Yup...the nice guy. The charming, sweet, loving, well-mannered nice guy.
You know what they say: "Nice guys finish last."
Why do they say that? Well, it just might be true...
The nice guy. The damn nice guy. The one I always fall for. Well it's a crock. Truth is: nice guys aren't nice at all. They just don't have the stones to be a man. They are pussies. They play this game with you and buttercup you, making you think they are genuine and they care for you. But really they are just too lily-livered to to be men and say what they really think or feel.
No. That might hurt your feelings. Awww...and then they'd cry. What the fuck ever. I'm sorry, but I am completely okay with hurting someone's feelings. The truth is the truth. And if it hurts, well damn that's part of life. In case no one ever told you.
I fucking hate nice guys. I think that the nice guy, who is too afraid to tell you anything so he leads you on, is more of an asshole than that guy who is just a plain old outright asshole. At least the guy who is an asshole is man enough to be...well A MAN.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
the hurdle
It's been jumped. I jumped the hurdle. The 'Get Your Ass Back Out There' hurdle.
Dates :). First dates are the best. The flirting. The stories. The butterflies.
The art of the distraction. And hey, quite possibly the sexiest Army boy ever could have something to do with the distraction level >:). Gawd. I know. Army boys. Shit. Every girl has their something. Their kryptonite. Mine just so happens to be a combination of the Latino boys, and the military boys. Some women love firemen, some EMS, Cops, murses, whatever it is, there is that something that gets them everytime. Mine is military boys...preferably of the Latin variety. Lucky for me this is a military town...with more than a few of those oh so sexy Spanish-speaking-brown-eyed yummies.
Anyhoo... the move. Yup. Moving on. Someone new...well a couple someones (something from the norm {cam + Latin} and something a little different for a change). A girl's got a right to play the field a little, no? It's high time I get my ass out on the field and play it for all it's got :)
Dates :). First dates are the best. The flirting. The stories. The butterflies.
The art of the distraction. And hey, quite possibly the sexiest Army boy ever could have something to do with the distraction level >:). Gawd. I know. Army boys. Shit. Every girl has their something. Their kryptonite. Mine just so happens to be a combination of the Latino boys, and the military boys. Some women love firemen, some EMS, Cops, murses, whatever it is, there is that something that gets them everytime. Mine is military boys...preferably of the Latin variety. Lucky for me this is a military town...with more than a few of those oh so sexy Spanish-speaking-brown-eyed yummies.
Anyhoo... the move. Yup. Moving on. Someone new...well a couple someones (something from the norm {cam + Latin} and something a little different for a change). A girl's got a right to play the field a little, no? It's high time I get my ass out on the field and play it for all it's got :)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
jack be nimble jack be quick...
The letting go. Letting go of what? Of the hope that it would "work out," that he'd change his mind...that it would get good again. It's done. It has been from the start.
Maybe on some level I knew this. I knew that somehow this would never work. Maybe that's why I wanted it so much. God I have never wanted any earthly thing so much. I wanted so much. But yet I was scared shitless. I'd never admit that, but I was. I thought for once I wasn't afraid, but I was more afraid than ever. How did I become such a damn pansy?
Guess I always was...'twas all an act.
So here I stand, poised to let him go. To walk away. To admit that it's done. To say I'm done. It's a good thing I know, but damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.
Makes me think...(what else is new?) I used to believe that if it was meant to be it would be. Nice thought. Comforts a hurting heart. But who knows...maybe some things work and some don't, and that's just the way it is. Maybe people are in your life for a season, and they exit. End. Sometimes they come back, but not usually...
Anyhoo I made a good step forward today. Someone new. Guess I'll be in limbo for a while yet. But I can handle the limbo...
Maybe on some level I knew this. I knew that somehow this would never work. Maybe that's why I wanted it so much. God I have never wanted any earthly thing so much. I wanted so much. But yet I was scared shitless. I'd never admit that, but I was. I thought for once I wasn't afraid, but I was more afraid than ever. How did I become such a damn pansy?
Guess I always was...'twas all an act.
So here I stand, poised to let him go. To walk away. To admit that it's done. To say I'm done. It's a good thing I know, but damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.
Makes me think...(what else is new?) I used to believe that if it was meant to be it would be. Nice thought. Comforts a hurting heart. But who knows...maybe some things work and some don't, and that's just the way it is. Maybe people are in your life for a season, and they exit. End. Sometimes they come back, but not usually...
Anyhoo I made a good step forward today. Someone new. Guess I'll be in limbo for a while yet. But I can handle the limbo...
Saturday, May 30, 2009
girl like me...
Girl Like Me
Miranda Lambert
You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me
You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine
There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am
Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me
Miranda Lambert
You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me
You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine
There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am
Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie
You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me
Thursday, May 28, 2009
mister UPS man...
Seriously?
So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.
He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.
Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...
Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...
But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)
So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.
He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.
Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...
Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...
But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
too much in your own head
That's what he said. I never worry about you until you get too far into your own head...
Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.
Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...
Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.
What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"
This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...
And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...
Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.
Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...
Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.
What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"
This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...
And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
the webs we weave...
At this moment I'm feeling strange. I just poured my heart out to someone... Someone I've been hesitant to get close to. I won't go into details, but I could get very close to him if you know what I mean. And this would be bad. Very bad...
He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.
Life is so motherfucking complicated.
I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.
Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...
He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.
Life is so motherfucking complicated.
I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.
Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...
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