I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

In another life, known as the age of 14, I had a big crush on a boy. Before I get started recalling any type of detail about the nature of our relationship - no relationship whatsoever, actually - I feel compelled to describe our differences in outward appearance. Jason, last name Whothehellknows, was a rather attractive specimen of boy. Tall, slender, rather nice hair, amazing glasses. He was probably the boy that got me started on my love of guys that wear glasses, actually. I liked them so much that I even renamed him. Pretty Glasses Boy he was dubbed, PGB for short and I was completely infatuate. So was the rest of the female student body, to be honest. He delivered letters and memos to other classrooms for the office and you could hear the murmur down the hall from the girls after he left a room. I, on the other hand, was on the other side of aesthetically pleasing. I was short, too skinny, and my hair was wrong. Come to think of it, when isn't my hair wrong? I digress. He

8:00 pm “All you have to do is throw her some dollars,” Ken says. Apparently it’s all in the wrist and I’m tossing the money wrong. I never knew there was a way to do it wrong, but I have found a way. It’s 8 pm and I’m at Strokers. For my birthday. Two weeks late. I’m not complaining. 9:47 pm “Do you want anything else to drink? Another shot of Patron good?” Ned and Ken have been pumping me full of alcohol for the past hour and change. I wish I knew what they were trying to achieve. “So, how many more shots do we need to get you before you start taking off your top?” 9:53 pm Her name is Alex. She’s a rather nice girl considering that I met her from staring at the inside of her vagina. Which, I must say, is a really great way to start a conversation. “Hey, I love your necklace!” Hit a split. “The one with the rainbows, I mean.” Cheeks spread… Man, it’s really pink in there. 10:51 pm I’m at The Hideout now. I managed to drive to Anabelle’s house and not crash the car, so I feel rather

I yawned a few minutes ago and for a moment I couldn’t move. My neck was stuck in an awkward way and I had tears in my eyes from what I imagine was pain. It was only about 10 seconds, but it seemed like 10 years instead. I took the time to think about things I was opposed to. Like dying with my head stuck to the left mid-yawn face. Or fat girls in booty shorts. Or wasps. I’m greatly opposed to wasps.

I just want to know why it is that men keep looking at me with all those eyes? Eyes, alone, sexy as all hell. I want nothing more than for a boy to stare at me with his so I can stare at him with mine. Kind of like a contest that I'm always hopeful no one ever has to win. Victory only means that we need to stop staring at each other. And why would I ever want to do that. Add some extra eyes to the already awesome pair, and you've got yourself a weak-kneed girl. Does it make me kinky to find glasses so insanely attractive? Am I a freak nasty for wanting to kiss a boy senseless for being blind? I mean, I'm really sorry if you're near-eyed, far-eyed or just plain fucked in the cornea, but I feel like it should be okay for me to benefit from your problem. If I could find a way to get a boy to keep their glasses on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I'd probably stay hot every day for the rest of my life. I understand that sex with a pair of lenses held by a pie

I cheat on my wife. Quite regularly, I might add. It's not even one of those situations where I 'm doing it behind her back, however. She knows; the extent of how much a mystery to even me. In my day, I was never known as the man who dated stupid women, and I definitely didn't marry her because she had less than a 4.2 GPA in high school. She was the valedictorian to my salutatorian and nothing makes my pants a little tighter than a smart woman, but that wasn't even the reason I married her. I married her because she didn't judge me for my faults and blindly loved me beyond all reason. I've loved her since the day we met and I'll continue to love her for as long as she'll allow and I suppose that's the reason that I feel even the slightest bit guilty about what it is that I do. The acts that I commit that go against the sanctity of our marriage. I love my wife. I just don't love her enough to not want to have sex with other women. Two years ago, I

I spend a great deal of my time worrying about what to say. What would be the best way to phrase words and sentences without sounding like a complete loser dork asshole? It never really works out that well, considering all that time I spend thinking would be better used just talking. By the time I have thought of something adequately satisfying, the moment has passed and so has the topic of conversation. Thus the vicious cycle starts itself all over again.