Old Habits Die Hard

When you get out of a long-term relationship, your list of obligations suddenly bursts into flames. There's no gradual decline; it's instant.

You no longer are expected to wake your girlfriend up every morning with a phone call. You don't have to stress about getting that perfect anniversary gift (apparently thongs every year aren't acceptable, who knew?). When you go to the rental store, you can pick up Die Hard for the 3rd time in a row instead of having to take your turn by getting 10 Things I Hate About You.

I learned yesterday that although you are no longer obligated to do these things, there are certain dispositions that might never go away. Or at least take a little bit longer.

It's not old news that occasionally, my ex girlfriend's mom Andy and I will talk on the phone and catch up on our lives. During our last conversation she happened to casually mention that Lynn was particularly ill.

So@24: What? Like a cold or something?
Andy: Actually, she has strep throat. I feel bad, she's been waking up in sweats and unable to swallow anything. I'm afraid she hasn't been eating. It's hard being a long distance mom sometimes!
So@24: Hmmm. I see.

Andy and I talked for a bit longer, but when we hung up... I couldn't help but think about Lynn and her inflamed tonsils.

It's almost been two years since our relationship ended, but this nagging feeling of needing to do SOMETHING was stronger than I would expect.

There's also something to be said about crossing that fragile line into a... weird place. Lynn and I are friends; we meet up every once and a while, make each other mix cds, talk on the phone once every couple weeks. But I'd never want to do anything to jeopardize that friendship that we have worked hard to establish and now, maintain.

You don't want to do anything to make the other person think you have other motives; I certainly didn't want to give off that impression.

I grappled with an internal debate. I'm not her boyfriend anymore, I am not obligated to do anything. In fact, I didn't even do shit like that when I dated her (oops!). I should really get back to reading Shortcomings and forget about this.

But as I licked my thumb and turned a page, the visual of Lynn alone, tossing and turning in a pool of her own sweat was gnawing on my brains like a fucked up zombie.

So@24: Fuuuuuuuuck.

I took my own advice. I did what I wanted to. She would do the same for me. It never hurts to do a nice thing for someone, right? It's not like I'm sending over flowers or a guy dressed up like a giant heart to sing "Oooh Baby I Love Your Way" on a ukulele or anything.

I looked up a delivery place close by her house and ordered a simple bowl of soup and a caesar salad. Girl needs to eat, right?

But I didn't give her a heads up with a phone call or a text. I didn't want her to know it was me, I'm fine with having her think that it could be any one of the dudes that might be in her life at the moment. I'm like goddamn Peter Parker, I guess.



I guess there are certain things that linger around a little bit longer.

Leo uses Nostalgia Attack. So@24 loses 3 HP, gains 1 EP

So@24: So what have you been up to on your mini vacation back to the motherland?
Leo: Actually, while I was on a walk with my dad, I thought of a great post.
So@24: Ooooh... intrigue! Lets hear it.

Leo: I was out by a walk yesterday and we went by this lake. It was a gorgeous day and there were a bunch of high-schoolers out there on summer break.

About 3 guys and 3 girls. Goofing off, flirting, trying to impress each other. They looked so young. You should've seen it man... unbelievably beautiful day, nice hot sun on a lake that was like glass, old trees casting cool shadows, a big rope swing over the water.

Fresh a air, young love, god damn.

Girls venturing into their first bikini.

Boys, voices cracking, trying to impress them and each other. Everyone laughing.

And it was fuckin' sad, because I knew that they still had the excitement of discovering things for the first time and that I'll never have that again.

I'm not just talking about sex or whatever, but that feeling of light-headed excitement where you can hear your heart in your ears -- all caused by some girl simply arriving at the lake.

Chicken fights were like the most unbelievable thing ever. The girl's smooth thighs on your shoulders was electrifying.

I miss that shit.

So@24: ...
Leo: ...
So@24: ...
Leo: ...
So@24: You see why I don't want to grow up??

Nerd Love

I did not come out of Comic Con with any stories of romantic conquest.

I think I came out with some rank, 4-days-of-sweaty, swag-greedy, Comic-book-lovers'-funk on me. But no romantic conquest.

And perhaps some classic, So@24 introspective to share.

The closest I came was when a timid, Storm Trooper removed her helmet and approached me at the booth. She was about 12 and was your stereo-typical emo kid. Long, dyed-black bangs with red streaks (a la' Rufio) that hungover one side of her face. She caked on the eye liner, that much I could tell from her only exposed eye. She looked up at me (sans smile), no emotion, completely deadpan, and said, "I just want you to know, you have gorgeous eyes."

She put back on her helmet and left me confused as she disappeared from my life into the mass of costumed conventioners.

Hey. I'll take the compliment where I can get it.

I witnessed a lot of romance this weekend. And by that I mean, I wept for my gender as I saw hundreds of guys line up to have their buddies snap pictures of them standing next to busty, booth babes wearing costumes not much larger than an eye patch.

* * *

On Friday, I returned to my hotel after working a grueling, twelve hour day. This is my first time I have been sent on "business"; so it was a little weird for me to be put up in my own hotel room and actually have the intention of working. Made me feel like an adult and shit.

There's something about hotel rooms when you're single. Being alone in a hotel room at night is one of the most lonely circumstances I've experienced in awhile. I flipped on Forensic Files for a bit of a distraction, but I was restless. I grabbed my jacket and headed out alone to see what the Gaslamp District of San Diego had to offer.

I found a bar not too far away from the hotel. The bar scene was in full swing, but it wasn't too hard to find a place to sit... especially when it's just yourself you have to worry about.

I downed a shot of house whiskey and nursed a pint for some prime people watching.

It was great. These people have all come together in one place to completely geek out and be themselves without apology.

One couple caught my attention; a girl dressed up as Rogue from X-Men and her boyfriend was dressed as Magneto. They had their own little table at the corner of the bar, holding hands, ignoring everyone else around them and engrossed in their own private conversation.

Maybe it was the whiskey, but it got me thinking. How fortunate was it that these two X-Men aficionados have found each other! There is someone out there for everyone!

And with that thought, I smiled, downed my beer and closed out. My stomach grumbled a "fuck you" and I thought I'd make it happy by stopping by a Ralph's on my way back to the hotel.

When I got back to the room, I tossed my key on the table and flipped on the t.v.

The faint clamor from the bars and soft glow of the television almost drug me back into that lonely place I was at only a few hours before. But as I bit into my soggy ham & cheese sandwich, I thought to myself: If Rogue and Magneto can put aside their differences and find true love, my chance will come too.

Off to Comic Con

My work is sending me off to spend the rest of the week at Comic Con in San Diego.

I'm really excited to be surrounded with hundreds of people like me...

...


...who haven't seen female genitalia in over two years.


Ba dump, PSH!

I Get Psychoanalytical on Kate Nash's Fine Ass

There are times when even I have to pull out the waistband of my sweatpants to check and see if my testicles are still intact.

Chud. Please. Stop reading my blog. I'm begging you. If I ever post about semi-trucks exploding, strippers with fake chest lovies, and large knives... I promise, you'll be the first to know.

I like to dissect songs. Especially songs people recommend to me with lyrics that cause your ears to perk during the first listen through.

During a conversation with Caitlin, she sent me a song that she admitted to strongly identifying with at one point in her life. And when anyone sends me a song, I instantly open up a link with the lyrics and read along while I listen. I'm a lyric fiend.

The song she shared with me was Kate Nash's "Foundations". Apparently this song is "fucking old" according to the few friends I decided to show this song to (thanks, dicks). But I'm not an up-to-date music guy since my tastes have not matured beyond embarrassingly, poppy punk music of the late 1990s and early 2000s. It's new to me.

And I dug this song. And let me tell you what my favorite part about it was: Not the lyrics itself, but how Kate decided to structure the song.

Ol' Kate Nash is singing about her relationship and yep, she's in a shitty relationship because she's part of a shitty couple. She knows it's a bad relationship. The guy is a total fuck and any sane, logical person would be done with it in a heart beat.

In fact, every verse is spun to tell very specifically detailed moment which illustrates how terrible it actually is. Listening to these verses made me cringe. Not that I was in one of these situations, but Kate forces you to experience it with her.

Kate throws each verse at you like some kind of circus showgirl tossing daggers at someone on a revolving circle. And she doesn't let up. Bam! Bam! Bam!

Goddamn, Kate.

But the chorus is used as a marker placed in between each of her horror stories; a breather. She's taking a moment to step back from the blitzkrieg and think out loud. She expresses that she "can't forget" and she acknowledges that she "knows it's not right". The chorus is the yin to the verses' yang; completely vague. If you say it enough, you might... just might... be able to rationalize it.

The structure of the song is brilliant in that it's a great representation of what happens with shitty couples, right before it's over. You can name everything wrong with the relationship, but when you're asked to give reasons to stay together... you can't.

...

She's a little cutey too. Give me a chance, Kate! I swear I'll be good to you!

The Ugly One.

My roommate Leo has decided leave Los Angeles* and in doing so, quit his job.

Which means he bought a keg and we had a party.

Around 2:00, the high point of most parties, I got a phone call from my ex-girlfriend Lynn. Huh. This is highly unusual. I stepped away from the clamor of the beer pong table to take the call in my room.

Drunk dial. Hammered. Which is fine; I too was unable to operate heavy machinery. However, before either of us could get a word in, a "sober" Leo came boundin' in from the other room.

Leo: Who is that??
So@24: Lynn
Leo: Oooh, ooh lemme talk to her!

So for the next 20 mins., Leo and Lynn shared a drunken discussion while I returned to the living room to regain my honor at flip cup.

Leo came out of the room.

So@24: What did you two talk about??
Leo: Wow. Lynn has certainly grown up.

sour look on my face.

Leo: I know her number.

I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut tight.

So@24: JFSDHFN8E7R9R84JSDFERWWAAWESJIFWE7R!!
Leo: What?? What??
So@24: Dude! I don't want to know her number!
Leo: Fine fine, I won't tell you. But I'm telling you, it's not that bad.
So@24: Can we just stop talking about it??

Doesn't he know that any number other than 1 is a high number??

I met up with Lynn for lunch the following day and as we shared a plate of chili cheese fries, my conversation with Leo kept running through my head.

I'm a big boy. And as a big boy, I know that an attractive, 23 year old female, who recently discovered that drinking is fun (I kept trying to tell her) and is single is going to have her day in the sun. She's going to make out with boys and yes, she's probably going to sleep with a few of them.

What bothered me is the incessant urge that you always need to keep up with the ex! This weird entitlement to have that same number or experiences!

As I nodded at whatever she was saying and dunked my squiggly fry into ranch, I suddenly thought a horrid thought:

Was I the ugly one in the relationship?

I heard somewhere** that in 9/10 couples... one is always the clearly more attractive. And that one happens to be the girl.

Fuckbeans. Was I that guy?? Am I that troll who out of sheer, dumb luck, got the hot girl? Is this why she's beating me in this juvenile competition that exists only in my warped mind??

Right now, think about it. You KNOW you can name one! Look around! These couples are everywhere! Absolute bombshells are draped over these buckled bastards.

As Lynn continued with her story, she pulled back a strand of hair that had fallen out of place to reveal those shimmery, green eyes. I felt my bitterness bubble. And I thought about where I am at in the dating game, compared to the girl sitting directly across from me... it's the only explanation that makes logical sense to me.

Fuck. Maybe I can be that guy again someday! After all, the chances are in my favor.




* a post to be saved for later
** a statistic that I made up, suckers.

When the Scales Tip...

Over the past few weeks, I've received quite a few emails from readers asking me the whereabouts and/or the status of Caitlin. I decided the best way to tackle this inquiry was to dedicate a post about it, since it very will fits with a valuable lesson in singledom.

* * *

The early stages of figuring out where things might be going with an potential interest is absolutely terrifying.

You never show more interest; equal, but never more.

If she's shown promising signs of interest, I follow (perhaps more than one should) close in tow. I've read the signs wrong too many times. Imagine it like a very delicate game of Red Light, Green Light.

This isn't something I'm used to normally. I've learned it the hard way, as most guys do who share my modus operandi of wearing their hearts on their sleeve. I can't begin to count the amount of times Leo has had to grab hold onto the collar of my shirt, slap me twice, look into my googly, heart-shaped eyes and tell me to "cool it". "Hold your cards close to your chest."

Gaging where you are in this merciless footrace, makes for an interesting dynamic when both people blog. And blog honestly.

With blogs, you're exposed. She can read everything you've ever thought and are currently thinking. The reverse is true as well, you can read her dirty secrets. You both are the soggy, 7th grade, lab rats pinned down to the foamy mats prepped for dissection. It's a portal to answer all the questions you've wanted to know and also, some things you wish you'd rather didn't.

And if I'm honest with myself, I can admit that I used to check to see if things were balanced. I mean come on, it's right there... you have to look! Does she write the same as I about her? Am I gushing about how great she is while she's digitally chewing a wad of Bazooka Joe and filing her nails? Is there any interest at all? Does she have this kind of playful banter with other bloggers? BalanceBalanceBalanceBalanceBalance.

When things suddenly become unbalanced; it makes you feel weak and small. There are two types of guys... those who love the chase and will be persistent as fuck no matter how uninterested the girl is.

I'm afraid, I'm not that way. I loathe the chase. Any sign of disinterest or if there's a chance I'm up against other suitors, I grab my fedora from the hat rack. I gently place my neatly stacked documents into my briefcase, tip my hat and I'm out the door with what little quiet dignity I have left.

This early in the game, if the scales are already sliding... it probably means there's an issue, a red flag. It's a whole lot of "no fun" when you think you're running a three legged race, only to see that your friend has stopped to tie their shoes a mile back. And it turns out they wear velcro.

* * *

That was my ridiculously long answer tied to the So@24 theme. The quick answer: Caitlin and I talked on an almost daily basis online. She keeps up with her blog. She still remains one of the few girls who can get a hearty chuckle out of me without trying. She's around.

Blogging Acquints a Man with Strange Bedfellows

My Stat Counter always brings up some interesting finds. The poor saps that tried searching for "masturbation stories" must be sorely disappointed when they stumble upon my writings. My bad, fellas.

Like most bloggers, I use Stat Counter to keep tabs on who is reading, who isn't reading anymore, and in general, to get a good sense of my demographic.

For awhile now, I've noticed a gradually, rising trend that made my scratch my head and actually laugh out loud.

I noticed my blog on the blog roll of a relatively large number of sexblogs.

You know the ones, I'm talking about, right? These bloggers write about things that make me blush. And I sat through entire episodes of Red Shoe Diaries back in my awkward, learning-about-my-body days.

I don't mind this trend, of course. Making anyone's blogroll is a great compliment; it's flattering if anything! But you have to admit, it's a humorous irony to see my blog next to a bunch of other sexblogs. I'll just make up off the top of my head what these blog rolls look like:

Sexy College Sexy Story Time
Fun with Infidelity
Confessions of an Underpaid Gigalo
So@24
Spelunking with my Wang
Stories of a Horny House Wife Sans Pool Boy
Jamming Down n' Writing 'Bout It

Talk about sticking out like a sore blog-thumb. These blogs go into extreme detail of all the sex they're getting. And mine is just the opposite. Their blogs? All sex. My blog? No sex.

Why me? How do my self-deprecating stories fit into the equation??

...

Maybe it's just amusing to me.

I Admit It: I Miss Girl Beds

People have their little neurosis. You have to get all the fruits while playing Pac Man. You have to put exactly 13 ice cubes in your water bottle before playing a soccer game. You can only eat the green and red powder in Fun Dip, but leave the blue.

I have to sleep in my own bed.

At parties, I will always make sure that I have a way of getting home. Whether I'm the sober one or make absolutely sure that someone else is driving my ass back to base camp. If not, I've been known to walk a ridiculous amount of miles home to do so.

This has been an ongoing joke between Jenny and me. I'll drive all the way out to visit her, but I won't ever crash at her place. I can't! I won't! However this past weekend, I made an exception to the rule, gritted my teeth and made plans to sleep over.

Per usual, I got hammered and vaguely remember crawling into Jenny's bed. Jenny and I are good enough friends where it's normal for us to sleep together; completely platonic.

Around 4 in the morning, my eyes instantly shot open and I went into that sudden panic attack where I didn't know where I was. Once I realized I was in Jenny's room, I calmed down and took a moment to soak in my surroundings.

I haven't slept in a real girl's bed since Lynn (Beth's doesn't count). I had forgotten how great girl's beds are. I can't speak for all men everywhere, but at least for me... my beds have matured as much as I have. Which if you've kept up with this blog, isn't saying much.

In college I owned that $30 futon you can get from any Target. You get what you pay for. That is, until I saw that someone had thrown out a perfectly good frame in the alley! Oh... here's a futon mattress too. I'll just throw some sheets around it and that'll be good enough to put under my current mattress! Two mattresses are better than one, right??

When my roommate moved out in LA, I inherited his single (wow! A real bed! Fuck you, futon). It's lumpy. It's squeaky. It's something that belongs in the military.

But what I was experiencing was heaven. Something I had forgotten all about. Is it some universal girl agreement to have immaculate beds?? They are like goddamn, customized nests, I swear. Carefully prepared with the finest of linens! So much care has been put into these havens of slumber!

How could I forget this? This is what it is to sleep! The shit I've been doing in my shanty has merely been me shutting my lids for a few hours. I've settled.

And they always have more room than they really need. So much fucking space, it's amazing. You could roll over twice and not hit the edge!

As I stretched out and took a deep sigh of pleasure, I looked over at Jenny. Hands tucked under her head, in peaceful slumber, softly wheezing away. Fuck. I miss that too. Looking over in the middle of the night just watch your girl sleeping soundly. That's the good stuff too. I stayed up a little while longer, staring at the ceiling thinking about that. I miss away games.

My sleeps this week have been restless. I got a taste of a girl bed and I'm craving it again.

I need to find me a girl bed again.

Supply & Demand

Just moments ago, I stepped out of the shower and noticed that my Facebook was notifying me of a new Friend Request.

My mouth swung open in surprise and water from my hair dripped onto the keyboard as I stared back at a face from the past. A girl I hadn't thought about in years.

I won't bore you with the details of the background with my high school friend Cara. The quick deets:

• I had a huge crush on her in high school
• She was too hung up at the time with her ex-boyfriend to get involved with the likes of me
• I had waited around long enough and told her so.
• I met Lynn shortly after and we started dating.

The last time I had seen Cara was the morning after a huge fraternity party (I was 3 years into my relationship with Lynn). I was up til 5 the night before trying to convince a buddy of mine to shave his head into a bowl cut while we sipped on Mad Dogs.

A crackle of the intercom woke me from my coma at that ungodly hour informing me that I had a guest waiting for me.

Who the fuck was visiting my ass at 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday?

To be honest, I had hoped that it was Lynn giving me a surprise visit. But to my surprise, it was Cara. She was alone wearing white tennis shoes, tiny track shorts, and a girl-next-door smile. I took a moment to collect myself.

So@24: Hey... you!
Cara: How are you?
So@24: Great. Well, a bit hungover to be honest. I haven't seen you for years, this is so unexpected!
Cara: Well my roommate said she wanted to spend the day in Seattle, so I volunteered to drive with her. I thought there might be a chance I'd track you down. She's running some errands and going to call me a bit, I only have a few hours.
So@24: Come in. It's a bit of a mess, we had a teensy party last night.

As we made our way back to my room, stepping over passed out college kids and making our way past empty beers cans, we caught each other up on the last three years.

I had her sit on the edge of my futon and I turned over an empty milk crate to use as my seat. We chatted some more about high school and shared a few laughs; keeping our voices to a low whisper as to not wake my roommate.

But as much fun it was playing catch up with an old high school crush, my eyes lids kept drooping and my head was pounding. I needed to power nap. It was still only 8 in the morning.

So@24: God, I know this is weird and incredibly rude, but I was up late last night. I need to catch some shut eye for just a quick 15 minute power nap.
Cara: Oh absolutely! I'll just watch tv! I'll wake you up in 15.

I crawled back into the sheets and was out like a light. Cara flipped on the tv and sat at the edge of my futon.

The next thing I remember is the feeling that someone is holding my hand. I'm still between sleep and awake, so my senses are taking awhile to regenerate. And I feel skin. Girl skin. Really soft, girly skin. And my hand is being guided upward. Upward? Is that a thigh? Holy shit. This is a girl thigh. A soft girly thigh. My hand is touching a soft, girly thigh? This is where the underwear shou... ?

I sat up faster than something-that-sits-up-really-fast. My vision began to focus and Cara was lying next to me, under the sheets grasping my hand. And homegirl had a kung fu grip.

So@24: Whoa! Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoa!
Cara: Please. Please. I need this.

I started to climb out of the bed and with a sharp, forceful tug Cara had me back onto the futon. I was suddenly inches away from her face, in nothing but soccer shorts, with an absolute look of terror on my face.

I had about .504 seconds to figure out how to reject the advances of an attractive girl.

So@24: Heyheyheyheyhey. Come on now, you know about Lynn...
Cara: I know. And I know I should care, but I don't. I really fucking need you to touch me.
So@24: As much as I love hearing this...

I gently took her hand off my forearm and stood up. My heart was pounding.

So@24: ... you're a couple years too late.

Cara bit her lower lip and gave me a look that I'll never forget. That look that makes boyfriends cheat on their girlfriends. Any guy who has been in that situation knows exactly what I'm talking about. I had to get. the. fuck. out. of. there.

So@24: I need to go help clean up the party anyway. I'll be back in a bit.

With that, I was out the door. The last visual memory I have of Cara was of her in my futon with the most confused expression on her face. This girl wasn't used to being told "no". When I came back to the room an hour later, she was not to be found.

Alright. Time for the part where I explain what this story has to do with the blog. Besides it being nice to digitally pound my chest and share a tales of near-conquests with cute girls from the past on a public forum... there is a point.

My point is, this was not the only time, some fair maiden other than Lynn had come onto me. Of course, not to this degree. But drunken suggestions, sloppy advances that only happen when you're in the prime years of college. I was a good boy though. I never made them feel embarrassed. I would often share an awkward chuckle, flag down their nearest friend and send them home.

Maybe it's a matter of supply and demand. Maybe it's a matter that I was more attractive when girls knew I was off the market. Do girls like to rise to the challenge and see if they can make a guy slip? Or is it a matter of just having a serious girlfriend at the wrong time?

Don't get me wrong. If I could go back, I wouldn't have done anything different by cheating on my girlfriend. But I'd be lying if I can't help but think... what the french toast did I miss out on while I was in college? The years they made raunchy sex comedies about? The opportunities! Oh Lord, the opportunities! Doc, if anyone needs a DoLorean with a flux capacitor that can go 88 miles per hour, it's this guy.

You need this more than me, So

Sigh.

As I thought back on my story with Cara:, I clicked "Accept" on her Facebook Friend Request.

I think I still have her number on my phone.

Maybe I'll give her a text.

Girls Will Always Drive You To Drink

The vibrations of my cell startled me from my hangover nap. It was Lynn, so I decided to peel myself off the couch and step out on my porch.

Lynn: Sorry I had to get off the phone so abruptly the other night.
So@24: -taking a giant swig of Vitamin Water- No, no, I knew you had company... you were just listening to me ramble on anyway.
Lynn: Rough night last night? You sound terrible.
So@24: Hoo doggy...

And so I told my ex-girlfriend (in great, morbid detail) of what I did on the afternoon of July 4th.

* * *

It had been a particularly low week for me. Minor, opposite-sex issues had caused a contemplative storm cloud to hover over my head the last few days. Jenny suggested Leo and I spend the weekend with her for the 4th of July.

Bless her heart.

Jenny's promise of broads, boobs, and booze was not an exaggeration. I had no idea the beach towns of Manhattan & Hermosa Beach took the day of America's independence so seriously. Leo and I both pinched each other as we stepped out into what had to have been the scene of a cliche'd college, sex, beach comedy.

Jenny, Leo and I joined Jenny's friends at the first beach-side bar for the first stop of the pub crawl. I had made a commitment to myself I was going to have a great time. I was not going to go into over-analytical mode in classic So@24 fashion. I was not going to spend my 4th, sipping a pint, sitting in the corner with a furrowed, confused, sharpee-esque countenance as I pondered over the mysteries of women.

I was going to get drunk. Flirt with some cute girls. And drink some more.

Unfortunately, you can't always tell that thought-provoking storm cloud to "back the fuck up" by drinking. More often than not, you think you can drown it and unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. Ever. I don't know why I always think it will work.

Things start to get fuzzy around bar 3 in the pub crawl.

Flash! I remember buying rounds of Touch Downs (oh God, I just threw up in my mouth typing that...).

Flash! I remember downing a Bloody Mary.

Flash! I remember filling Leo's cup full of beer after an intense game of Flip Cup at bar 2.

Flash! I remember flipping the winning cup for the round and giving this cute girl, Leo and I had eyed ealier, a double high five. This was just the remedy I was looking for!

Flash! I can't open my eyes, because they are encrusted with sand. My mouth is full of sand. Leo is cradling my head in his lap. Am I on the fucking beach? I am on the fucking beach. The afternoon sun is blinding even through the cracks in the wooden pier. Jenny is standing a few feet away with Rye crackers and a bottle of water.


Leo: Jesus Christ, So. What the fuck happened?
So@24: garble, garble, garble.
Leo: We've been looking for you for hours! Can you get up?
So@24: Just... leave me.
Leo: Leave no man behind!
Jenny: Drink this.

When the water hit my throat, I wretched. I suddenly realized the dark, moist sand I was laying in was not due to the ocean... but the entire contents of my stomach. A mixture of bile and alcohol.

Jenny: Look at your poor face, So. Your capillaries around your eyes burst. You look like a raccoon.

As Leo took his bare hand and wiped the drool and bile from my mouth, clearing away the caked sand from my face... I looked into the concerned face of Jenny and thought:

"No girl-issue is worth this shit."

Leo and Jenny, knowing that there is no way any cabbie would have me as their passenger, hailed a rickshaw to take us back to Jenny's apartment. I slumped over the side, puking into Jenny's newly, purchased tank top as the rickshaw bounced up and down the Manhattan Beach streets.

Leo: Oh, hey. Remember that cute girl we were talking to? Turns out she has a boyfriend.
So@24: Figures. ... ... -pukes-

* * *

Lynn: I can't remember the last time you drank like that. I knew it had to be girl-stuff.
Lynn: You know if we were still dating, I would have to killed you if you came to me with a story like this.
So@24: Hahaha! If we were still dating, I probably wouldn't been in a place where I'd blackout. Or at least you would have been holding my hair back?
Lynn: Hahaha, you know I would.

How Singles Celebrate 4th of July

Jenny: I know the best remedy for you. Move in with me for the weekend! Copious amounts of alcohol? Done. Busty, blonde girls running around the beach in red, white, and blue, what-can-barely-be-considered bikinis, celebrating America's independance? Done.
Jenny: Are you coming already?
So@24: I'm packing my bag.

It's Okay To Have Faith

I was talking to a reader today and she brought up a topic, very nonchalantly, about her faith in herself and her faith in men.

She spun me a story that I am all too familiar with and one that I imagine isn't a rare instance. She told me that she had just recently "given up" on a guy who she was extremely close with. They were more than just "buddies", he had told her how much he cared about her, and she had held out hope that they one day might be able to make something work.

You can see where this story is going, I'm sure. She waited. He fed her what she wanted to hear. Alas, nothing ever came from the friendship and she just recently had learned to let it go.

This reader was admitting to me that she was humiliated by herself for believing that what he was telling her had merit. And this got me thinking about my own experience.

I told her that she should not be embarrassed about her actions. It's not her fault and it's actually "okay" to have faith that people have good intentions. You can't go around always suspecting that people have ulterior motives or have some kind of trick up their sleeve. Sometimes, you have to go with your gut or you'll always think back and wonder "what if".

It reminded me of my story with Beth.

I haven't mentioned her in awhile, because we haven't communicated since the wedding.

She was one of my best friends from college and one of the few people I really connected with. We stayed in a weird, friend limbo for years... but when I stepped up and started pointing out the goddamn elephant in the living room... nothing came of it.

Beth knew what to say to keep me coming back for more; she perfected the art of hinting that perhaps one day we'd be more than just best friends. I think that she knew if she didn't keep pumping what I wanted to hear into me, keeping me holding out for "maybe it'll happen...", she knew that the attention I shamelessly showered her with would eventually disintegrate.

Eventually, it takes something to make you realize that enough is enough. And I believe that something is different for everyone; you can't predict it. Waiting for words to turn into actions gets old. And the words that once made your heart pump at an unhealthy speed soon become words that make you want to wretch.

I think my "something" was the day I realized that it should never be this much work to have someone like you. If you're working too hard, it's never worth it. Who wants to be with someone you have to try and convince? To explain why it would be a great thing? What kind of "how we met story" is that?

"Well Timmy, your father just kept holding out, holding out, and being persistent as fuck even though I had kept avoiding the subject entirely."
-places hand on shoulder of father-
"And finally, after our 23rd discussion on why we should be together (actually it was more HIM talking than me, so I guess it's not really a discussion per se)... I finally threw my hands up in surrender! And here we are today. Want a cookie?"

My something was the day I realized I knew I could get a hold of someone (via text, Skype, or email) who lived across the Atlantic... more than I ever could with Beth. And it's not just me making the effort to talk, I find that I too, wake up with "Good morning!" texts and emails waiting for me. Beth and I had some great times together, but if I was going to be honest with myself... she really wasn't even a good friend, whether she really did have feelings for me or not.

* * *

I think a fair amount of people have the unfortunate luck of experiencing something like this. It's extremely humiliating to feel like you've been duped... that your instincts were dead wrong.

If I were to do it all over again, I would. Perhaps I wouldn't have let it last as long as I did before I put a foot down. But I don't regret at all giving someone a chance to prove me wrong. I'll continue to have faith that there are some people out there mean what they say and have good intentions. No regrets.