I was talking to my buddy/co-worker and he's telling me that, at 30, he may never settle down, have kids, all that shit. He tells me that he keeps hearing that living a life with all of the joys of triumph and the accompanying despair of defeat is better than having not having experienced any of that at all. What's that bumper-sticker? "I'd rather have loved and lost, than never loved at all" or some shit.

He claims to have been through enough highs and lows and now wants nothing but complete neutrality. No Chocolate-Peanut-Butter swirl ice cream, no bubblegum and peppermint, just Vanilla.

I remember a time when I thought just Vanilla was what I wanted. The Girl had fallen in love with me, and I with her. Then she pulled my still-beating heart out of my chest and ran it over with a fucking road-paver, backed up, and did it again. Vanilla for me, from now on, thanks.

Even when we got back together this time (a few years after the road-paver), I was wary and justifiably so.

She'd say, "Oh, I'm in love with you!" and I'd think, "Too bad you're a cheating, lying cunt," but would say, "Yeah, you're not so bad yourself... now let's have sex." I didn't trust her and didn't want to.

This went on for a while. Then, one day, I realized that I could have some great, anonymous, monkey sex with the hottest girl I knew at the time and no one ever know.

And I couldn't do it.

I was too drunk.

I'm kidding. I couldn't do it because I was in LOVE, you sick fucks.

Love does strange things to a guy. I'm sure with chicks its all drawing-hearts-and-flowers-on-your-note-book and making up pet names like "Schmoopums" and "Wiggleworm", but for a guy, it's mostly trying NOT to make up pet names like "Unholy Succubus from the shit-lined depths of Hades" or "Satan", and it sucks. Somehow it takes away all the shit that we thought we ever wanted to do and makes us not feel bad about it. I no longer wanted to fuck hot, married women. I didn't want to play hockey 4 nights a week and close the bar after each and every game. Hell, I didn't even want to stay home and drink myself into a lonesome stupor while futilely attempting to masturbate to nasty internet porn.

I wanted to be with her. I didn't WANT to be with her so much as things seemed better if she was around.

I got back into my art. Not the tortured abstracts that I'd done where I'd smear the charcoal with my own tears (it would've been very symbolic if I'd done it on purpose) while drawing my wounded soul, but portraits and landscapes where I tried to capture the light just right and they were pretty.

I got into the Suzy-homemaker role and enjoyed making dinner, sewing her clothes, and doing her laundry.

I turned into a fucking girl.

I'm happy though.

I realize now that my depressed state last Saturday was because I missed her.

Damn, did that shit suck.

I hate being lonely.

I'm such a pussy.