A Single Man, Countless Pains III

You know what I never understood? Rock stars who have great bodies. That was like a complete mystery to me. Members of Avenged Seven Fold, All American Rejects, Breaking Benjamin, Against Me!, and all the others. How do they stay so fit and jacked? Rock stars and work out routines do not go hand in hand, at least not in my head. Rock stars have terrible sleeping habits, even worse dietary habits, and probably the worst drinking habits in the world. And that's not even figuring in the illegal substances. But somehow they end up with Abercrombie and Fitch bodies that are covered with tattoos, scars and bite marks. But still, the muscle definition and sex appeal is totally there. I feel like they don't work as hard as us non-rocker mortals, but still get sex god bodies. Not fair. Even if you like the music, you still get slightly pissed off knowing they get fame, money and a flat stomach, all with what seems like no effort at all. Except my boyfriend Tyson Ritter, he deserves everything and anything he wants. But I bring this up, because it ties into my dating history. I have messed up points of view on the type of body I want my boyfriend, date, significant other, boy I'm sleeping with to have. I flip flop back and forth between wanting a guy who has a body like a model from Elite Model Management and someone who has the body of Paul Rudd. Both are desirable and sexy, but they are mutually exclusive of each other. The first is risky, untrustworthy, unreliable and dangerous. My mantra over the years has slowly become "never trust sexy", and for good reason. A guy deemed "sexy" usually knows it, and has the personality of a slug getting salted. Not to mention they almost always never have to work for their good looks, or only have to work one tenth of how hard the rest of us work. So that's why my dating mantra is what it is. But when you go with a Paul Rudd body type, they also have problems. Insecurities over their own body, strange drinking and eating habits, and they tend to question why I am with them. Due to the fact that I work out and take being fit seriously. So there is no winning. Kind of. What I need is a boy who works just as hard as I do. That way it all balances out. And it could be either an Abercrombie model or a Paul Rudd wannabe, I can get both. Not to brag, but I can get whatever I want really. The problem is, I usually want the wrong thing. But nowadays I have a clearer image of what I want. So I hope it appears soon. But I have decided not to commit to anything, unless it's AMAZING, in the next five months because I want to get the hell out of this city. As soon as I am certified, I'm getting the fuck out of Dodge. Maybe even as soon as December first. Who knows. I'm winging it. What I do know, is my past proves to me time and time again, almost no one I've encountered works as hard I do/did to make it work. I work hard to play my part. To be what the situation calls for, what it needs. I do what I can to be helpful and appreciated. To make sure everything goes easily, without flaw or problem. To make everyone calm and happy and content. I want to move on to my future so that I can remedy this sort of thing. It can be a strain. And sometimes all that working makes me want a break, a vacation, a dessert. So, part three of my July confessional.

You did handstands on my floor
Got impressed before we got through the door
Never knew what you would mean to me
Now you’re gone, done and I clearly see….

You were just Blueberry Pie
Something nice that caught my eye
Delicious, delightful the word “yum” suffices
You were another one of my vices
Always good to end the night with dessert
Never trust your heart because I’m just a flirt
You were just Blueberry-

Who could say no to arms like that
No one passes up a stomach so flat
Why say no when you could scream yes
You weren’t the worst but you weren’t my best…

You were simply Blueberry Pie
A tasty little natural high

"It takes time in the morning for me to become George, time to adjust to what is expected of George and how he is to behave. By the time I have dressed and put the final layer of polish on the now slightly stiff but quite perfect George I know fully what part I'm suppose to play." -George Falconer

A Single Man, Countless Pains II

It's so interesting to be without a job. A constant battle to enjoy my free time, and yet I feel like a degenerate because of having so much. I like being able to work out for three hours and not have other obligations or no energy in the first place because my job drained it all out of me. All I do is work out, run and fill out applications and email my resume to places. It makes for a very peaceful, and well toned, life style. A very cheap, and well toned, life style. I'm almost back to my high school body, but this time it's because I'm being smart about it. How did any of us survive high school? I have no idea. Actually I take that back. Lots of people loved high school. Tons of people would go back to it. I'm the minority when it comes to high school experience. I would probably go to war as opposed to being time traveled back to high school. I like to keep moving forward. I'm the only twentysomething I know who doesn't mind turning thirty one day. Once again, in the minority. Even when I don't own up to one, there's another reason I end up being placed in the minority pile. I don't mind it so much. It's comfortable here. It gives you lots of time to plan and guess about your future. There is no point in looking in the rear view mirror, unless your parallel parking. So I try not to. But, true to my word, I said I would post my past for the rest of this month. So here's another snippet of my untold past.



Dear Cxxxxxxxxxx,

I love you. It is just that simple, and it is just that complicated. I am scared, almost to the point of insanity, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Being scared means I have something to lose; you, and I don’t want to lose you, ever. I had an idea of what I wanted, what I was looking for, and you surpassed it. I was not sure if I would be allowed to be happy again, but you make me joyful. I am writing this now because it might be too soon to say it out of my head, even though we have said it without saying it. I am fine with waiting to say it, I can know for the both of us if I have to, for now. I do have worries, but nothing serious. I have never wanted to know about someone more then I want to know about you. To me, you’re the one.

-me

"For the first time in my life I can't see my future. Everyday goes by in a haze, but today I have decided will be different." -George Falconer

Dive In

So, I haven't put up anything in a while. I try to do at least one a week, but a lot has happened. I wrote about four columns in my head, but never had a chance to put them down. I kept the whole concept of "diving in" and leaping without looking, not being afraid to just jump in, to not test the water but just dive in and experience it. I had this concept in my head a lot these past several days. Diving into financial uncertainty by quitting my job. Diving into dumpsters to get tons of free food. Diving into the lake and swimming out until I was exhausted. Diving into a road trip to my parents place. Diving into a future where I'm not so obsessed with money. Diving into uncertainty. And now, after these last few hours, I have no water to dive into anymore. The water to the house I rent has been turned off. Apparently a pipe has cracked, and from what I have gathered, it won't be an easy fix. And this happens during the time of summer where you wake up covered in a film of sweat, and that's before you even move or attempt to leave the bed. The phrase "bad timing" does not begin to capture the moment. It's one thing to be sweating constantly, it's completely different to know there is no cold shower waiting for you. Not even a chance to stick your head under the faucet. All signs point to diving into balmy unpleasantness. I'd much prefer diving into cool wonderfulness. I had such vitality after I quit my job, such energy and hope. I thought I would feel more free, less chained. Less restricted. Not so captured. But it's not really happening. I still worry about paying bills, staying out of debt and keeping it all held together. Between the extended weekend and my parents house, the heatwave, the broken pipe I haven't got any solid leads on a new job yet. It hasn't hit "danger zone" area just yet, but everyday is a day without money coming in. Since I don't have to leave the house really, I was intent on getting back into my work out groove. It had been thrown off due to the holiday and post quitting food binges. And now that I can't shower afterward, not to mention it being balls hot all friggin day long, I have no way to work out. I can't get in full fledged work out mode, and then not be able to shower. That is a sweaty mess no one needs to lay eyes on. So all my gusto for diving into a new direction of my life has kind of been defeated. That tide has gone out. Now the waves of anxiousness and uncertainty are hitting me again, threatening to pull me under. Once again, I'm just trying to keep my head above the water. On a side note, the other day when I was in the lake, it was the most free I'd felt in ages. Being out there in such a huge, encompassing body of water, treading water as the waves lapped over me. Staring out and not seeing an end, feeling vulnerable and powerful all at once. Taking in the force around me, but being weary of it at the same time. It was wonderful....

You see, the funny thing about diving, is it's a lot like falling. But diving is supposed to be more graceful, more intentional, have more meaning and poetic significance. But it can still just be painful flop. A giant splat. The only difference between a splat and a splash is two letters. That is a very small amount of room to error.


"...diving is itself a hazardous sport. To do it without any training is tantamount to playing Russian roulette with a loaded revolver..." -Robert F. Burgess

Used And Dirtied

There is a used book store next to the place I work at. I have gone in there only two times prior to this past Saturday night. It's kind of a shitty little place, to be frank. It's not like one of those little places that are lined wall to wall ceiling to floor with old paperbacks and tomes, this one is more like a empty store lot that happens to have tables with books on them. I'm only ever at the mall I work at to work, I don't browse around. I don't have the money to browse. And I have slowly become to hate the process known as shopping. Especially because now a days it's considered a sport or a spectacle, thanks to reality television. Another reason to ban that friggin crap from the airwaves. The first time I went in there it was just to see what it was, just to know what was next door. The second time I was killing a long lunch break, and ended up buying three books. One was a cookbook, another was a novel, and the last was a fantastic photo book that is best described as "yummy". I ended up in there again trying to get through a lunch break, and happened to notice the guy working. He was good looking. Clean cut, maybe a little too much for my liking, but still he wore it well. Good teeth, smart skin. And the kind of eye color that is a dangerous weakness to me. It's like kryptonite to me. From the first guy I kissed, to the most recent, I've always paid attention to eye color. And this book store boy had that color. He was a catch from beginning to end, all his chapters looked good. He read well. Alright, no more metaphors. So on my lunch break I didn't do anything but stare and research. Then I went back to work. And made up my mind that on my last fifteen I would go and talk to him. Which is a huge thing because I never approach first. I'm not being conceited, and I'm not the boy that everyone rushes to talk to, I'm just really terrible at knowing when someone is interested. OR even gay. So me telling myself that my fifteen minute was going to consist of speaking with the clean cut book boy, was an out of the ordinary big thing. So I walked back in, spotted him in the art history section, and made my way to cooking section parallel to where he was standing. It took him about ten seconds to walk over and say hello. I then made a comment about working there getting boring due to the lack of customers. He replied with saying he had a stack of books to read at the cash counter. I asked what he was reading. The whole time he was making direct eye contact and smiling and running his hands up and down his arms. I thought I was having a bright and shiny moment. But then he goes and tells me about the book he's reading, something having to do with learning about being a better boyfriend and something else. After I realized I was making a complete dick of myself I sort of blacked out and had the strong urge to slit my wrists with the paperback cook book I was holding in my hands. I think I cut him off and said I had to get back before my break was over. Cut to me in the bathroom swearing and cursing into the sink. Completely wishing I could be washed down the drain along with the other dirt and dust mites. That was the turd on top of the mud pie for me. This week has kicked my dirt covered ass. I've been interviewing at other jobs to try and get a second income going, and I'm remembering how gross an experience that is. Having to whore yourself and explain to utter strangers why you are awesome and wonderful and talented. Making everything sound so much better then it really is, trying to appear shiny and new when, in truth, you're used and dirtied up. I even had an interview at my current job for a promotion, and that too felt like I was prostituting myself out. Saying what I needed to just to make that dollar. Making sure all my mud spots were covered up. It just made me feel dirty, and not in a music video kind of way. I'm talking about feeling covered in grease and dirt and grime and guck. I don't think guck is a real word. But you get the picture I'm painting. And I'm not even going to get into the concept of me being a scruffy, beat up looking set of ribs who has fatal tendencies of falling for and/or always wanting the clean cut ones. That mix just never works out the right way. Because it goes one of two ways. Either they want to cut it short before they get too dirtied up, or I feel bad about getting them muddy and call it off. Guys don't like messy relationships. They don't care if they leave their shit scattered around the house, or their room or their car or the kitchen, but they try to keep themselves stain free. And my Dove (for Men!) body wash can only take care of so many problems. Both ways end up with me lucking out. I keep feeling like I belong on the shelf or the table top with the other used goods ,covered in dust, and not with the clean cut boy who works in the store. Is there a used boyfriends store? I wouldn't mind laying on a table and taking a little nap. That seems a lot more realistic then having someone great and wonderful come into my life again and clean me up, and not mind that I'm used and dirty, and hold me close without being worried about stains. I don't see that happening.

“A person might be an expert in any field of knowledge or a master of many material skills and accomplishments. But without inner cleanliness his brain is a desert waste.” -Sri Sathya Baba

You Have To Signal First

I don't even remember this weekend. It's just a blur of money making, passing out on top of my bed, throwing myself in the shower, and then going to make some more money. Somewhere in there I figured out I should quit job two before I got fired from it. My blinkers stopped working on my car. I ran out of shampoo. And I got a tummy ache. From the poor choices in food or from the lack of food in general. I felt awful driving around without my blinkers working, because I felt like a huge hypocrite. I'm the driver that yells at cars when they cut into my lane with out signaling first. There is no need to surprise me like that when you could have clearly signaled first and let me know what was happening. I like that approach in life too. I don't care for bomb dropping and surprise omissions, but sometimes it's unavoidable. Like quitting a job. Ninety percent of the time though you can give a reasonable heads up before you let it all hang out. It might be the childish thing to do, or make you lose upper hand points, but it makes the results easier to handle. The rules of the road can be applied to life as well. Signal before you make a move. Don't go too fast. If you have road rage pull over and sort things out before you hurt yourself or someone around you. Stay on your side of the road. Keep your eyes on the horizon. Try not to worry about other drivers, you don't have control over them. And follow the advice of Bette Davis, buckle up. All this talk about motors reminds of my truck desire. It's been put on hold for the time being. But the massage therapist thing has a full tank of gas and is ready to ride. I think now that I'm only going to have job one to deal with, I will be a much happier driver. No more road rage, excess exhaust, crossed wires. I think my engine will be running much better from now on. I've still got a couple miles of country road and some tight curves to pass in the next couple months, but I'm close to getting on the highway of my future. And I have a working blinker so it will be easy to merge.