Just Off Center

This past weekend an ex-friend of mine went to see the new Michael Moore film, Fahrenheit 9/11. He was always one of those really lame liberal bastards who would probably want to set Saddam free so that he can continue to plunder and murder. Anyway, afterward he comes over to my house to have a shot of Jack Daniels and some PBR, a true American drink and he starts getting all on his soapbox about how President Bush is a liar and a thief and how the 9/11 attacks had nothing to do with Iraq.

Now if this weren't a friend of mine and if he didn't still owe me ten bucks I would have shoved his corpse into a 2 cubic food crate and shipped him off to Lybya to be with his terrorist friends right then. But instead I cracked open another can of pure American red, white, and blue-blooded Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and asked him to explain his side of things. And then, being a complete communist fucktard, he actually started talking to me about foreign policy and other shit. What an idiot, he actually thought I gave a shit to hear his commie, bleeding heart side of the story. It was all, "blah blah blah stolen election, blah blah Iraq, blah blah dead civilians."

At this point my head started to hurt from all the thinking his mouth was forcing me to do. So I crushed my beer on my forehead and screamed, "listen bitch! If you hate America so much why don't you take the next flight out! Maybe you can get killed trying to hijack the plane on your way, pussy! In your face!" That flamer just dropped his jaw and stared at me, no doubt in shock of how close my ass-ripping just hit home. Then he got all quiet and told me that I was entitled to have my own opinion. In my own house he told me this, that insolent fuck. So I told him that's why the leftist pussies will always lose, because they allow other people to have opinions. Then I knocked his beer over and let my cats slurp up the patriotic goodness.

Now he was getting the idea that he and his people would always and forever get their shit stomped in by me and my clan. So he got up all slow like he was afraid that I was going to give him a career ending colon blow, which of course I was. While still looking warily at me, I gave Nina the cue and, without hesitation, she climbed up the entertainment center and gave him a flying elbow to the back of the neck. Normally Nina's not the violent type, but the bitch knew she was under orders. Once he came to and started crying about the pain in his neck I asked him if he thought I was being too hard on him. This fucking guy falls for everything. Before he had the chance to whimper out an answer I picked Nina up by the hair, twirled her over my head and smashed her hip into his spine. The force instantly caused his back to snap and his body to fold in half in a hilariously unnatural way.

Later that night, when his shrieks of misery started to lose their appeal, I had the cats drag him outside so the coyotes could have the rest of his broken body for dinner. Another commie, terrorist bitch handled by the glorious right. Nina and I shared a cup of Jim Beam and laughed like all-American jackals as the beasts tore his flesh off. Damn I love this country!

When it comes to my sex life, I'd have to say that my level of satisfaction is like a sinewave, up and down. Of course there's more to that wave than just the peaks. There's the trip up and the trip down as well. But at the moment I have to say that my libido is being well cared for. Nina is a very generous lover, despite her backpains. In fact I have to say that I am probably getting more sex than most any man I know, married or otherwise. And the sex is almost always fantastic. She's there for the long, four-shot nights and the "shut up and be my bitch" quickies that boost the ego so well. What is it about that bit of degredation of my lover that makes me feel so damn awesome. Is it power, or control, or just some vindictive part of myself that needs an outlet? I can't say, but this is certain: Nina gets it. She gets what I'm about and what I like.

Case in point. During a weekend of love Nina and I had about two years ago, she came up with the absolutely brilliant idea of sitting me down in the computer chair and encouraging me to look up internet porn while giving me a blowjob. How sinful and incriminating. This was the meshing of two things that I would have never considered possible. In the end I found myself somewhat distracted by the mouse clicking and searching and just settled for one hot missionary pic I found and focused on that. Afterward I felt ruined for internet porn. She had effectively faced the eenmy and beat the living shit out of it. It was like bringing a second woman into bed with us, but ending up throwing her out before the first money shot.

The event was only one of many times that Nina has surprised me with her imagination and will to be unique and exciting in (or out of) bed. Every one of these events is a memory. And that's the great thing about memories, they can always be revisited.

Like most men I know, I jerk off on a fairly regular basis. I do this because I love it. I help myself to a loving tug even when I'm getting laid regularly. It just so happens that it is a helpful practice for getting through those times when I'm not. Now unlike women, who tend to imagine scents, colors, music, and the feels of different cloths, I require little more than my memory and imagination. But it never hurts to have some porno handy to move things along. Well that's deceptive. I don't use porn because it helps me cum faster. I use it because I love to watch women having sex and that gets me off.

Unfortunately, Nina doesn't quite get that wanting to watch other women engaged in sex has absolutely no bearing on me wanting to have sex with other women. As far as I'm concerned, porn and cheating couldn't be further apart. And most men I know feel the same way. Perhaps many women fail to make that connection, or rather that disassociation. And it isn't hard to see their point. Most women don't ever get themselves off looking at a picture of a dick, just a dick with nothing else to imagine. But a man can stare a vagina or a pair of tits, hell even a woman's ass and just start yanking away.

Nina has caught me jacking off several times. I say caught because I tend to keep that act to myself. I don't particularly like doing it in front of her for several reasons. First, I think a masturbating man looks like a totally pathetic jackass. A woman masturbating is sexy as hell. I think most women would even agree to that. But men just look like dinks. Second, it's a practice that I engage in alone, and therefore I should be alone when I'm doing it. It just feels wrong to have her there unless she's participating by letting me touch her or talking dirty to me or allowing me to cum on her body.

Third, jerking off is based in fantasy and memory for me. And it seems quite unnatural to be doing that when there's a real live woman right there. While jerking off my mind is ablaze with thoughts of all kinds, naked pictures I'd seen when I was 13, that first time I came, or when I lost my virginity. But mostly it's a montage of scenes that Nina gave me for the memory banks. I remember great times like when Nina got on top of me and rode me until I came inside her for the first time or when she covered her whole body up with the bedsheets except for her pussy and let me just have at her as though there was nothing more to her. But I also think of more romantic times, and I too can remember smells and colors. The hardest part about jerking off is focusing in on one memory long enough to get the job done. It's like a slot machine with every wheel covered with all of this sex that I've had and I have to pick out the best one.

By the way, isn't it odd how women have just accepted blindly that sex is over when the man comes, with little or no regard for her? I would think that if women made a few more rigorous demands of men to perform after cumming, we'd learn to be much better lovers fast.

But I've strayed off course. A few times, Nina has caught me jerking off while looking at porn, and the result wasn't pretty. I'm not just talking about the absolute humiliation of being caught head-handed. Nina was livid. She considered my use of porn to get me off tantamount to cheating, or some lesser but still serious form of betrayal. This had me terribly perplexed. How could she not know? She knows men jerk off. She knows that men like porn. She knows that other men jerk off to porn. Why am I so different? Why should this external stimuli be seen as some kind of competition? To this day, it has gone not entirely resolved. Nina feels that the online porn is the most terrible, and I understand that. Though I feel I should say I've never participated in cybersex in any way nor been to a live sex site or webcam. But most men I think have downloaded some clips of random chicks getting logged and felt the need to tame the beast. But Nina hates it, end of story. And so I've settled into abstaining from viewing porn of any kind when I jerk off. I love my wife and that's not too much of a sacrifice to make for her trust. Besides, I still have a ton of great memories.

Still, it seems strange that she should enjoy watching pornos with me. Though I'd hate to bring that up for fear that she'd see that that is contradictory and resolve the matter by never watching porn with me again.

I've just made a bet to the tune of ten thousand American should my wife ever allow her friend Scott to get to first base with her. That's split up five thousand apiece for Mike and Carl. Ten huge if she even allows a wanton kiss.

Mike is always busting my balls with quips about how Nina and Scott are in bed right now or how she's sucking him off in the truck on the way to another exterminating job. I can usually deal with this tumult. I trust my wife implicitly. But the point that was being driven into me wasn't that my wife isn't to be trusted. It was that Scott isn't to be trusted.

The premise is that heterosexual men think only of beer, sports, money, and of course pussy. Scott's befriending of Nina must therefore be related to one of these limbic goals. One could argue that it's sports that binds them (if one were to believe that the premise weren't bullshit). But they don't watch sports together very often. And they are together basically every day. It couldn't be money because neither have anything financial to gain from the relationship. In sharp contrast, if Scott's girlfriend were to find out how much time they actually spend together she may well kick his ass to the curb. She isn't as confident in love as I. And since Rhonda owns the house, its contents, the services, and the checking account Scott could potentially suffer a considerable financial loss from the relationship with Nina.

Beer. Nina doesn't drink it. But how about broadening that to alcohol in general. Nope, still nothing. They don't really drink together. So then it comes to it. The answer must be pussy. Scott must, by process of elimination, be involved with my wife simply for the potential sex. Except that there is no potential sex. Nina would never touch this man. In fact, I'm amazed that any woman would.

The debate progressed and I was again berated for allowing my wife to be in a relationship with another man, even though it's nature is platonic. Once I finally had them convinced that they are actually great friends and nothing more Carl and Mike were forced to agree that he "is playing the friendship card and biding his time". And for those who wonder how I can make such a bet and have any means of enforcement, my faith in Nina's honesty is such that I know she'd come clean within 12 hours.

Now they did bring up one valid point. If Scott's the kind of man that could hide his relationship with Nina from Rhonda, than how can I trust his intentions so blindly. I suppose the answer is that I don't. Scott's a nice man, but that doesn't mean that he's incapable of putting the moves on my wife, I know this. My faith and trust lie in my wife. In fact, on a long enough timeline, I have little doubt that Scott would begin to feel romantic love for Nina. Is that reason enough to deprive my wife of her best friend outside of marriage? Even if it was, is our relationship such that I could even make such a demand? I hate saying that our relationship is different, because that instistence usually comes from couples who simply haven't recognized all the ways that they're just like everyone else. But Nina has her own life and I want it filled with every experience she cares to entertain, without restriction. As long as she's honest, I'm open to discuss any desire. If Nina were to express an interest in Scott for sex or whatever else I would listen and talk to her about it. I'd also tell her no fucking way and probably call her a whore, so I guess I'm typical in that regard.

So what's a man to do? I can handle being looked on as a chump by those of lesser faith in love, but I don't necessarily trust this guy's intentions. As Mike tells me, "it's a player's game". I must assume he means that Nina and I are getting played while Scott waits for that right moment. But even if this is true, and even if I fuck up big time and Nina finds herself alone and vulnerable, can't I trust that Nina's senses will guide her to fidelity? Whether I can or not, I think I shall.

One of the key arguments was that in that one key moment Scott might reveal that he actually has a really huge dick. And we all know that women are powerless when bathed in the soft glowing light of a large penis. This argument alone was worth the price of admission.

Well, despite the advice of basically everyone I know, I suppose I'll continue to not only allow but encourage the friendship between Scott and Nina. I feel comfortable in this decision for two reasons. First, it makes me feel good to trust my wife even in seamy situations. And two, Nina must by now understand the wrath that would be incurred should this endless and perfect trust be betrayed. I guess fear makes a good garnish for love.

Are you at work right now? Do you have about twenty minutes to kill? Would you like to hone your deductive reasoning and detecting skills? Of course you would. Here's a little game I play when I have to get out of the office for a bit, but have no place in the building that I need to be either. It's fun and easy. It'll give you some walking time. You'll learn more about your surroundings. And the best part is it doesn't take a penny to play, nor will anyone know that you're playing unless you're one of those method actor types who can't keep their thoughts to themselves. But then if you are, you probably aren't in any position to play this game anyway.

We're going to call this game, "Zap, you've lost all memory. Now figure out who you are and what you're doing there". It may not be the catchiest name around, but Milton Bradley I am not. So you just get up from your desk and start to walk away. Then at some random place and time you (in your head) yell "ZAP" and from this point on you have no idea who or where you are or what you're doing there.

The point of the game is to seek out as many clues as you can to give yourself some idea of who you are and, you guessed it, what you're doing there. Following me so far? Great. So your memory is gone. Walk the halls, try not to look confused. When finding clues, log them in your mind. To aid in this part, try referencing basically any scene from Memento, except the parts where people get shot. I'm not taking the fall for that one again, jackpipe. Check out other people's offices. Smile warily at people you used to know who strike up a conversation. "Hmm, this guy seems to know me. And he's wondering what I'm doing on the other side of the building" Look for maps on the walls and clues as to what kind of work is going on. You'll be amazed at how into this game you'll get.

Once you know your name, the name of where you are, what you are doing there, and whatever other qualifiers you choose you (again in your head) yell "EUREKA" and you have a compete mental recovery. You then go back to your desk and continue your drone existance having had more fun in your own head than any of your coworkers did all weekend. This can be done at malls or other venues as well. And it's especially fun if your wife goes to the store for some things. Door closes, "ZAP" and you have to figure out your life before she gets home. For some, this can be dangerous. I'm not going to be held accountable for any cathartic awakenings that lead to divorce either.

Play Ball, er brain!

While visiting my home state of Indiana on business last week I was given the opportunity to spend some time with my little sister and my mother. Pam and her boyfriend, Ryan are just great people. They were just unpacking form a move the day before and were obviously tired and cranky. I tried to relax and have a good time, but I just couldn't sit around and not be of any use. She's my baby sister. I had to help. So I started unloading boxes for them in the kitchen and dining room. Pam made dinner, which was just what I needed. After a week eating restaurant and cafeteria food, I welcomed some good home cooking. I suggested that Ryan start unloading something fun, like the cd's and dvd's. That got them a little bit more excited to pick up the ball again. We talked, drank, worked, smoked, and chilled. It was truly some of the best hours I'd had all year.

The next morning I left to go see my mother two hours away. She was waiting for me and we quickly left her house to go visit my grandmother, who is on the mend from some medical procedure she'd had done. Mom seemed particularly eager to have me see my grandma, which is by itself a bit scary. I know that I may never see any of my family again, so I enjoy the time we have. But when mom starts insisting that we go straight to the visiting, things can't be good. I'll update as necessary.

While hanging out with mom and grandma, who actually looked very good, I was hit with a bomb of a comment. My grandmother pointed out an end table next to my chair that had photographs of all of her great grandchildren on it. I only recognized my three nieces though there were about six more than that. My mom claimed victory for having contributed three great grandchildren to my grandma, which is one more than any of her other siblings. Then she turned to me and commented that Brian (my brother) had only had girls and that she was going to count on me to provide the boys. Now at first I knew that she was joking. I had made my thoughts on this subject very clear over the past few years. Nina and I do not want any children, nor do plan on ever wanting any. In fact, should she get pregnant today, I am about 50/50 on keeping the baby. After six years of marriage, Nina feels the same way.

But mom was serious. She was sitting in front of my grandma, who was looking at me in support of my mom's opinion. This was the first direct pressure that my mother had put onto me regarding our reproduction. I told her that it wasn't going to happen, that it's just going to be a table for two this life around. She backed off slowly but confidently. I doubt this is going to be the last time that I get this kind of question from her. I didn't really have the heart or nerve to tell her that I couldn't think of any reason in hell why Nina hadn't ever gotten pregnant before. We were having sex for almost three years without any protection before we got married and she went on the pill. If she was going to get knocked up, why didn't it happen then? Granted I'm damn good at pulling out, but nobody bats a thousand forever. Maybe one of us is infertile. Maybe Nina's womb can't support a fetus. Maybe neither of us give a shit and we're glad it's so difficult to conceive.

I've been hearing a lot of shit lately about how modern parents are fucking up their children by giving them mood altering drugs. They say that one in ten children is now on Ritalin, the drug used to chill out the ADD kids. Having been just a scant attention deprived in my pre-boner years I feel that had my dad had started forcing me to take chill pills back then I might have gotten into Harvard. Not that I would have gone, but having that acceptance letter would have gotten me some sweet gold-digging trim during senior year.

So what are these people bitching about? Are they upset that we might be killing the very spirit of these "imaginative" kids? Well, that may be true, but I say you have to be realistic about kids with issues. Some of the youth of today are just not going to make it anyway. Think back to when you were in the fourth grade. You knew, no guessing, you fucking knew that the boy in the back row with the pencils in his nose and the girl off to the side staring throught the windows was going to end up in jail, the projects, or dead. And where are they now? They're in jail, living in the projects or dead. You weren't going to save them and you wished that they would just shut up long enough so that you could hear what the homework assignment was. So why not cut through the bullshit and feed the little miscreants some mood-stabilizers so that the kids with potential can move along up the ladder?

Point made. However, what I really wanted to discuss was not the current state of America's depressed youth, but of my success with dealing with my own little "issues". You see, for as long as I can remember I've had these nagging thoughts in my head telling me to do things that didn't necessarily want to do. You couldn't call it voices because there was no audible suggestion. It was purely a vision of involuntary imagination. Sometimes it was the desire to push a random kid off of the top floor stairwell. Sometimes it was to pick up his books after a bully had just punked him out and give him a hug.

Obviously I was never a very normal child. But these thoughts were played out in my head like visions or scenarios without any real cognitive reality to them. I couldn't hear any voices or see any visions. They were just these alien back-of-the-mind desires. Most people would think that this is normal. Sure we all have strange and sometimes violent desires. With that in mind, imagine that at a level that might actually influence your actions, making you so tortured about trying to figure them out that you act out in ways that could be seen as weird at best and psychotic at worst. These have been quite a malevolent influence in my life, especially in my late teens and early twenties. I'm sure that being confused about the right thing to do is a common thing. But having these imperceptible persuasions made me choose paths that could have led to my destruction, and definately caused a great deal of embarassment. I couldn't understand what the influences in my head wanted me to do so I just acted out. Many a friend and opportunity are lost as a result.

It was around this time that I was able to comprehend the first voice in my head. It was nothing more than a scream. And it was in my own voice. It drew no breath to continue, but just roared out in one ceaseless turmoil. This was a howl of anguish and mourning tinted with rage and despair. It was the noise you might expect to make if you were being tortured mercilessly and forced to witness your greatest love murdered at the same time. And it showed up in my head when I thought of times that I hadn't chosen the correct path, or at least the path of less pain and embarrassment. To this day it remains, and it is the most disturbing part of my own psychology to me.

After several years had passed I began to reminisce about the past and imagine what I would have told myself in those situations if I could travel back in time. I would look myself in the eye and tell me the right thing to do. And even if he/me couldn't understand why, he/I would obey out of an obligation to the future me who has the benefit of retrospect. I can imagine most people wishing they could go back and stop themselves from stealing that wallet or kissing that girl or cheating on whatever. And this continuous imagination bore something of a makeshift conscience for me in the present. If I know what I know now and I could have helped me then, why not just imagine me ten years from now during times of peril or confusion to impassionately guide me to the right path. Future Mike has been around for a few years now and he has helped my marriage, my career, my friendships, my education, and probably more aspects of my life than I care to understand. The voice in my head is guiding me to a better life.

But still, even with the guide of a more knowledgable me, I was plagued by these jeckyl and hyde desires to do things. And I still could never get my mind around a single thing they wanted me to do. It was just a sensation that haunted me. If I was in a fight with Nina, maybe that vision of grinding teeth and yelling with flashes of light and patches of streaming colors. Did that mean that I should hit her? Should I begin to yell or does it mean that I should try to calm her down before things get out of hand? I've never hit her, but the confusion at times like this almost makes deliberate violence seem justified in my head.

So the "influences" have been with me for many years and have grown with me as I make my way through life. Then something beautiful happened. I turned 28. Nina, being the birthday nut that she is, had me open my presents first thing that morning. Cake and coffee are best before 9:00 AM, by the way. One of Nina's gifts was the Playstation Two game called "The Suffering". This is one seriouly twisted mindfuck of a game. The whole time this main character is running around disembowling his enemies or anyone that happens to be standing there, he's being assaulted by these nagging voices in his head. It's the standard devil/angel combo. The voice of evil is this growling, breathy beast that my man turns into when he gets pissed. The voice of good or of reason is that of his loving but, unfortunately, murdered wife who soothingly coaxes him to do good. Game played and won, I placed it aside content to still be able to shitstomp the little kids at their own toys.

The next day I was walking down the hall at work daydreaming about whatever when I saw a particularly shitty customer of mine coming toward me some 75 yards away. Suddenly I heard the exact same voices in my head as I had heard in the game. There was no mistaking that evil hiss when it told me "tell the prick to go fuck himself". Then right on top of the word "himself" was the dead wife's "he's just passionate, be friendly". Now some can say that this is just the logical result of 32 hours of uninterrupted game play flying through my head. The truth is irrelavant though. I put on my best "it's a beautiful morning" smile and asked him how he was doing as I passed. I chose the better path. What's important is that I deliberately chose a path that was defined by name rather than a disturbing, indistinguishable sequence of visions and muffled sounds.

It seems that the influences have been given voice. And the voices may change into my own wife's or some other articulation. But the voices are clear and I understand them. And there's peace in times of confusion. These voices have stuck with me for almost a month. Normally you'd imagine a man with voices in his head to be somewhat disconcerted. But after 20+ years of being led by instincts or influences without any shape or discernability, having these "recommendations" from within comes as quite a welcome change. Sure I still have the third voice of future Mike, but that's more to protect me from embarrassment or danger. I only wish that I could rid myself of that awful screaming. Isn't it odd how our minds will use the most twisted means to bring order to chaotic thoughts?

I meant the actual human heart you tailless twits. As a warning, this one is all about love and how I perceive it. Put your life in soft focus, feel the gentle breeze waft through your silk nightgown and read on.

Do you want to know what love is? I mean do you actually have a true longing to know what this thing is all about? Well, here's one more opinion to throw into the pot. It's a sickening wave of helplessness and happiness. It's completely unpredictable and dramatic, and therefore it is also customizable and marketable. Love is the sensation that has sold more books, tickets, records and merchandise than anything else in the world. It is the source for spending and invention. It got us meat to cook and the fire to cook it. Love is the rabbit we chase our whole lives. But few would deny that it can be nice to be pelted with rabbit lookalikes from the bleachers and get charged for the experience.

The pessimists can say that it is greed; that we do all of these things because serving love serves ourselves. Yes, that's true. Congratulations, you've entered the realm of deductive reasoning. Hang around here for a few more years and you may just peel back the layer on the argument onion that I'm talking about. Yes we serve ourselves, we are not ants. If you truly believe that love is nothing more than a melding and mixing of all our own selfish wants, then you are dead wrong about love. If that were all there was to it, we could predict it with just a simple knowledge of ourselves. We could control love. We don't. You're wrong. Read more Poe and Nitchze.

The naive see love as this mystical attachment to the one that you were born to be with. This one is horseshit. I wasn't meant to be with Nina. I was meant to be a seven foot tall vampire hunter in the east indies smoking hookas and learning how to fly. But I chose to walk this path with this woman I love. Love is not about destiny. Love is beautiful, but it can be explained. It has logic and a rational foundation. Emotions are erratic, but that's the most predictable thing about them.

Love can be dealt with two ways. It can be had, felt, and known by those who are fortunate enough to encounter it. Or it can also be explained through some medium and sold to those who have not. Everyone has their favorite trope for it. Love is a flower. Love is in a child's laughter. What metaphor in life best suits the true reality of love? None, because love is this truly intangible blend of the inevitable actions inherant to the human condition, and emotional reaction as determined by our genetics and rearing. But just for the hell of it, here's mine. Love is like punk music. How, you ask? First, don't ever question me. Second, allow me to quote Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day:

"A guy comes up to me and asks: 'What's punk?' I kick over a garbage can and say: 'That's punk.' He then kicks over the garbage can and asks: 'Thats punk?' and I say: 'No, that's trendy.' "

What this means is that you have to figure it out for yourself. The more effort you put into imitating whatever example for love you've chosen, the further you get from understanding love's true nature. To me love is just another part of who I am and you can't have it by imitating me or anyone else. We all love something; money or fame or The Facts of Life. But being in love with another person and spending your entire life working through hardships just to get those little pangs of purity that run through you and change your life for about ten seconds? Now that's something quite different.

What bothers me about most people when it comes to love is that everyone seems to think that they have been there before. You all know that guy who speaks of love in unison with Slayer. And we've all met a girl who has a book or a song or a movie that purely embodies what love is and who knows that she is automatically entitled to it. After all, she's such a hopeless romantic that it's impossible that she'd reach 35 and marry the first wife-beating alcoholic unemployable shitheel that says 'bless you'. Nay, she will no doubt become the embodiment of love that she heard in some cupid-blessed country song. Now I'm feeling hate.

Quick question, why do female country singers write about how great their love is and male country stars write about hanging out with their friends? I was just wondering.

Earlier, I gave you, my loyal fanbase of nobody, a few pointers on how to bed the opposite sex, if the opposite sex is female that is. Getting laid is great, I'm quite a fan of the coital arts. But love is hardly able to be expressed through sex. I only mention this because nearly every movie I see where the man realizes he actually loves "really really really loves" that woman then cuts directly to his bed and them humping in slow motion kissing and sharing a loving pant. It is true that in those moments I discussed above we are prone to engage in some nakedness, but that's little more than a reaction to feeling love, not love itself. Albeit at age 16 it seemed they were the same.

The truth of my love is this: I asked my wife to marry me because I loved her. I married her because I was getting ready to leave for Air Force basic training and the gub-ment wouldn't let her move to my first station if we were just engaged. I swore to support my wife through emotional and physical trauma that she's seen because I loved her. I listened to her and brought her a pain pill because I wanted her to not be in pain much like any other friend I have. I believe in her because I love her. I encourage her because I need her to improve herself so that she doesn't get stagnant and boring to herself or me.

So that's love. And I'm up to my neck in it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But my life isn't great. It's barely alright. And my relationship with Nina flutters around beyond my understanding or control. But I'm in love and that's what we do. And it's what I'll do for the rest of my life, just passing time between the pangs.

I really do enjoy a little drama in my life. Drama is the excitement that comes from uncertainty. It's when you don't know which girl to choose and which to cut loose. It's when you get called to your boss's office and you have those fifteen seconds between your office and his to ponder your fate. It's really great shit. Think about all of those bad times in your life and you'll be struck with all of these moments of decisions that made you question your own fate.

But we all know somebody who lives their days and nights on the metaphoric edge. It's the ones who say that they are a free spirit or spontaneous. It's people who have been in twelve relationships in the past three years in which all have ended badly and yet none were their fault. These people are addicted to the drama. And I believe it to be an addiction not unlike any other. The problem with dramaholics is that it's only mildly destructive, and usually that damage is limited to the psyche and social standing. it doesn't destroy your life like drugs or alcohol. But it's more harmful than being addicted to Nascar or romance novels. It is the mosquito of addictions.

Case in point: my mother-in-law, Marcia. Now Marcia has been addicted to many things in her life; alcohol, men, cigarettes, etc. I tend to believe that dramaholics are typically people who have addictive personalities. Marcia was first mentioned in my retelling of the events that took place last christmas. Marcia has, I must admit, made bounds to improve herself in recent years. I'd say her progress is encouraging. Having said that, I'm going to skip over the drama of her last two girlfriends and move directly to the newest victim, Janice.

Janice is also a dramaholic for all appearances. And despite sounding like a bigot I think that the entire lesbian community is frought with unnecessary spectacle. Most any man around can account for the varying pychoses that women posess and display. But two women trying to work out a relationship with each other? Now things are bound to become complicated and dramatic to a ridiculous degree. And as we are all little more than containers of the experiences of our lives, logic shows that eventually we become overfilled and we must disperse our contents to those around us. This can be love or pain or any emotion we have that seems to fill our minds. When we are filled with joy we share it, true? Same thing for anger and frustration. Why then should the emotional componants of drama be any different.

Several months ago, Nina and I were having a great time driving around town on a Saturday morning, talking, laughing, planning. As Nina was driving, when the phone rang I answered it. Here follows the conversation:

Mike: Hello?
Stranger: Is Nina there?
Mike: Who is this?
Stranger: Can I talk to Nina?
Mike: No you can't, she's driving the car. Who is this?
Stranger: This is Janice, Marcia's friend.
Mike: Oh, hi Janice, I've heard a lot about you. Nina can't talk on the phone right now. Is there something that I can do for you?
Janice: I have to tell Nina why I broke her mother's heart.
Mike: Pardon?
Janice: Marcia told me to call Nina and explain why I broke her mother's heart.
Mike: OK then. Well I think I can speak for Nina on this one. I hereby release you of your obligation to explain anything to either of us. Furthermore, I want it to be very clear in both your heads that we want no part of any future drama between you two. If you two are fighting, don't call us. If you break up, cry to a different friend. We do care about you both, but we're the children here, not you. We're supposed to be able to come to you when we're having problems, not the other way around. Is all of this clear?
Janice: I understand completely.
Mike: Good, but thanks for calling anyway. Bye bye.

I don't enjoy being a giant dick to people, especially if I've never met them. But this shit had to be nipped in the bud. And it worked. We haven't received any subsequent calls of this sort.

But the plot thickens.

In about a week Marcia and Janice will be moving to Arizona. And not only to Arizona, but to Queen Creek. And not only to Queen Creek, but to my local community. And, you guessed it, only three doors down from us. They're renting the house nearby, so it's not a permanant thing. However, I'll be driving past their home twice every day and they'll be in sight of my house, which makes us a target for the drama dump.

While all this is going on, Nina is still having difficulties with Scott, the friend I mentioned in a previous post. Scott is behaving strangely. And with Nina, as with most any woman, strange behaviour is ripe for concern and scrutiny. It's amazing to me that nobody can believe that Nina and Scott could just be good friends, that they must be fucking each other. Is anyone else capable of just having a friend of the opposite sex? I have. Sure I've had the friends that created sexual tension, but that doesn't warrant the labeling of all intergender friendships as doomed.

The point here is that we all need to relax and stop seeking out the drama in our lives. There's plenty to keep us all in therapy for the rest of our lives as it is. If you always have drama in your life chances are that you are addicted to it's rush and the attention it gets you. You have to break this cycle, because it is damaging, not destructive, but damaging. It annoys thoswe around you and it ultimately leaves you alone and with no social skills except those that lead you to other dramaholics.