All Alone...

For much of my life, I've been afraid of being alone. Being single sucks. Especially when you're far from family and friends, as I often am. But when you're young, you're never as good a version of yourself as you are when you're alone. You're at your most productive, and have time to think about improving yourself as opposed to constantly thinking about how you can improve your relationship. As a guy in a relationship, you spend most of your thinking time on porn, games (video and/or sports) and sex. One other thing is likely to be how to make your relationship better. How to keep the magic alive or how to make her happy. The down side to this is that you rarely spend any time trying to actually make yourself the best version of yourself that you can be. Everything is relative to your partner. And that's okay as long as you have your shit together when you're alone, or you become dependent on having someone else around. It's really a rare occasion when someone actually enjoys that.

(hint: this is a leech. No one likes leeches.)

In reality, even leeches have their moments of usefulness, medicinally. But that's just as rare as someone wanting a boyfriend or girlfriend who's completely dependent on them. Even beyond that, someone who doesn't know how to be alone is often more prone to be unfaithful. Without 24/7 access to their significant other, they need to go out and have someone else fill the void. And before they know it, you're hiding used condoms in your purse, and explaining what her friend Ashley means when she says you make her boxers feel tighter.
Being alone is hard. It sucks balls. I've come to grips with that. You need to too. But when you get past all that, you realize that you're a really awesome person. I've been going to the movies alone for a long time. I never argue about what food to get, or what movie to see. I never spend too much, and I always get some at the end of the night. It's from me, yeah but whatever, you get what I mean. You have the same interests, you like the same foods, you want the same things, at the same time. You're funny, you're interesting, you're easy to talk to. You're fucking awesome. Enjoy it. The rest will come to you naturally.

Sock Diaries... :8/29/14

I guess now is as good a time as any to start this again. After the past two days I've had, I had to take a moment to wonder where the fuck I am in life. I'm a recruiter now. I don't like it. I have to go out and convince people to make smart decisions. I don't have the patience for it. I'd rather be overseas. Anyway, that's not what got me back here. I'm back here, doing this because of La Diabla. I was talking to two women. One, a great friend, and potentially more, but miles away, and another, a mind-cloudingly beautiful woman, who I'm sure could drive men insane, right here. Things fizzled out between me and the friend when she came close, but hopefully we'll remain friends. The crazy thing, was the beautiful girl. La Diabla. She was so smart. So sexy. So manipulative. I payed attention to everything she did and said. Red flags raised at every word she spoke, until I saw her. All alarms were silenced the second she came close. As defensive and conscious of myself as I am, she could make it past all of that with a look.
"Something is wrong..." I would think to myself.
"Nothing is wrong. I'm here." She would say. And that was that. She had what she wanted. Until she was caught. Red-handed. All of the evidence was there. I wasn't her only victim. Turned out I was only collateral. He was the real target. The other guy. The guy I knew was there. And I was sent on my way, after she realized that even though he now knew everything, that he would go back, but I wouldn't. So I was left there. "Dick in my hand, looking like an asshole." The prediction I had made so many times before. But the funny thing is, I wasn't mad at her. I wasn't even mad at myself. It played out the way that I knew it would. The thing that bothers me is that now, there's no one filling in the void. She was there because, not only was she in my head, I let her in because I was lonely. But here I am back at square one.
I have people who love me, this I know. But here I am alone again, far from home, and family and friends. The way things played out with La Diabla were... strange. But she's not my concern. I sometimes fooled myself into thinking that maybe she was my chance to love through more than just a telephone. It wasn't love. But I like to tell myself that you don't get into a relationship without at least hoping you'll get around to it.
But now I'm here alone again. That's all that sucks about it. I'm still such a romantic at heart I think. But man, this porn is getting old...

Perspective...

Open your eyes. Or should I say open your mind. Fuck you, so what it's a cliche. It's a good one. I'm here to talk to you all today about perspective. Or more accurately, other people's perspective.
The world would be a much smarter place if people spent more time trying to see things from another person's perspective.
Sometimes you'll see two people in a relationship and it seems like neither of them ever agrees with the other. But they don't need too. They're polar opposites, but they understand each other. That's the difference between them and the couple who ran into their first snag on their honey moon and had the divorce papers mailed to the Bahamas.
Mastering the art of seeing things from another person's perspective isn't as easy as it sounds. Generally speaking, you see things the way you see them because you believe it's the right way, for... reasons.

"It's a vase. Because if it were people they would be hideous mutant twins."

So it's difficult, but if you were to try and listen to someone when they were thinking something different than what you were, you could come up with a better plan, or, from what I've seen the most, a way to let them realize how wrong they are. (People are stupid.) But you need to open your eyes and realize when it's time to shut up and listen. I've learned the most about women by just listening to them not just when I feel like I'm completely fucking baffled, but when I think I have it all figured out. This is because when it comes to women, you can present a simple premise, thinking you have all the facts straight and in order and be completely wrong.

"It's a vase and some faces."

"No, it's a fox. He's lonely. He just won his school talent show but realized through the jealousy of the people he once thought to be his closest friends that he is, in reality, alone. And he's holding a bouquet of flowers for his dead grandmother."

You might not understand it, but accept it. Because sometimes you'll think you're completely wrong, and be dead on. Women are confusing. That's life. It's like my theory that all women's bathrooms contain Little Big Planet style co-op locking systems that open the door to extra rooms where they talk about their dates committee-style, and the only way to get in is to go in pairs, where one person holds down a lever and the door opens and the other person goes in and presses another lever to keep the door open because if the first girl let's go of the lever then the door shuts and she can't get in, so they need to go in groups in order for it to work. That sounds crazy but it's true. Probably. No one has actually confirmed this theory, but no one as actually refuted it either. So it could be true. It's like Schrodinger's bathroom. 

"I would like to present to the floor the case of this guy I'm here with who's really hot but suggested we split the check on the first date. I would also like to point out I haven't been laid in at least two years."

You might not understand it initially, but that's because you're looking at it from your own point of view. It's like Einstein's theory of relativity. If you're reading this blog, you probably have no idea what it actually is, but you know it's something that the smartest man in the world put together, and that guy also developed the atom bomb and knocked an entire country out of World War II in a day. From your point of view, if I were to plaster even the abridged (shortened) version on this blog you would still have a problem making it past the first paragraph without being completely lost. You wouldn't get it. To you, it would be a collection of words you may know, in an order you don't. From your perspective, it's bullshit. But from the perspective of the men who actually really know and understand it, it's a foundation for modern science.

Sometimes all it takes is a step back and a look through someone else's telescope, you might see some new stars. (Damn I'm getting good at these sign off sentences.)

Sign Language...

I've already talked to you about the subtle, subconscious signs of what you can expect when you first start dating someone. Now, I want to talk to you about the history of the subtle, conscious signs that you're supposed to read when you first meet someone.
Before we begin, I must, like always, offer the disclaimer that not all men and women are alike. That being said, I won't repeat it when you inevitably say out loud "I'm not like that." As you lie to yourself, I implore you to come back to this disclaimer and convince yourself that I'm not talking about you.
But I actually am.
Talking about you.
You.

You.

As a guy who sometimes likes to go out and meet women, and a guy who likes to talk to women on occasion, and a guy who's met a woman once in my life, I realized that trying to understand women based purely off of what you can find out without them using the communication method that our entire species has spent literally thousands of years developing, words (hereafter known as "words")  that has entire books (dictionaries) dedicated to ensuring that in using this form of communication everyone can definitively be on the same page. The communication used by women in social settings is often non-verbal, or uses words as little as possible while using body language such as glances or "looks" or head-nods or head turns, or psychic messaging, or crop-circles, to avoid using actual words.

"I like your shirt."

This bizarre form of communication, is what I like to call Beyond Speaking (hereafter known as B.S.). This B.S. began long ago and has been embedded in our society through the concept of  "The man goes out and chases the woman, or the man goes home alone." As the shy and timid men more often ended up being the ones going home alone due to a crippling fear of rejection and not wanting to look like an asshole, the men who had the balls enough to talk to the women were the ones who got what they wanted. While the nice guys sat in the corner fantasizing about marrying the girl at the bar and having two girls, and a dog and a Prius, the more aggressive men were taking home two girls to meet their dog named Prius. But first he needs some gas for the Hummer.
Eventually you get the gap between the "upper-class" Aggressive types (also known as "assholes" but hereafter known as Bravehearts) and the "lower-class" Shy nice guys (also known as "pussies", but hereafter known as Sweethearts) and the ever shrinking middle-class (hereafter known as minority reports or MRs.).
And communication begins to break down as B.S. begins to grow in popularity.
You get women who like to go out with their friends "Just to have a good time." and the women whose high standards as far as looks (both also known as "bitches", but hereafter known as Queens) keep the "Sweethearts" and the "MRs" in place.
Then you have the women who are out literally only to get laid (also known as hoes, but hereafter known as Freebirds) who work their way down from the Bravehearts to the really cute MRs to the okay looking MRs to the Pussies as potential candidates. As you can imagine, the Bravehearts usually get their pick of the litter in this group. They're the first ones the Hoes see and are the most aggressive and most experienced. The Sweethearts generally don't get to see a drop of this vagina rain unless one of the Hoes is considered a "grenade"(unattractive). Sweethearts are often turned off from Freebirds because they can't imagine a future with them. They just know that they could treat them better....
The last category is the females that are out to have a good time and whatever happens, happens (hereafter known as the Minority Report Females or MRFs).
Now you might be wondering, "Why are most of these names so mean, Sonata? Just because a girl is out with her friend and doesn't want to be hit on by Assholes all night doesn't mean she's a bitch."
To which I say, you're right. It doesn't mean that. But just because a guy wants to talk to you doesn't make him an asshole, just because the guy before him was. But it's easier to just categorize people under one umbrella, so that you don't have to look at them as individuals who may have had a bad day, or someone who's just lonely and wants to feel wanted. Or beautiful. Or handsome. But that's for a later blog isn't it?
anyway, in case you haven't been keeping up, here are the categories:

Queens: Aren't having it. Quote: "I'm a lesbian." "He's such an asshole. I don't know why the nice guys are such pussies."

Freebirds: Are definitely having it.
Quote: "You're cute. I think I can see your junk through your jeans."

Bravehearts: Sometimes just don't get it.
Quote: "She's just a Bitch. Whatever. Where are the Hoes?!"

Sweethearts: Swear they get it, so they don't want to look like an Asshole and bother you while you're out with your friend.
Quote: "She's probably a Bitch. Or she's dating some Asshole. Look, look at that asshole walking up to her right now. I bet you she's going to fuck him tonight. She's probably a Hoe."

MRs: Don't need it. Wouldn't mind having it though.
Quote: "Don't worry about it man. Let's just have a good time, if it happens it happens."

MRFs: Don't need it. Wouldn't mind having it though.
Quote: "Relax, he seems nice, let's just talk to them and see how it goes. If we don't like them, then we'll leave."


I've talked to many women on the subject of communication in these situations, with the understanding, on my end, that unless there's an explicit invitation, Sweethearts won't go and talk to a woman. And without an explicit (what's the opposite of an invitation? An Outvitation?) outvitation, Bravehearts WILL try and talk to you. And bone you.
Many men have found themselves way down the line talking to a girl they used to have a crush on, when that girl says something like "Well why didn't you tell me? I liked you too."

Reason 1: Because rejection sucks.
Reason 2: They didn't see the signs.

I was told by one of my female advisors that guys should look for signs like a girl giving the guy a look. Staring or something? Was she with a friend? How was she dressed? And maybe like one or two more things that I ignored because I could tell this wasn't going to get any clearer or make much more sense. When men are wrong, we just have to go and face that rejection or face the regret. Because we can't understand women's B.S. But it's because men are socially programmed to chase and women are socially programmed to be the chased. So it's always a gamble. Some guys aren't handsome enough to grab your attention just by sitting there and hoping you notice, some guys aren't good at reading the signs, so it's either take a chance, on rejection, or be satisfied with the fantasy, because you can't overcome the fear. And when that sign is a clear NO, some guys miss that sign too.

"I wonder if that's an acronym for something?"

If everybody just cut the B.S., and said exactly what they meant things might go a whole lot smoother. Or, I don't know, we could just start paying a little more attention. I'm not really 100% on this one...

Vulnerability...

Every time I watch a movie about fathers, good or bad, I mist up. The really good ones even drag a stray tear out, despite how many times I swallow, or clear my throat, while adjusting in my seat and blinking really hard.
I hate the feeling of being ignored. It makes me want to punch baby goats so they can scream for me and then I'll be all like, "Oh snap, what's up, baby goat? What happened? Are you okay? Yeah? Cool. Anyway EVERYONE LOOK AT ME!"
...or something.

These are my vulnerabilities. They're real. They're mine. And I'm cool with it. If you're not... like...who gives a shit?
To bring this all back around to what my blog is normally about, which is relationships, and/or masturbation (relationships this time... sorry) when you're with someone, you have to trust them. To not betray you, sure, and we'll get to that in a later blog post, but right now I'm talking about trusting someone with your weaknesses. Your vulnerabilities. The blueprints to your Death Star with your vulnerable exhaust port highlighted in neon pink.
You have to give them the keys to the kingdom, and prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best. Without knowing what makes the other person tick on the most personal level, you're just people who know the other person exists. If you've ever looked at a couple that has been together for a long time, you'll notice something. No matter how reserved or defensive one or both of them may be, they're in sync. Acting together without words, or with just the right amount. Even if one of them fusses at the other, the argument lasts seconds, with nothing really being resolved, because there was no argument. It's what they are always doing. It's what they will always do. Because they know each other. They know their lines and limits.
Not just the part you get when you sit down with someone for the best slice of pizza in Illinois... In Chicago... In the neighborhood... On the menu. Look, I don't have any gas, or money for gas, and this is the only pizza place in walking distance. And I have a coupon. Because you said you wanted pizza.
Playing the pretend game that you have no flaws and are always a happy-go-lucky, chivalrous gentleman, who always keeps his house spotless is all fine in the beginning. On date 1 or 2. But if you know that you have an avalanche of pizza boxes, dirty clothes and crusty socks shoved into your closet, it's only a matter of time before you forget to hide the fish bowl still holding a months-dead goldfish and a... is that a Nokia flip phone?
The truth is, we all have our secrets. Of course we do. And you're right to hold out for a while from telling someone you think you might like. But eventually, you need to know when the time is right. They can't make it their home if you don't even give them the key.

Day 1...

What did you do on day one? Did you dress in your fanciest clothes, take her to a fancy restaurant, and not even break a sweat at the $110 bill, knowing damn well you wanted to scream about how she didn't even bring a fucking purse. She brought an ID and a $20 bill and stuffed them in her bra. And your rent is due tomorrow. You're going to be in the negatives for the next week because of this one night. And you're going to suggest "Hey, we can go chill at my place for a while." and she's going to say no. Because she's tired and has to work tomorrow.
Oh, you have a job? I would have never known seeing as how you didn't even think about paying for one thing tonight!
And now you're not even going to get laid. You probably have to go on another date with her. Another expensive ass date. Can't switch to fast food from Le Restau de le Cretin. The bar has been set. See you next week. I hope that's not the only good fancy shirt you have. You might have to sell one of your mint condition comic books that you keep in the glass case in your bedroom.
Shit, you didn't even tell her about the comic books all night did you? And that new trailer that just came out for the new Superhero movie doesn't at all accurately represent the characters and you really want to explain that to someone. But not her. Because she'll think you're a nerd or something.
The problem with that is...
You are a nerd. And you're broke. And you hate that new trailer, you just know that director guy is going to just ruin it all. Again. But what did you do on day one? You were someone you don't even know and you did things you couldn't even imagine doing on a regular basis. And you didn't even get laid.
Be yourself. TV and Disney movies try to stress this as much as possible, but I don't think the message is being truly appreciated. It's more than just you're not as fun, or you're not a nice guy when you're pretending to be someone else, it's that you can't hold up a charade forever, and you won't want to. You're you because you like doing what you do. I mean, if you're like, fucking apple pies, and torturing cats, feel free to stop doing that, but if you're just a weirdo who likes having your girl wear cat ears and smell like apple pies, let it out. Eventually. You know, like after you do some normal stuff. Maybe leave the cat ears by the bed.  Or slip them on her "playfully"  before you do the deed. Wink.
It counts for the women too. Going outside of your element and trying new things, testing your limits, is a great thing. Feel free to go to a museum and get some culture instead of laying around your apartment all day and watching Ryan Gosling movies in a marathon, taking breaks only to see if that guy texted you and masturbating to men's furniture magazines. (These fictional characters are getting really out of hand. If any of them sound like you, call someone. This blog cannot help you.) But if you know you like Victorian style mahogany chairs more than the next girl, don't try and hide it. Let it out. "I have a thing for nice furniture." We won't be at the point where you let him know that you named your vibrator red suede couch, but it's better than you pretending you don't know what a couch is.
My very convoluted point is, be who you are going to be. Everyone is weird, everyone is unique and has something they like and/or do more than most other people. If you feel like you need to be someone different to keep them around, either they aren't worth keeping around, or you've got some growing up to do.