Just Off Center

So Mike, aka Lertz, is on his way to a family reunion in Illinois. How incredibly boring. But it gave us a few minutes more to bullshit about nothing important since I had to pick him up for work this morning. We went through the usual banter including him giving me a shot to the kidneys as I try to merge on the highway and me slamming the brakes down while he was trying to fasten his seat belt. As is usual with Mike, he started talking about the most recent dating mishap in his life, last night's being "chick I met in a bar #412".

He's been seeing this distant second for about a week. "Distant second" is the term used to describe your fallback girl should your number one choice of girlfriend not work out. Since no commitment has been expressed to either, he can feel free to try and bone them both. So last night he's over at her house, at her request. She wanted to "see him" before he left. Most men would agree that he'd be going over for a right proper sendoff in the sack. Since Mike is, above all else, a typical man this was his assumption as well. He hasn't had her yet, and it sure would be nice to "fill the well" before leaving town.

Well after about an hour of dialogue and a few drinks, things start getting heated. They go into the bedroom, take off their clothes and start messing around. Now the best thing about a distant second is that you can feel free to tell them exactly what's on your mind because they're easily replaced. So after a bit of heavy petting Mike makes his move on top of her, which is consequently shut down. Since he doesn't have the burden of caring about her feelings Mike makes another move a few minutes later, but is stopped cold again. Here's my best replication of the exchange that took place between them.

"What's the problem?"
"I just want to wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Well, I have this four month rule"
"Four month rule?"
"Yeah, I don't want you to think I'm easy."
"This is the third time I've seen you, you're in bed with me naked and my hand's in your pussy."
"I know, I just want to wait a while"
"Fine. You know there are other things you can do besides have sex."
"I know..."
"Alright, now my balls hurt. I'd better go"

I love everything about this dialogue. It's the honesty of it all that gets me. Usually Mike would be playing whatever cards he could think of to close the deal, or at least not be so insensitive when he's rejected. But with the understanding that this girl can be dropped without a backward glance, yet is still cool and cute enough to consider, Mike has the opportunity to let every eager and selfish thought known. You might be shaking your head right now. You might be thinking, "what an ASSHOLE!". Well take this: Mike went home nookieless, but satisfied in speaking his mind. And today he got these text messages:

• Sorry I was such a prude last night
• I'm thinking about you and touching myself
• I might have to rethink my rule

At this point the audience starts to applaud as I take a solemn bow. Nearly every time Mike follows my advice in the dating department, things work out in his favor. I told him to be as brutally honest as he could be with this girl. He loved the feeling and he's basically guaranteed to get laid the next time he sees her. I'm betting she makes him dinner too.

Another case in point. Three months ago, Mike was seeing Jody the bartender. Jody was one cool chick. She's the fun-loving guy's girl; beer, brats, ballgames, and blowjobs. But, against my advice, he looked for the greener grass and dumped her. Next came "Dog Girl". That's an entirely different headache. He finally dropped her after I convinced him that he sounded like an unhappily married man already. So now he wants Jody back. After a few texts and phone calls, she agreed to see him again.

Before he left, Mike set up a date with Jody. She cancelled on him the night before. Just desserts I say, but I'm still here to help. She said she was tired and just wanted to sit at home with her girlfriend and hang out. Mike didn't see the opportunity. After smacking him around for a while I got him to follow my advice; drop by after work to deliver a bottle of her favorite wine and eleven white roses. I told him that by giving them to her with an explanation that he just wanted to see her for a minute before leaving town, and then (possibly most important) not staying would catapult him several levels through the forgiveness process. For additional support I reminded him that his dog would need to be walked, forcing him to leave no matter what transpired. It worked. She wasn't home, but having thought of that I told him to be prepared with a card to leave in the flowers:

"Jody, I just wanted to see you for a minute before leaving town. You two girls have a great night. Mike"

By including the friend in the card and excluding any reference to the gift of flowers and wine, Mike gets to be thoughtful, generous and genuine. The eleven white roses were selected for two reasons. First, the white as an offering of peace. Second, to add mystery. Until she asks him about it she and her girlfriend wouldn't be able to stop talking about the possible meaning. If she were to see that there were only eleven and ask why, I armed him with "the twelfth is for our date when I get back". She called him twice that night to thank him, tell him how sweet he is, and just chit-chat. Mission accomplished.

I tell you I'm gonna have one hell of a toast at this guy's wedding.

I admit that I'm a bit perverted, but I've always enjoyed watching humans prove that our time on this planet is dwindling. I love hearing about people feeding off of the lowest common denominator of human emotions. Just knowing that terrorists, mercenaries, pimps, and my father inhabit this world gives me a sense of peace and tranquility

So my feelings are easily imagined when I stumbled upon a website that sells bi-monthly subscriptions to the long-distance relationships of college aged girls. Imaginary Girlfriends is a website where lonely, undatable and closeted gay men can converge to shop for a temporary girlfriend who will provide proof of their love and fidelity in the form of scented, hand-written love letters in that big, curvy girl handwriting, answering machine messages, and even maybe a pair of lace panties. You tell her what you want and when, and they give you everything you need to prove that you are a bonafide stud. And all for about $50 for two months.

I read about things like this and can't help feeling that another market based in deceit and misdirection has been recognized and tapped. Think what you will about how pathetic the patrons of this service must be, and they are just that. But you can not deny that the demographic exists. There are plenty of men out there who want to get their friends off of their backs for not being able to get a girlfriend. Of course the perpetrators of this torment are probably subscribers too. And wouldn't it be perfect if two buddies picked the same "girlfriend"? There are also plenty of gay men out there who want to stave off their parents' suspicions by purchasing the services of these relationship tramps.

Being a man who tries to see the uses I personally have for anything in the world I immediately thought of a great idea. If these women will proclaim their customized love and lust to any man for under $25 per month, perhaps I can use this to my advantage. There are a couple of guys out there I know who have earned my contempt and ill will in this world. I could exact a sinister and terrible revenge by simply having some sexpot send lotiony sex laced love letters to these chumps for their wives to find. In fact, I could make it all the more believable if I simply had them all sent to a P.O. Box, put it all in a manilla envelope and stowed the whole package somewhere his wife would "happen" upon it.

Can you even imagine the look on his face when she shoves the envelope at him? Most guilty cheaters would instinctively disavow any knowledge of how that stuff got there. And women know this. Oh the irony when he actually has no idea and acts the same as those who actually do get caught cheating. Most men could talik their way out of this I think. She'd always suspect, but nothing could ever be proved either way. This might be a little to evil for even me.

And what about starting out a site called www.imaginaryboyfriends.com? It would never work. Even desparate women won't pay for simulated romance. Why not just start up a business called www.imaginaryfuckbuddieswhogiveyouthatlethaldoseofsleepingpills.com? This stuff just gives me warm fuzzies all over. Maybe I can convice Nina to be someone's imaginary girlfriend. Hell I'll even dictate the letters. I've stayed married to Nina this long, how hard can it be to keep a long-distance boyfriend?

In my last post I got to reminiscing on the four years of relaxed hell I endured at my Catholic high school. I say relaxed because at that age, the teachers were always less concerned with teaching Catholic values and ethics than geography, algebra, and white history. Even though we had to take religion class (theology) the themes were more focused on world views and history of Roman Catholicism. Attendance at school mass was required, but it was only once per month and was usually a chance to catch up on napping and note-writing.

So if this relaxed environment is indicative of most Catholic high schools, how is it that so many people who were raised Roman Catholic are so disenchanted with their baptized (and usually confirmed) faith? As with most systems of control, the treachery begins in those earlier formative years, aka Catholic elementary school. I'm sure I'll eventually write on the varying grotesqueries of Catholic boyhood, but for now I want to focus on perhaps the most unusual and cult-like form of indoctrination; the rosary.

The Catholic rosary is meant to be a celebration of the life and mysteries of Jesus Christ, executed through a series of prayers. You've seen the physical rosaries before, no doubt. They look like necklaces, covered in beads, with a crucifix at the end. People who pray the rosary usually carry them in their pocket, not wear them. And when you're on your knees before the $7,500, 40 foot, solid rosewood cross and grab that first bead you know that you're in for a long and cumbersome penance. I say penance because even though some people pray the rosary out of faith and love, most do so because the priest ordered them to in confession. Here's what a rosary entails:

INTRO
1 Sign of the Cross
1 Nicene Creed
1 Our Father
3 Hail Mary's
1 Glory Be

BODY
1 Our Father
10 Hail Mary's
1 Glory Be
repeat nineteen times

CONCLUSION
1 Glory Be
3 Hail Mary's
1 Our Father
1 Nicene Creed
1 Sign of the Cross

YOU'RE DONE!!! Wasn't that rejuvenating? Yes, Reverend Moon, very much so. Did you catch that part where it said "repeat nineteen times"? That's that soul sapping (I mean saving) repetition that I was talking about. In total when you're ordered to perform the rosary, you're in for 252 prayers. After 50 you're rolling them out with a speed that could rival that guy who did the Micromachine commercials in the late eighties. You start dropping consonants and whole words just blend into one big noise. But hey, it's not the meaning that matters, just that you get through it that proves your faith. So let's go over a few of these prayers to see what we're professing to God.

NICENE CREED

We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father. Through him all things were made. For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried. On the third day he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets. We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.

So this is where we start, in profession of the beliefs and faiths of the Roman Catholic...in unison. Look at the language used here. God is God is God is God is... He came down without telling anyone, and nobody believed him, can you imagine? He was killed and it was the Roman's fault. After a few days he fulfilled the prophecy, which nobody has ever heard before. He sits next to God. But it just said that he IS God. Can't he just reunite? Does he need to take all three seats up there? Is this the Lord God or Agent Smith? He'll be back to kill fucking everybody. The ghost is responsible for everything we don't understand, so leave that science thing alone. We're right, everyone else is damned. You're a filthy beast until you get some water splashed on your head by a priest. All we can look forward to is that the dead will stand up and we all walk to eternity together. Amen.

We all know the Lord's Prayer, and I think I can say that the sentiment is similar, so I'm going to skip right to the "hare krishna" of the rosary, the Hail Mary.

HAIL MARY

Hail Mary, full of grace the Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus
Holy Mary, Mother of God pray for us sinners
now at the hour of our death
Amen

By the tenth one of these it sounds more like "hailmaryfullagrace, thalordswithya, etc... But what I never fully understood is why the Virgin Mary is so damned important to this ritual or any other facet of Catholicism. So God knocked her up. I suppose that's cool enough. But in the end, she was just another woman. She wasn't rich or educated or supremely moral either. And it's not as if Jesus came flying out of her fist first with a white cape and a big "J" on his chest and that only Mary had the superwomb that could gestate him. Alright, she kept him alive until he was a grown man, way to go mom. That doesn't mean much, though. Hell I don't see anyone praying to my mother and she raised three of us.

And what's this "mother of God" shit? She might have taught him to be a nice boy and work hard and all. But I'm pretty sure that once you find out that you are God incarnate, mom's lessons are gonna take a backseat. Besides, where's she at these days? You want to know why her image keeps popping up all over the world? It's because there aren't any chairs left for her in Heaven, all the varying permutations of God are taking all three. And I wonder if they lift their feet when Mary vacuums.

Lastly, is there something that she knows about my life that I don't? Why am I asking her to pray for me now at the hour of my death? I must have said this prayer a thousand times. Haven't died yet. Is an hour in Heaven like 500 years here? If so, then I guess this is the hour of my death, but it's the hour of everyone's death, so why bother saying it at all. I'm just looking for a little logic and consistancy in these prayers. This whole death thing couldn't possibly be another fear tactic meant to get me to obey in a last ditch effort to save myself from the fires of Hell would it?

And that's the rosary. 180 minutes of "hour of our death, hour of our death, resurrection of the dead, hour of our death". And it might just be effective at soul cleansing. After about an hour into a marathon like this I can't wait to die. I suppose in the end, the biggest mystery to me about this ritual is how does all of this ceremony bring me any closer to understanding the will and love of God.

Last week I got my first official invite to attend my high school ten year reunion. If you haven't gotten one of these just imagine what it feels like seeing the subject in your inbox. I'd like to say that there's this feeling of mild catharsis and nostalgia that takes you when you stop and gulp down the fact that it's been a decade since graduation, but I'd be lying. And I'll never lie here. It was actually a feeling of relief, maybe even contentment. Before I opened it I was afraid that I'd get this kind of letter:

Dear Mike,

Wow, can you believe it's already been a whole decade? How's life been treating you since '94? Have you married and had kids, conquered the stock market, or invented the longer lasting light bulb? Well, regardless of what you've been up to, we'd love it if you could attend the upcoming reunion of the Class of 1994! Remember the friends and great times you had? If not, then that's all the more reason to attend, because we're going to be raising those latent memories of first loves and standing O's for one night only. And it won't be the same without you. We hope to see you there!

What worried me about receiving something like this is it would have piqued my interest. I would have started thinking back on first kisses and high fives. I might have actually considered attending. Then I would have dropped a grand on two tickets, since there's no way I would go alone, seen everyone there whom I wished would die of Herpes Simplex XII, and left. And the only reason they would be there is because they never mustered up the strength to leave Evansville, aka clone of every other midwestern hellscape. Nobody that I ever considered respected should be withing 1,000 miles of Evansville. Well, thankfully, that's not exactly the kind of letter I got. What I got was actually more like this:

Mr X,

It has been a long time. I have good news for you. Memorial high school is having a ten year reunion for the class of 1994. Please RSVP as soon as you can so I can assign you a seat. There will be door prizes and a cash bar. Dinner is $30. Dress code is semi-formal and will be enforced. Hope to hear from you soon.

Whew. Close one. This letter was so perfect for me that it was like a future version of Mike who actually had attended this reunion intercepted the email, doctored it, and sent it through to me so that I would never have attended and he could live out the rest of his life a happier, snappier me. This letter was perfectly indicative of the kind of incessant and oppressive structure that was fisted to me for four years.

A $30 fee for dinner? Listen, I was there every day for four years. I know damn well that there wasn't a thing that cafeteria could produce that was worth $0.49, much less thirty bucks. At age 16 I might have dropped that to have the cashier lunch lady bent over in front of me, face down in the cole slaw, but that's it. Plus by now she's probably got an ass the size of a buffet pan. And what's the deal with the cash bar? Is it even a remote possibility that I'm not going to get shitfaced and start throwing chairs anyway? So why do you have to empty my bank account? I think any reunion should have free drinks, period. And when everyone is loaded and the knives come out, you can think of it as a debt of therapy repaid.

But the part that sealed it for me wasn't anything written in the form note I got in my inbox. It wasn't even that the reunion committee had paid classmates.com for my email address, which should piss anybody off. It's enough to make you think that the "permanent record" actually exists. No, what clued me in was that the exact same email was sent to me twice. So if for some reason I was struck by a bout of stroke induced euphoria and decided for a moment to attend, I could just see the second email show up saying, "Oh and by the way, the entire administration is still retarded." Thanks, reunion committee.

If you've actually paid for access to your "friends" from "the day" from classmates, do me a favor and start emailing your old classmates the death threats they deserve. You can find mine at Indiana: Evansville: Reitz Memorial High School: Class of 1994. Pipe bombs will be fine too. Send me a jpeg of the right person's severed head and I'll send you a complementary "I'll do anything for Mike's love" t-shirt.

We all have a past. We've all done things we're not proud of. I'm no different. I believe that no matter how good and pure each of us is, we have all betrayed our nature, or at least what we perceive to be our nature, at one time or another. It's the path of growth that we all take in our early adulthood. A person might believe that they are inherently good, and yet do something that directly contradicts that nature. We've all been disappointed in someone before. Why would we get disappointed if we didn't find their actions to be in contrast to their good nature? And there are many varying levels of evil that we can display. To some, infidelity may be seen as a pure betrayal. Others who have a more relaxed sense of morality might see it as wrong, but not that wrong. Such damning behavior might be seen only in causing physical harm. Still others might be equally offended by a white lie.
 
I'm just a regular guy living an incredibly ordinary life. But in years past, between ages 16 and 22 mostly, I involved myself in a fair deal of immoral behavior. I never killed anyone, so don't get the wrong idea. But I was a base scoundrel at the very least. Even so, I never did anything that I can recall that directly contradicted what I believed to be my nature. I've always been able to justify my actions as the logical results of my character. And, aditionally, I've explained my character to myself in terms that I can understand with ease.
 
Since my early adulthood I have changed many things. I don't steal or cheat. I don't try to hurt people and I try not to lie. But I don't believe that my nature has changed at all. And this is the very essence of this post. I think we all know somebody who thinks that they are "in tune" to the nature of other people, who can sense evil like a dog does. It seems like that would be some kind of extraordinary, supernatural gift. But it seems to me to be just a highly tuned sense of observation, like being able to spot a familiar face in a crowd, or hear an oboe in the orchestra. So it makes sense to me, in that regard, that someone can "sense" whether a person is good or bad, regardless of appearance.
 
During my darker years I found that some people would hate me at first sight. I always thought they were just assholes, and some of them were. But they were also right. And I couldn't really blame them for not trusting me. But these days I shake hands and make pleasant conversation. I actually am interested in what other people have to say... sometimes. But for some reason, there are still people who get very uncomfortable around me. There are still those who passionately dislike me instantaneously. And that has been the cause of much contemplation.
 
Perhaps those people who see something unnerving in me from the start are people with this highly tuned perception. Maybe my true nature remains the same, and people who sense that see me as a threat of some kind. It seems a bit far-fetched, I know. But I have no other explanation at the moment. And if this is true, what does that say about the people who automatically hate me? Is it the same as spotting a friend in a crowd? If so, then their reactions are tells of their own basic structure of immorality and fear. They would hate me because they are the generally contemptable humans who they perceive me to be.
 
Now I'd like to think that's true. If it were, it would mean that all these people who hate me for no reason are basically bad people and see some part of themselves in my eyes. It would also mean that no matter how we may change our behavior our truest nature and purpose are inflexible. Mine then would be to pull our civilization's moral integrity toward the immoral. But I suppose that there will always be that moral tug-of-war among us. This is getting too deep and way too implausible. Goodbye.

On my one-hour trek to work this morning I was listening to a Chris Rock CD wherein he was pointing out the differences between black people and “niggas”. It’s a hilarious bit and I haven’t tired of it even after about 20 listenings. Having listened to this section so many times I could anticipate what Chris was going to say next. Suddenly it was like I had originated this comedic monologue and was doing my standup in front of a generous, cackling audience.

I found it strange that my imagination allowed me to so completely believe that I could be doing something so strange as doing a standup act on stage about black people, especially since I’m an Indiana honkey. Perhaps it was easier because I believe deep down that I could really do standup comedy. I mean I used to be a very convincing stage actor in high school. I would think that the varsity, lettering, starting linebacker for a state-champion high school football team could still possess the requisite skills to at least play with his contemporaries on a weekly basis. And standup comedy doesn’t even require that I be in peak physical condition, which is a good thing since I am still about fifty or so sit-ups away from looking like Michelangelo’s David.

Then I thought about how would I go about becoming a standup comic. I’d need a funny routine, some monologue filled with jokes that I could rely on and fall back to should I get stuck or nervous. I’d have to practice it until it was rote. Then it would be time to try it out in front of an audience, probably an open mic of some kind, tweak my act accordingly, and then take it to a larger venue. Then even if it didn’t take, I would still be proud of having accomplished my goal.

But wait a minute. Why the hell am I even considering this? Just yesterday I was researching and studying web design to help my goal of starting a web-based company. I’d mention the details of my endeavor, but I don’t want the idea stolen. And two months ago I was drafting up ideas for a novel. Last week I was planning on researching how to write and sell comic books. Why would I be serious at all about being a comedian? In fact, I don’t really have any interest in pursuing this path. But it seems possible that I could if I want to. And I guess I feel that that warrants some modest amount of research.

But what does it mean that I’m thinking so much about developing skills in these arts? Should I believe that I am a budding entrepreneur and am just now learning what I need to know to strike at opportunities when they arise? Or does the artistic nature of all four of these paths mean that I am actually an artist trying to emerge from this business cocoon in which I am incubating? I’m not sure, but it seems clear to me that if I want to find out, I should try to actually make one of these choices a reality. Perhaps there’s some creative part of me that is yet untapped.

But why these forms of art and not others? There are creative paths that I could take that would require less preparation. After all, I don’t have any desire to be a singer. And I have a pretty damn good singing voice. I don’t really want to be a manager in my company, even though that’s my current path. And I don’t want to be a painter or a poet, mainly because they don’t interest me. Maybe my current role in the business world is right where I should be, and the grass just seems to be greener on the right side of the brain.

It’s a confusing time, these late twenties. I do recognize that I may never again find myself at a point in my life when I am so self-assured of my own creative potential. It seems less a question of can I succeed, but more whether or not I am willing to put forth the effort to see the venture through. And that is a good feeling. I think it’s important to take time out to recognize the things about your life, such as it is, that you will miss in future ages. Most of us reminisce on ages past when we were leaner, stronger, more innocent, less disaffected, etc… Try realizing how you’re better today than you will be in ten or twenty years. It’s giving me a boost of creative energy. And who knows, I may actually follow through on one of my creative impulses.

Last night Nina was reading my blog as she often does when she started clicking on the few links I have deemed worthy of inclusion. One of these was a blog called "The Good Husband". I was sitting in the family room trying to enjoy the 1999 episode of "I Love the 90's" on VH1. Soon Nina was bellowing for me in a way that said, "I want to talk to you and you're coming to me". I don't mind the occasional interruption as Nina is often confused about computer and Internet matters. But this wasn't one of those times. Nina was pissed off at the page she'd just read. It was a post on a blog about some guy wanting to bang some chick without his wife finding out, blah blah blah. I normally have no interest in these kinds of matters, but the guy followed all of the rules, so I let him have a link on my homepage.

Well Nina was upset that I'd allow this unfaithful, sexually deviant, manipulative, lying prick to spit out his cheating ways so close to my own thoughts. Her thinking is that if I find this kind of shit entertaining, then I might just be involved in some sexual improprieties of my own as well. Figures. I hadn't had sex in nearly four weeks and just when things looked favorable she gets mad about my blog...again. I'll describe the again part some other time.

Well I fixed everything and explained how I don't even know this guy nor have I read his recent posts. She got the message and I've removed the link from my blog. But that wasn't the end of the story. Not one hour later I'm laying in bed and Nina's playing Tetris on her Super Nintendo next to me. She starts in on how the more she hangs around men, the more she hates them. I guess she's been privy to some of the truths of our male psyches that she hadn't previously known. And I thought to myself, "what a good thing." For a while there I was scared that Nina would spend her entire life believing that men are strong, confident, and truthful while women are manipulative, petty, and mean. Perhaps her disappointment is a blessing in that now she is closer to the understanding that all humanity is weak, manipulative, petty, and cruel. Fine by me. If I'm to spend the rest of my life with this woman I'd like her to see me as observant and wise instead of just a pessimist.

Initially, Nina was somewhat distraught, but I explained to her that no matter what expectations you set for humanity you will always be disappointed. I know that if you look for good, you'll find it. But you’ll also find the bad, and chances are excellent that the bad was laying dormant in th egood the whole time, just waiting to leap out. What I love is when good people do bad things and you have to come to the harsh realization that we're all bumbling, immoral, clueless humans on a spinning rock with no semblance of meaning or purpose. It's all over the news: murder, rape, arson, scams, war, thievery, political corruption, and mass deceit. I love it. If all human civilization were to converge into a single entity, that entity would spend its entire fucking life running into a brick wall, scratching her head in confusion, backing up, and running into it again.

Maybe Nina didn't feel better about my description of the universal evils in all people, but it's good for her. It's like our Mormon friend who acts righteous, yet is completely clueless of the flaws inherent to society. Naiveté does not equate to purity. In fact, it amounts to little more than two things: ignorance, and a guaranteed laugh when she realizes she's spent her life in the false belief that humans have some innate value. It's fantastic, like watching the collapse of a building, but a building made entirely of morals based on foundation of lies.

In an unexpected turn of events, I did get to fuck my wife that night. After she lost her game of Tetris at about 124 lines she turned off the TV, came to bed and went straight for the manhandle. I guess after this long, even she was getting horny beyond what her delicate little emotions could pacify. Well, we still have our own little game of "good and evil" but these days, the roles are shared more equally. After all , true companionship is rooted in equality. So before I'm done Nina's going to be one sick fuck, just like hubby.

Every now and again I make an effort to include a coworker friend of mine in some out-of-office social bonding events like barbecues, after hours bars and baseball games. This guy's name is Mike, but we'll call him Bitter-divorced-balding-33-year-old-has-been-loser. Well, maybe that nickname's too long. I'll just call him Lertz. In case you don't have any taste in movies, Lertz is the name of that giant, evil, bow-wielding ork that gets his head chopped off in the end of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. There's actually a resemblance. Well he is basically the only guy I work with who I can joke around and have fun with. Everybody else is either sorely lacking in the sense of humor department or is too far away from my tier for a friendship to bud.

I would hope that most of us know a Lertz. This is a guy in his mid-thirties who's looks are beginning to deteriorate for whatever reason. In this case, he's got a wicked receding hairline. He'll be top-smooth in two years. Lertz is tall and muscular. He used to play some sport, but never made it. He has a bachelor's degree and, as a result, thinks that he has some intellectual capacity that undergrads do not. He's divorced from the woman he thought he was supposed to be with (your basic Scottsdale chick looking for her MRS degree) and is extremely bitter about it. Yet he won't consider a woman who isn't every bit as plastic and impossible looking as his ex. Did I mention that he is terrified of being anywhere but in the center of the pack for fear of seeming strange. Apparently conformity is the credo with this guy.

Anyway, Lertz is trying hard to find the "right" girl so that he can remarry, have children, and start his life anew and issue-free. Of course he doesn't realize that baggage isn't left at the alter. If it was, then there wouldn't be many divorces at all I think. And since I've been with Nina for about a decade I've been trying to help him in that pursuit. I try, but in the end Lertz is just looking for more barflies to nail that will remind him of when he was a younger stud. He's not bad looking at all. He makes a decent living, has a house and a dog, and can be very funny. But he's still convinced that the best days are behind him. Why? Because he's losing his hair.

Well I'm just about at my wits end with this "friend". You see, he never invites me out with him. I'm rarely invites me to his house, and never when there's going to be anyone else there. He has told me that he wouldn't introduce me to any girlfriend he has. What the hell? Am I some kind of embarrasment here? Oh wait, I just read the last sentence of the title of my weblog again, "Just Off Center". I'm a free-thinker and a little weird, and when we're alone, so is he. He makes goofy faces and noises. We joke about girls and coworkers. And that's just not what he wants anyone else to think he is. So since I don't feel the need to be anyone but who I am, nor do I think that I am alone in my sense of humor, I have to conclude the the problem is his. Whew, now I feel better.

But if this guy is a friend, how can I bring him out of his shell? Why is he so locked up inside? And more importantly, do I give a shit about even trying? Most of the time I'd say that he's a project that entertains me, not really a friend. He's convenient to take breaks and lunches with, but is mostly boring and fake. I've actually realized that I worry about him embarrassing me in front of my other friends, who aren't encumbered by self-loathing. I've made that known to him as kind of "fuck you right back". So I listen. I advise him when asked. I confront him when he's a dick, which is often because he's both a compulsive liar and unable to take even slight criticism. And I work with him professionally.

I just wish that there were guys out there that I could relate to who don't require years of therapy. Have they all been ruined by bad relationships? Are they hard to find because they've all been snagged up and locked away by their wives? Or most terrifying, are there only a few of us out there, and our chances of finding each other are practically nil? Guys share feelings too. Women don't realize these things about men, so they try to find us friends that they think we'll like. It's the male bonding that women think all men look forward to (i.e. watching football, grilling out, shooting "hoops", circle-jerking) that I can't stand. Do I really give a shit about the Nuggets/Lakers game last night? No.

So this is a calling to you. That's right you, the guy reading this random blog agreeing with the shit I write. Send me an email or post a comment. Stop being abused by Lertzes and start looking for real pals. I may not be him, but start now, because it's only getting harder as the years progress. And knock off the emailing of naked pictures of yourself. My ego doesn't need any more boosting, stumpy.

Every now and again I like to check out some of the interesting blogs that get published. The blogger homepage has a listing of all of the blogs updated in the last ten minutes. There are usually about 300 of them. That's a lot of damn blogs, people. And since I've been surfing around, actually interested in reading what you have to say, I've decided to help out.

There are a lot of shitty blogs out there. And I'm not talking about "just got started and this is a test" blogs. I mean "here's 47 paragraphs about why my boss is a big meany LOL" blogs. So in order to save me some time in pounding the "page down" button in rapid succession, here are some things that you should leave out of your blog:

BORING TITLES - Look, I get that your name is Lisa Perry and that this is your first blog. I can tell that by mind-numbing boredom I encounter while reading it. Do you really have to entitle your whole blog "Lisa Perry's first blog"? Titles like this make me want to send flaming comments explaining what a retarded dullard you people are, if leaving angry comments weren't even lamer than these titles.

POETRY - There was a time when I too thought that I was a creative soul and needed to share my feelings of angst and 11th grade vocabulary with the world. But then I turned 14. That's right I'm a fucking genius, tool. You are not clever. Your poems are boring and virtually identicle to every other blog poem on the web. This is a forum for you to write creatively, not spew prose akin to a love poem you handed that boy in the fourth grade. You remember him? He's the one who pushed you down at recess and ended up marrying your prettier best friend. Your poetry blows. Accepting it is crucial to evolution.

"RANT", "RAMBLINGS", "THOUGHTS", OR "FEELINGS" - What is the point of saying in your description that you're going to be rambling or ranting or that "this is a collection of my thoughts and feelings"? Hello, It's blog! What the fuck else would it contain? Which brings me to...

POLITICAL COMMENTARY - Almost every fifth blog on the big list is based in how Bush is a lame, warmongering dickhead or a heroic, results-oriented patriot. I mean it's arrogant enough to think there are any mouth breathers out there who are interested in reading about your sex life. Where do the balls come from that make you think that anybody cares about your political views. leave your soapbox at the login, assholes.

ANIMATION AND CLUTTER - Do any of you ever actually take the time to look at your own blogs? If you did you might notice that that spinning, puking, hammer-weilding smily is taking up the whole goddamned screen. Even if the content is shit, at least make it accessible. This includes leaving out those stupid "Today I'm feeling:" or "I'm listening to:" inserts. And do I have to come over there and force your hand to change your font? All aboard the U.S.S Clue! Pink is not fucking legible.

A LOUD BACKGROUND - Here's a tip. If the background on your blog is blue with green dots all over it having blue or green text makes your blog illegible. It was probably uninteresting anyway, but at least give me a chance to hate it for the right reasons.

LINKS AS POSTS - No, I will not "check this out". And why are you just redirecting me to some article written by some dipshit at CNN or USNEWS. I came here to read your opinions on the matter. You're the dipshit I want to read. Are you too busy to post a few thoughts of your own or did you think that I'd be so riveted by your link to whoever is covering the Emmy's this year that I'd just come back and thank you? Stop that!

PICTURES OF YOUR BABY/CAT/DOG/CORPSE - If you started your blog so that your family could check it out and see a 76 photo spread of Davie Jr. sucking his foot then fine. But you have to realize that this is a public website, jackoffs. I can't count the number of times I've clicked on a blog that obeyed all of the above rules only to find it littered with so many pics that the scrollbar was 12 pixils long. So your dog is cute, I get it. Just one picture is enough, then get back to complaining that your boss is a big meanypants.

NET SPEAK - So I wuz tryn 2 undrstnd wy sum f u r so dum that u cant jst wryt yur posts n english. i mean sum of th best blogs i read r from cntrys wer they dont spk english as ther 1st language. if yur 16 yrs old then u prolly hav sum reason fer talkin lyk the dumest persin in yer class. but that duznt need 2 b translated n to script. n short, yer a jakass and shud go bak 2 4th grad.

Now that you all have a better understanding of what not to include in your weblogs. Perhaps now you have what it takes to cover up the fact that you are uninteresting and suffering from a dire need to fit in with the "I don't fit in" club. Now go on and start doing some actual creative writing. I'm an optimist (you can tell) so I'll keep on reading your stuff, but if I have to click on your blog entitled "I'll fuck anything" and find it full of shitty poetry and anti-Bush slogans I am definitely giving you a full-fisted colonoscopy.

Recently I heard back from a pair of mormon friends who we were helping budget for a new house. About six weeks ago, after the house was complete and ready to move in, they decided they didn't like the current rates and backed out of the whole thing. The house is now a spec home and is selling for about $45K more than they were going to pay. Dumbasses.

The thing that really pissed me off about this is the number of hours that I spent helping them plan out their budget, rewriting the guy's resume, advising him on job search techniques, listening to them bitch, etc... They didn't even call to tell us they were actually cancelling. They just did it and avoided us for six weeks. Normally I find the idiocies of others to be quite uplifting, but this one bothered me. I don't like helping people with problems like this in the first place. Need help moving? Buy beer and pizza and I'll be there. Need to borrow $100 until payday? Just ask and we'll work something out. But this was like I was their own personal financial advisor, employment consultant, marriage councelor, and daily affirmist. And for them to just drop out without saying anything first? Lungs need to be punctured.

So what drove me to such benevolence in the first place? Well mainly, they're more friends of Nina than me and I hate it when her friends break away from her because of me. But also significant was the amount of favors that they did for us. They helped us move for two days. They drove my wife around and got us into Sam's Club many times. We never asked them to do these things normally. They just decided to be good friends, something I'm not accustomed to. When I confronted them about it, they said that they like to help others and that's how "they" are raised. "They" in this matter are Mormons. In case you were wondering, mormons are rampant in Arizona. I never noticed them before, but now that I know a pair, I see these teenage boys in black suits riding around on bikes all over the place.

Now I've always considered myself a tolerant man. Well that's not exactly true. Actually if I were to wake up tomorrow and the entire population of Earth had disappeared forever, that would be A-OK with me. I'd move into an apartment on the 80th floor somewhere and fire nuclear missles at the north pole. But until that happens I have to learn how to live with the people who share my personal space. It's not easy, especially considering that I consider my personal space to be that area within 200 miles of me in any direction.

So when I made the choice to befriend a mormon couple it was with the understanding that I could never discuss religion with them. I have found mormons to be some of the worst kind of zealots. Not only do they have their "faith" but their doctrines are such that they must each spread the word and convert as many as possible. That's why the boys are all forced to get softballs chucked at their heads from moving cards for several months when they're out riding around. By the way, since I have made these friends I thought it fitting that reduce the number of roadkill point missinaries are worth from 1,000 to 775. Recent events about the house though have driven point values up beyond calculation. Now those who splat a "missionary" are to be knighted.

So I did what I usually do when people disappoint me, I got over it and went back to work. But when I got there I received an email from one of my readers with a link to this quiz that determines which organized religion or faith best suits your personal beliefs. After completeing it I was amused by the thought that my closest match was a liberal Christian or Protestant. Even more amusing was that bottoming out on the list at 27th was Mormonism. That's all I wanted to see. Actually if there were a category for religions that would execute me on sight, I would have prefered they be in that one. But dead last on belief match was close enough.

Now here's the crazy part. Number 26 on the list, second from last? Oh yeah, baby! Roman Catholicism! Damn that's hot. Twelve years of Cathoilic school will do that to you, I tell ya. There's only so many times a person can go to confession for blasphemy before it starts to get funny. Seriously though, without my strict Catholic upbringing I may never have split off and formed my own beliefs. But to fly 26 faith systems beyond? Hell even Taoism was somewhere in the middle there. Well try it for yourself, and if your results come back New Age, don't ever come to my site again.

There are those I have met who would argue that this is not a man's world as most people would assume. By "man's world", of course, I mean that the progress and direction of our civilization's evolution are driven by the will of males. Men are responsible for nearly every major incident in history, from Abraham's belief structures to Bush's invasion of Iraq. We have fostered countless inventions, philosophies, governments and wars. All the while, women have been right there with us, just not in such a creative capacity. But with all of this accomplishment, there are those who still say that this is a women's world.

But how could men, with all of our might, willpower, drive, knowledge and wisdom be the weaker sex in regard to the focus and direction of our global community? Well as several of my lesser educated friends have said "they've got all the pussy". Well, I can't agrue with that. And I do understand the concept. There have been times when Nina has jokingly demanded a new car just before giving it up. And, not surprisingly, I almost always agreed. Perhaps I was joking too, but if she was serious I would have been equally considerate. And that's a source of our weakness, dependance on the bodies of women.

But just because we love to screw and are willing to sacrifice some amount of our possessions for sex, does that mean that we are slaves to their awe? I think not. After all, even if they won't admit it, women get horny too. They just hide it better than we do. And why do they hide it better? Could it be to make sure they get the maximum return on their investment of sex? Perhaps the true cause isn't quite so devious, but the flavor of "appropiate reciprocation" is there. So what does that tell you?

What it tells me is that women have a basic understanding that this is a man's world. They know it and accept it. In fact, I bet that given the opportunity to switch command and control of the world to the wills of women, most women would balk. Given this understanding, women are forced to attain their goals through whatever methods are open to them. And let's be fair. A woman's body, particularly her vagina, can yield some very nice rewards. And in truth, I don't see anything wrong with a woman using her body to help her get what she wants, so long as she is doing it freely. It's easily arguable that sex is the best way for women to get their way in many aspects.

But what about sluts? Sluts don't get great husbands or promotions or respect with sex. What about women who have sex with men without love or social/monetary gain? What are these women thinking? You will be hard-pressed to find a woman who is more despised by other women than the slut. In this day and age, even a whore gets at least the recognition for having a minimal business sense. And with the relative success of the women's movement, women aren't even going apeshit anymore on the totally brainless submissives who live their lives in the persuit of male affection. No, it seems that the slut is on the receiving end of hate that rivals the male crybaby. And like most catogories of women, sluts need not do anything slutty do spawn disdain. They need only look like a slut. You've seen the reaction that people have when they see a woman who looks like she'd be up for a quick and emotionless fuck.

Now I have known some sluts in my time circling the sun. I've seen them all, the self-loathers, the nymphos, the liberated, and the just plain horny. In my opinion the first two categories of slut have all but ruined it for the latter. I have personally known women who had been with 200+ men in their life of all ages, races, sizes (and marital status) who have freely given it up simply because they wanted to please the man they were with or because they were craving some good bone. And I say God bless these tramps. I've had a couple opporunities to have some free and guaranteed discreet slut pussy, but that's just not my thing. However, it makes me happy just knowing that these women exist.

At every point in history sluts have existed. They have always been the ones who more often than other women used their body for gain, but openly and for only a small social or economic advance. I'm sure that in caveman days, there was some chick who would be tugging at her own hair in a suggestive manner to every hunter/gatherer in the clan. And all the way to today, there have been women with what I believe to be an unfair stigma simply because they don't take their sexuality to be their greatest cash crop. If it's not going to be respect, than I say that sluts should receive at least the consideration of their paths by those around them. To many, sluts are a mystery, and we humans love a good mystery.

So hats off to the sluts of the world. Ladies, arch your backs and hold your heads up high, especially if he has long legs. I believe the slut to be an indication of women's power and liberation. I see them as champions of their own bodies and people of great and mature perspective. Hump away ladies of "loose morals", I salute you.

As I get older (28) I notice that I am becoming less tolerant of the bullshit that comes with certain relationships. When I was younger, I would be willing to listen ad nauseum to people whom I considered friends, but with whom I had nothing in common. In college I hung out with losers and stoners that I didn't even like. But I never understood why good friends were so hard to come by. I suppose in those teen years we're all trying to find out something about ourselves and there's an unspoken understanding that everyone else is trying to learn the same about themselves.

In most of my early twenties I was in the Air Force, so I was limited to a certain kind of friend, namely one who would join the armed forced. This usually meant a lot of dipshit machismo and inter-unit drama. There were, of course, other civilians around, but having a friendship with them was always difficult. Civilians just have trouble relating to active duty men and women.

Now I'm in the business world as well as attending university and being a part of my new community in Queen Creek. And there are basically the same kind of people here that there were in the aforementioned ages. It's just that now they're all grown up and in the same environment I am, regardless of how they got there. But there's a definite difference in how I relate to them. I think that over the years I have had many run-ins with assholes and bitches that have given me an awareness of what I don't like in another person. And as I look around, I am beginning to believe that we all have these things that we look for in a person to help us rule them out as potential friends. It seems to be a defense mechanism we use so that we don't have to go through the ordeal of discovering that a person with whom we have shared our thoughts and feelings are going to end up using them against us. And so I've been thinking of what instant disqualifiers I have so that I can understand what kind of friends I seek. So far this is waht I've come up with:

1. Anyone who practices witchcraft or any other retarded craft like that
2. Anyone who is a "big fan" of either Oprah or Dr. Phil
3. Nascar fanatics
4. People with newborn children
5. Most people my age with children at all (this one cuts a shitload down)
6. College freshmen
7. Devout anythings (Morman, Christian, etc...)
8. Women from Scottsdale (most major cities have a Scottsdale-like suburb)
9. Bill O'Reilly fans
10. Anyone with a "fear this" or "Calving pissing" sticker in their rear window
11. Anybody who says "the answer is 42"

This list shouldn't imply that I am above having a pleasant conversation with any of these people. It exists only as a warning that I believe I will not be able to relate to these people, nor they to me and a relationship should not be attempted. And I think that we all have these lists. What's in yours?