Nostalgia, Lesbians and Irresponsibility

And now! The conclusion of “If I Didn’t Come Back, What Would You Do?”

So, yes, the Ex decided to not come home. Apparently, the call of nostalgia, lesbians and irresponsibility beat out all else. She’s screwed over a lot of people, including her best friend in Utah, who is now my best friend in Utah. She and her boyfriend came over for a bit, bringing beer, video games and support. That morning was spent running around dealing with money and debts. Visiting banks, paying off memberships I wouldn’t be using anymore and talking with the apartment people. I only had a few hours sleep before that, even with a boatload of drowsy inducing pills.

Bitches be crazy.

The good news of all this, other than having her out, is I get to road trip home. I’ll see some friends, visiting a shitload of places I haven’t been before and just generally enjoy life. Also, the start of the road trip will be when I reveal myself. Inspired by Roosh, it was something I had hoped to do after flying home, but instead my first posts of the new blog will chronicle the 10 day or so trip back to my folk’s place.

And yes, I’ll approach like a motherfucker wherever I go, especially in New Orleans.

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“If I Didn’t Come Back, What Would You Do?”

Bitch!

C’mon!!!!!!

It was a good day, too!

And the Lord said, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I woke up feeling good on Saturday night. Got dressed, grabbed some cheap food. On the way to my long, evil overnight shift I called LP and she seemed open to some kind to get together on Monday. Nice. Even if she flaked, I’d be at a bar I’ve been wanting to check out for a long time. And, if the Gods deemed my evil plan awesome, the Ex would have to come pick me up while I was hanging out with LP drunk on my favorite beer. Hopefully, with a face full of LP’s rack… but I digress.

And then she hits me with a text right as I was passing out:

Ex: If I didn’t come back, what would you do?

FTW: Go back to sleep.

Ex: Are you telling me to do that or is that what you would do?

FTW: It’s what I would do. Is this a serious thought?

Ex: It’s a serious consideration, except for the lease.

So this is how I got her to marry me so fast… impulse and crazy! After explaining how, in less blunt words, I’d happy deal with all the shit extricating her from this state and my life, we hit the greatest example of the rationalization hamster I’ve ever seen in this relationship.

Ex: Is this irresponsible of me?

FTW: Depends on the outcome.

Ex: Explain.

FTW: If you end up not benefiting from the decision, you’ll probably end up saying you’re irresponsible.

Ex: My next paycheck could cover my part of the divorce and the cost of sending my stuff. I don’t see how I can’t benefit from it.

FEED ME!

To be continued…

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Qu(K?)(G?)daffi

Who knew a twenty plus year old joke would still be relevant?

I can’t find the video, but the skit goes a guy is asked to say his license plate to some bureaucrat over the phone. His plate happens to be something like PKQGG. The paperpusher asks him to spell it out in the style of “A as in apple, B as in boy.” So he does, and he says, “Alright. P as in… pneumonia. K as in… Kaddafi. Q as in…. Quaddfi! G as in… Gaddafi!…”. You get the picture.

My view on Western involvement in Libya is slightly torn, but it doesn’t matter. Bombs are dropping, and they’ll drop until the masters deem otherwise. Personally, I think the media and the government has skewed the Libyan Civil War to make it look like the government forces are slaughtering civilians only and not armed rebels that can shoot down planes, as the BBC has documented. I also don’t like the crazy tyrant that runs the country. But, in the end, it is the side with the most firepower and brains that usually wins. And if the rebels have any brains, they’ll push the “no-fly zone” (bullshit already since France started bombing tanks) to become a full scale ouster of Gaddafi. If the West has any brains, they’ll fuck off as soon as possible. This was and will always be a tribal matter. It has nothing to do with democracy or freedom.

Shit can’t be squandered on useless things. Like Libyans.

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For the Love of the Game

Bright yellow lights. Street lights. They flow by like soldiers.

I drive north. My job is north. Night after night. Slow, tedious, but well paying work. I was thinking of finding another job before the rise of the unhappy spouse, but must endure a boss with dementia and a power fetish. Steady money is better than no money.

The week has been horrible. The ex in all but law has been away enjoying her spring break with her friends. Pictures on Facebook everyday. Statuses. Few messages to me. Its obvious that the “we’ll see if I miss you” test she came up with to rationalize the trip would have had me on the losing end. Better that I agreed to divorce a few weeks before then.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. They’re a blur. I slept half the week away. Its the anxiety medication. Its the depression. Its wondering what’s coming next. What I’ll have to do now that my marriage is over. For a man who wanted to live for a person, a person he loved with all his heart, the dark hole is deep and wide.

I drive without thought. The cars, lights and people are nothing. They could be robots or dreams for all I care. I drive empty.

The phone rings. It’s LP. She had called before when I was sleeping. I refused to call her back. I had no motivation or reason to fuel her attention whore. Life sucks, why should she get happy off my words and actions.

I picked up.

“Hello. Hello!” I said with my best cheer.

“Hello! Hello!” she returned. I could hear music and people in the background.

“Where are ya?” I asked, knowing she was probably out partying.

“Area 51!” The local alt/goth bar. I’d been there a few times. Decent crowd, mostly punk chicks. “Where are you?”

Great. Again. “I’m on my way to work because my boss is a bitch.” This is the third or forth time work has blown up her requests of my presence.

“You suck!” she said incredulously. “You uber-suck!”

“Hey, I told you when my weekend and you didn’t answer.” Several times actually. “I just bought my booze for after work.”

“When are you off work?” A question that didn’t sound like a scream for attention. Sweet.

“Five in the morning.”

“You really uber-suck.” And so the whore returns. “We were hoping to grind on hot dogs, but I guess we’ll have to find some strangers.”

Hot dogs? I mouth to myself. Wow. She’s either really drunk for being nineteen or she’s truly that spazzy. Either way. “You go take that risk,” I say, then cringe. That sounds kind of bitter. Whatever. My game may be new, but I’m doing well if she’s calling me to hang. “You know my weekend.”

That offended tone returns. She says something about not having condoms or something. She talks really fast. This chick is a lot of work. “We will. We’ll take that risk.”

She hangs up.

The conversation lasts one minute, but I suddenly realize I felt beyond great while having it. I picked up a depressed man sad he’s about to be divorced. But as soon as I said “Hello”, I was a charming, alpha male, ready to do battle with a spazzy, attention whore with nice tits and hips.

God help me, I like her, but not in the beta way of making her my girl. I like her ’cause I think she’ll be a perfect rebound. My first notch after the breakup being a decent looker than a cougar or a lazy eyed 4.

I realized that game… Game!… the cure to my blues. To my divorce depression. To the self-loathing.

Like breaking a fever or the cold wash of an ocean wave, the epiphany hit me. I have a sad disease and game is the cure.

I have a genetic history of charm. My dad’s industry requires a lot of social skills, and he has them. The core of his job is getting people to make things cheaper and with better quality. He was a hit in high school. The women loved him. He fell in love early and married my mother. They’ve been together since before I was born. My paternal grandfather was quite the catch as well, according to my grandmother. So its there, I have it. Its in my blood But my entire life has been introvert. I’ve been scared and lonely and nervous. I had one girlfriend in high school. Two girls in college, both of them high school age. I apparently had game then, just didn’t know it. I’m charming, but years of feminist teaching of my mother and Canada, plus my anxiety, covered it up.

And isn’t that the rub? My dad, a very charming man, a women pleaser during his high days, marries a woman who is a feminist, yet a housewife until her children move on. A very confusing atmosphere. I see my alpha dad do his thing, yet I see my mom pontificate about leftism and gender equality. This is a woman who both hates unions but adores Gloria Allred. I wouldn’t blame a guy who couldn’t figure out what his strengths and weaknesses were coming out of that environment.

But none of that is any reason to remain in my shell. None of it. I am a man. I am the lead of civilization, if we go with the old rules. But the old rules are gone, aren’t they? Feminism, modernism, and all the other idealisms. They were supposed to end all that, right?

Hardly

Genetics can’t be killed by politics.

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Unfortunate Objects

My first article for In Mala Fide. Go read!

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Rambles and Things

I’ve had this giant urge for days to post something, but everything I’ve tried to turn into a topic has dissolved after a few sentences. I feel restless, which is probably the major reason for my writer’s block. So, instead, I present the collection of things in my head.

First thing is that LP is 80% a no-go. While she’s damn cute, her flaking and her games are annoying me. I can barely get a conversation out of her through text or phone. Its like asking a dog on speed to recite Lord Byron. I was looking for something easy and fun, not a run around the block of an attention addled chick.

With the Ex (best call her that for my sanity) off back in her “home” with her friends for the week, I’ve been adjusting to being truly alone. The past two days have been my weekend and I’ve spent them inside, mostly sleeping. I attempted to stay up all day in a futile pursuit of not wasting time, but I ended up burning myself out. My thoughts turned away from productive things and I ended up passing out on the couch for a long time. At least, for once, I didn’t need the herbal sleeping pills to get to sleep. My body’s internal clock was unplugged, apparently.

That she is away, I’ve started to dismantle marriage materially. I went through the ugly shit-ton of movies we have and took out all of the ones that are mine. This, my friends, is what I consider to be what I worked the good part of my 20s for:

My wealth

I’ve taken down the wedding photos and will eventually get to turning the walls from the “ours” that it was to the pasty white nothing that we are today.

Losing myself in this time alone, like did as a kid, reminded me of the girls I used to obsess over. The hot Christian blonde in 8th grade. The dark-skinned Russian from cadets. The French chick I spent one great, totally platonic day with. The several internet girls. My first girlfriend. I threw myself into depressions and fits over losing these women. Women that, looking back, were mostly not really quality women. The Christian chick is still hot as ever last time I checked Facebook, but she’s got a kid. The French chick was really cute, but I never got to talk to her after that one day. I’ve wasted my weekend off work, of time I have away from this woman who’s breaking up with me, basically grieving over her. The hell am I doing? Its like I’m fucking 16 again.

What I can be happy about is that I’ve got a decent family. They’ve been nothing but supportive. They’re going out of their way to make this shitstorm of insanity just a little less messy. After all of this, after the monumental blow to my trust of human beings, I know I can trust them. And that is something to smile about.

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“About Time You Picked Up Your Phone, Asshole!”

I slept around ten hours. A long time for me. Its the meds. Small price to pay for losing your life long fear of everything.

When I awoke, LP was calling. I ignored it.

On the way to NE’s job to drop her off, I texted “sup” to LP when sitting at a stop light. She immediately called. I ignored it since NE was already chatting up a storm to one of her friends.

After dropping off NE, I called LP.

“About time you picked up your phone, asshole!”

Success!

She had called the first time because she was lost in the city. I don’t know how you can be lost in this city. It’s like driving on grid paper. No crazy shit like Toronto or LA.

We talked for a minute or two, then she had to get off the phone due to a pestering passenger. She requested I call her.

I will.

Eventually.

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