I was walking out of 1603 studios before heading to applebees where I knew I would be meeting James. I know James sounds like a punk name but for awhile, I thought he was completely cool. He had a day of the dead skull tattooed on his scapula- that means shoulder blade for you retards. I was going to dump him and that is all I could think about while driving over. The words, his reaction. I hoped he wouldn't embarrass me, make a scene, throw a drink on me, punch our waiter. I kept my fingers crossed the entire drive. I couldn't stop thinking about how he didn't know. About how lonely I would feel after.

The mediocre sex wasn't even the problem. The problem is just.. me.
We had been dating for about 8 months and up until then, everything had been going smoothly. I don't really know when the spark faded. But it is like that for most guys. I meet them, I like them enough to get by, they say they love me, I bolt.

I can't commit to anything really. I am a nomad, impulsive, and run for the hills at the very first sign of someone getting too close to me.

So I ended it, he didn't make a scene. But for a moment, I thought he would cry. And really, that pisses me off for some odd reason. Men don't cry.

After applebees, the break up, and all the text messages that ensued, I went down to the castle with my girlfriend, had a few drinks, told her about every flaw James held, picked up a dude, and then headed back to my place. We did shots of Jaggermeister before assin' out on my couch. It was gross, I know.

I didn't really feel anything leaving James behind, but when I woke this morning to the strange man being gone, I felt a little unnerved by his disappearing act... I wonder what the hell that is about.
I am going to be blogging on INKED here so check back for updates about my life. It can get pretty damn crazy.