A mother's love

I'm tired.

And its not from the three, four, five, ten, fifteen mile runs that I find myself running these days. I can deal with physical wear. The are remedies for that- a hot bath, a good nap, and a good meal. I'm weary. I'm fatigued. I'm demoralized.

I can feel the faith that I instill in people slip away, little by little. Disappointment by disappointment. I'm growing more apathetic than empathetic to the plight of people around me. My conversations feel vapid, empty. My writing seems soulless; only a caricature, a hollow imitation of my inner voice.

As I write this, I feel torn of what I want. I don't desire recognition. I don't necessarily want appreciation. I just want people to pay attention to details. So much of discourse is based upon listening, reading cues from who you are talking with, judging reactions. It's a lost art, replace by emoticons, drunken hazes, and texting. God, what am I talking about?

I hate it when people consistently change plans at the last minute. I hate it when people are consistently late. I know its seems petty, but those little things, those thoughtless things that you do subconsciously, they are what shows your character in a sense. Its the difference between niceness and kindness. Its the difference between acquaintance and friend.

When I was young, I thought it was the big gestures that showed love. I loved receiving presents from my parents. I thought you could quantify how much your parents loved you by how big the present that you got for Christmas was and how much your allowance was. And even as I grew older, I kept that mentality. I showed love by grand gestures, which usually involved money.

I never understood in church what they meant by to love is to serve. I think I'm beginning to know now. I realize now that my mom loved me because they was always a hot meal waiting for me on the table and always clean clothes in the hamper, and not by any gift or allowance that was given to me. Lately I find myself picking up after someone else even though they may not notice. I don't quite know the reason why I do it. Maybe I always saw, but was yet mature enough to understand the implications.

My mother was always afraid I never listened. I don't think I ever did. But watched, and I am still learning lessons from her. Even from memories from my childhood.

Perspective

Generally, I like to think that I have a good perspective on life. (Nate speak translated: I laugh at a lot of shit I just don't understand. I'm not overly bright, so you'll find me laughing quite a bit) I try to keep an open mind, I try to shut up more often than not, and I try to listen. (This lesson is still being taught and still being learned. I respond best with the threat of physical violence. And duct tape to the mouth. Or taking away my game controller) I try not letting myself get too high or too low and try to keep on moving on with my life instead of wallowing in the minutia that life sometimes presents. 

I don't know how or when, but I think I lost perspective. I think it was just a gradual decline. You don't notice minute changes daily, they just kind of creep up on you. But gradually the little things add up and shift your perspective of normality from something completely different than what it was. (Like porn and women. I used to respect women. And then I watched porn. And slowly, but gradually, my high regard for women morphed into viewing them solely as objects of sexual conquest (Jokes!). 

So I really tried to maintain what I thought to be a healthy, objective distance to this whole online dating thing. I approached it with about as much humor as I could muster, laughed off the rejections and unanswered emails and kept on mowing through profile after profile, hoping to find the girl out of the match.com commercials that is attractive and equally attracted to the guy that she's with, that laughs at his jokes and such. I kept on sending email after email. It became like a job, an obsession; I enveloped myself in this world on winks and emails, profile views. And I kind of lost it. Perspective that is.

As an adult (which I barely am), your personal shortcomings sneak up with you and surprise you, kind of like how zits still pop up from time to time, even though you were assured in the sex ed classes when talking about puberty that they said that acne would go away with adulthood (those fucking liars). Being on match, its made me realize that I was lonely, dangerously so, that I was willing to put my life on hold and live in this artificial world that online dating had become to me. 

I don't know. It's just fun to sit there and look and pretend (yes, I use the word pretend. I realize that this world is fictional. I'm not that delusional.) and let your imagination wander. Its easy to get lost in the possibilities - its easy to get stuck in the trap of complacency, thinking that you are moving, when all you're doing is going through the motion.

And then something jars your world back into focus. And its usually as pleasant a splash of cold water when you're really, really hungover. Or an unexpected, swift kick to the nuts. 

Yeah. I don't really know where I'm going with this blog post. They usually just write themselves, but right now, I wish I didn't feel so run down. I should stop taking shit so personally.

Heh.

dumpings and perspective

So I got dumped.

I've never been one to mince words, especially when it comes to my own life. I mean as dumpings go, it was a kind, soft and fuzzy variety, but nevertheless, it was a dumping and as kind, soft, and fuzzy and good intentioned as it was, it still signified the end of something that I wanted to be more than it was, but ultimately was not.

If I said it made me sad, I have to add the caveat that it made me sad in a good way, as good as a way as sadness can go. In the end, the sense of loss reminded me that for as brief of a period that it was, there was a void in my life that was temporarily filled, that I had forgot needed to be filled. And now that the void is back, it's just the naturally readjustment and the discomforts associated with acknowledging it that I hate. In the end I know this emptiness I feel should no longer be ignored anymore and that I should, at some point in time, try and fill it again.

So back to online dating for me, as for now, it;s my only viable vehicle that has been somewhat successful for me to meet new people. And back to writing one way emails that have yet to be answered. And then figuring out ways to not take the not-answering-of-emails-that-I-write personally. I'm still working on that.

It's weird, but as I exist and dwell further into the intrepid world of online dating that I have found the need to self-censor myself. As one of my dates found my blog after our first date and discovered that I didn't share her interest in me, or with another date, where I found myself questioning whether or not to write about my dates with her or with the emails and my profile that I write on match; I choose generic words that are chosen carefully to relay some muted message of what I am thinking and how I feel instead of the really communicate candidly what I am thinking and how I truly feel.

I've noticed the moment that I start writing for expectation of other people is the moment my momentum for writing begins to stutter and stop. Even this blog. It's great that some people find my writing amusing and frequent this online diary of sorts. But I write for me mostly. I write to put down my thoughts. To rationalize and logically think, with the objectivity that writing with words from a key board and a glowing monitor provide.

I forget the secret of writing is to be your own biggest fan.

Yeah, I know the past two post have been a bit introspective of late, but I've had a lot of my mind and haven't really talked about it with the people around me. Sadly, my friends give me sympathy when I want perspective.

God, isn't that the story of my life. I could write a whole post on that. But not tonight. Not now. For now, this is enough.

I'll do it later

I'm stuck. I'm in a rut. Gears have ground to a halt.

I can't tell you when it began, but its been trending this way for a while. First, it started with an "I'll do it later." Later became next week. Next week became next month. And then I look at the task that needs to be done, and with the elapse time, the single task has accumulated and become a life style that will take months, if not years to change. 

And to think, the tipping point was just the single statement, "I'll do it later." How poignant. We look to the future  as an unwritten script that we can pile on the misdeeds of the present and the mistakes of the past, to sort them out then. We often forget that are future self is only a variant of our present self, and if our present self is unwilling to deal with issue at hand, how likely will our future self be? 

The accumulation of the I'll do it later's in my life- my brain splays into millions of tangental thoughts of how that single statement has crippled me from fulfilling my dreams, my desires, my goals. My mom used to chant to me, no, I'll do it later. You'll do it now.

I finally am beginning to understand what she meant. I'll do it later is a gamble. A promise of a day that might not come. There is not assurance in it. It has nothing to do with trust or responsibility. It is just a simple tip of my cap of the chaotic nature of life sometimes. I'll do it later is a promise that I cannot guarantee to keep, no matter how good my intentions. I'll do it later is a passive way of not saying no, when I don't want to do something and I know I should. I'll do it later is representative of the avoidance of conflict, sugar coating a bitter truth, acknowledging a shortcoming. 

I'll do it later is the reason why I'm fat. Its a promise to run, exercise, eat better for a tomorrow that I cannot guarantee will come. I'll do it later is making bets with house money, with all intentions of winning what money you already lost with money that you borrowed and now have to pay back. 

I've been a gambler this whole time, without even realizing it. I've just been gambling with the one currency that is more valuable than anything else in my life. My time. 

I think I'm going to start a list of rules in life that I should follow. So far I've got-

1. You will fail. If you're lucky, often. Embrace failure.

2. Do it now, or don't do it at all. I'll do it later is a promise to no one. 

3. The statement I'm not good enough is the most selfish statement in the world. 

I'm sure with time this list will get longer, and probably less profound as it gets longer. What do I care. It's my list. I've been meaning to write in this blog for a while now. Its been on my I'll do it later list. I think I should get rid of that list. 

titles, dating, and a game of chicken

Dating is a twisted game a chicken. You and your datee (whoever that unfortunate woman is in my life) barreling headfirst at each other, flashing your lights and blaring your horns, hoping to dear God that she might have more sense than you and swerve out of the way before you to crash into each other in a flaming, twisted pile of metal and glass, broken hearts and bodies thrown astrew. Or so I've been told. 

Oh, have I mentioned that I've been dating someone for the past couple of weeks? And, its going well, contrary to the statement that I just wrote a few sentences ago. 

Still, its been an adjustment, mostly on my part. Its been a while since I've dated anyone. Been a while since I've had feelings other than those based on the desire to sleep with someone for someone. I'm used to be a selfish, singular being. I've been a selfish, singular being for the past six years of my life. And the last time I was not, I was so idealistic to what I thought a relationship was, that I had no clue how shallow of a relationship I was in.

I am not in a relationship, to clarify. I'm in no rush to get into one. I like what I have right now. I mean, she hasn't made any attempt to encroached herself in my life, and embedding herself in my daily life with daily texts and phone calls and demands to be together every waking moment. She seems to just enjoy my company when we are together, which still surprises me. But I am in no rush, and on her part, she seems in less of a rush than me. (I know, its amazing to think that a woman can practice patience and self restraint with me. Trust me. Its admirable) I've been easing my way into dating, like backing into a parallel spot when you're a new driver, pumping the breaks every inch, checking out the window, praying that the car in your rear view and the curb are not nearly as close to you as they seem. 

Everything feel different this time. I'm not sure if its that I've grown older or learned some level maturity; the only thing I remember my previous relationships was being frantically in love with a girl (now I use the term in love very generously here), confessing that I want to spend my every moment of every day with her, only then a few scant weeks later, to be sitting in the shambles of what might have been (and writing ballads of broken hearts thinking wistfully of all the bad sex we had). This time, its different. Everything feel more subtle, not so painfully bright in your face. At first, I mistook it as lack of interest on my part. I expected some huge spark, something to light my heart aflame (so seriously, I know my dattee also reads this and at this point she's either 1) slapping her hand over her eyes realizing that she's dating a moron or 2) laughing hysterically at me. Hopefully a combination of the two) and consume me. The younger (and skinnier) version of me wanted his women like a drug. Addictive. And with huge withdrawal after she extracted herself out of my life. Now, I just want someone to just be there and understand I'll be there too. 

I think I used to rush because I hated the uncertainty. Being insecure about who I was, I craved the security of a title and benchmarks. You enter into the contract of a relationship and earn the title of boyfriend, then your relationship has reached a benchmark. Of course, now I realize that is almost as meaningless as a diet that you only follow for one day. I know now that titles and benchmarks don't guarantee certainty of anything and the only the thing that is certain is the uncertainty of life and relationships.

I mean, not that much has change. I'm still horrible in bed. But, this much I know. I certainly like her. And I know she likes me. Granted, that's the foundation of a fourth grade crush confirmed with exchanged notes sent over folded pieces of paper with hopes of a check by a box that says yes and not a facebook proclamation of a status change, but I rather face the uncertainty of tomorrow with someone that likes me than by myself. 

Maybe its easier now that I've seen more of the messiness of life. Maybe its more reasuring that my footing is better, now that I've fallen so many times. Suddenly, not having blazed trail infront of me isn't so bad. I know what I know, and what I don't know will reveal itself, eventually. Not everything works on my timetable, as much as I would like it otherwise.

I started this piece describing of dating as a game of chicken. Now, I think of it as a subway ride. Me and my datee (whoever that lucky lady might be) are like both on the same car of a train. Whether we part because our destinations are different or stay on same train and go to the same place in the end makes no difference on the time we share together. We can either choose to sit and enjoy the ride and the company of the person that chooses to share it with you or gripe about the details of the ride: how the seats are too small, the ride is too long, and the pervasive scent of stale b.o. that seems to accompany every train ride. Each person will see it from their own perspective, but in the end, you experience the same thing. The ride. And what you take away from it, how you remember it, and honestly how you continue to experience, is all just up to you.

Just breathe and relax and know tomorrow the sun will rise.

Date #2 and whole bunch of other things

Online dating, despite claims otherwise (by endless inundation of commercials and banner ads on facebook and google) is not easy.

I was naive to think it would be. I thought with each iteration in which I would scour the Internet to meet women, that the whole process would get easier. I thought. And meet women I have, through profiles and pictures, but not so much real life conversation over coffee and drinks.

At this time, I've sent over twenty emails now and gotten zero responses. Discouraging? Definitely. Complete and utter blow to my self confidence? Absolutely.

Welcome back to the blog of THE MOST UNATTRACTIVE MAN in ONLINE DATING HISTORY.

Ahhhh...the absolute and utter nuking of what was left of my self confidence has been so entertaining for myself. The last time around, I wrote about it jokingly, because I figured that the only way to deal with the rejection was just simply laugh at it. Now, I just realize that it is just one big joke. I mean really (I know this sounds like an eharmony commercial) what can a profile and a bunch of picture tell you about a person. I guess about as much as a stupid personality test taken online. (Take THAT EHarmony. FACE!)

I went on a second date with the girl. It wasn't fun. I didn't know at the time, but she had read my blog and already knew what I had to say. Even when we were talking about it, I just felt not right. What is the easiest way to say, I'm just not attracted to you even though I don't really know you. I'm beginning to understand what people say about chemistry. It's either there or not. I don't necessarily think it needs to be acknowledged immediately. And I definitely think it needs to built upon. But it's there. It's a hidden potential that you see in a person. It can't forced or coerced. It's just this gut feeling. I could be with this person.

She kept on calling me adorable and telling me it was okay and I kept on saying I was sorry. I'm not sure who was telling the truth or if there was any truth to be told.

We portray maturity as the ability to cope with the emotions that we feel and evoke from others on a daily basis. Coping sounds too clean for me. I'm realizing that life as an adult is just messy. I think maturity is acknowledging the mess infront of us and choosing drudge through it instead of living life through a monitor enclosed in a hermetically sealed box and going no where.

I'm sorry. It's just the weather. April showers bring May flowers? I'm not so sure about the flowers, but they definitely got the showers part of it right.

Date #1

Lo and behold, I went on a date.

Sick and tired of going the whole process of consistent rejection (granted, as discouraging as it is, I'm not quite waving the white flag as of yet. With the new month comes the challenge of five more not-so-awkward emails), I decided to respond to a girl that had "winked" at me on match. Honestly, I haven't gone on a date or an event resembling on for a good two years. So I decided to email her back and give the whole date thing a try. We exchanged emails and soon afterwards and several emails in, we arranged a meeting at local watering hole.

Its weird. I found myself dreading the date. As the arranged time quickly approached, I wondered if it was a better idea to just call off the date and avoid the potential of me making a bad decision, me making an ass of myself, me embarrassing myself in multiple imagined scenarios in my head. With another encounter with my inner bastard still fresh in my mind, I didn't really trust myself. Like a guy on the first weeks of dieting, I found myself in the line of the golden arches, intending to buy a garden fresh salad but eyeing the double quarter pounder combo instead (that's a number 3, thank you very much).

In the end, I didn't call it off. I felt bad making up a white lie- and I went. I was a little bit late; I wanted to shower before the date and at least make an attempt to look presentable. I felt oddly confident with the whole situation. I dreaded my decision making ability more than just meeting a person. I'm good with people and conversing with new people. I have a fairly good sense of humor and am knowledgable in a variety of subject matter so that I keep a conversation fresh, most of the time. I'm thirty now, and despite a few set backs, I pretty much have a fair sense of who I am and who I am not.  Needless to say, I had a pretty good time. The girl is a sweet, nice, intelligent girl, who sadly, I wasn't very physically attracted to.

(sigh)

I'll readily admit it. I'm a guy. There's a certain element of attraction for me that is purely based upon a woman's physical attractiveness. I think as I've gotten older, that threshold has gotten broader. It used to be only Olivia Wilde. Now, its Olivia Wilde to Mila Kunis. See! Wider!

I say that in jest, of course (Olivia, you are still my dream girl. If you ever seek a slightly overweight Asian man with moderate to good cooking skills and a halfway decent golf swing, call me). I've noticed, as I've gotten older, that I'm more open to find beauty in other places besides merely just appearance. Don't get me wrong, initial attraction for me is always grounded in physical attractiveness; to deny that would be denying human nature. But I've noticed how quickly a "hot" girl can just get less and less attractive once you talk to her and get to know her. And how quickly an average looking girl can become sexy because she has intelligence and acts with kindness with dashes of sarcasm and wit.

And for me, its always been someone's flaws that have drawn me to them. The wierd thing a person does with her lips. Over sized ears sticking out from underneath her hair. Quirks. Quirks are hot. (And I still have issues)

But I digress. My date, unfortunately, just didn't fall under my threshold. I spent most of the night, along with conversing with her, trying to make myself feel different about that. I couldn't. And I also feel like I shouldn't try forcing myself to feel that way. Either its there or it isn't. In the end, I felt like I had just found another friend, instead of a potential lover. (And I mean lover in the metaphorical sense. If I meant sex partner, I would have said sex partner. Sheesh)

Regardless, I had a good time. It was a good experience. I know now that I am confident and at ease with who I am, and as I write more and more emails (and continue to get rejected), I think that will shine through. For me, the anxiety was never really attached the date, it's always been what it took to get there, which (I know) is completely backwards and stupid. No one said I was intelligent about the things that I dread.

My friend compared what I'm going through to the process of finding a job. I guess in her own way, she was telling me not to take things so personally and to just keep moving ahead and numb yourself to the rejections. In the end, I guess dating is like a job. The process of sending out your resume, the initial courtship and talking is like the interview, and once you're on your date you realize that this one is just like the last job you had and its still just a job.

How morbidly simplistic life is sometime. Repetition just disguised as different things. Is it really that simple and have I just missing the whole point till now? Who say God doesn't have a sense of humor?

And I'll keep on furrowing forward. I've never dated actively before, and its something I feel like is a good thing for me to do. I've always been the type to fixate on the "one" girl. I've never notice much else around me. And I guess now is my chance.

Here's to me. Not being awkward.

Falling for imaginary people

After reading the title for the blog and knowing that I am trying my hand at online dating, the appropriate response to the title of the blog should be-

uh oh. (Or some equivalent expression of dismay)

Ten emails sent out so far. Zero responses. The logical, and thus smaller, side of me realizes that online dating is simply a numbers game. You email and email and email, till you find someone that takes a shining to the pretty words you write and write you back politely saying that she's not interested in you. And then you write twice as many emails, inevitably acknowledging the fact that, you maybe have overshot your own ability to attract women with five year old pictures that depict a more fit you and that your loneliness, like the consumption of multiple beer, has lowered your standards, yet again.

Eventually, someone, who also has a five year old picture, lowered self esteem and suffering from a similar condition of loneliness with a dash of desperation will email you back. That's how it works. Or is supposed to work for most normal, functional adults.

But then there's me.

I read a profile, look at a picture, see a smiling face and then let my imagination take over. (Okay gentle readers, right now is when you realize that 90% of perversion is farce for humor sake. No, I don't generally fantasize about women I have not yet met. I did use the word generally, so exceptions have been made). I fill in details about them, imagine what their voices sound like, wonder how we would interact. Ultimately we enter the deep recesses of my imagination and I flesh out an imaginary person that I am tremendously attracted to from just a profile (usually filled with odd, sometimes candid, but mostly generic statements) and a picture (typically shot at an angle).

Sad, isn't it? I laugh a lot writing this, and I try to make light of this whole dating thing, but I'm the one who's falling for imaginary women.

And even though I know its just a game of numbers, and eventually, eventually someone will reply, it stings doubly much that not only did the woman I emailed reject me but this imagined person that I've created in my head from a smiling photo and profile did as well. It makes it almost so easy. I almost think that maybe it should be this easy to meet and ultimately reject people.

I told my friend that I disliked online dating because it was like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound; it really doesn't address most people's problem. In the end, it puts the blame of your personal loneliness on the circumstances around you, instead of a personal introspection of what in your life is making you isolate yourself romantically to the people around you. Its easier to say, I don't meet women anymore. Its harder to say, I lack tact and drive away women with my sarcasm and self deprecation and have a hard time expressing my attraction to women because I have an unrealistic and deep seeded fear of rejection.

And I know online dating isn't the answer for me. But, if I can come to terms with these imaginary rejections, I think it will help be able to accept one face to face. Its like training wheels, before I try riding my big boy bike on my own.

God, I one fucked up individual.

Back to the online dating

So after the last debacle with online dating, which quite memorably led to me sleeping with another girl that was not tremendously attracted to but also led to several quite funny (well, for me I guess) blogs, I took a break from the whole meet-a-person-online dating scene (if you can call it one) and tried my hand at the whole conventional dating scene/there's-no-chance-in-hell-nate's-going-to-get-any option.

Three awkward texts, one crush on a friend, and one ambiguous pseudo "date" with another friend later (this describes three different situations with three different girls, just to clarify), I realized that through it all, I was still single and very little had changed in my life, besides the date and unfortunately, my ever fluctuating weight.

So again, I, once opened myself up to the concept of online dating and all of its misadventures associated with it.

Now on a serious note, I didn't initially want to blog about it. I'm not trying to take this as lightly as before. A part of me realizes that I'm 31 now and probably should partake in certain things with a bit more gravity and less levity. I bought a paid account (which wasn't cheap) with the idea that I would approach this with some seriousness.

That lasted all of a week. Although, I've been on Match for two weeks now, I realized by the end of the first week that I would eventually have to blog about my experiences. And to specify, by experiences I mean being rejected continually by women and being "winked" at by ugly women.

This is going to be a fun six months.

For starters, I bought the six month package deal on Match.com. Slightly subsidized from the normal rate, and it comes with a money back guarantee if I don't find a relationship within the subscription time (either that or they give me six months more free? I dunno. I'm also questioning what they consider a relationship. I guess that would also lead to the deep seeded question of what I consider a relationship). Reading between the lines, it also specifies to qualify for said money back guarantee I have to 1) make a profile (witty and clever as the last one. done) 2) put a picture on your profile (picture of me being creepy. done) 3) and write at least five emails to five different match members a month (this being two weeks in, five awkward emails have already been sent. done)

So overall, painless. Easy. I'm set. Witty, yet clever profile filled with word play and overall charm? Killer photo? I'm set. Bring on the ladies that will be lining up at my door to join in the fun that is labeled 'Nate's life.'

And I'm not going to lie at first, I thought I was golden. Plenty of profiles with attractive women smiling, a few people viewing my profile within the first couple of days.

Its like going to the Old Country Buffet for the first time and seeing the vast spread of food in front of you and congratulating yourself for the good good choice that you made until half way through the meal you realized that every dish, no matter if it was meat or vegetable tastes suspiciously the same, and at the end of the meal when you are running to the nearest bathroom and holding on to dear life.

Although in the first week, I managed to get two winks from two (yes count them two) unattractive women. TWO! (Personally, at the time, I was sure if I should feel insulted that the women winked at me. My first reaction was shock, then dismay when I realized that both girls really thought they had a chance. I suddenly understand the plight of attractive women when I hit on them (I only kidd. My friend pointed out to me as many have, my self deprecation comes across as unattractive sometimes.))

But five emails in, and no responses later, its given me a new perspective on an old and daunting foe. Rejection. No wait. It hasn't. It still sucks. I have more to say about that, and the rejection in particular, but that will have to wait for another blog.

Well, month one is nearly over and I've filled my quota. I'm thinking about taking a break till my next month starts and then writing some more emails. I realize that I hate doing this shit in real life and online, I hate this shit even more.

I know, I know. Quit your bitching and keep on writing. You don't got to tell me twice.

after days like these

I manage to even impress myself with what comes out of my mouth and the effect it does have on people.

Am I supposed to love what I do for a living? Sitting in front of a computer, trouble shooting away at servers gone awry and finding answers and solutions so esoteric that the only place sensible enough to put them is the internet, the home of the perverted (porn), obscure (Wikipedia) and the useless (the tech blogs that I frequent). Oh yeah. And online shopping too.

Oh, wait. You're saying that my job IS boring? Hm. Go figure.

So my job is essentially as fulfilling as watching a fresh coat of paint dry on a really, really humid day. Slow, arduous and besides getting the occassional high off of paint fumes, basically about as unfulfilling as unfulfilling can get. So here I am. Thirty something. Feeling unfulfilled. Still single. Unable or unwilling to procreate. Basically in the eyes of a judging (and yes, they are always judging) Korean parent (or parents in my case, who now know how to email and once again I cringe inwardly as they have also discovered this thing called Skype)) an utter and complete waste of genetic material.

Please. Don't try to comfort me by telling me it's not not true. Just because I am a waste of genetic material does not mean my parents don't love me. I'm aware of that. But if a gun don't shoot, it ain't much use as a gun now is it? Even if I am charming, handsome, funny, intuitive, sensitive and intelligent gun. (And for God's sake, NO, the gun is not a euphemism for my penis. My penis works just fine. It's just not used much, outside of fluid waste disposal purposes. Some may even call me a born again virgin)

That reminds me of a funny story though. Last fall, I went to my friend's birthday party where I was out on the back patio of the house, sitting around with some newly minted acquaintances and some friends. Low and behold, we were talking about death or how the world was going to end soon (don't ask, because I really don't know if there is a good answer to your question), and I spout out with, "God, I don't want to die a virgin!"

I feel the need to explain, for those who have not met the sculpted and often-mistaken-as-Adonis piece of male meat that I am, that I was being facetious (although when considering the length of time of me not have sex compared to have sex, it wouldn't be a stretch to say, I wasn't being THAT facetious). Apparently, a member in the party, who was a boyfriend of a friend, took my words literally, and though my comment awkward and odd thus leading to the obvious conclusion that I was not jesting and that I was indeed, infact, virginal and pure in nature. This eventually got back to me. Of course, me, who deflects any awkward situation with humor, found the whole situation hysterical. My friend, who heard what I said from my other friend, and tried denying the statement as one of jest, had to consider her word when the other friend approached her with the question, "have you ever met ANYONE Nate's been with?"

And my scandalous past comes to haunt me again as I never mingle the girls that I sleep with, with my friends. Needless to say, I might have issues. (Large ones)

The only bright note of this whole story is now I can claim with the next woman I am with, that the only reason the experience was horrifying and mildly disappointing is because it was my first time. That should at least give me a chance to have a second go, with the right girl.

hahahahhahahahha.

How this all relates to the originial topic of am I supposed to love what I do, I have no clue. How many of us truly do love our jobs? Probably far fewer than I would like to think. I know some people that enjoy what tehy do, once in a while. But most people I know simply tolerate what they do and settle for the paycheck that they recieve. Shit. I do. Who am I to stand on my little soapbox and judge and way my finger at those who gave into their pragmatic side rather than their idealism. (How do you think I choose the women I sleep with?) I don't know though. I still find myself dreaming, but lately the dreams have seemed less than real, less than familiar. I find myself coveting security more, craving its warm, somwhat thick, but still cute in the face embrace.

I digress. And joke. And make you laugh. But I still continue to write in this thing. Granted, on the prodding of my peers, sometimes. Maybe I will never outgrow my dream, just as I will never truly find satisfaction in fixing computers and checking asset lists for missing parts and such. Maybe I will never feel that fulfillment that some lucky few people get to experience. But I think I'm starting not to care.

You tell me, because I have no clue. All I know is that I just don't want to die a virgin.