An Attempt at Short Fiction - "The 3-Day Rule"

Scratching his head, a stray hair lands on his phone. He's been staring at it. Not at the hair, but the phone. He’s debating whether or not to pick it up and call her.

“It's only been a day,” he mumbles to himself. Stretching his arms way up as he looks in the mirror.

"Meeting someone at a nightclub is an automatic disaster.”

He begins to yawn and speak simultaneously.

“It yawlways yidge….”

Pacing his room, he peeks at the clock next to his bed.

"7:05. The perfect time.”

He smiles at the mirror with his arms wide open, shrugging and talking at it.

”There’s some irony there….you’ve gotta admit. You looked at the clock at the perfect time, no? Everyone’s home on a Sunday night at seven.”

He points at himself and bounces his finger in a confirming gesture. His gut says to call, but lately his instincts are far from helpful. He remembers a conversation he had with a girl five weeks ago, right before they stopped seeing each other.

"You come on a bit strong," she said.

"I come on strong?” he exclaimed. “I text you, and then I don't hear anything back for like three hours?"

"Yea so...."

"So ok, well maybe that’s not huge but one of your responses was like - "busy in the dark room."

"Well I was!"

"Well a response like that doesn't warrant a response on my part. It's sort of a smack in the face."

"How?!"

"Because you're taking the time to text me, yet it's a meaningless status text that has no emotion. A text like that should come a little over a year-in, and yet we've only gone on three dates."

"Oh please...I'm the one that contacted you."

"Yea, after a week of me not calling......and that's when you finally texted me "where ya been stranger?" That to me is the "oh no, I'm losing him" text. I'd better touch base, show him I care, but fault him for not reaching out."

"You're nuts."

"Nooo......I just think we have major communication issues...which definitely isn't good this early in the game."

"Well, I don't play games?!"

"My nutsack you don’t…."

Shaking off the memory, he decides to ask some of his friends their opinion. His friend John's been doing well......dating more than just one girl for like five months now. He's his first call.

"Wait, so when did you meet her?"

"Last night."

"No way."

"Why?"

"I would wait until Wednesday, maybe even Thursday, depending how she acted."

"How she acted?"

"How you both acted...towards each other."

John asks, "were you two making out?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Was she excited, laughing a lot, touchy feely......any electricity?"

"Well........"

"Forget it...you're waiting til Wednesday. If you were making out, I'd say call her today. Since you weren't; automatic 3-day rule."

"Yea but Wednesday is four days. "Doesn’t that just look like I'm being obnoxious."

"I'm telling you, Wednesday it is. That's what I'd do. It's not like the girl was sitting there grabbing your junk at the bar.”

"No, definitely not."

"Cause you know that shit happens??"

"Yea, of course….but she wasn't like that."

"How'd you say goodbye? What happened....give me details."

"Well, first off I was with Paul and Kevin....we were meeting Paul's chick at some bar loungy concoction....a real shithole if you ask me. Couldn't hear or see a goddam thing in there."

"Who picked the place?"

"The birthday girl...no one we knew. She wanted to go there specifically, and we found out why pretty quickly."

"What do you mean?"

" Well, we were the only white people in the place, and she was the only one out of the girls, grinding up on some black dude."

"You guys were in an all black club?!"

"Something like that......we had no idea, we'd met these girls in-line outside. Two of them, well-dressed, about our age....white.....and we got to asking if they were there for a party also. And of course, they were...it turns out, it was the same one as us."

"Jesus....that was easy."

"Exactly...which I found so ironic...with the timing and all. I mean, out of the hundreds of minutes she could've strolled up to the place, there we were, standing right behind them.

"What's her name?"

"Who? The girl I met?

"(he pauses)….Wow, you really like her…..”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re making like you don’t know what girl we’re talking about when I ask you a simple question like “whats her name? By re-asking the question, you’re taking time to draw a mental picture of her and replay your memories from the night. It’s obvious.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Ah ha! Even aggression….you love this girl.”

“Easy does it psychiatrist…..you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say my man.”

"Well, her name's Sara. By far the hottest girl in there."

"You two, like, dance or anything? How'd you get to talking?"

"Since the place was so crowded, I had nowhere really to stand without getting bumped. All the girls were tucked into this circular booth, and we were just hovering at their feet.”

“Uh huh.”

“A spot on the corner of the booth opened when some chick had to use the bathroom, or get a drink or whatever, and I just went and sat down. She was right next to me.

“What’d you say?”

“I don’t know, something like “you pick this place?”

"Ha! Perfect.....did she laugh?"

"Yea, thank god.”

"So she's got a sense of humor..."

"Absolutely. And you know me, the first question I ask.... "what do you do in your spare time."

“Yup, that’s your fave.”

“And listen to this..... I just so happened to throw her name in at the end.”

"Re-stating her name to show you're paying attention...perfectly played."

"And from that, I got some great information out of her...she's a runner....

"Nice..."

"She's in finance..."

"....double nice."

"She's blonde."

"What?@!!”

“Yup! I know…”

“Hold the phone....you? Mr. I only date chicks with a tan, Mediterranean look about em’ found a blonde that tickles his Newt Gingrichie?"

"Yup. And could you believe!?! A finance chick who loves to run?!"

"No, honestly I can't....you with a blonde?!"

"Oh come on!"

"It's always been straight dark hair, just past the shoulder....tan skin, dash 'a sexy...and you're off."

"Ahh whatevs...you never knew me in high school."

"True."

"Well, she wasn't what I was looking for but exceeded expectations, a hundred-fold."

"You tell her you do triathlons?"

"I hadn't even mentioned it until she asked me what I liked to do....I was still stunned she'd finished two half marathons last year."

"Very impressive, this could be the girl for you bro."

"I know, I thought the same thing."

"I'm not going back on the Wednesday telephone call though."

"Really?! It just seems so weird to me, or sly...... How long did you wait with Ranelle?"

"Let me think…….I met Ranelle with you on a Thursday, right?"

"Yea, either a Thursday or a Friday."

"Right, so...I waited to call her the following Thursday."

"A week?!!"

"Absolutely."

"That's not even the 3-day rule."

"Yea, well she seemed like one of those girls that thinks she's the shit, so I had to let her stew a bit."

"But you really liked her the night you met?"

"Hell yea, instant connection."

"And with an instant connection, you waited a week...."

"Yup..."

"And there you two are, banging away, five nights a’plenty...havin a fucking ball."

"Yesssss sir.”

“You’re a dick.”

“But remember dude, it takes a while. She didn't call me back for two days after I'd left her a voicemail...so don't get upset if you don't hear from her right away."

"No, I won't, but I'm also not taking one doctor's recommendation without a second opinion."

"Oh yea....who you calling?"

"Tommy boy...."

"He's been snagging a couple here and there so he knows what he’s doing...see what he says and let me know."

"Will do my man...thanks"

"No problemo."

Excited as to the progress he's making, he's no longer nervous about calling tonight because he doesn't suspect he will. It's 7:42 and any window of opportunity to make such a call would have to happen before 9:00, otherwise it's just plain rude to call any later on your first attempt. He sets these rules in stone and relaxes. Lying in bed, he starts to dial Tom when he hears a voice yelling through his door.

"I think you guys are nuts!!"

It's his father.

"And your mother thinks the same."

"And why would she think that?"

"Because I'm on the phone with her."

" These walls have any fucking insulation?!"

"He’s complaining about insulation" his dad relays.

"Tell her my life story while you're at it."

"Like you won't?! If you like someone, you should just call them she says!"

"Yea, I agree but it might seem a bit desperate if I'm calling someone the day after I meet them!"

"I dont think so...what if she wants you to call her?"

"I think if she wants me to call her, she'll only build me up more in her mind as someone who's busy and independent, and not overly eager."

"So now you're playing games?"

"I haven't had too much success the last two times so I'm seeking consultation."

"Don't you think you're being a bit hard on yourself...you've only been out of a serious relationship for 6 months."

"I've been outta the game for nearly eight whole years with those two girls....things have changed I guess."

"For that amount of time, you've earned some tactical understanding of women, yet you're doubting your ability to reel em in."

"Please….Dr. Phil."

"You're mother wants to talk to you."

"Oh jesus....where's the phone?"

"Where do you think? The only other one’s in the basement."

He opens his door and walks out in the living room. The walls are ivory-colored and it makes for a much brighter spectacle than his eyes were prepared to handle. He could taste the conversation they'd finished, lingering in the air. Walking through it like a cloud of knowledge and experience, he holds his breath. His father's wearing the velvet robe he's had since 1976. Mom had gotten it for him as a Christmas gift right after they were married. He still wears it even after their cordial divorce. Grabbing the phone, he clears his throat and swallows what's left. His mother's an all-consuming addict for details far beyond the likes of John who just got a hint beyond the short-and-sweet version.

"Hi hunny!" mom exclaims.

"Hey babe, how's things?"

"So what's this I hear, you met someone and you're already applying the 3-day rule?"

"What do you mean..."already"?

"Well, you just met the girl!"

"The best and only time you use the rule is in the beginning, mom."

"I know what it is……what I meant to say is, why ya gonna wait to call her? You've always said you hate girls that play games. They’re the ones that fall for the idiot guy because deep down he really doesn't like or respect them…or something like that."

“Yes, that’s true. I just figure I’ll take a carefree approach. Ya know, the less you act like you care, the more they think you don’t need them.”

“That’s games!”

“WELL! Maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I figure I’ll try someone else’s advice since I ain't batting a thousand.”

“Oh stop….it can’t always work out.”

“Yea but it was probably me scaring em off.”

“How do you know?!”

“Both of them told me, actually. The first one told it to my face and the other made up some crap about dating a pancake connoisseur.”

“Ha! Pancakes….you’re crazy….you’re being too hard on yourself….pancakes, seriously?

“I don’t know.”

“Jeez…well yea baby, maybe you should listen to your friends then.”

“I know!! That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nah, nah…. I’m just kidding. Stop it. You just need to be yourself.”

“I have been. That’s exactly what I’ve been. Problem is, it’s me being the product of a four year relationship. I’m used to being one way and now that’s too much. Seeing a mirage of potential and becoming excited about it is the worst thing you can do."

“Your imagination can play tricks…you should know that!”

“You know me, I’m all serious and analytical. I just want to make sure she’s smart. That she thinks the goal of life is to discover as much as possible but leave something behind.”

“Come on….you can’t go into it like this…so methodical and deliberate. Have fun! You’re young, you’re handsome….stop thinking so negative. No one’s gonna like the guy standing in the corner with a puss on his face.”

“I’d like a puss on my face.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Forget it. “

“Why?”

"Nothing…you didn’t catch what I meant…it was a joke.”

“Oh…hunnie, you need to stop stressing yourself out…these things come naturally. You can’t force them.”

“I know, I’ve been there before.”

“Exactly……see, you’re so smart. You’ve always been so smart. I’m so proud of you.”

“Alright, alright….”

“Well!! You are! Whaddayu want me to say.”

“No, I know, don’t get me wrong, I love your praises…you’re always the best at picking me up. I just know your biased, and let’s be honest, what do I really have going for me where I’m such a catch?”

“Are you kidding?!”

“Don’t answer that, don’t answer that, please I’m begging, it was rhetorical, I apologize. What I meant to say is, this is what parents do….and I figure you’re supposed too. I guess I would if I was a parent. No matter what I do or say you’re going to have my back and tell me I’m the best thing in the world, that my you know what doesn’t stink, that I can do no wrong, yada yada…..and maybe that’s a bit of the problem.”

“What’s the problem?”

“What do you mean, what’s the problem?”

“I lost you there hunnnie, I’m sorry, you said you’re shit doesn’t stink or something and all I could think about was when you guys were little babies, and yes, of course, you get used to it but man, when you first change a diaper…..”

“I got it, I got it….thanks.”

“Well!! It’s the truth sweetie….”

“Yup, for the first time, you’ve told me the truth…and in regards to shit smelling like itself; appreciate it.”

“Oh stop…what were you asking? Tell me again. I’m listening, I promise.”

“Aww you promised, ok then, I re-tell (belittling her in his worst Russian accent).

“Oh shush and just tell me already.”

“I was just saying, part of the problem might be that we’re babied too much, or that we believe we’re god’s gift because we were brought up to believe we’re god’s gift. That we each aren’t just an insignificant drop of rain in a massive ocean that’s been building for billions of years. Like the world revolves around me, like we’re always young and can't make mistakes, and that love is this thing that happens to everyone and that we should never settle because the right one is just around the corner, or because our worth is far more than the worth of the one seeking us, and I don’t mean financial.”

“Well you are worth it hunnie.”

“That’s it right there….if I am, than why do I know deep down that when I call her, it’ll be too soon, too desperate, too stalker?”

“It won’t be! She’s your age, or damn close to it, right?”

“Yes.”

“These girls don’t play games anymore. They’re looking to settle down once they’re past 26 or so. For a guy that knows numbers so well, I figure you should know this.”

“Know this? I am a numbers guy, but understanding the psychology behind a girl’s wacko thought processes has nothing to do with numbers.”

“In a way it does. If she’s too young, it’s not gonna work. If she’s too old, you almost wonder what’s going on and you need to find out some more details. This girl’s right in between right?" Age is numbers.”

“Yea, yea…..however retarded that just seemed, you actually made a shred of sense.”

“That’s a lot for me.”

“I know!!”

She laughs and he follows because she knows she has her moments of excess air just gathering in her brain.

“So just call her already and quit being a baby.”

“Fine! But let me call Tom first.”

“Why?!”

“Love you, gotta go, you’re the best!!!…muah”

“Fine….(she exhales in a monotone gesture) love you too, good luck.”

“Oh stop….you were very helpful.”

“Yea yea, I know, alright. Fill me in when you hear something.”

“Will do.”

“K, byyye”

Dialing Tom, he looks at the clock and it’s almost 8:28pm. He thinks to himself there’s still just enough time to figure it out, it’s not 9 yet. Tom picks up.

“Duder, how’s it heezlin?”

“Decent bro, decent….listen, I’ve got a question for you.”

(Silence)

“Hello?”

“Yea, I’m here” Tom says. “Go ahead.”

“Jesus, Walter Hudson, am I bothering you during a late night snack?”

“No ya douche…I just didn’t think I had to say “Yes Frank, how can I help answer your question my dear troubled boy.”

“Ok, ok, fine…so, here goes, the other night Kevin and I went out with Paul and his chick and we met these girls right.”

“Yea I heard, you met some blondie….I never pegged you for a blonde.”

“Yup, heard it already…I know…it was weird. I never expected it either, but yea so anyway, here’s the question. Can I call her tonight, or is that too soon?”

“When did you guys go out?”

“Saturday night.”

Saturday, Saturdayyyy…..when was Saturday?”

“Yesterday.”

“Jesus Christ…the next day?”

“Shit!”

“You were thinking of calling her the next day?!”

“Yea so, what the fuck’s wrong with that?”

“Come on dude, you know the cardinal rule….it’s gotta be at least 3 days….and ya know what, I even think that’s too quick.”

“Fuck me, both you and John say the same thing.”

“And he’s doing pretty well for himself.”

“How is that too quick?! Like my life’s so goddam busy that picking up the phone to call someone’s impossible. Guaranteed she knows it ain’t imposssssssible. I’m not the fucking President. You don’t think that’s a dick move?”

“Not at all. That is the move, otherwise you’re jumping down her throat. You’re a single white male putting an ad in the Classifieds section “in dire need of female reproductive parts…anything warm place to drop my seed is preferable.”

“Wait, is that with the terrible grammar, or am I just a robot with a dick that works like a human?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, you’re off your ass. Like I give a fuck about fucking her….I barely even know the girl….”

“Crazier things have happened my friend.”

“Right?”

“Right.”

“Crazier things have happened meaning, a guy can call the next day and it can work out?”, I ask Tom.

“No, I meant crazier things have happened where people do sleep with each other in one night, they’re all not just looking to get into a relationship, be married and live happily ever after.”

“Wow, straight from the Charlie Sheen playbook. Like you’re some fucking Don Juan out to fuck anything that walks the streets. Did John call you within milliseconds of me calling and speak like the micro-machines guy to fill you in on everything he said? Because you two fucking geniuses are dopplegangers sitting on my shoulders, reading the same newspaper, shitting down my neck.”

“No, we did not speak, and no, I am not always just out to find sex.”

“Exactly, so the point is, what’s gonna go wrong if I call? She won’t think I’m the mature guy that sees what he likes and goes for it without playing games?”

“Everyone likes games.”

“I fucking hate games!”

“You like games, you just don’t know it.”

“No, I do know them, I don’t like them, but I have to play them if someone is playing them against me.”

“Ah ha!”

“What?! You can’t be Captain Desperate with a girl that’s playing hard to get…what the fuck’s that gonna achieve?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly!”

(Tom’s silent)

“God dammit, would you cut it out with the silent treatment?”

“What?”

“How can I tell if this girl’s playing games, I haven’t talked with her for more than ten minutes?”

“What’d she seem like?”

“She seems like a great girl that wasn’t playing hard to get, has her shit together…a good job, a recently ended relationship…and it was a long one…and I felt a nice vibe going.”

“Eye contact?”

“Yup.”

“Any physical contact?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What? That’s an important question.”

“Nothing.........there must’ve been a focus group you guys went too on dating that I missed. No, there was no contact.”

“Hmm….”

“But there was body language!” I desperately exclaimed.

“How so?”

“Ummm, I don’t know, kinda facing me when in conversation with others?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Yea, there was body language…definitely, and oh, her friend said “absolutely go for it, she’s single.”

“So her friend liked you.”

“Yea, for sure.”

“Well that’s a good thing, because they’ll talk about the night as they head home and you’ll come up somewhere.”

“Well, they did take two different cabs home.”

“Whatever, I doubt that’s the last time they’ll ever talk about that night. Girls do AIM each other at work and shit…that’s like all this girl does everyday at her desk next to me….just random fucking giggling every twenty minutes.”

“Oh my god that’s so annoying…”

“Tell me about it….so I throw her like three glances a day trying to signal the fact that she’s getting on my nerves and she just says “sorry, my boyfriend’s hilarious.”

“Oh Jesus. Why don’t you rub it in there sweetheart….where’d you go to din din last night, did he open the door for you…..how’s he in bed...”

“Wow, you do a good gay voice.”

“I didn’t even realize, and don’t fucking compliment me!”

“Hey, here’s my most recent example….I’m kinda with Carissa now and I waited 5 days to call her.”

“Fucking A, really?”

“Yup.”

“And what’d you say?”

“I just left her a voicemail.”

“That seems to be the easiest way.”

“It’s the only way. You’re not gonna hang up the phone, she'll see the missed call. You’ll look more scared than before if you don’t leave a voicemail.”

“True.””

“You actually think this girl’s gonna pick up the phone?”

“I don’t know, I guess not…John said the same fucking thing.”

“Do you pick up the phone when you don’t know the number?”

“Not usually.”

“Well you didn’t give her your number right?”

“Nope.”

“Yea so, you’ll end up leaving her a voicemail and see if she calls you back.”

“Ok so I can do that then.”

“After four days.”

“Four days?! This is ridiculous! I would hate me if I was her.”

“Well, you do whatever you want to do, but I waited 5 days and here I am, happy as a pig in shit.”

“You know what shit smells like?”

“Shit?”

“Exactly.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s been a long night.”

“Then get some friggin sleep, and don’t fucking call her!”

“FINE!!”

He stands up from his bed and looks in the mirror. This tall standing mirror rests against his wall, just barely missing the ceiling. He turns to the side and sucks in a bit….”not bad” he says to himself while patting his stomach. Breathing several deep breaths, he looks at his phone. 9:01pm. He dials her number. The phone starts to ring. On the first ring he stares back at the mirror and loses concentration on the topics he’d prepared. The second ring blings by and he hopes she doesn’t pick up. He paces towards his hamper and on the third ring his mouth goes bone dry and he almost hangs up.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello?”

“Yea who’s dis?”

“Umm, this is Frank, I was looking for Sara?”

“Sorry bro, wrong number.”

“Oh, (he pauses) …sorry about…”

“Yea no problem…(click).”

He exhales.......

Pushing out all he’d held in, he stares into the mirror with one hand halfway through his hair. He hadn’t even realized he’d pulled it tightly back while talking and still hadn’t let go. He lets go. Sitting down on his bed, the wooden headboard creaks and the mattress sounds like the thumbing of wet Styrofoam. He stares at his phone, her contact details fade to black. The memory of Sara Griffin disappears and anything he’d attached to it. He whispers to himself….”just a drop of rain.”

Several days later:

“So did you ever end up calling that girl we talked about?” his mom asks.

“Yup, I did.”

“You did?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Well..”

“Hold on a sec, let me get ready…(this is something his mother does, she runs to her couch to settle in for their nice long discussions)..”

“No need to get all comfy mom….”

“Oh damn, what happened…you waited too long?! She didn’t call you back? She was probably annoyed….I told you!”

“ Nah, nah no…..even worse.”

“Worse? What’s worse than no call back?”

“She gave me a fake number.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Haha, yes…it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh you must’ve said something she didn’t like…did you say something? Can you recall what you said? Were you really drunk?”

“No mom, no, not at all. I’m not gonna be an asshole the first time I meet someone.”

“Well maybe you didn’t think you were coming off as one, but maybe you were being tough or macho…I don’t know…”

“I don’t know either…”

“Is it possible you just got the number wrong?”

“I doubt it ma….some girls just give out the wrong number to guys they’re not interested in.”

“Well why would she talk to you? That’s ridiculous, how could she not be interested….you must’ve screwed up the numbers.”

“Come on mom, me, numbers?”

“You’re right. You’re right, that’s right. You’ve always been so good with numbers.”

Honesty’s So Rare It Now Seems Misleading

In motion, there’s the desire to do anything. To think about what could’ve been and what was…….what’s coming and where it ends……through passing cracks in the road below your pace, these things grow.

It’s winter. Lungs are filling with icy air every cold minute you spend moving. Shutters shoot through your legs as your arms reach out for whatever’s ahead. Whatever’s ahead is unknown, for nothing but the sun, tapping on your forehead through leafless passing trees, can know its course. You think back to your approach, who you’ve trusted, and why for some reason you’d thought they were normal; everyone thinks they’re normal. Your life’s going, but do you desperately need to know where?

A good catch, almost everyone around you is….and they’re right for thinking so. If you yourself don’t believe it, no one will. Just do what you feel is you, and some people will love you for it and others will fake it. And you watch, their own life’s chapters will play out like some Shakespearean tragedy. Their motives??? Welp, we know one thing…..they’re always burrowed in a foundation teaming with personal inadequacy…..a stew’s ingredients labeled two scolding parts selfish, one distilled part jealousy, and a curdled ladle of karma. An otherwise atrocious little meal, but something I’d devour with anyone who goes the opposite way towards logic. Let’s pick up the brush and reveal their story for it’s so easy to depict. Everything’s clear when clearing your head.

We’ll look at their actions, or lack thereof, and breakdown how they operate. They blatantly own an emptiness they can’t stomach admitting, nor believe is visible in the way they dress, speak or act. Each latches onto their persona as if completely different from the people they surround themselves with; inherently disregarding the reason they surround themselves with these people. Believing somehow that they’re better because their theory of independence means doing what they want, when really we know they’re doing what anyone they think is cooler’s doing. They’re too busy for anyone but themselves. Always starting the conversation, but never finishing it. Pointing out their accomplishments for reassurance, and evaporating nobility in humbleness. Brightening the light on others’ indiscretions without ever stepping out of the shadows. They’re kept up on the latest, the earliest. They’re friends with everyone, but no one’s really friends with them. They perform when trying to act nonchalant. The less attention they receive, the more they desire. The more they reveal, the less they’re willing to compromise. They think that someone else’s disinterest in them is actually a quality rather than a red flag; an aura of mystery and a challenge to conquer rather than noticing they’re staring at someone with little talent or personality. They put down your facts for they’ve not known the truth, and that can’t be. Disgust in their own ignorance is impossible and blame must fall on the warmest body. Commit til bored. Approve of mistakes when recyclable for leverage. Stare and judge, but accept no judgment. Always need and expect the best, but pack nothing but the ability to bring out their worst in you.

Whether posers, losers, fake or obnoxious, there's no doubt these people are in your way. I say, just fucking steamroll 'em. Be better and more valuable to this place. Offer more insight and thought to any conversation you can, and listen where you can’t. Add constructive advice where your experience has been similar, but don’t offer anything when it’s not your business at all. Find what you love doing and put its perfection at a close distance....if you do it long enough, you might become a guru, but if you don’t, you’ll still love doing it and never burn out the passion.

Don’t worry what other people around you are doing….you’ll drive yourself mad. You have no clue where their life’s headed. We all have 80 years at best….where are they gonna be at the end of those years that you won’t? All that’ll matter by then is health and family. If life should come down to one thing, it’s those you love right, and they unto you. Did you ever care that your grandparents weren’t millionaires? You loved them, and that’s it. Did you ever care that your parents weren’t millionaires? You loved them, and that’s what you knew. Will you, as a mother or father, be any different in anyone’s eyes to which these things matter? It’s within yourself that you must be comfortable with your position, your progress, your life …..and the many cracks you trot past. Like rings in trees, we wear these cracks like layers inside us…not on the outside. That’s for them; for anyone that still hasn’t thrown their sense of entitlement and ego out the door. But some day they will…..they’ll get it. They’ll grow up, shake off the façade they’ve held so close……and finally just start moving.

Holiday Wishes from a Non-Traditional Angle

I think the holidays change for everyone, and by that I mean, the feeling about them. It all highly depends on the timing within one’s life. Its overall meaning as a tradition hasn’t changed, nor has the reasoning to stay consistent within such a pattern, but it comes down to what you’re expecting to get out of it, rather than what you’re putting into it. If heavily skewed towards the latter, you’ll definitely be peaches and cream, happy as a clam, (__Mad Lib joyful analogous cliché____). People should also be aware that there’s nothing wrong with a paradigm shift in the normally chipper clarity achieved through such holidays. In fact, life comes in cycles and those highs and lows will fluctuate just the same as everyday chapters reveal themselves within new grandchildren, children, marriage, jobs, goals, relationships and friends. Although there isn’t much low in this time of year, I’d wager there’s many that are trying to discover the uptick from the bottom of their cycle. As I say too many; life will go on. If you can grind on down to the essentials of this time, you might actually appreciate the strength in its foundation; roots you could never tear materially.

There’s obviously a transition we make; a day where our efforts become valiant, tacitly for the appreciation of youths, their impression of this time of year and why it should always be continued. So we should, and always will, continue it. For its personally fun to see their faces, and there’s an underlying beauty in being giddy for what you give someone. There’s nothing you can take away from this time that won’t be your companion to thought. We unconsciously work hard to remember the good and take positive aspects from our experience as lessons learned. In turn we grow, and in that expansion of ourselves…..the holidays, traditions, the days spent rising to the occasion and putting in the effort to make it the best you can, rather than expecting the world…….in those we then become our best….no matter where we are in our lives.

Have yourself an unbelievable time these next few weeks….whether its simple, creative, labored or invigorating….take it all in, for it’s been something that has made your life undoubtedly better, and shall forever, for those you will it.

A Soldier's Plight....of which I make assumptions

The number of suicides amongst our armed forces is racking the public conscience; and it should. There’ve been over 140 active soldiers and something like 71 inactive ones, already this year (said the AP). As all statistics are, they’re better understood when compared to what’s common, perhaps what the numbers were in previous years, or not during wartime; but death no matter what, shouldn’t be a comparison. But that’s also not my point. The first number doesn’t bother me as much as the second.

A soldier’s sitting in the backyard at a barbecue. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt; blending back into society as we know it. Months earlier everyone feared for his life, respecting and missing him at the same time. They’re so glad the wait’s over cause he’s there now; sharing stares and a mutual drink. Mutual though, his happiness lingers beyond reach.

When you survive the denial of resources that make life easy, you learn you can live without them. You’re stronger, different, and less dependent because you did. How many people can say they fought exhaustion amongst starry nights to protect twenty sleeping men from an ambush? How many men can understand the scope of that task? Most of them never achieved such purpose in their lives, nor been given such massive responsibility back home. To ponder the idea of why some men survive, yet friends of theirs die....these things never leave. How many can come home to a life so simple, and not resent those around them; taking life for granted for the straight-and-narrow path has always just been.

Home isn’t so warm to someone without opportunity. Not every soldier’s jumping into a job on the Trading Desk at Goldman or spec'ing out blueprints as an Engineer for Boeing. Imagine the internal struggle when one day you’re holding a rifle, killing potential terrorists, saving lives and serving your country, and the next, you’re holding a spatula getting scolded by your more educated, younger boss.

I don’t know how many of us need motion in life. Craving direction or having a goal is important; monotony otherwise gets to be too much. In battle, you’re a hero. You’re the ultimate man; a survivor and a fighter. The distant comfort of family keeps you strong and mentally driven, for they need you back, and you’re doing this as much for them as yourself. As much as you yearn though, for that day back home, and fight to earn it, the minute you’re back, the fear of being regular, average and common.... the thought of never achieving such purpose or elevated respect again, is harder to handle than the drive to live.

What happens when a man’s most defining moment comes too early in life? I have to believe that struggle is what makes for the largest percent of the 71.

The Five Year Itch (Ladies, don't read this one, you won't like it...and it's mainly b/c I don't date guys)

Some women get it out of their system in college, but that's because they didn’t have anyone. No guy to keep them from partying and hooking up so much that they eventually got over it. If it's in men, then I must've blew through it years ago. Even I was locked down during college but never felt this undying need for independence. And that was a relationship from second semester of Freshman year all the way through. Maybe I got a enough ass prior to college, to keep me happy. To me, p****, is p****, is P****...gorgeous thing, and I love it, but let's be honest...there's a million more things a girl needs to make herself appealing. It's amongst the search for these things that it all starts to get ugly.....nothing labial about it. The ugliness comes into play when a woman....I digress.....a girl.....doesn’t have enough time to herself. Time to herself...meaning....time to be single.....to go down on other guys...to experiment with girls, to drink their face off and dance on tables, to have any mother fucker with potent cologne and drenched wet hair grazing up against her just so she knows she's desired. Trust me....if you see a woman at 50 who's still craving it, it's because they got married too early, thought the grass was greener, and now look desperate trying to score a guy for superficial reasons, or just to prove they’ve still got game.

This does not pertain to older generations like our grandparents…that’s a whole other topic dealing more with women’s independence movements, social acceptance with divorce and society, separation during wartime…you name it….so this is relevant to our parents, ourselves, and generations to come. Girls in cities, hate to say it but, the itch is even worse and often longer in duration. The more options they have (i.e. people and entertainment), the more confusion and temptation combine to keep reality from setting in.

Love my mother to death, but she's the best example of having wished she'd seen more of a youthful life. She’d gotten married too early…hadn’t enjoyed being a woman in her twenties, had dated maybe three people before marriage, hadn’t experienced enough fun while young….and ultimately, it led to her obsession with getting divorced. What she did decide to end, now seems to be an overeager and premature decision in the aftermath. I don’t think people are all that different. And I would doubt chemically or emotionally that this wouldn’t need to happen to everyone, therefore, here’s a bit more about why I believe that "need" to be true.

I say it's 5 years because that's really just the length of the age bracket where it seems to happen the most. That does not mean they need 5 straight years of being single, or 5 total years to party and hook-up. From age 22 until about 27, these behaviors are most noticeable. So much change, so much lack of direction, it's by far the most prone time; especially for big city loves, and additionally for anyone who had a long relationship prior. I’m obviously biased. Eager to dissect the chosen paths of those I've loved; watching them firsthand, and analyzing their choices. I've had two serious relationships, each more than 3 years….both of which failed. In hindsight, I see myself unconsciously holding back the girls I was with….they'd proved this the minute they were free from my backyard tent (jk). After that first stint where the girl and I were shacked up in college, we broke up immediately after graduation. I guarantee you know three relationships that ended the exact same way...maybe even yours. In mine, I found out she moved in with two girls and lived for three years, just partying, enjoying herself in a fashion she'd damned to only losers, years prior. She'd point at those girls and despise their dancing on tables and screaming "Sweet Caroline", when really, they were just getting it out of their system earlier than her. There she was, two years later, living in a smaller sorority-style house in the city, enjoying her rightful and well-needed place.

The second relationship I had was different in the sense that you're older but she isn't. It's really the same stage as your previous girlfriend where she's mature when you begin dating but then a total mess with priorities and her own self come age 22. Although it lasted beyond that age, it shouldnt have. I was the circumstance holding back the bird that needed to fly. She’s now doing the exact same thing I mentioned of my previous ex....almost to a T (whatever that expression means). Having seen this already beforehand, it's not even odd to me anymore....in fact, the progression I now expect of anyone. Although a bird always returns to its home after it sees what the world has to offer, to be at home waiting, well you're just not a man. No one should do unfair....there's nothing too lose when you've lost yourself.

There's no way of taming the itch...no method by which to cull and abate what will rise and fall for the best reasons. So keep doing what we all tend to do when faced with sure failure...lose interest completely, remain desensitized and just flow.....for timing and fate does its thing, and there’s no hurt when you just don’t care anymore. What I’m really trying to convey is an awareness, not a bible to live by or a straight defamation of the female character…in fact I think it’s necessary for anyone to go through this, so they don’t end up like my mom, having regrets after 27 years of marriage. I also want people to understand that it’s not something they might’ve done. That it was never in their control to begin with and that they didn't lose it by turning a person off or unintentionally holding them back.....it's remaining cognizant that there's this weird time in one's life....for me, it always seems to be within the ages I've mentioned....but really, it's a time where, no matter what you might do, no matter what you might think, or what you might want and expect of someone else........it really just aint gonna happen.

The Grape

An old wise philosopher once challenged a town when they professed luck of a young boy’s fate to avoid the draft, while his friend went off to fight. When comparing the circumstances, to most it would seem apparent, but to the old man and the luck of one over the other, he said “we’ll see.”

Disheveled sweats and bloodshot eyes she waited, not for a knight in shining armor but for a hint of comfort to walk through the hospital doors. Her hair was limp and lifeless along with her posture. The future couldn’t possibly hold happiness; no rainbow to follow the storm rolling in. Your body can only be so stressed. On any normal day, these are not her aesthetics. She is out of character and aloof, for her father’s fairing far worse than they’d expected.

She’d gone down to the lobby in a daze to meet her brother; to wait anywhere but that depressing room. The rubber slides through her hand as she waits atop the escalator…and she thinks of life as a cycle, constantly rotating and slipping by, so she tries to grip it tighter; to pause it…..if only for an instant.

Staring past everyone who enters, she notices a man carrying a big basket of fruit and she breathes disgust for she hadn’t thought of that. Following him with her eyes, he comes higher and closer and her head moves forward as if to sniff flowers. The cellophane doesn’t wrap completely around what’s overflowing the wicker, and one tiny grape tumbles out. To stop a man for something so insignificant; to speak for words have escaped her for hours now, it felt good not to care. Desensitized, she’d craved a little good. As the man disappears into the elevators she sighs and returns to pondering what her life will be like without dad.

Dreaming of her best memories of him, she’d agreed with herself; he’d lived a storybook life. A navy man, he’d found his heart in a woman at 19. His fingers like triggers, he’d handled weapons not of gun-smoke and steal, but correspondence. A man who could type when no one else could. The wealthiest family on the block, they had the first television. A flickering blue light dancing amongst the stars, their living room was always packed with anxious glowing faces and warm bodies strewn carefree on the carpet. For feelings never pounded harder through his chest on the day he lost her, they’d been married for 60 years. She now thought about life and how it finds its form in many shapes within this world, the more interesting part of a form being the direction it takes and the meaning it delivers to the lives of one or many; whether conscious or un. Her fresh tears are interrupted…

Crashing to the floor behind her, a body thuds with a subtle snap. Screaming in agony, a heavyset woman in her 60’s has just broken her arm in three places after visiting her daughter. Shocked by the incident, the disenchanted storms over to help. “Thank you so much dear…I don’t know what happened…I’m just not paying attention…I’m sorry.” In shock, she’s sobbing but holding her arm and repeating over and over, the fact that she must get to work. “Mam, you’re right here in a hospital, I think you should get it checked out, no?” “No, I really must go, I don’t have the time right now…dammit, it’s killing me.…..I just wanted to stop by, see my daughter and head out……..you’re an angel though…… thanks so much for helping….I can’t believe this…I’m such a freakin klutz.” As the woman scurries out in disbelief that something so simple could have led to this, she regrets her visit. As she lumbers forward in a hunch, her head lays flat in a grimace. As noticeable as a blue ink stain on a crisp white shirt, squished mercilessly against the back of her dress was the grape. Shocked, our otherwise heartbroken and gray figure grabs her mouth and literally turns cold white. Behind her, a streak continues to dry on the tan-tiled floor, and her conscience kicks in. Tearing apart her stomach for being so remiss, even as the woman walks back into the lobby deciding the pain was unbearable, she can’t say what she now knows. It just isn’t necessary and how could she possibly respond if asked why she did nothing. No matter what she’d come up with, it would never make a difference.

As the town looked on at the lives of those two gentlemen; one spared from the calamity of war, and one sent feasibly to death; defending his life with nothing but a gun......their paths were revealed. Less than a year before the cadet left home, a plague swept through the town. It took with it many of the youngest lives, including our pardoned fellow at the ripe age of 22. He’d coughed and bled from every direction, spending the last 3 months of his life in a sweaty piss-stained bed for those who’d cared for him had died or were forced to quit. Two summers later, our subject doomed to trek the countryside of every country he'd never cared to visit, he'd endured no famine, slept uncomfortably through nights with comrades by his side, and came back to a huge welcome home party. He was awarded the medal of honor for bravery. A hometown hero he began his own practice and went on to be the most educated, successful citizen their little village ever churned out.

Now leaning on the balcony ledge with pure disgust, she kicks internally at her previously lethargic whispers “who cares about a damn grape.” Deciding never to let something like that happen again….just shrugging off a complacent notion for its priority is too low for an otherwise fatigued body, she vows never to have an excuse; she continues to learn. No one knows why things happen until they’re able to look back and see the outcome. Although the fate of the injured woman is unknown, such an unbelievably difficult coincidence may this time lead to destruction, but in regards to her future…well, that……”we’ll see.”

Mom said I looked like a slut..so I had to change

As buildings fly by and rain streams down the windows, it's midnight, and I cant help but watch her. She's been pleading with her mom to stop demeaning her, for who knows what....and she doesn't, without remorse. I had a previous relationship like this….her mom would ask if she could speak with her, “I’ll be brief” she says. The door closes, then re-opens two minutes later, and over walks her fat, guilty and elated mother to let me know she’ll be out in a minute. I’d think in my head…”you dirty fucking bitch, what’d you say now.”

Is there a reason why a woman wouldn’t be proud to say she has a beautiful daughter? She made her….you’d figure she’d hold this precious thing above all others, but obviously not herself. The self image of mothers within themselves and those poor babies of theirs that just might’ve turned out attractive don’t dare deserve the horrible sniveling comments made towards them just because a guy looked at them, or because of what they put on that they think is cute. It’s not the outfit, or the fact that you’ve probably started fucking up your daughter far earlier than this point, it’s the fact that the mother is stuck in a world that doesn’t hold a day in the spotlight for her any longer. Those days of blowing off the gentleman callers that actually mustered the confidence to say something are long since over…and we all know she settled for the guy that gave her the least attention anyway. Her only ace now is that her words will sting, and so she lets them fly.

Your daughter looks up to you, no matter how white trash you are. You will always be her mother, and you will always instill your judgment, your reasoning and your opinion within her, no matter how illogical….so please, hold her tight, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her how ridiculously beautiful she is…if she is.