Nothing Like A Good Old Fashioned Horror Story.

man lights legs silhouette
“I was sent by Triple A? I heard you have a flat tire? I’m here to help.”

For pretty much all of my life, I’ve been a fan of the “horror genre.” Books, movies, TV shows, you name it. Most of the fiction literature that I’ve read has been one form of horror or another.

Vampires. Were-wolves. Zombies. Aliens. Let’s not forget, at least when it comes to movies, guys in hockey masks, guys in blue coveralls, guys with knives strapped onto their hands.

Looking back on a lot of it, man, it was cheesy and hokey. Some of the films I used to watch, while they wouldn’t scare me, but maybe they would give me a sense of unease, of dread. Lately watching some of these films, I tend to find them somewhat silly and even boring.

I guess you grow up, you mature. Nothing wrong with any of this material, it definitely has a nostalgia factor to them. I can remember where I was when I first read or saw whatever it was. Good times.

I guess the horror literature and movies don’t do it so much for me anymore because of what can actually go on in the real world.

True crime is a horror genre in itself, the only difference is that the boogyman is real. I find this particular genre fascinating in and of itself as well. The how’s and possible why’s of what one individual or group of individuals did to another person or group. The why’s don’t bother me as much, they did what they did because they could and they wanted to, after all. Anything else is really just a label, a compartmentalization, a rationalization. A way for us the readers and viewers to say, “I could never do that.” Sure you could. Given the right circumstances and motivations, we are truly capable of anything.

There’s another boogeyman that’s real though too.

This one isn’t outside of us. It isn’t some other individual or group doing things to us, it’s in our own minds. It is us.

That boogeyman is very real. It’s all of our doubts and insecurities. It’s that nagging voice that tells you you can’t. It’s that thought that you aren’t good enough. It’s the voice of “why bother.” And it resides in all of us. It’s our inner critic, our slave driver, our own personal demon(s). It’s even that inner whisper of perfection.

If only you do X, Y, Z, in ABC order, then, and only then, will you find perfection. You’ll not fail. You’ll succeed beyond your wildest dreams. But…

People are going to be watching you. They are going to laugh when you fall down, they are going to jeer when you fail. And your failure will hang around your neck, like an albatross, cursing you for all eternity. So just give up. Laughter and pointing fingers, and the judgment that you surely will receive! Everyone will see you as that failure. You will wear that scarlet A. And you will be outcast. Shunned. Unforgiven and alone. A pariah.

Men and women will tell stories about you to their children to frighten them into obedience. “Don’t do that! Or you’ll end up like….And you don’t want that do you?”

Am I being outlandish? Sure I am. And yet I’m not. We all have our personal demons that whisper to us and tell us these frightening things. They tell us that we can’t succeed, that everyone is watching, waiting for us to fall down so they can laugh and judge. They tell us why bother. They tell us, don’t worry about it, do it tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And yet, tomorrow never comes.

They tell us that what we have to offer is of no consequence. They tell us someone else has already said and done it before. They tell us there is too much competition and that the market is too saturated.

They tell us that we will never be good looking enough, athletic enough, strong enough, thin enough, young enough, rich enough, and smart enough, so why bother?

These demons in our minds, they will tell us a lot of things. And we’ll turn them into reality if we listen long enough and believe them.

But we don’t have to. We can choose to ignore them. We can choose to exorcise them and cast them out. We can choose to listen and believe in something else.

We can choose to accept that we are not perfect and never will be. We can choose to figure that we are good enough. We can always strive to do and be better, but while striving, we can be okay with where we are at and who we are. We can look back at who we were yesterday and see the progress that we have made today.

We can choose to see those demons for what they really are. Smoke and mirrors. Hokey guys with fake machetes and plastic masks, dripping fake blood.

We can choose something else.

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Hedge Your Bets

ace bet business card

I want to preface my thoughts and the story that I’m going to tell with this:

I love women. Yes, I said it. Ladies, you are amazing. The way you look, the way you smell, the way you feel. All of it. With that in mind, if you are a woman, and you either follow me here, or if you are a woman and you happened to stumble across this post and my site in general, I’m going to ask you to stop reading now. Look away. Go read something else. Go somewhere else until the next post. I need to talk to the Men for a minute.

Okay Men, now that the ladies have left (and if you didn’t, what I’m about to talk about, if it upsets or offends you, you deserve it) here’s the deal:

I live by a few axioms or adages. Today’s adage is Always Hedge Your Bets. I got this adage from years of trial and error and hard won experience. Ignore it at your own peril. Oh, and if you do ignore it, you get what you deserve.

So here’s the story:

A woman that I had met at my second job reached out to me via text the other day. She introduced herself since I didn’t have her number at the time, and asked me if I remembered her. Of course I did. She’s a good looking woman, so that’s why she ended up with my business card and phone number.

We get to texting back and forth, and initially I kept it to business. Then she asked me if I would like to have coffee with her. Of course I would. But now, now “it’s on” as far as I’m concerned. She didn’t preface coffee with professionalism or anything that would indicate that coffee wasn’t about getting to know you, but was strictly about business, so to me “it’s on.” (As a side note: “it’s on” is another adage that I live by, but that’s for another day.)

As another side note, I believe in the adage, “Go Big or Go Home,” which to me means escalate the interaction until you either get where you want to go, or you get blown out. So that’s what I did, I escalated the texting to flirting and being fairly transparent about where I would have liked to see where all of this was going.

She seemed open to my ideas, my suggestions, my flirting and my banter. Now this texting went on between us for approximately two days. If I had to break it down into hourly time, it was maybe 2 hours total. Anyways, on the second day of heavy flirting, I decided it was time to “go big or go home” yet again, and also to Hedge My Bets.

So I call her up instead of texting her and I suggested that instead of meeting over coffee, that she just come over to my house instead. She accepted and I gave her my address.

Now here’s the thing that I’ve learned about women:

They are notoriously flaky. They truly live in the now, in the moment. They are like crows that see a shiny object, or squirrels gathering nuts. Yes this is AWALT. All Women Are Like That. Even the ones you date steadily for long periods of time, or even the ones that you marry.

Anyways, so I go back to my day, but something felt “off.” Even now as I’m writing this, I’m not sure exactly what it is/was, but it was something that I still can’t put my finger on. Honestly it doesn’t matter.

So I figured that the scenario that I had created with her would have three realistic possibilities:

  1. She comes over, we get to know each other better, we have sex.
  2. She comes over, we get to know each other better, either she or I decide to not have sex, so we don’t, but I get to enjoy her company either way.
  3. She flakes and doesn’t show up.

Can you guess which one happened?

Her: “Fuck I’m so sorry but….(insert reasons here)

Me: “So it’s not gonna happen huh? No worries.”

Color me shocked.

63594749

Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt.

Here’s the thing though, I figured that there was a really good possibility that this would happen, because I’ve been there before. This way though, I got to stay home, which is where I wanted to be in the first place. I didn’t have to put gas in the car, go downtown, have wear and tear on the car, deal with traffic, find parking, deal with a noisy coffee shop, only to get the “I can’t make it” text, 15 minutes before we would have actually met. (Yes, she actually texted me 15 minutes before we were supposed to meet.)

So I set up a no lose situation for myself. Either she would come over, or not. Either way I “won.” I got to be at home, which is where I wanted to be, without all the wasted time and hassles.

The funny thing that showed up for me as well when I thought that there was a strong possibility that she would flake, was would she just ghost me? Or would she actually give me a story about why she couldn’t make it. I put the odds on that one at fifty-fifty. To her credit though, she actually gave me a story.

In all honesty, I appreciated and still appreciate that. At least it was something.

So you Men reading this, realize something:

Women hedge their bets all the time. It’s second nature to them. They’re willing to do things with you only if you are their best bet, otherwise all bets are off. So you might as well hedge yours too. Whether that means you have another woman on stand-by, some of your fellow Men, or just a nice night at home where you don’t have to go out for no reason and waste your time.

So Always Hedge Your Bets. It’s a good adage to live by.  Trust me and thank me later.

Stay tuned for more adages that I live by and that have served me well. I’ve got a few more for you in later articles.

And ladies, if you ignored what I said earlier, and here you are? Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were warned.

 

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Being A Short Man

tall-woman-short-man
He’s at the perfect height.

The other day, when I was having yet another bout with insomnia, I was browsing YouTube, and came across an interesting video from Coach Red Pill:

https://youtu.be/Br19O_GUH3M

To be honest, I haven’t really given my height, or lack of it, much thought over the last several years. I’ve always been short, 5’4 to be exact, and it’s just part of who I am. Sure, I joke with guys about it, most recently I’ve been giving Aaron Clarey of Asshole Consulting shit because he claims he’s short at 5’8 or 5’9, I forget which one he is. I know what I’ve told him though, and I quote myself, “Fuck you Aaron and your 5’9!” It’s a great joke and a great time busting his balls and having him bust mine in return.

I believe it was Richard Cooper who first introduced me to the concept of “women like the 6’s” or something like that. 6 feet tall, 6 pack abs, 6 inches in the pants, 6 figure income, 6 months out of a relationship, and…. I forget the other one. Apparently these are the “ideals” that women may have for men. Well if that’s the case, I guess I’m screwed, and not in a good way. I’m none of them at the moment, and in the case of 6 feet tall, I’ll never be that, and that’s totally fine by me.

I do remember a time when I was much younger, like back in my early twenties, and I have to admit that my lack of height was something that did bother me a bit. All of my male friends were taller than me, much taller in most cases. Standing next to them for a photo, it looked like I was standing in a hole.

As time went on though, I realized a few things:

  1. My height didn’t matter nearly as much as I thought it did. I’ve had plenty of success with friends, family, women, careers, money, you name it. My height was never an issue. Sure, sometimes I had to work harder at getting what I wanted, whether it was a woman, a raise, a different job, whatever, but that was okay, I just worked harder.
  2. Women have “types” just like guys do. Sometimes women liked me regardless of my height. Most of the women I’ve been with in my past were taller than me. My ex-wife was 5’8. It was never an issue for her, nor for me. Funny thing I do remember now though was meeting and dating a woman back in my twenties who was 5’11. That is the same height as my Father. Watching those two interact and realizing that they were looking at each other eye-to-eye, that was literally eye opening to me. In the end, she didn’t have a problem with my lack of height, but I ended up having a problem that she was that significantly taller than me. I was the one with the problem, not her.
  3. It’s okay to have preferences. I’m okay with the fact that I’m not going to be any one woman’s cup of tea. Not all women are my cup of tea. Nothing wrong with having preferences. I prefer long haired, petite, and yes, short women, but nothing wrong with taller, bigger women. Just not for me.

The whole point of this post is for any of you guys, or women for that matter, out there that have an issue with your height:

You are making it a bigger deal than it really is. Seriously. Short of wearing platform shoes, or some type of heels, you can’t do fuck all about it either. Honestly, get over it and get over yourselves. You are the one making it a big deal. So that girl that you really like doesn’t like short guys? So what? Move on. Find another woman who does. Same goes for you ladies. Maybe you are on the other end and are a “tall drink of water,” and the guy you like likes shorter women than you. Get over it and move on. You’ll find a guy who is into your height, maybe he’ll be taller than you, maybe not. Either way, it’s not really a big deal in the long run.

As a side note:

When I was in my twenties, I started losing my hair. I remember to this very day something that a very attractive woman said to me when I first met her and the guy she was dating. We were drinking and I was busting this guy’s balls and he said that he was 27 years old at the time. I gave him shit for being “old.” (I was 23 at the time.) This woman comes back with, “Why are you giving him shit? You are the same age as him aren’t you?” To which I replied, “No, I’m 23.” To which she said, “Oh.”

“You thought I was 27? What made you think that?”

“I’m sorry, but I thought you were older because of your receding hair.”

Ouch.

I remember that like it was yesterday. After she said that to me, I became very self conscious about my receding hair. Every time I interacted with someone, especially a woman, I had a recurring thought go through my head. “Is she looking at me? Or is she looking at my receding hair?”

I remember going on with this thought, this insecurity, for another seven years.

In early 2000, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and so I shaved my head. My insecurity about women staring at my bald head went away immediately. Of course they are staring at my bald head, what else are they going to look at? I can’t get any more bald than this. Well, I could, but if I did, you would be seeing bone instead of skin.

Turns out that being bald works for me. It fits my “personality.” Same could be said for you Men out there experiencing hair loss. Quit fucking around torturing yourself with it and shave it off. Be done with it.

Same with your height or lack of it. Own it and let it go. Do you. Like I said earlier, you are making it a bigger deal than anyone else is.

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