Hell Hath No Fury.

angry

So I overheard this girl today talking about her issues with a guy. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on her conversation. I had to wait in line behind her and her friend. The sound of their chatter forced its way into my head. My brain had to process that information. I had no choice but to listen to them.

I got behind them in line too late to learn all the details. Whoever the man in the story was, he was messing up. This young girl in her twenties was red in the face with anger talking about what she was going to do to him. What I did find out was this man was not the official boyfriend yet. He was on the path to boyfriend-dom. If their relationship were a status bar, I’d say he was 75 percent boyfriend from how she spoke of him. He might have been a friend with benefits. She had strong feelings for him and thought he returned those feelings. Until he did something at a party with another girl.

The storyteller didn’t specify what he did with that girl. Clearly it was the wrong decision. She told her friend that now she had to do some “crazy bitch shit”.

Her exact words.

After that proclamation, the cashier rang up their chocolate bar and bottle of water. She and her friend ran like hell out of the store. Likely to do that “crazy bitch shit” that she needed to do.

This left me thinking. What was crazy bitch shit?

Her friend knew. She had no questions as they left.

was there just crazy shit? was there normal bitch shit? Why the emphasis on crazy?

At what point was a woman driven to do crazy bitch shit? What had this man done with this other girl? Was it deserving of having crazy bitch shit done to him?

I knew from the way she spoke that this wasn’t the first time she had had to do crazy bitch shit. She was very confident in her ability to do it to this guy.

I did not envy this man. He should have thought twice before doing what he did with that other girl. Now he has to live with consequences and have crazy bitch shit done to him.

If I were a religious man, I’d pray for him.

But I’m not.

Flash On.

“Just so you know, those camo pants clash with that shirt.”

This girl in ninth grade said this to me. She was mistaken. My clothes weren’t supposed to match. I wanted to wear camo pants to feel like I was in the army. I had a blue shirt so I could be as calm as a clear blue sky.

She should have minded her business.

I’m not a fashion person. I know the dos and don’t because there was a few months where I was doing research for an unoriginal rip-off The Devil Wears Prada I was going to write. I had to come up with wardrobes for all the characters. It was an enjoyable nightmare. I might go back to that script someday.

I have a philosophy about what clothes I buy. I find the most generic bland forgettable cheap clothing and wear them until they are worn out. It’s much easier to get away with not tipping when you’re forgettable.

I also buy clothes to support bands and shows that I’m into. I wear wrestling shirts occasionally as bait to find wrestling fans. It’s worked out pretty well. I was mobbed by people in Summer 2011 when I wore my CM Punk Best in the World shirt.

And I always make sure to buy the most obnoxiousness straight edge shirts.

Like this one.

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This shirt is hilarious to me. My best buddy once told me that it’s fine to be straight edge just don’t throw it in people’s faces and be a jerk. U bought this shirt with him in mind. This shirt is throwing straight edge in people’s faces. I think it’s hilarious. Just the word over and over again then in red font in the middle.

I’ve been looking for a straight edge shirt to top this. It might end up being this one here.

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But this might be funny to other people and not just me. And I don’t know if I want that.

Change of Pace.

Past posts have been too dark so here’s a picture that’s made its way into my heart this week. I hope it finds its way into yours.

He’s controversial. He’s a cheater. I know I’m supposed to hate him, but I can’t quit Bellichick. There’s a comforting warmth behind his eyes. You know not to trust him, but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt.

Billy's Smile

Last Words.

In movies, last words are so important. Everyone has a speech or something to reveal before they die. They finish off their character arc and leave the audience somewhat satisfied. Real life ain’t like the movies.

This is a huge discrepancy. Death is dignified in movies and given all this time. It really the most vulnerable moment in a person’s life. Real last words are not cool. They’re not usually known to be the person’s last words at the time.

“Oh shit!” , “Oh my god!”, “Fuck!” and “Help!” are destined to be many people’s last words. There is no time for a speech. You don’t get to tie up loose ends. You’re cut off in the middle of a thought.

I feel like a lot of people have those movie last word speeches within them though. They have important feelings to share or reveal to the people in their lives. But they don’t say what’s on their mind and in their heart. They act like they’re going to get to have that big moment where they’ll say what they want to say.

Better to say what needs to be said before it’s too late.

Moo?

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Is sexual attraction biological or social? The real answer is some sort of mix, but I’d want to test that. The only problem is how do you separate biology from society? Only a being with absolute divine power could do that sort of heavy-lifting.

I came with this experiment that I would do if I had divine power.

I’d take a thousand straight dude of various ages and put them in a space ship. Why a spaceship? They’re going somewhere. But not before I use my special machine. This machine would have the power to zap all their memories and social experiences regarding romance and sex. All these guys would forget what the ideal woman looks like. They’d forget how to love and who they’re supposed to love. They’re back to zero, only instincts. And then I’d wipe their memories of women entirely.

I leave their sex drives in tact because I need them for my experiment.

Then using my great divine power, I would create a planet. I’m not very original so it’d be just like Earth. The only difference being women have been replaced by cows. This would be an entire world where man and cow are lovers. I’d use my divine power to give them a cloning machine too because I’m not allowing half-cow half-human creatures. None of that while I’m in control.

I would transport all those now sexually primal men here to this man/cow love planet. Normal guys from our normal version of Earth with our normal human man on human woman loving. They’d get off the ship and see billboards with men kissing cows. On television, they could see relationships develop on bad television between man and cow. They’d see cows walking around hoof and hand with a man.

I wonder if after sometime in this man/cow love world if these guys would start warming up to the idea of a cow being their soul mate. Would their primal instincts drown out all the social noise and remind them that they are supposed to be into human women?

Is societal pressure so strong that men would ignore their instincts and do what everyone else is doing?

These are the types of things I think about when I’m on long car rides by myself.

A Silent Man.

“You’re a quiet guy. You’re don’t talk much to anyone. ”

This girl at work said this to me out of the blue on a normal work day.

This was not the first time I was accused of being too reserved at a job. Before I left my last one, I had a boss strongly suggest I go to the Christmas party. I didn’t want to. I knew I wouldn’t have any fun. I’m not much for parties. My boss was a bit ticked.

“It’s like you don’t want to make any friends here.”

She was half-right. I don’t go out of my way to make new friends. I have my trusted few. They’re getting the job done well. It’s going to take some time before I bring someone new into the fold. I have long arduous screening process. Becoming my friend is not easy.

There are people out there who love people. I am not one of those people. I don’t hate people either. I’m not a misanthrope yet. I think it will take another five years before I get there.

I once was more sociable. The elementary school me would get in trouble all the time for talking too much. I had my name on the board permanently for talking out of turn and trying to make the class laugh. I would sing songs while the teacher would try to teach class. I’d introduce myself to new students and make them feel welcome. I made up games during recess to try and include everyone.

I do have my tries to be more sociable now, but it goes horribly every time. So I stopped. Now I only speak in public when I have something to say.

It’s not very often.

I can do anything better than you! Even suffer!

“OH MY GOD! GIRLS HAVE IT SOOO EASY! COACH GAVE THEM 15 POINTS!!!!”

-Twelve-Year-Old Me when a shutout kickball game became a tie.

In seventh grade kickball on Fridays, we’d play boys vs. girls. The boys always won in a slaughter but it was not a cakewalk. We’d have to kick with our left feet if we took an early lead. The gym teacher would give the girls more points if the gap got too big. One game we weren’t allowed to run. The concept of male privilege would have been as lost on Twelve-Year-Old Me.

It would be five years later that I’d faced with this idea of male privilege. My twelfth grade sociology teacher taught a class on the struggles of women through out time. I was slightly smarter at seventeen than five years prior so I took notes and paid attention in class. I was a good student. I had no trouble accepting that women hadn’t cruised through history. But then my teacher dropped this bomb at the end of her lesson.

“Even today men have it much better than women.”

My hand zipped into the air! I had to ask a question.

“You said men have it better. How can men have it better if you can be drafted to go die in a war just cause you were born a guy?”

My pencil was all ready to scribble down her answer. My brain prepped to soak in that sweet knowledge she was about to lay on me.

“I don’t think anyone should be able to be drafted.”

And then she gave us worksheets and that was it! I was left confused. I wanted to see her after class, but then decided to talk to my friends about video games in the hallway instead. So that question remains unanswered.

Do men have it better than women?

Virtually everyone would say it’s axiomatic that men have it better than women. I remain skeptical when it comes to the Western World.

I love reading crime statistics. That was a favorite hidden hobby of mine back when I was seventeen. I used to compare the trends of violence over the years to the portrayal in the media. It was like the more violence went down, the more violent stories were covered on television. Quite the dangerous inverse proportion.

One thing I’ve learned from all my fun time researching is that men are much likely to be the victim of a violent crime than women. They are far more likely to murdered, beaten, robbed, and a bunch of other nasty stuff. The only violent crime women outrank men is rape.

Men more successfully kill themselves more than women. Men die more on the job more than women. Men are more likely to end up in prison or become homeless. Can you say someone has it better if society is more likely to drive them to be a violent criminal? I’d have some trouble.

If you look at the tops of society, you will find men soaring. Men are more likely to be doctors, CEOs, and a bunch of other kickass stuff. But not many people look down and see the bodies of men laying on the ground. Men get to soar to the top, but they also sink.

I wouldn’t go as far to say women led easier lives. They have different equally as bad crap to deal with. I have trouble in general saying anyone has an easier life than another. It’s easy to observe someone else and pick out the good parts and not see what you might have over them. You might also miss what sucks about their life. Grass is always greener.

If you think I’m absolutely wrong and that men objectively have better lives than women, I’m open to hearing out your opinion. I’d love to have a discussion about it.

Man-vs-Woman