i have this ability to bottle up any kind of extreme emotion that comes my way. i don’t know if its an amazing ability, but its just something that i can do.

for example, in 2001, when i was laid from my dot-com job, i was pretty emotionless when the ceo of the company brought me into his office to tell me that i lost my job. maybe it was because i saw it coming or maybe it was because i didn’t really care. the one thing i remember was him saying “just say something.” i had no response. what do you say? “fuck you, man, i hope your company fails.” that probably would have been appropriate, but i just didn’t say anything. all i came up with was “what do you want me to say?” sure, i wish i would have sad something more profound, but i just kept it away and threw myself into a fit of depression that including all-night yahoo chat sessions and ssx 2 on the ps2.

most recently, i was metaphorically kicked in the balls by a girl that i thought liked me and in return i liked. we connected on every angle. we had the same likes and dislikes. we had the same tastes in music, sports, and movies. we had the same type of relationship with our mothers. we connected. the only problem i saw was that she is way out of my league. i can assure you, that’s not me in the picture above, but i wouldn’t really consider myself a real looker. i am a big guy — well over six feet and just over 300 lbs. i have long curly hair that when not properly groomed, which is most of the time, looks like i just got out of bed. the girl, on the other hand, is drop dead gourgeous. not a single flaw on her. lights up a room when she walks in. anyway, back to the story, the other night we went out and had a great time. we get back to my apartment complex, i make the offer for her to come in for a drink, but she declines due to early morning commitments. i walk her to her car. we talk. we hug. i give her a little kiss on the cheek. she drives away. the next day i get a call from her. we start with some small chit-chat then she tears into the incident about the kiss. she tells me that she didn’t want me to get any false expectations about our relationship. she informed that she is seeing somebody. she still likes going out with me though. i tell her that i had to take the chance. she said i’m funny and silly. she knows she’s out of my league. she said she still likes going out with me and looks forward to whatever else we do. she said i’m a good friend. i begin to bottle up everything i want to say. i tell her i understand. i had to take the chance. she said i’m funny and silly. i said i would still like to be her friend. the bottle is nearly full. she said that she’d like to go out again with some other friends of mine. i said that would be fun. i hang up with a bottle full of pain.

while writing this, i am listening to tom wait’s blood money. its not robert smith, but what is? besides, i don’t own any cure. the bottle of irish whiskey is calling me. i’m tempted to answer the call, but i don’t want to fall into that trap. it would be too easy of a way out. this is just another in a long line of girls that show interest me then rip my heart out, show it me, eat it, regurgitate it, then stomp on it. i should be used to it by now and in a way i am. i just thought this would have been different.