This weekend was 4th of July. Being American I got a little bonkers. I told the serial sex artist about my blog yesterday which, surprisingly, he was pretty jazzed up about. I haven’t painted him in the best of limelights. He’s a good guy and I backed him really hard on the 4th when people tried to talk shit to him about his antics. Live and let live, mon ami!
Thursday, I went out with the usual suspects. The multi-dater told me about touching people. I grew up not being hugged enough so I was little reluctant to do this. It works. It’s stupid. All of this psychological hogwash that these guys have read and passed on works. I didn’t get hugged much as a kid, boowhoo; so I’m not used to touching people that I don’t really know. We have a bubble, respect it. I violated some bubbles this weekend.
I broke a two month streak of not having sex. (Fireworks). Seriously it was on the 4th, so really I did it for America. I’ve never seen a girl have that much regret on her face in the morning. As soon as she woke up she gathered her belongings and her roommate; who my roommate fornicated with, and was (outie) Audi 5000. I wasn’t phased by that at all. The stigma of hot girls don’t do that much because they know they can get it anywhere is true. I won’t go into detail just know that I’ve never been with a giver.
Saturday, I was super tired. I was reading comics on my phone during dinner, ready to go home and lay on the couch, watch an awful movie and read New Mutants. I rallied. In about two hours I went from my usual awkward uninterested in casual conversation self to bonkers. Not that I didn’t fit some New Mutants into my night. The serial sex artist was on me to hit up this German chick who was friends with, if I’m not mistaken, the girl who gave him blowies that I marveled at for a while. Her friend wasn’t having any of it. Meanwhile, my roommate is trying to shack up with these less-than-attractive 30-something year-olds who are trying to relive their glory days. He put in a lot of work to not have any of it go his way. One of them was Canadian. And given it’s 4th of July weekend, she wasn’t wanted.
I went home with a 21 year old who was home from school. She’s not really type, but hey, it’s a slump busting weekend. Relative to my normal posts of chivalry and honor and the other heavily romanticized attributes I’ve advocated I realize that this isn’t particularly my normal suit. That’s quite alright. I’m only one man and as Sam Smith said “I still need love because I’m just a man.”
The only thing that the German girl responded to conversationally was talking about Germany in the World Cup. I did some name drops because three really prominent German players play for Arsenal. Arsenal is one of the three big loves of my life. Soccer (Arsenal), Mozu, and Art. I’m an adamant and passionate person, and this girl had this dryness that just wasn’t having any of it. I tried though. I tried to Wingman it (Iceman, duh) for the serial sex artist. It became apparent that nothing would transpire from it. So, I got bonkers.
Annapolis has DJs that play “house” music. That means that you’re going to hear some 90s music and you’re going to hear it a lot. And it’s atrocious.
The night before, on the 4th, my roommate and I planned an endeavor to day drink, grill out, and watch fireworks. He informed that he was bringing some girls that he works with and that they were off limits because he works with them. In reality, he’s self conscious and shit and believes he “can’t compete” with me (being a fit tattooed guy) or the serial sex artist (because he just knows how to work it). I was livid when I found out he lied to me about his real intentions. I’m not a gentlemen, at least I don’t claim to be. I have lots of flaws, none of which I’m upset about. But my roommate should’ve been honest with me. I’m not going to jump in and steal his prospect if he’s honest with me. He works with these two girls. I hooked up with one of them, who is referred to as “Boogie Nights”, by the serial sex artist, because of her ridiculous pants and my roommate hooked up with the other one.
Boom, boom, boom.
The Tinder-girl (still the worst superhero name ever) was out of town this weekend. Otherwise she’d have been my prime suspect for debauchery. I absolutely hate how much I like that girl. But, BUT! Being not in a position to commit, I can’t expect that she’s only interested in me. I met the girl on Tinder. She was out of town for the weekend. I’m not stupid or that naive. She has options and I’m just an option to her. We live in an era of social media and digitized sex apps; I would be an absolute moron to believe that she didn’t have options.
My roommate is just impressed that she doesn’t fit my “type”. I’m going to call myself out. The three girls I’ve dated for any length of time were all blonde, blue eyes, and pretty fit. The two that I dated for almost a year or more were models. Not literally, but they were fit, dumb, blonde, tall; just beautiful women. Apparently, I’d rather a girl who is in the gym everyday than a girl who knows what books are. I started to think back on the girls that I’ve had sex with. Almost all of them are brown hair, brown eyes except for the girls that I actually dated. That means that I keep the brunettes behind closed doors and my blondes in the limelight.
I’m still pretty enamored with this girl. Albeit she texted me at 1:30am on Saturday morning asking how my night was. I was giving it to my roommate’s coworker. Who’s apparently dating someone.
Now, I know this seems bad. I didn’t find out until after the fact. I did not take advantage of her. She’s a firecracker and we’d been flirting back and forth until the fireworks when I became a little more romantic and held her and was really sweet. Let’s be honest though, during a prospect of romance like fireworks at night, if you’re not with your significant other then you’re really not that serious about any of that relationship. I’m not trying to justify it. I’m just being realistic about things. Any holiday or weekend that is going to involve lots of alcohol and potentially something romantic like fireworks and you’re not with your better half, you’re going to do something bad.
Based on all of this, I’m playing the field. I’m really hopeful that the Tinder-girl and I hang out again soon. I’m not going to be naive enough to believe that she doesn’t have options. She’s definitely a one-seed.
The multi-dater, who wants to be a pickup artist really bad, is very enthralled with a new one-seed. To the point that he drove two hours away on a whim to spend a night with this girl and return back this morning. She’s “not his type”. Which means she’s using him a fuck-buddy with not committal intentions. He likes boundaries. He wants to know where he stands. He doesn’t with her. So he’s dragging himself deeper because she holds all of the cards. Naive. For a guy who has read and watched a lot of material related to relationship psychology, he’s being had. Scooby-Doo solved that mystery high as shit straight off the van. He knows that when a girl asks what their “relationship” status is that he has them. She hasn’t and it’s eating him away. You go girl!
The girl I went home with last night is cute and sweet. She’s innocent. I won’t be the one to corrupt her. The girl I laid with on the 4th is a firecracker. I absolutely loved the way that she was cheeky and kind of a bitch. It let me be sarcastic and snarky without holding back. Savage is an adjective I describe myself with, and beaten, bruised, and bloody, she let me be savage. The girl from last night, the 5th, and I cuddled. It was sweet and endearing. I actually have her number and not the girl from the 4th.
Freckles are super cute, and girls need to quite being weird about that. That’s just a general statement.
Love unconditionally. Fight as a berserker. Kiss with passion. Cuddle with gentleness. Be passionate and treat others well. My resolve hasn’t changed from this weekend. It’s been more enforced. I hope that I can rub off on the serial sex artist a bit.
“I have been many things. If you find me ignorant, enlighten me.”
-Raziel – Soul Reaver