Here’s the problem with the blog.

1. I’ll write here and sometimes it’ll be good.
2. I’ll meet pretty girls and I’ll want to tell them about the blog so they can see how smart and clever and witty I am.
3. I’ll then be dating one of said pretty girls but I won’t be able to write about her (or the other pretty girls, if there are any).

It’s a tough situation. Hold your tears. I’ll be fine.

One solution is to have two blogs. A secret “all about girls” blog and a public regular blog. But I don’t think I have the energy for that. So, true to my form, I am going to write about whatever the I want on here–to hell with what the pretty girls think.

A Prelude to Hot Sex (a blog post about girls):

M. is a smart, hot, hipster I met on the internet (I think you’re supposed to capitalize internet. I’m not sure how I feel about that.) Nerve.com. She’s a good writer and fun to talk to and has tattoos and isn’t traditionally pretty and reads all the time and, basically, a dream girl. She is like me. Which, incidentally, is exactly what I’ve been looking for my whole life. A girl like me. But (here we go) when we hung out it was about as flaccid as a Nebraska frat boy in the Castro on a Friday night. Bummer.

L. is a smart, hot, girl I met on the internet. Nerve.com. She’s not a hipster. She’s not a writer and she’s full of crazy energy and she’s excessively gorgeous (you know, one of those pretty girls - the one’s who pitied you in high school). She goes to the gym and she runs. She is, exactly, not like me. But (here we fucking go) she rocks my goddamned world. The sexual energy between the two of us is almost like nothing I’ve experienced. The goddamned, fall off the fucking bed, star-seeing like an anvil landed on your head, crazy-assed “I don’t give a fuck, just get yourself into the fucking bed right now before I lose my already dodgy mind” kind of hot. And the clothes haven’t even come off yet. And, jesus, I don’t know about long lasting relationships and I barely know this girl (read: our relationship is likely doomed to fail, like all the others and I’m ok with that–hopeful yet realistic) but I feel like I’ve been missing the fucking boat on women my whole life.

Some of this comes from watching Alice and Magaly who are magically different from one another but are in some sweet fucking love. It is enviable.

More later, I promise.