I met "R" at the club early Saturday morning around 4am. We danced. Closer. Closer. And Closer. I had fun dancing with "R" and it seems that there's sexual chemistry between us. "R" left the club around 5am. After a few minutes, I received an SMS message from "R...."
"I like you! Want to cuddle you! Kiss you!"
So why do "R" not kissed me before leaving...
"R" has a boyfriend, was also at the club that time.
I'm meeting "R" later. I don't know why, obviously there's not future for us. I don't know...
Whenever my schedule begins to fill, people begin to come out of the woodwork, wanting to do things with me. Strange, because when I have a lot of time on my hands, everyone is always busy. What the fuck is up with that? I'd say this was a case of supply and demand, but there's a hell of a lot more demand when I don't have a lot to supply.
Take for example, a period when work and play cannot mingle. Twelve-hour days are not common. I wake up, get ready for work, commute, work, commute, get ready for bed, and go to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. Yet while this is happening, some people are pulling at my pantlegs, like needy children. As much as I want to push them aside, I know that's not what a parent would .
It's hard having a couple of playdates in one week, especially when they're both on the same day. I'm only one man. I can't be in two places at the same time. Also, I can't split myself in half to please two people (although I can split someone in half to please myself).
Where the hell are you when I have time on my hands? Huh? I have no way to enjoy it with someone else. All this fucking free time can kiss my ass.
Well, i have to choose because I cannot juggle to dates in one night. I'm gonna meet up with "R" this evening. Sorry "E," maybe next week.
At traditional weddings, the bride throws out the bouquet to a group of single women during the reception, and it is said that the woman who catches the bouquet is destined to be the next bride to walk down the aisle.
Each and every one of the other women wants the bouquet, but admits to defeat to the one who with the longest arms, or best reach. In the end, they feign happiness to the bitch that caught it with the whorish clothes and make-up, bad dye job, halitosis and a snaggle-tooth.
What women don’t realize is those pretty flowers aren’t about the promise of marriage, but the promise of possibilities and opportunities.
Being a man, I have never been in the bouquet toss, but I know what it feels like to have the promise of something coming towards me, while some unworthy opponent seizes it from my hands like the fucking jaws of life.
It is bothersome watching people who don’t do anything special to deserve much, have these things thrust at them. And, since they’re nonchalant about it all (they have to be since they already have it all), they just sigh and brush it off as if it happens everyday… which it does.
Coming in second sucks and sucks the life out of you.
You never get to wear the pretty white dress and tiara. There is no special treatment for you on the special day. And, no one tells you how beautiful you look even though they’re pretending not to notice you’re five months pregnant.
Instead you get to wear the fugly dress with all the pink ruffles and layers of tulle that make you look like two dozen ballerinas exploded all over you at a cake shop. And it is not true when they say that fugly is the new pretty. And you get treated like shit because your skin is blemish free (due to the lack of pregnancy hormone fluctuations), your hair is perfect, and don’t need three seamstresses sewing you into something that is four sizes too small. Not that I want to wear a dress but it’s the closest metaphor that I can think of.
When a model struts down a runway, he/she always has an expression that resembles someone who just sucked on something tart and sour – their eyes are slants and their lips pucker. The reason why they look like this isn’t because of “attitude” but because they’re cranky from hunger.
And, I know from personal experience. Fortunately, it’s easy for me to lose weight; stop eating so much.
No more snacking in the middle of the day. No more chocolate to crave my hunger when it strikes. No more eating at late hours before going to bed. If I was desperate for something to munch on, I’d grab an apple for its sweetness and crunch factor.
Sadly, as the pounds drop, the crankiness rises.
There are times when I’m even more irritable than normal. The only thing on my mind is food. Even though I don’t need to eat, I want to eat. A lot. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s full of fat and calories. Naturally, that means the “healthy choices” are to be left by the wayside while I stuff my face with food that negates the hard work I’ve been doing to lose the weight.
But, I don’t care. I’m thin and cranky.
Give me some chips. I want chips. Now! I don’t care, anymore. Give me some fucking chips before I rip your head off. Grrr…