distance relationships. These seeds occasionally sprout into unfounded feelings of paranoia, suspicion, and jealousy. Lying precariously close beneath each dainty twig holding us together are the weeds of apathy and selfishness.

The modern inventions of videochat, cellphones, and sexting, I mean texting, are the glue that holds us together in a neverending cycle of longing and loneliness. The reality is that these outlets can only provide a temporary and artifical solution to a permanent problem.

For me, the physical absence of E is an indescribable void. I desire her on so many levels. Do I entertain occasional doubts about our relationship? Sure, but at the end of the day I always find myself faithfully returning to her corner, begging her to wind me up for another whirl in the life of Crazycakes.

I understand that Crazycakes is a creature that requires companionship. She is prone to floundering and entertaining fleeting moments of doubt and unfaithfulness. Her unabashed freudian slips simultaneously hurt, entertain, and befuddle me. Sometimes I wish I could snap out of her masochistic spell but there's a big part of me that just wants to sit back and enjoy her neverending ride of unpredictability. Quite simply, E fascinates me. I've never met a girl like her and I'm not certain I ever will.

So what other option do I have if I can't lure her out here with a trail of coconut macaroons?


Look who's bringing the metallic muscle tee look back East!

There's the option of moving to Crazycakes central: New York, New York. I was inches away from signing off on this move until I got struck with a serious case of cold feet during the eleventh hour of my fictional deadline.

There's no question this move is good for us. I find myself writing into the wee hours of the morning (3:18AM) on my all time favorite topic: Emma. I promised myself I wouldn't do this anymore. I feel a cathartic nirvana when I write about her. I revel in the knowledge that she will eventually stumble upon each new entry and read my proclamations of LIKE to her. If I can make her smile or feel special just once it's worth the long hours I toil over a specific word or metaphor to describe her.

It's moments like these that make me want to pack my bags and head East. Will I be sacrificing potential opportunities if I do so? Probably. Conventional wisdom in today's modern world suggests this is a foolish move doomed to end in misery and regret, but I've never lived my life based on conventions. What ever happened to putting love first? Who says you can't make life work together? Is blind love truly such a terrible instrument of self destruction in today's world? Or have we become so vain and jaded that we can no longer grasp the concept of selfless love anymore?

My indecision is eating me alive.