I should be crawling into bed

or doing the dishes.

or the laundry.

or sweeping the floor.

But instead I'm here. Contemplating why bad things happen to good people. Why does it seem that way? Why can't bad things happen to bad people? But then, who's to say who is bad and who is good, and what is bad and what is good? So maybe it's an entirely moot point.

But it strikes me funny. I mean, on the one hand, there's one person I know who has lived through some crap but it seems to have stalled him out. I can't blame him, he just has some things that he needs to work through. At least that's my best assumption. Then there's another friend who's been through similar circumstances and he seems to have come out cleaner on the other side. In that he's refused to be beaten, even though there is still hurt there. The stuff that's happened to him is more like a badge or a proud scar that proves he was strong enough to survive it. It's an interesting comparison, even though comparisons are inherently evil.

Quasi-casually seeing Westley has ended, much to my disappointment. The reason for this is respectable, though. Originally, we broke up because he admitted that he wasn't in a position to be a good boyfriend. Which I can respect. If you can't treat me like the little princess that I am... just kidding. No, I respect that someone wants to see me happy, even if he's not the right person for the job. Selfish people will string a girlfriend/boyfriend along just to satisfy themselves. Decent people with admit to their weakness and let them go.

But the reason for dropping our relationship even further is because someone else asked me out. Details, you ask? He's a few years older than I am (okay, 7.5 years), he's a computer guy now, but he has been in the military for 20 years (he retired last year), he was in security forces. He was in the Air Force, but he was also went through the Phoenix Raven program.

He is really interesting just to observe when we're in public, because it's like he's hard wired to be on patrol. He's very quiet and he's watching everybody. And he's funny because he's all gung ho about kicking the ass of any gun-toting bad, bad man.

What's weirder is that if I threaten to kick his @ss, he gets this huge grin on his face. And I'll have you know I've gotten the better of him a couple times. I elbowed him in the jaw, which surprised the hell out of him, and got him in the soft boy parts once (he didn't puke or anything, so it wasn't that bad). And I bruised his arm, too. People made fun of him for that. I found hearing of this teasing made me oddly happy. But I had guilt, too... I don't like hurting him. I guess my reflexes are just that awesome. Or he's put down his guard a little too much.

But multiply all those instances where I've gotten him by 5, and that's how many times he's gotten the better of me. You know, pinned to the floor, arms wrenched behind my back, legs swept out from under me, blah blah blah. The bastard. Military police trained bastard!

And No, get your mind the hell out of the gutter. We behave ourselves, there is nothing kinky going on here. There have never been handcuffs involved in any of our play fighting. It's nice to horseplay, though. And it gives me a chance to have fun with my ultra-competitive side. I'm a bit fierce when it comes to a good physical competition. I mean, granted, soccer is much more innocent, but there's no soccer here. Only retired military security forces guys to beat up on. When I can.

Yes, you're seeing the freakier side of nic. But I promise, I haven't lost any brain cells. He hasn't even tried to hurt me. Or cut off any air or circulation to my brain. Which is good; I really can't stand to lose any more after the stupidity I've put myself through.

He's a really good guy. Very honest, caring, most definitely a gentleman. I need to think up a fitting name for him.