Day 318 (Twice)

Twice I turn my back on you
I fell flat on my face but didn't lose
Tell me where would I go
Tell me what led you on, I’d love to know

Was it the blue night
Gone fragile
Was it both men
In wonder steady gone under
Was it the light ways
So frightening
Was it two wills
One mirror holding us dearer now

Thought I had an answer once
But your random ways swept me along
Colossal signs so I got lost
With so many lovers singing soft

Was it the blue night
Gone fragile
Was it both men
In wonder steady gone under
Was it the light ways
So frightening
Was it two wills
One mirror holding us dearer now

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Now playing: Little Dragon - Twice
via FoxyTunes

Day 313

Things I've Learned In 2009

#5. I found out the reason why I'm single.

Before I begin, let me say this. This is in no way firing at every single female in world. I have yet to meet you. You have yet to befriend me. I have yet to talk to you. You have yet to lie to me. I have yet to give you my all. You have yet to disappoint me.

With that being said, let's begin.

My Ladybug tells me that I'm worth every dollar and cent spent.
My Poetess tells me that I'm dreamy.
Dimples tells me that I'm patient enough to wait for a good thing to come along.
My Sugar Momma tells me that I'm loved, every day, whether I know it or not.
My Mistress tells me that I'm a genius; that leadership is sexy, brains are sexy, therefore, I am sexy.
Chesty McSparkles (her name, not mine) tells me that I'm damn near incredible.
My Best Friend says that I'm awesome and someone one day will realize that.
Serendipity says that I'm a very good man.
My Sister says I'm one of the best single men left.


The problem comes in where these women are telling me things that I SHOULD already know. However, I'm dense. I can't get past that people are actually saying this about me.

I'm single because I have a self-esteem issue.

My self-esteem issue is the reason why I settle for those who can't afford me.

I settle because I don't know my own self-worth.

Well, I didn't. Until about a week and a half ago.


I love me enough to know that you don't (and won't) love me enough. Ever.

And you know what? That's OK. I had to come to grips about that.


I'm worth a hell of a lot. And one day, some woman will come along and hold up the receipt and let me know that she was willing to pay to have me. Until that day?


I sit in the glass case of my emotions and thoughts, waiting on someone who has enough to pay the price on my tag.

#5. I found out the reason why I'm single. Nobody worth having thinks I'm worth having. Yet.

Day 310 (Missing In Arrival)

I'm nervous.

I've been up all night, knowing that you'll be here soon.

What do I wear? Which cologne do I put on? Hat or no? Argh. This is maddening.

I miss you. I've missed you for months now; missed your face, missed your smell, missed your laugh and giggles. I missed looking into your eyes. I miss kissing your lips. I missed hugging you, holding hands, playful fights, small attempts of PDA.

I miss your voice, even though I just hung up with you a few hours ago before you got on your flight.

I miss everything about you and even though I know in less than a hour you'll be in my presence, I can't get over the fact that I feel this way about you.

I'm not supposed to feel this way.

I'm not supposed to be this nervous.

I'm not supposed to miss you.


How can you miss what you've never experienced?

Day 306 (Princess Peach's Diary)

Dear Diary,

I think I may have put the Mushroom Kingdom in danger. I don't know what I was thinking. It just kinda happened.

I left Mario. For Luigi.

I know, I know. That's bad enough. What's worse is that he didn't even find out from me, I posted it on The Mushroom Inquirer.

I love Mario. I do. I've told him so, on numerous occasions. He's always been there for me, helping me, making sure I'm ok, just being him. He never asked for anything in return. He's an overall great guy, it's just that...

Luigi is tall. Slim. Talented. Aesthetically pleasing. I'm not saying Mario isn't any of these things- ok, yeah, I am. But I'm a woman.

I can make my own decisions.

I still haven't talked to Mario about this. I tried to, but the words just wouldn't come. And he's such a gentleman, he didn't ask about what he saw, and I know he saw it. I don't know if he's mad or not. Actually, I know he's pretty pissed at me, because not too long ago (like maybe 2 months or so ago) I told him that I wanted to be with him. Of course, as you can see, that really didn't happen. Princess Daisy said that he's not showing any signs of hurt, but that's Mario for you. He might show a facial tic with anger, but then, it's gone and he's back to smiling and laughing and yahooing all over the place. Yesterday, he called me and asked if I wanted to go Go-Karting with him. So, I'm still kinda confused. This morning, he came to our Tee Time of 9AM. And we did play Tennis together Sunday evening.

I don't even know if he's officially not talking to me; I'm spending a lot of time with Luigi. He's Dreamland dreamy, got me thinking I'm in Sky Land or something. The other day he gave me a Fire Flower. To be honest, for a quick minute, I thought about Mario and how he used to do the same.

My problem comes in where, if something happens to me, who's gonna protect the kingdom AND come save me? As much as I like Luigi, he's not really all that without his brother. Yeah, there was those two times he saved his brother, but it took him a while. Mario was always there for me. Come to think of it...

Never mind. I don't even know why I wrote this entry. If I scream loud enough, Mario, as he's always done, will come to my aid. He's too much of a gentleman and a good person to let me down.

Besides, he's my friend. Friends are always there for each other, right?


Right?


Signed,











Peach

P.S. If I have to tell Luigi that he's still second player no matter how he uses Starman one more time, I'm gonna scream.

Day 304 (Rehab)

Dr. Simmons gives me a once-over.

I fidget in the chair. I look everywhere but in her eyes.

She taps her pen on the clipboard.

"When was your last hit?"

I stare blankly at the ground. "Hit?"

She shakes her head. "Hit. Score. Taste. Fix."

"Oh. Um, it was 2 Thursdays ago."

She writes.

"What are you writing, Doc?"

"That's none of your concern. How do you feel?"

I look up at the ceiling. "Rested. Um, sometimes, I still want..." I trail off.

She raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes?"

"I've been trying to ween myself off the drug, you know? Actually stop cold turkey. It makes me feel really high and then when I crash, it hurts. This last time... I think I hurt myself. I got too deep into it."

"Self inflicted pain. You don't like that, do you?"

I shake my head.

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I want to go into rehab with you, Doc. Try to get this drug out of my system. Detox, if you will."

"What if I offered you the drug now? Would you take it? Would you relapse?"

I don't answer immediately. She looks over at me. "Well?"

I sigh. "I don't want to relapse. I'm tired of the roller coaster. The highs are incredible, but the lows? The lows are terrible."

She writes some more. "You still haven't answered my question."

"No. No more. I won't get fooled into getting high again. I don't want an artificial high. I want a natural high, or maybe not even be high at all."

"Well, I'm here to help you, but you have to help yourself. You have to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get back on the right track."

I rub my hands together. "Will I ever get cured?"

She stares at me. "I think that you'll be fine this time. It's different than from when you came in a couple of months ago. You're ready to leave it all behind and move on. I will help you in any way that I can. Did you do like I asked?"

I nod my head.

"So let's hear it."

I clear my throat. "Scratch. Itch. Feening. Fix. 2 dollars? Not enough. Steal some stuff, isn't that tough. Get a job. Get a place. Get somewhere to hide my face. Now I get my fix more often. Speech is getting better daily. I don't have to go without, as a matter of fact it's rarely. I look in the mirror, I sure do look different. Feel that way, too. Now I got my own personal supply, heh, who knew? I'll never sell it though, this Lady is my best friend. She was here through everything, stuck by me till the end. I married the dope. Tried to think of different ways to get high, but none works, nope. She gets mad, disappears too fast, simply because now I always wants a piece of her ass. My friend called, said to come through, stat. She's got something new for me to taste, it's called Crack. It's time to divorce you and leave you alone. You've already taken my car and home. All I got left is this coffee mug... I wish that you weren't my favorite drug. But you are. Time for a new high."

She smiles. "Poetry?"

I nod my head. And for the first time, I look her directly in her eyes. "It was the only way I could express myself."

She stands up. "Well, I certainly didn't expect you to express yourself in this way; I must say, it was quite enlightening. We're done here for today, but let me leave you with this: take your time. In due time, everything you want to get out of this program will come to you if you do what you need to do and follow my directions down to the letter. Understood?"

I nod my head. I exhale.

Time to start detox. I'm in rehab.

----------------
Now playing: Jay-Z Feat. Pharrell - I Know
via FoxyTunes

Day 286 (The Barbie Standard)

Things I Learned In 2009

#4. There are women who actually want to be Barbies.

If you consider yourself a "Barbie" anything, you might not want to read this.


Still here? OK. I gave you fair warning.

I hope you got some Kevlar.



There is a alarming trend spreading like wildfire throughout the female gender. No one quite knows where it started, but what I can do is show you it's biggest offender:




This here is the 'Harajuku Barbie' herself, Nicki Minaj.

First off, let's see exactly what a Barbie is:

Barbie is a fashion doll manufactured by the American toy-company Mattel, Inc. and launched in March 1959. American businesswoman Ruth Handler (1916-2002) is credited with the creation of the doll using a German doll called Bild Lilli as her 'inspiration'.

So, it's a toy. A children's toy at that. But what makes a grown woman want to be a children's toy?

Barbie syndrome is a term used to loosely describe the desire to have a physical appearance and lifestyle representative of the infamous Barbie doll. It is most often associated with pre-teen and adolescent females but is applicable to any age group. Usually it is female youth that will attempt because it is associated with puberty and the awkward stages. The child will want to look her best and most beautiful to males and believes in looking beautiful like Barbie, though Barbie has radical body proportions. Someone afflicted with Barbie syndrome strives for an unattainable body type.

Barbie syndrome, huh? So, let's get this right. Grown women, all around the country (and world) are calling themselves Barbies. They want to be fashionistas, have the body type, and pretty much attract any man they can. But let's look at Barbie's proportions:

A standard Barbie doll is 11.5 inches tall, giving a height of 5 feet 9 inches at 1/6 scale. Barbie's vital statistics have been estimated at 36 inches (chest), 18 inches (waist) and 33 inches (hips). According to research by the University Central Hospital in Helsinki, Finland, she would lack the 17 to 22 percent body fat required for a woman to menstruate. In 1965, Slumber Party Barbie came with a book entitled How to Lose Weight which advised: "Don't eat." The doll also came with pink bathroom scales reading 110 lbs., which would be around 35 lbs. underweight for a woman 5 feet 9 inches tall.

So, let's get THIS straight. Women want to be called a piece of plastic that is underweight with proportions that are not only damaging to health, but nigh unobtainable?

That's sickening.

Every day, I log into Facebook, and I see ANOTHER woman calling herself a Barbie. I get on Twitter, and it's @BarbieBlahBlah or whatever their screen name is. I see a group of women falling failing for another trend, one that won't last. Just yesterday, I was in line and I saw a woman with a "Barbie" tattoo on her arm.

Women, you've got to be smarter than this. You're walking around perpetuating a subculture that is being led by THAT Queen Bee above. While everybody has their own subculture that they belong to, please, think smarter about being led around by a woman who really isn't what she says she is.

Being a Barbie means some things, but not what you think. If you're a Barbie; you're an airhead, you're plastic, malnourished, you can't menstruate, and you're constantly walking around looking for Ken, and that guy has no genitalia at all. You're not real. You're a figment of a woman's imagination and I can guarantee you that she didn't imagine this. Hell, she's not imagining anything; she's dead. What makes her figment worse is, she basically STOLE this idea from someone else. Not only are you not real, but you're not even original!

How about from now on, I want women to say they are WOMEN, not little plastic toys. You Barbies out there can try to dress this up any way you can; say that it represents power for a woman, or the ability to have what you want. Let me ask you a question: when did a Barbie ever have a job that didn't involve her bust? Hell, her little sisters Skipper and Stacy had real jobs. What the hell does Barbie do for a living? Eat and throw up? Wait for Ken to come home with that money so she can go buy her "Barbie Mansion"? Drive around in her Corvette and burn up gas all day? I've NEVER seen a Doctor Barbie, Real Estate Barbie, Lawyer Barbie, etc. But they had a Baywatch Barbie in a swimsuit. They had a Stewardess Barbie with the outfit so ridiculous that they took her off the shelves the next year. Is this REALLY the image you want to pass along to your children and nieces and cousins?

You really want to be fake? The second you come in contact with a little heat, you melt. Nothing about you is real, yet you want to be taken seriously. That defies all logic.

But by all means, who am I to stop you? I'm just an ordinary dude. Laughing at you along with the rest of the world.



Stop being plastic.

*shots fired*

Day 284

4:06 in the morning.

She permeates my thoughts.

We are a volatile mix. A anomalous brew of the hottest fire and the coldest ice.

The result is something astonishing.

Her standing naked in the candle light.

Me inhaling the very essence of her.

She smiles at me. I smile at her.

We stand and hold each other.

Our love is a friendship caught on fire. We stand in the flames, feeding them while the flames feed us.

Our incorporation of our thoughts and emotions and feelings combine to make love.

Yes, we create our love.

We fight it. Not because we aren't ready. Not because we don't want one another.

We fight it because our love is a pure high; easily addictive, dangerously enslaving.

We get lost in our love. No one else matters.

Her kisses nibble at my very soul. My touch makes her tremble with euphoria.

Love.

It is what we are.

Day 283

This is a quickie.


Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a woman too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem? - Oscar Hammerstein II


That is all.

Haiku....or two...times two...

Cries turn into moans
The pleasure was all mine or
Was it just for her?

Selfish with the love
Stop, look, listen, but don't touch
That job is all hers.

Throbbing sensation
Yearning for her wet embrace
But her well is dry.

Sheets pulled tight to face
Silly dry reality
Hello my wet dream.

Day 280

Things I've Learned In 2009

#3. I haven't had many firsts.


Tonight, I was outside staring at the stars, just reflecting on a lot of things when I got a text from a good friend of mine, Shay. We chit-chatted back and forth until I asked her what she was doing. She said that she was baking cookies for the kids. She then proceeded to ask me what my favorite type of cookies were (chocolate chip, with peanut butter coming in as a close second) and then asked me had any female ever baked cookies for me before.

Outside of family, I hadn't had someone bake me cookies.

She felt bad. She said that it would be a first that I could have courtesy of her. I smiled and then thought about it.

When it comes to the opposite sex, I haven't had many firsts.

In my mind, I started listing all the things that I haven't had done for me (or to me) by someone else. Here's what I came up with:

-No female has ever baked me cookies. I had a cake baked for me once, however.
-Never had a massage or foot rub.
-Never received flowers. I've gotten 3 cards, all from my ex-wife, all at the beginning of the relationship.
-Never been cooked breakfast. Purchased breakfast, sure. But cooked? Nope. Not even by my ex-wife.
-Never fell asleep on a woman's lap/shoulder while watching TV.
-Never had a bath ran for me.
-Never had my clothes ironed for me.
-Never had a sandwich made for me. (This is true. Seriously, I was with someone for 5 years, and never once did I ask her to make me a sandwich and she did it. It actually turned into a running joke between us. As a matter of fact, we still joke about that now.)

There are many more, but those are quite personal, and I'm not in THAT much of a personal mood today.

I know that some of you reading this is thinking that the things I mentioned are quite trivial. As a matter of fact, I know some of you are like "Why would a man want things like this done?" It's quite simple, actually.

A lot of times, men like to feel appreciated, just as much as women. Sure, we might not want the same things, but those things let a man know that he's appreciated, even if it's just a little bit. While it wouldn't have to be an every day thing (or an every week for that matter) it good to know that someone cares about you enough to do said things.

I get on men all the time about letting their woman know they are appreciated. Tonight, ladies, I want you to take that special guy and let him know that while yes, you love/care about/like him, that he is also appreciated by you. Give him that little note in his work clothes or wallet. Wake him up to homemade breakfast. Run him a bath. Give him some flowers. Make him a sandwich.

I promise, while he may not say anything right then, he will certainly love the fact that you would do something like that for him.

And guys?

I shouldn't even have to tell you. Get busy.

#3. I haven't had many firsts.