The Fool-Proof Guide to Failing with Flair

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Monthly Archives: November 2013

an open letter to nice guys

This is the first time I have re-blogged another person’s writing. This post made me laugh. All the posts I have read here so far made me laugh. You should laugh too, unless you are struggling with being a nice guy. If that is you, then you should take this a little more seriously. It’s some damn good advice. Wish I had thought of it. If you are at the opposite end of the spectrum-a total jerk-you should take this, and yourself, far less seriously. Read, laugh, learn, enjoy!

 

an open letter to nice guys.

Let’s Talk About Sex

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Yesterday I watched a movie on Showtime that some friends recommended. It was more of a documentary, or as Patrick Moote puts it, a cockumentary. That’s right. It’s all about his small penis and it’s called Unhung Hero. It was amusing, enlightening, and a little bit sad.

Patrick is a stand-up comedian and actor from LA who proposed to his girlfriend on TV. She ran off camera directly following his proposal and apparently gave “small penis” as one of the reasons she would not marry the poor bastard. This fueled an epic bout of insecurity for Patrick who then bravely filmed his quest to find out if his dick was, in fact, too small, and his travels around the world in search of ways to make it bigger.

I won’t bother telling you all that happened in the film because, whether you are male or female, you need to watch it.  It is not in any way pornographic, though Patrick does talk to some porn stars, and there are some pretty graphic scenes. His honesty is stunning and his insecurity is hard to watch at times, but he is so genuine that his journey might just leave you with some new insights about body image, sexuality, and relationships. I know it did for me.

I think men and women, in general, tend to focus more on the female body and it’s “imperfections”. Media uses mostly images of women that already fall into the 1% for physique. Then the pictures get photo-shopped and airbrushed to take those women a few extra steps away from “normal”. This breeds rampant insecurity in women and unrealistic expectations in men. Unless you’re watching porn, you don’t exactly get to see lots of cock in the media. Sure, there are subtle (and not so subtle) image manipulations designed to give the impression that male models and celebrities are well endowed, but less physically fit famous men do not come under the same crushing body-scrutiny that their female counterparts do. Perhaps being a woman, I am more focused on the objectification of women in the media and it’s impact on female self-esteem, than I am on masculine body image troubles, but Patrick Moote’s film made me realize that the pressures on men in modern American society can be just as debilitating. I didn’t really need him to open my eyes. I have sons. One has an eating disorder. And, if I think about it, at least a couple of the lovers in my life have expressed pretty serious body-dissatisfaction. I guess Pat just gave the issue a public face for me.

Like many girls, I have been known to snicker to myself about guys with small peckers who feel insecure about their junk. It has seemed only fair that they should experience some of the same sort of pain and helplessness we ladies endure. After watching poor Patrick obsess and go to extreme lengths over just a single (albeit important) appendage, I feel somewhat ashamed of my private cruelty. I’ve never ridiculed any man to his face or broken off a relationship because a guy wasn’t well hung, but I have lampooned the unfortunate few behind their backs once the relationship was over. It was mostly out of spite at being scorned though, as opposed to any real problem I had with their family jewels. If I like someone well enough to want to get naked with them and engage in sex, I am generally just pleased if the feeling is reciprocal. Chemistry, generosity, and skill in the bedroom are much more important than how long or thick a guy might be. At least for me that is true. There have even been times where chemistry alone was enough to keep me coming back for more. Of course, without more than chemical compatibility, anything lasting is doomed, but a guy with a small dick who is fun, creative, giving, and intelligent will always be more attractive to me than a clumsy Neanderthal packing 10 inches. Just now the issue is moot, and likely to remain so into the foreseeable future, but I’m not becoming a nun. I still like men. And their boy-parts.

I’ve never been overly concerned about penis size, but then again, I don’t own one. I have seen a few over the years, and they haven’t all been above average, but I’ve only ever been disappointed with what sometimes comes attached to them: assholes. If you’re a man, no matter what size your penis is, remember, it’s usually the whole package someone else is interested in. If you’re unfortunate enough, like Mr. Moote, to have some heartless woman sell you out over the size of your dick, remember, she’s the one with the problem, not you. Just don’t be a selfish prick.

 

It’s All Fun and Games Until . . .

Image found on cheezburger.com by superfightpanda

Image found on cheezburger.com by superfightpanda

 

Some people turn vicious when they get drunk. It’s as if the alcohol floats venom to the top of their personalities resulting in bitchiness, nastiness and/or violence. I am generally a congenial and socially acceptable drinker. My anger floats to the top via technology. And men. But men are not today’s topic. Printer/copier/fax machines, cable companies, and phone service providers are my poisons du jour.

I have an anything-computerized-curse. And a Titan sized anger management problem to go with it. I have spent most of the last two days engaged in a tech-fueled hissy fit. I have sworn my way through multiple calls to my internet service provider (several that mysteriously dropped–go figure), thrown lots of heavy objects around my apartment, and contemplated chucking everything wired and wireless out of my second story window à la David Letterman. My affliction also seems to include a compulsion to use French idioms in my writing. Merde!

It’s not possible to live conveniently in today’s world without computerized gadgets and internet access, but the idea of living off the grid in the backwoods of Montana looks more and more appealing every time I encounter a glitch. Which is frequently. The only thing holding me back is starvation, because I can’t keep a single plant alive, much less a whole garden full, and I’m sure as heck not going to take up hunting. Maybe if I just get a cow, a few goats and some chickens I can live off of eggs, butter and cheese? Perhaps there’s a nice commune or cult somewhere that needs a writer to keep a group memoir in exchange for food? These are the kinds of things I sincerely consider at times like this.

My rage is not always directed exclusively at electronic, inanimate objects. Trash cans and screen doors are also on my shit list, but mostly it’s computers and clueless customer service reps that end up on the receiving end of my frenzies of piqué. I once dropped my lap top on the floor, forcefully, and then told the accidental insurance people that the cat had knocked it off the counter. I did that because Microsoft Word kept quitting on me and I lost about 6 pages of a legal document I had been working on for hours. It was highly justified in my opinion. It wasn’t helpful or rational, but it did make me feel better for a few minutes, until I realized that I had scared my dog so badly she wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Microsoft, Comcast, AT&T, Brother and Apple are all out to “get me”. They are manipulative and deceitful. They seduce and entice with promises of faster downloading speeds and a more “connected”, happier and productive life. Then they become arbitrary and disconnected, like bad boyfriends, leaving me alone, frustrated, and wasting hours of my time trying to figure out just what went wrong and how I can make the relationship work again. I want to break up with them all, but there are no better options unless I go join that cult. And I am not religious or prone to easy brainwashing.

Or am I? I read somewhere that super-brands, like Apple, affect the brains of their devotees in the same way that religion affects fanatics’ brains. The same areas light up in response to stimuli of either Apple products or theistic imagery. I’m pretty sure that the sections in my brain related to violence and mayhem would light up if someone gave me an MRI and showed me pictures of iPhones and fax machines. The highly emotional sections of my brain would still react though, making it almost the same thing: obsession and devotion. My devotion is, of course, a devotion to technological animosity. I would call it a love-hate thing, but I only love gadgets because I hate to live without them. Thus my extreme reactions when they refuse to work properly.

I can’t do what I want to do without staying connected via the virtual world, and it will undoubtedly continue to piss me off, so I need to find more productive ways to manage my vexation. I will still probably swear at the useless boobs who pose as customer service reps and technicians because someone working at those companies needs to know they ruined my day, but throwing stuff has to stop. I have a large window in my living room. The copier manual I threw at it two days ago didn’t do any damage, but my iPhone would probably break it and winter is coming. That just won’t do. Maybe I should invest in some boxing gloves and see if my ceiling fan can support a heavy punching bag.

Au revoir for now. With any luck, this most recent episode of oft-interrupted internet service and fax machine Hell will be the last for a while. If you don’t hear from me again you can find me in Montana. You will need a horse and a bloodhound though.

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