Musings...

Much has been made about the alleged brilliance of my writing and the way it intimidates or at least comes across as a daunting task to comment. I fear you people build me up into something more than I am. I write, a lot, and often. Hundreds of documents a month, dozens of pieces a week and most of it never sees any exposure beyond the initial authoring. It’s an expected facet of investing this much time in something that you invariably end up getting somewhat good at it. But the point I’m trying to make is that I’m not the best, I’m not the supreme writer of the age, I’m simply above average and in that there is still a measure of banality.

I’m not saying this to elicit responses of praise or contradiction. I’m comfortable with my skill as a auteur and I don’t need validation in that, what I do want is comments that tell me I’m reaching and audience. Something to let me know that I have readers, that there are souls out there willing to read and endure my usually far too personal drivel and take something away from it. It’s not a competition and no one is judging or keeping score. I ran into this when I had the “Old Domain” where I would have readers that would never comment, never respond, but they would stealthily troll around and read but never say anything and then feel hurt or betrayed if I called them out on something.

Now all that having been said, please just comment on any facet of anything, even something as mundane as a smiley face or a one word response to the effect of “Nice read too many big words!” I would take. It means I’m reaching you. I do this as much for me as for you. If I stop getting feedback then it becomes just another journal and I don’t need another one. Between the pieces that never get published, my Deviant Art Journal and of course the leather bound diary I carry with me, I’ve got more than enough venues for personal matters to be discussed. When I sit down to author something for this particular forum I write it to you guys, not myself, not as a means of achieving catharsis but as a way to connect with you. But it works both ways guys. I stop getting, I stop giving. I do owe thanks, however, to Nikki (not to be confused with Nicole, I got one email asking if they were the same person. Not even close. Nikki is awesome, Nicole is from a circle of hell so deep and depraved that even Lucifer doesn’t dare go in), Justina, and Christine for subscribing, and commenting. Also shout outs are due to Immortal Aurora who has been absent due primarily to computer issues. Sorry but playing catch up will be hell.

Now that we have all of the pleasantries out of the way, let’s get down to something we can all relate and identify with instead of just my pointless whining. Today’s topic is the absurd way that we as a culture and a society have complicated interpersonal romantic relationships and the perversion that we’ve turned marriage into. If we strip away all of the new age bullshit about marriage being the ultimate commitment between two people who love each other with all their hearts what are we really left with? The answer is not one you’re going to like. The institution of marriage came about because it was a way for men to assert sexual ownership rights over women and claim them as property. It wasn’t a deep heartfelt symbol of undying love; it was a way for women to be controlled under the pretense that if they slept with anyone else or were in any way unfaithful an invisible man in the sky would strike them down. Men would take ownership of a woman by marrying her and she would be made to raise his children, service his needs (both domestic and sexual) and care for him home while he was off spreading his seed free of consequence.

Marriage has since evolved into something a bit more palatable to our social norms by being seen as the logical progression of a relationship between two people that have enough common not to kill each other after prolonged periods of time in the same room. The main reason for this progression The sad thing is that the concept of an undying, all consuming, completely fulfilling love that satisfies and contents is something seen more in fairy tales and cheesy romance novels. It does exist; don’t get me wrong, I’m the best example of a die hard romantic I’ve ever found. I tolerate and endure more than anyone else I know to try to make relationships work. I’ll allow myself to be victimized, ignored, cheated on (to an extent, see one of the other posts), introduced as a “friend” when she’s too confused or concerned to identify me as anything else, hell I don’t even take issue with the idea of the ex being a part of her life. I told Nicole on numerous occasions that if we ended up together I wouldn’t mind her continuing her association with Matthew, with a good measure of stipulations tacked onto that of course. But the point I’m getting at here is that for better or for worse when I fall in love with someone, it’s a complete and all encompassing thing. I don’t cheat, I don’t stray, and I will go to any length I have to in order to make her happy. The problem I’m finding though is that as much as women claim they want a guy who’s going to do this kind of thing for them, when they get around me they become incredibly afraid and intimidated by it.

So here lies the quandary. What is it exactly men are supposed to do when nothing they do is right? I mean I give, I sacrifice and I get shit on for all of my effort. But guys like my best friend have carnival prizes for the women he sleeps with that he awards based on their performance in bed and he’s one woman shy of hitting number one hundred. Now I know the argument by most of you is going to be that those women are dumb, and let me stop you and just clarify here. Those women who have slept with him, yeah, they’re not dumb, they’re completely fucking retarded. Most of them don’t even qualify as high functioning retards either. They’re seven shades of fucking stupid and should really have their lives reevaluated and begin to implement some kind of change. Nothing against him, but let’s face it, he’s a whore. Back to the point, why is it that a guy who tries to do everything right, who listens, takes notes, never forgets a birthday (I still call the first girl I ever dated on her birthday every year), suffers through Christmas and the awkward exchange of gifts, even makes a concerted effort to appear presentable and publicly acceptable when meeting parents or family, get nothing in return for his efforts?

Relationships have evolved into these incredibly complicated things where you need a score card and commentary by John Madden and Pat Summerall just to keep up. There’s all these arbitrary terms, friends with benefits, sex with no strings attached, one night stand, fuck buddy, casual dating, just dating, kind of together, talking, seeing each other, together, not together, exclusive, open relationship and really it’s all bullshit. You need an example?

Friends with benefits: this is every good friendship, otherwise why be friends? I benefit from hanging out with you if for no other reason than I’m not bored.

Sex with no strings attached: Awesome I love sex when I don’t have strings grafted into my skin. It makes moving much easier and I feel a lot less like a marionette.

One night stand: Do I really need to go into how fucking stupid this one is? Odds are unless you’ve got her back pressed against the wall, all the fucking you’re doing for that one night is on a bed and you’re both lying down. No one is standing unless the jackass with the cock is standing in the door way with his dick in his hand hoping you brought a friend.

Fuck buddy: if you don’t know the person well enough to even call them a buddy before you take them into your bed, odds are you should be hoping for a one night stand.

Casual dating: am I to understand that there is another kind of dating; perhaps some kind of sudden death dating or high tension dating? If he says the wrong thing he gets shot in the face. If she forgets when her period starts she’s flayed alive.

Just dating: you buy dinner, take her home, and then you go home to rub one out because you’re just dating so sex is out of the question. After all you’re not friends with benefits and you’re certainly not fuck buddies. You’re just dating!

Kind of together: well you’ve been seen in the same place, at the same time, talking to each other. You were even caught kissing on a couple of occasions. But you’re only kind of together. Wouldn’t want to send the wrong idea after all, make someone think that there might be more going on.

Talking: this is really fucking stupid. I talk to hundreds of people a week. Doesn’t mean I’m trying to fuck any of them!

Seeing each other: I open my eyes, look across the room, and happen to make eye contact. The light is interpreted by my brain as visual signals and I see you. The same process occurs in your brain, unless you’re blind at which point stop staring at me! We’ve seen each other, now let’s become friends with benefits!

Together: well thank god you’re together! I’d hate to think you’re in need of assembly. I’ll try to find the instructions from Ikea and we’ll get you done up right. Let me get the special tool that came in the box.

Not together: well I couldn’t find the tool, and the instructions are in some bastard version of Swedish so I guess you’re not together. Sorry.

Exclusive: I don’t recall ever being asked to sign a contract with a girl. But maybe I should start. If she goes to work any one else’s knob or does work for an agent other than myself she’s broken my exclusive contract. I’ll sue god-dammit!

Open relationship: the door is always open for you to leave. Don’t like doing things my way, get the fuck out of here!

These terms are completely useless and stupid. They don’t mean a fucking thing. We assign them special little meanings and talk in this bullshit language because really when you strip away all of the infidelity, the cons, the games, the flirting, and the exorbitant amount of effort that some guy through just for a single piece of ass, how exciting is sex really? It’s hard enough getting each other’s clothes off what with women wearing pants that are painted on these days, and then half the time the guy can’t even figure out what he’s doing and looks like he’s having a seizure in a Mel Brooks movie. But if done right, sex is this messy, hot, sweaty, lurid, loud, debauched act engaged in by two people for what is believed will be mutual physical satisfaction. But we dress it up and add all manner of pretentiousness to it and it becomes something that doesn’t get done without the right amount of alcohol, or the right encouragement from friends, or the right amount of trust. And really if you’re bedding down with that person anyway, as convoluted as dating has become in today’s world, you should care about them enough and have at least a little bit of genuine romantic attachment to really open up, relax, and just enjoy the ministrations of your partner.