A Note to and About Female Humans:

Note: This is verbatim from a notebook, though my bullet list was not as organized. This was a journal exercise from an old comp class, but I don’t know what the exercise was. The female prof was not amused.

Alright, so I have an ego. I have a huge ego at times.

Things I am the best at:

1. Making soup
2. Growing Basil
3. Being an attractive and effective hardware salesman
4. Making Home Depot based double entendre
5. Drinking whiskey
6. Talking to anyone about anything

Things I merely excel at:

1. Accidental success
2. Killing food
3. Growing food
4. Building things
5. Fixing things
6. Creating new and useful products out of common raw materials
7. Creating new and useless art out of common raw materials
8. Lifting things
9. Preparing meals

I think you would agree that in some cases, and I mean most for me, having an ego is just being honest. There really are not too many people who can compare with me when it comes to what I really care about. This does not mean I am better than anyone, simply more learned, wise, and better looking.

So lately, I have been failing in one area. I have no ability to focus on anything fully as long as a woman is around. Ask any guy, semi-regular ass is the worst thing to happen to someone who is trying to make a go of the gym. Or get a head at work. Or anything. Men lose their drive for the rest of their living purposes when they have the chance to pretend impregnate someone.

• Guitar. Fuck no.
• Simple house-keeping tasks. Nope.
• Morning runs. Hell no.
• Meticulous book-keeping. Also out.

Every goal a man might have theoretically set for himself in the last few months that you have known him is a tenuous and drifting tendril of benign adhesion to the future if you’re thinking of getting naked. I believe this is why women always talk about how they date losers or how their last man “never finished what he started or did what he said he was going to do.”

No shit. Accomplishment is for those not getting semi-regular ass. That’s why that motivated, driven individual you want so badly will turn in a few months into the same lethargic sack of hornball that you just left.

Oddly enough, I think I’m better than most men at still setting and meeting goals in the throes of interpersonal corporeal affection. This is another thing I may be the best at. The reason is that I just don’t tell you people any of my real goals. I know what would happen, then. It isn’t lying when I do talk about goals, it’s just that I run out the bullshit ones I don’t really care about. That way when they fail, I’ve still got a few months of carnal memories to use at will and I’ve probably accomplished some tasks you wouldn’t in a million years think I cared about. Who gives a shit if I never made it to the gym or built a dresser?

I am a little worried that this equates to dishonesty. I excel at feeling guilty. I am probably the best at it I know.

But, if you were able to live in the mind of any man instead of simply living outside of him and feeding and being fed by human proximity, you would probably find secret goals. Ones you would find alternately ridiculous and astounding.

I believe this is why women find men so simple and infuriating. We do not realize the dishonesty. And it is easier for you to think of us as children and pets. Or for you to use us as the little fantasy flings you need to get out of your system. Trust the younger/country boy/college student/poet, here. We know as well as you do when you’re just sowing wild oats.

So, to wrap up:

I may possibly start a new policy of truth (I hate Depeche Mode!). Meaning I may try to represent myself and ideas as openly as possible. I may even admit to how incredibly rational I handle you. And how I don’t believe fate brought us together. And how I think your faith in anything but you is stupid. And how I think you read too many of your opinions out of books.

I think this may be the worst idea I have ever had.