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Happy Halloween, Mr. 41 year old.

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Happy Halloween, Mr. 41 year old.

I can’t believe I didn’t write about Amber before. I’ve been writing a lot of stuff down these days, and deciding truth needs to be journalized, not just what I hide from everybody else.

I don’t know where my instinct to hide my life comes from. I guess I still have a need to be perfect in my folks eyes, even if it’s a little created perfection.

Anyway… Amber’s story comes with the usual drug confessions.

She’s cool, and it’s not ok to be in love with her. So I’m taking it slow, but enjoying myself.

At 41, most people can’t comprehend how this is such an amazing thing to be, because my sexual maturity is at about where it should have been when I was 14… and I’m a nerd… and this beautiful woman likes me.

These are all new feelings. Ones you may remember fondly from your first crushes, your first dates. This is just too cool. I’m able to completely suspend reality, and be liked by this woman, Amber. She has a smile that changes me. I feel it. A face I can remember longer than normal.

WHat is extra cool, is that I have twice now been with her without the enhancement of any intoxicants, and have held my own. Enjoyed conversation rather than my usual mental noise. I admit to thinking out life whil it was happening, but less so than usual.

I am able to tell my brain I want to do something, and it seems to have listened.

Amber is a dancer.
Some may say a stripper, and she certainly is… but I like to call her a dancer.

I’ve grown up the last 20 years or so hanging around strip clubs more than the norm. A regular at 4 different clubs in the past few years. I’ve seen my friends, and table mates have stripper girlfriends. They’re not like real girlfriends… but thgey’re sexy, great to show off, and they have sex for coke.

Generalized of course, but certainly not a lie.

I have to wonder if I want one? If Amber could be one. A fake girlkfriend that cost me a fortune. I paid a lot more when I lived with my last girlfriend, and although I loved her, she wasn’t quite a “babe”.

I’ve never been able to talk to babes. I obcess too much, and it flusters me to silence. I had made some progress with a waitress at one of my haunts, but again – she wasn’t my ideal woman. Amber is pretty darn close. If she’s fake, I don’t care. She seems to be created as a perfect match for me.

Today, the waiter scared her. Startled the fuck out of her (her words) and I giggled. That’s me! Me at the Piozza place. Jumping 10 feet when somebody says Hi. I giggled. In relationships of any kind, you can see really cool “signs” if you strech what you’re willing to believe just a little. LOve changes perception, and while I am not in love… some of the symptoms are the same.

I’m 41. She is not. It could never be a real realtioship, and that means I get hurt when she needs to be with people her own age. I’d love to be invited to a circle of friends. Maybe I’ll approach is as an idea when I’m in a “happy mood”.

My current happy mood has convinced me to end the journal early. This is not the quality journal I want to keep, and post. Oh no! The woman has changed me already. I’m settling.

The end… for now.

Twitter is back!

Twitter is back!

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To bed or not to bed

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Post Test

Post Test

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Another test – and THEN bed. I promise

Another test – and THEN bed. I promise

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Test crosspost.

Test crosspost.

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