I am a legitimate writer. For real.

Welcome again folks. Been a busy weekend for me and it seems I'm startin' to gather a lil bit of attention. I really can't explain how much I feel like a rockstar when I go to that facebook fan page and I see I've got comin up on 20 fans at this point (half of 'em I haven't even met). To those of you who are my fans I say Thanks and I hope I don't disappoint with this.

What this is, you see, is a sample of my writing. It's a short story I want to include in a collection of short stories I'm working on along with this blog and a dozen other things I do everyday. Here you go. Hope you enjoy.

The Intro:

I am notoriously bad with women. Always have been. My friend Denise once said I’m the kind of guy that would go to a club and if a girl came up to ask if I wanted to dance I’d say “No thanks, I’m trying to meet women.”
I’ve always been oblivious to the subtle hints of women and I’m definitely no better at approaching them. What do you say to them? Something to break the ice, it should be clever, get her attention, but nothing too forward. None of those cheesy lines will do. Something sincere and original can work but odds are better if you look a certain way.
That’s a trick too. Some girls want tall, dark, and handsome. Of course some don’t want too tall, or too dark, or even too handsome. Then again a tall girl may want a really tall guy. A girl may want a man as black the night. Some girls don’t want the pretty boy.
It’s up to a guy to be all of these and none of these and convince the girl to be okay with whatever he has or doesn’t have. Most of the time that doesn’t work. The good guys get passed over and the bad guys get all the girls that want to change him into a good guy and nobody’s happy.
It’s probably the hardest thing in the world to find somebody who’ll love you for you. It’s damned difficult to be who you are in our society. There are so many billions of dollars spent telling people what to think, what to eat, what to smell like, what good music is. All the stuff that people should decide for themselves, all the things that make them unique are the things people tend to hide to be accepted. Those are also the things that people will truly love them for.
I’m a huge dork. I love comics. I watch cartoons. I have a pretty good sense of humor. I’m not the smartest guy on the planet (thank God) but I do think I’m pretty damn clever sometimes. I’m kind of hairy and lazy. I drink and have been known to smoke from time to time. I will give you the shirt off my back. I like kids. I’m a huge flirt. I’m stubborn and my pride is hurt easily. I believe I am a talented writer. All of that is true. Maybe one day I’ll find someone to love me not in spite of it but because of it.
But that’s all romantic bullshit. Love isn’t like in the movies. There is no map of destiny. There are no guiding stars to lead you to your true love. God does not shine down on you in a ray of light and point you to your destined love.
You meet people you like them or you don’t. You marry one or twenty and you might find one that’ll last you fifty years. You might even live a full and happy life without ever being married. Love can be stupid or crazy or violent or incredible or the only thing that makes any sense. In real life love is everything that people are. All the good and all the bad. These are the stories of how all that stuff really happens. Or at least how it happened for me.

And what I call "Starting off With a Bang"

When I was young and spry the place to go for social events was the Rainbow roller rink. It was where all the kids went on the weekends to have a little fun. It was cheap and the food was decent. You could get burgers, nachos, or chili dogs and all of them sloppy good. There were laser lights and a disco ball to shine on a hardwood floor that I seemed to be tryin’ to dent with my ass.
No, I was not much of a skater at all. I didn’t have my own pair of skates for a long time but I had a whole collection of bruises from trying to learn. A few on my shins were even given to me by my good friend, Sammy. Sam and I had a little quarrel at least once where we kicked each other in the shins with those big, ugly, tanned leather roller skates with the orange wheels. Those damned things had to weigh a good five pounds each so when I got kicked it was easy to see. My legs swelled up so bad with bruises I had trouble walking and couldn’t even roll up my jeans to get a good look at the damage.
So, one afternoon Sam and I rode down to the roller rink in the back of his step-father’s truck. It was hot out, that’s typical for Texas in spring (or just about any other time of year.) The wind kept us kind of cool as we cruised down First and around the loop. By the time we got to the rink my thick black hair had already become somewhat unmanageable. At the time, it wouldn’t have looked good even if it hadn’t been tossed around by the wind. It was too thick to lay slicked back like I wanted and too short to do much else with.
We walked in the skate arena and got our clumsy shoes with the wheels bolted to them. We tied the big, ugly, tanned things to our feet with the chocolate brown laces that always seemed to have either an extra ten inches or be torn to shreds. Like I said I wasn’t much of a skater, so I did spend a lot of time with my ass being planted in the ground. The little while I spent on the skates I looked like a duck trying to take flight the way my butt stuck out behind me and my arms out to either side. Yes, I was damn sexy doing all of this, thank you for noticing.
After about an hour of rolling, sweating, and bruising, Sam and I got to talking. Now Sam likes to push me to do new things. Sometimes it’s so he can help get me out of my shell and sprout a bigger pair. Sometimes it’s so he can sit back and go “Watch, this is gonna be funny.” So, that day Sam was pushing me to ask a girl out. It didn’t matter what girl or if she said yes or no. What was important was getting it out of the way and the experience I would gain. I had never asked a girl out at that point. So, despite being a nervous pansy, I was going to work up the nerve to go up to a complete stranger, tell her she’s attractive and that I would like to take her out with no money, while I was sweaty, and had a thick head of unorganized hair. Hell of a plan by two young boys with nothing better to do.
So I picked a girl I thought decent looking, a dark-haired Hispanic girl with a few slightly Asian features. Maybe she was Filipino; I’m not sure on that seeing as there’s been an awful lot of beer between now and then so I don’t remember so well. I went up to her and I was in such a daze I really have no idea exactly what it was that I said to her. I’m sure I stuttered a bit and probably talked quietly as I tend to do when I’m nervous. To be perfectly truthful I’m not sure I’m the one that went up to her at all. Sam may have done all the talking for me. I was pretty out of my head with fear. Like I said, I’m a nervous pansy.
What I do remember was very harsh. Not the part where she shot me down. That’s fine. No one likes being rejected but what can you do? I figured maybe if I could find out why I was rejected then I could improve my standing next time around. Sam and I went back to ask her why it was that I was rejected.
Damn big mistake. Never ask why you are rejected by a woman. She will tell you. Hardly ever does a woman say anything politely if she is pushed on a subject.
“Because He’s Ugly!”
Yeah, that part I remember very clearly. Something like that sticks with a person like a scar. I asked and I got an answer. And so did half the roller rink.
Bitch.
Okay, so I got shot down. No problem. She said I was ugly too. Well everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
Bitch.
At least I never have to see her again, right?
Wow, couldn’t be anymore wrong about that. Come Monday morning as I sit in my Texas history class and glance across the room who is it that I see? Yeah, that Filipino looking girl sitting in the same desk she sat in all year long without me noticing her.
Son of a bitch.
Okay if I just keep my head down for the next three months I can keep from being even more embarrassed by her. I guess that plan worked because I’ve never talked to her after that day in the rink. I’ve dated girls much more attractive than her since then so it was just her opinion that I was unattractive. Eh, you live, you learn, you move on.
Bitch.


This and more can be found on my blog at www.myspace.com/sonuvadamnit