A few days after the first one. Again, heavily influenced by alcohol.

November 2006

There is really nothing more intriguing to me than a couple who have been married or together for twenty, thirty, forty years and still love each other. I just don't understand it. Maybe it's just me and my cynical, pessimistic nature. I just can't comprehend. I'm taking a different tack here, though. I admire these people. And I don't mean the folks who live together and sleep in separate bedrooms for 30 years (my grandparents). People may have different reasons for that, but it just doesn't seem healthy. But back to what I was saying. These people truly are my heroes. I want to follow those people around all day and just see how they live their lives. As does everything else, my views come from past experience, and my experiences don't equate. As a product of 3 failed marriages on both sides of the family,  it's hard for me to envision "forever." And relationships that I've been in have been far from perfect (by and large my own fault). I understand all the fundamentals, i.e., TRUST, compromise, honesty, compatibility, sincerity, passion (future posting material?), but to put them all together and form a bond with someone that weathers time... That is what interests me. At the ripe old age of 22, I know I should probably be more concerned with where my bill money is coming from and how many parties I can make it to before the sun comes up. Perfect example. I went out Saturday night with a bunch of folks to a bar. We all got a hotel room across the street and started drinking like Prohibition was around the corner. We get to the bar, and we all hang out, shoot pool and the like. Eventually the guys I'm with gravitate to the dancefloor, where all the girls are. I manage to separate myself from the pack and end up sitting at the bar with my oh-so-tasty Dos Equis. When I catch up with them a little later, the guys are standing there slackjawed, trading timeless quips and precious insights into the female psyche ("Man, I'd drink a gallon of her bathwater just to see what she tastes like" and "She looks like she could use a good fuckin'."). As the cockblocking ensued, I couldn't help feeling jaded about the whole situation. I ended up going back to the room and going to sleep. Now, why did I leave? I never really got into the whole "hollerin' at bitches" thing. I like to go out and have a good time with the guys. If there are girls there, great. I love looking at them. It's just that places like that don't seem to carry the type of woman who this whole spiel is dedicated towards. The good ones. Not the crazy bitches, not the party girls, not the virgin-to-pirate-hooker-in-3.2-seconds. The good ones. It's funny because I can't even describe what the good ones look or act like. I should hope I would know when I see them. I'm sure there will be some snide comments to that but oh well. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places. Actually I'm not even looking at all. But I might be...