Idle Hands

Spent the other night out hoping to see some fights. I was predictably derailed by dueling pianos and a Brazilian girl then weariness.
Headed out to see the UFC, but stopped off @ another bar as the prelims were underwhelming for the more knowledgeable fan. This proved fateful. I did post up next to a Brasileirinha, chatted with her for a bit, did the obligatory and prerequisite joking with the friend who was irked she wasn't getting attention. For most guys, the 'friend' was probably the more likely choice.. But I went with the girl with the nicer/kinder face and the bigger ass. It was hard to block out thoughts of putting it in her ass whilst I was talking to her. She gave me the usual IOI's, kino she initiated, loved my job when finally revealed after much evasion.
"No, really, I want to know. Please tell me. We can trade."
I wordlessly smirked and agreed she would have to owe me in trade, but didn't answer.
When she finally guessed, I went with some cheese about how sometimes people can just read one another. blah fucking blah. The friend grew restless, so I supplicated her with some jokes whilst the target was in the bathroom (probably checking her phone to see where her ex/some other dude was).
At any rate, my interest waivered then lapsed, so I ejected not b/c I was blown out....b/c I just didn't care enough to continue spouting words. Odd, indeed.

Had coffee with the ex the other day. We made small talk and skirted the obvious issues. She was gorgeous as always. I was glad that I hadn't hurt her recently in the midst of a relationship. We caught up, discussed family, life, work, et cetera. The things normal friends do but added with a tinge of longing, loss, and a note of anguish. I reaffirmed my wish to avoid hurting her any more than necessary but could not repress my feelings of missing her to a considerable degree.

Had lunch with my mom the other day. She underscored her admonitions to avoid marriage for the considerable future and to remain devoted to myself and my goals. We talked about the disintegration of the family, work, life, and relocating.

Afterward, I sat at a coffee shop by myself, considering my relative lack of direction. Idle hands are never indicative of good times for one such as myself. Without a clear goal to aid in making positive/productive decisions, my drinking typically spikes and I spend less time hiding from my demons by going to the gym. In true apropos fashion, I've been offered a fight. It offers a truly legitimate threat to my record as a fighter. My vacation from work has ended and I am headed back into the dungeon of masochism that is constantly being humbled and tested on the mats and in the ring.

I bid thee well faithful readers. It is a new year whose symbolic worth cannot be underestimated. Each day marks the possibility for change, but the added figurative weight of a new calendar year beginning can provide that iota of difference necessary for some of us to embark on a new direction, or resume one thought lost.
-With Greatest Affection

Future Mothers & Other Ramblings from the Diary of a Madman

The Future Mothers of a forthcoming generation.....
*Sigh*
Yes. It is true. Bring on the next year.
In all fairness though, women now get to be known as just as poor parental units as men have for quite a long time in human society.
--


Spare me the flaming emails. Women will be quick to point out that not all girls are this extreme. I am quick to point out that in many instances MANY girls with whom I was close friends have engaged in the following behaviors. Women can sing the song of "not all girls are like that".....the reality is that they pretty much are. My evidence is empirical: virtually every woman I have ever known has engaged in the above....and more than a handful of freak occurrences as well.

These are the women with whom you legally sign away half, if not more of your things if (read that: when) they become dissatisfied....and to quote Chris Rock...."I've never met a happy woman in my life."


---

At any rate, for those of us who attended college....you remember the young, nubile freshmen with soft faces, doe eyes, coquettish ways....and you remember how within one semester that had fallen to the wayside. It was disheartening as it was loathsome. I'm all for freedom for women. You know what else I'm all for? Girls valuing themselves more than banging some random guy who said "Hey" to her at a kegger. I'm all for girls valuing themselves more than banging some guy b/c he buys her shit.
Granted, it takes a man to have that effect on a girl....the girl also has to PUT OUT for her to become jaded in this fashion. The discerning woman should do just that...discern.

You know why women rearrange their lives around what I do? B/c I draw a line in the sand. Women need to learn from this. I do not cave to demands which I do not wish to succumb to. I am willing to walk away from a situation/woman/relationship if she violates a simple handful of rules/lines in the sand. Am I asking for more ladies and less sluts? Yes, why yes I am. That was my wish from Santa. Less sluts in the world. I'm not some white knight asking for a virginal girl my age. I am asking however for a girl who has valued herself enough to not have racked up the number of notches I have.

I know way too many girls that clearly were not strongly ingrained with the notion that their pussy was a fucking goldmine and a precious commodity. More knowledge from Chris Rock.

--
Women should abandon this feminazi idea that they can be like men, they should bang 50 dudes, and that somehow men should love them not in spite of, but b/c of, their whorish background. Experience is sexy in men. Not so much in women.
--

Now I end with a final anecdote from a bender a few weeks back:
My coterie and I were seated. Warpig across from me heard the topic of cougar. It predictably hit a nerve b/c she was in her early 30's, fat, single....and a heavy drinker. Not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg.
At any rate, she asked me to declare a general standard for cougar-dom. I remarked, "well, if the chick is 35 and the guy is 29, we have ourselves a Cougar."

This is not my true standard but one intended to provoke. She immediately exploded with shaming language based not on sound reason but simply on volume......and triumphantly waited for my rebuttal. I calmly informed her that, "my whole life I've had to hear about how women are more mature than men. Women are emotionally more developed than men at a younger age. Well, fine. You are. I cede that point readily. That being the case, based on your own belief, the 6 years between the 35 yr old spinster and the 29 year old male is not a true 6 year difference, but actually one of greater disparity."
Heads nodded. She ordered my doubles in tall glasses. I was bored and passed another night.

Headed to see the fights tonite. A happy new year to all.

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 girls.....it 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

Rewind:
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

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 become...it 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

Read this post

http://vksempireofdirt.com/?p=1307

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 bar....by 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."
-Dexter