#WTF: Kevin's Kephalonomancy is Kontagious

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet Kevin. I found him on craigslist, kinda like how I found that half eaten bag of pretzels, and last Friday's booty call. Casual encounters, FTW! He's hilarious, and smart ... and little elves dance in his footprints as he walks. For the record, I've made two of those facts up. </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Kevin Herman

As the LSAT lurks just around the corner like a hairy multiple-choice rapist, my otherwise scattered (and arguably retarded) attention is slowly coalescing - uniting itself if only for the briefest of moments to face a far deadlier threat from without - and as such, I’m marshaling any spare cognitive fuel from...like...everywhere else for a while. I’m becoming selectively very, very lazy.

If you told me that you actually read my column consistently, I would react a) in disbelief, for the very simple reason that I don’t believe you and am saddled with trust issues or b) still in disbelief because...well...why? I’ve read this shit, and frankly I don’t see the appeal. Each to his own, I suppose.

In any case - yeah, if you still insist that you're a mysterious repeat customer, I blame the reasons outlined in paragraph #1 for any drop in length or quality (questionable as either may already be) that you may notice, as well as pre-emptively apologize for the temporary dip in the utter bullshit you’ve come to expect from me.

Along similar lines - I haven’t really had time to peruse through the ol’ notebooks and hoarded PowerPoint lectures from the college days of yore to find another relationship psych morsel for thee to nom on, mainly because the weekend was kind of an aberration from my usual behavior...in that, like...I actually left the house, was thus busy, and neglected doing research to inspect this “life” thing I keep hearing about from the family I keep bound in my closet.

I don’t get out much. Typically, one may find me brooding in my e’er shades-drawn room-cave. I’m like Batman, if Batman did absolutely nothing useful and only had powers stemming mysteriously from a prodigious lack of hygiene. Admittedly I’ve tried to be more social than in the past - I try to do trivia night at a local tavern with friends from high school when I can, and if scheduling allows, I’ll trek over to Irvine for an over-nighter to say ‘ello to those people.

I went to school in Washington, DC for a bit, but that particular cross-section of my life isn’t as socially prominent in my current one - I only really have one friend from DC who lives anywhere close by, and if one takes into account that “close by” is Santa Monica and that I go into an infantile rage when I have to go anywhere even within Pasadena, I don’t see him very often.

As it stood - this particular weekend, one of my other boize from my little DC quartet was visiting/staying with the dude in Santa Monica. He was visiting from India and I mean shit, I hadn’t seen the dude in probably 3 years -- if ever I needed a little kick in the ass to finally turn the keys and roll to Santa Monica, this was it. After all - these are the guys I invented this drink with.

I arrived at my friend’s apartment (to avoid confusion, his name is Alex) for the first time and got the tour where I met his excellent roommates and eventually ran into his girlfriend (and the vomit stain she’d left on his floor from the night before). Upon receiving a typical bear hug from my unusually tall visiting Indian, excited well-wishing took place briefly before immediately devolving into the pseudo-comatose lethargy that characterized our social lives even back then. It was glorious.

After regrettably watching ‘Little Monsters,’ the plan was finally imparted to me. Go to Alex’s girlfriend’s place in Hollywood, pass da libations around (yo), and ultimately strut our shit on Sunset until...some unspecified goal was met. (It turned out to be 2am dinner at IHOP)

We arrived at the girlfriend’s place without incident, our offerings tabled, and caps and corks alike were discarded. Eventually I got talking with one of Alex’s roommates, both of whom had come along.

He asked what I did. I responded, grimacing, that I was pretty much just focusing on the impending LSAT, but that in my spare time I wrote for a blog.

“...which blog?” he asked, something more than idle curiosity hanging over the words.

I’m not sure when I stopped speaking and he started, but between the two of us, the phrase “TALK NERDY TO ME, LOVER!” was vocalized, followed by the appropriate “holy shit!”s and “small world, eh?”s.

For you see - those of you long time readers of this blog - I was shooting the shit and preparing to go bar hopping with none other than Sam Kellet (aka Poetic Peppering of Parfleche), who was rather drunk, rather hilarious, and rather awesome. Between Sam and the other roommate, their collective love of womankind and good alcohol rivaled that of every British superspy and playboy billionaire nominal-aristocrat from a country no one really cares about combined.

If Alex and I are the (endearingly?) awkward guys who only happen on romance and/or a woman’s touch by unwittingly stumbling into it - Sam and the other roomie were like a horny thermonuclear bomb shat from orbit towards Planet Women, their express purpose to love the shit out of it and forever irradiate it with sweet affection. And they carried this purpose out with a single mindedness that knew not forethought or pain - no amount of rejection or ambiguity would stop this bomb from hurtling forward and performing its task. No hesitation, no planning - just instinct and fluid motion. And despite what my social anxiety and intravertedness told me should be the disastrous consequences such behavior would lead to, it actually worked. I was actually quite awestruck. And then realized that it worked because they had their priorities straight.

Sam told me at the very beginning of the night: “Dude. Women. They are awesome. We’re going to hit on all of them. We are very likely going to make total asses of ourselves. Actually, not ‘likely’ - we just are. But it doesn’t matter. Because tonight is about having fun. And if you have fun, everything else just falls into place.”

And he was right. I know he got several digitz and also triggered a congo line I was unwillingly sucked into, but at the end of the night - he definitely had fun. He clearly enjoyed the shit out of himself, and that - I’m sure he’d agree - is really all that matters.

#nerdsunite

For more of Kevin’s politically incorrect verbal incontinence, follow him on Twitter or check out his like, completely legitimate astrological operation at Fiehard.

Comments

[Talk Nerdy To Me Lover]

whats even more hilarious about you and sam kicking it was that i found you LITERALLY days apart on craigslist. like energy .... like ... energy. =)

[Sam]

That, was fucking hysterical. In closing, come to Vegas in two weekends.