Over the weekend my web surfing got me to land over to Leon’s blog where he had a somewhat interesting entry going on (and before you crucify me, I’m still on Day 3 of the Carnival adventure, but hey I’m human too) over there. I’m not going to repost everything written there because you can very well check it out for yourself here, but it got me to think about the usual things that people with nothing better to do ponder about; the sort of juvenile quest for self-discovery and introspection people usually reserve for when they are by themselves for fear of appearing vulnerable in the face of the world. I don’t, or at least try my best not to. Even though there are many things about me that you will never read about here, it’s my goal to put enough of myself on this chunk of the Internet so that you, esteemed reader, have a good idea of where I come from in regards to my beliefs and the way I see things. And because my blatant honesty and in-your-face approach of things doesn’t allow me to keep my mouth shut on things I am opinionated about, I find that a lot of the populace doesn’t know how to handle my views of the world. Both men and women hate to have their faults and truths pointed out to them.

I once had a girlfriend(s) that was so convinced that I was cheating on her every moment I wasn’t with her that she felt compelled to “brand” me the same way you would cows, so that everyone knew I was her property. When you’re in high school, you brand your significant other with hickeys. These were no hickeys, though… by any normal standards, these were not hickeys by all means. In order to put the proper mental image in your head, imagine if you will, yourself lying down on your bed, looking the wall on your left. Now, imagine your girl/boy on top of you having the ride of his/her life. Next thing you know you’re getting blood sucked out of your neck as if you were the untimely victim of a vampire attack, leaving you marks all across the right side of your neck that look exactly the way it would look if you were punched on the neck 10 times by a Mike Tyson hocked up on crack and Red Bull.

My experience with this girl, I hate to admit, would not only mold my future self in that I don’t care who sees and knows what about me, but also let me in on how people will go to great lengths in order get (and retain) what they want, specially when it’s a someone and that someone is special to them. When we’re children, we live intensely and our imaginations are at their most vivid; everything is so much simpler, it seems. Suddenly puberty hits, and our enthusiasm is shifted towards this newfound trait that changes our perspective on everything: sex. Suddenly girls start liking boys, boys start liking girls, girls start liking other girls and boys want other boys as well. That imagination and drive is shifted towards this newfound toy, but unlike most toys made of plastic, this one is a lot more intricate, intimate and you can’t just throw it away when you’re bored with it. At least not until it happens to you. Somewhere along these years, Men and women are ripped apart from their innocence and for some God-forsaken reason they let their imaginations and drive be taken with it. We consume ourselves in trying to understand the gender of our desire that when we realize that we will never understand them, we label them as crazy because we fear what we cannot understand. Nevertheless, the raw emotion is still there. Being alone doesn’t compare to the touch of another, and anyone who says otherwise is lying to you. Since we can’t handle the heartache of being by ourselves in between lovers, that downtime makes our imaginations die little by little, if left unchecked. No imagination leaves a void that a lot of people past the teenage years never quite fill, and they tell themselves they don’t need it when they group up in order to justify their loss, when in reality they would give anything to have it back.

The new CG Ninja Turtles movie, “TMNT,” premieres this Wednesday in Panama. I’m going to go watch it, rain or shine. During the weekend I was on my way to an escalator at a mall and behind me where two guys in their early 30s commenting on a TMNT billboard promoting the movie.

Dude1: Hey, you want to come with me?

Dude2: Where to?

Dude1: To the premiere of the Ninja Turtles movie when it comes out

Dude 2 stays quiet.

Dude1: You used to love the Ninja Turtles when we were kids.

Dude2: It’s a cartoon, though.

Dude1: So?

Dude2: Cartoons are for kids.

Dude1: Not all of them, man.

Dude2: I don’t watch cartoons.

Dude1: Because you’re a man, right?

Dude2: Yes.

Dude1: “300” is a comic book.

Dude2: No, it’s not.

Dude1: You liked a comic book movie.

Dude2: Shut up.

Dude 2 thought it was as crazy for Dude 1 to go to a premiere for the Ninja Turtles movie as I think Dude 2 is an idiot for denying himself of something he wants to experience because of macho bullshit. The guy sounded like he was answering out of protocol. That, to me, is ludicrous, pathetic and sad.

Back to the main topic: are women crazy? Of course they are. Men are crazy too, and in our mutual affinity for craziness we get along just fine in the grand scheme of things. I think being crazy is good. Being crazy is what keeps me from becoming everything I loathe about a large percentage of the people on Earth. Some women I know are difficult, and there are a few of them whose minds and actions will forever be a mystery to me. Those mysteries will make me happy, upset, sad, ecstatic, wanting some weed, or all of the above… but it’s automatically a healthy thing for women to be crazy (and me having a direct conflict with that) because with every irrational response I get from them because of something I did or said, it validates how in tune with my mind and emotions I am, how I still react in an overblown manner to everything, am highly impressionable, gullible and curious about everything. The day I lose that craziness, ladies and gentlemen, will be the day my soul dies.

I like crazy girls, man. They make life that much more fun.

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