There’s no way!

19 Feb

That’s the response I received from some 20 – 21 year old females at the bar tonight when I admitted my age.


I’m quite happy, yet simultaneously saddened that I’m 30 and without a female companion. Thoughts?



17 Feb

So I’m sitting in my car, not quite sure what to write about. I figure just some random musings will suffice today.

1. It seems that the cold outside doesn’t want to leave. As I was driving in to work, I was thinking it’s too damn cold for too damn long. Surely, it gets cold in October and stays that way until April. Not awesome.

2. I have amazing hair. I’m not being egotistical, just factual.


I have this zit so no full facial shots

Great hair right there.

3. Our law system sorta sucks. The case I had for my car accident has been disengaged by my lawyer since I didn’t take time off of work to seek physical therapy. Further, because the police didn’t witness the guy actually hit me, he got away scott free, even though he left his license plate on my car. On it, like the screws holding his license onto his bumper are still embedded in my bumper. I just don’t get it.

4. I tend to ramble when my blood sugar gets low. I suppose I am a brittle diabetic, which stinks even more because I tend to like all forms of brittle, besides the diabetic kind.

Life goes on, right?

I get asked the strangest questions

6 Feb

Yesterday, a woman I had just met asked me if she could spend the night.  This isn’t the strange part. Not yet.

Fone/phone.  Whatevs.

Fone/phone. Whatevs.

First text. Her name and number are being withheld cause I’m not a dick.

I caught grief that my little puppy was used as a scapegoat...

I caught grief that my little puppy was used as a scapegoat…

Okay so she has a kid. Bombshell! Her brother and some person named Alias? I think that was a misspell but whatev.

How do you prove someone isn't crazy when they tell you they aren't?  I think that's grounds for early crazy warning or something.

How do you prove someone isn’t crazy when they tell you they aren’t? I think that’s grounds for early crazy warning or something.

In case you didn’t know, I’ve had problems with exotic dancers in the past. We don’t mesh well.

Why do strippers need to buy gear?  I would figure you walk out naked and hey, half the battle is over?

Why do strippers need to buy gear? I would figure you walk out naked and hey, half the battle is over?

Apparently my title of World’s Last Single Guy proceeds me…

*edited for improved anonymity*

Well this is new

30 Jan

I had previously said that no one is out of my league, but the unexpected happened the other night.

One, to paraphrase a friend, I NEED to stop meeting women at work.  I am actually doing fairly well this month at work, so I am not using my workplace as a tool to meet women, it’s purely coincidental.  Anyhow, there is this young lady who I have flirted with on and off (okay, mostly on, but that isn’t the point) during my times of being single (and yes, perhaps even when I was dating) yet she never bought anything from me.  We would end up chatting and she would always end up laughing, as I can be fairly ridiculous.

Eventually, when I did become single, her and I finally exchanged numbers (look, I work in cell phones, I have access to numbers, but I always thought it creepy if I simply stored a customer’s number in my phone without permission.  That’s just unethical.) and got to texting, because no one talks on the phone anymore.

She was on the outs with her ex, and I with mine as well, so we had agreed to meet up for lunch or something, as she has a son so bars and what not may be out of the question.

Now a recurring theme sort of stuck it’s little head in.  Whenever we’d make plans, I suddenly would not hear from her for a few days.  Perhaps she was a flat leaver.  Except she never DID hang out with me.

Also how I get into my bathroom.

This is flat lever. Not flat leAver. I can understand how you might confuse the two.

Anyhow, as most women do, when it finally came time for her to buy something, she didn’t do it through me.  One might be bitter about this, but not I, as that makes things weird when suddenly she bats her eyelashes at you and expects a discount.  F that, you may be cute but you don’t pay my rent.

She was having issues with her new purchase and suddenly I am being texted again from her.  At first I thought, “okay, perhaps she IS using me for something, but whatevs.”  I replied in a business like manner, no flirtation, just straight up real talk.

Then she came into my workplace Monday night.  I had asked her, because she walked up to me while I was outside saying, “Hey buddy,” why she hadn’t been texting like she had prior.  After I spit said question out, I then suddenly wonder why I am now being referred to as “buddy.”  That is friend-zone dialogue right there!  She pretty much avoids the question and it turns out I need to erase her phone to fix it.

So while I am backing up her information, we have free time to chat as there are no other customers in store (sort of a slow month).  We’re talking about this and that, and she’s nearly in tears laughing.  We get on the topic of naming your penis (swear she brought it up) and I am saying that I haven’t done that, as it would be too weird to refer to it by name.  I mean, seriously, not even a nick name.  There’s no need to name my genitalia, I don’t want a lady referring to it as though it were a proper noun.

At this point she’s in tears laughing, which when I read what I’ve said, you’re probably like, “why?”  I guess you had to be there.  As with all good laughter, there’s often a point of “coming down” where there’s that awkward silence.  Then she drops the bombshell on me.

You know, we could never work out, you’re too good for me.”

MJ, lol

I’m sorry, could you repeat that?

How’d that go again?  I am too good for you?  I never imagined hearing such words.  I mean, yeah, I imagine myself to be pretty freaking awesome (though my ex’s might all disagree, but who cares for their opinions?), but too good?  I am having a rough time deciding on if she was serious or that was her way out of seeing me.  Thoughts?

Seeing Eye To Eye

26 Jan

If you didn’t know, I recently had a new addition to my life in the form of a 7 week old Golden Retriever/Labrador puppy.  It’s been about a week now and I’m noticing he and I don’t necessarily see eye to eye on a few things.

1.) Sleeping in. Apparently he’s got shit to do (literally) and wants up right away, usually around 6 a.m. They say having a puppy is like being a parent. This I was ill prepared for.

2.) Taking naps. See 1. I would LOVE to just be able to fall asleep at 2 p.m. on my day off. Not him. Still shit to do.

3.) Being outside in the cold. Look, if I had something to do in 6° weather, I’d be sure to do it and get back inside. This guy? Loves pretending he’s a ninja in the tall grass.

4.) Peeing. I just get this sense of relief after I go. My dog? Wants a treat like he just cured diabetes.

5.) Pooping on the couch. Pretty self explanatory, I’d hope.

Now we do share interests, like licking faces, licking one’s self, and the Detroit Red Wings. Beyond that, we’re the odd couple.

But he’s cool, and I’m happy to have him (and so much less free time).




9 Jan

So I’m sitting at the bar, still wearing my work attire, and a regular I’m familiar with sits down next to me.  We begin discussing the amazing game of hockey (if you’re not into it, it’s a shame, game is AMAZING) and the bartender/waitress comes along.  Now, I may be cheesy, but I’m pretty smitten with this young lady and was extremely excited when I achieved her phone number.  The patron, an older gentleman with a unique sense of humor (he once asked me what I would be capable of providing a senior citizen like himself at my workplace, to which I replied, “Well, I could hold the door open for you.” and he laughed), very seriously proceeded to tell me that the waitress and I would make a very good looking couple.  A.) That was quite the compliment and B.) it dawned on me that I’m a catch.  Now, granted, I always sort of knew that I was a particularly spectacular kinda guy but for someone to say such a thing to me, especially just an acquaintance who had spent a few years longer than me on this Earth, well, it really made my day.  Granted, I agree, this female is cute and has a sense of humor I can totally dig, but I recognized then and there that I am sort of stellar (that’s awfully egotistical, isn’t it?  I say no, it’s just plain truth).  So, from here on out I’m walking with my head held a bit higher knowing that I am the bee’s fuckin’ knees.  And to that, I salute me.  And you.  And that old guy.

Losing it

5 Dec

I WILL grow my hair out like this though

This picture speaks volumes. Loud, horrible, disgusting volumes.

This picture is horrible.  I mean, yeah, it is honestly bad.  I have no idea who this guy is, but wow, who took the picture?  Was the camera on delay?  This is worse than dirty mirror duckface photos.

So I find that I do my writing on my days off when my attention is not focused elsewhere.  Picking up where I had left off, it occurred to me that the next big moment in my story is when I lost my virginity.  And wow, is the story humbling.  So humbling that I have decided, probably against my best judgement, to share it.  So here goes…


I dated a few different girls for the remainder of the year and into the next.  None really worth mentioning, and no offense to those ladies but it was like a buffet.  You try a piece of food; if it’s worthwhile you go back to it or stick to it.  These ladies, while I’m sure great in their own individual way, were some samples at the buffet that I had zero fondness for.    So I dabbled here, I dabbled there, basically pushing the envelope to see how far I could go before being shot down.  And then, during homeroom one day, I met Lauralei.

Lauralei was definitely cute, and if there is one thing I am a huge fan of it’s when a women fumbles around with her words when I get to being ridiculous.  Nearly 13 years later, I still enjoy flabbergasting a woman by being humorous or just plain out there.  Why?  I believe it shows the other party is paying attention, something that does not occur much in our society any longer.  I do not mean to go on rant, but I am noticing how people are so self-consumed and so self-important that actually listening to another individual is nearly impossible.  But then again, how big of a hypocrite am I to say this while writing a story about myself?  Anyhow, Lauralei would just listen to me ramble about whatever ridiculous things I would say to draw more attention to myself (clearly not much has changed about me in that manner) and laugh at all the appropriate times.  So, did I like her for her or did I like her for me?  Well, yes.

Dating Lauralei wasn’t easy, and I do not mean by hardships in the relationship, but simply by spending time with her outside of school.  At this time, I was eighteen and still without my driver’s license.  I didn’t feel the need to have one as I was chauffeured everywhere by my mother or my friends.  Granted, this sounds as though I was using them, and retrospectively I probably was (no definitive here), but genuinely I was completely uninterested in getting my license.  I was living at one extreme end of our town, Lauralei on the other.  The first time I went to Lauralei’s house, my eyes opened up to what occurs when parental supervision is not present.  Current parents, I would recommend setting up hidden cameras in your homes, as what I am about to disclose is awfully revealing.

Lauralei’s favorite movie, at the time, was Waterworld.  This was a movie starring Kevin Costner that was not that great, at least in the author’s most humble of opinions.  The reason I make mention of this was because Lauralei was the first to perform the act of fellatio on me.  And like the movie Waterworld, it contained a vast amount of liquid and was equally horrible.  So bad that I had secretly nicknamed the act a “slobberjob,” as that was all that was happening.  Bless her heart, she tried, but I was never impressed, though this was also my first, so at the time I thought that that was simply how it was done.

One afternoon, Lauralei and her friend came to my home.  A friend of mine was over and he and I were in charge of watching my little brother and sister at the time, as my parents were away.  Lauralei, her friend, my friend, and I were all in the living room when I sent my little brother and sister outside to play.  When the two little ones (I believe they were 10 and 11 years old at the time) were outside, I nudged my friend to run interference on Lauralei’s friend as I took her into my bedroom.

The rest is pretty uneventful.  For the sake of the story, I will continue, but I feel it necessary to say that what follows occurred in such a short time span that I am probably exaggerating the event by using words that are longer than two syllables.  I shut the bedroom door when the two of us were inside, and near immediately Lauralei dropped her jeans and underwear to the floor.  What I have learned from then until now is that when a woman shaves, you know, down there, it is often a sign that they know what is coming and they are prepared.  Now this might simply be my perspective and I may be completely off, but I believe this to be true.  There are more details on this later, or examples for that matter, but I, to this day, still firmly believe that what I had just stated to be factual.  Anyhow, Lauralei was now nude from the waist down and I was trembling like Michael J. Fox sitting on a paint mixer (I feel that joke may be too soon).  I can’t recall if I had the condom in my wallet or in my dresser, but I carefully opened the package to remove the condom.

Now, a break in the story to talk about condom application.  Apparently there is a right side and a wrong side to a condom, correct?  Are both sides the same so it doesn’t matter?  Seriously, I think condoms need instruction manuals.  You’re supposed to hold the tip and then roll it down.  That’s easy to say, near impossible to do, especially when it comes to your first time.  I should have been practicing, thinking back, but I fumbled and fumbled and fumbled and I’m sure nothing says sexy like messing with a condom.  Much like asking for a woman to remove her own bra.  It’s a miracle I’ve ever had sex, now that I think about it.  Finally the condom was on, and I started thinking back to how much more convenient it would be if the vagina were located on top of the pelvis instead of its actual location, because I had no idea how I was going to make this happen.  I started questioning myself, does she spread her legs or do I spread mine?  I’m assuming missionary is the way to go, right?  I wonder if my breath smells (I still worry about this last question to this day, so if any future lady I may have intercourse with is reading this, that puzzled look is probably either “did I leave the oven on?” or “can she smell my lunch?”  Don’t worry yourself about either, I never bake and if you can smell my lunch I’ll do my best to not belch during the deed, though no promises there, as you’ll learn later).  Finally, I managed to do what I had been struggling with for the past few minutes, and just as soon as I had made contact, I had finished.  I think this might be due to the exhilaration of entering into the “club” that teenaged boys are so very proud of.  At least, I was.  And like the self-absorbed jerk I was, I was so happy that I failed to see the utter disappointment I had left her with.  But that’s another thing that hasn’t changed about me either, so I guess I am still the same old person!

A little more back and forth, and a little more

28 Nov

I’ve been very up in arms over whether I should be using real names or not.  On the one hand, a great friend of mine had stated that libel cases are dropped if what is written is accurate.  Well, these events happened 14 years ago (yep, I’m that old) and they are as accurate as memory serves me.  So I guess, in the case of my own defense, I’ll be changing names.  Message me on Facebook (if you aren’t a friend…sigh…I just can’t get through to you, can I?) if you would like to know who is who in real life.  And don’t take offense, again, this is my perspective.

With that said, I was extremely proud of myself last night for the momentum I was building.  Words were flying from my finger tips at a rate that I was unaware I was capable of typing at.  I think the funniest moment I put down happened here, so I am sharing more.  I wish I could share it all, but I feel as though this would be so much better in one complete piece.  We’ll see on that.

____________Justin and Baseball____________

                A couple of weeks later Jordan and I were at Mike’s house, Whitney as well.  We were downstairs in Mike’s parent’s very nice home, his parents not to be seen nor heard from.   Mike had this devious look about him when he told Jordan and I to go upstairs to his room.  Jordan and I were there on his bed, kissing, when she stopped me and said, “You can do whatever you want.”  Looking back on this, now, I am an idiot.  Complete, utter idiot.  Keep in mind, I have yet to see Jordan bare chested, and here she is giving herself to my any desire.  “Anything?” I replied, like the soldiers say to the prostitute in Full Metal Jacket, half expecting Jordan to know the movie and return in kind.  She simply smiles, when my idiot, stupid, no good ridiculous mouth say, “Okay, roll over, I want to give you a back rub.”

If you stop reading now because of your utter hatred for the young me, please, feel free.  I almost want to stop typing for the same reason.  But if you’re a trooper, like me, than I suppose we will both continue.  I guess I looked at hooking up with a woman like baseball, you know, the bases.  First base is making out, 2nd, 3rd, home, you know.  I do not think details are necessary, so I am going to assume you are following along no problem.  I was ill prepared to go from constant first to a sudden home run.  So I thought, in my deviously clever way, to attempt second by bunting on a backrub.  Yeah, who has ever made it to second base in baseball by bunting?  And I’m saying this as though there was no runner on first, so don’t try getting all smart on me!   Jordan rolled over, laughing I think because I was doing it all wrong, though I was oblivious to my failures.  I was trying to give a sensual back massage with absolutely no training whatsoever, thinking I was purely boss in my moves, when I went to unclasp her bra.

I am not calling myself a male whore here, but I have had some experience with bras.  I have actually had women attempt to help me learn how to unclasp a bra.  And to this day, I am still an utter and complete failure at unclasping a bra.  Do you know how very not suave it is when, in the heat of the moment, you have to ask the woman to undo her own bra?  I would assume a woman would like a man who is in control, so maybe it is only so bad because I always ask politely, saying, “Um…could you get that for me?  I’m terrible at that.”  Do women still love humility?  Or rather, did they ever?

Jordan was not for me undoing her bra, though.  What I was hoping for was a progression into action, with action of course being fornication.  Instead, I ended up with an upset girlfriend because I was trying to see her back without the bra strap glaring at me, taunting me, and then humiliating me for my unsuccessful shot at losing my virginity.  I bet somewhere that bra strap is still laughing at me.  This is one of the reasons I wish nylon would expire quicker than it does.  I’m not vengeful, I just have a great memory for those who mock and belittle me.  That bra strap is on that list.

A book? Maybe?

27 Nov

So something peculiar happened this evening.  I was relating an incident on Facebook (and if you haven’t friended me yet than you don’t deserve to know what happened) that had occurred but minutes prior and a friend of mine had said I should write a book, as it was the funniest thing she had read all day.

So, instead of working on my homework (which is Industrial/Organizational Psychology and thus really has no fit place in the matters of love and relationships), I started writing about my hard luck with women.  To stay accurate, I went back as far as I could remember.  As far back as to when I would become The World’s Last Single Guy.  What I find interesting is how the words are simply coming out of me, which means I will probably give this up tomorrow, so hey, check out what I’ve done so far…


I do not write this as a memoir, as I’m still alive and kicking (it) right here on cheery old planet Earth.  I write this more as a journal to share to others, perhaps as a lesson plan on what to AVOID in your time.  I do hope that one doesn’t assume I am attempting to rip off those like Tucker Max.  I have read Mr. Max’s works before, and if anything they inspired me to put my thoughts into words and share to others.  That’s why I created The World’s Last Single Guy blog (, to sort of share the crazy that is occurring in my life.  I once hoped to gain insight on why such craziness occurred to me, but over time I think the overall humor of it all won over.  So here goes.  My history with the opposite sex.

1.  The Beginning

                I think it is important to mention my notice of the opposite sex.  It all began in first grade, when two women caught my eye and I never really had a shot at either.  The first was my teacher, Mrs. Thorton.  Yeah, weird, but there was something about her that I just wanted to be with.  She wasn’t a tall lady, and if memory serves correctly she often wore those types of dresses you would see on Little House on the Prairie.  She was from Texas, also, so maybe it was the accent.  Thinking back, the only way I am positive she was a female was because the word “Mrs.” appeared before her last name.  She would let me listen to Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al” on the cassette player during free time.  I remember once inviting her to come over during the summer as my parents would be buying a Crocodile Mile that she and I could play on.  Funny how my parents never did buy me that, but if she were to come over, you can bet I would beg them to go get one as soon as possible.  I was a resourceful first grader.  She would reward the students who received good grades by allowing the students to trade the “stars” they earned towards a reward, the ultimate reward being her treating you to lunch at McDonalds.  Now, I grew up in a small town outside of Toledo, and my grade school was stuck within a decent distance from a McDonalds in any direction.  The day finally arrived when I had earned enough stars to be taken to lunch, and so had two other people.  My buddy Ken Caldwell, and my second interest, Nicole Chase.  The key moment to my relationship with Mrs. Thorton occurred when she had asked me why I had insisted on eating my french fries prior to eating my cheeseburger.  My response, and this says so much about me even to this day, was “so when I burp, I can still taste the burger.”  Anyhow, Ms. Chase…

Nikki, as she went by, was just cute as a ridiculous button.  I cannot remember my serious affiliation with her, but by goodness it existed.  I think it was more of an infatuation, which would make sense as that Rod Stewart song was only about eight years old by this point.  Let’s just go as far as to say that this never panned out, but life does come full circle as she is now a friend of mine via social networking, and every time I see a picture of her that childlike wonderment returns.  Crazy.

Nothing ever really occurred during second grade, as this was the period where I got all imaginative (though I probably was prior to), because all I can really remember is bringing my little brother, who was a baby, in for show and tell (seriously now, who does that?  I do, because I’m awesome) and building a monster truck out of Legos without instructions.  To this day, that monster truck still impresses the hell out of me.  It had all the things that go on a monster truck without being a monster truck kit!  I also remember pretending it was a Transformer, a toy that turned into a robot, but it wasn’t.  In the television show the robot would make these sounds like “bee-bo-bo-bop” and transform into whatever it was it was transforming to.  Because I was using Legos, I had to disassemble the entire thing and turn it into my robot figure completely.  This often ended up with me going “bee-bo-bo-bop” over and over for about half an hour.  Recess always flew by so fast.

I didn’t really hit my stride until about 3rd, or maybe it was fourth grade.  I remember I was in Mrs. Schelt’s class, and with me in said class were about 8 other males and maybe 4 females.  Of the four, I had my eyes set on Kelly Druckenmiller, with Erin Quigg coming in a close second place.  I just remember picking out their specific Valentine’s Day cards out of the box of Ninja Turtles cards that said something like, “Cowabunga, be mine” or something.  It was more direct than like, “Hope you have a Tubular Valentines!”  or some such nonsense.  What really happened was when I started to recognize the change in the body by fourth grade, even though they hadn’t occurred to me just yet.

Now, it should be noted that at this time my parents had purchased their first CD player, ever.  The first two CD’s were Damn Yankees, which was a super group consisting of Ted Nugent of Ted Nugent fame, Tommy Shaw of Styx fame, Jack Blades of Night Ranger fame, and Michael Cartellone of no fame what so ever, and Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood.   Now while the Damn Yankees CD was awesome, and I’m actually listening to it as I write this, it was the Dr. Feelgood album that really struck me.  This was after the Crue’s whole devil worshipping mystery and hair spray and eye liner, so that helps.  They had a song called, “She Goes Down.”  This song, as I would hope most would be able to decipher from the title alone, was about a female performing oral sex.  At the time I heard it, a fourth grader mind you, I just thought maybe she went down things instead of up them, like she lays down, or she goes down a fire pole.  Actually writing about this now is hilarious because clearly, every example I have given still brings sex to mind.  Anyhow, I had no idea what oral sex was.  Honestly I thought the vagina was just below the belly button but still located on the front side of a woman, sort of like a penis is for a man.  Thinking back on this, it would make more sense to have the vagina where it is, as sexual positions, except that one that animals use often, would be so much more comfortable.  But anyhow, yeah.

A classmate of mine, Sterling Clark, at the time had told me the night prior he had a dream about these big breasted women who had joined him in his bedroom.  Now, and remember I was in fourth grade, but I knew what big breasts looked like.  At the time, MTV would still air music videos, and that was the best place to get insight as to how women should, but often don’t, develop if they wanted to be whores.   Sterling then told me that when he woke up he was soaked.  Trying to stay along with him, I replied, “Oh man, you peed the bed?”  Apparently my comedic timing was spot on then as it is now.  Sterling told me that no, he had not peed the bed, but had had a “wet dream.”  Now as I write this, and some may say I am simply lying, but I have never, EVER had one of these.  Weird?  Probably cause I wear jeans to bed?  That’s a lie, I simply do not know why this has ever happened, but in hindsight I’m thankful it hasn’t as my laundry was never an awkward thing to talk about.  Except that time my mom found a condom in my jeans about 3 years prior to me actually ever losing my virginity, but more on that later.


20 Nov

So I know I’m always late to the music scene, but the song Madness by Muse is running through my brain on repeat, and for good reason.  If you actually listen to the lyrics, the song is talking about how love is, essentially, madness.  The anger, the thoughts, the feelings, it always, ALWAYS deviates from what one would consider to be their NORMAL self.  And for good fucking reason.  It’s true.

Seriously if you haven’t heard the song, shame on you.

The biggest thing that leads to disappointment is, wait for it…wait for it…expectations.  Each and every single one of you readers can attest to this.  When you have an expectation, albeit big or small, and that expectation is not met with satisfactory results, you are now disappointed.  While this can happen in an election (eat it, Tea Party), sports (I hate the Ravens), and even job satisfaction (two years, no raise), the part that stings most is in relationships.  Why?  Because elections will happen again in 4 years, sports happen every week (day?) and there’s always next year, and who knows, the job may not be the career.  But in relationships, we’re thinking long term.  And I’m not talking about the walking boners looking for the next one-night stand, but in the potential for a future sorta relationships.

I have started to wonder why I go for females who may be considered “outside of my league” but my thought process is that NO woman is out of my league, and the minute a woman THINKS she is out of my league she is now UNDER my league.  I’m a fucking GREAT guy, and yeah, tooting my own horn here, but you know what, so fucking what?   I care, and in the end isn’t that what another person seriously wants?  Someone who is invested in your happiness and well-being?  My sister once advised me to marry my best friend, and you know what, I end up disappointed each time because EACH woman I’ve dated since has failed to be my best friend.  All but one, and I screwed that one up royally.  Maybe I’m still paying on that one.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.  Now this may be used to go against my “going after women out of my league” idealism, but I disagree.  I’m speaking more along the lines of people going back to their ex’s when clearly the first sign things weren’t going to work was when the relationship ended.  As of 2011, there are 286,038 residents of Toledo according to the census bureau.  I would say that, half being female and maybe a quarter of those women being within my age range (average life expectancy of a female is 80 years old, quarter that to give me a 20 year time frame) that leaves 35,754 females.  Now let’s say 2/3 are married.  Again, that still leaves 11,799 SINGLE WOMEN for  me to get to know within a 84 square mile range.  A friend of mine, 2 months ago, lost his job at my workplace.  Within the same week that the friend was informed he was being let go, one of his co-workers placed his two weeks notice.  I asked said co-worker if he would apply to the new position, and he imparted on me a piece of intelligence that has stuck with me since.  He said…

“I look at it like getting back with an ex.  Tell me, what about me has changed since last time that will leave me worry free that this won’t happen again?  It’s the same damn thing.”  How true he was.

Love is madness, until it works.  But is it still madness afterwards?  Is it madness when fights occur over things that should not be fought over?  What causes those fights?  Is it a legitimate argument over why someone has not sent you a text message back that moment?  I’m guilty of that.  In retrospect, I wasn’t upset over the lack of a response, I was upset over the loss of attention.  That sounds pitiful, that sounds juvenile, and that sounds sad.  I’ve learned from these, and I’ve grown from these.  I’m sure at one point the madness will end when Miss Right comes along.

I guess, as a synopsis to my diatribe, what I’m trying to tell all of you, single or not, is that A.) No one is outside of your league.  You determine your own self worth and if another cannot see that, then you’re better off without.  B.)  If you’re looking for different results after trying the same thing over and over again, perhaps try elsewhere.  While one person is rejecting you, another may be admiring your courage to put yourself out there.  and C.) Recognize the madness before it strikes.  Hindsight is indeed 20/20.  Looking back we can all see where things went wrong.  If you look, in retrospect, at what point in time the relationship, or whatever it was you had, collapsed, do you think things would be different had you known then what you know now?  Do you ever wonder how things would be different had you not let the madness take over and instead admitted to the insecurities you were feeling?

Our Love is, indeed, Madness…