Love Diaries

Bob Love Diaries
The Romantic Confessions of a Virgin Prude

Part 9
July 2nd, 2003, Yesterday Sucked

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Part 1,
The First Action
Part 2, Paradise Missed
Part 3, Poetic Justice
Part 4, Thumbs Up 7Up!
Part 5,
I <3 NY
Part 6, Junior Prom
Part 7,
The Most Important Girl
Part 8, Julie
Part 9, Yesterday Sucked
Part 10, Between Friends
Part 11, Questions Answered
Part 12,
Art School Confidential
Part 13, Virginity Lost
Maybe it's just stress, maybe it's the new environment (NY) or maybe perhaps it's due to my magnets taking far more time to get my hands on than I could have ever imagined. Whatever it is I've hit a lonely phase. There, I said it. The "L" word. The word I once vowed never to utter on these self righteous, smart ass, selective reality, webfotainment pages. Lucky for you this spell of patheticness should make for a bitter sweet Love Diary treat. So BEHOLD, the saga continues... much to my chagrin.

The reality of being me in my every day life is hardly impressive. I am not "known", nor am I modelesque, stacked or smooth with the ladies. I'm a 6' 3" 170 lb bean pole with the unique ability to lose all/any confidence at those rare moments when someone I'm attracted to pays me attention. It's a villainous curse that I blame Jesus for, and a 25 year lack of experience hasn't helped much either I'm sure. It may have possibly saved my ass from getting trapped in a loveless marriage with kids that weren't planned, a dreadful career maintained only out of necessity and a number of other stupid things a young heartthrob gets himself into. Nevertheless, it's moments like this when I rethink everything. Well, everything except religion of course.

Yesterday sucked. I mean it really and truly sucked. One of those days when the girl you asked out earlier that week (who rejected the request with a "friendship" counter offer) is seen in the arms of some cute guy laughing it up as you stroll by pretending that there's a way to pretend that you don't look as if you've drawn the short straw.

One of those days when the couple laying together in the park joyously basking in each other's glow seems as if they are joyously basking in your loneliness.

One of those fucking days you decide to end prematurely so as to spare another needless poke in the heart only to be IMed by a cute girl claiming she'd "so" date you if she weren't on the opposite coast. Yeah, one of THOSE days. .

Brooklyn, July 2nd, 2003

So when I get like this, like I am now, I retreat to the sidelines and accept the reality of it all. I take it all in to figure it out and find the solutions. Solutions that aren't there... BUT there are some definite issues I've pinpointed and am prepared to address:

#1) I do not get approached... ever.
I know that there are guys who do get approached regularly and the reasons are pretty basic: Good looks, popular and/or outgoing (freakishly so), which leads me to #2

Brooklyn, July 2nd, 2003

#2) I am too quiet.
Yes! Lately I've noticed the success rate in guys who talk a lot. It makes sense, but for some reason I just don't have it in me. I'm a fucking bashful little tulip I suppose.

#3) I want it too much... and I think that shows.
This has always been a problem and there's nothing that'll kill something faster than hints of desperation.

#4) I'm terrified of looking pathetic.
Christ, that's such a weak excuse. I need to work on that. It's so unatheist of me to harbor such a silly fear. It isn't low self esteem. I'm confident enough to know that once I've got someone genuinely interested that I'm good enough to maintain and exploit her interest. It's that first meeting. It just doesn't happen.

You know, it wasn't just one specific event that sparked Doomsday 2003. It was a gradual flow of folks better looking than me, unwarranted doses of reality that I wouldn't wish upon the worst mind-fucking ex, and the final days of my red & black leather Chuck Taylors. They've seen better days.

It was the hot summer sun dressing down every body as a reminder of what you can't have as it makes your most innocent glances seem creepish and diabolical.

Jesus fucking Christ, I over think it!

#5) I over think things.
That's my problem! I've always over thought this shit, and that's why the thoughtless are always coupled.

There you go, problem solved. Goddamn pounding heart. Maybe it's just all the caffeine.



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All opinions, writings, illustrations & designs are that of Normal Bob Smith (C) 2000 - 2009


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