Until I Get...There: My Ode To Jozen

Now mind you, I'm not good with attempting to try to SOUND like a perfectionist, nor am I an asskisser, but I like to give credit where it's due. In the past year or so, I've followed one person, one blog daily. It's driven me to write more, yet give slight insight on my life. At 23, I haven't done much of what he's done, but I just wanted to shine light on Jozen. "Until I Get Married" has pretty much been my Bible for the better part of 2010 and the end of 2009. When I was going through trials and tribulations with women, I knew...he had been there, done that. Almost to the point he perfected my flaws.

Its good to know when you have someone older that you can look to for insight. So some of his blogs I've gone and tried to put my own insight into because of a similar situation. It's not a "Tucker Max" situation where the blogs had been ripped off and sold as someone elses. His stories are his, mine are simply mine. I could brush up on a spell check or two sometimes, but this is as real as it gets for me.

So Jozen, this is to you man, I appreciate you for being My "Michael Jordan", the guy I strive to be, but probably won't ever get there. Hopefully one day I meet you, and just thought you should know that.

- Greg

The Cunnilingus Chronicles: Showerlude

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He don't need 'em, so he treats 'em like he treats 'em

...Better them than me, she don’t agree with em’.

Now I’ve been really trying to be consistent, or somewhat consistent with this blog again. Three blogs in a week is a good thing. Could speak on plenty but I dont. I try to just keep shit simple and personal, but sometimes the thoguht that someone might view it may be a good thing. So lets converse. Well...I will. You ever felt like you’ve fucked up so much when it comes to life, that its like you have a “Karma” halo. Now mind you...the ex of three years, family still reference her every once in a while. Why, is beyond me. I’ll love her even after I die, but some things just don’t work out. That being said I go into every situation with “the next girl” like so: Head first.

I’ve faulted plenty of times trying that laid back shit only to either get bored...or simply get played. Yes, I’ve been played before. Shit happens. Spanish fly who would fuck me but bunned the regular in the face dude. The interim. Shit, even...the name unspoken. But lets move forward before I get off subject. I might have a guilty conscience, but I’ve been guilty of being right before. Now theres this. Like I know somethings up. They wont speak on it, I wont ever know, but I know theres a third party. I can’t knock it, females do that. Keep a backup in case something goes wrong. Now...me being the old me...I’d probably be like “fuck it, I’ll go and get my own side piece”. But really..how many times have I done that and blogged about it? Sometimes...you just want what you want, even if what they want might take more.

Do I become the old Greg? Probably not. I have a heart again, and if I result to the old me...it wont end good. It never does, 1730 phone contacts later. I used to get around. So...Maybe..

next blog.

I Guess Its Gon Be What Its Gon Be;

See....Im the type that hates to argue. But you...its like you bring that out. Sometimes, I have that urge to just strangle the shit out of you. I’m going to blame it on you being spoiled. You spoiled lil’ LA girl. Shit is sickening. I hate you sometimes, but I be wanting to fuck you so bad. To the point I don’t want any other man to have you. This is a tangled web we weave, and I’ve brought my needle and thread. What the fuck is it about you that sometimes I just want to go and fuck another bitch but I cant? I dont even know. Guess its like Kanye says, It’s bittersweet. Sometimes I swear you be fucking other niggas, cause lets be honest, you’re beautiful. If I were another nigga chasing you, I’d find every way possible to be inside of you.

This is directed at you, nobody else just you. Other bitches don’t matter, it rhymes, too. I deleted all those other bitches because see...the only person worth talking to is, you. Shit I mean I’m talking...TO YOU. This is me speaking here. I can’t even call it. I’ve been a whore for so long, that actually talking to someone makes me thingk they might actually be doing some wrong shit. Because shit...I’ve done it. Twice, three, maybe four times. Theres been times I’ve gotten ass at a quarter to five. Shit last year alone I vouched for six, seven, eight nine, maybe ten dimes. But see nah...you’re mine.

This isn’t a blog, this is just an open letter. If you read it shit, that might be better. You might want to curse me out, that’s the way you do. I guess you like to fuck, but you love to argue. That’s why I fuck with you. You never make shit simple. Which got me texting you. Sexting you. Trying to figure out new, creative ways to have sex with you. Because I’m sexual and you’re intellectual. Makes me want to lay next to you. And never wake up. Because see for me it’s more than the butt, cause I can go anywhere for a fuck. But I’m careful now about where I nut.

So maybe you might be thee. Fucked up part is, I don’t even know what thee might be. I been single for so long, I’ve started ignoring faces just to get the pussy. Shit, I figure it’s all the same since they all want a man with money. Fucked up part is....they don’t get a dime from me. Answer me why all of this shit I’m saying rhymes, it’s funny. Because you and I go together like two thighs cause honey, I’m trying to add, subtract, and even divide my money....Time, space, and my bed, cause like two eyes, I see, you and I, only being beside...

See I can’t even find a word to but next to beside so I’m going to ignore it and go to the next line...Alright? See before I got to sleep I call you at night. No LL Cool J, no staring at my walls at night. I might call you, you don’t answer, but see that’s e, alright? Cause you’re so fine, it’s like beauty sleep you might need, and you define that right? Cause you’re beautiful. As I’m writing this, I’m typing, but I only see you. But its like.. Every time I speak...its like all we do is...

argue.

So What'cha Saying?

I probably could type half of this blog you’re about to read better, but lately has been one of those “I could give a fuck, but I don’t give a fuck” type of ordeals. I still have my google reader set up to read particular blogs, no doubt I do, but in the meantime I’ve been living. And that’s taken up the bulk of my time. I’ve actually gotten quite cozy female wise, and been entertaining that more than you think. Sure...there will be people who text and call considering the fact, but I probably “could give a fuck, but I don’t give a fuck”. So what have I been up to. Plenty.

I woke up one day, same as usual. One pants leg before the other, brushed teeth, mouthwash, washed face, clippers to the beard...the ever typical of myself. Then..I did something I dont normally do. I looked in the mirror. Shit..I was surprised. I think the last time I looked in the mirror this long was the night I spent the night at “Bays” house. Now don’t confuse “Baywith “Bay” that Florida term, it’s nothing of the such. Basically..she was a female I had entertained for a couple years via the social...then once she got out of her long-term relationship decided to use me as a fuck thing. Sure...you’d think thats no problem. But I’m like this with mine.

“Why give you something for free someone’s willing to pay for?”

Moving the fuck on. That ended abruptly. I see her out every now and again, but I’ll look, she’ll look, and I’ll walk right past her. I dont see the novelty in being with someone for years, then mysterious become single and want to “explore options”. You aint missed much sweetheart. She’ll probably read this a/or here about this thinking I’m bashing. I’m not. Promise. I’m past it. Go Cardinals.

In recent months I’ve reflected. Thought a lot. Just like Netta (semi-literate.blogspot.com), I’m a control freak. Yeah, some shit I might ask you to do I might not do myself. It’s a trial and error thing. If you try it and its an error, hey...maybe I don’t need to do it. This comes down to everything from watching television, to penetration, to shit..even trying articles of clothing. I’m just that way. Notice how many “I’s” you’ve seen in this blog. Before I was an “us” and “we” type of alpha male. Too many love longs in my day. Glad we’ve come to terms.

Things I hate that bitches do. Dont get me wrong. the term “bitch” is used in a fashionable sense because according to some women..its not “right” to call them that. Which leads me to the firs thing I hate. Women who instigate and carry on an argument over something so feeble. Granted sure...the make up sex helps. But:

I hate to fucking argue. As a man my only form of defense is to get loud. I’m 23, and have made more women cry than I thought I’d reach by 25. I’m not ATTEMPTING to set a record. Sometimes..I’m LETTING you be right. Just so we can move past it. Shut the fuck up now.
Women who feel the need to bash a male and or female because you weren’t chosen. This goes for males too: Be clear, you weren’t the one. Someone loves you, it just wont be from that particular person. Grab your duffle, your muzzle, and pack it up, shut it down. I’ve been a casualty of this dumb shit once this year.

“Not Really Going To” Sexsters”. Dont go texting me bribing me with pussy. Just give me a time and place. I’ve noticed this shit is like a worldwide epidemic, so its NOT just people local to myself. Those “What you doing tonight texts”..Only to tell me you have plans and or you’re staying in the house. I’ve developed a policy. Answer ALL text messages in 8-16 minute intervals. Make em wait.


I havent quite figured life out yet..But I know this..sooner or later I’ll be 60, 70 years old. And I’ll probably look back in this blog like “damn I did this and that wrong”. That’s a part of my life. And I continue to fuck up. It’s an adventure. Long as I dont die, or have some life altering situation where I have to hide in a box, I’m bound to make a mistake. I’m intitled to it. You’ll hear about it. It’s like drinking a pack of Four Lokos on a Saturday night. It’s so necessary.I hate to fucking argue. As a man my only form of defense is to get loud. I’m 23, and have made more women cry than I thought I’d reach by 25. I’m not ATTEMPTING to set a record. Sometimes..I’m LETTING you be right. Just so we can move past it. Shut the fuck up now.
Women who feel the need to bash a male and or female because you weren’t chosen. This goes for males too: Be clear, you weren’t the one. Someone loves you, it just wont be from that particular person. Grab your duffle, your muzzle, and pack it up, shut it down. I’ve been a casualty of this dumb shit once this year.

“Not Really Going To” Sexsters”. Dont go texting me bribing me with pussy. Just give me a time and place. I’ve noticed this shit is like a worldwide epidemic, so its NOT just people local to myself. Those “What you doing tonight texts”..Only to tell me you have plans and or you’re staying in the house. I’ve developed a policy. Answer ALL text messages in 8-16 minute intervals. Make em wait.I havent quite figured life out yet..But I know this..sooner or later I’ll be 60, 70 years old. And I’ll probably look back in this blog like “damn I did this and that wrong”. That’s a part of my life. And I continue to fuck up. It’s an adventure. Long as I dont die, or have some life altering situation where I have to hide in a box, I’m bound to make a mistake. I’m intitled to it. You’ll hear about it. It’s like drinking a pack of Four Lokos on a Saturday night. It’s so necessary.