Butt scratching and shit kickin.

I only have fifteen minutes or so to write, so forgive me if this is a little brief. Last night at work, I spotted DC just as she was scanning the room. For some reason, after that "date" we went on, I haven't heard from her since. Judging from the way she aborted the meeting after only an hour, based on questionable 'oh yea, I forgot I have to >insert lame excuse here<.'

I mean, any idiot can tell that was pure bs. But something happened and she freaked out. I'm not sure what it was, because based on her pattern of touch and run, I hadn't really done anything that time to warrant her typical fleeing method. Basically, she and I will get close, we'll get a little physical, and then... for some reason, she just freaks out and falls off the planet for a while. Of course, two or three weeks later, I always get that text. "Meet me at busters?" Now, adhering to the glutton theory, which is essentially that I cannot say no to her, even though the result is more predictable than Earth's gravity, I am almost always already drinking when I get this text and my thought process always goes something like, "Hmm... sit here and play pool with a bunch of dudes... or go hang out with a hot chick?" I inevitably choose door number two.

Anyway, that wasn't the only thing about last night. I've sort of come to a realization about some women. It is the fact that there are basically two types of women that I find myself drawn to. Type one is the Pixie. She is aloof and carefree. Often times loving and affectionate, but always a challenge. Then, type two are the Waitresses. Not literally waitresses, but essentially women who touch a lot and flirt indiscriminately. Don't get me wrong, I love women who flirt, so long as they are somewhat classy. As in.. the exact opposite of the chick I played pool with last night. Some guys might disagree, but I don't constitute the grabbing of my crotch from behind and under as a subtle pass. In fact, it's downright whorish. That was one of the things I liked about DC-- her ability to be subtle.

But knowing now that I actually might have "types" (which is something I vehemently denied in the past) it's easier to navigate through the garbage that I seem to be fed by women who are facetious about my emotions.

Back to the basics... of fishing

Saturday afternoon my father and I went fishing in a nearby creek. I was excited about it because, for one, I finally had the chance to enjoy some of the mild weather we've been having here. Plus, I haven't been fishing in a long time. So long, in fact, that my father dusted off a tackle box I haven't used in six years, and it still had all my fishing lures in it. Of course, all the rubber lures had disintegrated, so I was reduced to using spinners and the like.

Now, the embarrassing part of it was that I had to relearn how to cast. It wasn't like riding a bike... at all. On two separate occasions, I snagged my father's pants with a rooster tail. Once, I somehow got it hung up on a support beam under a bridge. By the end of the trip, I estimated that I'd lost about $35 in fishing gear.

On the bright side, my father offered to take me to walmart next week so we can renew our fishing licenses and buy some tackle. Sweet!

Rules

One thing I've always tried to be as a person is consistent. I try not to follow every tiny whim that comes into my head, especially when it comes to meeting women. I have a couple of rules, some of which I've mentioned before. Like the rule about not seeing a woman two days in a row if I've just started to date them. This goes tenfold if I've slept with them. I don't mind calling and saying hello and that I've had a good time (if I did).

The problem is, if a woman wants to spend the night with me two nights in a row, I see that as a clear sign of a rabid nester. Nothing scares the shit out of me faster than clinginess. I don't care how beautiful they are. When my freedoms are threatened in any way, I bail. Another rule is regarding phone numbers. The first rule is to protect myself from the crazy ones. The second rule, which is that I have to randomly run into a woman at least three times before calling them. This ensures that they know exactly who I am, and that I don't have to stumble through the embarrassing fiasco of explaining who the hell I am.

So what happens when I do something incredibly stupid, such as ask for a girl's number while her accomplice is standing right behind her-- and manage to get the number... what happens when I refrain from calling her after apologizing to her accomplice, who is actually a friend of mine... what happens when she calls me?

I can tell this is gonna be a rough one.

Free T-Shirt? How about a JOB?

So it's finally officially final. I start working at Finn's in a couple of weeks doing hotwings and working the door. I've done both a few times before while covering for Henry (my sister's boyfriend at the time) and all I got out of the deal was an open tab. As I was discussing my schedule with Brad, the owner of the bar, a nearby regular cussed up a storm and demanded to know why he wasn't asked to come aboard.
"You have a job," Brad told him.
"I told you I'd quit it."
"Man, you wanna know why I'm hiring Wes?"
I stood amicably, stirring my whiskey and coke. I kinda wanted to know too. It's not common you get a compliment from Brad, I thought.
"Cuz he's one of the boys? You guys and your fucking club," the regular sputtered. He was, I imagine, referring to the group of guys that spent the majority of the evening playing pool in the back half of the bar. Teams are formed early on, and if you get there late, you simply have to put your quarters down and wait your turn. It is a bit of a good ole boys club. When a couple of jokers show up and put quarters up, with money on the game, we revel in the chance to flex our pool muscles against someone besides each other. Victory is always so certain that when wagered against, it's like getting paid to play. It really is the GOB (good ole boys) because fights have been fought and won, and none of us ever wondered what it was that we were fighting about. I suppose we all trust that there's a good reason. Mostly it's someone who claims that they are up for a game, when they are really not. It's appalling how angry people will get over a game that costs four quarters to play. But of course, you know, it's not the quarters, it's the principle.
"No, you big baby. It's because Wes asked me before, and when I told him no, he didn't act like a little bitch about it."

I twisted my lips and shrugged. Pretty much true. All I did was ask for a t-shirt, which Brad had been giving away like candy. He said that for a shirt, I'd have to be an employee. So I said, "So let me work here, then." (as a joke)

Three months later, after all those nights of helping close up the store in exchange for a blank tab, I guess I proved myself as a person of value. Buck, one of the veteran bartenders, actually told me I should get a free tab AND be paid just for doing so well with the closing duties. So after doing that for god knows how long, I'm very happy to be an 'official' Finn's employee. Not like those other guys who just think they work there.

Sometimes, other people stay and help close up too. They are almost always doing it to get on the bartender's good side... but one thing I can say is, if you're not willing to get dirty, then just get out of the way. Then there are people who flip out when they see the men's bathroom sink is clogged and full of puke. Shit happens! Clean it up!

And... of course... there are the people who hover around the barwell and chat it up with the bartender the entire time because they like to pretend that they are the bartenders' very own secret service. They believe that just by standing there and sneering at patrons, they are doing an invaluable service to all employees. The worst is when a bartender is chewing out someone who has an attitude, and a big ole boy thinks its his cue to play Mr. Bouncer. If I can offer any piece of advice, it's this: do not ever interrupt a bartender. When it is time for that person to leave, the appropriate people will step forward and take care of it.

Bartenders are moody people. They are alcoholics with a people problem. A happy bartender is one that just scored a $40 tip.
He or she deals with drunk assholes, girls trying to schmooze their way into free drinks, the loud bitch at the end who is about to lose her legs and the circle of frat boys chanting at two very drunk women as if it were mardi gras. There's always the bitter 25 year old girl who honestly believes she knows everything, and the just-turned-21 hippie/indie/partycat who considers it amusing to talk about this really hot guy she met while shooting coke at a friend's house. There's always the 19 year old coke fiend that drives a beamer, who everyone really wants to throw out, but for some reason, nobody does. By the way, you can bet that the bitter 25 year old chick always ends up making out with this guy, but tells everyone afterwards that he was creepy.

I love it. Every bit of it. I love playing pool, watching people fall on their ass--whether it be making a pass or trying to pass by, smoking indoors, hot women who don't realize that you aren't rich, stupid women who think you are rich, and smart women who are glad you aren't rich. It's my own personal theater, and I can go any time I want.

My opinion.

I began a comment on Legally Blonde's blog and felt a stirring behind my shoulderblades that usually indicates when I'm about to commit a ranting and have insufficient forethought to accurately represent my true feelings. When people ask my opinion about something I really haven't thought about, rather than say "I don't know," I usually resort to the West Texan method, which is to cock my proverbial head aside and state a relatively obvious fact.
For instance:

"Wes, how do you feel about a woman's right to choose?"
"Well... (proverbial head-cock) I'm not a woman. So I guess I don't."

That should be a sufficient cue for someone who knows me well enough that I'd rather not get into it. Not that I'm not interested in investigating the topic, or that I agree or disagree on any particular school of thought... just that I haven't thought about it long or hard enough to present a sensible opinion. After all, I don't like my opinions to be how I feel at just that moment, but based on a core understanding of some personal truths I've arrived to as I get older and wiser.

Don't get me wrong, though. I already feel a little hotness in my cheeks as I write this. I'm not saying I always think about things or always run certain issues through my gauntlet of personal values. I don't. If it's an issue I really care about, though, I'll think on it and get back to you.


Anyway, all that aside, I really thought about the issues I have with dating today. I don't know what it says in my profile, because I basically made it all up for the sake of anonymity (aNONymity... NON...Nobody of Note... get it?) but I am in my mid-20's, I work, and I'm going back to school in the Fall. Here are the things I have going for me:

I'm funny, attractive, smart, and I'm great in bed. All good qualities to have, and usually the qualities that most women (except for the great in bed part) will say that they are looking for when describing their wishes. I'll get back to this, because, ladies... we all know that is an obvious pageant answer.

Things I do not have going for me:
Mostly material things, such as having a nice car, which I don't, or a big apartment, which I don't. I do not have the key to my uncle's lakehouse, much less have an uncle with a lakehouse. I am not a member of a fraternity, nor do I plan on being a doctor, lawyer, MBA grad, or really anything that involves obscene amounts of money or wearing suits. (In fact, I plan to be a low-paid secondary education teacher)

In other words, my down side is that I'm not rich, nor are my parents rich. I also do not play a musical instrument or rugby. I can't even sing, or even run very fast.

I can almost feel your eyes rolling. Back to the pageant answer bit. A lot of women say they want a guy who is charming, funny, smart, attractive, etc... and I believe them. The problem is... women allow a ton of play to a guy who is only charming when he's drunk, only funny when he's quoting a movie, and really smart... when it comes to the stats of his favorite sports team. Why? Cuz he's freakin' loaded, baby! Whooo! Money money money!

Now... this is not what I have a problem with. I don't care that women are drawn to money (= power) because I'm not looking for a chick who cares about my wallet. (as a disclaimer, I'm mainly talking about the women I meet, who are usually 20-somethings in college and work. Hard-core gold-diggers are what they are, and god bless them for it. Without their obliviousness, it would be difficult to recognize them) The women I meet like to hang out with regular guys and wait for that special someone to come along. While they hang out with us, they go slackjaw in shock when one of us jumps at an opportunity to buy a woman a drink in exchange for looking down her low-cut shirt for a while friendly conversation.

You're shocked!? Why!? As easily as most women overlook the average working joe, they sit disgusted by both the joe who jumps on these opportunities and the women who impersonate such opportunities.

I once conceded to my father that it was hard to meet women that are genuine. He replied, "You'll never meet your wife at a bar." I jumped for joy. I've been hiding out at bars ever since.

But seriously, for a guy who lives in a college town, who is college aged, who is not a religious freak in the land of the socially-diametric bible belt... there is truly nowhere else to look.

TBC...

Another Long Weekend

Thursday night was the first time in a long while that I gave in to the pseudo-immoral drunken hookup. One of my few points of pride is that I do not have sex with a woman unless I am seriously involved with her. But Thursday, I tossed aside my usual prude-ness and just let myself go to an entire night of crazy ass sex. From what she said, it was pretty crazy for her too! Got the scratches all over my back to prove it.

So with all the stress behind Ex's latent resurrection through JP, the victory/failure of my date with DC, and the chaotic move-out which involved me wanting to wholly validate my sister's accusations of me being a violent and angry person.... I really really just needed to get laid. Typically, after a few months, I kinda get "pent-up" and I don't expect the sex to be very good on my part, more or less because I have to strain to hold myself back. But that was not the case. Be, the girl I went home with, was very lusty and didn't waste any time trying to "tantalize me" by licking my stomach or tickling my ribs.


Some guys might like that stuff but I don't. Of course, this is just in a hookup scenario. Girls that I have seriously dated do know my erogenous zones and stimulate them appropriately... girls that don't just... well, it's kinda hard not to laugh when a woman is giving me sultry eyes while fingering my belly button. Get the hell outta there! I don't want a french tickle, lady, I want to fuuuuuuck. Of course, I know there's this age-old truism that men just don't like foreplay and women do. My thoughts are that if a man has to work THAT hard to get you wet and warmy, then you (the woman) are just forcing it, and that you are not genuinely attracted to them.

That's why it's better to wait until you are seriously dating a person to have sex with them. Let it build up! Let the passion for this person start overflowing, til you're about to explode. I don't want to have sex with a woman unless she can turn me on just by the tone of her voice. It should be the same for her, too.

Unfortunately, the reason these hookups are such a bad idea is because of what happens later. Friday night, Be decided to surprise me by coming to Finn's and hang out. I was fine with that, but I really planned to hang out with my friends that night and I do have a very strict rule of NOT hanging out with a girl that I've just begun seeing two nights in a row. Especially... well, very much especially if I wind up having sex with her the previous night.

Why this silly rule? Familiarity breeds expectations. Early in a relationship, two people should have no expectations of each other. The only purpose starting out is to get to know one another. So when you slip up and an evening goes too far, too fast... the only thing to do is take a little breather. Anyway, Be was well behaved for the most part. Except when she tried to make out with me in front of all my friends, with no regard for tact at all. Then there was the constant butt-slapping and all-too-audible references to the previous evening. Okay! I get it. You had a good time last night. Yelling, "I give it a ten!" is not cool. It embarrasses me and makes you look like a slut. A drunk one, even.

So when Be came up to me and asked if I was going home with her again, I politely said no. She simply could not believe it. So what does a drunk woman who's just been told 'no' do? You guessed it! She made a big fat hairy hissy scene. Good times. Yea. Luckily, a good friend of mine let me crash at her house so that I didn't have to drive all the way back home (40 minutes away).

Yea, no... really. That didn't suck.

If I wasn't lucky enough to get a call from Be last night, I might have been spending the entire day wondering just what the hell went wrong during my date with DC. Let's recap a little.

Be is a girl I hung out with last weekend, who lives about 45 minutes away and comes into town every weekend. She's great, but I still had my heart set on DC after three very fun evenings of us hanging out. I wasn't about to give her the talk, though, especially since she's full of potential and loves to have fun. She possesses one of the main qualities I look for in a woman, which is energy. For me, I don't really care much about how a woman looks (I have hundreds of ideas of what 'attractive' is, physically) but more how she carries herself, her confidence, and her ability to communicate. DC isn't exactly a stellar communicator, but the challenge of decoding her constantly changing messages, subtle or overt, (but always creative) seems to make up for that.

Anyway, there was a lot riding on today, and I didn't exactly expect it to produce anything new-- all I wanted to know about DC was if she could make plans and follow through. She did exactly that, and nothing else. I don't think I've had a more boring date in my life. I might as well have met a mannequin for coffee. And, of course, about two hours later, she suddenly realized there were more pressing issues to take care of at home. The walk back to my car was especially awkward, since she only lived about a block from the parking lot. So I'm walking to my car, kind of alongside her, and she says, "Well, my house is over there."
"Yea, I know."
"So, I'll see you later," she says, and then gives me this really cheesy pat on the shoulder. What, are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You might as well just run to your house and hope that I won't catch you.
"Yea...," I said, "I'm parked right over there. I know where your house is."
"Yea. Okay. Uh, have a good one."
"Right." I said, and decided to just go ahead and cut through the landscaping of the parking lot entrance. Any more of that banal hinting and I might have to just scream.

As a joke, I sent her a text message about an hour later, reading: "Next time, we'll do something a little more low-key."

I wonder if she caught the sarcasm...


Then, to throw my dating life into even more of a hopeless spiral, JP sent me a message on facebook asking if I still talk to my Ex. JP isn't exactly a central figure in my life, especially since it was her brother that my Ex left me for. I do not have warm fuzzy feelings about my Ex. I do not have very warm feelings about my Ex's friends since they all knew that my Ex was two-timing me. In fact, it was my Ex's friends that set her up with JP's brother. So... no warmth there.

Anyway, JP proceeded to tell me all about how her brother had broken up with Ex and now Ex was basically sucking the life out of her... apparently she's not doing so well and JP thought it would make her feel better if I gave her a call.

I don't even know where to begin. First of all, I've pretty much been in love with my Ex ever since the day I met her, and that never changed throughout all the treachery and backstabbing. Talk about a glutton for punishment... I know. I know. Anyway, I can't fathom what possessed JP to think that my Ex and I EVER continued communication. The bitch dumped me for your brother. Wouldn't you KNOW? Jesus.

Even so, I'm not a total douchebag. I know how to be the bigger man, how to move on, and that's just what I did. It took me quite a while to figure out how to be myself again after Ex finished swinging the axe, but I managed. And now JP wants me to call up Ex to see how she's doing? That the fuck shit is that?

Who is to say that my Ex won't pull the exact same shit again? Are my Ex's friends so clueless as to think that I wasn't completely crushed and my dignity wasn't stripped away over the course of three shit-all unholy months. Least of all JP?

So... I dunno. I said something roughly to that effect in my reply to JP on Facebook, and I'm kind of awaiting the response. My main question that I want answered is this:

"She made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with me last year. What makes you think she'd ever want to hear from me again?"

more nothings

I was going to make my update in the same post as the previous one, but I figured this one probably deserves a post all its own.

There's good stuff and bad stuff in this one, so I'll put the good first. If you like leaving things on a happy note, then you can stop about halfway through. Don't worry, I'll warn you when it gets to the bad part.

Good stuff. I called DC yesterday afternoon and she actually answered the phone. She even mentioned that she was in the middle of an art project, and I offered to call later but she said it was fine. Anyway, I spit it out that we should hang out and we even procured plans for this coming Thursday.

I don't know if I've ever described DC in detail, other than just times when she's royally pissed me off (which is every other time I see her, in which case, I always take a long walk to allow myself to simmer) but one thing that marks her is the unfailing INABILITY to make or keep plans. She's better when she just refuses to make or agree on the plans, because at least then she can't stand me up-- but she has become increasingly better at giving accurate ETA's when the plans are first made (which, subsequently, have increased in the span of time from the zero hour of the plans in question) and arriving where she says she wants to meet on time.

This throws a new bolt into the cogs of all this. She knows as well as I do that all of this is really a test. She knows very well that she's almost entirely incapable of fulfilling plans. Half of me lies here already accepting the fact that Thursday's plans will most likely go up in smoke. The other half of me really wants her to come through-- not so much for my sake. I can hang out with her any night of the week. It's not for me hardly at all. Its as though I'm rooting for her to evolve a little here. The whole idea of hanging out in 'daylight' is to get to know each other as regular people, not as a couple of bar flies that constantly flirt. I guess more is weighing on this date than I realized.

Of course, she can't know that. Even though she does know what hangs in the balance, she can't know that I know. Even though she knows, probably, that I know...I can't confirm it, therefore parlaying what little mystery I have into an unattractive transparency.


Wow. That got out of hand. Anyway... now comes the bad part.

You know how you arrive to a point where saying what's in your heart is easy because everything else seems so pointless? How the words fixate together before you and flow out effortlessly? That's the way things are with DC right now, and I seem to be making progress.

But there's another side to it. Anyone who knows me knows that my sister is probably the most important woman in my life, next to my mother. I can prove this by pointing to the day that I canceled and rejected six fully qualified applicants to be my roommate when I lived in the Spruce Street house, and took my jobless sister in instead. Soon after, we had to move into a more affordable apartment, which she thanked me by throwing a TV off the balcony of said apartment one night in a drunken rage.

I can prove it because when I saw that she'd been hurt by an asshole who'd dated her for a couple of weeks, I threatened to punch him in the throat if he said one word about her. This was a guy who was surrounded by his friends and I was alone. He wasn't smaller than me, and his friends were not women. She thanked me by bringing this guy home to bed with her a few weeks later.

When we had to move everything out of THAT apartment after being evicted for HER outrageous behavior, I spent three days moving all of her stuff into a NEW place, which I found, using only my mom's SUV. She spent the day eating taco bell and hanging out with her puppy, Chase. (by the way, Chase is a person).

I can prove it because time after time of her storming off into senseless acts, getting drunk or calling into work because she's hungover (for almost a week once) I have never disclosed her actions to my mother or father. You might say that I am not a caring brother, but I truly don't believe it's my place to tattle on my sister. She's two years older than me, and should be accountable for herself.

She thanked me for this by holding a hand on her hip and with tears in her eyes, telling my father that I'm an alcoholic and that she's afraid of living with me.

She's thanked me for this by allying with my over-worrisome, paranoid mother and accusing me of being selfish, ungrateful, and even worse, of being lazy. I'll explain this one a little more. One week ago, she announced out of the blue that she was moving out. With rent due on the first, she hid behind a shield of parental favortism and GIRLED her way out of her problems. I could not have been more livid. Nevertheless, I collected myself and said, "Okay. But I am not helping you move your stuff this time. I'm not moving one box, not one piece of furniture."
"Fine" she said.

Earlier this evening, my mother convinced me to come along with them and just help with the big stuff. I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to let my sister and mom try to carry a 250 lb couch up the ramp of a U-Haul by themselves. After agreeing, my mother says that they're getting the truck at 8AM. Ouch. After visiting the doctor today and being diagnosed with Bronchitis, I sweetly asked her to let me sleep in and drive over a little later in the morning.

Then, my sister comes storming in and berates me, calling me lazy and selfish. Says that I OWE it to mother because she packed up all my shit while I was resting today. Apparently, none of the things in my room are included in this estimate, none of the things OUTSIDE of the room even BELONG to me, and a grand total of ONE box of my dishes accounted for an entire day's work. You're right, sis. Getting up at 7:30 in the morning while I'm fighting bronchitis, on my first day of antibiotics is totally fair. Moving all your shit for the third time in 7 months is fair.

I'm just glad there's an objective voice somewhere in all this...

Oh wait, there isn't. Just two batshit women who think I am the son of satan. The real challenge? How do I politely tell them (not so much my mother, who I'd be doing it for in a heartbeat, but my sister) that I will not be guilted into moving her crap under false accusations? Oh boy, what a ride. Fuckall, just fuck it all.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Dating Site For Democrats

This is hilarious: Actforlove.org. The matchmaking site for Democrats, liberals and progressives. "Take Action, Get Action" today!

Bwa ha ha ha ha...
This is almost as good as Chris Rocker's rant about Britney Spears.