Crazy Chick Magnet

REMINISCING Life is one hell of a crazy ride. They typically tend to leave that out of the brochure when you are born and through the formative years. I have also noticed over the years that some people are born with a good and/or average upbringing and turn out batshit crazy and then some are spawned from insanity and become the most normal people one could ever know; however, we all have hopes and dreams and we’ve gotta do what we’ve gotta do to try to achieve them. I am currently at the halfway point in life myself and I am still looking for my pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. I have hit many obstacles along the way, but I do my best to keep on going and to not let them hold me down; instead I try to learn from them and move on; whereas others eventually let these bumps in the road define them and give up hope. These are the people that can be the boldest people in the world on the outside but highly insecure or even jaded when it comes to relationships on the inside. As I have experienced love, life, sex, and loss; I can certainly see how this happens and could easily see how it could have adversely affected me over time, yet I refuse to take any path that could lead to darkness and press on as best as I can. The love of a wonderful woman can be the greatest gift that can ever be given; the taste of great sex can be highly intoxicating; but if you aren’t careful, the loss of it all could be the end of you. Despite the title of this book, I have the upmost respect for women. I have come to know many women of many walks of life: rich, poor; broken, rock steady, and of multiple cultures. I have also known many women professionally, through friendships, love and romance, and I have certainly known many sexually. Aside from all of that, I have a background in counseling and have had men and women open up to me in ways that they never would to anybody else. Finally, aside from all of that, I was predominantly raised by my mother and throughout the school years from age nine until seventeen, it was me, her, & my sister; with a lot of help from my grandparents, so with all of that I like to think to think that I have an inside scoop to some degree that many don’t have. This book isn’t to brag about sexual conquests or to point fingers at anyone; instead I feel like I have a story to tell and it is one worth hearing. It is also a story heavily saturated in music. Music has thoroughly defined my entire existence and it usually helps me remember what I was doing and when. To me, music is life; much like air and water and without it, I cannot picture life at all so with that, here is where my story shall begin…. CHAPTER 1: FOR THOSE ABOUT TO ROCK FROM THE BEGINNING (the who, what, whys and where my beliefs of love and sex came from) How I came to be so screwed up….uhh…I mean enlighted I was born in a much simpler time than it is now and without a good imagination, it could be pretty damn boring. It was a much more innocent time when we weren’t bombarded with sex and violence on TV day and night; in fact, if you got more than three channels, you were doing pretty freaking good! There were no movie channels, TVs in every room, video rental stores (or VCRs, DVD players, or even Blue Ray players), no internet, cell phones; etc… Also, if you acted up in school, the school had full authority to blister your ass and you parents would probably second the motion when you got home. As a result of all of this, we seemed to be able to stay naïve to the world at large until we got a little bit older. My dad met my mom in high school. He was three years older than her and was two grades ahead of her. Upon graduation, he started college, but was very unmotivated and quickly dropped out. Unfortunately, this was not a good time to be dropping out of college because Vietnam was in full swing; as was the draft. As a result of this nightmare transpiring overseas, young men that were not bettering themselves through college, were being drafted, so knowing that he was going to get drafted, my dad decided to join on his own terms and enlisted in the Air Force. This started a wee bit of a tradition for his father served in the Army Air Force in World War II and I eventually served in the Air Force as well when 9’11 happened. Anyway, when he eventually returned from Vietnam, he was told by the military that he could go anywhere he wanted after that great service to our country and he said that he wanted to go somewhere that was sunny and had beaches and they reciprocated his request by sending him to Kansas; yes Kansas, the ultimate vacation spot for beaches, bikinis, and culture. He then gathered up my mom, who had just finished X-Ray school and they made the trek to the center of the country for fun in the sun and….awww who am I kidding? It was largely a baron wasteland at the time and they were as bored as fuck out there and my mom hated it. Eventually though, I was born and was then left having to write Kansas as the state of birth on every application I have ever written in my lifetime. Luckily though, my dad got an early exit from the military and we moved back to Florida a few months later. Growing up, I was surrounded by love. Not the weird kind of love that certain distant uncles like to give, but the real kind….the healthy kind. My parents were married; my mom’s two younger sisters were married, and my grandparents were married and we all lived close to each other and were big parts of each other’s lives. This was a good foundation for learning what a stable household should be like. I had a roof over my head, I was fed, I had my own room, and I had friends. Love was everywhere and I grew up knowing that I was loved. My parents were very close and were always kind to me; unless I was bad or didn’t eat my vegetables. At the time, I was also the only child and the only grandchild, so it was my job to entertain everybody on our weekly to bi-weekly family get-togethers. I would demand that my uncles wrestle with me (mind out of the gutter, let’s keep it clean (for now)) and they would beat the shit out of with pillows and I loved every second of it, and would continuously come back for more. When I was somewhere between one and two, we briefly lived on a second floor apartment and there was a little girl that lived in an apartment in the adjacent building named Monica. I don’t recall much about her other than a photo I have of the two of us, but apparently we were inseparable and I suppose you could even say she was sorta-kinda my first girlfriend in a two-year old sort of way. What can I say…I have always been a lover. Anyway, Monica always had candy and she was always sharing it with me, for I was apparently quite often lacking candy of my own. She was a sweet and adorable girl, but these days she is probably a very large adult without any teeth assuming she didn’t change her eating habits. Like I said, sex on TV was largely unheard of at the time, so I honestly had no idea what sex was until I was like eleven years old…maybe even twelve. As far as I knew, babies were delivered by a stork at the hospital or mom’s got pregnant from love in itself; who knows? I hardly spent any time pondering this amazing biological development. Despite that insignificant fact, I knew that I liked naked women. In fact, I loved naked women; it was and still is a character flaw. I can remember being around three and getting infant chubbies every time I saw or thought about the Coppertone billboard with the little girl getting her bathing suit tugged on by her dog which exposed her little bottom. To me at the time, that was hot stuff! A few years later, I discovered some of my dad’s nudie magazines and I would scan through them with a fine tooth comb when the parental units weren’t around.