I opened the window just enough to shoot it with both barrels of my old school Elmer Fudd shot gun, sending bits of tiny arrows, feathers, and baby brain misting over my back yard. I sat casually back down on my bed, as if I had just swatted a fly, to ponder why a mythical being from love sonnets and religious paintings was visiting me with a message of ‘fuck you’…and to ponder the moral implications of post birth aborting a fictional love baby, of which I found none.
AH! Of course, it was almost Valentine’s Day, poking its head out like a nervous turd that you can’t quite push all the way out. And as is always the case in this situation, I would involuntarily clench up my ass hole and be forced to wipe for hours on end until I finally got rid of the sphincter guillotined beast. (‘Sphincter Guillotined Beast’ was my bands name in high school by the way.)
What I realized this past February 14th as I masturbated and cried alone in the corner of my shower with the lights off, is that I’ve been searching for love my whole life, ever since I knew what the word meant. The sad and distant feelings I felt as a child were brought on by a lack of love from my mother. The isolation and depression I felt as a teenager were a mixture of that and the flippant rejection of my first love; Krista. The happiness I felt in my 20’s came to me through my first true love and life changing relationship that spanned nearly a decade in Jackie, and the devastation that followed her leaving me is a pain that I will carry to my grave. Since Jackie I’ve left a string of ex-girlfriends in my wake like chum scooped out of buckets into the water behind a fishing boat. I’ve shared a fraction of those stories of comedy and horror with you over the past few years, but since my most recent blog dealt entirely of pornography, I felt that I should write one dedicated to the examination of love and romance. My thought is that maybe by defining it here, I can give us all a better understanding of what we’re looking for and what we might find in each other.
Now, in my quest to meet a woman, my ULTIMATE goal has been to find love. However that quest hasn’t been easy. My life has been filled with more unrequited love than Jennifer Aniston in ANY tabloid. My sister hates me, my mother vaguely loved me, and all the relationships I’ve had with women either ended with them cheating on me or their being less receptive to my love than Tony Soprano’s mom.
Love is what we ALL strive for in life and there are MANY variations on that theme. We seek the love of our parents, the love of our siblings, the love of a woman or man. Love drives us all. It’s what makes us work so hard, not for personal achievement, but so we can afford clothes and cars to attract a woman or feed the children we love so much. We exercise and eat right, NOT because we expect to live for a thousand years, but so we look good and fuck longer. And in the end love is what drives us to be SO fucking stupid.
I’ve realized as I get older that young love finds us at our most vulnerable to that stupidity because it’s when we are young and inexperienced that love can land on us like a fucking cartoon piano. However, although we are at our most vulnerable to that love, the first time it hits us…it’s the most pure and memorable love we’ll ever have because it HASN’T been diluted yet.
The first time I fell in love was when I was 17. One day while my friend Pete and I were sitting in the food court of the mall, just before they would announce that it was closing and the security guards would come out feeling important, I spotted a girl and INSTANTLY fell in love with her. She had black short hair and was wearing a leather biker jacket with tight aerobics pants. I HAD to have her. She had a pretty blonde friend with her and because I knew that was Pete’s specialty, I grabbed him by the arm, and never taking my eyes off of this stunning beauty who would occupy my heart for many years to come, I dragged him with me towards them amid his protests of ‘what the fuck are we doing?’.
Approaching women out of the blue has NEVER been my style. I had always and even still, usually meet them through a friend or I’ll wait for them to approach me through some bit of Craig’s List bait I dangle out on the internet. So it came as a shock to everyone, including me, when I made a bee-line for this chick, held out my hand in front of her and said “hello, my name is Mike, and I think I just fell in love with you”.
Pete did his job amazingly well; he took the other girls attention away from Krista and kept her occupied as we chatted. THAT’S a fucking wing man’s job and never have I seen it done as admirably as Pete did it for me on that night. We flirted for about seven minutes when the voice came over the loud speakers that the mall was closing. We could see the security guards lumbering out of their respective hallways, having just been woken up from their naps, so I quickly asked Krista for her phone number. Although I always KNEW to ask a woman for HER number? I would still always give her mine. I didn’t have the courage to ask for hers, after all…what if she said ‘no’. I’d be devastated. But in this case I made it my personal mission to do everything right. And to my surprise she wrote it down on a napkin from Sbarro’s and went off in the opposite direction giggling with her friend.
I was on fucking cloud nine. I was invincible and the possibilities of what I could do, what I could have with this woman were spread out before me like the buffet table at Pavarotti’s wedding. Walking home that night along the railroad tracks Pete and I discussed the proper amount of time to wait before I called her and as I have always done…I went my own way. I called her immediately when I got home and we talked until 2 or three in the morning.
The next week she invited me over to her mother’s house to listen to her favorite album…’The Phantom of the Opera”. Krista’s mother was a sweet woman who was a teacher at the grade school down the street from their home. Her sister Lisa also lived there with her 2 kids. Krista’s father was a ‘no shit’ kind of guy, but he made me instantly feel welcome in his home…they all did and I grew to love them all as well over the years.
Not only was everyone in their family warm and inviting, but their home was as well. The house had an ‘earthy’ feel to it, with warm old timey wallpaper, a fireplace, and pictures of the family in various intricately carved wood frames about the house. Every holiday that house was THE most well decorated house in the neighborhood…inside and out. And not in that fucking ‘tacky’ way where a family will just buy everything in the ‘Halloween’ or ‘Christmas’ isle at target, but in a Martha Stewart Magazine Cover kind of way. To me it always seemed as though I had just stepped into a Dickens novel and that house became my favorite place to be. I think that the settings we find ourselves in with other people contribute a lot to the degree of love we have for them.
Krista lived miles away from my mother’s condo, so I would always take my bike to her house. And when my bike had a flat, or there was heavy snow, I would walk the long trek there and home again. I would have done anything to see her, walked through broken glass if I had to. In the winter time, the summer, the rain, I was like a postman delivering myself to her doorstep 3 to 5 times a week. I was infatuated with first love, true love, and a feeling of independence for the first time. When we fall in love that first time, it’s truly the first time we put ourselves out there on our own. We give ourselves over to that feeling wholly because we don’t yet know that it can be corrupted. There is nothing anyone can say or do to make that love stop. It’s like a freight train barreling through the countryside at top speed in the full moon: Alone, loud, and fast with nothing to stand in its way.
Krista’s bedroom was right across the hallway from the front door, so every time I rang the doorbell, she’d sprint to the door like a gazelle and open it as if it was the first time we were meeting. That first night was no different; I walked in and followed her into her room. She had a big bed with a black comforter on it, candles lit, incense going, and a C.D. player playing The Phantom of the Opera. I was instantly in the place I KNEW I had always wanted to be. She talked me through the musical as I’d never seen it before and explained the intricacies of every nuance. Not only was she the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but she was incredibly smart as well. We lay on the bed together in the candlelight and just listened. She taught me how to give her a massage (clothes on unfortunately) and she gave me a great appreciation for the massage myself.
We repeated these meeting over the next month or so, getting to know each other better every time. It turned out that she attended the same High school as my friend Steve and was even in some of the same classes as him. I even knew her ex boyfriend, Sam, because I found out that he was the asshole that lived in the house RIGHT next door to Aaron. Aaron and his brothers would often bitch about the snobby kid who lived next to them for years, yet never bothered to say hello.
My favorite part of these meetings, however…was always the end. As time drew nearer for me to leave, usually around 11 P.M., Krista would take this opportunity to get close. I would sit on the end of her bed as she crossed her arms around my neck and sensually danced between my legs. She would breathe heavily on my neck and tease my lips with the slightest touch of hers. At times I thought my young body would explode if I didn’t fuck her. But I always respected her enough not to overstep.
Krista was the woman that I compare all others to. The corporeal nature of our time spent together made me crave similar experiences from women throughout my life. She is and always will be the Rosetta stone of romance to me. Krista is the reason why I’ve always been willing to take my time when being intimate with a woman…candle light, incense, massage, soft music; these are now the tools of my sexual trade as I learned them when I apprenticed for the most sensual woman I’ll ever know.
…then came the rub.
As fall turned to winter, I started having to walk to Krista’s more and more. Riding a dirt bike in freshly fallen snow isn’t worth the effort, but walking that distance every time just made me appreciate the time Krista and I spent together that much more.
One night when I came to her door…Krista didn’t sprint out of her room to let me in. Her mother answered the door, and there was a somber presence in the house as she invited me inside. Krista’s mother told me that Krista was in her room, and I could go in because she was expecting me. When I went in, there was soft slow music playing, I could smell the incense, and the candles were flickering their familiar light on the wall. Krista sat Indian style on top of her pillows at the head of her bed, and she was crying. She didn’t say anything, but she beckoned me to come to her and we held each other for a long time.
Eventually I asked what the matter was, and she told me that we couldn’t do this anymore…because she was getting back together with her ex boyfriend Sam.
She and Sam had only separated days before I had met her in October, and they had been dating since grammar school. Sam had recently come to her and convinced her that they should be together because he had a good job and could support her as they got older. She loved Sam, I could see that, but she loved me as well. I could see that it was tearing her up, and because I couldn’t stand that sight…I didn’t fight it. I told her to go to him, and not to worry about me. Then I stood up and calmly left the house…I cried every step of the way home in the snow.
She eventually caved to the desire to see me, and started asking me to come over again. I always saw hope that she would choose me over Sam, but I never asked her too. We’d continue our ‘almost’ sexual trysts over the years, and even when I dated other women…Krista was always on my mind.
The combination of devastating loss and hopeful confusion ruined me for other women for years to come. I treated women like shit by romancing them in the ways that Krista had taught me which in turn made them fall in love with me, then I’d see a glimmer of hope with Krista and dump them, not considering the heart breaking devastation that I was causing. I was a love archeologist, searching for Krista in other women, and then tucking them away in a museum when the misinterpreted feelings of the real thing turned my head. This…this is why men are pigs.
Every day of my life I have to live with the thought that I didn’t fight hard enough for Krista, not that I had a chance if I did. But as a man, knowing that you at least TRIED and were rejected is a MUCH better fate than knowing you never tried at all. THIS is why young love can be unbearable. You fall in love with that innocence, not knowing how precious and hard to come by that love is and if you don’t TAKE that opportunity, if you throw it away, time passes you by. As you hear snippets from mutual acquaintances about how that person just got married, or that person just had their second kid, or that person’s mother passed away, you eventually realize that there ARE no do-over’s. There will NEVER be a second chance and everything that COULD have been has passed by in what seems like the blink of an eye. 5, 10, 20 years passes between you both and what once seemed like an important argument or a prideful stand now seems like a silly and ignorant thing that put the woman you LOVE and have always loved in the arms of another man and a family that should have been yours. Life is a grim set of circumstances that will inevitably unfold all over your fucking face.
Now I know that I sound like a jaded asshole and I’m not saying that to inspire pity from my readers. Fuck you; I don’t need your pity. But at this point in my life I don’t FEEL a lot of love. In fact I hate nearly everyone and everything IN my life. I’m great at RECALLING love, but the pressures of life makes it hard to remember exactly how to fall in it.
What sucks is that as I get older, as much as I’d like to hold onto the idea that love and romance still exist, it gets harder and harder for me to express any kind of genuine feelings involved in those notions. Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s because the girls I’ve been dating haven’t inspired those feeling within me. But I think the true reason behind this hole in my heart lies in that fact that I’ve been shot so many times in the same fucking place and each time that wound becomes that much harder to heal.
Which brings me to Jackie.
I was living in my first apartment with my roommate Scott. At 20 years old I still didn’t know shit about shit and because my mother had kicked me out of her house at 17, I had dropped out of school and had been living on the streets for nearly 3 years when Scott invited me to move in with him. He was looking for an apartment and needed a roommate. Even though I was homeless, I was still working several jobs and it was my overnight shift at a gas station that led me to Jackie.
If you’ve ever worked overnights ANYWHERE, you know that it’s a boring job where time seems to stand still. My only escape from that boredom came from the radio. Several years earlier, Steve had introduced me to Jonathon Brandmeier who was the morning DJ on 159.9 FM. Brandmeier exhibited just my type of humor, and I fell in love with him and his sidekick Buzz Kilman. Steve and I saw him perform live, and it seemed like the whole city of Chicago loved this guy. One thing about Chicago, if you’re good on the radio, we love you long time.
If I remember correctly, the daily line up was Brandmeier in the mornings, Kevin Matthews in the afternoon, Steve Dahl in the evening, and Danny Bonaducci at night. Yeah, THAT Danny Bonaducci from the Partridge Family. Over the years I listened to them all. I don’t know why, but I always loved talk shows more than music. It wasn’t until Brandmeier left the airwaves and Howard Stern was put on in his place that I began my obsession with Stern, but at that time Johnny B was my favorite.
The boredom of working overnights at the gas station afforded me the time to call into the radio station whenever Bonaducci had a contest, which I did every night. 4 nights a week for months and I’d never won a damned thing, never even got through. Then, one night the radio station was giving away a night at a movie premiere downtown AND dinner with Danny Bonaducci and his new wife Gretchen at Planet Hollywood afterwards. The movie was ‘My Girl 2’, which I could care less about, but Dan Ackroyd was to be in attendance at the event, and HIM I wanted to meet.
I called in and to my surprise, won. I was on the air talking with Bonnaducci and the station sent the tickets to my apartment the next day. The problem was that I had nobody to take to this event. I called around and asked a few people, but everybody I knew was busy that night. Finally I asked my friend Nicole. I’d known Nicole for many years, and she was one of my closest friends. She had just started dating a guy named Chris, and she told me that SHE couldn’t make it, but Chris had a sister if I didn’t mind going on a blind date. I was excited at the prospect of meeting someone new and gladly accepted. Nicole talked with Chris’s sister Jackie, who called the next day for the particulars.
I didn’t have a car at the time, and I usually either rode a bike still or borrowed Scott’s car, but Scott was going out of town that weekend so Jackie would have to pick me up. I learned later that Jackie held no hopes in regard to this date and felt it a huge inconvenience to have to pick me up. And as I waited for her to arrive at the train station a few blocks away from my apartment, I nervously held little hope myself. When her car pulled up, I got in without looking at her, but as I sat down in the passenger seat next to her…my heart started racing. Jackie was unbelievably beautiful. A tall brunette with long hair and the smooth skin of an angel. Her smile was nervous at first but easily given. We had an instant connection and as we drove downtown there was never a lull in the conversation.
Jackie was put off at first by my easy going nature and ability to get along with complete strangers as we entered the movie theater. Danny Bonaducci and Gretchen introduced themselves to us and led us into the screening room like we’d known them for a long time. Dan Ackroyd never showed up, but we sat in front of the row that was roped off for him and his entourage just in case. After the movie was over, the four of us went to Planet Hollywood where Bonaducci convinced our waiter that Jackie and I were over 21 so that we could drink with him and his wife. It was a GREAT time and when the evening finally came to an end, Jackie and I made the long trek back to my place feeling a bit tipsy.
I invited her upstairs with every intention of fucking her. Not in an ‘I gotta get laid’ kinda way, but in that way that you don’t want an evening to end, but you don’t have much else to offer. She agreed and we went into my bedroom quietly and closed the door. We talked for hours, well into the early morning. I was fascinated by everything she had to say. Talking led to kissing and although I knew I could fuck her that night, I found that I DID have more to offer. As she left in the morning we both knew in our hearts that something had happened. Something important. It was the beginning of something that we both knew would strengthen us as individuals. The next night Jackie came back over, and with Scott still gone for the weekend, I cooked us dinner. Afterwards we slow danced in candlelight and then fucked each other’s brains out. The night was a sweaty mess of flesh, hair falling in each other’s faces, and the relaxed passion of young lovers. We were hooked.
A few weeks later I moved back into my mother’s condo and Jackie came with me. Although my mother wasn’t keen on having me around, she jumped at the chance to have a woman in the house with her. Because my mother only ever wanted to have a daughter, she welcomed Jackie into her condo with open arms…even though I came with the package.
Over the next several years Jackie and my mother became closer, which in turn brought my mother and I closer together. Jackie’s family would have birthday parties and Christmas gatherings and Thanksgiving dinners, and my mother and I were always welcome. It’s like we folded Jackie’s family into ourselves and having that extended family brought us closer together than we had ever been.
Jackie was going to college to become an accountant and she worked at Carson Pirie Scott part time. I can remember sleeping in on Sunday mornings while Jackie got ready for work. Her perfume would wake me up and I’d groggily open my eyes to see her sexy body in a skirt and white blouse. Hair done up and make up on, looking professional and beautiful before heading off to work. These mornings became a game to us, and I would make up elaborate excuses that Jackie could tell her bosses as to why she would be late for work…when the real reason was because I had to fuck her. I would destroy her professional look almost every morning because the thought of going one more minute without being inside of her, on top of her, or under her was unbearable. Our sex was an unbridled monster that could never be locked in a closet or hidden under a bed. When our passion became too much for us and my mother was home, we’d rent a hotel room, nearly bringing each other to orgasm in the car on the way there. Sometimes we’d even go to the basement of my mother’s condo and fuck in her storage closet, or the laundry room, or in the hallway on the way downstairs. We couldn’t get enough of each other in all the years we lived together and the sex only became exponentially more gratifying.
I’ve had sex in my life, and what Jackie and I had was much more than just something to do before I cum. It was passion. It was something we did TOGETHER. It was never about ourselves individually, but how we could please ourselves together. THAT’S love, that’s bone shaking, heart pounding, shallow breathing, earth quaking love. We could never get enough of each other and even when our sex was at its worst, it was better than anything either of us could experience in our lifetimes.
Over the years Jackie and I became inexorably entwined in each other’s lives. Not only did we share our friends, but they began sharing each other. My friend Smart Jim went to Peru with HER friend Karen, her gay friend Phil would go shopping with my straight friend Paul, and I began looking at her brother and sister as my own. This was the best relationship I’d ever have on more levels than could be counted. I was in love with Jackie and everything and everyone in her life
Jackie made me a better person, and more than that she made me WANT to be a better person. Jackie inspired me to dress better, cut my hair, and make a resume that people would actually look at. She made me get my GED and helped me to get, not only the best job I’d ever have, but the one I’d wanted since I was 16, and KEEP that job for almost 10 years. In many ways Jackie helped me become a responsible adult…but in many ways growing up wasn’t something I was willing to do. And in my youthful exuberance toward one particular childish hobby, I pushed her away without even knowing it and ruined what could have been a lifelong relationship filled with the mutual adoration and harmony that I’ve always wanted.
|Whatta ass tard|
I suppose that a woman can only take so much, and after telling me to stop, begging me to save, and putting up with my dorkish behavior…Jackie had enough. I’ll never forget the day I found that out.
The Friday before my life changed forever, I had stood up at my friend Ian’s wedding. I had met Ian at Waldenbooks and he and Smart Jim had become my 2 closest friends over the years we’d worked there together. I was honored to be standing up for Ian at his wedding and Jackie went with me. After the reception ended at midnight, Jackie told me that she was going to spend the night at her mother’s house and then hang out with her brother on Saturday. This was no big deal, and it was something she did quite often, so I thought nothing of it. We kissed each other goodnight and went our separate ways.
That Sunday, while I was working at Waldenbooks, putting away the new shipment of Science Fiction books, Jackie’s brother came into my store. He was shopping in the mall with my friend Nicole and thought he’d come in and bullshit with me for a bit. I told him about the wedding and we talked about some new books that had just come out…and then I asked him what he and Jackie did on Saturday after she’d gone home on Friday night. Chris looked at me in stunned silence, and in that look we BOTH instantly knew that I had been lied too. Chris was put in a terrible situation that I don’t envy him for, and as he groped for the words…my heart sunk like the titanic.
He told me that he knew Jackie was hanging out with another guy, but he thought I knew as well. He didn’t think anything of it because he and Jackie had known this guy since 3rd grade and he played the bass in Chris’s band. But if she didn’t go to her mother’s on Friday night and Chris hadn’t seen her all day Saturday…that meant she was with him.
The combination of anger, rage, jealousy, pain, and betrayal all hit me at once. I couldn’t breathe and had to take a knee. My face turned blood red and Chris said he could see the veins in my neck and forehead pumping blood through me furiously. I couldn’t work anymore. How can you with news like that? I walked out and went home to confront Jackie.
In my head, ONLY in my head, Jackie had sex with this guy. She HAD to have. You don’t spend the night with another man and NOT have sex with him. If you don’t…what was the point of spending the night with him? I found her in my bedroom and immediately confronted her. During our relationship, one of the things Jackie complained about was the fact that I never argued with her. She felt that you HAVE to argue sometimes and whenever she was mad at me, my response was simply ‘yes dear’. I’m not a confrontational person and I don’t particularly care for drama…but all the arguments that Jackie ever wanted to have with me came out in those last five minutes. I’ve never been as embarrassed or ashamed of my words and actions as I was when Jackie left that day.
I came into the bedroom and immediately began yelling and screaming at her. She tried arguing back at me, but I think she realized that she wasn’t going to win this one. I wouldn’t let her get a word in, and I shouted until I was blue in the face. I punched holes in the walls and flipped over the bed. I was in complete rage mode and when the red finally began to clear from my eyes and the pain in my hand began to take hold from punching the walls, I looked down to see Jackie cowering in the corner crying. That was the worst feeling of my life.
She thought that I was going to hit HER and all the angry jealousy I felt a minute before, evaporated into a feeling of shame and pity. I knelt down beside her and tried to apologize but she cowered away from me. I was the villain and everything I’d done to drive her into the arms of another man became clear. I helped her pack that night and we made love one final time. In the morning she moved back into her mother’s house and I never saw or spoke to her again.
She tried calling me a few times and wanted to come back, and even though she said that she didn’t fuck that guy…I found that hard to believe. Don’t get me wrong, I WANTED her back like nothing I’d ever wanted in my life, and the fact that I passed up that second chance haunts me to this day, but my pride kept me from forgiving Jackie and pride? Pride is the true bane of youth.
But it wasn’t ONLY pride that stayed my hand in taking Jackie back. I felt a deep and profound shame at the way I treated her that last night. I was always told about my father’s temper tantrums which often led to my mother and sister being beaten. This is why I don’t argue and fight, because I don’t want to be my father…and that night I was him. Even though I didn’t hit her, I can still see the image of Jackie cowering from me in the corner of our bedroom, fear and panic in her tear streaked eyes, and the shame of that thought will live deep inside me forever.
Where Krista showed me the meaning of romance, Jackie showed me the value of love and I will be forever grateful to her for that. She showed me that sex is so much more than just fucking and to this day I can’t bring myself to fuck someone unless I have a modicum of feelings for them. However, much like with Krista, I had nobody to blame but myself. I became complacent in my relationship with Jackie and instead of moving our lives along a path that could bring us BOTH closer together; I drove us apart with my selfish addiction and dorkish demeanor. I was the luckiest geek in the world and I threw it all away for toys and comic books.
That summer I sold off my entire collection because I didn’t realize until it was too late that Jackie made me happier than any ‘thing’ that I could own. The happiness I found in comic books was only there because I had Jackie by my side and without her? Nothing else seemed to matter. By the time I realized that I had lost my best friend, my sexual partner, and about 10 people who became the most important chess pieces on my board…all of MY friends had run off and gotten married and had kids. Other than my mother, I was completely out of ancillary characters in my life, plus, I had gotten so used to sex on a regular basis that masturbation seemed like a distant memory.
As if blaming myself wasn’t a hard enough cross to bear, I also had to live with the fact that Jackie left me and ran into the arms of a man who, to me, even in the deepest pits of my self deprivation, seemed like an even bigger loser. Jackie looked like Jennifer Aniston, and if she had left and run off with a Brad Pitt, I think that I could’ve lived with that. But she didn’t. Her new lover was 10 years older than me, a hundred pounds heavier, he wore thick coke bottle glasses, he was balding on top of his head like a Franciscan monk, and worst of all? He played base in a Rush cover band. My fucking DOG can play a 4 string bass guitar in a shitty Canadian rip off band.
I couldn’t date for 3 years after Jackie left, not only because I was depressed, but because my ego had plummeted like Wile E. Coyote off of a cliff. Who the fuck was I that my woman of nearly ten years had to run off into the arms of THAT? How bad must I have been to be around? How ugly must I be? These questions haunted me until I finally did get laid again. And while the thought of Jackie was still sending shards of glass through my brain and heart, I buried myself deep in a pile of pussy for years to come. Soulless excursions into the heart of Vagit Nam emptied my mind of the horror and confusion left behind by Jackie, but it left my heart empty as well. Sure I had relationships which slowly built my ego back up, but I always found an excuse to end them before they could end me. This was no way to live, and THIS…this is why love is such a complicated mother fucker.
Which brings me to my third and most recent love…Amber.
|Amber, believe me, this is the most printable|
shot of her I have
During our time together Amber put up with more from me than any woman should have to, even a woman my own age. But she stood by my side when I got my first (and only) DUI and couldn’t drive for 6 months. She convinced her mother to let me sleep on the floor of her bedroom when I was homeless. She let me borrow her car when mine broke down, and she even lent me the money to get my current apartment…of which I’m not proud to say I still haven’t paid back. Hopefully just by acknowledging MY assholishness, it will ease her mind a bit from feeling like shit for cheating on me…because I know that it weighs on HER conscience.
Although that all sounds terrible, and believe me I know it is, I always loved her. Being with Amber made ME feel young and kissing her was like floating on warm water in the sunlight. Amber made me want to be romantic again; she made me want to feel things that I forgot I wanted to feel.
Yes, Amber cheated on me three times. But I never once raised my voice to her when I found out because I still felt shame at the way I reacted when I thought Jackie had cheated on me. That shame overshadowed any anger I could feel. Another reason why I never blamed Amber for cheating on me is because deep inside, I knew that she was young. I couldn’t expect her to ONLY fuck me for the rest of her life. 19 is when girls SHOULD be fucking. That’s the age when women should be getting it out of their system so they don’t cheat on their man when they’re in their 20’s. I could no more blame her for that than I could blame anyone for the mistakes of youth because after all…that’s what youth is for.
But don’t take my dismissal of Amber’s indiscretions as a lack of love. Although our age difference spanned almost a decade, I still felt a great deal of love for her. I got to play the role of teacher in a young woman’s budding sexual and emotional life, and for that I’ll be forever grateful to her. It was a role that I enjoyed while it was there and it was an experience that I don’t plan to repeat. But I’m glad I got to do it that once.
Unfortunately, Amber is a complicated woman. Not to me or the men she’ll be with, but to herself. Amber is obsessed with how she looks, but the truth is that the sum of her as a whole is so much more beautiful than most women could hope to ever be. Strong and willful, her thirst for knowledge and bettering her mind is a more attractive feature than her flat stomach and perfect tits. Sadly, Amber might never know this because she also has a determination inside of her to date ‘cute’ guys just so she can tell her friends how cute her boyfriend is and to prove to herself that she’s hot enough to attract hot guys. She doesn’t look for character or values in a man and if she would just be herself, if she would just believe in herself, she could do MUCH better than the choices she’s made…myself included.
Although we’ve been broken up now for three years, Amber texted me the other day to thank me for making her a better person…and to tell me that she broke up with me because she didn’t love me. NEVER loved me. That’s gonna leave a mark even three years later.
Now these stories of love and loss may seem tragic to be sure. But I don’t look upon any of the relationships I’ve had with women with regret. Each one was a learning experience and I like to think that all the women I’ve dated have helped me to grow as a human being…for better or for worse. In fact, even the saddest of my stories has only served to make me more stalwart and determined in my search for true love.
Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean that if you go on a date with me or screw my brains out that I’m automatically going to fall in love with you. My cock reserves the right of first refusal. But what it DOES mean is that if you’re willing to put in the time, if you’re willing to work at it, you might find yourself surprised. But for all you hot chicks that just want to have sex…I can pencil you in until something more permanent comes my way. (My dork just winked at you)
That having been said, for my part I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. My goal in a relationship is simply to make the person I’m with happy, even at the cost of my own happiness. The problem I’ve run into in recent years is finding that woman who inspires that desire within me. For all I know it may still be there lurking behind a corner waiting to spring out at the right opportunity, but I have a feeling that it’s sitting in a dank bar drinking Jack and water slowly from a dirty glass and trying to forget its own existence. But wherever that feeling went, I KNOW it’s still there. I have love inside me; the problem is that I can’t seem to give this shit away. Well, why is that?
I’m vulgar. Finding a woman who can laugh at the ridiculous nature of life in the same way that I do is difficult to say the least. I don’t watch sports, I don’t play bags, and I don’t drink like I used too. That leaves me with humor. To me humor is a no holds barred unedited barrage of whatever makes ME laugh. The first thing I look for as I’m writing my blogs is if I laugh my ass off as I’m reading it. I could give a shit about you laughing. I’m the same way on the phone and I’m the same way on a date. However, I wasn’t always this way. In my youth I was filled with romance, every word that came out of my mouth to a woman was just dripping with placating pleasantries. I think that I purposely dated women who had low self esteem because I had a super human ability to make them feel good about themselves which in turn made them feel good about me. I wasn’t being fake, I generally felt that if I wanted a woman to love me, it was incumbent upon me to make her feel like the most important and special woman on the planet TO me. Now when I try that it feels forced and trivial.
I’m fat and ugly. It’s hard to feel love for someone when you can’t even get behind your own existence on this fucking planet. This is where the unfairness of love comes about. I see the most beautiful women in the world, on an almost daily basis, who are with a guy for no other reason than he looks good. Sure she may be in love with that man, and he MAY even be a nice guy, but the point is that his good looks put his foot in the door for that to happen. Whenever you hear about a beautiful woman whose man beats her, berates her, and generally treats her like shit and you can’t IMAGINE why she stays with him? It’s because he’s good looking. She probably doesn’t even realize that on a conscious level, but she’s off the game board and no longer an option in MY quest because of it. Good looking guys simply have more options than guys like me and it’s fucking ponderous when you consider the differences between us. Ugly men will ALWAYS treat you better because they KNOW how difficult it will be to find another good looking woman. We don’t take you for granted. Ugly guys are better in the sack because we HAVE to impress you with sexual prowess. And fat guys? Look at us; we know the best restaurants to take you to.
So how can I overcome these obstacles that life has thrown in front of me? Simple…I can’t. Jaded humor is simply a part of my personality at this point in life, and until they find a way to put MY personality into David Dochoveny’s body, I’m never gonna be good looking. Life itself has scolded me and told me to stay the fuck away from love. So what’s my option? I could ‘settle’ just to satisfy my desire to not be alone, but that’s NOT love.
And therein lies another of my many faults…I don’t like fat chicks. I could go out there TONIGHT, with the materials that God has given me and find a fat chick to marry, TONIGHT! Can you, you son of a bitch? (Sorry, I had to paraphrase Alec Baldwin in ‘Glen Garry Glen Ross’ there). I have NO problem with fat chicks on any level except a relationship level. I’m not out here to judge, and I’m not looking for a perfect 10. Hell, I live in Illinois where the population is so fat that the automatic doors at Wal-Mart don’t even open for anything under 300 pounds. My problem is that my mother was an abusive alcoholic fatty. My neighborhood bully was a huge fat chick who beat on me daily, and 90 percent of the customers who piss me off at my current job are just disgusting, angry, pie-faced hippos whose hatred of themselves spills over like a cake with too much yeast in the oven all over unsuspecting people who are JUST trying to get through another shitty day at their job without putting a shotgun under their chin. Yet for some reason, fat girls love me. I suspect they love ANY guy who looks like they have a chance with, but I seem to be some kind of magnet for these women. But if I’m so fucking lonely, why don’t I just settle on one?
Simple; I see TOO many people out there settle on someone JUST because they don’t want to be alone, but I put it to you that being alone is a FAR better fate than loving for the sake of love. That’s false love and it can only lead to a shitty relationship.
When people SETTLE on a partner because they don’t think they can do any better, it NOT only affects them, but the children they might have as well. These people have kids just so they can FINALLY rationalize the bastardization of their standards away by having a child in the hopes of forcing LOVE on their relationship when that child will only cause MORE resentment, and the result is that the poor little shit will be raised in a home full of disinterest, cheating, and a subconscious passive aggressive anger which will only make them pass that grief on to THEIR children after settling on a partner of their own JUST because being alone sucks. Love is a cyclical asshole like that, and that’s why life sucks generationally.
So now that we’ve discussed my past relationship, my faults, and desires…let’s tackle the definition of love as I see it.
Love is a feeling deep within YOU that sees the acceptance in another person’s eyes and warms you to the very core of your being. Gay, lesbian, straight, transgender, black, white, Philippine, bartenders, pilots, cops, drug dealers, Mexican bandits, doctors, lawyers, celebrities, fat people, skinny people, scrapbooking clubs, ham radio enthusiasts, and water buffalo ALL feel love. (Ok, maybe not lawyers.) Love is the great equalizer and as EASY as it is to fucking hate, as easy as it is to be depressed…love is the cure all for what ails ya. And THAT’S why it’s so fucking hard to find.
But Love is not only FEELING that warmth in your heart about someone, it’s that someone else feeling the same way back. When it’s just one sided it’s NOT called love, it’s called stalking. And therein lies the stark horror of love…finding someone that feels the SAME way about you. That’s the crapshoot, isn’t it? It’s easy to meet someone and get the butterflies, but how does one get them to feel the same way back? The answer sucks…you don’t. If someone doesn’t feel the same way about you, there’s no WAY to make them feel something. I know movies and music and TV shows and fucking Cosmo magazines will tell you that THAT’S when you break out the romance. You hire a mariachi band to play ‘In the Air Tonight’ outside of her bedroom window at 3 in the morning, send a dozen roses to her work every day for a week, and send her romantic poetry in the mail that YOU think is romantic, but SHE reads as mildly threatening and calls the cops (what the fuck was ‘mildly’ threatening about “My love is like a stick of dynamite under your car seat” Lady GaGa?”)
LOOKING for love is about as fruitless a quest as trying to find the fountain of youth. Love is something that just happens; it’s not something that can be found. It starts with attraction. Now I know that ‘attraction’ is not the way most people WANT to say love starts, but you don’t KNOW a person is worth your love until you talk to them, and you’re not gonna approach someone if you don’t SEE something in them that attracts you. So yes, love starts at the point that someone is good looking enough to approach. And in that regard I’m already fucked.
Next comes the conversation. This is where I shine, but based on my earlier statement that you can’t CONVINCE someone to fall in love with you, I’m 0 for 2. However, if that initial attraction sparks, you may find that you both have things in common and a similar way of looking at life. In my case, NOBODY has a similar way of looking at life so my fate is sealed in that regard.
Next comes the sex. YES, sex is a part of love and although it’s corny, sex IS the ultimate expression of love. When you can’t get enough of it with your partner, when you can’t stop thinking about fucking them, when you make the sexual experience about pleasing HER and NOT just wanting to shoot a goopy load, and when you think about lying next to her afterwards and hoping she doesn’t leave? You’re in love.
And yes, I said ‘fucking’, because let’s be honest here…’making love’ is something that people who suck at fucking say.
Another part of love is empathy. If your girlfriend feels like shit because she just failed the bar exam or her cat died, or because she got a ticket for going 75 in a 10, YOU should not only be able to comfort her and make her feel better, but YOU should feel her pain in some small part. This woman’s suffering is affecting you and because of that you feel a NEED deep within your core to let her know that you’re not only THERE for her…but that you will do whatever is within your power to make her feel good again. Each of us has different strengths in this regard. MY way is to make her laugh. Laughter is the great pressurization chamber of life. You can’t bring her back TOO quick or she’ll get the bends, so I ease her back into an acceptable state of existence through laughter. Some guys will take her out dancing, some guys will get her high, and some guys will cook her butterscotch rum oatmeal cookies…I bring the fuckin’ funny.
Love is a mutual feeling of harmony, trust, and tolerance that 2 people share. It can never be one sided because it takes TWO people to create ONE love. And if a child is born of that love then you have the PERFECT trinity and an ultimate expression of love.
But like all things…there’s a flip side to love. Love is emotional heroin and just like the real thing it’s only as good as your last fix. When you’re in love you alienate your friends, spend all your money, and distance yourself from the world. However, you don’t SEE that. You don’t KNOW you’re doing that. You’ve become an addict for love and as long as that love is reciprocated…you’re higher than William Burroughs at Woodstock. But when it ends, when it’s all over and she breaks you like the weak Faberge egg that you’ve become…you’ll find yourself sucking dick in life’s public restroom for JUST a taste of what you had before.
Love stands on the upper echelon of the feeling pyramid, but IN that position it stands as a gateway emotion that leads to fear, depression, confusion, despair, self loathing, anger and torment. The love you carry for someone when that love is returned is the best feeling you’ll ever have…for the 3 to 5 months that it IS returned. After that you STILL carry that love like atlas with the world on your shoulders, only all the other planetary emotions jump on until the load gets too heavy and you leave a trail of shit behind you for the few steps you can continue to make in life until you’re crushed underneath the weight of love and it’s ensuing emotions.
Love can only lead to devastation. It brings you down into the blackest pit of Dante’s Inferno, the one he dared not write about, the circle of hell reserved for lovers and fools, where your soul spends an eternity shouting at a moonless black wintery sky, the muffled cries of your mind echo off the dirty wooden planks of the coffin in which you’re buried alive, and your heart is tortured daily with the duality of false hope and painful acceptance.
It’s love’s duality that perplexes us so much. We don’t understand it and when we try to fight it…it just gets worse. That’s why the misery that sprouts from young love is so forceful and prevalent, because we don’t know any better yet. In its duality, love is the Egyptian Gods Seth and Osiris, its good and evil in its purest state, it’s the Chinese ying and yang. Nothing in the world other than heroin can bring you to the heights of wonder and amazement like love, and then tear you down until the very foundations of your soul are cracked and broken.
Love makes you see things that you never noticed before, it crystallizes your perception of the world around you, it opens up doorways in the way you think that you never knew existed, the love you feel for someone can make you care about people and things that you never even thought about before. In essence love makes you want to be a better person for the sake of the person you love and those around you. Love is an emotion that we want to show off, we want others to see, and when we’re in it we can’t imagine why the whole fucking world isn’t in it as well.
While you’re in it, love is a million leaves on a thousand branches of a hundred trees dancing in the wind. Love is a fingertip lightly running down your back, love is soft lips and warm breath on the nape of your neck, it’s a soft voice in your ear, it’s falling asleep with a big fucking smile on your face, love is deep secrets and a shared shallow sarcasm towards anyone who would dare stand in the way of it.
But we can never forget that love is fleeting. Here today, gone tomorrow. And although it sounds harsh, we need to accept that so we can appreciate the love we’re in for the mere moments that we’re in it. When I’m in love, I’m not thinking about my next love or how this one will end. I truly want it to last as long as it can, but I know now…deep down in places I don’t like to talk about, that it WILL end, and I wish that I could go back to the place I was in life when I was ignorant to that fact.
Look, I know exactly why I haven’t found love and like anything else in life it’s my own fault. I put myself out here in this forum of data and words and claim to be searching for love when I KNOW the only way is to put myself out there and let it happen in real life. But I’m tired of feeling rejection when girls ogle my friend Mike while we’re at a bar and completely ignore me. I’m fed up with the rejection trying to start up a conversation with a girl only to have her look at me like I just picked gum up off the floor and started chewing it. I’m fed up with being the ‘funny’ guy in the group or the life of the party who deflects his sorrow and humiliation by making fun of every chick in the bar to the uproarious laughter of everyone around me, and I USE this internet forum like a magician uses misdirection…but the only person I’m fooling is myself.
When I lie on my side at night and look out of my bedroom window, I’m always amazed at what I see. In the winter time, through the bare and twisting branches of the naked trees outside, I can see a faint glow of the moonlight reflecting off of the snow and the steady slow moving and distant lights of airplanes flying overhead as they fade in and out behind the trees.
In the summer time, the stark contrast amazes me as the full leaves on those same branches obscure the night sky and turn the faint glow of wintertime into pitch black. However, the tiny pinpricks of a hundred lightening bugs flash on and off in a beautiful display that could be put to music.
But as wondrous as these nighttime displays of nature may be…they make me sad because I don’t have someone to share them with. I hope that I find love again, but I’m done looking for it. If it comes it comes. What I say to YOU, dear reader…is give it a chance because I still believe, with every ounce of my being that WHATEVER love is, however YOU define it, no matter how shitty or good love has been to you…it’s worth it.
Love is humility in its purest state. I put it to you that if you never reach the depths of depression and depravity that love brings with it, then you’ve never truly lived. To reach the bottom and claw your way back up to some semblance of wakeful sleep is to be alive.
But don’t take it from me. After all, who the fuck am I to define love?