Three’s a crowd


Somehow I always end up in strange situations or better yet I end up with past loves assembled around me. So this trip was no different. It was a big football game and a number of friends were making the trip. One such friend, Trent, had rented out party spaces and bars each day surrounding the game. Most were charged entry and a few of us made the guest list. My friends have no respect for the liver. They seem hell bent on destroying theirs and mine. But we do have fun!

I had asked my favorite partner in crime, Linda, to accompany me. She is one hot mess…and I love her! Linda and I have known each other for some years. I met her when she was bartender in college before she moved away for med school and now she is a doctor (Intelligence is still my biggest turn on). She is short with light brown hair and huge chocolate eyes. Her smile….well of course it’s great (my favorite physical trait). Before she moved, we used to have long discussions which were made difficult by the massive amount of sexual tension in the air. We were into each other, but we were also both in serious relationships. Linda is a firecracker! (it seems to me that most short women are) I had heard tails of how crazy she was, but crazy is as crazy does. The tension almost exploded at one of my parties one night. At some point during the night I had noticed pot smoke billowing out from my guest room. (No smoking in the house…Ever!) I had a good idea my girlfriend at the time was behind the violation and when I opened the door I find her, in her tiny bikini with six other guys toking up. She gave me a look and blew it off, like no big deal. I said nothing. Nodding my head, as to say ok…two can play at this game, I shut the door and retreated to the hot tub where Linda and another bartender were sharing a bottle of champagne. When my girl came out, both of them were in my lap. “Shit!” I thought. That really doesn’t work well in reverse. Keep in mind, my girl is a six foot tall Russian with a temper. I am not certain the three of us could have taken her. So in my wonderful drunken wisdom I say “Jump on in!” Surprisingly, she did not. Luckily she left the porch without incident, although that set the tone for her and Linda’s contempt toward one another. For a couple of weeks after, Linda and I kept clear of each other. The rumors flowed, of course.
When Linda resurfaced a few years back we started a fling. I suppose neither of us like leaving unfinished business. Our relationship was and still is casual. After she left, she married the boyfriend that was also at the aforementioned party. Divorced soon after, she has no inclination to ever be married again. This free spirit is not the marrying type. She prefers women these days and I am the booty call when she needs some testosterone in her life. I don’t think it is as much a matter of my sexual prowess as it is my ability to not kiss and tell. She also realizes I am not going to beg her to marry me like every other man she has dated. We get along great, always seeming to have the same frame of mind. The sex is incredible. This may have something to do with the fact she sticks to the ladies, keeping her Hoo-Haa tighter than a vise. The only issue is that she has a real tiny voice. During sex she screams and talks dirty, but I have to cut her off because she sounds like a little girl. I become caught in between feeling dirty and laughing my ass off. This is also what makes her so disarming to people. If they take her for a push over, they soon find out how wrong they are when they cross her.
Once or twice a year we will get together and take a trip. She was all in for the game. I had a nice hotel and box seats at the stadium. At the game, her lioness reared its ugly head when she almost decked an obnoxious fan. Fortunately the gentle, fatherly man in the across the aisle beat her to it. After the game we headed over to the private party. I found my friends dispensing two tables stacked with cases of Fireball and Jager on them and pushing the legs to their breaking point. This was going to get ugly. At some point I see my little personal trainer, Susan, walk in. She had told me that she was not coming and I did not feel the need to share my guest list with her prior. Even though we had agreed to see other people, she still wanted me to herself and attached herself to my hip as much as I tried to lose her. With her and Linda on either side of me, I suddenly feel the kiss of warm soft lips upon my cheek and the familiar smell of a perfume from another time. It was Brandy, another old flame handing me a fireball. She grabbed me from behind in a tight, I missed you, hug. Brandy and I had a short fling once. I actually tried to date her, but we never seemed to connect. My circle of friends had started to gather and become entertained by the building humor of the situation. At some point I lose track of the shots that seem to be nonstop (no thanks to my buddy who takes great pleasure in dispensing them to the ladies) and say “it’s time to go”. Linda agrees and we head back to the hotel for some much needed trick fucking. Relaxed afterwards, I order room service for dinner and we cuddle up in bed. “Why don’t we just stay in tonight?” I say. “You read my mind. We are always on the same plane it seems.” she says. We have had a great day and avoided any drama. I saw no reason to push our luck.
About nine that night, she gets a text from a mutual friend that she has not seen in a few years. It’s his birthday and they want us to come out. We had seen him and his girlfriend earlier but had little time to talk, so we felt obliged to join the celebration. Once at the bar we found the usual suspects. Shots still flowing, we have had a break at least; these people were on level 28! Of course, Susan has shown up. My buddy, Trent, tells me that my girlfriend’s a little drunk. Trent is a great guy and a smartass. He owns a bar in town and we hang out often to stare at the beautiful women. Word is something happened between him and Susan a few months back but both deny it was anything close to conception. I have never claimed her as mine, so I see no foul. At this point I am really hoping he will try and rekindle that romance to take her off my hands, as I try to urge her to quit drinking. I’m handing her water and he’s right behind me with shots. So I turn my attention to him, fully explaining that he is going to be responsible for her care later. The next thing I know she is up in front of the stage dancing with Linda. Ok. At least maybe it will burn some of the alcohol off. Trent is asking me all kinds of questions about Linda. He apparently has a thing for her, as most men do. I tell him good luck with that. Have you ever been to a party where you are the only sane one around? I was that guy. My efforts to round up the crew and head out only succeeded when the bar closed. Linda comes to me with a big hug and sexy kiss, “I like her. Can we take her back with us?” she says. Now guys, I know what you’re thinking, but NO! Hell no! Linda wanted to play, but I could definitely see how that would turn out. “Well we can’t leave her. She has no ride.” she pleads. Cabs are sparse at this hour, so we walk with the rest of the crew back over to Trent’s hotel to catch one (and hopefully leave Susan in Trent’s capable hands). Trent had rented out a half floor of rooms in one of the most prestigious hotels in town. It was the perfect place to incite mayhem. Huge Romanesque columns marked our path down preteen marble floors. The place had an ice skating rink on the second floor and upon hearing that Linda took off on a mission. Upon arrival, we found the doors semi-barred from the inside. This did not stop Linda, who’s tiny frame easily slid through the passage to seal our charge of B&E. Thankfully, even drunk, a couple of falls onto rock hard ice take the fun out of sliding around at 4a.m., so I herded the bastards back upstairs where they pushed the party on. It’s loud. Its wild; and surprisingly no one has called the police. I guess that is what $800 a night buys you. Trent decides to order up room service. He then orders a bottle of wine that I know is expensive even when you can find it at a specialty shop, much less in this palace. I try to urge him to reconsider, knowing that he and I are the only ones who know what is and the only ones who will appreciate it. The rest of these drunks just want to keep their buzz going. The food arrives and is torn apart in no time. Savages. I sit back and enjoy a fine glass of wine. I have given into whatever this night wants. The girls are full and passing out on the bed. I am happy, but really want to get back to my own bed. Trent asks me to drink the last glass of wine that Susan took one sip of. Of course, I am not going to let such a fine vintage go to waste. Just when I thought this debacle was ending with no injuries or arrest, it happened. I saw it coming even before it happened and I saw it in slow motion. As Trent goes to hand me the wine off the table, he knocks it off onto the carpet. The white, custom made, ornate carpet. “Uhh…that’s gonna be expensive” he says. I shake my head in agreement, “yep”. That glass of wine cost him thousands. I think all he got out of it was a hangover. Time to go. I fumble around and try to wake Linda and Susan, who are cuddled up on the couch together. I start to worry if they have been kissing, but realize that they are too far gone to see it through and so is everyone else. They stir and try to locate their accessories. As I make my way to the elevator, I have lost Linda. Trent catches me and tells me that she wants to stay there. He ask if it is ok with me. “Cool with me” I say. I was a little surprised, but didn’t care much at this point. It was time to un-ass myself from this mock orgy.
I end up with Susan back at my hotel. She starts to get upset about the whole thing and want to talk. It is now 5 a.m. How the hell is she still awake after all the booze? Hell…how is she still alive? All I want is sleep. So I did the only thing I knew to quiet her. Thirty minutes later, sweet, deep, blissful sleep!
The morning came and her friend swung by to pick her up for the ride home. She was contrastingly different from the sprite young lady of last night. I got her in the car and grabbed a coffee in the lobby as the women of the front desk did their best to solve the mystery of the new woman in my life. Some of the other guest Linda and I had spoken with the day before were equally confused. I smiled and greeted them with a hearty good morning, still rockin my RayBans and black tee from last night. Up to my room for more quiet time.
Somewhere around lunch, Linda shows back up to our hotel. We shower and head out for some much needed Bloody Mary’s and brunch. The Sun’s rays casting symmetrically between buildings as we walk through the calm streets. It’s Sunday in the city. Hardly any traffic, the few fans making their way to their favorite hangover cure. The smell of bacon and coffee mix in with fresh laid asphalt. It’s my favorite time in any city. It’s pure. Finishing our first drinks, Linda and I pick up the conversation that our kindred spirits felt no need to prior. This is why we work. We are in tune with each other. There is no jealousy and no judgment. I pause to notice how good she looks with no makeup as she starts to speak. “So…did you and Susan used to date?” she ask. “Yep” I reply as we both enjoy the anonymity of the place from behind our sunglasses. In a strange town, you don’t care who hears your conversation. “I figured that is why you didn’t want to take her back with us last night. She was hot, but that was probably a good thing. “ she says. I nod my head in agreement and we both return to making fun of the beast the bars have churned out from last night. Hypocrites we are. “So did you have to fuck her to shut her up?” she asks. Now any other women would have given me pause before I answered, but I never felt that way with Linda, so without hesitation I said “Yep”. Linda went right along taking a sip of her drink, grabbing another bite of her steak then placing her silverware back in the exact same spot. She is always so neat with everything. We started putting the pieces of the puzzle from the night together, laughing a little too loud at times. When we finished talking about Trent’s epic fail and carpet purchase, she offered up “I didn’t sleep with him you know?” I didn’t, but I was not going to ask. She reads me well and if there is something I want to know, she will always tell me without my having to ask. She went on to say that she wasn’t into him, much less many men in general. At first I started to feel a little guilty about sleeping with Susan, but that feeling was soon washed away. Her mood set me at ease. She wants to sleep with whoever she wants and she wants me to do the same. With everything else in common, we also share the same intimacy issues. So while the ladies are her drug of choice, I often contemplate the significance of my being her go to guy.
That was not exactly the ending I had imagined, but I write these stories on the fly from memory. When we write things down, sometimes the clarity of certain situations comes out.
Did I mention the game was great?


Vitamin H

I seem to hear people always say they are looking for happiness. They seem to battle a constant struggle in their quest for this elusive nirvana. They read books, look to higher powers and wait for that perfect person to come along and make them happy. I would give them the formula, but they don’t understand the math. Some are just plain stubborn and can only learn from constant failure. Some never learn. Happiness is not something you look for like hidden treasure. Happiness is not putting your hopes in hitting the lottery by buying as many tickets as you can. Happiness is something you have to work for; and (like anything else worth working for) the harder you work for it, the greater the reward you get back.

Religion, Sex and Suicide

A pretty face catches your eye and you contemplate whether or not you’ve met before. The years I have spent in this bar seem to mix them all together. While faces come and go, I am familiar with most of the old ones. I have seen the place through many changes. I have been friends with the past 3 owners. I took the previous owner home the night before cancer claimed his life. When the old building was demolished, they gave me one of the bars they tore out of it as a keepsake. It is my second home. I am familiar with every notch and marking. I can catch its unique scent of beer and smoke airing about between the pretty hair. These days I don’t saddle up as often. This pinnacle lies in the heart of campus and I find myself in smaller, more relaxed venues these days. The ones lined with graduate students and the intellectual crowd. But occasionally I come back to reminisce.
It had been some time since I had seen her , so I hesitated. She looked much older now. There was a seriousness about her that seemed out of place from her short black dress and designer cowboy boots. I searched her face for clues (not wanting to believe the obvious). Had the makeup changed or maybe her hair? Funny how we deny the things we don’t want to face. Right then I wanted to deny it was really her. It was too soon. Finally, deciding to make my presence known, I called her name as I excused myself from the old circle of friends with a solid purposeful walk.
She was a sorority girl from a small town. Her looks always drew attention from anyone in the room. Her long flowing blonde hair seemingly always lying perfectly, setting off her blue eyes. Although she didn’t need it, her makeup was always perfectly done. Many often take people from small towns as simpletons, especially the women. Add in a Southern drawl and the perceived IQ drops somewhere in the neighborhood of Slingblade. Even I am guilty of this pre-judgment and I was born and raised in the South. This can be a huge miscalculation, especially if you throw in a nice set of breast. The smart Southern girls learn this early and use that to disarm even the slyest of men. I have always been amused with the guys from the North coming to school here and getting their hearts broken time and time again. She was a Southern Belle (and those are the ones you have to watch out for). A devout Baptist, she was in church most Sundays and would frequently post Bible verses on her Facebook page. She was by all accounts a good girl. Yet, she was a heart breaker (Now retired perhaps). I know the type. I know most of them are trying hard to keep their alternate lives secret. I knew better when I first met her, but that couldn’t hold back the flood of pheromones between us. She knew she didn’t have to worry with me. I don’t judge and I don’t talk.
It was the day we met, when our story began and ended. She and her friend were laying out a chorus of sexual innuendos while I was waxing poetic. Seizing opportunity, I grabbed them by the hand and led them to the bedroom. Not really expecting anything, I strained to hold down my surprise when I turned to find them making out and removing each other’s clothes. I’m sure there was a brief pause on my part, but at this point you either jump in or leave cause in about 30 seconds you are going to become very creepy to them standing there staring. Many guys never get such and opportunity and at my age this could very well be the last. So I gave it all I had. This was not their first time doing this and we all had a great time.
A week later I got the call. She was late and upset. I eased her mind, assuring her that everything would be ok. While I wasn’t sure what choice she would make, I am not the kind of man to run out on responsibility. I spent my childhood without a father around and I wouldn’t deny my child of one. At the same time I knew she had a number of men in her growing harem. It could have been any one of them. There was no need in worrying now. A day later she went to the doctor to discover she was still pure. Her religious post and church attendance picked up for some time afterwards. She also found a steady boyfriend. The truth is I am not really sure if they had been together when we met. If that was the case, it hadn’t been serious for long. He was crazy about her. I knew him from a mutual friend. He was a muscular mountain of a man and he was also a nice guy. He was a guy you could hang out and drink beer with. We bumped into each other on occasion and enjoyed some good conversation. In my mind I always wondered if he really knew what he was getting into with her. She was like most of us; she wanted to have her cake and eat it to. Monogamy is hard for anyone who gets that much attention. Even though I had my doubts, from every angle it seemed that she was just as into him. I stayed clear of them, out of respect and also because I never wanted him to find out about my indiscretion with his love. Even a nice guy is capable of major damage when his heart is broken.
I was relieved when she smiled and embraced me with a big hug. “It’s good to see you” I said with the upmost sincerity. She pulled me over to introduce me to her mother and sister. It had only been a week since the funeral. The tragic turn of events still seemed surreal.
He had been very sick. A month stint in the hospital brought him back from the brink. He was in good spirits now; His body getting back to normal; His brain not quite there yet. Sometimes the cure is worse than the cause. What the infection didn’t do to weaken his brain, the powerful medicines did. Throw in some alcohol and you have created the perfect storm. He had been diligent about his recovery and kept clear of the drinking, but it was his birthday celebration and the big 3-0 at that. At some point during the night he crossed that line that most of us have crossed; the line that separates going home and sleeping it off from very bad decisions. Most of us are lucky enough to merely pay with a hangover and a cell phone full of regrettable text. In his weakened state, the argument with her was too much. She would come home later to find him with a bullet in his head.
Her mother told me how good she was doing. She was seeing a therapist, but would never go back to the apartment. I doubt I would either. I looked at her now and saw a different person. The glow she used to seemed to have about her had dimmed. I don’t know what the argument was about. Probably the same stupid stuff all couples argue about. These arguments are generally benign and are followed by reconciliation the next day. I don’t know if she had been seeing someone else. I do know she was not ready to settle down. She was too young and too playful. She is way too young to be dealing with this.
There’s a feeling you get when you know someone better than others. It’s like being the only one in on the trick at a magic show. Watching her paw with men, I would always shake my head, knowing another heart was going to break. She had let me be one of the few to know her wild side. Now I wonder if that side has died or is it just suppressed for the time being? When time heals the wound will she find old habits waiting for her? That day I saw her I wondered if seeing me brought up some kind of guilt and shame? There is undoubtedly some self-guilt for her, but it’s wrongfully placed. Under normal circumstances he would have never gone over the edge. I hope is that she is able to get past it and find some sort of happiness somewhere in the future. I hope that she doesn’t become the person she believes others think she is.

Keeping On

IMG959775 - CopyFirst: Apologies for my lack of blogging in several months. It has been a while. It seems when I am most content in life, my writing takes a back seat. For me, it is a therapeutic release. It is thinking aloud. Perhaps my adventures have been dwindling. I have broken up with my personal trainer numerous times over the past months. There have been frank discussions of why our relationship will not progress. I have no intention of marrying a 22 y/o. She is a doll and crazy about me. I have tried to be a man and refuse her advances, but when she shows up at my house in nothing more than a coat in the middle of the night, it’s kind of hard to say no. She says she understands. She says she only wants sex. She says she is not attached. I know better. Since our circle of friends run together, she will usually show up at the bars around closing, knowing I need a ride home. If there is any other female that has lent me her ear, she makes sure to wedge herself in-between us. The random sexy phone pic does little to prop up my resolve either. I am only human!
I have been trying to date women my age, yet it seems there is something amiss with this plan. Do they sense that I am a rake? Do they not know how to handle a man that is not intimidated by their beauty? Perhaps it is my lack of pursuit that turns them off. Or it could just be my inability to remain silent?
In one recent case, I was having drinks with my sister and her boyfriend when she spotted some work colleagues that wanted to meet me. One was married; the other was tall, blonde and single. They had been to a wedding earlier and stopped in for a drink. Tall blonde and I hit it off immediately, diving into great dialogue. The first sign of trouble was when the husband of the friend and tall blonde’s date came over to the table (they failed to mention they were with them). They boys were ready to leave. The ladies were not. They instructed them to go on and they would be home later. The two invited me to join them in seeking out a different scene. I suggested a great club downtown and we saddled up. In the parking lot where I made out with tall blonde for a short period. “Where have you been hiding?” she asked. This could turn into something, I thought. In our conversation, tall blonde informs me that she cleans house for her company and was in town to shape up the local office. She informed me that she really liked my sisters friend, who was driving us, and she really hated that she was going to have to fire her. What a cunt! Well I was with Jack Daniels that night and Jack does not like that kind of shit. At some point he is going to handle all of the talking. We pile into the car and proceed downtown, following my directions which lead us to the strip club. The ladies are not amused and are too fragile for such depravity and fun. The friend makes a smart comment and I reply with something along the lines of “You better be looking for another job and she is not your friend.” I give up and re-direct them to the original agreed upon club. As luck would have it, we are quickly halted by a slow moving train. Making things worse I have to pee like a racehorse and jump out of the car perching beside a building to relieve myself. I turn around to see the car making a U-turn and racing away. Now I am in the middle of crack alley in the middle of the night and have left my phone in the backseat. Pissed at first, but decide to make the best of a bad situation and manage to find myself back at the strip club. I should have gone on in, but a taxi pulls up and I grab it. The cabby takes me to our original destination, where I prop up to the bar for something cold. As the girl next to me starts making small talk, tall blonde and her, soon to be jobless companion walk in. “What took you so long?” I ask as their eye gape in amazement. They grab a drink and proceed to sit with some poor homely looking guys. I ask tall blonde if I can retrieve my phone out of her car. She tells me it’s not there and will not let me check. Well I needed a new one anyways and I figure she has probably chunked it out the window at some point (So much for dating women my own age). Back to Plan A!

Pondering Ponderosa

Looking through a sea of large crowds, I notice the underlying resonance; the human pulse that seems to grow weaker with each generation. Varied as the spectrum of light; most walking around like some B zombie movie. All absorbed in whatever crisis they deem a priority at the moment. Poor Bastards! They will never get it. As long as they have the latest gadget in their hand and the largest idiot box in their living rooms to occupy their minds, they fret little over the man behind the curtain. Sheep! For them life is but a dream. The end of which terrifies them so much they make up gods to calm their nerves. They have very little purpose or direction. As many poets and songwriters note, they start dying as soon as they are born. The rest of us cannot relate to this apathetic dystopia. For us the moment you start dying is the moment you quit asking yourself “What Next?”

We I.D.

I have always been a music lover. While I prefer the smaller and cozy venues, large festivals can offer chances to see several acts in one place and allow some exposure to new music. There is an annual festival a short distance from me. It seems each year they become bigger and more expensive. I am able to afford the tickets and VIP sections with no problem, but it makes me feel for the younger generations who have to save months just to scrap up enough to attend. Bands can get wrapped up in the money whirlwind and lose sight of who they are really there for. None the less, I rarely turn down a chance for a party.
I set off on my first day aiming for the closest stop for the shuttle (yes it cost a ridiculous amount extra). I bring enough beverages to get me to the gate. As I wait for the bus, I notice a group of eccentrics approaching. They have already begun their decent into oblivion. Guys in cut off shorts. Women in cheap bikinis. They are carrying the heads of their idols on long poles. Perhaps some form of pagan ritual, but a great way to find your friends in a crowd. As the leader approaches me, I say “Great Captain Crunch Head, but I’m a Count Chocula man myself!” The group looks at me with huge grins and simultaneously shouts out my name as my friend Scott gives me a hug. Underneath the sunglasses and various disguises’ I had failed to recognize my old friends. This is a typical occurrence with me. I can be half way around the world and it seems I will always run into someone I know. We down several celebratory shots on the ride and then make our way through the herd at the entrance. I then head toward a bar/restaurant to hook up with some other friends that have traveled down. The bar is an old staple. Painted the original obnoxious florescent color, it has outlasted many storms and drunks. As we grab a nice table outside, I commence my favorite sport of people watching. The crowd contains humans of varied tribes; old, young, tall, short, fat skinny, democrat, republican. None of who seem to drink on a regular basis but seem to feel the need to go crazy at this occasion even ingesting drugs that the never would otherwise. Terrible. One middle aged lawyer even offers me a hit of acid. No thanks man! He has never seen me in the mere grips of Jack Daniels. On acid I am a force to be reckoned with.
The bar is packed. So when a couple of coeds ask to sit with me, I can only oblige. These girls are sober compared to our group and seem like good down to earth Baptist. There was much small talk about their lives as we slung down shots and bottles of beer. A redhead and a blonde in cut-off blue jean shorts and tiny triangle tops. Political science majors, I think. During the conversation I glance over at the blondes drivers license and count the years in my head; 27. I am safe. As lunch ends my friends get up to move toward a stage and a band they want to hear. The blonde has snuggled up next to me and begs me to stay with her. Her hair sticks to my neck as she leans against me. A fruity smell mixed with coconut suntan oil catches forever embeds itself in my memory – Summer. She has this perfectly chiseled face with an incredible smile. I’m a sucker for a smile. I know I should run, but I end up outside of the festival arm in arm with my new love. Never one to ask where we are going, we end up back at her hotel room and make the most of the afternoon – Some of it fuzzy. Speaking of fuzz, I do remember the way her six-pack abs looked as she unbuttoned her shorts. The little peach fuzz turned almost white from the sun on her navel barely noticeable against the tan background. I could have stayed there all afternoon, all weekend, but there were shenanigans to be had. At first I thought I would never leave her. I kissed her lips and called out her name, “Amanda”. It seems to roll of the tongue. This only puzzled and frustrated her. “Why do you keep calling me Amanda?” she said. Smiling, I replied “Oh I know all about you. I read your ID when you laid it on the table. Your name is Amanda …you are 27 years old…and you are from…” I thought I would impress her with how observant I was. I would say Dick Tracy, but that would be too cliché. As her face went to blush, mine went ashen, “Dude. That’s my fake ID” she laughed. The door slammed behind me with the same wind that fueled my feet. “SHIT!”
I huffed it back on over to the festival, snagging a beer from Jesus on my way. The sun was setting. The big acts were about to come on. The lines at the gates were huge! In distress and not wanting to finish my beer just yet, I noticed the side of the gates had various service people coming and going. Now I have crashed many events in my life. The trick is to act like you belong there. Your face will give you away every time. Attitude is everything in life! So, I pop my ass right through the side and past security. Amazingly, no one stopped me. I grabbed another drink and took a seat on a wall near the entrance. Back to observing the natives and contemplating prison sentences. It wasn’t long until I hear my name being called again. A couple of female bartenders from back home had just come through the gates with some friends. Hugs and kisses all around. “What are you doing? Who are you here with?” one asked. Nothing and no one-Just chilling. Always truck it alone. “You are coming with us!” she said. bartenders. Ok! “Have you ever met Molly?” she asked. Scanning the group, I recognized everyone. As I looked back at her she just says “open your mouth” and her two fingers coat my tongue with a bitter powder. “What in the hell was that!? Jesus! I thought it was going to be some candy!” as I down some Jack to kill my taste buds. She smiles and just says “Molly”. Later on I would come to know Molly well, but right now I was being led by the hand by several scantily clad women through a crowd of thousands and no clue as to what fate lie at the end. Snaking our way for about 30 minutes, we somehow ended up in the front row. As the sunset, millions of radioactive plastics lit up the area in what I imagine a large swarm of fireflies with little direction would look like. At least there was rhythm. The next moment, tops are coming off and I am making out with girls my mother warned me about. But the music…did I mention I love music?

Fifty Shades of Fun


Thank You Erika (E.L.James) for wetting the wombs of women everywhere no matter if they take their wine in a box or bottle! You have single handedly skewed the poles of the neo-female moral compass and made the successful single man irresistibly sexy. Men take heed and read this mommy porn threesome. It will take your sex life to the next level. I cannot recall any novel bringing out so many forbidden female desires. James has found the G-Spot where many men have never knew there was one. I would call it the secondary G-Spot, but it is really the primary. That emotional cortex that everyman should first aim his desires at. Capture a woman’s mind and her libido will follow.

I can attest to Fifty Shades causing every young girl I know to seek out an older man for a sexual relationship. I was curious to see what all the hype was. It wasn’t until I tuned into the excitement surrounding the series, that I understood the sudden surge in my sex life. I downloaded a copy to see for myself. While I do not have a private helicopter to fly me to my house (I do use my company’s for work), I can see some small aspects of my life reflected in Mr. Grey’s; I never work when I am at home, women don’t really know what I do, nice boats, nice cars, nice house and I am gone constantly to exotic places. Upon further cross examination, I was surprised that so many women have such a fetish to be dominated. I have always been a real man (many ex’s noted this as what made them interested in the first place), but I never felt the need tie someone up on a regular basis. Don’t get me wrong, I like mixing it up, but I prefer my partners hands to be free. I like the touch. So when Shelly told me how much the pulp prose turned her on, I decided to surprise her. The day before I left for work, I took her upstairs to my spare bedroom, because I have a four post bed that offers many tie down points. I grabbed four neck ties and prepped the room. It was fun! She really got off on it. I would recommend putting something under the woman’s hips before you secure her limbs. Flat is a bad angle.  Her only mistake was telling her friends about the whole affair. Now they all are just a little more curious about me.

It’s a fantasy guys. You need to find out what your woman’s is and fulfill it. Be advised that it may not be of a sexual nature. Once you have broken the ice with a woman, the trick is to find out what she doesn’t have and fill that need. It’s not as easy as it sounds. The sexual fantasies are much easier. Keep them exciting as you can. Involve a little danger. Don’t try to overdo it and you don’t have to do it every time. That would just be an exercise in the mundane.

Again I have blogged something totally different then what I had intended. Talk about a 30 second attention span. I just believe in one story at a time and keeping it as short as you can. Next time I will get around to the adventure “Fest!”

Quit Rescuing Idiots

If purging the earth of undesirables by flood was good enough for God, then why must we intervene time and time again. I am speaking of the people of South Louisiana (and others who rebuild over and over again in the shadow of a flood basin) who chose to stay in their homes after a mandatory evacuation was ordered. You would think these people would have learned from Katrina.

I have no problem with anyone who chooses to stay in their homes during a pre-seen disaster, just don’t start calling 911 when you get into deep shit. Putting your own life in danger is one thing. Now you have put the lives of first responders in danger and sapped up resources that are needed elsewhere. All this because you couldn’t fathom the concept that you live in a marsh next to the ocean that is 5 feet below sea level. The government knows you are not capable of making an intelligent decision, that is why they order evacuations. At the very least these people should be fined or made to pay the cost of their rescue. Those with children should be charged with child endangerment. The recurring statement made by those rescued is ” I didn’t think it was going to get that bad.” Well…your an idiot. You live on a landmass that should be normally underwater. This was not a random thunderstorm moving through. Everyone else heads to high ground at the first sign of a tropical storm.

There are disasters that are unforeseen and people just cannot get out of the way in time. I am not advocating leaving these people to save themselves. But by continually going to the aid of people who will not heed warnings time and time again, we remove the teeth from any evacuation orders. Mandatory or not, these people know someone will come rescue them if they need it no matter how stupid they are.

Pearls of Wisdom to Your Sons: Do as I say, not as I do!

“She’s a MILF!” my buddy’s son remarked as he and his friend struggled to hold in the shit eating grins they had on their faces. I must admit, I had to agree. Ah!, to be a teenager again. Their friend’s mom had made her way to our table to introduce herself to me. “She’s a nurse” one said, offering to hook me up with her. While only rookies, these boys were well into the game. Good kids. They are smart, polite and stay out of trouble. I enjoy taking them out to eat when I visit. I had already moved up to hero status with my friend’s son after his visit for a football game, during which I had changed dates four times throughout the day. Not on purpose. Each one had other commitments, so I would end up meeting one for a few hours and then the next. He shared this story (probably with great exaggeration) to his friends, who now all seem to want to hang out with me when I am in town. It’s a good feeling to be looked up to. “No Nurses!” I said. Their faces suddenly turned upward in a fit of puzzlement. It was then I bestowed them one of my rules of relationships.
“No Nurses, Strippers, Bartenders or Teachers. They are ok to date, but you don’t want to end up in a serious relationship with them.” Forgive the stereotyping, but I have dated enough to form an opinion. I explained to the boys that you have to have a particular mindset to be a nurse. They deal with blood, guts, death, vomit and shit all day. Their gross-out level is much higher than the average persons. This causes their inhibitions to really lower and they are not shy. To hear a bunch of nurse’s conversations is an experience. They are worse than men. Also, many of them become nurses in order to meet a rich doctor, which I really can’t fault. My mom always said you can fall in love with a rich person just as easily as you can a poor one.
Strippers…well, God Bless them!, strippers are strippers. The daddy issues and low self esteem are the reason they became strippers in the first place. Add the fact that the men that they come in contact with have one thing on their minds and it skews their reality of men and relationships. Let us not forget their primary goal is tricking men out of their money. They are highly trained to do this. Do you think they turned this Pavlotic response off when you start dating them?
Bartenders are almost in the same boat. They see the worst of men coming in drunk and trying pathetically to pick up women. They work late hours, so the men they end up dating must travel in the same circles. What successful man comes in at 4 in the morning every day? Thus they end up with some schmuck who gives them a worse impression of men. They also receive propositions every night from different men. At some point one guy is going to be more than she can resist.
People seemed confused at all of the female teachers having affairs with their young students. Wake up! These women deal with little kids all day because that is their emotional level. That is the reason they have become teachers. I’m not talking about college professors. I’m talking about the red hot primary education teacher. They do not do very well in adult settings. They have a fairy tale vision of love and relationships. I find these women very nurturing. They also seem to be some of the biggest freaks in bed. Perhaps it has something to do with living a sheltered life, much like the ministers daughter (Yes. They are really kinky too!). But even though you may be her prince charming, when the newness wears off and some other prince convinces her naïve self that he is really the one and you will end up sitting in the corner with the dunces cap on.
The boys seemed to accept my logic. I, on the other hand, have not taken it to heart. My biggest problem is bartenders. I seem to keep ending up with them even though I tell myself no more. In my defense, the two I am seeing now were not bartenders when I first started seeing them. They are also graduate students, so it’s not like it will be their career. Both are good girls, but I know how the story ends.

Can one have too many friends? Yes and No.

In this day of social media sociopaths, where merely clicking a wireless interface , sending a warm welcoming of one’s and zero’s to your virtual online self allows you to add as many friends as you like; people that may not even like you. Some may want to keep you close, as you should enemies. There are others that hardly know you, yet it seems almost rude not to accept a request. I recently received a request from a former girlfriend. Crazy, as were most. She was my wild fling I had right after my divorce. A Sid Vicious prodigy, complete with enough tattoos and piercings to arouse my curiosity. She was young, wild and the only thing she knew how to do was party. As it turns out, she found out something else she was good at, having kids. She pushed out three of them au-natural. It seems she believes that having a child in the tub without drugs is the only way to go. I’m ok with that. What didn’t change was her other ways. She changed her name to something I can barely pronounce. She still seems to attend most local punk concerts. I am not sure much growth has occurred in the cerebral cortex.  Friend Request Denied. But what about the people we are closer to?

I have many friends and many more acquaintances. I would say I have a few close friends that I could really count on in a pinch.  The problem with having so many friends is spending quality time with them or making close connections.  Let’s face it, if you are getting even 25 texts or calls each day there is no way you can answer them all. I went to several birthdays this week. It was an exercise in ninja logistics. I usually have to turn my phone off during the day in order to get anything done. That tends to put people off. The digital age has made everyone expect us to be constantly connected. So much that when you do not answer your phone, they automatically assume you are ignoring them.  I have sat with friends and my phone ringing with them chomping at the bit, “Aren’t you going to answer it!?” No. Some just cannot understand this concept. A phone rings, beeps, plays a Nelly tone and it MUST be seen to! When asked about my lack of concern, I merely state I do not want to talk to anyone. This just sends waves of confusion through people.  Perhaps the key is having many acquaintances while keeping your close friends close. I’m not sure of the terminal number, but I am whittling it down.

One upside to a large group of friends is always knowing someone when you need them. They come in handy for advice, getting a table at a busy restaurant, getting VIP at an event, etc.  You can also reciprocate favors when needed. I personally enjoy being able to help someone out. One of my favorite aspects of these relationships is always knowing someone when I am out. My mother and I moved constantly from city to city when I was a kid. I hated it. I hated having to make new friends. Maybe what I hated more was having to leave friends. I wanted to grow up in a town with the same friends.  So it seems I have been able to create my own circumstances here.

This new cyber-socialism has yet another benefit; Meeting women. Thank you Zuckerberg for getting everyone laid. In the past you may have remembered a girl’s name, but running into them again was a whole new problem. Texting has also taken much of the anxiety out of contacting people. I met a girl on the 4th this year, Cameron. She climbed up on my boat and began a conversation about wakeboarding. I promised to take her one day. She was tall with a face of a super model(Almost too perfect). It was so disarming. She was an artist looking to change the world. While the conversation was cloudy, I remembered her name. She was curious of how I was going to contact her. I told her I would get in touch. I have several friends in the art community here and knew it would not be hard. So the next day I friended her.  I found out she worked at the same place as several of my friends.  Last week I saw that she was going to an art exhibit my friend was throwing and I ran into her there. She looked even better. I was forced to really control myself. I could see how men could easily fall in love with her. The problem is that I ran into many women I knew there, even one mother that has a crush on me, who introduced me to her daughter;  a daughter that I had been with. (Awkward) There were a many other women there that  I knew and some I wanted to know. Cameron and I hit it off. She told me I looked like one of her professors and emphasized he was a very good looking man. That was all I needed to invite her to a charity function that weekend. Ironically, I was attending the event to meet older women. I knew I didn’t want to bring Shelly. I figured a casual date was workable.

At the event, Cameron lit up the room. I immediately ran into an acquaintance that complemented her as did everyone else throughout the night. My plan was starting to fall apart. She was intelligent, insightful, and graceful. We carried on conversation all night. I kept my eyes on her, enjoying the company. Apparently I enjoyed it too much. We left the party and swung by another bar for one more drink. That was one too much. She ended up having to drive us home. At this point the devil was starting to flow through my veins (Got to maintain man!). She had put the top down and was speeding down the interstate well over 100, her mini dress blowing up in the wind. I began kissing her and rubbing her legs. She was all about it. When we arrived back at her place, her roommate met us and made sure nothing happened. I was way too drunk at the time and ended up passing out on her couch. Fail! The next morning we were both feeling like ass. I am not sure what came out of my mouth before I crashed. There is no telling. It must have been crude or maybe it was the fact she found out how old I was. She thought I was 30 something. Whatever the reason, I have not heard from her since. Oh Well. When I crash, I crash big. It was a great ego boost if nothing else. While we were out, a couple of Shelly’s friends saw my car. I am not sure what all they saw. Crash #2.  Another downside of knowing too many people.