throw yo hands up in the air...

Call me an adrenaline junkie {insert rhetorical smartass utterance here} but I love roller coasters. I love riding them, watching them, even (to a lesser degree) standing in line waiting for another chance to ride 'em all over again.

I love the rush, the thrill, the blood-curdling screams coming from myself and those around me.

Riding roller coasters reminds you that you're alive.

Part of the thrill is letting go of the handlebars.

Literally, it's a rush. Figuratively, it's also a rush.

Tonight it dawned on me that my life of late has been a roller coaster ride and I've let go of the handlebars. I'm screaming my fool head off as the G-forces take my breath away and leave me wanting more. I'm intoxicated by the adrenaline. It's amazing! But... it's soooo not who I was before Spring arrived this year.

Before then, I wasn't holding onto the handlebars because I wasn't on the ride. Hell, I wasn't even at the amusement park having fun. This analogy would work better if I knew where exactly I had been. Suffice it to say, my situation was more like sitting in traffic waiting to get to the amusement park - or else broken down on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, en route to the park. Either way, there was zilcho fun being had.

That has changed. Now the fun is underway. Hands up in the air.

Tell me: where are YOUR hands? Are you holding on for dear life on a ride that terrifies you in an exhilarating way? Or are you even in the amusement park? If you're not holding onto the ride, then what are you holding onto?

Life's too short not to let go every once in awhile and enjoy the ride.

Go ahead. Maybe it's time for you to scream your fool head off, too. It just might be the one thing your life needs most.  :)

How *NOT* to woo women

Balls. I admire men who have 'em, but damn! Some people fail to distinguish the fine line between tenacity/chutzpah and presumptuous, illogical stalking.

Allow me to paint a picture.

You spy in the pet store a cute creature available for adoption. We shall call place this "Point A." You envision the scenario wherein said pet becomes yours. This, boys and girls, is "Point B." To reach Point A, a bridge must be traversed. You must introduce yourself to the pet, assure it that you mean it no harm, and proceed with caution so as not to alarm it, realizing that you are dealing with a caged animal. Then and ONLY then (if you are wise), you allow the animal to come to you for further inspection and forward progression. You build a bridge of trust from Point A to Point B.

What you DO NOT DO is this: poke the animal with a stick. Seriously. This is how you lose an arm. Or, in this hypothetical scenario, how your otherwise lukewarm chances of wooing a lass dissipate faster than ice in Hell because you just soaked the bridge in gasoline, aimed a flamethrower at it, then watched the incineration.

Oh, and when you've poked the animal with a stick by revealing all you know (thereby admitting you have committed an egregious act of cyberstalking), do not be surprised when the caged animal bites you, snarls, and moves as far away as possible from the intrusion.

I mean, reeeeeeeeeally. Telling some chick you know everything about her in your first message is akin to a virgin blowing his wad in the first 6 seconds of intercourse. It's embarrassing for you; it's a waste of time for her; and it all but guarantees no future play. The only thing worse than your passive approach is to show up at her home, office, gym, etc. and introduce yourself without warning. Use this ambush method when you are dying to have your very own restraining order! It works like a charm every time!

So men, heed my advice: just because a chick has personal information (blog, employer data, Facebook, Twitter, etc.) available publicly online DOES NOT MEAN you have been given an engraved invitation into her world. If anything, your admitted cyberstalking is a one-way ticket to Blocked Userville. A wise, logical man would use the information gained as a tool to gradually win the trust and affection of the caged animal. Next time, be THAT man.