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The cancer is often described as moody, but rarely mean. He is only mean when he is afraid of losing something that is valuable to him. I, on the other hand, am rarely moody and only mean when someone initiates the feeling, elevating my stance based on the stance of the person that I am arguing with.
The cancer male is often characterized as unconfident of his own appearance, and an extreme romantic. Neither of these could be further from the truth. In reality, at a young age I was both of these things. But after a matter of time, a greater understanding of self, and a few restraining orders, I have come to the conclusion that most women see me as a Greek god. And although some romanticism is important in a relationship, extreme romanticism demeans the value of romanticism, such as inflation lowers the value of the dollar.
Cancer men are known to understand women very well, and are fond of children. I, on the other hand, only know enough about women to point one out in a police lineup. Everything that I know about women can be found quite easily by flipping through an anatomy book. My fondness for children is still up in the air. At this point in my life, I am fond of children when they go somewhere that isn’t my apartment. Children might be in my future, but it will definitely be the distant future. I still feel like a child myself, and I am not ready to let go of that just yet.
We are known to avoid serious relationships for as long as possible, treading lightly when committing. In my case, this is the most accurate of these generalizations. In my personal life, if things aren’t perfect then I have the tendency of getting bored quite quickly. I get queasy at the thought of signing a lease for more than six months, and I am quick to break things off with women before any chemistry has had a chance to develop. Despite what my dating record might tell you, I am the type of guy who doesn’t mind being single for a while, and enjoys the respite that comes from a night alone at home.
We are known not to be easily flattered. This has been proven wrong to me many times by attractive sales clerks and waitresses across the state. I consider myself very stubborn, but for some reason, I am also a sucker for the cute girl behind the counter. A simple, ‘You look cute in that…’ or ‘That’s hot… (giggle, giggle, giggle)’ makes my wallet automatically jump out of my back pocket. I have a pair of Oakley’s, two pairs of Ray Ban’s, a lime green polo that I have never worn, and a subscription to a magazine that I have never read, (because it is in German), to prove this fact.
Men born under this sign are often said to be excellent cooks. The only thing I can make is money, which is used at restaurants and at grocery stores to purchase Hot Pockets and microwavable burritos. When asked about my prowess in the kitchen, an ex-girlfriend once told my family, ‘My daughter wouldn’t eat it, and she eats dirt!’
I believe that your personality is not predestined. It is not handed down to you by the fates, but by your parents, friends, and your environment. The positions of the planets at your birth cannot tell you who you are or who you will be, that is a decision that you need to make on your own. Any correlations you might have with the traits of the sign you were born under are purely coincidental.
(I know it's not my usual fare, but it was a class assignment...)
A few days ago, my girlfriend and I were leaving a local coffee shop after breakfast. Upon opening my car door to get inside, I happened to glance at the front window of the shop. I saw a gentleman, about 5’10” tall, brown eyes, black hair, Hispanic. He carried an aura of confidence about him; he seemed like the type of guy who could and would accomplish anything he set his mind to.
My girlfriend glanced at me with a somewhat puzzled look, confused as I took a couple of seconds and stared into the window.
“What is it, Jake?”
I turned to her and smiled.
“God, that’s a handsome devil in the window!”
Still confused, with her mouth agape, she turned and looked at the window. Noticing that the window I had been ogling for the past few seconds was opaque and rather reflective, she turned back to me more confused than before.
“All I see is you, Jake.”
I turned back to her for a second, and smirked. As soon as she saw the smile on my face, she knew what I was going to say, but that didn’t stop me from saying it.
“Exactly!”
She looked at the ground in front of her, put the sunglasses she hand in her hands over her eyes, sighed, and shook her head. I turned my head towards the window, looked at myself for another second, and then got into my car. I took a grin with me that I carried for the next few hours.
How do I love me? Let me count the ways.
People have asked me time and time again if I am as cocky and vain as others observe me to be. I often repeat the phrase, ‘If I could, I would run across a grassy field into my own arms.’
Often sarcastic, occasionally inappropriate, always opinionated, I am my favorite person. I bathe in the glow of the intelligence that I possess. I carry it with me like a protester with a placard, holding it above my head for all to see. I love sharing the knowledge I have with the people around me.
I have a great sense of humor, if I do say so myself! Sharp, witty, and poignant, I have always had an intrinsic ability to make those around me laugh. Not afraid to be self-deprecating, my friends always have a great time in my presence.
I am ridiculously good looking. And let’s be honest, as much is you value the company of friends and family who are less than attractive, it’s always better to be seen surrounded by beautiful people. Being around attractive people makes you feel better about yourself. I make people feel better about themselves.
By no means whatsoever am I perfect. Every time I think about my attributes, I think about my flaws, my vices, and my errors. I look at these things the same way I look at my favorite work of art.
I stare at my favorite painting and admire the work. I look from afar and notice the time, skill, and soul that the artist put into the canvas. I begin see how much of himself he conveys through his hand. The closer I get to the work, and the more I begin to stare, the more flaws I begin to see.
I see sections of canvas that have frayed over time. I see portions of the painting that have faded, and streaks where the artist put a little too much pressure on the brush. I see the things that some might consider imperfections, and they make the picture more beautiful, they bring the picture to life and make it more real.
I love the picture that is me. I love my frayed canvas. I love my flaws. I believe they bring me to life, and make me a human. To hate the imperfections, is to hate the painting as a whole. I would love me if I weren’t smart, if I wasn’t funny, if I wasn’t attractive.
But I don't have to worry about that, because I am smart, I am funny, and I am attractive, and more than anything else, I love me because I am humble.
