Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Pretty Lies/False Industries

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

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/ 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

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The plague continues


Advice to a Son/Boy

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"

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

Monday, March 29, 2010

A comment by a Reader

j.hladik said...

This post reminded me of a clip I've been meaning to link you.

Watch and know.

This clip always makes me smile.

Chasing the Dragon

A weekend out socializing.

Meaningless pursuits and cheap thrills.

Lip glossed smiles and furtive glances.


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

Saturday, March 27, 2010

How do you....

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

.....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

Friday, March 26, 2010

Irony in the age of Modernity

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

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 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

Thursday, March 25, 2010

I wonder....

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

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 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

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

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

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

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Actors on a Stage

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:
dinner party menu and food selection/preparation
economy/school for their children
things they plan to buy

Hiding/Text B.S./Recalling a story

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 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

Monday, March 22, 2010

To sleep perchance to dream.....

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.”

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Going Slowly and Learning Everything Again

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.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Byron-y in the Age of Modernity

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 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."

Friday, March 19, 2010

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

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. 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.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Quick Humor Fix of the Day

Hat Tip to In Mala Fide


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.

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.
*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

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Amateur Night

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*

Read it here


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

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


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?" 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

Monday, March 15, 2010


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

Sunday, March 14, 2010


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 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

Saturday, March 13, 2010

City of Angels

Soundtrack/Punk for your day: The Distillers

I could tell you about everything that happened but why bother. If you read the 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,'s like, the mask is slipping and things....people that never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter...."

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

Friday, March 12, 2010

Jessie Jane: Porn interview for your day

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

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?"
"*bullshit that doesn't matter*"
"Want to dance?"
"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 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.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

All You Need to Know


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/ 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 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

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.
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 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

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Heavy is the head that wears the crown

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

Monday, March 8, 2010

Some Thoughts on Forcing it.....

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" 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 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

Friday, March 5, 2010

Love in the time of Mania

A picture may be worth a thousands words...but no picture will embody the right words for this......

Soundtrack: Separate by Sevendust
My eyes open. My muscles shriek with complaint each time I move. Everything hurts from training. I'm neck deep in the purgatory of the gym in hopes of staying sober.

I turn to my right and see her long, dark hair resting on the comforter. She is all but hidden from view as we both linger amidst the twisting of sheets and combined warmth. A slow, appreciative, contemplative smile spreads across my lips. Her soft skin and warm body stirs quietly with the sigh of a pleasant stretch after deep sleep. I smell her hair and kiss her shoulder then pull her to me. If only it were Saturday and this need not end.

If only I were different and this need not end.

The offers to go out last night were extended by various members of my rogue's gallery.
There was a Russian night to attend.....a Latin night...a Brazilian International night was a veritable buffet of interest....on the surface anyway.
I contemplated these offers and options on my drive home from the gym despite my considerable weariness from the gym. My mind roved and I considered a quick shower, food downtown, then socializing with debutantes of the late night, bedazzled and vajazzled variety. We spoke on the phone and her words beckoned to me over the din and blaring shouts of downtown's megaphone: a cacophony of sound quieted by the whisper and promise of her presence. She is the peace to my violence.

Some TV then semi-awake time spent together in the haze of contentedness.

This is the closest to happy I have been in all my dark, torrid days of searching day and night after endless day and night.

I close my eyes and savor this moment just as I did the moment in front of the crowd after my last fight. A moment staggering in its purity and power...yet fleeting and intangible as any those few you know will haunt you for all your days. All the searching, all the mistakes, all the disappointment....all made worthwhile, all validated....with a moment so brief as to only last a few seconds.

The dark passenger sits perched nearby....licking its garish, ravaged lips, rocking to and fro.....I sigh inwardly....a sigh equal parts in hope and acceptance .

Hat Tip for In Mala Fide - Vajazzle - Vajazzlefest 2k10!!!!!!!!!

Givin' back all the traffic love I've received from readers of In Mala Fide - read his post on the the newly absurd trend of vajazzling - read it here @ In Male Fide. Vajazzzle. Vajazzle away. Decoration for something men already want despite it's lack of overt aesthetic appeal!

If you haven't already read the post go reread it. If you have read it, well, click the damn link in thanks for the humor and sordid lechery you've read on my blog in its various incarnations.
-With Greatest Affection

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Wisdom of Elders

Pulled in for an oil change this morning. Some older guy was filling out the invoice. A commercial came on, in which an older woman said something like, "when it was time for a divorce, I was worried about how I would get by, how I would support myself, what would I do. I couldn't just work." Then a few moments later, after she ostensibly got help from advertising law firm who'd paid for the commercial, she said, "now I have the freedom to move and and live comfortably," to which I absentmindedly said, "yeah, b/c your ex husband's paying for that new life, bitch." The older guy looked up at me and said, "What?"
"I said, being married all those years was a trade for sitting at home, and not having to, y'know, fucking work like most adults. Should've considered that in the trade before you asked for a divorce."
"You sound like you've been married."
"No. I just have divorced buddies who've told me as much."
"That's how my divorce went, son."

I shook his hand on the way out to my car with another anecdote filed under "Remember".

Field Observation(s)

Went on a date awhile back, something I'd forgotten to mention with the last bit of things I'd posted on this subject (it can prove hard to keep track).
Your humble narrator as usual was a bit nicer than probably necessary. Met the girl and we posted up by the bar. It had that slightly awkward feel of two people who were semi-intoxicated during the first meeting, each having forgotten things and a tad embarrassed to rehash old ground. The connection quickly re-established. I wore a nice coat, designer jeans of the right length to fall the right length below the top of my shoes, polished dark like the night shoes, the optimal 2-3 days of stubble, styled hair, rounded out by a fitting sweater over a tailored dress shirt. I was the heighth of fashion, one could say.

She wore a sexy drape like shirt which revealed a nice soft brown shoulder, her long, dark hair trailing past her shoulders complimented by dark eyes and soft features. Her imploring eyes matched her smile as we hugged and renewed our hello's. Her body language/posture slowly relaxed as we got past the casual yet partially tense first few moments. My ability to disarm in a quiet, conversational setting taking hold within moments. The food was good, the ambiance upscale and appropriately dim. We fell back into the vibe of our first meeting, my nonchalance eventually relaxing her as she pried a bit into my past and I kept my answers appropriately vague. She confided a warning by her friend that the type of guys she is normally drawn to. Ah, at least a girl that can admit it. She said she was on the fence about me but felt like that might not be the case with me. Has the tiger changed its stripes?
I segued into humor, slight teasing, peppered with compliments then some open ended remarks for her to interpret.
The night ended with a semi-platonic kiss on the cheek, I could've kiss closed but my resolve was lacking as is normally the case.

I headed home to sleep deep, dark rest for the weary.
-With Greatest Affection

Tuesday, March 2, 2010



"And my heart carries the pain of a brain I can't explain"

Slept good sleep for another night in a row while I dreamt no dreams.
Saw a movie with ********. She said she was there for me regardless of the past. I told the truth.
Drove home with a clear mind and a clear conscience for the first time in ages. I drove home with a feeling that had been foreign for so long: hope.

Woke up early to hit an AA meeting. Sipped shit coffee and said nothing while I munched on a shitty donut. I ignored my narcissism whispering that I'm better than these people. That's the dark passenger talking, telling me lies again. It's gotta switch up the monologue since I don't enjoy the forays into the brink the way I once did. It's gotta appeal to my considerable self-belief and ego to sneak its way back into the fold.

I can feel a bit of clarity. Missing is the haze of sleep deprivation, water, hangover...and the like. Good day to my faithful readers. Thanks for the comments and the emails I got yesterday. Good luck and happy hunting.
-With Greatest Affection

Monday, March 1, 2010

One More Time With Feeling

Hit up an AA meeting. Watched the Americans lose to the Canucks. Hit up another AA meeting. I slept 12 hours last night of deep, catatonic sleep. My brain feels clear and I know what I need to do.

I'm going to try giving up drinking again.

First the man takes a drink; then the drink takes a drink; then the drink takes the man”.