4th of July in San Diego is an amazing thing.
So many beautiful people are out parading their bodies in a delicious display of freedom.
When I say "Beautiful" I am referring to external beauty, only. As the fields of tanned flesh rollerbladed by, I didn't have time to admire much else.
At first I was giddy. So much to look at! It was like 3D Playboy…but with far more variety. Playboy gives you, what, 3 different women to stare at per issue? Sitting in my aluminum beach chair, there were dozens of beauties walking by every 5 minutes.
But my giddiness gradually faded. Without warning, I found myself treading in melancholy. Why? What caused my mental shift? At first I couldn't figure it out.
But then I realized that the reason for my mood change lie somewhere in the difference between these girls and Playboy.
The Playboy women are unattainable. No question. As far as I know, those flawless bunnies don't even exist outside of some airbrush artist's imagination. They are only to be admired. No pressure there.
But the women on the beach are real. They *should* be attainable. I *should* be able to walk up and start talking to them. But I didn't.
Amidst all my whining about being lonely, here were literally hundreds of women that I was attracted to. And I just sat there and smiled.
Although my pride in my country is sky-high, I'm not feeling particularly proud of myself right now. Clearly, the reason I'm alone is me. And I don't know what to do about it.
Maybe I just need to ease up the pressure. Just resign myself to the fact that I'm gonna be alone for a while. Order up a new batch of mail-order porn and focus on work stuff for a bit.
A watched pot never boils and you never find what you're looking for if you're trying too hard, right? Or is that just the cop-out of a coward?
I'm not sure.
All I know is that as the fireworks echo outside my window, I am alone.
july 04, 2000