Classic Trig

Her eyes rolled back behind her closed lids. Her breathing stunted and hummed as I swam my fingers in and out of her. She grabbed the back of my head, her fingers running in my hair as she pulled my face towards hers and into her lips. Our mouths moved together until she whispered in my ear, “. . . I want you.”

She pulled me onto my back, my shoulders driving into the pillows. She mounted me, kissed me, and pushed my shoulders back. I felt her fingers slowly trailing down my chest across my stomach. She pulled my boxers down slightly. Her fingers tightly wrapped around the stem of my dick, pointing it upwards; inches toward the opening of her canal.

It’s been less than 1 week. Actually it’s been one day less than a week since I said I was in love. And it was true, I was in love. Spoiledly infatuated and nestled into my own special corner. But, it was Monday night that I called her and she didn’t pick up. And, it was Monday night that I decided to freeze her out.

The past week would be a roller coaster of awful decisions and persistent hope. After a long labor day weekend, I was just touching the surface of how hard it must be for anyone who understands themselves to be a Pick Up Artist to suddenly drift into love, pull over and settle. And let me tell you from recently personal experience; it’s hard. . . real hard!

I had frozen out Capricorn and I was at the DMV. I waited 2 hours already, and I was 10 people away from being seen. I immediately took an open chair. The girl, who was Chinese, sitting next to me was reading a hard cover book. I thought I saw the author on the cover.

“I LOVE AMY TAN!” I said as vulgarly obnoxious as possible. The girl looked up at me with a puzzling confused stare. “Your book, Amy Tan?” I clarified.

She pulled the cover over. The first name was Ashley and the last name was something that wasn’t “Tan.” I was wrong. It wasn’t Amy Tan.

“Oh!” I said embarrassed. I smiled in good manner and said, “I just saw that you were Chinese so you must be reading Amy Tan.”

Her face pulled back away from me, “Stereotypical are we?” she said with an offended yet intrigued roll of her eyes.

“Nope,” I said, “Just racist.” She laughed.

My game has been burning the confidence it deserves to have ever since I fell in love with Capricorn. I’ve been telling people that Capricorn was my girlfriend and that I was in a relationship to The Attraction Forums, but I was simply just deeply enthralled into it that I was acting stupid. I could see the way I didn’t care about results and routines, and because I just wanted people to talk to me, I ended up throwing kino out the door and it really didn’t matter because I was getting people high off verbal touch. And man, was my verbal touch inappropriately tasteful.

I met Katherine on Tuesday; the one at the DMV. I met another girl, Elizabeth at City College who’s a very nice young lady also, and Middle Eastern. The same day that Elizabeth met me she sent me a text saying:

HB: Hey its liz from earlier today. I have to take a test at 11 tonight so I can’t call. Nice meeting you today though! Maybe we can do lunch sometime.

I was skipping down the streets of my game in full throttle, all the while thinking of Capricorn.

I called Katherine earlier today in between classes. We chatted for no more than 3 minutes. I called her again later that night around 8pm. We chatted for a bit. She mentioned that she was going out to the city tonight to hang out at a gay club. Parties aren’t my thing, and neither are homo things. We chatted for a bit, she wanted me to hang out with her and her friends, but I was kind of hesitant, plus I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t have anything awesome going on. I told her that I would call her back and eventually said I would go. But on one condition.

“Hey if I hang out with you, you have to promise me something?” I said to her before I agreed to meet up with her.

“Yeah sure what?”

I stunned and hummed over the phone before I cleared my throat, “You can’t have sex with me.”

“What?” she said confused.

“We can’t have sex tonight," I said indefinitely.

“Oh yeah," She laughed nervously, "That’s fine. I wouldn't have sex with you anyways,” she laughed and laughed and tried to work her way out of thinking that she would want to have sex with me.

I had to find a ride to the Bart Station because I couldn’t drive my car with a suspended registration. I could’ve taken the risk of getting towed or pulled over but I’m already in deep shit with other things.

I scrambled around my parking lot in the hope that I knew someone with a slight relevance to my life so I could bum a ride off them. No one showed up. I got a sandwich at the subway slash gas station across the street in hope to find a ride from someone. That didn’t work. I was calling everyone I knew, I was bothering everyone, I was being stupid. I finally saw a very very not so close acquaintance at Walgreens and worked my way into getting a ride.

We were sitting in the car and after awhile I told him that I’m a social dynamics specialists. He asked him to give him a lesson, and I threw out as much social dynamic jargon to seem like I can diffuse a terrorist threat. We reached the Bart Station and I got on the train. I was eating my Subway sandwich next to a girl with long legs wearing really short running shorts. It looked like she wasn’t wearing pants. She wore glasses and was reading a book. Half of her screamed naughty nerd, and the other half screamed tight smooth long super duper sexy legs.

The train stopped and I had Subway garbage in my hand. As soon as the train doors open I jumped up, walked out of the train, threw my garbage away, and came back into the train; all the while with my messenger bag sitting on the seat.

It was three stops away to where I needed to be from where I started. I was already at one stop away. I couldn’t open the girl earlier because I was busy eating a sandwich.

I walked up to her, “Hey,” I said, she looked up, “Do you have a pen?”
“Yeah,” she replied.

My phone was dying and I didn’t want to lose Katherine’s number. I took the pen that the girl gave me and started writing Katherine’s number onto my arm. “Hey I just got to say,” I said all the while writing with her pen on my arm, “the whole ‘no pants’ thing, is incredibly sexy!”

“Oh thank you,” she said, “That was really daring what you did over there, running out of the train to throw your garbage out and leaving your bag here.”

“Oh. . .” I really couldn’t say anything. I really didn’t want to say the cliché line, ‘well I’m a daring guy,’ because I felt like I would be a little over the top. And moronic.

“Hey,” I said, “so my stop is actually the next stop and you’re incredibly beautiful.” She said thank you. “I would totally love to bullshit with you and everything, but I really do have to get off at the next stop,” I said. “Do you want to talk sometime?” I pulled out my phone and handed it to her.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“That’s cool,” I said, “so you’re a Virgo.”

“Yeah how’d you know?”

“I just know these things.”

“Yeah, my birthday’s in like 4 days. That was really cool how you just guessed that.”

“4 days?” I said repeating her.

“Yep!”

“Here stand up! I’ll give you a birthday hug!”

She melted, laughed, and smiled. She stood up and gave me a tight one. We were already reaching my stop. “You’re amazing,” I said. She smiled.

“Let me see something?” I took my index finger and ran it up the inside of her bare thigh. “That’s sooo sexy!”

She laughed “You are too much!”

“I know!” I said walking out the Bart train doors. I stood outside the window and waved goodbye continuously shaking my hand in a silly manner. She reciprocated and continued to wave her hand silly too until the train moved forward and seperated both of us.

I was waiting for 20 minutes at the station before Katherine showed up. She called me telling me that she’s no longer going to take the train and that she was going to drive there instead. I said, okay. I met up with her and got into her Volvo. She was wearing an orange tanktop top with buttons and gray jeans.

We talked and talked while we were driving into the city, mostly on random stuff. No routines. I teased her a lot. We passed by a park and she mentioned how she had sex in that very same park on a tree. We started talking about the craziest places we’ve ever had sex. And then we were just talking about sexual naked things, like threesomes, streaking, skinny dipping yadda yadda, a lot of good stuff. I’ve disqualified her a lot and kept my frame rather selfish.

She already told me that the friend that we were meeting up with was super gay, and emphasized the super duper gayness of his gayness. I told her that it would be fine and that I wouldn’t get offended too much. And of course once we pick him up he’s talking about how he likes to give head and what types of penis does he like to put in his mouth. It’s cool though. I really don’t have anything against gay people and it seriously doesn’t bother me.

We’re at Safe way. We buy wine and chips ahoy cookies, the ones with the mixed white chocolate and milk chocolate cookies mixed together. We’re walking down the aisle and Katherine says that I’m gay and I like men, so I slap her ass. She laughs playfully. Were standing in the longest grocery line I have ever seen. As we finally make it up to the register, the cash registry person can already see I’m impatiently waiting to blow my fucking brains out because the line was too long. I go up to pay for my chocolate chip cookies and Katherine stops me. She pulls out her credit card and smiles, “I’ll pay for it!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!”

I smile at the registry person, “Yep she’s that type of girl!”

The cash registry guy laughs, “Eww I don’t even like you,” Katherine says.

“Just because you ain’t getting any from me tonight!” I say.

“Not like I would want any from you!”

I look at the cash registry guy once again, “Yep!” I say, “She’s that type of girl.”

We head back over to the house we were originally at to drink at the house. The gay friend is named Munn. I try to chat it up with him the whole time, basically building some social proof and not seem like I'm annoyed by him. We’re sitting in the living room of a very nice San Francisco living room. Nice San Francisco houses are hard to come by. I told Katherine that I wasn’t drinking tonight so Katherine and Munn are drinking Burgundy wine together in wine glasses. The house owner wakes up and tells us we should go downstairs and not wake him up. We sit around downstairs and play, “never have I ever.” I end up drinking because that’s the renumerative drawback of the “have I ever” part.

“What time is it?” Katherine asks Munn.

He looks over to his phone, “it’s eleven thirty.”

“Oh we should be leaving soon. . .”

What? We’re still leaving? It’s eleven thirty and were still going to head out to the gay club. Katherine and Munn stand up. I’ve drank three full glasses of wine, and I don’t feel too good. But it doesn’t matter, we’re on our way out of the house. Katherine is sitting in the living room after I use the bathroom, and Munn is getting something before we leave. I grab Katherine and tell her to give me a twirl.

“Are you trying to dance with me?” she says her eyes mellowed out and staring into mine. I throw her half a twirl and slap her butt. She backs up into me and we do a little freaky dance as I hold her hip and neck. We laugh and start walking out of the house, still waiting for Munn.

Katherine slowly pulls the door closed, even though we’re still waiting for Munn. My back is leaning on the staircase as were waiting.

“So. . . Jon,” she asks me, “. . . what’s your deal?”

I look at her slightly, “What do you mean?”

She walks straight up to me; our bodies slightly touching each others. My hands are holding onto the ledge. I’m not wrapping them around her and I’m not showing her any adorability. “What’s. . . your. . . deal?” she says again suggestively looking at me. She places her face underneath my chin and above my collarbone. I feel her lips softly being placed onto my neck. Munn comes out. Katherine spins around as if nothing happened. Katherine starts walking down the stairs and I follow her as Munn locks the front door.

We’re walking down Haight street in search of another liquor store before we get onto the bus. I’m talking to Munn about STD’s and how he seems to be able to avoid them. Supposedly he’s had sex with over 50 men. He uses a condom when he gives head. Katherine is falling behind because she’s on the phone. I extend my hand to her and she intertwines her fingers in mine. We walk down the street. We reach the liquor store. We run after the bus.

Katherine and Munn are trying to get me to drink again. Katherine has an alcoholic drink containing caffeine, so I can’t drink that because it’ll kill me. Munn has a lager. I end up drinking the lager. I kind of don’t feel comfortable drinking from the same can as him, or practically anyone else. But especially because he’s had sex with 50 guys, you start thinking is this what it is to smoke 50 dicks?

We get off at some stop in Market. For anyone who’s unrelated to San Francisco, where we started was Haight. Haight is the highlighted tourist street of San Francisco filled with a lot of thrift stores and bars. Market is the financial district. It’s the epicenter of the business part of San Francisco.

We’re walking down a street off Market. It’s about midnight by now. Munn is still talking about the guy were meeting up with. The guy is supposedly really really short, he’s a bouncer, and on countless occasions had asked Katherine and Munn to get into a threeway with him. I guess he likes to go direct.

We’re walking off Market when Katherine needs to use the bathroom.

“Just go in here,” Munn says pointing to the hotel right next to us. I open the door for Katherine and walk in with her. It’s a high end hotel and as long as we don’t talk and stay completely honest we won’t get into any trouble. As I’m walking Katherine takes my hand and wraps her fingers around mine.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“What? I just don’t want to get in trouble. . .”

I sigh, “Ummm okay.”

We check the left side of the hotel, it’s a restaurant. No bathroom. We walk all the way to the right side of the bathroom. Still no bathroom. I ask a couple that’s walking around and they don’t know but they say we should try to look around the registry area. So we go and we find. She goes into the girl’s room, and I go into the boy’s.

. . . Capricorn.

It was only last weekend. How could she be in love with me? There’s no way that she can possibly be in love with me the same way I’m in love with her. It was one weekend together, a full 24 hours of us hanging out and sharing ourselves and being ourselves and being with each other. That’s all I really want. I want her. I want a friend that I can kiss and hug and wrap my arms around at night. I want that freedom. I want to be trapped in her. But she doesn’t feel the same way.





“Is anyone in there?” I ask Katherine as I slightly open the women’s bathroom door.

“Uhhh NO!” she says, her voice echoing the bathroom walls.

I walk in and look at her, “Hey!” I say as I grab the back of her head and pull her waist into mine. I bend my lips down towards hers.

She gets distracted and shifts away as I’m pulling into her. She turns back and pulls towards me, but I’m not pulled into her anymore. I pull back and she’s not pulled into me anymore. Whatever! She takes my hand and walks me out of the girl’s bathroom.

I pull her hand forcefully into my body and push her body onto the wall next to the bathroom door. I could see her teeth biting the inside of her lower lip as I pull her face upwards and I come down to hers. She’s smiling.

She tastes like butter. Someone walks in on us as I’m pinning Katherine onto the walls our mouths moving up and around each others. I pull off of Katherine’s lips. There’s a concierge guy who gives us a smiting look. Katherine takes my hand and pulls me out of there.

. . . To be continued (as usual)

-Written 9-13-2009

who's doin what now?

I hit on a girl yesterday with a crooked eye.

Hey guys, it's my birthday next sunday so I've been taking a hiatus. I'll get back to you guys asap.

-love

Scratch Beginnings

Her name?

Well her name's actually really hard to pronounce. Back in South San Francisco, back to the fog, the bookstore, my tinkering car. It's Friday, my sister had just dropped me off. I got irritated with her earlier today, because I'm doing everything in my power to get a life, but being so, she has all reason to be disappointed as to how my life is turning out. It's quite encouraging.

Held by the bookstore, was Scratch Beginnings, a book based on a college graduate trying to make it out of being homeless, by choice, and hoping to come out with the American Dream. I've been planning on becoming homeless, actually not planning but anticipating. I've been planning on becoming independant, and readying myself for anything I might have to deal with.

33 pages, 33 pages about being in a homeless shelter. I looked around the bookstore, I really didn't feel like sarging. I was sitting next to little teenage girls, obviously in High School, and felt the pressure of opening them. But, that couldn't lead to anything good. I went along to open a not very attractive girl, who once I saw her face, was probably in High School also, in the astrology book section. In one hand, I have to sarge, in the other hand sarging is a choice. On today's hand, I really want to kiss someone I like. I called Grace and got her answering machine. I called several other fading targets, which ended with the same voicemail sentiments. I was getting antsy.

I left the bathroom, went through the astrology section, and flew past another girl with a very young looking body, but a very sort of, intellegent face. A fascinated face, like the girl's who talk Jane Austen vs Shakespeare, or Whitman's willing persistence to say the same things. It's the same adoring face behind Jamie's personality, Kate, the weirdo's personality, Ani, the poet, beautiful women who's faces have been hovering over books since they've made the decision that books were way more interesting than other social applications. Before I opened her, I knew I was going to fall into desperate infatuation.

I walked past, walked back, I looked at her face, "Hey, are you a Libra?" I know, I'm such a dork.

Immediately she turned her eyes in a quite interested gleam. "No. . ."
"Are you a gemini?"
"No, do you know about moon signs, and rising?"

I felt that ease sink in; as if I had just comfortably drowned. She smiled, and I adored her large saphire eyes. I asked her what book she was reading and she pulled out "Into the Wild." I laughed as I put my book in front of her; we were in the same boat, basically reading the same book with a different story. When a bookseller tended to straightening the books in the area where we were standing, I asked her if she would like to walk around with me. She nodded her head and said sure. She followed me as we wound into the aisles.

She had big feet. Well she looked like she had big feet, chucks, compared to her about 5'4 height. She was wearing skinny pants, with a black sweater dawning psychedelic colors. Her name was a very long three syllable name with some type of under rated European origin, it had about 28 consenants, and like 3 vowels. Really, it had 11 letters altogether. M, which is the name I'll be calling her, talked in a very defensive but very keen way, not in a victim sort of way, but walled off, as if she was hiding something. For one, she wasn't with a friend or her parents, she was with her guardian. She moved from Vermont, and when I asked her why, she dodged the question telling me that she didn't want to say why and that it was a hard question. I asked her how she would feel if she was in a white room, and she said it was a hard question. Very mysterious. She was closed off, but very interested in me that it was encouraging, discouraging, and quite confusing.

We went into the cooking aisle and rated pies from a pie book. She didn't like corn pie, so I said I did. We spent a long time differentiating the coalitions behind the heavy voluptuous brownie army against the diverse, multicultural, cookie army. The brownie army won. When I randomly pulled out the blueberry pie page her face lit up in mouth watering fascination. Before the blueberry rating, all the other pies deserved a score under five that wasn't very optimistic. The blueberry pie itself, she rated as a 7.

I liked her shy, eerie, virgin, naive properties. (Have no idea if she's a virgin) It's like those comedy shows where everyone's laughing except for that one girl in your group. When M smiled, it was like I finally did something right. When M smiled, it was like staring at the sky and finally seeing a shooting star and wondering what just happened. We walked through the aisles to not look at maps, but to talk about where we would go in America while we stood by the map section. We walked through one corner, and stopped by to check in with her Guardian who asked me a few arbitrary screening questions, not exactly selectively scanning me, but trying to keep me interested in her and not her guardianee.

As we sat in the kids section, on the children benches, we talked about movies. I stared into M's face, and I saw Ava. I spent one day with Ava. I called her around midnight and left her company the midnight the next day. I spent 24 hours with her, falling asleep on her couch at 7am and waking up to her in 12noon, with the fog crawling outside the window, as my lips touched her forehead. It was the perfect day. The one day that I would want to live over again and again in my head, over any other day. If everyday was going to be like those 24 hours with Ava, I'd marry her, I'd be set, I'd be happy. Ava faded out of the picture a long time ago, and I'd been staring at M in the wrong sort of way. We talked about her necklace, her ring, read her palm, and talked.

I pulled out my phone, "Do you want to talk some time?" I could feel a broad searing hesitation keeping under her skin. "I mean, I do think-"
"Yes!" she said emphatically interrupting my sentence.

My eyes sucked back into my face and froze that way. She took my phone from my hand and started punching in her name. For a moment, I felt like I knew this girl would be the one I would fall in love with. For a moment I knew how invested I was in her. I knew I was getting ahead of myself when I hugged her by the bookstore double doors letting her go.

Lies.

Vacaville.

"Hello, my name's Jonathan and I was driving down highway *something something, and I was looking to enquire about the plot of land that was for sale looking over the highway." I could feel my sister cringe in the backseat, her lips tied shut. My brother in law, who was driving the car was holding back his humor. I kind of felt as if he was wanting to laugh because it's a very laughable moment, but not laughing because he's an adult and crank calls were so 20th century.

"Well, where's this plot of land?" Clarence, the real estate advisor asked.
"Oh it's the one before..." I checked the road for the nearest exit, "The Davis Street Exit." The plot of land was a hilly area that was blanketed by bright green and yellow grass. It was indeed beautiful, but in an obvious way, it was also too costly for my nonexistent bank account.

"The plot of land is one million and 6 hundred thousand dollars." Yep, definitely pocket change for me.
"Oh, that sound pretty reasonable. Well I also wanted to know, because I'm a entrepreneur myself, that if I do purchase this plot of land, that I'll be able to start a business over there.
"Well what type of business are we talking about???" I felt a silent thunder shock instill in my chest. What would I do? In my head, I knew that I always had a plan to start a business, a product that was just not coming up in the time of now. I was thinking straw, straws. And not the cow stable straw, I was thinking about loopy roller coaster straws. Why straws? I have no idea.
"Well..." I said hesitating, and stuttering in confusion, "well, I sell horses." Horsies. Yes, horsies.
"Well a business like that would definitely be acceptable."
"Oh, well that's great then. I'll have to consult this with my wife; we are looking around for a place to build a home, so I will get back to you. Is this the best way to get in touch with you?"
"Yes it is."
"Okay then, I'll keep in touch."
"Thank you," he replied.

I hung up my phone, and my brother in law laughed. I couldn't see my sister but I assume that she was holding onto her chest for dear life.


* * * * * * *


"Jaype, don't ever do that when I'm in the car," my sister said, the minute we set foot into the Gap Outlet in Vacaville. My eldest sister's quite an emotional, unfun having person. She's 10 years older than me, and living her dream of being a parent, and a nurse, so she has nothing to complain about. I brushed off the comment and continued to pursue the outlets.

When we walked through a store there was always one very vibrant attractive woman working or walking around. The sensually tan girl at that one clothing store with the tatoo of a hummingbird on her shoulder, wearing that 70's halter top that covered one shoulder and not the other. The tall skinny nerdy girl, who probably does not know how to apply make up in any way other than for a goth premise, working at the candy store. The girl at the other clothing store who's face was loveable in a old friend, "My Girl" movie, type of way, until you saw her dress dressing up her long swelling cleavage.

My sister's looking for anything cheap and anything likeable. So I've been choosing out clothes and giving her my honest opinion. Like the hat she found at Banana Republic, that looked like it's been in a horded garage for 10 years, and you just decided to pat down the lint very unsuccessfully and put it on. Or, the grandma print that looked like an Ohio country home table cloth. My sister was looking for a cardigan, just your normal run of the mill cardigan; that we couldn't find.

I walked into a *store, you obviously know why I'm keeping myself so vague, and found a girl wearing a wool green cardigan.
"Hey, could I ask you something?" AFC approaches; good when dealing with professional circumstances.
"Yeah, sure."
"Where'd you get that cardigan?" I asked.
"Oh this thing," she waved me down to follow her and I followed suit. We came up to the wall as she attempted to grab something off a top hanger. When she bended forward, she exposed the tatoo designed on the side of her hip. It was a whimsical scenery brought to life by bright effervescent colors. I told her it was an awesome tatoo, and she said thank you in a very sincere liking manner. I told her about this one time I was working at Starbucks and I was borrowed by another location, and my first day working there this girl showed off her tatoo to these guys in line. The thing was her tatoo stretched from her butt all the way up to the top of her armpit. As she presented herself, she wasn't wearing a bra, so she was cupping her right boobie. The cardigan girl laughed. She too, wanted a complex nativity scene sprouting from her butt up to her armpit.

She went into the back to see if they had anymore cardigans, one specifically that didn't have graphic detail. I knew I was going to number close her. I knew it, so I hid behind some aisles and waited for her to come follow me as I circled around my words that I'd say in my head. I didn't want to do it out in the open because other people suck, and other people talk. It's just well prepared planning.

After a long grueling moment of looking at crap that wasn't even close to something I'd wear, ever, she found me, my back turned to the opening of the aisle. "So we don't actually have any other types of cardigans."
"That's cool," I replied. "But hey, my friends and I just moved down here, and we'll be throwing a house warming party next week, and you should totally come."
She looked up at me with feverishly delighted eyes, "I AM SO DOWN!" she said emphatically. I felt my heart sink, in a very not so great way.

The people of Vacaville must be starving for social recreation. It's boring here. There mustn't be anything to do but play video games and fuck each other. Once I saw her explosive emphatic emotion, I knew I screwed up. I knew I screwed up bad. I knew my position of not having friends that moved to Vacaville, not being able to throw a house party, all screwed. All fucked up. All stupid bullshit. I had the comfort, I had the attraction, I had the rapport. She hurriedly took my phone, placed her phone number in it, and smiled at me with her luscious pink pierced lips. I took her hand, her fingers decorated in hot pink nail polish, and twirled her.

She laughed. And giggled. And got her hopes up for nothing. As I walked out of her store, I felt the rousing breath of successfully number closing her inhaling into my veins. However, I also felt the bed of lies like a insect biting the back of my neck.

Are you elite yet???

One night, contemplating why I suck so bad, I wrote this on TAF. It's now ripped from them, and put out for your entertainment.



A few nights ago someone told me that, I really shouldn't be using canned material, or something about an AFC trademark, and told me I'm too "experienced" to be at that stage.

My opinion:

Game is not a linear possessive type of things. It's not your bank account that you can grow and grow as long as you put your money in it. It's not your collection of unique incredible standard rocks. It is more like a game of poker, you have your good days, you have your bad days. You have your mean streaks and you have your year where you lose the most money out of all elite players at the tables.

I've had off days. I've had off semesters. The best time that my game is pulled out of me, is the beginning of a school year. My worst times are the spring and beginning of summer months. My tired months. My winded, blown, shit eating months. You? You.... You really think I'm elite because I wrote tons of field reports. I'm not. I'm not, or ever will be the best pick up artist, on here, on Earth, on several pages of literature. I'm one of the most emotionally construed guys in this world. If, maybe not in this world, absolutely in the current region of my personal community.

That so, I still haven't stopped. I can't stop. I stepped onto this plane, and I'm not coming out of it. Because there is no outs. You don't stop smoking, you just want it more. Some poker players, workers, sport warlords, hunters, priests, cooks, some days they lose their talents. Some days they strike a chord, and God, is it an awful chord. They go home, back to Ireland, back to their mom's house, press the refresh button, drink as much detox tea as possible. And one day, one special day, when they feel like watching old reruns of Will&Grace is enough, they step outside, and that first step is the beginning to another whole new magic carpet ride.

So yes, I'm doing awful.

Discuss.....

Facebook? Really.

"It's all bullshit, there's only perspective."

-Angel's Game, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

After leaving Barnes and Nobles, after leaving Mar. After lifting around furniture, after getting a new revamped television in exchange for the one with the red line on the side, I pulled up my facebook. I've become lazier with my game and closer to my computer. Facebook being one of the many outlets to find single women, just naturally became part of my repertoire; it's where I found Grace. I've been compiling my status updates religiously, stealing several where I can find them, along with several ones I made up. I've been doing this for fun, the clever statements, the suggestive comments, all for fun. I checked my notifications and I found something unexpectedly nice. Nicole.

Nicole. Nicole was from Colorado. I randomly added her because I liked her face, and that's what I do, add random people, who's faces I like seeing. I didn't like my forty or so friends, so I started adding people as to not seem inadequate and unsocial. I try to add whoever I can find on the add-me sidebar, with the exception of anyone from High School or Church. I try to add anyone I could find when I gloss over my other relevant and irrelevant friends. So came Colorado girl Nicole, with her cute bunny like overbite, large prevalent eyes, and simple single girl attitude. Under my status update, "It's all bullshit, there's only perspective," she wrote, "I like this and agree."

I posted on one of her pictures, reply, cut to chat, talk talk, cut, "Hey do you want my phone number," I said. "Is that what it's like, you don't want my phone number?" she replied. Either way, I replied. 10 numbers, different zipcode. For the next hour we've had the most wonderful terrible reception. But, despite, our phone likeness, she's a really awesome girl. The type of girl, you'd have a beer with, who'd want to be friends, while you wonder when the right time is to make a move. Too bad her state would mean jumping over Nevada.

I thought of her today...

I thought of her today. Pais. I was watching Daybreakers, and there's a girl in the movie that I'm not happy to say, didn't end well storywise. It's awfully easy how anything can trigger oneitis chemicals; it's like a needy serotonin kind of. The girl in Daybreakers was found running away from confining normalcy. Her hair and smile, her rogue confidence, it all reflected Pais; probably in ways that I'm overimagining.

Pais, the girl I've made such a mess about on 20sb, the facebook girl who deleted me. I thought about finally sending her a message. I thought about keeping in touch. But, I know me, I'm far from ready. Not that I'm ready in context with my social venusian whatever you call it. But that I'm not ready as a man, or a man boy, not a child who sleeps at his sister's house 5 days out of the week, not a boy who spends his days reading and his nights writing. Not that boy. I'm just a weak pathetic young man, who can't take anyone's advice seriously. There's nothing to show, there's nothing to DHV. I know as time persists, anything I send her will be amounted to needy and probably brushed off. I know. . . actually I don't know. Because I don't know...

I just don't know. This rant has reached it's way into an objective crisis, and I just don't know. Whatever I do, I'll probably not end up anywhere. Whatever, I do, should move on and cut it all out, force it all out. Change thoughts, keep busy, it's the only thing I can do. But, now I'm ranting with no particular direction, and I don't like that. I don't like talk.

I like forward movement. Planning. Initiative. Something that I didn't have when I started this blog, and it's something I don't have as I'm closing it. I need a plan, which entails that I'll also be thinking about her. Pais.