about a boy...

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

I am going to be twenty-six years old and once again got dumped. I’m not sure what’s the point of telling someone that you love them. Not entirely sure what’s the point of telling a person all of your secrets. We seem to invest so much of ourselves into a person at the risk that any moment this individual may leave, and not only with your pieces, but with a far greater trophy; one’s heart.

It seems to be as time goes by humans want someone to spend the rest of their life with into old age. The future scares me, as it does for many people. What is the guarantee that you will be with a person forever? What is the guarantee of anything? There isn’t.

What’s so hard of enjoying someone in the present? More. Enough. What is enough?

Life is a choice. Everyday you choose something. You choose to have a good day. You choose to press the snooze button. You choose to go back on your phone and look at old photos, cough. Life is what you make it.

As I was being dumped, which by the way was a mess due to my OCD of needing ‘closure,’ which also wasn’t granted,  I saw a change in his tone. During the midst of my tears he told me “This is life. You don’t get what you want.” How could someone say that? That’s not life. That’s survival. I was brought up with the notion if you want something you go out and get it; you give it your all. I was under the simple thought that if you want someone, be with them, why was it so hard? Contradictory statements were all that I got. “I love you, and I want to be with you, but I don’t want to work it out anymore.” This is what I got. This is what I was left with. Confusion. Obviously, he didn’t want it hard enough.

This was a person who loved me more than I ever knew. I knew he loved me, I absolutely knew he loved me. Yet, in that moment, I couldn’t convince myself that he did. The glass was shattered. He no longer felt and thought with his heart, his actions and words were sharp, cold, and analytical. Being in love blinds us from logic, while simply loving a person is enough to see what the world sees; for the person to back away and think with logic. This is how I knew it was done.

I am going to be twenty-six and had an interesting twenty-five. I got to spend it with a person that I truly loved. I wasn’t settling, I wasn’t looking. This guy just came to me. Sparks flew and I fell in love. It didn’t happen over night, but once I let the past go I was ready to take this person’s hand. Maybe I dropped the past too late? Maybe fear was the beast to blame? I won’t know. I didn’t want to be another lesson, or learn anything. I don’t even want to figure out what went wrong. Twenty-five pushed myself in this world than most years. Twenty-five gave me someone who I’ll always remember. Someone who actually got me. Didn’t turn me away while I went crazy, and who I found more than comfort in his arms. We were the same height. He had a tortoise. And we were two years and one day apart. Within that year I felt love a second time around, felt a person crawl under my skin, had him in my mind, and he stepped inside my heart. People stay as long as they need to be, if that’s what you believe. People stay as long as they want to be, what I believe.

As long as you fight for anything with your heart, you will not hold regrets.

I fought.

I lost the battle.

Yet not the war.

Twenty-six, I await you with welcoming arms.

 

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guys

Pinch my fruit, please?

Someone told me that oddly enough that the Wal-Mart near my house is becoming a “pick up scene.” See, I’m not sure how I feel when a whole community comes together and agrees that Wal-Mart is now the place to spit game, it’s those damn 24 hr ones.

So, I went to Wal-Mart today.

I needed cat food and over dressed for the one item. I think I went at the wrong time, I assume the late hour rush is when it becomes more lively. There should be a memo left somewhere in the bathroom to let people know when is a good time to come out.  None the less I still casually prowled while I pushed my cart with a single bag of cat food in it. If that doesn’t scream out, “alone with cats” then maybe my outfit of “desperate and horny” over powers it. I’m ashamed to have even been looking, out of all the places, I don’t do this. I’ve never really done this, I’ve always just had people there at my disposal. Pfft, leave for a year and this is what happens. The food though seemed at it’s naughtiest when I picked it up and thought of perverted scenarios. I was pinching a variety of fruit, measuring bananas, and tossing salads, all while setting my radar on cruise control.

Beep, beep, beep. Found one!

There he was. At the self check out station a hop, jump, and skip away from my produce. Self checkout, yes please. He was tanned and there was no sun, still he glowed from afar.

I gradually pushed my cart around checking the scene like a cat ready to pounce. All other self-checkout lanes were full and I didn’t want to go through the 200 lanes to find a cashier so I casually rolled up behind him. Not looking at him, just through the side of my eyes, until I see him make contact. I ignore, because this is how I operate. I need a starter. Still, “not looking” I push my cart into his accidentally and make the eye contact. My big anime eyes catches his warm brown eyes and an apologetic smile is exchanged. Small talk leads to flirting, leads to both of us walking out together. Names exchanged along with numbers. He’s by my car and I rush him and steal a passionate kiss setting the tone for what I want when we meet again.

Sounds hot right?

Yeah, this didn’t happen, only in my head.

The truth is I did push my cart behind his and was ready to pounce until a horrible reoccurring pain emerged from my side. I did bump carts with him and half awkwardly smiled through pain and lost interest.

See, after the depression and the endless amount of cookies and alcoholic beverages, I decided to start working out again. I run daily but really wanted more definition, at least a nice stomach, so  I worked out. Yesterday was my first time on this ab contraption and I’m more than sure that I bruised a rib. I got stuck on the machine and thought the pain would go away with a good nights rest. Wrong. With a slight movement of giggles or pressure, the sharpest pain emerges and I produce a face of someone who has really bad gas.

This was the look the young man must have seen. I really didn’t care by this point. He left but still smiled, more of concern then interest,  and I held my side in pain cursing Gold’s Gym.

As I was walking out it seemed like I would’ve had another chance, being that I parked not that far from him and we maintained eye contact as he loaded the bags. I coughed out a smile until I attempted to lift the 15 lb bag of kibble into the car. My abs clenched and my rib stabbed my whole body. Ugh, how do people work out seriously?

It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyways, he was loading diapers into the trunk.

Hope your day was better than mine.

any odd places where you’ve picked up a person?

 

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sad lesbian rants, Word Vomit

Yes, I have breasts and I enjoy dick: Rant from a sad lesbian who isn’t a lesbian

Cock

Everyone loves cocked flavor

It’s funny when one is about 400 miles away everyone wants to see you, they miss you, they tell you stories and events that are going to happen upon your arrival. Vacation, visiting, these are the times when you get these thrills and the excitement. It’s come to my understanding with this that people suck. Now, that I am back home and people know there isn’t a time frame, I have been withdrawn the over joyous excitement.

I went out to a bar about a night ago with  4 other guys. For some odd reason it always ends up me in a group of dicks, literally. I only really talked to one of my friends that I was always in contact with, and the other ones, to my understanding, thought I was merely visiting. Once I told them I moved back I got the, “oh….” and felt them questioning them the invite. What the hell does that mean? Cock suckers!

Moving on…

I’m use to a lively bar and this was a hole in a wall and the only night life near our crappy city. Sadly, in So. Cal, when you don’t have a car, you don’t go anywhere. I don’t have a car. I drink. I would love to go to downtown L.A. and get drunk in a real bar, but I’m not driving.

By my third Stella I was scoping out the bar. Usual group of hot chicks to my right with one slutty asian girl, random mexican with cow-boy boots who looked like he stumbled in here by mistake, two awkward lanky guys trying to spit game at the slutty asian girl, hipsters with mustaches playing death metal in a bar, then myself observing the people while I drank.

I was in the middle of the guys with bottles in front of me. My back leaned all the way and my long legs were crossed. I tried to look attractive. I had a sleeveless leopard blouse. The only one who looked at me in that way I wanted to be looked at was by an overweight lesbian woman with a buzz cut. The realization that maybe, maybe everyone does think I’m a lesbian crossed my mind. Do I look like I don’t like dick? I’m not sure if there is a universal sign that only lesbians give out and only they can receive. Maybe I’ve been chosen. Should I use the force? All of this crossed my mind and I washed it away with a Newcastle.  I think I would make a good lesbian, comparing and contrasting to my

galore of homosexual friends, yet being me, I’d probably insult them if i was a lesbian. I have enough trouble being straight.

Then I burped.

I hardly burp.

Yet, I burped at the most inopportune time. Somewhere in the sea of ugly people, and cliché sluts, I found some eye candy. He had sculpted nice arms. The ones I thought of pinning me down because I’m a horrible person. I drank some more and gave him the look. The ” I am interested look and am checking you out.” He gave me the ” I acknowledged it, continue, sign.” As I undressed him with my eyes and formed a smile, a very manly burp erupted from the depths of my throat and fired my friends with immature chuckles.

His smile turned to disgust and he went back into the sea of the bar. My friends didn’t notice the overall picture. I can be in a group of guys half-naked and I end up just being, one of the guys. This has always been a problem and I have grown from my tom boy ways, but I digress. All they noticed was the slutty asian girl and some other random girls who couldn’t handle their liquor and were about to throw themselves on some guys in a ghetto ass bar.

Tried to bar hop again, searching for better fish in the crappy city and ended up eating wings. Gave up on looking for attractive men.

I of course had a giant glass of dark ale to wash away my wings and cheddar wedges because apparently I am manly. They call me John.

Too many beers in me to realize that I was at the same wing place where I sadly made an attempt to get the waiters number. I pretty much harassed him and gave him mine. Pretty smooth. He never called. Shot my self-esteem looow. A year eventually passed, and there I was, making eye contact with him and both of our pupils dilated and engulfed our heads. I chugged the remaining of my drink. I already screwed up the night with mr nice arms and they think I’m a lesbian, might as well, right? The one time I don’t want to be remembered.Oh, he remembered me.

Stumbled back to my house to sleep on my couch that churns my spine to a painful back the next day. No hangover. No bed. I only have a desk with a million of pens and countless rum bottles that coexist in my playful nature.

The next day I drank vodka and sprite with an old friend/lover who I think still hates me, and a very good friend. I drank the bottle and found myself kicking off my heels and checking him out. Noooo! I sat on his bed and messed with his guitar and may have blurted out interests and topics of Christian Grey. Cough, yes I have read the books.

I guess when I drink too much vodka my dominant and submissive side comes out and I ramble on about being butt naked and being slapped.

My God, just kill me then. I don’t throw up but I have the worst word vomit known to man. I made things awkward bringing up past “nicknames” like a horrible cheerleader looking for attention. Sadly, the sky vodka was empty. The only time I really showed emotions when I stare into the soul of an empty vodka bottle.

the only thing I learned from this is not to burp in front of hot guys, don’t go back to places you made an ass of yourself years ago, don’t spew the past on an ex, and don’t sit back with a group of guys as you try to pick up on other guys. You end up being a lesbian with an empty vodka bottle.

Have you ever spit out horrible “word vomit” that messed up an opportunity?

 

 

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dating

O.K. Cupid, now what?

Not sure what I am doing but I’ve now dabbled in on-line dating. Again, I don’t know what compelled me to do this. Is this what girls in my situation do? Then again what is my situation? The questions I was forced to answer in all honesty didn’t seem like it could match me up with someone who would ever be “boyfriend material.” I don’t think I was looking for a boyfriend either, I was just curious if there was anyone hiding. There was an option for casual sex, and I must say I was very interested to just say fuck it, literally.

i was only been a member for about 1.5 days now and already a friend that contacted me through the site. This happens to be the number one reason why I am not on there anymore.

I came back to So. Cal to try and pick up the pieces. In the time being of my unemployment I do need to be entertained, hence the site, yet when a friend who you know “has issues in the dating world” is on the same site, and is one of your matches, it’s a universal wake up call to stop. Once I stopped turning red, I made myself a cosmo and sat at my desk with both hands on my face. Cosmos from a bottle aren’t what they use to be and I went to straight Vodka shots to wake me up.

It was rather sad to open up one of my messages that said, “welcome to my sad life.” I blame myself, because I’m back home now, I would run into someone like this, not like in San Francisco. No one knew me, minus my new friends, and I ever so loved that. I was just another face on the bus. My friend who was on the site seemed very surprised I was even on there. I’m not sure what that meant, I can lean towards a compliment but I wouldn’t take it. I was embarrassed as hell that I was reduced to a computer telling me who is a likely candidate for me to have sex with.

Although I must say I did meet like two very nice, “chill,” guys whom I felt bad after I disabled my account due to embarrassment. Once again, this was just another scratch I needed to itch and the thrill is over. On-line dating isn’t something that should be looked down upon either, my mother is a big fan of that, it’s just not for me. I’m more of a “feeling the sparks” kinda gal. I need to see the person and the drunk butterflies that fill me up. It’s hard through a phone screen.

The guys who messaged me really didn’t have much to say if I may add. What has happened to the pick-up lines of the modern age? Don’t just say “sup” to me and expect me to send you my dripping panties, no sir! I also got really cheesy lines, such as: ” Am I in heaven, because you must be an angel?” “stand in front of a mirror with 12 roses and you will see 13 of the most beautiful things” “what is a rare beauty like yourself doing here?” “hey sexy” and my favorite, “what do you call a fake noodle?” I wasn’t that curious to find out. That seemed like a sad way to distract someone from a small penis.

if I could offer any advice to young gentlemen and women who are on-line dating, please, please do not have your user name be “picachu, bigdawg” or some clever name with ‘cum’ or 69 in it. It’s not cute, it’s not funny. It’s just sad. Do not embarrass yourself and do not vomit out cheesy cliché lines. If a girl is on there, it’s for a reason. Do not be another reason why she gets off.

Ok, Cupid, I’m doing it my way.

Off to the bars I go!

Has anyone tried on-line dating and liked it? Didn’t like it? What are your thoughts on it?

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Mr. Caramel, wise hungover thoughts

Dates and beer = masturbation conversations

The effects of alcohol are never pleasant. I understand and realize how I had such a massive headache. Sometimes it’s not just because of the physical aspect, but more so of the stupidity that unravels.

All drinks were free. This never ends well. I’m not sure if this is the equivalent of an open tab, only difference is the drinks taste better when they are free.

My cup was a bottomless color of ale, that I am assuming since the lights were off and only an illuminating kitchen glow surrounded us.

It started off with 4 strangers at the bar. These are after hours when the bartender keeps who he wants in. Technically, 5 strangers, since I just met Caramel a week ago.

I was rushing to meet him downtown but luckily my bus driver didn’t care if he killed us or not. Once off, and on the corner of Market and Van ness, I walked down a dark street I never went by to a bar I didn’t know existed. I soon saw a man who looked familiar. It was Caramel. He was carrying a drunk girl with a group of giggling friends swarming him. Presumably those being her friends, a couple of gay guys laughed as this wasted white girl effortlessly hugged on the back of Caramel. They took pictures, they almost let her fall. What great friends those people were to that girl. Flashbacks of me being that wasted girl crept into my mind.

I thought Caramel knew the lively group, but apparently he just met them. He noticed how drunk the girl was and how shitty the friends were and of course being the gentlemen and go-getter guy he is, stepped in to lend a helping hand. Or how he put it, “ride the black man.”

After they left, he embraced me in a hug and we walked into the closed bar.

These strangers that sat were all older. A crowd I always seem to fall into, at least 26 and older.

I crept from the awkward distance stool and slowly walked towards him where he was playing bartender. The real bartender, I want to say at least a 35 yr old Filipino man, sat in between two drunk girls who rambled on the proper way to make a Manhattan. It was obvious the interest was in the blonde as he leaned more towards her side. These girls were roommates, and they were drunk. and they were easy. I ended up talking to an old jewish New Yorker who raved about Obama and the upcoming election. An activist, and a strong man who told me what he’s been through. Caramel, still being in the spotlight kept coming back and forth to refill my cup, to smile at me, to tell the whole bar how beautiful, how sexy I am. He was in the spotlight.

The old jewish man talked to Caramel about Brooklyn, being that they both are from New York. His east coast accent came out and he kept throwing himself more into that light. I had to play catch up since every one was already glossy-eyed and he kept giving me those Stellas.

They keep talking. I keep drinking.  Trying to listen to their conversation. This is wonderful. I become more at ease. I down another cup. The tension wiggles off my spine. He stares at me. Theres that smile again, that damn smile. I don’t know what he’s going to say.

“What are you thinking? Honestly?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Just…about…whats on your mind?”

I smile and raise my glass. I wouldn’t have a clue as to where to start. I wish I knew more, I wanted to go back to this conversation, but the drunk girls and horny bartender got his attention. Oh, he plays the part well.

The night continued as they got rid of the old jewish man. Soon it was the drunk roommates, bartender, Caramel and myself. We left the bar to the back where a dark hidden room was. Lit by sexy red lights it lulled the beer and set for an obvious mood.

I sat next to Caramel. Soon the bartender got a bag that was filled with white powder. He placed it on the table and generously offered me a line. This was my first time ever witnessing this, and I wasn’t ready to indulge in it. Caramel looked at me speaking on my behalf that I wasn’t going to try it. Soon, a credit card divided 3 little odd-shaped lines. Each size and shape varied by the person. Blonde drunk girl had the small one, the bartender had the middle long one, and Caramel had the medium-sized thicker white line. Myself and the other not-that-attractive-roommate, just watched.

He was embarrassed. He kept apologizing and asking me to not judge him. He seemed like he was judging himself, a well know trait of a fellow Gemini. Again and again he kept rubbing his head, apologizing to me, stating that I’m already judging him.

I didn’t want to judge, I have no right. A black tube of some sort was presented and each took its turn like a vacuum hose picking up the line, with one finger on the nostril, allowing better suction.

I kept getting more drinks, I wasn’t sure what number I was on and I don’t remember how but I ended up outside the room, with Caramel, as the bartender played his “d” game with the drunk blonde. By this time I guess the roommate left home.

I was completely oblivious to the fact that they were having sex next to us. I seemed elevated and my ears didn’t pop and I assume this is why I didn’t hear sex noises. We talked about Atmosphere and what song he should play. I jabbered about random things until I woke up and remembered what word vomit I spat out. Apparently, I went off about masturbation. How much I use to do it, how much I loved it, and how its a natural thing. Then he ended up asking me if I was a lesbian. Again, I don’t know what I said for him to ask me this.

He confessed to me that he was going bald, and asked me if he should shave it off or use some kind of hair treatments.

How drunk is one when you mention balding problems and masturbation?

I, being grabby, took his glasses and put them on. He gave me this look. He shook his head, he bit his lip. He told me how sexy I was in his glasses. His compliments got me high.

About 5:30 a.m. and we’re finally taking the Muni home. People were ready for work and I was still up. He talked to anybody and we stumbled our way underground to catch the bus. He spoke in an english accent to the main guy patrolling, because when you’re drunk you can be any one you want to be. We were tourists not knowing how to work the machine and the kindness of the man helped us. I looked in my right hand and not knowing how, I had an open, delicious, New Castle. I had to throw it out, but I’m an English tourist, so I didn’t get in trouble. Once on the train he told the guy next to him how adorable my feet were, being in my pink Oxford shoes. He put my legs on his lap and just held them. We were both drunk and could care less how we looked on that train.

Once off, he tries to get me home again. I, hesitate again. I don’t let him walk me home and hover over the hills to my house with a huge smile.

I then go inside to sleep in the same room with my ex and text Caramel goodnight.

I wake up, and I think I’m still drunk. I have to be. There isn’t enough water to flush out my system.

I start to smile and recollect the events as I make my trips to the bathroom. I apologize about my masturbation talk through text.

I’m a moron to talk about masturbation, seriously, who does that on the third date?

My insides are a mess but those damn drunk butterflies tell me to keep going.

I head off to work, hung over, paranoid, and on about 3 hours of sleep. Yeah, that’s me, I just got promoted.

I know everyone can read it on my face, “I drank a shitload last night and into the morning.”

When you’re drunk, and you recall the events, whats the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said?

 

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dating, Mr. Caramel

Meet delicious caramel.

I eventually had sex with him. Plain and simple I will start off by telling you this. I needed to, and I wanted to. It wasn’t love at first sight, it wasn’t even lust at first sight. He was an older man who came in my awkward transition, for about two months. Two months that I got that itch I needed to scratch and he soon saw that. He soon got distant. The further he went away from me, the harder I would walk up the hills of San Francisco to find him and fuck him. To ride him. To ride him long and hard till his eyes rolled back. Untill he came apart at my doing over and over again and wanted to praise the world that I did him that good. Yeah, that’s me. That’s the satisfaction that I take apart in.

That wasn’t my intention when we met though. I tried to sell him a watch and he came in just waiting for a friend. He had a drink before so opened up quicker, and talked to me as he waited so he could head off to work. He was interesting, he was intriguing. The way he looked at me with those hazel eyes and the contrast against his caramel skin was new. I’ve never had caramel before. It was missed, feelings of butterflies in the stomach, and the fact that they were any scared me. Before I knew it we just talked, talked about anything and everything and he handed me his business card. The gull to do that. Be so confident in not getting my number but sure enough I would contact him. I liked that though.

I waited till the end of the day to text him. I was in shock that he remembered my name. I contemplated at first as I stared at the card. I caressed it over and over again thinking that it would tell me something, or tell me a clue about this guy. He was a cook. He was a chocolatier. He was good-looking.

It went on non stop texting and flirting till we finally met up about a week later. It was a thursday in October. I would’ve seen him before when I was alone but I was afraid. Did I fail to mention I lived with my ex at this time? I secretly felt bad but was too excited as I finally snuck off with a “co-worker” that day.  I shouldn’t have lied, I did nothing wrong.

We were classy that day. He had a suit. I was in a red skirt and leopard blouse. He just came off of work as I waited for him on the corner. He walked up with a smile I saw a mile away. He smelled delicious. Oh, caramel. We walked not knowing where to head to till we landed on one of his usual spots. A cozy little wine bar. I know nothing about wine. All I know is that it messes me up sooner and I wake up horrible.

I had a nice dark ale called a “He’brew.” I’m not going to lie, I thought that was the best name and was curious how a hebrew tasted. I drank four of those bad boys like water. No bitter after taste, (sometimes I like bitter beer though), just smooth, cold ale swimming my senses. I’m not sure what we talked about specifically. We named the weird creatures that were painted on the walls of the place. We skipped the basics and talked about stories, as if we already knew the back story.  I was in normal flirting position with my legs crossed towards him and his body towards mine. He talked a lot. I loved it. His voice was something else. Maybe it was the he’brews, but on the first date I pictured having sex with him. Every now and then I shook it off. I just wanted to talk to the man but this mind of mine. Bad thoughts brewed in my head when he wore that suit. I then wondered what he was thinking.

He sat right next to me the whole time on the bus and gave me this look, as if he saw something in me I didn’t see, on our way back home. Coincidentally we lived in the same area, my luck. Oh if you would’ve seen caramel. He was the center of attention on the bus. He was the lively one, the one you wanted to be friends with. Yeah, I knew that guy. To everyone on the bus we went way back.

After the bus he walked me home, which is about twenty minutes from his house. Time melted as we walked and to our right was of course the romantic view of the ocean. The tourist in him, being he recently moved, took as many pictures as he could with his phone.

The alcohol was giving me courage as I started to be more physical. I pulled him down to the curb where we talked some more. He told me how small my feet were compared to his clown shoes. The alcohol gave me more courage as I went from a handshake to embracing him in a goodnight hug. He held tighter.

I went inside happy. I went inside to see my sleeping ex and the horrible smile I could not hide.

He wanted me to go over. Oh, of course I thought about it, yet I waved him off. Something called guilt hesitated my actions and I soon met sleep.

I knew this guy was different. He was going to help me face my fears, being that going out with a guy I met at work was a first. A co-worker, now that’s a different story.

I woke up with hung over butterflies in my stomach and more good morning text messages. I drank a gallon of water and tried my best to empty the he’brews from my system.

Have you ever thought about having sex with someone on the first date? What are typical guy thoughts, as well as girl thoughts?

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