So You Broke Up... Now What?

Now what? This is a question we all ask ourselves once a relationship has ended. If it was a short relationship, “now what” is often followed by, “do I want for lunch”. However, if the relationship had any extended length or strong effect, “now what” is often followed by a sense of being completely and lost.

Breaking up is a undeniably difficult process. That is not helped by the fact that, even though you shouldn't, many people wrap their identities in their relationships. Now that it’s over, half of who they thought they were is gone. The relentless realist in me sees these times as painful periods of transition that will end. The relentless optimist sees this as a opportunity to redefine one’s self. The dowdy pessimist sees this as the most terrible thing that has ever happened and it will never, ever, EVER end… ever. In their own way, they all have the right idea.

The gut wrenching pain you feel after a breakup is terrible, but it will end and from it, you will find inspiration to be reborn. You must not think of this as being the end of the world. If a break up can destroy your will to live, you have other problems. Problems which cannot be confronted in this >1000 word blog post.

Paired couples become one entity in the eyes of friends and family. After a break up, those ideas will have to change. In that transitional period, you have a window to redefine yourself. People are much more willing to accept a big change if it is accompanied by another big change. Switch jobs, dye your hair, drop the religion you don’t really believe in. Use this time to do something wild and new. Your changes will not only help you move on but it will also help everyone else readjust as well.

The worst thing you can do after a break up is ignore it. Ignoring it never works the way you want it to and will lead to baggage. If you are like me, you do not need any more ghosts following you around. Confronting the break up head on is the best, and toughest, thing to do.

In order to confront the break up you have to be willing to explore, understand and accept the reasons behind the dissolution of the relationship. You also will have to figure out for yourself where to put the emotions and feelings you still hold for the other person(s). You must not deny those feelings, or cheat the process as it only serves to diminish your happiness in the long run.

If you can find it within yourself to confront the facts of the relationship and get to a place a peace about its demise you will be able to move on.

While you will never fully forget, you will be able to live without dragging around anymore luggage. For the most part, that is enough. A beautiful thing about relationships is that no matter how bad they are you never want to forget the lessons you’ve learned, things you’ve lost and the things you have to look forward to.

How To (Tastefully) Not Be A Pedo Bear & Stay Out Of Jail

“She told me she was eighteen.” It is an interesting situation in which to find yourself. You innocently have a one-night stand with a person who you assume to be of legal age. That is until the police are knocking at your door to arrest you for statutory rape and corruption of a minor. Turns out that the hottie you met at the bar was only fifteen.

Age and sex is an obviously loaded topic. People tend to get a bit testy when you mention minors and sex. This is understandable when the consensus is that every next-door neighbor is a pedophile coming for your beautiful children. Sure, it is true that a child is more likely to be “corrupted” by someone they know, but who cares about facts when we have hysteria. I understand the desire to protect children from being taken advantage of by those who wish to do them harm. However, the lengths that our culture goes to in a noble, but misguided, attempt to keep children “pure” are more than excessive. It goes to the point where parents refuse to recognize that if your child can walk or talk they are, probably, touching their genitals with unfettered glee.

It is understandably difficult for parents to recognize the sexuality of their children. Luckily, our government has had the foresight to enact laws that help to give a general guideline for the sexual activities of minors. Commonly referred to as age of consent laws, ‘the minimum age at which a person is considered to be legally competent of consenting to sexual acts’, is one that varies. Below is a map of the ages of consent for each state in the union.


College is lousy with situations in which people 18+ are interacting with people ages 14-17. This is why it is even more important to know with whom you are having sex. There are no laws, that I am aware of, that prevents the fraternizing between people of any ages so as long as you keep it PG-13 you need not worry.

(Note: Something tells me I should explicitly state that I am not for any illegal interactions between any persons of any kind. This is including but not limited to of age persons canoodling with other persons under the age of consent in their jurisdiction. )

If you find yourself in a situation where you are weary of your partner’s factual age, you should immediately cease potentially unlawful behaviors. Have you any reason to believe the person you are messing around with is underage, back away swiftly and ask to see a birth certificate or state ID card. Yes, I am serious. Statutory offenses are prosecuted harshly, and in some cases, more so than murder. Unless you are willing to accept the risk of possible imprisonment, you need to take, what some people may call, drastic precautions.

Asking to see someone’s ID, if you do it in a non-accusatory way, will often be seen as a compliment. Try saying something funny like, “You look so young; I just want to make sure I’m not pulling an R. Kelly.” You of course could substitute Roman Polanski, Woody Allen, Michael Jackson or any other person you can think of. However the situation is handled, you need to make an honest effort to confirm the age of your conquest before you storm the castle.

(Note: You must understand that no excuse is going to protect you from litigation if you are found/accused to have had a sexual relationship with a minor. These precautions are for your conscience, if that matters. They may also help you in court if you still are the unfortunate victim of libelous claim from an unscrupulous/deceptive minor or their onerous parent.)

One thing I would like to clarify, is that AOC laws allow for anyone that age of higher to have sex with any their age or higher. For example, in MI, it is illegal for a sixteen year old to have sex with a 15 year old but a 16 year old could legally have sex with a person from 16 to 100+. You should also note, before a person reaches the AOC they are not allowed to have sex of any sort. If you are younger than the AOC in your jurisdiction, do not fret. You cannot be reprimanded, legally, though your parents may have something to say about it.

Full disclosure: Typing every character of this post made me feel unsettled. If you feel unsettled reading this find solace in knowing that this world if filled with a myriad of complex and challenging situations and we must be prepared with knowledge. Someone reading this right now could unknowingly be in a questionable situation and this information being available to him or her could prevent a big problem.

Ooh... What Does This Button Do?

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” That is how it starts; two inquisitive children making an agreement to share the contents of their undies with one another. There is some poking, prodding and a few, “ooh… what does this button do?” moments. Little boys will pull on their penises and make balloon animals with their new friends. Girls will touch and push on their squishy new toy and wonder why it is so much fun. All of this experimentation is in good fun for children, but at some point becomes vilified for teens and adults. A child’s healthy curiosity and imaginative processes is shot, killed, maimed, stabbed, burned, shanked, ground, whittled, and curbed stomped into submission. All this is done to make way for the shame and embarrassment that is to be forced on us by our increasingly sex negative culture.

Some of us, like myself, where lucky enough to be given parent(s) whose rules for sexual activity where simply, “wear a condom.” However not all of us have been so lucky. Many of us where born to parents to whom the very idea of sex is just cause to have a mental breakdown. Sexual growth under these, or similar circumstances, removes the fun and enjoyment from sex. We stop experimenting. We stop pushing and twisting and wondering what the button does, because we fear reprimand from the omnipresent hand of society. This is so wrong. This is not how sex is supposed to be. Sex should be something that we are proud of; a look at what I can do experience. Sex is wonderful and we should be willing and, more importantly, able to explore our own sexuality, without fear.

By its very nature, sex is a cause of anxiety for humans. Sex forces us into a situation where we are exposed to someone who could reject us. The fear of rejection, like the desires to eat and reproduce, is instinctual and a very real fear. It is rare for us to see other naked bodies except in explicit sexualized situations. The people that we see naked are pillar examples of what we ‘should’ be, and probably are not. It is even rarer to be in a position where we are naked in front of others. For all its positives, clothing is really a hindrance to the growth that we need to be secure in our sexuality. Shame is not something animals ever experience; being naked all the time essentially neuters that emotion. Animals, the lucky bastards, also do not have religion, bad sex education, shitty parents, or confusing and misleading media screwing up their perception of themselves and others, but we do.

Our parents, the media, society, peers, clothes, religion, with all of these forces eroding the sense of fun and exploration from sex we forget the simple things. Simple things like the joy and youthful optimism that true unassuming curiosity and experimentation bring.

I pose these questions to you: Why can’t we play, explore, try, laugh, giggle, smile, jump, run, and tumble through the exuberantly blissful experience of sex? Have we been so expeditious in our ascent to adulthood that we traded joy for independence? Have we traded creative license for driver’s licenses? Why are we so willing to accept and perpetuate these shenanigans? Why have we allowed ourselves to become victims of this tomfoolery?

It appears that these stuffed shirt jive-talking crooked tooth swindlers parading themselves about claiming to know the answers to everything have bamboozled us. We have allowed these snake oil salespersons to muddy the already murky road of life with their sleight of hand. They have made us believe that one of the most purely enjoyable things we can ever do, is somehow grounds for social, emotional and spiritual damnation. However, I am here to tell you that that is just not true.

Go out and play, explore, try, laugh, giggle, smile, jump, run, and tumble through the exuberantly blissful experience of sex. Relearn to be proud of your sex, start with a crawl. Your curiosity is hungrier than Audrey II. Feed it, and you will see that what you thought was a little shop of horrors was in fact a cave of wonders. Don’t worry you can touch everything… including the lamp.

Dan Savage Be Damned... Though I Think He'd Approve

Dan Savage likes to say, “Every relationship you will ever have will fail… until one doesn’t.” This is completely true, if your idea of a successful relationship is one where the two, or twelve, of you love each other forever until you die. For the rest of us, we will have several successful relationships throughout our lives. These relationships will be short and plentiful, but they will play a huge part in making us successful in love and life. After all, practice does make perfect.

Short-term relationships can be anything from a one-night stand to a two-week summer fling to a two-year flirt fest. All of these are valuable, substantial and shant be regarded as throwaway experiences. Each one has something to teach you, no matter how brief.

A man or woman on the elevator inquires about your scent. Flattered, you flash a smile. You tell the story and just as you are getting to the final chapter, the elevator doors open to your floor. You hold the doors for a moment to finish, step out, turn and watch as the doors close on their smiling face.

What you just experienced was a successful and very short-term relationship with a beautiful stranger. While you may be tempted to label such a moment as just a compliment paid, it was in fact much more.

For a moment consider this was your first time using said cologne. You now know that, to at least one person, the scent was intoxicating enough to warrant a compliment. At the very least, you could say this was an exercise in flirtation and a verification of your general sexiness. Isn’t it enough that this moment made your day? Why do you need more to qualify it as success?

I do not want to over sell these experiences to you. This moment could make your day and be forgotten the next. On the other hand, you could remember that moment in the elevator with that beautiful stranger every time you mist yourself. It is all a matter of how these experiences affect you. In my case, one of these relationships has stayed with me for the six years following its end.

I… well let us not be coy. I had a fuck buddy who has forever changed how I not only view myself but how I view sex and relationships as a whole. His name was Chris; I never knew his last name. To be honest I didn’t know much about him at all. We met through a mutual friend and had a series amazingly hot one-night stands over a four year period. It was a strange unspoken arrangement, where in if we happened to see each other on any given day he would magically show up at my door in the middle of the night. We would play around, kiss and lick and explore each other in ways I have not, as of yet, experienced again. He would leave me more than satisfied, anxiously awaiting our next passing. He made me feel sexy and desirable. I was a fat awkward teenager so that was a big deal for me.

Keep in mind, this person was the equivalent of a stranger for four years. Some might say that this was slutty or morally reprehensible, those people are idiots and should be shot. Well, shot or put on an island by their self to rot. Before I met him, I was not nearly as confident and strong within my sex as I was afterward. To be honest I owe him a great debt, I thank him, and he may never know it. That being said I recognize that I may be glossing the past but even if he did none of it, he was still a catalyst for me to find these things within myself. Is that not enough?

Relationships being what they are, it is no wonder that so many “fail”. Successful relationships require a lot of compromise and strength that is learned. Until we find someone or a series of someones that we can do that for, it is true that every relationship will “fail”. However if you can learn to appreciate relationships for what they are, learn your lessons, take your lumps and enjoy them while they are there your outlook and definition of success will shift, for the better.

What was your best short-term relationship? I want to know your stories.  Share them in the comments below. If you haven’t had one, it’s summer find one! Lurking around every corner, at every concert, pool party, bonfire, or coffee house there may be one waiting for you. Seize the day.

Love you long time :P,

J

The Gushing Conclusion: Where Are My Panties? Part 3 of 3

I had been so entranced with recalling the previous night's events and swirling my fingers all over my vulva that I did not notice when the door crept open.

“Good morning”, he says and I jump, startled. Mystery Boy stands in the doorway, as naked as the night before, with that same smile splashed across his deservedly smug face. I pause, then remove my hand from my cunt and smile shyly. He walks, unassumingly, into the bathroom and takes a piss. I stand up, leaning on the counter's edge watching his firm ass sway. Now finished he walks to the sink, washes his hands and kisses me softly on my cheek. Cheek turns into mouth, neck, chest, and then stomach. Before I know it, I have my feet on his shoulders and my hands pulling his head scuba deep into my pussy.

The marble counter is cold and satisfying on my bare ass. His tongue moves so fast in starts and stops, it almost vibrates. His fingers are thick and dexterous filling and caressing the walls of my eager cunt. I can feel the pressure and buzz of anticipation building as my pussy swells in cadence with his touch. Drenched with pleasure, I rest my head back bumping against the mirror.
He stands up, his sheathed cock rock hard. He grabs firmly to its base and slides, slowly and carefully, into my welcoming cunt. He is still for a moment while I squirm adjusting to his dick.

Cautiously, deliberately he is now thrusting into me. I can feel every inch of it cradled by my buffeting pussy. In this lethargic moment, I can feel his strong pulse and the extreme warmth of the blood rushing into his dick.

Impulsively, he wraps his arms under my exposed ass and lifts me. Brutally, he throws me up and down on his agile dick. He slams me against the wall and fucks me ferociously, every thrust forcing my entire body up the wall. The rough wallpaper is electric against my partially perspiring posterior. I wrap my trembling legs around his waist and my arms around his sizzling neck. In this position, I am engorged and emboldened. He yanks me off the wall and carries me to the bedroom, all the while I am straddling up and down controlling his motion.

There that smile is again, mischievous and unapologetic.

We lose balance as we reach the bed and fall with a thud. I see him peering at me, comfortingly, through squinting eyes, watching me enjoy each lust dense moment. My legs thrown haphazardly in the air and I wrap my arms around him again, pulling him in close, my fingers can barely touch.

My breathing becomes unstable. He bites my shoulder and I quiver. My pussy is throbbing, and his bright red pubes gently wiping across my swollen lips with each thrust send me barreling over the edge. With one violent spasm, my feverish cunt ejects his dick and a river of juices. He pushes his dick back into my gushing cunt and continues to pummel it. He is vibrating inside of me. He yanks his cock out and caresses it to the startling finale, spraying cum from my belly button to my chin. Sweaty, breathless, spent, and smiling from ear to ear we dilute into the sex soaked sheets.

Many moments of rapid breaths and wiping sweat from brow later, he leaves the room and returns with a warm damp cloth. Smiling, he silently cleanses my fluid slicked tummy and leaves again. The shower is running. I lay still enjoying the pulsating soreness of my exhausted pussy.

After drying and getting dressed in a most comfortable silence he announces, “My name is Eric.”
I laugh, having unconsciously forgotten that I did not know his name. I reply, “Cheryl.”

I get up. Gather my things. He walks me to the door. I kiss him. I open the door. He reaches for my hand. He squeezes slightly in that way that men sometimes do.

My legs are al dente as I stumble to my car in the bright morning sun. I drop my things on the passenger seat, start the car, put on my seat belt and pull away. I never imagined my first thought the morning following my 30th birthday would be, "where are my panties". I also never imagined that I would leave them stuffed in a stranger’s linens. Never in my life have I wanted them to be uncovered so badly.

Waste Not, Want Not: Where Are My Panties? Part 2 of 3

Mystery Boy is stirring in bed. I should probably peak my head out of the bathroom door to make sure he is still asleep. The Z’s are still pouring. Sitting back down I’m realizing my pussy is dripping wet. I slide my hand under my skirt and begin to massage my clit. I want to remember more…

As he stands up from the couch, I notice that his pants had disappeared at some point. His bare legs look strong. You can see the muscles work under the bright red fleece of hair that thickly covers his thighs. His thick cock is stiff. He delightfully grabs and tugs at it, as a small child would do absentmindedly at the dinner table. My eyes travel from his proudly presented bouncing erection upward to his chest and face, which are drenched in the juices of my pussy. I laugh nervously, and he licks his fingers. “Damn, can I get the recipe” he inquires with a smile. He reaches out his hand to help me up, but instead I lean forward to grab a hold to his dick and comfort it within my rapidly watering mouth. 

My sudden move knocks him slightly off base; he takes a small step backward to steady his footing. His breaths deepen every time his cock reaches the back of my throat. His movements are slight but his tightly squinted eyes, firmly balled fists and viciously curled toes, make it seem as if his entire soul is pouring into the shaft is his still swelling cock. It’s funny how stiff his body is. I start to speed up and he loses balance completely, we fall back onto the couch, his now pulsating prick still in my mouth. 

He is silent, except for sharp breaths, until a grunt sneaks out. Now every exhale is paired with increasingly savage grunts. Suddenly he wraps both of his hands around my head, holding it still, and begins to fuck my throat. I like the savage behavior he is suddenly showing. His whole body begins to shake and I know he is going to cum. His hands jerk to move my head, which is unnecessary. He falls deathly still and silent. I can taste his salty, sweet cum as his dick opens fire on my throat.

After a long pause, he finally moves, inhales, and exhales with a giggle. I kneel back and gladly swallow his cum, no use in letting it go to waste. He leans down, gently kisses my lips and whispers “thank you.” I stay on my knees, as he recovers, playing with his still swollen cock. It jumps with his heartbeat and I begin to follow his pulse, letting it bounce on my tongue.

Now that he has recovered both of our Hypnotiq hazes are waning and the curtain of sleep is dropping faster than my panties on our spinning heads. He leads me to the bedroom; I lie down on the deceptively soft all white linens and find my swiftly drifting away. I awake moments later to one of his hands on my shoulder and the other offering me a glass of water. I take it willingly, knowing that the next morning will be an aspirin filled fiasco if I don’t. I finish the water quickly and set it on the dark, wooden bedside table. Mystery Boy then leans forward to kiss my forehead. He then, surprisingly cartwheels over me onto the bed. We share a laugh. He lays his head on my titty and casually swirls the nipple with his tongue as we melt to sleep.

Where Are My Panties? Part 1of 3

I never imagined that my first thought the morning following my 30th birthday would be, "where are my panties?" However, for better or worse this happens to be the thought sprinting across my foggy mind at this moment as I sit up straight in this comically large bed. For that matter, where are my bra, pants, and heels? I am also wondering whom this person lying next to me snoring like a wildebeest. He is cute though, even with his bright red unkempt curly locks and matching sparsely tamed beard.

My second thought is to run. In this current situation, that seems rather silly if not blatantly illegal. Swallowing that primal motivation, I decide it better that I cautiously spill myself out of bed slowly planting my feet into the soft chocolate carpet of this rather well designed bedroom. Walking… rather creeping unsteadily to the bathroom I catch sight of my discarded clothing and, thank god, my cell phone.

Closing the bathroom door behind me I immediately wiggle back into the smoky skin of yesterday. Now that I am clothed, I can at least think about where I am and how I got here. After a few minutes of flipping through my phone looking at last night’s pictures and text messages, the night starts to come back to me. After a few too many gin and tonics, Mystery Boy and I ended up back at his place. I do not remember how it started, exactly, but I do remember.

This boy smells like cinnamon, adrenaline and cigarettes as he is nibbling the tender nape of my neck. Somehow, in the circumstances this particular combination is more intoxicating than a fifth shot of Stoli. His hands are exploring my body through the fabric of my tank top, until I find myself topless and helpless and I love it.

He lays me down on his plush carpet and the fibers tickle the supple skin of my back and thighs. It is only now that I can feel the warmth of his body as he puts his weight on me. He sits upright and removes his shirt in one fluid movement. His hairy chest is slick with sweat and now pressed up against my exposed tits. His skin is soft but slightly rough and stunningly responsive to my hands as they hold tight to his hips and shoulders mimicking the rhythm of his movements.

He is good.

I cannot help but to think that I may not be the first damsel he’s brought back to his castle. My mind wanders into the sticky abyss of trysts pass, for a moment, until I am jerked back by the feeling of my too short skirt and panties had, seemingly, evanesced into the ether.

His head is barely visible with his entire mouth buried deep in my pussy. The wet noises, slurps and licks, turn me on even more. When he realizes I am watching, he looks up and gives a knowing smile licking his lips. The whiskers of his mustache are satisfyingly prickly against my clit adding to the finger and tongue combination making my legs shudder with each lashing of his flat wet tongue.

Through sharp breathes I manage to whisper, “I’m going to cum”. To him it probably sounds more like, “I’m… gonna… ooh... cum!” My legs clamp shut and hold his head in place, but he does not stop. He keeps licking and fingering my now swollen and, for the moment, satiated pussy. He only sops once my legs have loosened their vice grip as I fall into a post orgasmic coma.

After catching my breath and returning to stasis, I open my eyes to see him watching me. He is sitting on the couch staring down looking over every inch of my body as I writhe around enjoying the heightened sensations arousal brings.

He is beautiful.

His body is tight but chubby, hairy but smooth. He has a youthful look in his bright emerald eyes, and I can tell this isn’t the end of what he has planned for me.

Cheaters

Last post I talked to you dudes and dudettes about a girl I met in my favorite coffee shop. She'd cheated on her boyfriend and wanted help deciding whether or not she should accede her misgivings. I told her not to. It seems as though some of you would disagree with me. In the comments for that post my new friend Clara wrote:

"I guess what I'm saying is that I think it harms the relationship to keep the secret. It may keep things smooth for a while, but do we want an easy relationship or a real one? Cheating in the first place means that something is off. It could mean she isn't really ready for monogamy, that her feelings for her boyfriend are waning, that she isn't mature enough to make the good choices, or that she isn't really happy. Whatever the reason, the mistake she made is proof that there is something to fix. But she shouldn't fix it alone, she's in a relationship! The whole point is it's not just up to her if they should stay together and work on it or end it, it's up to him too. He should know all the facts, and they should make these decisions together. By keeping this secret, she is being unfair to her boyfriend by taking his vote, and limiting her own growth as a person. By pretending nothing is wrong, whatever IS wrong cannot be addressed. "

Clara makes sense. Nothing she is saying is wrong; however, in this situation her reaction is the wrong one.  Our young woman slipped up only once, in her two-year relationship. She has been drenched in guilt since the incident with her spicy Latin co-worker and I think she should give herself a break. We too often put extreme amounts of pressure on ourselves to be perfect, which is an unrealistic goal. Everyone deserves a get out of jail free card every once in a while, consider this hers. 

If she ever slips up again she needs to confess. If she finds she has any negative consequences that will soon be communicable, flaring up, or in nine months bursting from her uterus she needs to belt it out as if Mariah Carey became She Hulk and ate Beyonce, Whitney Houston and Minnie Ripperton.

If no negative consequences come from this mistake then a confession of guilt will only serve to remove the weight of guilt from her shoulders and put the weight of betrayal onto his.

Along with giving ourselves a break, we need to learn to shoulder our own burdens and not pass them off to others. Your mistakes are yours. To illustrate, say you are a multibillion-dollar multinational corporation of British origin that sells petroleum. If you where to say make a bad decision causing hundreds of millions of gallons of oil to pour into the sea for months killing gargantuan numbers of wild life and cause untold damage to the ecosystem of the world, you should keep your mouth shut. You should stop the leak, fund wild life preservation efforts and pay dividends to the families that have gone bankrupt because you murdered their only source of income.  Not make a half-hearted apology on global television and continue not to give a fraction of a millionth of a shit.

We are humans, and to human is err. There is no reason why we should be held accountable for every single one of our missteps in life.  Think of all the little and big things you have done that you have gotten away with. If you have not, then you are holier than thou I guess and you can look down upon us in judgment.  I’m guessing you are not a metaphysical being that may or may not exist so just focus on loving and embracing yourself, all the while crossing your fingers no one is currently digging up your dirt.

Blah, Blah, Blah

Today while I was in my favorite sub shop, I met a girl who had a problem. Her problem was  that she'd met a complete stranger, me, and was about to spill her dirtiest secret to him. Luckily for her she picked the right stranger. I will spare you from sifting through the emotional vomit she spat onto my shoes but the summary is that she'd cheated on her boyfriend of two years with Some Latin Guy (SLG) from her job. I say "Some Latin Guy" because during this 25min non-stop out pouring of crazy she referred to him as having come from every country south of and including Mexico. I think it was mainly because he can't speak English and she can't speak Spanish but none the less.

What she wanted from me was to help her decide whether to tell her boyfriend or not. I think we all know what I told her... Shut your fucking mouth. 

There is literally NO reason why, at this point she needs to tell Boyfriend anything. The way she explained it to me, SLG is keeping his non-English speaking mouth shut, as far as she knows she hasn't caught syphilis or a fetus, and she's set a appointment to get checked for any STIs and pregnancy. She's doing everything she needs to do.

However, if Boyfriend asks, she needs to spill it. If she caught something, she needs to spill it. If she finds out she's knocked up with Some Half Latin Baby by Some Latin Guy, bitch better sing. In every other circumstance she needs to zip her lips with a padlock and stop talkin' all that blah, blah, blah!

Telling Boyfriend will only help her to feel better, and him to feel like shit. If it doesn't murder her already  tumultuous relationship it will at the very least send a pair of jet liners through their proverbial twin towers of love.

Now I'm gonna get back to my goddamn sub before someone else decides to share their life with me. :)

I like you, but I don't like you like you...

The first time I ever hit on a guy I was young, maybe 13 or 14. I don't remember much of the encounter itself,  but I know that I'd met him at a rec center near my house and totally thought he was dreamy. He was into me, and we hit off. From there we dated on and off for about four years. Unfortunately this is where my successful approaches come to an abrupt and unfortunate end.

Every guy I have approached in the ensuing decade, from then until today, has politely declined my advances. I have heard a shit ton of excuses ranging from, "You're just not my type" (I can respect that), and "We should just be friends" (Fuck no.) to "Um, no" (Rude!), and "I don't think I'm your type." (Are fucking retarded! I hit on you, plus I don't even have a "type" you dumb ass.) None of them helped the sting. It never got easier to take, nor did it get easier to put myself out there.

As recently as two weeks ago I was rejected by "I don't think I'm your type", who was a friend I hoped to make into a boyfriend.Obviously that was a disaster. To be quite honest, in this situation I was more offended by the lame ass reason than the actual rejection.

At this point in my emo extravaganza I really should add that I have been hit on, successfully. Not really sure how to word that one. I get hit on, not very often anymore, but it happens. I usually give the person the time of day, unless I find them so ugly it's repellent. This isn't out of some karma bull but instead out of sheer willingness to give anyone a try. I find that even the marginally attractive can be upgraded greatly by a good personality or intelligence.

All of this rejection has made me as bitter as orange rind.  I try not to let the bitterness affect me but there are times. Sometimes I'll be listen to someone complain about their relationship problems or see a couple together in a loving caress and want to throw a brick at them. As of yet I have not, that you know, done so. Some how, I have been able to avoid many of the pitfalls that the chronically rejected oft fall into. I really credit that accomplishment to my mom's constant reassurance of my worth as a child, but that's for another more Freudian post.

I openly recognize the things about me that make me so prone to rejection and because I am being honest I am going to lay them out here for your reading pleasure. My personality, is abrasive and at the same time wholly insecure. My body, I'm fat. My dress, I have never been and never will be a snazzy dresser. I'm shy, and closed off. All of that is topped off with my chronic depression and severe anxiety attacks. I'm a mess, but that's me.

You may read that and think to yourself, "OMG WTF GTG, It's not you it's me. I simply have a allergy to crazy people." Yeah, me too. Let's be clear, I do not lay all my crazy out in the first meeting, are you crazy? Like most of you I try to hide my crazy, but it seems my crazy has grown to be a bit of a Houdini.

At this point in my story the only thing I have left to say is... Hi, my name is Jerome. Would you like to go out some time?