Thursday, August 27, 2009

My Bones Ache, I Feel Cold

So I went to this get together tonight. People everywhere. All pretty entertaining. But I noticed something that I thought was funny, I'm getting old. No, seriously. Everything that used to be good about these events seemed so dismal, so trite, so lame. I didn't really know where the feelings had come from. I mean, I'd been to these beginning of the semester meet-girls type of events before, but tonight, man, I just wasn't feeling it.

I think it has to do with what has happened between the last beginning of the year and this beginning of the year. I feel different about my approach, because I realized that my approach was really, really pathetic. I feel differently about the follow through, only because I saw that nothing was going in the hoop. Tonight, I felt like I had seen the light and was now observing, pleasantly, mind you, others running around in the dark. Watching guys go for girls that were way out of their league, like not even in the same sport. Watching girls sneak glances for immensely too long. I even saw a failed attempt at the old, "Hey, I'm going to act like I didn't see that girl there and then introduce myself after I practically tackle her." Seriously man? People are so rad. They're good in every way, at least when it comes to cheap entertainment. Just put them together and let them go, and the story always seems to be incredible.

But my awareness remember, was that I was getting old, out of touch. I looked around and I was the one guy, me and my wing man Ben of course, we were the two guys not approaching girls. We were the ones looking too cool with our arms folded just talking to ourselves. I asked myself, "Have I become too old for this?" And sadly, if the answer is yes, where do I go next?

Thursday, August 13, 2009


I think I watch more chick flicks with dudes than with chicks. I sit there in the theater cuddled up with myself, laughing all all the cute parts. I get goosebumps, but maybe for the sake of my testosterone, I'll call them bullbumps, yeah, bullbumps,. Regardless of the name, yes, I have them. I want to cry when the inevitable break-up happens, and I'm always stoked when he/she comes waltzing back. I feel like such a fairy. I dig chick flicks. I do. I don't know why. I don't know why I always seem to find myself in the company of other "chick flick" minded men doing what we do, but there it is. Us and our bull bumps.

I guess this summer has just been one. I mean, look at it like this. Somewhere, somehow, a chick flick occurred. Some twenty-something fell in love with some other twenty-something and low and behold it's weeks/months of bliss and then just as everything is amazing, she has to run away for some piece of sh** reason that is completely lame in the view of their seemingly world-peace causing love. Then, just as you're about to go punch the manager of the production company for ever letting such a rancid film make it to screen, they get back together because of some fateful twist. This first story of the twenty-somethings must have filled telephone lines, swept over cubicle wall after cubicle wall until one day, long ago, the story of the twenty-somethings made its way to Mr. Chickflick. He knew it was gold the moment he saw it, and I've been laughing in the theater, bullbumps and all, ever since. But my summer, here, me, this summer has been one to watch. Somebody write this down, it's going to be a blockbuster.

I have seen it. I am seeing it. The twenty-something story. I guess what I'm trying to say is that no matter what man, you've got to go for it. Life isn't for diplomas, or perfect plans, or neatly categorized fate, it's messy and gross, and often needs a kleenex. But dude, in the end, he/she always comes waltzing back. It works just the way it was always supposed to. Just the way it always was going to.