Maybe I’m Just Stoned #2.

Picture 417

To My Lovely Gentlemen Readers:
You know I love you guys and this IS NOT a clown or jab in the direction of the male persuasion that comes from a mean spirit; it’s all in TRUTHFULLY told, good, clean, fun…and weed….lots and lots of weed.
~~~
Maybe I’m just super stoned again tonight…we’ll see I guess…

Okay, so, is it just me, or…
Is the willingness to commit when it comes to conversation between a man and woman VASTLY weakened, in comparison to his willingness to commit to another man (not in a romantic or sexual way)? A lifelong friend of my roommate Dice stopped by tonight after work for a visit. It’s been a while since we saw this particular guy, as he has been buried by the project of a DIY home remodel – a huge project, indeed. Dice is single (something that his mama doesn’t appreciate as she is itching for grandkids) and as long as I have known Dice, his intention of remaining “single” for the most part has remained unchanged; he is just the kind of guy who answers to nobody and recognizes that relationships just aren’t his thing, I guess.
I have heard this man argue any and every valid (or invalid) point behind his lack of any desire to commit himself to any ONE woman; he even ended a relationship he had been in for several years because the grip kept tightening in his perception. I feel that I can fairly make the statement of:
“Dice is no friend to commitment when it comes to any exclusive inter-personal relationships with others.”

Tell me why it is then, that within a matter of moments after sitting down with his friend to catch up on the construction of his home, the word “we” is being thrown around like a fucking cheap hooker. I swear to the Gods, it was as if Dice has had a hidden mouse in his pocket all day or is suddenly in a second person narrative! It was shocking to me, seriously…and yes, I was possibly over-stoney and reading too much into things, but damn…

“We might also wanna think about…”
“We could look into building up from beneath…”
“If we fill in the ditch, we will have plenty of room to…”
I mean this is the same guy who won’t even collectively chip in on household products with me because it feels too much like a binding to him somehow for Christ’s sake! Yet, when it came to construction (or, last weekend, the stripping down of an ancient Land Cruiser belonging to a different male friend of his)…it was pretty profound in my own pothead opinion.

But, maybe I’m just stoned.

Notes to Self – Note # 41

Dear Self,
• How old are you, again?…
• Really, I mean c’mon…you:

a) behave like a two-year-old at an after-school daycare birthday party
b) be a bigger pothead than Spicoli ever was – and forget important shit
c) insist on impossible things – rendering yourself impossible to please

• If a guy has been in your company for 48 hours and only then says something along the lines of

“You know…? You’re fuckin’ hot…”

Time to go ahead and take another inventory of things
• If the same guy makes the seemingly random suggestion of “painting your bedroom” or “gardening” the instant he comes over for the first time, take another inventory of things
• If someone posing as a “poet” seems UNABLE to leave the topic of themselves for very long, they are likely full of horse shit
• When a man believes that he needs lifelong reaffirmation and/or reassurances as a result of being let down a few times by a parent, or being cheated on by his ex-wife – GAME OVER. GET OUT.
• The above described situation is what I refer to as a “Conflict of Reality”…nobody wins
• It’s really too bad it isn’t physically painful to be a fucking sniveler – I think there would be far fewer crybabies in the world, if it hurt
• Plotting to kill someone while you are doing yoga or jogging or swimming still totally counts as plotting to kill somebody; doing it while engaging in healthy activities DOES NOT change anything about that

An Ode to a Highly Flammable Old Flame.

There you were,
that devilish grin,
after all this time,
say the word – here I am…
got you memorized,
every pore of your skin,
any move that you make,
is pure perfection…
every time I look at you,
it’s the first time all over again,
you’ve always had those steel-toe eyes,
an ability to kick my doors all in…
Here we are,
that same scenery,
the chlorine smell,
your hot tub Jacuzzi…
adorned by rows of salty drops,
crown your brow in liquid beads,
every breathe that I take,
drives me closer to full nudity…
we both know what happens next,
too cross-eyed to find my bikini,
I don’t recall – can you remind me,
my name, address, and DOB.

Notes to Self – Note 492

Absolutely Molotoved.

Absolutely Molotoved.

Dear Self,

Not sure how many times we will have to go over these things… but here we are, again…

  • Once a snake, always a snake. This is the naturally embedded law of the Universe, you KNOW this. Why do you struggle so?
  • Moisturize! Moisturize! Moisturize! You’re lookin’ beat up.
  • Just because sea lions “play” with you in the water sometimes, doesn’t mean that they:
    • a) actually like you.
    • b) will remember you on land.
  • You need to look into what turns you into an instant asshole on the beach, it’s very unbecoming. Not everyone is at home in the water.
  • Continuing to hold on to the notion that you still look good in your swimsuit from over four seasons ago is doing you no justice.
  • You are paranoid; this is a fact; act accordingly.
  • You do not have to publish every piece of poetry that you pen.
  • Sometimes, it’s just better to eat the Gods’ damned casserole and then either retch or digest afterwards. You lost out on $50, dumbass.
  • Perception is key; the key to a door which you may or may not want to unlock and swing open, depending on the circumstance.
  • Fuck you. Yes, you are wearing the bridesmaid’s dress and cfmp’s…it’s your brother’s wedding for fuck sake. Suck it up and be a girl once in a while, “it’s good for you”, so they say…