Losing Hope

*prepare yourselves...it's a long one*


I was one of those rare kids that loved school. Because of this, the highlight of my year was always the first day of school. When most of my friends were lamenting the end of their summer break, dreading the next semester, I was silently happy. I loved having to get school supplies, loading up my backpack for the first day. I loved the anticipation of getting my schedule. Of comparing it with my friends in the hallway to find out if we had any classes together. A lot of people look back at high school and wish they could erase that part of their life. I wish I was still back in high school. I knew who I was then. I was the A student. One of those few freshman who were in honor choir. The singer that could bounce between any male vocal part. I was the one in junior level classes my freshman year. The kid that got kicked out of typing class on the first day because I was “too fast.” The kid who didn’t groan when there was an essay assignment.

When I got out of sports the start of my freshman year I lost a good amount of my friends. Those friends who I had played football with since 5th grade. I was bitter at first, but then I found my equals. The smart kids who dressed weird. The ones who were smashing pumpkins on Halloween. The ones that only lived a few streets apart.

My goal was to get a girlfriend. I wanted girls to pay attention to me. Before I started high school I had been a jock, a prep, a kicker. When none of those worked I just started being me…and that didn’t work…but at least I was comfortable.

I had dreams of going to college, of starting my career in writing, getting married, having children. Then I moved, the middle of my junior year.

I changed.

My first few months in Georgia I slept on a couch because I didn’t have a bed. I woke up looking at my own breath because of how cold the basement was.

Going to high school here I changed again. I was still the A kid, but instead of hanging with people at lunch I would skip lunch and go to the library to write. I was the one who got to school early so I could work on the newspaper. I was the kid who sat in the back corner of the room and kept to myself. The one without friends. The one who lost himself in movies and books. The only time I ever skipped a class, I was technically going to another school to help with their newspaper. Even then I felt like a rebel. I quit choir. I quit riding the bus. I dressed even weirder. I made sure to somehow stand out…and blend in…at the same time.

By my senior year none of that changed. Only now when I thought about college I thought about moving away. Going to another state.

I still tried to find a girlfriend, but again they never seemed to pay attention to me. I can’t really blame them. I was the big, fat, shy, weird kid.

About halfway through my senior year I actually got a friend. He was one of the “outcasts” of the school. One of the ones that people tended to avoid in the hallway. As much as I try to look back on my life from that point on with fond memories…I don’t really have any.

I graduated with a 3.9 gpa and close to a 1200 on my SAT. I was accepted to UGA, Emory, Texas A&M, and Kennesaw State University. I was accepted to every school I applied to. I chose KSU. Mainly because it was close to home, my only friend…and I could afford it.

I changed.

With my new group of friends…guided by the friend from high school…I got into drugs. A shit ton of drugs. My entire life my grandparents had given me savings bonds for Christmas. I cashed those in to a tune of $8,000. I spent it all in three months.

Now I work a job where I’m lucky to break $12,000 a year.

I lost my virginity at 19 to a fucking whore. Not a literal whore mind you…I never paid her. However, if you had drugs, she was all yours. So much for love.

I failed every class…every class…my first three semesters of college. I never really bounced back from that. Then again, college wasn’t what I expected.

My dream of college was huge auditorium classrooms. Teachers who liked to be engaged with their students. I heard tales of advanced philosophy classes that met at a bar. Of parties like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I would find people…just…like…me. Instead I was greeted with classes that felt like high school. I went to one college party…that a friend took me to. I didn’t find this feeling of “free love” that I’d always expected. Movies ruined college for me. Life ruined college for me. People ruined college for me.

That kid that always loved going to school now hated it. The kid that never skipped was now skipping all the time. The kid that paid attention and always made the grade was now falling asleep in class and getting put on academic probation.

My last semester…what was even supposed to be my last semester…I tried to get that spark back. I was getting excited to go back. I’d been out for a year. I’d cleaned myself up. I was going to do this. It took two weeks before I started skipping again. Two weeks before I found myself falling asleep in class. Two weeks before I found myself wondering what bar I was going to go to when I got out of class. By now you should already know the outcome…I missed graduation by two classes.

I waited two years to try and petition to get back in. I wanted to give myself time to clear my head. I wanted to refocus. I didn’t get back in.

Now I’m lost.

All those dreams I had are gone. All those plans I made are shattered. I’ve thought about trying to get into another school…but I am so disillusioned…so…frustrated, with what college was, that I don’t know if it’s even worth it. What’s to say it won’t take two weeks again before I’m back to my old ways?

I’ll be 29 in three months. 29.

For the last, almost 9 years of my life, I’ve been a cook. What job can I get? What job am I qualified for? Am I destined to be in fucking manual labor the rest of my life? I’m 28 years old with no degree and no experience.

Every dream I now have involves money that I can never achieve or see.

I haven’t even been on a fucking vacation…by myself or with friends…in 4 years.

I have no drive. I have no motivation. I have no willpower. I’m a writer who can’t even fucking write. I don't even know what I want to do.

How does one accomplish regaining that? How can I get back to the person who wanted to make something of themselves? Everything just seems so out of reach…so far beyond my grasp. So…pointless.

It looks like the start of this year will be the same as last year. A 28 year old unemployed, living at home, piece of shit.

That great birthday trip to the Bahamas? Yeah. Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I never even got my passport. Even if I did, what money am I going to go with?

For the first time in my life…I’m actually in debt. Because of medical problems.

What is my future?

I’ve lost hope.

A Conversation With My Mother

A text conversation with my mom…

[this first part ended up on http://whenparentstext.com/]

Mom: Give me the name of some of the good transformers.
Me: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Jazz…

Me: ?
Mom: Drunk lady at party wanted to know.
Me: Hahaha. Wow.
Mom: The drunk came over to your dad just before we left and rubbed up against him and said ‘Tought I’d come over here and see if you want to make me your bitch.’
Me: Sounds like my kind of lady.
Mom: I was sitting right next to him! He was shocked and not impressed.
Me: What did he say? What did you say?
Mom: He said I’m married, have been for 37 years. I’ve never cheated and don’t plan to start now. I said time to go home.
Me: Hahahaha. Oh man, I wish I had been there.
Mom: Apparently she asked if I’d want to swing. You would have rofl.

Vincent Cassel

A bit long, but worth the listen.

The Sound Of Silence

Some of you may have been wondering what happened to me. I was informed a few days ago that I haven’t written anything in over a month. There’s a perfectly good reason for that.

It’s not that I haven’t had anything to write about. I may be unemployed again…as of the first of the year. My best friend moved in with me…at least until the first of the year. I went to/and helped with, a suspension show around two weeks ago. I’ve gone on several dates with my high school crush (that‘s right…my high school crush), and I‘ve started talking to a tattooed cutie from Atlanta. I’ve been to Atlanta more in the last month than I have in the 11 years I’ve lived here.

Like I said, I have plenty to write about.

The thing is, from the week before Thanksgiving to the week after Valentines Day, I am in an utter and complete mode of depression. It’s not something I can snap out of. Believe me, I’ve tried. This always seems to be the worst time of year for me. When the past year comes crashing down around me.

My first (almost DUI)? Christmas Eve. My DUI? February 1st.

I almost wish I could just walk up to the Kennesaw Jail and ask them if they can arrest me until February 21st. I know the best solution would be to simply not go out…make myself a shut in…but honestly, I think that would make it worse. What I really want to do is get super drunk, and drive off a bridge.

About two weeks ago I even had a flash of a suicidal thought, and it‘s been awhile. Before any potential reader flips out, know this, I will never kill myself. No matter how bad I think my life is (believe me, I know it’s not that bad), suicide will never be an option. I’m the only person to blame for anything in my life, and I accept my faults. I will live through my choices.

The biggest thing is…couples. I’ve never, never been in a relationship through the silly season. All of my relationships seem to end in November. The one that didn‘t? She wasn’t even here half the time, she was in Italy. So? What’s the problem with that? Let me try to explain.

What do you see on TV this entire season? Engagement commercials. Couple commercials. Family commercials. What do you see when you go out? People snuggling, kissing, holding hands. This Silly Season is typically when couples flourish, when relationships start, when romance is kindled. People don’t want to be alone during the Holidays. They want someone to kiss on New Years (which has happened to me once…thank you Jennifer). They want someone to curl up with when it gets cold. They want someone to have with them during all the family dinners.

What do I get? I get to sit at Thanksgiving…with the two married couples. Christmas…with the two married couples. I spend money for other people to have a good Valentines Day.

It’s not just that though. The end of the year is the beginning of a new year. And every year seems to be more bleak than the last. This year? Started out with me unemployed, then I had to move home, then I got a DUI. Then I found out I couldn’t get back into college. Then my hours got cut at work. The whole time I’ve been single. Single again for the third year in a row.

How will this year start? Single. Likely unemployed. Still living at home.

I know it’s because I’m not actively chasing my dreams. I’m not putting myself out there. I’m not trying. But if you could understand (and I don’t want a bunch of people saying, “I know how you feel…”) how hard it is to do anything when you’re stuck in a rut, when you have no motivation, when you have no passion. Everything seems to be a chore. Find a new job? Do you realize how hard it is to find a job this time of year? Did you hear the statistics on unemployment?
October for those 25 years of age or older:
Less than a high school diploma: 14%
High school graduates, no college: 9.2%
Some college: 8.1%
B.A. or higher: 4.5%
*taken from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics

So…to all of my college graduate friends yelling at me to get a new job. Please, for the love of god, shut the fuck up. I can’t get a job when they are not fucking hiring. Not to mention, I don’t know what I want to do. Here's what I know I want. I want a job that has a lackadaisical dress code. I don't want to sit in a fucking cubicle. I want my mind to be engaged. Repetition annoys the fuck out of me. That's why I hate my job. That's why I hated college.

Have I tried to get back into school? Yes. I tried to get back into KSU and they denied me. I talked to UGA and Georgia State and both of them told me I would have to go to a tech school first. So, here’s the deal. I had two classes left to graduate. Now they want me to go to a tech school…likely for a year…maybe, maybe if I’m lucky one semester. Then I would have to transfer. But there’s no guarantee that once I transfer I’m going to be done in a semester…a year…maybe two years. Do you realize the money involved in that? The time? When I still don’t even know what it is I want to fucking do? When I’ve hated my entire college experience?

On top of that I’m thinking of Christmas presents, of saving my money for my trip next year, of getting my passport, on continuing dating, normal bills and things that cost money…when I have cut hours and potentially no job. When all I want to do is blow my money and attempt to have fun. I want to run away.

I wish I could hide in a hole.

I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year. I hate this time of year.

A Good Ole Cock Blocking Time!

One of the many definitions of “cock block” on Urban Dictionary goes like this:

(n.) one who prevents another from getting "play", "poontang", etc.

(v.) any action that impedes or stalls another's "game", "mack", or "pimp maneuver"

One of their many definitions of a “cock blocker” reads as:

Insecure male that horns in on any developing interaction another male has established with a female, an extremely embarrassing and pathetic event to watch.

I will admit…I’ve been a cock blocker on occasion. Only to friends though. I’ve never cock blocked a total stranger. Also, I only do it when I deem it necessary. When do I deem it necessary? Let me give you an example.

I was at a rave one time, nicely rolling, when I noticed this girl. At the time I thought she was gorgeous…on x though…everyone is gorgeous. I’ll take that back. Most of the time I could still tell if a woman was attractive or not. In fact, a lot of my friends would ask me about the attractiveness of a woman before actually going after her. So I see this attractive girl and I start talking to her. Talking led to me giving her a massage. I’ve been massaging her for about fifteen minutes, talking to her for about an hour, when she leans back and asks, “That’s your friend right?” I look up to see my former best friend dancing. “Yeah?” She looks away from me, back to him, and smiles. “Is he single?” What would you do in that situation? You’ve been massaging, you’ve been talking, to this girl that you are obviously attracted to. I did what any sane and logical person would do…”Him? Hahaha. He’s gay.”

Yep…I did it. She ended up dancing with him all night. On the car ride back home he says to me, “Dude. When I asked that chick for her number as we were leaving, she laughed at me.”

Now let me tell you what happened Monday night.

I go to the same bar pretty much every Monday. For awhile there I went every Monday for about 3-4 years. Seriously…it was like a weekly ritual. I used to sit at the same table (it practically had my name on it), had the same server, ordered the same thing to drink, the same food to eat, and I would usually have a ten minute discussion with the manager, T. After the break up with the last ex (who I met there) and moving into the apartment (I had no money), I stopped going. There was a bar down the street from my apartment (read: hella cheap) and I had basically no chance of running into said ex there. Recently (because I moved back home, read: more money), I started going back. It doesn’t hurt that my friend and former coworker (M), a tiny little tattooed deviant, is also the bartender there. So now, instead of my table, I sit at the bar. Was that a good rundown?

So Monday night I grab a friend (Brad) and we head up there. We take a seat at the bar, pace ourselves through the first two quarters of the game (Giants vs. Cowboys), and then start drinking after half-time. Sitting next to us were these two guys. One of them apparently used to be a regular there, we shall call him Mr. No-Chin. Or…Mr. NC for short. I ended up having a couple of football related conversations with the guy. He was ok, but he was also a money man…buying shot, after shot, after shot. At some point his buddy leaves and A and E show up. Now, I know A, she’s a server at the bar (I don’t think she’s ever waited on me) and a roomie of M's. She was looking…delicious.

Now here is where it gets confusing. I can never tell if a girl is flirting with me. Seriously, its like some goddamn glitch in my brain or something. If I’ve ever told the “So what’s it like to kiss a smoker?” story…you’d understand this. But I thought A was flirting with me. Mainly with the eye thing. You know how you look at someone, like, with the flirty eye? I thought we kept exchanging glances. Of course, she could have just been looking over and I inferred I was getting the flirty eye. I walked by her once and she stopped me and said something. The only thing I heard was “Ty.” For the life of me I am terrible with names. Fucking terrible. I…I don’t know her name.

It’s around this point that M quickly sneaks out of the bar, but not before I ask her what her roomies name is (or maybe I asked T…but I‘m pretty sure it was M), and she tells me its A. She got cut from her shift early and she didn’t want her roomie to catch her and start drinking. So, I text her a little while later.

Is your roomie A single?

Yup

So if I could get these cock blockers out of the way. A is the one you work with yeah?

Yeah. E is the one with dark hair.

You are a fantastic text wingman.

I try!

*cue 30 minutes later*

Well this is hopeless. Haha.

For some reason I feel like there are texts missing…Oh well…I was drinking.

Where was I? Oh right, the cock blocking.

So, every time I tried to talk to A someone would interrupt. Never a female…oh no…always a male. If it wasn’t Mr. NC it was Mr. Fat Dude in a Half Business Suit. Seriously. At one point we were in the middle of a conversation and suddenly all I see in front of me is a large white dress shirt. I was like…uhhhhh. This happened…repeatedly. It was like a chain reaction.

Lock eyes.

Dress shirt.

“I saw your post on M's wall. About your hoodie.”

“Oh yeah, do you know where it is?”

“In a box somewhere. I told her to sell it.”

"You did wha..."

Dress shirt.

Eyes.

Shirt.

“So your team is…”

Shirt.

“So Ty…”

Shirt.

Holy shit he moved!

“Your team can still come back and win.”

“No they can’t.”

“Oh ye of little faith, of course they can. They have to score, get an onside kick, and score again.”

“Like that’s going to happ…”

Shirt.

Eyes.

Shirt.

“Don’t look at me like that Ty. Don’t judge me with your eyes.”

Shirt.

“Does you cell phone cover match the shirt you’re wearing?”

“I guess so. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Uhh huh.”

Shirt.

It was like the fucking Never-ending Story. Could I have simply taken advantage of one of the opportunities when the seat was open? Moved over? I suppose I could have, but that would have been dick. Mr. NC had technically been sitting there longer than I had.

So, I pretty much give up. I end up in a seriously long conversation with T. During which, the cock blocking was actually discussed. Note: the conversations from now on will be roughly translated. Like I said, there…uhh…was alcohol involved.

“Who keeps cock blocking you?”

“The dude in the half suit.”

*she shakes her head*

“He’s a regular here, he doesn’t have a chance.”

“That doesn’t stop him from cock blocking me.”

The night is winding down, the bar is closing. I go to the bathroom and come out to realize that A & E are playing pool with Mr. NC and some other dude. So what do I do? I slide over there. Finally, I get to talk to her. Not much mind you considering she’s playing pool (drunken pool is very slow), and trying to talk to the people she’s playing with. But, I’m trying (although my creative conversation meter has been beermatized). When…cue drum roll. Brad walks over (who, by the way, had been bugging me the whole night to go over and play wingman for him with other women. When…I was obviously occupied).

“Dude, you ready to go?”

FUCK.

So, the moral of the story is this. I didn’t ask her out, I didn’t even get her phone number. For fucksakes, I don’t even know if she would be interested in the first place. But cock blocking seriously sucks, and that was by far the worst cock blocking I‘ve ever endured…from a stranger.

Also, I’m not one to ask out a server at an establishment I frequent. It’s like a rule I have. The one time I tried it…ended up horrible. If they flirt with you when they are working its likely because they think they will get a better tip. Which they will. BUT, she wasn’t working…and she looked delicious.

Ohhhhh. Icing on the cake? This!

And yes…that like would happen to be the bar I go to. I also realize that means anyone who goes to this bar will also know everyone I am talking about. I was going to use their real names throughout the blog because of this fact, but I decided that not everyone who reads this will know that. Therefore, their one letter title's.

So,What Are You Thinking About?

So, what are you thinking?

So, what are you thinking about?

What are you thinking?

What are you thinking about?

What’s on your mind?

What’s going on in that head of yours?

Tell me what you’re thinking…

Etc.

Etc.

This…any of these…a combination of them…is like an anvil to my very core. Not all the time mind you, specific times. Particularly when escaping the lips of a woman. I don’t know why I don’t like discussing what I’m thinking. Scratch that, I do know why. It’s because 90% of the time I’m pretty sure they don’t want to know what I’m thinking. So then I have to lie, tell them something that I think they want to hear. Or, I say the little magic word, “Nothing” or “I’m not thinking anything.” Of course women know this is bullshit, it‘s not a magic word, it‘s more like a death sentence. They know I’m thinking something. So they insist;

Come on…

Come on, tell me…

I want to know…

Why won’t you tell me?

Etc.

Etc.

I imagine it’s what went through Eve’s head when the bible blamed women for being the origin for original sin. As we all know, Eve ate the forbidden fruit. However, we also know that women are always right. Always right. So I’m sure when she heard what had been written in the bible she went, “Goddam…sorry. You know Adam ate that fruit. Look at my figure, do you think I would ruin this? Not to mention, we know women don’t stick weird things in our mouths…like hissing cockroaches…men do that. Why do I get blamed for starting all of this? Women are smarter than men. So, I wouldn’t have been that dumb to eat that thing. Adam did it. Because men are dumb. Do I need to mention the snake? A snake? Bitch please, I ran. The thing had weird skin and hissed…did I mention the hissing cockroaches?”

Those particular instances I mentioned? They go something like this.

After a little “afternoon delight.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I could really go for a meatball sub from Subway. Am I going to be late for work?

“That I enjoy these moments.”

“That’s it?”

Shit, she wanted something more. I‘ll get extra cheese on that sub.

“Wanna go again?”

*disgusted/awkward look*

After a surprise romantic encounter.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She totally planned this tonight because she knew I would want to watch the football game.

“That I like it when you’re sweet.”

“Am I not always sweet?”

Not when you hit me the other night. I wonder if I can still catch the game.

“Yes, you’re always sweet.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Fuck. What quarter is it? Can I sneak a peek at my watch?

“I’m not trying to. I mean that.”

“Why do you always ruin shit?”

*disgusted/awkward look*

After a quick romp of some serious fucking.

“I want to know what you’re thinking about, right now.”

Right now? Well I was just…fine…I was thinking about what an old woman would look like decapitated in a car wreck.

“That you have a fantastic ass.”

“That’s what you’re thinking? That’s romantic.”

Well, really, I’m kind of writing a story right now in my head. I need to wash my crotch.

“Romantic? We just had some seriously dirty fucking.”

“And you’re thinking about my ass? How come we don’t make love anymore?”

Because we hardly have sex anymore? What's that smell?

“What? Uhhhh…I don’t know.”

*disgusted/awkward look*

During an fight.

“Why are you being so quiet?”

I was totally thinking about what it would be like if zombies attacked the house right now.

“I’m just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

That I totally tuned you out about 20 minutes ago and you didn’t even notice.

“What you’re saying. I can understand your point.”

“And my point is?”

Fuck…dug yourself in a hole again. Would the zombies be able to get through the bush to the window?

“I’m sorry?”

*disgusted/awkward look*

On a road trip.

“You haven’t said anything in, like, twenty minutes. What’s up in that head of yours?”

That you haven’t shut the fuck up for the last hour. Was that a deer?

“I’m just enjoying the scenery.”

“The scenery?”

How many people know we went on this trip? Can I possibly get away with killing her? I bet that was a deer.

“Yeah. I’m enjoying the view.”

“So you don’t have anything to talk about?”

Red Rum. Red Rum. Mmmmmm rum.

“Why do we always have to talk? Can’t we just ride a little in quiet?”

“So you want me to shut up? If you want me to shut up why don’t you just tell me to shut the fuck up?”

Shut the fuck up! I wonder if I‘m going to the bar tonight.

“I didn’t say that.”

*disgusted/awkward look*

Sitting in line at a fast food restaurant.

“So, what are you thinking about?”

What would happen if a jumbo jet landed on 75 in the middle of rush hour traffic.

“What I want to eat?”

“I just told you about my day and you have nothing to tell me?”

I wonder how much destruction that would cause. Seriously. Like…how big would the fireball be?

“I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“You weren’t paying attention?”

Yup. Because I just saw you 3 hours ago. So much happened in your life in 3 fucking hours. How would they get paramedics down to the scene?

“Do you ever listen to me?”

“Of course I do.”

*disgusted/awkward look*

I…could…go…all…day. I consider myself a creative person. A lot of times I can pretty much guarantee that my mind is somewhere else. I daydream, a lot. I don’t like conversing about random bullshit, unless I specifically ask. Most of the time I like to operate around a topic of discussion. I’ve been out to eat at restaurants and watched a woman ramble for hours about…Joe and Donna. While her boyfriend sits there pretending to look interested. Likely, he doesn’t give a fuck about Joe and Donna. The fact that Joe left to go out to the bar with his friends leaving Donna at home. That you just went shopping with her and she bought some new lingerie. Seriously. I think, my main problem is the ADD. When someone, male or female, starts a diatribe, I flash to being in one of my college classes. You know what I did in my college classes? I slept. Which is likely a contributing factor to why I failed college. I can’t stand being lectured, or talked to. Involve me in the conversation and we can go all day.

“So Donna and I went to the store and she bought some lingerie. Do you know what I bought?”

“Did you buy some lingerie?”

“No. But you’re going to like it. She’s mad though because Joe went to the bar last night without her. Would you go without me?”

“That would depend. Is it a guys night?”

That’s what I’m saying, keep me involved. If you’re going to ask me what I’m thinking…tell me what you’re thinking first.

After a quick romp of some serious fucking.

“Whew. Sweet Jesus. I was wondering though, why don’t we make love anymore? I think its because we seem to be growing apart. What do you think?”

“I think so. Why are we growing apart?”

“Probably because I want to fuck this guy I work with and you’re not doing it for me anymore.”

Ok…not really like that…but you get the idea. Involve me. Don’t just ask me. My mind is literally going in twenty different directions at any given point. It seriously never shuts the fuck up…unless I’m sleeping. I also hate, HATE, fighting. It seems like women love to fight. I like to argue, I don’t like to fight. I don’t even fight with men. If a dude walks up to me and starts talking shit, I calmly look at them and tell them to swing. I simply do not understand the logic of verbally fighting. Have a discussion. Keep a level head. Yet it seems that every time I hear that question, “So, what are you thinking,” a fight is about to start. If I actually TELL them what I’m thinking…a fight is about to start. Because I’m never thinking, apparently, what they want to hear. Even my lies don’t help me out. Obviously.

I’ve lost my train of thought. Where was I? Great…now all I can think about is what I want for dinner. What I’m doing tomorrow night. How my date is going to go on Friday. Why is my cat staring at me? The tick-tock of this clock is fucking annoying right now. I need to take dishes upstairs. Should I smoke a cigarette before I cook? I haven’t watched a movie in a couple of days…should I watch a movie? What movie? I wish I was Boba Fett.

See this? This is why you don’t ask me what I’m thinking.

So…what are you thinking? I’m an asshole aren’t I?

Whowiththewhatsit?

I’m still here. I’m still alive. I'm still...sleepy.

To be honest I’ve kind of devoted a lot of energy in my Tumblr account. To me it’s like the best part of blogging mixed with facebook. The ability to express yourself but without the limitations. In other words having the ability to post nudity, AND not choke up your friends news feed with post, after post, after post. Right now I’m only following a few blogs, and I only have a few followers, but I find that I almost feel like I can express myself better. The three that I pay attention to the most are fuckyeahtattoos, architectureblog, and bookshelfporn. I think the funniest part is how the architecture blog has actually sparked my interest in it…again. A long, long time ago…I used to love architecture. I would read books on it, look at pictures for hours, etc. Suddenly, that interest disappeared. I don’t remember why. But part of that is my combination love for modern design with antiques. I adore clean lines and large windows…but I cherish oak furniture and large leather chairs. Old school mixed with modern technology.

The other part of my energy is going towards the wonderful world of dating. I won’t get into that too much, but I will say that I am dating. I’m also not looking for a relationship. Which is where the conundrum kind of comes into play. Isn’t a relationship the purpose of dating? I suppose so, but right now I’m more so enjoying the company of women. Right now I’m pretty opposed to the idea of a relationship, but if the right girl comes along that knocks my fucking socks off? I think I would be open to the idea.

So tonight I have about three topic ideas bouncing around in my head.

1) Sex. Of course the idea of sex is always bouncing around in my head. In this case I was going to look at the different types of sex. In particular I had a desire to talk about rough sex. I’ve recently learned that my definition of rough sex varies wildly from other people. My rough sex involves a lot of bruising, and maybe even some scars. Does that make me fucked up? Shit, I don’t know. I don’t want a woman to piss or shit on me…I consider that fucked up. I know on a previous post (Wait, Am I Going To Be A Fuck Buddy) I included a picture of a girls chest after sex. I had a lot of people saying, “that poor girl,” or “that’s fucked up.” You have to know a few things. I would never do that without someone’s consent. If a lady tells me “Ow,” or “Stop,” I stop. I will no doubt test the waters, but if the reception comes back cold? I’m not going to do that. I’m not into BDSM, not really. I don’t have a desire to tie a woman up and hang clothespins from the lips of her vagina. I do like to choke though. When I say choke I don’t mean knock them unconscious. Its more I like to have my hand on their throat. Just remember though, the next time you say…”I like rough sex,” think about what that could really mean…as I grab the handcuffs, blindfold, and candle wax.

2) My perfect girl. I was asked tonight to describe my perfect woman. I apparently have this misconception that there is one person in this world who is right for me. The thought that my future wife is certainly guaranteed to live within 100 miles of me just boggles my mind. With an entire world out there how can a person fathom that the right person even lives in the same state as them? I came to the conclusion that most people settle. I think this is why the divorce rate is so high. Rather than wait for the perfect person to come along we give into this sociological demand that says we should be married. So, rather than wait, we marry the person who comes close to our ideal perfect person. So…my dream girl? She’s short, probably between 5’ and 5’6”. Athletic. Petite. I’ve never been a fan of large breasts, not really, a B or C cup is just fine for me. Dark hair (auburn, black, or brunette). Short hair. I want a woman who is a strong, independent thinker, yet who still maintains her femininity. I like a girl who wears dresses, who likes to put on heels, who wants to look good when she goes out. Yet I also want a woman who has no problem throwing on some jeans and getting caked in mud. Who would enjoy a hiking/camping trip just as much as going into the city for an extravagant dinner and catching the opera. A woman who loves to travel, who wants to experience new things, who is open to new ideas. A lady who during a rainy day will throw herself between two ideas: Playing in the rain, or curling up in a quilt and reading a book. Who likes beer. Watches sports. Reads. Who still wants to act like a child some times. Confident. Strong willed. Who likes to argue but doesn’t like to fight.

I’m not saying this is all I want…or that I expect the woman I actually find to meet all of these categories. But I want most of them to be in her. Do I expect the physical package to be spot on? No. Is that really so much to ask? Am I a fool for not settling? Is it normal for me to be prepared to go the rest of my life without finding her?

3) The definition of a man. Trouble really encouraged me to write about this one and I think it’s so she could yell at me. There was a post on Pajiba that I commented on. Basically I said I looked less at Ryan Reynolds as a man because he didn’t know how to change a flat tire. I was raised with the principle that a man is a rock. A foundation. Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty. With calluses on their hands, dirt under their fingernails. A man is a protector, a gentleman. I was taught how to change a tire when I was really young…by my father. I argued that the reason men have lost “manly” characteristics is because those things are no longer being passed down by their fathers, like how to build a fire and grill a steak. I feel that…over time…the line between femininity and masculinity has been blurred. Is that a bad thing? I guess that would depend on who you ask. I think it is. Should a woman know how to change a tire? Yes. Should a guy stop and offer to do it for her? Yes.

That’s all I’ve got right now. I’m still open to suggestions for ideas. I write better when given a topic. So what do you want to hear DB’s thoughts on? Huh? You can make it simple or controversial. Something that will make women love me…or hate me. That can make men love me…or hate me. Give me something, or you’ll get more ramblings like this post.