Choices. Three of the women nearest and dearest to me - make very very good choices. In their careers, in their parenting, in their written word, in their spoken word. I’ve marveled at them. However, they all suck in mate selection.
Believe me, I KNOW I am far, far, far from perfection - but I too would classify myself in the group above… It’s my belief marriage is something to be taken very seriously. Tying the knot should only be done after you’ve deemed if you can survive through your mates imperfections - as well as them putting up with your imperfection..
I am human, hear me roar. You are human, I hear you roar.
Why do people select mates that just don’t work out? Why are some women intrigued by “the bad boy” and some men by the dominating woman? One knows this in advance, and then asks “why’d I do that” after it happens - or, perhaps more blindly “how’d that happen?” Gee, I dunno.
Today, very very few make it thru with the same mate. Yes, oft times it’s out of one’s control when it doesn’t happen. Perhaps either ourselves, or the mate just isn’t the person we/they were thought to be.
Who wrote the book of love, and did they use spellcheck?
I heard the latest/last Harry Potter book has a page missing, and virtually all that read it don’t notice. I wonder if that’s what’s happened to the book of love.
I have heard “I always end up getting shit on.” Funny, some tend to park beneath assholes. Buddy ‘o mine, deathly fear of upcoming canoe trip - snake falling into canoe from tree above. Fuck that. Don’t go under any trees. Navigate. We don’t navigate in life. We go full bore, oh-baby-oh-baby - we become smitten, then bitten - and again we ask “how’d that happen?”, or more observantly “why’d I do that.”
I guess I’m rationalizing for the six year ongoing process that hasn’t lent itself a mate for me. Much, I know, precipitates this. Two that have walked away makes it even harder to totally give one’s heart. And age. We see a behavior we don’t like - and we say “nah… I don’t wanna do this the resta my life.”.. We could even subconsciously say to ourselves “if I don’t get into a relationship - then there’s no fear of having it end” and we while away life alone.
So…. Summing this all up, it don’t add up. So… I’ll trudge to the future with the immediate selfish list: some fun out with my runnin’ buddies.. My Freudian wish list: ahm, friend with beni’s (867-5309).. Good cold beer in the fridge… a harmonious work atmosphere. A car that starts. A bank account that has balance.. And an Aladdin’s lamp to rub and have ‘her’ one day appear.
Longterm lease available: good (not perfect) man… He usedta be kinda athletic (gravity is taking place - but he PROMISES 150 crunches a day IF you are ‘her’. He has all the hair on his head left. Some crevices. A shit-eaten grin (note: not a bad boy.) He whistles too much probably. He probably tries to make everything in life too light, fun. He has an occasional skidmark (but promises to buy Spray and Wash insteada the cheap shit at Dollar General for ‘her’).. A nasty bunion on the backa my right heel (eh, could be shit you’d need/wantata know.) Shortpeckeritis, but still operable.. No great equity/401K, but really not much debt either. He touches too much, probably. He enjoys giving a massage probably moreso than getting one. He thought oral sex was ‘talking about it’ until shortly after marriage #2 ended. (Victor, you’rea GD pervert.) Aren’t we all? He loves pets, kids, Soul Music, anything with a great beat, BBQ ribs, peanut butter, Fritos, people watching, anything associated with water, etc (use your imagination on that one.)
Victor, you’re overdoing it a tad. I don’t care, this is important shit. What about ‘her’? Whaddaya/whodoya seek? I pray I’ll just know. If interested, please dial 867-5309 and leave message accompanied by bra size, slack size, bank balance, and if you don’t mind getting your fingernails dirty or not. Teasing, about all. (Except the fingernail part. That’s a haveta.)
Door #1 wadn’t it. Ditto Door #2. Where the hell are you woman? My bellys a getting’ bigger, my crevises are getting’ deeper - and I grow closer every day to eventual dementia, incontinence, and ahm, somea that other stuff that happens to men as they age.
Call me. We’ll do lunch. Love, Victurd.
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