Halloween party at my house, be there

in

It's October 1. You know what that means: HALLOWEEN IS ALMOST HERE!

Nearly everything about Halloween is awesome - getting a costume, carving pumpkins, eating candy, scaring children - EXCEPT finding the right party to be at.

How many of us have had great costumes but no where to go before? You have nothing to be afraid of this year (pun intended).

We're having a party at the Spooky Oakes Tree (my house)! Come one, come all! (But let us know if you're coming so that we can staff snacks and games accordingly). We will likely spend part of the time at our house and part of the time on The Ave. in Tacoma to enjoy costume contests and beverages with the ghoulish public.

See the Evite for more details. Oh yes, it's an Evite, so it's official.

Get ready to party! It's the first of the month!

One day without a phone

in

I accidentally left my iPhone at home yesterday. Here's what happened. 7:42 a.m. SHEER PANIC. While driving to the train station I realize that I've left the phone and don't have time to turn back to get it. I think about all of the morning meetings I might not be aware of. I try to think of how to let people know I don't have my phone. I can't tweet. I can't text. I can't call. I scramble while driving, uncovering every piece of paper and wrapper to make sure I didn't miss it. I'm not. I feel so cold and alone.

8:05 a.m. I'm on the train, so I have Internet connectivity with my laptop. I'm able to check and send mail. Still, I miss my music player and the connectivity isn't as fast as my phone. Grr.

8:55 a.m. I get off the train and reach for my earbuds. They're not there. How in God's name do I make the walk across the street to work with out my morning tunes?!

9:10 a.m. Still bummed I didn't have music for the morning block walk. Coffee isn't good today either. FML.

10:08 a.m. I freak out because I went downstairs to buy better tasting coffee but forgot to check if I had a 10 a.m. meeting. I have no phone to reference for my calendar. I run back upstairs to check Outlook. No meeting, thankfully, but lack of phone is making me paranoid.

10:31 a.m. I'm tweeting from my desktop PC. Lame.

10:36 a.m. A coworker comes over to tell me about cool new iPhone app. I can't download it. I give him the finger.

11:30 a.m. I remember that I brought some iTunes gift cards (Thanks, Amanda!) with me to work to download some new music onto my phone. I have the gift cards, Macbook Pro and connection cable all on hand. Missing: iPhone. Anger overwhelms me. I get that Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining look across my face. These cubicles will likely be my snowy maze around 4 p.m... "Here's Johnny!"

12:14 p.m. Lunchtime! I'll call Amanda and tell her - nevermind.

2:22 p.m. I actually forgot about my phone for awhile. Then I meet with my mobile team and I'm reminded. Before the meeting, everyone looks down at their phones to look busy. I look down at my empty hands. I turn my wrist to look at my watch, except I don't have a watch on. A coworker asks what I'm doing. "I don't know," I reply.

3:00 p.m. I'm getting emotional and the tears are coming. I have a strange, estrogen-driven urge to watch Beaches or Stepmom, probably because I haven't been able to check any scores on my ESPN app. I also realize that I'm thinking a lot about movies, probably because I want to escape this cruel, isolated existence.

3:19 p.m. I think about committing a crime because I know you get to make a call from jail. I have a meeting at 3:30 p.m. though, so not enough time to work with.

3:55 p.m. I'm starting to look for targets to hunt in my cubicle maze.

3:59 p.m. A coworker gives me some chocolate. I suddenly feel better.

4:12 p.m. I get ready to head back to the train station, closer to my personal communication nirvana. I have no way to tell Amanda when I'll be home, so I'll have to deal with that wrath later.

5:18 p.m. I'm off the train. I skip to my car. I feel like 9-year-old on Christmas Eve.

5:45 p.m. I run into my house and see my glistening iPhone on the table. I embrace it. All of the colors are so bright and beautiful! I'm feeling more like myself, connected. A bird flies into the house through an open window and sits on my shoulder. Fabrizio jumps up and licks the top of its head. I hear church bells in the distance. All is right again.

The only dating rules are your own

in

A good friend of mine, who shall remain anonymous in the interest of protecting his game, recently started a relationship that he's pretty stoked about. The first couple dates have been smashing successes, but he's hesitant. His chief concern: He asked her out twice in three days, hence breaking the Three Day Rule.

For those too far removed from the dating scene, the Three Day Rule is usually defined as:

a. A rule established by the norms of society about the contact information received by people on the dating scene.
b. A rule to prevent a man from appearing desperate or needy after attaining a girl's phone number that he (just) met. Following this rule, you are to wait three days before calling in order to create suspense and appear non-needy.
c. An awesome rule created by Jesus, as explained by Barney Stinson in the sitcom How I Met Your Mother. The rule states that you should always wait three days before calling a girl. The three day rule was invented by Jesus, because he waited three days to resurrect.

On a positive note, such frequency means that the pair have avoided dating gridlock, but my friend is concerned about appearing too interested (desperate) by having so much communication in the early stages.

Fortunately, I have gained a sense of enlightenment toward dating as reward for my coming off the market. (I believe Buddhists call this "karma.")  To calm my friend's fears, I gave him priceless advice:

"Fudge the rules."

Except I didn't say fudge.

I've learned that if you're looking for true compatibility, then whatever you think - your gut instinct - is what you should go with because whoever you're truly compatible with will be accepting of your decision, even in the early stages of dating. This all really boils down to "Be yourself," with reasoning.

Compatibility is all about communication, so if you communicate unnaturally (Read: follow artificial dating rules), then you're not giving yourself a chance to figure out if the compatibility is there off the bat. If you want to call her the next day, go for it. If she doesn't like hearing from you that soon then she's probably not the right girl. If she's glad to hear from you then you're probably on the right track.

I think Amanda and I went out three times in the first seven days we knew each other, and probably six or seven times in the first two weeks. We talked or emailed every day in between. That's what I wanted. It turns out that's what she wanted. Win win.

Of course, my friend is much smarter than me and already figured much of this out, whereas I made most of my progress via dumb luck. But it still felt good to have had that epiphany and share it with him. Better late than never.

Back to my friend, he told his lady the day after their second date that we was breaking the rules by talking to her so frequently.

Upon hearing this she replied, "Fudge the rules."

Except she didn't say fudge.  It seems like a match in the making.

Denim wars

in

I need new jeans - badly. I've worn the wash out of my Lucky jeans, and the Kenneth Cole and Ben Sherman jeans that I found at Goodwill (what a steal!) last year have seen better days, too. I've been on the hunt for some new jeans off and on for the last couple months, which you think would be an easy thing. I wear 32x32, and that's a fairly common, always-in-stock size.

BUT DAMN YOU, HIPSTERS.

I cannot find a 32x32 pair of jeans that fits over my calves. I have muscular soccer legs and a matching backside. Ladies, you're welcome.

Why are all the men's jeans designed to fit like women's jeans these days? Now I know why Scott wears cargo pants all the time. And if he wears jeans, they're Carhartts.

Before a grad school meeting yesterday, Amanda and I found time to shop in the U-district. We went to Urban Outfitters, where I tried on some 33x32 Levi jeans. This is the all-American demin, right? I gave myself the extra inch in the waist just to make sure I wasn't kidding myself.

I couldn't get the jeans over my butt. Could-not-get-them-over-my-ba-donk-a-donk.

So, you can imagine me wrestling with my own feet in that small cubicle of a dressing room trying to get the jeans off. Outside, Amanda flipped through a pop-culture book wondering if I was in a UFC fight or trying on a pair of jeans.

I raised the ante to 34x32 jeans at the next stop, Buffalo Exchange. Still no luck. I could get the jeans on, but the waist was WAY too big. I pulled the jeans away from me by the button. There was so much room I could see my knees.

These, too, shall not pass.

I remember back in like 1999 when you bought jeans because of the wash, not the fit, because EVERY pair of jeans fit right because the only fit was baggy. R.I.P. gangsta rap.

So now that I've tried the stylish places, what am I left with? The Old Navy's, American Eagle's and GAP's of every American Mall? I'd rather not mimic the back-to-school styles of every other junior high student.

I can't give up this fight, this war, to find jeans, because I need them like Britney Spears needs autotune... I just don't want my jeans to fit like Britney's.

I'll take recommendations for affordable, relaxed fitting men's jeans in the comments. Now, on a related note, here's the most underrated Genuwine song ever. This one's dedicated to The Wives, who heard me sing this at random too many times in the old apartment. Enjoy.