Diseased

I want you to live in me like a disease;

A sickness that evades immunity,

Residing within my system until my dying day.

Life doesn’t have to be this way,

But I want to see what life has in store with you.

 

I want you to live in me like a disease;

A sickness that makes me clutch my pulsing heart,

Tugging on the veins like strings of a harp.

Life doesn’t have to be this way,

But I want to create this beautiful melody with you.

 

I want you to live in me like a disease;

A sickness that was birthed in nature,

Traveling through air just to be with me.

Life doesn’t have to be this way,

But I want to walk the Earth in hand with you.

 

I want you to live in me like a disease;

A sickness that will carry me to the grave,

Crowning me with an angelic halo to wear.

Death doesn’t have to be this way,

But I want to look down upon your beauty with the Lord.

My 100th Post: A Thank You to All Readers

Dear readers and followers,

I’m excited to announce that this is my 100th post, and I certainly hope that there will be many more to come. I’ve come to learn that a blog is not only about sharing your writing with others, but it’s also an opportunity to discover many other outstanding writers that have worked hard to publish their creativity online as well. It is for this reason that I have managed to cross the 100 post mark. If it wasn’t for the inspiration of my readers and other bloggers that I have discovered, I wouldn’t have bothered with maintaining this blog. Once again, thank you all and I look forward to sharing more of my writing as well as engaging with your new material.

Below are some of my personal favorite posts that I have written:

1. She Finds My Heart

2. Mental Error

3. They Died For Me

4. An Artist’s Creation

5. 4 Reasons Why I’m Awkward In Public Places

6. Well, This Is Awkward

7. Dear Future Wife of Mine

8. I’ll Be the Best Damn Husband the World Has Ever Seen

9. 7 Text Messages Men Send to Their Woman of Interest

10. Speed Dating Adventures: My Story

Of course, please feel free to check out my other posts. Also, if you’d be so kind as to comment so I can go on your blog and read through your great writing!

Best,

Evan

 

So I Went On This Date (Date #1)

On a common fishing lure, I cast out my desperation into a sea of unsuspecting, hopefully single ladies eager to hook themselves and go out on a date with me. This turned out to be illegal as the hook punctured through a woman’s ear lobe and she threatened to press charges. I told her that the idea was for her to bite the hook so I can reel her in, not catch it with her ear lobe. She told me to not take dating metaphors such as “there’s plenty of fish in the sea” so seriously. Google had failed me and I was dateless for yet another Friday night.

I was devastated until my friend, Lalafonda, set me up on a blind date with a girl named Regina. I was told to pick her up at approximately 7:00 pm. I left my trusty fishing pole behind and manned my vehicle. I didn’t want to risk being late on the first date, so I pretended that a bomb was going to explode in Regina’s house if I wasn’t there by 7:00 pm. The Jeffrey Dahmer Dating Manual suggested that severed limbs were dateable, but darn-it I wanted the whole thing! It’s my first big date and I’d have half a mind if I let some bomb disfigure my date. Full speed ahead!

Pelvic-thrusting in excitement to her middle-class estate, I knocked on the door. A beautiful woman was revealed behind the wooden door.

Me: “You must be Regina. My, my, my, your wrinkles are as graceful as the waves of the Atlantic.”

Not Regina: “I’m her mother. How dare you comment on my aging! You’ll end up looking like this one day!”

Me: “My apologies, Mrs. Not Regina, but don’t be ashamed; I’d surf on your waves any day of the week.

Not Regina: “It’s Mrs. Davis, and are you calling me fat!?”

Me: “How insulting! Of course not! Now, can you please get Regina? I must save her before your house blows to smithereens!”

Not Regina: “What in the hell are you talking about? REGINA! HEY, REGINA! GET DOWN HERE AND GET THIS BOY THE HELL OFF OF MY PROPERTY!”

Regina: “Mother! Be nice! This is my date, Evan!”

In my eyes, I had slain the evil dragon that held poor Regina captive up in her tower. We got in my car and began our lovely evening out.

Me: “Sheesh. All I said is that I wanted to shred on her waves.”

Regina: “Huh…?”

Me: “Nothing, dearest. My name is Evan and I hope you’re ready for a great evening. We’re going to a restaurant where my likeness inspired the logo.”

Regina: “Really? Are you famous or something?”

Me: “I might as well be! Take note of my ginger hair and skin. I scored a sunburn out in Myrtle once, then the next thing I knew they opened up a chain of Red Lobsters. I tried suing them for using my likeness as a means of marketing, but the jury found no resemblance between me and the logo seen above the doors at the restaurant. Have no fear, dear, because I’ve hired Johnny Cochran to change their minds and win me the money I deserve!

Regina: “What? Johnny Cochran is dead. And besides, I don’t like seafood. Can we go somewhere else?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, Regina. It’s either the Red Lobster or cunnilingus. The latter is far too many calories; I’m on a strict pescatarian diet, so the Red Lobster it is! I’ll even ask the manager if we can get a discount since I inspired the lobster logo.”

Regina: “Oh god…”

We approached the Red Lobster excitedly. So excitedly, in fact, that I sang the Spongebob Squarepants theme song to her in the car before I allowed us to get out. I proposed that it should be a required ritual every time we go out for seafood. It was also employed to discretely ask if Mr. Krabs and his mother were lollygagging about in her knickers. No answer was given as she appeared confused, so I unlocked her door and we made way for the front door. The hostess was perched at her stand.

Me: “Evening, commissioner. How do you say, ‘I need a table for two, por favor’ in pirate?”

Hostess: “Excuse me, sir?”

Me: “Argh. I thought ye spoke pirate here. Where’s yer captain, matey?”

Hostess: “…We have a table for two open. Right this way…”

Land ho! We were seated at a table not far from the restrooms. I pulled the chair out for Regina, but her hindquarters missed the platform I so kindly presented to her.

Me: “Man overboard!”

Regina: “Will you please stop talking like a pirate and help me up??”

Me: “It’s not my fault that you haven’t developed your sea legs. Anyways, shall we?”

Regina: “Yes, please. You’re quite odd, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Me: “Stupid is as stupid does.”

Regina: “Sure, why not, Forrest Gump.”

Me: “Who?”

Regina: “Ugh.”

Me: “My momma always said life was like a box of chocolates.”

Regina: “Dear Lord, please get me out of here.”

Me: “Where is that blasted waiter? We don’t have all day! According to HowStuffWorks when out on a date, sexual intercourse is supposed to take place soon after the meal. If it gets to be too late, I won’t wake up in time for Saturday morning cartoons!

Regina: “We are NOT having s-”

Waiter: “Ahoy! My name is Patrick and I’ll be taking care of you all this evening.”

Regina: “Help me, please!”

Waiter: “Certainly, miss, I’ll be right out with a Shirley Temple!”

Regina: “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

Me: “Oh, Regina, I just couldn’t imagine this going any better! I really think we have a lot in common.”

Regina: “I highly disagree, matey.”

Me: “The name’s Captain Redbeard, the Soulless. Anyway, don’t worry about ordering; I slipped good ol’ Patrick our orders on a piece of paper. I requested the crab legs especially for you!”

Regina: “I told you that I don’t like seaf-”

Me: “So let me tell you all about myself, my lady. I emerged from the mighty uterus in August of 1991. It was by far the goriest water-slide that I have rode to date, but hey, YOLO? Anyway, my hobbies include taking online personality quizzes and binge-watching Animal Planet while guzzling Nutella by the jar. Tell me about yourself.”

Regina: “Well I-”

Me: “No time! Ahoy, Patrick! He has brought us our food! I tell ya, if your legs smell like that little crab’s legs tonight when we go back to my place, I’m gonna need some garlic butter sauce to combat the smell. I hate seafood.”

Regina: “WHAT!? You said you were a pescatarian! Why the hell are we at the Red Lobster if neither of us like seafood?”

Me: “I told you! They owe me royalties for using my image as the logo of this restaurant. I’ll be right back, I’m going to cause a ruckus in the manager’s office.”

Regina: “This is ridiculous!”

Me: “I agree! Hopefully we won’t be inconvenienced on our next date at the movies.”

Regina: “No! Oh God, no…”

 

Confidence: An Endangered Species

I don’t have so much confidence that it’s spilling over the sides like a muffin top, but it’s better than it used to be. However, when it comes to approaching women, I still end up looking like a first-time murderer who can’t decide if he wants to go in for the kill or not. Exhaustive preparation has aided many halfway studs in their quest to capture the heart of an unsuspecting beauty before a cardboard cutout of Chris Hemsworth steals her for good.

You know how it goes, you spend countless hours preparing for a night out on the town by completing an abundance of frivolous activities in order to increase your confidence and sex appeal. Surely lifting a couple of weights, taking extra showers, and reciting biology pick-up lines to your reflection in the mirror will snowball into an evening of great sex with glow-in-the-dark condoms. When all else fails, chatting up your cat before you leave may eliminate the nerves and up your game because, you know, how else are you going to get the girl if you don’t practice on a house pet who licks itself beforehand? I possess the game of a 5th grader, so I’ve sought my cat’s expertise on numerous occasions. He was like a sensei until he turned his back on me and stole every girl I had a crush on. The bastard. He coughed up hairballs like you’d never seen before while I was left out to dry on the couch binge-watching My Cat From Hell by myself.

Straighten up, soldier, because none of the above is necessary to accomplish your goals. Confidence goes a long way towards winning that person’s undivided attention and certainly doesn’t require therapeutic chit-chat with a cat. Make due and make that girl go wild with what you have!

Have you ever studied for hours on end for an exam, only to get a dismal grade when you think you nailed it? I sure have, and that method has been running rampant in the dating world without a leash for centuries. I’ve learned over the course of many failures that this is exactly how it should be. You can spend many weeks learning how to score women by watching scripted entertainment or consulting a house pet, but the noticeable absence of confidence can put a dent on the hard work you’ve put into improving your game. You may not win the girl like you had dreamed in your fantasies, but at least you had the confidence to walk up to her and make an effort. I’ve learned that failure is an option because it can actually turn into a great success. The success I’m talking about is learning. You’re learning that not everyone is going to accept you, but you’re also learning that some lucky lady will accept you eventually because you had confidence.

Take a chance even if you’re destined for failure. Put down the dumbbells, let your cat do their business in the litter box without interruption, and swim into the singles pool with confidence. There’s a woman out there waiting to be dazzled by your ability to show that you have the gonads to make conversation. Confidence is dying out quicker than the mighty polar bear, so give it life and show the ladies what you’re made of! You stud, you.

Don’t Ever Leave Me

Frank marveled at her beauty, resurrecting the hope he had lost many years ago when he thought he could never love again. The day this woman entered his life, he knew that he would never love another woman like he does her. In his living room, lying on the floor with her by the fireplace, he gripped her hand tighter and tighter to confirm that he would never leave her.

When the fire died, Frank carried his new love up the stairs and into his bedroom. She was getting colder as he lied her down on the bed, so he pulled the covers over her, layering her with an extra blanket to trap the heat. He knelt by her side and stared straight into her eyes. Her darkened iris was illuminated by the moonlight, sharing an intimate moment with Frank. He raised his left hand and lightly grazed her cheek, causing her to grin. He jumped into bed and aligned himself along her backside and wrapped his arm around her to bring her closer. His body heat assisted the blankets in helping the chill that had taken over her.

He brushed her hair to the side so that he could kiss her neck. He made his way to her ear and whispered, “I love you. Don’t ever leave me.” They made love that night, further confirming that Frank found the beautiful woman he felt he had deserved. This session restored what Frank had been missing for many years: passion. Frank held her tighter so that the feeling would never subside.

The two fell into a deep sleep that night with Frank enveloping her to keep her warm. His heated breath massaged her backside throughout the night to let her know that he was always there. The moon progressed across the sky, eventually disappearing from the sight of the bedroom window and stealing the light it had provided. Frank could no longer see the characteristics responsible for her beauty as it had gotten too dark. He knew though, however, that she was right there with him and that he’d get to see her again in the morning once the sun had risen.

Her name, as written in the obituary Frank found in the morning newspaper, and engraved in her tombstone, was Alice Brannon. He knew when he dug her up that she was the woman he had been looking for to fill the void in his life.

His sleeping beauty.

Why Do We Hurt?

Why do people hurt other people? In this case, I’m not talking about physical harm towards others; I’m referring to the hurt that can be engraved deep into your psychology. A wound dished by a swinging fist or the cut of a knife will bruise, scab, and maybe turn into a permanent scar. Maybe it won’t scar at all, instead becoming a ghost that used to populate your arm until the proteins and blood platelets in your body healed it. Emotional hurt is the most dangerous ghost there is because it lives inside of your mind to haunt you until your dying day. Why do people bestow these demons upon others to populate their psyche?

It’s certainly a hard question to answer because I’m assuming there isn’t one person in this world who wants to be hurt. Intentionally or unintentionally, there is no good reason to install negative energy into another living being just to make them feel uncomfortable. It’s a sadistic act that has personally affected me, my friends, my family, and basically anyone that ever existed. If there’s anything that I absolutely cherish, it’s the minutes I’ve spent being physically alive and the minutes I have left being alive. A perfect life for me is living in peace with myself and those that I love, however both parties are capable of becoming monsters and hurting themselves/others at the drop of a hat, therefore tarnishing the perfect life that I’ve proposed. Even the simplest acts can cause eternal pain to oneself or another, and I, much like many of you, have experienced this first hand.

The worst is knowing that the person who hurt you is carrying on with their lives with a smile as if nothing happened. It’s quite a wicked smile that fails to subside. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m guilty of this act, for I have hurt someone before, just as others have hurt me. The only answer I can provide why I hurt these people, people that I love, is because I was empowered by own misery to cripple another person’s happiness – usually the one who had hurt me. It’s a classic revenge story that should’ve never taken place but did because I thought that I could be happy again. I can’t speak for others on the matter; I couldn’t tell you why others have hurt me or why they’ve hurt others. Revenge? Jealousy? For laughs? Inherently evil?

Whenever I’m hurt, people tell me to man up or move on. The first assumes that the male population should be impervious to emotional hurt; I call it poor advice. I’m not afraid to admit that I spent most of October, November, and December of 2013 shedding tears because the emotional pain had become overwhelming. I had never experienced depression in my life until those months crept in. I’m still not sure if the perpetrator is aware of the emotional pain that they caused me. This is where the “move on” statement comes into play. In my honest opinion, it’s even poorer advice than “man up”. Numerous people have told me to move on and forget about this person, but that’s really hard to do because I loved that person. If love used to be there, wouldn’t it be safe to assume that it can come back once the hurt is extinguished? I’ve learned that love makes it hurt even more.

I don’t know if there’s a universal answer for why people hurt others, but I think it’s essential to learn that the minutes we have left on this Earth are quite precious. No one, not even your worst enemy, deserves to live these minutes emotionally tormented by another person. No one wants to have to rely on medication and weekly therapy sessions just to exorcise the demons that reside in a person’s psychology. My psychology has certainly tortured me recently, but I forgive those who have hurt me and I hope that those I’ve hurt have forgiven me.

I don’t want to breed and spread this negative energy to anyone. I’m interested in getting as close as possible to that perfect life that I described earlier. A perfect life is typically defined as being flawless, but I argue that a perfect life comes with a set of flaws that you get to experience and improve upon. Progress is perfect for me, and I sincerely hope we can progress as a society to make peace with ourselves as well as others. Learning to love one another rather than hurt one another is our ticket to a flawed, perfect reality.

A Happy, Lonely Valentine’s Day

Remember those awkward days in elementary school before those awkward days in middle/high school where the class project was to make a mandatory Valentine’s Day card for a classmate? You know what I’m talking about, because the goal was for everyone in the classroom to receive one from somebody else in the class. Little boys and girls got creative in the classroom with their Valentine’s cards by decorating them with chicken-scratch, misspellings of everyday language, and an excess of Elmer’s glue infected with cooties and nasal discharge. Nothing says “I love you” more than receiving a Valentine’s Day card from a fellow classmate who tells you she did it because she wanted a satisfactory grade on their report card. I wasn’t this lucky, however, because I never received a mandatory V-Day card. Instead, my 2nd grade teacher decided to cheat on her husband and make me one so I didn’t feel completely nonexistent, but really she was just making fun of the sexual failures of an 8 year-old.

Coming home that day was rough because my twin sister had dozens of Valentine’s cards. I spent Valentine’s day learning that my pint-sized penis was a vestigial structure; a doomed fossil that Dr. Alan Grant and his colleagues would be ashamed to discover on a digging expedition. Besides my own loving mother, my 2nd grade teacher was the last serious Valentine that I’ve had since I was a young buck. Cupid has not shot an arrow into either hemisphere of my buttocks or any unsuspecting female that I’ve stalked on Facebook in my entire 22 years of life. My mother’s womb didn’t even want me anymore on my day of birth. What a tragedy.

I’m here to tell you that none of that matters anymore. Valentine’s Day is some sort of last-ditch effort in case you forgot your lover’s birthday, anniversary date, Arbor day, etc. It’s a day designated for love as if we don’t love on any other day of the year unless the calendar highlights the fact that it’s a holiday. Loneliness reigns for many segments of the population as a person’s right hand or schizophrenic hallucinations no longer cut it as viable partners on this day of love. February 14th would rather you socialize with the meat sacks we call humans and spend money at Walmart in order to celebrate properly. I haven’t succeeded in this endeavor because every time I spell a girl’s name on a Valentine’s card, she spells my name on a restraining order. Well, not really, but she disappears quicker than a missing child on a milk carton.

However, I still long for the day that I can be cheesy and show up unannounced at a woman’s house with a rose and a half-empty box of chocolates that I ate on the way over. I’d sexily ring the doorbell to the tune of “Ice Ice Baby” and try to sit back and look cool as the thorns of the rose puncture my epidermis. She’d answer the door looking like a million bucks while my face tomatoes and takes after the hindquarters of an African baboon. Her angelic features would twinkle in my cornea, and I’d get so distracted by her beauty that I would think she’s speaking parseltongue, embarrassingly raising the slithery bastard beneath my belt for all to see. I’d be an absolute car wreck on her doorstep, but the goal is for her to feel loved and special; not for me to look like a Ryan Gosling poster.

Don’t we all crave for the scenario I have just described above? Well, obviously, who doesn’t want to be loved? I want to have a successful Valentine’s Day at some point in my future, but it doesn’t mean anything in comparison to the other 364 days that we could share together. You may be lonely on this very day as many of us have for years on end, however it doesn’t compare to the very day that special someone decides to walk into your life for the first time.

If you don’t have a date today, don’t fret. I advise you to acquire some chocolate, a bottle of Chianti, and a good show on Netflix to binge-watch. Ignore the fact that your neighbors upstairs are having steamy Valentine’s Day sex, role playing as a prisoner and her tough-as-nails prison guard; your day is soon to come.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! Now excuse me, I have a lunch date with a pretty lady.