Tagged: dating

No More LifeGuard Babes

I don’t know if you saw, but the other day a nerd-bomber with a drone just spontaneously and brilliantly saved a person from drowning by flying out a rescue device. (Took two tries actually.)

For those of you who can read facts but struggle to draw conclusions correctly, allow me to help. This simple, lifesaving effort just removed all hope of me ever receiving CPR from a Baywatch-style lifeguard, a la Sandlot scheming.

Until this event, I have to say that I didn’t believe any single person’s actions could be more disastrous to life on earth than the first man to work through the siesta.

The future is bleak. And apparently limitlessly so.

It Sounds Like My Wife and I

As the family listened to Zelensky and Trump last night at dinner, though I knew my wife (Dark MAGA) could tell Trump(/Vance) won, I also had to chuckle because the argument Trump/Vance made was almost precisely the one I often find myself making.

“Recognize the facts!” we say in unison to the weak.

Unlike all the hypsters and hucksters, I am not worried about the future on the world or family scale. But I do confess that in both situations I am not sure what happens next. In my marriage, all I see is predictable error after predictable error. Will this end in tragedy? Probably not. But maybe.

What will happen on the world stage? I don’t know. But I like the historian (can’t recall his name, Stephen Kotkin?) who said, “War is always a miscalculation.”

Eureka! Marriage Realities Exposed

I concluded my recent review of Joker: Folie à Deux with the pathetic (full of emotion…) question, “Why do we hurt each other?” Well, just this second the answer came me.

“We hurt each other because we don’t think we do.”

No, I did not just plop into a very full bathtub like ol’ Archimedes. But I am reading a book on the subject of the universe and one of the thematic points is the whole “mostly empty space” thing I mentioned in discussion of Nolan’s script’s mistaken definition of quantum mechanics.

So, if you need an analogy, use this. We hurt each other because we think of each other as mostly empty space. The truth, however, is we are all full. (Wow. That’s fun. No, not “awful”, but we all are full. We are full.) We are filled space. We are space filled full. (Not empty.)

But that’s just a fun physics analogy that may or may not tickle your fancy. Don’t miss the point!

We possess the power to hurt each other unintentionally.

****

PS – For kicks, the actual origin of this Eureka! moment for me is I believe one of my wife’s announced desires is surely destructive to our marriage and family and consequently insist she give it up. Whereas she believes god authored it or approved it or some shit. And as I was reading just now, after I stopped her from randomly starting the dishwasher without my dish in it and saw her eyes say, “Even this action is wrong?”, my mind wandered to the ongoing hellscape of my marriage.

Do you see? Her desire—to her—isn’t harmful to me. And my decree—to me—isn’t harmful to her. But I can assure you, as the nursery rhyme says, “Needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man marries, his trouble begins.”

The best part is Christianity is one of the last forms of order which unequivocally, unconditionally, and without exception places the husband at the very tippy top of the food chain, so much so that even in 21st century conservative, Biblical doctrine, the doctrine is simply avoided. “Why lose even more people by giving unpopular teachings airtime?” seems to be the approved stance.

Incidentally, I even unintentionally started a skirmish in a friend’s marriage (both former international missionaries) by asking them to confirm for me that they were, both 1. Not studying the bible together within their marriage and 2. He is not leading her in any semblance of a formal bible study. I asked them to merely confirm it because a newly converted friend was lamenting to me that his wife (also newly converted) wouldn’t listen to him read scripture to her. And this couple lost their composure in a big way, getting as defensive as I have ever seen—of course the wife being the dominant justifier of the state of things.

I do not know what it is like to be a woman, but I do know what it is like to live under authority. And as it isn’t terrible or tragic or unbearable, I just don’t see the issue.

Sleep, Sleeper

If I could change one aspect of modernity, it would be to un-invent the clock. I know, I know, it wouldn’t work. Modernity needs the clock like fish need water. But living by a clock has always felt unnatural to me. Most unnatural is the idea of waking up because of “what time” it is. Sleep, I say.

Running right alongside my fantasy is that I hate waking people up, no matter what time the clock says it is. I feel that I have done my small part in increasing happiness for my fellow man if I help keep people asleep. Specifically, I do everything in my power to keep babies, toddlers, and children asleep. This sleep benevolence of mine extends also to spouses and family members and house guests in general. If I am at work and someone is sleeping, I tip-toe away and do whatever is in my power to not wake them.

I cannot recall the last time I caused or allowed (or let pass without strong rebuke, for that matter) a sharp noise to be sounded while someone was sleeping.

I do confess there are moments where my posture towards sleep is more difficult, perhaps impossible, to maintain. When H- was small, we went to the symphony together and she would fall asleep despite the racket. At the end, I couldn’t just close the place down as she slept. So I woke her.

On Sundays, the black baptists run long as a rule. J- often finds the padded pew similar enough to a bed. I cannot just allow him to sleep as they come to the conclusion of the whole matter. Life must go on.

But I ask you, dear reader, what about when I show up to H-’s orchestra concert only to be carefully ignored by her? What if H- plans a trip to visit my parents and siblings (her grandparents and aunts and uncles) and is sure to confirm that I do not have a coordinated surprise visit in mind before boarding?

What then? Should I let H- sleep? Should my family let H- sleep?

H- is told the worst kind of lies by her mom, her mom’s parents, her step-dad, and his parents, and my parents, my siblings, and—unless I miss my mark—the entire fucking population of this great country have decided to let her sleep.

H- is living a lie.

She doesn’t know it, but she has been kidnapped.

She doesn’t know it, but her dad is robbed monthly and has been for 12+ years.

She doesn’t know it, but she would not have a roof over her head, food in her belly, or a pot to piss in, if it wasn’t for me.

She doesn’t know it, because she sleeps.

Should I wake her?

Nahhh. Let her sleep.

Sleep, Sleeper.

The Dumbest Sentence You Will Read This Week

Keep in mind, taking a moment to review this sentence isn’t an exercise in futility. Instead, try to think of it like a crossword puzzle, word search, or Word Jumble. Better yet, think of it like one of those mensa questions, “How many words can you make out of the letters in the name, ‘Peter Piper’?” As in, “How many inconsistencies can you find with the reasoning inherent to this sentence’s claim(s)?” And then divide that number by the number value your highest completed grade (ie 3 for 3rd grade, 16 for an ungrad degree completed in 4 years etc). Whoever has the highest number wins.

Here’s the doozy:

Experts estimate that nearly half of pregnancies are unintended, so limits to abortion access could affect the number of births.

Happy Hunting!

Never Incentivize the Female’s Fantasy—Divorce Must Actually Devastate Her

So I just learned of an old friend’s divorce. Like many other friends of mine this man just retired from the military, and only when this was clear did the evil cunt announce her intentions. To make matters worse, their last duty station was in Europe, and for the common, internationally known reasons, this first grade teacher has decided to keep the kids over there with her.

First, don’t even start if you’re going to take one step towards suggesting that anything about the situation is the natural result of their daily, twenty plus year relationship. This move is so low, and happens so frequently to retired military men that there is never anything about the actual personalities involved, no. The only two factors or variables at play are the fact that divorce is incentivized and the female (no “woman” as such would even consider accepting a dime more or a minute more from her ex), the female, as a creature, is the most depressed and despicable entity on the earth. You will never find another—no murderer, no rapist, no genocidal maniac—who can even tread water next to a female.

Unreal and uncouth, one must never incentivize, these, their fantasies. If this time-honored dictum is ignored, then children, men, and eventually a nation will be destroyed. They will all be destroyed because these mentally incapable females possess unbounded imagination. This results in one of two outcomes. The first possible outcome might best be embodied by the legendary George Washington. The second outcome is best embodied by the current population of the American penal system—fatherless males.

The female—as part of her growth into womanhood—must have her imagination bounded. She must have restrictions. Life cannot possibly appear to keep getting better and better and always improve and never disappoint. These fantasies must remain on the pages and stages.

No, the female must have a very concrete and inescapable situation staring at her to perform. This is how to bring her womanly character to the surface. She must see the limits to her life daily and she must, daily, face the fact that without her man, she will certainly face abject poverty and lose her children. This is the only way.

It seems that the male alone, for reasons known only to the LORD God himself, comes into the world designed to absorb the apparently latent happiness available within each breath of air. The female, on the other hand, hates the air, hates the sun—hates the very day. The female, on the other hand, listens to every lie, believes every instinct, and obeys every passion. I write this in the hopes that someday my two daughters read it.

No Means No

I had an epiphany this week. Long story short, my ex-wife of 7 years is holding H- hostage. I haven’t seen my daughter in almost a year.

This all started when I called to say I got a new job in a different state, a much, much better job. Instead of saying something normal like, “Congratulations,” she said, “You’re abandoning your child! I get 100% custody!” (Keep in mind, I wasn’t and she doesn’t. Custody is not even a word in Family Court in our state.)

Naturally, the big picture is a classic “he says, she says” situation. And naturally, she has an attorney who makes her feel incapable of child abuse. But, make no mistake, she’s actively committing child abuse—for what else can kidnapping be called?

Anyhow, the point of this post (did I mention it’s over 7 years after the divorce?) is to highlight the epiphany I had. And this is it.

My ex is still in love with me.

Crazy, right? I know. But it’s true.

Why else would a woman create a parenting plan which requires communication between us in order to coordinate my parenting time? As in, she could have said, “Father picks up daughter on July 16th between 7:00am and 7:01am and returns daughter on July 23rd between 7:00 and 7:01am and if Father doesn’t make these windows, then he forfeits that time or the following time.” But no. She develops a plan which requires that I coordinate every trip with her. In other words, I don’t see my daughter unless I talk to my ex.

If I wanted to talk to my ex, I would’ve said, “I want to talk to you,” not, “No matter how much it costs, no matter if I lose my daughter’s childhood, I never, ever want to talk to you again,” which is the thematic equivalent to, “I want a divorce.”

At first I thought this requirement of the parenting plan was about control. That’s an easy to make mistake, right?

But now I see she’s still in love. It’s sickening, really. She can’t let go after 7 years? And this after having obtained an attorney within 30 minutes of me saying, “I want a divorce”?

Believe me when I say that I am quite a catch. But no means no.

No means no.

And no means no especially now that you’ve revealed the level of commitment you’d stoop to just to get me back inside you. You’re pimping your own daughter. You’re an abomination.

No means no.

Writing So Good You’ll Want To Quit

I’ve been reading Tolstoy’s shorter fiction and almost each story contains writing so good that I want to never make the attempt again. Here’s a few examples.

From The Death of Ivan Ilyich:

Ivan Ilych knows quite well and definitely that all this is nonsense and pure deception, but when the doctor, getting down on his knee, leans over him, putting his ear first higher then lower, and performs various gymnastic movements over him with a significant expression on his face, Ivan Ilych submits to it all as he used to submit to the speeches of the lawyers, though he knew very well that they were all lying and why they were lying.

From The Kreutzer Sonata:

“What is wrong with education?” said the lady, with a scarcely perceptible smile. “Surely it can’t be better to marry as they used to in the old days when the bride and bridegroom did not even see one another before the wedding,” she continued, answering not what her interlocutor had said but what she thought he would say, in the way many ladies have. “Without knowing whether they loved, or whether they could love, they married just anybody, and were wretched all their lives. And you think that was better?” she said, evidently addressing me and the lawyer chiefly and least of all the old man with whom she was talking.

From The Devil:

During coffee, as often happened, a peculiarly feminine kind of conversation went on which had no logical sequence but which evidently was connected in some way for it went on uninterruptedly.

Well done, Count.

****

As for myself, I had a coffee date with a young lady the other day, something I have not made an effort to do in years. As is often the case in situations like mine, I told myself that I was willing to re-enter the dating world for several clear and distinct reasons. Firstly, it is not good for the man to be alone. Secondly, the idea of sexual congress with a woman has not yet become altogether repulsive. Thirdly, and ever present, there is in me still some remnant of fire, quite incapable of scientific scrutiny, that wants to prove–or fail trying–that I might yet possess some quality desirable to a member of the fairer sex.

As for her, she was highly educated, well-spoken, and cultured. And beautiful. On these points there would be no dispute. Not wholly unlike the much publicized cases of celebrity progeny, however, her parents’ more modest wealth still seemed nearest the root of her inability to properly arrange cause and effect. On this point there may be dispute.

Ladies, It’s Time To Put Your Pants Back On

“Yes,” I am aware that I am a hypocrite. But “no,” that is not going to deter me from changing my wicked ways and speaking truth to power (that’s right, ladies, you are powerful).

I cannot remember precisely when it began for me, but if I give it a thought, it was probably when I first headed from little pink house-Lenexa to the Rocky Mountains to ski as a teenager. It may have been the drastic difference in how you appeared on the mountain versus how you appeared in the restaurants, that is, the change from puffy snow-pants to form-fitting leggings.

Or maybe it was the cheerleaders’ underskirt attire during cold-weather events. Aren’t cheerleaders the rightful leaders when it comes to fashion?

Whatever it was, as a young man I wasn’t going to say “no”–if you weren’t. More form-fitting clothing, more of the time, I said!

But now, after two or so years of all y’all–no matter how short, tall, fat, or thin–wearing nothing except leggings, I’m telling you it is time to put your pants back on.

Oh, and here’s a tip for the next time this trend surfaces: I maybe could have lasted for a few more months if you wouldn’t have started wearing leggings that have massive patches of fabric missing around your not-naughty bits.

Here’s the tru tru. I have a daughter. As you know, I cannot fight every battle and win the war. So help a brother out! She deserves better from you.

Review of Sicario and The Heart of the Sea

These two movies had piqued my interest when I first heard of them, but the mainstream critical reception was off-putting enough that I hadn’t take the time to view them. Finally I had a minute. The critics are wrong.

If you liked Miami Vice and Zero Dark Thirty, then Sicario is for you. My only real problem with Sicario is that it would be ruined if the cartel horrors it depicts were not based in the historical record, but I am too afraid to confirm that they are to do any fact checking. Depressing stuff.

If you have read Moby Dick, then The Heart of the Sea is for you. This one’s reception is especially baffling. Critics can’t say anything good about it, but as far as ocean voyage movies go it is much better than Master and Commander, which wasn’t bad. I loved Moby Dick and so I can’t say how much of that influences my enjoyment of The Heart of the Sea. What I can say is that if you know that Moby Dick is not about a whale, then you’ll like this movie. Conversely, if you are asking yourself, “Moby Dick isn’t about whale?” right now, skip the movie.