The Rise and Fall of Mogo

My family and I are very close, so I didn't have any rebellious phase (and if I did, I'm pretty sure it was shot down by my parents and their "methods of persuasions"). We always went together, as a family, to holidays and all that kind of shit.

But, in 2007, I had my first taste of freedom: I went to the beach with a couple of friends. My friend rented a house with his family, and we tagged along. So, it was just a really small taste of freedom: We could go out everyday and get drunk and all that since we lived in the garage, not in the house. But that doesn't mean that there weren't any adults close by.

That was the first time that I wanted to go with friends to the beach. Two years later, I did.

And that's where I met Mogo.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

A couple of friends and me rented an apartment really close to the beach, and we spent there two weeks. Two blocks from where we were, there was the main avenue. We used to go there almost every night, just walking and talking. Just three guys, chilling. Nothing out of the ordinary.

One of those nights, I had to buy some presents for my family, and we entered to one of those shops where you can buy those little things with the name of the city on it, like a rock with "I (L) NameOfThePlace", or a cup. I even saw underwear, which would be a funny thing to give someone. "Hey, I found this thong and it reminded me of you, so you can keep me close by every day". Yup, I can see that being an awesome present.

I was single at that time, and to be honest, I saw this vacation as an opportunity to meet new people and get laid. You know, one night stands and all that. Never had any kind of experience in that regard, and all of my history of sex intercourse were pretty much with two girls, and those were my gfs. Not at the same time, mind you. Can you imagine? I have enough problems with one, two would be playing in Hard Mode. 

Blind. 

With my hands on my back. 

Anyway, we entered this store, and there she was, the shopkeeper. She was a redhead (I have such a fascination with redheads it almost borders with obsession. I'm pretty sure I was raped by one when I was a little kid, because there is no other way I can explain it), and she was talking to a couple of her friends. 

That's when I used all of my flirting moves that I saw in one of those movies where people don't wear a lot of clothes:

G: Hey, beautiful

Redhead: Hello, welcome to NameOfTheShop. How can I help you?

G: Well, you can start by giving me your number...

*And I give my most sexiest smile*

Your panties got wet by seeing him. I know it.

R: Well... nope.

G: I... what?

R: Can't give you my number. But I can give you hers...

And she points to one of her friends. I look at her, all in slow motion, and saw the greatest ass the World has ever known.

I might sound sexist (fuck, if this is what offends you, you have your priorities really screwed up, since you didn't say shit when I described a girl uglier than stepping on shit barefoot), but if asses were a form of currency, this girl would have been wealthier than Donald Trump. And without having the need of using those fucking weird wigs.

On a side note: Donald, you should kill your hairdresser. I'm pretty sure it's condemned by the UN that type of public humiliation.

This girl (Mogo, from now on) wasn't facing me. I was just looking at her ass. And then she turned to see me.

Picture the end of Rocky IV: Stallone is beating the shit out of Ivan Drago, because 'MERICA and all that. The people is excited, they are cheering for the guy who is the poster child for "Botox: Not even once". Before we get to see the credits, we see Stallone, who had his face completely deformed.

Well, Mogo looked worse.

"But Ghondar" You may say, "if she had that great ass, why didn't you tap it? It's not like you have to get married or anything like that". And that's because I have an asshole brain.

My brain, as you may recall, hates me. When I meet someone new, he makes me say things that I didn't want, makes me feel things that shouldn't be there, and, of course, he controls the rest of the body. Including the muscles of my face.

See where I'm going with this?

Well, for the few of you that you don't understand, here's a picture to illustrate my point:

Yes, including the 7:38 on my forehead.

Apparently, girls don't like it when guys express themselves like they have seen Thor's anus. I mean, what else could they ask for? I'm being honest here!.

Kids these days...

She took offense on my reaction, and I felt like an asshole... for twenty minutes. Christ, genes, get your shit together and give that girl some new face.

To be honest, I kinda regret that I didn't get her number, because I would have been the guy who fucked the Donald Trump of Asses. And that's something not everyone can boast about.

Unless you actually fucked Donald up his ass. 

God has plans for everyone (Including me)

I was in a relationship for four years. It was great, right up to the point where she decided to see if that old saying was true: "The dick is always tastier on the other side".

Yes, this is a really subtle way to say that I was cheated on. Me? Bitter? Fuck you.

In any case, leaving aside the pain that made me distrust of everything that's good and pure (therapy? No, thank you), when she left i was feeling a little down, as you can expect. I remember that I stopped sleeping and I felt very angry and lost. Started drinking, started behaving weird, and I'm really not proud to say that I started listening to Good Charlotte.

It was a very dark time.

One of my best friends, worried that I became full emo, said:

Friend: Dude, look, you have to forget about her.
G: I can't, man.
F: But look at you! You are 5 minutes away to tatoo Gerard Way's face on your shoulder
G: BUT HE UNDERSTANDS ME, HE IS THE ONLY ONE
F: GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF MAN!. Look, I have a solution... I want you to meet someone.
G: Johhny Walker? I met him. He said that you are a faggot.
F: You were talking to a bottle.
G: You are a bottle.
F: Just meet this girl and then tell me what you do think.
G: Allright. But who is she? Is she hot? Does she care at all for my heart?
F: You are the one talking about feelings and I'm the faggot. Good God. Anyway, she's.. really nice.

One of the lessons that I've learned earlier in my love life is that when a friend describes a girl saying that she's "nice", it's because she's ugly. If he says "Really nice", she's fuck ugly. And if she has a "great personality", Good Thor, you are going to meet Willy after that kid freed her.

So, my spider-sense was tingling, but at the time I thought it was just the pain of being alone. I ignore it. I shouldn't have. I would pay for that insolence in time.

I remember that I added her on Facebook, and look at her profile picture. She was really hot, with a little bit of sadness in her eyes. Yes, my mind was working full time now, and wanted me to go full retard on this. And, seeing that I have no self control, I obliged. Those pictures really threw me off. I mean, here I was, expecting her to be the reincarnation of the ugliest motherfucker in the Olympus, and nope, she was really good looking.

We started talking, first by private message, then a couple of days later by e-mail. After that, it came the text message and phone calls. Nothing out of the ordinary, we really liked talking about random shit and things like that. I made sure to tell her that I just left a relationship and that I would love to things to go really slow and cool. I was kinda freaked out on the "being in a serious relationship" again, and the idea of that made me nervous. So, I told her that a couple of times. She said yes.

Girls, when you say "Yes" to the question "Are we clear?", we guys think that you are actually okay with what has been discussed. Keep that in mind.

Anyway, I remember one day, I got off from work and went to a pub to have a drink with a couple of friends. Arrived at home mildly wasted and started playing Mortal Kombat, because my drunk mind thought that it was a really great idea to do at 2 a.m., and who am I to complain?.

There is one thing that I forgot to be clear here:

Up to this point, we still haven't met each other. Just pictures, phone calls and all the shit I already mentioned. So, it's not like we were already dating and all that.

With that clear, I'll continue.


As soon as I started playing, I get a couple of text messages that were of varying anxiety and time:

Text 1: "Hey, honey, I called you but you didn't answered. Will try later!" 22:50
Text 2: "Still not answered? Are you with someone else?" 23:10
Text 3: "The fuck do you think you are, man? Here I am, calling you and worried the shit out of my mind, and you are with another girl" 23:40

And then, my sister entered my bedroom, completely sleepy, with my home phone on one hand, saying that there was a girl on the other side of the line asking for me. I remember thinking "Holy shit, am I that shitfaced? Is this real life? Is this a fantasy?" and went to do such an air guitar solo that May would have been really proud of.

Maybe I was that shitfaced.

I answered the phone and...

Her: The fuck, man? Where the fuck you were?
G: What?
H: I called a lot of times and you weren't answering the phone
G: I'm sorry.
H: You were drinking, right? You know that God hates drunk people?
G: I... what?
H: Yes, it is said in the Bible.
G: ...allright.

And then she started talking on her own about God and all that. I mean, good for you if you believe in an imaginary friend in Heaven, but don't force me your ways. Unless you are Ben Kenobi. I would love to see Alec Guinness forcing me anything, if you know what I mean.

Anyway...

She hanged up, and I went to bed, feeling completely lost by the mystery of how, in the name of Godzilla, she got my home number. I never called her with that phone, only used my cellphone (so my family wouldn't have to answer and all that). That's a mystery that I'm still pondering, and it's been a couple of years since this girl. To make me feel better at night, I always think that God did it. Or Aliens. Whatever.

Hey, Bro, I gave her your number. No hard feelings, right?

A couple of days later, we were supposed to meet each other at a restaurant on Monday. Sadly, I felt a little ill that day and decided to call off the date. She was cool with it, but was a little worried about me. I said that she shouldn't, seeing that my own immunologic system was such a disaster, one day I would feel king of the entire existence, and the rest I would be completely wasted. So, we scheduled to the next Wednesday.

On Tuesday, almost 24 hours since I called off the date, she called me again and said that she talked about me to her fathers and all I'm hearing is my spider sense saying "HEY FUCKER I WARNED YOU, I WARNED YOU BUT DID YOU HEAR ME? NOOOO, YOU DECIDED TO THINK WITH YOUR DICK. SO FUCK YOU".
I remember that with my ex-gf, it took me almost a year to introduce her to my parents. A full year. And this girl already talked with them about me.

G: Really? You talked to them about me?
H: Yes
G: And what did they said?
H: That you are seeing someone else.

That sound, my fellow readers, is my brain trying to escape trough my ear, with messy results.

I convinced her that no, I wasn't seeing anyone (and I still don't know why exactly I did that, I blame my asshole brain), and asked that if she wanted to see each other the next day. She said alright.

But things wouldn't be as simple as it seems. That much is obvious, why I would be talking about her if the craziness ended right there?.

The next day, I arrived at the door of the restaurant, and I saw her. Good Zeus, I was shocked. She was hotter in real life. She saw me, smiled, came close and decided to check if I have any cavity. With her tongue.

She kissed me. Jeez, Do I have to explain my own analogies in my blog?.

That was the first indication that the night could be really good. And I was all for it. Yes, I will admit that I was thinking with my dick (because that worked before, right, Ghondar?), and was very curious on how the night would end. I expected sex.

SPOILER ALERT: I didn't get laid.
(Is that a spoiler at this point? It's like saying that Clark Kent = Superman is a spoiler)

We entered, ordered some food, and started talking. And everything went pretty cool, right up to the point of the desserts. That's when she dropped the first bomb:

H: I brought you two presents
G: Really?
H: Yes. First, a couple of books.
G: Hey, thank you! (That was a really nice gift, I have to be honest)
H: And then this.

And she gave me a cup. With my name on it.

With a heart at the end.

My.
Name.
With.
A.
Heart.
At.
The
End.

Did I make myself clear?


I almost went into a nervous breakdown, remembering all my problems with my previous serious relationship. I was terrified, to say the least.

G: Remember what we talked about?
H: Yes.
G: About my fear of comminment?
H: Yes
G: And this cup, it has a heart at the end of my name, right?
H: Yes. Do you like it?
G: ...yes, it is nice, but you remember that I said that we should take this slow, right?
H: But we are special.
G: I... what?

You are right, man.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night. I completely blacked out and went on auto pilot. I know that arrived home and those three words still shocked me. "We are special". Special like what? Like gold Kryptonite? Like an original Action Comics #1? Like the Holy Grail? That special? What the fuck that word means?

The next few days went by, with her calling me at all hours, and myself with close to zero patience. One day, she called me:

H: Remember your ex gf?
G: What?
H: She's dating that guy she cheated you with
G: What?
H: I'm telling you this so you can see that people move on
G: What?
H: And I will help you to move on.
G: What?
H: Because we are special
G: What?

I decided to end whatever the fuck we had right there. Couldn't stand any more of that "We are special" bullshit. And, let's be honest, that whole "telling about my ex gf current love life"? That shit aint cool. Not now, not ever.

I told her that, and she started crying. And then... the atomic bomb. The Tzar bomba.

G: I'm sorry, but you can't tell me that kind of stuff and think that I would be okay with it.
H: Yes. Because we are special. And God told me about our future kids.

Me.
Kids.

I'm the kind of people you wouldn't want to reproduce, and if I did, you would want to take the kids away from me. They would learn to order pizza before getting to kinder.
And there it was this girl, with her... God, or whatever, telling her that she should have kids with me.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the proof that there is no God. Because no one can be such an asshole to Humanity.

I heard she started dating some other guy.

Poor, poor man.

But the sex would probably be fucking great.

The Soccer God

My relationship with my mind is really weird, to be honest. It's like he wants me to suffer. No, wait, I'm not saying this because I'm some kind of emo or something like that. I actually know that my mind is at war with me, and we have been like this since I remember feeling something for the opposite sex.

Before those times, I remember that we had peace, we were happy together, and we liked each other. Most of our weekends went pretty much like this:

Ghondar: Hey dude, what are we going to do this weekend?
Brain: Well, we still have to finish Revenge of the Shinobi and Sonic 2...
G: But what about going out with my friends?
B: What friends?
G: ...Good point. So, Sonic?
B: Sounds like a plan, bro.

It's not exactly news that I didn't have much friends when I was a little kid. But I remember the exact time when something just... clicked in me. I believe it was puberty, or the hormones, doing the first act in what it would become the war. They killed the Archduke Franz Ferdinand if, of course, by Franz Ferdinand we mean "Rationality". That's the moment when I met her: Gisela.

I remember very little about her, but what I do remember is that she wasn't the cutest girl ever. Not even close. She fell down the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down, and even then, she was used in a lethal experiment by the Army to see if you could use ugliness as a new way of warfare. Yes, she was that ugly.

But I will give her something: she liked soccer.

Now, for some context: This was 1998, and the World Cup was having place in France. To be honest, I didn't care at all about soccer the rest of the year, but for that month? I was a motherfucking Wikipedia. I knew everything about the teams, the coaches, the commentators, even the channels that used to broadcast the matches. I was *that* good. And in a class where pretty much everybody where male (and you could make an argument about Gisela on that) I was a God. The Alpha and the Omega of Soccer.

And I remember that one afternoon, we were all talking about one particularly good match and she was there. And I looked at her, and she laughed to one pretty stupid comment of mine. And that was it. That was the moment where I thought that she was cute. And something like this took place:

B: Hey, man, don't forget, we still have to beat Shinobi
G: Yeah, about that, I'm not sure I'm going to be able...
B: What? But dude, we have been planning this for weeks!
G: Yes...Look, can we do this any other day? I have to talk to her
B: But...

And that's when it started. Apparently, my brain is really jealous of me, and wants me to fail. Sometimes he boycotts my attempts of meeting new people by making me say stupid shit like how much I miss my ex or how long it has been since the last time I got laid (4 months, 23 days, 15 hours and 32 minutes... but hey, who is keeping count, right? that's a loser thing to do).

Gisela, on the other hand, well, she was very happy to see a guy talking to her, even when it's only about soccer. We spent one month talking about that pretty much every day. I remember that I even lent her a book about that World Cup, a really expensive book that costed me pretty much all my savings up to that point (which is not saying much, to be honest).

After that, when my knowledge of soccer went away like some fucked up genie wish, I went back to the back of the class, the kid who didn't talk and all that. But it wasn't the same. I started to have feelings for pretty much every girl I talked to, a quality that I'm not too proud to say that it hasn't gone away yet (and I'm 25).

In any case, the next months were really difficult. And when I say "months" I'm talking about the recollection of months called "years". I had to try to find a balance between what my brain makes me say and feel and what I'm actually feeling. So, yes, I said shit like "I love you" pretty much on the first date. And yes, I went on a 19 hours trip for a girl I loved. And yes, I might have killed that cat to show her that I loved her. But that's all my brain doing.

Well, maybe the cat was my decision. Fucking cat.

One day, Gisela didn't go to my class. Days became weeks, weeks became months. And, after a long time, I asked my teacher what happened to her. She moved out of the city.

And that bitch had my book.

So, Gisela, if you are reading this:

I want my fucking book. And, while we are at it, god damn it, girl, you were ugly. I hope you sued your parents or something like that.

Also, call me. It's been 4 months, 23 days and 16 hours since the last time I got lucky.