First World Problems – Hypergamy with Destiny

So in case you’re wondering, the word hypergamy means “the action of marrying a person of a superior caste or class.”  Generally, it’s a word used by pick up artists, men going their own way and a wide range of other bitter a-holes who can’t get laid, to explain why they’re still single and why that’s not their fault. As in all the evil women want to trade up and because of that, no man can ever truly be happy in a relationship. I think a lot of the reason that it’s attributed as primarily a female trait is that girls don’t ask guys to marry them.  We know better.

Anyway, that’s not what this post is about. Instead, it’s about an email I got today from a potential agent. During my hiatus from my blog, I was working on my Masters. My thesis for my Masters was a novel and after the program ended, I figured “what the hell, let’s submit it.”

So I dug up a list of five of the fanciest agents I could find. I received four rejections and one request for a partial. I sent it, checked my email every 15 minutes for about two weeks, then got drunk and forgot about it.

Until this morning, about seven months later, when that last agent contacted me and asked me “are you married to this MC?”  They liked the story, liked the world building, liked just about everything but for the main character. I wrote her as a straight woman in her early forties.

They wanted a black, gay man in his early twenties.

That annoyed me. I mean, the story is first person, present tense. Obviously, I’m writing it from a white, middle-aged chick’s point of view because I am currently, a white middle-aged chick. I know next to nothing about being a black gay man that I haven’t seen on Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

Love that show.

But after my initial annoyance, I got annoyed with myself at being annoyed. Who the hell was I to turn down a chance to get published with a Big 5? Fuck, when I started this blog 5 years ago, I was working in insurance litigation and writing articles about penile enhancement for $5 a pop in my off time.

I had this fantasy where I didn’t have to do insurance anymore. I didn’t have to talk to anyone on the phone or go to an office every day. I just got to write. Granted, in the fantasy, I was a bestselling novelist but still, the end goal was the same. No more phone calls. No more negotiations. No more getting yelled at. Just me, writing.

The dream happened, but not the way I expected it would. My first novel floundered and disappeared. Same with the sequel and a short novella. I kept writing but I switched it up to an easier to compete in category. I went with erotica and the sales came in. I hated it. I made enough money but it wasn’t money I wanted to talk about. I was writing fiction for a market I didn’t care about, creating stories that I didn’t want to continue.

Honestly, once you’ve written one sex scene, you’ve written every sex scene.

I went back to tech writing. At least with that, I can still learn something new every day. It was only the other morning I was thinking “What I wanted to happen, it happened.  I make enough money to survive. I don’t have to go into an office.  I don’t get yelled at on the phone or attend pointless meetings. I get to do what I love. So why aren’t I happy?”

The fact is, I’m not happy because we’re never happy. None of us. Humans are hypergamous by nature. Not women, not me, humans. It’s why we can win the lotto one year and file bankruptcy the next. It’s why someone like Harvey Weinstein can have the world at his feet and ruin it all with a nonsense sex addiction. It’s why athletes run through million dollar signing bonuses that should carry them into their golden years, in like four years.

We’re always looking for the next big thing. Every dream that comes true is laying the groundwork to yet another dream.

When I got that email this morning, I said to myself “this could be my big break”.  The story I wrote, that story made me happy.  The one thing I actually looked forward to writing, it could be my big break.

All I needed to do was change everything about it.

And I realized that even if I did, even if it was my big break, I’d still never be satisfied. The story would get published, disappear from the world after a year and then, I’d be in the same damn position I am now, hating myself for trying to trade up when I was perfectly happy where I was.  I’m already living my dream. I just need to realize that.

So, like any professional, I responded “new phone. Who dis?” and moved the fuck on.

 

An open letter to my nice guy

 

I’m so sick of seeing the #niceeguysfinish last posts on Twitter. Yes, I’ve been Twittering. Well, kinda. I drunkenly online bullied some AT&T reps for not getting my service up again fast enough after Irma. But during the time I was Twittering, I came across that nice guys finish last hashtag far too many times.

And I realized ‘hey, that’s probably aimed at me’’ because I haven’t fucked a sad sack halfwit living in his mom’s basement in the past few months.  So, to the dudes I haven’t fucked —

Here’s the thing, sugar tits (I can be rude because I’m not trying to get into anyone’s pants), nice guys do finish last. Because when your title is ‘nice,’ that tells me that’s all you have to offer.

Do you think Porche sells their cars by saying “hey, they’re nice”? Do you think Coach has the audacity to sell a $15,000 purse because Victor Luis is so fucking incredibly nice?

No. They have a little bit more to offer than just being nice. But apparently you being nice, well that makes you special and everyone should love you just because of that.

But here’s the thing. Nice is not a selling point. It’s the bare minimum required for being a civilized human being. Everyone can be nice. Fuck, I’m nice every day and I’m a total asshole! It’s not hard and it doesn’t make you special. It just makes you a regular person.

Until you try to use it as a selling point. Then it makes you yet another asshole trying to cash in on doing the bare minimum.

So to my ‘nice’ dudes –

It’s not that I don’t love you because I’m crazy, (which I am). It’s that the only person who can possibly get me is another human being who is actually crazy. So as much as I love your support, I’m never going to love you because you could never possibly understand what it is to be me. That’s a personal preference that I stick to.

You being nice isn’t going to change that. It’s not going to make us compatible.

But hey, here’s a bunch of ways on how to actually be an appealing person that people want to hang out with from someone who knows nothing about relationships. As you email me every four weeks or so complaining that you can’t get a girlfriend, figured I’d forward them on. Because of as much as you’d like to pretend our relationship was one-sided, it never was. I always gave advice, always offered options.   Always made it very clear I was not one of those options.

So, your annoying emails about how I just need to ‘focus on me’ and ‘reevaluate my priorities’ as you occasionally point out what a nice dude you are have not gone unnoticed. They’ve been intentionally ignored. Let’s admit it. If I wanted to be with you, I’d be with you.

I know me, way better than you do. I’m not nice. Never have been.  I don’t need to use ‘nice’ as a selling point because I’m so much more. Nice is not a quality. It’s a basic requirement for being human.

It’s not my job to fix you. It’s not my job to finish you. It’s not my job to make you feel ok about being you – and I could literally give a fuck how nice you are.

Because right now, you’re kind of being an asshole.

You Are the Problem

 

The Harvard Business Review published an interesting study recently. In it, they actually isolated a ‘drama’ gene, proving that certain people are more prone to drama than others. These individuals tended to blow minor slights out of proportion, view any criticism as a personal attack, and stay bitter about minor incidents for years afterwards. But the thing that struck me the most about these drama lovers was their most common trait.

The locus of control. The locus of control is simply a fancy psychosocial way of describing how you view your impact on the world. I have an internal locus of control, in that I believe that my actions change the world. On the flip, a person with an external locus of control would believe that the world changes their actions.

Just to give examples;

Internal locus of control: “Wow, my choice to tweet Holocaust jokes on Hitler’s birthday sure pissed a lot of people off.”

External locus of control: “Why is everyone attacking my political opinion about how the Holocaust never happened? Twitter is just filled with crazy liberals.”

Now me, I always thought that my own internal locus of control was the worse one to have because it seems narcissistic to think that the entire world changes because of you. But now that I think about it, coming at the world from an ‘everyone is against me’ standpoint is far more narcissistic.

I mean, how important do you think you are that people would actually seek you out to discredit you? Isn’t it possible that someone just thinks you’re an asshole? And Harvard backed me up because it turns out people with an external locus of control report higher levels of conflict in their personal lives.

Let me try to explain with an anecdote. I have this friend Gina. Gina is a lightening bolt when it comes to relationships. What I mean is that Gina goes on a date with a dude and ZAP; his relationship status on Facebook is updated and she’s moved half her shit into his place, while waiting to see if the pregnancy test was just a false alarm. She barely knows these dudes, moves in with them, and suddenly gets all shocked when it falls apart after three months.

Then, she calls them the psychos. She never recognizes her own culpability, nor her ENTIRE responsibility, for the situation. It’s always the world doing shit to her. I mean, she decides to let a jobless loser live with her after the third date, and three months after she’s surprised when he’s still a jobless loser? The girl who hates drama is causing her own drama.

I’ve found that to be the truth about a lot of people who claim to hate drama. They’ll talk all day about being above it all, but then, after a while you notice, that’s all they talk about. They are never responsible in their own heads, but entirely responsible in real life.   They’re just incapable of connecting the two.

So what that Harvard study taught me is if you spend a fuckton of time talking about all the drama that other people cause in your life, its not just statistically likely, it’s a scientific fact that YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

Let’s look at it from a scientific point of view.

    • About 87% of computer viruses start as a form of human error. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • 78% of adult-onset diabetes cases are a direct result of the nutritional choices of the individual with diabetes. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • Only 1% of identity theft claims are valid cases of criminal hacking. The other 99% are a result of individuals giving out their credit card information irresponsibly. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • Warnings about internet scams have existed for twenty years, but despite that, about 300,000 people fall victim to internet scams annually because they elect not to seek out advice. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • If everyone in your life treats you badly, your friends don’t like you and everyone seems to talk shit about you all the time…YOU ARE THE PROBLEM!!! Consider the fact that you might, just might, be a complete asshole who no one wants to be around

Look people, dickish behavior doesn’t happen in a vacuum. I know a lot of people who have a lot of drama in their lives and they all have one thing in common. They’re the kind of people who consider “you call me a bitch like it’s a bad thing” their catch phrase. Here’s the deal. It is bad to be a bitch. Bitches are mean. They’re rude, thoughtless and unpleasant to be around. They think niceness is a sign of weakness, when real strong people know that niceness is an asset.

It costs nothing yet gains you everything.

Dramatic individuals don’t get that. If you don’t, there is a very good chance that you have a lot of drama in your life. You think you’re not causing it, but you are. The world is not controlling you. You’re trying to passively aggressively control the world. But the world doesn’t react to passive aggression. So either embrace aggression, or reject it entirely, but don’t claim to be a victim of it. Because deep down, we all know one thing, and it’s been scientifically proven.

You are the problem.

 

I know what you’re searching for….

There are three topics that bring people to my blog time and time again. In order of popularity, they are;

  1. How to pass a drug test
  2. How to use the darknet (ironic, because half the reason you’d need to pass a drug test would be because of shit you bought off the darknet)
  3. When’s the 2016 Suzuki Hayabusa coming out?

Many of the people searching these terms had questions which my articles failed to address. In the interest of being thorough, I will address these questions now.

How much bleach do I need to pass for meth on a drug test?

Um, you’re fucking kidding, right? Are you asking about drinking bleach or pouring it into your urine? Drinking the bleach will definitely make it so you don’t have to take the drug test – on account of you’ll be dead. Pouring bleach directly into your urine sample will likely result in you being pulled for a higher caliber test, when it’s shown that your urine has more chlorine than the average swimming pool. Meth will stay in your system for three to five days, so just put the damn pipe down for a week and you’ll be cool. Don’t drink bleach and don’t put it in your pee.

Will meth help me pass a drug test for weed?

No, meth won’t help you pass a drug test. I cannot comprehend the idiocy which gave birth to that particular line of logic. Smoking meth to pass a drug test would be a bit like eating pancakes to cure diabetes. The only thing that will happen if you smoke meth to get weed out of your system is you’ll test positive for both and wind up in court-ordered rehab. I’m assuming that this idea comes from the fact that amphetamines speed metabolism, which could actually be counterintuitive. Marijuana has an oil base, which makes it attach to other oils like human fat. Speeding up your metabolism is more likely to release old metabolites than it is to get rid of new ones.

Time and water, those are your options. That’s it. Time and water. There is no magic cure. If there was, no one would ever fail a drug test and probation would be obsolete.

How do I buy meth on the darknet?

What is it with you people and meth? Look, the darknet is crazy expensive for everything but weed. Weed’s cheap because of legal competition. Meth, not so much. If you’re hard up, yes you can buy it there but it’s going to cost you a fuckton and to be honest, I’ve never met a rich meth addict. Check out the Darknet subreddit to get specific info regarding PGP, Bitcoin and black markets. Just note there’s a learning curve and if you’re one of those who can barely send an attachment via email, you’re not going to be able to do it.

When does the new Suzuki Hayabusa come out?

I have no fucking clue. I wrote the article a long time ago, for some scammer who never paid me, and slapped it up on my site so they couldn’t use it. The only info I can give you about any scooter is something my dad said a long time ago.

“Scooters are like fat chicks. They’re fun to ride till your friends see you on one.”

That’s all I got. Hope I clarified a few things, because I learned a few things myself. Those things are;

  • A lot of meth users come to my site.
  • The vast majority of those meth users are idiots who I should be encouraging to drink bleach
  • The Suzuki Hayabusa is the preferred mode of transportation for meth heads everywhere.

 

 

In Regards to My OFFICIAL NOTICE OF TRASH VIOLATION

I am filled with deep shame. I came home to learn I had violated the Trash Code of Conduct and had been singled out as part of a special Trash Control Task Force (Or TCTF for short) when it was noted that I’d committed the following offense;

20160218_191326

Side note; this is the place where I once saw a fully nude man, but for a pair of sneakers, attempt to burn his girlfriend’s apartment building down. And this was not the first, nor the last time outdoor nudity was fully embraced by my delightful Florida neighbors.

But that is no excuse for my behavior and I am suitably ashamed of my box. Despite my usual cleanliness with it, during the winter months I have a tendency to let it get out of control.

All sexually charged apologies aside, I did need some clarification on a few of the items in the OFFICIAL NOTICE OF TRASH VIOLATION. Please clarify the following;

  • Always use your trash can

Every single day, all the time? Seems a little impractical to carry that large box around everywhere I go, but hey I’ll slap some straps on it and carry it as a backpack. So my questions are; do you have any straps, and does the box come in blue?

  • Blue bags are for recycling only

All the blue bags? Complete autonomy on all my box and bag related activities seems a bit excessive for the cost of $25 per month, especially seeing I’ve never recycled in my life. I mean you aren’t my mother, stop attempting to control my life.  I have no desire to recycle my blue bags but if you have a blue trash can/backpack, I’ll trade you.

  • Trash must not weigh more than 25 pounds

What about my large gemstone collection that I’ve grown bored with? I suppose I will have Jeeves take it to my personal vault. My question here is; How rich do you think I am that I have at least 25 pounds of stuff to throw away? What do you think I do in here, run a bakery/meth lab?

  • Always tie and bag your trash

That seems too harsh. Can I gently caress it into submission instead?

  • Not really a question but an observation: Place your trash out between 5 and 7 pm

Technically we were within the guidelines, because I distinctly remember placing the garbage out at 5 AM on Thursday, before it was picked up promptly at 7 PM on Sunday.

Finally, you guys left an area open for comments so I did have one observation I wanted to add. Have you ever noticed, when faced with a really aggressive bee, it feels like it’s singled you out for attack specifically? Like it’s a fully sentient being out for revenge, because maybe you killed its bee grandfather 20 years ago? Doesn’t that creep you out? I friggen hate bees.

 

Drinking Round the World

 

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This is what Epcot looks like when you pass out in the parking lot

Epcot is one of the few Disney establishments I like. It’s got nothing to do with what they offer. Nope, when you pay the $100 cover charge to get into Epcot, you’re mainly paying to get into a bunch of gift shops with equally overpriced crap. It’s not their rides. The one I did go on managed to combine my two most hated things; Martin Short and Canada.

It was like the “It’s a small world” ride at Disney, only far more boring and twice as annoying.

So despite the annoying merchandizing, shitty rides and foreign tourists, I still manage to like Epcot. Know why?

Drinking around the world, motherfuckers.

See Epcot has cashed in on the one thing adults like when they’re forced to go to a Disney Park. Alcohol. No joke, I will tolerate endless amounts of Jasmine and Nemo, provided I’m allowed to get loaded in the process. And in Epcot, they offer something amazing.

The ability to drink in every last country that they’ve created based on an Americanized stereotype.

japan epcot

So the opportunity to both get super wasted and be offensive to foreigners in one fell swoop? Consider me in. Well played Epcot. Well played.

Anywho, we started off in Canada. As I’d been drinking heavily the night before, my brother became concerned as I developed the sweats while chugging a very heavy Moosehead Ale. But he had no idea. I was simply getting my early second wind.

See, me and my brother, we’re about as different as two people could be. He’s a republican. I’m a paranoid libertarian. He has a real job where he’s important and takes phone calls on the weekend. I would be both shocked and horrified if any one of my clients called me on the weekend. He’s a clean freak and I’m pretty sure I’ve grown a new form of bacteria in my toilet. He’s a health nut who regularly goes to the gym.

The last time I went to the gym was March of 2013. I needed to use their vitamin water machine to get something to mix with my booze.

So being the healthy, trim dude he is, it’s completely reasonable that he thought he’d be able to out drink me through 13 countries. What he didn’t get was 13 drinks isn’t really a challenge to me.

I call that Tuesday.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I treat my body like a temple. And by temple, I mean one of those wild, drunken orgy bathhouses in ancient Rome. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate solid food.   When I did, I assume it was some kind of fried meat. I don’t do vegetables. As far as I’m concerned, vegetables are nothing more than the product I use to lure my meat into a fryer.

As a result, my body adapts. My shriveled, probably green liver, isn’t even part of the process anymore. The booze goes right to my stomach, then slides its way into my bladder thanks to a heavy coating of cholesterol.

It’s important to have a system.

Anyway, we made it through all the countries in Epcot before passing out on the ground near the giant golf ball. At that point, I led him out to the parking lot to find our mom’s car.

You ever heard of the blind leading the blind? Well, this was the drunk leading the drunk. My brother passed out in a parking spot as I wandered like Mad Max leaving Thuderdome until I wound up in a Wet & Wild Parking lot about 4 miles away…where I led a small nation of people who had also lost their cars forever.

After about two hours of drunk wandering, I finally found our car…about 3 spaces from where my brother passed out in the first place.

So I did the reasonable thing. I loaded his ass into the back seat, peed behind the back tire, and called our mom to take us home.

Because drinking around the world is no joke. It’s hard. Going in there unprepared is a bit like attempting to run the Boston Marathon after one spinning class.

You can’t just jump into that shit. Your body needs practice. You need to know if you’re ready

Here’s a test to help you decide;

  1. Have you ever drunk mouthwash after you ran out of beer?
    1. Yes
    2. No
  2. Do you consume more than four drinks a week?
    1. Yes
    2. No
  3. After a heavy night of drinking, have you ever woken up and used more alcohol as any ‘eye opener”?
    1. Yes
    2. No

Ok, so those questions? Copied off of a “do you need AA” website. If you answered all yesses, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news first; you’re probably an alcoholic.

Good news? You can totally handle drinking around the world.

Rock on Epcot, rock on.

 

 

 

 

 

The School of Life Isn’t Accredited – Learn Something

If there is a phrase that I hate more than the phrase “street smart” it’s “the school of life.”

A lot of people who never bothered with college use it to make themselves feel better for not going to college. Like “I didn’t need to go to college. I have life experiences.”

Yeah, you know who doesn’t agree with that? Capitalism.

degree

News flash, everyone has life experience. Everyone has attended the school of life. Hell, even people in comas are in the school of life. They’re like the equivalent of those kids who slept through class in high school but passed anyway.

And people who fall back on the school of life as their only education are yet another group of people who want credit for doing absolutely fucking nothing. It’s like when guys get pissed because girls don’t like them, even though they’re nice.

“Yeah, I’m an overweight dude with no job and questionable personal hygiene, but I’m nice! Why don’t supermodels like me?”

For the same reason no one wants to pay you $100,000 a year to stock shelves. You don’t get extra credit when you do the bare minimum. The fact that you don’t punch a girl in the face on the first date is not something to be proud of.

It’s expected behavior.

Same with the school of life. The only requirement to passing in the school of life is not dying. Well, hell, I’ve been doing that for 35 years now….and I also managed to get a college education from a real, accredited university. Imagine that.  I’m like a double major.

And don’t bother with messages about how Einstein was a high school dropout and Bill Gates flunked out of college. For every one Bill Gates, there’s about 10,000 janitors with GEDs. The exception proves the rule. Extraordinary people don’t go to college because they don’t need it. The fact is, many people tend to think they’re extraordinary when they’re utterly ordinary.

Here’s the test to tell if you’re extraordinary. It’s one question –

In your free time you…

  1. Watch TV, play video games and update your educational status to “School of Life” while expecting people to pat you on the back for doing everyday things like parenting, not breaking the law, and going to work.
  2. Spend time in the garage that you’ve converted into a small-scale nuclear reactor in order to continue studying the potential of cold fusion

Here’s a hint. Chances are if you’re the kind of person who answers “number 2”, you’re not on this page.

You don’t get credit for being alive, so no, the school of life is not a thing. If the fact that you haven’t died yet is your biggest accomplishment, you seriously need to reevaluate your life, rather than brag about that.

Not being dead isn’t an accomplishment. It’s a status update.

You want credit, get a real education. Do something with your life. But stop saying you graduated from the school of life. From personal experience, I’ve found the people who attend that university are only experts at failing.