Recklessness & Audacity

Unadulterated: Full Disclosure Edition

2010-06-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

Here it is: This is from another blog I've kept. This is the full disclosure of nearly 4 years of infidelity.

Not sure if this blog or the other will be shut down, but I'll post here if this occurs.

Aftermath

2010-06-07T22:43:00.001-07:00

Soundtrack: All the Pretty Faces by The Killers
It's late. I trained hard. I cannot sleep.

She messaged me earlier. Just thinking about her choked me up. If I stop to think of her....I get choked up. Doesn't matter the time of day or night.

In the quiet of the night, my chest grows heavy and I waiver. I tell myself that I can make it work for her, for us.
My resolve grows weak, infirm. I miss her. I miss her falling asleep before I did. I miss reading while she slept and softly stirred every so often. I miss a great many, quiet, priceless, precious things.

I don't know how everything fell apart. But it did. My flaws as a man chiefly to blame.
I have a wedding to attend soon. She was to be my date. Another wedding we would have attended together.
It's tough enough facing the stark reality of her absence.

I don't know there's anywhere to go from here. I'm left wordless and exhausted by my nature and the broken dreams left in its wake.
There is a place beyond infatuation, beyond lust, beyond love, beyond devotion, beyond everything.....I simply feel inextricably bound to her.
-With Greatest Affection

2010-06-07T08:41:00.000-07:00

Woke up. Drove home.

Got some coffee.
Thought about her.
Wedding coming up. Seems fitting for her to be my date...but I don't think it will happen.
Being around her is just too painful. Being around her at a wedding would be far too much.
I know that I have to stay away from her. For her good. I don't want to hurt her again, and I just don't know that I can stop myself from running around on her at some point.

"Can you separate all the darkness from my eyes.....Can you separate me from the sin, is it not too late to try and start again...."
-sometimes it is. sometimes it is too late.

Good thing my fight's coming up. One of the few things that gives me reprieve from myself. The daily exhaustion and focus necessary to get ready. This will be my shortest training camp to date. I don't know how I fucked things up so bad. It's like, fighting is the only thing that lets me go, lets me lose myself. But feeding that impulse, that operating on instinct is part of the problem. That very same drive is what makes it so hard for me to be normal....I miss laying in bed with her head on my chest, reading a book.

I drag myself to my feet. Weary from living the past few days. From operating on impulse. I want peace and quiet. I want reprieve. I know it will be fleeting whenever I find it next. Tonight, after the gym, I'll lay beaten and submitted on the mat...the first of MANY such days in the coming month. The fight is just a reward. I need the gym. It is in my blood, it is part of my fiber now. One in a long line of all or nothing men leased upon the world. Impetuous, straining against convention, too strange to live, yet too rare to die (Thompson).

It's like the crazier I become, the more girls flock to me.
I wish it were different. I wish I were different. Fucking curse.

Nothing to see here: Volume 2

2010-06-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

I could tell you about what's happened since she and I broke up but it doesn't matter. I miss her. I did the right thing and as usual, it sucks & it hurts. A bunch of hoez have hollered at me. I've been emotionally distant and vacuous.

I remember ages ago, I drove an ex home b/c she was too drunk to drive. The only girl before my ex that I miss in a similar fashion....a girl whom I regarded as a close/best friend & a lover. At any rate, I drove her home, and she asked me to stay, asked me to sleep with her and hold her.....I walked out, knowing in my brain I was doing the right thing yet feeling like shit. This was only a couple months after I'd met my most recent ex.

This is like that.

Contrary to popular fiction, I sometimes do the right thing. I don't make a habit of it b/c it hurts almost as much as doing the wrong thing for which I seem to have a much higher propensity/inclination.

I'm doing okay compared to times past when she and I were apart. I haven't slid into the day after day bender. I've got a fight booked in a month which is good reason to maintain functional/semi sobriety, yet in the past I didn't even manage that. My first fight, I worked a double and drank the night before. My 2nd fight, I drank the weekend before. Seriously. Perhaps, slowly but surely, I am becoming slightly more mature...that or I'm just getting tired.

I miss her. More than I can even consciously admit. I miss what we shared and the feeling of her body pressed against mine, lying in her bed, running my fingers through her hair. I miss the precious weight of her body on my chest and her natural smell, no perfume, nothing, just the smell of her skin and body.

God, I fucked up. This is one of those that will mar my soul.

So, instead of blogging endlessly about how much I miss her.....there's nothing to see here. I'll post again when I have something else to say/feel/blog about.
-With Greatest Affection

Nothing to see here

2010-05-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

Don't know that I'm going to post for a few days. I just don't have the spirit to do it and do it well right now. I don't have much the spirit to even crank out some shitty, pithy length post so I won't waste your time.

Good luck and happy hunting. Hoist the black flag in my name.
-With Greatest Affection

Insomnia(c)

2010-05-24T21:48:00.000-07:00

Trained hard.
Hard considering the amt. of booze I drank this weekend. Harder considering how poor my diet and sleep schedule had been as well.

My technique's gotten better b/c I accomplished two things on the mats I had not before. I'll spare you the trivial details.

Made a delicious dinner to treat myself for 1) not drinking and 2) fighting the good fight at the gym. Nights like this give me hope. Hope that I may manage some semblance of normalcy in the coming months.

I know that tomorrow as the sun sets, I will hear the whispers of gibbering id....but for tonight...I feel good enough to not think about that.

Good luck and happy hunting my readers.
-With Greatest Affection

Turmoil

2010-05-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

The days grow warmer.

I grow distant.
I disconnect. I feel as though everything I do minus time at the gym sweating and bleeding is just going through the motions. I feel devoid of emotion. I feel like a complete sham of what represents a person. I feel hollow and devoid.

I see the same colossal leviathan waken and rise before me.

It takes every fiber of my being to resist the pull of temptation and not slide into a 2 months maelstrom of drinking.

So, I'm off to the gym for several hours.
I bid thee well faithful readers. Good luck and happy hunting.
-With Greatest Affection

***** by Rammstein - NSFW - Sunday Humor Edition

2010-05-23T09:58:00.000-07:00

Gremlin Hunting

2010-05-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Hazy Shade of Winter by SWR

"The life that was to make his soul would mar his body."
Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray

Strolled into the cool evening air. My head and chest were fighting a battle for control. My head spoke of moving on and my chest strummed fingers upon reflections and longing.

I walked in my Chucks on the cooling pavement whilst feeling the night's languid air...yet somehow the white noise of crackling tension began to announce the night's possibilities.
I posted up with a different crew than usual. Change was necessary. Something else was different: I was not drinking.

A fashion show took place which explained the bevy of girls taller than myself that had gathered at said drinking establishment like some herd of giraffe on migration. An Asian guy chatted me up due to our having mutual friends. He actually used some PUA lingo within the first few sentences. I told myself to be pleasant and sociable but I honestly had to force it. I was discordant. I was sober. I played around the room and ascertained who was with whom and who was more interested of each couple.

He was a cool kid, asked me about jiu-jitsu b/c our mutual friend had told him about my chosen sport. He was gung-ho about opening some pretty birds in the room, but I wasn't out to socialize with the fairer sex. I had simply come out to hang with my buddies and make it a sober night.
I was doing surprisingly well on both accounts.

My mentor arrived and we chatted about the blowout with my girl.
Walked outside and my buddy was chatting up two gremlin-looking coquettes. He introduced me (unnecessarily) and they acted like they were doing me a favor by giving me their names. Stupid college girl(s) inundated with dick offerings by guys in flip-flops, rockin' wayfarers, smelling like deodorant. Give it a couple years ladies.

I controlled my face and hid my disgust so as not to fuck up my buddy's approach.
They walked away after one girl feigned that she didn't want to give my buddy her number.
He was going to be the best looking guy that even looked at them that night. Period.
I complimented one of the models (a ginger) on her walk.
"Did you really just have to bullshit over that gremlin's phone number?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's cool.You gotta' put in work sometimes."
"I guess. Fuck those gremlin hags. They looked like 12 year old boys on Halloween wearing masks they bought from the Halloween store. 'Sides, I'm prettier than those bitches."
Two of the models seated to my left began laughing and joined our conversation. They lightly shit-tested me for my "prettier than those bitches" line but I maintained frame. I wasn't looking and they weren't my type. Running tight game with girls you're not interested in is easy.

Complimented a nubian model on her walk.
Complimented a Latina on her shoes as she sat blithely on a couch killing time.
The coma people were out and about. The clique people were out and about. The out to be seen by others and take pictures for facebook people were out and about.

Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.
-With Greatest Affection

The Truth Will Set You Free

2010-05-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

Found out I'll be moving in with a buddy in a week.

Some humor for your day, you ask? I've been living with my momz on and off for the past couple years with some temporary respites at various subleased places which functioned more as flophouses than actual places of residence. My mom left the state for awhile and I helped pay part of the mortgage once my 'rents decided to go ahead with the divorce. Then my momz moved back after that fell through and I've been helping her out with bills and such b/c it took awhile to find a job given the current economy.

This blog has come at a steep personal price. It has remained a bastion of truth in my double life. If there was room for the truth in daily life this blog would not exist. This blog is perhaps hyperbole at times, a diary open for the world to see, written anonymously. But then, as always, the mask slips and those not meant to see it have read the words.

Since I got back together with my girl I've actually behaved. Shocking, I know. My past is littered with indiscretions and poorly made choices and mistakes. I was giving it a go. I was spending nights playing on my computer and jerking off. I was behaving. I was being one of those normal people I hear about on television.

--
It's like the woman told me last weekend as I sat with her son.
"Men make mistakes."
She said it not judging, but one who had seen, been privy to, and been let down by men but knew this was just the road men must tow.

Allegedly, there are guys who don't slip. There are guys devoid of vice(s). I guess. At least, that's the image they do a better job than yours truly of maintaining for the world to see. I doubt there's many good looking, intelligent, charismatic, and confident guys that don't slip from time to time. If you find one, let me know.

Let me know how exciting that is.
Women need a good reason to cry. A reason to get worked up, to shout, to scream.....if nothing else, the fact that her man is "too nice" will become the reason for the above. How many times have you heard chicks bemoan the fact that "he's too nice," or "he's nice, but....."??

Last night: I told some blonde girl she had toilet paper on her shoe. Her friend waxed poetic about how nice I was. In the midst of this bullshit 5 minutes, my girl called. I didn't answer b/c I wasn't up for a needlessly drawn out conversation where I had to qualify why I wanted to hang out with my guy friends and that "no" I wasn't picking up chicks. Typically, I only see my friends on the weekends b/c y'know, like, I train to fight and stay in shape and like, I have a job, and my buddies are not in school anymore. At any rate, I inadvertently hit the answer button on my phone at some point, and apparently she overheard my talking to a girl.

Alert the media. Someone call the news station. Breaking news.
Like every night she's out I haven't heard from guys I know who work downtown about guys chatting her and her friends up. Her friends literally go to places they know that have more guys than girls. At any rate.....

What followed were vociferous texts and hurtful things. All over some blonde girl not even my fucking type chatting me up out of politeness b/c I told her she had toilet paper on her shoe.

Chris Rock said it best: Jump to 3:15 for the truth

From Kinowear: "confidence is built on the belief that no matter what happens, they can trust that they’ll handle it and take immediate correct(?) action. "

It is what it is

2010-05-21T07:42:00.001-07:00

Doesn't seem to matter if I behave. I'm accused just the same. I can be a housecat for however long, but an unanswered phone call, a night out with my buddies and none of that matters. It still ends in accusation.

The truth shoppe may be shutting down, folks. I'll email my longtime readers if this blog shuts down and I start a new one.

"Every disappointment and mistake, summer's ebbing from a one night heartbreak....."
-She Wants Revenge

(Un)Tangled Webs We Weave

2010-05-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

File under: the ever increasing arms race that is seduction/men & women relationships

For awhile I got bogged down in the whole "who's too cool for whom" tip I was running into while out and about/socializing. Between slagz shit testing over my choice in Argyle/tie/flaking after them giving me their number unprompted......I was going through one of those "negative feedback" phases one gets into, otherwise known as a slump.

Been reading a lot of VK's and the Rookie's blogs as of late.
It's refreshing due to the respective analogies and admittance of failures/obstacles/the unforseen.

Much value can be gleamed from the mis-steps in pursuit of tail as well as a couple perspectives on the same situation/411.

I learned more from my fuck-up a few weeks ago than I did the last few girls that simply affirmed what I know about women/game/pick-up and were beating down my door for the rod.

The curve balls make you re-evaluate. The stumbles make you pay attention to what's going on around you, insteada' walkin' around thinking you're the flyest ***** on earth and untouchable when all that's going on is whorez ar3 throwing themselves at you.
See opportunities, not obstacles. A shit test is just a test...prove you're man enough to handle her ass.

The game evolves. Period. The landscape of desire and pursuit is not static. If it was, guys like us would get bored of it super quick anyhow. Besides, this is part of the process that weeds out the unfit. Selection bias is part of the innate design for the best genes.

If you'd told me, with the right venue selection, making sure there is dichotomy in my appearance (boyish good lucks mixed with tattoos) a few years ago that girls would open me/hit me with 20 questions and beg to make plans, I'd have balked and asked what the fuck you were talking about. If you'd told me cats would begin salting my game with lies, accusation, innuendo b/c their girl hit me up by the bathroom, I'd have laughed and shook my head.
If you'd told me I could swoop the cats with the most social proof effortlessly....well, you get the picture.

These were things I had to observe in the matrix and become aware of on my own. No amount of "telling me" was gonna do it.

I don't run a heavy conversational game. Deep rapport is something I segue into depending on the vibe I get from the girl (Game comes from a core state but must be reactionary-calibrated). Different girls require a different amount of conversation before segueing into rapport...different factors figure in: how attracted she is to you, what she's seen (who've you been talking to, if you are acquaintances with her/her coterie et cetera) and discerning if she's vicariously conversationally cheating on her man b/c he doesn't know how to dance/is out of town...is actually D.T.F. you.

I see 2 basic pick-up models:
1) craft pick-up that nets the most girls possible but does not single out a particular type
OR
2) craft a selective/signature style like VK's mentioned, and use that to filter through girls that won't be much more than an SNL/aren't really what you want anyway.

And much like VK stated...after awhile...just getting a notch becomes a pretty bland experience.
Hell, if you'd told me that a few years ago, I'd have balked. It was something I had to find for myself.

The cold reality: the last 4 girls that have opened me were beating down my door for me to come over and rail 'em but I passed.

Sifting through the dirt for the gems....it takes a lot to make me doubletake these days. A couple weeks ago was the first time in 6 months or so I saw a girl that hit me with the doubletake.

But hey....it's not like I'm a fan of predictability or easy pursuits....if I was I wouldn't be living the sporting life and I wouldn't find peace fighting in front of several hundred people.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.

-With Greatest Affection

Obligatory Boxing Post: Styles

2010-05-20T09:03:00.001-07:00

Soundtrack: Rakim's "Don't sweat the technique" (one of the jams I listen to when I'm warming up along with a healthy dose of B-Boy music).

"A man can be an artist... in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it."
-Man on Fire

From a young age, I was enamored with boxing. Seeing guys get in there and move, bounce, flow, precision punching...and ultimately the balls necessary to get in there with another guy and slug it out while thousands watched....I was awestruck. As a small for my age kid growing up on the west coast seeing guys that had that courage and grace and finesse under fire always struck me as amazing. It was a place where a 147 lb man was a terror.

It was a power I desperately wanted. It's a power I've spent nearly 6 years pursuing despite increasing costs/sacrifice necessary.

In no particular order, stylistically, here are some of my favorite boxers:

Emmanuel Augustus:

Pernell Whitaker:

Salvador Sanchez:

Roberto Duran:

Marvin Hagler:

Harry Greb:
Despite having been the ONLY man to beat Gene Tunney, and logging nearly 300 professional bouts, no fight footage of Harry Greb exists.

Carmen Basilio:

And last but not least, the modern day warrior, Arturo Gatti - RIP.

Poser(s)

2010-05-19T12:17:00.001-07:00

Woke up. Ate some Cheerios.
The day loomed before me. I called in late to work. Most people do this so they can sleep late or b/c they're hungover.
Not your humble narrator.
I had sparring time booked with 4 guys all heavier than me.
Add that I haven't done any full out sparring since my injury. Over a month of ring rust and timing lost. Fuck it.
Good way to start the day. Hoist the black flag. Bleed now to win later.

Recommended Viewing

2010-05-18T10:46:00.000-07:00

Over at PUA Lingo there's an embedded clip that is not about game, but about overhauling your life and the pursuit of "happy" - ness.

In particular, I recommend from 13:30 onwards.

Great viewing. Sit down with a beer and soak it in.

Seriously.

Advanced Basics: Life Edition

2010-05-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

Some people assume that I fight and train out of insecurity. What started as the desire to have a better shot at defending myself and those for whom I care has become a life long process of self-improvement. Training is far more humbling. Each day I roll with guys stronger, heavier, better, and more experienced than myself. Most days involved admitting defeat, being bested in the form of a tab/submission. I'll go a week without submitting anyone. Some days, a great day is just surviving and managing to avoid being tapped out.

Try that for your insecurities.
I've learned more about myself in the long years of training and competition than in virtually every other facet/endeavor in my life.

I was rolling at Jiu-Jitsu last night.
I had been worried that I'd have lost a lot of finer points in my absence and to be sure I wound up in some bad positions, nearly tapped out, but overall, the time away did me good in showing how far I've come since my last fight.

My instructor had recently been to a seminar and he was talking about "advanced basics"....nothing super fantastical, nothing over the top balls ridiculously hard. Just refined movements that are based on the fundamental basics of mat work. Things that work regardless of the situation, regardless of the opponent: sound fundamental principles that are based on the universe and physics.

I'm going to talk about a cornerstone of LIFE/Game that is not focused on enough. It's an important one from the first interaction to those of you who operate long term game: Controlling closure/Drawing the line in the sand.

This is a fundamental "line in the sand" that may cost you acquaintances and fair weather friends...and unfortunately even some of those intrinsic to your personal life.....but those who know you will respect you whether or not they stay in your life.

You must be willing to walk away from people, situations, & offers that are not on your terms.

Delineating what is in your best interest in an entirely different subject I will not broach at this time. This isn't a self-help/advice website/forum.

I'm talking about a friend who wants you to co-sign on a student loan for a chick he's been dating 6 months.

A boss that treats you like shit and degrades you.

A Co-worker that steals your work.

A friend who turns their back on you for personal decisions you've made.

A relative that wrongs you/stabs you in the back.

A snake in the grass that pretends to be a friend all the while scheming on a girl you're dating....

When dating....drawing the line in the sand regarding expectations, labels, seeing others, dancing with others...blah blah. This isn't about fairness. If everyone was the same, consistency in its purest form would be possible. It's not. Men and women are not the same. What's good for the goose is good for the gander is the stupidest phrase in history. If that phrase was true American women would be happy? Who was the last HAPPY WOMAN you met? Name one. Seriously. I want you to think of the last HAPPY woman you met? Not pleasant. Not Smiling. I'm talking Fucking Happy. With a thirst for life, for experience, for fun...who genuinely was happy with herself and her life?

Seriously. Can you name one?

I have digressed.....The key is that you must be willing to draw that line in the sand and ACTUALLY walk away when your bluff is called. A lot of times the bluff won't even be called....but when it is, pack your shit and hit the trail, movin' on down the line.

"It's my way or the highway."

You may not be right. You may be utterly wrong. No one ever said you had to be right/correct to draw a line in the sand. That does not matter.
It's Alamo time, bitches.
Draw the line in the sand and walk away if need be.

This has cost me friends, acquaintances, jobs, girlfriends, and several family members.
-
Welcome to the Alamo called "Life".

-With Greatest Affection

Insight

2010-05-17T08:47:00.000-07:00

I strolled up the pavement past several nice cars. I walked in and saw my buddies. I lithely strolled by an ex-girlfriend of mine and sat down by the pool. Small fuckin' world. I don't get to see my buddy often due to an ongoing separation/divorce/custody battle. Good intentions line the path to hell. I should have been elsewhere. I should have been with my girl. I inherited something from my stepfather....I try to do to much. I try to please too many people. I balance too many things on my lap.

It is a small world. The ex glanced my way as I spoke with my other friends in attendance.

I cracked open a beer. The ex decided to leave though we ended on semi-pleasant terms years ago, but then she's ******, so they takes that kinda shit personal I 'spose. Her mother and brother were there, but the boy was too young to remember me. The mother I could tell did recall my visage (she used to lightly flirt with me and compliment me) but said nothing. I opted not to have the backstory known to those in attendance.

A **** girl with fake tits that were the first pair I've ever seen that weren't nauseating was encouraging everyone to have shots. It was some strange Columbian booze. Probably the equivalent of Aristocrat based on the taste. Patron followed. The girl with the fake tits looks remarkable considering the number of kids she's had and her age. There are American chicks 18 years old that look worse than her. A lot of them.
I'd met her through the ex @ the party, and through the ***** girl from last summer that longtime readers may recall. The one that got me booted by the gay roommates.

Another ***** girl flirted with my buddies. A **** girl was wrapped up with my other friend. I chatted with a ***** man and his Columbian friend. They spoke of **** and other places they'd been in South America. I had somewhere to be. I was waiting on the guys to pack up and drive as I wasn't in shape to do so. I waited.

Another shot. Another beer. BBQ. Another shot.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I played with one of the kids. He told me about school and a girl in his class. He asked me about my tattoos then about fighting. He said I seemed sad. He asked if I could come to his class and meet his friends. I wondered if/when I'll be able to settle into a life such as this: house, pool, dog, kid(s), wife......there are quiet moments of peace, however fleeting, that calm my restless spirit with a look, a touch, a scent, a flicker of time.....

His mom said I was good with kids, asked if I had any of my own.
"No. I don't."
"You will. In time."
"I don't know if that's the case."
"You'll calm down with time. You are still young, yet. You have a thoughtful face. How old are you?"
"27."
"Yes. You can feel it already. I can see it in your face. The same things are not the same things to you they were once."
"Yeah."
"You are young. You are a man. Men make mistakes."

Fade to black.

I woke up in my car. I drove home. I tried to sleep. My phone was busted.
I literally climbed up the side of the building with relative ease and rapped on my girl's window b/c my phone was busted and I didn't want to wake her roommates. I came inside and we slept then enjoyed a wonderful rest of the weekend.
It's life: bumps, bruises, smiles, tears, and all.

-With Greatest Affection

Shots to the Face

2010-05-16T05:06:00.000-07:00

Had some shots with one of my best friends.....woke up in my car.

Which means....I missed hanging out with my girlfriend after her *****.

A Whisper in a Room Full of Shouts

2010-05-14T07:53:00.000-07:00

From the Files of "to be posted later".....

"To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances." -Henry Wotton, The Picture of Dorian Gray

A sign to one is not the same sign to another. Crossing paths in the most unpredictable of times is just that....a sign...if you're a chick. If it happens twice in a week's time...well then, it's meant to be.....if you're a chick.

"It's meant to be," a quintessential passive/aggressive girl rationalization tool for liking a guy.

Nicaragua. Brazil. Venezuela. Mexico. India. Czech Republic. Cougarland.

A lot of girls. Blase. They all ask the same questions. Virtually all of them respond to the same routines/basic principles. Going out with ZERO intention of gaming and simply interacting changes the whole paradigm. When you're not vested in the interaction, simply curious to see the "action/reaction" ping pong of social situations.....consistencies emerge.

A couple guys who've seen you work this same room come by and irritatingly fist bump/ask you 20 questions like they're some chick trying to suck your cock.

20 questions repeated ad nauseum. Chicks and dudes playing the same part on your stage.

My phone lit up.
"Do you want to come over for dinner and drinks?"
The 2nd time in as many days that an offer of this nature had come down the digital pipe.
Blase.

My phone lit up....I was busy playing Battlefield Bad Company 2 (Awesome game) and actually doing the "quiet night at home" thing which has proven so elusive in my past. My eyes grew tired from training and knifing motherfuckers in the face on the virtual battlefield.

She always worries when she needs not. When she's not worried, she should be.
Ah, the irritating predictability/paradox of life.
Things reach a point....when you try to behave. You do everything you're supposed to do...but it's not enough. It never will be. The trust is gone. There is no rewind. No number of compliments, hugs, mornings woken up next to can restore that previous state.
The weight of transgressions/mistakes becomes a yoke to bear....you who carry few such burdens.

The mask slips. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Expectations. You abhor them. They make a drab and dreary affair of life. This is part of what chick magazines and therapists tell women is a "fear of commitment".
It's a fear of boredom put more aptly. Life is short. There are no rewinds, no redo's. There is only the non-existence that follows that last breath/gasp.
When I'm 80....assuming I live that long (quite the assumption, I know), I won't lie in bed and think, "y'know, I should have spent more nights at home playing video games".....
--

She came my way. She stood next to me at the bar. Her arm semi-subtly touched mine. She hoped/expected me to open. I did with some bullshit situational opener like I always do. It's not really what you say....just the guy saying it that matters. If you build it they will come.
You informed her the next ***** dance was hers.
She smiled and said she looked forward to it.
As is virtually always the case, you were a better dancer than her despite her heritage.
Insecurity does not compliment girls well.

A long ago dance partner roved her eyes over you. As you parted with the Nicaraguan, you held out your hand and the two of you moved in time. You saw an ex from ages ago, a Cartel member's girlfriend who partied you under the table (the only girl to ever do so). You had heard she returned home to the motherland. As with most things people say, creative liberties had been taken. She still looked good. She still looked like some drug lord's mistress. You were busy dancing with a dark-haired girl.

Ships passing in the night and all that shit.

There was no flicker. The candle kept burning at both ends. Wax dripping on fingers deigning to capture the flame then shocked that the flame singed their skin when they came too close to it. To hold the flame would extinguish it....a sad truth they know in their heart of hearts yet hope against hope is not the case. You're not a house cat. You never have been. You do a good impression of one, and it soothes your restless soul much of the time...but the call of the wild roars to a deafening decibel and you have to kill a bird to leave on the doorstep. You're not sure why, you've tried repressing it. You've tried being a good little boy reading and watching bad network television.
As it is, you awoke, sipped coffee you didn't need and drove to work in the cool morning air, irritated and nonplussed by a needless conversation forthcoming.

"First one gives off his best picture, the bright and finished product mended with bluff and falsehood and humor. Then more details are required and one paints a second portrait, and third---before long the best lines cancel out---and the secret is exposed at last; the planes of the picture have intermingled and given us away, and though we paint and paint we can no longer sell a picture. We must be satisfied with hoping such fatuous accounts of ourselves as we make to our wives and children and business associates are accepted as true."
— Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and Damned

Life Lessons

2010-05-13T16:25:00.001-07:00

Finished my boxing workout. A guy that's pretty cool who trains there was struggling with some work on the mat. Specifically, he couldn't escape this position...so he got caught in an armbar ala this gif.

he's a nice guy. Not overbearing. doesn't walk around all hard since he's been training for a few months like some clowns do...it's not his fault the guy running the "mma" sucks and isn't qualified to teach someone how to hold a fuckin' jump rope. He's not fortunate like me as I train with the best jiu-jitsu team in the state. I do my boxing with boxers. I do my jiu-jitsu with jiu-jitsu guys.....I don't go to a boxing gym to learn "mma" b/c I watched The Ultimate Fighter on SpikeTV.
Alas, I have digressed.
I stepped in and methodically showed him the mount escape, explained the frame and specifics about drilling escapes from bad positions religiously...b/c as I found out in various parking deck/parking lot fights....bad positions come out of nowhere esp. in street fights.

You miss an armbar, damn.
You miss a mount escape...teeth are missing as well. Hell, even if you hit it, likely, you'll get punched in the process.

These are lessons learned the way most effective: the hard way....the eye swollen shut, ribs broken, concussion style lessons that leave scars and lapses in memory.

Roll the dice.

As a kid, I wish my dad had said something like, "Son, one day you might turn to say something to your friend and a large man will strike you at the base of the skull. The next thing you know he's pounding your head in on concrete...what do you do? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU DO?"

It's a question you can really only answer when it happens.

And you'll probably be drunk as fuck when it happens too.
Heads up.

Good luck and happy hunting, kids.
-With Greatest Affection

Hilarious Post over at Insurgency, Inc.

2010-05-12T23:11:00.000-07:00

Hipsters...and their inability to just f'ing admit they are.
---

The Jungle: Modernity Edition

2010-05-12T08:09:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Guerilla Radio

Competition for low paying jobs?
Housing market a swindle?
Credit crunch/predatory lending?
Higher education virtually unattainable (unless you take out massive loans-see above)?
Massive corruption/graft occurring between politics, private interests and the government?
Court/Legal system about who has deeper pockets?
Corporations making the regulations that oversee them/flaunting them regardless?

Each year.....I'm more and more amazed at the parallels between Upton Sinclair's seminal work, The Jungle, and our modern time(s).

Though, semi-Victorian in nature due to glorification of the protagonist(s), and purporting a cure-all (in the form of Socialism).......

Much like its predecessors in the vein of Dickens and other socially aware authors that pulled on the heart strings of the reading public; Sinclair took a political slant and sought to create sympathy for the plight of the impoverished.

But as we look at the news, as we look at the economy....as we look at spiraling national debt then have the bank and the student loan companies harp on us as though individual citizens should not have any accrued debt....wait, no that's not right, you have to have a certain amount of extended credit to even have a decent credit score.....hmmm. Imagine that.

Some of us had a "Rage Against the Machine" phase early in our rebellious youth. We saw conspiracies and harped on the government's largely felonious practices in various parts of the world.....then you set childish things aside.

Are you not a bum? Are you motivated? Are you ambitious? Are you intelligent/creative/driven?

You go to college.
You take out a loan.
You get a credit card.
You graduate having negative net worth.
You are saddled with debt for an education worth less than at any point in history yet 100's of times more expensive....so your eyes eventually fall upon those "childish" things......and you grab your teddy bear, you grab your big wheel, Gameboy in hand, and you open your eyes to see the system of debt.

It is a system DESIGNED to keep you paying back money you can Virtually never fully pay back. If everyone, or even the majority of people zero balanced their credit each month, many credit lenders would fold overnight. They would close up shop b/c there would be no money in it.

I have banked with the same bank for 3 1/2 years. I need a loan to make it to payday. I'm talkin' like $100. I had a check clear unexpectedly that I wrote over a month ago. The bank said "no, [they] cannot in good faith extend me a loan."
This is the same institution that has been loaning out my money to others on interest for 3 and a half years.
I don't need them. They need me. Worker beers can leave the hive. The Queen is the slave, not the other way around.

Wrap your brain around that. I cannot obtain a loan for $100 b/c I'm behind on my student loan payment(s).

These are two totally unconnected debts, held by two completely different hands....but you see, they talk to one another. They "flag" you....so though, like in Rounders with Matt Damon:
"All the luck inthe world isn't gonna change things for these guys. They're simply overmatched. We're not playing together, but we're not playing against each other, either. It's like the Nature Channel. You do'nt see piranhas eating each other, do you? "

Do not participate in a corrupt system in which you are designed to lose.
I'm not advocating you go Jack Duane in The Jungle and grift/become a professional thief, b/c unless you have money, the legal system exists to get those that go outside the confines of the debt system.

How much money does the federal government have?
NOT ONE FUCKING RED CENT. They do not own the lint in my fucking pocket nor the ink on my goddamn check.

Don't forget that.
The government is answerable to its people, not the other fucking way around.
Somewhere along the line "public" servants forgot that.
We are not indebted to them. They are indebted to us.

Equal Protection Under the Law....another fallacy

2010-05-12T00:10:00.000-07:00

True story. Truth is stranger and more terrifying than fiction.

Serenity(?)

2010-05-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

She stood on her tip toes in the doorway. I held her face in my hands and missed her already. I pulled her to me and felt her body close to mine. I ran my fingers through her hair and could barely speak. Words could not articulate the depth of feeling I possess for her. I had stayed in bed next to her as long as possible. I was already late for work. I had much to do but none of that mattered.
Peace is not a feeling that I experience with much regularity. Normalcy is not a state to which I am accustomed despite my best efforts to make it commonplace. I'd emerged from the weekend melange equal parts hollow and.......something I could not articulate.

I walked into the cool morning air, late for work but unfazed. Life is a series of moments which phase from one to the next....but a precious few reverberate then emblazon themselves onto the core of our being.
Tonight I'm going to train hard enough that I can resist the call of the wild. One of you will have to hoist the black flag in my stead. Good luck and happy hunting.
I bid thee well.

-With Greatest Affection

Weekend Wrap-Up: Prizefighter Edition

2010-05-10T07:18:00.001-07:00

Above.....legendary Harry Greb. Fought nearly 300 pro bouts despite being dead by the age of 32...fight for years whilst blind in one eye. Straight up. They don't make a lot of men like that anymore.

Soundtrack: I Get Even by Mickey Avalon

Busy weekend.

Got back on the mats for the first time in a month. Within a few weeks I hope to be back full steam at the gym, possibly fighting in July, but more than likely August. Oddly enough trained with a guy I almost fought recently. His skillset was, shall we say, unimpressive. He left the gym knowing he narrowly avoided a serious fucking ass whipping in front of about 700 people.

Saturday, watched my white whale (whose coaches turned down a fight with me) fight another guy in a back and forth affair that was likely fight of the night.

Keep winnin' those fights champ. I'll be waiting.

Celebrated my buddy's birthday.

Hadn't planned on going in the first place, but got into the opening night of a brand new club/lounge where I may be working part-time in short order. I'll be making money hand over f'ing fist if I get hired.
I rolled up past the 50-60 people in line rockin' my white v-neck t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors while broads wearing super expensive dresses, hair styled just for the night, and needlessly fake tanned legs stood outside shivering in the aberrant cold night air.

In other humor, some chick grabbed my ass. A girl in a red dress saddled up next to your humble narrator and made small talk. I excused myself and discussed life and such with my mentor before another girl in a tank top and designer jeans asked me to dance. Dancing wasn't on my list of things to do as I was tired from a long day of training, watching the fights, and revelry.

.....in other news, at said bar's gala opening, I saw two mortal enemies from my past.
--About 2 years ago perhaps, I saw these two clowns both at the same bar on the same night. I rolled up on both of them and called them both out on it in front of like 20 of their friends. Because they're both cunts, they rallied their troupes, but my 3 buddies and I were literally going to hand them all their asses...so the pansies got the bouncers to take us out. Pitiful, really.

Anyhow, I was posted up at the bar when I saw the first guy. He immediately averted his eyes and disappeared into the crowd. Rollin' out hand in hand with them was the cousin of another ex of mine.
I saw the second guy and he looked away. I guess 20 min's later or so he felt the need to not feel like a gutless simp of a man and magically appeared next to me at the bar. I looked over at him and smiled.....but he never looked up from his beer. He was probably having someone somewhere snap a picture to prove had something that resembles balls. I guess in his mind standing next to someone he fears even when backed up by 20 guys is a moral victory.
Hope he slept well on that.
The girl in the red dress re-appeared by my side but I just slammed down my Corona and flitted into the night with a tragic smile on my face.
I went home with my absurdly smart and gorgeous girlfriend.
One or both of those clowns were probably jackin' off with their tears as lubricant and wishing they could at least feel a little bit more like a man.

Put your dick in the fire. Get beat up. Roll the dice. You can go on youtube and watch me fight motherfucker. You gotta' pay cold, hard cash to see me put the hands, knees, and feet on folks these days. I am a prizefighter...part of a long tradition comprised of the all or nothing men walking around, living the sporting life.

Oh yeah. And I got another tattoo.

Monday morning came quickly....I slept fitfully and deep. She was by my side. I ran my fingers through her hair as she lay with her head on my chest. Leaving her for work and the drive in my metal coffin proved difficult as it does on these peacefully quiet mornings next to her. There was no hangover, no need for coffee or rushed exit. Her beautiful face and long, dark hair....soft and warm...hushed toned tales of intimacy and longing coursing between my fingertips and her skin. I could have hugged her and crushed her in my arms, unable to articulate her importance to me and the depth of my feeling(s) for her. I've spent much of my days self-reliant, hesitant to actually rely on another, at least in self-admittance. I sat with my mother yesterday...and it occurred to me, that the person I trust most other than her is my girl.

-With Greatest Affection

Concise response to Com. Central's Censorship....

2010-05-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

"The failure to stand up for free expression emboldens those who would attack and undermine it.”

Busy Weekend & Man the F*** Up

2010-05-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

The manosphere will shriek this weekend about mother's day, and granted, I think that Olympics commercial saying only "thanks mom" was slanted/myopic.

The cold reality? Women have long born the brunt of childbearing and rearing.

Yes, a peaceful society in which to raise a child is only possibly with men willing to kill and die for defending the borders/ideology et cetera. I'm not going to beat this horse to death.....but if more men did their fucking part to raise their fucking kid the government wouldn't be stepping in to replace fathers in part/whole. There also used to be recourse for women who gave it up and the guy didn't marry them as promised (see the Victorian period, the term "Shotgun" wedding, et cetera).

My dad walked out. I don't even know what he looks like. My mom didn't. She raised me.

Some faggots/woman hating betas out there in the manosphere can cry "whiteknight" 'til they're blue in the face.
Welcome to being a fucking man.
Work hard. Die early. Take risks. Die early. Get no thanks. Die early.
It's called being a fucking man for a reason, nancyboys. Go cry into your pillows and shake your fists elsewhere.
It's also secretly part of what makes being a fucking man awesome.
It's a struggle. It's a struggle that transforms you into all that you can be and more if you can handle the obstacles.

It's called life motherfuckers. Get over it. Man the fuck up.
--

Live fights this weekend in my city, UFC on pay-per-view, my buddy's birthday....going to watch a guy that ducked me fight someone else. His coaches know I'd take his arm home with me inside of one round so they turned down a fight with me. It's okay. Let him win a few more fights and build his name up. He won't be able to duck me forever as we fight out of the same city and we're both entertaining as fuck underneath the bright, hot lights. I'm still going to beat the brakes off him then tap him out.

Spent a night out with her last night.
She has this look in her eyes that can melt steel. She has this look that makes me crumble.
She has this look that echoes and reverberates to the core of my being and rends my will to pieces.

I slept deep, restful, peaceful, catatonic sleep with her by my side. It was hard to leave for work, her standing at the door in her t-shirt and underwear, leaning up to kiss me.

Some things in life are truly priceless.
-With Greatest Affection

Pretty Fallacies

2010-05-06T07:37:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: NIN's The Day the World Went Away

You head into the brink. You have plans for a several bar jaunt with your coterie of rogues. The night has all the telltale signs of predictability. You've picked up various numbers as of late. You have been nonplussed.

You spy with your little eye a girl you intended to approach weeks, or months ago (who knows such things....all the nights turn into one melange, after all). You will not be denied this time.

If there is one thing about you that is beyond doubt it is that when you see what you want...however rare that is....you are a deal closer. There is no plan B. There is only success.

Your buddy opens the group she's with lithely with a cigarette opener. You don't even inject yourself into the conversation. You think you know how you will play this. You have been drinking but you are in the perfect state. You are not sloppy by any means. You have already opened a number of sets and been mixing up the conversation muscles for a couple hours. You can apply what you have learned over YEARS of going out and socializing and conquests. There is no "if" only "when".

Your buddy opens the group then ejects momentarily with a takeaway move. You wantonly open her based on her country of origin (your favorite). But the logistics are fucked up. The french chick in the group places herself next to you. You consider the prospects but know that there has been miscommunication. Your 3rd friend placates the Latina in the group. As the **** motions for you to talk to her, a slag you met the night before does an arm pull and takes you inside.

The new variable in the equation buys you a shot. The IOI's are off the fucking charts. Each and every indicator is present. Were you not keeping your eyes on the prize, this guaranteed bang would be a slam dunk. She keeps touching her hair. She hooks her arm in yours. She looks up into your face like a child on Christmas. She is all smiles and sing song voice tone. She cannot keep her hands off of you. She is sweating you like no other.
She waves her friends home. She tries a time constraint move by saying she's only staying for 10 more minutes. You wanly dismiss this. Game recognizes game.

You are staring into the goddamn fucking matrix. The binary code flashes and flies by at the speed of sound.

You are maintaining the original pursuit. You will not be denied a second time. You must deter this variable/woman. You have to ditch her and get back to the prize.
You try everything to deter her.
The ****** looks back and motions to her friends as you down your shot. At the end of the day, however, you know that the ***** is getting wet over this inadvertent takeaway by this other girl.

"Where do you live?" she asks.
"I live with my mom."
"That's awesome."
Are you fucking serious? Homegirl is determined.
"What do you do? Don't you have work tomorrow?"
"I review porn for a website. Part-time."
"That's interesting. Do you jerk off a lot?"
"I did twice before I came here. Get it? Came here?"
Fuck. I am losing steam to blow her off. She has her eyes on the prize.
"I live a few minutes from here," she says.
You dismiss yourself and head to the bathroom to formulate a strategy. A black woman stops you and talks your ear off. Christ. The girls are forward this night. The black girl's friends compliment your hair and face, remarking how pretty you are. They ask if you are packing. You smack the black girl's ass and say, "what do your instincts tell you?" while maintaining cold, hard eye contact.

You finally have a piss and strike gold: homegirl has disappeared. You had hoped you could trust her capricious nature to do such a thing. Ah, the predictability of mercurial human nature.

You walk out to the ******. She makes a smart remark about the girl that grabbed you. You lithely dismiss her protests as token and blase. This sort of thing simply happens to you, your body language intimates.

A girl you banged awhile back comes by. She's already drank her dorky date into blasted-ville and he's stumbled off to a cab. The ***** is gobsmacked that ANOTHER girl inside of 20 min's is coming up to you for a takeaway. You and the ******* take a seat. Your arm goes around her. Her hand rests on your thigh. You and her speak in confidence and hushed tones of intimacy. You discuss many things. She is pleasant. You are gobsmacked. She lacks that cold nature so inherent to many American women. There is none of the arms race to prove who is cooler than whom. There is no overt shit testing. Rapport is instinctual between the two of you. The attraction is more than physical. In fact, it lacks an overt physicality b/c it packs a deeper, core recognizance of two like individuals.

You battle to maintain frame. She is disarming you. Her kind demeanor filters inward. Your foundation is strong but you begin to think that this may be one of those times where you break the rules and flip the usual script. You sip your 12th or 15th beer after having had a couple shots. Amazingly, you are still fully functional.
You bask in how different she is from most American women. You tuck her hair behind her ear then give it a slight tug. Her hand moves to the inside of your thigh. You kiss her cheek. She smiles a radiant and coquettish smile. The Latina friend drops her best game on your 3rd buddy. He is taking one for the team.

The clocks winds towards the dying time. The **** asks what you want. She rises to leave when you pause, then you voice that you want to go home with her. She says she would like that too, but she did not drive, and her keys are back at the french girl's place. You tell yourself that she's wanting something longterm.

It's like finding 20 bucks in the snow. You tromp through snow your whole life but remember that one time you found 20 bucks.

You walk into the dark night fully accepting you will never see her again and nothing will come of this night. Nothing ever does.

You wake to a text message she sent after you blacked out.
You walk the hot and humid 20 minutes to your car whilst sweating out last night's revelry and cheap booze. You are not surprised when several cars honk en route.

The barista flirts with you whilst all you want is to get your coffee and disappear.

-With Greatest Fucking Affection

Minotaur

2010-05-05T08:18:00.000-07:00

The above is from Ballistyc's site on Deviant art. Amazing stuff, honestly.

Soundtrack for Today: NIN: "I still recall the taste of your tears...."
Alternative Soundtrack: NIN's Right Where it Belongs

I stared into the sky. I hoped it would swallow me whole and never stop. I could have walked to the nearest bush or tree or cave or overpass and slept for a hundred years or more.
I felt a monumental weariness in every fiber of my being. It wouldn't have been the first time I ended the night under the stars to awaken to the sound of traffic and what passes for life in this modernity. I wished the leviathan would rise from the maelstrom of my mania and make the world go away.

This life as a n'erdowell is a tiresome affair.

For all my lust and rage and masochism....there is no reprieve. I hound and hunt and sprint headlong into excesses in life's facets....... fleeting glimpses of peace and content fall into my lap as my fingers run through her hair, a morning awoken with her by my side, her soft hand in mine, fingertips tracing her back and shoulders.

A war in the gym. A busted lip or a broken rib. I lean against the ring ropes as my heartbeat slows and my breathing grows less haggard. As I am broken I feel whole. I have fought the good fight. I feel several minutes of vacation from myself.

I coach the kids at the gym, for all of whom maybe 1 in 10 or more like 1 in 20 will come to know the pain and glory our chosen sport gives in unequal doses. I should tell them to walk out and never come back. I should tell them to fucking run. No one wins in the fight game. No one gets out of the fight game without paying the price.
No one.
My eyes open each morning to an increasing list of injuries bought and paid for in pursuit of glory on the regional fight scene. I take my mom to dinner. I work in a field none of you would ever imagine/guess.
My mask slips.

The sun sets. The call of the wild builds from silence to a deafening roar of static white noise. I stand at the edge of the abyss overlooking the depths of the brink. Two sides of a coin that flips itself by its own volition. My only part is holding the hand in which it lands.

When I say that I chase the thrill....I've realized that's a misnomer. That's disingenuous.
I miss that peace....that's actually what I'm chasing. The quiet moments of silence and content...b/c it's the hardest quality for me to obtain and it only appears in the aftermath.

This fucking curse.
This dark passenger.

The blessing and the curse.
That need to know...that impulse is the same one that carries my feet up those 4 steps into the ring in front of the mob that cheers for violence.

Without risk, there is no reward.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. These notes from the underground will continue. I love you all.
Happy Cinco de Mayo! Viva la resistance!
-With Greatest Affection

"But even after admitting this-and I have, countless times, in just about every act I've committed-and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling...."
-American Psycho

MMA Fighter/Gangster Interview of the Day

2010-05-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

Some history behind Inoue/Kid Yamamoto, Yakuza in Pride.....et cetera.

Close But No Cigar

2010-05-04T07:37:00.001-07:00

Headed out with a veritable roundtable gallery of rogues.

My usual wingman, we'll call Benny, a long-time coterie member we'll call Warden, and a 3rd guy we'll call the colleague.

I rolled up first b/c I like some time to acquaint myself downtown and get my fingers on the pulse of the night's vibe. My bartender buddy waved me in. A cougar had been ogling me. She quickly tried to discern my age. Given my choice of hobbies it's proof of my skills that women tend to underestimate my age. She was a cougar par excellence. Tried and true, no rock and from the vibe hadn't been married in awhile. The cougar has a slightly stuck up ( as it would turn out not nearly cute enough to match her ego as per her age....some chicks think having an accent is like 5 million hot points). At any rate, I was polite, as my bartender buddy was gaming the friend and I was placating the cougar who was not of interest to me. She remarked that my face was flawless. Yeah. I almost laughed. I wasn't going to be the one to make her feel young tonight.

Benny rolled up, and I handed off the ball as this bird was not getting diznick from yours truly. I wasn't sure Ward and the colleague would roll up, b/c he's flighty like that from time to time.

I glance over and they had appeared. I shifted my focus from taking part in playful jokery and mother gooseries with Benny and the cougar to chat with my buddies.
My mentor had also appeared from nowhere in stiletto heels a short dress and fake tits.

SO, Ward, colleague, mentor and myself chatted it up.
I saw Ward say a few words to the cougar's friend but thought nothing of it. As the group moved, I returned to the bar and the cougar's friend says: "You should be careful around your friend?"
Nonplussed and wanly, I asked, "Why is that?"
"He said he was 'sorry, [he] couldn't make out with me b/c [he's] getting over a cold."

Deadpan, I remark:" I'm sure he was kidding. It's not that serious."
I had to play it lowkey and not atomic blast the slag b/c my bartender buddy was gaming her.
The cougar decides to throw in her 2 cents from the peanut gallery with:"Yeah, you need to watch your friend" as the friend then goes with the classic bitch line of, "Yeah, I'm offended."
I turn to both of them and in direct line of sight and even tone say, "It's not that fucking serious. He was kidding. If you can't handle it, then that's too bad. Be easy."

I turned and walked away to close my tab.
The colleague was going on and on about this newly divorced girl he's been banging since before she was divorced....and how now that she's saying she's free she's blowing him off.
Le FUCKING sigh.
My buddy Warden and I did our best to give him a crash course in "manning the fuck up" and "scarcity". My mentor chipped in her 2 cents which is more like a million dollars worth a' knowledge. The colleague was listening but not hearing/understanding. You can show someone the door but they gotta walk through it themselves.

My buddy, Benny ended up banging the cougar. Shocker.
--

As it was 2 Brasilierinhas were chatting up Warden and the colleague. I sat and saw the writing on the wall. I saw the binary code. The colleague was going to blow his natural head above the competition by speaking Portuguese and spanish and hailing from the neighboring ***** down south.

I could sleep in my car or grab some diner food and watch the inevitable implosion. I was just hoping Warden's pull wouldn't get sucked in after the backdraft hits.

Being right so much gets to be predictable and irritating.
--

I watched as the colleague brought up the divorcee in conversation.
I shook my head.
He was literally choosing to devalue himself.
He was going on and on about his feelings.
I ate my diner food but appreciated a visual re-affirmation of some key principles.

Respect yourself and others will follow or hit the bricks.
Talking about the past is for losers.
Talking about women from your past or the current is for serious losers.
The distance between a penis and inside a vagina can be millions of miles even if in actuality it is only several inches and some fabric.

As it was, we later stood amidst a crowded club. The dance floor throbbed and pulsed. I was nonplussed. A cute blonde had flagged me down earlier but I was losing steam. Some waif thin exoticas strolled nearby but the Kate Moss/Twiggy body does not elicit a response from your humble narrator.

A black chick with a mohawk flagged me down but I lithely disappeared into the crowd. A squat(ter) than her friends Latina flagged me down with a request to dance. Even if I was looking I'd not be seen dancing with a chubster. Ran into some kids from the gym who asked when I'd be fighting next. Wish I knew folks.
--

I then watched the same guy pull the same implosion the 2nd night in a row.

Unbelievable.
Yet...so predictable.

Might be pickin' up some side work in the social scene.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership.
Be who and what you are and beholden to none but yourself those of your choosing and worth.
-With Greatest Affection

This will sound strange but....

2010-05-03T08:05:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Blind by Placebo

The drag queen was singing a song by Kelly Clarkson.

It made me think of her.
It made me wish I was home and laying down next to her.

I had played Bingo with a gay friend of mine and another friend of his. I had fended off the normal come-ons one gets at a gay bar.

"Cuz we belong together now
Forever united here somehow
You got a piece of me
And honestly
My life would suck without you"

A large black man flirted with me and complimented my Chuck Taylor's. One of the bartenders who relentlessly tried to fuck me the first time I went to said bar several years ago made idle talk. A socially awkward guy hit on the friend of my friend.

Sometimes, in a place you wouldn't expect, the universe opens up itself to you and you see the matrix. You see the binary code and, for a split second, you see and know and understand. Then the moment passes and you feel as lost as you do much of each passing day.

A short girl in a red dress flirted with me while her boyfriend was dancing by himself. Blase. She was unremarkable.

I sat outside in the warm, night air and looked up to the sky. I saw no stars. The clouds obscured the distant lights.
She made some comment about short girls with dark hair.
I said, "I know. My girlfriend is about your height...but breathtaking."

My buddy dropped me off. I didn't want to knock on the door and wake her roommates...so I tried calling. No answer. I tried calling again. No answer. I walked around to the side of the building. I hoisted myself up and attempted to climb up through the first floor's balcony.

If I'd been a monkey it might have worked. My simian quality points were not high enough.
I got my hands onto the ledge, but didn't trust the fencing to hold all of my body weight. The thought of cracking open my head and no one finding me until the morning also crossed my thoughts at least three times.

I admitted defeat to the balcony/railing, bid adieu and slept in my car. Woke up 4 hours later and drove to my mom's house. Woke up, sipped coffee to rejuvenate enough to pass myself off as a normal person. Put the windows down, slipped on my driving cap, adjusted my tie....and flitted my way to work amongst the others......

"Of how I will always long for you......
if not I'll put my love to sleep...."

-With Greatest Affection

Gusto: Calvin Edition

2010-04-30T15:00:00.000-07:00

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?
Perhaps.
A man living in a concrete jungle made antiseptic and sterile at nearly every turn?
Likely.
A man uncertain of the choice(s) to make?
Yes.
A man certain that one direction (forward) is the only one which feels compelling?
Yes.

-With Greatest Affection

A key difference between men and women

2010-04-30T13:11:00.001-07:00

As a little boy, you learn that if you fuck with the wrong people, sometimes you get owned.
Girls sadly rarely learn this fact of life.

Here is a PRIME example.

Lotta Irony in the News Today: Iran/United Nations Edition

2010-04-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

"Just days after Iran abandoned a high-profile bid for a seat on the U.N. Human Rights Council, it began a covert campaign to claim a seat on the Commission on the Status of Women, which is "dedicated exclusively to gender equality and advancement of women," according to its website.

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'?"

Daily News: Absurdity Edition

2010-04-29T10:09:00.000-07:00

Before Mexican/Latin immigrants get all up in arms...they should review the laws about illegal immigrants in their own nations of origin.
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:

Old School: Ring Wars Edition

2010-04-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

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.

The problem?
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.

Paradigm Shift: WTF Edition

2010-04-28T10:44:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Promise by Slash & Cornell

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.

Le sigh.

Oh yeah. Read it at Seasons of Tumult and Discord.....the most beautiful woman in the world....is a bonafide Cougar.

Fairweather Fans

2010-04-28T08:35:00.000-07:00

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

On some Real-ness

2010-04-28T00:39:00.000-07:00

Hilarity: Hills Parody Edition

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.

Whores are for Banging...Not for Marriage: Tito Ortiz Edition

2010-04-27T08:21:00.001-07:00

Soundtrack: Meds by Placebo
:)

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.

Odds & Ends

2010-04-26T13:22:00.000-07:00

Listening to: The Killers

Researching:
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.

Weekend Humor Post

2010-04-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

"Sexist" advertising from years gone by

Break-Up Letters: Closure Version 2.0

2010-04-23T11:32:00.001-07:00

:)

Humor for your day

Good luck and happy hunting this weekend my readers. I bid thee well.

Bask in the warmth of the haters.
Be sure to check out Aldo dismantling Faber Saturday Night
:)
-With Greatest Affection

Requiem

2010-04-22T07:47:00.001-07:00

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

Not "Gay" Enough & Other Ridiculous News

2010-04-21T12:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah. Bi isn't Gay enough for the Gay World Series.....

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.

An Idea about the Vatican Scandal

2010-04-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

Something just occurred to me.

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.

Serenity(?)

2010-04-20T12:02:00.000-07:00

Spent some time out of town. It cleared my head as it always does. The hour(s) on the road gave time to consider much and ponder my direction (lack thereof).
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

Brutality & Finesse

2010-04-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

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?

Stack Attack, Irony, & Hypocrisy: Monday Morning Edition

2010-04-19T07:07:00.001-07:00

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.

Calvin & Hobbes

2010-04-18T14:02:00.000-07:00

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

A bit of the ole ultraviolence (?)

2010-04-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

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

Surprise(?)

2010-04-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

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
*le sigh*
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

(Un)Certainty(?)

2010-04-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

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."

AND

"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."

Aural Vomit: Tila Tequila Edition

2010-04-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

This is just sad on so many levels.
Proof that being a no talent hack need not be an obstacle to making money.

*sigh*

Walking the Razor's Edge

2010-04-13T09:04:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: The way I used to be....with some momentary lapses in the present....
Alternative Soundtrack

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.

Fuck.

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....?"

-With Affection

Adventures in Pretenti-ery-nous-ness-ity

2010-04-12T07:50:00.001-07:00

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.

Murphy's Law/When was the last time?/You like the Pussy Buffet?

2010-04-09T07:57:00.000-07:00

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?

Soundtrack

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.

Soundtrack

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

Female Relationship Therapists (and why I'd never see one)

2010-04-08T13:51:00.000-07:00

Hat tip to Roissy

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.

Equal Protection Under the Law....

2010-04-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

If you're middle eastern looking...dont' smoke on a plane in/on/going to America.

If you're a diplomat, however, no harm...no foul apparently. Do what the *&%$ want.

Vacation from Myself

2010-04-08T08:10:00.000-07:00

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.

:)

The Silver Lining

2010-04-07T14:30:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack to this post: Shout
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.

Are you?

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.

Are you?

I FULLY See what's going on now

2010-04-07T08:13:00.000-07:00

Debt as Money

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?

-In disbelief

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.

Southpark gets it right again....

2010-04-05T11:33:00.000-07:00

Catholic Church doesn't know what to do (other than harbor them) with priests accused of sexual assault.....reminds me of this classic Southpark episode.

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.

Two Sides of the Same Coin

2010-04-01T07:48:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack to this post: Servant by The Cells

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

Pretty Lies/False Industries

2010-03-31T09:33:00.000-07:00

1. Jesse James enters therapy - *sigh*
This takes me back to the Tiger Woods' Southpark episode

2. Russel Brand is a bridezilla. Yeah. Katy Perry think that marrying Russel Brand a CONFESSED SEX ADDICT and all around cad is a good idea...I'm wondering what the response will be when the "cheating scandal" that he was boffing some pornstars breaks.

Odds & Ends

2010-03-31T07:52:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: The Stooges - I wanna be your dog
Alternative: Search and Destroy

Gucci Little Piggy has a great follow-up to his Obamacare boycott.

I agree with his assessment that comparing healthcare and auto insurance is demonstrably different. You can choose to drive, while difficult, it is still a choice.
I cannot choose to be alive. (spare me inane comments about suicide).

I also would point out that forcing an insurance industry to not calculate rates based on propensity for risk/genetics/behavior/lifestyle.....is counter to what "insurance" is. (as per Gucci's first post on this subject, I believe, among other great points). Read his post, it's better than my summation of it here which has already begun to ramble.
--
In touching on my post yesterday about the difference between most mothers and fathers/men and women:

Last night, I walked into the gym. I warmed up, did my cardio, then began wrapping my hands before the start of 2 1/2 hours of actual training. A little boy, age 5ish, had been picked up by one of the girls/women running a kids' class which was wrapping up before the adults got started. He was crying and sniffling (read that: sniveling).
I had seen this little boy do so before. This has always been in the absence of his father. He seems to know that in his father's absence he can cry about being tripped or perhaps tagged out and that a woman will come to his aid and pick him up to make it all better.

Were he my son I would leave strict instructions for when he chooses to pout and cry.
"Put him in a corner until he decides to brush himself off and join the group."

The boy is learning important lessons in life at this juncture. For each lesson taught now, the reality will be a bitter pill to swallow later in his life. I do not envy him.
"The more you coddle him, the more he will cry."
"Oh, don't be so serious. It's not a big deal."

Most women just don't get it. Hell, a lot of fathers don't get it b/c they were raised that way as well or resent their dad for trying to make sure they had a pair of balls.

-With Greatest Affection

The plague continues

2010-03-30T22:45:00.001-07:00

*sigh*

Advice to a Son/Boy

2010-03-30T07:36:00.000-07:00

I don't know shit about being a woman. I don't pretend to. In fact, the more I interact with the fairer sex, the less I understand. My male brain is diametrically unable to fathom or understand their impulses, just as women typically cannot understand what drives me. This is not a bad thing. If both sides understood everything, where would be the fun?

We are the product of the obstacles we have faced.

Not the victories. Not the losses. We are the product of how we respond to failure and hardship.

We are the product of the mountains we have sought to climb. We are the product of the failures and our choice to pick ourselves up.

3 pieces of advice given to me as a child stand out in my mind as supremely formative:

I came home from school one day. I told my dad about how I "had done my best. I tried really, really hard, dad. I lost the baseball game."
He looked at me. In an even voice devoid of malice or disappointment, stated matter-of-factly: "Tryin' ain't doin' son."
--

I was at a park with my dad. I was learning to ride a bike. I fell down like 20 times. My knees were cut. My elbow was cut. I finally wiped out so bad on asphalt that nearly all of the skin on my right knee was cut off. I wanted him to carry me to the car.

He looked at me, picked up my bike, and said, "Stand up. Walk to the fuckin' car. Stop crying. Crying is for girls."
--

The first time I got in a fight at school (of many b/c I was small for my age), I came home. I got a referral at school and was suspended. My mom chastised me. She left the room.
My dad looked at me in a quiet voice and asked, "did you win?"
"No. He was a lot bigger than me."
"That doesn't matter. Did you hit him back?"
"Yeah. As much as I could."
"Did you cry and wait for him to stop or did you fight until the teacher broke it up?"
"I kept hitting him until the teacher grabbed us."
"Good. That's what matters."
-
These are things few mothers will do for their son. I do know some boys, however, with mothers who are tough if not tougher than a father. Reading about Sugar Ray Robinson's mother comes to mind.

These examples may seem callous. They may seem heartless. They are investing into the confidence of the boy. The boy must learn to rise and rise again. The boy must learn that he can depend upon only himself. I may be outgunned. I may get the worst of it but I fear no man. I'll fight until the lights go out. Call it crazy. Call it stupid but once it starts I will keep coming and coming and coming. I feal no fear for my physical well being when I step into the ring. I fear losing and what it represents. That is all.

And it's thanks to my dad.

Next Tuesday's School Production of "Scarface"

2010-03-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

You're not hallucinating. I found a link over at screenjunkies which should provide definitive proof as to why American education falls behind.
---

Scarface School Play - Watch more Funny Videos
----

Kids are putting on a production of Scarface. Yes.
The cockroach, cocaine, drug lord, murder glamorizing Brian De Palma film of great fame.

Click the link to actually see a clip from the production. I can't help but wonder what the ethnic breakdown, oh, I'm sorry, "diversity" of the school was.

The kids actually say things like "Son of a B." and "motherfudger".....

As a western society, we truly are doomed.
The city on a hill has died. We are no longer the light of the world.
Give us your poor, your tired, your wretched...keep 'em coming. They can get dumbed down and not speak English just like our own native born barely do.

I never bought into all that end is nigh talk.
This shit is an outrage. Not more than a 100 years ago students received an education in the classics and students in elementary school's equivalent could read the King Jame's Bible unassisted. When you hear that quote about how Shakespeare had only a **** grade education, they don't include the fact that an elementary school education was virtually identical to high school and in many cases some college course work of today.

All that's happened is now everyone has to get post graduate work to in many cases make mid 30k $.

By the end of the above clip....the adults in the audience are all clapping. I can't help but notice the ethnic background of each of the students. *ahem* not white.

Not to be a jerk, but looks like the white man doesn't even have to sully his hands with keeping down the non-causcasian masses. They'll latch onto a cocaine smuggling, murderous, drug lord for their students to portray...and cheer loudly for at a school play.

You need a license to fish....any motherfudger can have children.

-With Disgust

A comment by a Reader

2010-03-29T16:41:00.001-07:00

j.hladik said...: This post reminded me of a clip I've been meaning to link you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7Vecx9m974&feature=rec-LGOUT-exp_fresh+div-1r-4-HM

Watch and know.

This clip always makes me smile.

Chasing the Dragon

2010-03-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

A weekend out socializing.

Meaningless pursuits and cheap thrills.

Lip glossed smiles and furtive glances.

Bullshit.

Time spent with my buddies watching the fights.
Good times.

Unbedazzled. Overheard some chick @ the grappling tourney mention "vajazzling" which brought to mind In Mala Fide and the recent blog ring work on googlebombing.

I am nonplussed. I am in the throes of repetition and meaninglessness. I've been a good little boy as of late, but no pay off. I've been deep in the gym for months and I've considerably bumped up my skills. There has been no definitive test, no tool for measurement to know beyond doubt that I have become a better fighter.

That tells me what is missing.
I haven't fought in awhile.
I've been training since December to go at it again. I need that rush of the crowd and the bright, hot lights cutting out everything else in my life. I need that singular focus of winning while my muscles scream, my lungs burn and adrenaline courses to the point where I don't feel the impact of bone and fist.

There's a quote about Alexis Arguello I have taped up on my desk @ home. It is from an article following Arguello's questionable death/suicide:
"Without the adulation, the constant challenges, the day to day discipline, and the sense of purpose that boxing provided, he was in capable of holding it together. In this sense, as in others, he belongs with his heroes....deeply flawed as a human being, sure, but as a fighting man, immense."

I am part of a long tradition of fighting men. All or nothing individuals, finding solace only in a chosen few and in front of the mob who has paid to see violence and/or skill. From the old saloons to the modern arena, fighting is innate to our gender. It is the fabric of our being.

A man makes himself through force of will alone.

There's a surreal peace when I step through the ropes. What I've wanted, prepared for, and sought out to test myself is at hand.
There is only what will happen. There is a comfort in knowing that. All the nervousness of "When?" has disappeared. There is only "Now".
The blood, sweat, and tears all paid in full as tithe to the fight gods. I have only my ability and my will to carry me forth.

Roll the dice.
Be who and what you are. Take chances. You only win what you put in the middle.

-With Greatest Affection

How do you....

2010-03-27T15:32:00.000-07:00

I peruse sites on game and picking up chicks more for thought provocation than anything.
Via email, the question guys and even some chicks ask is: "How do you approach women?"

The context and understanding the places I frequent is important, but not something I can entirely articulate here.

What follows, however, is the tried and true Allagash conversation starter kit:
I am not a big fan of canned material.

Virtually every girl I open, I go with one of two things:

"What brings you out tonight?"

"How are you?"

"How do you all know one another?"

"You guys here to see the band?"

This works better if you're handsome. But it is not necessary.

Virtually every girl I have opened in 4 years, I have met the following way. Virtually every girl I've slept with in aforementioned time I have opened with one of the above.

Period. Beyond that, work your conversation game and escalating Kino. Those are the TWO SINGLE BIGGEST THINGS.

That is all.

Go forth and swing for the fences my faithful followers. Your humble narrator goes forth daunted and weary, yet insatiable.
- With Greatest Affection

My Bad

2010-03-27T06:19:00.000-07:00

.....Success will go to your head.

I had begun to believe I simply deserved to eat and not work for my food. It had grown easy and my complacency soared.

I forgot the cardinal rule.

The lion must run down the gazelle.

I had developed a sense of entitlement.
......

Now it's time to put in work.

Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership.
Hoist the black flag.
- With Greatest Affection

Irony in the age of Modernity

2010-03-26T23:09:00.000-07:00

You go out.
You behave.
You text often.
You refuse drinks offered by slags.
You refuse come-ons offered by slags.

She turns her phone off when you want to come home and sleep next to her.

Welcome to irony.

Blase-nisity in the Age of Modernity

2010-03-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack to this post: It's Just Begun
Alternative Soundtrack: Love My Way by SWR as well....a song I hadn't heard before

We had been out a number of times. We had stood close in public places, fingers interlocking, beneath the stars and moon and sky. We had made out in parking lots at the close of the night. We flirted via text. I attended functions and made conversation with boring people on your behalf. You felt safe on my arm. You told me as much.
I wasn't your type. You told me as much.

Rationalize it all away sweetheart......

My interest waned. As it always does.
You had told me how active you are. Admittedly, you had more going on in your life than the unicorn rides, cupcakes, shopping , and martini night(s) that girls normally admit while claiming to have all this other stuff going on ( how else could they pretend they're too busy to see you on X night?).

Still....the conversation would lull, the dull sheen of reality intruding in my consciousness. That rare quality, my white whale, ever elusive. I could feel that quiet, that stifling blank space that would no doubt infiltrate any long term interaction. I went scurrying into the night like a roach from the light of the cave's entrance.

Only a couple times in the past few years have I seen that rare spark, my eyes falling upon something I had to pursue.
..................................

You accomplish things. The bar raises. Your tolerance increases. The ability to get that high from success becomes much harder to obtain.
Girls overtly talking about you fucking them before it's even happened becomes blase.
Passe even.
Girls telling their friends how bad they want to fuck you despite having heard of your previous exploits. Expected.
Girls stripping down to panties while you sit on a couch wishing only for sleep.
Eyes roll.

So many girls....so little lust.

Good luck and happy hunting this weekend my faithful readership. A busy weekend lays in store. Helping promote my sport, refereeing a tournament, watching the fights and such other things. I bid thee well.

In a last bit of worrisome news....

-With Affection for my readership

I wonder....

2010-03-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

Every time I see someone picking up dog shit....I wonder to myself...."Is that little dog looking back at the owner, bag and napkin in hand...and thinking 'yeah, motherfucker. pick up my shit. hold the leash. think you run this. you still pick up my shit.' "

???

Part of me thinks this must be so.

That is all.

Textually Active

2010-03-25T07:46:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Sevendust for your day
Alternative Soundtrack: Deftones for your day

Awhile back I recalled a text conversation...well, here's part 2. Proof that doing what makes sense when dealing with women is virtually a guaranteed wrong course of action that will land you in LJBF purgatory:

To Recap:
Got a text message out of the blue from a number not matched to a name in my phone (given the wording, I was pretty positive who it was. I have learned however....how one must deal with such girls).

Girl: hey how have you been?
Me: (an hour later) who is this?
Girl: (15 mins later) ***** . guess you forgot about me
Me: ( 30 mins later) deleted your number
Girl: (10 mins later) i was sick and busy for awhile after that
Girl: ( >5 mins later) don't be mad at me
Me: (20 mins later) not mad. hadn't heard from you so i deleted your number
--

That was it. She didn't reply after that. The logical man-brain says, "oh, shit, I fucked up. She's not going to talk to me b/c I deleted her number."

Wait for it....wait....wait for it.....hold fuckin' fast. Hold your fuckin' ground.
Remember? Interaction(s) and relationship(s) are on your terms OR NOT AT ALL.
This is the creed. This is the motto. This is the way.
You will miss out on some interaction(s) and relationship(s) by sticking to this creed...but the ones you have will be on your terms....and faaaaar more often than not women will respect this (and continue on with the interaction/relationship) rather than walk away completely. Double word score!

Girl:(2 days later) Hi, how are you today? It's *****, do you remember me? ;)
Me: (4 hours later) Hey
Girl: (2 hours later) What are your plans this weekend?
Me: (3 hours later) Plans on ****day. Free later on ****day
Girl: (2 hours later) I'm free ****day. We should do something ***day
Me: (next day) K. I'll call you before then

Le sigh. Nothing like staring into the matrix.
- With blase affection

Call me Thomas....Don't trust.....

2010-03-24T07:47:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Gotta love some Bowie
Alternative Soundtrack

People who live their life based on a 1400 year old set of beliefs governing a culture of tribal warfare

People who think voting dem/rep actually makes much difference in their daily life

People who think a god impregnated a virgin and had a half/deity son in any of the myriad of forms it's been hocked to the foolish

People who are lifelong academics

People who have never worked a part-time job out of necessity

People who tell me America was founded with Christian beliefs (pick up a fuckin' history book and stop repeating some shit evangelicals and fag-haters repeat to the point that other sheeple believe it. Too much religion and a monarchy (thinly veiled church structure) was a key component of drafting the new government - IE: avoiding the pitfalls of a king/god)

People who think the government can actually fix and not exacerbate societal problems in the process of spending OUR money

Politicians that tell me I should support something out of moral obligation

People who base any decision/belief on faith (see numbers 1 and 3)

People who espouse that everyone is equal beyond the second they are conceived

-With Minimal Affection

Actors on a Stage

2010-03-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

Awhile back I attended a dinner party...this vague feeling I had met them all before proved something terrible and unavoidable. For nearly 20 min's I wracked my brain to place the faces of those in attendance to some girl I had dated in the past. I took what I knew about job(s) and where they lived, extra-curricular activities.....and it seemed as though I literally had met these people ALL at some point before in the past. This is of course impossible...but nonetheless I felt this strange feeling as though I had spent time conversing with them...then it dawned on me...I had met many people like them through my various relationships.

Go to enough dinner parties with people in LTR's (as I was a date, the girl I was with and myself were the only technically single people there).

The parts in the modern American Life/Drama are as follows:

overachieving dorky white guy with fat wife who copes by building a man cave in the basement (where he jerks it to fetish/kiddie porn and plays an instrument/WOW)
underachieving dorky white guy with mannish girl
self deprecating husband with fat wife (silences pain with food and deprecating humor)
guy who made snide remarks/under his breath esp. when his wife was out of the room
-utter lack of sexual vibe between anyone actually legally married. flirting may occur between unmarried individuals.

Characters faux glibly will speak of the following subjects ad nauseum:
children
dinner party menu and food selection/preparation
landscaping
houses
economy/school for their children
things they plan to buy

Hiding/Text B.S./Recalling a story

2010-03-23T07:40:00.001-07:00

Soundtrack: Cheesy Rap/Rock for your day
Slept deeper & harder than I had in ages...which is saying a lot. As of late, when my eyes have shut, I have slipped from existence and drifted to the bottom of nothingness. Morning came after what felt like ages. She removed her shirt. She pressed back into me. I had my predictable morning boner. She had shaved. Had the guilty/rushed morning sex necessary in a modern world lacking in primal priority but feeling its pulse beneath every interaction for those who listen.
Drove into the bright morning and ignored the cool breeze. The hipster that served my coffee asked about my tattoo. She also asked if I was a fighter. We bantered and I headed into my day.
--

Got a text message out of the blue from a number not matched to a name in my phone (given the wording, i was pretty positive who it was. I have learned however....how one must deal with such girls).
Girl: hey how have you been?
Me: (an hour later) who is this?
Girl: (15 mins later) ***** . guess you forgot about me
Me: ( 30 mins later) deleted your number
Girl: (10 mins later) i was sick and busy for awhile after that
Girl: ( >5 mins later) don't be mad at me
Me: (20 mins later) not mad. hadn't heard from you so i deleted your number

In summary, this is the only way to roll with now n' later girls. When she had all the power (she assumed) she wantonly replied days apart/in sporadic fashion. When I didn't give chase, her curiosity got the better of her. She sent out a feeler message to gauge my reaction. I struck back with the one response she wasn't expecting. That I had the (in her mind) audacity to delete her number for something as sensical as not having heard from her.

Note the victim/little girl ploy about "don't be mad at me", framing it so I have done something/anything other than logically respond to someone whom I am not attached nor know all that well by deleting a number unused for communication.

I've had countless experience with her culture. I have flipped the script to which she is accustomed. She's gone off to lick her wounds in faux shock. Part of her is innately intrigued by my audacious choice to delete "her" number.
--

I'm reminded of a particularly over the top night on my part. Not sure why.

I was out with a former lover and some of her friends. We ended up in a car on the way home. I was predictably drunk. Over some perceived insult, I began physically threatening a guy in the backseat of the car.
In the haze, I vaguely recall/ think he had rubbed me the wrong way much of the night.

One of those guys who postures like he's a badass, and virtually every story he tells is about how f'ing great he is and how others are inferior by default. He had that fratty condescending tone that stems from having had a bunch of guys having your back for much of college whenever you crossed the line.

Guys like this tend to eventually subconsciously perceive my body language and my lack of feigning that I'm impressed...and unwisely choose to question me.
I won't stand up to you b/c guys have my back. I'll stand up to you when tested b/c I will tear your fucking world apart and you won't be the first or the 15th guy whose discovered that.

Upon disembarking from the car, I began tapping on the glass, posturing, and threatening the man in the backseat. Like most males, despite his earlier claims of "fucking me up" he quietly sat in the backseat and mewled like a small kitten lamely trying to mock and make jokes.

No doubt, the girls verbally applauded his unwillingness to fight, characterized me as drunk, an asshole, and not making any sense.....but regardless of the logical reasons stated...emotionally, they knew that his web of claims and talk was simply an illusion, a bluff, a front....a facade...that when called to action he feared another man and demured.

Women respect a man willing to act...a man who chooses not to act....inhabits the cold, gray void of all those other men who fear consequences and talk a good game...but ultimately only spew words (bullshit)

You guys have any desire to hear some more late night brawl stories? I've shared a few of them on here/intermittently in the past.
-With Greatest Affection

To sleep perchance to dream.....

2010-03-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

My eyes opened. The light grew bright outside. My alarm had not sounded just yet.

She slept silently by my side. The world as I knew it was peaceful. It was the quiet time before the rush of life begins. I savored the precious moments and appreciated the exquisite calm. I ran my fingers through her hair, my hand resting on the small of her back. She was deep asleep, equal measures of softness and warmth. I mentally prepared for the rest of my day: work and equal parts preparation and hell in the gym. The week lay spread before me: a long road filled with tests both mental and physical. I gritted my teeth in acceptance of the road rising to meet me once I climbed out of bed. I stopped and ran my fingers down her neck as she stirred and sighed in waking.

"The more the light shines through me, I pretend to close my eyes....
the more the dark consumes me, I pretend I'm burning...burning bright..."

I've worn my hat of significant other and partner. It comforts and soothes the dark passenger. I slept what felt like a millenia and dreamed my recurring dream of sailing on a black sea.

I slipped into the day hopping from shadow to shadow already mentally weary in consideration of the week ahead. These are the tests that make us, that forge us. If you must fail, do so while daring greatly.
-With Greatest Affection

"...who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

Going Slowly and Learning Everything Again

2010-03-21T08:35:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Simple Man Cover by Shinedown

"You don't know how Megan has come to believe in you since you don't even believe in yourself."
-Bright Lights, Big City

The crowd grew overbearing. The throng no longer appealed. The wayward glances of girls admiring your visage chafed. A girl grabbed your arm. Wordlessly, you extracted it and pressed forth. You walked into the night and found sleep in your car.

You woke up with that desert dryness in your mouth that felt like sandpaper. You looked back over her messages asking you to behave. You climbed out of the backseat and put on your driving cap.

You drove home and slept.

Byron-y in the Age of Modernity

2010-03-20T13:53:00.001-07:00

Soundtrack: Nick Cave's From Her to Eternity

She sits on a stool. Her legs apart, I stand between them. It's the same place I left with a girl I ***** the night before. Her hands pull me closer between her legs. We strain against convention and socially acceptable physical contact/proximity.... the desire clear to those seated nearby. Some bored (married) couples nod our way. One guy yawns. The other tells some bullshit story about work.

"You feel like home up against me close...."

She says that she's an angel. I mention coincidence and whisper in her ear that I am also.....with a smirk. She says she's already seen my horns. Her fingers tug at the pockets of my designer jeans. I give her some of both: a soft touch and firm grip.

"As your lips form the words that you won't say..."

I comment on the fabric of her dress. She mentions that it forced her to wear underwear, something she normally eschews. Since I'm not in college or high school, I take this in stride with a half smile. I let it hang in the air, I don't keep harping on it, save to mention later and re-escalate. My hands rest on her ass, my fingers feel the fabric of her thong through her dress. It whispers a wordless hymn, a lascivious susurration pulsating from within.

"But for now let's kiss hard, Fuck the games...."

We both know where this will go. She hopes against the signs. She hopes against her penchant for bad boys, players, and rakes. I don't deny her concerns. I do not assuage them. I take them in stride and continue.

"You taste like tear stains and coulda' beens..."

I sit and sip coffee as my thoughts rove over the latent lust in memory....my pressed dress shirt and slacks lie in wait at home. Mayhap a tie will add to the look, mayhap not. It matters not. The dark passenger rocks to and fro eagerly. I have rested. I have hit the gym. I've eaten well.
The only option...answer the call of the wild. I'm caught between fighting off the dark passenger for long weeks then it coming out in a terrible bender of debasement and mania....or taking it for walks a few nights a week in hopes of sating it in methadone-like fashion.

In few hours time....the sun will set. The light will fade, and the dark passenger's playground will spring to life...the rides and amusements will light up and beckon forth those seeking cheap thrills and expensive mistakes.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership. Your humble narrator goes forth as always...hoist the black flag.
-With Greatest Affection

......"Harry was right. I thought I could change what I am, keep my family safe. But it doesn't matter what I do, what I choose. I'm what's wrong -- This is fate."

You Know You've Got Game When....

2010-03-19T06:55:00.001-07:00

Old School on your ass (Best Rapper EVER. Biggie ain't got shit in comparison)
Alternative Old School on your ass (Most underrated Rap Group EVER)
Add'l Alternative Old School
And one last classic for your ass

You know you've got game when....

cats hate on your style while they rock wayfarers and boat shoes with some Northface to compliment

girls buy you drinks

$10 is all you need to get a good night out started

girls overtly mention that they're fucking you 2 hours in advance

you can't remember the last time you paid cover or waited in line. anywhere.

girls pay your cab fare home

you guard your phone like a muslim's virginity

it's hard to roll anywhere downtown without seeing girls you've known in the biblical sense

you've got more flags in various countries than most guys have total

you pull the sweet birds and you pull the slags

you sit at work in the clothes you wore out last night...and still look better than your colleagues.

you're on the way out the door with a Brazilian bird and some girls outs you for the tranny you made out with. Glibly you blow this off and roger the B. bird in the kitchen, bedroom, and living room of your apartment.

...buy the ticket, take the ride.

Be who and what you are. Fuck the haters. Live, move forward, and don't look back.
-With Greatest Affection

In other news, a member of my rogues gallery has been on a slag spree as of late.
Feast or famine.

Quick Humor Fix of the Day

2010-03-18T10:35:00.000-07:00

Hat Tip to In Mala Fide

Recognization-ness

2010-03-18T08:42:00.000-07:00

Walked in and some guy gave me the head nod like he knew me. We shook hands....felt like I was in Swingers and we had a conversation despite my having no idea of who the fuck the guy was. He clearly knew me based on what he said and asked about my next fight.
Fag.

Some dude told me he liked my coat.
Some chick complimented my hair in front of her boyfriend.
"Why don't you get your hair cut like his?"

"Are you a model?"

"You're pretty."

"My friend has a crush on you."

A number of girls opened me. A couple dudes opened me, ostensibly I was playing for the other team. Sorry boys, not my cup a tea. I have a one dick limit in my sex life. More than one girl grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear. I was nonplussed. That spark, the all spark to quote fuckin' Transformers has not been seen in ages. I was determined to behave.
She's not here. I fall to pieces when she's gone.

What's your name?
*****
Oh, yeah, we met ******.
I guess.
I've heard about you.
That so?
Yeah. I've seen you out before.
Stalker. You're not having someone take photos of this are you?
Yeah, I, like, totally am.
Figures.
*insert inane banter*
I'll be right back (No, I won't).

I sat and thought the other night....I asked why I stuck with blogging. It has exacted a ridiculously heavy and costly personal toll. It has revealed things about me to those close to me yet previously in the dark. Then something dawned on me....she's been there before the blog...during the blog....she will be there after the blog. It's terrifying in a way. Her love is staggering and crushing. I crumble in her absence.

Others have come and gone. They cannot understand what she has that they lack. It defies description and articulation. It is a wordless quality ...a whisper in a room full of shouts.
Girls have heard of my exploits, witnessed them from time to time....they come hither full of interest...they less than pale in comparison to her. My apathy spurs them to gina tingle. It only lessens my already utter lack of interest. They want a taste. They want a touch. They want experience. I have nothing to offer save a roller coaster ride. Intense for its duration but incapable of long term sustenance...unless your name is ********.

They think they want to ride. They think they can hang. Only she has. Others have wanted to...but I have always chosen her.
- With Greatest Affection

Amateur Night

2010-03-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

The adult year is filled with a number of nights where those individuals normally relegated to Fri/Sat going out, letting off steam from work, but not tried & true enough to weekly soldier through a hangover whilst façade’ing their way through staff meetings….decide to go out.

In no particular order: Halloween, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day (if single), & St. Patrick’s Day.

Each has its particular silver linings, by and large, however, they are a waste of time:

Halloween – slutty apparel virtually guaranteed.

New Year’s – no girl wants to be alone at midnight

Valentine’s – every single girl feels in adequate

St. Patrick’s Day – social/binge drinking lowers standards

All Hallow’s Eve –

No respectable/quality girl wants to retell a hundred times how she met you dressed as a barmaid with her tigs hanging out whilst sporting fishnets while you were simultaneously dressed as Captain Planet, some ninja Turtle, or the always clever FBI/Full Body Inspector guy every bar seems to have in attendance.

New Year’s –

Girls like to believe in fate and timing and coincidence having meaning. It's another form of chick crack...or passive acceptance of external forces that alleviate responsibility for that guy they made out with/sucked off/had sex with in the bathroom. Ala every romantic comedy/girl goes abroad to get over guy, foreign guy falls for her, only at which point the guy back home in America realizes the love of his life may be gone for good….girls will like recounting how they met you on new year’s….they won’t like the reminder that they couldn’t lock down a dude’s arm to be on for such a socially important holiday.

Valentine’s –

*insert girl belief in coincidence/timing/chance/fate*

However, she will be with other friends who are ostensibly single and potentially more willing than ANY other night of the year to cockblock out of hate for the fact that no guy is hitting on them. Wingmen are key to a night such as this. The likelihood you'll not likely take home a decent bird, but the girl(s) you can take home will broadcast it a mile away.

St. Patrick’s –

Large groups, male friends drunk, less likely to notice your come-on in haze of booze and groups talking to one another. Super easy to open with situational shit. As to the likelihood a chick will go home with a random dude in the midst of having come out with something like 4-8 friends (more than likely mixed company)….lots of luck with that.

As it is, just like Friday and Saturday are poor odds for closing, holidays are longer odds. Taking one day out of the year, one shot a year on that holiday to close….dismal odds unless you’re game is super tight…and even then, it’s a tough road to tow.

I believe in Tuesdays. I believe in weeknights far more than other night of the year. I counted up…and statistically, of my entire count of SNL’s….Tuesday were 66% of those girls I same night closed. That is a compelling & telling number.

It may make for a long work day…but why bother having a job if you can’t show up hungover? Pussies talk about being too sick to work. Pussies talk about not wanting to grind out hours on the clock while the maelstrom of hangover assaults your senses. Pussies take the quiet, short road home.

Pussies get enough sleep.

-Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership

PETA laments Pigeon Racing sigh

2010-03-17T10:24:00.000-07:00

Read it here

Observation(s)

2010-03-17T09:06:00.000-07:00

Nothing makes a girl on the fence make an about turn/double take than seeing you with another girl. (in a larger sense, this applies to all but the most insecure women)

Homegirl thought she had bigger and better options the horizon. She had better things to do than respond to a text within 12 hours of receiving it. You lose interest b/c tolerating flakery is for AFC's and college age young kids that don't know better/the desperate all whimsical over just the thought of getting to finger some chick on her dorm bed.

"I'll let you know if I can make it"
-predictable silence/lack of communication follows for 2 days.

This goes for the **** girl that played coy previously as well.
"I might meet you out."
"I have to see blah blah friends, unicorn rides, cupcakes, yoga, volunteer work"

This stuff is all so predictable I have to literally glance away b/c I cannot stop my eyes from fuckin' rolling when this dribble comes forth from a girl. It has that practiced air of repetition said while watching for affirmation/admiration.....ala Gatsby in Fitzgerald's most well-known work.

At any rate, my jaunts are spent solo, with ONE wingman, or gorgeous girl on my arm.
That's just how I handle shit. Wingmen are for pussies. I open solo and I close solo. Friends don't do it for me. Girls I know don't do it for me. These are expressly forbidden if you're a member of my coterie.
Rolling downtown with a girl on your arm every so often garners more credit than almost anything else. Mix and match that with tranny makeouts, the very occasional streetfight, good tipping, and exiting establishments with a girl in tow from time to time...and you are a man about town.

I have digressed....just the mere thought of being bunned up...and girls come out the woodwork. Amazing how that busy schedule evaporates when you're demand (and therefore value spikes).

Let me know how the unicorn rides & yoga were.
- Affection and some such

Pondering-ness

2010-03-16T09:01:00.000-07:00

Soundtrack: Only by NIN
Alternative Soundtrack: Just a Car Crash Away by Marilyn Manson
Alternative Soundtrack: Coma White

Life is short. Besides, it's only blood, sweat, and tears. Lifeblood flowing back and forth in a pitched battle for dominance. Is the sum of my manhood greater than yours? That's what fighting is about. It's not a fucking ball through a hoop. It's not fuckin' touchdown. It's not a ball in a goddamn goal.

I do it for a lot of reasons. The real reason? It keeps me sane. It gets the venom out. It lets me pass as normal during the day and very rarely at night. If I didn't channel my self-destructive energy, I would be locked up deep and dark or dead and buried.
---

I strolled downtown last weekend. I was sober, gorgeous girl on my arm, rested from days off from the gym. Guys checked out the girl on my arm as per usual. She has that effect I adore: she stands out in a room despite a quiet, soft air to her persona. She carries an unavoidable beauty that crushes the other girls in a room. I can't blame guys for looking and admiring the way she has her arm in mine. That same undeniable sexiness drew me to her ***** ago.
Passed a ***** girl I briefly dated in college. She had the wistful look of a girl who had settled. I wondered if the clothes he bought her, not having to work a shitty job, if it made up for his gut laying on top of her as he wheezed and plugged away, his paunch keeping him from getting his dick deep enough inside her to validate her sexuality and need for being dominated by a man she desires and respects and admires. We made eye contact, but only after I turned did I recall who she was. C'est la vie. 5 min's of alpha, 2 years of beta.

"You have no chance to survive make your time."

By the time you met her, she's sampled some alpha wares. Maybe mine, maybe some other guy's. When she gets that quiet, contemplative look in her eyes every now and then and you wonder, "what is she thinking?"....you don't want to know.

Some of you that saw a deleted post/are blogoshpere confidants of mine already know I'm considering shutting down the blog. I don't know that the blogosphere would miss much in my absence. I don't bring insightful politico commentary, evo-psych-sexual information/posts....just my madness writ to page. I appreciate the changing landscape of marriage and the dwindling incentive for men, but I'm not truly a MRA blogger.

Part of why I've stuck with this gdamn thing despite the heavy personal cost paid as a result of the various incarnations, is that for some, my blog speaks to a truth, to a mania they know all too well. The emails I've gotten speak to this as much as requests for advice and the like. I've got some sobriety under my belt, to which I am adjusting bit by bit. Cliched as it sounds, this is as much for you all as it is for myself.

Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readership. Be who and what you are. Hoist the black flag.
-With Greatest Affection

Look(s)

2010-03-15T08:03:00.000-07:00

A quick mention for some particular masochists....stop reading the blog.

There's a fine line between being too conspicuous and inconspicuous. Leaving an impression...being memorable...doing provocative and audacious things tends to set one apart. The problem is...if you don't live in a large enough city....people start to remember you. A lot. Like....consistently.

Was out for a brief time the other night and I kept getting the spider sense tingling sensation. I'd already passed a Polish girl I briefly dated in college. What she was doing in my town was unbeknownst to me, but it reminded me of the "X factor". You can never tell who will show up at some random venue. Usually, it's someone that for all intents and purposes should not be there...has no reason to be there....yet, there they are as some sort of middle finger to predictability.

Then there were some girls down the bar who kept staring a bit too long my way. Add to that some guy that I didn't recognize (wasn't a member of my rogues gallery)...but I caught clearly twice staring at me a bit too long.

Now, the romantic in me wants to think it was simply the overtly gorgeous girl I was with. The pragmatist and cynic in me knows that cannot account for the looks I kept getting from several different unconnected social circles.

It was unsettling. A feeling I could not shake for much of the night.

"Too strange to live, yet too rare to die."
- With Greatest Affection

Beelzebub

2010-03-14T14:15:00.001-07:00

Virtually always....

the roiders quit.
the gifted athletes quit.
the thugs quit.
the braggarts quit.

The masochists stay on. The guys who can be humbled, dominated...and come back, ask for more.
The guys that get broken and sit in the shower afterwards, tears in their eyes.....and they know one thing. They can't sleep at night knowing they walked away, they turned and ran rather than face their fear.

Know thy enemy. Face the fear. Become bedmates and roommates with it.

The only thing worse than being beaten is quitting. Losing is this supernatural force, the malevolent satanic being in my world. It is always there. It is always present. It seeps in when most tired, when most apathetic.....it strikes with injuries, the lure of sex, booze, the compliments of admirers, with weariness...and with fear.

A girl the other night pulled me aside and said I had swagger. That she felt safe b/c I was there....just being around me.

You read a lot of PUA stuff about fake it til you make it. Some guys are confident b/c they can pick up chicks. Some guys b/c they rock climb. For me, it's b/c I've fought in front of 700 people and beat the brakes off of another guy. Routines, lingo, opening sets...fine. Work on yourself. Change who/what you are. Put your dick in the mouth of the lion. Fail while daring greatly. Press your comfort boundary by taking chances. These are what the generals, soldiers, inventors, explorers.......what men have done that has changed the face of the world we know.

For anyone who saw Pacman Vs Clottey...Clottey would take zero chances. Pacman opened up, made the fight, against a man naturally larger framed and likely weighing a solid 15 lbs above him. This is why Pacman thrills and excites. He scales the mountain....had he lost....he would still be admired and adored. Do the thing which you fear most. I fear losing a fight...I spent 5-6 days a week scaling my mountain....a mountain I have to at least attempt to climb so that I can look myself in the face each morning when I wake.

Respect and better yourself.
-With Greatest Affection

City of Angels

2010-03-13T08:39:00.001-08:00

Soundtrack/Punk for your day: The Distillers

I could tell you about everything that happened but why bother. If you read the blog....you can probably imagine the details.

Some cougar grabbed my scarf.
Some asian girl grabbed my ass.
Some girl(s) asked about my tattoo.
Some girl from high school recognized me.
She's been married for 7 years. Has 4 kids.
I balked. I couldn't even wrap my brain around that.
I wasn't drunk. I didn't even feel like drinking.
Some chick tried to feel my abs.

The entire scene of non-versation (Hat tip: Insurgency, Inc.) and the revealing dresses....just grated on my soul. I was at home....but I loathed the bed I had made.

"lately there are these moments when I feel connected to something else, someone...it's like, the mask is slipping and things....people that never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter...."

And some more Brody for your day....sex appeal that latent is rare.

Jessie Jane: Porn interview for your day

2010-03-12T12:12:00.001-08:00

Jessie Jane (whom I actually saw strip live) talks about anal and taking a fist from Belladonna. She comes across as vapid and spouts the typical things you'd expect. Her private life is supposedly more sexual and racy....her favorite celeb/dream to fuck is Angelina Jolie. Blah fuckin' blah. She does seem vapid to the extent that her making porn is probably an accomplishment in terms of her actually, y'know, like doing something with her life.

My Kind of Night

2010-03-12T07:27:00.001-08:00

Soundtrack:
Alternative Soundtrack:
Strolled downtown to a favorite haunt. A ****** I know that wants my diznick flirted in furtive fashion and my eyes roved over her body, but alas, she is not my type. A curvaceous girl I was to meet bailed early b/c she "didn't want to be out by herself until" I showed up.

Peace be upon you. Good tidings and all that bullshit. Strangers in the night and other trite statements.

Rolled into a couple other favorite haunts, met up with my mentor. We headed into the night in search of young blood. **** had the thirst and I was game as is nearly always the case. I hadn't found what I've been seeking in awhile. I wasn't looking.
This is key.
I stood amidst the rabble and the proles and the young blood. You happened by my way. We made eye contact. I did not look away. This is the moment I have dubbed, "game recognizes game". A moment frozen in time when eyes meet and neither side can deny the chemistry....neither side wants to deny the chemistry....for all the sifting, all the passing time....all the finding NOT what you are looking for is finally validated. You leaned in and whispered to your friend. She conspicuously looked directly at me and nodded. My eyes fell upon the entire scene.

I reached for your arm, above the elbow; my patented grab n' pull maneuver honed to a fine art for when I see what I want. You didn't resist. They never do. Your eyes fell to my hand as it pulled you to me but there was acceptance in every fiber of your being. Pretty face. Dark hair. Nice smile. The dark passenger licked its lips.

"How are you?"
"Hey."
"*bullshit that doesn't matter*"
"Want to dance?"
"Sure."
"Lead the way."

Your fingers laced between mine and we made way through the rabble. You backed it up on me as my hands rested on your hips. Ah, college style dancing. How I had not missed thee. Some young guy tried to lure you away. Fail.

We danced awhile longer and I devised a test. I went to the bathroom and you dutifully waited outside in place. The same young guy tried to spit some game in your ear. Fail. I smiled and watched the young cub attempt to claw the prey. Fail. Your hand came up and rested on my neck and mine rested on the back of yours. We stood face to face. Inches apart. Warm bodies amidst the throng of young people. I leaned in for the kiss. Your brain told you conflicting stories. Your mind said "no", your body clamored for "more". This was not to be the last kiss of the night.

I didn't think of the woman I have plans to meet the following night. I didn't think of the girl who bailed. I didn't think of the girl from ***** I have plans to meet this weekend....all of that was vapor in the mind's eye. I did something I don't do. I asked for your number. You asked if I would actually call. She has been let down before she confided. I affirmed to her that I would cal her. We kissed again. She put her full name into my phone. We kissed again. I walked her to the front. She wanted her friends to see the guy she had pulled. I smiled and we bid adieu. I made it halfway back to my beer....saw some buddies from the gym....and realized there was nothing left to be conquered this night. I always seem to draw my share of sweet birds. I escaped into the darkness and made way to my bed for deep, well-earned, catatonic rest with no dreams.

Plans with *****.
Plans with **** girl.
Young girl is now in the mix.
***** girl I slept with a few weeks ago is blowin' up my phone.
C'est la vie.

I can feel the fingers between mine. The taste of young lips. This is before the tears. Before the hurt. Before the reality. The canvas is bare and blank, but that is best. The paint has not chipped. The paint has not faded. It has not been covered with willing naivete and conscious, deliberate avoidance of fact. Broken wings for broken birds.....red flags and late, long nights of tempting fate.

-the love is back, Alkiabiades....
-With Greatest Affection

On an unrelated note, some porn (NSFW) for your day. Brazilian of course.

All You Need to Know

2010-03-11T17:45:00.000-08:00

Soundtrack:

For a certain reader who has emailed me as of late:
All you need to know about women....
"I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart"

If this rains on your image of your Madonna/virgin.....you still dwell within the cave, head deep underneath the sand.
Time reveals all things. You will understand the way eventually. I hope it's not before you're tasting some other guy's seed on her lips...but if you ignore the world and reality...this will be your fate. Besides...other seed was on her lips a likely considerable number of times before you met her....if she's a real faker, exactly the type of guys she vocally deplores in front of you in social situations.

Then she wised up, slowed her cock carousel roll....and started dating you.

The truth hurts. Pick up your shield of apathy.

You weren't the first guy she reverse cowgirl rode. You weren't the first guy she would have slap her across the face. You weren't the first girl she'd suck off after riding you to the brink of love explosion.
I've dated girls with angel faces. Girls you would never believe pulled out their inner pornstar the moment the door shut and before you could unbuckle your fuckin' pants. Girls sucking you off between saying things that put pornstars to shame as you race from downtown at breakneck speed.

The next time you look for the pedestal.....be a fuckin' man and accept reality. If she's a keeper.....fine. Be a man, satisfy her needs, temper/be unmoved by her emotional hurricane chain season of life, and stick to your fuckin' guns. Hate you she may say, respect you she will...and love and adore you all the more.

Peace be upon you.

Daredevil Stage 5 Clinger Chicken = Not for the faint of heart

2010-03-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

Soundtrack: Spend The Night - by SWR
"We need to hang out again soon mister."
"Yeah....we should do that sometime."

We had sex. I guess you thought it was good. We did it during blackout inebriation levels. We woke up and in the midst of a blinding maelstrom of hungover-ness I knocked it out again. I could care less if we speak again. It happens. Word on the street is that I wouldn't be the first such horsey in that cock carousel that is your life.

I knew I didn't want to see you again. I had developed an anti-anti-clinger move. Virtually every time you meet a girl and she says she's not the relationship type, what she really means is that she won't actively use the term....but she'll call, text, facebook stalk......whatever....all the accoutrements that feel just like a relationship. The word is on her lips, behind her eyes, beneath her tongue, in every grasp of your cock.

I thought I was smart. I started a race to the bottom. 5 min's after getting back to my car I texted you. You responded in 5 min's. Good test. I bantered again on the way back to my place. You kept up.
"Surely she will back off and is just feigning that she's not freaked out by my facade of clingyness.
Fail.
You texted 2 hrs later as I sat downtown early day style sippin' a beer with a buddy @ a charity event. You showed up. I was chatting up some random slag when you walked in. I politely said "Hi" and gave you an awkward hug. I did my best beta impression. I said, "I missed you."
My buddy nearly spit out his beer when he heard this. Only after you left earshot did I explain the ruse to him.
"Dude, she fought long and hard to land you. She won't let you slip out that easy."
"We'll see."
I was ready for a game of daredevil stage 5 clinger chicken.
In the midst of pissing in the head, I sent you a text telling her how good she looked. I broke every rule about distance and non-chalance.

You left town & we didn't speak. Your quick to text fingers resumed @ the airport as you disembarked. Fuck.
I kept up pace and texted throughout work, @ lunch, before/after the gym....you did not quit. Finally I just stopped responding.

I lost.
You won.

You cannot beat a woman at the clinger game....esp. when you're doing it to blow her off....even when she first said she was not the "relationship" type....b/c that's the ultimate reverse psychology espionage fakeout.

Lesson learned.
Dually noted.
-With no affection whatsoever

Heavy is the head that wears the crown

2010-03-10T13:16:00.000-08:00

Soundtrack: You'll never guess....

Girl # 1
Awhile back I sat @ some girl's place. I knew what she expected. I knew what tales of my exploits led her to expect. Call it 1 part naivete, 1 part aloofness....but I hadn't predicted ending up @ her place would mean her nails would drag down my back as I leaned forward to grab my beer. She expected diznick. She wanted me to "F" her "V" and likely all kinds of other sordid lecherousness.

I wasn't in the mood. I was high. She had ****** hair and was well-dressed...but not my type. I'd heard tales of her exploits, and not that I haven't knocked out my share of slags....but typically I'm not in a coherent state when such things occur. Typically they ninja themselves naked whilst my back is turned and I find a naked chick, legs spread, beckoning me to the bed. At that point, there's no turning back. After all...I have a reputation to uphold.

I realize that to not bring my A game would travel circles around town...that she's come to expect some serious dicking from your humble narrator based on what she's heard. My heart isn't in it. Neither is my dick. I take off and head home for some peace.
---
Girl # 2
My phone rings. I hit ignore. She's visiting. We've already had the late night rawkus blackout rockstar sex I normally blog about in graphic detail. She wasn't really my type either. If it didn't involve kissing, did involve some anal, and likely some other debasement I might be tempted....but as it is, she's not my type and it takes a real dime to get my attention these days. I'm not up for a repeat performance, besides, if she calls this much after 1 go round...a 2nd go round and she'll have real expectations. Blah fuckin' blah.

Quiet lives of boredom....and such bullshit.

Ah, and thanks to Laura for the comment. Something inexorably happened to the post which you commented upon. Please comment again in the future.

To another reader of the blog:
I was asked if in my various flag planting in vag's of the world if I'd been with a black girl. The answer is no. I had a brief fling with a girl who was half in college but that's it. Were I to meet a black chick that looked like this ( NSFW ), we'd be off to the races in quick order.

-With Greatest Affection

Some Thoughts on Forcing it.....

2010-03-08T14:35:00.000-08:00

I was determined to do some approaching. Not sure why, but sometimes, as I've gotten in the habit of being social when I'm out, I'll realize I'm spending the night in observation mode and not "pursue ass to potentially nail" mode......at any rate, this is what usually happens: having already scanned the room and monitored any new influx of tail, I opt for a semi-easy approach. This is the blowback beginning at inception. If there was a girl I was actually attracted to, I would have already done an approach. As it is, the fact that I'm doing it now, possibly 20 min's later, is a fail in motion before it ever began.

I open the girl. She sucks. I'm amazed at how good I am at predicting these things, fuck Kreskin. He doesn't deserve to suck my dick and get some of what I'm packin'. At any rate, she sucks. Her friend is usually tolerable...and ten min's later I eject not b/c I'm blown out, but b/c listening a girl talk about politics or some sociology bullshit ranks somewhere above a buzzsaw to my dick or a BFG pointed up my ass. So much for whatever statistic says more women than ever are products of higher education.

When you stop and ask yourself something....it gets kinda disheartening. Meeting a girl with whom you have pleasant conversation feels almost as old school as Leave it to Beaver or I Love Lucy. What happened to the cheery attitudes of women like my mom? My mom's had a virtual laundry list of things that should make her bitter and vitriolic...and yet, she's far nicer and kinder and pleasant to be around than all these chicks that claim they "have so much going for" them.....and that somehow, men are *cough cough* intimidated by that.....
When you roll with your heart on your sleeve the way I do....I have categorically low success with chicks I'm not into....problem being....unless I'm balls drunk....I'm actually pretty selective. I've just been good at nailing the girls I'm attracted to that I meet when sober. Go figure.

Topping off the weekend's classy festivities.... some grimey married chicks wanted to grind up on my johnson and my buddy's while some trainwreck latched onto his arm. Then a chick from my ****** came on to me, but prefaced it with, "I'd **** you but my ******* friend has a crush on you." Add that my seeing an ***** girl who took me back to her friend's penthouse for some in n' out however long ago I can't remember...and it was a weekend of mediocrity and humor.
Blah blah fuckin' blah.

Ah, the inevitability of predictability.

-With less than considerable affection