Here’s a subject I know really nothing about, so it is only logical I use it as the subject for my blog.
When I was a young man, I was the absolute worst. It was a time period in my life that I am not the proudest about. I guess I should be happy just to have survived it. Another reason I know there must be a God.
This was when, upon deciding she had enough, another of my consorts left me like a cold goose.
I could never blame any of the young women who “befriended” me captivated by whatever spell I cast upon them, only to get fed up with whatever their problems were and leave or ask me to leave.
They were always right.
Yes, I was a selfish bastard.
Ye, I treated them like sex objects.
Yes, I cheated on them.
Yes, I needed therapy.
But the only woman I ever asked to move in with me (actually, it was her idea), was the Domestic Despot. None other than KAREN bin Laden.
Now you want to talk about relationships. I joke about a lot of different things, but seeing her walk down Stearns’ Wharf in Santa Barbara where I was plying my craft as an Executive Chef was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.
It was a weird thing that my condo looked immaculate at all times. Even though I wasn’t living with anyone, invariably every girl I brought over felt the need to tidy up or vacuum, or whatever, so my pad was always clean.
That part was cool.
My style with relationships was I wanted a girl to live with me for the long-term. The problem in my case, was the infidelity thing.
I figured since I wasn’t married, I could pretty much operate as I always had as a bachelor. I was operating like a fat little bee looking down on a field of flowers and my work was cut out for me.
Las Vegas was the best and worst place for me
That wasn’t fair to the girls I was with; they deserved better.
Of course I would retort that they were free to pursue whatever sexual direction they so choose.
But that’s lame.
They were always faithful (a breach of that covenant means goodbye with no options).
`So basically, until I met Karen it was the same routine (I am not gonna lie and say it wasn’t a kick-ass routine): A beautiful girl with just the right physical gifts, an eight-ball, and room to move.
I know, I’m a pig, but damn baby!
I wouldn’t know how to be single today nor would I want to know.
I am content hanging here with my favorite person on planet Earth.
But it sure was fun way back then.
Doug, my golf buddy was trying his best to explain relationships for today‘s single guys. He said that women want more than just the physical; he said women have their own sorting practices based on how much of yourself you are willing to invest in a relationship, which I found particularly interesting.
I also thought it was a big load of guano.
What happened to getting blind-drunk, popping a few Quaaludes, trying vainly to pull yourself together, stumbling up to your target and proclaiming, “I’ve got a big dick and a lot of money.”
Works every time.