Friday, April 30, 2010
There is the known and there is the unknown.
Ever since I was a kid, I wasn't much interested in the known.
I've been grinding for awhile now. Beating the same track as one might articulate.
I could sit quietly at my desk until sleep finally and fitfully arrives.
I don't even enjoy being out and about in the capacity that others do. I enjoy the steps carrying me toward a night out. I enjoy the potential for surprise. The monotony is the tithe paid for days on end until that moment which catches even the most jaded off guard, making one stop and pause with a sly grin voicing appreciation and acknowledgment that stones unturned remain for even the most avid rock collector.
A man out of time?
A man living in a concrete jungle made antiseptic and sterile at nearly every turn?
A man uncertain of the choice(s) to make?
A man certain that one direction (forward) is the only one which feels compelling?
-With Greatest Affection
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Buried 2,000 words deep in a U.N. press release distributed Wednesday on the filling of "vacancies in subsidiary bodies," was the stark announcement: Iran, along with representatives from 10 other nations, was "elected by acclamation," meaning that no open vote was requested or required by any member states — including the United States."
I mean....wow. Let's just have North Korea run the group attempting to ban Nuclear Weapons while we're at it or the group promoting free speech/an end to censorship or the police state.
For those of you who don't know...the United Nations is battling a scandal virtually the scope of the Vatican sex scandal. ... not to mention the paratroopers who took photos of the boy they burned alive and assaulted.
When I see a cop pull someone over for speeding, or I sat in court for my DUI....It occurred to me, "Really? I'm a 'criminal'?"
Shakira will also help out with protests. Not like she's been pumping women as sex objects to sell records for, like....forever. I missed how politically active she was with all the gyrating and body paint and.....um.....y'know.
Rielle Hunter claims she's not a homewrecker (sorta like all the women who banged Tiger)
Sandra Bullock files for divorce and adopts a black baby! You go Girl! Double word score!
Women can be on boats underwater now!
If there is a God...he will grant me a son of this nature/temperament:
My first night at a boxing gym, a solid 5+ years ago, I got knocked out. A few days later I came back. I took my knocks and got better. I've never been seriously hurt in a Sanctioned fight. In training and street fights I've done everything from broken ribs, torn my LCL in my knee, torn my oblique, broken my nose who knows how many times...the list is endless. Bleed in the gym and the fights are often comparatively easy.
I blogged the other day about that moment where a couple fakers in the gym and I stared one another down. They were decrying a professional fighter who is still arguably 2nd best in the FUCKING world at 145 lb's.
The two guys talking shit? Lasted less than one round if you combine how long BOTH their fucking fights lasted.....they haven't fought since then. Shocker, right?
As they stood staring me down....I know what they were thinking. They were weighing what they felt were the odds they could take me. They'd seen me coach the kids. They'd seen me work with new people. They'd seen me "let people work," as we call it in boxing parlance. Something they dont' know shit about b/c they are not students of the game like your humble narrator. They know that I train with the best jiu-jitsu guys in the state. They know that I'm a multiple state Judo champion. They know that my standup acumen is actually even better than my Judo and jiu-jitsu.
They also weren't there the all the days I sparred hungover with professional boxers. They weren't there the days I had gone 9 rounds straight after training 5 days in a row previously. They weren't there the days I spar with guys 3-5 weight classes up in full MMA style sparring.
They were at home jerking off or sleeping late.
I don't talk much at the gym. Gym time is work time. Some people need to keep it light-hearted, need to joke, they talk like it's fucking social hour.
Some of the most loyal, generous, and KIND people I know are fighters. Something about being mired in pain, about learning to turn off your empathy and ignoring your own pain seems to grow your capacity for the emotion of kindness. I'm not sure.
When you break the creed of the gym...when you step over the line, I'm one of the guys my coach sends in to to establish order. You unnecessarily rough up my training partners? My coach pulls me aside and says, "Don't hold back. Remind him whose gym he's in."
I just nod and smile because the shackles are coming off.
You won't out last me. I'll go 9 rounds hungover after I've already trained 5 days that week. You won't batter me. If you want to start fouling I'll turn old school and do it all from "cuffing" to other Harry Greb style tactics you've never even heard of like "pasting" you through the ropes and stiffarming you out of position while I starch you with right hands, "missing" with a hook to intentionally the bone of my arm against your ribs. You want to bang in close? My elbows will turn you and keep you where I want you. I'll step on your foot super old school and drill right hands down the pipe.
I am a student of the fight game. I know my history and my toolbox is deep. I don't have other hobbies. This is what I do. I don't play Halo. I don't play basketball.
I am fucking at home in the ring. It is the only place where I feel no distraction(s).
I've fought in parking decks, parking lots, alleys, whatever....never once in fights I picked but had to stand my ground, defend a friend, or b/c someone was dumb enough to grab my girlfriend's ass. I walk around at 140-145 lbs and fight at 135....but many a bigger man has made the mistake.
The samurai? The spartans? The roman legions?
All great b/c they were professional soldiers. They were wholly consumed by knowing as much as possible about every facet of their profession: fighting.
Old School Fight Coverage for those that appreciate it.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I'm going to recount some things as of late:
The SLEW of girls who have insulted my drink of choice as some sort of shit test opener.
The girl who faux complimented me solely to set up a knock on my argyle sweater. She was wearing fucking flippy floppies. Seriously.
The FAT girl who demanded I buy her a drink after she accosted me from the street while I stood drinking a beer on the porch.
Watching my buddy ask a girl about the tattoo on her bare arm and her refusing to explain it/acting like him acting was ridiculous then haughtily walking out with her Parliaments in hand.
I'm not sure what's happening.
The girls are getting less attractive.
They are acting more entitled than ever.
I have this urge to not even open attractive girls just as a "fuck you" in this ever increasing gender arms race of "who is too cool for whom?"
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.
Shit. Is. Bananas.
Oh yeah. Read it at Seasons of Tumult and Discord.....the most beautiful woman in the world....is a bonafide Cougar.
Soundtrack: some 80's sounding-ish stuff by Muse
Alternative Soundtrack: Rage Against the Machine
I was in the middle of my rounds on the heavy bag.
A commercial for Amp came on. It features Urijah Faber.
It felt anachronistic as in less than 2 years time he's gone from being the legit # 1 fighter at 145 lbs to having his HOME FUCKING TOWN PAPER say he should retire after losing a 5 round decision to Jose Aldo this past Saturday night.
I heard some guy who's 0-1 in MMA say that Urijah looked like shit.
I heard some other guy who's 0-1 in MMA say that Urijah was always overrated.
I stopped hitting the bag. I walked over.
"Fairweather fuckin' fans. You guys don't know shit about fighting."
"What are you talking about?"
"Look at Urijah's resume. He's got stoppage wins over a ton of contenders in his weight class. Curran, Cruz, Pulver, Assuncao....."
"Whatever man. Go back to hitting the bag."
"Urijah fought for 5 rounds with a broken hand against Mike Brown. You wouldn't last 2 minutes in the cage. Oh wait....that's right. Both you guys lasted less than 90 seconds apiece in your fights.....Ha. You guys like to pretend you're fighters. These fuckin' guys.....two guys that between the fuckin' both of you didn't last an ENTIRE round in your fights. You don't know shit about fighting. I could add how long you both lasted together and it wouldn't equal one FUCKIN' round."
Then comes the moment. The questioning moment. We stare one another down. They know I would fuck them up. They know my striking is lightyears better and that my groundwork is also years ahead of theirs. Literal fucking years on the mat. They'd get knocked the fuck out or I'd take an arm home with me.......
They know I'm not a talker. I do shit. You can go on youtube and see me fucking fight. And it's not 90 seconds counting down til' I'm beaten.
I show up fucking hungover and fight up a weight class and still come out with a submission win. I come back from my knee injury and fight a guy with 2 more fights experience and beat the brakes off him.
Fairweather fuckin' fans. Armchair fighters. I fucking loathe them.
Such is life.
People like winners. Everyone knows your name. Otherwise, they don't have time for you. Fuck the fairweather fans.
-With Greatest Affection
Homemade Videos =Better Sex over @ Insurgency, Inc.
Information on party lines and how people viewed the pussies at Comedy Central censoring the Southpark episode referencing Mohamed (oooh shit, I better use spell check, I don't want someone to put out a death order over some inane bullshit like his name). What a ridiculous religion. Oh wait, anyone super certain about something that cannot be prove one way or the other is fucking RIDICULOUS.
Not surprisingly, the "open-minded" liberals were more likely to think that Southpark should have censored the show. I guess open-minded only applies to....y'know, not offending people who base their world view on a religion which idolizes a world view from 1400 years ago and the idea that anyone not of your faith can be put to death.
Yeah, I said it motherfuckers.
On that note:
Hardline evangelicals, muslim extremists, quiverfull Christians, and Absolutely certain atheists are all in the same boat, they just subscribe to a different dogma.
It's when you cannot admit you might be wrong....that you have a fucking problem.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
This is why you don't turn a whore into a housewife.
The mother of your kids is allegedly hooked on Oxycontin.
Oh yeah...and she's been nailed on film by who knows how many dudes in Porn.
Humorous post by Roissy. Truth isn't always funny....but illustrations can help.
Monday, April 26, 2010
1) scandals involving the United Nations: weapon smuggling, sexual exploitation, and brutality
2) War Profiteering during the Vietnam War & the Iraq War
Reading: Bleak House by Dickens
Considering: starting another bankroll for online sports betting
Had some recent emails regarding my training/workout regimen. It varies, which is the usual generic answer that won't help any of those that have had the interest/motivation to ask.
A typical boxing workout for yours truly is as follows: 3-4 rounds of shadowboxing, 3 rounds on the speed bag, 3 rounds on the double end bag, 5-6 on the heavybag, 2-3 rounds again on the speed bag, 2-3 rounds on the double end bag.....and ending with progressively slower/relaxed rounds of shadowboxing.
30 second breaks in between, grab water 1-2x during the workout.
Fridays, the speed bag and double end bag rounds are replaced with a minimum of 4-6 rounds of sparring with different training partners. The workout closes with leg lifts, ab exercises, and push-ups.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Soundtrack: All the Pretty Faces by The Killers
I trained hard. I helped coach the kids. I felt a moment of content. I felt as though I had given back to a sport that has proved my only respite from mania over the years. If only I could do that on loop, never stopping, never ceasing....if only.
I thought about one day having my own son. I thought about him one day stepping foot in the ring. I thought about how hard this sport is. How much you sacrifice and the long odds of ever being a champion in any regard. I thought about the innumerable events, birthdays, dinners, movies, all the stuff I've missed whilst training.
I thought about my own weakness regarding my vices and the mounting litany of long term/irrevocable injuries that are piling up as father time takes his toll.
The cruelest joke which taunts a fighter: as you learn and get better...time dulls that edge. There is a point of diminishing returns. There is a point of no return where you only lose ability. I thought about the first time I walked up the creaking wooden steps to my first boxing gym.
If I live to be an old man, I'll hobble to the gym, and croak instructions to a crop of young boys seeking escape, redemption, and glory underneath the bright, hot lights of the arena.
I drove home. I knew what was coming. Something stirred. I was not sated. I flitted into the night already knowing the outcome.
I stopped pretending "I'll just have a few beers" awhile ago.
If I could lobotomize the part of me that sends me into the brink I would.
If some catharsis made possible the removal of my dark passenger I would gladly go through the gauntlet.
That same part of me that bids me walk up those steps into the ring/cage does not come with an "off" switch.
The gift and the curse.
They say anyone who says they don't feel fear in the ring is either lying or crazy. Well, I don't feel fear. And that's the truth.
Figures that I'm crazy.
- Be who and what you are.
Great post - read it here
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
When they say "women's and individual rights".....they mean Women's rights.
How about my right to paternity testing?
When the US tortures a suspect, it involves punching and kicking....the Taliban or insurgents.....well, that's different. Last time I checked, a stress position when Al-Qaeda tortures you involves a blowtorch to your genitals ala Hostel.
I read elsewhere online about how if the Vatican were an institituion other than a religious one people would be legally culpable (I think they are anyway) for obstructing justice, covering up crimes, and aiding/abetting known/reasonably believed to be pedophiles...and people other than the priests would be sitting in jail.
Something just occurred to me...if a *insert position here* had raped something like 200 young girls...you had better believe the public would be calling for not only the rapist, but also anyone involved in moving them around/leading to the rape of other young girls.
However, since the majority of victims are young boys...I don't feel as though the public outcry is the same.
Thanks to Southpark for continuing the tirade/satire yet serious magnifying glass by joking the Vatican each week on Southpark.
It is criminal that such a wealthy organization simply deny, deny, and avoid guilt for something that so many high ranking members are a clear and undeniable part.
The fallacy of Church.
It cannot admit it is wrong. Once it does, then so much else regarding how the Catholic Church has told people how to live their daily lives will be in question.
I don't trust people who cannot admit they might be wrong.
I don't trust anyone who tells me to believe something "just because", ie: faith.
I don't trust an organization that says a 2,000 year old book has all the answers b/c a half-God son died on a cross and performed miracles in a book written at best by no one who lived within 2-3 generations of that man/half-God son.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Long ago I stopped valuing things just b/c society said I should. If you want what everyone else has, do what everyone else does. Not many people seem happy....so it occurred that perhaps their value system was to blame.
As a result, I've been adrift to make and ascribe value as I see fit. This has brought on its own host of problems....but at least I'm not doing things just b/c the sheep do. I guess.
Maybe. Perhaps. Not?
For a few days at least, the mania has been on vacation. I've slept early and I've slept fitfully despite not having trained much due to injury.
It's an odd feeling. I have no lust for the brink, nor that gnawing feeling of boredom assailing my peace of mind.
I can truly assess that relative to finishing college, then a year later, then a year more recently....my roll has slowed demonstrably.
I had a hard time leaving this morning. She lay half awake by my side. Beautiful face, dark hair, soft skin, warm.....peacefully roaming the borderland between consciousness and sleep. I pondered the times we have shared and the heavy cost this blog/my actions have exacted.
I thought about her long after sped along the expressway to work and toil.
Times....they are a' changin'.....to be sure.
I bid thee well faithful readership. Go forth and seek your dreams & desires.
-With Greatest Affection
Jose Aldo: current 145 lb champ.
The link will introduce you to the swathe Aldo blazed in devastating fashion at the START of his career.
Floyd Mayweather can talk about being the greatest fighter alive.
That's just talk. That's just fuckin' noise in the air. That's a man trying to convince others of his own greatness.
Jose Aldo is a dangerous fucking man with every tool a fighter has at his disposal. Knee. Fist. Feet. Shins. Elbows. Submissions.
Nearly 70% of his opponents have been stopped inside the distance. The method? Soccer kicks. Flying knees. Punches. Head kicks.
Other sports are tame. I don't even watch other sports. Why would I watch giraffes shoot a ball through a ring? Guys run into one another and play grabass?
Monday, April 19, 2010
The title of this post was taken from a grabass spin job piece on the Stack attack on the IRS from news headlines which aired on CNN last night.
Everything from the music used to the excerpts from his manifesto to the use of an expert on "lone wolf violence" was a dedicated effort to take our eyes off the fact that a punitive system of taxation with no real recourse available to citizens was the cause.
Were his final actions crazy? Sure. Clinically.
Were his grievances? Hardly.
There is a concerted effort to shame and completely deny anything valid in actions like this. The greatest threat to the status quo is citizens who outright refuse the system's control and taxation. This is a scary thought, that people might just up and refuse to be a part of a punitive system of taxation that is wholesale socialism.
Why don't we decry the Taliban as crazy? The Chechens? The "suicide" bombers....every other single group that does something to make a statement.....simply b/c they're a group of "crazies" rather than one man acting alone?
The Vatican has routinely and systematically covered up not only abuse but key figures of authority within the organization have DELIBERATELY obstructed justice and moved around f'ing predators...and they are tax exempt. Also one of the richest private organizations in the world?
But Joe Stack was crazy?
Here's some conspiracy theory for your day.
Just b/c you're paranoid doesn't mean everyone's not out to get you.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Get a hobby other than reading my blog.
The dedication, time, and energy expended on keeping tabs on me is truly fascinating to behold.
You drive down the street.
Some girl is jogging. You check out her ass in the rear view.
Some girl sells you coffee. Your eyes rove over her top.
A fat girl jiggles by.
Your dick gets hard.
The girl is not attractive.
You are pretty sure you would still fuck her.
In short order.
If I didn't masturbate I'm pretty sure I would fuck a coke machine I get so hard up sometimes.
I don't just walk around with a dark passenger. My dark passenger walks around like it's been poppin' Viagra out of a fuckin' Pez dispenser.---
Rolled outta town for a minute yesterday. Hung out with my good buddy, wingman, confidant, brother, and partner in crime, Dr. J.
We've had some epic times but something was different about this adventure day. We discussed life changes and adult perspectives. Times, they are a' changin'. To be sure. Nothing beats hanging out with a good friend. We compiled a powerful index of manly/adventures for the day: watched some karate tourney, ate steak, ate japanese food, ******, watched some football, then saw MMA fights. Great day made better by seeing one of my best friends.
-Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership. I bid thee well.
-With Greatest Affection
Friday, April 16, 2010
Soundtrack: Unconditional by The Bravery
Alternative Soundtrack: The Girl & the Sea
Eyes open. Feel like I got hit by a car. And a baseball bat.
Longtime readers begin to recall the innumerable posts on this topic. Actually, I took the painkillers my doctor prescribed despite my reservations and they put me into a catatonic state after I stopped by the T.E.A. party rally near the capitol. Dreamed strange dreams of twisting and turning skyscrapers that became tentacles and reached into space.
Heading out of town to see my buddy Dr. J this weekend and to support my teammates fighting on the card I was supposed to be on.
Days pass. Time dies. We make the same choices. Rats in a maze of our own design. Mice on rotating stationary wheels.
I can't start training again just yet. I am chomping at the bit yet I needed a break. Blowing out my side, bruising my kidney, pissing blood, and tearing my core was a symptom of how long I'd been training to fight again. C'est le fuckin' vie. I can barely maintain my mania. The lust for late nights out and deep journeys into the brink assails my thoughts. Online gaming and bad network television provide little reprieve.
Back to tryin' to be the man she deserves.
But, like pops told me long ago, "tryin' ain't doin'."
Good luck and happy hunting ladies and gentlemen. I bid thee well.
-With Greatest Affection
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Soundtrack: Dirt Nasty
Natalie Portman is hilarious-ness
Get a hobby other than reading my blog.
I'm not sure why some would bother other than morbid fascination.
I'm quickly losing all incentive/reason to maintain both my anonymity and that of those featured in my blog.
A study run after the last presidential election noted that men experience a testosterone drop when their party/candidate loses.
*insert evopsych MRA* man/blogosphere commentary
Read a recent study that showed 74 percent of married women knew their husband was the "right one" within months, days, or weeks of meeting him (the actual breakdown I can't recall). I've qtd. it like this b/c it's interesting to note that nearly 3/4 of married women at the utmost/latest had set their sites on said man by the several month mark.
*insert evopsych MRA* man/blogosphere commentary
An HIV-like virus has spread to a part of NY due to people illegally importing/eating rat/monkey/bat meat from West Africa. *sigh*
*insert non-PC commentary*
Memo was sent out at my work. 3 options to avoid layoffs:
1 - unpaid vacay day(s) would save a handful of jobs
2 - % cut to save X # of jobs
3 - or even bigger % cut to save X # of jobs
more than 3/4 would rather take unpaid vacay day(s) and therefore not invest in a decreased risk for all to lose their jobs by agreeing to a larger % pay cut.
*insert human nature commentary*
Woman who accused Seagal, once on Tyra Banks show bragging about manipulative ability
I'm not sure what's less surprising, the media jumping all over an accusation in short order or that the chick was dumb enough to have bragged about being a manipulator less than 2 years prior on a show watched by thousands?
Sat in the doctor's office. I got up to head down the hall.
"You don't have to put on your shirt to head down the hall. The nurses would probably appreciate the sight, athletic guy like yourself."
Yep. My doctor complimented/flirted with me this morning.
Passed a girl at the office, I overheard her compliment my outfit.
Black guy complimented my tie/hat combo while out to pick up some lunch.
Another guy at the post office asked where I bought my hat.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership. The blog goes forth with gusto, despite continued personal cost. If life was all cupcakes, dancing bears, and unicorn rides, there'd be no point.
-With Greatest Affection
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sat in a church for the first time in AGES.
The wedding was intimate and warm. The couple both came from intact families. The bride was radiant. The groom seemed genuinely happy as to what was taking place. He had that nervous gait of someone riding the internal rollercoaster but not of doubt.
My hangover had subsided. I'd had hours behind the wheel en route to the nuptuals, windows down, sipping espresso and chugging water to clear my head.
She looked beautiful.
I felt less comfortable in my suit than is normally the case.
The god talk during the ceremony felt like words in the air.
Lo, how I've changed in the past few years.
The priest was right about one thing, the newlyweds gave me hope that marriages can/do work.
It wasn't the soporific, superficial trite "hope for marriage" trash you'd expect. It was a genuine assessment of the character of each part of the nuptuals: they struck one as a couple capable and willing of making it work, thick n' thin, death do us part style. It brought a tear to the eye.
My self-imposed, internal script doubting marriage came on full volume between my ears. It did not fit what I was watching.
I asked myself if I would ever be willing to make a promise like the one(s) I was hearing.
Thoughts were swirling in my head.
I saw two paths in the wood.
I had two hands in two different pockets. Both were uncertain.
My roll has slowed as of late. The slight encroaches of age tick from time to time now and remind your humble narrator that stronger still than even my own dark passenger remains sand through the hourglass of father time.
I don't hunger for every morning woken up in the backseat of my car. This is what I tell myself. Just last summer I did go on a bender...but it was shorter than benders past.
Questions remain. Questions persist.
From The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson:
""Happy," I muttered, trying to pin the word down. But it is one of those words, like Love, that I have never quite understood. Most people who deal in words don't have much faith in them and I am no exception -- especially the big ones like Happy and Love and Honest and Strong. They are too elusive and far too relative when you compare them to sharp, mean little words like Punk and Cheap and Phony. I feel at home with these, because they're scrawny and easy to pin, but the big ones are tough and it takes either a priest or a fool to use them with any confidence."
"Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going."
Soundtrack: The way I used to be....with some momentary lapses in the present....
I'm far too hurt to train. You spend nearly 6 years of your life fighting and things that actually leave you unable to train are surprisingly rare. The stuff that looks bad, the broken noses, split lips, eyes swollen shut look bad but just limit the contact/sparring.
It's the broken ribs, the neck injuries, the rotator cuff damage, the torn LCL's or ankle sprains that are truly preventative.
I have a hard time walking fast. Getting out of my car or rising from a chair is a careful opertation to avoid stabbing pain.
I don't even feel like drinking. I suppose this is a welcome change. I drank a bit last weekend, I cut loose after realizing my fight would not take place. Normally injury like this would mean weeknights spent out boozing it up. I don't even feel like thinking about it.
The escape drinking once offered has waned in its lure and it promise seems less enticing as of late.
Cuts at work are coming. They've already happened, in fact.
People/friends/family/blog readers continually ask me when I'm leaving this city. My field is one of those considerably effected by the economic downturn. If my boss is forced to cut me loose here soon, I'll have to move/pack up with my severance package and hit the road. A considerable number of my colleagues working for other projects have been cut over the past 18 months. There are virtually no alternatives locally should my job be cut.
Problem is....alternatives in other cities are extremely limited as well.
"Can I borrow another tomorrow....?"
Monday, April 12, 2010
I headed out with my buddy in tow. My mood was light. I had put behind me the colossal letdown of my fight being canceled. I was determined to have a good time and be merry.
My faith in humanity and life was misguided.
I stood @ the bar. I ordered a PBR. Some girl with a predictable "Save the Ta-Ta's" shirt (and boobs not worth saving), cracked a harpy smile and said, "PBR? Really?"
Internally, I thought, "Save the Ta-Ta's" really? I bet you'll comment on how some guy started at your tits with no consideration of the words printed on your shirt at some point tonight."
I took it in stride as a shit test/opener or as her being a pretentiously predictable ****** girl. I was right on both counts as I would find shortly.
"Yeah. Is that a Coors?" motioning to a beer she had ordered amongst some other drinks for her friends.
"No, I'm a whiskey girl."
"How much that run you? 7 bucks? Guess you can put a price on a good time."
"Don't be cheap."
"Pragmatic would be a more accurate adjective."
She regarded me for a second then checked her phone. I did not look away.
Her friend nudged her way in as Ta-Ta shirt extended her hand and introduced herself. I took my window and with a smirk and faked an androgynous guy voice, "and what do you do in this metropolis that is ****?"
It was like she couldn't wait to inform me she worked in *****. You could tell she was all proud she had a real job, unlike her friend(s).
"How's that working for you" I asked with a flat voice.
"Blah blah blah blah"
Her dark-haired friend grew restless that I hadn't bothered to acknowledge her, so she joked my argyle.
"Is that necessary?"
She pretended not to hear and stared into her shiny phone.
"Y'know, if he wanted to be here, spending time with you, he would be."
She looked up in slow motion.
"Seriously. He would be here if you were important to him. But then, that's not what you want. You need him to blow you off just enough so that internally you think he's cool enough to deserve playing just the tip. Maybe he's got you figured out. Maybe he's making out with some girl and doing lines in a bathroom down the street. Or not. Who knows?" I said with a shrug.
Headed into the night, drank some more. Slept it off in my car.
The gender arms race of who's too cool for whom has gotten out of control. Girls now joke guys for being well-dressed. Guys resent girls that give them a playful shit test b/c they are so used to being legitimately run through the inquisition just for making conversation. All this is detracting from the objective. Guy and girl meet. Connection ensues.
I could have joked her appearance with my acerbic wit and critical eye but why bother?
I could have adjusted to the frame, gone with a mild neg, and reframed.....but why bother?
Going out with zero intention of pulling has changed my objectivity in viewing things.
I've seen far more 0's and 1's/binary code/matrix than before. My observations are untempered by desire/lust/pressure.
My observation for awhile now have stemmed from a cold, analytical stare at social dynamics in field.
Can't say I like what I see.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Soundtrack: Servant by the Cells
Southpark is really hitting the nail on the head this season with the satire.
I could go into details but there's no point. Got hurt pretty bad during my last few rounds sparring to get ready for the fight. Probably won't be able to fight.
Headed to the doctor in the morning.
Out of town for a wedding after that.
Wagering some $$ on the UFC tomorrow night.
I could bitch and moan. But I'm over it. Trip. Stumble. Get the fuck back up. Best advice my dad ever gave me.
I told this story awhile back. I wiped out on my bike as a kid. The first day I was learning how to ride. I took most of the skin off of my right knee. My dad picked up the bike. I wanted him to carry me.
"Walk to the car. I'm not going to carry you." His exact words are hard to remember b/c of the searing burn/pain of the blood covering my little 6 year old leg. I do remember him jerking me to my feet by the arm before walking off to the car. I limped and whimpered there. But an important lesson was made.
Last night, I likely tore a muscle in my side. My sparring partner who fights 4 weight classes above mine was getting screamed at by the other guys in the gym to put it on me, to finish me, to under no circumstances let up. "Fucking take his head off."
Despite the blitzkrieg of pain searing like a livewire through my body and brain I finished the round, nearly taking down a guy 4 weight classes above mine until the bell rang.
Trip. Stumble. Get the fuck back up.
When was the last time you saw a girl out, and the very look upon her face told you that approaching her would garner at least 10 min's of shit testing?
....the last time you met a girl and thought, "if only she wasn't so obsessed with convincing everyone she had a busy life volunteering, doing yoga, riding unicorns, long distance running," you might try to make plans with her?
...the last time you wished said girl wasn't rail thin from all that long distance running she mixes between crash dieting/smoking/martini night(s)?
...the last time you wished girls realized that GUYS DO NOT FUCKING CARE WHAT GIRLS DO FOR A LIVING?
....the last time you wished girls realized that a cheery disposition, lacking a need to prove how independent they are (in the end they always show this isn't the case...how trite), and not taking herself and life so goddamn seriously would get them so much further than saying all that other shit they try to pretend they're busy doing all the time?
...the last time you met a girl, got loose, and made some bad decisions?
Gucci Little Piggy has a great post up about this....better looking guys with decent social skills "want something for nothing"...we want to eat/sex/dine at the pussy buffet...but we're not willing to work for our food. We have become lazy b/c of all the window shopping one can do downtown based on the relaxing of our Puritanical American Sexual beliefs...he discusses porn and women's empowerment in regards to their impact on the sexual marketplace/dynamic/expectations/entitlement. It is a great f'ing post. That means go f'ing read it.
You want to eat? You want to taste the goods? You gotta get out there and grind. I've managed to forget the cardinal rule.
You gotta show up and run to win the race.
Show up to work actin' like someone owes you something?
She may have banged 20 dudes before you, some in bathrooms, some in cars, some on the beach, wherever...she still has to decide she wants to fuck you. Indirectly and even semi-direclty you must show this.
Grab your nuts and roll motherfucker.
Hoist the black flag. Good luck and happy hunting. Don't be a eunuch. I bid thee well my faithful readership. You can make excuses or opportunities. The choice is yours.
"Act as if you got a 9 inch cock."
-With Greatest Fuckin' Affection
Thursday, April 8, 2010
On the topic of female infidelity/specifically within the first few years of marriage: “I just think that women are stronger and coming into themselves and following their own path,” says Toronto relationship therapist Nancy Ross. She says infidelity is often what brings couples to seek therapy and that, increasingly, men are initiating therapy.
Biderman thinks female newlyweds are looking for more than a fling — that many of them are sizing up their husbands and questioning whether they really want to start a family with him. And, in a pragmatic move not unlike job hunting, they might even want to line up a new partner before leaving their current one.
Pragmatic? Being pragmatic is finding a man willing to bang a married woman? That's the type of man you should "have kids with" rather than the man who put a rock on your finger?
Lo...the humor that occurs when women try to be logical? It's like watching a gnome inside a human body who is trying to walk using a complex system of pulleys and levers...its attempts to walk look like a baby giraffe on rollerskates on ice in a wind tunnel.
Never underestimate the ability of women to rationalize their own moral shortcomings.
I've cheated. And I know it was cheating. There wasn't an excuse. I didn't offer up some nonsensicality about being pragmatic or becoming more independent.
If you're a diplomat, however, no harm...no foul apparently. Do what the *&%$ want.
2 more days of contact/sparring.
4 months of preparation draws to a close.
Cancelled fights. Wasted bloodwork and eye exams. Opponents backing out.
Untold hours, dollars, exertion spent.
Every time I couldn't go out with friends, enjoy a quiet night on the couch/relaxing, see a movie, every morning up early. Every peaceful drive home after slaving in the hell of the gym.
Very soon I'll stand underneath the bright, hot lights and smile. Because the fight is the payoff. Small gloves will be strapped to my hands. Punishment will be meted out. The fight is the reward for my blood, sweat, and tears. It's a taste of glory in exchange for every morning awoken beaten, battered, bruised, tired, and aching. It's a taste of glory in exchange for every failure, for every tap out, for every bump, bruise, drop of sweat, puke, tears, blood, and the burn of vaseline in my eyes.
It's a taste of glory in exchange for my willingness to face fear, doubt, and failure.
The familiar feel of my mouthpiece, blood, sweat, tears, vaseline and the white hot burn/scream of my muscles will embrace me. A feeling of being alive few understand will envelop.
I'll have 3 rounds of freedom.
I'll be on vacation from myself.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Earlier was a bit negative...seeing the pitfalls means nothing if you can see no further than the traps? You have to also see the light, the escape from the cave to make life tolerable and even enjoyable.
Pursue your goals. Do the things and hobbies that provide opportunity for personal growth and an insight into the world around you while meeting people of various backgrounds.
Mine has been fighting and finding my own personal limits, incrementally facing greater and greater challenges despite pre-conceived limiting self beliefs, fears, and doubt.
What is yours?
Life is about "living". Living involves blood, sweat, & tears.
I've met a number of people over the years. They are melancholy. They don't see meaning in all the trad'l things. They doubt the whole system...but they stop short of the freedom that brings.
They have cast off the socialized values and beliefs....but stop 10 yards short of the true wealth waiting in store. They are free. Free to pursue things other than personal wealth/possessions. They are free to pursue the things no one can take from you...knowledge, experience, memory, knowing thyself.....
Life is about "living". Living involves blood, sweat, & tears.
Soundtrack: Blind by Placebo
This was one of those moments when the pieces fit together. I sat in the doctor's office this morning. I flipped through Forbes magazine and read about the Obamacare legislation and another piece on the gov't's moves to begin buying up/owning student debt.
Awhile back I saw the movie The International with Clive Owen. The movie was a semi-thriller, what amazed me however (much like The Constant Gardener with Fiennes) was the manner in which it chronicled real life graft and corruption on a global scale for which the proles like us pay the price. More on why The International is important to this post in a bit.
"The big thieves hang the little ones."
Part of the Obamacare legislation is that the FEDERAL f'ing government is moving closer to owning student debt. Part of Obamacare legislation is buying up/usurping swatches of things like healthcare, student debt...but most of all....THEY ARE OWNING the debt.
There is one telling line in The International that you must know and remember. Owen's character sits with a would be whistleblower/inside man who tells him it's not about the World Bank, the World Health Organization or even helping nations....it is about WHO OWNS THE DEBT.
Another element of the Obamacare legistlation is trying your student loan to your social security number/IRS information.
Jails are full of drug related criminals, robbers, crooks, junkies, rapists and murderers.
Pfizer, Blackwater employees, war profiteers? Free. Madoff is one of a drop in the bucket.
Healthcare, student loans, credit cards, mortgages......they want to fucking own you.
Buy a house that takes you 15-30 years to pay off, assuming the mortgage doesn't go sub-prime. Go to college and borrow 70 grand to do it. Punish those who don't establish a high line of credit and at least median level debt in the system.
They want to own the debt.
They want to own you.
I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I firmly believe that the government wants more than ever to own us lock, stock and barrel rather than let private companies do it.
Want to go to college despite the fact that a 4 year degree is worth less than ever? Just agree to TEN FUCKING YEARS of public service.
Fannie Mae is a thing of the past. That debt will be assumed by the fed gov't in more than name.
Alexander Hamilton said it first, "debt is good". Debt keeps us indebted (pun on purpose) to the federal governement. IT KEEPS US BEHOLDEN.
Look carefully at the punishment stipulations in the Obamacare legislation.
HOW THE FUCK did it go from making sure those that cannot afford healthcare to PUNISHING those who willfully choose not to have it?
What the fuck happened to my rights as a citizen to make choices in my daily life?
I remember walking into the bank last year. I was in between the start of a new contract and the end of an old one. I owed probably $600 on a couple credit cards. I was behind by 2 student loan payments. I needed a loan to square things and make it through one month until payday with the start of my new job. I was turned down. I am worth negative 16,000 dollars. Negative. I have worked since I was 16. I own my own car. I have a 4 year degree. I have been gainfully employed working 40 hours a week or more for the past 11 years and even under the table work before being legally old enough to work. I am worth negative 16,000 dollars. I cannot even be cleared for apartment rental b/c of my student loan debt and having gotten two deferrals.
They want to own the debt.
They want to own you.
They already own the debt.
They already own you.
Buy the house. Lease the new car. Go to college. Have 3 kids. Get pets. Everyone owns their own car. You need a bonus room then storage space to put all the shit you've bought that you don't fucking need. Pay your taxes. Work harder.
There will be payment due. You will have to fucking work forever and you will likely die with debt on your back and hanging around your neck. Those that manage not to, there's estate tax. Don't fucking worry. The government will punish you in your death for actually owning assets and tax your relatives for receiving it, and if you should leave debt that will be passed on down your bloodline.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Karzai bites the hand that fed him power
Buying into the system...and a lesson in why I don't.
- paying 55k a year for tuition. buying a 600k home. likely owning 25 mpg vehicles, and all the accoutrements of modern upper/middle class life.....America loves excess. We love buying more house footage than we need, not sharing a vehicle, college as a social experience regardless of how droll your kid is....we have been overspending for a long time.
This is the blowback. Buying a giant house on overpriced land in a good neighborhood is what you get. Value the wrong things....and when the bottom falls out the reality becomes clear.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
My eyes open to the bright light of the sun. Morning beckons and calls to my weary frame. The ache of my muscles will begin soon. I dreamed a marathon of dreams during what should have been rest. She is hidden beneath the sheets and comforter. My fingers run through her hair and trace her cheek. She is precious. This much I know. Pity my actions have spent much time not showing it.
My nose will likely make another clean break across the bridge soon. I could cut back on training...but that would mean benders and increased binge drinking mixed in with melancholy and listlessness. I've got self-destruction in both hands, just a matter of which one I toss into the pot.
Two sides of the same coin:
Walked into the gym, one of the girls who trains stood nearby as I pulled off my tie and dress shirt, tossing them into my gym bag.
She remarked, "******, you're too pretty to be a fighter. You dress better than I do."
"Yeah. All part of the facade."
"Facade? Your vocabulary's too big to be a fighter too. What facade?"
"That I'm a normal fuckin' person."
"That makes sense."
I'm hoping to avoid drinking this weekend. I've got some innocuous plans including a sporting event during mid-day, training...and then the inevitable time spent downtown. It'd be nice to wake up not hungover Sunday. The fact that I have my biggest and toughest fight to date potentially in a few weeks may just be enough to keep me from drinking too much.
Good luck and happy hunting. Touching on Strike's post (which you should read)....fuck dates. Meet a girl for drinks. Go mini golfing, bowling, whatever. Just don't do a dinner/date combo. That shit is a waste of fuckin' time.
YOU ARE NOT HERE TO CONVINCE HER WHY SHE SHOULD FUCK YOU. If she cannot discern that you are worth fucking more than all those other jerkoffs she tolerates for a free dinner/drinks, then she's just a clown and would rather get a free meal then go home and flick the bean while she told some other fag she was doing yoga, @ girl's night/martini night, riding unicorns or whatever other bullshit chicks claim they're doing when they say they're busy. Spare me.
I bid thee well faithful readers.
- With Greatest Affection