I am different than most people in many ways — I work as a truck driver among other union truck drivers and yet, I am also a writer, a singer, guitar player, and songwriter. I am extraordinarily sensitive, and I don’t go near power tools. Yet, I also am like a lot of other guys when it comes to my relationships with women. The pull of biology causes me to make less than wise decisions that I go on to regret soon after I make them.
In the past, if I was within striking distance of a pretty face, I would suddenly develop all of these new likes and dislikes. Roller coasters? Love ’em. Horror movies? Bring ’em on. Then, not too long after I went about the business of selling my soul to wind up in bed with whomever I just set my intention on, it would occur to me that I hate all of those things. I would begin to question if I still had an identity. I’d feel somewhat empty inside and I’d have to level with the person.
The humorous thing about biology though, is none of this seems quite as imperative before you have sex with the woman. Of course, to the unsuspecting victim, you are just another gross dude who got what you wanted and has now decided to move on — but that’s way too simple and two-dimensional. Maybe other guys are that simplistic, but I’m not.
I’m kidding, of course. I think there’s a lot of this that goes on in the dating world. I, however, aim to put a stop to all of this — at least in my own life. I had decided, quite a few months back that the next time I wind up getting naked with another person they better be, at least, somewhat literary. They should be goal driven and positive minded.
This, among other things, is why I haven’t been naked with another person since the springtime, I think. After that relationship crashed and burned, I had to come to terms with the fact that we had nothing to offer each other. We met on OK Cupid and, at the point that we had our coffee date, I was simply bowled over by the fact that she looked somewhat like her profile photo and could speak in full sentences. Like I intimated earlier, though, men have a tendency to raise their standards after they get laid — and I’m no exception. Something happens inside of me when I am on the tenth dinner date and maintaining a conversation becomes exhausting. Masturbation begins to look a lot more viable.
So, this is where it all sits for me at this point. As I was driving a tractor trailer down a snowy side road on the border of New York and Connecticut yesterday, and the trailer kept getting closer and closer to jack-knifing every minute, I began to realize my own mortality. It dawned on me that the way someone looks is not at all that important. I could totally get used to sleeping with just about anyone as long as they were somewhat literary, goal driven and positive.
That is, until a cute girl goes by on an ATV. ATV’s? Love ‘em!