*boyspoke…we’re not kidding around*

It can happen at any time.

I can be at the mall eating Sbarros with a buddy.

Maybe I'm cruising down the street late at night.

Could be I was just at the bank getting cash out. But when it happens, I know, and I know right away.

That chick is hot.

And she's a bitch.

I don't know what happened to me. I mean I didn't used to be this way. I used to see a beautiful woman and appreciate her for what she was. I'd see the curves, the lines that her hips make, and the subtle way her eyes crunch when she smiles. Back then I'd look at the form and know that she really was something special.

That something special was something that I could never have.

Ok maybe that's what happened, because somewhere along the line I ate a bitter pill and became the fuckstick that wanders the streets today. For a long time I was single — and painfully so. Sure I can do stand-up comedy in front of a few hundred people, but put me 1-on-1 with a gorgeous woman and I freeze up. The words can't come out, I trip over what I do say, and I can never make that connection.

Just a year ago I made a concerted effort to meet a woman. Meet that special someone, because at 29, my clock is ticking. I won't be able to have babies forever.

Oh wait, I can. Look at Larry King.

I searched the places where I wouldn't normally go, like bars, and clubs, and college hangouts, just cruising for a chick who could find my slightly flawed exterior attractive. Maybe she can get past the surface and see me for the good guy that I am.

Then I'd meet her. That girl, the one over there with the white top and the killer ass. Yeah I'll buy her a drink. Hey, I'm Russel, nice to meet you. Oh really? That douchebag over there is hitting on you too? The guy with the wife beater and the tattoos? Yeah I can see that, I bet he works out. Ok well have fun with your drink.

Move on to the next one. Hey, I'm Russel nice to meet you. What do I do? Well I'm a writer, and a photographer, and I do some stand-up. No, I don't make a lot of money but –

10 minutes later, another. Hi, how's it going? It's your friend's birthday? Sure I'll hang out, why — oh I'm buying the round? That doesn't sound right.

Chick after broad after dame after bitch came by and each one shafted me in one way or another.

And I became bitter.

Sure I had my booty calls and all, but nothing really substantial, not what I wanted. I was feeling the plight of the "nice guy" all over again, just like in high school, and I was mad.

Dumb bitches. Can't see me as a good guy. Sure I don't wear trendy clothes, and no I won't wear flip-flops with jeans, I'm not some assclown jock. No, I'm Russel Motherfuckin' Wood, and if you don't like me you can eat my…

I put on a persona. I was now bitter, and I actually gave girls the cold shoulder. Fuck them bitches, I can do what I want.

Strangely enough, that attracted them.

Which made me even more bitter.

You're probably thinking that this, my first post, ends badly but it doesn't.

It ends in the parking lot of an In-N-Out burger at Tatum and the 101 at 1am on my birthday.

When I met the one.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 30th, 2005 at 10:54 am and is filed under girls + rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site. -->