Spoiler Alert...

We all like a bit of warning before bad shit happens. A little bit of a "Hey, that toilet doesn't flush." or a "I'm late for my period." or "The cops stopped by looking for you while you were out, I packed your bags."
The problem with our constant desire to know what comes next is that we can't help it even when it's obviously bad for us. You can see it resonate in our reflex to stereotype people. White people have good credit, black people have big penises/asses and people from Latin American countries are walking Kryptonite for every other race. But I'm not here to criticize you on your underlying racism. I'm here to talk about love and sex and relationships... or whatever.
The area that our incessant desire for information affects the most negatively is in relationships. Once we've reached a certain age, we believe we've dated roughly every type of person, or we think we know exactly what someone is going to be like in a relationship. We get the idea that we know what we want, and what we need in a relationship, and what other people have to offer us, but in doing this, we end up missing out on relationships with people that could be exactly what we need. Sometimes you'll never see it coming when something good shows up at your door, or slaps you in the face.
We spend so much time trying to avoid bad things, that sometimes we miss out on great things. I'm not saying that you should go chasing that hot man slut who cheated on your cousin with your other cousin and is now hitting on you. What I am saying is that maybe that mildly religious girl you met at Subway isn't such a bad pick for you. You didn't know she taught Sunday school until it came up pretty organically. And who knows. maybe you need a little Jesus in your life you filthy heathen. Or maybe it's not so bad that that guy's a vegan, and you eat triple bacon cheeseburgers for dinner, skip the veggies and replace the bread with steaks.
You never know what life is going to throw at you. Sometimes it's looking out for you. Sometimes it's really just trying to fuck you over. But like so many dead smart people have said in so many ways, you'll regret the risks you didn't take more than the ones you did. Unless you like drink and drive and murder some people. You'd really regret that. Like forever. That risk is never worth it.
Anyway, the moral of the story is not to let opportunities pass you by because of your fear or belief that you've experienced everything that's out there. Live a little. Or a lot. The world is waiting.

The Perfect Girl...

"Sexy, cute, smart, funny, obedient, supportive, likes the same movies, likes to play video games (or watch sports), has the same hobbies, loves sex, and likes anal."
These are main things you're going to hear your average guy say to describe his perfect girl. While this describes a very, very attractive proposition, these men are dead-fucking-wrong. What they're really doing is describing their twin sister.
It's an unbelievably rare occasion when your perfect match is your perfect clone. I mean, let's face it, you're pretty damn annoying.You barely want to be around yourself alone, can you imagine always being around two of yourself?
The truth is, you need a someone who can be prepared to be and do what you aren't. Because let's face it, you're a pussy. But, also, life and love aren't about always being as comfortable as you can be. When you have that much in common with someone, there's no room for a relationship to go anywhere. You never get a push to go or do something you may have overlooked, or completely refused to do before. You've never heard a love story end with "And my life didn't change at all, except that I started getting laid periodically." You can't spend your life afraid to change or sacrifice, and expect things to just fall into place around you. Not even the president gets that. He can't wear a hat with a logo, or go a day without shaving without every idiotic news anchor hopping on and analyzing whether or not his 5 o' clock shadow is him trying to compare himself to Abraham Lincoln.
Now I don't have anything against compatibility and having things in common. Having absolutely nothing in common is just disastrous.
I mentioned it before in a previous blog, and I say it all the time in real life, for a relationship to be healthy and productive, both people need to be better people in the relationship than out of it. If you're a shut in and a hermit and it takes the arrival of your pizza delivery for you to figure out the temperature outside on any day you don't have to work, it might be in your better interests not to block someone out because they like to go out more than twice a week, and not just to take out trash. If you're a party animal and love the "scene" and the nightlife, it's not always the worst thing to find someone who only goes out once or twice a month. It's loads cheaper and a study has shown that it drops the odds of you cheating by about 13 percent on average.*
Finding the perfect girl isn't all about figuring out how much you have in common with someone and how much of the same bullshit you can now do exactly the same, just with a cuddle buddy to help follow it up. Life isn't about the easy transition. Because transitions aren't easy. Sometimes when you're in your own little pursuit of happiness, life, fate, the universe, karma, God(s)... existence will send a tornado of destruction to tear up everything you think you have going for you and rearranging it to become something completely unrecognizable. Just so you can sit back and realize... you should have called for a natural disaster a long time ago.

Women: Snipers of the Subconscious...

Hey fellas. You ever been so hot for your girl that you just couldn't take it, and then she "innocently" decides to string together a series of sounds to make words to make a sentence that not only pops that pants baloon you've got going, but also lets the air out of your ego tires and shatters the illusion that she sticks around when you're annoying because you're the best thing since sliced bread met butter, but instead, it's simply because she loves you? (much less flattering...)
If that has happened to you, fret not, it's usually a side effect of being a male, and being heterosexual. 
We as men tend to have a Death Star-like weak point for women. We put our confidence and the measure of our self-esteem in their  hands, and that's basically the holomap from Star Wars that will lead the rebels right into the narrow path to our destruction from the inside.
Women have known about this weakness since Helen got Troy demolished and her husband and mistress murdered all for the sake of a fling. They've known about this since Eve convinced Adam to disobey God, even though, according to the Bible: A) She was already naked; and 2) Adam LITERALLY talked directly to God all the time. (In Adam's defense, God did hook him up with her. Way to let a bro down, God.)
The point is, women are dangerous, because men are slightly retarded when it comes to vagina. In fairness, it's not our fault. If you've ever had the opportunity (misfortune?) to see a vagina up close, and have the pressure on your head (innuendo) to have to please a woman while you're there, it's like trying to defuse a bomb with your tongue... or hand or fingers, or a small bomb defusing robot that you designed out of fear of the Al Quaedien nightmares you've been having since you watched Hurt Locker that one time.
But vagina bombs are neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is, we are in danger. We allow women to get into our heads, and set up perches at the edge of our sub-conscious. Women are highly trained snipers. They were trained to take down your defenses from afar, before you know what's happening, and then move into your headquarters and start controlling homebase.
Okay. No more metaphors. What I'm trying to say is that women will get in your head, and subtly control your thoughts and emotions. (I seriously thought that would make this whole thing sound a little simpler...) They say small things and it ends up making you feel like she somehow made that entire day that you fought a lion to get into a burning building and save those orphan babies and that expecting mother never even happened.
"Yeah, my ex-boyfriend wanted to be a celebrity. He started doing movies, but he just ended up doing porn. I'm not surprised."
Or...
"I don't really understand why women are always so stressed about guys with big penises. I've been with a guy with a big penis before, and it wasn't really all that. I'm perfectly happy with you."
(Think about it...) Or...
"Are you done already?"

These are the little bullets that take out Generals. There's no way to avoid these things. Now before you give up and decide to kiss your ass goodbye, I just wanna tell you, it get's better. I'd love to tell you that they eventually stop being such terrible creatures. No. What happens, is eventually you learn how to convince yourself that her ex-boyfriend probably had a super penis, or that she's probably a prostitute on her spare time. Or something like that. There's no real happy ending.

The Relationship Equation: Pt. 2

1+1=2.5
You want to know what I have less of when I'm in a relationship? MONEY!
Badum-CHH!
Sorry, I've been away for awhile. I'm trying to get back into the groove of this. Anyway, I spent the past hour and some change talking to a woman with a boyfriend who's has been spending all of her money and can't even find the time to compliment her, let alone pay her back. He hasn't shown any kind of appreciation for everything she's done for him and she's getting pretty tired of it.
"Why are you still with him, then?" I asked.
"Because I love him." She replied.
I laughed. Because it was funny.
The reason I laughed was not the girl's misfortune, but the fact that she felt that "I love him." was good enough to be the only reason to stay with someone who makes you miserable and is literally hindering your ability to better yourself. There are plenty of reasons for that. Marriage, kids, money, sex, blackmail, votes for a spot in the democratic primaries, chance of being murdered in the event of a break-up or divorce because you got with the daughter of a cartel boss, and are now very certain that she might be as crazy as her head-machete-ing mother, or finger-mailing father.
Love is definitely not on that list. The reason being that you can love someone you're not in a relationship with. Second part of the relationship equation is:
1+1=2.5

How is that possible? I'll explain.

"1" in the equation, is the equivalent of you at your best. The other "1"in the equation is the equivalent of your relationship counterpart. People in a relationship should BOTH be better people when they are together, than when they are apart. Sure, separately you should be two separate Good people. But together, you should be two Great people. Hence how "1" comes together with "1" to equal something more.
It's not possible for two people to have a healthy relationship, when "1" is required to be "1.5", because they're getting together with a ".5" and they need to try to get the relationship up to par.
You can't give 150% everyday without getting anything back. Sure you can be a 1+1=2 kind of person, but that means that you're no different apart than you are together, and it usually doesn't take long before you realize that and end up having sex with the hot cashier chick. Until you realize that she wasn't that sexy, you were just horny and bored with life. And when you confess to your girlfriend, she doesn't care one way or another, and you guys break up without even counting that experience as an actual relationship.
Look, I'm not saying love isn't a good enough reason to continue a relationship. I'm just saying that love shouldn't be the reason you continue this symbiotic relationship with the life-leech you happened to fall in love with, because down that path, you find yourself working for this "in-between jobs" giant baby, who somehow convinced you to have children, and now you have three actual babies, and you spent your prime spouse finding years hoping that this Giant Baby you nurtured would learn how to walk on it's own giant two feet, and it didn't. It used you as a crutch. And now you're this old, twisted, Disney witch-looking creature in need of an extreme makeover and a boob job. But you did it all for love...

Sock Diaries: Everything in Between...

So this is the final installment of the Sock Diaries. My birthday has passed. I'm 22, and I've had sex with.... a fair amount of women, I think. But I can't really say with all certainty that I've actually learned everything that there is to learn about women. In my years of learning all that I could from the creature we call "woman" and even my attempts at taming the wild beast, I noticed that I've spent my entire time learning "girls", and not women. As I grew, they grew, and it seemed like the more I learned, the less I knew. But I've crossed over into the world of Women. Maturity and responsibility, and all that other stuff adult human females tend to talk about.
 I love mature women. After spending so much time with girls that seemed to only aspire to  get a boyfriend and party every weekend, I wouldn't mind a woman with some kind of drive to improve themselves and their lives. ON THEIR OWN. The biggest problem with mature women is that they usually want you to be mature too. Yeah, I spend about 90% of my TV time watching cartoons. And I have a diary on the internet. Shit, I only joined the Army because they do everything but wipe your ass for you, and I'm $100 more dollars per paycheck away from hiring someone for that.
I know I'm not mature, and I know that the only women I usually attract are the immature ones. I understand that. But the ones that I want are the ones that don't want me. So, until I'm ready, I'll spend my nights in the arms of women who I could probably identify better by the ass than the face by the time the next day roles around. Women like to say I'm a bad person for saying things like that. Truthfully, I don't have much of a fuck to give about the women who have that opinion of me. I guarantee you those women don't know me, and I don't want them to. The reason I say the things I say about wanting sex with different women, (floozies, if you will) is because I'm not the kind of guy who will take a good girl and treat her like trash. If I'm not ready for a real woman, I won't lie to one and waste both our time. Sex with "floozies" is consensual and does the same thing for both parties: Helps them sort things out until they're ready for a real relationship. Personally, I think I'm a great guy, and more guys should be like me, instead of taking up space and bullshitting their way through life.
I know this is the last installment, and I should be closing chapters and teaching life lessons, but I can't help but think that in real life, things never fit in the box quite right, and so tying that bow isn't going to be as pretty as you could hope.
So it's back to another night of porn and regret. I might just throw in a few snacks just to keep the romance alive. One day I plan on getting a permanent partner for this, but at the moment, I'll stick to honing my technique.

Sock Diaries: 3/31/2013

"You're wasting your time if you don't go to Selection."

Honduras is probably the most interesting place a regular soldier could ever go. The other night, I found myself in a hotel room with a beautiful, half-naked (the bottom half) Honduran woman who could literally only say the words "hi" and "bye" in English. Needless to say, we didn't have any very deep conversations. The unit here is amazing, and the women around town are beautiful, and very subservient and eager to please. I have fun almost every day, and there hasn't been a day where the question "What the fuck is that?" hasn't crossed my mind.
So what is there to talk about today? Well, there is one aspect of Honduras that is best kept a secret, but it really does, well, baffle me, to say the least. The thing I will allow myself to speak on isn't the weird relationships of Americans on Americans, or the more interesting, but much more understandable relationships of Americans and Hondurans, it's not all the strange flirting and eye-balling, and rumors and constant partying and drinking. It was what I was told last night at the beginning of the party that the Special Forces guys were having. I mean the real special forces. Like the guys who "were never here". One of the bosses told me, after a long speech about what I was missing and how I'd be perfect for it, that "You're wasting your time if you don't go to Selection."
Special Forces Selection. Where the best of the best are molded. It's over a year of rigorous training, and special skills building that makes you not only one of the greatest weapons that breathes, but one of the most resourceful and capable humans with an American citizenship.
Everyday that I've woken up, since I was a small boy, I've wished that I would wake up in a world where superheroes kept the streets safe. And that I was one of those heroes. There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I've woken up and not wanted to open my closet to  reveal a rubber suit (or some kevlar-titanium-cotton blend) and a suit and tie, to go out to some menial job, just to don my secret identity when the sun went down. But that's not the world I live in. The closest I'll ever come to being a superhero, is through Selection.
But have you ever read the comic where Bruce Wayne wakes up the morning after he retires, goes in to a business meeting, hashes out some financial details, comes home to Damien Wayne and Talia al (Wayne?) and they have a nice family dinner and talk about their respective days, and Bruce reads Damien a bed time story, and goes into the bedroom with his wife Talia for a their "private" time?* No, because no one wants to hear about that. Mostly, because even in a comic book world, it's not likely to happen.
In the real world, there are bullets and deployments. In the real world, there are no sexy femme fatales with whom you have a strained, love-hate sexually tense relationship. There are angry men, crazed women, homicidal, suicidal, genocidal people. At the end of the day, you come home, you hang up your cape, and you hope you don't find your wife in bed with Bob who works at a cubicle for some shitty corporation who's funding the child soldiers and genocides that just made your past couple of weeks a (barely) living hell. Reality is where your cheating wife tells you that your emotionally neglected teenage daughter is pregnant, or your role model-less son is in jail, while you were out preventing some Nameless group of murderers from skinning some little girl alive. That's the reality. Once you're in the world of the real superheroes, the chances of you coming out of it without losing more of yourself than you were prepared for, are slimmer than the chances of you coming out at all.
So is that the direction I really want to go? Once I'm in, I can kiss my chances of a normal, quiet life goodbye. It's a line you can't uncross. Is that what I really want?

Perks of Being in Good Standing with your Psycho Ex-Girlfriend...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Sock Diaries: 3/10/2013

I got rejected last night... I'm kind of bummed about it...
Okay, it wasn't a full on rejection. I got the whole "I've got a boyfriend," thing, but girls use that line so often you can never tell if they're actually telling the truth. Can we start a movement where women just outright say "I'm not interested, so stop flirting." That would, in all reality, be much more helpful. This girl was awesome, she was smart, funny, (I mean genuinely funny and entertaining) and mature... -ish. You can't really tell how mature someone is at a party, but it she said all the right things, and that counts for something, right?
Well, anyway, that kind of shit on my ego, along with most of the American women I've run into here. I don't really give too many shits about them, I'm just waiting on my pass to get out and see the much more attractive, and much, much more supportive local women of Honduras. The thing that's really bothering me is that the women that I find myself genuinely attracted to never share my interest. I realized a while ago that I just CANNOT do the whole young, immature girl thing anymore. The stupid questions, the stupid statements, and the stupid decisions have really lost their charm. Around every corner there's something stupid and unnecessary. The identity crises, the attempts at self validation through other's opinions, the fucking parental problems. I remember when I had parent problems. I was in high school. But it wasn't even in twelfth. I was in tenth grade when I had my last parental ANYTHING. That was SIX years ago. Why the fuck would I want, or need to hear that I have to miss out on something because you have a curfew, or your? I don't even...
... anyway That's where I am. I'm getting more and more convinced I'm going to end up one of those 40 year old creepy dudes hanging out at college bars until one day I see my daughter there and realize that it might be time to retire and die old and alone...

Sock Diaries: 3/3/2013

One of the hardest things about being a rolling stone like I am, isn't so much leaving people you love and like, as much as it is feeling left by people. In the past three years, I've been sent to six different places, and haven't stayed in any of them for one consecutive year. I've seen people come and go, and have come and gone myself. I've made brothers and sisters, loved and lost, but the thing that always sits with me the heaviest, is wondering who'll miss me when I'm gone.
I'm not as conceited as I pretend to be on the surface. I know not everybody loves Sonata, but I always wonder who does. I have my family that I know I can always rely on. My brothers, my blood brothers (there's a difference) and my mom. But how long does it take for someone to ask where I am when I'm not there? It's just one of those things that goes through my head while I'm thinking about all of the stuff I miss from home. And then I step outside and look at this beautiful Honduran skyline and remember that there will be way more to miss very soon.

Standards...

Everyone should have standards. Even I have standards, despite my track record. I feel that the best view of my actual standards can be best viewed by three women, two of them being my most recent endeavors, and one being (description omitted). One of the women, “The Norwegian” I like to call her, was just that: a fairly hot Norwegian woman. She was blonde haired, blue eyed, deliciously thick, and on her way out of the country in a few days. The next would be a girl whose ethnicity I can’t really call out as of yet… but she was pretty hot and definitely worth showing off. The final girl would be (description omitted). Fucking bombshell, hottest girl I’ve ever had sex with, and by far my favorite. I would…

But I digress. The problem with standards, is that too many factors need to come together for you to actually get what you want, depending on how high your standards are. My standards usually start at an all-time high, and then plummet like Enron stocks after about a month of chronic masturbation and potential missed opportunities for sex. At that point I’m just shooting in the dark for something two legs and a vagina (legs optional). Once I break that drought, usually with some kind of a stroke of luck (luck is not the name of my penis), I go back to chasing after super models and video vixens and foreign dignitaries. The reality of it is that standards aren’t this solid line that can and will never be crossed broken or bent. That most important part is figuring out what you won’t do, and not as much what you want to do.

People of our generation (in America) have such a warped view on standards that they generally have no idea what the will and won’t do until someone famous tells them what’s okay. Everybody wants celebrities to tell them whether or not it’s okay to forgive an abusive boyfriend. Or if it’s okay to stop wearing super baggy pants and start buying them at least 10 sizes too small. Or if  it’s okay to be “different” like everyone else, and start wearing lenseless glasses and leopard print jackets. Or if anyone should care anything at all about trying to save money to get a car they can actually afford, and clothes that fit and maybe a retirement plan… and maybe a career to retire from. If anyone would actually set their own standards, they might have a chance to see when they’re being made to look like idiots. It’s none of your business if Rihanna wants to forgive Chris Brown. If your standards are “I will not forgive a man who abuses a woman” then you just might be able to make up your own damn mind about your own damn life. Maybe if you decided “I will never wear pants that I have to sag below my ass in order for them to touch my shoes” then maybe you might not be incapable of getting an erection right now. Maybe if you decide that “Hey, I really like fat chicks man. Maybe you should say “I’ll never leave the house without a condom. Just saying…

It’s really a lot about that whole “stand for something-fall for anything” shtick. You gotta know when to bottom out. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself balls deep in a threesome with two Thai tranny/prostitutes, with no condom, because they told you they were on the pill, and you’re going to realize it’s too late. Your condom is in your pants and your pants are on the floor. And then there’s no going back.

Sock Diaries: 2/25/2013

I've been on a whole "No woman, no cry" kick as of late. Not really on purpose, but I've generally lost my taste for relationships. I still talk to a strangely large amount of women, and will have a hell of a time cleaning names out of my phone book when I get back in country, but most of the time, I purposely bomb my chances with these new women, because I have an estimated two days left in country, and haven't been one for one night stands. Were I not leaving soon, I would probably have gotten myself into all sorts of things up to this point.
The strangest thing about this whole dilemma is that I still want to daydream about having that special someone. I find myself thinking "When I get married, my wife is going to be..." and I stop there, realizing that I have no idea what she's going to be like. I look back on my big three ex-girlfriends (the ones I said "I love you" to) and notice that there was only one pattern. When we were together, they were generally submissive. Now that we're broken up, they've all blossomed into their own version of dominant, and I know that it was mainly me who pushed them into that direction. It's fine, more or less. They're thriving(ish) women, and making their own independent(ish) decisions and living their lives the way they want to live them. (ish).
But that's neither here nor there. What I'm getting at is that at this very, very strange period in my life, I barely know what I want when it comes to family. I figure I want a car, a nice house with high speed internet, and for the zombie apocalypse to kick in when I'm around 45, that way I should be in pretty good shape, and already well into my life to where I'm not going to miss much. Oh, and a dog. As far as family is concerned, I know I'd love to have a son, but I have no idea what my wife/baby momma will be like. My prediction is that she'll turn out to be a malicious, deceiving she-devil after my inevitable divorce, who will ensure that she not only leaves with at least half my shit, but also absorbs half of my potential happiness for the rest of her life, until she's dragged down into a crowd of zombies while handing me up our child through the window just in time. And then I shoot her in the face later.
Now that I don't spend all of my time throughout my day thinking about my future wife, I have no idea what I really want from any of this whole boy-meets-girl scenario that we as young people spend all of our time wrapped up in. I know what I want with my career, I know what kind of car I want, what kind of job, what my dream apartment looks like, and all of the guys that I want to grow old next to. Or at the very least, make my last stand in an abandoned parking lot surrounded by zombies with.
It's a strange feeling. Not knowing what's next, and having no expectations at all. But that's where I am, and though I have no idea what I'm in store for with this next part, I just really hope that it's as good as the last part...

Diary of Avery Blackman: Joining

Today, they allowed me to join them in their schools. They finally heard my voice. I've been laughing with my friends about their term "Separate but Equal" since I heard it come out of their mouths. The walk up to the door was the longest one I've ever endured. They spit on me, they through things at me. They hate me. But they will not stop me. I will not just show that I am as good as they are, because that's not good enough. I must be better. They will not break me. I will stand tall and strong to show the world that we will not quit until I have proven myself. One day, we will show the white man that we can be better. I will put on my best clothes every day, no matter what they throw at my clean white shirt, and my fresh pressed pants.
The governor has sent National Guard soldiers to stop me from going to the white school. He even closed all of the schools in my town to try to ensure that the desegregation didn't happen. The president stepped in and sent in Army soldiers to help. From what I learned, the same brave unit had gone to Germany during the world war, and many of their victories swayed the entire direction of the War.
I will graduate with honors. I will not quit. I will strive to show them that we are not less. We are more...

Diary of Avery Blackman: War

A war has broken out again. Our world is under attack. Japs attacked and now good ol' Uncle Sam is calling me to war. Good enough to fight and die, but still barely good enough to die next to the white man. I will fight for my wife and child. I will fight for the men, women, and children who are being suppressed and held back. Those who are being treated like animals, and even less than. I will fight harder than the white man. I will show him with blood and sacrifice that we are not just equals. I am better...

They have separated me from the white man. My missions have been mostly support of support. They report that my limited negro intellect hinders me from being able to accomplish what the white man can, thus giving them a reason to report that my efforts in the war were marginal. Yet I fight. And I fight hard. I never give up, and I will not allow them to say that the little that I was allowed to do was not done as well as it could possibly could have been...

I saw a lot of action today. My brothers beside me fought with me, and some died, but did both valiantly. We won a great victory for the Allied forces, but I would be hard pressed to believe that anyone would ever find out what Negros have done for humanity this day. But one can only hope, that with the liberation of the people of Europe, we may one day see the same liberation on our own soil...

Sock Diaries: 2/16-17/2013

So... the MILF...
Well I was out of town, (in Houston) at this Bahamas themed club event, with this girl I had met six hours earlier, who was from the Bahamas, and it was around 3 A.M., and I was sitting on the outskirts of the club just observing. During my time observing, I realized that young women of island origins generally don't think much of clothing. I mean, there was one girl there in a bra... and a fire-engine red mohawk... I know that wasn't really relevant, but it happened, and I thought it was crazy... anyway, there was another girl there in short... short... short shorts. As in they stopped, generally, at the top of her ass. one of the girls I was with was in a full dress, and it stopped at the middle of her ass. I guess I should give her a little credit, it did make it halfway...
Anyway, it's 3 A.M. on the 17th, and people are just arriving...

Let's back track a little...
It's about 9 A.M. on the 16th, and I'm jacking it. Everything's right: Mood- bored, Lights- off, Porn- on, Actress- Chanel Preston (look her up...). Anyway, I'm in the middle of doing the deed when, suddenly- I got nothing. I mean the video is in the middle of some really good stuff, but all of a sudden, I have absolutely no interest. As confusing as this was, I just chalked it up to too much "alone time" and maybe it was time for a break.
It's about 1 P.M. on the 16th, and I'm heading to the store for some chow, and I see a chick walking by. Good looking, early 20s, alone (no boyfriend or c-blocking friends) so, naturally I think about talking to her, when I realize, I'm just not interested. So I press on. I head into the mini-mall thing we have on base and head to the food court, when I see a few pretty young things sitting at a table. potential targets, definitely, but, I just wasn't diggin' it. So I get my food from the cute cashier without so much as a clever joke, and head back to my room. The days events reminded me of the night before, when I was dancing with this extra sexy young lady at the club, we're doing the whole grinding thing, ass to pelvis, and I mean she was well built with a great face, but some how, it didn't stir up a thing. I realized... girls don't interest me anymore.
Now, now dear readers, don't go telling the masses that poor little Sonata's out of the closet. Read on.
It's about 3 P.M. when I see a familiar girl walk past with a guy I never saw before. Behind her walked another girl, who, despite walking a little closer to the couple, didn't seem to be with them, or anyone else for that matter. I watched her walk by with, intrigue, for lack of a better word. Somewhat in her, and somewhat in whether I was completely off game for talking to girls altogether. So I go up to her, introduce myself in that way I do, and walk right into that glass door called "rejection". But neither being interested in her nor having anything better to do, I continued to talk to her. Long, uninteresting story short, about half an hour later, she invited me to come with her to Dallas, and then Houston for some kind of Jamaican/Bahamian- themed club event. I thought about it, and with a few more episodes of the Young Justice cartoon to finish, and an uneaten, refrigerated McDonald's cheeseburger to microwave back to health, not to mention a nap or two to get around to, I already had quite a full plate in front of me, but I decided that I'd already napped, tooned, and munched McD's, but had yet to party with people I had just met from the Bahamas. So I went. We made the two and a half hour trip from here to to Dallas, then the three hour trip from Dallas to Houston. We arrived around 1 A.M.

Now, it's about 4:30 A.M., and the party has officially started. People are on the dance floor, the music is blaring, the bass is literally penetrating my chest cavity, and the freakily dressed women are shaking their barely covered asses. Things  were pretty awesome, despite my financially induced sobriety, which then hindered my dancing ability. So I sat where we began, on the outskirts of the dance floor in chairs acquired from somewhere in the back. The two island chicks had wandered off onto the middle of the dance floor, and I just enjoyed the sights. The scantily clad women were interesting, but not impressive. There was even a Mini Minaj. She had an ass the size of 2/3 a basketball, and a waist you could almost wrap your hands around. She also wore a Minaj-style onesie. It was made out of what looked like leggings style wallpaper, and I have no idea how she got it on. There were no clear signs of zippers or buttons. Maybe she painted it on...?
Anyway. I was just watching and enjoying, when I saw.... The MILF. She was amazing. Mature, sexy. Long, straight flowing hair, light brown skin... She was thick, but not even at the level of chubby. Just thick. She was probably about mid- to late thirties. She wore a reasonably tight pair of jeans, some leather boots, and a white button up shirt that hugged her... oh, so right. She and a friend headed over to the seats left unsat in by my new island friends, and sat. My heart raced. I ran through all of my possible pick-up lines that I'd been using for the past two months, and all of them came up lacking. This was no girl. This was a woman. I had to come up with something good. The best thing I could come up with was:

"You ladies look out of place." I would say.
"How/Why?" She would ask.
"Because your clothes actually fit." I would reply.
She would laugh. She would then ask me if I wanted to go to her place so she could show me everything I've been missing. I would say yes. She would rock my world, and I hers. I would propose. She would accept. We would marry and have children. I would die at 70 going 264 mph in a Bugatti Veyron 18.4 Supersport leaving my millions to my young, mid thirties mistress.

She sat next to me, dancing in her seat, touching me occasionally. I prepared my line. Then I thought, what if she takes it the wrong way?

"You ladies look out of place." I would say.
"Fuck you."

I had to try something though. And this was the best line I had for an older woman in a place like this. I took a deep breath...

"You ladies look out of place." I said in her ear.
"What?!" she asked.
"You ladies look out of place." I yelled in her ear.
"What?!" she asked.
"You ladies look out of place." I said even louder in her ear.
"How?!" she asked.
 (Oh thank God...)
"Because your clothes actually fit..." I yelled to her.
She laughed, touching my thigh for a moment.
No sexual proposal. On to plan B. What was plan B?
I then tried starting some kind of small talk, asking some kind of question once every 5 minutes. She always answered enthusiastically, but I was just...
At some point, midst my silence and her dancing in her seat, she was invited by one of her friends to the dance floor, but before she left, she got up and told me to hold her seat. She reached over and grabbed me by the arm, and the thigh, and slid me into her seat. She then went to dance. Some girl came over to ask me for one of the seats I had my ass cheek on, to which I relinquished reluctantly and the girl ran off. I would reserve the remaining chair for my future dominatrix. The MILF then returned from dancing and asked me what happened to the other chair, I told her I gave it up, but the last one was for her, I could stand, at which, I stood. She then took my arm, tossed me back in the chair, and said...
"You gotta hold that for me."
... and turned around, and proceeded to dance. Right there. In front of me, her ass at eye level. I tried not to stare, but... damn. And then... Yeah. my already ridiculously tight jeans managed to shrink even more.
I needed to seal this deal. This was it. She was the thing that I had been missing. A sexy, mature, goddess...

"We'll be back."

...her friend said in my ear, as she grabbed my angel by her arm and went off towards the bathroom. I sighed and looked around, hoping no one saw me in my trance. I rubbed my chin, less to mess with my facial, hair and more to check for drool. I took one more deep breath, and decided,

When they come back, I will ask for her number. I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't.

They never came back...

Maturity...

We all have to grow up some time. At least that's what they say. Which is true, for the most part. But growing up and maturing are two different things. As a kid, you generally have to put up with a lot of things, and have a natural affinity for other things, otherwise considered childish. Running around, playing "tag" and watching cartoons, and playing with action figures or dolls, and all other sorts of make believe. Your mind is so active in absorbing and processing information, that you never want to slow down, physically or mentally. You want to know everything, you want to be everywhere but where you are. You never want to stop moving. But what is it that takes the most toll on you? What part of "growing up" is it that causes you to slow down, put down the toys, turn off the cartoons, stop chasing the girl to make her "it" and start chasing her because you think she's "it"? Is it simply growing up that causes it? Is it all just physical; hormones raging, mind everywhere around you instead of everywhere but around you? Or is it maturity?
"What is maturity, if not growing up?" you might ask. To which I'll tell you the Simple Sonata definition: Maturity- (noun) the act of getting tired of shit.
Sure, we all have to grow up some time. But we don't all mature in the same way. Personally, I just spent the past two days watching cartoons. Some people feel that at my age, I should be well past my cartoon watching years. But honestly, I haven't matured out of it yet. I have, however, matured out of a lot of social situations that I used to put myself in. A long time ago, I would put myself through hell for the chance that I might get laid. Or so that I would find someone and not be alone forever (I had a big fear of that, when I was younger, for some reason, as if it was normal to meet your soul mate at 9...). Once I matured past that, and I wiped the non-sex having veil from my eyes, I realized that having sex wasn't worth putting myself through mental torture for an off chance. About 90% of the time, all I did was end up putting the next guy in the hot seat for the prize and I'd end up virginal and confused, with another handful of wasted napkins and potential children out of wedlock. I realized that women, being the estrogen-spewing sea dragons that they are, could smell the desperation on me like sharks smell blood. And women do not like, or respect, the smell of desperation. And they definitely do not have sex with the guy who smells like he showers in it.

Desperato 

de 

Sonata

That's what my cologne would be called. And the tagline would be "Guaranteed to keep you STD free."

Needless to say, the second I just fucking quit, that's when things started looking up. I just got tired of the shit. Chasing pussy is like chasing your tail; you end up unsatisfied and tired, but then one day, you sit your happy ass down, and find the shit tickling you on the nose. Obviously, this encourages you to either get back on the chase, or do what the smart dog does, and chill the fuck out and enjoy your small victory.

So I matured out of chasing women pointlessly, and now chase women who provide points.

But not all maturity comes from bad experience. One day you wake up and suddenly, things you used to do just leave a bad taste in your mouth. Sometimes literally. Maybe you smoked weed every day, and one day, it just wasn't fun. Or maybe you looked in the mirror, and were just tired of what you saw, so you decided to go out and gain some weight. Who knows?

My main point is, growing up happens. You just gotta know when to look out for maturity coming down the tracks to get your young ass to the next station in life. Don't be afraid of it. We all do it. You get tired of your old friends and their bullshit, or your broke ass family, or your cheating ass ex-boyfriend, or you just get tired of chasing the same bullshit women, and need to start looking for the next big thing. You just get tired of shit. Welcome to adulthood.

Sock Diaries: 2/12/2013

I was just lying here in bed, and a question popped into my head that genuinely refused to allow me to sleep without getting to the bottom of it...
"Why don't I find women genuinely appealing anymore?"
Now I know what you're probably thinking, but cut that shit out. What I actually mean by that question is: Why is it that I can find women sexy, but none of the women I've encountered have actually caught my attention and made me want her more than any of the others?
I ran the question through my mind over and over again and analyzed it from different angles. My initial response was that I don't want a relationship. Women are awesome, and I can run into the most perfect woman ever, and still not want to be in a relationship with her at this point. But I also thought to myself, that's a load of bullshit in a basket. I'm heading to Honduras. Central America. Where the women there are programmed to be perfect housewives, and genetically engineered to make you give them that position, like it or not. They're the women than unwilling men fall in love with. And I thought to myself, what if all of that king-like treatment appeals to my softer side, and I find myself trapped in love with one of these women, and I'm on my way out of the country, with no way to keep her, but to marry her and bring her with me?
How could I avoid that? If I was truly in love, could I tell myself "No, I'm not ready"? Could I tell her?
But I thought again, it would have to be much more than just some back rubs and catering. In order for me to fall in love again, this woman would have to be special. Very special...
So I had to figure out what it was that one woman could have over every other woman I've encountered and either had sex with or was potentially going to have sex with. And I realized what that one thing was.
An intellectual connection.
I can have a physical and emotional connection with tons of women, but until I have that intellectual connection... they'll all just fade into the background. It's been so long since I've heard a girl/woman say something so profound that it made me sit and think. Or something so clever I couldn't do anything but smile. No, I'm swimming in a sea of shallow conversations (I see the oxymoron there...) and pointless banter. I see the appeal of the ditzy girl, and yes, it's cute that some girls say silly things... a lot. And some girls think themselves to be smart, and use their "superior" intellect to play silly mind games, but they're not really on the same level, for one, they're immature, and two, they're only slightly smarter than the ditzy ones, but not even worth trying to hold a decent conversation with.
It's going to be a long time before I find that one. I don't really mind. Too much fun to be had to get hung up on my new found concept of a dream girl... isn't there?

Sock Diaries: 2/10/2013

Okay, so I owe you guys an update. I guess it's been about three weeks since my last update. So let's see...
Celebrated the Ravens winning the Superbowl while I was in Baltimore; amazing coincidence.
The girl I was spending the most time with while I was home "broke up" with me. Of course it wasn't really a break-up since we weren't together, but she did say the words "I don't want to see you anymore." This came after her realization that we weren't actually on the path to blossoming into anything serious, and that I was only going to be in town for two weeks after I met her. And that I was also talking to other women. She found out the last part through my blog, which she found through Facebook. And thus, Facebook has officially cost me... sex.
I was stood up by three different women on my last day in town, my two exes, and a girl who had been bluffing me out for a week. The last one there was the biggest disappointment of them all. (She was half Cuban and half Chinese- WHAT?!) I actually did see both of those exes earlier in the day for a little, about 45 minutes for one, and about an hour and a half for the other. The one who has been flirting nonstop with one of my friends spent her entire time there doing just that, and then when it was time for her to go, she mentioned something about me not saying much to her, as if I hadn't been there the entire time to watch what she was doing. I mean, it was my last day, and I was the one who invited her over. And then she acts like nothing happened, like I was acting weird... hm. and the other one, I think I finally got the point across that recent exes have no reason to hang out unless they were actual friends to begin with. I hold no animosity towards either of them. The flirty one, I didn't really care, except how she treated the situation afterwards. And the recent one, I know she just wanted to spend time with me and enjoy my company and yadda yadda. But sitting together in silence and sharing little cutesy inside jokes, and being boyfriend and girlfriend, and fucking... that's what our relationship consisted of, and at no time was it anything different. Now, whenever we're around each other in person, none of that can be there anymore, so what's the point? I mean I can develop a new dynamic with flirty ex because we've been away from each other for so long, but with recent ex, we haven't gone thirty days without at least an awkward conversation. But in reality, I think I've had a bit of a change of heart. It doesn't hurt to be around her, or see her with her new boyfriend anymore. I'm fine with it. And she seems like she can handle seeing me and seeing me with other women. And she's kind of fun to have around, honestly. I can see a new dynamic developing in the future but this trip wasn't the one.
Anyway. During the entire time I was at home, I managed to only have sex with one girl. I was hoping my end story from my "crazy" trip home would sound a little less romantic, but it's the truth. I pissed off a few women, got annoyed, worked out, and got probably an accumulated dozen different numbers. Just one lay, though, so, congrats, girl I had sex with. You were my one and only. I'm back in Texas, waiting on my ticket to get to my new station in Honduras, and spending every penny of my taxes before they arrive. I'd love to find a one more American girl before I go, but my most lucrative night in Texas happened while my phone still resided in Maryland, and therefore, of the six or seven new numbers I got in that one night, I ended up with one the next day, luckily. Still doesn't mean much seeing as how the girl stays about 50 miles away and I have no car. And she leaves next week and I leave this one.
So that's what's been happening to me. On to what's going on in my head....
Well I've noticed that since the dental operation, I've been... brazen. I've gotten a lot more confidence, but I feel like at this point I might be a little too crass. I say offensive things that I wouldn't have dreamed of saying before, and that hold no humorous value. It's a side of me that I've seen myself showing more and more of, but a side that I don't like. I'm not too worried about this, because I'm still conscious enough to be aware that there's something wrong, so there's still time to fix it. Fret not, my fans. I won't let myself become an asshole-douchbag that easily. The good news is that I do have a lot more information and learn-how to teach in future, non-Sock Diaries posts. So there's something to look forward to. But I will not be making that post until I reach the magic number: 10. What that means, you will soon find out.

Dog Pissing and Training Wheeling...

I propose that two terms be entered into the Bro Code. Dog Pissing and Training Wheeling. Here are the definitions:
Dog Pissing is where, while you're out somewhere, or maybe even in, you have a girlfriend or a female friend or associate that under normal circumstances, poses no interest in PDA (public displays of affection) but the second that a woman approaches that they find to be a mild threat, you lose every bit of your personal space, and are suddenly walking like you're in England in the 1600s. She's got her arm wrapped around yours while caressing your triceps, holding onto you like a small child in the mall. Or she's just bumping up against you like one of her legs is shorter than the other and she's using you like a bumper. Maybe you're stationary and sitting, and there's a slight potential of a girl to be looking, suddenly you're the funniest guy ever and every time she lays her hand on your arm, she leaves it there just a second too long for you not to notice but just long enough for you to feel like every woman in the area knows that she's just pissed her scent all over you, and so now you're stuck wasting all your jokes on the chick who drops "I see you like a brother" in front of you, her friends, and the rest of the world, as if she can't imagine that you would have any kind of pride or dignity after she's cock-blocked you and played with your head more times than you've played matches of Call of Duty.
 Training Wheeling is where you're with a friend, and a woman joins you, and your friend and her hit it off, and you're stuck there sipping your drink and staring off awkwardly everywhere but at them until your friend notices and says something to temporarily include you in the conversation like:
 "It was the craziest night of my life! HARHARHAR! Oh, Sonata was there! Wasn't it crazy, man?"
And you say something along the lines of
"Yeah it was wild..."
and proceed to make googly eyes at the things on the menu that you would never order, like salad, or water, or the peanut butter and Ranch burger with bacon and cream cheese... But wait... it does have bacon on it-
"You know what I'm talking about right, bro?"
"Yeah, man, it was just like that."
The reason it's called training wheeling is because you're basically forced or suckered into being a third wheel by someone else's hand, but you either have nowhere to go or no way out, or are subconsciously being used to help get the girl.

I move that training wheeling be deemed a bro code misdemeanor, chargeable by favors and I.O.U.s.

Ladies and Gentleman, Dog Pissing and Training Wheeling are no laughing matter, and should be dealt with swiftly and without mercy. Unless the retaliation results in a cockblock, which will then cause the retaliation to be postponed to such a time so as cock will not be blocked.

Sock Diaries: 1/28/2013

Ok. So I owe you an update, right? Well here we go...
When I got into town, I was putting a lot of effort into talking to an ex-girlfriend of mine. While I knew she was flirting with one of my best friends the entire time, I elected to ignore it to see how far I could get. I had been with her a long time ago, and we had been in love. But with time, we became two completely different people. I figured out that she knew my intentions, and was actually using me for an escape from her reality, and had no intentions of actually getting intimate with me. I figured that was fine, I could game my way in, but alas! It wasn't meant to be. I called her out on her flirting, I found it weird that she acted like my best friend wouldn't tell me...
Anyway, I have since then been going out to the bars and clubs and meeting new women. And am guaranteed to go through my phone in the future and wonder immensely about all the new women's names in it. But in my outing adventures, I've learned a lot of bar etiquette, and pick up techniques that I'll be putting in a "how to" style blog soon, so don't you worry my inexperienced friends. I've gotten about ten different girls numbers in three days, but actually only got a text back from four.
I did meet one very interesting girl that I wouldn't mind finding out more about. But I expect things to fizzle out pretty quickly seeing as how I'll be in Honduras in two weeks.
What I did get to do was see my ex and her boyfriend at one of our shared friend's outings. She had asked to see me to have a conversation that would bring us to being... civil, I guess, much prior to this and I had denied it to her. But when the opportunity arose to show my face around a bunch of other people including her boyfriend, it was too much fun to pass up. It was actually...
more fun than anticipated.
She looked amazing, I won't lie, but then again so did I. I was in my prime. I got the number of one girl at the bar early on, and then hopped bars and got a few more numbers and made out with some girl I found irresistible in my drunken stupor. (My friends confirmed she actually was hot, and whether or not this was simply to spare my feelings, I may never know. Nor do I want to know...) I was contacted later that night, and a few times subsequently by my ex saying how I looked amazing and she wanted to see me again just to talk. We then proceeded to go through a ridiculously long discussion where I had to argue her out of that ridiculous idea. I had to explain, yet again, that we had nothing to talk about and that things between us were already "civil" and therefore there was nothing else to be done. And that she had a boyfriend and describing to her ex that she "needed" to see me was unhealthy and supported my theory that it was a terrible idea. She finally gave in and accepted the fact that it wasn't going to happen and we moved on.
The four girls that I was talking to got narrowed down, and now I'm going to see where it goes from here. One thing I will not be doing, is messing with any of my exes again...

Home Improvement...

My friend Dico has forced on me a cruel, cruel revelation. He is apparently obnoxiously better looking than me. I get to watch women fall all over themselves flirting with him while I get blessed with the ability of invisibility. I mean, we could literally say the same thing, and I wouldn't even be heard. We have the same tastes, the same sense of humor, and the same sense of entertainment, but when it comes to women, generally, they hate me, and they illogically, unrealistically, unfairly love him. I once saw him almost hit a woman with his car and when he got out he called her stupid. In response, she said, and I quote "Give me your number."
I was incredibly baffled by the way women functioned around him for a while. It made no sense. I could say the same exactly the same thing he said to a woman, but I would get blacklisted in the "Women's Book of Rejection" for all eternity, while they ask Dico to have their babies. I used to get a little frustrated at not understanding it, but not really at what was happening, because I didn't know what it was that I needed to duplicate to get to where he was. Was it the charm? We would talk to women in almost the same way... Was it the clothes? I dressed a bit more expensively than he did... And then one day, I got to analyze what the fuck was going on in front of me, and I figured out that apparently, he is a really good looking guy. I mean like, women get stupid around him good looking. And I didn't even know this until recently, and I've known the guy for seven years. I'm not gay, but I won't say that I don't know a good looking man from an average or ugly guy, and though I knew he wasn't a bad looking guy, I never knew that he was good looking to the point of have that effect on women.
All that aside, my purpose here isn't to tell you just about my friend's uncanny ability to pick-up.... *ahem* to be picked up by women, but to tell you what it is that I and or anyone should do if put in the situation I'm in.
What I want is to be good with women. What I see, is someone who is better. What I need to do, is be better.
Throughout life, you will encounter men and women who are better than you in one or more ways than one. Actually, it's likely that you will meet someone who is better than you in literally every category of being human that you can possibly be judged in. The fact of life is, no matter how far you go, even if you get every gold medal in the Olympics, there's no sure fire way to be sure that you actually are the best at anything. Chances are, you aren't. No matter what, there's someone better than you. So, what you do, is be better. You may never be the best, but you would be better. I mean, there's nothing wrong with with trying to be the best. Despite the fact that you may never be the best, you will be the best version of you in the end. I know it's corny, don't be an asshole. It's the truth.

Sock Diaries: 1/21/2013

So to all my faithful readers out there, I'm just going to warn you, that the next installment in the sock diaries series may be postponed for a little. Fret not dear friends, I'm anticipating some very, very interesting events to turn up on my trip home, but in order to keep a few details private until they're ready to be public, I'm going to have to hold out on you guys. Don't worry though. All will be revealed in due time.

Into the Minds of Men Pt. 2

"What are you thinking about?"
This is the age old question that women love to ask men during times of perfect silence.
"Nothing." Is the almost adequate, yet completely honest answer we give back.
But nothing is never enough. It's impossible for most women to believe that a man could be sitting and have absolutely nothing on his mind, because most women have never experienced a moment when their conscious mind was completely blank and only processing whatever data was coming through, whether it's something in TV, or just sitting and listening to music. Men have a gift where sometimes, there could be no TV, no music, and yet we're silent and staring off into space, and when you ask us what we're thinking about, "Nothing." is all you get. Truth is, it probably still is just nothing. It's kind of like we're sleeping with our eyes open. I told you before in the first part of "Into the Minds of Men" that men aren't complicated. But I won't lecture you on the lack of information traveling through our heads. What I'll actually help you out with is when there actually is something happening up there.

"How do I look?"
You ask this question, and what's happening now, is we're processing the truth and seeing how much of a lie we need to mix in to make it believable. We have to factor in what we think you think about how you look, and how we think about how you look, and what you think we think we're expecting to say to you about how you look. It's a whole list of complicated algorithms and equations that you wouldn't really understand. But the end result is usually something like u+m+u-m+c. That's "what you think plus what we really think plus what you think minus the fact that we almost don't care plus a compliment". Here's how that works.
"How do I look?"
"Um, it's nice...." (looks for the thing that stands out the most about the outfit) "I like the...flowers."
"You sure it isn't like... too flowery?" (Warning: We've stopped caring already.)
And then things get difficult. You end up changing outfits anyway and not even asking our opinion about it, and we wonder why you asked in the first place. Was it to affirm that you didn't really want to wear the first one?

"What do you want to do/eat/see at the movies?"
 Usually we respond "Whatever you want to do/eat/see at the movies." and you go "I don't really know..." and then pitch a bunch of movies we have absolutely no interest in seeing.
In this case, we honestly DO NOT want to let you pick the movie/food or activity. If doing any of these things wasn't our idea, we usually hope you have a good idea but usually very little faith. If we agree to go along to something you invited us to, plan something. You would expect nothing like less from us.

"Why do you like me?"
Now I'll be honest. I have a very, very strong bias against this question. By Bias, I mean I hate it with a fiery passion. We express how and why I feel about you in different ways all the time. Learn your man. We give off signs, like telling you how sexy or beautiful or cute you look when you put on our shirt, or when you laugh or when you smile. We smile extra hard every time you make that meal, or sing in that beautiful voice of yours. We read you, and go out of our way to make sure you never run out of reasons to love us. Don't worry, we don't need you to do that. We got in it for who you are. We like you for everything you are, not what you think we think you should be. And if that's not enough, then it's because of blow jobs. You give great blow jobs.

These were just a few examples of some of the ways your average guy would respond to certain specific situations that he may get put into with a female friend or significant other.this isn't an all encompassing map into what your specific guy may be thinking, but it is a vague outline of what could be expected.You won't see it, and you won't hear it, but it's there. Just remember that you don't see it, and you don't hear it for a reason. It's my job to tell you the secrets. Not his.

Sock Diaries: 1/5/2013

Okay, I have a bit of a confession for you guys. I know that lately, I've been a little cold and robotic when it comes to the subject of women and relationships. But I am here today to assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that I am still the chase-down-the-train, stop-the-flight, heart-on-my-sleeve romantic that I've always been. The truth is, since my break-up, I wanted nothing to do with the whole lot for a while. Just a little time away from all the love-me, sacrifice for me, give-me aspect of relationships. My ex was... for lack of a better word... needy. She needed a lot of attention and tending to. The attention thing I didn't mind. I reveled in it at first, actually. But eventually, the novelty wears thin. After the whole thing, I couldn't stand the thought of being needed, like a relationship hangover. I looked at people in relationships and rolled my eyes, imagining that a committed relationship was social suicide. In my mind, we were fisherman in the middle of an ocean full of fish, and instead of casting wide nets, these fools were using fishing poles and their best bait.
But those fishermen with the poles have a point. While some of us heave and ho and slave away, trying to catch 'em all, those men sit in their canoes, sipping beer and soaking up the sun, content in finding that one catch that will fill their bellies and leave them content. Anyway, enough with the fishing metaphor, I don't know enough about it and it was on the verge of getting a little thin.
But the point is, while I'm out here chasing rabbits, I may have a few trophies to bring back and show off for a little, but it's nothing like having that one reliable person to spend those quieter times with. I still believe in relationships and all that true love shit. I'll still break down and tell a girl how beautiful she is and that she deserves better, or go all the way out of my way to make sure that not only are her tears dry, but they won't be returning any time soon. The thing is... I won't be letting that side make any of the decisions for a while.