A Sad Story

Well today I heard one of the truly sad stories of all my days. There are no redeeming factors. The first reaction for some might be “what were they thinking,” perhaps “I would never do that,“ or some other summary judgment  that we are all quick to make. I only feel sorrow for all who are involved. It is the kind of thing that only the living can carry. Some may think that better legislation would solve this. Or better education. Decisive retribution should be exacted to make an example and protect the innocent. But by all accounts the proper authorities were involved after the fact and none of the societal bug a boos, such as chemical misjudgments were ruled out. They just fucked up, Or did they? No willful negligence was indicated, I am sure that didn’t relieve the pain. Those of us on the outside find our ways to deal with someone else's misery. All such reactions are only the way we convince ourselves that bad things can never happen to us because we are such clever humans. But Fortuna can turn her frowning countenance on any of us at any time. Yes that means you. I know it means me.

This was a young couple. But everyone seems young to me except for you really cranky and or radiant old farts. You have chosen your countenance and so be it. I did not know this young couple, or neither had or have any desire to introduce myself. Any comfort or whatever I can offer would give little solace. This is a big city and the neighborly bit does not always go over so well. Especially since I don’t know them from squat, or they me. But if I ever do meet them and they feel the need to share their tragedy with me I will offer support and sympathy, and spare them my input by listening. I have nothing to add to ease or ameliorate their despair. Just listen without judgment would be my only contribution.

They were a problematic young couple by all reports from their landlord and neighbors, the usual parlance and trade of youth. They were an immigrant couple from different foreign lands and ended up here together joined in matrimony either before or after their newly formed human child was conceived. Such things matter much less with the advent of the more egalitarian property right laws as opposed to the paternal model of old. I am sure this little one was equipped with what has been identified as a soul, consciousness, energy, instructions from before, plan, or whatever your version of what we don’t know is. But it seems the mission was to visit shortly and change these young peoples life inalterably. We will leave predestination and or divine cosmic plans and the nagging free will impetuous to another day. I am altogether chagrinned and saddened by this tale to waste words arm wrestling over the trivial interpretations.

What I know. The young couple decided to shower together, they brought the one month old baby in to share the familial bathing, and the one month old child was dropped and left this earthly existence.

I can say no more but to grieve. I don’t know how I would deal with such a loss.

Do you?

Way to Work the Fags

It is a beautiful late summer day in Chicago. Cool and sunny after a summer that has had almost nonexistent heat and humidity. Compared to previous summers where the dead have piled up in refrigerator trucks, this has hardly been a summer at all. I am sitting waiting for a bus right across the street from the police station when this lanky, crew cut, and aviator shades sporting twenty or thirty something comes bounding across the street walks past and says “great way to work the fags”. Well I had no snappy comeback for that but I figured after he passed I would not have to give it a second thought. But then this numb skull back pedals and asks if I want something to drink. Now I know I look a little shabby these days, actually it has been a look I've spent a life time cultivating, income and prospects have had little effect on my exterior manifestations of cloth. But I said “no” abruptly since I was still trying to figure out the meaning and intention of the rather unorthodox ice breaker . Then, this meat popsicle says , “Are you sure” and I said “Positive” and I was left in peace to wait for my bus. Oh happy day.

This left me with a few moments to wonder just what would possess someone to say such a thing to a complete stranger sitting by a bus stop.

I mean, if you are looking for a way to be friendly a simple “hello” should suffice.

Perhaps a pick up line, and I am sure women have heard even more inane attempts spew forth from the mouths of my fellow men in our endless quest to get laid.

It has been my good fortune to have been acquainted with a few gay men and I could never see them using such a greeting even at their randiest. Maybe I have associated with your better class of homosexual.

If you are a street hustler, I don’t see that as a good way to drum up business.
There is the possibility that this person was an undercover cop trying a new technique, but I don’t see that as an effective way to entrap and entice an offer of illegal behavior.

Best answer I suppose is that this fellows was looking for a way to start up a brawl with somebody he had decided on the spot he didn't like and wanted to “put a whuppin” on. I see nothing to gain for me in this activity and I am glad the thought only entered my mind long after the verbal affront. Evolution is more apparent in some. Or perhaps age.

Truth be told I just don’t know and I just don’t care.

So I continued on to work as the personification of everything that's wrong with our human existence. Ignorance and apathy.

Who's Calling

One advantage of being phone fodder for corporate America in my spare time, is the opportunity to hear different answering machine messages across the country. Here is my favorite so far because it cuts to the chase:

“From my family to yours, we are looking to make some changes in 2009. So leave a message and if we don’t call you back, you are one of those changes.”

Subtle, no blaming, accusation, remorse. Just I don’t like things as they are and it is time to change. I don’t know anything about the history but I love concise thoughts and statements. I hope the person or persons to whom that was directed to got the message.

Just because you own a phone doesn't oblige you to talk with every numb nut that places a call to the number. Now I may be calling because they wanted a job and I was responding to them. But I didn't have to listen to three minutes of their favorite song. Nor did I have to listen to them mumble incoherently or worse yet actually sing their favorite song. Although I have heard some remarkable renditions. But at least I know this person will call back only if they choose to. I like those that take responsibility for their destiny.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Sometimes it just impossible to mind your own business when riding on public transportation. People just want to drag you into their lives while yapping on their cell phones. Now usually it is just the mundane day to day, but every so often one gets a glimpse into the really dark side of human nature. There are a million stories broadcast on the naked cell phone. This is one of them.
It all began as just a typical ride on the bus and the usual scene of a mom getting on the bus proceeded by a crying child. The only thing was that this was at a corner near one of the halls of justice in our fair city. I suppose the mothers first comment should have foretold the coming festivities, but a mom telling a toddler to “ Don’t worry, we will get that son of a bitch” could have meant anything from a rowdy playground mate to the child's paternal genetic material donor. But no, a blog plot that would not make.

Then the phone calls commenced and all the riders on the bus were privy to a skirt lifting to reveal the back story. No hushed conspiratorial tones here this conversation was played out in full playground voice. Here’s a synopsis.

Fresh out of court where this woman's significant other was being arraigned for an alleged assault on a taxi driver, this charge apparently was dropped, brought to light an outstanding warrant on another assault charge on someone named “Josh” who was a common acquaintance to this particular circle friends. We now have established the identity of said “son of bitch’ to be gotten, and a brief aside of the heart rendering tale of the child’s farewell to dad on the way to the lockup. This apparently caused some confusion and anxiety in the child hence the crying, which had thankfully subsiding as he observed his maternal role model spring into action to defend her family.

Apparently this first call sharing the details was a message left on a friends phone, ostensibly a prospective avenger. With the second call which was completed we unsuspecting bus passengers were introduced to the master plan. The heroine in our story had decided on a course of action. Find somebody to give her a few bruises and contusions so she could file a police report accusing the fiend we have learned to be“Josh” of this malicious act. One already known to have perpetrated the crime of filing an assault charge on her loved one. A course of action guaranteed to make every unfortunate victim of such non staged violent crimes cringe.

Then there was a long string of references to the violence that will be done to “Josh” in jail and the treatment his fellow felons would reward him with for “beating on a woman”, the graphic fantasy of Bobbitizing Joshes member, and glee of his contracting aids from the misuse by his fellow prisoners. The things children learn at their parents knee. The things we learn from taking public transportation in one half hour or less.

Now of course you may ask where was the good citizen on the bus to intervene in the plotting of an apparent illegal act, subjection of a minor to inappropriate language as well as inappropriate cell phone usage on public transportation. The answer is easy. The bitch is crazy and you try to avoid crazy people on public transportation. Do you really want to involve yourself in any way shape or form with this aberrant gene strain. Not me. But the question remains…how many others like her are out there?

Besides, I am sure she was just letting of steam in response to an emotional situation. She couldn’t be stupid enough to carry out such misguided course of action after sharing this plot with 25 people. Could she?

Time Management Ruined My Life

Yes I blame it all on Stevie Covey, and of course my ex wife. But not necessarily in that order. My ex wife at least brought some very special and wonderful moments and things into my life. Not so with Stevie. Both cases are examples of the joining together of two incompatible spirits. Both unions then have the potential for extreme disaster. Disaster is what both brought to me.

I had been what I would have felt as successful at the time. Had a good job, wife , two children. With all that comes with it. House, two cars, and the never-ending nagging feeling that I was not finding that elusive work life balance that was being touted, and still is to this day, although the pendulum has swung. Admittedly time management tools have been around since the human concept of time was refined. but in the latter half of the twentieth century it had become big business. With the explosion of media, it grew enormous. In the dawning age of internet access, people who would never have wandered into a book store in search of such a thing, hade it right on their desktop, soon to be literally in their laps. So with me it started on my desktop, and then ended up in my lap.

The people we spend most of our time with have a strong influence on us whether we admit it or not. So it was with my wife. With the growing of our family, the move further away from my friends, family, and work peers; to the center of my wife's desired center of family, friends, and where she wanted to be made me feel isolated and more dependent on her dreams. But that is a whole other story.

Her devotion to the self help guru's and enrichment programs, the evidence of which no doubt still sit on the books of the credit cards she bankrupted herself out of after eliminating me, the one with the income to enable such charges of fancy, I too did get sucked into that world. I became a believer caught up in her jet stream. I started planning my days, weeks, months. Set long range goals, daily tasks, master tasks, and began to keep an incomprehensible Journal. The journal of my demise.

I am sure it works well for some, but as usual I jumped in with both feet and ended up over my head. I was soon to be doomed to spend so much time planning, keeping track of what I had done and hadn’t done, and generally feeling bad about not accomplishing what In set out to do . It sent me spiraling into an ever widening maw of the abyss. Sure there was always the moment of sheer elation as I scratched off the completed tasks, which often made me feel empowered only to sink into the bliss of inaction. After all I completed what I wanted to accomplish that day. Never mind the millions of things that I should have done, been doing or just plain put off because the thought of doing them was more painful that the torture of not doing them. The tricks my brain plays on me often makes my jaw drop to the floor.

But when the jaw is on the floor, that is when the bugs run in.

Thing Better Left Unsaid

OMG, I fucked your mother when we were in our twenties.

I guess there was something nagging at me as unbuttoned this woman's blouse. Even more so as I framed her face in my hands upon initial entry. But I was to distracted by the tight young body. It had been many years since I frolicked with one so young. No children had been thrust forth from this particular delicacy. Full immersion and a tightness that can rarely be regained once lost was all that was on my reptilian brain at this moment. The past few years of living as much as possible in the here and now has taught me how to enjoy moments of pure immersion and delight in a woman. Having known the pleasure of the more mature for many years, the problematic youthful emotions and recriminations on the nature of women are no longer a hindrance to me. Unlike back when I was in my twenties, today I can assuage that inner voice knowing that this was a totally unexpected, and might I add ,unsolicited treat.

I was just out killing time on an early summer Saturday evening. Watching a few games on the tube in the local pubs, and just generally enjoying the freedoms of no longer being one of the landed gentry, tied down to endless weekends of yard work, home repair, and honey do lists. Divorce can in someways be a quit liberating prospect. That state of affairs also came to me unbidden and unexpected, but much less pleasurable than the situation I found myself in on this particular Saturday evening. I ended up in a local establishment that I frequented back in my twenties and thirties, and much to my surprise was still owned by the same woman. Now you could say that a man of my years has no business in such a place, especially on a Saturday night were loud rock music was being played by some local up and comers. But having been a veteran of some garage bands in my day, I felt compelled to pay the cover for a listen.

I was happily chatting with owner and some of the patrons. Getting the bring out your dead list from the proprietor of people we knew that used to hang out there and now no longer hang out anywhere. I was having a nice conversation with a woman, of more respectable years, about kids, sharing photo's of same, and generally talking personal histories. After an hour or so she was off with the friends she was meeting and we said our goodbyes . No sooner does this lady leave my side than this young lady rushes up to me, pinches my cheek, and demands a kiss. “Look at that smile” she exclaimed. She was a slender attractive girl next door sort. Not floozied up for a Saturday night stalk. After all this was just your local tavern, not the downtown club scene. Shoulder length light brown hair, with brown eyes. Tight blue jeans can do much for the female frame, and her youth made them fit just right. Now being unaccustomed to such directness and comforted with the fact that she was at least twenty one to be in there, I happily obliged. Now she did not seem excessively drunk, which would have been my first rationale for such forward behavior, and the effects of the new designer drugs are unfamiliar to me, so we began chatting. But with very close physical proximity. I am not immune to the fragrance and friction of body to body contact. One might say she was on me like a cheap suit. Many have told me that I look quite a few years younger than I actually am, but I figured with a little time and closer inspection, she would realize she had latched onto a geezer. Either she didn't or she didn't care.

You may ask at this juncture, just what do a man and woman have in common with such divergent chronology. Well other than the usual mundane small talk that accompanies such initial encounters, the big three hundred pound gorilla in the room is always sex. Why this woman chose me that evening I will never know. I could spend pages speculating on the whys and wherefores of her motivations and they would be just that. Speculation. To tell you the truth, for the opportunity to enjoy the pleasure of a twenty some thing's youthful body, I don't care. It was clear and simple. That night I had something she wanted, and she had something I hadn't had in a long long time.

The energy, flexibility, muscle tone of a healthy young woman are a marvel. Unleashing that energy in her candle lite studio apartment was awesome to behold. If I knew this was what awaited me within the cul de sac of my midlife crisis, I would have fretted less at the surprise of my legally devoided vows. She was light as a feather as we moved through positions that were only vague remembrances from my youth. But unlike my youth, these various positions were being worked through in a single session. The now is a wonderful place to stay. It was only upon flipping her over for the delightful humping like a dog portion of the evenings entertainment, and as I was admiring the reflection of our lovemaking, did I notice the picture. It was of her and her mom taken a few years ago. As I gazed down upon the lovely shape of her behind bucking up to meet my thrusts, her slim waist, smooth shanks, and her profile sideways on the pillow did it hit me. There was no doubt. I had been in this same position some thrirty years before.

After a quick check on my math to be sure that this wasn't a transgression of biblical proportions, and being the dog that I am, rather than this revelation making me feel guilty it only added to the shear lust, enjoyment, and celebration of this ladies delights. As we said our goodbyes in the early morning light I saw no need to bring up my epiphany during the evenings festivities. Yet only one question came to my mind.

I wonder what her mom is doing tonight.

Sex is a soccer field

Sex is a soccer field

So I have to admit that every time I meet a woman, at some point the thought, however briefly; flashes through my mind. " What would it be like to fuck that". It just doesn't matter. Shudder or quiver I have to think it. Sometimes I don't dwell more that a nano-second on the answer, which can be merciful or a missed sensual immersion in my imagination. Positive, negative, curiosity, I just know it flashes by. Then I go back to my normal rational self and transact business with and deal with the person on the level necessary to handle the commerce at hand. Treating the person I was dealing with in a manner fitting for the occasion, I hope. But has that momentary thought tainted the intercourse.
Like being on a huge soccer field, only with hundreds of defense people. All giving me reasons why that wouldn't be a good idea. Learned morality from society, religious indoctrination, my mother warning me that I don't know where they have been.

Maybe I have a few teammates. Memories from the seventies when the attitude seemed more permissive, and I was much younger and hornier. Then AIDS slobbering maw appeared and nipped that irrational sexual exuberance in the bud. You never knew where those women had been, and prevailing wisdom was , bunking down with one you were bunking down with all her former partners. The great disease infested Bacchanal of pass the STD's please, and don't Bogart. Longe term relationships looked good.

So the 73 to 84 relationship ended as many did, young , in love, out grow and go your own way. since not being married, I admit there was soom extranious activity of the prurient sort, but mostly mongamious. The four year hiadus and boycott of the long term relationshpis led to quite a few fondly remembered romps, but career was my focus, and focus I did. Then in 89 fall, married, and spawned. Throughout I never strayed. Certainly the "What would it be like..." thought was always there, but never any plan to act.

My other teammates will tell me that everybody else is out there fucking. Hell. Just look at the huge amount of porn on the internet. All sorts of people are doing all sorts of things on cameras and posting this on the internet. Who are these people. Most important, Where are these people? And with such a plethora of people willing to do it on screen, there just has to be a gazzillion willing to cut loose in private. The shear volume of content means they have to be some where.Sure some of them are getting paid. Maybe even some are being ruthlessly exploited. I assuage my guilt there by knowing I only have knowledge of this from the free clips offered on countless web pages. I am to cheap and broke to even consider paying for such stuff. It only promotes the temptation for exploitation. But I know there must be a large segment that has forked over the dough to access this stuff in it's full regalia. Other wise it would not be there.

Also, despite the early indoctrination from the fifties, I now know the startling truth. Women like to fuck too. Epiphany. So now I blush. Every time I see a woman and she see's me. I know there is that immediate transactional analysis going on on both sides of our windows to the soul. An incredible speed date sort of transactional analysis. Just waiting for the moment akin to "The Price is Right" when both sides of the equation balance out. Ding Ding Ding. The bid price matches the actual price. You've won a roll in the hay. The ultimate Field of Dreams.

Now I have skulked into randy old goat territory, bordering on geezer, I know is I need to get a new accountant, because my columns balance way to infrequently. I guess I will always be having to go the Long Term Relationship route to satisfy the demands of my D.N.A. No cash transactions for me. Always the Buy Now Pay Later transaction model. I am painfully aware that like all credit transactions that means you have to pay and pay and pay.

Somewhere buried in that debt I know I am still paying interest on the bar tab that won me that first post divorce blow job and frenzied fuck in my motel room for the weekend out of house experience. But it does still make me smile. Best thing about divorce is getting to enjoy new women and their strange ways. nothing like tearing off a bit of strange again when you had resolved to honor those vows you made in the ultimate property and wealth preservation contract called marriage. Viva La Difference !

But every so often, when I amke it past all those player that have joined up on my sexual reppression team, with the few teamates rooting me on, I do get to below that wonerful word at the moment of orgasm.

Goooooooooooal !!!