me and the clipper girl saw a lot of each other this week. i think it was cuz her family is in hawaii and she just wanted someone to hang with. whatever the reason, it was fun, but i blew it in so many ways that i doubt we hear from her in a long time.

still, when i play the week back in my mind, i remember a lot of the things that she said to me and a lot of the dumbass things that i said in return. one of the things that she said was that she liked smart guys and funny guys and i wondered if i ever said anything funny to her, ever. she throws hawaiian words at me all the time, but because she went to princeton, she also knew a lot of east coast slang words that sound so cute coming from her.

she was driving us to the urban outfitters on melrose and i said, why arent you with stud boy who was hitting on you after the game? she said he's a malimali or something. i said, he's a what? she said, he's a tool. i go, but you think everyone's a tool. she said, lots of these jocks are tools. she said either theyre pretty boys or theyre tools. they dont have anything to say.

she likes to buy clothes, but lately it seemed that she just tries them on. i dont mind. we started at fairfax high and worked our way east down melrose the day after thanksgiving, busiest shopping day of the year. she didnt give a fuck. she tried on high fashion, thrift store vintage, skater clothes, gangsta, whorey-chic, glam, hippie, leather. pretty much everything except business casual and all she ended up with was a pair of betsey johnson dayglo bloomers, and that was at the beverly hills store right before it closed. the salesgirls didnt mind. she has this completely innocent attitude where anything she does, you really dont mind.

she said, i really like that acdc/beck song that you mixed together. i said, i didnt mix that together, i heard that at my friends' wedding in baja and i found it on Grokster and i posted it. she said, but Adam Curry said you made it, i said, those chicks called you a whore, that doesnt make it so. she leaned over and whispered, "touché, pussycat, but i liked it anyway."

and then we drove to see weezer play an uninspired set at the long beach arena.

the problem with girls who dont attack me, but sit in their sportscars complaining of chapped lips and applying the lip gloss, is im not going to attack them like they probably want me to. when i was nineteen this one girl who i was dating totally bitched me out before breaking things off with me, declaring, girls want to date MEN. they want to feel like they're little in your arms, they want to be wooed, they want to be overwhelmed. and not by words, but actions. by amazingness, by strength and courage and power and romance. said, "we dont want to make the moves, that's your job, we want to be swept off our feet and whisked away. hurled into the vast nothingness of passionate fury. we want to rip your clothes off and peel away your skin and climb in..."

she smelled pretty, but i was glad she left me. we made out to sinatra once and that was pretty awesome. clipper girl played with the straw of the jack in the box shake that we got in the drivethru and i missed her already cuz the only nerds that get to go out with fashion models when it's not the lonely holidays are guys like beck who's not really a nerd anyway, still i lived in the moment and tried to manage my emotions, which changed about every 25 minutes and battled all the thoughts running like sugarplums in my head like, "should i tell her the truth, should i keep my mouth shut, should i kiss her, should i this, should i that." and when i got home my old friend from the agency called me telling me of a new assignment and she said that she saw me on the jumbo tron at the clippers game and i told her the scoop and i said, do you have any advice for me and she said, yeah, just be tony. which sucked cuz i dont think that with clipper girl i have ever been tony. just some weirdo image that the press has made me out to be, or the nerdy nineteen year old who'd just rather kiss to a taped collection of ancient tunes than try to be lenny kravitz backstage at the john anson after a blistering set and miles to go before we sweat.