The Numbers Were Down

white graphing paper

Dwayne sat hunched over his computer monitor, looking at the screen. He had been sitting and staring at it for more than ten minutes. In that time, and no matter how hard he wanted it to be different, the numbers hadn’t changed.

They were down.

His course sales had fallen off dramatically. His online accountability club was losing memberships faster than he could gain them. Even his old friend, Tennessee said that things were looking grim. “It’s been a tough year Pard.”

“It sure has, Tennessee. What do you think can be done about it?”

“I don’t know for sure Pard, but maybe we ought to come clean and own our shit and admit we fucked up. Maybe we backed the wrong guys.”

Dwayne sat and thought about it long and hard.

“No Tennessee, I don’t think that’s the answer. I can’t do that. I’m just going to keep looking the other way and pretend that what happened didn’t happen.”

“I get it Pard, it’s hard to eat shit and then some. So what do we do?”

Dwayne felt an icy chill run down his back, he was thinking about how he had quit his job to focus on his online club and to making courses. His wife couldn’t work at the moment, she was in the final trimester of her pregnancy. She was eight months along and could go into labor at any moment. She had complications during the last pregnancy and their son had been born a month premature.

Dwayne pulled up a spreadsheet. It showed the amount of money they had in the bank versus the amount of money that they owed. The amount owed was much higher than what they had available.

Tennessee was staring at Dwayne intently, watching his every move. Normally the older man was a rock, steadfast. The lines of worry that crossed his face unsettled Dwayne, he was used to the older man being an anchor. It was scary seeing the older man in the shape he was; like a trapped animal.

“I don’t know just yet Tennessee, but I’ve got to figure something out, the mortgage is coming up, the truck payment is overdue, and then there’s Maggie…” He trailed off.

Tennessee nodded his head, sat back and sighed. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “I’ve got it!”

Dwayne looked at the older man eagerly.

“Hand me your laptop there Pard.”

Dwayne handed the laptop over to Tennessee. Tennessee then logged onto his social media account and typed, “All the guys who have met me and have talked to me have gotten their bang for their buck. Pure value, hands down.” Then he hit send.

Tennessee handed back the laptop to Dwayne with a smile. “There we go Pard, I think we’ll weather this storm.”

Dwayne put the laptop back on the kitchen table, and opened up his own social media account. “I hope you’re right Tennessee. I don’t know what I’m going to do if the course sales and the accountablity club keep dropping off. I would hate to have to go and ask for my job back.”

“I hear ya Pard.” Tennesse told Dwayne, patting him on the back.

Dwayne looked at his social media account. “Goddammit, why can’t these guys just fucking forget about the shit that happened before? Why can’t they just let it go?”

Already there were what seemed like thousands of mentions of Dwayne’s name and guys asking him why he was turning a blind eye to the antics of his online friends.

Tennesee looked and winced. “It’s getting pretty bad Pard, what are you going to say or do?”

Dwayne rubbed his hand across his face, feeling the stubble rasp under his palm.

“I know what to say,” he said. Then he began to type.

“Fatherhood is about taking care of business and handling your shit,” The keys on the keyboard clicked. “Here’s my son crushing it at the hockey game on Saturday.” Dwayne uploaded a photo of his oldest son in his jersey, with a hockey stick in hand. “I couldn’t be more proud of him.” Dwayne pressed send.

“We just keep ignoring it, Tennesse. We have to.” Dwayne said as he looked at his friend.

An alert on the computer grabbed Dwayne’s attention. He clicked over to his online club account to see what the notification was.

Another two members had unsubscribed.

Both wanted refunds.

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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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