"You'll never get a quality woman with that," she said in her icy tone. As if people are products of some kind. Like a "quality" cut of meat....but a cut of beef doesn't have a soul. No, and I am not adept at pretending to be some kind of mix between superhero and I don't know one of the ultra cool men in those silly overly dramatic black and white films my mom use to make me suffer through. Ya know, one of those "Frankly my dear I don't give A damn," films/men. Hell, I have a difficult enough time just being me with my frequent awkward moments punctuated by over eagerness to connect on some deep level, often times with ladies who could give a damn about deep connections–at least with a work of imperfection such as myself. But I believe there is a certain charm in being so real that it's at times painful. I have to believe that if I keep trying and keep being honest and genuine, dusting myself off with each and every fall that I will some day meet a woman who I find attractive and have a connection with and who is able to look past my imperfections, scars (physical and otherwise), and my broken body that may not be a quality cut if meat but is strong and contains character. Maybe these nakedly honest writings full of frank admissions are not doing me justice? I don't know but I suppose dying alone but 100% your own man has more honor than being the "cool guy," and may in some ways be more fulfilling than possessing the adoration of many but never truly being ME on high.