Rant

I'm lonely. It's to the point now where I wait to hear back from girls I don't even fucking want to hang out with. And when I do hear back from them, if I hear back, it's always an excuse -- "I'm exhausted" being the most prevalent. I refuse to believe that there are that many girls out there who are this fucking tired. Especially ones who aren't anything to write home about. Maybe they think something's wrong with me for wanting to spend time with them. Maybe I'm their chance to get back at every football player douchebag they couldn't get, every jock cocksucker who made them feel like shit. "Ooh, he has muscles! I'm going to make plans with him and cancel at the last second!"

There is no adjective to describe what it feels like to be flaked on by a girl you don't want to be seen with in public.

That's what I've been reduced to. I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm better than that. But the sky is getting gray and the weather is getting cold and staring over at an empty couch cushion just doesn't seem natural. I even made my apartment smell like cinnamon. What the fuck for?

You know, they make these pills -- Viagra, Levitra, whatever -- to make your dick hard and up your sex drive, but they don't make anything that does the opposite. I want something that will make me not give a fuck about anything with a vagina. I want to be injected with apathy so I don't have to play these bullshit games anymore, so I don't have to engage myself in these silent tennis matches with these extra hole-havers. Take away my sex drive, my interest in pussy, and I'll be the most productive motherfucker on this planet.

Until then I'll just watch the cursor blink.

Now

That's when you need a hook-up. A connection. Unfortunately, everyone wants to wait. Until the weight of now becomes a feather and it doesn't matter anymore. They assume that because you have biceps and that because you're somewhat handsome, you're good. You'll be fine.

But you're not.

It's like driving a BMW and living in a trailer. You go back to your singlewide and get swallowed by your insecurities. Alcohol is a gift and a curse, my friends. A gift and a curse.

It's time to make this morning tomorrow.

Quick Verse

Scents and songs are like time machines
get high with me
off these memories
and remember me
like the first time
you went to bed with me
and let me be
the little spoon
we slept 'til half past noon
too bad we were
a little soon

Loneliness

Dating is essentially forking over money to find out whether or not somebody is right for you. It's an expensive lottery ticket.

And the odds are worse.

I like going on dates though. The hard part is finding someone to go on them with. I'm to the point now where I feel that if I have a shred of a connection with someone I have to pursue it. It's a fossil dig. I found a bone chip. Let's bring out the crew and look for the skeleton. If someone's attractive enough, not completely stupid, and has more than one thing in common with me -- at least two -- then I'm good. I'll put up with the rest. Nevermind that I feel I can do better, that I deserve better; I'm not going to find it. And I refuse to look for it. I will not be one of those must-have-a-mate people. I don't even want a girlfriend. Just someone to smile with every now and then.

Sometimes I look in the mirror until my face doesn't feel like it's mine. Ever done that? Where you just stare until you can't believe this assembly of flesh and bone is you. It's like repeating a word until it sounds weird. It doesn't feel right. But it's the truth. Sometimes I do that and I wonder what's wrong with me. I see all these guys with pretty girls, girls I would settle for in a heartbeat, and I don't see how they came to be. I try to figure out their backstories. How they met. How he won her over. Status and money are usually a factor. Brains and personality are usually not. Looks? They only matter if the guy is exceptionally good-looking or exceptionally not.

This town has no soul but it has a price.

Still, some connections are authentic -- as rare as they are. These are the people I envy. I miss what it feels like to have a hand-hold mean something. To stare up at a ceiling and talk about nothing. To kiss just to kiss without sex as the goal. All the stuff that makes you swirl like Soft Serv. The stuff you can never fully articulate, like someone just asked you to define a word you only know how to use.

That stuff.

It's funny. As warm as it is out here, I have never felt more cold.

Fashion

Fashion in LA, I've noticed, is all about contrast. A jacket with a t-shirt, sneakers. A tie with a tilted baseball cap. The more you can stray from the traditional, the more avant garde you are. I'm thinking pink, shuttered sunglasses with a suit, novelty tie, and worn-down Chucks. Hip as a motherfucker, no?

Oral

I love going down on women, althought I must admit, I'm not the best. I liken myself to a crazed redneck marine in the heat of battle: passionate, intense, shooting fucking everywhere and hoping for the best.

I'd rather be a sniper.

"But I went down on you", she says as I try not to stare at the big, reddish brown bush between her legs. It looks like Will Ferrell's armpit. I met her at a Halloween party two weeks ago when she had makeup on and I was significantly under the influence. That's not to say she's ugly now; just not what I remembered her to be.

I don't have an answer that's not bluntly honest, so I just shrug. I want to tell her that going down on a cut penis is not the same as going down on a hairy vagina, especially a hairy vagina that I'm not familiar with (I have to be animal-horny to do that). The difference is night and day -- strolling down a sunny street versus hacking your way through an uncharted jungle. See, dicks are out there, flopping around, airing out. Vaginas are on the inside, festering, collecting sweat. You can't see everything that's happening with a vagina. There could be Vietcong.

Oral sex, like most things in life, involves a double standard. And, also like most things in life, that double standard favors the males. There's a good reason for this though: a dick in the mouth is a natural progression in the hierarchy leading to sex. The pre-coital blowjob is strictly utilitarian. Most girls only do it to ensure maximum hardness and deep penetration. They suck dick for selfish reasons.

So why do they get offended if we don't reciprocate?

A tongue on the pussy is a gesture. A bonus stage. A thank you card. It's something you do when you're very fucking horny or after your girlfriend has made you a nice dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. It can also be an apology (I've licked to atone for whiskey dick). What it is not is matter of fact. Going down on a girl is significantly more difficult than her going down on you. The positions, the muscles involved. I've actually strained one of my tongue connector thingies during a forty minute, must-make-her-come session. It was worth it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, all oral sex is not created equal. Especially not on the first night. Perhaps it should be. But a guy's gotta be able to screen.

And he can't do that if he needs a machete.

LA would be a great city if...

-- you could reduce the population by 50%
-- shit was cheaper
-- you could execute anyone at will
-- parking wasn't such a bitch
-- pedestrians had no right of way
-- people were considerate

Until then, all it has going for it is the weather. Goddamn me for being so stubborn and knowing I have what it takes. Sometimes I hate myself.