No More Twinkies!

I have stated on many occasions that my life is a traveling carnival of adventure. Sure there are the occasional mishaps, and I am still thankful to a member of the Glendale, Arizona Police Department for helping me not end up dead on the streets of Phoenix. Yet even that danger did not offset the real memory, that of witnessing one of the greatest Superbowls of all time. A half of a century from now, I will tell my future grandchildren, “I was there.” Heck, in 50 years I will probably tell people that I was on the field playing.

The Tygrrrr Express was relatively calm for the rest of February, but March and April are already shaping up to be ridiculous. I will be bouncing around America like a ping pong ball. As I say to people, “as the carnival travels.”

In March I have a political function in Las Vegas, where former Australian Prime Minister will be. I hope to meet him. After that I am off to Atlanta on a business trip, where I will then face a potentially life altering decision. I will either go to Miami and frolic during Spring Break, or go to Alabama. Either way, I come back to Los Angeles long enough to breathe, before attending a wedding in San Diego.

April will be just as insane. I have another political function, this time in San Francisco. Apparently Western Civilization is collapsing, because I will actually be one of the speakers. After that is a business trip to Chicago, followed by a New York business trip to Wall Street, which will allow me to see family, and attend the NFL Draft.

Yet even burning the candle at both ends will not wear me out if I manage to finally break away from what really distracts me from personal growth…twinkies.

I must give up twinkies. I do not care how hot they are. If a woman is too young for me, I will ignore every wriggle, wiggle, bounce and jiggle. It is time to get serious. No more twinkies.

At age 24, I was lusting after a 19 year old brunette. I realized that I liked 19 year old brunettes, and continued to date them as I turned 25 and 26. They were never 18 or 20, just 19. At age 27, I was still dating 19 year old brunettes. I was partying like it was 1999, although that could have been because it actually was 1999.

I made a decision that I could not live like this forever. The Millennium was approaching, and I would turn 28 only 8 days later. I developed a plan called “Maturity 2000.” I would stop dating twinkies. No more 19 year old brunettes. I would now date 20 year old brunettes. Baby steps away from babies. At age 29 I was dating a 23 year old. This was progress. True, her best assets were above her waist, but I always rationalized that any woman with a hot body had to be intelligent. I was a smart guy of substance, so I would not be so shallow as to romance somebody just because they had yummy bouncies.

Yet when the guys would discuss Middle Eastern politics, she would want to talk about Britney Spears’s Pepsi commercial. The handwriting was on the wall. I was dating a woman I could not have intelligent conversations with solely because she bounced and jiggled.

I broke off the relationship, turned 30, and met a nice girl at a party for graduate students. I was a grad student, and I figured her to be 24 or 26. I cannot explain why I did not think she was 25. One day she confessed to me that my assumptions about her age were off base. Even though she was intelligent, she was…magic number…19. Breaking it off on the spot would have been cruel, and I did like her company. In fact, I think she did my homework once.

It was a computer project, and I am technologically incompetent. The project was incomplete when I went to bed, and when I woke up I saw a message from the professor thanking me for emailing him the completed assignment, which was perfect. She insisted that she did not do it, and my roommate, also a computer expert, insisted he did not do it either. I could have walked in my sleep and done it, but to this day I have no idea how the project got done.

Nevertheless, we broke up at some point on very friendly terms. A 30 year old man should not be dating a 19 year old. My next girlfriend was more in my age range. She was 20, and she had yummy bouncies as well. The fact that we had nothing in common forced me to again evaluate my life. Maturity 2000 did not get implemented, but I had turned 30 myself. Round numbers for some reason inspire people to arbitrarily do things. I then unveiled my upgraded model of life, known as “Maturity 2002.”

Implementation proved rocky, but I thought I had finally reached adulthood when in 2005 I was dating an older woman. She was 9 years my senior. I thought my family would be thrilled. Instead, my dad referred to her as Mary Kay Latorneau.

I made a decision that I needed to stick within my age range. I also decided that 10 years my junior would be an absolute cutoff The numbers could be 11 apart if it was less than 10 1/2 total. 2008 was the year I was officially over 35. I was much closer to 40 than 30. I began dating a smart woman looking to become a criminal prosecutor. She was intelligent, sweet, beautiful…and 22.

14 years. I was truly on the verge of becoming a letch. I did not want to be one of those 50 year old guys dating women half my age, driving an expensive car to overcompensate, one of those guys with no hair on top and a pony tail, and a pretentious fake British accent to round out the stereotype.

Things hit home when we went to a party. At 2am I was tired. I wanted to go home. She would have partied all night. I need a nap during the day to be able to effectively celebrate the “other 9 to 5.” I think after that night she saw me as a senior citizen. We broke up. It may not have been the age difference, but that did not help.

I am single as of a few days ago, and while I did not officially launch “Maturity 2008,” I hope that version does not have bugs in the software.

A big test for me will be my trip to Hotlanta. I am one of those guys that gets totally dopey around Scarlett Ohara type Southern Belles, especially the brunettes. After Atlanta, the key decision of Alabama versus Florida will set in. The fate of my maturation may hang in the balance.

South Florida allows me to visit my parents, and after they go to sleep, hang out in South Beach. In Miami the clubs are open until 5am. It is 75 degrees at midnight, and the clubs are on the beach. I do love hanging from the balcony of a couple of the clubs surveying the scene. “The Clevelander” is a bar surrounding a swimming pool. Hot Miami nights appeal to me. Spring Break is approaching, and I am still barely young enough to date grad students.

Yet there is more to life than twinkies. I would like to become a husband and father, and some of the loveliest yummy bouncies have not led to anything of substance.

I vow to avoid playing bedroom volleyball with any young coed from now on, no matter how spectacular their God given gifts are. I will ignore them from front to back.

Perhaps to avoid Temptation Island Miami altogether would be wise. My friend in Alabama lives on the Auburn campus. Auburn fans are the Tigers. It is a sign. I have been to Princeton, New Jersey, and Clemson, South Carolina. I do like meeting my fellow Tigers.

It is a sign. Miami is crack. I should go Westbound and Down, and take the Tygrrrr Express to Alabama instead.

Besides, Auburn is a college campus with grad students. There is no way I could get into trouble there.

Or maybe there is.


6 Responses to “No More Twinkies!”

  1. micky2 says:

    My whole life was spent going after bouncies. And all my girlfriends always had them. It led to a lot fo conflict.
    In public, because guys just cant behave themselves around a nice set of hooters.
    And whithin the relationship. Because it didnt matter if I even liked her or not.
    My wife, who will probably never bounce solved those problems.
    A good woman wiil make up for the lack in the bouncie dept.

  2. Jersey McJones says:

    I’m a leg man, myself. Apparently there are three types of guys – leg men, breast men, and butt men. I love a nice pair of legs. I go for tall, slender women. I don’t like big bubs. They just sag with age. ;)


  3. micky2 says:

    ” They just sag with age.”
    Only in lower income households.

  4. Eagle6 says:

    Eric, Go to Hotlanta. I mentioned earlier that I, too, was a 35 year old confirmed bachelor from Michigan…until I met my Southern Belle in Atlanta…albeit she’s blond…and a perfect 10.5 years younger… and actually born in Dothan, Alabama, but your odds of meeting a significant other are better in Atlanta than Alabamer…

  5. Joshua Godinez says:

    Nice, off-topic, personal post. I actually appreciate the courage to make this admission to your readers. Okay, maybe it isn’t the same as doing it on Larry King Live, but it’s still honest.

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