Sorting out issues.

When I was in high school, I blogged at least once a week. I wrote in an actual notebook every day. Dry spells were either because so much was happening at once that I had no time to write about it, or nothing was happening at all. In junior year, I had a phenomenal English teacher. He was the first teacher I ever had that showed emotion-- particularly frustration. I was secretly thrilled any time one of the girls caught a verbal beating for talking too much or not paying attention. Hell, Mr. C would go off if he felt like the people in the back weren't taking him seriously enough.

The girls he'd always yell at were never dressed down. They wore high heels and reeked of fruity perfume. They were all beautiful. As much as I hated them, especially one I'll call KB, they came to represent a fantasy I've since had for hooking up with a beautiful girl from a very rich family. On the outside, I hated their stiff upper lips, their clothes-- how adult they all tried to seem, and how no matter what kind of grades they were given, they really never had to worry about making it outside of high school. I hated their privileges. I see some of them today, and they are exactly the same, only fatter.

But inside, I was entranced by KB's curves. Even when she was sitting down, I fell into dopey stares whenever she wore strappy shirts or skirts with slits on the side. I'd draw the outline of her leg, from the hem of her skirt to just past the calf. I shied from detail to keep the drawing ambiguous, should anyone ever see. She also suffered from a hellish case of falling bra-straps... or rather, I suffered. On the rare occasions that she disengaged from her posture, her shoulders gave way to a loose feminine-colored strap, and it would timber to the side of her arm. I had to be careful in these times to make sure that my staring wasn't obvious-- but it probably was anyway. Then, she'd slide a finger under the strap, tilt her shoulder down and saddle it back into place. I'd melt.

My truce with the rich dissolved as soon as the bell rang, and I'd watch in a haze of disdain and lust as she walked out.

I never dated any supremely hot girls in high school. In college, I was engaged and living with my girlfriend for over two years. I wouldn't call her a total babe, but I was sure in love with her. After she and I broke up, hot girls served their purpose. There are times when my interest in one of these beautiful women grows beyond getting sprung. I tend to investigate and stir up possibilities-- and then, for some reason, it gets weird and I lose my cool.

I know what went wrong with DC. When she spent the night at my old apartment with me, I made the assumption that all the things she'd said while we roved around the bed were still valid after sunup. I assumed that her previous reservations were then removed, and we could continue forward. Instead, I was dealt a serious backstepping. The next time I saw her, she made basically every effort to consort with anyone else, especially guys. Was it wrong to feel hurt by this? The sensitive of you will say "Yes! What a bitch!"

But really, I should have known that people do not change overnight, or even change their minds. She is comfortable in her bubble of adoration. She could allow a very discreet tryst, but one governed by her sheer whim. Certainly not one hinged on any mutual desire. Who's to say that such a tryst, even if I were to lower myself to such a thing, would be exclusive? Secret relationships are by their very nature, non-exclusive, otherwise there would be no problem with a guided indiscretion about it.

I'm not saying I'm above having a fuckbuddy. Hell, I'd go for that any day of the week. But that sort of deal only works on conditions... such as, no existing relationships, no expectations, and no cattle prods or two-way dildos. Right now, the no-expectations rule is the one I can't follow. I'm just not wired like that.

For now, I'm just going to let myself occasionally fall into that familiar haze of lusting after form while sneering at fickleness and falsehoods.

Drunk, Delirious Blogging

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure the great majority of you have come home from a night of utter chaos-- a night that began with treachery, one filled with tribulation, and ending as a trial-- nay, a testament to how karma can go from kicking your ass to kissing it.

Yep. It was definitely one of those night for me. It all started with DC. You guys know a thing or two about DC. For the astrology buffs, she's a Gemini, and I'm a Capricorn. You know that that mean.s "Oh Boy" usually comes after such a combination. More like "Aw Fuck..."

Anyway, DC said from the get-go that she was in a weird mood. She got into a fight with her roommate-- something to do with her roomie wiping out on a bicycle when said roommate didn't need to be traveling in the first place. Then I managed to quip about how tired DC appeared. DC took that too mean "You think I look like shit." Well, no. A hint for the guys... never, EVER tell a girl she looks tired. She will always take it to mean that you think she looks like she just got shoved into a camel's ass. In any case, not good. Just as I managed to repair that situation, DC decides we need to go meet her friend Shana. Shana is someone I've already met, but I didn't realize that yet. From the beginning, lovely Shana did her best to exclude me from every possible conversation, joke, introduction... EVERYTHING. When DC went to the ladies' room, Shana and I were alone. I figured this would be a perfect time to get to know her and maybe get on her good side. Lucky for me, Shana's very sensitive and I managed to piss her off, sending her into a fit of rage in less than five minutes.

After Shana found DC and left without me, I went where my heart said to go--- the usual place. My bar. THE bar. Lo and Behold, they were there. DC demanded that I apologize to Shana, which I did, successfully. Then DC had to use the ladies room again, and left me sitting there with "T". T proceeded to tell me all about how I need to lighten up and not care what these "bitches" think and to just do my own thing. He actually sat there and tried to tell me how to be a player. Meanwhile, he sat there with this smug look on his face like he knew all about it. Needless to say, I wanted to fucking kill him.

Fast forward. T went ahead and told DC what a big fat douchebag I am, for not being enough of a player, which inspired DC to leave with Shana without so much as a goodbye. Feeling pissed, I was ready to go soon after. My good friend Eddie was with me and as we walked out, T said something to the effect of "Better luck next time, baller." To which I replied that he was a barking dick, and I could care fucking less what he thinks. This created a big mess of T getting in my face and me threatening to rearrange his anatomy.

It finally got settled by some very big people that told him to fuck off and asking me to go home. That's all good and done.

So I'm home, but I'm thinking to myself, FUCK... I really screwed things up with DC. I was sure she'd never talk to me again after hearing what her friend "T" had to say about me.

All of the sudden, my phone starts buzzing. It's her. I answer, and after a brief conversation, find out that T thought I was someone else, that she left because Shana was insanely drunk and couldn't wait any longer to puke somewhere, and that she was definitely still into me.

Key phrase. "Wes, T thought you were trying to get with Shana. That's why he said what he said to you. He has no idea about you and I."

Sometimes, news is delivered in fine print, my friends. DC proceeded to repeat this "You and I" bit a few more times, and assured me I'd be hearing from her tomorrow. Suffice to say, I suppose she still likes me. Even after I pissed off her friend Shana, and almost caved her friend T's face in with my forehead. This is almost as good as the night before, when she kissed me at the bar.

Oh yea--- I almost forgot... this whole post is so fucking gay. What am I, 16? Jeez. Okay, guys-- if you're reading this-- just throw some stuff at me to talk about that's manly and I will rock it out old school. Seriously, I'm open to suggestions. Also... heh... if you knew what DC looked like, you'd totally understand.