The Undeniable Allure of the Unattainable

There’s a certain appeal I’ve always associated with the unattainable. I hardly think I’m alone in this—nothing makes an object more desirable than one’s absolute inability to have that object.

In no circumstance is this more pronounced than unrequited love. No man is as attractive as the one you can’t have, and no woman is as hot as the one that’s way out of your league. An unrequited crush is the seventh level of Hell.

So what do you? Do you pine endlessly over the one you can’t have? Or do you make up your mind to move on and cut off the feelings like a gangrenous limb? I guess the answer is as unique as each person who experiences the dilemma. For some the only reasonable solution is to man up and make a move. For others, the best thing to do is move on. Figuring out which answer best fits your situation is the hard part.

The reason I’m thinking so much about unrequited crushes is that I’m feeling one now. I know he’ll never be mine, and that makes it all the more difficult to be around him. His smile is a bittersweet thing: it changes my day for the better, but it breaks my heart because I know I’ll never be the cause of it. At least not in the way that I want to be.

So, as much as it sucks, I’m going to have to cut off the feelings. It’s not really who I am—I’ve always warn my feelings on both my sleeve and my face. But in this case, it’s better to keep the friend and ditch the feelings. The feelings would never amount to anything, but the friendship is something to treasure. I can feel it when I’m with him—he’s going to play an important role in my life. I would hate to ruin that with my silly crush. The best thing to do is let go….how exactly does that happen again?

Baby Dreams and New Beginnings

Last night I had an interesting dream: I was at a table, with my arms out-stretched in front of me. I was picking up a new-born baby, though how I knew he was a new-born is beyond me. For that matter, how I knew he was a he is also unkown to me. But somehow I knew the wiggling bundle of life was a boy, and I knew he was mine. In my dream I picked him up--careful to support his head--and held him close to me. I took in the cap of silky black hair that covered his head; I watched with fascination as his chubby cheeks tested their new muscles--lips pursing, brow furrowing. It seemed to me that I could smell him--that pure, innocent smell that only babies have--and my heart surged. Just as I was thinking of his name (something biblical was coming to me), I woke up, but I haven't been able to get him off my mind all day. Even as I watched South Central High's basketball team stomp all over Fike High (Ashley's godson plays for Fike and we came out to support him) I couldn't help but think "Is that what (unnamed son) would grow up to look like?", and "Will he be athletic and graceful like these kids?" Turns out my paternal instincts were a bit misdirected. A couple of people have since informed me that dreams about babies symbolize a change or new beginning in the life of the dreamer. I guess the beginning of a new life in dream form represents the birth of a new form of me. Or at least a change that can lead to a new (and hopefully improved) version of myself. It might be as simple as a job change (some of you already know the story), or maybe it's the book idea that came to me in the middle of the night a week ago. Who knows. All I know is that the baby in that dream filled me with a sense of calm I haven't known in about a month. His calm, delicate twitches gave me a confidence that things will get better, things can begin again. The powdery, innocent smell of that new-born (no matter how imagined) soothed the ragged, jagged edges of my soul. Here's to new beginnings.

More Watching People Dance

Last weekend was the company Christmas party, and things went about as expected: the food was good, everyone had fun, and I got drunk. But something happened that I could never have anticipated. Most of our housekeepers have worked together at another property, so they've been to Christmas parties together before. Which means they've seen Serina dancing before. I'd been told she "likes dancing" but there's no way I could have been prepared for the... "performance" to which we were treated. Behold...

Oh, she wasn't done...not by a long-shot. Also, as you watch this clip pay attention to two things: the way she's "interacting" with her "audience" and the look on the Sales Coordinator's face at the very end of the video. She gets this terrified look like, "Oh shit, she's coming this way!"

The entire night was hilarious, but the dancing made the night for me.

Watching White People Dance Makes Me Happy

Last Friday night, I accompanied a friend of mine to New Bern where he was dj'ing a frat party at a country club. I'd planned on being bored, but they mentioned my two favorite words when used together ("open" and "bar") so I figured I'd find a way to have a good time. Little could I have known... Not long after I helped G set up his sounds and lights... ...the party-goers began to arrive. I should mention they were already drunk when they piled off the buses that brought them in from Greenville. I should also mention that as soon as they got off the buses, most of them went straight to the (open) bar. Those two facts should have told me what a shit-show this was going to be. With that in mind, I powered up my digital camera, and found a discrete spot behind a speaker to capture the drunken shittiness. For the sake of clarity, I'll be explaining each pic/vid clip briefly. For example: The only thing I love more than white people is watching them dance...

I call this one "The White Boy Butt-Wag"...

Not to be out-done, the ladies were getting down on the dancefloor...in a very white way...

There were couples dancing together, but adding "romance" didn't do anything to add class to the dance moves...

All in all, it was a great time. It was also a great reminder to be grateful for my sense of rhythm...

Levi Johnston goes full monty...sorta

After months of breathless waiting, the pictures of Levi Johnston's Playgirl spread have been released online. I'm not going to lie--I've really been looking forward to it. Not so much because Levi's such a stud. Frankly, he's only so-so. I, like a lot of people, am fascinated with the private figures of public figures. There's something comforting about knowing that those who live in the public eye also have to battle muffin tops and cellulite. Kind of brings them down a notch. Anyway, in the spirit of poking fun of celebs' body flaws, I present Levi Johnston's Johnson...

I guess the photographer caught Levi soaping up his junk....

I'll give him this--he's got some nice legs....

To summarize, I'm left with the same impression of Levi Johnston that I had of the Palin family--not bad looking but ultimately unimpressive.

Random Picture of the Day

Sometimes the important messages are just right in your face...

Call A-waiting

Dear Uncle Trey Pound: After going on a date and giving a guy my number, how long should I wait for him to call me before giving up on him? Signed, Call A-waiting Dear Call: The answer is painfully simple: you shouldn't wait for him at all. Anyone who can't find five minutes in the course of his day to call you and say, "Hey I just wanted to say hi." doesn't deserve your patience. Get on with the business of living your life, continue to meet people and go out. That way you're not sitting by the phone waiting for someone who may never get his act together. Good luck!

Seeking Employee "Benefits"

Dear Uncle Trey Pound: I've been having a flirtation with a good-looking coworker. Things have been getting more and more flirtatious, and it seems like something might be inevitable. We're both single, so it wouldn't be infringing on anyone's relationship. A friend of mine says there's nothing wrong with consenting adults "getting to know each other better." What do you think Uncle Trey Pound? Signed, Seeking Employee "Benefits" Dear Benefits: No, no, no. I've said it before, and apparently I'm going to have to say it again: do NOT poop where you eat. And screwing around with your coworker, no matter how dreamy he may be, definitely counts as pooping where you eat. There are few ways that this can have a happy ending: if one of you hurts the other one, every day when you clock in you've got a reminder of what a fool you made of yourself; those you work with might start to wonder just what you did to deserve that last raise. And let's not even think about all the ways it could bite you on the butt if you're misinterpreting his attention. He could just be one of those really friendly guys that relates to others in a flirtatious fashion. Making a move on him could be a good way to get a sexual harassment complaint filed against you. Either way, you're asking for trouble. And if you keep asking for it, eventually you're going to get it.

Dear Uncle Trey Pound: Stressed-out Boyfriend

Dear Uncle Trey Pound:

My girlfriend and I have been having the same argument for months now. We live together, and I’ve been hanging out with her roommate lately. Nothing has happened (and it won’t) between me and the roommate, but my girlfriend is the jealous sort and she’s really bothered by our friendship. I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s just a friendship, but it’s falling on deaf ears. What’s worse, I can’t tell her the real reason I get along so well with her roommate: it’s because my girlfriend is kind of a pill. She’s very negative, and whenever anyone complains, she always has to one-up them. If I complain that my feet hurt, she mentions having hers amputated. I guess she’s always been like that, but it’s really starting to get to me now. How can I get her to change Uncle Trey Pound?

Signed,

Stressed-out Boyfriend

Dear Stressed:

Are you really writing for help, or do you want me to tell you what you already know: that you don’t want to be in this relationship anymore? If you’re looking for a reason to break up, I’m sure the ones you’ve mentioned (jealousy, negativity) are good ones. But if you’re looking to make things work with her, you already know your friendship with her roommate is going to have to end. Or at the very least, you’re going to have to cut back on the amount of time you spend with her for the sake of your relationship. As for your girlfriend, there could be a few reasons she’s such a downer. It could be that she’s had a rough life, or maybe she’s clinically depressed. Either way it’s not going to be easy, but you’ve got to talk to her. She’s not going to read your mind and pick up on your unhappiness, so be honest with her.

Dear Uncle Trey Pound: Working Stiff

Dear Uncle Trey Pound:

I work for a small, privately-owned company. Our owner expects his employees to take on extra responsibility, yet doesn’t want to compensate us for our efforts. We’ve all griped about it, but no one is sure what do, as jobs in our industry are hard to come by these days. No one wants to bite the proverbial hand that feeds us, but it’s getting frustrating Uncle Trey Pound. We’ve been feeling taken for granted, but lately we’ve been feeling taken advantage of which is even worse. Before it seemed like he was just tight with a dime, now it’s more like he’s actively trying to use us.

Signed,

Working Stiff

Dear Stiff:

Yours is a fairly common complaint. Bosses tend to be good at delegating responsibility—that’s usually how they become bosses. But if you’re doing work for which you’re not being compensated, then it’s your responsibility to speak up. You don’t have to have to organize a union, or boycott the company, just sit your boss down and (calmly) share your concerns with him. It’s entirely possible that he’s unaware of the revolt brewing among his minions. If your suspicions are accurate, and he really is taking advantage of your work ethic, then you need to have your exit strategy in place. While there might not be a lot of jobs in your industry available right now, doesn’t sound like you’ll be missing out on too much. Good luck!

Dear Uncle Trey Pound: Roomless Roomie

Dear Uncle Trey Pound:

My roomie's boyfriend is always hanging around our apartment. He doesn't actually live there, but he might as well, since he's always there. He eats our food, washes clothes here, she even keeps men’s toiletries in the bathroom for him. What should I do Uncle Trey Pound?

Signed,

Roomless Roomie

Dear Roomless:

What it sounds like you've got is a boarder who's not paying rent. Casually ask your roommate if her boyfriend will be moving in soon. Since you didn't mention how you actually feel about him, I'm going to assume you have no problem with him personally, just the living situation. Mention how much easier things would be on everyone if someone else was splitting the rent. Be honest with her about how he's eating you out of house and home and it's starting to bother you. Don't let your resentment for the situation turn into resentment for your roommate. Regardless of whether or not this guy stays or goes, you've got to live with your roomie.

To all my new readers...

I just noticed something extraordinary, and I felt so humble that I had to respond. I maintain a fan page for my advice column (Ask Uncle Trey Pound) on facebook. It's a way to stay connected with readers and friends of mine. But just now when I glanced at the list of fans, I noticed something odd... of the 365 "fans" I don't know a good portion of them. That's important since I've been counting on my friends to fill the ranks of my "fans." When I realized that quite a few of the fans are complete strangers to me, I understood that my writing has extended beyond my little circle of friends. Some were friends of friends, but others were seemingly random-ass people that just stumbled upon my fan page. Something in my writing connected with them enough for them to follow the page and keep up with updates. That, frankly, justifies my decision to refer to myself as a "writer." A guy with a lot to say, but no one to say it to, is just a guy with a lot to say. But a guy with a lot to say and someone to speak to--someone to communicate with-- is a writer. I am a writer, and I thank you for making me one.

Put on your dancing shoes Sally. We're going out.

Last night was an epic night of drinking and fun with some friends. What made it better is that it was completely unexpected for me. Yesterday was my friend Ashlie's 21st birthday (first sip of alcohol, if you're dumb enough to believe that) and they threw a party for her at a local nightclub. I'd been thinking that I was working this morning, so I had only planned on hanging out for an hour or two, then heading home. Turns out I had to work this afternoon, which meant I had plenty of time to recuperate this morning, and every reason to drink like a sailor on shore leave last night. Which I did. "Wasted" ain't the word--I drank myself retarded last night. JT picked me up on her way home from work and we warmed up with some drinks at her place while she got dressed. We then headed out to "our" spot (the bar at Chico's downtown) where we pre-gamed some more. JT ordered a ridiculously large sangria, which made me think, "When you're drinking something called a Sea Of Sangria, you know it's going to be a long night." I had my usual beer, and things were off to a roaring start. After an hour or so, we left for the club and things really swung into high gear. There was free beer in honor of Ashlie's birthday, but after a couple of those, I got a taste for vodka 'n tonic, and that's about when the night started getting fuzzy... I recall dancing to Pitbull's song "Calle Ocho" (that shit is the hotness), and doing the Cupid Shuffle with a stage full of people, but beyond that I really can't give many details. Things got a little clearer when we left the club and headed to one of downtown's favorite nightime eateries, Omar's. Omar makes a mean cheeseburge pita, but last night I was in the mood for something more traditional, so I ordered the Athenian. I think it might have been because his (young) son was working the cash register, but I wound up not paying for my food. JT was told her total was $6, and I was prepared to pay something resembling that. I had my pita in hand, and decided I needed something to wash it down. I asked the kid for a canned soda and asked him what I owed him. "$1" was his response. I realized quickly that he wasn't aware I'd not paid for my pita, and just chose not to enlighten him. After eating our food (including the last few bites we ate outside for some reason) we apparently decided it would be a good idea to call George and leave him a profane message cursing him out for not joining us downtown...even though I don't think we actually invited him. He replayed the message for me this morning, and I sounded like a total jackass. Nice. Apparently the oddity didn't end once I was safely home. I woke up this morning fully dressed, sleeping on the floor under my computer desk. I don't know if I was worried about earthquakes, or if I was just having a good old fashioned air raid drill. I just don't know. Now that I think about it, the phrase "I just don't know" really seems to sum up my night.

A Change is Gonna Come

The last week has been stressful as hell, but rewarding at the same time. My mornings have been spent going through training at the new job, while in the afternoons I've worked at the flower shop. This week marks my last week at the flower shop, so things will hopefully settle down some for me. Honestly, I'm feeling about my last day at the shop the same way a kid feels about the last day of school: a little anxious about the change, but excited about the new beginning. I'm particularly excited about the people I'll be working with. It's been a long time since I've had the chance to work with such fun-loving, high-spirited people, and I'm loving it. For example, last Wednesday we met up at Tavern on 4th for karaoke. We rather euphemistically called it a "team-building exercise," but it only took one song for the team to be officially built. That song was...wait for it...wait for it... Britney Spears' "Oops! I Did It Again." I'd nicknamed us the Hampton Hoochies, and (if I do say so myself) we sang the hell outta that song. To be more precise, George (our new maintainance man) sang the hell out of it.

Who'd have thought that of a bunch of women, one gay man, and a maintainance engineer, the maintainance engineer would be the one to know every single word. Even the spoken interlude in the middle of the song. Giving credit where it's due, George didn't just sing that song, he rocked it. Then he rolled it over and spanked it, lol. Clearly, it was one of those moments we'll be talking about for years to come. It's also especially gratifying to know I'll be working in a place where I can actually contribute something. Boss Lady at the flower shop rides me so hard, sometimes I have to reach back to make sure she hasn't strapped a plow on my shoulders. While I know I'll be working hard at the hotel (especially as we're getting ready for grand opening) I feel appreciated in a way that I haven't in a long time. As douche-ish as it sounds, I can't wait to get to work.

Random thought for the day

Just got a question for next month's column about a guy who's tempted to cheat. He went on and on, extolling the virtues of his hot new prospect compared to his current girlfriend. After giving it some thought, I've come up with the thought "don't let the green grass fool you--there's just as much manure over there." To put it in Frat Boy English: for every hot girl out there, there's a guy who's sick of banging her. To find out exactly how I responded, look for the new column on the Ask Uncle Trey Pound fanpage on Facebook in a couple of weeks.

Road Trip Diaries, pt. 2: award ceremony, hot dogs, and back to G-Vegas with time to drink.

Alright, having successfully found something to eat (the best jerk chicken wings I've had in a long time, for the record), we hurriedly got dressed for the Just Not Famous Enough awards ceremony. Since we didn't have a hotel room in which to change, and we couldn't change at the site of the show, we had to get creative. And by "creative" I mean the girls got dressed in the truck on the side of the street as evening traffic crawled by. My favorite moment from getting dressed was when I was getting changed. I crawled into the back of the truck, stretched out as best I could and started changing pants. When I was done, Su had to let me out. As I climbed out, I caught a glimpse of us in the glass storefront of the F.W. Woolworth's: Su was standing over the gutter using a water bottle to brush her teeth as I climbed (half-dressed) out of the back of the truck. I remember thinking, "Gotta say one thing about Pitt County folks, we sure know how to make in impression." We actually managed to get three girls into their fancy dresses (and me into my outfit) without getting an indecency citation. No small feat, considering the wind kept whipping Su's dress to dangerous heights. Finally, everyone was dressed, and we headed out. The plan was to drop Su off at the press box so she could get pictures of people walking the red carpet. I was to take the girls to the Marriott down the street to meet someone (still don't know who) then come back to drop the girls off for their turn on the red carpet. When we got to the hotel, the only familiar faces I saw belonged to guys from Irvine, who were scheduled to walk the carpet just after us. After getting up with Su and finding out that we were expected on the carpet in 3 minutes, we hauled ass back to the awards show. We pulled up, I hopped out and opened the door for the girls, and they had their turns looking all hot on the carpet. They then went inside to finalize their plans with the event organizer. Meanwhile, I stayed in the press box with Paula and the other journalists, freezing our asses off. The temperature was dropping along with the sun, and it got ridiculously cold out there. Cold as it was, I was kind of having fun watching the local "celebrities" preening and showing off for the (bored, cold, and mostly unimpressed) members of the press. Finally, we were allowed inside. I was in desperate need of something to warm me up, so I quickly ordered a stiff vodka-n-tonic with lime. After all, nothing warms the spirits like some chilled spirits. Once that began to kick in, I started to relax and check things out. Things were a little unorganized at first, but that's to be expected since this was the first event of its kind to be put on in NC. Between awards, there were bands and artists representing each of the nominated genres performing. My favorite was a hip hop group called Liquid Sun (http://www.myspace.com/officialliquidsun). It was a foursome, consisting of three (very good looking) Black guys, and one (pretty-fly-for-a-) White guy. They had the crowd hyped, and wound up winning the award for their category, so it was a good night all around for Liquid Sun. Morgan and Ashlee had been asked to present the Just Not Famous Enough award for alternative rock band. The whole way there, they'd been rehearsing their scripted bit, trying to come up with ways to deliver the lines smoothly. I'm not sure how, but the subject of Legally Blonde came up, particularly Jennifer Coolidge's line, "...makes me wanna hot dog rrreeeeaaaalll bad!" Morgan jokingly said, "I should say that when I get on stage!" and the joke was born. I dared her to do it, and sure enough she did. When the girls took the stage, Ashlee set her up: Ashlee: Well, I'm really excited to be here. What about you Morgan? Morgan: I'm soooo excited. Ashlee: Oh yeah? How excited are you Morgan? Morgan: I'm so excited, it makes me wanna hot dog rrreeeeaaaaaal bad! Unfortunately, no one else was in on the joke, so it sorta fell flat. But the girls looked so hot, I don't really think anyone gave a damn. In any event, the girls did a great job and I was really proud of them for representing the magazine so well. In no time at all, it was time to begin the drive back to Greenville. We were using Morgan's GPS (named "Gypsy") to navigate our way home, and it was giving us constant updates about our expected time of arrival back in G-Vegas. When Gypsy indicated that we'd be back home at about 1:30 am, all it took was Su saying "That's enough time to head downtown for a cocktail..." and suddenly we were on a mission. After a brief pause outside of Durham (where I peed for about 10 minutes), we arrived back in G-Vegas at around 1:37. I managed to down four (maybe five) beers and two shots of tequila before last call. I'm more than a little proud of that--I think that might be a personal best for me.