What the Hell

I am on all these other blogs, and I just stopped writing--couldn't hack it, yet I figure I will shoot my wad here until it's time to move on.

Anyone who knows me well or reads between the lines of my other blog should understand I am, at best, ambivalent about marriage. Personally I think you hit a point in life in which you are screwed either way: you are single, getting older and the fun days of partying your ass off lose their appeal. You face a loneliness, but you don't quite know what to do about it because marriage looks like jail. Yet do those married couples have something you don't? Isn't marriage just something to do--a bit like going to the bathroom?

Ah, then you fall in love. It's great, and you know that no one has a relationship quite like yours. You and your loved one possess the eternal secret--to love and to be loved. Sex is great. You both can talk forever about anything; time never seems to drag. This is it!

You get married and after a while, it isn't so great. Things come out about you and your partner that neither one planned. Yes, marriage is work, yes, it takes maturity, but are you ready to be a grown-up? Hell no. So you leave or you stay. Either way your illusions seem futile and sad, as though you were promised the powerball lottery, but only got stuck with the ticket.

It hit me today that I don't know one happily married couple. I also realize that those who are still in the game are moving heaven and earth to make it work. That comprises most of my friends. A few get divorced and suffer social ostricization, child support issues, asshole ex-spouses, returning to the sucko dating scene and to top it off, they feel like failures.

I will admit right now that I am a little drunk. So before you slam me with sober comments, don't think I am saying anything of merit. A student of mine told me she was getting married this weekend, and all I wanted to say to her was: Why are you fucking up your life? But I just congratulated her, and my class is even going to have a shower for her.

Anyway, if I post again, I might write about sex and love addiction. But I have to be a bit less drunk. I'm just pissed off at the world today.

Observation

So rude.

Sorry guys, I had to take down that last one. Maybe it isn't a big deal, but it was bugging me. Bardouble--I know you are cool with all that kind of stuff; I'm not ashamed of anything; it isn't that, but in the last post I felt like I was beginning to reveal a part of myself that I would rather keep private. It is just who I am, not what I do. I'm not ashamed of anyone I've slept with--I wasn't even married then, nor was there a spoken committment. I just always hate to admit I need someone, and that is really what was going on. It's hard to explain. Damn.

Prostitutes

Whores of Babylon.

I have to share a secret.

Prostitutes fascinate me.

Don't get me wrong; I am not talking about those slut bitches who hang out in bars, waiting for some man to buy them drinks and fuck them later. I am talking about women who will exclusively sleep with men for cash.

I admire them. It's a dangerous job. It takes a certain kind of woman to endure multiple nameless partners per night--money or not. Hell, I dropped out of massage therapy school because the thought of rubbing some strange dude's back freaked me out. So to be a hooker...man, that takes guts.

No, I am not romanticizing the job. I know that many girls from other countries get brought here or to London under the guise of gainful employment, only to be trapped into prostitution. That is evil.

But women who choose it, not because they are junkies or haven't figured out their career, they have my respect. One of my high school friends--we did so many drugs together; she became an escort. She tried to get me into the trade, but I wanted to be an academic. Later on, I found out that the two had much in common, but the latter earned far less $. I've lost touch with my friend, but she made picking up men an art form. The last time I saw her, I was bartending--she came in to visit me and almost picked up my boss! I asked her not to--I knew his wife and kids; they were south siders like me, and I also understood that my boss was deeply Catholic; he would feel guilty as hell later. He was a drunk, but cheating on his wife was a line he wouldn't cross. She did what I asked. But I never saw her again. Last time I heard of her, she was living in Arizona.

No, I am not prostitution material, even though I am not shy about my body. I no longer think you need love to have sex; I don't even know where love corresponds to any bodily necessity. And sometimes women would be better off if they just got paid to do the nasty--married life sure would take on different connotations other than the metaphoric prostitution that it sometimes is.

(In a subsequent post, I will write about my attempt to get a male prostitute to meet my needs. Patience.)

Quit your whoring now!

Are The Twins?

A very loud, unattractive, mean, nasty woman walked into Wal-Mart with her two kids, yelling obscenities at them all the way through the entrance. The Wal-Mart Greeter said pleasantly "Good morning, and welcome to Wal-Mart. Nice children you have there. Are they twins?"

The ugly woman stopped yelling long enough to say, "Hell no they ain't." "The oldest one's 9 and the other one's 7. Why the hell would you think they're twins? Are you blind, or just stupid?"

"I'm neither blind nor stupid, Ma'am," replied the greeter. "I just couldn't believe you got laid twice."
"Have a good day and thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart."

New Meds For Ya Susan!

I will share mine with ya!

All the Videos Suck, but Sheep and Sheep Lovers Go to Heaven

Cake - Sheep Go To Heaven lyrics

(side note: despite your beastility, you are heaven bound)

Cake - Sheep Go To Heaven Lyrics

I'm not feeling alright today
I'm not feeling that great
I'm not catching on fire today
Love has started to fade
I'm not going to smile today
I'm not gonna laugh
You're out living it up today
I've got dues to pay
And the gravedigger puts on the forceps
The stonemason does all the work
The barber can give you a haircut
The carpenter can take you out to lunch
Now I just want to play on my panpipes
I just want to drink me some wine
As soon as you're born you start dyin'
So you might as well have a good time
CHORUS
Sheep go to heaven
Goats go to hell
Sheep go to heaven
Goats...go to hell
I don't wanna go to Sunset Strip
I don't wanna feel the emptiness
Old marquees with stupid band names
I don't wanna go to Sunset Strip
I don't wanna go to Sunset Strip
I don't wanna feel the emptiness
Old marquees with stupid band names
I don't wanna go to Sunset Strip
And the gravedigger puts on the forceps
The stonemason does all the work
The barber can give you a haircut
The carpenter can take you out to lunch
Now but I just want to play on my panpipes
I just want to drink me some wine
As soon as you're born you start dyin'
So you might as well have a good time
CHORUS
REPEAT CHORUS UNTIL END