Hello.

Shit.

All she had to do was say, "Good bye". All I had to do was say, "Good luck with the move."

Instead she said, "I have a lot of things I will have to throw away. Do you need any plates?" Instead I said, "Yeah, I could use some."

Still, we're fine unless..."When do you get off work? Feel free to swing by whenever if you can get an excuse to get out of the office."

Fuck.

Too late.

The trigger just clicked, the switch just flipped, the tumblers just fell into place.

And now I'm in a dream state in the middle of the day. I might as well have had 3 bourbons. Everything's in slow motion.

I don't NEED an excuse to leave work, I can at any time. The movie is already playing in my head. Crystal-clear HD visions. Flashes of scenes. Of the front door. Of boxes. Of T-shirts. Of beer. Of laughs. Of gorgeous hair and an incredible body. Of skin. Of sweat. Of breath.

And all I have to do...is show up.

The plan is set, it's all in motion, like watching a glass fall to the ground. Just out of reach. But you already know the outcome.

Does anyone else experience triggers like this?

Growing Up

"Does this mean we're starting over?" And with one question, she perfectly matched this miserable, rain-soaked day.

Yet inside, I had to smile. I had forgotten that question. I had forgotten the many times I've had to answer that question. I had forgotten all the names and faces who have asked me that question. The faces and names which were flooding back because of that question.

It's one of those questions that is difficult for a man to answer. There's no true "right answer", we do like certainty. But there are definitely many, many wrong ones. We are certain of that. The faces and names remind me of that. Scars well-earned that now make me laugh.

"It's OK if we do, I just want to know," snaps me back to the moment. I've learned enough to know to NOT search for the right answer. To NOT parrot what you've heard others say. To NOT say what you said when it all blew to hell because you searched for the right answer.

I've learned enough to know you speak from whatever is inside, whatever you feel RIGHT THEN. And accept the thought it may not be the right answer. It may not be what she wants to hear. It may not be the certainty you both would like. But it is real. It is consistent with what she knows is right, what she feels from you right then. And because it's real, it's right.

I wished in the past to always be right. Instead, today, with the rain slowing to a drizzle, I only hope to be real.

I Will Survive

When I was little I fell out of a tree and onto a glass Coke bottle. In one of my first physics lessons, I would learn that if one were to fall out of a tree onto, say, a glass Coke bottle, that said bottle would have the potential off breaking on impact. I also learned that if a broken bottle comes into rapid contact with, say, the leg of a young boy, then mayhem will ensue. That bottle left a good reminder on my leg. That is the first, of many, accidents I remember.

Although, the best! would be the ER visit I was too small to remember. I have a knot two inches above my nose where I split my head open while learning to walk. Nope, don't recall a lick of it. But that had to be a fun day.

I do remember having scabs on my elbows from about 6th grade to 10th, thanks to a love of skateboarding and dirt biking sans equipment. When you're barrelling down a hill, sometimes equipment doesn't help anyway. There where also wrist burns, head knocks, finger smashes (even lost a nail once, that was cool.)

At an eye exam for the military, the optometrist asked,"So when did you break your nose?" "What? I've never broken my nose. My nose is broken?!" "Nope, don't worry about it." Huh?, oh yeah!, backyard boxing.

Few years ago, I had a friend teach me how to make sushi. While wiping the counter with one hand and holding a surgically-sharp sushi knife in the other (FYI-don't EVER wipe the counter with one hand while holding a surgically-sharp sushi knife in the other. Actually, it's probably not wise to say "surgically-sharp sushi knife" repeatedly while holding a surgically-sharp sushi knife) I poked a hole almost through my hand by hitting the tip of the knife on my thumb and it sliced through me as if I were a beautiful piece of hamachi. Which I am.

In fact, I've been hit by a car, struck by lightening, bitten by a black widow and came within a quarter-inch of severing an major artery. No joke. Then why, as I'm recounting these tales in my mind, am I smiling from ear to ear?

I survived. I lived. I live. I am bigger and more badass than ALL of those things.

And just as I smile at all of the events that have left there mark, literally, on my body, I smile at the marks left from dating as well. I'm not bitter that bottle cut me pretty damn good (I know too many who are though) instead, I laugh and think, "Hell, let's not do that again." But it didn't stop me from climbing trees, or learning new skills, or skateboarding, or bike-riding, or boxing, or trampolining!, or surfing, snowboarding, etc, etc., etc.

There's too much fun, life, adventure and love to be found to do anything but be encouraged by the scars that didn't claim you. I even almost poked my eye out while flying a kite once! That was no picnic. Actually...Haha, it was. But who cares, anyone feel like climbing a tree?

Shook Me All Nite Long

TMI-Thursday? What the hell?

Now that it's Spring, I reminisce about when I moved to DC in the Spring of '06. Moving from a small, vacation town in OBX, DC was quite a change. Huge buildings that blocked the big sky I was used to, stores packed with people flying in every direction and many, many people jogging. I loved the activity. I loved the action. But I missed what I once called "home."

Then a curious thing started to happen. (This would be your chance to turn away. No seriously. OK, but don't say I didn't warn you.) I started having obscenely-filthy sex dreams. You can't even find stuff like that online! Anywhere! I didn't wake up excited, I woke up mortified/embarrassed/horrified and it stayed with me throughout the day.

Stuff was going on that I'm sure is illegal in every state and most countries, save The Netherlands and parts of Scandinavia (love ya!) If envisioned situations had actually occurred, I'd be phoning in this blog to someone outside the Federal Penitentiary System. (There is only one scene left in the dark recesses of my mind and that's too disturbing to put out in the universe via blogspot.com. Trust me.)

(Well, I thought I! was troubled until I read this book. I had to put it down before page 20. Wow. Now, very little of what I dream is. My sisters, you win hands! down!)

The encounters were startling but the fact I rarely have such dreams made the effect exponentially troublesome. My mind raced all day to find a reason for these new, now-almost-nightly visions. I took a second look at the buildings, the stores, the people, the joggers. Then something clicked.

DC's not OBX. People don't exercise cause it's fun. They exercise to work off stress. They jog so that tomorrow's log jam doesn't seem as miserable as today's. It's just a way to work off all that stress. Which I gathered I was under as well with a new job, new apartment, new city, new routines, etc. And though all those people were flying all over the stores, they did so in their individual bubbles. No one talking, no one interacting, no one venturing into anyone else's bubble.

A week of thinking and I distilled what I was seeing. It all came down to two points: Comfort and Connection. That's what I! needed. And the more I looked around, the more I saw people looking and longing for the same thing. I still see it daily.

Now, why the dreams took the form they did, I'm not wholly sure. They rocked the boat hard enough to get my mind thinking and that thinking has been with me from then on. For that I'm thankful. And the incredibly graphic, dirty, beyond-racy dreams stopped when I made my conclusion. It was a longing for comfort and connection. Just like everyone else's.

Tainted Love

What's not to like about a song? They're given to being short. They have a beginning and an end. And no "To-be-continued"s. Just a few short verses, a little conflict, maybe a message and, hopefully, an interesting close. Then a slight pause before another songs comes. There's a rhythm involved, not just to each song, but in between songs. There's a rhythm and a link through the whole collection.

I used to be one who, if the song...(you know we're talking about more than songs at this point, right?)...if the song wasn't my style, wasn't really interesting, wasn't in harmony with my emotions or thoughts, then it was discarded. And quickly. Not every song ends well, either. I'd avoid the ones I knew that wouldn't. And I never thought twice about it.

My rhythm and approach may have changed in between songs.

I'm currently seeing someone. And it's going to end badly. And it's going to be my fault. But right now, I'm willing to listen intently until the very end. Right now, I am simply enjoying the music. I'm learning to enjoy the music in spite of the ending, in spite of the message, in spite of the conflict, in spite of myself.

Too often I've ended it early, tested it on purpose, never started to begin with, or enjoyed only the few first moments with no future to be had beyond that night.

But this will be my fault completely and Contempt will be the reason. I have this man, and this book, to thank for at least knowing that. When one partner looks down on the other, no matter the reason or cause, it is THE predictor of a relationship's success.

I don't like that I do this. I don't like that the attitude emerges on inconsequential issues at inappropriate times. There's no animosity or vitriol with it. And there are so many things I do enjoy about her, I don't like that a knee-jerk reaction in minor moments is to think, "WTF?!" It happens too often to be overlooked for long. We both deserve better than that.

To be honest, I'd much rather write about sexy encounters or an exciting rendezvous. The unexpected beauty and wonderful tension are in those unsure moments where success and failure have an equal chance. But the scale has tipped, success on the losing end.

The only kind consolation is that this singer should be heard, her song should be sung. She is beautiful in the light. And I will listen as long as she sings until the very end.

Nothing Short of Thankful

"Hey, you guys are making it pretty back here!"

The back porch never looked so good, "Have fun!" I had a full day planned and perhaps my invitation to the party was "lost in the mail." That I doubt. I wasn't invited to whatever party it was because of history, and not the classroom kind.

My neighbor is really cute. She is also, perhaps, the most socially-aware person I have ever met. She is so good, she can move you were you don't want to go and you will have a great time doing it. I've seen her do it many times. And, thanks to the extremely thin walls in my turn-of-the-century, 1970's-renovated apartment building, I've heard her quite often as well.

No judgements about what one does to find love, I certainly don't want that spotlight on me either. "A woman who gives her heart sincerely retains her virtue." I am fully willing to believe that sentiment. And I admired her ability to apply it so repeatedly and so quickly.

That sentiment and admiration may have been just the opening needed when her gaze met mine. A few more chance meetings (which I was later told weren't chance AT ALL!) and the dance had begun. A few planned outings more and the dance progressed. Up to a point. That point should have been before the physical relations started. Lesson learned. It was, however, after.

We parted ways on good terms I thought. I had no resentment and was told the same from her. That will be the last time I believe that line. But I bounded up the stairs to my place glad for the interaction, if I hadn't would this exist? I did enjoy her personality, yet thankful it didn't go further. (Reasons, I'm sorry, I can't disclose on the off chance anonymity eludes me one day.) But reasons that also made me nothing short of thankful.

It didn't take long to learn that chance meetings were painfully awkward, planned meetings a thing of the past. I've said maybe a paragraph worth of words in the past year, her maybe a sentence worth. "Hey! You guys are making it pretty back here!" was the most she's heard me say in close to a year. I don't talk to walls either. But they were beautiful flowers. I would have enjoyed them if they were mine.

I found out a week later, the flowers and the girl were getting ready for their wedding day. I'm not going to check for that lost invitation though sincere good wishes exist. I couldn't be more pleased for her. Or more thankful.

When Will I Be Loved

How I've neglected you! I know how you feel. I've cheated you of a lot of fun and adventure and who doesn't need just a little more fun and adventure in their lives. So I'm sorry to not have kept you in the loop, but that loop was loopin' a lot.

You know about my return visit to Spain. And no, I did not see her. I coyly asked, but didn't get an update. Forever a memory and a fond one at that, they should all be so lucky. I was also very busy wandering the town and hanging out with my six-month-old twin niece and nephew. I could not get enough of them.

When I left, it was all I could do to hold back my tears. But I'm not the first to do that. Doubt I'll be the last. That famous quote did ring in my ears. How a town can create such a pull in a heart is amazing to me. Now that I have a family branch there, my visits, and tears, will hopefully be repeated many times.

You may not know of my 23-hour stop off in Amsterdam. I was up for 36 hours straight and didn't mind one bit. It's a beautiful city with a very young vibe. I did go see the Red-Light District, at my sister's insistence. More sad than interesting and not worth noting except that there were at least twice as many women tourists wandering around as there were men. Think of that what you will. Aside from that and wandering the town myself, I made great sport of making the hotel concierge blush. If you've never seen the complexion of a Dutch girl, it's given to blush very easily. And I just couldn't resist.

You may also not know of my first western ski trip to Telluride. About 60 degrees when we landed with too much brown on the mountains. But two massive storms later, one large enough to scare the city folks of Denver, and the mountain conditions were epic. Over twenty inches of snow in 3 days may have spoiled me for all time. So did Baked in Telluride with the best donuts I've ever had and a little taco stand with $2 soft tacos, also the best I've ever had.

Two weeks in two months that have left me wondering about my wanderings and exactly why I am where I am. A few changes will be in the works because of it. Maybe a relocation?

And the last bit of news you may not be aware of is there was someone anxiously waiting for me when I returned. But I'm sure you'll hear more about that later.

Not Tonite

"You're not getting me alone tonite." And I meant it as I pulled her in.
"We rode together so I HAVE to go back to your place for my car," her whispers sounded logical.
"In that case, what I'll do is drive by your car, and slow down some, and you can just jump..." I shove her an arm's length away with a laugh, "...because you're not getting me alone tonite. And don't forget to roll when you hit, it'll help the fall." I didn't mean that.
"But you have to let me in, I have a present for you." I pulled her back in, "Damn, you're good." Well played, sister.

Things are spinning, anxiety is high and my nerves are really raw this week. I had taken a double dose of Fukitol. She wasn't getting me alone because she had already set a "rule" for number of dates before we could sleep together. (I understand a girl's point of view on this, but taking it off the table doesn't sit well with me. Something to do with withholding intimacy.) So yeah, didn't like that. Bad kitty. But drinking belgians at the end of a hard day with her there made my day through the ringer feel like weeks ago. That's good beer! And good company.

"You need to be careful with me," I whispered in her ear, "You could have me for a song tonite, and I can't have that. So you need to be very careful." I was playing the part of the wounded warrior because I felt it. Not because it was a ploy or a routine but because it was real. I can't take any more shit today, don't fucking toy with me.

"Are you using 'reverse psychology' on me?" she wondered outloud, squeezing my hand and smiling.
"No. I'm not." And I wasn't. I wasn't playing. I wasn't smiling. She would later say this was the reason she had to have me, the vunerability was a "major turn-on".

As we walked to the car with me still protesting that she wasn't getting me alone (I was! kidding now) , I pulled her into doorways for 5-second make-outs, lost count on how many. Then let her get back to her story about early morning meetings or a car dealership or something that was secondary to the subcontext of the moment.

Back at my place I told her, "Don't get comfy. Where's my present?" Her coat came off and she got comfy. A bottle of rum was given while her shoes came off, "Hope you like it." A hug of thanks exchanged. And we both got comfy. Then everything else came off.

Suppose She's Miss Understood

Suppose I met someone recently. Suppose that girl was pretty. damn! cool. Suppose her and her friends acted like they owned the place. Suppose when I first saw her I knew we would meet and hang, at least a little. (C'mon! I always suppose Serendipity did it's part by having us in the same place at the same time, it's my job after that.) Suppose, at that place and time, she had a little buzz. And a little attitude. Suppose I like a little attitude. Just suppose I like a little challenge.

And maybe amongst great stories of past conquests, she provided only bits of info and no contact, save, OMG WTF BBQ, a blog. That, I think, would be enough to find her. FYI, don't suppose that!

And maybe, Serendipity, with a little nudge, went to work again. Suppose I got to hang with her sans friends. Suppose when she spoke about life, the city, her passions, her eyes shined. Suppose she shined.

Suppose commonalities were found. Suppose a good part of the initial attitude melted like the ice in her glass. Suppose great charm emerged. And whatever walls there are, came down just a little. Just enough to show a softer heart and honest enthusiasm about life and family. Suppose a moment was shared. Suppose two. Suppose I understood a little more than attitude.

If all of that were to take place, I suppose I might like to see her again. I suppose, when inspiration hit, I might like to write about it. Good thing this didn't happen then. Because if it did, and we did, and I did, and she did, then there'd be a chance, just a sliver of a chance really, maybe too small to mention. Maybe too small to wonder. But maybe, perhaps...just supposing. Then there's a chance she could be reading this. right now. I suppose me writing this may be unwise. I suppose I'll let someone else decide.

UPDATE: Haha, and it looks like she did. There's no way I am going to feel bad about this. She was/is a great girl. I had a great time. I'll regret this post because of the needlessly lost opportunity, but I won't apologize for it or for expressing myself while being inspired. I've clamped that down in the past and it only leads to worse things. However, she will be the last to know I blog. I sincerely wish her well, she is a fun, creative person. Then again, so am I.

What I Want

I am returning to Spain within the week, only for a visit. I lived there for a year many years ago. There are many sights I am longing to see: The fountains . The cobblestone streets. The house in my neighborhood that is older than America. The guitar shop where I bought my handmade flamenco guitar. The Alhambra. Granada is a second hometown to me. It always will be. But there is one sight I long to see and hope very much that I don't. Her name is Ana.

I know "love at first sight" exists, because Ana exists. I know time can be frozen, because it was. And I was there. I didn't understand the first words she said because she had the most unusual and amazing eyes, brown and green like marbles, and I was lost in them. But her words were sadly prophetic, "Es una lástima yo no hablo inglés." And it's a shame I don't speak Spanish. To adore someone and never be able to say it is awful. To never be able to say it because of language is worse.

Tossing and turning out of that frustration one night, I awoke and demanded one question of myself, "What do you want?!" My answer took less than 20 mins to write. And it has proven to be a time capsule that brings be back every time to the scenes and my emotions in them. But that's also where they should stay. I adore her then. I don't know her now.

I wanted to review this memory before all the others come flooding back. Ana never got to see this. Never got to hear it. Never got to read it. Never got to know it. Like you do.

I'm writing this, selfishly, for me. But I also hope it serves notice that you never, ever, know when you may have inspired good things in someone's heart. You may have done it today.

"What I Want"
What I want is to see you again
with the words and their meaning in place.
The shine of your hair, the light in your eyes
and a smile on your beautiful face.

To see you move and talk with friends
some you have barely just met.
To watch your hands, your mouth, your lips
as you light your last cigarette.

To have you look at me through a dim-lit room
from across a smoke-filled bar.
To say with that look, not with my words,
how strong and sensual you are.

To smell your perfume. To touch your hand.
The skin, I imagine, is soft.
To hear your heart. To feel your breath.
These are the thoughts in which I get lost.

Salsa Like You Live

In an effort to have fun, learn new skills, and, yes, meet new people, I've decided to start Salsa Dancing. Cliched? Maybe. But have you done it, yet?

I get there and the instructor is already shouting commands to the 20 "couples" who are there. It's more like random guys and random girls with a couple or two sprinkled in. The basic moves are actually not that tough to get: Count to 8, move your feet, feel the rhythm and it's very basic. I used to do a lot of West Coast Swing so I'm comfy learning on the fly and very comfy with the inherent sexiness Salsa has, as well. My fellow male counterparts aren't so comfy. And the females don't look that way, either.

As the instructor shows the guys their parts, we shuffle, we try to shuffle, most try to shuffle to the beat. Once we've managed "well enough", the instructor moves to the girls. And as the girls shuffle, try, or manage a great thought hit me. Here is where I am reminded why dancing is so great: Dancing is a social exercise. Dancing is a microcosm of dating. And of love. And of life.

Just like dancing, we each have to learn our parts. Go outside of the basic rhythm and what you do becomes awkward and frustrating for you and the one you are with. I don't like dancing off rhythm. Don't know anyone who does. Know too many who shuffle, who try, who manage all the same.

After the girls' instructions, we come together as mismatched, momentary couples to try to salsa. We didn't do too well. In MY defense, I don't think my partner understood English. No judgements. I just had to show her how it's done instead. Communication goes beyond language.

Then the instructor shouted priceless instructions, "If your partner is not moving with you, STOP! " I'm not just taking Salsa at this point. "If your partner is looking at the floor and not you, STOP! If you and your partner are not moving to the beat of the music, STOP!" And the just-as-important, "Now, let's try that again." So we did. And we improved.

"Guys rotate to your left!" And now I have a new partner. Who's just a little different than the last. Who is doing the same basic steps. And it's becoming easier as we go.

But I already know a secret my fellow boys may not: The boy leads. When the boy leads, the girl follows. It's not so easy to do in either case. And it's obvious to see on the faces of every couple there.

I think the reason for this is it's very counter to what culture tells us these days: "Guys, be very considerate to everyone. Be respectful and don't impede the wishes of others. Don't be overly physical or force your will.", "Ladies, don't let someone tell you what to do. Don't supplicate in any situation. Stand up and speak your mind, but not too much."

I believe if a something exists then it's fulfilling a need. Same goes with these thoughts. But dancing, or rather, dancing well, doesn't really give a shit. The principles of dancing could very well be accused of being sexist. And yet, they don't work very well otherwise. The instructor is reminding us of that every chance he can, "If you mess up, it's THE GUY'S FAULT!" Doesn't quite sound "equal". But you already know I love this idea, don't you?

As we continue to dance and rotate and dance again, it's obvious those couples having trouble are the couples whose GUY'S are having trouble. Trouble leading. Trouble moving himself. Trouble moving his partner. Maybe trouble understanding. And another thought hits: You dance like you live.

Dating Philosophy: I want Gravity

Perhaps it's a good time to give an accounting of my dating philosophy. Why now? Well, it hasn't been recorded yet and last nite I had a really good date. If you plan to follow any future posts, knowing my approach might ease some confusion. Might. Because frankly, dear reader, (and I might lose you on this) I had a really good date which means...I need to date someone else.

That's right. Some. One. Else.

Alright, I can already see I'm moving too fast. Unless you have come to a similar realization (and I know one or two of you have) this is a brand new world. Welcome.

I didn't start out with this mentality. Like any idiotic fool romantic young lad, I fully believed the mantra: If you are a good person...and are nice to people...then eventually...you will find...the Right...someone. (I bet you could recite that along with me.)

Nothing could be further from the truth. There are so many holes in that boat, it hit rock bottom before the line was finished. Unless you still believe that, unless you still live that. In which case, it still hit rock bottom and you didn't even know it. And you need to keep reading.

When I said I needed to date someone else, I bet you made an assumption. I bet you thought I would end it and move on to someone else. I bet you assumed I would NOT see Ms. GD again. Nothing could be further from the truth. Which would mean...(c'mon, you can do it)...I would be dating...2?...people. Yeah! See that wasn't so hard. And actually, the answer is No. Most likely at least 2, but I don't want you spinning too much right now.

Dear Reader: "But if you like her, why would you date someone else?"

(Haha, you 're adorable! do you know that?) The reason is BECAUSE I could like her is why others should be added to the mix. You see when most people find someone whose company they enjoy they welcome that person in fully. They do more and more with them. They become comfortable. Their social skills start to rust. (Skills that are needed to keep that someone happy, btw.) The two become intertwined, incorporated, and fixated.

Not at first, but within a couple months/weeks/days, depending, life starts to revolve around that someone. For both people. Identities get mixed, friends get merged, Saturday nite is assumed ("What do you want to do?" "I don't know what do YOU want to do?") and toiletries men are not very familiar with start to appear in the bathroom OUT OF NOWHERE. (yes, that was a Seinfeld reference.)

From a certain perspective, this is romantic. I can see that. But there's no need to be so completely idiotic romantic about it. Here is A MAJOR POINT: I AM NOT HER SAVIOR. I am NOT her knight-in-shining-armour. I am not her tour director. I am NOT her moral compass, conscience or all-knowing spiritual guide.

I love it when a woman has her own life and is willing to share a part of that with me. I love that she has girl's nite out, don't even mind if she flirts with the bartender while she's there. I love that sewing/painting/grad school is on Wed nite which means we can't have dinner then but maybe I could see her after, she'll have to let me know. I love that she has a life! I love that she has HER life. And I love being included if only sometimes. (side note: being unavailable can amp attraction. She usually knows that, too. dammit!) So if I become her life, what exactly is she sharing? And what exactly am I being asked to fulfill?

When this takes place, and it too often does, date nite becomes ONE nite. If that. Coming over becomes lounging on the couch watching bad TV and eating worse food or vice versa, whatever. That, out of habit, is something I don't like. I'm not her savior, I'm her companion. (Love the poignancy of Def #4.) This is also why I don't let her do my laundry, clean my place, rearrange the furniture, reorganize the frig, redecorate the bath, etc. I'm not her savior, she's not my maid.

If I don't want her doing that to me, why would I do that to her? Why would I RISK doing that to her? Why would I risk HER identity, MY identity, HER life, MY life for a Hollywoodland empty-promise romantic payoff? Remember we're just DATING. Should it progress, that changes a-few things a-little, but I'd still want a woman who's got something other than me in her life. I imagine, she wants a man who has something other than her own life to offer back to her.

So, that's just point #1.

OK...so, why don't I just watch how much time we spend together?

Good question! Maybe. Because if I like spending time with her, I'm going to want to spend A LOT OF TIME with her. If I'm spending time with her, she's "wowed" me in some way. She's shown she is very different than anyone else. I'm going to want to do everything with her. In every way. I'm going to want to eat her up!

So now we're talking Intellectual vs. Emotional. You can think about it all day, but what you feel is going to win. Your intellect will kick in to justify those feelings. Emotion wins. Above I said most people will "welcome that person in fully". Guess what? I'M LIKE MOST PEOPLE! I'm not a unique snowflake, I'm a man. A guy. And any guy who digs a girl is going to want to be with that girl. And he will run through a brick wall to do it!

So now, I have an issue. I can either change my thinking or change my emotions. How well do you think that will work? You haven't completely disagreed with my points so far, have you? See what I mean.

Hmm, if only there was a third option. One that would equal my now one-sided focus. You see it now? Yep. Date another someone. And let me stop right here and make another MAJOR POINT: THE SECOND GIRL IS NOT "SECOND" IN ANY WAY.

I may have met her after, but that isn't to say she is any less beautiful, talented, inspiring or that my emotional reaction is any less than a genuine "Wow!" If she hasn't "wowed" me in some way, I'm not spending time with her. If there is a harsh approach here, it's THIS! I'm not going to spend time with someone in a romantic way if she has not turned my head and peaked my interest. I'd hope in this I'm not unlike every single person in the world. (though, unfortunately, I know that's not true.)

So now, we simply adhere to an old adage, the one with all the eggs in the basket. And even though I'm writing this from a male perspective, I think flipping the script and having a woman do this is an equally good idea. Keep that in mind. Having options allows for greater freedom and a greater appreciation of those options.

This is beneficial for a lot of ways. I now am NOT completely focused on one person, I can't be. I'm not always wondering what she's doing, what she wore today, how wonderful her perfume smells on the shoulder of my sweater (ok, maybe that one) I can't be so singularly focused. If I am, what happens? But I, literally, can NOT be. I have two people who I adore. I'm wondering about them both, which means I'm not fixated on EITHER.

And there is nothing like a boy-girl relationship to show you what you are lacking. If you care about yourself and use this as an opportunity to improve, you will have more than enough to work on. Social skills will be finely honed. Ability to keep and hold a connection will be of huge importance. And focusing on the power of now will be nothing less than life altering.

DR: "Oh, you sum-bitch, 2-timing, lying, good-for-nothin'..." Hold on, there Missy.

You just made another assumption. And maybe you shouldn't have. That assumption was...that I'm lying...that I'm cheating. That one girl doesn't know about the other. That isn't, or shouldn't, be the case. And I NEVER, EVER advocate lying, cheating, sleeping with someone if the other person you are seeing does NOT know that is a possibility!

Obviously, any boy OR GIRL will be careful in the DETAILS they divulge if there is sexual contact. That's what blogging's for! (I soo hope you know that's what the kids call "a joke".) No, even that intimate act shouldn't be withheld. If you're mature enough to handle it, you should be mature enough to share. And mature enough to be "protected" for everyone's sake.

OK, inventory check, what do we have? An amazing girl I really like. And a different and equally amazing girl I really like. Both of whom know this and both of whom know I am social and am dating. That's it.

If something changes in the equation, everything changes. If the relationship progresses and needs to go deeper, then a decision has to be made. But nothing in life is set forever. Nothing but change is permanent.

Remember the original issue: I know a girl I could like and I don't want to ruin that by becoming less social, less flexible, less open. I'd like for us to have fun. I'd like to keep that fun light-hearted. I'd like to keep that time as something we look forward to, not something that is a given. Not something that has no tension, pull or passion. I want Gravity. And I also want to fly.

Trouble Again

Here comes trouble again with porceline skin
And I melt with her half-crooked grin.
Though that I try to be the nice guy,
All I can think of is sin.
My heart will begin, my head starts to spin
and I know only part of me wins.

Here comes trouble once more beside my front door
Leather boots, just too hard to ignore.
I know I should run, but she laughs like it's fun
And my feet, they are nailed to the floor.
I know what's in store, I've been here before.
She'll leave when I'm begging for more.

Here comes trouble I see with her arms around me
I'm too caged now to ever be free.
"Please understand, I am only a man.
Oh, dear trouble won't you let me be?"
Ignoring my plea, she whispers to me,
"Darlin' won't you come with me?"

Here comes trouble and shame. I know them by name.
And I'm guilty of fanning the flame.
Chilly morning after burning yearning.
Still I wonder now who is to blame.
This wasn't my aim, but I'm caught in a game
Where the ending is always the same.

There goes trouble again with porcelain skin
I still melt with her half-crooked grin.