Alone in the Park: Updated

Forget-me-nots

A year or so back I was sitting in the park, Hemming Plaza, eating my lunch. I had bought a hot dog, chips and Sprite from the nearby vendor and was just preparing to chow down. My mind was going over the state of my personal life.
I had just been sent reeling by the revelation of my Ex’s serious involvement with a new guy. They were living together and talking about marriage. I had just finally begun dating again and here she was living with a new guy AND getting all engaged.
Who was this guy who got her to so easily commit to him, something I had tried to do for YEARS?
What the hell was I doing wrong?
Where was I heading in my life?
When would I get there?
Why did HER happiness bother me so much?
How could she have so easily forgotten what we were…what we had… what was good?
It felt like she had moved on TOO easily. Made me feel like I meant nothing. I couldn’t let go of that. That she could let go and made it look… like we… were… nothing. I was an acquaintance at best, it seemed. I couldn’t NOT think about her and she had to be REMINDED I existed. She acted like I was just another “guy she fucked” and couldn’t forget how wonderful we could be together.
We weren’t perfect. Not all the time… but when we were “on”, it couldn’t be beat. Too much else got in the way and I couldn’t forget a single moment of it all. I remembered how it felt kissing her the first time.
And the last.
I remembered the fights and the nights filled with laughter.
I remembered her coming to be with me after my dad died and I remembered the infamous “dead one” comment that she never let me live down.
I remembered finding out she had slept with ANOTHER of my friends. I swear Kevin seems to be the only guy friend I had at the time she DIDN’T sleep with. Sure, we weren’t dating any of the times she did it but still… it’s the principle of the thing!
And now I find out she had met, moved in with and started talking marriage with a guy she had only had time to know for about 2 months. It took me YEARS just to get her to THINK about living together and here was this guy moving into HER house.
Why can’t I let go?
Why do I have to remember what she so easily forgot?
Why do I have to remember her when she obviously doesn’t remember me?
All of this and more came flooding into my mind as I sat there in the park. I just had to get away from work after finding out about the engagement.
I had to breathe.
It was then I noticed a woman, mid to late sixties, sitting across from me. She sat there looking down at a tiny bouquet in her hands as the petals fell, one by one, and I could see her lips moving. I wasn’t sure what they were but they seemed to be short, simple words. Since I was in need of something to get my mind off MY pain, I figured sharing someone ELSE’S would do the trick so I walked over to her and introduced myself.
“Hello, my name’s William, mind if I sit here?”
She took a moment before lifting her eyes up to meet mine, thought for a moment more and then gestured slightly with her head. “Sure,” she said in a hushed tone. “My name’s Marie,” she added after I had gotten comfortable.
Marie looked back down at her flowers as another petal fell. Again I could see her lips move but my new vantage point didn’t make it any easier to figure out the words. Before I had a chance to ask her, she began to speak.
“My husband’s name is Arthur,” she began, “and he’s the most wonderful man in the world. Whenever I was feeling even the slightest bit ill, Arthur would be home to take care of me. He’d cook for me and make sure I had enough blankets. If I wanted to go somewhere, he’d always be ready to go with me… not just take me but go WITH me. From the moment we met he never let me believe for one second that he didn’t love me.”
She stopped and looked around. I tried to follow her gaze to see what had got her attention but could only see a young man, younger than me, sitting at a table about 30 feet away from us. Marie stared at him a moment and then looked back down as another petal fell. Again her lips mouthed a few short words. She looked up at me. Through me. It felt as if she was using her eyes to force her next words into my brain.
“I remember going to bed every night next to him and waking up in the morning. I remember the joy his presence brought me because I was lucky enough to find the perfect one for me and have him see the same in me. I can remember every Christmas, anniversary, birthday,” she hesitated, broke her gaze to look down but no petal moved, then returned, “I remember every day and night with Arthur.”
The tears forming in her eyes were bringing some from mine. Within moments the tears were streaming down her face. Her bottom lip quivered and the shaking of her hands caused more of the petals to fall. I reached my hand out and touched her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She composed herself as best she could but avoided looking at me. She looked at the man across the way and then back to the flowers as she placed them beside her. “Now when I go to see him I have to have a nurse explain to him who I am and why I’m there. I have to meet him… for the first time… every day. For him, he acts like he’s making a new friend and enjoys the conversations. He enjoys telling me about his childhood and his old friends and the like; stories I’ve heard a million times before I’ve now heard a million times more. For him, it’s a new experience. For me, it’s a reminder of what I had and what I don’t. While I get to meet him and talk to him and be with him, I will never be able to be with my husband ever again. Not the man who WAS my husband. He is gone and with him… US. I am the one who remembers what we had and were and I have to keep it inside so that I can still enjoy the time I have left with him.”
Marie stood up and I joined her. She straightened her dress, and turned to me before saying her final parting words, “Why do I have to remember him if he doesn’t remember me?” With that she clasped my hand, kissed me on the cheek and left.
I stood there and watched her slowly make her way to a car that must’ve just pulled up. The faces of those inside told me they were kin. I knew Marie would be putting on her happy face and telling all about her time with her husband.
I sat quietly, letting the tears air dry, until curiosity again got the better of me. I got up and walked over to the young man at the table that had gotten Marie’s attention. As I neared him I could see he was in his very early twenties. He was in slacks and a button shirt, neatly pressed, but his tie was slightly loosened. I waited a moment for him to look at me. “Hello, my name’s William,” I said extending my hand. “Mind if I join you?”
“Hey,” he replied. “Mark,” he continued, shaking my hand.
His voice was a lot deeper than I expected for such a young man. He certainly wasn’t tall enough to warrant such a rich bass. The voice had a raspy quality to it that made me instantly picture him standing on stage in a smoke filled room either singing the blues or reading angry poetry.
“What brings you to the park, Mark?” I smiled at the rhyme. He smiled back but didn’t say too much. I figured he was sizing me up so I opened my stance and leaned forward just a hair more to show my interest was genuine.
“Karen,” he said.
“Karen?”
“Yeah, her name was Karen.”
The way he said it told me he expected that to mean something to me; probably because it meant so much to him. He grabbed the seat of the bench so tightly his knuckles went white for a moment. He began to rock a little and I could see the skin around his eyes turn a shade redder.
“Karen is… WAS my girlfriend.” The need for correction caused him pain. I could relate given what brought ME to the park. “She was so beautiful and funny and smart and, well…” He paused and lifted his hands from their vice-like grip and grabbed at the air as if trying to seize the words floating before him but gave up and simply said, “EVERYTHING.”
“She sounds wonderful,” I said.
“God, she was.” Mark smiled a broad smile, a smile of memory. “She used to come by my parents’ house JUST to say good morning before school. She’d run late some days because we’d talk too long and miss the bus.
“In college, she’d come by my classes anytime she didn’t have one, too, and wait for me. Don’t get me wrong, I did the same thing. She’d leave me notes on my car saying she loved me and missed me or just a little smiley face.” Mark chuckled. “I’d… I’d leave her notes simply saying ‘booga booga booga’.” Mark turned to look at me and saw the lack of full comprehension on my face. “It was an in-joke, came from that movie Porky’s 3. You ever see it?”
“Yeah, I saw it. The fake zombie thing?” I couldn’t remember if it was the second or third one actually. I knew it wasn’t the first Porky’s but suspected it was actually the second one. Seemed pointless to debate it since I couldn’t exactly prove my beliefs.
“Yeah, we laughed so damn hard at that so it became our thing. Well, MY thing, anyway.” Mark stared straight ahead and added, “but she loved it.”
“That’s great, I used to have a similar thing with an old girlfriend of mine.” That was true. I would simply leaves notes on Pam’s car saying ‘hubba hubba hubba’ anytime I got to see her that day so she’d know she turned me on. We were young and it was ok to still be thinking like that.
“We had a lot of things like that. We’d sit and just talk. We’d come here to this park and just sit on Sundays. It was our chance to catch up on the week,’ Mark shook his head after saying that. “It made no sense since we saw each other almost daily but never went a day without talking somehow. But those Sundays would still get filled with conversation.”
I knew I had to push him to get him to say why he was in the park THAT day since it wasn’t a Sunday. “So what happened?” I asked.
Marks eyes turned beet red. The sides started to shine as tears pooled. I could hear his breathing quicken, shallow and nasally. His hands returned to grab the bench.
“She died.”
“My god, I’m so sorry.” I suck at condolences. I don’t know how to give them and always feel phony when I try. “What happened?” When he didn’t answer right away I said, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Car accident.” He looked to the ground on his left and his chin quivered a little. “Some dumbass drunk plowed into her car one night. Paramedics said she died on impact, no pain.”
I wanted to point out that that was a GOOD thing. At least she didn’t suffer. That should mean something, right? But I couldn’t say it. I felt silly for thinking it once Mark said what he did.
“No pain? What the hell does that even mean? She died, for crissakes! Can they truly KNOW she had no pain?” His voice was rising with each sentence until he was nearly shouting, “NO!” I realized that’s why his voice sounded the way it did. He had cried and yelled himself hoarse.
I tried to utter a word of understanding and agreement but it never made it out, not fully formed.
“And even months later can they still tell me she felt no pain? And… and… and what about everyone else?” Mark looked me in the eyes with a stare that reminded me of Marie’s but with so much more intensity that I was waiting for my head to explode. The tears were no longer contained by his eyes and came streaming down his face, staining his shirt. “She died,” he said, “but it killed ME.”
I nodded and let him continue.
“She’s gone. I can only hope and pray she truly doesn’t feel any pain. I’m feeling enough for us both. The idea that she may be hurting just makes it worse. But then I hear my mom and our friends telling me how she’s not ‘really’ gone. ‘As long as you remember her, she’ll always be with you,’ they say.”
Mark stood up quickly and turned, gesturing by swinging his left arm around to draw my attention to the expanse of the park. “So according to them,” he said, “as long as I remember her, she’ll be right here.
“With me.
“In this park.
“Do you see her? I sure don’t but they swear to me she’s here. And it’s not because I don’t remember her.” Mark quieted down and dropped his arms to his sides.
“I remember every single thing about her. I can’t forget a moment. She haunts my life because the only thing I CAN forget at times is that all I have are memories. That’s it, man. Memories of what we had. I spend all my time thinking about her and smiling at who and how she was and then I get excited and want to see her.” At that, he sat back on the bench.
Mark swallowed hard and used his sleeve to wipe his face. “And that’s when reality sets in.”
“I know, Mark,” I said. “Losing a loved one is hard. It does get a little easier but it takes time.”
Mark turned his head only slightly enough so he could make eye contact. “I know but it’s not about being able to ‘handle’ it. It’s that I WANT to forget. I want to not remember her. I want to move on because it’s too damn hard to be responsible for so much. She’s gone, she’s not coming back and yet I can’t forget her. I try and feel guilty about that as if it means I didn’t… DON’T love her.”
“It wouldn’t mean that, Mark.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it means. If I did love her I wouldn’t want to forget. I just can’t deal with being the only one who does.”
“You’re not… her family,” I pointed out before being cut off.
“Her family didn’t know her like I do. The only person who can remember her like that, like the young woman she was becoming and not the growing daughter or the sister or the student or whatever,” he waited a beat, “is me.”
“It’s my job. My responsibility. And I can’t deal with it. I can’t be the keeper of her memory, not alone. Why do I have to remember us when she can’t? Without her, there is no US.”
I reached my hand out and touched his shoulder, squeezing a little. “It’s ok, Mark. Really it is. It’s ok to feel that way. Death is always hardest on the living. It’s that whole unknown factor of it all.”
“The what?”
“It’s like when you’re trying to talk to someone on the phone but your connection is weak on your end but not theirs. They can hear you fine but you come through a bit staticy.”
“Uh huh,” Mark said, obviously not sure of my point yet.
“Well, the other person knows both sides of the conversation while you can only know yours with any certainty. In the case of a loved one passing on, they know what is happening. Whether it’s heaven, nothing or something we haven’t thought of, they KNOW it. We, on the other hand, have to not only deal with the loss and the sadness but also the confusion and the simple fact that we have no clue what happened to them. They are simply gone and we aren’t. We are expected to move on and deal with the absence and mystery.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, “it’s like we get three days from work to adapt to a changed world and then get back to work.”
“Exactly, death only affects those close to the deceased. Everyone else is either trying to empathize or is trying to not think about it. We feel bad for bringing them down but feel angry that they don’t want to give us OUR time to mourn. And at the same time, we are left with so many reminders of them that sometimes the day-to-day living becomes unbearable.”
Mark sat still. He had folded his hands across his stomach, eyes closed. “I love her.”
“I have no doubts, Mark.”
“I will always love her.”
“I know.”
“But why do I have to remember everything? Why can’t I feel ok about letting go?”
I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to me. Neither of us cared about maintaining any sort of manly image. We simply hugged. I patted his back and said in a soft voice, “Because you don’t want to let go yet.” I could feel his arms tighten around me and felt his body shaking from the crying, silent though it was. “And you don’t HAVE to let her go until you’re ready.”
He leaned back up and took a deep breath. I did the same. He sniffed and wiped his eyes again. I knew my lunch was almost over and he obviously needed to get somewhere himself.
“Thank you,” Mark said.
“No, Mark,” I replied, “thank you. You’ve helped me.”
He got up off the bench and turned towards City Hall. “I need to go.”
“Me, too.”
Mark walked off and made it about halfway to the street before turning back to wave. I returned the wave and nodded.
I miss Pam.
I miss many people at this point in my life.
I miss too many.
And missing is simply remembering without opportunity to build new memories, whether permanent or not. It’s a pain of loss and a burden of information. It doesn’t matter if the person is still around but doesn’t know you or doesn’t want to know you or, worse, isn’t around anymore at all, in the long run it’s all about the pain of remembering.
Remembering is looking back on everything that happened and deciding if you want to focus on what time you had or what time you didn’t. Frustration is when you think you have all the time in the world. Regret is when you realize you didn’t. We all have our reasons for not letting go when everyone else wants us to. That day I learned the only important thing about letting go is to do it when you’re ready. To force it causes stress and feelings of guilt. To let it control you simply makes your life a sacrifice to nothing. We all just need to find a balance and to realize that not forgetting yourself isn’t the same thing as forgetting someone else.

I'm tired. Why can't I sleep?

I haven't been sleeping lately. Not a lot.
I'm not really all that busy or anything, just not sleeping.
Why can't I sleep?
When the lights go out, my mind turns up the volume WAAAY too loud.
I hear the echoes of conversations had and thoughts unexpressed.
I see faces I'm not allowed to see anymore.
I see faces I wish I could forget.
Why can't I sleep?
All the decisions that have brought me to this point taunt me.
They laugh.
They jeer.
They ridicule.
They call me names like pussy, and moron, and oblivious.
I try to argue but my mouth simply becomes a nest for more self-deprication.
How do you argue with yourself and lose?
Easy... when you know you're wrong. And I've been wrong.
Why can't I sleep?
My mind replays the past few weeks over and over again.
My abilities are put on trial.
My worthiness is cross-examined.
My self-confidence is held in contempt and my desire to convince myself otherwise is sentenced.
How has it come this far? How have I gone this low?
Why can't I sleep?
Sleep is rest. Relaxation. A reward for a hard day full of accomplishment.
Why can't I sleep?
Why SHOULD I?

You so craaaaazy!

“The worst thing to call anyone is ‘crazy’. It’s dismissive.”
Dave Chapelle.

This was a blurb on Inside the Actor’s Studio before a commercial and I thought about the entire time. I mean, I didn’t change channels or ANYTHING because the comment intrigued me. Granted, he was mostly talking about celebrities who are having a breakdown of sorts but I felt he was limiting the concept. He explained how you have to be tough and strong to make it in the entertainment industry so when you see Martin Lawrence running around the streets with a gun or Mariah Carey taking her clothes off on TRL, you need to thin about what got them to that point and not simply say “they’re crazy” and forget about it.
But extend that out.
When someone comes to us and tells an idea of theirs that sounds silly or risky or just plain dumb and they go ahead with it, we consider them crazy.
Electricity.
Telephone.
Internet.
White out.
Post-it Notes.
Climbing Everest.
Hangliding.
Powered flight.
Skydiving.
Seeing eye dogs.
Helper monkeys.
Think about how INSANE these things and more must’ve seemed to people. Thinking about them now it seems like so many things are obvious.
The guy that designed the Smiley Face thought it was just a job and silly.
The guy who came up with the pet rock expected to sell a few hundred.
The slinky was an accident.
I believe so was gum, wasn’t it?
Our world changes constantly based on the crazy ideas of some folks.
But not every idea is going to be validated through time.
Not every risky venture in Hollywood can result in a Titanic or a Star Wars or a Passion of the Christ. Just look at how many have tried and failed.
Not every bomb at the box office can be a Waterworld.
Huh?
What do I mean by that?
Waterworld ultimately made its money back. People forget that. Silly people.
Crazy is a word thrown around much too often.
But it’s not for any of the reasons above that got me thinking that day I caught the show or why I felt compelled to write.
It’s for the people we all know who get labeled crazy.
OR worse… the ones that label THEMSELVES that.
Sure, they may use words like “depressed” or “ADD” or “SAD” or “broken” or “effed up in the head” or any number of others.
Some really do have something wrong up top. A chemical imbalance or traumatic experiences or something else.
But most tend to have issues they are more than capable of handling but feel overwhelmed because of the label that exists in their mind.
CRAZYThey feel they just aren’t right.
Some get told how crazy they are. Some get treated that way. Some begin to believe they aren’t like other people and can’t act like normal people or be around normal people and run and hide.
They become afraid to let their craziness become too well known.
I enjoy some amount of eccentricities. They are fun to watch and be a part of. Shoot, I have plenty of my own. I do crazy things. I actually know I have points of view that many don’t understand and call crazy.
But that’s the key.
They simply don’t UNDERSTAND.
We, as a race, don’t simply fear that which we don’t understand. We HATE it. Anything different than us must be bad and wrong. If it isn’t, well, then we must be wrong for not being like that, right?
I like women.
I love them.
But I don’t have to think homosexuality is “bad” or “wrong” or “unnatural” in order to validate my love of women. It’s wrong for ME, yes, but not wrong in general.
Heck, the way I see it... the more gay men out there, the more single women for ME.
Just like when my sister came out and worried I would be upset with her. Why? I didn’t get this. She said it was because we have half our family coming from the south who WOULD disown her if they ever found out. I simply told her I didn’t care either way. Not like I’d be upset she was “off the market”, you know? Though it DID make it odd when we would go out and check out the same women.
So why the tangent? Because some people call gay people crazy when it’s really just something they don’t understand or are afraid of because it challenges THEIR lifestyle.
I have enough crazy ideas in my head… ones that truly ARE crazy. I don’t need to be told anything that is just odd or different is also crazy otherwise I need to get fitted for my wraparound jacket ASAP.
Because of this, I have always tried to understand why people do things. I am fascinated by motivation. It’s when people do things that I don’t understand that I tend to ask the most questions. I WANT to understand why. I don’t tend to write too many people off as crazy. I have only met a couple of truly crazy people, not counting a few vagrants who MAY have just been faking it.
Even still, I wondered what could’ve taken them to that point in life.
Why does a beautiful and intriguing young woman consider herself “broken” simply because she requires medication to help her handle stress?
How is that different from a person who needs medication to keep their heart rate steady or their blood sugar in check?
OR someone dealing with an addiction who sees themselves as messed up instead of seeing it as a problem that they have identified and want to get help on… how is that different from a smoker or an alcoholic?
Why should someone who has too many regrets in their past not see it as a building block for their future instead of a reason to hold themselves back or as an excuse to keep doing whatever it is? Not because they’re crazy. It’s because they’re afraid or simply feeling weak.
Probably because of all the jerks who called them crazy over their life.Anyway… sorry if I rambled a bit. It’s been on my mind so I wanted to write about it.

My new toys.

Well, I think it's funny..

The wookie has no pants.

I've had a lot of time lately to realize certain things about my personal focus in life. Or, more to the point, it's apparent lack of focus.
I worry that my priorities are a bit askew.
Misdirected.
Misaligned.
F*cked up.
I thought I was doing so well when I stopped dreaming of writing and drawing and stuff and tried to get a "real job". I thought I had it all sorted out when I began looking at someone as a future wife/mother instead of a fun lay or good time. I thought I knew what was up when I went out of my way to get my OWN car instead of having the 'rents cosign with me. I thought my own feelings of self-sacrifice would be what makes me a real person... real man... real adult.
Lately I've started seeing it all differently.
I have learned that it's the writing and drawing that keep me sane. I doodle constantly at work, not enough to impact my efficiency but I know I could certianly be MORE efficient.
It's just that whenever I try to just focus on work... I go a bit bonkers.
The writing can just be emails to folks or blog comments or something but it's all very important. The drawing can be anything from simple doodles in the margins of my notepad to fully rendered cartoons or birthday cards... in COLOR. It doesn't matter... it's my sanity that's important. Cause if I ain't having fun at work, I tend to not want to go. Or when I do go, I tend to not really want to be there so my work suffers.
That's right... so letting me doodle and email people actually makes me a BETTER worker. I'm not kidding.
I've also learned that my need to "help" people has left me with nothing much in the way of MY life. I have friends whom I am incredibly thankful for and, in my quieter moments, I have moments and accomplishments that I can hold dear.
Except they aren't really MY accomplishments. They are things I helped OTHER people accomplish. Whether it's getting away from a bad boyfriend or putting in for a job and getting it or changing how they see themself... it ultimately doesn't benefit ME in the slightest. Of all the people I have helped or tried to help, it ends up being me that pays the price. So... hard as it is for me to say/type, I need to start being more selfish in MY life.
See, that's the key to it. It's MY life. I'm the only one who has to live it and when all is said and done, I have to take responsibility for my actions so I should reap some of the benefits of them, right? Is it wrong of me to think like that? I used to think so but now I'm not so sure. Because all my times acting as a TP (transitional person) may have gotten me laid and some nice time with some wonderful women... it only leaves me with memories. They get to move on, better than they may have been otherwise.
(This is not arrogance, btw, this comes from actual feedback from the people so please don't say anything about it, mmkay? Great. Moving on.)
But I get to feel hurt and used and abused and discarded. Yes, I set it up and yes I know it's coming but it has to be REAL for it have an impact on them so I have to take myself to a level that opens me up to extreme pain. It may be short-lived but it does hurt. It's the ones where I'm NOT trying to be a TP that REALLY hurts me and leaves lasting marks.
That brings me to the other point about finding a wife. I once seriously considered certain women simply because they had certain physical traits I wanted to add to the family bloodline. I won't say which traits cause it would give too much away but trust me... it was a weird point in my life. I would fall for women because of what they offered as a mate and not as a friend or companion or as a partner. It was more a case of COULD I spend my life with them more than do I WANT to. That's gotten me nowhere.
Basically, I was focusing on the future in the wrong areas and on the present in others and on the past in still others... none were lined up right.
That has to change.
Work should be about the future. I need to secure my financial outlook. I know that. But my sanity is also important to me so I need to also consider finding a job I can love.
The same is true for any woman I will let into my life. I have to be able to love her. Deeply. Without fear and without regret.
It's all about trust, right?
I need to allow myself to shift my focus and start to see the things that ARE important AS important.
Family.
Friends.
ME.
I need to remember to think about ME.
And for some of you, that will make you laugh because you think I already do that. For those of you... you really don't know me. I will ask for support when I am in pain when all else fails and I realize I can't do it alone. I have to have parched lips and be coughing up dust before I ask for a sip of your water. All someone I care about has to say is "man, I'm starting to get a little thirsty" and I'm buying them a case of their favorite soda.
THAT is who I am. THAT is who I have always been.
I don;t want to lose that... just augment it with a bit of self-importance.
Maybe that will keep me from being so easily swayed when someone actually likes me. And maybe it will keep me from going too overboard whenever I like someone.
Who knows?
I'm just thinking it's worth a shot.

In the interest of future relationships...

It as become evident that certain qualities of mine can/do become annoying over time. Sometimes it takes a few years, other times it takes only a few days, but these "quirks" of mine always seem to get in the way...
1) I talk a lot.
Wait... let me correct something real quick...
A LOT.
There, that's better.
See, I hate silences. It reminds me of being by myself and that makes me able to hear my brain yacking away so I prefer talking whenever I have someone around. That doesn't mean I never shut up... though that line from Shrek DOES come to mind... it means I prefer talking. I also tend to yammer and go off on tangents and so on. It's like my writing. Go look thru the blogs here and many of them were MEANT to be short. I start to write emails that are supposed to stay on one simply topic and, though they do stay on topic, end up being several pages long.
I know some of you out there know what I'm talking about.
So, yes, I talk. And while it's "cute" and "neat" and "cool" in the beginning to have a guy that talks about STUFF, some important, some silly and some pointless nonsense blather that makes you talking about purses seem relevant, it eventually becomes annoying. And even when I tell people to just tell me to shut up or stop talking or anything when I do go off on a rant, those same people end up getting angry at me. Why? Cause they don't want to hurt my feelings by telling me to stop talking. Instead, they'd prefer to leave me so they don't have to deal with EITHER situation. Apparently, a broken heart heals quicker than unwounded ego when someone does what I TELL them to do.
2) I like sex. I mean I REALLY like it. It's fun and I enjoy doing it. Actually, I enjoy foreplay the most. And oral. I looooove doing oral stuff. And finger stuff, that's awesome. Sex is fine and dandy but I love the other stuff more. Anyone who's been with me when I am seriously interested in them (and not during my unfortunate rebound phase from a couple years back) will know what I mean. I can sit and play with a woman's body for hours. I take a break and go right back to it. I'm not often interested in MY pleasure since I get so much from doing what I do. It gets me into trouble at times since I had gotten to the point where I saw fingering off a woman like shaking her hand. I had to work hard to break THAT particular mindset. But really, when all is said and done, I can have whole sex sessions where I never come once and look back on it as some of the best I've ever had.
Ah, sounds not so bad, right?
Here's the rub... I tend to be seen as ONLY interested in sex.
I don't get it either but just recently I was accused of only and always being interested in sex. That I wanted it all the time. Now, keep in mind that I came about 1/10th the time that she ever did but it still got to the point where she saw it as all about me.
So I've learned to include this as a list of things that are important to know about me up front. I will like having sex with you and will want to do it alot. I don't get bored easily with it and usually go out of my way to change and spice things up more for HER pleasure than my own so if you're expecting a kinky guy, that ain't me.
For more on sex, see 8.
3) I joke around a lot. I can come off as not taking too much seriously enough. In part, that's true. I don;t see why things can't be laughed at. It's called a "defense mechanism" for a REASON, folks.
Side note: the next woman who "points out" that I use humor as a "defense mechanism" as if I've never thought of that before... she's gonna get slapped. That's all I'm sayin'. WHACK!
Anywho, I can be serious and just cuz I make a joke doesn't mean I don't care of see it as serious.
True story time, kiddies... one of my fave jokes EVER was from Night Court when a doctor is looking at Bull, I think, and leans up and says "Well, his condition's stabilized." "Really?" "He's dead." I used to joke about that with my friend, Jon. Even after my dad died when I was talking to him I mentioned that joke. I was doing anything I could to find SOMETHING. That was also the day I was going by to look at my new place... I was finally moving out of my parents' and, in fact, had paid the money to do so on the day my dad died. About 90 minutes before, actually. So Jon and I went to see the new place and I ran into my soon-to-be roommate, Mike, who was a co-worker so he had heard about me dropping off my niece and nephew with their momma (also a co-worker) and asked "How's your dad?"
Without missing a beat, Jon turned to him and said "His condition has stabilized." He then looked to me and waited.
I realize the joke may have seemed awkward for Mike and all... but it helped me so damn much that day I can never repay my friend.
So yeah, I joke. I joke and try to laugh cuz when I die... I want to look back and remember that I enjoyed my time here more than regretted it.
Deal with it.
4) This joking attitude extends towards "cut downs". I make fun of myself and make fun of other people. We all do stupid things and I don't mind pointing out when people do it. INCLUDING MYSELF. I really don't mind. I may get pissy sometimes but if it's FUNNY, I'll get over it. I blame sitcoms, really, but that's beside the point. Truth is, I grew up being picked onas a kid. I have no shoulders so my head looks big. Also, my head really is big which just compounds that misconception. I had to learn to deal with it or go nuts back in grade school so I learned to deal with it.
Plus I went nuts but we won't discuss that here.
Side effect of it was that I also thought EVERYONE was the same way. I figured since it seemed we ALL did stupid stuff or had quirks then we've ALL been picked on. I also expect people to know what is and what isn't a joke. Come on, I called this one chick a cow who couldn't have weighed a buck twenty soaking ass wet and she acted like she was seriously putting on weight or something. WTF?!?!? It's all nonsense. Utter nonsense.
Yes, I've learned that people can be self-conscious or have self-esteem issues or not see themselves as I really see them but more as how I joke about them. I have tried (and made improvements) with my tendencies towards smartassness, but comments WILL come out. Either hit me back or walk away, I guess. But first, try to remember a simple fact about me: If I don't like you, I don't talk to you.
5) I like lots of movies but not EVERY movie. I like lots of music but not ALL music. Same with tv and books. I will most likely not like something you like and the inverse will probably be true as well. Whoopdee fucking doo. I don't get people who are hoping to meet someone who likes EXACTLY the same stuff. If that was the case with me, I would never have been exposed to some things, you know? I would never have heard some really great music or seen some really cool movies. Because... they weren't something I would've thought of checking out. I would've just gone on my merry way, oblivious to it. Shit, sometimes it's as simple as someone with different leanings being aware of the concert or flick because they watch different tv shows so they caught a commercial for it and mentioned it on a night we were hanging out.
I get tired, though, of people finding out I like horror movies and either a) thinking I like ONLY horror movies or b) thinking I like ALL horror movies. Neither is true.
Same goes with country music. I like OTHER stuff, too.
I've had so many people judge me based on an aspect of my taste instead of the bulk of it. I like pop music AND movies, too. I like chick flicks and ballads and hard rock and silly comedies and techno and cartoons and all sorts of stuff in between. Just cause I don't like your fave movie or book or tv show doesn't mean we don't have anything in common. Just means we don't have THAT in common. It ALSO doesn't mean I think you're stupid or that you need to see me as stupid. I personally like differences.
6) I will debate and discuss and argue. This goes back to number 1 and will include part of number 7. I enjoy conversation. Remember the talking thing? Taht goes for conversations, too. I don't mind being quiet as long as someone is talking. :o) If it's interesting, so much the better. I much prefer a DIALOGUE, though, more than a monologue. Granted, this CAN mean that at certain times, one person may end up doing more of the talking that the other.
You ever have a person ask you "How was your trip?" then later give you shit for not lett THEM speak more during your telling of the tale?
I have.
You ever have someone give you shit for THEM not talking to you even though you are always TRYING to get them to talk by asking them questions?
I have.
You know my fave? "What's on your mind?" Sometimes I use the "What's wrong?" approach if they give the impression that something is wrong. You know the usual response from those people that will eventually get mad at you for them not being able to talk to you?
That's right.
"Nothing."
It is frustrating for me to be faced with that and I will sometimes persist if I truly believe something is wrong or on your mind. So do us BOTH a favor and just ANSWER and all will be ok. If it's something you don't want to discuss, SAY that. But don't expect me to believe that you ain't thinking anything.
And yes, I am quite serious about the persistance thing.
7) I am a stubborn little SOB. I don't mind being wrong, I really don't, all I ask is taht you SHOW me I'm wrong. Prove it. Tell me. Talk to me about it and explain your side or show me the research or something. I would rather be proven wrong so I can be right from that point on than simply THINK I'm right. This, of course, tends to mean I will come off as confident (cocky?) and will not give up my POV until I am shown it's the wrong one to have.
But this stubbornness extends BEYOND just conversation. It goes for a most aspects of my life. I don't tend to back off or give up. Sorry but it's true. I will keep at something, especially if I think it's good to do so. Whether it's finding out what's wrong or getting you to quit smoking.
Yeah, about the smoking thing... i don't do it and don't hold it against you if you do though I don't think you should. If you WANT to keep smoking, then don't EVER tell me you want to quit. Ok? That just gets my motor humming and it takes a lot to make it stop. This also goes for sex... I try to keep it going as long as I can. Some people complain about that. Some don't. As long as I can take a break every now and again, we're all set for hours of fun in my mind. If you disagree, set that up in the beginning or else it's hard for me to break the habit. Speaking of habits...
8) I have one nasty habit after sex. No, I'm not talking about the urge to clean up on those occasions when I spooge. I'm talking about me saying a certain phrase over and over when I do. Sometimes even when I don't. See, I never think I do a good enough job. Regardless of the fact that I've only had two real complainers in my life (and you two know who you are!!), I still never think I've done enough.
So I say "I'm sorry." I've tried to stop or to only say it when relevant.
"Sorry I stepped on your hair."
"Sorry I bruised your thigh."
Stuff like that.
It helps sometimes but not always. The bigger the orgasm for me the more I lose control of that. A lot of this comes from my first girlfriend. She's why I had to fight my own feelings of inadequacy. She never let me think I was remotely decent at ANYTHING. And since my spooging meant sex was over (she also taught me that part about cleaning up IMMEDIATELY), whenever I did come, I would feel I had to apologize for the sex ending "too soon". Whether it WAS too soon or not. Granted, she wasn't one of those multi-orgasm chicks. We were generally lucky to get one out of her. And, no, that wasn't just ME having that issue with her, thank you very much. A lot of it was mental, sure, but I took it personally. She was my first and only frame of reference. This whole sexual self-esteem issue is probably the longest lasting part of our relationship. Remind me someday to tell you the BJ story.

That's all I got for right now. I'm sure more will come to me over the next few days.
Sorry I've been away, everyone. I've been busy.