The Secret Life of Men-Folk

There's a dude in a community I'm in that does NOTHING but try to chase women. Nothing wrong with seeking a sig other--unless you don't wanna do the Actual Work involved. On occasion, I've even snatched him off of couches, led him to Human Beings, introduced him and cued him to speak. Crickets.

I made a new friend in person recently that he's been pursuing online. In weird and awkward fashion. She's invited him to come out to see her; he's backed off, with various excuses.

As she and I grew closer, she started sending me screenshot after screenshot of Dumb Shit he says. It's sad.

In time, they finally met. He figuratively Shit the Bed. She said no. As a fully-developed, mature human being she offered him friendship. He whimpered, waffled and whined.

And, of course, wouldn't stop talking online after saying he'd unfriend her.

As a Dude who sees women as Fit For One Thing Only? He grew suspicious of our friendship. He'd tell me I should 'shoot my shot.' I'd reply We're Not Like That. He'd tell me that same shit again. I'd reply that I'm poly AND partnered, and that's not her style. Not that it mattered.

Annnnywayyyyy, she and I were hanging out with a group. He decided to take an invite, then drop it--JUST to post comments and shit. It's exhausting.

My friend and I had a Communual Evil Gigglefit and decided to Fuck His Whole Existence.

Friday night, we got hit with yet another snowstorm.  Not that I'd know...??!?!? Myng came over and we didn't crawl outta bed 'till my association plowed my street and driveway.

But this weekend, the low temps are all above freezing. By Tuesday, we're sposed to have shorts weather.  No, Really.  Shorts weather for Nebraska, not just here.

There's a saying I've learned to say to me lately:

Your Actual Friends

Give an Actual Fuck

How You Actually Feel

In addition to the childhood communicative deficit I've worked hard to overcome (surprising, huh?), I'm not innately empathetic.  I wasn't wired to give half a shit how other people feel.  For me, it's an artificial construct.  An external background subroutine that--over time--functions near-seamlessly and has developed a bit past the simple mathematics of the query, 'How would I feel if that was ME?'

People who lack the ability to hold to that Most Basic Reciprocity aren't my friends.  

By definition, they simply cannot be.  They rule themselves out.  

Oh, sure they can be acquaintances. perhaps even associates.  But not my friends.  

Why?  Because they're incapable of holding me Near and Dear.  Or even as their equal.  

They're only capable of seeing me as a Lesser Person to Themselves.  Or perhaps Themselves and Others Like Themselves.  Or whomever they otherwise place in their Near and Dear or At Least Equal Circles.

Simple enough.  Right?

Nothing makes me laugh harder than Sad Lil Savoy in Snow Country, trying to call their crap 'Sota Style. Detroiters NEVER called it 'Detroit-style.' The name first spawned in Austin TX afaik. When I'd first heard it...? People in Korea were dropping the name. KOREA. (Also deciding they preferred it to New York and Chicago style, but that's them? Love all three, myself) Which says all you need to know. Don't grub for titles. Do Greatness. Perfect Greatness. Execute with Love. The rest will handle itself

...but what did he order from Hardees?
I wanna boycott THAT, too.

Not boycott Hardees, mind you (I'd have to eat there, first?) just whatever he asked for.  "Hey, is that the NOPE Pillow Boy eats that..."

While at Valleyfair, I was haunted by the memories of a six-year old LP. Or was she seven…?

The limitations of my park visits with Baby Midgets (no big coasters, only things her sister could do) drove her crazy. But one Saturday, I took LP and LP only. Riding every big ride to her heart’s content . I forced her to ride Power Tower (which I never do) so she could watch the fireworks show at eye level, with laser lights at her feet. And on the way home? Perkins pancakes, with all the syrups. “This is the best day of My LIFE!” Yah, she said that.

Which Reminded me that all I’ve ever tried to do with Those in My Life is make their days magical. All they had to do was Be My Kids. Too much to ask.

Time to find Better People, I guess

Okay so MAYBE the average man my age isn't only bout 10-15 pounds overweight (per the BMI charts) and they sure as feck aren't getting up before a 10-hour workday with a hundred crunches using the stack, followed by a 5k.

But then comes lunch and I'll say DAMMIT there's no fuggin PRUNE JUICE in the house and for at least 14 minutes after that, I get to be my biological age