Terror Cotta "We must be careful about what we pretend to be."

I wish I were more in touch with my emotional side. Like a gay guy in a sitcom, who has an food/thing that is guaranteed to cheer him up, and is enthralled every time he is complimented. So in touch with their own emotions it’s like they have a knob that controls their brain. I’m feeling lethargic, but fuck that, I’m gonna switch over to horny.

The thought of being gay has crossed my mind a few times, like I was going to experience an epiphany, along the lines of: ALL MY PROBLEMS ARE SOLVED, IM GAY!!!  And sadly, I’m not gay. I am much to in love, turned on, excited, and generally entertained by women. Ironically enough, the source of all of my anger/jealousy/boner-killers is women. One in particular. I think. Like I said, I’m not too in touch with my emotional side, so I could be using my ex-girlfriend as some kind of delusion covering up what I’m actually stressed about, and continuing on with a dilemma I went through last summer, to compensate for not dealing with the dilemma I’m currently in. But fuck that.

I understand the concept of emotional antithesis. That to experience happiness you need to sometimes experience sadness. But fuck that. I wish I could always be happy, like the Teddy Bears or Pillsbury Doughboy’s everyone compares me to. Those chubby mother fucker are always smiling. Fat and happy? More like out of shape and OK.

I like venting on here. I can spill my guts, look at porn, listen to music, and receive approval from my peers at the same time!

I feel like writing something, and since I’m not a faggot girl from the 80’s, there is no way in hell I’m keeping a diary. I’m not so ashamed of myself as too keep my thoughts concealed and hidden away in a locked journal!

Onward:

Last night was my nigga Steve’s birthday, and I got drunk (nothing new) but, something different did happen, a change of pace. I was introduced to a female, casually, via mutual friends.

And so for the past however many months I’ve been kind of a prick (at least when I’m sober), kind of morose, kind of masturbating too much, kind of dwelling on old news, kind of too negative, but nothing so abrasive that I lost friends or cut myself or anything silly.

Usually, my thoughts of women have been a little drastic, the “would” or “would not” mentality. The “woulds” get added into the spank bank, and the “would nots” get disregarded. Easy. But last night was weird. 

I don’t know if I just want to be a faggey romantic, or I actually am. But I was struck by this girl. It was like an episode of “The Wonder Years”. Slow-motion, wind blowing, the ringing of slot machines muffled by the R Kelly music rushing through my head. I had a moment. She said, “Hi I’m blah blah”, I replied with “Hi blah blah, I’m Nick, and you’re adorable”. This was the entire encounter.

As soon as I said that, my outward appearance occurred to me. I was blatantly hitting on a girl, while looking like a savage. I was sweaty as hell, freshly spilled “Car Bomb” on my shitty looking cut off shorts, scratches on my face, hair in a tangled mess, wearing a black thermal sweater painted with mac’n’cheese stains. Like a real smoooooth Swagga Mcdaddy. 

So I’ve decided I’m going to chase this girl. Am I fan of the hunt? I dont know. Am I scared of being denied/rejected? Yes. Am I being vague about the girl for a reason? No, I forgot her name. HEY LADY! LADY, LADY, LADY! I’m a tough as nails teddy bear, ready to have a cuddle-fest that’s gonna put my arm to sleep. Are you ready for nights out at the Olive Garden and days in at my parents house girl? Because when I set my mind to something, I usually say “fuck it” three days later, but this time, I’m gonna lurk you on Facebook and keep my eyes on the prize.