Children Make Horrible Bosses, and Other Twisted Thoughts

10 Aug

There is something inherently sad about  the thought of being a 40 year old man, trying to pick up young 20 somethings at the bar; and sounding like a Cutco salesmen. ‘I’m so great and this is why you should fuck me.” I just don’t have the energy to chase it anymore.

I’m reaching the point where it is almost time for me to settle down. Finally keep a girlfriend for more than 9 months, buy a house, and maybe even have a vasectomy.

It might be a deterrent for women to get serious with me, but anytime I get lonely I’ll just look at that 250,000 dollar check I wrote for myself that I framed on the wall. In case I end up changing my mind, I keep a jar in the fridge that I’ve storing my deposits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had guests complain about the mayonnaise  tasting funny. “ Muthafucka you just ate my kids!!!! You know how many weeks it took me just to get 8 oz of that stuff? You owe me a month’s worth of my internet bill.”

But the main reason I wanna get a vasectomy is because I wanna have unprotected sex again. The number one  reason I hate one night stands is because you have to use condoms. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of sex with a girl and just look at her face as she writhes in joy and elation, and think “Damn this is pointless. I can’t feel a fucking thing.” Its taken the fun out of sex. Now when I see hot chick the only thing I even consider  is “will she make out with me while I beat off?”

That and it is “can I have a conversation with this gal?” Two things about me. I’m a great cuddler, and I give great conversation. I be like, “yeah gurl, you like this good conversation I’m giving you? Told you it was gonna to be good to you. Came up to your apartment to give you some of that GREAT conversation. You aint neva had conversation like this have you? You LOVE this conversation don’t you?

I just recently set up an Okcupid account. I have friends who live in other cities and they do well on there. The Tulsa area leaves a little to be desired. It is a wasteland. Looking at the women on there is like trying to find a date in the frozen food section at the neighborhood Wal-mart. They aren’t all ugly,there are some women on there that you can tell were fairly attractive ten years ago(you know, before the Meth and the babies). The majority of them are too old, or too overweight, and the few pretty ones you can tell by looking at them that they are racist. 

Of the six things they can’t live without, 3 of them usually involve the words Jesus Christ, their children, their cell phones, or their Facebook accounts.

Maybe I need to go on one of those paid sites. I wish there was one that was more catered to me–something like weirdbrownpplmeet.com I just can’t get it up for white chicks anymore. The novelty of pissing off white fathers has worn off for me. Plus I already love fried chicken, basketball, and smoking weed. Do I really need to fulfill another stereotype? Of the 4 stereotypes, neither basketball, herb, or fried chicken have ever been ashamed to introduce me to their parents.

My new mantra is “If they identify as white, we prolly gonna have a fight.”  I want the kind of brown chick that can relate to hiding her U2 CD’s when her black friends came over. The kind of brown chick whose guilty pleasure in high school was listening to Billy Joel  on cassette tape. 

“WE DIDN”T START THE FIRE. IT WAS ALWAYS BURNING SINCE THE WORLD BEEN TURNING”

I’ve been kind of playing on the hearts of uber liberal white people. If there is one thing I have learned in my life is that you can never underestimate the power of white guilt. Everybody say with me, “WHITE GUILT POWER!!!!” 

Ever since the Michael Brown murder, I have been treating every day like it is Black History Month. I be parking in the handicapped spaces, not starting the coffee machine after drinking the last cup of coffee, letting the yellow mellow in public restrooms.

When my roommates give me shit about not washing my dishes, I say “Oh my bad. I was under the impression that black lives mattered. I mean after all these years of MY people cleaning up after your people, you would think you’d be able to let this slide. I mean, its only two bowls, 6 plates, 4 glasses, 10 spoons, 4 knives, and a half empty jar of peanut butter. What’s the big deal?

I tell you what Massa, I will not only clean up my mess, but I’ll also clean up your mess as well. I can sing and dance while I’m at it–even do a soft shoe shuffle for you. #blacklivesmatter.”

I’m not in a super rush to meet anybody though. I’m not going to force anything. Nothing is trickier than breaking up with a chick and trying to maintain a friendship–especially when they were the one dumped. Sometimes its just better to rip the band aid off, instead of trying to soften the blow by saying “we’ll still be friends.” One of two things usually happen: either the friendship continues to be murky because you can’t stop fooling around with each other, and someone gets their feelings hurt. The other outcome is that nothing physical happens and someone gets hurt because they want that physical intimacy to continue. 

I tried to be friends with one of my most recent exes, but I would get these random drunken texts telling me how much she missed me. Finally I had to shut that down too.

“WHY don’t you miss me? Don’t you want to be friends? I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO BE FRIENDS?”

“Yea friends. You know people who go to shows together or ride bikes, play basketball with.. I don’t text my guy friends late at night saying “You still love me homey? I can’t quit thinking bout you dawg?”

How the fuck does that sound? Anyway. I think it would behoove me to streamline my focus onto my goals. That will be much easier when I’m not actively trying to friend my way into the pants of 5 different girls spread out across the globe. It can be exhausting. I figure by late October, I will have something steady locked up. Nothing too serious. You know, casual but monogamous–if there is such a thing. If there isn’t, well dammit; it is time to make it a thing.

One thing is for sure. Dating in Oklahoma is akin to fishing in a polluted lake. I get the feeling that whatever psychological ailment has befallen the women here in this state will be transferred to me the minute I stick my dick inside one of these ladies. I’m better off just waiting until I move back home to Texas. I’ll take my chances there.

Peace,

BM

@clickpicka79

bobbymickey@gmail.com

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