MIA, KIA, POW; a division of the heart

Okay, well, my marriage sucks. The wife and I discussed some issues… and, I thought we were getting to a point to where we would begin resolving some issues, or at least make some headway with them, but she stopped all that dead in its tracks by refusing to participate any more. Unfortunately, we both agreed there was no need for us to have gotten married if this is how things are going to be.

She said that she has changed since our first meeting. She says she went from a naïve young girl to a woman gaining life experience. She thought things would [miraculously] change once we were married. No matter how much I had spoken on this subject previously, she learned there is no miraculous change.

Without saying the marriage will dissolve, we both know it. It is inevitable.

Since she prefers to have sex once or twice a month [now], I am seeking other venues. She always knew that if I did not get the sex I want that I would go elsewhere. I have always said, “A person is getting sex. It is just a question of how and from whom.”

Shall I explain my “other venues”?

Although this blog is anonymous, I still wish to protect the identity of the young lady I have met, so I will call her Tanisha.

Tanisha and I met a few months ago when my wife and I first moved to this city. If you can imagine, we met a strip club. She is a dancer.

At the time, Tanisha knew I was engaged and knew my whole story… new to the city, where I worked, my son, my fiancé, my interests… she and I talked a lot while I was visiting her club. We talked a lot and shared with me the same personal information about herself.

“I don’t normally share my personal life with customers, so I don’t know why I am sharing all this with you. But, you seem like a trustworthy guy,” she said to me in those first few months. Trustworthy. It is a description not often given to me, and I relish it.

I stopped going to the club for months since there was so much strife at home. However, I relented because, in the words of my wife’s encouragement, “You should do what makes you happy and stop sacrificing so much.” Also, I wanted to be among the company of women who would give me the affection I am starved.

As part of the discussion/argument with my wife, I told her she should stop accompanying me during activities I enjoy because she only takes the fun out of them. I had never said this to her before and I had always strived to resolve those things she would bring up – bills, personal problems, “he said, she said,” and other drama – with patience, listening to her statements and trying to redirect our focus. Never successful, I still tried. However, I just can not afford to take her with me anymore, forsaking my own enjoyment. It takes a toll on a person to always be under the grind without relief.

So, as you can imagine, I had returned to the gentleman’s club without my wife. Also, since she and I are no longer having sex, conversation, or any other forms of closeness and marital intimacy, I am seeking it elsewhere, which is what I was also doing at the club.

Once before, my wife accompanied me to the same strip club and met Tanisha. In fact, Tanisha sat down at our table with us and took part in lengthy “girly” conversations with my wife (then fiancé). However, I knew instantly from Tanisha’s expression when she sat down with my wife and I, and introduced all parties, that she became withdrawn and possibly disappointed. She became aloof with me despite my observable enjoyment in her company.

When I had returned, recently, to Tanisha’s club, she passed by me a few times with her customers on their way to the private room for lap dances and, as soon as I looked her way, she was quick with redirecting her eyes and ignoring my presence. This instantly told me what I had suspected: we had connected.

From the bar, I watched a black girl dance on the back stage with vivaciousness, vigor, and contagious energy. She was having a great time, enjoying herself, and connecting with the men in the establishment, which showed by how many times she was going back to the private lap dance room (and ignoring me in the process).

I really could not believe it was Tanisha when I first saw the girl dancing because she had so much positive energy. Moreover, this girl dancing had fairly large boobs whereas the Tanisha I first met did not even have A cups. Tanisha had been the only black girl dancing at the club the last time I was there, so I thought this had to be a new girl, but she danced so much like Tanisha, but with more zest. The bartender informed me the woman I was watching actually is Tanisha.

Tanisha had gotten a breast enlargement. She is approximately six-foot tall with legs that reach Canada, C-cup boobs she is till getting used to (she bumps into them and mistakenly pops them out of her outfit), and a toned, slender body that reflects her discipline in physical fitness and professionalism. In short, she is beautiful.

From the I had entered the club to the time I left, I had only sat at the bar and never approached the stage. I never tipped any of the girls.

Sitting at the bar, I made it a point to bullshit with the bartender and other customers at the bar. I learned this tactic from Manswers, a television show, on how to date a stripper. It seems effective.

Once she was done dancing once or twice on stage and finished giving her much-requested lap dances to the men surrounding the stage, she walked to the staff member manning the door and collecting the cover charge. In order for her to get to him she had pass by me at the bar. As she approached, I made eye contact and she diverted, just as we had been doing before. However, I stuck my arm out to accept her, much like a hug. She quickly turned on the charm and “salesmanship,” identifying me as a customer and not a companion. It was as obvious to me like a flashlight in the eyes upon wakening.

I do not recall the details of what was first said, but I dove right in with the obvious and typical salutations: hello, how are you, sorry I have been absent, you have such a contagious and upbeat energy, you are very attractive, and so forth. By her request, or demand, I agreed to a lap dance with her. My first ever with her, and my only all night.

You see, I had gotten lap dances from the other girls but never her, although she and I had talked the most. Also, I had gotten a private room with a girl for half an hour who was NOT Tanisha, as well. Consequently, I am sure Tanisha was jealous, or questioning her attractiveness. In spite of any reason why I had done those things, I got a lap dance from Tanisha that night a few days ago.

It was not her breast enlargement that aroused me, although they certainly are very nice and did help. Her energy excited me; her willingness and enjoyment of arousing me. He playfulness/flirtatiousness is was what excited me. I was hard, extremely hard, and she exploited it through my jeans.

After she finished giving me her gift, I told her how much I enjoyed her lap dance, as well as exactly what I enjoyed. More than anything, I believe she enjoyed my compliments on her new found vitality.

“Everyone has been telling me how much I smile, now. I love it! I love them,” she says, gripping and raising her new breasts. “I do feel better about myself,” giggling and smiling, reveling in her happiness, she continues, “and in life!”

Afterward, she made it a point to me not to stray away because she wanted to sit with me and visit. After her time on stage, we promptly got a table to ourselves. There, we got right back in to our groove, sharing things, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying one another’s company. I felt good and bad at the same time – I felt good to be noticeably attractive enough to someone to incur flirting, compliments, smiles, and interaction. At the same time, I felt bad because my wife was not sitting across from me.

Tanisha had to dance, again. It seemed to me that the other girls and the customers recognized Tanisha as a dancer to be reckoned with. Both on and off stage, Tanisha dominated the attention of the men, glided and floated more than walked or danced, and commanded an amount of respect from all. She certainly captivated me, then and now.

Joining me, again, I decided it was time to make my move.

From the bar, “Let’s get a table,” I suggest. She moves to a table where another dancer is sitting.

“Let’s sit over here,” I suggest, pulling the seats out from a table without anyone else around.

“Okay.” She sits down and pokes fun as she crosses her long, exquisite legs, “Are you comfortable, now?”

“Yes. I just wanted some time alone with you; just you and me.”

She pauses from lighting her Black and Mild, smiles at me with eye contact, and touches my hand as she comments, “You’re a sweetie.”

“Let me light for you,” and I pull out my Zippo.

A few dances ago when she and I first sat down together, she had asked me how things were going and I aired my dirty laundry regarding my wife. There, at the table where Tanisha and I were sitting alone, her hand on mine, I told her I would like to get to know her outside this place. It was then that she gave me her phone number and asked me to be sure to call her so we could hang out sometime soon. As women do, her polite request was really an order. It meant I had better call her and not disappoint her.

As part of the exchange, she asked for my number. I was reluctant in answering, but said I had only a home number. Apparently of no consequence, Tanisha was quick to say, “Okay, I’ll give you mine and you call me.”

All night, we sat together. All night, we talked. All night, we laughed. I made her laugh so much she was slipping out of her chair. She was laughing so hard she could not breath; laughing the “silent laugh” of a person gasping for air while laughing. She got so comfortable with me she dropped her salesmanship and guard all dancers maintain as a requisite of their occupation. We were no longer customer and dancer talking and laughing together at the bar; we were Me and Tanisha talking and laughing in a world all our own.

Some men find some kind of status in dating a stripper, which I can see. I have a certain amount of respect and covet of a man dating a stripper, and I see him with an amount of status. However, Tanisha is not a status symbol for me. She genuinely exhibits the traits I am attracted to. Visiting with her, her company is pure pleasure. Her body movements, dancing, and physical beauty are enchanting, and her smile is powerfully hypnotizing.

Stripper to others. An enchanting, fine-as-hell young woman to me.

Employment! Part 2

Today, I learned that I will not be able to apply for a full-time regular position with benefits and permanency. My supervisor approached me and said, “I have some bad news.” At first, I just thought he was kidding with me, but his face and adamancy convinced me otherwise.

The union representing the city workers has foregone increases in their pay and benefits over the past two contract negotiations – the labor contract lasts for three years until the next negotiation – and has decided that their past two agreements with the city allowing less than nationally comparable pay to be more than enough compromise and fairness for their city-employee relationship. Unfortunately, the city’s mayor will neither agree to nor budge any figure of his new labor contract proposal to the city workers’ union, and, upon giving his final offer, has refused the union’s appeal to amend. Now twenty percent short of the national’s average compensation, the union has consequently taken action against the mayor’s obstinacy.

Unlike other unions, municipal workers are not allowed to strike. Therefore, municipal workers in the state of Nebraska only recourse is to sue the employing city. Then, a labor board must review the pay and benefits given to city workers currently and in the contract negotiations to determine their comparability to the national average determined by the Department of Labor. At least, this is how I understand the process.

As reprisal, the mayor has temporarily/indefinitely suspended filling any and all of the municipality’s employment positions. Perhaps this act is to pressure the union to stand down on its suit. Conversely, the mayor’s suspension has closed any doors I had hoped, and was genuinely and exceedingly counting on, to gain employment with the city.

Now, I will move forward on my plans enrolling in to a local community college for their Academic Transfer Program so I may enroll at a larger university. Additionally, I will pursue part-time employment that will fit my current full-time employment schedule and future college schedule. When my current temporary employment with the city comes to an end (due to the mayor’s suspension filling positions with the city’s municipality), of course, I will be forced to pursue full-time employment elsewhere.

As soon as my supervisor finished informing of the bad turn of events, I respectively requested his permission to use him as a reference for future employment. His speedy and earnest request for me to use him as a reference in-turn convinced me that yes, I can confidently use my supervisor as a professional reference. Tomorrow, I will request permission from my crew leader and co-worker for their same professional reference. Due to the fact that everyone from other temporary workers on up to supervisors and department heads said they want me to apply for a full-time regular position (most likely because I already have a commercial driver’s license) gives me a sense that my crew leader and co-worker will not refuse my request.

I also asked my supervisor if he could continue giving me the heads up on things and, if possible, give me a few weeks notice before my temporary employment is terminated so I can find other employment, avoiding a financially strenuous gap. To this, he agreed, as well.

Not My Idea of Marriage

Marriage. It is supposed to be a beautiful union of man and woman in a celebratory act of sharing their life together. Then why is my marriage not beautiful or celebratory? In fact, it is down right hell!

I relate my marriage to the broken home I grew up in – filled with animosity, antagonism, anger, absent communication, frustration, needling or poking of feelings, disrespect, and a lack of family and love.

At this point in time, after one previous marriage already, I think marriage is not for me; it is not something that suits me.

Like any other couple, my wife and I had our ups and downs, smooth roads and rock roads, joys and displeasures, tests of our commitment, and arguments. However, things between us have not improved. On the contrary, things have only worsened after our wedding.

In the beginning, we both established some ground rules – things that will not be acceptable, will not be tolerated, and is grounds for separation.

Her ground rules:
1. Infidelity, aka cheating, or sexual relations with another
2. Physical abuse

My ground rules:
1. Refusing me sex at any time for any reason – sex is neither a tool or a reward to be used against a man, and, regardless of who initiates intimacy, it is my decision whether we have sex
2. Harming my child or placing my child in harm’s way
3. Infidelity, aka cheating, or sexual relations with another without my consent
4. Physical abuse, such as striking in anger
5. Verbal abuse, such as yelling or screaming in anger
6. Antagonism in our relationship
7. Animosity in our relationship
8. Stealing from me
9. Lying to me, with discretion to “some things are better left not said,” however a follow-up question with directness requires a direct answer
10. Consistently questioning my good judgment
11. Disrespectful conduct
12. Open insubordination to me

She has not stolen from me, struck me in anger, or, to the best of my knowledge, cheated on me. However, a single incident three years ago when I answered her cell phone per her request invoked some very peculiar and nervous behavior from her. She snatched the phone from away from me, proceeded to inform the person who asked for her by name that he had called the wrong number, and then erased any trace of the call from her cell phone. Peculiar behavior, yes, but since I still do not have any conclusive evidence to verify anything of that strange incident, I still trust her fidelity. I am one who allows a person to dig their own hole, but I will kick in the dirt on top of them.

I have never struck her in anger nor had sexual relations outside our relationship. Yet, she persists on breaking my ground rules despite my efforts to speak with her. I feel I am left with no other choice than to dissolve our relationship.

The dissolution of our marriage is really not what I want to do, but what is someone to do when the spouse continuously persists at “pushing your buttons” and riding the fine line between acceptable behavior and unacceptable behavior?

Allow me to set the stage for explanation.

We dated for a little over four years, with a few break ups within that time, before I proposed to her on her birthday a year ago. While we were dating, she and I had sex anytime I wanted and anywhere I wanted; her only request was no anal sex. Disappointed, I accepted her terms. To her credit, she tried it a few times and found it to be very painful. On the other hand, she finds vaginal sex painful, too, because she says I am too big, which will lead to other problems as you will learn with further reading.

In the beginning, she voiced an interest in experimenting with different sexual fantasies, such as: lesbian sex, group sex, BDSM, role playing, exhibitionism, anal sex (which we tried and ruled out), and bi-sexual sex. She and I did have an encounter with one of my old girlfriends that would qualify for lesbian sex, group sex, and bi-sexual sex. Additionally, she and I did have sex in front of some friends a few times – once, a couple had sex right beside us, but we did not trade – which would qualify as exhibitionism. However, these have been our only adventurist sex. I am frustrated with this because I am very sexual person and enjoy sex at least two or three times a day.

In was probably in our third year of dating that she started with “recuperation” time. Once more, because she says I am too big for her, she said she required time to feel better, again, before we could have sex. You see, when we first started having sex, we both worked full-time and she was going to college, so we only saw each other on the weekends and usually fucked a lot. Because she did not move in with me until our third year of dating, we saw each other when our schedule permitted, usually one time in the week in addition to weekends. Still, we had more sex then, when we saw each periodically, then when we moved in together. Our sex dropped from about three nights a week to one night a week or week and a half. The frequency of our sex stayed consistent at one night a week to a week and a half until my marriage proposal. After that our sex dropped to one night every other week or less. And in marriage? Well, we have been married for 43 days and have had sex only once since the wedding night. For clarification, we did have sex on our wedding night.

Everybody is getting sex. The only consideration is how and from where/whom? For married couples, the answer is masturbation and/or adultery, or abstinence. I can not abstain from sex, but she has no problem doing so. And, it seems to me that her idea of marriage is abstinence. I think she focused too much on the ceremony and not enough on the marriage. A ceremony lasts for a day, but marriage lasts as long as you make it last.

I thought that maybe all of the craziness and demands of planning and saving to pay for the wedding was an influence on our sex life. Without explaining the previous lack of action, I figured the wedding had dampened things and it would pick up after the wedding.

I was wrong.

Since our wedding, she has been on a bitch-rollercoaster; nice to me for a few days, and then a bitch for the next couple of weeks. For what? What is a good enough reason to do so?

She has a habit of dumping her shit on me. For instance, if she has a bad day at work, she comes home, brings the bullshit home with her, and projects her displeasure (with what ever caused it) through her conduct with me. My numerous conversations regarding this conduct has apparently gone without affect.

Just two days ago, she refused me sex when I approached her. I even asked her, “Are you giving me a straight up no or a straight up yes?” Her reply was no. That is a refusal of sex to me, which is one of my ground rules. Her reason: she was not in the mood. Her excuse: “I thought you told me to tell you if I was in the mood or not.”

She left this morning for work without saying goodbye or anything else, not even letting me know she was leaving. And, she has been doing this kind of behavior for months, now. The other day, I approached and asked, “Should I give you the courtesy of letting you know where I am going?” She answered, “You don’t have to.” So, it seems she has taken it upon herself to remove the courtesies we have always had in our relationship. Courtesies I have always stressed to be necessary.

Just now, while I am writing this on my laptop so I can transfer it to my blog, she comes home and cooks herself something to eat. It has always been our custom to always offer a snack or a meal to the other when one of us is hungry. Again, she is disruptive. This is not the first time she has cooked for herself without offering. Perhaps I should stop, but then I would become just like her and I would lose certain elements of my character by doing so.

There is nothing wrong about reading and I do not fault anyone for having the love of reading. However, my wife will sit and read all day, every day, to the point of not interacting with anyone else in the family. Previously, she and I had agreed that she would not read on the weekends, Friday through Sunday, because my son and I were forced to spend our weekends without her. Now, I can understand if she wants to read, but it is the only thing she does. She should have married a book or a library!

I wish I had bought her and saved the receipt, so I could return her and get my money back.

What are your thoughts on my conundrum/dilemma?

Spontaneous Bitch-Combustion

It absolutely boggles my mind how my wife goes from absolute bitch for months on end to absolute sweetheart within the passing of one night. As credit to her extraordinary skill, she is equally quick from sweetheart to bitch.

Now, I am unable to rationalize, identify, comprehend, or arise to any kind of hypothesis that would trigger such behavior. Does she have a mental disorder? Or, some sort of mental disease? Is it even psychological? Or, is there a physiological disorder I must diagnose and treat? What external triggers may be influential?

My only guess is a very volatile conjecture irrationally used by men and woman alike to explain the unexplainable traits of women: my wife is a woman, and therefore susceptible and at the mercy of her inner self without any identifiable causes or solutions, and without any fault or accountability of her actions thereof.

By God, “Because she’s a woman,” explains it all in a clear and concise (plain and simple) manner! With this single explanation we can now delve into the depths of feminism and unlock the secrets to humankind’s (because it is not “mankind”) salvation!

Need milk with my sarcasm? Grab a cow. There is more.

Really! Come on! I saw on 3ABN (3 Angels Broadcast Network) a one hour program solely on the explanation of the female psyche. To summarize, the nucleus of their illumination centered on a huge jumble of rubber bands that were so incredibly entangled that they formed an inseparable mass roughly the size of a large book, like those coffee table books everyone looks at the covers but never picks up because they are so big.

Let us allow women to have their cake and eat it, too, so to speak.

So, inside a woman, her brain is all jumbled together like 3ABN’s mass of entangled rubber bands. If so, that explains why my wife is like Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. On the other hand, if women are a confusing mess that not even they can sort themselves, why do we allow them so much?

They want equal rights. When given equal riots, they complain that men are no longer treating them as women but as “one of the boys,” and thus seek action (or legislation to put in more current terms). Women can open their own doors and no longer need a man to treat them as the “weaker sex.” In turn, women voice their disapproval of men losing chivalry, and find themselves hard pressed to find a gentleman, or a “good man.”

I laugh every time I tell this story because it just tickles me down to the bone.

My wife used to tell me she wanted me to love and appreciate her for who she is. You know, on the inside, her mind; more than just her body. So, over the course of the following few weeks, anytime she asked me any question about her looks I would answer, “Baby, your looks don’t matter because you’re smart, and that’s why I love you. Wear anything you want. You look fine.”

Needless to say, boiling point was reached often. Eventually, she learned that she enjoys her vanity, as well as my primal (one of many animalistic epithets men are known to be called) lust for her. Sure, I can be romantic and intellectual and not-everything-leads-to-sex. But, eventually she just finds me boring, too much like a female, or no longer within the image she holds of me. So, once again, she gets her cake, she eats it, and decides she does not like it.

Who is responsible for her naivety and discontent? I am because I am the man; held to a higher standard by all, over and above any current and preceding political correctness or socially modern criterion. However, should I have the foresight, care, and good intentions to forebode the likely consequences of her actions and provide guidance, I am ridiculed as controlling, parent-like (the “daddy” complex), and bossy. Stand aside and allow her to do as she wishes, I am again ridiculed, but ridiculed for being heartless, insensitive, and a poor leader (aka: a poor example of a man as women see it).

Well, I can’t read minds, so I will never know exactly what to do and when and how. In pursuit of not discriminating or showing favoritism, and in the spirit of equal rights for both genders, I mean it with absolute equality from the bottom of my heart when I say, “Kiss my ass!”

K-M-A, baby! That’s my motto – kiss my ass!

Like every “good man” (the term has become highly subjective and becoming quite loose in designation), I am not afraid to do as I decide best, regardless of her approval or emotional upheaval. In other words, my wife, or any other woman for that matter, can get as pissed off and rant and rave as much as she wants and I will not budge on my decision. I tell me wife that if she does not like me, or what I do, so terribly much, she should have considered my traits when we first met. In the meantime, she can decide if she wants me or someone else, and then she better act on it. Because if she just continually bitches about everything and fights me on everything, it will be me kicking her to the curb. It is rude, discourteous, and disloyal to constantly fight your man on everything, trying to prove him wrong and yourself right. If a woman is going to be that way, separate and go do your own thing. Maybe even pick up a woman for yourself.

Women are a mystery I would rather keep a mystery. Opening Pandora’s box is not something my reasoning or curiosity wishes to do, resulting in suicide. All I can do is continue letting women (my wife) do as they will – running the world within their narcissistic perfection – and continue doing as I will – walking my unyielding straight path across life with my steady stride, sometime bumping heads with on-comers or stepping on their trail of narcissistic perfections. I do not try to change a person, as one can only change under his own fruition, but I do not have to subscribe, uphold, agree, or accept another’s position. I simply agree to disagree as respectively as I am able to. Whether the other can do the same as I is something else entirely, and more often than not the other person can not and does not respectively agree to disagree.

I resolve to treat all women like children because I can not trust a woman to conduct herself and think as an adult. I have actually been using this practice for a number years, now, and it works very effectively.

Conclusion

I am no closer to understanding women.

Bic It

Ever since I was about twelve or thirteen years old, I have always wanted to Bic my head.

For years, I guess, it just never crossed my mind… until this past Friday. When I awoke, I said to myself, “I’m going to shave my head.” And, with that, I took out the electric clippers, the shaving cream, and the razor. An hour and half later my head was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

In the hall where my wife saw my Bic-ed head for the first time, I was met with, “Oh my God. You shaved it!” Her queer smile was a mixed expression of disbelief, astonishment, and curiosity. By nightfall, as well as the following days, she revealed, “It’s growing on me.”

That afternoon when we were at the base lake with my folks and their friends in celebration of the Fourth of July, I received a lot of compliments from the men. The reactions from the women were equal to my wife’s. I think women value and distinguish a person’s hair a lot differently than men. Nonetheless, nobody out-and-out said they disliked it. If they had, oh well, it’s my head and my choice. And, I like it!

One thing a lot of people got a kick out of was when my mother came looking for me.

Some guys and I finished up a game of horseshoes and were returning to the line of picnic tables where all of the food was beginning to pile up from people bringing cold dishes and the hot plates of meat fresh off the grill. I had no idea she was looking for me because I had my back turned and was speaking with someone. Interrupting the conversation, I heard a woman calling for me: “Norman! Norman, your mom… she’s here.”

I turned around and there she was, my mother, looking straight at me without recognition. Then, she burst out in disbelief and astonishment at my bald head. Muttering some things in Korean at first, she started in on her commenting in English. “Norman! What did you do?” She rubbed my head and patted my shoulder. “You look like your uncle,” she observes. My uncle shaves his head because he is half bald and prefers to be youthful without his receding hair line revealing his age. “Ahh, you’re still handsome. My son!” She smiles and proudly takes me by the hand and parades around the growing number of party goers. Everybody knows me, but it seems to be a Korean thing to parade your child like a trophy around to everyone, especially mother-to-mother. It is really more about showing off and receiving praise, but children do it because it makes their parents happy. Hell, the other mothers do it, too, and we return the gesture.

It felt weird when my wife rubbed down my bald head with sun block. She commented with a giggle and a blushing face I did not see but heard, “Wow! It’s smooth!” I think she found it a turn on. That night when we made love in a somewhat exhibitionist-style inside the tent with all kinds of passers by just outside, my wife repeatedly rubbed head, which she normally does not do. I enjoyed it feverishly.

Conclusion

Despite most people I know discouraging me from Bic-ing my head, I did it anyway. I fulfilled a long awaited wish in my personal image, stirred up some folks, enlivened my wife, and increased my self-confidence. Nonconform is the norm.

Mavericks lead the way! Hoo-uh!

Employment!

Monday of last week, I was called in for a job interview with the city Public Works department.

The interview lasted about fifteen minutes. Five minutes spent asking me questions about my construction experience and the remaining ten minutes asking about my Commercial Driver’s License, as well as informing the city becomes in dire need of snow plow drivers in the winter because most of their current personnel do not agree to work overtime since it is voluntary.

I have been out of work, mostly, since we have moved to this new city. However, this is an excellent opportunity! I am very thankful to have received employment with the Public Works Department.

Although I am only a summer temp, I was told in the interview and from guys in the shop where I work that the city almost exclusively hires from the summer help. So, if I can make it through this season’s temporary employment status, I can be offered a full-time regular position with the city.

The first week is already over, and the work was not too difficult. I am assisting the maintenance man for all three shops in the city. There are state Department of Roads’ shops, but we only take care of the city locations.

Thus far, the bulk of my work has consisted of rebuilding the plumbing from a fire hydrant for use with the street sweepers, cleaning their collection bins and vehicle exteriors. I have also removed trash, delivered materials to another location, checked on a fire suppression system underneath a city bridge, replaced numerous lights, and repaired some bathroom plumbing. We had to help check some lights and generators in preparation for the Fourth of July celebration the city held at a stadium, but that was not too involving and only took about an hour.

Conclusion

I really like the job and the work. Moreover, I am really looking forward to getting on with the city full-time as a regular employee. The pay will jump to $12/hr (starting) plus benefits and quick opportunities for pay increases.

Let’s hope I get it!

The Pessimist

The pessimist; the cynic; the naysayer; the gloomy Gus; the wet blanket—the one who always takes the liberty of pointing out all of your faults and missteps since you were knee high to a grasshopper and cunningly overlaying them over your current life and any future aspirations. You know the family member who reminds you of every reason you should not have made the decision you came to, as well as any unknown pitfalls that will be your detriment. Oh, but since this person has graciously informed of everything (of course, it is only everything as the pessimist sees it) they can now look back on this conversation with you and say, “I told you.” Now that you know everything the Pessimist needs to inform you, it is no longer anybody’s fault but your own.

Yeah, you know who I am talking about. I think every circle has at least one. My circle has three: my mother, my father, and my neighbor.

Mind you, I am doing my best to be nice to my parents during our second chance. As a result, I am really biting my tongue. Because so, I do not always know how to best deal with a situation. I am pretty much accustomed to saying as I wish when I wish. However, in the intentions of being nice I restrain myself.

The pessimism happened twice in two days.

I began working for the city Public Works. So, I share this wonderful news with my folks’ friends at the Fourth of July barbecue they held at the base lake, approximately an hour and twenty minutes from my home. Everybody is there – drinking, eating, cooking, talking, playing horseshoes, talking about the different events at the lake – and a group of guys are over at the barbecue grill. We are all talking about our work, family; bullshitting, shooting the breeze—everything guys do at a barbecue. So, a groups of guys are over at the barbecue grill talking while watching my father cook various pounds of meat. We are kind of going around the circle talking about the latest news at work and when it is my turn, I share what I think is great news about getting on with the city’s Public Works. Everyone seemed to have good things to say but my father.

“Don’t loose this one like the other ones you’ve had. This is a good job if you don’t screw it up.”

First of all, I am shocked and taken aback by how rude and discourteous this remark. Second of all, I am shocked and pissed off by virtue of my father, my flesh and blood, has announced himself as the pessimist. Yeah, what does it say about my father speaking up with such negativity? More importantly, what does it say about me since my father felt the need to say this in front of everyone?

Maybe he tried to sound nice when he said. The only thing is, he does not speak that way with other men, only with children. Consequently, I felt like he was regarding me as a child. This only added insult to injury.

Here comes my bite in his ass: “Damn! Can’t be happy for a guy, can you? Always wantin’ to point the worst of things, the things that can go wrong. Hey, don’t lose your job by fuckin’ up either. Damn! Be happy for a guy that’s tryin’. Be happy for something good.”

He kept trying to interrupt and interject his explanations but I did not let him. When I told him not to lose his job, he clearly became annoyed. When I said “damn” the second time, he just shut up. His arduous silence was probably because the circle of guys had dispersed between the time he shut up and I finished. Later, one of the long-time family friends tried to explain to me about my father is just concerned about me no differently than any other parent.

“Well, that may be so, and that’s fine. However, I am not going to tolerate that kind of disrespect from anybody, especially my own father disrespecting me in front of everyone. That’s bullshit. If he feels he can dish it, he better be prepared to take it, too.” My words were harsh, but they were real. This particular gentleman had sheltered me from time to time during my turbulent childhood, so he was privileged with my candor.

“You’re right, he could have said his peace in a… better way. But, he is your father, and he cares for you. So, maybe the two of you can work things out so he can still talk you but do it privately, so you’re still comfortable.” His attempt to keep the peace only upset me more – nobody said a word to my father regarding his conduct, except me.

“Yeah, well, my father should have thought of that before he pulled shit with me when I was growing up.” Again, since this gentleman provided me shelter during times of tribulation with my father, he is privy to my family’s inner mechanisms. His insight has always made my family quite wary and reserved in his presence.

The conversation fell silent. Our lips occupied themselves with the bottle of beer we each had in our hands. No one spoke of the incident from that time on, and my father stopped speaking with me of anything more than the weather and the food. Perhaps I embarrassed him. Good. He embarrassed me too many times when I was younger. Honestly, it was nice not having his pessimism in my ear.

The following day, my wife and I spent most of the day at my folks’ house. Sometimes, I feel guilty since I live so far away from them, so I decided to hang around for the day.

Since my wife and I had unfurled our brand new tent for the first since we bought a year ago, my father asked the next morning how we liked sleeping in it. My wife and I had a few knots in our legs and back, so my father offered to give me his old military cots. Great deal, right? Just wait, it gets better.

We leave the base lake and head back to my folks’ house with me in pursuit of their pickup and camper. Back at the house, he and I go around back to his little aluminum shed and dig out the military cots from underneath years of accumulated junk, dust, dirt, and critters.

We carry them around front and I open the two cots so they can dry in the sun. Well, I finish cleaning them up completely – removing dirt and mud, and lubricating the joints so they operate easier.

While he and I are sitting there with the cots spread out under the sun in the driveway, he says to me, “I am going to give you these two cots. They’re my old cots from the Army. But, if anything should happen, or if you don’t want them anymore, I want you to give them back.”

Typical. My father can not give me a gift, or do anything nice for me, without strings attached.

“Then, why don’t you tell me I can use them, but you want them returned?” I say.

“No, no, no. I am giving them to you. All I’m saying is…,” he begins to explain.

“You want them returned,” I interrupt.

Just as he starts his explanation, again, I refute, “I can use them, but you want them returned. Just admit it.”

Reluctantly, he does admit it. “Okay, fine. You can use them, but I want them returned.”

You see, his admission that he is only letting me borrow the cots with the condition of returning them never removes his ownership of them. However, he was persistent about “giving” me the cots with the condition of returning, which would have implied he still has authority over me because he can take away my property.

I really hate that bullshit. I hate how my father and mother are always giving me something with strings attached. They can never simply say something in support of me, such as, “Good job,” and shut up so they don’t say anything to ruin it, nor can they simply give me a gift with no further instructions or conditions.

Either give me a piece of property or don’t. Do not give me conditions with your gift.

Sometimes, I enjoy returning the favor to them, and they dislike with great disgust. My consolation to them when they get upset about one of my gifts with strings is, “You can either take it or not at all, but my conditions stay the same.”

Conclusion

As I was writing this, I suddenly realized that I was upset about my father not giving me his praise or approval – fighting every thing that I do. Now that I understand this, I have a much better perspective how to deal with pessimists in my life.

Thank you, friend, for listening.

Say What You Mean

I am just getting out of the shower when my wife bursts in with the phone.

“There’s some guy on the phone wanting an interview with you. Here,” she abruptly blurts and thrusts me her cell phone.

For the next fifteen minutes or so I go through all of the pleasantries one goes through when sweet talking a prospective employer whilst scheduling an interview and getting directions. My wife writes as I repeat his instructions.

I hang up with the gentlemen on the phone and my wife begins one of her rants.

“I didn’t get that other job.”

“The one supervising the kids?” I ask. We both had applied for a position with a company who provides supervised visits for non-custodial parents.

“Yeah. I called them and they said I didn’t get it. I need to get a higher paying job. I’m not making enough money. But, I can’t afford to go to college three time a week. That’s too much gas.”

“Yeah,” I say, hoping it will end there. I’m getting dressed and laying out my shirt when she starts in on it, again.

She throws her checkbook down on the bed and repeats herself.

I’m tired of listening her talk herself in circles, getting herself all worked up over nothing. Angrily, I say, “Do you want to go to college?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to study, or do you still need to figure that out?”

Exasperated, she answers, “I am going to study nursing. I’ve told you that over and over. If I can go to college for free at [name of an excellent college of nursing in a city an hour away], then it would be stupid to pay for it. Plus, it’s [name of college]. They’re the best!”

Before she can go on with something else, I step in real quick. “That’s an hour away! Why don’t you go locally. The fuel cost will be much cheaper.”

To make a long story short, we go around and around on this. Her point: free college is better than paying, but she doesn’t make enough money to pay for fuel. My point: local college is better than no college regardless if it is free or the best around, AND local college is cheaper on fuel. Additionally, I tell her that it is never a “good” or “right” time to go to college, and that if she waits to hear back to go to the great college for free, then she’ll need more fuel money, then she’ll need to make more money and she can’t do that without her nursing degree.

Just say what you mean. If you just want to piss yourself off and piss off your spouse… Well, then, my wife knows how to do it. This conversation is a good example of that. Otherwise, say what you mean. Keep it brief and right to the point. Don’t get pissed off at the other person for anything he/she points out. If you just want to vent, prepare the person and create the situation by stating you wish to vent. Don’t expect someone to read your mind and hold your hand while you jump about screaming and yelling, having your little temper tantrum. Bad girls stand in the corner.

Women are Like Employers

**Sensitive Person Disclaimer: I am speaking for myself, of myself, or otherwise any opinion of my own regardless of fact, fiction, or opinions of anyone else.

You know, it never fails. As soon as a guy gets married, women start crawling out of the wood work to say hi, to say how sweet he must be, and usually flirt a little, too. Where were they when I was single? Oh, yeah, I was a male chauvinistic pig who they liked to affectionately call jerk or loser because I “only wanted to get in their pants.”

Women are like employers:

1. If you don’t have a job right now, why would I want to hire you?
Translation: If another woman doesn’t find you to be a good catch, what makes you think I will?

2. So, you are working full-/part-time right now. How can I trust you won’t do the same to me if I hire you?
Translation: If you are already seeing a woman, how can I trust you won’t go behind my back and see another?

3. I see you are doing really well in your current job. How about you come work for me and I will definitely make it worth your while?
Translation: I see you are doing really well in your current relationship. How about you come do the same for me and I will definitely make it worth your while.

4. You want to quit? No, you’re fired! Security will escort you out.
Translation: You want to dump me? I don’t think so. I’m dumping you! You have fifteen minutes to get you and your junk out of here because I am calling the police and my dad.

How am I different, now, that I’m married? I still want to get in your pants.

Ladies, we’re the same with or without the ring - getting in your pants is always a goal. The only difference is we’re not gambling the windshield of our car anymore. We’re gambling the whole car, the house, our retirement, and half of our paychecks, too.

When women marry, they get social status, retirement, companionship, a best friend, and most importantly, they get security. When men marry, we are guaranteed a piece of tail every night - that’s our security. Except, single tail lets you touch as much as you want, as often as you want, and every time it comes to visit no matter what room you are in (public or private) or who may be watching. Married tail is only in service on the weekends if home and work is not too hectic and management deems it appropriate.

My father-in-law said it best when he told me, “You don’t make decisions, you just work here.” Amen!

Married men are also guaranteed other things. Don’t get me wrong, sealed and frozen ass is not the only thing we get. We are also guaranteed bitching, complaining, whining, screaming and yelling, crying, tampons, nagging, cold shoulders, cat-like affection (basically, entirely on her terms), 15 million changes in her mood per day, and the look. She really thinks it intimidates you or impounds you, but does so only if we give a shit. If we don’t care, that “so terrible” dirty look is just another stupid expression on your face.

When you are dating, the GF gives up that ass and pussy all the time, no restrictions. After marriage, though, she suddenly no longer feels it is necessary to fuck her man so much. Then, she gets pissed off at him for not treating her good/right anymore. What the hell?! You’d think, since women are “so-o-o smart,” that she would put two and two together and figure out that if she wants more romance and shit, she’d better be more forthcoming with that ass.

My wife says, “If you’re just gonna have sex with other people, what’s the point in getting married?” My response is, “They got married for reasons other than sex.” She has yet to figure out a response.

She usually makes me out to be some sex-crazed maniac who makes everything about sex. When we kiss or touch, it is not always a prelude to sex. Sometimes, I respond to her sex and marriage question with, “Why do you have to make everything about sex? Maybe they decided to get married without considering [the issue of] sex.” That one pisses her off just the same. I enjoy it either way.

Women always make marriage about physical/sexual fidelity. What about emotional fidelity? Well, of course not. That would mean the woman would have to stop her fantasies and whatnot. How bias. Moreover, what the hell was the point in getting married? Love? Then, what the fuck does sexual fidelity have to do with that?

“Baby, I promise that I will never cheat on you. You are the woman I will love,” is what men should say.

Furthermore, what is the point of fucking your man’s brains out while you are dating just to slack off when you are married? If I got her used to going out to eat at fancy restaurants a couple of times a week over the course of years while we were dating and engaged, it would only make sense she would continue to expect that when we are married. Duh!

I don’t fucking understand a damn thing about the whole fucking women-marriage thing. The best thing to do is just stay fucking single. The key phrase is “staying fucking single.” You don’t want to be forced to practice celibacy in your marriage as well as your single/divorce life.

I always say, “Everybody is always getting some [sex]. The only question is, ‘Where are they getting it from?’” For example, if your man ain’t fucking you, he could be fucking someone else or jerking off. No matter how terrible or stupid it is, everybody is always getting some somewhere.

My wife complains sometimes, “Love me for who I am, not how I look. My personality. My mind.” So, each time, I warmly move to her and embrace her, kiss her head, and say, “Baby, I love you because you’re smart.” And, for weeks after her statement I do not compliment her on how good she looks, but on how smart she looks. She becomes infuriated by that, too.

If you can not accept a man for who he is, do not waste anyone’s time by trying to change him. In the words of women, “Leave me alone.” Listen to your own advice and leave him alone. But, you can not do that, can you? You have to meddle.

English Major

Majoring in English seemed to me like a degree in history, what can you do with it? Perhaps I just revealed how much I know about English and history degrees. However, I am a constant reader, although I despise reading, and am just starting to enroll at a local university.

At first, my dream was to become a household name through my many publications, but then my “practical” side took over and began considering risk, ROI, probabilities, and “the facts.” Becoming a superstar author is like becoming a superstar (actor), I have a one-in-a-billion shot, and chances don’t pay the bills. However, after speaking with the student adviser for the English department, I learned I am a perfect fit for the major, except my lacking desire for reading. Moreover, she and I discussed a meld of my creative and writing side with my practical and business side. She said, “If a person wanted to do the whole thing on their own and have control of both sides of the biz, a business degree would great. And, with your personality, it’s a perfect fit for you - it seems natural for someone like you.”

As a result, I have decided on a double major in English and Business Administration, minoring in theater and marketing.

I am very happy to know that there is a future for me (with an English degree) as I pursue what I love. This has become a deep and personal paradigm shift for how I associate my intimate desires with reality.