And they work. The drawback is that they feel like a toilet seat. So it sort of feels like I'm sitting on the can while using my computer.
That's what I have my iPad for.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Heart Is Contrary To The Way
Via Sweeping Zen:
Emmon: If (the way) cannot be conceived by the heart, how can it be conceived/thought of?
Mster Nyuri: As soon as a thought arises, there is also the heart. Heart is contrary to the way. No-thought is no-heart. No heart (the empty heart) is the way of Truth (True Awakening.)
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
I Don't Want It Very Badly
Sometimes being alone sucks, and I guess I've been more keenly aware of alone-ness's general suckitude over the past several weeks.
But nothing is going to change in that regard. I close my eyes, and try to visualize things being somehow different, and I can't. I can't even imagine it. I can visualize myself living on a space station more easily than I can visualizing myself in a relationship. In fact, imagining myself in a relationship is a little like imagining myself at the dentist's office.
Mind Over Mary is right, or almost right, when she says I don't want anyone in my life. I do want someone in my life, but not very badly.
But nothing is going to change in that regard. I close my eyes, and try to visualize things being somehow different, and I can't. I can't even imagine it. I can visualize myself living on a space station more easily than I can visualizing myself in a relationship. In fact, imagining myself in a relationship is a little like imagining myself at the dentist's office.
Mind Over Mary is right, or almost right, when she says I don't want anyone in my life. I do want someone in my life, but not very badly.
The Reluctant Waitress
There's a place I go many mornings for breakfast. I've been there so often, most of the waitresses know my name, and I theirs. They say hi to me, even if I'm not at one of their tables.
Except for one. She's pleasant enough if I'm her customer; otherwise, she'll look the other way when I come in, or studiously examine a check until I pass. If I say 'good morning' as I walk by, she'll pretend she didn't hear me while everyone else says 'good morning' or 'hi'.
Naturally, I'm somewhat attracted to her. Is it because she so clearly dislikes me, or does she dislike me because she senses I'm attracted to her? Or maybe it's both — kind of a closed feedback loop?
I'm not pushing it. In fact, I'll avoid sitting at her tables if I can, because it's so obvious I make her uncomfortable.
She seems to chat up the guys who have short hair and NASCAR-logoed windbreakers. I wouldn't put on a NASCAR windbreaker to get close to Milla Jovovich dressed in nothing but three strategically-placed cups of chocolate pudding, so I'm certainly not getting one to wear to breakfast.
I wonder though, what it is that makes about one out of twenty women kind of cringe when they see me coming.
Except for one. She's pleasant enough if I'm her customer; otherwise, she'll look the other way when I come in, or studiously examine a check until I pass. If I say 'good morning' as I walk by, she'll pretend she didn't hear me while everyone else says 'good morning' or 'hi'.
Naturally, I'm somewhat attracted to her. Is it because she so clearly dislikes me, or does she dislike me because she senses I'm attracted to her? Or maybe it's both — kind of a closed feedback loop?
I'm not pushing it. In fact, I'll avoid sitting at her tables if I can, because it's so obvious I make her uncomfortable.
She seems to chat up the guys who have short hair and NASCAR-logoed windbreakers. I wouldn't put on a NASCAR windbreaker to get close to Milla Jovovich dressed in nothing but three strategically-placed cups of chocolate pudding, so I'm certainly not getting one to wear to breakfast.
I wonder though, what it is that makes about one out of twenty women kind of cringe when they see me coming.
Hemorrhoids
Had 'em since I was in my twenties. Maybe that's why I'm go grouchy.
Until recently, they've never been more than a nuisance. But now, when they're being feisty, I can't even sit in a chair.
I ordered a couple of those donut-shaped cushions today. They support your ass while letting your 'rhoids just sort of float free.
I will report back on my results, because I know you want to hear every precise detail.
Until recently, they've never been more than a nuisance. But now, when they're being feisty, I can't even sit in a chair.
I ordered a couple of those donut-shaped cushions today. They support your ass while letting your 'rhoids just sort of float free.
I will report back on my results, because I know you want to hear every precise detail.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
It's All Tits And Ass From Here On Out
A few months ago, I noticed a young woman with an awkward, sort of stiff gait crossing the street. I remarked to the woman who was with me that she had the stride of a gymnast or swimmer.
My friend's lower lip started to quiver, so I asked her what was wrong. I got about five minutes of weepy argle bargle about the marginalization of women above a certain age, and something about patriarchy, and something and something.
I hadn't commented at all on this young lady's attractiveness or lack thereof. But by merely noticing her long, stiff-kneed walk, I had oppressed and undermined women everywhere.
My mother, as I mentioned in previous posts, was 'way ahead of the curve on this stuff. As early as about 1967, she was lecturing about weak, irresponsible men — which included, presumably, all the ones she was fucking. I was taught that I was, simply by virtue of my gender, both guilty and impossibly, irredeemably weak, and that the best I could hope for was the opportunity to clean house and do dishes for some woman who was intrinsically better than I could ever hope to be.
As a result of that upbringing, I was bending over backwards to avoid objectifying women long before the term 'objectifying' came into currency. From adolescence through my late forties, I wouldn't even compliment a woman on her clothing, because that would mean having some inappropriate awareness of her gender, appearance and, perhaps, her sexuality.
Even so, I seem to be objectifying women by simply taking note that they're ambulatory. So, once again, fuck it — I'm done. It's all tits and ass from here on out, folks.
My friend's lower lip started to quiver, so I asked her what was wrong. I got about five minutes of weepy argle bargle about the marginalization of women above a certain age, and something about patriarchy, and something and something.
I hadn't commented at all on this young lady's attractiveness or lack thereof. But by merely noticing her long, stiff-kneed walk, I had oppressed and undermined women everywhere.
My mother, as I mentioned in previous posts, was 'way ahead of the curve on this stuff. As early as about 1967, she was lecturing about weak, irresponsible men — which included, presumably, all the ones she was fucking. I was taught that I was, simply by virtue of my gender, both guilty and impossibly, irredeemably weak, and that the best I could hope for was the opportunity to clean house and do dishes for some woman who was intrinsically better than I could ever hope to be.
As a result of that upbringing, I was bending over backwards to avoid objectifying women long before the term 'objectifying' came into currency. From adolescence through my late forties, I wouldn't even compliment a woman on her clothing, because that would mean having some inappropriate awareness of her gender, appearance and, perhaps, her sexuality.
Even so, I seem to be objectifying women by simply taking note that they're ambulatory. So, once again, fuck it — I'm done. It's all tits and ass from here on out, folks.
Done With It
I am a heterosexual male. I am attracted to women. I may not trust women, but I am attracted to women. More specifically, I am attracted to certain kinds of women, and they are mostly of the willowy, ethereal, Stevie Nicks archetype I have posted about so many times before.
That may be shallow and superficial, but it's the way it goes with me.
I was discussing this with a female friend a few days ago, and for the first time in the years I have known her, she cut me off and said the topic wasn't open for discussion. She was upset, I think, because she believes, as many of my female friends do, that I am 'supposed' to be attracted to sturdy, sensible, scowling women who will straighten me out and make me be disciplined and productive. Or, alternately, that I should be that completely asexual 'bean bag chair' on which they flop down for a good cry when their boyfriends have shit on them.
The first paragraph of this post strikes me as being fairly tepid and noncontroversial. Yet I posted it with some trepidation, because I know if I had said something like that in front of my parents, my father would have squirmed nervously and my mother would have come completely unglued.
"You're not going to be like your father!" she would have scolded. "You're going to learn how to do laundry, and wash dishes, so that if you ever get married, you'll know how to be a dutiful husband and supportive of your wife!" My mother thought I should aspire to be a maid or housekeeper, largely so I could take care of our home while she was out getting hammered. I think she figured I would never marry; in fact, she once suggested to me that I was gay.
The housekeeping training didn't stick, as anyone who has been in my home knows. But I think what did stick was this notion that I was supposed to be some sort of groveling servant who existed only to try to please women by being the always-patient listener, always available to do favors, always willing to put her needs and interests before my own. The eternal rescuer, in other words.
Well, I am 58 years old now, and fuck that. I am done with it. And I am done with apologizing or feeling guilty because I like feminine women. If that's not 'nice' of me, too fucking bad. I am old and frumpy now, and not capable of playing Jake Danger for anyone, but someone else is going to have to be Big Brother/Daddy.
That may be shallow and superficial, but it's the way it goes with me.
I was discussing this with a female friend a few days ago, and for the first time in the years I have known her, she cut me off and said the topic wasn't open for discussion. She was upset, I think, because she believes, as many of my female friends do, that I am 'supposed' to be attracted to sturdy, sensible, scowling women who will straighten me out and make me be disciplined and productive. Or, alternately, that I should be that completely asexual 'bean bag chair' on which they flop down for a good cry when their boyfriends have shit on them.
The first paragraph of this post strikes me as being fairly tepid and noncontroversial. Yet I posted it with some trepidation, because I know if I had said something like that in front of my parents, my father would have squirmed nervously and my mother would have come completely unglued.
"You're not going to be like your father!" she would have scolded. "You're going to learn how to do laundry, and wash dishes, so that if you ever get married, you'll know how to be a dutiful husband and supportive of your wife!" My mother thought I should aspire to be a maid or housekeeper, largely so I could take care of our home while she was out getting hammered. I think she figured I would never marry; in fact, she once suggested to me that I was gay.
The housekeeping training didn't stick, as anyone who has been in my home knows. But I think what did stick was this notion that I was supposed to be some sort of groveling servant who existed only to try to please women by being the always-patient listener, always available to do favors, always willing to put her needs and interests before my own. The eternal rescuer, in other words.
Well, I am 58 years old now, and fuck that. I am done with it. And I am done with apologizing or feeling guilty because I like feminine women. If that's not 'nice' of me, too fucking bad. I am old and frumpy now, and not capable of playing Jake Danger for anyone, but someone else is going to have to be Big Brother/Daddy.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
I Almost Forgot!
A few weeks ago, I found the 'eat shit' woman on Facebook. Hadn't talked to her since 1982 or thereabouts. Sent her a friend request. She never answered, but she imediately upped all her Facebook security settings to Threat Level Red.
I guess that's the way we say 'eat shit' in 2011.
I guess that's the way we say 'eat shit' in 2011.
More On Depression
From the New York Times blogs – Dick Cavett on depression:
More here.
...when you’re downed by this affliction, if there were a curative magic wand on the table eight feet away, it would be too much trouble to go over and pick it up.
More here.
More on Introversion
From The Atlantic, 2003
Caring For Your Introvert
Follow this link to a 2006 interview with article's author, Jonathan Rauch.
And another Jonathan Rauch story on introverts and romance.
Caring For Your Introvert
Follow this link to a 2006 interview with article's author, Jonathan Rauch.
And another Jonathan Rauch story on introverts and romance.
Friday, August 26, 2011
I'm Tired of Being the Bean Bag
Sometimes I write things here that later resonate with me almost as if they had been written by another's hand. So it is with the 'punching bag' reference of a couple days back. As soon as I saw it in writing, I realized that I was bugged by it more than I had been previously willing to admit.
Actually, though, 'punching bag' is probably the wrong term. It's more like I'm a big, comfy bean bag that women like to plop down on while they're waiting for their boyfriend, Jake Danger, to get out of jail. Or maybe things didn't work out with that tweaker they took home after finding him sprawled out in an alley behind the Paseo, so they come hang around me while they're waiting for a suitably scabrous crackhead to sweep them off their feet.
Anyway, I'm noticing that I'm not as tolerant about playing 'Uncle Mikey' to them as I used to be.
Actually, though, 'punching bag' is probably the wrong term. It's more like I'm a big, comfy bean bag that women like to plop down on while they're waiting for their boyfriend, Jake Danger, to get out of jail. Or maybe things didn't work out with that tweaker they took home after finding him sprawled out in an alley behind the Paseo, so they come hang around me while they're waiting for a suitably scabrous crackhead to sweep them off their feet.
Anyway, I'm noticing that I'm not as tolerant about playing 'Uncle Mikey' to them as I used to be.
A Very Strange Man
I remember one time Ms. HRP and I were going somewhere. We had chatted a bit in the car, then ran out of things to talk about, and were sitting in silence as I drove. Suddenly, she turned to me and said, "You know, you're a very strange man."
I took that as a compliment. But it's another of those 'eat shit' kinds of things. No hidden meanings. She just meant what she said.
In fact, the 'eat shit' woman once told me I was 'moody, temperamental and weird.' I didn't think I was temperamental, but I took the rest of it positively.
I took that as a compliment. But it's another of those 'eat shit' kinds of things. No hidden meanings. She just meant what she said.
In fact, the 'eat shit' woman once told me I was 'moody, temperamental and weird.' I didn't think I was temperamental, but I took the rest of it positively.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Then Again...
Here again is the guy who's not giving up his identity or soul for romance. So, I'm frankly being a little ridiculous.
Revisiting Mind Over Mary
I wrote something the other day about Mind Over Mary's comment on my first 'eat shit' post.
There was another line in her post that I wanted to explore:
I have written about this before, I think. I've dated women who loved me and had a wonderful plan for my life. But it wasn't my plan. One wanted to turn me into a ballroom dancer. She has since taken up residence in Glennbeckistan, and I guess I would have been pulled along for that trip, as well. Another, who talked about Martha Stewart in a manner normally used to describe the Dalai Lama, wanted to turn me into a suburban Republican. I was not ready to do either of those things, and as I told one of them, if you want a guy like that, go find a guy like that – don't try to remodel me into that person.
I read a web post somewhere the other day about how to impress women in bars. I personally think if you're trying to impress women in bars, you've already lost the battle. But the article had advice like, 'Be the first to sit down. This demonstrates your dominance over the other males in the group.' It also recommended, 'When you sit down, spread out. Claim as much space as you can. This also establishes your dominance, plus it forces other males to remain standing, making them appear weaker than you.'
I can imagine some half-wasted bimbo in red suede cowboy boots seeing me sprawled out on a chair or sofa in a bar and thinking, 'Mmmmm – look how much space he takes up! I want to carry his seed in my body and give birth to his offspring, that our tribe may grow strong and kill many mastodon.'
The fundamental problem with almost all this 'how to pick up girls' advice is that it encourages men to adopt contrived, inauthentic personalities – to be plastic actors on a stage with other plastic actors. This is what I did in TV for many years, although for different reasons, and I can tell you from that experience that a] it's exhausting and b] you can't keep it up 24/7 forever.
In fact, if you're like me, your whole personality runs so counter to creating drama and immersing in constant stimuli and distraction that you've all but disqualified yourself from any sort of romantic opportunity.
So, like Mind Over Mary, I'm not giving up my identity or my soul to be in a relationship.
There was another line in her post that I wanted to explore:
I am not in a relationship because I feel like I have to give up my identity and my soul to be in one. It's all about me. I know that no man is going to give me what I want until I'm ready to take it, and that may be never.
I have written about this before, I think. I've dated women who loved me and had a wonderful plan for my life. But it wasn't my plan. One wanted to turn me into a ballroom dancer. She has since taken up residence in Glennbeckistan, and I guess I would have been pulled along for that trip, as well. Another, who talked about Martha Stewart in a manner normally used to describe the Dalai Lama, wanted to turn me into a suburban Republican. I was not ready to do either of those things, and as I told one of them, if you want a guy like that, go find a guy like that – don't try to remodel me into that person.
I read a web post somewhere the other day about how to impress women in bars. I personally think if you're trying to impress women in bars, you've already lost the battle. But the article had advice like, 'Be the first to sit down. This demonstrates your dominance over the other males in the group.' It also recommended, 'When you sit down, spread out. Claim as much space as you can. This also establishes your dominance, plus it forces other males to remain standing, making them appear weaker than you.'
I can imagine some half-wasted bimbo in red suede cowboy boots seeing me sprawled out on a chair or sofa in a bar and thinking, 'Mmmmm – look how much space he takes up! I want to carry his seed in my body and give birth to his offspring, that our tribe may grow strong and kill many mastodon.'
The fundamental problem with almost all this 'how to pick up girls' advice is that it encourages men to adopt contrived, inauthentic personalities – to be plastic actors on a stage with other plastic actors. This is what I did in TV for many years, although for different reasons, and I can tell you from that experience that a] it's exhausting and b] you can't keep it up 24/7 forever.
In fact, if you're like me, your whole personality runs so counter to creating drama and immersing in constant stimuli and distraction that you've all but disqualified yourself from any sort of romantic opportunity.
So, like Mind Over Mary, I'm not giving up my identity or my soul to be in a relationship.
But It Made Me Feel Alive!!!
'Tis Better To Have Loved And Lost... Not Really.
So says psychology professor John Buri, Ph.D. in this article from Psychology Today.
So says psychology professor John Buri, Ph.D. in this article from Psychology Today.
That's like buying a car, only to discover that it is a piece of crap, and announcing --- "At least I was able to enjoy driving it for a month and a half before it broke down."
Monday, August 22, 2011
It's Okay To Be An Introvert – Sort Of
Here's another of those articles about introverts, published recently in Psychology Today:
There's More To Introversion Than You Might Think
That's good news. There's hope for us. We may be able to change. Even though as a group, we produce most of the world's art, letters, music, scientific discoveries and technological advances, there's still a chance we can break through our limitations and become car salesmen, televangelists, politicians or multilevel marketing coordinators.
And here's one segment of the article that caught my attention:
Unless you crave a neighbor who makes you feel alive.
All right. I'm through ranting for awhile.
But, as Linus Van Pelt famously said in Peanuts, "I love humanity. It's people I can't stand."
Still not feeling very Buddha-y.
There's More To Introversion Than You Might Think
Many people, including introverts, believe that introversion is a personality trait that curses you for your entire life. However, introversion is not a unitary quality; its six facets moderate over time and can show significant changes throughout life.
That's good news. There's hope for us. We may be able to change. Even though as a group, we produce most of the world's art, letters, music, scientific discoveries and technological advances, there's still a chance we can break through our limitations and become car salesmen, televangelists, politicians or multilevel marketing coordinators.
And here's one segment of the article that caught my attention:
Excitement Seeking Facet: Psychologists have long known that people vary in the need to be stimulated as well as the desire to take risks. If you're low on the excitement seeking facet, you'll probably never go bungee jumping or become a race car driver. You seek peace and quiet and are perfectly happy with keeping to your daily routines.
What are introversion's benefits? Being low in excitement seeking doesn't mean that you are not willing to change or experiment. People low in excitement seeking just don't need to be stimulated by lots of noise and action. They certainly make better roommates or neighbors because they prefer a steady, quiet, lifestyle.
Unless you crave a neighbor who makes you feel alive.
All right. I'm through ranting for awhile.
But, as Linus Van Pelt famously said in Peanuts, "I love humanity. It's people I can't stand."
Still not feeling very Buddha-y.
What I'm Talking About Is Being Used
From Mind Over Mary:
I'm not sure what to say about this. I have never thought much about the 'complete honesty' thing. All I was saying in my previous posts was that I was annoyed by women who approached me, initiated the contact, told me they were interested, only to reveal – usually in a matter of a couple of days – that they weren't interested at all, and that sometimes they actually mildly disliked me. I can't come up with any rational reason why that would happen.
Let me recall another example. A few years ago, I was sitting on the patio of a local restaurant. There was a woman sitting at a nearby table with whom I was passing acquainted. While she was sitting there, a fairly good-looking guy in motorcycle leathers was aggressively flirting with her, and she was mostly ignoring him.
Another woman, much younger than any of us – a teenager, in fact – walked by and struck up a conversation with the motorcyclist. This conversation culminated in him loading her on the back of his motorcycle and taking her for a ride around the neighborhood.
The other woman, who to this point had been all but ignoring him, became suddenly incensed that he had ridden off with a much younger woman in tow. She came over and sat down beside me. She was obviously drunk. "You know," she slurred, "I happen to think you're a very handsome man."
Well, that was an interesting turn of events. Because in the weeks and months preceding this conversation, I had appeared to be a very invisible man, at least to her. That wasn't something I had worried myself over – I'm a pretty average-looking guy, and women look right through me all the time. But now, here she was, almost a stranger, practically sitting in my lap and telling me how hot I was – because some other guy she actually didn't give a damn about had 'snubbed' her, in her mind, for someone younger.
Obviously she didn't give a shit about me, either. I just happened to be the closest guy at the moment, and I guess she thought the motorcyclist would be in a jealous rage when he came back and saw her sitting with me.
She was yanking both our chains at once in some bizarre effort to bolster her own ego.
So, no, I don't trust women, at least not in matters like this. I have the Everlast logo on my forehead that says I'm just a chunky, good-natured punching bag for all kinds of female issues, and I don't know how to turn that sign off. Every time I try, everyone whines I'm being 'mean'.
Mind Over Mary says if you can't find romance, you should look at yourself. I agree. I don't blame other people for that, and I don't blame myself. It's just how things are.
But what I'm talking about right now isn't finding or not finding romance. What I'm talking about is being used. I don't like it, and I don't feel like I have some moral obligation to endure it.
MCARP doesn't trust women. He thinks he wants a Stevie Nicks type girl who is into mystical, spiritual stuff and who will be completely honest with him. My girls want men who are like the guys in romance novels and will be completely honest with them.
How many times do I have to say it? NO ONE wants complete honesty. We all want to be lied to and we all want the guy or girl who is lying to be good enough at it not to get caught.
There are no perfect men or women, but there are specific types of people each individual is attracted to. I get that. I also get that the one person who decides whether they will be in a happy relationship is the person looking at you in the mirror.
If you're trying to figure out why you can't find the perfect guy or girl, take a good look at you. Blaming the entire population of guys or girls for not being able to find someone is silly. It's all about you.
I'm not sure what to say about this. I have never thought much about the 'complete honesty' thing. All I was saying in my previous posts was that I was annoyed by women who approached me, initiated the contact, told me they were interested, only to reveal – usually in a matter of a couple of days – that they weren't interested at all, and that sometimes they actually mildly disliked me. I can't come up with any rational reason why that would happen.
Let me recall another example. A few years ago, I was sitting on the patio of a local restaurant. There was a woman sitting at a nearby table with whom I was passing acquainted. While she was sitting there, a fairly good-looking guy in motorcycle leathers was aggressively flirting with her, and she was mostly ignoring him.
Another woman, much younger than any of us – a teenager, in fact – walked by and struck up a conversation with the motorcyclist. This conversation culminated in him loading her on the back of his motorcycle and taking her for a ride around the neighborhood.
The other woman, who to this point had been all but ignoring him, became suddenly incensed that he had ridden off with a much younger woman in tow. She came over and sat down beside me. She was obviously drunk. "You know," she slurred, "I happen to think you're a very handsome man."
Well, that was an interesting turn of events. Because in the weeks and months preceding this conversation, I had appeared to be a very invisible man, at least to her. That wasn't something I had worried myself over – I'm a pretty average-looking guy, and women look right through me all the time. But now, here she was, almost a stranger, practically sitting in my lap and telling me how hot I was – because some other guy she actually didn't give a damn about had 'snubbed' her, in her mind, for someone younger.
Obviously she didn't give a shit about me, either. I just happened to be the closest guy at the moment, and I guess she thought the motorcyclist would be in a jealous rage when he came back and saw her sitting with me.
 |
| This is not me, dammit. |
So, no, I don't trust women, at least not in matters like this. I have the Everlast logo on my forehead that says I'm just a chunky, good-natured punching bag for all kinds of female issues, and I don't know how to turn that sign off. Every time I try, everyone whines I'm being 'mean'.
Mind Over Mary says if you can't find romance, you should look at yourself. I agree. I don't blame other people for that, and I don't blame myself. It's just how things are.
But what I'm talking about right now isn't finding or not finding romance. What I'm talking about is being used. I don't like it, and I don't feel like I have some moral obligation to endure it.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Don't Waste Your Time (Or Mine)
"People who love in the expectation of being loved in return are wasting their time." — Paulo Coelho
Sincerity costs more.
So, blogblah! tipped a waitress two bucks Friday night to tell me to eat shit.
But she didn't sound like she meant it. I guess sincerity costs more.
But she didn't sound like she meant it. I guess sincerity costs more.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Eat Shit Addendum
I don't know what set me off on this. This stuff has been on my mind intermittently for years, and occasionally I just pop a gasket about it.
I am OK with the idea that most women I meet are not going to find me attractive. I think that's true for every man – even Frank Sinatra said he struck out a lot more often than he scored. And the flip side of that coin is that I don't find many women I meet attractive. Not many at all, frankly. I meet someone I find really interesting about once every two to three years.
I am also OK with the woman who tells me to 'eat shit'. In fact, I find it, in certain circumstances, rather adorable. It's the 'you're cute when you're angry' thing.
What I am not OK with is the woman who is thinking 'eat shit', but is saying just the opposite, for god knows what reason. Just something to do while 'Jersey Shore' is in reruns, I guess.
I don't like being emotionally ragdolled by someone who's just looking for some passing amusement.
Of course, this would probably carry more weight coming from someone who had not ended a relationship by climbing out a woman's bedroom window while she was in the kitchen talking on the phone.
Oh, update: what set me off on this was that woman in the coffee shop complaining that men 'got lazy' and didn't do enough to make her 'feel alive.'
I am OK with the idea that most women I meet are not going to find me attractive. I think that's true for every man – even Frank Sinatra said he struck out a lot more often than he scored. And the flip side of that coin is that I don't find many women I meet attractive. Not many at all, frankly. I meet someone I find really interesting about once every two to three years.
I am also OK with the woman who tells me to 'eat shit'. In fact, I find it, in certain circumstances, rather adorable. It's the 'you're cute when you're angry' thing.
What I am not OK with is the woman who is thinking 'eat shit', but is saying just the opposite, for god knows what reason. Just something to do while 'Jersey Shore' is in reruns, I guess.
I don't like being emotionally ragdolled by someone who's just looking for some passing amusement.
Of course, this would probably carry more weight coming from someone who had not ended a relationship by climbing out a woman's bedroom window while she was in the kitchen talking on the phone.
Oh, update: what set me off on this was that woman in the coffee shop complaining that men 'got lazy' and didn't do enough to make her 'feel alive.'
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
A little wrapped up in my own drama
...as I am prone to be from time to time. I'll be back when I have something less baggage-intensive to write about.
More on 'eat shit'
I was telling a friend about the various things I have learned mean 'eat shit'. She said she thought I was cynical.
But that doesn't make me wrong.
But that doesn't make me wrong.
Monday, August 15, 2011
A sigh is just a sigh, 'eat shit' is just 'eat shit'
Here's another story some of you have heard before.
Many years ago I worked at a TV station in another city. There was a woman there to whom I was rather attracted, but she was in a relationship, and I got no sense at all that she had any interest in me.
One day she was complaining about something that had happened to her during the day, and I made some smartass remark about it. She looked at me with narrowed eyes and said, "Eat shit, mcarp."
I naturally assumed that meant something along the lines of 'I actually have the serious hots for you, and now I'm overcompensating because I don't want to admit it to you, or even to myself.'
As it turned out, that's not what she meant at all. What she meant was, 'eat shit.'
You must remember this,
A sigh is just a sigh,
'Eat shit' is just 'eat shit.'
That was an important lesson for me, though, in understanding the difference between reality and my own wishful thinking, which, when it came to romance, often got the better of my common sense.
Later, I learned there are some other things women say that also mean "eat shit."
When a woman says, for example, "I've been trying for two years to get you to notice me," that means "eat shit."
If she says, "Here's my phone number – call me," it means, "eat shit."
If she says, "I'd like that. Let me arrange for a babysitter," that means, "eat shit."
If you kiss a woman, and she says, "That's what I've been waiting for," it means, "eat shit."
If she says, "You're everything I look for in a man," it means, "eat shit."
So now I pretty much assume any flattering thing a woman says to me is actually her saying, "Eat shit. You're such a clueless fuck, you don't even realize I'm actually making fun of you."
Yes, I realize it. I just don't know any graceful way of responding to it.
At least that woman who told me to 'eat shit' actually expressed her true feelings, instead of yanking me around for weeks or months.
Many years ago I worked at a TV station in another city. There was a woman there to whom I was rather attracted, but she was in a relationship, and I got no sense at all that she had any interest in me.
One day she was complaining about something that had happened to her during the day, and I made some smartass remark about it. She looked at me with narrowed eyes and said, "Eat shit, mcarp."
I naturally assumed that meant something along the lines of 'I actually have the serious hots for you, and now I'm overcompensating because I don't want to admit it to you, or even to myself.'
As it turned out, that's not what she meant at all. What she meant was, 'eat shit.'
You must remember this,
A sigh is just a sigh,
'Eat shit' is just 'eat shit.'
That was an important lesson for me, though, in understanding the difference between reality and my own wishful thinking, which, when it came to romance, often got the better of my common sense.
Later, I learned there are some other things women say that also mean "eat shit."
When a woman says, for example, "I've been trying for two years to get you to notice me," that means "eat shit."
If she says, "Here's my phone number – call me," it means, "eat shit."
If she says, "I'd like that. Let me arrange for a babysitter," that means, "eat shit."
If you kiss a woman, and she says, "That's what I've been waiting for," it means, "eat shit."
If she says, "You're everything I look for in a man," it means, "eat shit."
So now I pretty much assume any flattering thing a woman says to me is actually her saying, "Eat shit. You're such a clueless fuck, you don't even realize I'm actually making fun of you."
Yes, I realize it. I just don't know any graceful way of responding to it.
At least that woman who told me to 'eat shit' actually expressed her true feelings, instead of yanking me around for weeks or months.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Rant Redux
I listened to a woman at the coffee shop complain this morning about how men 'of a certain age' get lazy. We don't go to the gym anymore, nor do we create passion and excitement. In other words, we don't do enough to entertain her. We're not giving her enough gasping, eye-rolling tales of intrigue, danger, heartbreak, snort, snarf, blort, argle bargle to engage her and her friends at girls' day out.
I told her some of us outgrow our need for constant drama. "Oh, it's not drama," she replied. "It's passion."
"Oh, I know," I said. "It makes you feel alive."
"Well, yes," she said. "I want to feel alive."
"I'm alive right now," I replied. "Therefore, I feel alive. This is what being alive feels like."
"But I want to feel more alive!"
How the hell do you feel 'more' alive?
Sometimes it sucks being alone. But good lord, what's the alternative?
I told her some of us outgrow our need for constant drama. "Oh, it's not drama," she replied. "It's passion."
"Oh, I know," I said. "It makes you feel alive."
"Well, yes," she said. "I want to feel alive."
"I'm alive right now," I replied. "Therefore, I feel alive. This is what being alive feels like."
"But I want to feel more alive!"
How the hell do you feel 'more' alive?
Sometimes it sucks being alone. But good lord, what's the alternative?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Sometimes It Sucks Being Alone
Sometimes it sucks being alone. Not all the time, or even most of the time, but sometimes. And lately – like the last four weeks or so – it seems a little suckier than usual.
I can't tell you how many hours I have devoted to pondering how I ended up pretty much romance-proof. I can guarantee it's been thousands, over the years. Eventually, I got tired of having the same conversation with myself over and over, and I mostly put it aside.
The zen thing to do with this right now is to note it – 'hmm, I seem to be noticing and feeling loneliness (and/or horniness) a little more than usual' – and then let it go. That's what I'm trying to do.
It just now occurred to me that this seemed to coincide with the shutting off of the perpetual background music. I didn't turn it off on purpose; the computer stopped playing because of a software update notification or something similar, and I never bothered to turn it on again.
I can't tell you how many hours I have devoted to pondering how I ended up pretty much romance-proof. I can guarantee it's been thousands, over the years. Eventually, I got tired of having the same conversation with myself over and over, and I mostly put it aside.
The zen thing to do with this right now is to note it – 'hmm, I seem to be noticing and feeling loneliness (and/or horniness) a little more than usual' – and then let it go. That's what I'm trying to do.
It just now occurred to me that this seemed to coincide with the shutting off of the perpetual background music. I didn't turn it off on purpose; the computer stopped playing because of a software update notification or something similar, and I never bothered to turn it on again.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Changes/progression
Sometimes I feel like a Time Lord who regenerates every so often.
If you look at my music list in the right column, you'll see that I haven't had any music going in the house for, as I write this, 23 days. This after literally years of non-stop 24/7 chants, Tibetan bowls, shakuhachi songs and Indian sitar music. It's been nothing but silence here for more than three weeks.
I haven't had a haircut since October. For eight years, I wore it almost exactly 3/32 of an inch long, and cut it myself with electric clippers. Now, it's almost long enough to put in a ponytail, which is how I wore it back around Y2K.
Meditation practice is gone. Fuck it. I still consider myself nominally a Zen Buddhist/Taoist, but I'm doing without all the Tricycle/Shambhala Sun/Buddhadharma stuff.
If you look at it, you'll see it; if you look for it, you won't. That's what I've got, and it's all I need.
As you may have read, we had the hottest July on record this year. Not just the hottest July for this state, but the hottest July for any state, ever. Now, as I write this in the second week of August, it's cloudy and 68° outside, and I am lovin' it. My usual summer depression has lifted, at least for today.
There have been some other changes in my general outlook/demeanor/thought process lately, but they're not the kind of things I want to post on the Internet so anyone and everyone can read them. I worry that I've given up too much privacy already. Suffice it to say that the changes are fairly profound – profound enough that I actually wonder if, given my long history of hypertension, I've suffered some sort of micro-mini-stroke that has affected my personality. The changes surprise me – pleasantly, I guess.
If you look at my music list in the right column, you'll see that I haven't had any music going in the house for, as I write this, 23 days. This after literally years of non-stop 24/7 chants, Tibetan bowls, shakuhachi songs and Indian sitar music. It's been nothing but silence here for more than three weeks.
Meditation practice is gone. Fuck it. I still consider myself nominally a Zen Buddhist/Taoist, but I'm doing without all the Tricycle/Shambhala Sun/Buddhadharma stuff.
If you look at it, you'll see it; if you look for it, you won't. That's what I've got, and it's all I need.
As you may have read, we had the hottest July on record this year. Not just the hottest July for this state, but the hottest July for any state, ever. Now, as I write this in the second week of August, it's cloudy and 68° outside, and I am lovin' it. My usual summer depression has lifted, at least for today.
There have been some other changes in my general outlook/demeanor/thought process lately, but they're not the kind of things I want to post on the Internet so anyone and everyone can read them. I worry that I've given up too much privacy already. Suffice it to say that the changes are fairly profound – profound enough that I actually wonder if, given my long history of hypertension, I've suffered some sort of micro-mini-stroke that has affected my personality. The changes surprise me – pleasantly, I guess.
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Big Trucks!
I understand why tradesmen drive big trucks. But I watched some guy who probably works at a cell phone store in the mall doing the forward-back-forward-back-forward-back-forward-back parking thing at my breakfast place this morning with a stretch cab pickup the length of a school bus.
Is it really worth that daily hassle to occasionally pick up some chick in red suede cowboy boots and a 1976 Farrah Fawcett hairdo at a bar down by the airport?
Is it really worth that daily hassle to occasionally pick up some chick in red suede cowboy boots and a 1976 Farrah Fawcett hairdo at a bar down by the airport?
Retirement Anniversary
This month marks the fourth or fifth anniversary (I forget which) of my retirement. It seems like it's been this way forever. In the years since I've retired, I've accomplished almost nothing of any substance or value. In fact, strike, the 'almost'.
And yet, years later, there are still days when I wake up, realize I don't have to see another person or talk to another person that day if I don't want to, that I don't have to wear certain shoes, or have certain facial expressions, or a certain hairstyle, or express certain opinions I don't actually hold, and I want to weep with joy that I don't have to do any of that at all.
These have been the best years of my life.
And yet, years later, there are still days when I wake up, realize I don't have to see another person or talk to another person that day if I don't want to, that I don't have to wear certain shoes, or have certain facial expressions, or a certain hairstyle, or express certain opinions I don't actually hold, and I want to weep with joy that I don't have to do any of that at all.
These have been the best years of my life.
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