Saturday, December 26, 2009

Hazy Shade of Winter

Soundtrack: Hazy Shade of Winter by She Wants Revenge

The pages fly by. Time passes. I down my coffee and step out of yesterday’s hangover. I could lie to myself and think tonight will be different. I could lie to myself and think that I’ll avoid it. I’ve grown tired of lying…at least of lying to myself that is. Some kids seated nearby are studying for the SAT. I feel like telling them not to bother. Life is not a checklist. Life is not a To Do list. Perhaps if my folks had cracked the whip harder I’d have attended a better/higher tier school. Like that would fucking matter. I’d still charade my way through the days perchance to stalk the nights and the dark and the absence of sunlight. Flipped through “The Joke’s Over” by Ralph Steadman, prolific graphic artist who helped Hunter S. Thompson invent the Gonzo legend/life. It’s a good read for those like myself who have read most if not all of Thompson’s considerable literary body of work and creative genius. Thompson, like your humble narrator, was an avid admirer of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s work.

Some couples nearby are discussing the bible. *sigh*

I hope everyone who went to church for their yearly/annual visit feels cleansed for another 365 of debauchery.

Too much free time is never a good thing for one such as myself. Idle hands and such bullshit. The absence of meaningful attachment/interaction rakes its claws against my being.

I recall last night and some straight guys irked and commenting on some boyishly dressed lesbians at the first bar I hit up. Yes. They are taking over. The lesbians are everywhere. Stupid fucks. The endless stupidity of others never ceases to amaze me with its depth. My LTR will likely want to spend time together tonight. I will likely demure and head out into the night to not find what it is I’m seeking. It’s hard to find something if you don’t know what you’re looking for.

She will wonder why she cannot sate me. It’s not her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It simply “is”. Black holes do not require reasoning. There is no why. There is only their existence. She will wonder as have all the other girls I've dated. They wonder why they are not enough. Like it's some sort of personal attack or failure. I am the failure. I am lacking that fundamental human element/part that is an "off switch".

This is the point where some lonely, frightened, empty, sad people turn to God, to family, to marriage…and they become so busy they don’t hear the voice asking the aching questions. They are so bone tired and weary from soccer practice and yard work and mortgage payments that they think the void is filled. Then the kids grow up. You sit and see the tired face of a roommate wearing a ring on the appropriate finger that you no longer know…and the voice’s whispers turn to insistent shouts and though you are no longer tired, you cannot sleep at night. The void is an ear-splitting shriek and you still face the same questions.

Did I get what I wanted for Xmas? Yes. I got some momentary reprieve from the void by pouring a ton of booze into the black hole. Ran into a guy the other night that won money betting on my last fight. He bought me a beer. Cheers. My LTR will likely want to have sex. I don’t really know if I want to have sex. With anyone.

I'll head out with a wingman tonight. Some girls will tongue me down with their eyes but they won't be hot enough to motivate me to approach them.When you hit that 40ish number of takes a lot to make me look twice. Jesus there are a lot of fat people in this town. 'Merica is choking itself with its own obesity. Gluttons. All of them. Disgusting. The only not fat girls are tweens wearing leggings and hipster glasses staring me down like a hooker who's gotta' make rent by tomorrow. And of course some creepy fags checking me out...nice wedding ring. And I thought I was a faker. Whenever someone invents a machine that you can plug into and just dream lucidly.....they will make a fortune. For now, I'll have to settle for waking up naked and hungover then jerking off to some Brazilian chicks doing anal.

-With Greatest Affection

Here's to hurting tomorrow

posted up at a bartender buddy's spot to take in some Dive bar noir and start the night off right. It's the type of bar you can't help but appreciate: it knows exactly what it is. They have specials every night but Saturday. The mix is everything from lower socioeconomic backgr's to college kids with fake ID's. There is no pretense. There is no bullsh**.

At any rate, I hassled with some cabbies then made my way downtown to meet a buddy. We posted up and began drinking at breakneck speed. We don't see one another often, so when we do, it's time to throw down. We spit some game at various girls but it was a young girl/capricious crowd.
It was a strange bunch. None of them even looked remotely 21, which begged a few questions. Where did their parents think they were, how did they find fake ID's good enough to pass for legit with their young/doll faces?
An Asian girl tongued me down with her eyes but her masculine-ish jawline put me off. Another bob-haired Blonde threw me the lascivious eyes but she stupidly placed herself in the midst of a massive atom bomb of obnoxious, loud, drunk girls her age and I wasn't all that hard up.
I can't even remember the end of the night, save knowing that I took a cab home and somehow on autopilot made it to my bed naked and blackout drunk.
Another night on the prowl. Another night without finding what I'm looking for. Talk about diminishing returns.

Play: I sit and sip some ***** Stout and eat reheated Chinese food on the floor of my place. I am an emotionally unavailable/vacant man-child. I am a walking, talking, breathing, living cliche. But then, cliches exist for a reason, don't they? I head to my favorite cafe as soon as I put on some pants, finish jerking off, then to a favorite bookstore to charade away the day in normalcy before heading out into the brink anon with a compatriot.

It could be worse. I could be married. Divorced. Have kids. Have kids I don't see b/c of a divorce. I could be locked into a mortgage. I could be out of a job. All in all, things aren't bad.

Cheers. Here's to hurting tomorrow.
-With Greatest Affection

Friday, December 25, 2009

Passing Ships

Rewind: Spent some time out the other night. I hit up a predominantly black bar. Read that: I was the only white person there. It was different. It was like I was invisible minus a few furtive glances from people ostensibly wondering how I ended up there. Shortly after ordering a beer a girl began talking to me. We chatted for a bit. I left to take a piss. When I returned she was gone. Guess some things are the same at every bar.

Earlier in the night I chatted up a guy from my west coast hometown with a curly haired Latina divorcee. We talked for quite awhile. Like Tyler mentions in this post, eventually the tide turned.....she began qualifying herself and her views....she mentioned no longer living life as a checklist, how boring and mundane her marriage had wasn't the usual man-hating tirade you hear from embittered older chicks left for a younger vagina....she had opted out of an institution that did not fulfill her. It was a refreshing thought.

Play: I am currently putting down a day old half empty glass of some random Import beer I snagged awhile back. Slipping on my dress shirt, tie, scarf, hat, coat....then heading out to see a bartender buddy then into the vast beyond that is holiday drinking. The brink beckons its favorite son with garish nails and lascivious promises of abasement.

Was chatting with a buddy omway back from seeing my moms earlier. I lamented how long it'd been since I saw a girl that stopped me dead in my tracks. My LTR's the last time I locked eyes with a girl and immediately knew I would speak to her and take a swing.
I head forth into the night with no expectations.
My body still feels fairly ravaged from last night's 5 hour drinking spree.
A good friend of mine lives by the following creed: Expect nothing. Accept everything.
I could sit at home. I could find comfort in silence and the internet (porn). I could drink alone or I could set out on the thousandth night of my quest for refuge from boredom.

I'm hoisting the black flag. I'm heading out undaunted into another night in the brink. I bid thee well faithful readers. Do as you feel led. Best of luck and happy hunting for your desires. I'm out hunting my white whale.....on Christmas. Go hard or fucking go home.
-With Greatest Affection

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Read this post

And you'll understand why Brazilian girls are my straight up kryptonite.....

this post takes me back to my last Brasileirinha........and why if I'm ever dumb enough to get married, it will be to Brasileirinha IN Brazil. You heard it here first.

Time & Tide

Soundtrack to this post
Alternative Soundtrack
The other night, I sat at a favorite bar with the LTR. She was the cutest girl in the far. She was likely the funniest and wittiest as well. This is typically the case with the girls I date. My tab was decidedly low as hell b/c I tip well and the bartenders are sharp like that. I got the eye from some younger and older girls alike. I was looking fairly sharp and well put together even for myself, but having a girl on your arm often does more to qualify you than any apparel/watch/car/accessory. At least one ex girlfriend was in the bar that I counted. C'est la vie. I secretly hoped some buddies would show up, I'd send my LTR home and make it a bender. This urge subsided with each minute that drew closer to closing time. I felt the warm onset of my buzz that came unexpectedly yet comfortingly. I was warm. I smiled.

I sit and facade my way through another night. It's not that I wasn't enjoying her company, but it's a story to which I know the ending...the ending of this night in sex and/or sleep with familiarity and comfort.....a relationship that will end in a flaming trainwreck. There is an acceptance, tacit as it were, of this forthcoming and inevitable conclusion. I noted her soft features, full lips, enchanting eyes, exquisite neckline, curvaceous frame.....I laid my hand on her lower back and took in the pleasure of a small gesture and the tight yet soft feel of her lower back muscles....perfect shape.....they spoke to me in lascivious whisperings as I thought of her naked frame and fragile demeanor at times during sex. The booze made the lights twinkle the slightest bit brighter and the music seems very apropros with each subsequent song likely too old for her to recognize.

I watched some single guys post up by the wall near my seat. The ratio of girls to guys wasn't terrible but it wasn't great. Fuck it. Long odds are what every man truly craves in his heart of hearts. Every now and then I'd glance their way and find them in the same stance, the same posture, the same angle, the same everyfuckingthing. Their night would end without so much as an effort to get their tips wet in the hole of some warm gash. Been there, done that. Nothing quite like watching someone willfully choose to not swing at a few pitches. Every girl that comes into sight is a pitch sent your way from the great pitcher in the sky of game. Every time you don't swing, you are guaranteed to strike out. You can't hit home runs if you don't fucking swing at any balls.
Watched some older married dudes spitting game at young girls. Did my usual "round the room" game and assessed the relativity of who was more interested in each male/female pairing for discussion. A semi-attractive Euro girl with a clear hawk-watching shorter guy was basking in the attention of some herbs content to hit on some guy's girlfriend under the guise of friendly conversation/discourse. Who the fuck cares? I may be a lot of things: boozer, fighter, rake, jerk, bastard, but one thing I don't do is take other guys' girls. Period. Fuck that noise. There's a million fish in the sea.

Hit the gym, had lunch with a buddy earlier after knocking out some Xmas eve shopping. Gave 5 bucks to a homeless guy near the off ramp b/c it's not like I won't blow money on booze and a cab tonight........The highlight of shopping was a Latina girl with a fat ass I've seen Latin dancing before who works at the mall and held eye contact with me as I passed her kiosk. The lowlight of the shopping experience was being badgered by various retail employees looking to bolster last minute sales. Saw my mentor and chatted a bit with her @ her high end fashion boutique. We made plans to hit the town soon and trade some war stories. She's shocked at my latest stint of good behavior. If your friends know you best, it says something that my friends are universally shocked at my relatively toned down lifestyle as of late and its absence of rake-ish-ness.
As mentioned, I had dinner with my buddy and discussed the usual man stuff: girls, porn, politics, healthcare, Holiday family bullshit drama, and work. My buddy said a silent grace before eating. I opted out of questioning the grounds for his faith, for anyone's faith actually. The faithless need not question the faithful...if only the opposite proved true.

My buddy mentioned my relative good behavior as of late. He was surprised he hadn't seen me hit on any girls in our recent outings.......I confided that I'd slipped up awhile back. Forgot to mention that, dear readers. I ******* ********* awhile back during a weak moment. We both lamented the relative lack of Brazilian girls in this town and the downswing in quality of American women. With the exception of my current LTR, I've been a considerably better cook than virtually every girl I've dated. That is just one facet of the overwhelming lack of desire for American women.

At any rate, after dinner I hit up the gas station near my place to grab some brews to slam down before heading into the night for some much needed carousing and socializing with strangers and other n'erdowells.
@ the gas station a black guy was hitting on a clearly mid to late 30's aged white woman working the register. They were bantering back and forth when the woman commented that she doesn't go out much b/c she doesn't have a man. How "the guys I like don't like me" and the usual predictably trite sob story an over the hill broad working at a gas station says without skipping a beat and that you are never shocked when you overhear. I threw out that she wasn't "the only person with that problem." The black guy eyeballed me, like I was hitting on this old ass mother of two working at a gas station on Xmas Eve, I shook my head and headed home. Stupid fuck. I wouldn't so much as think of sex in relation to that chick.

I'm headed downtown in a bit. Going to hit up some Latin dancing, possibly a drag show with a gay friend....other than that...who knows? I can say that each stop will likely involve copious alcohol imbibement until my body gives out and I hail a cab to head home and sleep perchance to dream. I shall go where my whims take me.
I like the feel of freedom in my hand.....its taste...its scent.

I'm sitting at home, ironing a dress shirt, choosing a tie, debating which hat I want to wear if one at all....and a song comes on. The song that played midway through my buddy and I double teaming a girl on my ***** visit awhile back. Ah, memories.
I read that in Japan, Christmas is one of the biggest casual sex nights of the year. Color me jealous. Want to hear something funny? I don't actually want to bang some random chick. You know what I want for Xmas? To meet a genuinely cool girl with whom I have chemistry, we talk for what seems like 5 min's but is actually 2 hours....and we part ways with a longing for more at the end of the night....saving that moment in time before the hurt, the disappointment, the loss, the longing, the failure, the colossal letdown......when the potential is all that colors our eyes and our minds. Deep down, there is some romanticism residing in the void where my heart should be. Fitting that it is tempered with my acceptance of the world and reality as it is. All I want for Xmas is a blank slate.....that I will inevitably fuck up in short order. Hey, at least I've come to terms with myself and the bed I make with each waking moment.

-With Greatest Affection

"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."

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

*Insert Attempted Clever Title Here*

Did some Xmas shopping the other day. The people watching proved more humorous than anything else. I don’t expect much in the way of gifts and therefore don’t buy a ton of gifts. It sounds clichéd, but I don’t need a holiday to buy something for my friends and family. Be it a book, a beer, a lapdance, or cab fare at the close of a bender, I pay my material fee for friendship and familial relationships in spades.


"I dream I'm floating on the surface of my own life, watching it unfold."



I look down and see her head in my lap. She sleeps quietly. I feel a flicker of emotion, what some might call attachment. It is not deep seated, yet it is tangible in that emotionally palpable sense. This is a good thing, I suppose.

I catch myself thinking back to her and wondering how she’s doing. It is late. I cannot sleep. This comes as no surprise. I go through phases where sleep proves difficult if not belabored. Part of my anesthetizing with booze was likely an avoidance of the late night questions and ponderings. I’ve done well as of late, having a few beers with dinner then on the couch watching mindless TV….still anesthetizing but doing so in cheaper fashion…in less risky fashion. Saving money and avoiding time spent in the cold or sleeping in my car. This current trend of sleeping in a bed is more comfortable if not less satisfying in some manner. Yet, part of me knows that when I awaken in the backseat of my car, I feel and know that I am where I ought to be. Home is where the heart is, but what for those without a heart?

Home is where I lay my head. I’ve long felt this way. I keep my life as unfettered as possible, both in reliance upon things but chiefly in reliance upon people. I like knowing I can pack a bag in 10 min’s or so and relocate as necessary. I like knowing that when an overseas job is landed, there is virtually nothing tying me here. I like the freedom….the choice….the possibility….the potential….the fucking unknown. I fear boredom, stability, predictability.

I fear the things which are the fabric of our society.

I fear the quiet night spent alone with thoughts dwelling on expectations.

I wonder if one day when I have reached my sell by date, I will find myself under a sky in a different hemisphere than my birth….a likely young, dark-haired, curvaceous girl asleep by my side, company possibly paid for directly or indirectly……or will I cave to expectation and normalcy and find myself alone in my home office, sipping liquor and placing a premium on fleeting moments of freedom?

What does the future hold? For now, I can bank and depend on the inability to know.

That lone hope (if you can call it that) lets me sleep perchance to dream.

I think back to her place. The familiarity. The warmth. The awkwardness. Her beautiful face. The feel of her skin. The inevitability of the end. The inevitability of the beginning. The inevitability of it all. We've spoken intermittently. The last clinging to a vestige of what was, was representing past tense in the truest form possible. What was can never be again. The moment and its singular existence in that form gone like sand in the hourglass and all that shit.

I am left with the same urge. The same urging to avoid. The same seeking to bask in the warmth of escape that proves fleeting and unfulfilling. How many more times can I begin this process of a relationship and expect or avoid the knowledge that it will end in the same fashion? Perhaps that is what denotes life? The same attempts in various though at some point we'll go through enough trainwrecks to somehow avoid riding trains.....

-With Greatest Affection

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Seasons Greetings

Been busy with some last minute work/deadlines and such. Hadn't written much less posted anything lately. Yes, to those concerned that emailed, I am still alive. I know that seems to be a concern when I go silent for a few days. At any rate, the following irritate me and I look forward to them hibernating until next October: Holiday music, irritable people shopping and taking power coffee breaks @ my favorite cafes, and the extra traffic.

I was thinking earlier about the malcontents and legion of men who poison their bodies with booze, drugs, self-abasement, addiction, obesity, food, cetera.

Gave a homeless man a few bucks the other day. It occurred to me that he would likely spend it on some crack or some malt liquor. I'm not opposed to sipping PBR after a long day @ work, who am I to talk shit? That guy will probably sleep outside tonight. He's a tougher bastard than I am and in a different time, we'd be fighting over some food or a woman or land. I'm lucky enough that society has put in place checks and balances to weight things more heavily in my favor....if for this time period if nothing else. I had a semi-family unit that managed to provide me with the education to get me past minimum wage work and the like. My drinking is probably comparable to this man's and would likely surpass his were I not so devoted to my choice of hobbies/sports. I have an apartment but that goes back to my 'rents and their willingness to help me through college. I am not addicted to drugs, but only b/c booze is my drug of choice. Perhaps all of this is wrong, and he is on the street b/c of choices he made that threw "it all away" and put him where he is. I've made some SERIOUS fucking mistakes that could have easily taken away my job, career, family/friends et cetera....I just got lucky in the big dice roll that is chance, life, and probability. It's the holidays that perhaps has me thinking about how equal we all are when you strip us down....or perhaps life has taught me with the situations I've placed and/or found myself in that things are not so black and white as we all like to think when we judge others.

I've been fortunate. I have a passion/hobby that keeps me from drinking every single note, gives reason to eat well, and a reason to not hit the nearest bar as soon as work ends. I've dated, loved, and lost a number of incredible women and will forever maintain my adoration for their capriciousness tempered with the understanding of their irrationality. I have the support of my 'rents and close friends whom I trust. I have a vice for booze, the lesser of evils when compared to other illicit substances.

All in all, as this year closes its days I have much to be thankful for, if only in that things could be far worse.
It's been a year of experience if not learning: fought again, competed much, staved off infirmity, spent another summer in the brink but salvaged myself and won in front of hundreds yet again, lost my love but have managed for the most part to avoid hurting her any more......and if I come up with a resolution, I'll let you know. It's not looking likely, but hey, if the blog was all positivity and me living the sane, normal life, what fun would reading it actually be? Thanks again dear readers, some of you have been with me for quite awhile. More to always.

-With Greatest Affection

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The Monkey Whorehouse & a Bag Fulla' Bananas

Long ago in college, I read Tucker Max's book (no, I haven't seen the film version yet).
He has one line that has stuck with me, "**** couldn't get laid in a monkey whorehouse with a bag full of bananas."

Occasionally, I'll see a guy out with a group of girls, or a couple guys on a double date with two chicks, or a buddy will send me a text that I'll get the next morning before work and delete en route to my favorite cafe. The text invariable reads something like, "OMG got 3 chix want to party. what you doing right now?".
Timestamp: 140am.

Typically, I'm asleep next to a LTR or if it's a weeknight I'm passed out from exhaustion/the gym.

What do the above scenarios all have in common, you ask? The guys in the above will nary get so much as a finger in the cooter of the chicks with which they are present.....and if they do, it will be with much convincing and time/energy/money spent.

This trite bullshit scenario has repeated itself in various forms over the past few years. The hail mary falls into the lap of a buddy who wants a last minute wingman that will make things happen b/c he opted to not call/not invite/do shit on his own. Kudos to him for the initiative on doing some solo sarging.

The above phrase always comes to mind without fail. The guy is sitting in a monkey brand whorehouse and he has a bag FUCKING full of bananas....and he will still not get laid. B/c invariably, the guy who has this hail mary fall into his lap, is the type that didn't preplan, didn't isolate early enough, doesn't have an exit strategy.....plain did not do the fucking prerequisite groundwork to make shit happen at the right time.

That, and if you decide to ride solo, you are riding solo the entire night, not just until you need a tried and true wingman *ahem* to placate some hoe's friends while you play just the tip.

I am a firm believer in solo sarging and game done by the lone wolf.
I am also a firm believer in empirical evidence. I have pulled a couple girls whilst out with friends. The vast majority of other SNL's were all pulled solo style with no one to rely upon by myself.

But back to the core of this tirade. I have few friends. I have few men I call a member of my rogue's gallery of friends. I do this b/c I trust few other than myself and ask very little in return as a friend. However, if you want to sarge solo without so much as an invite, cut your teeth like a man, take off the training wheels and ride it flaming wreck to the bitter, agonizing end. I've had my countless mornings hungover waking up in the backseat of my car, the waking up outside of a building downtown, the waking up behind some restaurant....waking up in the Wal-Mart parking lot or wherever-the-fuck. If you want to reap the rewards alone, man up and face the goddamn defeats alone.

Man the fuck up. Sit in jail by yourself. Get jumped and beaten by yourself. Get arrested by yourself. Stomp some fucker's face while his two friends watch silently in a parking lot. Walk away from a girl you love b/c you're done hurting her. Wake up next to the dark hair of a Brazilian girl you met the night before and fucked in the ass in the kitchen of your new apartment and get evicted by your roomates. Cheat on your LTR with a hooker. Whatever.
Sure I've had my wild nights of all the stuff you all know from my blog. You also know that I've never glossed over the failures and the pitfalls. The hellacious mornings in the purgatory of hungover work land et cetera, or hungover gym/beatdown land.

Handle your shit. If you want to go it alone, then face the end result in the same manner, be it blazing glory or agonizing defeat, but do so alone and with the taciturn nature of a true fucking man.

That is all.

Odds & Ends

Roosh has some great insight posted here.

Roissy has some more insight posted here.

Read them at your leisure.

Watched Saturday night unfold as a gym slag (girl that bangs fighters @ a given gym in rapid succession at parties/fight nights etc) made the rounds. She asked me a few questions and I kept my responses terse, even for me. Some might take joy in watching a chick who's clearly spent time making the semi-alpha rounds banging guys now that she's older struggle to pull the same dong she once did with relative ease. I find it kinda sad to be honest. Typically, I feel little in the way of strong emotional depth (minus things like anger or irritation), but even my stony visage softened a bit as I watched someone hocking the same wares for the hundredth time.....and silently wondering why she wasn't getting the same reaction. It must be tough for the onset of age for women. They (the attractive ones) have their glory days when they can be petulant, acerbic, spouting vitriol and treating guys with disdain that still beg for more.....and yet, I find little joy in watching them struggle with the reality of well, reality and the passage of time. This is the downside of women's beauty. Women enjoy the pinnacle for a time, and many find a doting douche later in life to pick up the shambles/remnants of their formerly sexy selves....but they exacerbate their own unhappiness by resenting this non-alpha and berating him for their own unhappiness and having been forced to settle by the all powerful father time.

Why do we love Marilyn Monroe? She died while she was hot. We didn't have to watch her become a saggy, aging, grey-haired quasi version of her formerly illustrious self. She was capricious, seemingly flighty, a soft smile, features, curves, and a soft voice....and an irrepressible sexuality that resonated with men on a primal level.

This is the fate of women. I don't envy it. It is the flipside of their young power and beauty.

For men, it is the fading of physical prowess and inability to compete with younger males. Already, I can feel the onset of age beginning. I don't heal the same way I did. I can't rebound as quickly from a night spent in the brink like I did in college. I have replaced that with craftiness and experience when I train/fight, but I too feel the slight yet insistent onset of father time's callous grip.

Btw, the gym slag mentioned previously has a kid. A daughter. Scary stuff, indeed. She has a good job, makes a shit ton of money...but that doesn't get pipe laid for the most part.

I've made some poor decisions in my life, fortunately, not many are of the irreversible kind. I am unmoored save to the pursuits and people I choose. You cannot put a price or value on freedom. I see the same blank stare, a pained expression in the married men I know. I speak to them on the phone, inevitably breaking plans or leaving a ***** early b/c invariably something having to do with wife/responsibility/family. I watch their marriages wither and die and collapse into this purgatory of hell and abasement. I'll pass on that awesome life-changing experience, thanks.

The sadder versions of this are the men who don't even need their wife to call, they head home in an attempt to avoid an angry phone call or argument awaiting a late return home.

What. The. Fuck.

I would say a man is stupid to completely avoid conflict, but then 70% of divorce is female-initiated. Eventually, his behavior will be legally punished in the form of alimony/child support/whatever other spinal fluid extraction divorce proceeding procure.

When you remove incentive, you remove participation. The ONLY thing keeping some men in pursuit of marriage is the biological imperative to cohabitate/reproduce. Were the price so steep for any other endeavor, it would die out within a generation's time.

In every marriage between a woman and a beaten man, is the woman's lust for a previous lover/boyfriend who was in control. Period.

-With Greatest Affection

Monday, December 14, 2009

Weekend Highlight, you ask?

I could blog on and on about my weekend.

I'll sum it up in highlight, numero uno fashion with a few words: the ass on that Brazilian chick I saw @ the ******.

Yay for Brazilian women. That is all.

Friday, December 11, 2009

The Audacity(Stupidity) of Hope

To a point, hoping for the future to bring something different than what your logic tells you to expect is an exercise in audacity. It is a brave endeavor (read that: risk inherent and brings the possibility of failure). Hope falls into this category. Hope, the 4 letter word, that leads us to believe that the person we are seeing/dating/fucking will prove different from those trainwrecks of the past. The hope that they have less baggage, enough baggage to prove interesting, lack that obsessive need to know the past before them, to know each and every detail of the time and moments you live both in their company and not, the need to not leave well enough alone, the need to ask questions for which they do not want answers. When I was younger, I was afflicted with that obsessive, jealous nature. I thought that no matter the terrible truth, it was "best" to know. This is true to a point. Ask the questions if you must, dig for the dirt if you must, but if you dig deep enough whether present or past, anyone worth knowing has skeletons.

To hope that one will deviate from this past and epic record of predictability inherent to human nature is audacious. It is stupid as it flies in the face and chooses to ignore all that we know regarding the nature of the majority of leaving, breathing, hairless apes. Ignorance is based on a lack of knowledge. Stupidity is making a poor decision. There is a key difference.

I am no exception. I continually hope the against hope and rationale that once a behavior is demonstrated that the inevitable can be avoided.....but it can't. The predictability of it does nothing to mitigate the irritating futility of the situation. Telling ourselves the same old pretty lies and turning the same blind eye despite knowing full well the outcome that now looms as a result of the same old behavior in response to the same old stimuli.

-With Greatest Affection

Should we be shocked that spending money on the recession has failed? That the money lent to mortgage companies has only resulted in 4-6 percent of homeowners being granted a cheaper lone despite billions of taxpayer dollars allotted for that task? That is our payment for the audacity of our hope, that for the first time in history government spending might fix a widespread problem. The same old solution begetting the same old non-result (read that: failure).

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Real Quick: Absurdity for your day

Hipsters Vs Hasidic Jews. Gotta' love it.

Black, you say?

Soundtrack to this post: Save Your Soul by She Wants Revenge

Time passes. Awhile back you might recall the collapse of my last relationship. Before calling it quits, we gave it one more go. We both had high hopes. My LTR at the time and I hoped against hope, (such a 4 letter word) that we could move beyond the past, that there was still pleasant times and comfort to be gleamed from the trainwreck my rakish ways and her subsequent mistrust had caused in our relationship.

Such a thing was not to be. We headed out together, and somehow, inexplicably, a pleasant night turned into our being "that" couple. You know the one. Standing on the sidewalk. Girl crying. Right around closing time. Guy irritated and raised voice in exasperation at the low class scene unfolding as it does every night in every downtown in every city in every society on this earth.

Rewind: it wasn't that inexplicable. She'd suggested we hit one last bar en route to a cab, I suggested we go home b/c she was clearly drunk and they probably wouldn't let us in anyway. This brought on the tears. In "girlspeak" (what they translate what you say into what they hear in their brain), this meant that there was some girl at recommended that I didn't want to see me with my LTR.....not that logically, she was near stumbling and we should just f'ing call it a night b/c it was 15 min's to closing time and it was best to get a cab now before the deluge and fights breaking out on the streat amidst the rabble.

At any rate, the next night was a **** *****. The LTR and I had sex all day, rested, relaxed and decided in the face of all logic to attempt another night out as a normal couple: this was the night that I pulled a*********Before I returned I had several missed calls and angry/sad texts about how the LTR was on her way home. Kudos to her. I started drinking faster. Fast forward to the relationship ending after the couple who's **** soiree it was that night orchestrated a pointed conversation with my LTR talking about how I didn't appreciate her and other such bullshit that I was unaware of at the time.

As of late, I've called this same couple I know to hang out the past******* unaware of their having prodding my LTR to end things when she did. When I've gotten a response from them, it hasn't been forthcoming in a timely fashion. I got the feeling I was being avoided. I heard through friends they were out a previous weekends when I'd called to see if they were out but had been told they weren't.
At any rate, I finally got a straight answer as to why friends of more than a couple years have written me off: the way I'd treated my LTR.

Are you ready for the other shoe to drop?

Upon hearing that how I'd treated her was the reason they were cutting me off, I stopped for a know the moment. That quiet moment where the realization of the source of words said to you cannot in all seriousness and logic be saying what they are saying but in all seriousness and in the face of all logic and hypocrisy is saying just those very words to you at this moment. The moment where the true "cherry picking" nature of man/woman comes into the unavoidable light of truth and reality.

Here's that other shoe and here is the drop.

Let's recap: the girl in the couple who was cutting me out of the group of friends admittedly ran around on her ex-husband which she confided to me. She attempted to seduce me whilst her current boyfriend was out of town and has gone so far as to pull a sneak kiss on the lips that I didn't see coming when his back was turned. I was present for other infidelities on her part when the boyfriend was out of town. This is in addition to all other sorts of attempted surreptitious flirting and such with me.

And, now, she is cutting off her and the couple's connection to me b/c of my alleged "behavior" and suggesting other sycophants in the group to do the same.
I simply laughed and told her, "sweetheart....that might actually mean something coming from someone other than you."


As for the others in the group, my mentor in the group has chosen me over them. The others, well, if they can't decide for themselves and/or want to pretend no skeletons sit in their closet, fuck 'em.
The one difference between the nature of my friendship and others? My friends know full well the type of person I am, the things I am wont to do at times. That....and I do not judge. It is those that judge that often have the deepest, darkest bones in the armoir. It's easier to judge and shame the things in others which we have inside ourselves but dare not assume culpability for nor responsibility.

-With Greatest Affection

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

It's not what you say....and some other random observations

Soundtrack to this post: Just a Car Crash Away by Marilyn Manson
Some time/multiple-tested liners of mine in response to girls' interview style questions:

Do you live around here?
"I live with my mom. And no. "

What do you do?
"I'm perpetually between what most would call gainful employment."
"I'm a full-time troublemaker."

You should give me a call sometime.
"I don't do phone numbers."

We should go out next week.
"I don't do dates. I definitely don't do dinner."

Where'd you go to school?
If they call bullshit, I smirk and give them a light tap on the shoulder with congratulations. Then don't answer the question.

The key here is two things, as Roissy's mentioned: mystery and the willingness to not play into her game. The script changes when you don't give her the same bullshit straight forward answers most guys do.

Each sentence exchanged is a chance for testing on BOTH sides.
I was posting a comment over at Seasons of Tumult & Discord, and I remembered the time I had my nose broken in a barfight, bled all over my shoes. I left the bar I was at, walked to the strip club where a girl I was seeing worked, she handed me a t-shirt and sat with me whilst on her break.
The aforementioned bachelor party did not occur, rather it did, but before I arrived to partake, the clowns could not even leave the first bar they'd hit in order to hit others before hitting the strip club. Friday night around midnight, they were 40 min's from the nearest strip club, and still closing tabs. Talk about a clusterfuck. Here's to hoping his marriage/decide to propose was better planned than his penis funeral known as a bachelor party.

At any rate, my friend who'd invited me to the debacle split the conversation relating the amateur night/lack of planning by also informing me that despite his son having been born less than one month ago, it looks as though he and his wife are separating. I chose not to note the irony of his "celebrating" in any form/fashion another guy buying into the soul raping tradition which he is currently taking it up the figurative ass from, but anyhow. I had not the heart to kick a man while he's down by pointing out such things.
I then recalled a conversation the day before with another guy my elder, who's first wife had cheated on him while he was in WAR as a soldier, then she tried to get full custody/despite diagnosed mental problems (he admittedly had a kid with the harpy knowing this, talk about stepping foot into the visible beartrap), now has a wife who's "wonderful". A few min's later he mentioned how his wife now is great, makes money, travels a lot/works as a consultant. I didn't have the heart to tell him about all the consultant girls I've known, met, with fiances, husbands, boyfriends, and how many of them behave when out of town by rationalizing it's the distance, the time away, the job, the career.......I could be wrong and she might be the exception rather than the rule....but, it would fly in the face of a lot of women I've known.

I shook my head quietly in disgust and stared into the sky then headed inside to sleep, content to skip a night out on the town ( a rarity, I know).
I shook my head not for having burned his hand so much, as it was how people can so selectively shape their experiences and gleam little to nothing from them. I call these men the true hopeless romantics.

Oddly enough, as difficult as my upbringing was at times, I've managed to attract girls that had decidedly "normal" childhoods. Parents still married, happily even, the older, now best friends routine where the spouses seem to mutually care for and respect one another. It's a far cry from the things I saw growing up and the distance I feel from ****** as well as the arm's length distance maintained by much of my 'family'. Part of the inevitable disconnect I experience in each relationship is just that: experience has taught me hard lessons on life and expectations and results....and the girls I inevitably attract and likewise am attracted to have wholly different beliefs/expectations. In time, my stake in the relationship retrogrades as my belief that nothing lasts, little if nothing is permanent, and that inevitably connection turns to ash/dust/nothing. Combined with my penchant for womanizing, this toxic effect courses with each passing day, metastasizing and spreading to all corners of the world crafted with a significant other until the relationship ends in a fucking trainwreck for all involved.

I step into another day, another moment, another pursuit, hoping for something I wholeheartedly believe is unattainable.

-With Greatest Affection

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

A Conversation with a Friend

Soundtrack to this post: I don't want to fall in love by She Wants Revenge
Alternative older Soundtrack: Battleflag by Lo Fidelity Allstars

I was perusing Wal-Mart for some necessities before the gym the other night/checking out the fat ass & tigs on this girl in a nurse's scrubs when I got a text from my buddy. A younger mixed girl stared me down as she walked with her Dad and bought groceries. Ah, the joys of fuckin' Wal-Mart. Human nature on display. I think i had an hour long boner. I'd jerked off that morning before work, so God knows why my cock was on full titl.

I got a response from my buddy to whom I had sent a text asking how his date the other night had unfolded.
His response: "Top 5 Worst Date ever".

I laughed for two reasons: 1) he had taken a girl on a date, and 2) awkward dates are hilarious.
I called him to hear the gory details b/c I'm a pervert/fiend for awkward details and experiences like that.

Me: You know where you went wrong, right?
Buddy: No? Where's that?
Me: You took her on a fuckin' date. I can't remember the last time I boned a chick I took on a bonafide old school 'date'.
Buddy: Yeah, I'd have to consider that a trend for you.
Me: yeah, I don't find dates as productive. That, and I have a girlfriend. Why the fuck would I take another girl on a date?
Buddy: haha, yeah, good point. There is that.

( I have a theory that by eschewing dates as a rule, girls tacitly assume you may have membership in the 'secret society' of guys who know the girls abide by, not the other bullshit set they espouse in speech. )

My buddy recounted her blathering, her ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, her talking about church, her wanting to order wine/appetizer, desert.....she had big tits. I gave him cool points for that factoid. Simple math for simple desires: money in exchange to perchance suck on some ample mammaries. Ah, the simple joys and humor of life never elude me for long. Some girl looked over in semi-shock upon overhearing my convo. She was aghast (read that: she pretended to be with knee jerk emotion). I nodded and tipped my cap to her like any gentleman would. I wish men still wore codpieces. I'd have the most bedazzeld/jeweled codpiece the world ever saw. I stepped into the pharmacy (no, not for herpes medicine) to ask a pharmacy tech with a nice ass and dark hair (no wedding ring) and hipster glasses where they kept the athletic tape. I stared down an older, blonde haired woman in a dress (with a wedding ring) that was perusing tampons. :)

The black girl working checkout appreciated the conversation my buddy and I were having and asked if a big ass was as nice as big tigs. I told her it was in my book, that, "in fact, a real big ass makes up for real flat tigs, or the other way around as the case may be. " She said that I should date black women. I told her I just liked a girl with features. I wasn't sure if she'd know what the word "attributes" meant....but then again, she had honesty in spades, so who am I to judge? Gotta have love for the ladies that don't bullshit.

I've blogged about it before, and I'll recount the statistic yet again: girls I've taken on true blue dates and later boned since college: 2. Fucking 2. 1 more than 1. 2 more than FUCKING ZERO over a 3+ year span. Number of chicks I've boned since then that I haven't taken on regular dates/met for coffee/at a bar/met for drinks/whatever: 15-20. That is roughly 7-10 times the old school method of "take on a date, get to know, possibly have sex with later".

I told my buddy that my litmus test for chicks is the no date policy I strictly enforce: a girl cool enough to not expect a date/dinner/spending money just to talk with is probably cool enough to 'date'. I put the cart before the cow, I think that's the metaphor. Maybe not. Fuck it.

At any rate....remember kids: no dates, don't ask names, and don't ask for phone numbers. Have the girl and/or the 'relationship' on your terms or not fucking at all.
Headed to the gym and tossed then submitted some chaps in heartlessly ruthless fashion.

Life is good. Misery is optional. The monkey's mostly off my back as of late. Work's going well. I have the 'never far from awareness' myriad of mistakes and broken birds in my wake, but then how else could my life be? I'm a man. I adore the gamble and I love the rollercoaster. You can only win what you put in the middle. No day is as good for me as a day with the depths of a low and the heights of a high.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Be who and what you are.

-With Greatest Affection

Pick the Alpha

If you remember, I posted a Pick the Alpha bit a few days ago, asking for reader predictions of which of two men in a picture was the Alpha.

Alkibiades predicted with precision that the man on the right was in fact the most alpha in the picture based on the nonverbal cues I noted upon first seeing the picture as well: namely, "Head up, open posture, looks more relaxed of the two. The guy on the left is leaning in, turned towards the guy on the right, stiff, and his claw like hand is in an unnatural position."

I couldn't have articulated it any better even knowing who the men in the picture are:
the man on the left is UFC president Dana White, chief leader of the UFC, the world's premier MMA fighting organization. It undoubtedly generates hundreds of millions in sales each year in addition to PPV sales.

The guy on the right: is his highness, the sheik of the United Arab Emirates. The Gross Domestic Product of his country last year was roughly 71 billion. If I'm not mistaken, places like Dubai and Abu Dhabi should ring bells at this point. To let you know how things run over in that part of the world, a royal family member was caught on video TORturing a man who owed him money from a business deal, purportedly.

No wonder Dana's doing his best belly-showing, submissive dog routine here. The guy on the right could have his shit buried underneath the sand or fed to the boars they were hunting when that picture above was taken.

Who run shit? Who run shit? That guy on the right runs shit.

Monday, December 7, 2009

***** Dreamin': Volume Oblivion

Soundtrack to this post: Rise by Disturbed
Alternative Soundtrack to this post: Mickey Avalon's What do you say

Long in is the conclusion to the previously posted parts of the trip formerly known as ******.

I woke up to the usual morning on the final day of my trip. The wind was warm outside as my buddy smoked a cigarette in his backyard. I looked into the soft, blue sky and marveled at all that it contained. A long, long, long day lay in store. A pub crawl for a birthday that began @ roughly 2pm. Another party late into the night. And something else that I knew was coming, like the proverbial sword of Damocles. Something colossal and wordless.

I headed into my day and tried not to think about the absurd amount of alcohol I'd be consuming starting so early in the day. Mayhap, part of me wished for a blackout that would come early on a wave of mercy and fitfulness, nullifying and incapacitating the dark passenger until it proved time to embark upon my journey back home.
"Home". There's a 4 letter word. A word I fear. A word that has been ambiguous to me for ages in the hourglass of time and sand falling and flying through the fingers at breakneck pace. Home for many days has proven only insomuch as where I lay my head at the end of a long day pressing my own personal tolerance for pain and/or abasement.

Such a thing was not to be. Such an escape was not forthcoming. I somehow knew this. I put it out of mind and had ******* for lunch based on the recommendation of another whom I met through the blog.

Headed back to the pad to rest up before the early afternoon pub crawl. Arrived @ roughly 330pm....just in time for the beginning of the end. Started off with a shot and a beer in dubious and mocking fashion...mocking the dark passenger, mocking my own self-control....mocking the Sin Gods and taunting them...daring them to do their best. My best hope was to provoke their ire to awaken in some alleyway in several hours time, having missed out on all the extra-curriculars. En route, I'd sent out a text message. Proposing a rendezvous for 3 people. It was tacitly accepted.

Segued to the next bar where another shot and a beer followed. The married couples and engaged ones still appeared happy. Drunkenness had not given voice to the straining against settling, against boredom, against resentment for having bought into the societal lie that marriage would end the "cosmic loneliness" as Hurston put it in the mouth of Janie Crawford.
Terrible service, considering the bar was empty minus us and some drunk, elderly statesman, @ 415pm in the afternoon. The horizon grew orange and red in hue and promised carnage for the internal wasteland. I could only assume that my previous **** & booze consumption for 2 nights had built up a considerable tolerance and would make consciousness a prolonged and tiresome affair. I waited for the warm onset of abstained. I was enraged. I accepted the predictability of all that lay in store for me on this night. I already knew that hours would pass before a discernible buzz would arrive, that I would have to talk to people I would never see again and honestly care not for, that I would grow tired of acting normal and acting like I gave a fuck, that I would grow tired of talking and socializing and everything else that proves part of the tired, trite, meaningless human condition.

I was right. I have grown fucking tired of how right I can be so often.

A girl gripped my jaw and marveled at my facial structure. She said she wished I was taller as she was an amazon. Her eyes roved over my jawline and into my cold **** eyes from which the vacuum stared back wordless and full of acceptance of what was forthcoming like an avalanche. My eyes thought of fucking her bent over in the nearby bathroom stall with a fistful of hair and her moans in my ear. I thought of slapping her considerable ass and filling her in convincing fashion.

We segued to some other bar where I had some PBR. The taste took the edge of a burgeoning revulsion to alcohol, chatted about the UFC event that was set for later in the night. A topic which I actually didn't mind discussing yet proved tiresome on this evening. Headed to another bar I'd been at the night before but genuinely liked. It is a bar that were I resident of the area would frequent often and regularly. The red lighting, reminding me of another similar bar which I often frequented in days of old here in my current town. Some guys talked about the recession, about the housing market, about work, about football, about whatever fucking else people who don't know one another do to establish lines of communication. I chatted with my booze and the bottle in front of me. I paused and considered the neon lights, and the track lighting of the bar, a sexy waitress with a sleeve tattoo and hair extensions. I pondered the wake of birds in my past. Individuals on different planes, at different speeds, passing in the night and such bullshit.

Began flirting with a girl in the entourage. We kissed on the lips. I noted the beginning calamitous negative comments of the wedded couples: straining against the settling, the boredom, the societal lie of marriage as solution to whatever ails individuals and keeps them awake on the quiet nights not numbed by booze, illicit controlled substances or pharmaceuticals or casual sex. The hurt female emotions, the irritated male emotions, intertwining in some equally comic and cosmic joke wherein two innately different creatures are 'supposed' to make it work permanently until their physical shells expire. I could have laughed if the joke was anything other than completely true. I was not amused. I was nonplused. I was not enthused.

I gave way to the darkness of the night and had another beer, then another shot and a beer for the road. Headed into the night.

Posted up at a bar where the service sucked. Walked next door to a different bar. Began chatting up a mid 30's woman in mixed Spanish/English. She had the cultured sexiness that ONLY an older woman can exude. I had been to the part of Mexico from whence she came. We chatted, and she ran her finger down my jaw line then tugged on my collar. Another older woman laid her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was alone. She introduced me to a younger friend. I sat on a soft couch whilst some band played music I could not hear for the white static noise of blackout level drunkenness in my brain made soft by my concentration on maintaining degrading motor skills.

I left without so much as a word but not before flirting with another dark-haired girl at the bar with needlessly excessive mascara. I stumbled back to the other bar to grab my buddy, rather, he was waiting for me outside. It was time to leave and meet the 3rd member of the group for what lay in store.

She arrived whilst my buddy had gone to the store for booze and condoms.
We talked. I felt awkward. Not sure if this showed or not. My buddy came back. The air of what was coming hung overhead, I headed back to the room to lay down. I put on my favorite band. They both came back. ***** and her got started. I stared blankly and when instructed took off my shirt. Her eyes roved over my chest. There was no turning back. My buddy was ***** her then I did for a time. He left, returned, she rode me and he positioned himself behind her. We swapped places.
Fade to black.

I woke up, showered, and headed to the airport.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Musings on the Mall

Soundtrack to this post: Brutal by New Order
Spent some time the other day, killing some time rather whilst waiting for my *****. I strolled through the crisp air at a large mall with both outside sections of stores and the indoor variety. I walked past Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn for Kids, Restoration Hardware, Brookstone...whatever else that sells shit people don't need but are conditioned to think they want/will fill some vacuum within their hollow selves.
The well-lighted stores with their white light and "versatile solutions for modern living" called out with lascivious promises of contentedness and warmth. I saw couples looking at shit. Stuff. Fucking stuff loading and packing the shelves. Stuff that won't bring any more happiness than it will respite from the abyss.

I smiled and read at a bookstore then sipped some coffee: free to read, think, look at things other than candle holders and bedspreads and fruit dishes for a dining room table I do not own. I checked out the surprisingly fat ass on a dorky looking white girl with nonsensical hipster-inspired fashion: leggings over a horrid skirt, minimal make-up, some handbag large enough to carry a grenade launcher, slipper shoes, consignment store looking buttoned shirt and random flapper hat. Grade: 'F' for 'fucking too much time trying to appear as though she just has all this random shit in her closet.
I checked out a younger blonde with her mom. She "got it" from her momma', no doubt. Too bad, I bet her husband doesn't look twice at her anymore. I'd have slipped it in without delay.

I looked for a moment at a window installation at some other random home furnishings store: my first apartment after college had a chair, a desk, my mattress on the floor and one wooden dresser that I never used, save to keep condoms, lube, and some random unnecessary personal effects, a few pictures of ex's that I was mildly attached to in some vague emotional capacity.
I thought about the random blonde-haired college girl that looked like a brown-skinned ex that I banged there, about the Brazilian girl who bit me all over while I wrapped my fingers around her throat and slammed her against the wall...about another darker-skinned ex, and yet another golden-skinned ex whom I broke up with shortly after moving back from college...or something in that capacity. It becomes difficult to remember all the particulars with time: broken wings for broken birds, as it were.

It dawned on me just what a place like Gap Kids, Pottery Barn and its Kid aimed incarnation sell....the clean, sanitized, pleasant lie that is marriage and kids for most people. The Spearhead has a far more articulate assessment of what marriage entails that is worth a humorous read.

I then walked into the indoor section of the mall. This mall, in particular and even for this area, is decidedly teenager/family with young kids oriented. There is the "playzone" for the rugrats, and any number of stores aimed at young, semi-well to do, or wanting to think of themselves semi-well to do families with the 1-2 young kids, sedan, stationwagon/import, and a dog.

I just don't see a lot of these families that appear happy. Read that: I don't see practically any that appear happy. Huxley's characterization of, " Home, home [as] a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by a rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease, and smells....home was...squalid psychically as physically...what suffocating intimacies, what dangerous, insane, obscene relationships between the members."

Spoke with a buddy of mine recently: to recount, his wife walked out on him, then he finally convinced her to come back, read that: she realized she wouldn't find a better deal then came back after a year and change. Fast forward to her "accidentally" getting pregnant. Fast forward to occasionally hushed messages of how crazy she is now (hint: more than when she wasn't a mother to his child). Fast forward to not hanging out with my buddy hardly ever.

Looks like I might see him for a bachelor's party this weekend. If nothing else, I hope for some painful humor as blogged about over at Seasons of Tumult & Discord on the topic of a beta's bachelor party. More walking dead men. No wonder people listen to economists and have hope. Never underestimate the willingness of people to cling to a dream, to a myth, to something that literally flies in the face of all other empirical evidence.

Why do I bother to hang out with some of my married friends, bachelor's parties for doomed men, you ask? They are painful, but utterly necessary reminders of what lays in store should I not remain true to myself. The truth? The married men I know are semi-miserable or outright pained. This is not even broaching the topic of the divorced men I know who now support a wife who is banging some other dude(s), probably spending his money on the new guy, and must split unequal time with said ex-wife to see his kids. Make no mistake, the penalties are severe, and to trust something/someone as capricious as a woman who is prone to truly follow emotion, damn the logic (and there are few consequence for women), is a recipe for disaster like no other.

I don't doubt there is joy to be had from having children. Sorta like building a house of cards over a period of years. Or like painting tons of miniature figurines....something will probably be gleamed from the process....but like one of my coaches once told me on the way back from a fight, " Yeah, I love my kids. And they made me less selfish of a person. But, I don't know that I really needed to be less selfish."

The quiet pain in his voice spoke volumes louder to me than any Pottery Barn display bathed in white light during the Holiday shopping season.

-With Greatest Affection

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Jealous & Appalled

Sexting - 1/4 of all teens in the US have been involved in sexting in some capacity. Granted the poll was done by an MTV affiliate, but I'd estimate even with a significant error's not far off the mark.

Jealous: As a guy looking back....if only pics of the girls from my high school when I was a teenager had circulated nude photos. So many debates of size and ratio, and boob size would have been settled whilst pouring over tiny, grainy (though camera technology does improve day by day on phones)...and now the advent of video. *sigh*

Appalled: yet another reason why having a daughter scares me nearly breathless. Now not only will she likely be banging a trio of guys from some athletic team before graduating, there will be video proof should she ever make a career of something.

Pick the Alpha

In the picture, decide, who is the alpha? The guy on the left or the guy on the right, and briefly state why. The answer will be posted tomorrow.
Do not google, do not look for the picture elsewhere. Operating SOLELY on body language, posture, facial expression and other nonverbal cues, place your bets my humble readers.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Brave "New" World"

In perusing Huxley's visionary 1932 opus, Brave New World some things have come to mind. Certainly, the reliance on government allowed/approved drugs for anesthitizing is nothing new, as back in the wild west, the early days of Coca-Cola, or the British Empire/Chinese Communists struggles with Opium demonstrate, drugs and various addictions to supplicate the masses are nothing new.

Certainly, the advent of sexual freedom for women, destruction of the family, and stratification of society is also nothing new as a continuing trend which existed back in the days of Oliver Twist, the original ghettoes, the shanty towns in young America, and various stages of the Industrial revolution.

Going further, however, the type of cowering non-men that Feminism thinks it wants are the antithesis of what women want, need, desire, and for that matter the worlds needs to advance.

Cautious men, those afraid of consequences and chastisement and rebuke did not discover the Americas. Cautious, pansy men did not explore new lands and conquer resources which advanced their Lord/King/Monarch...the beginnings of the nations we know now

Cautious men, the lapdogs, and sniveling cowards did not test out new theories, get burned at the stake for heresy, nor publish controversial and pivotal works that forever challenged the way we view the world and inevitably brought much of the 'progress' we now reap and enjoy.

The path of weak and fearful men is calamitous in a number of ways.

In a strange way, on the surface, Feminism and family destruction by disenfranchising men from the family unit/distancing them from role models produces semi-alphas in the sense that they are overtly impulsive, far more likely to engage in risky elucidated elsewhere on the 'internets' and in the blogosphere....but with one crucial pitfall: the risks they take are destabilizing ones for society. Their byproduct is crime, marauding, theft, and the damage to the core which in a stable society otherwise produces advancement in culture, art, invention, science, and media.

Without investment in the overall success of a culture, the willingness of men to gamble for success becomes a willingness to gamble and take risks that are non-beneficial to society as a whole and remain risks taken solely for personal benefit at the expense of others.
Feminism has to look very carefully at completely depriving men of the rewards and benefits of investing in the society as a whole. The cost will be staggering.

Asking the Impossible

Soundtrack to this post: Replacement by She Wants Revenge
Alternative Soundtrack: I Don't Want to Fall in Love by She Wants Revenge

Recently spoke with an ex. She proved the last time I placed a girl on a pedestal: the last time I believed in and committed emotional investment to the ideal notion of woman (what folly, I know. But part of me remains eternally hopeful and romantic regarding the capricious nature of the incorrigible gender known as woman....but quitting would mean only the end of the game as we know it) . I will continue to do this in various capacities, like that errant hope for the hail Mary in the 4th quarter, or that the cavity in your back molar will go away...but tacitly and consciously you know such things are not to be and will not come to pass save for in Hollywood scripts. That does not mean, however, that one cannot fondly dawdle our minds over them from time to time with a wistful looks in our eyes.

Like with all girls, the truth came out in the end: We waited (read that: she made me wait) several months or so to have sex. She hadn't even been dating the first guy she'd been with her first time. Ah, what's that sound, you ask? Predictability in all it's smiting and emasculating glory.
In all truth, I had some relapses with an ex during this time period, had begun dating 2 other girls, and had a one night stand somewhere in there. But we can only be who and what we are.
Back to the recent present questioning on her part:
She asked, "Why?" "Why had [I] hurt [her]?"

Why did I hurt her? For so long I simply had no answer to this question. I had no answer due to the nature of the question. I had no answer for her or for her innumerable predecessors that had laid the same question at my feet. The same conversation had countless times on the edge of a bed, or a couch, or with a girl's arms wrapped around my chest. Sometimes a small, delicate fist hitting my chest, others a soft, petite hand lightly striking my face. It was a question and a conversation that proved as perpetually expected as it did repetitive.
I finally understand why.
She asked the impossible. The impossible, at least for one such as myself. She asked that I settle down. That I be faithful. She asked that I turn off the beast, that I disembark from the rollercoaster and no longer keep the dark passenger riding shotgun. She asked that I give up the red flags, the tempting fate, the deep and dark nights spent in the maelstrom and the brink.
"You can't pin it all on me,
The blame is mine to bear.

With all the things I've done to you,

We're far beyond repair.

But still sometimes I think of us,

And how things fell apart.

And how you knew from the first kiss

That I would break your heart."


She asked of me the impossible. She asked for the tiger to change its stripes, the leopard to eschew its spots, the pirate to give up the sea and his ship. Time has finally, in some small capacity, taken the edge off of my call for the wild, but the flare ups continue (see this past weekend). I am, as always, often little more than one drink away from a bender. I am as always, an instant (impulse) or a gust of wind from a bad decision and path.

She asked for things I cannot give. She asked for things I may never be able to give. She asked for behavior that runs contrary to instincts that pulse with each beat in my cold heart.

She cannot understand 'why' I hurt her?
I finally see why.
She cannot understand 'why' because she cannot understand 'me'. My nature is the 'how' I do the things I do and it is the well from which springs the 'why' I behave as I do.

In other humorous news. I ran into a favorite bartender girl of mine. She's smart, cute, the right amount of intolerance for jerkoffs, but predictably dating a guy she could do much better than. She bought me a beer and a shot within about 5 min's of walking in the bar on whatever random weeknight it was. This was in front of her boyfriend. His first bit of fidgeting began. Keep in mind: this bartender has seen me with more girls than I can count at her bar. I literally have trouble tabulating how many ex's of mine I have brought into this bar, how many girls she's seen me leave with, how many girls I met/ex's I brought in within days of one another. I have likely crossed into that curiosity region in her mind. For a time, she regarded me with quiet but very nonverbal disdain. Now she always jokes and talks with me. But, that is women for you. At any rate, within moments, she was questioning why I was out alone. I played aloof. I wanted to hear her say it. She commented on the sheer multitude of "gorgeous" girls she'd seen me with out on the town. I shrugged and did my best knowing smirk mixed with aloofness. Her boyfriend acted butthurt that his girlfriend was spending her industry night off talking to a guy that everyone in the bar where she works deems a "player" or whatever other term now circulates among those concerned with the behavior of others.

In other recent news: some guy went up to an ex of mine and told her he'd seen me with a girl by a name that I truthfully do not know. My haters now prove legion in this town. Le sigh. It actually proves a useful tool. It eliminates prudes from approaching me (ie: girls that would shit test more than I care to tolerate) and provokes those girls curious to sample the wares.

I walked away from my ex and the others for a simple reason: I didn't have the stomach to hurt them any longer. The line was drawn in the sand by them. They had chosen to tolerate a clear pattern of behavior. I made clear an unwillingness or inability to effect change in said course of behavior. They hurt when they're with me but feel the other times of content, peace, security, lust, and desirability. When I'm gone they long for the experience, the whole package that I entailed. I don't have answer for that perhaps intensity, good and bad, proves addictive.
"I've got this icebox where my heart used to be."
-With Greatest Affection

I had an ex who remarked one time that I was too impulsive. I asked her if my impulsiveness "was okay" when stomped/physically assaulted those 3 guys in the parking lot after one smacked her on the ass and another grabbed her by the arm one night downtown. She never said something to that effect again.

Monday, November 30, 2009

The more things change.....

Soundtrack to this post: Little Things
Faithful readers can likely surmise why this new blog has been fashioned. Perhaps it proves fitting. The time had come to molt, to change, to find a new home for this rolling stone.

Weekend Review:
Posted up @ a local haunt fashioned as an Irish pub. A number of friends work @ the establishment. I got a quick text from my wingman working the door: my ex was was coming into the bar. I felt her eyes rove over me as I continued chatting with the Estonian girl to my right. Such are the wages of my life.

I got up to talk to a friend and returned to find two Indian girls, one of whom was sitting my seat. She asked if she'd taken my seat, ostensibly and correctly assuming my hat and beer in front of my seat were my belongings. I said that it was in fact, "my seat," but told her not to worry about it. I had grown weary of standing and the night air beckoned.

The words of the conversation regarding my seat were brief, but the subtext was interesting for such a quick exchange:
Brown girl 1: Oh, is this your seat?
Me: Yeah. But don't worry about it (said with an almost weary, definitively dismissive air like someone irritated by the continued petulance of a small child).

Her brow almost instantly furrowed. She was confused. I did not follow the script she lives by and enjoys on a nearly daily basis. She has only one game she knows how to play, and she's not even cute at that type of game. Indian girls enjoy a nearly full-time tolerance for most of their shit tests. The vast majority of Indian guys that even bother to go out/college age spend their time buying drinks, dinners, and according to legend some even get blowjobs or have sex that the girl will likely never admit to. She wasn't sure how to respond. She could only turn to her friend and whisper something in Hindi. It lacked the sing song quality of Gujurati, so I can only assume it was Hindi. At any rate, I did my best to suppress my smile and turned back to conversation with the Estonian girl. Turns out she'd been at a soiree I'd thrown back during the summer in honor of ******.

I ejected from the bar as I was on my own personal bar crawl. To drink, perhance to escape.....

I found my way to another bar where a friend bartends. I glanced up from my import beer and saw an ex from more than a year ago. She had long, dark hair, full, red lips, an incredible ass, and large fake tits. Not my type per se, but a bad, bad, very educated professional woman.
A bit of backstory to my time with her: She's also a good bit older than myself and one that wherever-the-fuck we went, guys stared her down. Every-fucking-where. However, she felt her years of experience meant she should be telling me how I "should" (fucking hate that word) be living my life and handling my personal affairs. I went out one night got drunk, passed out in the backseat of my car (ah, the good ole days of a year ago), woke up and had something in the neighborhood of 5 missed calls from her....she went so far as to have her **** call me. Pack your bags, we're going on a guilt trip! Hooray!

Anyhow, back to this weekend: I glanced down the bar, and eyes fell upon her. Keep in mind, this is a woman that guys fall all over: everywhere. I had done my vaunted, no call back, no text, literal disappearing act which I have been known to pull from occasional time to time.
She simply smiled, nodded my way, raised her beer to me in mock toast, and I smiled, then went back to chatting with my bartender buddy. Eventually, a friend of hers (who I had run into months earlier with another ex of mine) came by and spoke to me for a bit. Then the dark-haired woman made her way over. She asked how I'd been. It was the chit chat bullshit one might expect in such circumstances. She invited me to a different club to which they were heading. I was just hitting my stride of weariness, having not been out much for boozing like my old schedule. I did something I normally wouldn't: I hailed a cab and headed into the night to meet her at the 2nd bar. She was busy hanging out with the guy who owns several big name clubs/bars in the downtown area. Like the vagabond, like the young lion on the African plain, I was undeterred. I was going to prove something to myself once and for all: money may a paper alpha make, but that only suffices in the absence of once such as myself.

I made my way into the bar, devil may care grin on my face, gait of the inebriated, yet fairly clear thinking.....ready to fucking rock and ready to fucking roll.
Within moments of entering, the friend was by my side, chatting me up. Her frosty exterior melted as it does when she has a drink or two. Moments later, the ex was by my side, holding my hand. The guy who owned the club glared me down as I swigged my beer. Fuck that club anyway, I haven't been in ages and I have no desire to return. The girls walked outside, and told me to ride home with them. The man and his club(s) and his money stood in ashes cast about in the wind trailing in my wake.

At any rate, the cab ride home was spent with one girl passed out, the other puking her guts out the window. Hilarity. Woke up, my ex pressed against me...painfully rode back to my car and stepped into the beginning of my day.
The brightness of the sun assailed my eyes. Another ex called but I hit ignore.

The shards of my past litter the ground beneath my feet. I headed to see my girlfriend and got ready to hit the gym.
-With Greatest Affection

Finally forthcoming.....the final installment to my trip out of town expose. I promise it has been worth the wait, dear readers. Mark my words.