Just Off Center

I'm a coffee person. It doesn't matter if it's fresh Columbian brew or the tar water they boil for three hours in the local Circle K. I drink up to 40 ounces each morning. But I have to admit a fondness for Yuban. It's got a decent flavor and it goes on huge sales every so often, so Nina buys the giant containers two at a time. Yuban is the same coffee that is brewed in the industrial brewer in the office next door as well. So many mornings I'll throw in my 25 cents and pour my 18 ounces in the red, insulated mug my employer gave me for my birthday, and come back to my desk to doctor it up with two vanilla creamers and four Equals. Yummy.

If you've ever spent a considerable amount of time in a large office area, you know that there are different kinds of office one can be assigned, based on their importance. There's the built-in office, that rare gift to those with tenure, some even possessing a door. There's the ceiling-height cubicle for lower managers. And finally, there's the basic cubicle for the masses. There's also the dual cubicle that is shared between two people, but that's so sad that I can't justify talking about it.

As I pass through the office next door to get my coffee I always pass by an engineering manager's cubicle. In the two years I've been in this office I've seen it occupied by four different men. The newest one has been there for about five months. And with each passing month I grow more and more terrified of this dorky looking supervisor of schematic analyzing panty sniffers. To see him in the halls, he's nothing to behold. He's just another adequately dressed, thin, spectacled, pale engineer with poor social skills. But given his similarities to most other engineers, he has decided to decorate his office with things that will smack of individuality. He has chosen to wallpaper his office with the finger paintings of his young son.

Now, before the "aww that's so cute"s start falling off of the highly estrogenic lips of my readership, I need to describe the nature of the art he hangs.

1. On the door of his credenza there is a two-page layout, each page turned sideways and taped at their meeting. The painting is of a large military assault rifle done entirely black. The weapon has an elongated clip, a grenade launcher, laser scope, and enough detail to make me believe that the artist has at least been very close to a gun of this ilk. A small plume of smoke rises from the barrel, suggesting it has just been fired.
   
   
   
2. A large page of sketchpad paper hangs above the phone. The scene is a close up view of what must be a soldier from the shoulders up. The troop is dresses in green with rust-colored skin. His facial features suggest he is of some Asian descent, perhaps Vietnamese. His oversized maw is open wide, teeth bared in a war cry. He has pink-tinted fangs. His eyes are bulging each complete with red iris, and black pupil. Red and yellow flames comprise the background and engulf the sides of the grunt. Set back and partially covered by the man's dead is the word "HELLO" in large bubble print of yellow and black.
   
   
3. Next to the troop is a painting of identical size to the flaming soldier. This may have been the after shot. Similar flames take up much of the scene. The center of the page is a large gray skull, misshapen and screaming. Red blood pours from the eye sockets and what appear to be bullet holes are scattered on the face. Beneath the skull are two crossed Saracen swords, blades down-facing. The cutting edges of the swords are stained red with small blotches of brown, similar to the color of the soldier's former face.
   
   

I can't get any closer to his office to see the rest of the art. The man rarely leaves his office and keeps a hawk's gaze on any passersby. As expected, I am a bit frightened that not only is this the kind of painting that his son chooses to create, but that this educated man has chosen these pieces to display so prominently. I would think that your average parent would see this kind of expression as the drippings of a developing emotional problem, requiring immediate concern, not a proud showcasing.

I once drew a picture of a man with half his head blown off and the handgun muzzle visible on the side. The caption read "I think he got me". It was meant as a joke and was drawn out of boredom. My mother freaked out and forced me to tear it up and then burn it. I was grounded for a week as a result. Even though I knew she just didn't get it, I could still understand her trouble with this sketch. And I was a high school freshman. The artistry and choice or color and paint make it clear that this kid can't be above the fifth grade.

I won't tell anyone how to raise their children. When parents completely fuck up their offspring's heads I take heart in the fact that the world will be more interesting because of it. But it's so rare that the actual process of corruption and serial killer rearing is right there in front of as I pour my morning coffee.

I realize that the past couple posts have all been sex-related. Don't worry. I'm still routinely pissed off and curious about the goings on of the world outside of the bedroom (or living room, under the kitchen table, in the dog house, etc.) and will write about those things as they occur to me. But I just had to take some time out of my day to write again about the differences between the sexes with regards to sex and communication. I don't want to try and plant any thoughts or notions in any heads, so I'll just let the content speak for itself. Here are two monologues about sex recounted and paraphrased to the best of my ability.

I once saw a movie with Jimmy Stewart in which he tells the fiance of his daughter that every now and then he's going to come home from work and find his wife crying. She won't tell you why she's crying either. And the reason she won't tell you is because she doesn't really know. Just hug her and tell it's o.k. was the advice. A little loving is all she wanted anyway. I'm not sure why I remembered this little segment, but it has rang true many times for me. I'll come home and Nina will just be in the dumps for no apparent reason. But if I just give her a hug and tell her everything is fine, she feels at least a little better.

So growing up boys learn ever so slowly that there are certain strange and inexplicable things and behaviors that we can expect to see from the opposite sex. We deal with them as best we can. But if you stand back and view a woman just as she is it all kind of makes sense.

One of the things we have to deal with regarding the oddities of the female of the species is the difficulty and complexity of the mating ritual. In short, getting a girl to want to fuck you is just damn hard. We spend our whole lives perfecting this process. But once you get a girl into bed you'll find that most of them are basically the same, timid at first and unsure of their bodies. As they get more comfortable with themselves and you they begin to open themselves up to more adventurous sex. This is when things get fun. And as they get really really comfortable, that's when the weird and wonderful shit comes out.

One thing that I've been thinking about lately is that for all the complaining that men do about women and how strange and fickle they are, women have to endure behavior twice as strange. Especially when it comes to sex is this true. Men make some damn odd requests of our women. And since they love us, they usually comply. But I just can't help but wonder how they go about processing the reason for some of the things we ask. For that reason, I've tried to come up with a list of things that men ask for or do in bed that would seem peculiar and offer up my amateur, layman's opinion.

• DADDY - Having your girl call you "daddy" is a bit disturbing. Even though to me this is one of the strangest things a guy can ask for when fucking, I get the distinct impression that women understand why we want this more than we do. Being called daddy by a girl you're having sex with seems like some term of endearment, or perhaps better termed an admission of submission. I don't think that it means that we want to fuck our daughters. Instead it seems to come from the same place as the desire to be called "king" or "master", which may be a little fucked up in its own rite.
  
  
• FACIALS - For the twelve year olds out there who have never had this experience, this is when a man realizes that he's about to come and has to select a location for the event, a target of sorts. A man could come inside her and risk pregnancy or take the easy way and just pull out and come on her tummy. But there's something inside us that every once in a while says "Hey, blow it all over her face! That would be awesome!" And in truth it is. I can't describe the feeling in a way that makes sense. Some would argue that men got the idea from watching pornos, but riddle me this: how did the moneyshot come to be the industry standard finale for sex scenes? Regardless, it is great and I have no idea why. Sorry I can't help.
  
  
• WHAT DID THE FIVE FINGERS SAY TO THE ASS? - Smack! This one actually turns a lot of women on. When a man is having sex from behind, the girl's ass is right there. It's right fucking there. And I'm already gripping the sides of that ass for leverage. I could do this one-handed, right? And with a long, tension-building motion similar to a bow string that arm pulls back and to the side. And then...SMACK!!! A red handprint remains on the cheek and I feel fulfilled unless I feel that the other cheek is getting jealous. Why do men do this? Hell, you put yourself in our position, with our viewpoint and you'll figure it out. Same thing goes for hair pulling and arm pinning
  
  
• I LOVE YOU, YOU FILTHY BITCH! - This might be one of the more difficult aspects of our mid-hump behavior to figure out. But sometimes during sex I, and most men I think, just get the sudden urge to start slamming our girl with a barrage of the most degrading, dehumanizing, and demeaning insults we can come up with. I can't help you with why. I know women will sometimes act like they enjoy something when they don't (like titty fucking), just to please us (thanks, by the way), but I can't believe that a normal, emotionally healthy woman would pretend to get further turned on by being called a whore during sex. So there must be something about it that you like. I'll leave it at that and I'll move on.
  
  
• THE POOP CHUTE - To me, this is far sexier in theory than in real life application. Some guys just love anal sex and demand it as a regular part of the relationship. These men are fetishists. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the odd fetish here and there, I have them myself. But I'm talking about the universal desire to fuck a girl in the ass. The visual usually pops to mind impulsively when we see our girls in some ass-flattering get-up. The low-rise sweat pants are the best. But when it comes time to actually put my dick in my girl's butt hole, it just seems to lose all of its appeal. I think this one is based almost entirely in the conquering or conquest of our women. I mean, once you get a girl to agree to anal sex, what more does she need to do to say she's yours?
  
  
• THANKS HONEY THAT WAS ZZZZZZZZ - Women may not realize this, but sex is a lot of work. There's balancing (something most men have none of), weight distribution, repetitious thrusting, and the energy sapping orgasm. I'd love to be a woman for a day just to find out what it's like to have an orgasm every twenty seconds. But women... oh girls, you just don't know. When we come, it's like our entire bodies are being crushed in this increasing wave of pleasure and we can barely stand it. And just like that it all releases. I think that the reason most men don't take yoga is because we already know what that great release is like. Add that to the physical rigors of sex, and you've got a recipe for sleepy time. And since sex in and of itself provides it's own emotional rewards for us men, we don't need any further attention. Why, do you?
  
  

There are many more I'm sure, but just looking at these things is enough to make me afraid of prom night. I bet they don't teach this shit about men in fifth grade when they split up the girls from the boys. No, women have to learn all this on their own, the hard way. But you love us, and of course you never forget how insane and unreasonable and strange you can be at times. So you tolerate it, you sometimes even encourage it. And I most certainly appreciate it.

The topic of female masturbation has come up a lot in a couple blogs in the last few days. Among these blogs is the constant advertisement for the rabbit vibrator. I have a few thoughts on this contraption.

It can never be said that I am one who fails to encourage women to get themselves off, particularly if it's in front of me just before I get to have sex with her. But with the unbelievable increase in funding that must be getting pumped into the research and development of vibrator technology, I can't help but wonder what it is about the regular male penis that is suddenly not good enough. Indeed, the men in this civilization are failing dismally at satisfying our women if the selection of vibrators at any adult store is any indication. But to be fair I thought I'd compare the two in a sort of "tale of the tape" to see what's lacking. I'll use the readily available High-tech I-Rabbit, retailing for $72, and what Alfred C. Kinsey said is the most readily available penis, available for mild to extreme emotional suffering.


The I-Rabbit is a multi-functional vibrator with on-board controls for rotation and vibration. The vibrator has a shaft of 7 1/2 inches in length and 1 1/4 inches of width at it's widest point, giving it a total girth of about 5 1/2 inches for greater pleasure. The shaft is jelly filled and the skin is detailed to be similar to some of the veining on a real penis. Midway up the shaft the I-Rabbit has a supply of small pearl-like beads packed inside. As the slightly curved shaft rotates in a circle it forces the beads to also rotate in an asymmetrical motion to stimulate the g-spot inside the woman, causing orgasm. The vibrator comes with a large smooth head, similar to that of a fully erect penis for ease of insertion.

Attached to the bottom of the shaft is a smaller shaft pointed at an acute angle upward and made of the same synthetic material forming the shape of a rabbit, hummingbird, or other small creature that any woman would want stimulating her clit. The tip of the offshoot is equipped with two long, slender spears of the same rubbery material. When turned on, the two fleshy pins snuggle around the clit and vibrate causing orgasm.

The entire gadget has a soft button control panel on the top side at the bottom. The user can increase or decrease the amount of vibration and rotation of both the main shaft and the clitoral stimulator to help in bringing more and more intense orgasms. The action can be adjusted independent of each other and range from gentle lovemaking to gorilla in the Congo. The unit operates on four AA batteries and can run at maximum intensity for up to six hours before power loss. When this happens, the unit can be supplied with four more AA batteries to immediately restore full funtionality. It can withstand both water and oil based lubrications used to bring orgasms and, when cared for with soapy water, is expected to last for five years. It comes with a manufacturer's warrantee against faulty craftsmanship.

Last night when we turned on Monday Night Football the game was already at halftime. Nina gave her famous pouty face. You know, the one that every girl does when she wants to look both sad and cute at the same time. But Nina makes it work. Either that or I'm a sucker. But when they came back from their twenty-six-commercial break they showed a video clip from Alanis Morissette with a montage of football shit going on in the background. Nina was telling me how much she loves Alanis and especially 'You Oughta Know'. She remembered how on 'I Love the 90's' the blonde chick was commending her on using the word "duplicity" in a rock song. Nina thought that was really cool, too.

Nina then told me that she thinks I have a dual personality. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that was true. I wanted to know more of her thoughts on the matter, but because of the TV distracting us I forgot to ask her how she would have divided up my personality. I'm sure she knows that everybody has different sides to their personality, so her telling me this must have meant that she could notice some great difference between my sides. I'm hoping that she's identified two distinct personality types and not just two sides of the same personality. Incidentally, I've often wondered why must the two personalities always be at odds with each other. Isn't there anyone out there who has a split personality where the two personalities really get along and share the body equally? Why are they always the exact opposites? By the way, duplicity stands for deliberate deceptiveness, not dual personality.

Anyway, I'm hoping she can identify two distinct sides to me that exist independent of the other. She's a bright gal. She's not like these girls who say shit like "Oh I'm totally like all these different people wrapped up in one. And I can be a total bitch, so don't mess with me LOL." God, some women annoy me. So anyway I wonder what she meant or what personalities she thinks I have. But I got to thinking that if a person can have two completely developed personalities in one mind, what would happen if each mind were given it's own body? What if the two sides of Mike split in two like Ash in Army of Darkness.

"I'm bad Mike. And you're good Mike. You're a goody little two shoes! Goody little two shoes! Goody little two shoes! Little goody two shoes! Little goody two shoes! HEE HEE HEE!!!

I'd like to think that one Mike, Good Mike, would be a very passive and kind man who moves into a villa in the south of France and writes romance novels while tending to his small crop of potatoes and other grain alcohol producing vegetation. He'd be close to nature and polite to people and animals. In fact, when he got out of bed each morning, little birds would come in through the window and fetch him his robe and slippers while the squirrels portioned out his coffee grounds with their tails. Good Mike would spend his days on the patio typing out chapter after chapter of love and adoration in the face of unspeakable evils. He'd grow a long gray beard and a round belly, smoke tobacco and weed from a pipe, and live a generally peaceful life until his death at the age of 99 from heart failure. He would be loved and missed.

Bad Mike owns and operates an S&M store in south Detroit. He's thin and boyish looking, but for the evil glint in his blue eyes. He makes very little money from his store, but lives well and supports his heroin addiction by using his basement as a safe-house for men on the lam and acting as a contractor for hired assassins. A raven with a pierced beak and barbed talons follows him wherever he goes. He never hurts anyone except for those who try to hurt him. But he never shies away from the darkest parts of humanity allowing him to remain calm and cool when others would cower. He'd end up taking his own life at fifty just because he can. Despite all this dark lifestyle, he is equally content with his life. He will on occasion send long letters about his life and experiences to Good Mike to be used for bad guy inspiration in his next book. He too would be loved and missed, just by different people.

I'm guessing that Nina's ideas probably weren't quite so elaborate or extreme. But I'm sure that there's some amount of similarity between her idea of my duality and what I've illustrated. It's interesting to try to give serious thought to allowing a complete split of yourself, but all the while maintaining true to your nature and a good relationship between the two. I wouldn't call it therapy, but it does allow a good chance for introspection. Give it a try. Who are you? And who's that other person with you?

Many years ago, Ray Kroc, founder of McDonalds, decided that he didn't want his senior managers to forget that in the end it was still all about selling hamburgers to those of good appetite but less ample finances. So to keep his people humble and connected with the lowest echelons of the McDonalds Corporation, Kroc established Founder's Day. This celebration took place on Kroc's birthday every year. Each Founder's Day, every higher manager would be taken out of his environment and forced to be a fry cook/cashier/pickle picker all day long. I'm sure it was a great experience for everyone. I wonder if the wester VP of Marketing remembered to shit on his hands before making the Big Macs.

Yesterday, there was something of a Founder's Day at our home in sunny Queen Creek Arizona. We woke up around eight and got out of bed as usual. Nina was really excited about watching the football games scheduled for that day. She never knew anything about football before and never showed an interest in learning. But this past week she had entered into a football pool with some friends. The prospect of winning money is always a powerful impetus for Nina to take an interest in something that would otherwise go unnoticed. She had her picks and a five dollar investment in our future. And with a possible $55 yield her absolute dedication to watching every play of every team on all fifteen games was necessary. She put on her pink sleep shirt and hunkered down on the couch for some serious football viewing.

I got on the computer and did my homework. After I finished my homework I started learning how to use some new web design software I'd "acquired" so that I could build new and better websites to host our blogs. Nina got hungry so she made tuna salad. I had leftovers from the past two suppers. About thirty minutes later, from the computer room, I started hearing these noises. It was unmistakably Nina shouting. It was almost as if Nina was quite certain that if she were to offer up her "sports commentary" loudly enough, not only would the players on the field hear her through the television, but they would heed her advice to "Motherfucker! Go Go Go! You stupid Go!" When I asked what she was yelling at she told me that the guy threw the ball to the other guy and he got hit by like three other guys. Then she asked me how many yards are in a down.

The entirety of my knowledge of football derives from attending my older brother's high school football games. Even though I never bothered to watch any of them, I guess some of the rules of the game seeped in somehow, because I was able to answer most of her questions accurately. It became clear that Nina wasn't going to make much of a happy homemaker today, so I decided to execute my own Founder's Day at home. I got her sodas, ran to the grocery store, scooped the litter box, made dinner, folded three loads of laundry, did the dishes, etc. I baked brownies from fucking scratch. I would on occasion remind her that there were things around the house that still needed doing and, even though I can respect a husband's need to relax on the weekend, I may ask for some help later. She didn't have much of a response.

By the time football had finally ended it was about 9:00 PM. Nina hadn't done very well in the football pool, but was still optimistic. We'd just have to see how her team did Monday night. I can't wait. But for the rest of Sunday night there would be no more football to watch. But there was still a bevy of sports shows highlighting the great plays of the day. Perhaps indulging herself in these shows would better prepare her for next week's pool. I'd better find out if she wants nachos or pigs in a blanket.

At the end of the night she got into bed and watched another CSI rerun. I wrapped up the brownies individually in plastic wrap and shut down the house for the night. After the show had ended she watched Terminator 3. I fell asleep horny and confused, but satisfied that I had cared for my emasculated bread winner on her day of rest. Perhaps I should just be thankful she didn't ask me to bring her a beer and give her a blowjob during halftime. I'm sure that tuna would have affected the tast of her semen. But like I said, there's always Monday night football to make up for anything that was lacking during Sunday's fifteen games.

In my last post I wrote that I would explain further about the former college buddy of mine who ended up betraying me. I'll give more details here of the sordid tale of Ahmar and the night that led to my suspension from Indiana University. This will be a long one.

Flashback again to the Fall semester of 1995. I was a basically good kid with some very fucked up ideas on life. I had few friends and mostly just kept to myself. I liked it better that way. But now and again I did enjoy the company of someone to bounce thoughts off of and party with. Sophomore year I met a thin, dark-skinned man by the name of Ahmar. He was living in the co-op dorm between the boys and girls towers. His roommate was named Rob, and Rob was a friend of this girl I had been checking out. That girl is my wife.

Ahmar, to the untrained eye, seemed to be quite something. He had a posture and poise that made me think that he came from money. He claimed to be from Tanzenia and he made no qualms about his wealthy bloodline. He was cocky and abrasive, but then so was I. At the time, I couldn't see that he was just a miserable, unloved, petty dick who got off on seducing girls who were too drunk or stoned to know better. We began to hang out and he introduced me to Nina, at her request. From this point on he began a battery of full-on cock blocking. I wish that I could say that this was the betrayal I mentioned in my earlier post, but Nina and I obviously managed just fine, despite his interventions.

Ahmar and I would go out on the hunt for girls pretty regularly. Generally, we'd go to some house party already on its last legs. I'd hit the keg, mingle and flirt and he'd make a B-line straight to the drunkest girl in the room. At the time I was also regularly staying with a girl named Becky, who was basically in love with me but who I considered little more than a fuck buddy/bootycall.

One night we all felt like going out, and Becky had convinced a freshman named Kim two doors down from her to come out with us looking for some fun. We went around the usual apartment complexes, but found nothing going on. In the end we decided to buy some alcohol and just hang out in Becky's room. We stopped at a liquor store and Ahmar (who was 21) bought two bottles of cheap tequila. I never drank tequila. I just can't handle that shit to this day. We went back to Becky's room to watch a movie and just hang out. At least that's what I was going to do.

Becky had once had a roommate, but she had moved out a month or two before that night. So she had been bugging me to take the bunk above her down and place it next to her bed so she's have more room to sleep. When we got up to her room I figured since I had another man there to help me we might as well take the bed down. We put the two beds together and set up the VCR with some flick. We were there just drinking and talking for a while, maybe an hour or more.

I'm a little shady on how things progressed from that point. But what I thought was that we were all still quite sober. I hadn't finished one drink and neither had Becky. Ahmar had a few and Kim had two, but she seemed totally sober and bragged on her ability to hold her liquor. Well that may have been true or not. What was true was that at some point she and Ahmar started making out on the bed which promptly moved to the floor right in front of us. I honestly hadn't even thought about the four of us getting busy that night, but I was always up to try anything once, so I started making out with Becky.

We were laying on the bed against the wall and when we looked over, Kim and Ahmar were naked and she was giving him a blowjob. Ahmar then told me to get behind her and fuck her from behind, but I wasn't going to just get up and start fucking some girl I had just met, at least not without asking first. So Becky and I took our clothes off and I tried to have sex with her...but I couldn't. I just couldn't get it up. I wasn't drunk and I wasn't turned off. It just wasn't happening. Then Kim and Ahmar got on the bed next to us and had sex while we watched. After they were done, they lay there exhausted and blushy. From ceiling view it was me, Becky, Kim, and Ahmar.

Then Ahmar decided he wanted to try out Becky. I didn't care since I really didn't even like Becky very much, and I certainly wasn't in love with her. Ahmar climbed over Kim and started to kiss Becky so I crawled over them to get to Kim. We made out for a minute and then I got on top of her. Before I entered her I asked her point blank "Is this what you want?" She said yes so I started to have sex with her. It seemed I had no trouble getting aroused by Kim, who was much more attractive and new to me. I'm sure this hurt Becky, but I didn't consider it at the time.

Then it was all over. We were all tired so we went to sleep together. That morning Kim was the first to leave. She got dressed and went back to her room. Then we woke up and Becky escorted Ahmar and me out. It was awkward, sure, but I just attributed that to this being my first time being with more than just one person. I went home and life went on as normal until a couple weeks later when I came home from a concert to find an answering machine message from a cop for the Indiana University PD. He wanted to "talk". I didn't know what it would be about, but I figured some weed dealer had gotten himself busted and had dropped my name as a buyer. I'd just lie and leave.

At the station I was told that I was under investigation for raping Kim. I was absolutly beside myself. Why would she say she was raped? She was sober. She had run the bases with Ahmar for half an hour. I asked her fucking permission! As it turns out, Kim had before that night been a virgin. I guess she didn't like the idea of having her first time ocurring in an orgy. She was convinced that she had been raped though. Unfortunately for her, there was no way that the IUPD had a case. It wasn't even pursued legally. Instead Ahmar and I would be charged within the campus legal system. We got our stories straight, and Becky was on our side. Becky was brought up for allowing an illegal transaction in her dorm. She got off with a semester of probation. Ahmar's testimony came the next day and we both showed up to defend him. We said our piece and left.

Ahmar had agreed to do the same for me that next week, when it was my turn. It was important to maintain our solidarity. Except that he never showed. He didn't attend a single date, naver made another statement and then he just disappeared. He packed up in the middle of the night and left town. To this day I have no idea where he is. I was expelled from Indiana University and sent back home to Evansville. What I was told was that the parents of this university need ot feel that they can send their daughter there and that they would be safe. Rapeaccusations were generally dealt with in a biased manner. I was hurt, but since I was on the verge of being academically suspended anyway, it didn't really matter.

Through everything there was Nina. When I got involved with Nina, that is when I realized that she was more to me than just another piece of ass, I decided to stop seeing Becky altogether. But word of mouth got to Becky before I could and she left me a screaming message that she never wanted to see me again. Fine by me. So I left IU and moved back in with my mother. A couple months later I went back to IU for my appeal. It was a totally bullshit charge, and I was going to get that across, even if it changed nothing about my expulsion. I hired a lawyer and went up for my hearing. Nina stayed in her dorm room the entire day waiting for me and listening to the Counting Crows sone 'Anna Begin' , our song, over and over.

The hearing was hard. Kim had come down to testify (she had left IU earlier) with her mother. I had to look them both in the face, and I could see how convinced she was. I didn't challenge her. Even if it was bullshit, taking her on would only hurt her more. Then Becky showed up to testify against me. I could've done without that. But my lawyer ignored what I thought was true and just blamed everything on Ahmar for having orchestrated this whole thing. And maybe he actually did. That got my expulsion lifted and instead I was given two semesters of suspenion and four years of probation should I ever decide to reattend. I didn't.

Instead, I got a job in Evansville, lived with my mother and talked with Nina every night. That summer she came to live in Evansville just to be with me. During a Spring semester visit she made a friend and got her to let Nina sleep on her floor the whole summer. And despite much reservation, that Fall we moved in together. The rest is already known. There are times when I think of it and my feelings swing in all directions. But with each passing year, I realize that for whatever regret I may have I feel absolutley no guilt about that night. Nor do I feel like a victim. It was what it was. I don't wish either of the girls any ill will. But the hatred and need for revenge against Ahmar has been a steady and unwavering line. That might never dwindle until the day I see him again.

The business world today, some would argue, has become even more competitive and cutthroat than any other time in American history. I personally believe that the methods of deal closing have grown more civil than in generations past. But one can appreciate the view of those who see shadiness and corruption enjoying an all time high in public acceptance. So if this is true, then those of us blustering in the lower echelons of business operations are serving the masters of evil in their pursuit. Perhaps that is why the social graces of most people at work seem to have bottomed out.

Surely, anybody reading this can site a dozen examples of rudeness and rancor in their office for every act of kindness and good will. It doesn't have to be electronic file theft or pilfering of the petty cash either. Much like a prison inmate, after a certain period of time a businessman begins to learn the rules of social interaction within their own team. As time advances, so do most of grow more and more disheartened and disenfranchised with the people we serve and the servants we see every day. So, in an effort to increase the peace and lower blood pressures around the office I've come up with a list of things we see every week for us all to work on.

1. Greetings - I can't speak for others around me, but I can comment on the art of hallway greetings that I experience. Every single day I walk up and down this long corridor and invariably pass by some casual work acquaintance. I always try to say hello and ask how they're doing. Do I get that in return? No fucking way. What I get is one of the following:
   
   
   • The Zombie - The person walks directly past you with a blank expression on their face, staring dead ahead and continuing past me as if I wasn't even there...and as if they had just spent eighteen months in the bush fighting Charlie.
     
     
   • The Distraction - Sure they know who I am, and they would say hi to me, but they just saw that painting of a cactus on the wall and can't seem to take their eyes off of it as they pass me by. You can replace the painting with a window, cell phone, pager, watch, or failing all of that their fucking shoes. This is done mostly by women, who seem to think that any time a man says hello his next step is to grab her by the face and rape her in the supply closet.
     
     
   • The Facial Function Check - This is when you pass someone who look at you, but instead of smiling or using their mouth to form the word "hello" they instead flex every muscle in their face for about 50 milliseconds, resulting in their mouth opening and shutting, their eyes bulging and returning, and the rest of their face just contorting to some freakish thing that's supposed to mean "Hi there, Mike. Good to see you."
     
     
   • The Conversation Starter - Perhaps the most annoying of them all, and more of an act of social ineptitude than rudeness, this is where the person will greet you but then asks you a question that can't possibly be answered in the three seconds they are in your sight. It's a greeting like "Hey Mike, got any plans for this weekend?" Sure it's nice to be asked, but if I wanted to chat I'd come to your office and I don't want all the other passersby to know that I'll be going to the 2004 Church Fish Fry and Wife Swapping tomorrow night.
   
   
   
2. Community refrigerators - There is no reason why this should be such a difficult thing to handle. As a team, we meet deadlines, develop products, exceed profits, and conquer obstacles. Why the hell can't people keep a community refrigerator from regressing into a giant living organism with a power cord? A couple tips here too:
   
   
   • Food in, food out - Like FIFO, but with the shit you brought with you last week to put into your body at noon. So you got busy and had to skip lunch, congrats on your job security. Is it that difficult to remember at some point in the next six months that the turkey and green bean casserole in the faded tupperware is still there...and that you should be the one who removes it?
     
     
   • The tree in the woods - If a scumbag degenerate spills some of his cabbage stew on the bottom of the fridge and nobody is there to see it does it make a mess? Yes. Will anyone know that it was he who spilled it? Maybe not, but just because you got away with doesn't mean you can leave it there. Or did you think that we would all enjoy the stench of old stew permeating our own lunches with the reek of rotting sex organs?
     
     
   • The Lunch Bandit - Are you fucking kidding me? Did your mother teach you nothing of manners and hygiene? Just what kind of a person gets it into his head "You know, I love home made meals, but I just don't have the patience to make anything. I think I'll just eat somebody else's food." What kind of a dick does this kind of thing? This should be grounds for immediate flogging to the point of regurgitation. It's my food and I want it back!
     
     
3. The Bathroom - I've already written about this. I'd mention more, but I'm already too pissed off from the previous two points. I might just break something.
   
   

Look people, we're all in this together. Even if our jobs are meaningless, and even if our bosses are Satan incarnate we still have to make a minimal effort at maintaining office civility. And if you can't, just remember; with each passing year Smith and Wesson finds new ways to increase the amount of spray their guns can deploy. So smile, say hello, clean up your mess, stay away from my taco salad, and wipe the seat. We'll all go bankrupt as a happier more productive team.

I've been reading several bloggers' favorite blogs' favorite blogs lately. And having sampled a decent amount of content I have realized that many of the topics people write on tend to be that author's version of someone else's post. It's like a group of women naturally falling into the same menstrual cycle together. One person writes a fun and clever post about how they named their first pet, and then twenty others do the same. By the way, that whole syncronous period thing is just plain freaky. Stop it.

Lately I have seen several posts relating to people's first time having sex with their current partner. So in keeping with this anomaly of non-plagiarism I have decided to write about my first time having sex with my current girlfriend/wife, Nina. As we all know there are at least three sides to every story. This one I'm sure is no exception. There is my side, Nina's side, and the truth*. Since universal wisdom does not necessarily equate to omniscience, I can only offer up the events as I perceived them.

I was a sophomore at Indiana University and it was the Fall of 1995. I was nineteen years old and returning to IU to continue my pursuit of a degree in Vocal Performance. This semester I was to be living in a dorm that was split up between two towers (one boy's and one girl's) with a co-op above the cafeteria in the middle. After a couple months I had managed to annoy my then roommate to the point of moving out when I was out of town one day, leaving me with the whole room to myself. I didn't have a girlfriend, but I did have a regular fuck buddy who desperately considered me her boyfriend. I disliked her company, but then easy pussy is easy pussy.

Through a mutual friend who would end up betraying me (I'll explain another time) I was introduced to a freshman who, unbeknownst to me, had had her eye on me for over a month. She liked that I drank milk in the cafeteria instead of soda and had pretty blue eyes. Several meetings went by where neither she nor I were sure of what, if anything, we would turn out to be. The only thing that was certain was that she wanted me...bad.

Nina and I became friends. She was the social butterfly surrounding herself with a few close girlfriends on her dorm room floor (see this picture) and a gaggle of guy friends from the co-op. Everyone liked her, meaning that there was always alcohol and weed nearby, a quality I've always liked in a woman. As we got closer, I realized that I might have the opportunity to get a good friend and laid as well. Her friends didn't like me, but that was nothing I wasn't used to.

One night when Nina had decided to take a weekend away from being drunk and stoned I got together with her and one of her co-op friends. After about an hour, this guy got a call from some girl who wanted to come over for some bone, so I invited Nina back to my sparsely decorated dorm room to watch Pulp Fiction. I'd seen this movie before several times. What I hadn't seen was Nina topless. So in true undergrad fashion I made a proposal to her: Truth or Dare. Jules was reciting Ezekiel 25:17. I can't recall exactly how this transpired, but after turning down a few preposterous dares Nina was giving me (like running down the hall with my shirt off yelling "I love myself! I love myself!") I told her that the dares had to be performed in the room, and had to be something we would both enjoy. Now if this isn't laying it on thick I don't know what is. But Nina acted totally oblivious.

I dared her to take her top off. Marsellus Wallace was talking to Butch about throwing the fight. To my shock and amazement, Nina complied and was lying on my bed on her front to protect her from showing me her breasts. Fool. After a short period of time had passed, and while Vincent Vega was doing the twist, I made my way over to her to offer her a back rub. Nina told me that she didn't like back rubs from boys because they grab too hard. Thanks for the tip.

After gently massaging her back for a few minutes I started working on her sides. She wasn't fighting me, nor was she assisting. It was a curious situation. Nothing to do here but continue advancing. I somehow managed to get my hands under her, now feeling her breasts for the first time. I couldn't believe that the lame-ass moves I was putting on her had actually worked this well. Nina suddenly turned over, exposing to me to beautiful, voluptuous bosom. I kept working my hands in the general area, hoping not to move too fast and turn her off. Suddenly, it occurred to me to inquire verbally if this was what she wanted. I'm not sure why I asked, but to the day I die I'll never forget her response:

"What do you want?"
"I want you to fuck me."

Yes, ma'am. As young Butch learned of his father's gold watch, I took Nina's jeans and panties off and proceeded to undress myself. Without further ado, I was on top of her in absolute awe of my accomplishment. And Nina seemed to be absolutely loving it. I would come to find out later that she may have "embellished" the intensity of this experience. Whatever, I was screwing this girl for the first time and there are few feelings in the world so pure and wonderful, at least to a sex-obsessed freak. It never occurred to either of us to use a condom. But nothing was transferred or created as a result, so no harm, no foul.

I can't say how long we did it for or even how it ended (you know what I mean). But the end credits were rolling and I was exhausted. Now I was left with the awkward position of having this new friend in my bed, naked and wondering what move to make next. I guess I just laid there silent and detached as I thought about the situation. After a brief moment Nina got up, got dressed and said she's see me "around". Hey wait, chicks aren't supposed to blow me off like that. Wait, I think that's what I wanted. Whatever. I was expecting friends over in about thirty minutes anyway. She let her self out and made her way to the elevator. My friends came over and asked me if that was Nina who was there and if we had just fucked. I of course told them no, that we just watched a movie.

So now she's my wife. Prince Charming I was not, no argument there. But then I've never seen a fairy tale with a Princess Gimmeethatdick either. Strange how things work out. And that's how it first happened between us. There's a world of drama and a Kama Sutra of sexy stories that followed, but that was the first. And no matter how awkward it may have been, or whether she faked even a single moment or the whole thing, I'll still hold it as special and I wouldn't have changed a thing.

*see my side

Last night, Nina and I were flipping through the channels via the miracle of TiVo when she came across the Country Music Channel's Tribute to Johnny Cash. Now this we just had to see. Nina and I were first introduced to the man in black when I was in the Air Force by our uber-cool emo chick neighbor, Brandeye. It took less than an hour to hook me in. At the time I was listening to Eminem, so this was one hell of a switch. But Johnny's music just took me right away, and I've loved it ever since.

Everyone was there. Song after song was played by country music legends, family, and rock and rollers that you might have never thought would be so influenced by Cash's music. It was really quite touching. You know how on soap operas, right before they go to commercial, they show the title shot and say "General Fucktards will be back right after this message about douches"? They had something like that here. Right before the commercial break they cut to a picture of Johnny Cash with the title of the show and play a section of one of his famous songs on an acoustical guitar. One of the first ones was a strumming of "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails that Cash covered in a way that made it even more depressing. I just thought how fucking cool would it be if Trent Reznor was there to sing "Hurt", but in the manner that Johnny Cash sang it. Now that would be cross-genre influence at its finest. But it was Sheryl Crow who strummed those clashing tritones of "Hurt". And how I cried at how beautiful it was.

These tributes always get me thinking a bit about how I'd like to be remembered. I guess in the end I don't really expect to be remembered at all. That's just fine with me. It'd be nice if there was some grand spectacle put together to honor my memory, but I'd be just as content with having my name etched into a limited order of about 5,000 hollowed-point 9mm bullets. I don't know why exactly, but that fits my life more than people singing songs.

For the little thought I was compelled to give on the subject, Nina was giving that amount ten times over. She said that these things make her sad and wonder what purpose she has on this Earth. She knows that she wants to be remembered for helping people in some way. That never occurred to me before. But for Nina, I don't see any way for her to be remembered other than as some kind, generous soul who made at least a handful of people ask themselves, "what would Nina do?" In fact, I think I'd be far more emotionally tied to the idea of securing her memory than my own. But then we looked at each other, sitting in our pajamas in our living room, having accomplished exactly dick over the course of yet another weekend and went back to the tube.

So with only ninety minutes to go before the bedtime of yours truly (I need my eight hours, people), we decided to TiVo the rest of the show and watch the last movie that we got from Netflix that we hadn't yet watched. It was 'The Last Unicorn'. For those of you who have seen it, you're saying to yourself "Oh my God, I remember that movie! I loved that one!" For those of you who haven't seen it I'll explain the plot. The last unicorn in existence meets a butterfly who leads her to a magician who helps her free a harpee that kills the gypsy. Then they are caught by bandits who get fed by the hag who cries over the unicorn who is turned into a human by the magician to escape the red bull. They all go to the castle with the king and the prince who kills the dragon and falls in love with the unicorn who goes with the magician to talk to the skeleton to get to the bull who is drowned by the unicorn who has been turned back into a unicorn. The king dies when his castle falls apart. The prince just kind of goes away. And the unicorn goes back to the woods to help the other animals hide from the hunters. The end.

I may not have completely gotten all of the emotion in the movie tied to that synopsis. I was afraid to watch this movie again, because of how much I remember loving it in my youth. We watched 'The Hobbit' two days prior and it was just ok. That was kind of bummer and I didn't want to lose my great memories of the last unicorn to be replace with how shitty it actually was. Well I was completely wrong. I love this movie now more than ever. As a boy I never was able to realize how great the artistry and music were. The entire soundtrack was played and sung by the band America. At any rate, I highly recommend it.

After that we went to bed. Nina started lovingly cuddling with me and I fell asleep and started snoring. It was magical.

Scott has been a character I have mentioned often in my blog. He has been Nina's best friend here in the valley for the better part of a year, and while I don't hang out with him, he and I are friends as well. Nina and Scott usually go for a bike ride around the neighborhood every morning. They chat like girlfriends and then go on with their day either together or apart. One of the primary, or at least more interesting for me, topics of conversation they share is Scott's confusion over his current relationship. He's been living with a woman who is a good friend of his. She's basically his sugar momma. It's her house, her stuff, her high-paying career, and usually her way. I'll try to remain objective, but that may not be possible since she doesn't like me. More on that in a minute.

So Scott's girlfriend (I won't use her name and I fucking detest pseudonyms) has just left town for a while. The cat's away, time to play. Nina woke up this morning with a sore back, not my fault I'm sorry to say. She was so sore that she had to cancel her daily bike ride with Scott. But when she called, Scott wasn't even home. Five minutes later Scott calls us at home to say that he's just now on his way home from having been out all night partying and hanging out with a friend and some girl he'd met online. He's tired, but he had a great time. He didn't specify how far things went, but you don't go to these dating websites to meet potential football watching buddies. It's an online pussy pool, end of story.

Now Scott is concerned because he says he loves his girlfriend, but yet he's still out chasing tail within an hour of dropping her off at the terminal. He wants advice. Making a good move, he's asking Nina for advice who in turn asks me for mine. My advice: shit or get off the pot. What you have is not real love. It's comfort, not passion. It's settling, not fate. The very idea that Scott believes that what he has for his girlfriend is real love, to me, is an insult to love as I know it. I love Nina. If she goes out of town, I'll drink, watch one of our pornos, and pass out in the living room. What I don't do is meet up with some random chick for coffee and hummers.

And that's another thing. Scott isn't just out tapping new ass, washing his dick in the motel sink and going home. He's dating! Meeting for coffee and talking? Having dinner later? Kissing without advancing sexually? That's fucking dating. And if I were a woman I would consider my man actually dating other women behind my back to be much much worse than getting a blowjob by some random slut. So where's the confusion here, people? You're off dating other women at the first opportunity. You're not marrying the woman you've been living with for this long. You're hiding a great big chunk of the truth about your friendship with my wife. Seems pretty clear to me by your actions that you aren't confused. It seems to me that you know exactly what the fuck you're doing, and what you're doing is trying to find a way out without losing all of the comfort you now enjoy.

I hope he works things out for the best, I really do. It's depressing to me to see people in their forties who are having these problems. I used to think that as we got older we got wiser. But seeing people two decades my senior struggling with these rudimentary dilemmas of the heart makes me wonder about a lot of things. I won't be so arrogant as to say that my love with Nina is greater than all other loves. In fact, I can't stand teens and twenty-somethings who say that age has no meaning. How the fuck would you know, you don't even have any age to speak of?

Now about her not like me. I don't think it's a complete truth. Sure, she might not like (not that I understand why), but there's more to it. I know that most women would have a big fucking problem with their man spending many hours alone with a younger, prettier, funnier woman, married or not. Most women have this terrible competition and jealousy issue going on, and I see no reason to believe that Scott's girlfriend is any different.

Well, when he finally confronted her with some more of the truth than she had previously known things didn't go so well. But in the end, when faced with the possibility of Scott leaving her because she can't accept him as he really is, she told him that she didn't mind if he hung out with Nina. It's just that she doesn't like me. Sure. I'm really believing that one. PSYCHE!!! I'm fully convinced that, while she may not care for me much (for reasons as yet unexplained), I make a really pretty target for her to divert her discomfort to. That way Scott can stay with her and at the same time be forced to limit the time he and Nina spend together if only because if I'm not invited Nina won't go either. On a long enough timeline, I believe that she would try to find a way to get closer to Nina, either through a job offer or by developing a "friendship" of her own with her. Then, she's create the background for proving that Nina is a terrible and manipulative bitch and that she is trying to steal Scott away or something. Honestly, ladies, doesn't that make more sense in a woman's logic?

What a long post. I have no doubts I've lost some readers by this paragraph. Well, this whole topic just baffles me. I hope things work out well. But most of all, I hope things work out period. It's one life only folks. And that's just not enough time to settle for "comfortable enough".

Do you know why arteries clog and people have heart attacks? Forget all that medical explanation bullshit you've been spoon-fed all your life. I'm almost certain that I've discovered the true cause behind the biggest killer in the world. And not surprising, the cause is rooted in the people around you.

The real reason why people need heart bypass surgeries is simple: As our blood is swimming around through our veins it can vaguely make out the things that people are saying to us, much like listening underwater. As the years progress the blood cells adapt and are able to make out with perfect clarity the conversations we have. As happens with stupendous regularity some dumbass schmuck will say something of unearthly stupidity and the blood hears this too. The smarter of our little red and white swimmers come to a complete stop in a collective "what the fuck" and look at each other in confusion and frustration.

As they get older, they just can't take the inane babbling of others anymore and seek to add a barrier between their cute little blood ears and the rest of the world. The best way to do this: surrounding themselves with a bunch of natural fat from elsewhere in the body, coating them like gelatinous ear muffs. And as more and more workweeks pass the coated cells multiply until they start jamming up in the canals. Then either they are given a new route through bypass surgery, or they make the heart just fucking explode. The latter, while extreme, does give the poor little blood cells a permanent reprieve from ever again having to hear the imbeciles of the world. So it's not all bad.

Now whenever a guy goes in for a medical examination that reveals a blockage, one of the first things that is done is the factors that helped create the blockage are identified and a plan is set to eliminate or minimalize these factors. The doctors will tell you to change your diet or get more exercise or other things. Even though I've discovered that the doctors are all full of shit I still believe that this is a good step toward a cure. You must identify those things that get your blood cells' attentions and eliminate them so they don't put on a fatty idiot-proof vest. Make your own lists. Here's mine:

1. "Nother" - I'll say this one time. Nother is not a word. You know this non-word, right? It's used by damn near everyone. It is preceded almost every time by the word "whole". That's a whole nother story. I hear it and I develop a 5% blockage to my right atrium.
   
   
2. Improper use of "I" - I would like to commend people who take steps to incorporate good grammar into their everyday speech. But for those of you out there who once heard that they were supposed to say I instead of me and have implemented this policy language-wide, I hope you choke on a spatula. It's simple. You take out the other pronoun and see which one fits, "I" or "me". Then you put the other pronoun back. See how simple? You people are just killing I.
   
   
3. "Have a good one" - Have a good what? A good day? A good week? A good pap? A good ass rape? If you don't give enough of a shit to think of some specific part of my life that is good, then don't bother saying anything to me at all. You get this a lot at cash registers.
   
   
4. Noises as emotions - There was this really blah guy once who was totally like eww, and he was all heeyyy like to my friend July, who by the way is just totally nguh! So she gets all awwww and I was like pfft and just left. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
   
   
5. Morning radio show laughter - So Nutty Bob, do you know why J-Lo crossed the road? No, Jagger, why? To get to the other side of her own ass! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Oh my GOD that was funny! HAHA I'm pissing my pants! I'm actually pissing in my pants! Look at all the pant piss! HAHAHAHA!!!
   
   
6. Hang-ups on my answering machine - I used to have a simple and quick message to save time on my callers' ears. It was about five seconds. But I was plagued with hang-ups. It was so annoying I changed my greeting. Now it's about thirty seconds long. You've got time to put the phone down, go take a piss, come back, and hang up before the beep. But sure as shit 50% of all my messages are just a click, ten seconds of silence, and then a dial tone. This one causes an instant murmur.
   

There are many more I'm sure, but I wouldn't want to give away the entire recipe for my own personal Kryptonite. But I'll just say that if all of these things were to happen simultaneously, it's completely possible that my entire circulatory system could rip itself out of my body and start running away screaming. As it stands right now, especially where I work, I've got maybe another twelve years before I need a full transplant. I know I'm not alone here. Sound off. What did I miss?

The crown jewel on my Freshman year in high school was my election as class Treasurer. It was a last minute decision to make my name known throughout my class of about 150 students. I had only one opponent and one week to prove my abilities. My Achilles' heel was that I had no experience whatsoever in treasuring. I was in remedial algebra. And my opponant was, as a freshman, already in advanced trigonometry. My edge: wit, evil, and a complete disregard for fair play.

The Monday before the election on Friday, all those running for office were allowed to put up posters and flyers to build up their names. It was all the usual puns and plays on words. Girls put up their cutesy little posterboards with hearts and cut-out pictures of the White House. Every last name was desperately matched with any word that rhymed to make a campaign slogan. It seemed to be your average advertising effort, similar to the roadside banners for real elections. Also like real elections was the way that the competition's posters were positioned directly next to, or sometimes on top of, the other guy's posters. Otherwise all seemed to be going al ong in good taste.

Well there was no way in hell I was allow this to continue. And so began a barrage of "minimally justifiable defamation tactics" against my smarter, better qualified, and socially awkward opponent. The posters went up with slogans like:

"Treasuring isn't Trigonometry. Overqualification hurts us all!"
"Would you trust Kevin with $5.00? How about $500.00!"
"Don't you want a Treasurer you can relate with?"
"Vote for Kevin, and there may not even BE a yearbook"

After these little seeds of doubt were planted in the mind of our classmates I awaited the immanent backlash from my competition. This retribution never came. The young fool just stuck with his affirmations that he was the best man for the job. What a schmuck! Who told him that had anything to do with it? And as the week drew on I noticed that people were starting to know who I was and calling out my name in the halls. I'd smile and give the ever-impressive finger gun/wink combo. As Kevin worked his way through the halls with books and his little 4.00 GPA, you could feel the swell of approval switch from the best man to the best guy.

But victory wasn't certain yet. I needed to across to my people that not only was I the best person to fill this position, but that if they elected Kevin they'd go broke, catch Herpes and their mothers would be raped by wolves. Well if there was a time to get that point across it was on election day, during the hour of speeches that all of the runners gave to the whole class. I was always good at giving speeches. And being a natural ham, I had learned to draw the crowd into an emotional frenzy with my choice of words. Since this speech couldn't really disclose how utterly unqualified I was, I was going to have to rely on other methods of persuasion.

Namely, disinformation, empty promises, and defamatory ranting! I referenced my older brother who was a senior and a starting running back for the football team. I promised new pads for all the athletes to draw in the popular jock vote. It was still summer so I promised more fans to get the rest of the class. I cheered on our football team for their upcoming game that night. I talked about how everyone knew me and that I was a stand-up guy. That way those people who didn't know me would vote for me rather than admit that they don't know me, thus lowering their coolness.

Then all that could be done was done. There was little more to do but go to class, vote at lunch, and wait for the results in seventh period. It was a very long day, but suddenly people were rooting for me in public. They didn't seem to care that I had neither the means nor the inclination to follow through on any of my promises. They considered my posters to be clever, not overly harsh. And by the end of the day the intercom announced that yours truly had been elected freshman class treasurer. The swell of pride in my accomplishment was unforgettable.

After school I strutted to my locker where I was met by my former competitor and now sullen and defeated opponent, Kevin, who shook my hand and congratulated me on my victory. This was definitely the low point of my day. But a fifteen year-old has a way of getting over these things quickly enough. I went home and celebrated.

Over the course of the next few weeks I attended these unbelievably boring student council meetings that took place after school of all times. Once I realized that I had gotten everything out of the position that I wanted and that the two girls elected president and vice president would probably just cover for me anyway, I stopped attending these meetings and went on with my life. Do I feel regret that I used such tactics to win the votes of my peers? A little bit perhaps, but I won nonetheless. And from the look of things, I had an almost preternatural skill for campaigning, if I hold the tactics of our nation's leaders as examples.

The role of class Treasurer has since fallen off of my resume in the wake of other accomplishments, but I still remember that week fondly when an unknown underdog took on the perfect fit for the job and came out on top. And I wouldn't worry about Kevin. He graduated high school a year early and is probably sitting in some think tank planning world events and plotting my assassination.

Woman is a strange and beautiful animal indeed. Even the world's most devoutly homosexual man should be able to understand why we're such suckers for these enigmatic and lovely creatures. Even if we weren't tied together by the need to reproduce, I still think that men would be utterly bound to the will of women. Perhaps one of the most drawing qualities of "the fairer sex" is their extremely well tuned ability to confuse the living shit out of us. I know many women would say the same of men, but have you ever noticed that women will at least acknowledge how difficult and unpredictable they are?

Men seem to be pretty solid in their stance that we're basically limbic creatures and easily understood. We seek satisfaction of whatever "need" we have and that's about it. We're hungry, aggressive, scared, or horny. Need an example, women? Next time you find your man mad, sad, inattentive, or whatever else just give him a blowjob and see how his mood restabilizes. Of course, that's a bit of an oversimplification. Otherwise we'd still be wearing bearskin suits and dragging our women home by the hair. Modern man has gained nearly full access to that portion of the brain that is responsible for all of those complex emotions; we just haven't read the user's manual. Too many words. But couldn't we all agree that this emotional evolution has been driven, by and large, by women?

Of course I'm sure that it is just that mysterious quality about women that keeps me besting the posted speed limit all the way home every day. If I were single, I'd probably be coming home just so that I can change clothes and head out to a bar/club/library/church to see what chicks I could pick up. They're just amazing and wonderful creatures and I love almost everything about them. But perhaps one of the more mysterious (and annoying) things about women is their reliance on understanding before acceptance. I'll explain.

From my observations, women are constantly trying to figure out the world around them with regards to "why" things happen the way they do. Men, for the most part, seem more interested in the who, what, where and the all-important how. Men have built and destroyed entire nations while women stood in the background pondering why. But those other questions can be much easier to explain for a lot of things. Men aren't quite so driven by understanding why something is before accepting it. Even when we haven't figured out how something works, men can still accept that it does work. Ask a man why a combustion engine works, and he'll most likely tell you how. Why is irrelevant. How is all that matters. Obviously most women don't give a shit how their engines work, and usually don't care why either. But they still accept the fact that they do work, so I'll amend my statement to include only those things which women have an interest in understanding. Men have the engine thing covered basically, so why get involved?

One of the more peculiar exchanges that I remembered having with my woman (Nina) recently was a time in college when I was basically squatting in Nina's dorm room. We were talking about sex and alternate lifestyles. At this time I was fully convinced that because of my open ideas on love and lust that I must be a bisexual. Even though I only had sex or relationships with women, it seemed logical that I could keep my options open should love present itself in another form. This was pretty much the same for several years after we hooked up. Nina never could understand bisexuality, at least not in men, or at the very least not in me. How flattering is that for us? Of course chicks want to be with other chicks, but two dudes? That's just different somehow.

Anyway Nina and I were chatting away and she asked me if I would still want to hang out with her if she were a man. At this point we weren't really "dating" as much as living together and fucking constantly, hence the "hang out". To this I confirmed that if she was a man I would still want to fuck her. Now for some reason she took this as the greatest compliment to date. That boggled me. She knew I thought she was pretty, funny, smart, and independent. I would have thought that any of these would have been considered a greater accolade than my willingness to hit it, vagina or no. But she was impressed and pleased enough to lay down for me again, so I just accepted it and let it go.

After this she began a five-year inquiry into why I was bisexual. And no matter how I explained things to her, she just shook her head and said, "I just don't get it". It seemed perfectly plain to me, but since I couldn't provide her an answer to why, she just couldn't allow it to process completely. After being with just her for nearly a decade, I've pretty much abandoned any idea of being bisexual. Even if I truly were bisexual (which I never actually had sex or a romantic relationship with a man) it wouldn't matter at this point. I'm married and that's not going to change.

So I told her that I'm straight now, and I truly believe that I must be. I was twenty at the time, so confusion may have played a part. Once I told her this, she was immediately able to accept that I could be straight. Why someone would be straight makes perfect sense, so it gets to cross the bridge of acceptance. But then Nina couldn't understand why I could consider myself bi for so long and then just up and change sexualities. And since the why was left unquenched so has the idea been summarily tossed in the "reject and review" pile. It doesn't really ever come up, but I'm sure that if I were to ever reassert this stance, she'd have the same questions.

And this is how I come back to how beautiful and wonderful women truly are. After all these centuries of assuming that women were the intellectual inferiors to men, perhaps it was simply that we were looking for the wrong answers. I was once asked why is it that when a group of women get together they seem to have little to talk about besides their boyfriends or husbands? In my opinion, it's because the details on sustaining their lives have already been worked out. It's boring who, what, where, and how stuff. Work, school, getting the car fixed or backing up the hard drive are topics that produce questions which can be answered easily enough with some simple research.

But boyfriends/husbands? Now there's something to think about! There's a topic with such elusive answers that it deserves a nearly constant and immense amount of pondering. If this is true, then it may also be true that women have always been fully capable of creating the history of men with equal success. They were always as smart as men, they just lacked both the opportunities for education and the "give a shit" factor. But could we men have pushed and navigated humanity's emotional evolution so well? Who knows? I'm just glad we still have that whole reproduction thing to tie them to us.

Several months ago when my mother had come to visit me for a few days the topic of religion was brought up. I was raised Roman Catholic, as was most of my extended family, as was most of my home state. She's very worried about me and my apparent fall from grace. She prays for me nightly and hopes that I'll learn the power of prayer and the glory of God's path. Now I have no intentions of returning to my birth faith because my mother would sleep better, but I do appreciate her concern. I tried to explain to her my thoughts on the world. She understood, but then quickly dismissed me as just trying to run away from God's love. Phrases like that make my blood boil. It's like that bumper sticker "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." Hey, you arrogant prick, my rifle isn't pointed at you, just loaded so keep your cutesy condemnations to yourself.

So Nina and I were watching the CSI marathon last night on The Spike Channel. One episode that caught my attention particularly was set in a Buddhist temple where four homicide's had occurred. In one scene, one of the monks is interrogated about having pornography in his room. The monk explains that the pictures of naked women are no different than pictures of waterfalls to him and that, to those seeking enlightenment, the pleasures of the flesh are meaningless and only serve to divert them from "the path".

I found this statement particularly unnerving. I just don't see what path he could be walking that would be worth the abandonment of the pleasures of the flesh. I, for one, am quite fond of the carnal pleasures. A cigarette, a shot of vodka, my wife's touch, and the "X" roller coaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain have given me some of the most "alive" moments of my life. The phrase "all things in moderation" comes to mind. The point of it is taking in as many experiences as we can in the short time we're chilling here on this rock. And when I say "all things" I include things such as discipline, pain, grief, and stress too, so no thinking that I'm some new age idiot promoting a life spent in the brainless pursuit of "nirvanic bliss".

But it seems to me that "all things in moderation" should well define the life most of us lead. Some work, some play. Some love, some indifference. Some good, some bad. And I don't see how leading a life that is grossly bent toward one side can be anything but lacking the other. Most people know a guy or girl who lives in a constant state of either perfect happiness or perfect misery. And they may see themselves as the owners of a unique perspective, but wouldn't they be better served by a dose of the yang?

I used to live my life as a devout Roman Catholic with hope and faith, thinking that these things might grant me admission to the heavenly hereafter. In fact I was mere weeks away from attending a monastery to become a Catholic Priest at one point. That never did pan out. I just couldn't deal with the whole celibacy thing. But as I got older I couldn't stop wondering about certain things. I spent my first couple years in college raging against God and the teachings of my youth, sure. But that was less of an evolution, and more just lashing out at authority.

It's been a decade since then and I'd like to think that I have come to a clearer place faith-wise. I personally have no religious faith of any kind anymore, and I have never felt happier or more at peace with the world. These days I see awareness as the greatest aspect of our existence. I'm reminded of a hymn from church entitled "Faith, Hope and Love" with lyrics that repeat the title followed by "The greatest of these is love". But how great could any of them be without the ability to perceive them, to even be aware of them? I guess I feel that this body of mine is little more than a borrowed pile of elements, forged from the same dust as the Sun and sky. Why, if my intentions are good, should I deny myself the experiences of flesh that I am granted?

I have moments of pain and moments of pleasure like everyone else. But it's when I stop to realize and acknowledge them as they occur that I feel most "aware" of my own existence. I consider these moments to be those when I feel truly alive. And too often I see those around me so preoccupied with the stresses of career and other things that I feel sorry for them. Before I go on, I should say that I acknowledge that stress is just another one of these physical sensations that should be felt openly as it will be gone as assuredly as morning wood after I die. Stress can be as exhilerating as chasing an unattainable girl or reading a great novel.

But I'm talking about those people around all of us who have allowed themselves to be overrun by these stresses, stress or drama addicts of some kind. My boss's boss in particular seems wrought with the anguishes of day to day living. He has let his personal life fall nearly to ruin while putting infinitely more effort in the execution of some work-related projects. He is almost completely joyless. I've seen him out of work and he's no different. Everything is an "opportunity for accomplishment" but nothing is an experience, and he's allowed contentment to replace joy. And these people are tragic to me, not because he's dedicated, or because he's career oriented. But more because he's (at least temporarily) forgotten that, whatever the end result is, there is an end in sight. He's going to drop dead someday, and whether that's truly the end of him or he turns into an angel or is greeted at the gates by God, Allah, or Sammy the Earthtender, he has lost all sight of the pure joys of being alive.

Enough of my preaching. When I'm fifty I may well see this pattern of thought to be trite and naive. What I doubt will change is my desire to "figure it out". The search what's real and true has given me as many exciting and happy moments as anything else, so I doubt I'll abandon the hunt anytime soon.

Nina's just been a fucking superwoman lately. Just in the last week she has done more to make me feel like the love of her life than I've done for her perhaps all year. I'll have to work on that. Starting last Friday, she called me at work and asked me to stop by Home Depot on my way home to pick up some black bicycle hooks for the garage. I could tell that she was up to something and that her friend Scott was helping out. Scott, in case this is your first time reading his name, is Nina's best friend, one hell of a great guy, and the cause of much ridicule from my friends for allowing the friendship between my wife and another man to exist. He's a perverted and hilarious man, but together they're like a couple of girlfriends.

Once I got home I was expecting to see that Nina had hung up a shelf or maybe cleaned the garage and wanted the bikes hung up. As it turns out, Nina and Scott had completely painted the entire garage and, by the next afternoon, hung a large shelf, the ladder, both bikes, the bike rack, the weed trimmer, and cleaned up the mess. It was an absolutely astounding accomplishment. And the color is sky blue, something many people might say is too feminine for a garage, but I love it. Nina capped it off by reminding me that "blue is for boy" Can't argue with that one.

Over the weekend we got to relax and talk about nonsense, and I got plenty of time bonding with my PS2. And ever since our last big "talk" about our sex life, Nina has started shuffling in regular quickies. And by regular I mean nightly, and by nightly I mean basically every time I've come on to her. She doesn't complain at all. I'll ask her if she wants to have sex (something that some couples might say lacks the romance of spontaneity) and she'll either be ready for some action of her own or say "No, but if you want I'll take my pants off for you". Just thinking about her saying that is getting me all fluttered.

I don't think that a lot of women know how emotionally involved sex is for some men. I think this because I've heard so many women say that they can't sleep with a man without some attachment, but that men don't have that problem. Maybe when we're just trying to get our rocks off with the slut at the end of the bar that's true. But with the woman we love, or at least for me with the woman I love, sex is very emotionally fulfilling. Even the quickies make me feel bonded with her more. It's not just satiating my lust or proving her love for me. I feel truly precious to her. And that is a strong-ass emotion.

So when she agrees to a quickie with me the process is fairly simple, but tender and loving. she lays on her side of the bed and takes her clothes off. I grab some lubrication we bought a while back. That stuff goes a long way, you know. We bought a pretty big bottle of it a while back and I think I'll be retired before we empty it. But then I'm on top of her and she's either looking at the wall so as not to disturb my rhythm or gazing lovingly in my eyes. A couple of nights ago she asked me if I wanted her to turn over for me. Hearing her make the offer alone was enough to make my head pop. I thought about it, but after a moment or two I told her, quite truthfully, that I wanted to look at her face and that she was just so fucking beautiful. She got a warm little smile on her face like when you read a really nice birthday card. But then she chuckled and chimed in with "Yeah, but I'm still a dirty little whore, right?

BLASTOFF!!!!

I don't know what it is about me and dirty talk during sex, but I'm an absolute slave to it. In fact, it doesn't even have to be dirty. I bet that Nina could start reciting baseball stats while we're having sex and I'd still be getting off on it. Maybe it's just her voice. But she's always so giving during quickies. And after I come and I'm lying on top of her, she gives me a couple little kisses on the cheeks and strokes my hair telling me she loves me. Then she goes to the bathroom and comes back to bed. How perfect is my life right now? Afterward I sometimes try to help her sleep by giving her what she calls "body drawings". It's just me slowly and lightly tracing my finger on her back, butt, legs and feet in some random pattern. It relaxes her and helps her sleep. Before we married she used to ask me what I was drawing (back when it was just "back drawings"). I wouldn't tell her what it was I drew, but that she would dream of it that night.

So the Labor Day weekend is upon me and so far we haven't been able to come up with any plans. I don't think it'll be much different from any other weekend, just one day longer. But for all she's been doing for me I wish I could think of something I could do for her. I've just encouraged her to go to the spa for a facial or whatever else she might want. I'd bring her flowers and a card, but I think she sees that as "I'm a girl so I'm supposed to be flattered. How much did this cost?" She's a bit different like that. Ah, I'm sure we'll think of something. I just hope I can give her even one moment feeling how she's been making me feel as of late.

I've always loved the superhero that is Spider Man. I've read his comics through much of my childhood. Most people know the image of Spider Man in the red and blue tights. That's the uniform he wore in the beginning and I think it's what he wears to this day. But if you've never followed Spider Man you my not be aware that for a small chunk of time he went without the red and blue suit and began to wear a black suit with a white spider on the chest. And for a time, all was well. Cutting to the chase, Spider Man realized that the black suit wasn't a suit at all. It was, in fact, a living organism called a symbiote that had wrapped itself around Peter Parker but was trying to bond permanently with Peter Parker's body and fed off of Parker's adrenaline. Eventually Parker was forcibly removed from the symbiote, which then wrapped itself around another human and called itself Venom. Venom has since been an enemy of Spider Man.

Stan Lee, who wrote so many of these stories always tried to incorporate some part of his own life into the Marvel world. By doing that his fans have enjoyed the ability to relate some parts of their own lives to the characters in these comics. And so it is with me.

When I was 20 I was preparing to take a wife and I had to start making very big decisions about the course my life was on. I hated living in Indiana. I hated that I had no money. I hated that I had failed so completely at college. I hated that I had no real skills or trades. I hated all these things and I needed to do something that would change that. I'm not sure how the thought came into my head, but I think that I came up with the idea quite independently to join some branch of the U.S. armed forces. Joining up would get me out of my home state, teach me discipline, train me in a skill, and provide me with housing while paying me a stipend. In retrospect, I should have known that I wasn't meant for military service.

But I didn't then. So less than six weeks after turning a fiance into a wife I was on a plane bound for San Antonio Texas to begin my basic training in the U.S. Air Force. Seven weeks later I was rejoined with my new wife in Biloxi Mississippi where I would spend nine months in advanced training for my specific job. After that we were shipped off to Tucson Arizona where I spent the rest of my days in uniform. But as time wore on, I found myself becoming increasingly disenfranchised with government living. I was a troublemaker in the group, questioning orders and failing to show proper respect for authority. I began to gain weight from poor diet and excessive drinking.

By the end of my third year I was overweight and miserable. My marriage suffered as a result of the conflict between my desire to break away and think for myself and the pressure to conform and be a good little airman. I was put on a weight management program in which I was to lose a set number of pounds or percent of body fat every month or suffer escalating reprimand. For many months I showed great progress. Yet, progress or no, for every month that I didn't lose enough weight I met with an increasing probability of discharge. It only fed my disaffection for all things military.

So three months before my expected date of separation I was discharged from active duty due to failure to comply with military standards. I was shunned by my unit and treated as an example of how not to be. And this is how I relate to the story of Spider Man and Venom. As with Parker and his new black suit, I enjoyed a certain level of respect and pride of serving my country. But with time I began to feel the very uniform I wore tightening and restricting me, and not just physically. In order to get out of it, I had to be kicked out of it.

I'm not ashamed of my service, nor do I resent the government or the military. I did damn good work. It taught me a skill, got me out of Indiana, and provided me with money for college and a new sense of personal discipline. But to this day I see my last set of BDU's hanging in my closet and feel discomfort. BDU stands for battle dress uniform by the way. They are the jungle camouflage uniform that we wore in the desert. Yes, jungle camouflage in the desert. And I can almost picture it jumping off the hanger, kicking me in the nuts, tweaking my wife's tit, and running out of the house laughing maniacally on its way to wrap itself around another young idiot.

But now that the uniform is off and I'm back in civilian duds, like Parker, I'm doing about as well as I could have expected. I have since spoken with several of my comrades who have separated. Most of them feel as I do that the service, while beneficial and at times fun, did create a sense of bitterness and general malaise with respect to the business of national defense. If that makes me unpatriotic, fine I'm unpatriotic. If that makes people think that I was too weak to handle it, that's fine too. But at 28, I'm proud of what I've done with my life so far, and I know that it has so little to do with following orders and so much to do with following your gut.