A few years ago, I made a decision that changed my perspective on this whole charade of life. And while I will not touch on the subject – even though the wound has healed, I fear it’ll be something that I cannot speak of – I often ponder the outcome had my decisions been different.

The Ballast

We’re all looking for that special someone. A few of you are mistakenly calling them soul mates, as if destiny has any role in your falling in love. While I don’t believe in fate, I do believe in the idea of a sole mate. Someone whose flaws are easily ignored. The person who, even after a disagreement in philosophy, you cannot stay angry with. Someone you can imagine waking up next to every morning. The person who completes you, who is your balance in this world.

Sometimes it isn’t romantic, but most of the time it is. In a conversation with Jyg, I poked fun at her for having Keyla(?) spend the night. The ongoing joke is that they secretly had an affair due to their strange closeness – let’s face it, I don’t think I ever had a friend I was that close to, so all types of closeness is strange to me. They had a falling out – meaning, they stopped working together and therefore rarely saw each other, not as in a fight – which I attributed (jokingly, again) to their breaking up. Last night, they spent some time together which sparked the joke again – which she foresaw and decided to keep to herself to save from the ridicule. She let it slip, of course. I, of course, made the joke. And it ended with her saying, “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping (as in actually sleeping, pervs) with a good friend.”

“So, you’re saying I can sleep with my good friend?”

“Joe?”

“He’d just make it weird.” After a moment’s thought, I added – as I hugged her, “Well, I guess I already sleep with my good friend.”

Definition(s) of Love

Martin – my assistant, not my brother of the same name – admits to loving his wife. He also admits to loving girls. He does not fear saying hi to a beauty he’s never met before. He honks his horn as the co-eds in short shorts pass by his car. He’d run over a family before giving up a glance at the sexy mamasita jogging by. Often, he adds me in his eye-fucking tirade, which I just smile and tweet his insatiable appetite for the finer sex.

Meanwhile, there’s my anonymous sidekick (see this post, and this one, and this one, possibly this one and I’m sure this one, as well) who’s the exact opposite of Martin. While he ogles girls – also having the habit of involving me in rating them – he doesn’t have the cojones to approach them. He’s made little headway in his “Plan A,” and seeks Plan B, C, and quite possibly D – it’s  nice to dream, I suppose.

One night, we discussed the subject of love – brought on by my joke (because sometimes I feel like being one of the guys, even it means failure) that Martin would be getting laid at Skip’s birthday party. While not the most philosophical bunch, I thought their idea of love to be interesting. There’s Martin’s half assed definition that allows him to look but not touch other women – which apparently failed when a player – rumor wise, anyway – asked him to pick up a prostitute. Meanwhile, Sidekick stated an adolescent point of view.

“So what happens if you hate all humans? People just disgust you. What then?” I asked. “Is it possible to love someone?”

Sidekick had no answer.

“And what if you meet one person that you care about. Who, despite everything you don’t feel, makes you feel like you’re human? Is that then love?”

Still he had no answers.

Blessed

If I were a religious man, I’d say I was blessed to have people in my lives who love me in some way or another. I’d also say that I was blessed to be loved by some who are no longer of this or my world. Blessings, however, have little part in this. It’s not fated, it’s just something that happens. And that makes life a lot more pleasant.

Note: Title of this post is taken from a poem by Terr Di Matteo.

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