I'm pretty sure there are about 2 people reading this blog, you and me. Though I find your voyeuristic nature creepy and I also think you very odd for having an interest in me, I feel obligated to post periodic update. Today is the end of a period…you’re welcome.
I’ve reflected a bit lately about myself. I feel it's important that I know myself and am comfortable with who I am in order to be the best father, friend, eventual husband, lover, and lame a$$ that I can be. In all my reflection, and through some recent experiences, I've discovered some things about me. You’re lucky enough to have me share them with you. Feel special.
Reflection #1
I have the potential to be an incredible father! While my son lives 1500 miles away, I love him like no one else on earth! I would do anything for him. The one thing I want to do more than anything is to be the best dad I can be for him. This love translates into a general love of children and of mothers. As I once so oddly put it to a woman I’m dating, "I'm attracted to mothers." Some may say, "take your fetish to another website!" But they don't understand what I mean.
You see, when I see a mother of a child who plays and laughs and enjoys the childhood of the child; a mother who appreciates that her children will not be young forever and so they should "live it up", it's a turn on. It's a turn on, not because I'm some psychopath that fanaticizes about this or that, but because that's the kind of father I want to be. It's also the kind of person I want to have mother any children I may have, hence the attraction.
Reflection #2
I want a woman to share my life with. I want a woman who appreciates me as much as I appreciate her; a woman who will tell her friends in giddy giggles how sweet it was that I did this or that; a woman who, when I look into her eyes and tell her that I can’t believe she is in love with me, is shocked and says that SHE can’t believe I’m in love with HER; a woman who will let me serve her with foot rubs, back rubs, a night on the town etc; finally, a woman who, even though I screw up a thousand different ways, sees how hard I am trying to be the man she deserves.
Well, that’s really all the reflections I have so I hope you got your voyeuristic fix for the day…you sick, sick person!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ladies, back off!
So I’ve had a lot to think about lately with regards to me and women. In only a short time I have contacted a woman who, as it turns out, was much more interested in me (The Clinger) than I was in her, as well as having been contacted by a woman who I think I am much more interested in (The Thower) than she is me. It’s a funny situation. I’m trying very hard to take everything I thought and felt toward The Clinger and projecting it from The Thrower’s point of view. My hope is that this approach will keep me from making the same mistakes (appearing clingy, saying too much too soon, and becoming too attached, etc.) with The Thrower.
The thing is, TT is different than any woman I have ever dated. First of all, she contacted me! Okay, okay, now that you’ve had a chance to stop the giggles and wipe away the tears of laughter, it’s true! Something which I thought was only a myth of Mormondom really happened. It was like Christmas, only without the carrot jell-o, funeral potatoes, and grandma’s wet kisses which she insisted had to be on the kisser to the point she would grab your face, force a pucker and place more saliva on your lips than had been there through all 4 courses of the recent Thanksgiving meal. It was heaven!
Oh, “Sure,” you say, “I’ve had a Mormon girl volunteer her number to me.” Listen here Mr. “I haven’t stopped handshaking every single person I see in or around the church building since my mission 15 years ago,” this woman ain’t your sweet spirit, kind hearted, Mormon housewife; she’s HOT! Indeed, she is WAY out of my league. Don’t get me wrong, by saying this I by no means want to seem insecure about myself. I am very comfortable with who I am. I’m a decent looking, middle-aged, average height, average weight, mixed blood American male. I’m unique! I’m a good guy, I know how to treat a woman, and after 4 years on and then being abruptly taken off of the marriage cafeteria plan, I can now take care of myself to a level that doesn’t smell like old garbage or look like John Daly. But I also have to be real and accept that there is a certain class of woman who is simply not interested in what I have to offer. TT, by all appearances, in that class.
Whenever I’ve spent any substantial time, asking why and how, I’ve ended up in a slobbering, drool laden, slurred speech daze that looks very similar to the look of your average massive stroke survivor. It is a mystery that even the Harty Boys couldn’t solve (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA0ziLh7y78). Contrary to logic, I even went out on a limb and asked her what she sees in me. She dictated almost exactly what I am and said, “I’m good for her right now.”
This sentence, though short, is both euphoric and tragic. The first part, “I’m good for her,” I couldn’t agree with more! I’m good for ANY woman who has the patience and desire to care for me. I take care of the women in my life. I’ve found that I am happier when this is the case, so I just do it, no questions asked! Call me selfish…
The second part is devastatingly problematic; “right now”. The suppressed paranoia within me bubbles to the surface and screams, “SHE’S GOING TO END IT!!!” But, once I am able to distract this beast with some information I picked up outside the JFK Memorial in Dallas, TX, I have to acknowledge, it may have a valid point. I’m forced, then, to make a decision. Continue on, knowing that one day after “right now” has ended, I will be popping Lexipro like Rush Limbaugh eats Lortab and spending thousands of dollars in counseling trying to answer the question of why I’m so average, or to pretend the comment was never made and press forward, possibly walking blindly to a fiery pit of hell! FML!
The thing is, TT is different than any woman I have ever dated. First of all, she contacted me! Okay, okay, now that you’ve had a chance to stop the giggles and wipe away the tears of laughter, it’s true! Something which I thought was only a myth of Mormondom really happened. It was like Christmas, only without the carrot jell-o, funeral potatoes, and grandma’s wet kisses which she insisted had to be on the kisser to the point she would grab your face, force a pucker and place more saliva on your lips than had been there through all 4 courses of the recent Thanksgiving meal. It was heaven!
Oh, “Sure,” you say, “I’ve had a Mormon girl volunteer her number to me.” Listen here Mr. “I haven’t stopped handshaking every single person I see in or around the church building since my mission 15 years ago,” this woman ain’t your sweet spirit, kind hearted, Mormon housewife; she’s HOT! Indeed, she is WAY out of my league. Don’t get me wrong, by saying this I by no means want to seem insecure about myself. I am very comfortable with who I am. I’m a decent looking, middle-aged, average height, average weight, mixed blood American male. I’m unique! I’m a good guy, I know how to treat a woman, and after 4 years on and then being abruptly taken off of the marriage cafeteria plan, I can now take care of myself to a level that doesn’t smell like old garbage or look like John Daly. But I also have to be real and accept that there is a certain class of woman who is simply not interested in what I have to offer. TT, by all appearances, in that class.
Whenever I’ve spent any substantial time, asking why and how, I’ve ended up in a slobbering, drool laden, slurred speech daze that looks very similar to the look of your average massive stroke survivor. It is a mystery that even the Harty Boys couldn’t solve (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA0ziLh7y78). Contrary to logic, I even went out on a limb and asked her what she sees in me. She dictated almost exactly what I am and said, “I’m good for her right now.”
This sentence, though short, is both euphoric and tragic. The first part, “I’m good for her,” I couldn’t agree with more! I’m good for ANY woman who has the patience and desire to care for me. I take care of the women in my life. I’ve found that I am happier when this is the case, so I just do it, no questions asked! Call me selfish…
The second part is devastatingly problematic; “right now”. The suppressed paranoia within me bubbles to the surface and screams, “SHE’S GOING TO END IT!!!” But, once I am able to distract this beast with some information I picked up outside the JFK Memorial in Dallas, TX, I have to acknowledge, it may have a valid point. I’m forced, then, to make a decision. Continue on, knowing that one day after “right now” has ended, I will be popping Lexipro like Rush Limbaugh eats Lortab and spending thousands of dollars in counseling trying to answer the question of why I’m so average, or to pretend the comment was never made and press forward, possibly walking blindly to a fiery pit of hell! FML!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Most Embarrassing Moment
It all started when work had an assignment for me in Austin, TX, our largest office in the midwest. I've been to the Austin office before, but I only went to one conference room and it was only for a day. The office is a 5 story building with floors that are 60,000+ sq ft, full of only PBS&J employees. The arrangement of the floors is basically a scaled up version of a maze which a sociology or psychology PhD student would use in conjunction with rats to test various rat reactions.
Well, upon arrival I was met at the doors by my would-be coworkers whom I followed to a cubicle on the 3rd floor. I was given my assignment and left alone. Throughout the day I managed to find various needed locations; the exit when I went to lunch, my coworker's area when I had questions, and the break room when I needed a snack or drink of water. However, I never once chanced upon the bathroom.
While at work, I tend to be very focused, and as such, usually realize that I need to use the restroom about an hour after I should have noticed. So, at about an hour too late and in a bit of a rush, I scrambled my way through the maze of cubicles, peeking and sniffing around corners to find dead ends filled with copiers, printers, other rats…er uh, people, and stacks of papers until finally, I found it! It was identified by a sign which I glanced at as I entered. I navigated the room and found a stall.
Several minutes later, I heard the door open and someone entered. But I noticed women's voices outside in very close proximity, which made me a little uncomfortable. But the two who entered did so silently, as it should be done in a men's restroom. It was a second or two later that I had 4 thoughts enter my mind in very quick succession. They are listed below in the order in which they appeared:
1. Those footsteps sounded much like women's shoes.
2. I don't recall seeing any urinals when I came in.
3. HOLY CRAP!! Those ARE women's shoes…on the LADY in the stall next to me!!!
4. I…AM…IN…THE…WOMEN'S…BATHROOM!!!!!
The series of thoughts which followed are still somewhat of a blur to me. But generally, they had to do with various escape scenarios which I would employ to leave the hostile territory. They included everything from silent assassin to "Shock and Awe!" But none seemed any more appropriate or any less embarrassing than the others, so I sat and waited like a scared fawn in the grass surrounded by hungry, stalking wolves.
After a few moments, the wolves gave up on their prey and left the room. I was now able to make my move. My first move was to laugh so hysterically, I cried. Once composed, I quickly washed up and approached the door. At this moment, I had the thought of what could be just beyond this door; The wolves could be luring me out to catch a glimpse of the fawn in all its nakedness (figurative); A chance lone wolf could simply be coming to do her duty and stumble upon this poor, lost, and lonely prey; Or worse, a bull could be trudging his way to pay homage to the porcelain god and discover me, having entered the forbidden temple, and then subject me to the only thing worse than the wolves, the taunting of the bulls!
I decided I had to act quickly and face whatever was just beyond this door now. It was too much of a risk to stay inside. I rushed out of the door and down the hall toward where I knew the men’s room had to be. Thankfully upon exiting, no one was there and my escape was unseen! Once close to the correct washroom, I felt it necessary to offer a gesture of forgiveness to the porcelain god by entering the men’s room and washing my hands (I’m sure there’s some symbology here).
One might think the story ends there, but one doesn’t know the paranoia in my brain!
Immediately after sitting down, I began hearing the cackles of laughter from various parts of the building, and I knew what the subject matter had to be. I pictured the women phoning one another, their husbands, their mothers, their grandmothers, and sharing what had surely by now become known as “The Man-cident”.
Out of fear of being identified by my shoes or the cuffs of my pants, I resolved not to leave my cubicle for 3.5 more hours, a full 2 hours longer than anyone else could possibly be expected to stay. In fact, I took the appropriate cautionary measures of removing my shoes and tucking them far under the desk so as not to be seen by patrolling hunters. I also kept my feet out of the site of a “casual” passersby who I knew would be nothing more than a spy.
Once the day was over…okay, once MY day was over, I glided to my car and then to the hotel and scrubbed the evidence. Those shoes were placed in my suitcase and were not nor will ever be worn in that office again! It’s extreme, I know, but necessary!
Well, upon arrival I was met at the doors by my would-be coworkers whom I followed to a cubicle on the 3rd floor. I was given my assignment and left alone. Throughout the day I managed to find various needed locations; the exit when I went to lunch, my coworker's area when I had questions, and the break room when I needed a snack or drink of water. However, I never once chanced upon the bathroom.
While at work, I tend to be very focused, and as such, usually realize that I need to use the restroom about an hour after I should have noticed. So, at about an hour too late and in a bit of a rush, I scrambled my way through the maze of cubicles, peeking and sniffing around corners to find dead ends filled with copiers, printers, other rats…er uh, people, and stacks of papers until finally, I found it! It was identified by a sign which I glanced at as I entered. I navigated the room and found a stall.
Several minutes later, I heard the door open and someone entered. But I noticed women's voices outside in very close proximity, which made me a little uncomfortable. But the two who entered did so silently, as it should be done in a men's restroom. It was a second or two later that I had 4 thoughts enter my mind in very quick succession. They are listed below in the order in which they appeared:
1. Those footsteps sounded much like women's shoes.
2. I don't recall seeing any urinals when I came in.
3. HOLY CRAP!! Those ARE women's shoes…on the LADY in the stall next to me!!!
4. I…AM…IN…THE…WOMEN'S…BATHROOM!!!!!
The series of thoughts which followed are still somewhat of a blur to me. But generally, they had to do with various escape scenarios which I would employ to leave the hostile territory. They included everything from silent assassin to "Shock and Awe!" But none seemed any more appropriate or any less embarrassing than the others, so I sat and waited like a scared fawn in the grass surrounded by hungry, stalking wolves.
After a few moments, the wolves gave up on their prey and left the room. I was now able to make my move. My first move was to laugh so hysterically, I cried. Once composed, I quickly washed up and approached the door. At this moment, I had the thought of what could be just beyond this door; The wolves could be luring me out to catch a glimpse of the fawn in all its nakedness (figurative); A chance lone wolf could simply be coming to do her duty and stumble upon this poor, lost, and lonely prey; Or worse, a bull could be trudging his way to pay homage to the porcelain god and discover me, having entered the forbidden temple, and then subject me to the only thing worse than the wolves, the taunting of the bulls!
I decided I had to act quickly and face whatever was just beyond this door now. It was too much of a risk to stay inside. I rushed out of the door and down the hall toward where I knew the men’s room had to be. Thankfully upon exiting, no one was there and my escape was unseen! Once close to the correct washroom, I felt it necessary to offer a gesture of forgiveness to the porcelain god by entering the men’s room and washing my hands (I’m sure there’s some symbology here).
One might think the story ends there, but one doesn’t know the paranoia in my brain!
Immediately after sitting down, I began hearing the cackles of laughter from various parts of the building, and I knew what the subject matter had to be. I pictured the women phoning one another, their husbands, their mothers, their grandmothers, and sharing what had surely by now become known as “The Man-cident”.
Out of fear of being identified by my shoes or the cuffs of my pants, I resolved not to leave my cubicle for 3.5 more hours, a full 2 hours longer than anyone else could possibly be expected to stay. In fact, I took the appropriate cautionary measures of removing my shoes and tucking them far under the desk so as not to be seen by patrolling hunters. I also kept my feet out of the site of a “casual” passersby who I knew would be nothing more than a spy.
Once the day was over…okay, once MY day was over, I glided to my car and then to the hotel and scrubbed the evidence. Those shoes were placed in my suitcase and were not nor will ever be worn in that office again! It’s extreme, I know, but necessary!
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