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stretchjournalemerson · 4 years ago

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Contrails

By Anthony Manupelli

Part One: Peace

Had a talk with my old man,

Said help me understand.

He said, turn 68, you’ll renegotiate

Don’t stop this train

- John Mayer

A month before the crash, it all came back to me. I spent hours, upon hours in fear. I hadn’t given it any thought since I was a little kid. Aside from the good memories, such as watching the Curious George movie with my siblings on a warm summer morning in 2007, I remember panicking about it when I was all alone.

The night it changed; I was nine. It was long past my bedtime and I had school the next day. My stomach turned as my brain spiraled out of control. My make-shift room in the basement of my childhood home had been repurposed from a small office to an oversized bedroom that I so thrillingly shared with spiders, the dark, and my overwhelming thoughts. Despite the unnecessary amount of space I had, I felt so trapped. Coming off a hot streak of realizations, including my discovery of the fact that Santa wasn’t real, and that the WWE was staged, I took a deep dive into an abyss of analysis into what was real and what was fake. And then, the mother of all struggles occurred.

I was raised Catholic and didn’t think much of it for most of my early years. We honestly weren’t very committed churchgoers. My siblings and I would fight with our parents pretty often about attending church early on Sunday morning. We kind of all just accepted the fact that our mother wanted us to be Catholic. So, I never really delved deeper into a spiritual awakening, I just did as I was told. But time and time again, I discovered I shouldn’t simply accept the world that is placed in front of me and the fact that I will only find truth in life by constantly questioning my reality, I began to question my mother’s teachings. I froze. As if I was hit on the top of the head, my brain began buzzing, and I fell down a rabbit hole, a psychotic conundrum of thought. The topic of my panic: what happens when we die?

“What happens after this, what happens, what happens, what is happening to me”? I couldn’t stop. For the first time in my life, I was spiraling. My blood curled, I felt it in my face. I rolled into a ball and clenched my stomach to avoid spilling out its contents. I felt my fingers numb and my brain freeze. All of this, as if no other human being had gone through a spiritual crisis or could understand my confusion and panic.

I continuously asked, “what if…”, and it never ended. At nine, I was bargaining with myself to come to terms with something that no human had ever completely understood. My panic stirred so deep into the night, that I was met with my father’s questioning, the next morning, as he prepared for his day.

“What’s wrong Anthony, you’re freaking out. What happened?”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing, Dad. I’m fine.” I figured if I didn’t say it out loud then it wouldn’t be true.

“No Anthony seriously, this stops right now. What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to invite my poor father into this personal hell of my over analysis of the spacetime continuum. So, I simplified it to the catalyst of my fear and promptly begged,

“Dad, what really happens when we die?”

He paused. I never knew if he did so to make me feel understood and calm me down or to actually process the question. Regardless, he resolved.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

And instantly, I was relieved. I never understood why. But from that moment forward, I never feared death or thought about it again. At least not in the science-fiction, fantastical, terrifying way my brain had me pondering in those moments. Not once, did I waste an ounce of my time fearing death, not until much later.

Part Two: Body Separation

Upside down

Who's to say what's impossible and can't be found

I don't want this feeling to go away

Please don't go away

-Jack Johnson

I remember my dad’s face when I got the car. As I drove out of my driveway, alone, for the first time, he waved goodbye. And it was at that moment, I realized I was grown up. I wasn’t the kid he had calmed down years before. I had a new cast of characters in my life. Friends he didn’t know but they were the people I brought my concerns, dreams, and questions to. I became my own person without even realizing it. And he wasn’t waving goodbye to me. He was waving goodbye to the little kid he had known all the years prior. He was waving goodbye to my childhood.

But time marched on and I became incredibly fond of my car. I drove all the time. I mean all of the time. Every month of the year, everywhere my friends or I went. I was always the one driving and I loved it.

Massachusetts winters are pretty brutal and it's usually hard to find something to do. So my car became not only a vehicle of physical transportation but an escape from the freezing cold and lack of activity. That car brought me together with so many people. The sheer amount of people who had taken a ride in my car had become a running joke. It encapsulated my entire teenage experience; it brought me so far away from home yet together with so many people.

The summer returned and it was time for one of my childhood best friends to go to school. I was the last person to send them off as I dropped them off to their house after spending the entire night out in commemoration of our years together.

I remember returning home, alone, after the sunrise, devastated. It was one of the most painful goodbyes I’ve ever had to do. It was a goodbye, not a see you soon.

So, when my dad found me in my car, he comforted me and asked why I was so upset.

“My childhood’s over dad. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t know how and don’t want to be an adult”.

He paused again and gave me time to relax. We both knew I just needed to get some sleep.

“I never grew up. I’ve aged but we’re all still kids at heart” he offered.

Time marched on. And despite my initial doubt of my dad’s input, he was right. I had aged but I was still a little kid at heart. This became clear as I sat in my bed on a windy December night and began to panic again.

“What happens when we die”?

I hadn’t thought about that in nearly a decade. It hadn’t kept me awake, late at night, since I was nine. But here I was all grown up panicking in my top bunk in a new house, in a new room. The location, people, and time changed, but my fear remained the same.

Only this time, the fear sweltered unlike ever before. I found myself at a crossroads once again. However, my dad’s words and my logic would not comfort me. I needed something more.

But, after dwelling for over a month, I received my answer in the most unexpected scenario.

Part Three: Entering Darkness

Once in a while, when it’s good

It’ll feel like it should

And they’re all still around

And you’re still safe and sound

And you don’t miss a thing

‘Til you cry

When you’re driving away in the dark

-Also, John Mayer

The moments leading up to the crash were so normal, completely tranquil. I regret not paying attention to what song was playing; I was so focused on where I was going that I forgot to take-in where I was.

The road we were travelling down was a two-lane highway. Visibility was terrible, there were no streetlights the entire way as we drove through a road carved through the wilderness. The pine trees towered over the car, looming left to right; the moon casting their shadows onto the pavement. A light fog spilled onto the road perpetuating the gloominess of the scene.

I remember looking out the window and noticing a valley of dead trees. I wondered what had happened to them, all the way out there, alone. I had traveled that road before, many times. When I was younger, I never noticed the dead trees. I must have been enamored by the color of the other ones. But my attention no longer resided with what is. What once was seemed to be the solution to all my problems.

If I could just figure out why, then I’d feel safe again.

Why had all of this happened?

Why are we here?

Why me?

I became a full-time philosopher as a compulsion for my obsessive thoughts. To no avail, of course. None of it mattered anyway.

As I continued traveling down the road, I realized how comfortable I had become with it. The low visibility, the spooky trees, the moonlight, the life and death no longer stroking fear as I moved along.

I had traveled this road so many times before that I was as familiar with its features as I was myself.

So, it was in complete shock when I slowed down and took a left turn off the road only to be met with a blinding flash of white, followed by immediate darkness.

Part Four: Seeing the Light

The sun is going down

There's shadows all around

And I feel more than wine

We must do this again sometime

But I can't tell you when

But what a joy it's been

All that we have is now

- Jesse Winchester

…

My dad and I have a term for the situations life throws your way when you are doing one thing and then find yourself completely lost in an unexpected situation. We refer to this special place of confusion/limbo as “Claire’s Living Room”.

To provide an example of this phenomena without going into detail of its origins, I realized I was in Claire’s Living Room as I sat alone in a hospital bed, with an IV in my left arm, listening to the staff count down to the new year in the break room.

2020 was a tumultuous year, but I truly did not expect to be welcomed into 2021 by a man in a cloak in a blindingly bright room. That man, of course, being one of the nicest doctors I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I just wish it had occurred under different circumstances.

They checked my vitals, all was well. Some slight bruising on my right ribs, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a matter of days to weeks.

“Do you have any other concerns or questions for me?” He asked at just about two in the morning.

I couldn’t believe I was alive and okay. No one was seriously injured. No one had died. Yet, it felt like a part of me had been permanently altered. The crash was bad; really bad. Fortunately, both cars had done their job and protected every passenger. Everyone was wearing their seat belts and no other cars were there at the time of the accident. The street shut down for a short period of time to assist in the tow and clean up of both cars.

My memory of the aftermath begins with me already out of the car. I must have subconsciously exited the vehicle after getting hit with the airbags. The car was totaled. Immediately. Way gone. I remember watching the first officers and passersby see my car and look in disgust at how twisted it was. I was still out of it, so noticing other people looking shocked to see me standing on my feet brought tears to my eyes.

I wasn’t hurt, at least not physically. I went back into the wreck to find my phone. As more people began arriving at the scene, more strangers, cops, firemen, I began to panic. The situation was easily the most overwhelming experience of my life. And loud. I mean earth shatteringly loud. From the moment of impact, to the ringing in my ears, to the first responders, the sirens, the people.

But I couldn’t find my phone. I needed to call my parents and tell them to come to the scene. I needed them to know I was okay, to hear my voice before a police officer called them to inform them, I had been involved in an accident.

I was petrified that my parents would think I was dead.

After a few minutes of searching, I asked one of my friends to call my dad. My dad would explain to me later that my friend’s phone call sent him into panic. Apparently, he was sitting with my mom when he received the call. My friend was so shaken up that he could barely get the words out.

“Anthony, you need to get here.”

“What’s wrong? Where are you? Is everyone okay?” My dad immediately grabbed his things and waved my mom toward the garage.

“Down North Street, outside the state police barracks. We got into an accident, it’s really bad you just need to get here now”.

For about ten minutes, I had no way of communicating to my parents to let them know I was okay. For ten minutes, my parents feared the chance that I might have died. Something no parent should have to think about or go through. Certainly, something I would never have wished to have forced my parents to think about.

It was easily the most painful and anxiety inducing ten minutes of my life. Ten minutes of pure fear. And the people, more people, constantly more people. I had never seen so many people in one place in my entire life. The lights, the noise, the people.

My heart beat wildly, my brain froze once again, my stomach turned in my panic.

But when my parents arrived at the scene and I hugged them and told them I was okay, all my fear absolved.

I never understood how fast something as simple as seeing your family face to face could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

In a flash.

…

As I sat in that hospital bed, I realized I had the answer to my fears, crisis, and confusion all along.

In the face of death, all that matters is love. The only truth in life is found within. Love is the answer: all there ever was, is, and will be. And through love, life is eternal.

I’m not going to sit here and validate the specific hypothesis on near-death-experiences because I truly don’t know. What I will say is that the stages of life, growth, and change all coincide with the supposed course of a near-death-experience. And I don’t know that I would have found solace in my quest for answers if I hadn’t come that close to losing it all.

When I got a taste for nothing, I returned to find everything.

Part Five: Entering the Light

I've looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It's life's illusions I recall

I really don't know life at all

-Joni Mitchell

Since I was a little kid, I’ve always loved contrails. People usually miss them and/or have no idea what I’m talking about when I use the term. Contrails are the clouds released by planes in the sky. The next time you’re outside, look up and I’m sure you’ll see one. I remember, during early quarantine, not seeing a single plane in the sky as if time had come to a halt. No contrails. Our inability to be with each other prevented their spirited existence within the sky.

When I was younger, I was amazed by them. I always felt like I was watching an artist paint massive strokes up in the sky. They’re beautiful, truly amazing things.

The next time I saw a plane leaving its mark in the sky, contrails had taken on a new meaning. Instead of the stroke of an artist, they are the mark of a lifetime; mysteriously appearing out of thin air, releasing a beautiful stride for all to see, and gradually fading to the stars.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my family and anyone else that’s ever loved me into being. I love you.

#stretch2021 #memoir

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samanthasroberts · 7 years ago

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You May Be A Good Dude, But Here’s Why You’re Single

I used to be a “Nice Girl” — a former walking Taylor Swift song in geeky glasses who’d stare longingly through your bedroom window while singing about how terrible your girlfriend is. I used to make homemade fudge for all the cute boys in the hope they’d notice me. Now, I write romance novels. And when I published a book about ghosts and serial killers, the creepy stalker guy was the one who attracted weirdly devoted fan girls.

The point is, I know where nice guys are coming from. I’ve cringed while watching them unknowingly sabotage their relationships. I’ve winced through stories from my female friends of how nice guys became creepy. I’ve watched good guys like you chase away nice girls who really did once want to give them a chance. So if you don’t understand how your sweetness and good intentions could possibly scare anyone away, buckle up, because I’m about to give you some inside info on where you’re going wrong.

The Big Sickly Sweet Romantic Gesture

Here’s a fun game. Sit down with a bunch of girls and ask them to make a list of the sweetest, most romantic things a guy they like has ever done for them. Then ask them to make a list of the creepiest, scariest, most WTF things a guy they didn’t like had ever done to try to get their attention. Then count how many of the exact same things are on both lists.

Sappy poetry, sketches, drawings, acoustic ballads, mix tapes — sweet, personalized, homemade gestures are the unstable land mines of romantic weapons. Get it right and you’ll demolish the competition, shake the ground, and blow away … um … whatever gets exploded when two people suddenly decide they really like each other.

Get it wrong and you’ve just shot Cupid’s dick clean off.

pixdeluxe/iStock “I made a sand castle based on floor plans from your childhood home.”

Hey, this former fudge-making girl gets the appeal of sweet sappy gestures. I’ve written poetry for guys I liked. I’ve made mixtapes and playlists. Hell, I’ve even sewn things for guys. And I’ve included all kinds of grand romantic gestures in books I’ve written. The entertainment industry has been living off the sweet romantic gesture long before lovestruck 90s kids held boomboxes over their heads. When it comes to love, we’re trained to think bigger is better.

In movies, it doesn’t even matter how jerky your gesture is. In the grand cheerleading epic Bring It On, cute-guy-who-recently-did-an-NCIS-cameo (Jesse Bradford) shows up at head cheerleader Kirsten Dunst’s house with a cassette tape of a song he wrote for her. The song starts off with him insulting the most important thing in her life, before telling her he wants to feed her chocolates and screw her in a barn. Because it’s a movie, she starts dancing on her bed in her pajamas and spanking herself with her pompoms.

Universal Pictures This is not love.

In real life, there are just so many ways to get it wrong.

First off, it has to be really good. Bad amateur poetry and crappy artwork is just sad. Beyond that, there’s no faster way to look creepy than to come on way too strong … which makes music especially dangerous because there aren’t that many songs with lyrics like, “Hey, I think you’re kind of cute and I’d like to maybe go out sometime, if that’s cool with you.”

That aside, you’ve both got to be on the exact same page for it to work. If you take her out to dinner and she hates the food, you can both laugh it off and move on. But if you spend hours writing her a song, composing a poem, or organizing a flash mob to do a choreographed dance, she has to really love it. Like a lot. Because if she’s just “meh” about it, there’s no going back from that. You’ve just crammed any hope of a relationship into your ass and fart-launched it into the sun.

Because your sickly, sweet, romantic art is your goddamn heart spilled out on paper. It’s throwing the biggest weapon you’ll ever have — and that’s an incredibly big, risky, and frankly stupid thing to do. Whether she likes it or not, you’ve just put her on the spot. It’s often embarrassing and uncomfortable … and why would you want to embarrass someone you like? That doesn’t get fun until marriage.

Martin Dimitrov/iStock “That doesn’t even look like me. Terrible.”

You want to try a real-life sickly sweet romantic gesture on a real human girl? Start small. Nothing big. Nothing intense. Nothing pledging undying love. Don’t blow your romantic wad on someone you haven’t actually dated yet (or worse: is in a relationship with someone else). Because that’s just awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.

The Freaking Generous Grand Gesture

A friend of mine had been dating Mr. Nice Guy for about a week when she made an offhand joke about needing a massage. To her shock, he showed up for their next date with a gift-wrapped exotic personal massager. I know a guy who paid a girl’s credit card bills before he’d taken her on a first date. I know another who decided a weeklong trip together at Disney World would be the perfect way to start a brand-new relationship — and he lives in Canada.

Nice people kick ass at grand gestures. But every single one of those relationships I mentioned ended up crashing and burning in a big ball of flames and humiliation. Because here’s the thing: Grand gestures — especially financial ones — are very uncomfortable and even just plain crazy to people who aren’t used to it.

Money makes people weird. It just does. Especially when everyone else shows up to a birthday party thinking a “hey” is all the occasion requires, and you walk in with a gift-wrapped Xbox.

Don’t you hate being around the kind of asshole who’s always showing off that he has more money than you? How about the slimy turd who’s always paying the bill but leaves you feeling like he’s running some creepy agenda? Those guys are movie punchlines, villains, or Richard Gere. Don’t start off a relationship looking like a bag of money who’s saving the prostitute.

The gut reaction to this is: “I’ve spent a lifetime being told I should pay for dates and now you’re telling me that women hate men who pay for things? So, basically I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t?”

No, I’m saying your big, grand gestures might be self-sabotaging. You want to pick up the check? Then try asking the object of your affection if they’re cool with it. Or “Hey, I was thinking of booking something really fancy for our first date. Is that cool with you, or would you rather do something low key?” Remember, there are two of you in this thing. You’ve got to think about what’s not going to make it uncomfortable for her.

If your intention is to impress her with a fancy night out, and she’s on board with that idea, it’s going to be awesome. If your intention is to make her feel like she owes you something in return, you’re not actually a nice guy — you’re just a piece of shit.

Showering Them With Time And Attention, All The Time … Non Stop

One of the worst things I ever did, back in my nice girl, Taylor Swift stage was try to charm my way into a hot guy’s heart by giving him a personalized version of that stalker classic song where the guy pledges to watch his beloved constantly, every step she takes, every move she makes, because she belongs to him. It failed. Oh, how it failed.

For most women, nothing is creepier than a guy who smothers her by wanting to be around her, all the time. Which is really bad news for nice guys, because wanting exactly that is in their nature. They click “like” on all of her social media posts. They offer to help her with work, hobbies, homework. They show up when she gets off work to give her a ride. Being everywhere she is, all the time, forever, quickly goes from “He seems sweet” to “Ugh! Leave me alone for two goddamn minutes” to “I’m calling the police.”

I know a chick who freaked out at a guy for liking all of her posts, on all of her social media accounts, the second she posted them (He’d set up a bunch of alerts). I know another girl who ran screaming from a nice guy when it became clear he changed his bus schedule in order to sit near her every day. Basically any time you find yourself arguing with someone you barely know about why she doesn’t text you more often, you can presume the little voice in her head is chanting, “Run, run, run, RUN!”

Seems harsh? Well, from a woman’s perspective there are way more creepy, controlling, possessive, asshole stalker dudes in the world than there are nice guys. How’s she supposed to know you’re not one of them? It’s important to know that this isn’t your fault … but if you overcorrect by being around nonstop to show her how much of a normal guy you are, you’re just cranking the volume on her stalker alarm.

The “I’m Just Trying To Protect You” Thing

The world is full of assholes and creeps, and from the perspective of nice guys, too many hot and interesting women gravitate toward them. If only the evildoers among us were unmasked and the pretty girl at the next desk really saw just how bad that guy is, she’d fall right into your arms. Or at the very least, you’d be saving her a world of hurt.

Look, I get it. It’s noble to want to rescue people. There’s a whole subgenre of angsty music dedicated to helping girls see that their boyfriend’s a dick and a douchebag, and you can’t believe she’s really going out with him because he doesn’t know anything about her because he isn’t what a prince and lover ought to be. Which can be very sweet and very caring. Sometimes. But honestly? It can also be patronizing as hell and extremely annoying, because basically what you’re saying to a fellow grown-ass human being is that you know better than her and she’s not smart enough to know what she’s gotten herself into. You’re telling her that by going out with that guy, she’s being duped. You might as well be shouting directly into her face, “Wake up, you fucking idiot!”

It comes in lots of forms: “Here’s all the dirt on the guy you’re dating. Here’s why he’s no good for you. If you were my girl, you’d be treated like a queen,” or “Please don’t do this thing I don’t like because it’s bad for you, and I want you to be healthy and happy,” or “Please don’t ruin yourself by screwing that guy, or getting that tattoo, or going to that college, or whatever.” All of that boils down to, “Hey girl! I know what you need better than you do!”

Whether you like it or not, she’s got a reason for doing whatever she’s doing. Sure, you can offer to weigh in as a friend. But be prepared that she might not want to hear your opinion and it’s likely to piss her off.

Her body, heart, future, and mind are her business. Those things belong to her. Not you. Forgetting that, or acting like she doesn’t make good decisions, or nagging her about her life after she’s told you to drop it, will make you look like an asshole and fast.

You care. You’re nice. But as much as you’re going to hate hearing this: Sometimes, being too nice really is the problem. And that brings me to the point that is going to sound like an alien language to nice guys …

You Avoid Confrontation At All Costs

Nice people don’t like fighting. They don’t like hurting people, so they don’t risk confrontation. Because of that, they often don’t say what they mean. They also don’t like rejection, so instead of just coming out and saying they’re interested in a person, they drop hints. Then they get frustrated and hurt when that person doesn’t catch on. Unfortunately, that all adds up to make you look like a petrified little kid.

If nice people are lucky enough to get into a relationship, they’ll do just about anything to keep it … which often means avoiding arguments. They won’t bring up what’s bothering them, especially if the source of that hurt (even unintentionally) is their significant other. Instead they hide it, ignore it, or sugar coat it for a REALLY long time, until they finally hit a breaking point, and it shoots out of their word hole like emotional projectile vomit. What should have been a simple, honest conversation turns into a huge blow-out argument.

Don’t do that.

Conflict and confrontation are a major part of relationships. You can’t ask her out if you can’t confront her. You can’t fix a fractured relationship if you don’t talk about the conflict. The important part is remembering that there’s a difference between “I’d like to talk about something that’s been bothering me” and “You’ve been a fucking bitch lately, and now it’s throw-down time!”

It’s terrifying — god knows I get that — but it’s necessary. You want to show a grand gesture of your love and commitment? This is the best way to do it. If the relationship has problems, talking about it (and, yes, even arguing about it) shows that you care enough to fix it. If you like the pretty girl, let her know in a straightforward, simple, and honest way. Remember, if she’s a nice girl, she’s probably just as terrified as you. But at least it won’t be because you came across as a creepy stalker freak show.

Mags writes books with kissing and ghosts in them. You can bother her on Twitter.

The proliferation of beer pong and craft beer may have you think that we’re living in one of the peak times to get drunk, but humans have been getting famously hammered for millennia. Like a frat house’s lawn after a kegger, history is littered with world-changing events that were secretly powered by booze. The inaugural games of the Roman Coliseum, the drafting of the U.S. Constitution, and the Russian Revolution were all capped off by major parties that most attendees probably regretted in the morning.

Join Jack O’Brien and Cracked staffers Carmen Angelica, Alex Schmidt, Michael Swaim, plus comedian Blake Wexler for a retelling of history’s biggest moments you didn’t realize everyone was drunk for.

Get your tickets here:

Source: http://allofbeer.com/you-may-be-a-good-dude-but-heres-why-youre-single/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/06/20/you-may-be-a-good-dude-but-heres-why-youre-single/

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adambstingus · 7 years ago

Text

You May Be A Good Dude, But Here’s Why You’re Single

The Big Sickly Sweet Romantic Gesture

Get it wrong and you’ve just shot Cupid’s dick clean off.

pixdeluxe/iStock “I made a sand castle based on floor plans from your childhood home.”

Universal Pictures This is not love.

In real life, there are just so many ways to get it wrong.

Martin Dimitrov/iStock “That doesn’t even look like me. Terrible.”

The Freaking Generous Grand Gesture

Money makes people weird. It just does. Especially when everyone else shows up to a birthday party thinking a “hey” is all the occasion requires, and you walk in with a gift-wrapped Xbox.

Showering Them With Time And Attention, All The Time … Non Stop

The “I’m Just Trying To Protect You” Thing

You Avoid Confrontation At All Costs

Don’t do that.

Mags writes books with kissing and ghosts in them. You can bother her on Twitter.

Get your tickets here:

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/you-may-be-a-good-dude-but-heres-why-youre-single/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/175073121532

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allofbeercom · 7 years ago

Text

You May Be A Good Dude, But Here’s Why You’re Single

The Big Sickly Sweet Romantic Gesture

Get it wrong and you’ve just shot Cupid’s dick clean off.

pixdeluxe/iStock “I made a sand castle based on floor plans from your childhood home.”

Universal Pictures This is not love.

In real life, there are just so many ways to get it wrong.

Martin Dimitrov/iStock “That doesn’t even look like me. Terrible.”

The Freaking Generous Grand Gesture

Money makes people weird. It just does. Especially when everyone else shows up to a birthday party thinking a “hey” is all the occasion requires, and you walk in with a gift-wrapped Xbox.

Showering Them With Time And Attention, All The Time … Non Stop

The “I’m Just Trying To Protect You” Thing

You Avoid Confrontation At All Costs

Don’t do that.

Mags writes books with kissing and ghosts in them. You can bother her on Twitter.

Get your tickets here:

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/you-may-be-a-good-dude-but-heres-why-youre-single/

0 notes