I Want You

Oh my baby, baby . . . I love you more than I can tell
I don't think I can live without you
And I know that I never will
Oh my baby, baby . . . I want you so it scares me to death
I can't say anymore than I love you
Everything else is a waste of breath . . .

I want you
You've had your fun, you don't get well no more
I want you
Your fingernails go dragging down the wall
Be careful darling, you might fall . . .
I want you
I woke up and one of us was crying
I want you
You said, "Young man, I do believe you're dying . . ."
I want you
If you need a second opinion, as you seem to do these days
You can look in my eyes and you can count the ways
I want you
Did you mean to tell me but seem to forget
I want you
Since when were you so generous and inarticulate
I want you
It's the stupid details that my heart is breaking for
It's the way your shoulders shake and what they re shaking for
It's knowing that he knows you now after only guessing
I want you
It's the thought of him undressing you or you undressing
I want you
He tossed some tatty compliment your way
I want you
And you were fool enough to love it when he said
I want you

I want you
The truth can't hurt you, it's just like the dark
It scares you witless
But in time you see things clear and stark
I want you
Go on and hurt me then we'll let it drop
I want you
I'm afraid I wont know where to stop
I want you
I'm not ashamed to say I cried for you
I want you
I want to know the things you did that we do too
I want you
I want to hear he pleases you more than I do
I want you
I might as well be useless for all it means to you
I want you
Did you call his name out as he held you down
I want you
Oh, no, my darling, not with that clown . . .
I want you
You've had your fun you don't get, well, no more
I want you
No-one who wants you could want you more
I want you
Every night when I go off to bed and when I wake up
I want you
I want you
I'm going to say it once again 'til I instill it
I know I'm going to feel this way until you kill it
I want you
I want you

Doomed

You can get pregnant in the perimenopausal period. Beth didn't realize this and was surprised when she entered labor - at age fifty.

Tomorrow, I will be fifty. I am not pregnant. I am not in menopause. I am in man-o-pause, though.

My daughter says to her "boyfriend," as I overhear it, "I don't want to totally gyp you of my awesomeness, but I kinda want to hang out with my Dad a little bit more."

I echo that sentiment. I don't want to be deleted. Get more space on your memory card if you need to, but please don't delete me. I know I won't be deleting you.

After-Math

I'm having an International Moment, thinking about how I've consistently seen the mortals around me (except for M) fail me at same sort of crucial moment and how, ultimately, it's all about timing. Buy low, sell high: isn't that what they say?

Mistress Spanks-A-Lot would say, "You've been a bad boy" and I would agree just to get the treat. But when the talc cleared, those left standing would have shown their courage and patience and mostly, their lack of care for inconvenience and disdain for laziness. Sometimes, in the effort to force a result, people make decisions that represent, yup, laziness and fear. In the end, waiting one more day may make all the difference and present an entirely different tableau of reality. I'm trying to adopt this phirosophy, since, in practice, it really seems to make a difference. Here are some examples:
- I bought a stock last Wednesday with $11K of my cash. Today I have $16.5 K. I almost succumbed to the fear that the stock couldn't go higher and made a decision to automatically sell at 7 if it made it there by the end of last Wednesday. It didn't make it and the order expired. I did not give in to the fear and, guess what? Nothing bad happened.
- I met a woman that's so unlike me - meaning she is very simple, down-to-earth and sensible - that an outsider would likely not understand the connection. Heck, I'm not sure I understand the appeal. So far, in our relatively short association, I've put her through the ringer and yet, she hasn't succumbed to what should be fear and instead, had redoubled her commitment. So, she's either stupid or very loyal. I know it's the latter.
- My ex is a giant pain in the bum. Reaction begets reaction and you know what happened to all those begats in the Bible. Instead, I am a cipher. It requires a lot of patience and no, you don't have enough. Also required? Good walking shoes, in a figurative sense.
- My kid is half-convinced I'm an evil maniac, thanks to aforementioned crazed ex. M counsels patience and taking the longer view, that the pressure of making it want to happened will force the whole dealy-o in the other direction. And that's absolutely so. Instead, I soft- and back-peddle, taking whatever time there needs to be.
- I expected my Sham-Wows to be delivered in time for Christmas, but no. Ususually, this would result in my unflagging abuse of the call center in Mumbai, Shanghai or I-Don't-Know-Why with just about zero result. Hey, Vince, I would have said, I can do this all day. But I waited. And sure enough, those puppies showed up. A little late, but that's okay. I have plenty else to do in the meantime.

Patience, grasshopper. It really is about prioritizing what's important and accepting that it will likely work out somehow.

Very tricky Bhuddist, that M, but she's right. Again.

Damn.

Me Done

I used to be a part of something. I was a son, a brother, a husband, a father. I was a boss, a teammate, a player, a prince. And I was a friend, a confidante, a lover and a mensch. Now I am nothing, or at least, none of those things. I am just a man, a lonely, heartbroken, broken man without a family, a lover or a friend. Such is the lot of the persistent misanthrope.

I don't like it but I can't change it, either. And that's because I won't be shallow and simply put in an appearance. It must be real or there can be nothing. But, I bite off much more than any man can chew mainly because I think I can, like the little engine, and I want to please those who offer me their attention and love. In the end, I fail them all and then there were none.

So, here I sit, acutely aware that this is one night that I really shouldn't be alone. This is one of those dreary, icy, soggy evenings which ambience only serves to intensify my extreme sadness. In my new apartment, I have every light blazing in a futile attempt to ward off the darkest demons. But I sense them lurking, tearing a hole in my chest with their collective will. "Fall down, fall down . . . ," they whisper in hisses. This time, I am thinking, I should give in, give up and let them take me. Why not? Patterns are just that and at this moment, I would be missed for only a short time and then, forgotten.

But, there's no one to call, no one to touch. And it is, apparently, all my fault.

Moving Day Approaches

Yes, I too am a Wandering Jew. Between the end of this week and next, I should be all moved out of one place and into a new place. Unfortunately, pretty much as soon as I move into the new place I'll be moving into an even newer place, a palatial manor I have been fortunate to snag for dimes on the dollar. It even has a coop for the hawks I don't have yet in the back. There are beautiful black hand-polished marble tiles through the sky-light adorned kitchen, an elevated deck with segregated barbecue area, gorgeous exotic-wood floors throughout the first floor and bedroom suites, alabaster-tiled bathroom on the first floor and another huge dumper on the second, office and utility spaces, circular driveway access, a music room (or theatre or game or entertainment room,) a two-story entry lit with carriage lights. I am feeling so gay. So, I asked a lovely young woman I know for a second opinion. El Exigente approves! Fingers crossed for this deal to go through.

I chose my broker as the same guy who sold me the marital estate which I've now given away. (If you have any doubts, please feel free to consult the courthouse records here.) Not because he's sauve, not because he's into touchy-feely marketing, but because he shoots straight from the hip. And, he's lucky. I hope that twice is a charm. We'll see. If not, there's not much I can do to him since he definitely is one of our local militia.

Taste The Pipe of Peace Before Signing The Peace Treaty

Women. Gotta love 'em. Can't live with 'em and it's a capitol offense to kill 'em. But, there are some rules to follow to avoid soul decimation by these wily creatures.

First of all, it's helpful to understand that women don't spring fully formed as untenable shrews from the womb. They are shaped, trained, modified, encouraged and rewarded to enter the secretive fold of brazen womanhood from childhood by, who else, other women, especially their mother who, in turn, was raised up in the same coven of feminine culture. Hence, this circle is the master of their fate as manipulative suction devices, as ready as a twelve horsepower leaf blower running in reverse to suck you and and then blow you out the other hole, macerated, fully ready as mulch in their garden of tears.

Overblown, you quip? Crazy? Like a fox, I say, and this has nothing to do with that stupid infomercial that scams the hapless and desperate viewer to sign up for a get-rich-never affiliate program that seeks to scam hapless and desperate viewers to sign up for a get-rich-never - oh, c'mon, you get the idea.

Observe the woman in her natural habitat, whether that's the SUV you foolishly agreed to buy for her because it's "safer for her and the kids," your local bar, where the woman trolls for men younger, more vital and more desperate than me, say, to buy them drinks and sweat on them so that they can dump their asses in the parking lot after scribbling the phone number for Home Depot on the backside of a cocktail napkin, stuffing it into his shirt and making the "call me" sign with thumb and pinkie at ear and mouth after which she will go home to snuggle up with the Platinum version of Mr. Vibe and some chocolate mint Hagen Dazs, or at your job where, despite the highly asexual, one-sided and synthetic PC rules designed to avoid massive sexual harassment suits that some women will exploit to feather their presumptive nests, boobs are mounted like high-beams in Wunderbras and Victoria Secret's titanium underwires. It is a level playing field? Nuh-uh. Can a man win the battle of the sexes? What are you, stoopit? It there a way, any way at all, to gain an advantage? Well, yes and no.

It is possible to be "smarter" than a woman but it'll mean conditioning, training and a desire to be resolute in the face of the psychological warfare that a man is never taught and in many case, isn't even aware exists. Why? Because Mamma never told 'em so, is why. But it is possible using this point-by-point plan.

• Never argue with a woman. Even if the battle is won, the women will be instinctively triggered into a Manchurian-candidate-like mode of revenge that may go active one week, a year or ten years down the road. Data will be collected about the man's weaknesses and failings and the death will be long and painful. In the end, the woman will be the victor. Therefore, whether the mistake is made on purpose to irritate the woman, like leaving the seat up, or by accident (I didn't know you didn't like strawberry frosting on your doughnuts,) the man must understand that the relationship is basically over. She is right, you are wrong and so, it's time to move on.
  
• A woman will always come out on top because she wields the ultimate trump card, the Power of Pussy. It's a commodity that men have paid for, died for and mutilated themselves for over centuries. It is important to understand that the only victory for the man is to realize that one the goal of acquiring whatever pleasure is possible from this interface that plans must be laid (heh heh) to move away with all due haste lest the man is forced to travel the road of pain from obtain to maintain to complain to abstain to totally and utterly insane.
• Begin any relationship with the end in mind. It could happen at any moment as a woman is subject to whim and fancy and will discard a man with the ease that a monkey takes a dump. Be courteous and polite, get the quim and wait for the seeya. Don't share true stories about your family and friends that can and will be used when the relationship ends against you. By all means do collect compromising videos, letters, photos or anything else that can be posted on the Internet, not that you should do this actually, but you will want and need the leverage to counter her postings of compromising videos, letters and photos she has been collecting since the day she met you. Though, as a man and therefore, by definition, honorable, you would never stoop to breaking the law or creating tort in order to break her heart, which is actually impossible anyway, she might think twice about taking down those pictures of you when you two were in Cabo, experimenting with various exotic fruits while out of your mind on Cuervo that she's posted with your home phone, cell phone and home address so that your next employer's HR department will be able to Google it.
• Keep your secrets secret. Duh.
• Do not share passwords, logins, the names or numbers of friends you expect to keep after the relationship dies a fiery Phoenix-in-reverse death.
• Do not lie, just don't tell the truth. This is a brilliant technique a woman learns from a very young age and you can do it, too! For instance, the correct answer to "Do I look fat?" is "I think it's going to rain tomorrow." If she persists, feign a stroke. She will dump you as you will be of no further use to her either as an earner or a mammalian power-toy. Problem solved.
• Initially, in some relationships, the focus may seem to be on "sharing" in order to "build trust." This is information gathering in disguise. She will NOT tell you that she imagines receiving deep pelvic thrusts from Lyndsey Lohan, or that she fears her breast are too small. If she DOES say these things, she is lying in order to catch you up despite the fact that your wrong deed will have arisen from her sharing, which is a lie. Yes, it's complicated and one can see how it take a good sixteen to eighteen years for these techniques to become first-nature. Instead of sharing your bought with premature ejaculation in college, ask questions and lots of them. This shows that you're interested even if you're not and requires you to train yourself in the art of answering a question with a question. This take a lot of practice and is best supplemented with as much physicality as is permitted, just to keep her from answering a to-direct question. If all else fails, feign a stroke - see above.
• Avoid the "my girlfriend is different" trap. This is a delusion as all women are trained to an exceptionally high standard and so, are all essentially the same. If they are truly and tangibly different, suspect a personality disorder or a sex change and exit forthwith, unless you like that sort of thing.
• Think outside the box. Date other men. Problem essentially solved unless you really don't imagine you'd like a hairy butt waving in your face the morning after. You could have him shave . . .
• Men are very simple in the most basic respects. They want: food, sleep, poop, pussy. Women know this and have created a complexly dissonant harmony of manipulation to surround those wants. In short, they know what you are thinking. Conversely, it is impossible to know what a women is thinking therefore, it is impossible to appeal to their base senses not can you appeal to reason. You can appeal to "what's in it" for them, though. Think about it. Could you imagine getting hooker sex for love or worse, for free? Flipping the script, men can easily be led by any of the four basic wants described above, or the deprivation of same. Solution? Study Buddhism and eliminate want. Also, become a monk.

Like climbing Everest, the maintenance of a relationship with a women is fraught with peril, hypoxia and often, death. But such are the risks of interaction. A better solution is to avoid them like the plaque that they are.

Further, men must act know to break the cycle our sons would otherwise have to endure. We must expose women for what they are and passively resist their whining for on-demand erections and family trips to Disney World. We must stand as Men of Honour and show women that we, too, are strong and ready and please don't be mad what can I do to make it up to you I'm really sorry I can't believe you remembered that was eight years ago I don't think you're fat maybe it's work I've been under a lot of pressure lately but do you have to take the house and the kids, too?

Oh, who am I kidding? There are only six words to remember, to repeat and to use every single day of your miserable male life. In this order, repeat after me: "You're right. I'm wrong. I'm sorry." Then simply shut up.

Just kidding, hon!

Wrong Way, Jose

Getting lost is an excellent way of finding one's self. It seems to be the way of the adventurer and so, it's instant romance without the hassle of hiring Sherpas. There's only so much A to B and back again that one should have to be obligated by reason or discipline to take without the occasional requirement of a wrong turn in the right direction.