Low Expectations


In my previous post, I had stated that expectations can be the bane of relationships, using Valentine's Day as an example. If the woman had been expecting a grand gesture of gift and fine dining, and she received a card and dinner at Chili's, then resentment might grow. If the man had expected a superbly satisfying blow on his one-eyed python, but instead caught the stink eye from his lady, then resentment might root itself within him. Resentment can grow and explode into a full-blown argument. And those are exhausting.

The post came about when a woman had asked me how to have a long happy relationship. My answer was to have no expectations.

You know when you go to a Star Wars movie, like the one released at the end of 2017, and there were a jack load of people that were disappointed with the film? Everyone entered the theater with pretty high expectations. Me included. I remember thinking halfway through the movie: This smells like stinky butt. I had some hope that the end of The Last Jedi would sorta bring everything together, much like how Pulp Fiction had done, and I would feel like an asshole for thinking such blasphemy. Yeah...no.

Had I lowered my expectations to where Hell exists, then I wouldn't have felt so bad paying seventeen bucks. With no expectations, I would have enjoyed the film for what it is. Entertaining crap.

Now, I'm not saying you should lower your expectations so your relationship can be long and happy. Doing so would end the relationship in a dull silence of an atomic explosion.

If a husband does nothing to help his wife when she's sick, then she has two basic choices. Accept his behavior. Or not. I don't expect many women would let their husbands' callousness to go unpunished. A discussion needs to take place at this point.

Going back to the Valentine's Day example, the couple should set expectations. Do they want something grand and memorable? Or do they want something low key? Neither is wrong in my eye. Well none of those things can fit in my eye. But expectations should be set.

That's why communication is so important in a relationship. Each side should state what they want, and then compromise from there. It's a goddamn relationship, dammit! So go. And relate.

Don't Be a Fuckin' Pussy

Don't be a fuckin' pussy. I told someone that the other day. In those exact words. After he deleted my sarcastic joke on a group chat. That's like telling me to shut up. So I told him don't be a fuckin' pussy. He took offense. But he didn't swear back, which I found strange.

He told me that he had deleted my comment because he didn't "want it to set her off." There were other women in the chat, but he made reference to one. I've also seen him interact with this particular woman, and it's pretty obvious he likes her. The issue is that this woman leans toward the masculine side. Not physically, she's very pretty. But she likes cars, guns, action movies and abhors girly things like chick flicks. And the guy who deleted my comment is not assertive. So...

Good luck buddy.

All of this sparked memories of me being a nice guy and how I often ended up with the short end of the stick. No, my stick ain't short. I'm not saying you have to be an asshole to get the girl, for example, because that will eventually blow up too. So what should a man be?

I have a friend who plays the nice guy when he goes on dates. What do I mean by play? Any true opinion he holds goes out the window for fear that he'll offend his date. So if she likes something, then he'll state he likes that as well whether that's true or not. He takes women on expensive first dates such as concerts, which is a bad idea because they won't connect through something I like to call, conversation. Or when trying to set up a date, he'll ask if they want to do this or go to that instead of just saying, "Let's do this. It sounds fun." He's playing nice in order to get at her. This becomes a balancing act because he represses his true self and acts out the nice guy.

But if the woman likes him, he'll continue walking the tight rope of truth and fiction, trying to figure out what part of him she likes. Unfortunately, second dates for him are like taking a picture of the mythical unicorn.

The truth of the matter is that he is an interesting person. He's like a diamond in that he has a lot of facets to his life, but muddies them up with his insecurities to the point that others can't see them. From the outside he looks and acts awkward.

Now, I ain't no dating coach. But I do know this. Being yourself is the easiest thing to be. You don't gotta be fake. It takes a lot of work to be fake. Not only do you have to suppress your real self but you have to create a fake personality to portray. When you're yourself, all your hang ups go out the window because you aren't thinking about them. You don't have to look cool, or be cool, or act as if you're cool. You're real. So if a woman likes him, then he'll know that she likes him for him.

However, if someone doesn't like you for you, then you know they ain't gonna be a good friend to ya. Because if they liked the fake you and saw the real you, then "Drama!"

I've had people not like me for various reasons. And I don't give a shit. I can't. To try and patch the holes of my inefficiencies by their standards is like trying to stop a broken dam. That ain't gonna happen. I'm too busy for that shit.

Also know that if someone doesn't like you, the issues lies within them. Some woman had professed her hatred for me. Apparently, I was too vulgar. I couldn't stop laughing when my friend told me that. I'm comfortable in my skin. Not all the time. I'm only human. But generally I'm pretty comfortable talking about anything. This woman who hates me may not be. Her insecurities may flare up with my...ahem...honesty. Or maybe she was taught to be a good girl. So whenever she's confronted with anything that may poke holes in that facade, then her automatic response is to shun it.

Pretense is very hard to shed. For some people they've lived with this facade throughout their whole lives. Habits are difficult to break. Ask any woman not to wear makeup for a week and see if they'll do it. Highly unlikely. Like chipping away at a concrete wall, breaking a habit will take time. Shit. I'm still working at it. But I do it because I like who I am. I do it for me.

Hey Baby...

Babies. You can grow them. Julienne them. Boil them. Bake them. Sauté them. Juice them into a healthy drink. Or eat them raw. There are a myriad of things you can do with baby carrots. But I don't wanna lead you astray. Let's talk about babies, the human kind.

My last relationship ended because I wasn't sure I wanted to raise a child, let alone have a child. I told my then girlfriend that I leaned heavily on the side of not spreading my genetic material. Unless we're talking about a pearl necklace, in which case lie down and enjoy. As most women know, men do not have the best aim, so the pearls may come in different sizes.

We had many long discussions about children, whether I cared if she raised her Muslim—I didn't—whether I cared if she taught her Arabic—I didn't—whether I wanted her to learn Cantonese—sure but I wouldn't be the one to teach that language. About the only thing we agreed on was that my ex should fulfill her need to become a mother and that I shouldn't hold her back. So here we are.

I spoke to my office wife about children at length. But her perspective about not having children is much different than mine. Her biggest concerns were:

  1. Why bring children into this world?
  2. Why ruin your happiness?

Her first point referred to events like 9/11, terrorism, the death that befalls around us.

We as humans are capable of the most horrible of things, defining what a true monster really is. Spanish Inquisition anyone? The Holocaust. However, we can also create the most beautiful things this world has ever seen. Life it seems is just as common as death. As I have written, everything is in the world, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It is what we choose to see that colors our reality in that moment.

Which leads us to her second point: Children lay waste to happiness. My office wife had talked to a few couples who have children. Some looked unusually unhappy. Some were divorced. Never had she mentioned knowing any couples with children who were happy. And that's the issue. She's colored her lenses so all she noticed were couples with severe issues and linked them with children.

When I write articles about my experiences with people, such as my encounter with this delightful idiot, people may think he's like this all the time. And that's not true. He's not often delightful. I'm sure he has his moments, few and far between as they may be. But I've colored my own lenses having only hung out with him a handful of times and not liking him all that much.

Now, I'm a chill dude. But I'm not chill all the time. Sometimes I get lost in my own thoughts and overthink, complain, whine, cry, and get fuckin' pissed off. I imagine parents are similar. They're people also. Sometimes they look tired because they are tired. Sometimes they're over joyed because their child said Mommy or Daddy for the first time, or composed his first symphony like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. You know. Appreciate that small things.

The other day I was talking to my girl friend, friend that is girl. Well, she's a woman. Woman friend. She told me that her friend's boyfriend had broken up with her and stated the reason was she hadn't measure up to what he wanted physically, looks wise. I've seen pictures of this woman. In one word she's gawd dayem stunningly hawt and scrumptious. But that's not the issue. The issue lies with the blind feller. Maybe he doesn't feel a connection. Maybe he likes big breasted bodacious blondes. Who knows. So it is with parents divorcing. It's never the children.

When I wrote my book, I knew that war between factions, provinces in this case, was really the background to what the real story was about, a father and mother dealing with the death of their child. The war was like a catalyst or a magnifying glass that flares the issues within and between the characters.

Again, I imagine children to be like this. Raising kids ain't easy. There's a reason It takes a village is a well known saying. So it's not surprising that issues may bubble up to the surface in the insane chaos of a job called child rearing. But it's never the children's fault when it comes to divorce.

To me deciding to have or not to have kid(s) is extremely personal. Influence from societal norms, married friends with children and family pressure should not weigh in on that pivotal choice. My office wife doesn't want to have kids. But she shouldn't blame it on factors that our outside of herself. It's a personal choice and no explanation either way is needed.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall...

I hate small talk. It's basically two people filling up the quiet, and sometimes I feel when I'm asked small talk questions, the other person doesn't really wanna know who I am. Which is fine, just go away. So I tend to ask revealing and hard questions like 'Wassup?' and 'How you doin?''.

Fig. 1: Does it look like I appreciate sarcasm?

Fig. 1: Does it look like I appreciate sarcasm?

I was talking to a friend and threw out a question. "You seein' anyone?"

She smiled and ducked her head into her shoulders, then nodded.

"How long have you two been together?"

She shrugged and said, "I'm not sure we're 'together'."

"So…why don't you ask?"

She looked away and then shrugged. "I don't want to scare him away."

"And what if you do? If he runs away because you asked whether you're his girlfriend or not, then he's not the guy for you."

She hemmed and hawed and shuffled her feet around and adjusted her breasts (see Fig. 1), then promised herself to ask him.

It's been over six months, and she has yet to confirm their relationship, which is coming up to a year now. But her fear of confronting him about this stems from a deep level of insecurity. A part of it comes from whether she thinks she's worthy of a man, her attractiveness to men, and thinking that this is her last chance, given her age.

In other words, all this fear/insecurity was created in her mind, from her thinking. And it's sad because I've seen men approach her, but she doesn't open up because she's in this limbo with this guy that nobody in our circle of friends have ever met. We don't even know his name. We've never even seen a picture!

Now, if she didn't care about their label/status and just enjoys doing the horizontal mamba, then I wouldn't bug her about it. But she told me that it bothers her a lot, and many times she's tried to gather the courage to ask him about their…uh…you know…um…thang…not thang as in junk…but their thingybob. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

I understand that fear. It's fake. But I get it.

I get into my head too much as well. It happens to all of us. And trying to change your thinking, like looking at yourself in the mirror and telling yourself you're worth this much, doesn't always help.

A better way of approaching life is to realize that happiness doesn't come from a person, from a relationship, from buying a new car, from having the most lavish home in the world. We as humans are just that. We are content. We are at peace. We are healthy.

If we look at the human body, we are born into a thing that is already healthy, that is self-healing. Sure, there are cases where someone is born blind, without a body part, allergic to certain things. Even then, our bodies naturally grow, eats when it needs sustenance, shits when it needs to get rid of crap, heals when it gets injured, all without our intervention.

So it is with our mental health. If your mind is curious about something, then it'll find out. Like my friend. She wants to know if she's in a relationship. She wants a family, so time is of the essence. But her fear/insecurity gets in the way.

What she doesn't need to do is cover it up with daily affirmations.

If I get a cut, I don't need to look myself in the mirror and say, "Good Lawd. Let mah bawdy heal. Please Lawd Geezus Kryst." Then smack my forehead with my own palm and yell, "I am healed!"

You'd think I was crazy if you saw me do that.

But this is what a lot of people do. They look at themselves in the mirror and affirm that they are confident, worthy, and good enough, blah, blah blah...

The only thing you need to do is get out of your own way. How the hell do I do that, you may ask? Try not holding onto thoughts so much. Everyone gets insecure. That's just part of being human. What gets us in trouble is when we believe in those thoughts, then we try to counter that thought with another thought, which only invites more thoughts, then we try to counter those thoughts with even more thoughts, and suddenly we're in a whirlpool of a million thoughts.

Instead, think of a thought as a bubble in a stream. As it merrily comes, you watch it pass you and see it go. Another bubble will come, and you do the same. It's nothing. It's temporary. It doesn't belong to you, nor does it own you. It's just a bubble. Maybe even a dream.

And much like my friend's fear that this guy is her last chance is fake. It's a fear of a situation that doesn't exist. At least, not yet, if it ever will. If she were to drop this guy, who's to say another better man won't come along? 


On one Saturday evening in SoMa, I strolled down a dark secluded street and entered a bar to attend a party. The DJ blasted his music, my friends were talking and ordering drinks from the bar, and I saw a whole bunch of people I've never met.

Then I spot a gorgeous woman dressed in a long black flowing dress. A scarf covered her shoulders. She wore high heels with straps. She took good care of herself and had an uncanny resemblance to Lucy Liu. Later I found out that she was in her mid fifties. Though, I'd never guess that she was anything over the big four-oh. I approached her and began to flirt only to find out that she had just recently ended a five year relationship.

As the party went on, in between the other guys hitting on her, we form what I thought to be a start of a beautiful friendship. We talk about what we like/don't like about relationships, what kind of things we like to do, our workout routines, trade gossip about our common friends, her two adult kids.

Our connection seemed to cement us as being good friends. And I was fine with that.

Over the next few months, we went out to dinner, talked about our dating histories, attended parties, forging a close friendship. It was one of the few that I'd treasured. And I enjoyed watching many men trip over themselves to get at her. Truth be told, she enjoyed that a lot, too. She needed outside confirmation of her attractiveness to feel good about herself.

Then she did the one thing that all women seem to do at some point in their lives. She went back to her boyfriend.

I wince because this guy had refused to call her his girlfriend. For the first three years of their five-year relationship. Say what? And of course, all of her complainants from their past surfaced up again: he doesn't listen, isn't attentive, spends too much time at the bar with his rowdy friends, is insecure. He didn't want her hanging out with me because he felt threatened by little old me, but he could hang out with anyone he wanted. What a guy...

So, during my epic trip to New York City, I texted, talked, and counseled her with her relationship that was barely treading water. I saw the signs, the massive tidal waves that had begun to break. Though, I never told her to break it off, that was a decision she had to make on her own. She feared being alone because she couldn't see that she could have a good man, despite all these men hitting on her.


My advice was simple. Stay with him and accept him for who he was, a perfectly good option. Or break it off and heal. And for the umpteenth time, she broke it off. So when I returned from my epic trip to The Big Apple, I tried to get her out of her house, to get her to be social again. I invited her to a whole slew of events, which she agreed to. And every single time she'd flake out. After a while, I stopped inviting her to things, and our texting conversations trickled to a slow halt. She admitted that she needed closure, but didn't really know how to get it. It's hard. I get it.

A few months later, I texted her to see how she was doing. No response. I emailed her. Chirp, chirp. I checked Facebook. She had unfriended me.

Now I wish I could say that I did something to piss her off. But reading over the last few texts didn't reveal anything to me. I assume she went back to her boyfriend and promised to severe all contact with me because our friendship seemed to be a sore spot for him.

Obviously, she ended our friendship. I don't have a lot of close friends, the kind I value the most, but I'm not one to beg to hang out with someone if they don't want me around. What's the point?

For the past five months, I've been counseling a friend about a break up. Now, his relationship was a little different. You know how some women say that they want their man to be their best friend? That some of their best relationships started as friends? This was the case. Sorta. Keep reading.

I'll call him Mr. Vagina (and by this designation, he'll know I'm talking about him).

Mr. Vagina met this woman at a Meetup event. By his telling of the story, he was enthralled by her and the connection they had. Not only could he feel said connection, but he knew in his heart of hearts that she wanted him. So he did what any nice guy would do. Looked out for her, texted her day in and day out, hung out with her and her friends as often as he could. But he made no real move toward her until he couldn't stand it anymore. He gathered his courage and asked her out, and she said, "OK."

Then the one thing that guys hate happened. She texted him and flaked out. Not only that, but she specifically stated that she wasn't interested, wasn't ready for a relationship, and that she wanted to just be friends. Good friends.

A couple months rolled by. Mr. Vagina continued to hang out with her, became a good friend, even looked out for her when she had drunk too much. It was this particular night where he thought he'd give it one last good old college try. And why not? History is filled with successful people who had never given up, never heeded naysayers.

He took his nifty iPhone out and poured his heart out in one long single text. Shakespeare's sonnets were a far cry from his outpouring. Poets of ye olde couldn't come close. The movie Ghost couldn't touch Mr. Vagina...his text that is.

And like Godzilla putting a stomping on Mothra, this woman cut him off, kicking him out of her Meetup group, telling him never to contact her again.

It's been eight months since this event occurred. And Mr. Vagina has yet to get over her. Human babies are conceived, gestated, and given birth in this time. Faster if you consider premature babies. God could have created forty earths if he didn't take the seventh day to rest (34.3 if He was lazy).

The one thing Mr. Vagina wanted was to reconcile his relationship with her. There are two issues with that. First, the relationship was completely made up in his mind, so he thought what he had was real. It was! But only for him.

Second, closure is a myth. Mr. Vagina chose to hold onto this for eight months. And who knows how long he'll continue to do so. And that's the crux. It's an idea in his head that he's holding on to. Just like the Lucy Liu lookalike, she can't see that men are attracted to her, so she grips to the idea that her ex, or current boyfriend, is the only man for her.

Now, I know how traumatic it is trying to get over someone you love. No doubt it hurts.

Mountains of books have been written to help people through this painful event. And I explore this in my own book, except I write about a father who has to get over a significant tragedy. Nevertheless, there's a time after the mourning process where we have a choice: to let go, or to hold on.

It is very difficult to see through the epic fog of despair when that moment arrives. But it comes. I told Mr. Vagina that we naturally heal from emotional wounds. He didn't believe me. So I told him to think of it this way: You get a cut from a knife on your arm. You'll feel the pain. The deeper the cut the deeper the pain. It'll hurt for a while. But your arm will naturally heal. It won't remain cut, unless you reopen the wound.

Faith, Destiny, Are They Real or Just Strippers?

What a helluva day! I went on a five-hour hike with a group of people, then went to the gym for a full workout, and completed sprints afterward. To say I am exhausted would be a slight understatement. But I had to do it because I missed my workout on Thursday due to it being Independence Day. Excuses, excuses.

Do you want a mint?

Do you want a mint?

In any good story, the heroine, the main character, the chosen one was custom made to go through the quest they are about to take. And there is no choice when the inciting incidence happens, hurling her into hell before he comes up to face their ultimate adversary. Whether they succeed in becoming the person they should be determines if they are tragic characters or not.

This applies to chic lit as well. When we see Bella meeting Edward for the first time, we know they are meant to be. Custom made by Stephanie Meyers to eternally love each other till the end of time.

When Romeo happens upon the moonlit face of Juliet, we know they are meant to be, despite the fact that their families hate each other. How do we know? Well, it's a story and we see these two people first, so we assume they are meant to be. And there was no team Jacob to say otherwise, and even then we knew Bella had eyes only for Eddie.

Back in our world, how do we find The One? As far as I can tell, there are two basic schools of thought. One, effort has to be made, effort being that you have to somehow put yourself out there. Two, it is destined. And if it’s destined, then why do we have so many divorces, and I think that has more to do with forcing One, which I can explain later.

In the jungles of the Souf Bay

In the jungles of the Souf Bay

Now, here I am at the hike. I’ve never met any of these people. The ulterior motive is to put myself out there, being a single and viral man. Too much? Choosing activities that I like and enjoy makes it easier for me to meet people. Bars and clubs I hate. I make my presence known by stating that I need to pee. Too much? It’s my humor. It’s a little lewd. But for any woman who can’t take such a minor comment, they won’t be interested. For those who understand and see through that comment are the ones I wanna be with.

Anyways… the first woman I talk to is an Asian woman (Why don’t people accuse me of having Yellow Fever when I go out with Asian women?). Accomplished, attractive, athletic, adventurous. But I feel our conversation is a bit stiff. It moves along well enough, but I feel no connection, no chemistry, no real flow.

Later in the hike, I meet another woman, and we jive about different San Francisco neighborhoods, nutrition, exercise (What do you call it when I go out with white women? The White Plague?). She even shares a sip of wine with me, a complete stranger who may have cooties. There's a connection, from the signs she's throwing. It helps that she’s attractive, but I’ve gone out with enough women to know that physical beauty fades. And I don’t mean literally. It’s getting used how people look. Imagine eating your favorite food in the whole world, something scrumptious, full of rich flavor, revealing layers of depth that encompasses your tongue, elevating your mouth in every heavenly way. Now imagine eating that for the rest of your life. You would quickly get sick of it. With anyone's looks, you'd get used to it, and it's good. Getting out of the infatuation phase allows us to focus on the important things like core values. Getting back to her, our conversation isn’t full of depth. In fact, it’s full of nothing. The content is meaningless. But we are vibing each other.

Does your bikini poke you?

Does your bikini poke you?

What gives? Why is it that there’s chemistry with some and not others? If you think it's because the second woman and I have things in common, then that's false. Cuz how much more common do I need to be with the Asian woman? I mean, we both have slanty eyes. Is there a destiny, a faith that helps bind us, bringing us together (Why is it that destiny and faith sound like strippers in a strip club)? Is there some all-knowing force that whispers to us and says, “You and you. Go at it like rabbits.”

I’ve no clue.

I do think that we have to be open to the things we want, that if we want to find someone to be with, then it might be a good first step to put ourselves out there, the effort. And being in the soup of human civilization, hopefully those strippers, Destiny and Faith, will lead us somewhere good.

What’s the worst that can happen? Never mind. Don’t answer that.



Normal. The standard. Traditional. The expected.

The norms of society have a greater influence over us as a people than we’d like to admit. Look at the GAP. All their clothes look the same. Look at Starbucks. Their coffees start to taste the same, becoming the standard. Family: Father, mother, son, daughter. Gay marriage? Hell to tha NO. Until the Supreme Court ruled otherwise. The norms may work for some, but definitely not others. Here is where I think most of the divorces hail from.

My mom nags and nags and forever nags about me getting married. She compares me to another man around my age who’s married with kids, and we know how well that worked out for Al Bundy. When the moment comes, I’ll get married. If it doesn’t, then I won’t. Forcing the issue to fulfill some societal norm would only stress out Faith and Destiny and push them to put me together with someone that I may not be compatible with. And how will that work out?

And stressed out strippers aren’t any fun. Not that I know anything about that. Ahem.

What Bonds Us

Nice hairdo

Nice hairdo

All artists draw from experiences in life. Not that we must have them in order to be good storytellers, but, like dirty nuggets of gold, they help create space in our minds and allow our emotions and creative and insightful thoughts come to us. And sometimes, outside of any artistic endeavor, it reminds me of what's important to me in life.

Someone's walkin' on water

Someone's walkin' on water

Sitting at the Island Vintage Coffee in my third day living in Hawaii, for a month anyway, my first day filled me with events that went beyond my expectation.

Downtown Honolulu has a first Friday art walk, and it was something I wanted to do, loving the Oakland First Fridays Arts Festival. Think massive street party filled with live street bands, performers, galleries, chains of food trucks, and merchandise only found locally. It's like ten blocks of fantastic experience with alleyways intermingled.

Honolulu's paled in comparison--one live band, two blocks of stuff, and a smattering of artists struggling to find their place in their world. I had met up with a group of people to go on this walk, none of them had ever experienced Oakland's, and my failing to explain to them the grandness of it all, despite Oaktown's murderous reputation, didn't do the other city by the bay nuthin'.

I did meet this beautiful woman with depth and sensed a connection. So we walked and talked and people watched. We slowly got to know each other and things seemed to go well. Then I found out she was leaving the H.I. in the morning following the next day. To make things a little worse, her ride wanted to leave and so she had to as well.

He so fast, he blurry

He so fast, he blurry

While sitting alone in a restaurant, I witnessed someone throwing a bottle at another man's face for reasons unbeknown to me, then watched a Capoeira demonstration, which was awesome, saw a homeless woman drop someteen dollars, pointed at her then her money and she raised her hang loose hand and stared at me, and stared at me, and stared at me for a lot longer than I felt comfortable with, then went back to the hostel to find my young roommates hollering' it up, preventing the sandman from calling. That was my first day in the Hawaiian Islands.

Oh, did I mention the hookers stalking the streets? Yeah, I found them while walking off the main strip of Waikiki. Yes, Hawaiian women are naturally beautiful, so...yeah...and no I did not.

Dude, leave me alone, braddah

Dude, leave me alone, braddah

My diet starts tomorrow

My diet starts tomorrow

Next morning, I looked at my phone and that woman from the night before asked if she could tag along with me to the North Shore. We drove the perimeter of Oahu, saw a sleeping sea turtle, and she treated me to a Polynesian Fire God hamburger, which was as spicy as it sounds, tried the famed Fumis Fresh Shrimp truck, then drove about a quarter of a mile to find another famed Fumis Fresh Shrimp truck, only to find another farther down the highway. "Shady" she yelled, and we both laughed.

This was like the fifth shrimp truck

This was like the fifth shrimp truck

We decided to settle down at a beach and catch some Hawaiian sun and entered Waimea Bay. The winds were whisking up the waves to the point where the current was able to swallow unskilled swimmers into the Pacific Ocean, us, and the lifeguard had to announce a warning. He suggested to us that we hit Turtle Bay Resort, which has sort of an alcove, hint: you two don't belong in here's torrential waves. Good thing we did cuz it was exactly what we wanted. For the next few hours, we talked about life, love, kids, passions, what hers were, told her about my soul search that lead me to writing, and then I found out that she was going to stay for a few more days, but had to leave for personal reasons.

Hmm. Puzzle. Let's see if I can gain her trust enough to reveal what that is.

We continued to talk about our experiences with Hawaii, well my love for it, my heartbreaking point of having to cancel my home purchase to stay with my ailing mom (sympathy card, gentlemen), and she blurted out something about a boyfriend.

Sucker punch in the nuts. My nuts. Not hers. Wait. She don't have none. Wait! She doesn't have none--any.

Her trip to Hawaii was a response to his inability to commit. I'll go as far as that.

Doing what I do as a former mentor of children, I told her that she should just end it with this guy, move up to Nor Cal, and date me.

Right. Remember, I have no balls cuz she sucker punched them, flat. Not that I consoled her, but more listened and offered advise when the conversation seemed to point to it. In the end, she left earlier than scheduled to be with him, and that's sweet.

After I dropped her off, there was a feeling of lost connection because I realized something. I wasn't hoping that we would somehow get together, she lives many, many hours away from me, but that I value the connection between a man and a woman. Especially from my point of view, I cherished feeling connected to her, or any woman of depth. Whether she felt that way too, I don't know. Maybe, she was one of those angels, like friends who stay for only a day, to remind me that connection, that being with someone who I want to share life with is important. I mean, isn't that what we all want? Which is a line one of my favorite characters in my book uses.

This connection is probably why I want to write my fantasies so much. For whatever reason, I feel connected to these stories, and I can't help but tell them.

Wherever you are, I hope you find what you're looking for, and I thank you for making my trip here all the better. Ciao Bella.