tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35366297532997266682024-03-18T21:25:23.026-06:00Bearded AtheistBearded, Atheist, Nerdy, Bisexual, Comedian. Deal with it. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-89914740106276178852017-11-28T12:50:00.000-07:002017-11-28T12:51:35.093-07:00Touched by a Mormon, attacked by a Douchebag<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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TW: sexual assault, bi-phobia
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A few years ago a married religious
comic grabbed my genitals without invitation or permission at the
comedy club. I went up later that evening and told everyone on stage,
in the harsh accusatory way tinted with self depreciating sarcasm all
the comics of my generation think is so clever. I wasn't as
articulate as I could have been about it, but I do remember that
nobody cared. I haven't brought it up again, until now. <br />
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It is
easy for others to forget I am a sexual assault victim. I don't talk
about it much, but it did help form many of my attitudes and
feelings now seventeen years later. I am as vocal as I can be about
the things I feel are important as often as I have the energy to do
so. I also seem to have near infinite capacity for conflict during
certain moods and take advantage of them to throw myself at the big
issues whenever I can. All of this has made the explosion of the
#meetoo movement interesting to watch. I haven't posted this yet
since I believe my role in this has mostly been to stay as supportive
as possible to the women in my life while lambasting the shitbags in
the comment sections who feel the need to become a problem. <br />
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Then
a few weeks ago I closed out a show at the comedy club downtown,
where I essentially did a fifteen minute intersectionalist rant with
incorporated recent social events. When I mentioned two local sexual
predators by name, I got the reaction in the club you'd expect,
including noises of recognition from the other experienced comic in
the room. <br />
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And this is where I get frustrated. Several years
ago I worked with a man named Jade Jesser. Jade was a bartender and a
brewpub I worked at, did a lot of coke, and spent a lot of time
trying to have sex with the other employees and the more attractive
customers. There are a thousand dudes exactly like him in every city,
most of them with the same workout routines and haircuts, and just
charming and attractive enough to get away with it. The biggest
difference is Jade was also doing comedy in the valley, and we worked
together. I didn't notice his worse habits right away and we became
workplace friends, I even gave him an old Conan comic book I found.
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Then he finally talked me into joining him for a drink. As we
sat the bar he talked about how close he was to some gay people in
his life, how open-minded it had made him, and how offended he was I
wasn't more open to him about it since we were friends. Despite the
ridiculousness of expecting any person you're not in a relationship
with to be open with you about their sexuality, I tend to enjoy
talking about myself and we had a few conversations. A lot of
straight dudes over the years have been curious about what it means
to also be attracted to men and I typically don't mind sharing my
experiences. The rest of the night passed without memory, other than
his comments on the bodies of the women around us, which were
frequent and annoying.<br />
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Unfortunately, we were out with a few
coworkers together not long after, where the conversation turned to
women and the pursuit of them (men are boring). During which he
conspiratorially leaned in and accused me of lying about my sexuality
in order to trick women into sleeping with me. As if we were sharing
our cons and how effective they were. I was stunned and played it off
as a joke, not trusting the drinks in my heads to have heard him
correctly. <br />
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Our close work proximity kept me civil
and I started paying more attention, eventually noticing his toxic
patterns and communicating those things to many of the new women who
started working with us. Eventually this got back to him and he
challenged me on it, changing our relationship. I worked for a small,
slowly failing company. Jade was head bartender and old friends/coke
buddy with the manager. I could probably have done more, but I didn't
feel at the time like I had many options that would work out for me.
I frequently get labeled as a problem for talking about problems
caused by other people and I've learned I can only do so much.<br />
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Fast
forward a few months and Jade and I are both booked to do a local
Chive fundraiser. The booker was our store manager and decided having
Jade close out the show was a better choice, which is fine by me,
your show can suck if you want it to and I wasn't getting paid
anyway. My set went decently well (humblebrag: a local media person
originally from out of state came up afterwards and heaped drunken
praise on me, which made me feel pretty good), then Jade went up
next. He almost immediately went into several bi-phobic jokes about
me, attacking both me and my sexuality in general. I left during most
of his set. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least one of them made a meme about me, so it wasn't a total loss</td></tr>
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This resulted in me breaking off my relationship
with the Chive group immediately, benefit shows or no, and outing the
entire thing onto Facebook. I am nothing if not a petty bitch. In the
comments of that post, buried somewhere in Facebook memories, several
woman came out directly relating their own bad experiences with Jade.
The manager, currently the store manager of Even Stevens in downtown
Boise, handled this by responding to every story and allegation with
a all caps “FUCK YOU!”. There are times when I realize why that
brewpub closed so quickly. He later defended those comments by saying
Facebook isn't the “real world”.<br />
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And I guess this is why
I'm writing this. Despite the fact all of this was public, despite us
publicly telling stories about how Jade would have sex with his
employees and then abuse them at work to try to get then to quit,
many of the people in my life stayed friends with him, including
people I thought were close to me. <br />
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I am struggling to find the right way
to feel about this, like when after a longtime partner cheated on me
and all of our friends decided the middle ground was to stay friends
with both of us. The people who are most likely to support my actions
in these arenas are the people who barely know me, women comics from
other states who might not even recognize me in person, or random
Facebook friends/fans who I definitely would not recognize in person.
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I can't say I have been without success. After our first ever
Boise's Funniest Person event, I took my observations about how some
of the men coaches were taking advantage of some of the women contestants to
the producer and the rule was changed the next season so coaches and
their contestants couldn't be alone anymore. I still believe that
only worked because the producer was a woman. <br />
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Yesterday I saw
a post on social media where that married religious comic who always
preaches clean only comedy and also grabbed my dick that one time was
preaching against porn. Her and I are friends, life is comedy, and I
am not mad at her. I don't honestly know all of her story and maybe
being sexually aggressive was a survival tactic for a woman in comedy
or just a way she allowed herself to be when she was without the
confines of her Mormon lifestyle. And maybe porn is toxic, maybe
that's why everyone is single these days, but I do know that her
actions did not hurt me and I do not need an apology or anything from
her. Maybe an apology all the comics who thought it was funny when I
mentioned being groped on stage all those years ago, maybe from all
those people who stayed friends with Jade after his bi-phobia and
sexually predatory behavior became public, definitely from the
manager who thought it was okay to attack women for allegations
against his friend. <br />
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The guy who made the meme about me is
okay though, I can take a joke. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-80156516088218108432017-08-29T08:21:00.000-06:002017-08-29T08:21:59.968-06:00Boise Police Dept. to finally receive the rocket launchers they’ve been aiming for.<i>*I originally wrote this for a now defunct left leaning satirical website in 2014. I am re-posting it here after Donald Trump decided to start arming police departments with military hardware again.*</i><br />
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Boise – After months of waiting, the Boise Police dept. is finally at the top of the waiting list for this year’s distribution of military surplus to city and state law enforcement agencies. In past years, Boise has received over 150 fully automatic weapons, two armored vehicles, sixteen jetpacks, and a flame thrower, not to mention numerous landmines and assorted buckets of ammo. In 2009, Boise also received a M1A2 Abrams tank, but an inexperienced rookie left the keys in it and it was last seen being used in a gang fight in southern Caldwell. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Our department used to be armed with only our wits, training, and the practical tools necessary to protect citizens and keep our community safe.” wrote Lieutenant Dancer in a recent media release packet. The Lt. has been the liaison between the government and BPD leadership since 2002 when a shocking amount of military grade equipment started being manufactured across the country in response to imminent aggression from Iraq. “But now, with access to more efficient resources and equipment, every man, woman, and white baby living in the city of Boise has nothing to fear.” Lt. Dancer has never been seen in public and is most likely a Halliburton robot suppressing human behavior in service to an alien, cybernetic hivemind.</span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This week, Lt. Dancer is expecting a shipment of MK153 shoulder-launched multipurpose assault weapons, more commonly known as ‘rocket launchers’. “These tools are designed for target suppression,” explained the Lt. “and for unpaid parking tickets or any cyclist within six feet of a roadway, on or off their bicycle.” The Lt. continues on at length, explaining in detail the list of criminal offenses most likely to warrant the use of extreme explosive justice. “Burglary, petty larceny, jaywalking, speeding, rooting for the Vandals, saying ‘Happy Holidays’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas’, leaving less than a 10% tip, comparing any other politician to Hitler, moving here from California, balding, or listening to Sean Hannity.” If the program continues to be successful, crime rates in Boise will have fallen every year since the program’s implementation in August of 2001.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Boise has also been given the opportunity to be a future location for a family friendly, reeducation camp, edging out other Northwestern cities like Seattle and Portland by being more ‘compliant’. “It is our hope that the beacon of safety and peace that Boise, Idaho has become, will one day be used an example of adequate behavior for your kind all across this insignificant speck you call a planet.” Lt. Dancer’s release finishes. “It is the will of Ann Coulter that the cleansing begins soon, and the Reavers shall be fed on the screams of anyone with overdraft charges.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And, while alien robots infiltrating all levels of our government is clearly the fault of President Obama, he refused to surrender hope in the face of the eminent doom of our species, reminding a crowd of 250 at a fundraiser last week of the time during Nixon’s administration when a portal to Hell was opened and thousands of our best and brightest students were sacrificed in order to bring Beelzebub into our plane of existence, only for humanity to be saved at the last minute by a plot device. The President then called upon Michael Bay, Jenny MacCarthy, Sarah Palin, and other American geniuses to step up to the plate and offer some solutions to us in this dark time. So far, only scientists have responded, but the American public never listens to them.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-18199224944276669282017-08-17T17:09:00.002-06:002017-08-17T17:37:31.123-06:00A military officer in uniform gave me religious hate speech. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hi, and welcome back to the Bearded Atheist blog. It's been four years or so and this made me mad enough to start the entire thing up again. It's good to see you. <br />
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This is an evolving story and I will edit this to reflect any changing information or knowledge. This happened to myself earlier today at work; my place of employment is left vague intentionally to keep my Corporate Overlords from getting awks about it. I have witnesses to these events, but would prefer to keep their identities secret for the same reason.<br />
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To set the scenario up, it is important to know I carry myself with a much more queer bearing than I used to when I was younger. I was wearing pink earrings, blue nail polish, and I'm lucky enough to work at a place that allows me to wear a button that showcases my sexuality.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one, because I also like DIIIICKS.</td></tr>
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As the years have marched on, I have become something more of an activist, identifying with Intersectionalists and actively supporting BLM and Antifa (if you aren't antifascist, you are the most wrong). My atheist activism is folded into all of that. I still run my atheist show twice a year (two weeks from today, actually) but, considering the recent political climate, there is so much to focus on and it can be hard to keep up with everything. All that being said, I am much more aggressive about things and have become nearly immune to negative feedback. Also, my extreme, nearly militant opinions about everything have kept a lot of the worse people away from me. It is not out of character for me to out a man publicly for sending unsolicited dick pictures, or to question the Minister talking about the "gay lifestyle" exactly what the fuck that means to her face. I am not an awkward person about this and, if anything, leverage other people's awkward tendencies to my advantage. I am not always nice about it, but today's events bothered me because it was so wrong.<br />
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I currently work as a cashier at a popular grocery outlet near a busy intersection. During lunchtime it is not out of place for me to wait on a wide variety of customers, from actual farmers, WoC in hijabs, skateboarding teenagers, and soccer moms, all the way to Mormon missionaries, travelling businessmen, members of the state government, on duty police officers and the military. I have a dry sense of humor with strangers, but am mostly open and friendly to everyone. As always, I am passionately curious about people and what motivates them, frequently engaging in micro-conversations with the random aspects of humanity I meet. Within this mess an older, white male in full military camo, with an Army Ranger patch on his arm and a Lt. Col. insignia on the front of his uniform came into my line in express. His name was Peterson.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lt. Colonel or Tree Star, I can never tell</td></tr>
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Peterson and I talked about him going camping this weekend and then him heading further south to catch the upcoming Solar eclipse moving through our state in a few days. It was friendly and cordial, but then, right as he was about to leave, he reached into his back pocket and gave me this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8c1u4me5Dp2gibhFcgX5pFC1c4_l74WD0XcEstYMO8aITpAR3gdgDKBoLTzJoEUU81QRGjQq0YRQdSGA1szRJiit2XKb1bHIgdPvWUTwlBZw8Ii1oDwjLl20spafZVebmV3e_VZpYJA/s1600/doom+town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8c1u4me5Dp2gibhFcgX5pFC1c4_l74WD0XcEstYMO8aITpAR3gdgDKBoLTzJoEUU81QRGjQq0YRQdSGA1szRJiit2XKb1bHIgdPvWUTwlBZw8Ii1oDwjLl20spafZVebmV3e_VZpYJA/s320/doom+town.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxZrNdFP9lw" target="_blank">Watch a review about this here. </a></td></tr>
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This, my friends is a Chick Tract. For those of you who aren't aware of these wonderful little booklets, they are handed out by a lot of Christians in an attempt to scare people into/back into their religion. They are full on garbage, and this one is horrible for a lot of reasons. If you've got 45 minutes. listen to my friends Hugo and Jake over at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgGgkVyadk0TdxmVzYcAM-Q" target="_blank">The Bible Reloaded</a> do an entire episode on this one right <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxZrNdFP9lw" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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I have several problems with this. First off, an officer in uniform threatening civilians with violence by sending them to hell is highly unethical. These things are hate speech. Filled with lies and hypocrisy from the early 90's, this issue not only makes up what the bible says and what was happening within the LGBT community at the time, it insinuates that all gay men are also pedophiles through illustration, and it uses the story of Lot to make judgment on us. INCLUDING THE PART WHERE LOT GIVES UP HIS DAUGHTERS TO BE RAPED. That is not a typo or misrepresentation at all; in this story, the "godly" man offers his virginal daughters up to be raped and yet he is somehow considered a good person. According to this tract, Rape > being Queer.<br />
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So, to my full understanding. Lt. Col. Peterson finds it be completely acceptable to hand out religious paraphernalia threatening violence to people while in uniform, and does so from the cowardly position of them being forced to be nice to him since they are at work and doubly cowardly because he did it at the end of the conversation. Like a cowardly coward. Let me repeat that, Lt. Col. Peterson is a coward.<br />
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Now, I'm personally pro-soldier because they get me drunk a lot when I'm on the road doing comedy and many of my friends and family have served, also they do not create the horrible policies I am actually against. I also know it is most likely against the rules and this behavior does not represent the Army Rangers or the service they have done for this country. But our taxes pay this man and he is representing our country in a leadership position and we should expect more from him, and I'm certain most of you can at least agree we don't want our military officers using their uniform to push whatever religion they happen to be into. This is unacceptable and I am not going to drop it.<br />
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Feel free to leave comments or questions here and I will get back to you as soon as I can. I will be talking about this on a podcast in less than two hours and will post a link to that with our opinions as soon as it's posted. Thanks for reading.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-65045308436315032842013-08-31T14:45:00.002-06:002013-08-31T16:36:40.696-06:00The Friend Zone: A Survivors Guide<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enter at your own peril.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Unless you are an incredibly attractive and lucky person, or a complete shut-in, you've probably dealt with the dreaded Friend Zone at some time or another. In our attempts to couple up with someone that we desire, they place us in a different category and we enter into a world of pain. It's a treacherous place full of feelings and more bullshit than a political caucus, yet nobody ever treats it as the serious problem that it really is, until now. You're welcome. <br />
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The four people reading this that understand me know that I fall in love every week. It's a curse of my artistic temperament, some psychological crap, and a combination of curiosity and near desperation. I have always been like this. As a child I once accidentally saw another seven year old flash me her naked chest and I spent every day after that doing my best to be next to her during snacks or during nap time. I still remember my first crush's name, Sara, and her early 80's haircut sitting in front of me in elementary school. I spent more time fantasizing about the softness of her neck than listening to the teacher, and I am completely positive that she never once knew my name. When I got to the age where the boys and girls chase each other, literally, around the school playgrounds, one of them let me catch her, most likely out of curiosity, and I spent an awkward four minutes desperately trying to find something to say that would convince her to let me catch her again (I have never been fast). She never did. And neither did anybody else until I was nineteen years old.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For some reason, women don't find whining about it attractive however. </td></tr>
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Fast forward to now. I'm 36, twice divorced, openly bisexual, and almost all of my non-comedian friends are women. Most of my relationships are short, sexual based affairs, casual to keep my mind and heart intact, broken up only by intense, whirlwind relationships that carry me two to three years into the future, always depositing me in the same Elephant's graveyard where familiar pieces of myself are still strewn about. But on the way to and fro through this pattern, I am still frequently struck with the occasional passion for a dark haired muse with a bold profile or a fresh faced, talented personality with more charm than sense. I am easily distracted from the ennui that constantly burrows into me, and beauty or the promise of attention are my two favorite aphrodisiacs. And since my parents let 80's culture and the Bible form most of my opinions about relationships, everything I was working with was based on He-man cartoons, virgin births, and Pete Cetera lyrics. <br />
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No seriously, I used to sing that song out loud while I cried myself to sleep at nights. And now it's stuck in your head forever as well. <i>Suckers</i>.<br />
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Now that I'm an adult, sort of, things are more complex and a LOT more comfortable. Most of my female friends are married, many of them with kids, and I have evolved into the supportive, almost-gay friend who actually enjoys listening to their problems and experiencing their company for the benefits that it provides without wanting anything in return. But it was a journey to mature to this point and I did it without a map, something even Bilbo took with him, and he forgot his pipe.<br />
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First off, let's be completely clear: I hate the term 'Friend Zone'. I find it to be a gross over-simplification of all the nuances that go into interpersonal relationships. I've always hated it. Labels irritate me in general, but this one more than most. Also, if you aren't trying to be some one's friend as well as their partner, get out of the gene pool right now, because everybody deserves a partner who is doing their damnedest to be the best friend to that person that they can be. Life is brutal for almost all of us, and you are going to need some one's heart and brain to be on your team more than their junk. When times get tough, and they will, it's friendship more than anything that can carry you through to the other side. <br />
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Secondly, most of what people call the friend-zone is just them not understanding the language that the other person is using to communicate while simultaneously being too selfish or ignorant to understand that other people are mostly obsessed with their own concerns and desires in which they don't have to take a priority. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey look, you aren't the center of their universe and you don't have to be!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I know that's hard to swallow, but it's the same for everyone and none of us are special. Even the person you want has been there, might still be there. And do you really want them to settle for you when you deserve so much more? Good relationships can be a lot of work, but they are much easier when both of you secretly thinks that they won by finding that other person. So the first thing you need to do is get a good understanding what's actually happening on the ground instead of in your head. Also, miscommunication will happen, and doors open and close all the time. Life isn't even remotely fair and it doesn't always have to make sense. And sometimes getting what you want doesn't always work out. I once dated my best friend and I got there by being a nice guy...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It only happened to me once that way guys, but it can happen.</td></tr>
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True story: I met a girl back when I was promoting myself on <a href="https://myspace.com/mikeypullman" target="_blank">Myspace</a>. I was sending out hundreds of cold friend requests in an attempt to be the first comic in Idaho to get to 1000 friends for the bragging rights. I know, my life is that exciting. Also, nobody else knew we were competing, so I won easily. She sent me back an email asking me what my deal was, I was honest with her, and it lead to a conversation. Now, I wasn't trying to get laid or meet people, I was playing a game with myself, so I was very casual and friendly. Turns out she had just moved here to Boise and needed friends, so we started hanging out. We ended up having some chemistry (I'll get back to this part later), which led to us almost kissing in the park one day. The next day she told me that she was still involved with a guy out of state and she wasn't ready to move on yet, so I did the right thing and respected her opinion. It didn't remove my attraction to her and it didn't stop me from wanting to be with her, but I chose to look at it from the perspective that I was lucky just to be her friend, and I had long since gotten used to the pain of being unwanted, so I let things live there for a while. <br />
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Now I want to stop the story right here to point something out. By the definition of the term, I was friend-zoned pretty hard right there. But I always take the responsibility for my own decisions, and since it was my decision to continue the friendship, any pain I felt after that conversation was my own fault and not hers, which is the biggest difference between approaching this like an adult and acting like a selfish child. You can end friendships whenever you want to. If somebody wants something different from you than you want to give them, be it friendship or a relationship, or whatever, and you decide to continue onward as things are, you have to learn that it's your own decision making that's keeping you there. Life is too short to torture ourselves. <br />
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We continued to grow closer as friends. We had similar interests and I started dragging her to all the open mics where she made friends with most of the comics in the group and started hanging out with the lot of us. Then something happened. My gallbladder started producing copious amounts of bile whenever I ate something and I started going to the emergency room once a week to get my body pumped full of morphine. The first time I drug myself to the ER alone, because I am a stupid, typical man, and when I told my friend about this, she yelled at me. She was right, it was silly of me to endanger myself when a good friend lived so close to me, so I let her take me every time thereafter. This brought made us even closer friends. As I was laying there squirming in pain while nurses tried to hold me down long enough to check my vitals, hers was the only face looking on me with genuine care. Later, after my surgery, I wasn't allowed to work at the prison for a few months so I started to fall behind in my bills. Her mother moved out of state, leaving her needing a roommate, and me needing a roommate, so we became roomies. <br />
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This is where I hit friend-zone level 99. We both loved to talk, all day, erryday. We would hang out together all day, then literally chat in bed together until we passed out. I started sleeping in her room. Now, I knew the score, and was content with the way things were. I hadn't stopped noticing other people, but most of my time was consumed by being with my best friend, and we were having a blast. I had some pretty strong feelings for her, but they were firmly rooted in the reality that she was still in love with a man that she couldn't have and so everybody was in the same boat. Life is fun like that. <br />
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Then, one day, we came home drunk together after a great night at the comedy club. I helped carry her up the stairs to our apartment where she demanded that I give her a bath. Now, despite our close living arrangements, I had always been very respectful of her privacy and had never seen her naked, even accidentally, but she stubbornly refused to come to bed until I did her bidding, so I embraced my masochism and got to work. Now, if you've never tried to bathe a drunk adult, I highly recommend that you never do it, because it is horrible. It wasn't sexual at all. I immediately got irritated with her and eventually got frustrated with her attempts at trying to drown herself. She wouldn't even let me dress her, demanding to be left in the tub all night. The best I could do for her was to drain out all the water that she'd let me (almost all of it), and I eventually passed out watching over her like a drunk guardian angel. <br />
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Three hours later she woke up and decided to have sex with me. <br />
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Yes, we were both still a little drunk, but the amount of investment and honest friendship we had poured into our time together took us to a level of intimacy that I have still never found with anyone else. The tension that had become background noise for me, like living next to an airport does to the sound, had been working out while I wasn't paying enough attention and I was not prepared for how powerful it had become.<br />
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After we were done she felt guilty and left me there to go into the living room to call her boyfriend. Eventually we started dating, later we cheated on each other, and now, an eternity later, I see pictures of her and her lovely family. Sometimes getting what you want is a curse because why you don't have it in the first place exists for good reasons. Her and I are still friends, although we are both too busy to talk much, and seeing her smiling face run through my timeline on social media only ever brings me happiness and good memories, but that's not why we're here. See, it turns out she was right in the very beginning. Her instincts to end our burgeoning relationship were spot on and, while that isn't always the case, if I had known that I was going to break up with her a half-dozen times in the space of less than two years, I probably would have skipped it myself.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes it even happens to aliens.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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So now, when I meet someone and I am attracted to them, I do things to communicate that interest while simultaneously doing my best to listen to what they are trying to tell me. I embrace the power of solitude, I spend a good amount of time focusing on myself, and I fill up my time with hobbies and interests, some of which make me a more complex and interesting person as a side effect. I exercise, I try to become a better person, I find my limitations and try to move the line. Occasionally, I find someone in my life compelling enough to lift me outside of my comfort zone, but like most people with a tendency towards cynicism, I take my sweet ass time about it. At times people are interested in me, it's happening right now, and I do my best to communicate where I'm at to them, because I've been them before and we're all only human. I do my best to try and understand that it's not all about me, and I have discovered the fact that life is far more rewarding when you treat your relationships with other people in the least selfish way possible. I do my best to be a good friend and a nice guy, because while a lot of dudes out there will tell you to pretend to be an asshole to trick a girl into liking you, they have exactly zero chance of building a healthy and adult relationship with someone that is going to have any longevity by following that strategy.<br />
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So here I am, currently listening to opera, having spent all day in the Halloween pajamas that I have been wearing all Summer, slowly sipping on vodka and juice, about to wrap up another blog post before I spend another two hours playing Lord of the Rings Online, and I am being completely open and honest about all of that because, while who I am is not for everybody, for the right person, I am becoming exactly who I need to be. And that's how you survive the Friend-Zone. You outgrow it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QHNRuKDuaGoOMh0e_QVWaBq0SfnPsh8LkzfQerRQ0DY3-gL-dz1gU0E2jPdQBO5Z3JzFNeMa1_omTvJ-KU8lUWPrKpG5e2xorFbHsfucfbYmYQTt9G8OW5DD2y9k0bws94cmIQFIzhc/s1600/1660-what-did-you-say.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QHNRuKDuaGoOMh0e_QVWaBq0SfnPsh8LkzfQerRQ0DY3-gL-dz1gU0E2jPdQBO5Z3JzFNeMa1_omTvJ-KU8lUWPrKpG5e2xorFbHsfucfbYmYQTt9G8OW5DD2y9k0bws94cmIQFIzhc/s400/1660-what-did-you-say.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silly Elf, if I were as pretty as you, I wouldn't listen very well either*.</td></tr>
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So if your long term struggle is that nobody wants you, make yourself a better person. Not for them, but for you. Enjoy yourself, find things, friends, and passions that set you on fire and knock down the walls of your perceptions and limitations. Eventually a side effect of this life long journey will be that somebody else heading the same way will find themselves desiring your companionship and you guys can go slay some metaphorical Balrogs together. <br />
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Man, I really need to stop playing so many video games. Just kidding, GAMER FOR LIFE, YO!<br />
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On a final note, an intelligent woman on my friends list posted this while I was writing this blog post and, since it's relevant, I'd thought I share it with you...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3T-cnvGneItvEhfYyowiB0v66t47xfFYEOrA5Y20o4Vo1QfatjA02rdIHmujhonsOlL6o44dOKOfsqsaG5XDpjokMZpanjIa6oj0NF40MDrYbwnrO8grYMOjn5sjvRmELPJw2-fBysI/s1600/Friend+Zone.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3T-cnvGneItvEhfYyowiB0v66t47xfFYEOrA5Y20o4Vo1QfatjA02rdIHmujhonsOlL6o44dOKOfsqsaG5XDpjokMZpanjIa6oj0NF40MDrYbwnrO8grYMOjn5sjvRmELPJw2-fBysI/s400/Friend+Zone.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deal with it. </td></tr>
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*- Alternate caption: How can he be deaf with ears like that? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-305614025583335822013-07-09T21:44:00.002-06:002013-07-10T09:25:25.624-06:00Homeless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few weeks ago, a good friend asked me why I don't have any children yet. Here is his answer. </div>
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And it starts with me being homeless. </div>
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Hobo beard, Oct 2011. Hi Olek!</div>
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I first became homeless two weeks after my 18th birthday. It was early Summer in 1995 and I had been out playing basketball with one of my church friends when I came home to find all of my belongings stuffed into large garbage bags and thrown out on the front lawn. My parents had gone through the trouble of collecting some phone numbers and had called around so all of my other friends had beat me to the scene, my future brother in law had even defiantly parked his pick-up truck on the front lawn. It was a strange moment being a half dozen teenagers trying to make the mature decision of what to do with the virgin ginger who sang on the church choir. Fifteen minutes into our deliberations, my parents continued to hide in the darkened house and sent out my baby brother and mentally challenged little sister to tell us that if we didn't take my stuff off of their lawn soon, they would be forced to call the cops. So I left.<br />
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I spent a few months hopping from bedroom floor to bedroom floor, all of my friends were from church and I had earned a reputation with all of their parents by always being polite and for cleaning up after myself when I came over for supper, so it wasn't a hard sell. It wasn't that bad, actually. My life was mostly awkward moments and a complete lack of privacy, but I had a roof over my head and food to eat. However, to this day I sometimes still sleep on the floor just to keep in practice, like I might need to get used to it again someday. <br />
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So much of my life has been running away from that moment, chased by the most common phrase I remember hearing from my mother; not an "I love you", but a resentment flavored "The day you grow taller than me, I'm going to chop your legs off", repeated weekly from the time I was six until I grew too strong for her to bully me anymore. And like a lot of survivors of domestic abuse, every intimate relationship I have tried to forge since then has been covered in her hand prints and I have always struggled to wash them off.<br />
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She was rarely physical with me, she didn't escalate into that direction until she started abusing my younger brothers and sisters. Not often, but she would sometimes trade slaps with my sister for up to thirty minutes at a time and she wasn't above using her weight to try to crush one of us if we wouldn't obey. Her cruelness was casual and beastly, usually a lash out for some perceived slight to her fragile ego or limited intellect. My father was frequently stressed and angry, joining in the continual shouting, but he is a genuinely nice guy who only recently started to realize the damage my mother did to all of her children, so I try not to hold onto that. He did apologize for my childhood last month, so that's something. He's trying, and that's all anybody could ask for. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdxnQFXmj4ZQ3YOptZBnsEdkO-ob4-V7BgRVKmlLUyrlLZAA-HZZxc9DOvwP4STHR2QVzMsSApmwNjUT_pMH45L11Gz8DWofZ770kJBuVyj3VtcLHZSj5PGQAtgpiv8zhcsMeMSf5KgA/s1600/enhanced-buzz-19827-1355852716-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdxnQFXmj4ZQ3YOptZBnsEdkO-ob4-V7BgRVKmlLUyrlLZAA-HZZxc9DOvwP4STHR2QVzMsSApmwNjUT_pMH45L11Gz8DWofZ770kJBuVyj3VtcLHZSj5PGQAtgpiv8zhcsMeMSf5KgA/s400/enhanced-buzz-19827-1355852716-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or you could ask for a cat, some drugs, and a balloon necklace, whatever really.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
I once estimated that I had fought with my mother an average of once per day from the age of five until I was 18. That's almost 5000 arguments, blows, thrown objects, broken doors, missing hugs, and one six foot bookcase that I pulled off of the wall in front of my mother so she would stop following me around the house screaming in my face when I was 17. I knew this wasn't normal, I became the perfect guest at the houses of my friends so that I could praise from at least somebody's mother, but I didn't realize what was being done to me. <br />
<br />
Even I didn't figure this out until just recently.<br />
<br />
My sister and I got married at about the same time. She had been dating one of the guys, the one we nicknamed 'Biff', and had been kicked out of the house at 17 because they told us that my sister had become infected with her boyfriend's "evil spirit". I let her stay at my apartment for a while, the one I was finally able to afford after getting hired on at McDonalds (my parents wouldn't let me work when I was at home, so I had no money), but eventually her and Biff got together and she had a couple of girls. Neither marriage survived. My sister dedicated her life to her children, finally marrying a good man who treats everyone better than they treat him, and having three more boys, the last one is only five weeks old. I met him on the Fourth of July at a friend's BBQ where my sister had taken her kids. And they are beautiful. All of them, really. My oldest niece is an introvert who was hiding in the car reading a book, my youngest niece, finally a teenager, loudly announcing to the room how I am her favorite uncle made my heart happy in a way that is unreachable except by the words of children. <br />
<br />
And I have always loved the girls, probably more than they know, but I missed something with them growing up. When 13 first learned to walk she would hug everybody. And I mean everybody, we were positive she would get kidnapped, if you can call it that when it looks like she's volunteering. It was harrowing for her 21 year old mother. 13 stayed equally as friendly as she got older, which I always took as good news. I hope that no matter what happens to her in life, that the warm core of her heart that constantly reaches out to people always has a chance to flourish, it is a beautiful gift. Granted, it's easy to get along with kids when you're an uncle, but the oldest nephew, who looks like me a bit, has been trying to help his mother with the chores since he could stand. He used to throw clean clothes back into the washing machine because he thought it was helping. HOW ADORABLE IS THAT YOU GUYS?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVXMZlos97uY93ekQxM2OUpvzJCqDn9OtKbIPZt-tshEEqBZgnTI3tfCg8IvRG5qITYsdWrmJ7C8vZ8xKi44jfv_Q2ohCfieeOEydLWN5FwkPmh-wEXASrYIh1AycffJ4eODiv9M_3IM/s1600/Adorable_Animal__the_cat_is_really_most_adorable_animal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVXMZlos97uY93ekQxM2OUpvzJCqDn9OtKbIPZt-tshEEqBZgnTI3tfCg8IvRG5qITYsdWrmJ7C8vZ8xKi44jfv_Q2ohCfieeOEydLWN5FwkPmh-wEXASrYIh1AycffJ4eODiv9M_3IM/s400/Adorable_Animal__the_cat_is_really_most_adorable_animal.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost this adorable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Even then I missed it. Until the BBQ, when I was sitting with my curly headed, two year old nephew for the first time. We were watching He-Man on VHS and I casually observed what a chill little dude he was. He was leaning into the corner of the couch, hands draped comfortably across his lap, when he nodded and gave me a smug look. And that's when the last piece of the puzzle I didn't even know I was trying to solve fell into place. Because I sure as hell didn't invent the smug look, but I perfected it on my branch of the family. And the one thing everyone is so surprised about when they get to know me is fact that I'm surprisingly kind and nice to the people I care about. Somewhere, at the core of me, is the same heart (almost) that beats in my niece, that beats in my nephews, that beats in so many of us, and why I had assumed otherwise is just another reminder of how much there is to learn. My sister and her husband have worked hard to be good parents to all of them, but I know these kids. They are good people.<br />
<br />
And, I guess, so am I.<br />
<br />
At my heart I am an incredibly nice guy. Almost disgustingly nice. I used to think it was a weakness, a desperate attempt to gain attention, but this last year has been full of self-reflection and self-improvement and I am going to be entirely honest about myself here when I say that that's the kind of person I genuinely want to be. Nice.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAyN_u2sTK4aZf1zw_GKL1Tq85zCNfZWWcvvHdVonnZNoUmlg-z_0QH4ImQ590kAVRs_AodPZk48hMFhObIwX99lKsvNM8mMZF5PjJnS1lnZwAqUSQiuiGLg1VV8AlLMy86WcOcw6eSRA/s1600/575881_10200359117075121_1162130441_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAyN_u2sTK4aZf1zw_GKL1Tq85zCNfZWWcvvHdVonnZNoUmlg-z_0QH4ImQ590kAVRs_AodPZk48hMFhObIwX99lKsvNM8mMZF5PjJnS1lnZwAqUSQiuiGLg1VV8AlLMy86WcOcw6eSRA/s400/575881_10200359117075121_1162130441_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And a crazy pirate. I would love that job.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Gone are my years of accepting any attention I could get from someone, no matter what the cost to me, and I have finally managed to rebuild enough of myself that there haven't been any new burn marks in years, but in looking forward to the rest of my life all I see still are hard choices. I know things will get better because I am making that happen with a tremendous amount of work, but when the life of the Normies calls out to me, like it did at the BBQ, an old tendril of mood strikes out at me and drags me below for a bit to be with her.<br />
<br />
"I have never loved you." The giant says, with cold blue eyes and clammy, pale skin. "No one will ever really love you." It doesn't matter that she never says these words, that she is incapable of being this precise with her hatred, but with lifetimes trapped with her inside me, it can be hard to move. My arms are too short to make her love me, if only I could hold her one more time maybe she could love me.<br />
<br />
But now I know how my mind works and I can navigate out of that. I have been forcing a lot of change upon myself lately, all for the better, with the intent to manifest a different destiny than the one I was working towards. Things are going well, I've lost a considerable amount of weight and have recently gone through a growth spurt on stage that made it so I could quadruple the amount of time I had for standup. I'm happy most of the time and that's as good as things can be. I am positive.<br />
<br />
Yet inside are wastelands of pollution, and minefields hidden in every direction that brings me close to people. Domestic abuse tries to multiply by changing you into the kind of monster that puts it into others. And I am not blameless of this, I have enjoyed hurting many people in my life, and I am sure none of them truthfully deserved it. I have always been terrified of seeing my mother in the mirror, so I have avoided it. So when you ask me why I don't have any children, when you follow it up with the compliment that I have so much to give someone as a parent, it breaks my heart because I do. I know I do, but there is a wide chasm between me and the type of person I need to become to trust myself, and I don't know if I will ever be able to build a bridge large enough to cross it. I want desperately for someplace to feel like home, but it never has, and I'm sometimes afraid that it never will. I try so hard to build things only to watch them burn to the ground time and time again, always leaving me homeless and alone in the cold.<br />
<br />
Thanks Mom. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-79218313951713757252013-01-24T13:24:00.000-07:002013-01-24T13:34:23.823-07:00My Suicide Story. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote this story over Christmas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One crisp summer morning, I was driving a patrol truck in
circles around a prison when the clock hit 5 a.m., I pulled over to the side of
the road, and I put a loaded .38 right next to my eye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was quiet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This quiet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing but the ambient desert, and the psychic weeping of
1200 men locked in a government cage. Then I started to count.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything turned black and I could smell my mother’s hair.
Back before I was five and we became enemies, back from when everything could
still be okay. I heard once that we used to be a happy family, but I’m the
first born and I don’t remember it. My radio squawked and I looked up as the other patrol truck
drove passed me, but I was invisible and he saw nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything went black again and I remembered my cousin’s
funeral. At 21 I was less than a year from my first divorce, when he received a
phone call from his young wife. She and their new baby were at the airport. My
cousin said he would be right there, but instead he walked into the backyard
and put a hole right through his brain. At the funeral his mother dropped to her
knees and begged me to treat my own mother better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what does she know? I hate my mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t even know the baby’s name, but my cousin’s widow
married his best friend and they wrote a new story together. I never got to read the note he left us. I wonder if he
remembered me before he did it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Probably not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I opened my eyes and noticed that the night was fleeing from
the sky. I blinked once, twice, then watched as everything turned to ash then faded
away. I was the last man on Earth. I could feel everything
retreating from me, all of the pressure and weight of reality slipping away. It
felt like I was falling asleep. Drowning myself to sleep. Even her voice was
finally gone. The only voice that I have ever loved. There was a pregnant emptiness, and all I
could hear was the sound of my own heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at the gun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is this all that’s left of Fantasia? Is there where the
dreamer ends?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I closed my eyes for the last time and listened for my final
heartbeat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wait. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Go back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They had started a new story. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this is when being a procrastinator saved my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was born in 1977 to a deaf woman and a man so nerdy that
he was already a computer programmer in the </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
70’s. By the time I was five my
mother already had two new babies and had completely forgotten about me. My
second earliest memory is being left alone in my grandparent’s back yard for
hours because my grandfather was sick and couldn’t handle having me inside.
This happened all summer when my grandmother was out globe-hopping with the
rest of Mensa and my mother was forced to come over to take care of my
grandfather. We never had sunblock, so I spent a lot of time wandering amongst
the roses avoiding as many blisters and bee stings as possible. Inside, their
house was always decorated with African touristy stuff, and I spent as much
time as I could touching everything I could get my hands on, until my grandfather would sing me old songs
from the 40’s, then kick me outside,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, Mairzy doats and
dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey, A kiddley divey too, wooden shoe?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
His voice was gravel and reeked of medication. My Grand
father. I remember his A&W diet root beer, the stale, wooden scent of his
pipe, and the fact that he was the only person who ever wrote me a letter.
Until he died of a heart attack when I was 11, a handwritten note would come in
the mail several times a year with my name on it. My grandfather, a 350 pound
WWII vet would tell me that he loved me and how much he missed me, and he
always ended by asking me to write him back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother thinks I hate her for the summers of blisters and
bee stings, but the real pain lies in the fact that I never answered him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know where it started, but I know that it never
ended. In the second grade I kicked over my school desk and threw all of my
books at the teacher. In the third grade I convinced my teacher that I had been
kidnapped when she asked me to step outside of the school gym and I decided to
walk home. That’s when the state of Washington decided I needed to see a
therapist. By the fifth grade, living back in Idaho because of my grandfather’s
death, I argued with my teacher about the correct way to use the N word, I was
wrong. At a parent-teacher conference later that year, she lied about me to my
parents. In the sixth grade I was forced to switch classrooms to Mr.
Budzianowski, who doubled as my basketball coach, where I was forced to run
laps whenever I acted up in class. He also nicknamed me the fastest hands in
the west, both for how quickly I would answer his questions, and sarcastically
for how badly I passed the basketball. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents started homeschooling all five of us after I
finished the sixth grade, and that’s when I really started getting angry. I
fought with my parents almost every day. I wasn’t the only one they couldn’t
manage, but I was the first. They did their best to control me, and I did my
best to make it difficult. They’d kick me out of the house then lie about it
when I came home with the cops. They wouldn’t allow me to get a job or learn
math, I used to punch holes in their walls, they would buy food that the older
kids weren’t allowed to eat, I would steal it when they weren’t looking. By the time I was eighteen, it was no surprise
to find all of my things in black garbage bags out on the lawn when I came home
from church one night. All of my other friends were from the same church and
seventeen, but we collaborated and I lived on the floor of their bedrooms until
I got a job at McDonalds. I got fired from McDonalds two years later, only
three days after my first wedding, for kicking a Mexican. Don’t worry, she had
it coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met my second wife on 9/11. That 9/11. She was a cutter
and a stripper and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a soul-mate so you have
to know, we never could have been happy. By the time my second wife lost her mind,
I had been working at the prison for over three years and I didn’t know if I
was more fat, sick, or lonely. I had been angry for so long that the world
always seemed to be on fire. <br />
<br />
And eventually that fire burned everything else away and left me standing alone
with only one way out, that .38 <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But they had started a new story. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I slowly opened my eyes, gently put the gun away and looked
at the clock, it was 5:01. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent the last 30 minutes of my sixteen hour shift like
every other; I traded places with the next officer, I walked through a lot of
gates, then I drove home to pass out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up in a new world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was just like the old world, almost. At first I thought
everything was the same. The people were the same tired people that I knew, and
the daily rituals echoed the ones before, but something was very different, I
just </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
couldn't smell it yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time passed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two months later and I was already bored with Alcoholics
Anonymous. I had only wanted things to be different, I had only wanted to start
a new story, a story with a better ending, but this was worse than any hell. My
sponsor was an ex-meth dealer, a more lucky version of the same kind of guy I
was used to babysitting, he meant well but endless repeats of, “It’s all dope,
man.”, didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I was filling with something. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things in this new world were clear to me in a way that they
never had before. Everything made sense; the one thing that I would have wished
for was finally real. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could see. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could see that everyone was struggling, and that everyone
was doing the best that they could. I could see that most of the things that we
thought were important were just illusions created by us to fill the real void
we carry within. I could see that the only things that really matter are loving
when you can and always trying to do your best. I could see all of this and
that none of it would ever matter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you look into the abyss long enough, it stares back.
Then it goes out for pizza and forgets to invite you because the abyss is a
giant dick and once you realize how big everything everything EVERYTHING really
is, you start to realize how pointless everything is. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This new world was hilarious and not to be taken too
seriously. Depending on how you define ‘you’, sometimes you win and sometimes
you were never born. The universe is an infinite place and you’re not usually
in it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not going to stand here and tell you that I’m never
angry anymore, and I’m not going to try and sell you on the snake oil of
positive thinking, but every day when I wake up I have a choice of what kind of
world I want to live in, and today, I chose this one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this world, the unbridled laughter of children is the
perfect music, and all the colors of the rainbow are my favorite, and sometimes
when you fight against depression long enough, it gets better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, it gets better. Sometimes you can fight your way
through to the other side. Not everybody makes it, not everybody can, but
sometimes you just get lucky. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s why I’m still here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-40321916552949433602012-12-21T12:22:00.000-07:002012-12-21T12:29:19.939-07:00The War Against Atheism<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1s7BOlPcxIRltjIc8GW83abj8DVJToedOzVzTZq2ebBBb6I3vJaWaB-zyXnN9AvR0ccCxdfPzRMnrY6tWU1Ev6Etvde3V1q_LuXyw3omKp5Z6ZgPPJ6cIkyum7O_i3dddnq_H-KH-Ks/s1600/the_atheist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1s7BOlPcxIRltjIc8GW83abj8DVJToedOzVzTZq2ebBBb6I3vJaWaB-zyXnN9AvR0ccCxdfPzRMnrY6tWU1Ev6Etvde3V1q_LuXyw3omKp5Z6ZgPPJ6cIkyum7O_i3dddnq_H-KH-Ks/s1600/the_atheist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1s7BOlPcxIRltjIc8GW83abj8DVJToedOzVzTZq2ebBBb6I3vJaWaB-zyXnN9AvR0ccCxdfPzRMnrY6tWU1Ev6Etvde3V1q_LuXyw3omKp5Z6ZgPPJ6cIkyum7O_i3dddnq_H-KH-Ks/s1600/the_atheist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
One of the best parts about being an atheist is how low-key it is. I get to go about my day to day business without a single atheist based thought, listening to my jams and working on some Family Guy/Resident evil fan fiction without a care in the world. Then I head to the store to buy some more pulp less OJ, because I am not a filthy animal, when I see something like this...<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-WmIQU0mXACLuCpyHy28PBhzxeRtGEhry77vd1AMjmvlMYOjIRMRuORKBUC9xPUm17utBOt-2PIcNXUATACDnKTCMZqb5QjHeu3xaCysyT3Ld8C4V_EWoMD_ImvAbKEPrYd46Xhkr1A/s1600/atheists.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-WmIQU0mXACLuCpyHy28PBhzxeRtGEhry77vd1AMjmvlMYOjIRMRuORKBUC9xPUm17utBOt-2PIcNXUATACDnKTCMZqb5QjHeu3xaCysyT3Ld8C4V_EWoMD_ImvAbKEPrYd46Xhkr1A/s400/atheists.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait, what?</td></tr>
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...and my brain resets. Atheists have their billboards too, simple things like reminding people that it's okay not to believe, they might even go so far as to call religion out for having been harmful or unnecessary, but they never threaten open revolt. Those of you who have been reading my atheist stuff for a while should remember that I belong to the school of thought that believes that there is plenty of room in our culture for religion, just so long as that religion doesn't try to inappropriately try to influence the government or actively try to ruin people's lives (I'm a big fan of reminding everyone that the Catholic church still hasn't done enough to stop kid fucking in their system). I think that's a balanced and even tone for an atheist, even most of my posts on here are just a lame attempt to explain something about us atheists to people who might not understand. There's no hatred here, I honestly don't care what you believe as long as you're not being a dick about it.<br />
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So, where does all this hatred come from? Why do some believers hate us so much? Some atheists seem to believe that the basis of that hatred is fear, just like Yoda says, that the fact that there is a group of productive and happy people who openly defy the will of their god undermines the belief that you need faith to be happy and productive. I don't know about that, but the things said about atheists are sometimes so silly that it's hard to even answer them, never mind taking someone who says this stuff seriously.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atheists, according to Fox News.<br />
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But who honestly believes that atheists are actively trying to murder your children? Turns out, plenty of people. Thomas Aquinas called unbelief the "greatest of sins", and the rhetoric has only gone up from there. Since time immemorial, atheists have been ostracized, tortured, and murdered simply for not believing. It's been done by a lot of religions with a lot of excuses, but it all comes down to the same thing, the believer's complete inability to empathize or understand why somebody would disagree with them. Here's an excellent example of how completely without reason their line of thinking is: </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seems legit. </td></tr>
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Stare at that for a second. We have a bald and angry man, chosen for the emotional response one gets while staring into his over-ham exposed face, and an interesting attempt at logic to show why being an atheist is stupid. You see, every atheist obviously hates god because they don't believe in him. Wait, maybe they don't believe in him because they hate him. See, being an atheist is silly.<br />
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Atheism is the first world view. You are born completely without understanding or knowledge, reliant upon your parents and your culture to imprint on you a world view. Every child is exposed to the religion of their parents and then grows up believing what they were told as a child, and some people seem to act like if you disagree with their religion, you're calling their parents morons (which, considering the number of morons on this planet, might actually be true).<br />
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And don't even get me started on the 'War on Christmas'. Saying there's a war on Christmas when it's already an eight week long economy masturbator and stolen collection of pagan rituals is borderline idiocy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somebody already got me started</td></tr>
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So, sometimes we get mad. Sometimes we fight back. And yet, when we do that, we play right into the hands of the pundits and they continue to paint us as terrorists and feminist promoters (I cannot underline enough how completely out of touch with reason some of these people are), they like to call us Nazis despite the fact that nobody takes the Nazi insult seriously and that Hitler was an open Catholic with support from the church. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Related</td></tr>
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Sure, sometimes a teenager will sue her school because of a bible verse located in the gymnasium after she asks nicely and they ignore her. I can see why this would piss off people (I can't see why this would piss off people), but the response was pages of death threats and insults to her social media accounts. Once again, she did something completely legal and protected by her constitutional rights, then many god fearing Americans decided to insult, threaten, and vilify a harmless teenager. You know, God's work.<br />
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And that's why were here. That's why I give a shit. Because there aren't any atheist groups threatening the lives of teenagers for any reason. So does that make me an atheist soldier? I don't know. But do I have a handful of jokes I tell on stage and a blog where I try to help us all get along? Absolutely. And if that makes me evil, maybe being evil isn't so bad after all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have cookies. Lots of cookies. </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-51434309909225744602012-06-19T12:52:00.001-06:002012-06-19T13:00:05.302-06:00What is an Atheist?<br />
An atheist is someone that lacks faith, someone who doesn't believe in something that other people do. When you have faith, you have confidence that something is true, you rely on it and expect things to happen the way you believe that it will. You have confidence in these things and your ethics, life choices, and daily habits are all influenced by this thing that you feel to be true. But all of these things are tied up into emotion, and emotion, as any tantrum throwing child could tell you, doesn't do much to change reality. <br />
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An atheist lacks these feelings. But can we label someone based on their lack of an emotion? To be fair, there are a lot of links in any search engine where a theist will attempt to justify that faith is not an emotion, however the root of the word lies in Latin where it essentially means 'to trust', and trust is not based in reality any more than the promises of all of the ex-girlfriends that I used to have faith in. The label itself is fairly silly, but it we use it because it simplifies conversation and, at heart, primates are pretty lazy. <br />
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<i>But what about the middle ground, can I be agnostic?</i><br />
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Sure, agnosticism is about knowledge. Faith is a light switch, you either have the feelings or you don't, there is no middle ground, but most people are agnostic because not knowing everything is pretty normal in our corner of the universe. There are even Gnostic Christians around, people who assert that they have evidence of God based upon the facts found in his writings, my father is one of them, but most Christians rely on faith and not knowledge because metaphor is a lot more flexible than trying to defend the biblical assertion that the bat is a bird (Leviticus 11:13-19) or any of the <a href="http://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Scientific_errors_in_the_Bible" target="_blank">other inaccuracies</a> that keep the Bible from being taken seriously as a scientific source. <br />
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A lot of intelligent scientists and atheists have labelled themselves as agnostics because they are educated enough to know the difference between the two words, but they are still atheists in that they lack faith. As a matter of fact, I would suggest to you that even considering yourself an agnostic (by the normal usage of the word) means that you lack enough faith to be counted amongst the faithful, so you automatically fall in with the rest of us. The problem here is one of perspective, people have a tendency to simplify thoughts that they don't entirely understand, so agnosticism as been thrown out there as a middle ground between those that believe and everybody else when, in reality, it's another thing entirely.<br />
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<i>Do atheists have faith?</i> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: a gross over-simplification of something that most of us don't entirely understand. Not faith.</td></tr>
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In the beginning there was something, probably, and then something happened, we think. It seems to make sense that since we're here now that something had to cause that, and our species has collectively done a lot of work to get as much information as possible as to where we all came from, but we can only go back so far before the laws of physics break down and we aren't exactly sure what happened before that. This isn't faith because it has nuance and changes with facts, even the theories about the history of reality before that aren't considered faith because nobody believes in them. Faith is what you rely on when you don't know something, even if that feeling itself is so strong that you have certainty, it's origin are based in something else entirely. And this is why atheists are always asking for evidence, because in the absence of our shared emotion, the only thing we have to share is something tangible that might change the facts that we have accumulated about the world. Faith can be learned, it can be instilled, it can be challenged, but it is mostly used to fill in the gaps of things that cannot be known for sure, because it is disconcerting to admit that we just don't know something. <br />
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So, what is an atheist? Well, I'm an atheist, and so is everyone else who isn't born with the feelings of God (protip: everybody that has ever been born) that is, until someone convinces them otherwise. Atheism makes no claims, has no rules, is not an organization (although a branch of us are becoming a lot more organized), and accepts as default everyone who doesn't claim a specific faith. So that's what an atheist is, just somebody who doesn't feel the same way that you do. Funny how it's such a big thing.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-86458467414139046172012-05-31T15:19:00.001-06:002012-05-31T15:19:11.787-06:00Interview with Us Dudes Like ThingsI was interviewed! Atheist talk starts at 16:30 and pretty much goes the rest of the way....<br />
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<a href="http://www.usdudeslikethings.com/2012/05/episode-18-mikey-pullman-and-aaron.html" target="_blank">Watch it here!</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-36641804463517819932012-02-21T10:56:00.001-07:002012-02-21T11:14:37.468-07:00Are atheists afraid of death?It's happened to all of us. You're casually driving along on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, enjoying the fresh air and singing along to the music. The light turns green and you start through the intersection. Suddenly, a scream of tires and brakes rips you from your tranquil mood. You look to the left and directly into the terrified eyes of a teenager who was too distracted to notice his light had changed until it was too late. Somehow he misses you and you pull over. You can feel the adrenaline flood your system, your hands start to shake as you pull out your cell phone and call somebody.<br />
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Over the next few days you realize what a boring story this is. At first people seem to care because it just happened and you're still close enough to it to sound excited, but sooner or later the novelty wears off. You lose a few nights of sleep over it, but eventually everything goes back to normal.<br />
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Or maybe he hits you. In some cases you wake up in a hospital, maybe somebody who was in the car with you doesn't ever wake up again. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wasn't speeding officer, I promise.</td></tr>
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Or maybe you're the teenager, I was. I just wasn't paying attention. I misjudged how fast somebody was coming down the road and pulled my station wagon out right in front of them. The driver of the other vehicle left a long streak of tire marks when he somehow expertly dodged around me at 60mph and continued on down the road. I pulled off to the side of the road completely terrified. This misjudgment changed my perspective long enough for me shift everything I was doing and to quickly propose to my first wife. I had looked into the abyss, peacefully waiting to embrace me for eternity, and I was afraid. Life is too short, I thought, anything could happen. <br />
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It is natural for life to decay, age, and expire. There are billions of organisms living on your skin and inside your organs as you're reading this. They live, feed, breed, and die constantly. Without them you wouldn't be healthy, but they are effectively invisible and an individual lifeform passing means nothing to you. Why should it?<br />
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Over 16,000 children die from hunger every single day. You don't have enough capacity in your heart to care about this. It's horrible and, if some commercial on televisions forces you to watch a kid with emaciated fingers pawing at a crust of bread, they might guilt you into giving them some money, but you can't wander the planet all day counting a new dead child every 1.5 seconds, you would rightfully go mad before dinner. But it matters, doesn't it?<br />
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If someone you care deeply about passes, your life is shattered, sometimes forever. One of my grandmothers woke up to a corpse one morning and never got married again. She's slowly losing her mind, but somewhere inside of her are the memories. Sometimes she calls me by his name.<br />
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I know it's taken me a long time to get to the point. I'm only 34, but one of my friends recently had her first heart attack, and two weeks ago my 88 year old grandfather fell nine feet off of a ladder and may never have complete use of his arm again. He served in the Navy in WWII, owned and operated a brick company with his brothers and father. He was always a tough guy and yesterday somebody and to stop by the house to give him a sponge bath, and it made him tired. There are no more ladders in his life, but he lost his father and brothers years ago. <br />
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So are atheists afraid of death? They tell me that there are no atheists in foxholes, easily proved wrong when you talk to atheist soldiers, but it's something that gets thrown at us a lot.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember?</td></tr>
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Sometimes when you're talking to the faithful on twitter, they like to vomit out the "You'll change your mind on your deathbed, you just wait", like I haven't already tasted it before. Last year I went to the ER at the end of a three hour asthma attack. As the team of highly trained professionals worked on me, there was one no-nonsense nurse with a Nebulizer calmly reassuring me that I just needed to slow down and breathe, but I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. If you haven't had a severe asthma attack, I wouldn't recommend it. My attention was flitting from trying to slow down my breathing, to the calm eyes of my nurse, to the terrified eyes of my girlfriend who I dragged out of bed too damn early in the morning. She had wanted me to wait for her to finish putting on makeup. I yelled at her and she finally took me seriously. I found out later that she thought I was faking, there's a lot of reasons we're not together anymore, but in that moment the scariest thing to me wasn't dying, it was that our last conversation was going to be me yelling at her about her stupid makeup. I wanted her to know that I loved her, that everything would be okay. My self defense mechanisms are sarcasm and humor, neither of which work when half your face is obscured and there's an ER doctor stoically checking your oxygen levels. A small eternity later we got out of the danger zone and everybody started to relax. I felt the tension leave the room at the exact same rate as that my breath started to come back. Afterwards the doctor told me that in ten more minutes I would have stopped breathing altogether. Just another day in the ER.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrPtkT4H_K8POeNyKdASO_g6RTgh69HvkGCLCYeop1yJP4wMgZaJl2kd071JRu_4PAF8iui203Ubx305J7YxTEBZgeWe27Pkya_w0zI4Gu96WNqfmt5aWGBzqnVacXJSlGGE5cv39bLY/s1600/prevention-exercise-induced-asthma-6290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrPtkT4H_K8POeNyKdASO_g6RTgh69HvkGCLCYeop1yJP4wMgZaJl2kd071JRu_4PAF8iui203Ubx305J7YxTEBZgeWe27Pkya_w0zI4Gu96WNqfmt5aWGBzqnVacXJSlGGE5cv39bLY/s1600/prevention-exercise-induced-asthma-6290.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I use one of these now, so I'm basically almost Darth Vader</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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My health issues contributed to the dissolution of my relationship which led to me currently living in a tiny basement apartment and writing this for you on the back of a cardboard box. But you know what I never thought about once? God. At no time during any of it did I pray or beg for something to rescue me. The calm in the center of my mind was positive that even if I had passed out they had other means to rescue me, I still don't know if this is true or not, but I was more focused on the strong voice of my nurse, the confidence in the stance of my doctor, and the fear in the eyes of my love, to waste time thinking about something miraculous happening. And when it was done, the doctor wanted me to stay for observation but we had a party to host in a few hours, I thanked everybody and we went home. I slept through most of the party. <br />
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I can't speak for all atheists when I say that I'm not afraid of death. I have a myriad of chronic health issues and have had my share of depressive episodes and near suicides, but I do know one thing: We don't talk about death. Not ever. There are a lot of clever quotes from atheists about death, but at no point does a group of us normally bring up the subject. Death exists, it is a normal part of the cycle, but it is just one part. Atheists believe that life is all that we have, that the feelings of the dead are the same as the feelings of those that are not yet born. We don't hold rituals where we drink the blood of a god to cleanse us for the afterlife, we don't wear magic underwear or promise each other virgins (overrated!) when we die, and we certainly don't martyr ourselves in the belief that an eternity of heaven awaits us. From our perspective, everyone else seems to be obsessed with death, but when our number is finally up, I think most of us would rather have lived a full life than fear what happens after.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-25256253253981658062012-02-06T10:00:00.000-07:002012-02-06T10:52:38.613-07:00Does science require faith?<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week a picture was circulated around my
neighborhood of Facebook. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lrvID4Up2v1HyuX3bmI8PtwmTuEuOZYun_Dq9qX7BAGhCOHCkEjer9mTQgZClTVUF9EW-AjrmtzVLyK2LijIgFAqzaIyKKHFiPU-55Ysf_5-n_TGQuryolZQh91ADOFOkGV9V5pTHqY/s1600/424234_10151224003645117_302201620116_22567613_1631275421_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lrvID4Up2v1HyuX3bmI8PtwmTuEuOZYun_Dq9qX7BAGhCOHCkEjer9mTQgZClTVUF9EW-AjrmtzVLyK2LijIgFAqzaIyKKHFiPU-55Ysf_5-n_TGQuryolZQh91ADOFOkGV9V5pTHqY/s400/424234_10151224003645117_302201620116_22567613_1631275421_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one right here.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It immediately spawned two conversations with believers and
I, of course, gleefully joined in the fun. Both discussions were interesting in
their own way, I do love a good argument, but one of them really stuck with me
because it underlined one of the many difficulties people have when discussing
science and religion, and that problem is language.</div>
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It started out simple, we were having a discussion about
whether or not there was evidence for souls (protip: there isn’t), when this
guy popped in:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bX8o99f0IjXF0ATKNGrbXCC7UQFYJ8Rvhyphenhyphen_2cscT3-pQnVCF9GHjWcfAl5OaJ6EOlTAD4cpgq1Yv2OYqTX4qhuM2Wf2GRwkuksBTMwrpT2ItbcmZk2Yamr4WOceaDBmtkhwAodybbBI/s1600/Jason1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bX8o99f0IjXF0ATKNGrbXCC7UQFYJ8Rvhyphenhyphen_2cscT3-pQnVCF9GHjWcfAl5OaJ6EOlTAD4cpgq1Yv2OYqTX4qhuM2Wf2GRwkuksBTMwrpT2ItbcmZk2Yamr4WOceaDBmtkhwAodybbBI/s400/Jason1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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That's right, his contribution to the discussion on creation science, neurology, quantum physics,and souls, is "We may not be able to prove anything, but you don't know anything either". Now, as is typical of Internet arguments, everyone stopped the interesting argument we were having to engage the new guy. We all tried our own tactics of logic and reason, an atheists favorite game, but it didn't go anywhere. We tried explaining the difference between blind faith and verifiable evidence...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKHJk5ziye2cXTnacYK27VGljHGZNHF476UjXkMzKcjCBbfLxmirHUAQ42FbKtfImiLv-ZGao5tuXex4JwW40VpcPygW-OSkJrLPEEUpo54krKGIK66-09GyK81TdbBc9zlvEr_SMWJc/s1600/Jason3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKHJk5ziye2cXTnacYK27VGljHGZNHF476UjXkMzKcjCBbfLxmirHUAQ42FbKtfImiLv-ZGao5tuXex4JwW40VpcPygW-OSkJrLPEEUpo54krKGIK66-09GyK81TdbBc9zlvEr_SMWJc/s400/Jason3.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait, wat?</td></tr>
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And here is where we run into a little problem that the English language has created for us. This gentleman is someone I've known casually for a few years. He's not an idiot, but he's clearly not highly educated either. He was surrounded on all sides with researched and practiced atheists, and in these things everybody just wants to be right, so all he was left with was something that he felt couldn't be disproved: the only things that we truly have evidence for are the things that we ourselves have experienced, all the rest requires an element of faith, thus, faith is both normal and prudent. </div>
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But that isn't what faith is at all. There is a difference between faith and reasonable belief, and all real science is based upon reasonable belief. He goes further to say that he WOULD listen to us, but he doesn't have to because none of us are scientists. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCOr_deWs54AsMKtHCs0-Wm7WTXnfTTY_GeRuJ898XQRHXrCLYb8bnqFErIuAkBj1-bZaA_QUTNuJy-aJW6hUcqwXPyTBDphjDuQPFlP2vj-A-yEt3D0MNPsg9i3HLb3Ww8CxlgF9TDI/s1600/Jason4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCOr_deWs54AsMKtHCs0-Wm7WTXnfTTY_GeRuJ898XQRHXrCLYb8bnqFErIuAkBj1-bZaA_QUTNuJy-aJW6hUcqwXPyTBDphjDuQPFlP2vj-A-yEt3D0MNPsg9i3HLb3Ww8CxlgF9TDI/s400/Jason4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice that someone 'liked' this. That's when I knew we had a problem.</td></tr>
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When I leave to start my car in the morning, it's not faith that I have walking out the front door. I know barely anything about the mechanics of my vehicle, but I have a reasonable belief that everything is in working order and enough rudimentary knowledge of the physics behind it to expect it to continue functioning. The difference between myself and a mechanic or engineer who designs motor vehicles is collected knowledge and experience. If I do know something about how a car works, let's say the car battery, it is not considered invalid information just because I can't explain the rest of the car. And even the engineer herself didn't start off at the beginning, she jumped into a career where people were already building and designing cars, learned everything she had to, and started working in the field where she continued her education.She doesn't have to know how to make car paint, just how to apply that knowledge. There is just too much information for one person to know everything. Science works the same way. </div>
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A final parting shot from our antagonist...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOnGtjf4jaNP6mahfhM4lvzVpfFup10x8S2uEpTfXU-CoaNqZmY0M1IJdVU4laDeEMASSk__6UTuUN7DY7bewC7MVu0EqQnsqfKIjdGTiS_BEoTvtoHnAKYasdS8DxkDQbyIcKEULbRA/s1600/Jason5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOnGtjf4jaNP6mahfhM4lvzVpfFup10x8S2uEpTfXU-CoaNqZmY0M1IJdVU4laDeEMASSk__6UTuUN7DY7bewC7MVu0EqQnsqfKIjdGTiS_BEoTvtoHnAKYasdS8DxkDQbyIcKEULbRA/s400/Jason5.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*sigh*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So now, not only are we uneducated, but all of our knowledge that he doesn't understand was acquired through science fiction as opposed to valid sources. Not only this, but he raises the stakes. Now we have to prove Evolution (This has already been done, just speak to the nearest biologist or use <a href="https://www.google.com/#sclient=psy-ab&hl=en&safe=off&source=hp&q=proof+evolution&pbx=1&oq=proof+evol&aq=1&aqi=g4&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=0l0l1l204l0l0l0l0l0l0l0l0ll0l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_cp.,cf.osb&fp=20d79f0a81e4895c&biw=1304&bih=678" target="_blank">google</a> if you have any questions), disprove souls (It's impossible to disprove something that doesn't exist, which only underlines how we've been wasting our time here), and become brilliant scientists with MANY accolades. That's right, unless <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neil_deGrasse_Tyson" target="_blank">Neil deGrasse Tyson</a> himself wonders into this conversation, golden boy refuses to listen to anything we say. </div>
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I think I'll let someone else have the last word about this conversation...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCa2lVXuMSQj_2zhYx2mjC21j-QVVJ-IT-EiE_ng-aSdB_njv0OAxNZwOqSw13G8BtyiyADYrP8aikMPVe7VSJ71-DzhfiCpqGyIMVumJ12hrZ0_4Ee-Au2uek-SKYk_qOlldmhLQ5I9w/s1600/Jasonreply.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCa2lVXuMSQj_2zhYx2mjC21j-QVVJ-IT-EiE_ng-aSdB_njv0OAxNZwOqSw13G8BtyiyADYrP8aikMPVe7VSJ71-DzhfiCpqGyIMVumJ12hrZ0_4Ee-Au2uek-SKYk_qOlldmhLQ5I9w/s400/Jasonreply.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I try to stay away from direct insults, but that doesn't mean I don't agree with them.</td></tr>
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And it all comes down to our antagonist's understanding of what the word 'faith' means. Faith is a belief not based on truth. It is not faith to believe that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow, that is an expected occurrence. To burden 'faith' with every nuance of "things that are believed" is to make the word lose all meaning. There is also a misunderstanding of how scientists use the word 'theory' and how the rest of us do. In science a theory is a highly tested hypothesis, so even things we consider facts like gravity are always considered theories. When your typical person uses the word theory, they mean some idea they've just had, and it is easy for those uneducated in scientific terminology to confuse the definitions. This ignorance is frequently exploited by the Intelligent Design crowd who like to cast doubt on evolution because it is considered a theory, highly tested and verifiable as that might mean, and your average citizen has no idea that there's any difference.</div>
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Well, now you do. To be clear, science is not a construction of faith because there are people testing it for weak spots every single day. It is stretching the definition of faith to say that my knowledge in science is based on faith because I myself am not a scientist. I hope that clears everything up, although I doubt it will for our friend here, because I don't have many accolades. Yet. </div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-47939556031892460402012-01-25T13:51:00.000-07:002012-01-25T14:07:50.812-07:00Why people make fun of religion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrGbcd9TatLosxPsWZBokVuQxfNzNAJhUw2k0l676m4tO3OZfxcEh0hNHw0TM8CzLqJjcRdaZ2TMDBVJIyY3rwnnnsIiIoiF_aKZmdpshYeKtMjV9Dsazk3M7473UMTr9JBaw68IFwZ8/s1600/Popethrone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
A lot of people like to make fun of religion and religious people do not like that AT ALL. But why not? After all, every single religion operates in the closed minded belief that they are the only ones who actually know the real truth, and that the rest of us are misguided fools or stupendously ignorant. If you acted like this for any other reason people would never take you seriously, but faith wants to be respected and I just won't go along with that.<br />
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Many people take these attacks personally, like they are somehow representative of their entire faith. It's not that, it's just that there are too many things that beg to be mocked. As a comedian, I love picking apart things, and religion is always a fun subject. Following are three of the reasons I can currently think of that make it okay to mock religion.<br />
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<b>1.) The Pope</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrGbcd9TatLosxPsWZBokVuQxfNzNAJhUw2k0l676m4tO3OZfxcEh0hNHw0TM8CzLqJjcRdaZ2TMDBVJIyY3rwnnnsIiIoiF_aKZmdpshYeKtMjV9Dsazk3M7473UMTr9JBaw68IFwZ8/s1600/Popethrone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrGbcd9TatLosxPsWZBokVuQxfNzNAJhUw2k0l676m4tO3OZfxcEh0hNHw0TM8CzLqJjcRdaZ2TMDBVJIyY3rwnnnsIiIoiF_aKZmdpshYeKtMjV9Dsazk3M7473UMTr9JBaw68IFwZ8/s320/Popethrone.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where would Jesus sit?</td></tr>
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Somewhere on this planet is an old man sitting on a golden throne making decisions that influence the lives of millions of people. He is not beholden to any governmental body, he's elected for life, and he has followers in leadership positions across the globe. His organization is repeatedly in trouble for molesting children <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Catholic_sex_abuse_cases_by_country" target="_blank">all over he damn place</a> and then <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/fighting_words/2010/03/the_great_catholic_coverup.html" target="_blank">covering it up</a> afterwards. Nobody knows how many people have left the church over this issue but, the more it happens, the more I wonder why the true faithful haven't cast down their leadership and replaced them with people who don't allow children's lives to be ruined. If any other organization other than a church did this kind of thing this often, this widespread, the entire world would shun them.<br />
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And let's not forget how many lives are forced into this world because the Catholic church refuses to allow their members to do any family planning. The world is over populated in many places, poor people are burdened with extra mouths they cannot feed, and the best defense against Aids in Africa is thrown right out the door because the Pope thinks that condoms are somehow the work of Satan.<br />
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And please note I'm not even remotely touching on anything that happened before I was born. History is full of examples where the Catholic faith was responsible for horrendous deeds. <br />
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You are always allowed to make fun of the Pope until he sells everything he owns to feed the poor, just like Jesus told him to. <br />
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<b>2.) Hypocrisy</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6NsYygJrRyfJ8bXnFpxUMhaoYg-BPTngzCIkW1IF-zVE0__bBDTfmqWtphbG0YrbUpZFWvjEned7F2ilDNW_UzexCCOctDO-CEVivD5Va66P5PF3-byMjROT-ot1a7K_cxQn_gZOktg/s1600/206115_2097375966409_1605687346_2062460_3219828_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6NsYygJrRyfJ8bXnFpxUMhaoYg-BPTngzCIkW1IF-zVE0__bBDTfmqWtphbG0YrbUpZFWvjEned7F2ilDNW_UzexCCOctDO-CEVivD5Va66P5PF3-byMjROT-ot1a7K_cxQn_gZOktg/s320/206115_2097375966409_1605687346_2062460_3219828_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's only one rule. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Long time readers know that I started my own satirical <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/FHCoC/?notif_t=group_activity" target="_blank">Facebook page</a> specifically to make fun of this one thing. The amount of hypocrisy in the world is appalling. Every single time I see someone like Newt Gingrich talk about family values when he has <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/24/jon-stewart-newt-gingrich-south-carolina-debate-hypocrisy_n_1227547.html" target="_blank">three overlapping marriages</a>, I want to throw my television out the window. And I have a large television and very small windows. We all know by now that the louder someone yells about gay people, the less we have to wait for them to get caught with a gay prostitute. And it doesn't end with people who claim to love you so much they want to beat the crap out of you for being different either. Here in the U.S. there is a direct correlation to how religious the state is to how racist it is. Politicians and other idiots will gladly speak both hate and religion in the same paragraph, all with a nice little "God Bless You" to tie it together. <br />
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This behavior is most common when I get into discussions online with the faithful. Even the smallest disagreement, or sometimes even a question, is frequently met with open hostility and rage. If, for instance, I point out that the same books in the bible that dictate our sexual behaviors also tell us that we aren't allowed to shave, wear mixed fabrics, AND give us rules for selling our daughters into slavery, so maybe they aren't the best standard for modern behavior, I am frequently met with a stubborn insistence that I should just shut up instead of challenging their belief that gay people are evil.<br />
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Occasionally someone will blow up an abortion clinic, killing plenty
innocent people, most who are there for regular medicinal stuff, and
they still have the audacity to do it in the name of the 'Pro-lifers'.
As a matter of fact, the Pro-life movement pays the smallest amount of
lip-service to calling these psychos the terrorists that they are. Go to
ANY comment section where religion is discussed and you'll see
countless examples of open hatred towards people who just believe
differently. This is not only hypocrisy, but scary. <br />
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And, let me set this straight, you are always allowed to mock people who say one thing then do the opposite. If you establish a rule, you must follow it. If you claim to love all creatures and then slap someone in the face, you deserve everything people decide to say about you. Especially if it upsets you.<br />
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<b>3.) Logic</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9RJFK-cNBh4q4_XvLGHmjr7LC0Xd-7kbs334a-JJvh_ajuz36ojE_WzHKg17HRsZevHTAGiLOyxSzgmhy5nG5Za3nGUbJ_NcSRQRWhaMOS5Gm4IAr5kYmZkpkwq9WQReupDZWWL273w/s1600/35ovqb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9RJFK-cNBh4q4_XvLGHmjr7LC0Xd-7kbs334a-JJvh_ajuz36ojE_WzHKg17HRsZevHTAGiLOyxSzgmhy5nG5Za3nGUbJ_NcSRQRWhaMOS5Gm4IAr5kYmZkpkwq9WQReupDZWWL273w/s320/35ovqb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sure, whatever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In most countries, the faithful far outnumber the rest of us. For thousands of years we've been forced to quietly acquiesce to the will and opinions of the mob. Even last night, the President of the United States ended his speech asking God to bless us and to bless America. Despite the fact that almost no Christian in this country behaves as the Bible tells them to, you don't have to live here more than two hours before you run into the influence that these people have on our society. And, while most of the faithful of all religions are nice and decent people, it's the violent thugs that tend to be the loudest and most willing to decide things for you. Since this is an election year, I get to hear a major presidential candidate cry out against the application of sharia law in the exact same conversation that he insists that we use his religion as the basis for law.<br />
<br />
Logic and reasoned thought are the enemy of religion. It is actually the policy of most Intelligent Design 'Scientific' communities to automatically reject any evidence that disagrees with what they already believe. If we ever have the technology to build a wormhole to send probes back into the past to visually record dinosaurs 73 millions years ago, if these people are still alive the first words out of their mouths will be that the entire thing is fake. You could send them there and they would accuse you of drugging them. There is no way to get through to people who have made up their mind and refuse to listen to you.<br />
<br />
Eventually you get tired of foolishly trying to reason with the unreasonable, but you still have to deal with them every single day, so how do you deal with this? Well, if you're like most of us, you just make fun of them. Everybody else who secretly agrees with you gets a laugh and when the target of your mockery gets upset, at least you got a laugh out of it. It's just that simple. I'm not trying to make fun of your faith, I'm sure you're a friendly person who feels guilty for not calling their mother every week and tries real hard not to beat your children, just like the rest of us, but the next time you see something on the internet mocking your faith, please remember that's it not target at the normal people. It's for the douchebags who reduced us to this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xh9Pl3ffRk0RWv1qOHTiJdurWj-lrILABNzPYhT8rPsZ31aj3uYPr5JQjAvejdM-nvK5uVPQEZlE6oEysPZNbQvGwuqeUkeP3Eev92BnzLwrUe4OUqfJ8o6h2S4MJgEqn1DP0ONit_U/s1600/1314559793551.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xh9Pl3ffRk0RWv1qOHTiJdurWj-lrILABNzPYhT8rPsZ31aj3uYPr5JQjAvejdM-nvK5uVPQEZlE6oEysPZNbQvGwuqeUkeP3Eev92BnzLwrUe4OUqfJ8o6h2S4MJgEqn1DP0ONit_U/s320/1314559793551.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shocking, I know.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-28912434428424623402012-01-12T08:19:00.000-07:002012-01-12T08:53:10.372-07:00Why are atheists so smug?Atheists get called a lot of things, but arrogant and smug are two of the most common. I get where you're coming from by asking, the New Atheist movement has no problem shoving their opinions in everyone's face and, when you watch videos of Dawkins or Hitchens casually dismissing away thousands of years of belief as superstition, it doesn't sit well with the average believer who has built their life on a foundation of ritual and faith. There are also innumerable <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/FHCoC/" target="_blank">Facebook groups</a> created seemingly only for the reason of mocking faith, and the condescending attitude that we atheists cam have towards the faithful can be downright infuriating to those who don't understand us.<br />
<br />
So, in the interest of creating a greater understanding, here are a few of the reasons why I believe we atheists can be such dickbags when it comes to dealing with people who don't see the world like we do.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>1.) Santa Claus </b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjM9UzijuXA7uxU-gZiKk2s4ZEDzvBPXFADFN_a8fz4oZbrYhIdMvSmYk-FmNZc1TTgldSsuBslra_ZUhuxEPnfzLxsdfR1hHD4Yw-q0K6ghmiGjYZOukmbXukGZtEPtRH3OeUlyBcgs8/s1600/GetImage.aspx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjM9UzijuXA7uxU-gZiKk2s4ZEDzvBPXFADFN_a8fz4oZbrYhIdMvSmYk-FmNZc1TTgldSsuBslra_ZUhuxEPnfzLxsdfR1hHD4Yw-q0K6ghmiGjYZOukmbXukGZtEPtRH3OeUlyBcgs8/s400/GetImage.aspx.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how you teach your children not to trust everything you tell them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This first one is going to require a little bit of imagination on your part. Now, I understand that it's easy to get defensive about what you believe, but if you're really curious about what makes us tick, try to keep it bottled up and ignore the imperfections in the analogy.<br />
<br />
Imagine, if you will, a world in which almost everyone you knew never stopped believing in Santa Claus. When you drove to work, there would be posters of him everywhere, and his message of secretly watching you and your behavior for an upcoming judgement day would just casually slip out of the mouth of nearly everybody, from newscasters to politicians everyone believes in Santa. <br />
<br />
But here's the thing, you don't. Now, for the most part you can just ignore it, after all, what harm does it really do? But then you start noticing that an uncommonly large amount of daily discussion has to do with this mythical creature. You turn on the news and there's wars overseas over the names of his reindeer or what color he is. Santa's rules for who is naughty or nice seem kind of arbitrary or common sense, but people will straight up punch you in the face if you disagree with them.<br />
<br />
Most of the time you keep your mouth shut, but eventually everything just seems so silly. We've been to the North Pole, there's no sweatshop full of elves making toys. When you mention that at a family dinner, your mother tells you that parents buy the toys themselves and are happy to assist in Santa's good work. You want your mother to see the truth, but when you try to have a nice, logical discussion about it she clams up and you can see the disappointment in her eyes. Clearly she agrees with the community that if you don't believe that Santa is watching you every minute, there's no reason for you NOT to go on a murderous rape rampage any day.<br />
<br />
I know that sounds silly, but that's pretty close to the world that we live in. You might believe in God, you might not, but if you don't there is absolutely no way to talk about the subject without sounding like you know something everybody else doesn't, because that is exactly the way that you view the world. And when only one out of ten people agree with you, it can get very frustrating. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2.) SCIENCE!</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHS5iihwbVN3eqX_q6LmzWmmSOcTRy0bU2W9LbOCruweKUA6lFo80E9w5RlKmaHksCH9M2vU0uKvlayYNrCjLJ4kXZ5kiuwzy9wVgr5_614KiDjLggTbw8jXK7qdmRoFJdxnOZ-97dOVs/s1600/big2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHS5iihwbVN3eqX_q6LmzWmmSOcTRy0bU2W9LbOCruweKUA6lFo80E9w5RlKmaHksCH9M2vU0uKvlayYNrCjLJ4kXZ5kiuwzy9wVgr5_614KiDjLggTbw8jXK7qdmRoFJdxnOZ-97dOVs/s400/big2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think I can see my genome from here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Humans like to codify their existence. We've always enjoyed naming and then grouping things together, and there are few arguments more intense than over the minutia that separates two very similar things, thoughts, or ideas. We've been noticing patterns in reality for thousands of years and this has led to every single modern advancement, be it beer, cellphones, eyeglasses, or even the Internet you're using to read this. This conversation amongst ourselves has involved every single type of person, religious creed, sex, or nationality that wanted to get involved. It isn't owned by anybody and the advancement of knowledge could arguably be considered one of the best pursuits of our time on this planet. Science isn't a religion, it's the way of the human species. It's how we've grown and evolved from wandering groups of barbaric tribes to civilizations with robots in space.<br />
<br />
That being said, a lot of the war about religion takes place here and, while it's true that a lot of scientists are also atheists, it is not an atheist endeavor; there are many people of many faiths involved in the process and if you are ever interested in any aspect of it, the information is practically free for you to discover. The more you know about science, the more amazing the world around us is. So it seems strange to me that this is where the battles are most frequently waged, and the people with decades of experience, knowledge, and training, are somehow given less weight in the discussion when it happens in the public. If you watch a talk show about psychics there are going to be three or four charlatans well versed in duping the crowd, and exactly one person who everyone despises who will try to politely discuss how psychics work and nobody will listen to him. A politician can casually dismiss millions of man-hours of dedicated research, laboratory testing, and heated discussion hammering out theories that stand up to reality, many of them completed by people who believe exactly what he does, and the audience will actually cheer him for it. <br />
<br />
Let's pause on that for a second.<br />
<br />
There is no other occupation that I know of where the smartest people in the room are considered the least qualified people to listen to. Here in America over 50% of the GOP think <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/29/opinion/republicans-against-science.html" target="_blank">biologists are full of garbage.</a> Even the Catholic Church admits that evolution is true, and we even have <a href="http://evidenceforevolution.org/" target="_blank">evidence</a> of it, but that doesn't stop the faithful for dismissing the greatest achievements of human intelligence because it's too complicated for the uneducated to understand. People would instead rather trust the man behind the pulpit (not the molester, we have a new one) who tells them differently because of something he read in a book once. Apparently it's easier to believe that thousands of the smartest people in the entire world are somehow trying to scam the rest of us because, profit? I'm not sure how it works, but that seems to be the discussion. <br />
<br />
So, how do you talk to talk to someone who doesn't even believe in reality without sounding smug? I don't know, but it's difficult.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3.) Revenge. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizs-Sd-XOzgBK7a1QnvSA_XhijFX4yi25e7efXrjg_SSw4kN5kdTraaG9Y2VavDBiO2DHyB3VzP4H4q_jom_6eHrizK4bpHWJ7ZYIZLLhDJWPaMon5ha8aZU8MBE7tJH6y5A0EwgvjDo/s1600/5993634160_b5ddc68855_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizs-Sd-XOzgBK7a1QnvSA_XhijFX4yi25e7efXrjg_SSw4kN5kdTraaG9Y2VavDBiO2DHyB3VzP4H4q_jom_6eHrizK4bpHWJ7ZYIZLLhDJWPaMon5ha8aZU8MBE7tJH6y5A0EwgvjDo/s400/5993634160_b5ddc68855_z.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is why we get angry. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm going to be perfectly frank here: religion is about control. That's not necessarily a bad thing, parents have to watch their children, but unchecked authority rarely turns out well for the people involved. The list of crimes against religion are legion, and they are still happening <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/world/2010/09/06/french-foreign-minister-says-hell-save-iranian-woman-facing-execution/" target="_blank">every single day. </a><br />
Is it really arrogant to tell the same group of people who used to burn herbalists for being witches that it's superstition that makes them believe that a woman who owns a cat she so doesn't get the plague must be using the powers of Satan? Sure we don't believe that anymore, because of science, but when the conversation is brought into something that matters today, like who has permission to get married, the arguments against it are unscientific and superstitious. Sure the Bible suggests that we should kill gay people, but there are also a ton of verses that equate women to property, and we're mostly smart enough not to take those seriously anymore. You also aren't allowed to shave or wear mixed fibers in your clothing, but nobody marches in the street over those issues.<br />
<br />
Atheists and nonbelievers have been treated badly for thousands of years, almost worse than people tend to treat the heretics of a different (read: almost identical) faith. Now that we understand enough of the universe to be able to close many of the gaps in human knowledge, the conversation and deference to power have started to shift. New Atheists like myself aren't against you or even what we consider to be your quaint and harmless rituals and sacrifices, but when religion is still trying to control us when we know better, the conversation easily takes on a new and different flavor. <br />
<br />
If you've been grinding someone's face in the dirt for untold centuries you shouldn't complain when they start to fight back. And now, mostly thanks to the internet and free information, the numbers of nonbelievers are increasing every day. We don't try to actively convert most of them, all it takes is a simple internet search and everything that your religious leaders don't want you to know is right in front of you.<br />
<br />
And it's not smug to point at things if you're the only one who has their eyes open.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-14859855184904053612012-01-09T14:21:00.000-07:002012-01-09T14:21:19.254-07:004 ways to meet your lover.These are some of the strategies I've implemented in my quest for past relationships. These experiences are all drawn from my early days. I obviously operate from dumb luck and brass balls. <br />
<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>1.) Naivete</b> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwiTJsEUpsGd-T_dvtJlZHSU7i9TTxVsYIuFGsfYx78Damw2jyg81x1d5B1jxWxqpXNRVaxFV7ejIwoHYcSa6x863EpDYgqI3Ao_PX1GVP60NCWym0PZmm1QfYD2AV0WHhrc5HYKrz5Y/s1600/Cute_Kitten_Playing_Games.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwiTJsEUpsGd-T_dvtJlZHSU7i9TTxVsYIuFGsfYx78Damw2jyg81x1d5B1jxWxqpXNRVaxFV7ejIwoHYcSa6x863EpDYgqI3Ao_PX1GVP60NCWym0PZmm1QfYD2AV0WHhrc5HYKrz5Y/s400/Cute_Kitten_Playing_Games.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was cute and innocent too, once. Later: Sharp claws and pissing on things</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Who was it?<br />
<br />
My first girlfriend was a 19 year old premed student and was hands down one of the most attractive young women this homeschooler had ever seen. She was staying with her family through the summer and got a seasonal job at McDonald's where I was working at when I was 18.<br />
<br />
Strategy?<br />
<br />
None, I had no clue how to talk to women. The Australian surfer dude and Keanu Reeves wannabe found her to be the only girl who didn't respond to his six pack and accent, so he encouraged the virgin to go after her instead. He did everything to coach me ('Just TALK TO HER YOU IDIOT!!') but I had never even come close to asking a girl out in my life and she eventually just did it herself. <br />
<br />
Did it work?<br />
<br />
If by 'work', you mean 'chaste kissing' and having a pretty girl sit on my lap for the first time in my life, then yes. Our first date was a coffee at a local restaurant and I won her heart by not caring if she brought her kid sister. We saw each other the rest of the summer.<br />
<br />
What happened?<br />
<br />
She used to be a Wild Child and had converted to Mormonism after alcoholism and depression had almost led her to killing herself in high school, she believed her new faith had saved her life and it was everything to her. I was still 9/10ths of a Jesus Freak, and her heading back to BYU pressured us into trying to convert each other which led to the relationships demise. There were no hard feelings and I sent her off with the first Teddy Bear I owned as an infant. <br />
<br />
What did I learn?<br />
<br />
Damaged sexy women respond well to a healthy dose of chivalry. This being my first relationship, I started the mental femanese dictionary that I still use today. Also: Heartbreak sucks.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b> 2.) Prayer</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmX_kK9-f3aBCqLw5PCmIQTguESrkxmfHgBMNCzZNfkGXM_NARGieuE4sDFxEJq6ZLT3h-y52MTYN3UnIC3cV6XdQ_dkIQ2jdG5rD4Onlfod-L0PNgQYCQwqssXQ2AueopldmGcvZm-I/s1600/prayinghands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmX_kK9-f3aBCqLw5PCmIQTguESrkxmfHgBMNCzZNfkGXM_NARGieuE4sDFxEJq6ZLT3h-y52MTYN3UnIC3cV6XdQ_dkIQ2jdG5rD4Onlfod-L0PNgQYCQwqssXQ2AueopldmGcvZm-I/s1600/prayinghands.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best way to feel like you're contributing without doing a damn thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Who was it?<br />
<br />
My first wife. She was a nice girl and looked like a giant chipmunk with food stuffed in her cheeks.<br />
<br />
Strategy?<br />
<br />
Starting when I was aprox. 14 I prayed for my future wife every single day. It wasn't hell or damnation that kept me from pursuing women, but the belief in predestination and that if I even touched another woman it was like cheating on my future spouse. Pretty messed up, I know.<br />
<br />
Did it work?<br />
<br />
Technically yes. Someone did some matchmaking between the two virgins that they knew and we ended up making out on our first date (a home viewing of the movie, 8 seconds. I still don't know how that movie ends). Our relationship grew stronger after her adopted family (She was raised by her aunt and uncle after her mother was considered too much of an alcoholic and the state of Illinois took her away) and her started fighting and she ran away. I never knew where she was, but the resulting stress kept us together and we ended up getting married less than a year after dating, two days after she turned 18. Also, we were virgins and had no idea what the hell we were doing. I convinced myself it was God's will and the rest was history.<br />
<br />
What happened?<br />
<br />
She really wasn't into the whole church thing and it turns out she felt like our domestic lifestyle was stealing her youth and she broke up with me so she could go out partying with her friends. We lost touch almost immediately and the last time I saw her she was with her new family over ten years later with a small swarm of children and an even bigger ass. She looked happy. <br />
<br />
What did I learn?<br />
<br />
Like the lady said, love just isn't enough. I also learned that sometimes someone will leave you without telling you there's even a problem because they care enough about you to try to work through it, which goes against what they selfishly want to happen. Also, being divorced makes you like 10X more cynical. I also figured out that you can't have premarital sex if you've been divorced already, which lead me to doing a lot of really fun things down the road.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3.) P.R. dept. </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo9TfqUzgUHjLGtREF6w08KEGmCCcnqlNvMvcqwsWJ3Rx4wbjF3ywBTJsFy5ichYmRHLM-CZV0ur6N14hm0G8187xJ8m7hyphenhyphen4uEtHqUr9mPoPlXvwq6PbDBU-1yaQQ0XKQs6g2oOwPiEU/s1600/butt_20food1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo9TfqUzgUHjLGtREF6w08KEGmCCcnqlNvMvcqwsWJ3Rx4wbjF3ywBTJsFy5ichYmRHLM-CZV0ur6N14hm0G8187xJ8m7hyphenhyphen4uEtHqUr9mPoPlXvwq6PbDBU-1yaQQ0XKQs6g2oOwPiEU/s320/butt_20food1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture will mean something different to you after the following entry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Who was it?<br />
<br />
Before my first wife and I even finalized our divorce I had quit my job, started waiting tables, started smoking, and had an entirely new set of friends. Like most large groups of friends, it was held together by the female relationships and I love me some girlfriends. There are a few stories that fit this model, but I'm going to talk about the one focused on Anal Sex. <br />
<br />
Strategy?<br />
<br />
I was the sweet young guy who gets his heart broken and armors himself with cynicism, but I have always loved women and make friends with them easily. My personal code of ethics at the time prevented me from sleeping with my friends, but women love to promote the decent guys that they know and I started dating a LOT of my friends' friends. <br />
<br />
Did it work?<br />
<br />
It still works as a great way to meet people. As a matter of fact, this is my preferred route. It's easier to build up great friendships with people and to casually be introduced to all of their friends than to have to filter out all the assholes yourself. This worked a lot better in my 20's before everybody's friends got married and had kids, but now that I'm in my 30's everybody is getting divorced and finally catching up to me.<br />
<br />
What happened?<br />
<br />
The best story is the three week relationship with a moody girl who was trying to re-establish her relationship with God so was trying to keep her virginity, so we were only allowed to have anal sex. And we had a lot of anal sex. Quite frankly, those three weeks removed the taboo aspect of it for me so I can pretty much take it or leave it. Also, she was pretty crazy and it just didn't work out. <br />
<br />
What did I learn?<br />
<br />
How to Anal correctly. No, seriously, that's all I learned from this one. Since then, I've been trusted enough to introduce this into several relationships (it's always been their idea), which only backfired once when one of my ex's discovered she got her most powerful orgasms that way and never stopped shoving her butt in my face. So, there's that. <br />
<br />
<b> </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b> 4.)</b> <b>Bond, James Bond.</b> <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpr3O6LHrV4zlIgeG-IQvfAtPHn20BkKVT2P47o8NJWGAYNMIt5qAkQv-qx7EkDN8BMyyzn9pTVyRR4xNHUe98jjpKn3VTwH2xiwYJvnkmbG_utkGn_VToxbSMYPmIYLYakd-lG72uF3Y/s1600/drymartini_fixed.719zx4knzhc0cc0sg88cgsccw.1t2d5xazl8jocw4gwsk0o0gss.th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpr3O6LHrV4zlIgeG-IQvfAtPHn20BkKVT2P47o8NJWGAYNMIt5qAkQv-qx7EkDN8BMyyzn9pTVyRR4xNHUe98jjpKn3VTwH2xiwYJvnkmbG_utkGn_VToxbSMYPmIYLYakd-lG72uF3Y/s1600/drymartini_fixed.719zx4knzhc0cc0sg88cgsccw.1t2d5xazl8jocw4gwsk0o0gss.th.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll take her shaken AND stirred.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><br />
Who was it?<br />
<br />
Resident overworked and oversexed Denny's waitress. <br />
<br />
Strategy?<br />
<br />
Wanting to take control of this whole dating thing, I simply started mimicking the most charming character I had ever seen or read about, James Bond. We have absolutely nothing in common, but you would be amazed at how far eye contact, unshakeable confidence, and a charming sense of humor will get you with the opposite sex. This is my go-to personality when I'm interested in someone and every girlfriend I have ever had will tell you how charming I can be when it suits me. Gentlemen, this is the answer to the question, 'why does that average looking guy get so many attractive women?' <br />
<br />
Did it work?<br />
<br />
Fuck yes this works. In this scenario I had just finished working security at the local gay bar for New Years Eve, I think I still had lipstick on my cheeks from all the drag queens who wanted to kiss me that night and I left it on there because why the hell wouldn't you? My best friend and I went to grab a bite and the waittress came up to our table with a quip, I responded in turn and, just like in the movies, skip forward a bit to some of the most amazing sex of all time. Despite the fact that she did this kind of thing whenever she wanted to, later she admitted to sex addiction, the difference between enjoying someone and being invisible is sometimes separated only by your ability to straight up act like a boss.<br />
<br />
What did I learn?<br />
<br />
That playing with women was more interesting than the RPG group I used to hang out with. This was before WOW took all of my nerdy friends away and we had to meet in person to nerd out. Boobs just happen to be a lot more interesting in person than dice and Orcs. I also learned that adults can sexually explore each other without being emotionally attached, which incidentally led to both some of the best stories that have ever happened to me. More on that later. <br />
<br />
<br />
------------------------------<br />
<br />
When I put it out there like this, you can actually watch my evolution with women. These experiences led me to become comfortable around women and confident in my ability to make things enjoyable for both of us. I'm not always so good at the long term stuff, but meeting people only gets easier. I have since earned my Friends With Benefits badge several times and have taken a stab at a second marriage and several other 2-3 year relationships. I was going to stop writing about dating for a while, but my previous blogs have come up in conversation several times since then, and you might as well give them what they want. And that's the best advice ever.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-60592716734685158772011-12-20T09:52:00.000-07:002011-12-20T10:01:13.053-07:00First verse is the best verse! (Being Single Pt. 5)<br />
I would like to thank everybody who reached out to me after my last post, especially to the two men who told me about their own experiences, thank you for that. I'm back now and those feelings are buried where they belong.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvEtvHpRkfig6FkU-gDmNdqSdHdhGdPNNyz01JziR9I8AEjs4-_VaJxoO-JLnMkW0qGZ6Y4SnZCTid3CiBgKMbH5i1kHvM3EJudf8DGLbTIOaQ-Kq4SVOaJOcR-zw6HJIjEZj46LjAFw/s1600/Apollo_11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvEtvHpRkfig6FkU-gDmNdqSdHdhGdPNNyz01JziR9I8AEjs4-_VaJxoO-JLnMkW0qGZ6Y4SnZCTid3CiBgKMbH5i1kHvM3EJudf8DGLbTIOaQ-Kq4SVOaJOcR-zw6HJIjEZj46LjAFw/s400/Apollo_11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the Mooooooooooon, </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I also got a chance to talk to three of my exes, and it was interesting to see how they responded to it. I was with each of these women for at least two years....<br />
<br />
The first ex started a conversation with me via text, genuinely concerned about my well being, making sure I was in a good place, and saying a lot of nice things about myself (She once again thanked me for being so wonderful to her while we were still together and apologized for not treating me as well). She's a happy mother and wife now; she met the guy only a few weeks after we split up, but I was never sore about it. Life is funny like that sometimes. She has normal life struggles and a cute family. I like her husband, and even gave him a guitar once. <br />
<br />
The second ex wrote me a long email, not wanting to interfere with my life (she goes on adventures into other countries like a bad-ass, but we always seem to get back into touch). We had a very heartfelt conversation (where she also thanked me for treating her so fantastically), but she also wanted to make sure that I was doing well and was genuinely concerned about me. She's always one of my favorite people. <br />
<br />
The third ex, however, decided to take a different route. Her entire text was, 'Well written. Would have been useful information to know before we got together.'. Now my reply, 'I didn't know this was about you.' made her call and explain that she didn't mean to sound incredibly self-absorbed and selfish, she just isn't good with words. I never found out if her text meant she would have erased our entire lives together if she knew I had trust issues (a weird thing for a rape victim to tell somebody), or if she would have attempted to overcome them. Considering her lack of empathy towards me most of the time we were together, I know which one I think it is, but I'm sure she'll let me know after she reads this. I don't know if we're capable of ever being friends again. <br />
<br />
But I didn't write this to make one of exes look bad. Ex3 is a pretty cool chick like 93% of the time. I wrote this to talk about my favorite part of the relationship, the beginning.....<br />
<br />
I met these women in three very different ways (School, Myspace, Drinking on a Monday afternoon), and all of them ended very differently (Leaving me after she met somebody else, Failed marriage, aborted pregnancy after we split up), but some of the feelings towards the beginning were very similar. <br />
<br />
New relationships are about discovery and hope, watching parts of yourself long dormant awaken to new possibilities, and lots of intense sex. You find yourself looking for similarities, trying to connect with this person on every level possible. Conversations run long into the night, your eating habits get thrown off, and your entire brain starts to rewire itself because of this one thing. You start to bore your friends, the ones who don't get jealous, and you might even fall of the face off the earth entirely if you don't know how to keep balance in your life. <br />
<br />
Despite the massive difference in the ways these three relationships started and ended, the intensity of the first few months, that elusive honeymoon period, helped to keep the relationships afloat for quite a while. Incidentally, Ex1 and Ex2 both had pretty nasty endings. Ex2 was already sleeping with her next boyfriend before I even moved out, and I think I broke up with Ex1 about six times before it finally stuck (I actually told her the last time we got together that I was only doing it so that I could be mean enough to her for her to figure out for herself that we would never, ever work out. It didn't take very long after that). Ex3 made some interesting choices before we split up, but her complete disregard for my feelings certainly helped me run out the door. In each of these scenarios I specifically remember the immense river of emotions and happiness that comprised our early relationship. I have vivid memories of colors being brighter and everything we did together meant something, like it was fated. <br />
<br />
Listen, I'm an Atheist and I love me some Science. I know that it's all chemicals and psychology, but when did that ever make drugs less interesting? <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JKVy73rBZt_INDqVQx8PuYbaNnamFKwpwSRrrukUAV_7ObDES7Qovath1_LfytufVTo8kRh9up8XSA-fwZuSzCJj3Sa_d8e4ZRazb8sOzNiiEzl3l2tjZc8C8Twwnn67E9HB-JZUg3E/s1600/1285634818755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JKVy73rBZt_INDqVQx8PuYbaNnamFKwpwSRrrukUAV_7ObDES7Qovath1_LfytufVTo8kRh9up8XSA-fwZuSzCJj3Sa_d8e4ZRazb8sOzNiiEzl3l2tjZc8C8Twwnn67E9HB-JZUg3E/s640/1285634818755.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Answer: Never.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And here's the thing. I know that the Honeymoon phase can last. I've seen people recreate those emotions with someone over and over again, each time after it drifts away they keep finding new and creative ways to bring it back. We're all human and full of faults, some more than others granted, but everybody loves being there, so why is this illusion so difficult to maintain?<br />
<br />
I remember the exact moment it shattered when I was with Ex1 because she commented on it as it happened. We were driving towards a bank in east Boise and I said something mean and cranky in a sarcastic reply to something. "That's it", she said. "That was the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end, if that's how you want to look at it." I denied it of course, I imagine myself pouting here as I valiantly try to defend the best phase of our relationship. But even as I struggled to defend that Straw Man Ambush, a little itch in the back of my skull told me she was right. And she was right, I already had enough resentment built up inside of me for the bile to start spilling out of my big, stupid mouth. And once that resentment gets entrenched, there's always a film of it resting somewhere and it's hard to get back to where everything looks fresh and new again.<br />
<br />
Ex1 was right and it only got worse from there. I put up with some behaviors that were completely unacceptable to me for quite a while. As the issue grew progressively worse the intensity of that conflict erupted into several large arguments, almost always ending with a new profession of heartfelt emotion and a promise of things to change. But promises are easily broken and eventually there was just too much burning resentment inside of me for it to ever work out between us. We wanted it to, but it just wasn't possible anymore. <br />
<br />
And here is where I think some of my own problems might lie. Maybe the problem isn't that people do things that build resentment, maybe the issue is learning how to get rid of it once it's there and learning how to live with what's left. I can't imagine that in the 300 years my Grandparents have been together that they haven't had long periods of disconnection. But somehow they just continued to keep choosing to be with each other and to make it work. Part of it's the culture, they aren't called the Greatest Generation for nothing, but there's no reason why you couldn't do it today. <br />
<br />
But it's hard. It's very hard. Couples self destruct around me all the time. Eventually you learn to see the signs, but sometimes things erupt very slowly. When my last ex and I split, we hadn't been fighting much at all. Sure we were stressed, but we almost never fought about anything, and we were almost never that mean to each other. At some point we just decided we didn't want to be together anymore and we let the emotions slowly tear it apart until it was gone.We didn't even really fight at the end. It was cold, like the Mooooooooooooooon. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCaHQp-3-tccgvh6t7zf7DNfbaEAVFGS8Yi2Li_YCNtQC2j03RxB9tRuPTZcDZMzfgkKyUC-Y6Lr1NCHaUsj1_1VrWu56ZS0leTYuOi626WGcmK20NnXW0bIE-iSdn1ljknrBjMbUgeg/s1600/l_d18240e2950be564db3f111ff2b1acd5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCaHQp-3-tccgvh6t7zf7DNfbaEAVFGS8Yi2Li_YCNtQC2j03RxB9tRuPTZcDZMzfgkKyUC-Y6Lr1NCHaUsj1_1VrWu56ZS0leTYuOi626WGcmK20NnXW0bIE-iSdn1ljknrBjMbUgeg/s400/l_d18240e2950be564db3f111ff2b1acd5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to pick a new direction.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And this is the end of Being Single. I've got other things I want to rant about, and this whole 'introspectively looking at the past thing' takes a lot out of a fella. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-10566599755468565482011-12-14T09:53:00.001-07:002011-12-14T12:03:55.926-07:00Wake up before reading this one. (Being Single Pt. 4)Once, somebody got me drunk and raped me. <br />
<br />
This should get a little heavy so I'm going to post some cute pictures of my puppies to help us (me) get through this.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zd5R-o4BQ_HXPSOZsZB_U0er5yhe0tobYU-Z69EqeXBy2ta1D3BJGG-Diht5fCd81diWkomtTPzZ22jxsc0Gd_Pq3NxfY6Ikcr_9C1DPslorF6MHpt_Zo06QCyirZGJ_WsUepj57_ik/s1600/DSCN0731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zd5R-o4BQ_HXPSOZsZB_U0er5yhe0tobYU-Z69EqeXBy2ta1D3BJGG-Diht5fCd81diWkomtTPzZ22jxsc0Gd_Pq3NxfY6Ikcr_9C1DPslorF6MHpt_Zo06QCyirZGJ_WsUepj57_ik/s400/DSCN0731.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Lu the rescue pup meeting our new beagle Frankie for the first time ever last autumn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I would like to start off by apologizing to all the women I've ever been really close to that I've never shared this story with before: I understand that we talked about what happened to you that one time (twice in one case), but you should know more than most how difficult it can be to bring this kind of thing into the open with anybody, and I've always been a secretive person*.<br />
<br />
Secondly, I'd like to address the inevitable idiots out there who only allow themselves to think with their testicles and who consistently claim that you can't rape men under any circumstances: You people are idiots and I hope that you are shooting blanks because you would make a horrible father.<br />
<br />
Okay, here we go.....<br />
<br />
<br />
*- A secretive person that tells the entire Internet instead. Don't ask
me, I'm just as confused about the things that I do as you are.<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br />
<br />
My first wife left me in 99. This was before all of my friends were on the Internet with me (they still had real lives and went out and did things, before WOW destroyed <i><b>EVERYTHING</b></i>), and before anybody I knew owned a cell phone. My first wife and I were both virgins when we got married and she was only the third girl I had ever kissed, so let's just call this the beginning of my dating life. She also broke up with me in October, so I got to enjoy the last holiday season of the millennium with a shattered world view (I wasn't even officially an Atheist yet!) mired in the past while it seemed like the rest of the planet was looking towards the future. I was young, naive, and inexperienced, which is a horrible thing to be as a man.<br />
<br />
The morning after she told me she was leaving me (she moved onto my couch for three weeks because 21 year olds are idiots), I put in my notice at work, immediately started my three week vacation, then started waiting tables the day that vacation was over. This new job would introduce me to smoking, bars, and casual sex; I was finally acting like I was in my 20's. Before the end of the year, and way before the divorce was final, I started seeing this new girl who wanted to keep her virginity, so we had anal sex every other day for three straight weeks. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFsC505HBtI9MhkSxAWIxQOtlxfuVYpX2fd9ASlP2Rtksh0WV1RlV4dA-0ky6BWfM_AZNi1T2G87nXZOP0rTTwAYKozeuZGdOtE4e1C3xjUZY-eaxCPS9tV44WvKKd1HBiQtGTdRfoAA/s1600/DSCN0744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFsC505HBtI9MhkSxAWIxQOtlxfuVYpX2fd9ASlP2Rtksh0WV1RlV4dA-0ky6BWfM_AZNi1T2G87nXZOP0rTTwAYKozeuZGdOtE4e1C3xjUZY-eaxCPS9tV44WvKKd1HBiQtGTdRfoAA/s400/DSCN0744.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry for that visual, here's Frankie the puppy being cute again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The Anal Girl didn't last very long, not surprisingly considering I was still wearing my wedding ring on a necklace, and my affections wandered around for a while until landing on what would be the first of many new obsessions. She was thin, graceful, talented, and completely interested in casually eating my heart while watching me die, in other words: the Perfect Girl. <br />
<br />
But we're not talking about her right now, she's for later, but you have to understand that I had created a life preserver out of this stinking hell hole and it was filled with thoughts of her. Sure, that was a pretty stupid thing to do, but I am also an idiot so it all made sense at the time. <br />
<br />
By that summer I was really learning how to drink. I'd buy a fifth of whatever and leave it in the truck, heading down to the local bar after work to drink socially, and then go wherever the night took me (usually nowhere, because I am a fat and angry nerd). I was waiting tables and discovering a lot of things about people and life in general. I had never really been much of an extrovert before (I've always been an attention whore, but that's not the same thing), and I was slowly starting to come out of my shell and develop the personality that most of us are forced to do in high school (Thanks again parents!).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5P5lhiiZFxeto9y3LdIo5Y270nXkglnYf8Tgvs8wjHdQGMCTGS8-uzEUlvKInBu9YHw0sl4kR9-KVCvBgb89m_gp9guWYLlBIxl-1Li_uWwHdOqbug3wg-m1MyMTvWE2IYS0s9dohAs/s1600/IMAG0039+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5P5lhiiZFxeto9y3LdIo5Y270nXkglnYf8Tgvs8wjHdQGMCTGS8-uzEUlvKInBu9YHw0sl4kR9-KVCvBgb89m_gp9guWYLlBIxl-1Li_uWwHdOqbug3wg-m1MyMTvWE2IYS0s9dohAs/s400/IMAG0039+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, we bought our dogs a chair to use as a nest. It was always this adorable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Many nights after my shift was over, you would find me sitting at Old Chicago, beer in hand, with no destination in mind but the inevitability of our own mortality. Everything was so fresh and raw back then, I still cared SO DAMN MUCH about everything, and I couldn't wait to stop that from happening with sweet, delicious beer. The girl of my dreams was driving me insane, and this was before I saw her naked, and I was just starting to realize how different the world worked than I was raised to believe that it did, but I did have one stable thing in my life: My personal code of behavior.<br />
<br />
Despite the fact that Perfect Girl and I were still only in the unrequited love stage, both of us thought the other one wasn't interested, we hung out constantly. I had built up this fantasy/game plan where things would all be done 'the right way'. And the 'right way', for those of you who aren't naive 20 somethings with a hard crush, is to stop fucking other people the minute you realize that you want things to work out with somebody, <i>even if they don't know you are interested in them</i>. As a full grown cynic, that sounds silly to me now, but it was everything to me back then. I was so committed to Perfect Girl, that I was abstaining from sex based purely on the vague possibility that if we did ever end up together it HAD TO BE PERFECT, so I just wasn't interested in anybody else*. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJpWB9aZAOL4pfUhO8vt85Jt5ALdNh70g2-6oFYf52p7ZubyeGIsBq6a5Uda4j2tdSNdV40MuPGvLmp6CBumRJDDuQcUE5EFWxCiyZ_mfT0BDP9Xo3n2CCropjEmRbcSsiHtgt1cr-QU/s1600/IMAG0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJpWB9aZAOL4pfUhO8vt85Jt5ALdNh70g2-6oFYf52p7ZubyeGIsBq6a5Uda4j2tdSNdV40MuPGvLmp6CBumRJDDuQcUE5EFWxCiyZ_mfT0BDP9Xo3n2CCropjEmRbcSsiHtgt1cr-QU/s400/IMAG0044.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's only ever done this once, somebody must have told her about Snoopy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Enter the villain of the piece. She was 'older', not quite 30, also divorced, and a bartender at the same restaurant that I worked at. She was petite and thin lipped, and she absolutely loved to prey on the younger guys at work. I'm almost positive now that she was processing her own pain by using her sexuality so aggressively, but it could just be that loved herself some dick and you don't have to work very hard to get a 23 year old to sleep with you. <br />
<br />
Until she met me, which she took as a challenge, and that's when things got weird. I wouldn't see her every night, but when I did she would wait until I was a couple in and then come over and offer to buy me some shots. And I love me some shots, I don't think I have ever turned down shots in my life, no reason to go back in time to change things now. Under normal circumstances she'd throw out the occasional flirtatious remark and I'd fire back with something more or less clever but clearly stating that it would never happen, which is easy to do when sober. Drunk Mikey, on the other hand, will have sex with you in the bar bathroom at closing time while your boyfriend waits obliviously for both of us around the corner (Sorry dude), but I didn't really know this about myself yet. I had turned her down so many times, and we were friends now, right? We talked during and after work, we shared things like friends do, so she knew about PG and I honestly wasn't that worried about it. I was saving myself for the PG and she knew that, she knew what I wanted in my heart of hearts, who manipulates the naive kid with broken heart who just wants things to somehow be normal again? <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfJR0foPgKu1t-C-rFl5vKds1zlMhWAWVcBIyNj9xV0RTczrQKsj2AjB7vw_UHTPqXq1FqVcE0LLL0j3-FQBLTDzgIMh65katUGqnmZvZNMkMndPgOW4Vj9iLuBfgNnZC7kEDOOKM9mk/s1600/IMAG0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfJR0foPgKu1t-C-rFl5vKds1zlMhWAWVcBIyNj9xV0RTczrQKsj2AjB7vw_UHTPqXq1FqVcE0LLL0j3-FQBLTDzgIMh65katUGqnmZvZNMkMndPgOW4Vj9iLuBfgNnZC7kEDOOKM9mk/s400/IMAG0014.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my lap everyday shortly after I woke up for an entire year. I have never felt so loved.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The night that it happened is hard to remember, there was a lot of alcohol involved. She saddled up to me at the bar (or maybe we met there intentionally), and started laughing and talking like friends do. I'm not normally a black out drunk, this incident is one of the reasons why I stop before that happens, but I do know what happened that night: she bought a LOT of alcohol and I drank it. <br />
<br />
Somehow we ended up in my truck behind the Office Max across the street. It was shamefully quick and unsatisfying for both of us, which I find strangely hilarious now, the rest is blurry until the next morning, when I woke up angry.<br />
<br />
I have always been an angry person, but this was a confused angry. I blamed myself, of course, and didn't react to it in the way that a woman might have. Sure, I was hurt and confused, but as a single man without any strong family ties (my family had moved up to northern Idaho to flee Y2K), mentors, or otherwise trustworthy adults around, I made kind of a mess of things when I tired to figure it all out.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oSkHvrRzU6o6QaZy1FPRTOS39lOuFB_bTRNBlUwBnyCNkMmIBVAskacNWBckJNplmcpUlfbpdOqxEgTMA97AvruVbwFWbN4uBcQxL74dnuDqHiUbjLfi1YznPPU2X784HnFv5G-s-mU/s1600/IMAG0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oSkHvrRzU6o6QaZy1FPRTOS39lOuFB_bTRNBlUwBnyCNkMmIBVAskacNWBckJNplmcpUlfbpdOqxEgTMA97AvruVbwFWbN4uBcQxL74dnuDqHiUbjLfi1YznPPU2X784HnFv5G-s-mU/s400/IMAG0002.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's okay Frankie, I still love you. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
When grown men are taken sexually advantage of in our culture (AMERICA!) there is a lot of garbage that comes with it, and I dealt with all of it. First of all, I was raised in a conservative and passively sexist family, sheltered too much as a teenager, and completely unaware that it was even a possibility for me to be taken advantage of sexually. I didn't even understand that you could get drunk enough to do something that you wouldn't even dream of doing sober. I also didn't know that people would manipulate you into being friends with them so that they could take advantage of you. I had nobody to talk to, I was too embarrassed to bring it up anyway, so I just ended up blaming myself for the entire thing. Which is the opposite of healthy. <br />
<br />
And this still affects me today. I didn't grow up mistrusting women, even as a child I knew my mother to be an anomaly, but after my first wife left me without a single warning shot fired (we had one entire fight in our two years of marriage, so I certainly didn't see that coming), and then this event, it didn't take me long to start believing deep down inside myself that women as a sex were simply not to be trusted. When my ex and I split up last month, she was honestly shocked at how many things I just wasn't telling her. It's not that I didn't desperately NEED to share these things with her, or that she wasn't completely open with me, it's just that it was nearly impossible for me to trust her. Relationship after relationship has ended the same way, with women slowly coming to the conclusion that I will never let them in. Sure, I can be warm, friendly, caring, tender, passionate, and intelligent, but inside I am closed off and alone. Always. And it's cold in here, but I've never been able to let anybody else in, I am always convinced deep on the inside that no matter how much I want things to work out that someday (soon) I will be alone again, cast out from the home just like every time. It's a self fulfilling prophecy, I know how it ticks, and I can't stop it from happening again and again and again and again.... Even this last time, there was no fight, just another woman who was simply tired of trying.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTN8gKsZ3MBH5WMaj42VJLXLLVn3sdwg1yjF-j-UzagV_gSPMtY60tJBnuG_JbAPcNRlxdI7J-fXQT0fMPLPGxzF1ekbZQt2AIjthgO-aKCywPru4gXsN2QyNDLNLQkUeZsGPTbGtaAwY/s1600/IMAG0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTN8gKsZ3MBH5WMaj42VJLXLLVn3sdwg1yjF-j-UzagV_gSPMtY60tJBnuG_JbAPcNRlxdI7J-fXQT0fMPLPGxzF1ekbZQt2AIjthgO-aKCywPru4gXsN2QyNDLNLQkUeZsGPTbGtaAwY/s400/IMAG0011.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And they always keep your dog. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
This is the job for a professional, one that I can't afford and probably wouldn't listen to anyway. And even if they ever helped me to untangle this chaos of emotions, I'd still be dealing with a long and cynical history with the opposite sex. I'm not afraid of trying again, I always do sooner or later, but the scars are being built on scars now, and that's hard for all of us.<br />
<br />
For those of you who have seen me unload on people who treat rape like it isn't a thing, especially those who try to pretend that a 13 year old boy can't get raped if the adult is an attractive women, now you know why it bothers me so much and I got so angry. For those of you who have heard me say that I've never been raped in those conversations, you have probably never had anything like this ever happen to you before.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading my story. It's okay if you hug me the next time you see me, just don't say anything out loud about this, I have a reputation you know. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. - Many months later, I tried to salvage some of my broken ego by sleeping with my rapist again. Our friendship was understandably over by then, but we were both drunk at the same bar and I was still raw about it and wanted some revenge sex. She turned me down, of course, and that is the way our story ends.... <br />
<br />
P.P.S. I really miss the dogs. <br />
<br />
* - For those of you who absolutely must know what happens, PG and I did eventually admit our attraction to each other, three weeks later part of her family died in a horrible car accident. We didn't make it and now she's happy and very successful in another city while I pretend she doesn't exist (mostly).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-49010200802461560342011-12-07T10:56:00.000-07:002011-12-07T10:56:09.596-07:00Patterns and reflections. (Being Single Pt. 3)Before we continue on this journey, here is a picture from my mother:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60j0U_NyrKrUQSfa6ga8kAfBtCZg4Rt8ZOfJHJ3XLwIdZB52D0A6fHpeZt35HN2yhfLp8OaqFZWSnyAkpOAuH2QyBTFnIurGWh04cnu184MZRqfovQdYpGJgvMcYbAVY5NNRXPf9AoOY/s1600/Mom1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60j0U_NyrKrUQSfa6ga8kAfBtCZg4Rt8ZOfJHJ3XLwIdZB52D0A6fHpeZt35HN2yhfLp8OaqFZWSnyAkpOAuH2QyBTFnIurGWh04cnu184MZRqfovQdYpGJgvMcYbAVY5NNRXPf9AoOY/s400/Mom1.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's being deafly serious.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
In others universes, I'm sure there are plenty versions of me who are professors and scientists, but in this one I was home-schooled by a crazy, deaf lady with a third grade education who has been addicted to the Internet since '93 and believes that there is an actual hearing conspiracy against deaf people.* Since I'm 34 I'm going to go ahead and take full responsibility for not furthering my own education and living up to my potential, but childhood can be a difficult self to overcome. <br />
<br />
We are fourth dimensional creatures, but we have the greatest difficulty seeing anything outside of the first three. I am nearly blind moving forward into the future, like an earthworm pressing itself through soil, barely able to sense what's about to happen to myself and mostly reacting to reality when it hits me in my stupid face. The past is also difficult. I don't exactly remember being three feet tall, running around the pine tree at my parent's yard sale as a child, but I have vivid memories of those memories and the loss of them would almost be like losing parts of myself, or at least running out of beer (forever).<br />
<br />
There is an interconnectedness to the Universe, a certain harmony (with mathematics as notes and vibrating strings as instruments. SCIENCE!) that has rules and patterns that determine our reality. Our species flourished because our big, fat, meat eating brains were more adept at recognizing these patterns and utilizing that harmony for our own ends. Now we have things like metallurgy, <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/MikeyPullman" target="_blank">twitter</a>, and the <a href="http://vimeo.com/32001208" target="_blank">International Space Station.</a> Reality is mind shatteringly, almost unrealistically huge and complex. We have developed a powerful set of filters to keep these kinds of things from distracting us eternally, but this is where a lot of secrets lie: on the other side of the veil. <br />
<br />
Which brings us to this...<br />
<br />
I got this tattoo done after my 2nd divorce in my 20's:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjaV68lDoICDzIqTZnZmWtjclQzgZ9QcHWkY2BKJds5e6JQ0BvPNty1TW2DGtbTws99Sjn8naVVBaK8YfNQ2TmnOwErvtRYAPWapBb5yOxNId81Tv7Xd6vWocK8z4WP0cCC35tzXS1dM/s1600/381346_2487030289694_1070771069_2587819_1067474407_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjaV68lDoICDzIqTZnZmWtjclQzgZ9QcHWkY2BKJds5e6JQ0BvPNty1TW2DGtbTws99Sjn8naVVBaK8YfNQ2TmnOwErvtRYAPWapBb5yOxNId81Tv7Xd6vWocK8z4WP0cCC35tzXS1dM/s400/381346_2487030289694_1070771069_2587819_1067474407_n.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><br />
Each insect represented an ex I had at the time of the tattoo, all of them were walking around the single side of the mobius strip to represent the endless replication of the patterns we reinforce into our own lives. My first wife is the one with the biggest ass.<br />
<br />
I don't think I intended to place so much determinism into a physical manifestation of my own philosophy, but it is very telling in the dating world that many of us have a "type" or have certain traits that we find nearly irresistible and, damn the torpedoes, we're going full speed ahead. I've tried desperately to find meaning in the choices that I feel compelled to make, feeling that there must be a way to intellectualize this process, but to no avail. And then, instead of trying to piece it all together, I just let my mind relax and suddenly it made lot of sense: everything comes down to sex and violence. <br />
<br />
Life wants to exist, and badly. A branch of life decided a long time ago to start consuming other life and it's been nothing since but one long arms race to see who gets to exists forever (protip: NOTHING wins! Energy death of the universe is imminent, try to remember that next time you feel special). Ever since we came along it's been a lot more of the same, just with more flair. Most of the mistakes we make in picking our partners, or in losing our partners, are defined not by our own patterns, but the meta-patterns of sex and violence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPsBfKUfy6cwl37-PjIsx2qZrNvNUsLcruXxc_fxU-XmIq8aYO8f_hNXx-hTE235_DaCE-SMVYIEagopH5sQJ7hpmqBOUyJt4AqN8o0TfZlWpCK8CxcuXfUbOzr6_lJ-MbLXe99MuAyI/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPsBfKUfy6cwl37-PjIsx2qZrNvNUsLcruXxc_fxU-XmIq8aYO8f_hNXx-hTE235_DaCE-SMVYIEagopH5sQJ7hpmqBOUyJt4AqN8o0TfZlWpCK8CxcuXfUbOzr6_lJ-MbLXe99MuAyI/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some lucky animals get to do both at the same time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Let's take me as a warped example. I have slept with several women who were currently in relationships. I am not proud of this fact about myself but, as I've gotten older, fatter, and unhealthier, this doesn't really happen anymore and I seem to have gained some perspective. It turns out that opportunistic mating behaviors are fairly common in nature, and it was only condoms and random luck that kept me from making those into real reproductive incidents. I was a fairly normal, adult, human male that was given the opportunity to mate without the expenditure of extra calories or responsibilities. This doesn't abdicate any responsibility that I possess for my actions, but it does explain why I felt compelled to do them. Many of our desires and attractions to our mate are programmed into us at a very deep level, and everything built on top of it is always in danger of being unstable. Conflicting tastes, experiences, and cultural influences make it nearly an impossible task to identify an efficient decision making process in the procuring and keeping of a potential long term mate. This is why your picker is broken. This is why you can't trust yourself.<br />
<br />
But it also means that it's not (entirely) your fault. Sure, you're a selfish bastard who has to constantly remind yourself that you're not the center of the universe, but so does everybody else. The system is chaotic and flawed. Everybody is somebody else's bitch or asshole. We all try not to be, but we just can't help ourselves. <br />
<br />
<br />
And I find a lot of peace in that fact. We are all just a complex series of vibrating strings pulsating through the cultural ether for a finite, but stupendous adventure. Meaning is to be extracted.<br />
<br />
I think I'll start on that chapter tomorrow. <br />
<br />
<br />
*-Next week's meeting is going to be at 7:30!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-51241943606788246682011-11-23T10:31:00.002-07:002011-11-23T10:40:45.142-07:00Begining the Quest. (Being Single Pt. 2)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAU_M4hN0v7L2wxllLQ0uE-ZDnLa575t8aJkkdQs0HPAMZEknRTyzl8058xMfT3PEYECs0ZnTetAqwFHPCyWO9sO-v-m8-q2Ins0iIhy6K0yaYK6hw58pkoGMIE-YkMsOenZSpftPHWUo/s1600/gymjeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>We last left ourselves healing and confused. Breakups are difficult, but most people manage to survive that garbage only to find a lack of direction.... <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pXUir7N_FU7AsEi1pnJyhhMZAtSKpdOP1gs7Joua3w-bh45QdQyfkPHkKdbOeIIjsBfICTEmVqtKCHjYSt5GN-4Zaf_3ZWdCPTVL1dUGPoEghCqMI9-37UU91asdTythZHJYWwktj8k/s1600/Dressed+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pXUir7N_FU7AsEi1pnJyhhMZAtSKpdOP1gs7Joua3w-bh45QdQyfkPHkKdbOeIIjsBfICTEmVqtKCHjYSt5GN-4Zaf_3ZWdCPTVL1dUGPoEghCqMI9-37UU91asdTythZHJYWwktj8k/s1600/Dressed+up.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes our choices are suspect.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So you're (mostly) over your ex now. A lot of people use this as a catalyst to try to change things about themselves that brought them to where they are today. Some people seek out a gym membership, or maybe a new job. I've done both and, let me tell you, not always a good idea.The regret you feel will fade, but the gym will always be filled with enormous douchebags.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAU_M4hN0v7L2wxllLQ0uE-ZDnLa575t8aJkkdQs0HPAMZEknRTyzl8058xMfT3PEYECs0ZnTetAqwFHPCyWO9sO-v-m8-q2Ins0iIhy6K0yaYK6hw58pkoGMIE-YkMsOenZSpftPHWUo/s1600/gymjeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAU_M4hN0v7L2wxllLQ0uE-ZDnLa575t8aJkkdQs0HPAMZEknRTyzl8058xMfT3PEYECs0ZnTetAqwFHPCyWO9sO-v-m8-q2Ins0iIhy6K0yaYK6hw58pkoGMIE-YkMsOenZSpftPHWUo/s320/gymjeans.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He doesn't know where the G-spot is.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It's a normal impulse to want to "fix yourself", but you are an amalgam of millions of decisions and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_microbiome">billions of organisms</a>, and odds are you're not going to change by much, but this is still a healthy part of the process. What you are doing is separating the BEFORE from the AFTER, this creates a nice little emotional barrier and helps to create some distance for us. Sometimes this really can motivate us to make good decisions, for instance finally finding the motivation to pursue your career, but at least we're out of the house and not at home in the dark freebasing Ben and Jerry's. <br />
<br />
This isn't a bad thing, your previous life was defined by another person, and you probably have a fuckton of time and energy to spend on something, so why not yourself? I like this phase, it's about renewal and moving onward with life. It can be difficult to get started, but change can be a good thing, you just have to make sure that it's in the right direction.<br />
<br />
But here we have a pretty big obstacle. Our minds have evolved to recognize patterns and it is really easy to start finding reasons for things that may not have the influence over your fate that you think it does. I'm sure that for every glaring personality flaw that you think that you have, there's somebody out there with a fetish for it. I am personally attracted to outspoken and aggressive women, but I've known tons of women to complain that it's a real turn off for guys. So? Who gives a shit what those guys want, it sure as hell isn't somebody like you, find somebody without self-esteem issues. It's also easy to start to look for attributes in our respective mates, for instance being bossy and bitchy (see what I did there?) that may have assisted in the downfall of our relationships. The fault doesn't lie with them, or even our attraction to that personality trait, but in our realistic understanding of ourselves and our limitations. And for this you need the perspective that only distance can provide.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQcAcyuhM-SpQoczbSzR89fQgMKyBBkG8xaxWNpVxs_fbQ79dmsC0qEfC4uW3xU83J63VfbWMyfA6QNFvixS_1cCkEuHszvMqjf_zC_UIQ6-mNDyuzP2D-F-VXEfm4njZZM9LyPq5OZ0/s1600/BLDCD00Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQcAcyuhM-SpQoczbSzR89fQgMKyBBkG8xaxWNpVxs_fbQ79dmsC0qEfC4uW3xU83J63VfbWMyfA6QNFvixS_1cCkEuHszvMqjf_zC_UIQ6-mNDyuzP2D-F-VXEfm4njZZM9LyPq5OZ0/s320/BLDCD00Z.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can see my faults from here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I don't recommend this for everybody, but I typically enjoy a long period of celibacy after my long term relationships. I've always been one of those people who transition very easily into serious relationships, apparently I make women comfortable, and the only way to keep from being one of those unfortunate serial daters locked into perpetual habits, is for me to completely abstain. This isn't even an intellectual decision; right now, and for the next several months at least, the idea of being intimate with someone kind of repulses me. Ew. <br />
<br />
I'm entering into this phase now. I've been through enough serious breakups finally to have a pretty well constructed road map. This is probably the only time in my life where I feel comfortable showing weakness and I like to take advantage of it. I got to stop by the old house a few nights ago and, after my ex left for work, I walked around the house simply saying goodbye to things. I walked into each room, touching places that really meant something to me and just held our dogs for a while. I woke up the next morning feeling baptized, reborn even. So here I am now. What to do?<br />
<br />
I decided to go back to one of my old loves.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUMGs9A1Nlht6_vCrisQi3w8n308pnQT4a1sCv6Y8nHQ2FxAjlWygg_Dkb5wqxokqxzeej2alEQ9-XXWc-cywe6GYqUzmSUsPxHB31ypJv_gLzsZ5LJehru2tcIkNHgiEayZ9ocY3DTA/s1600/Seattle-Wallpaper-seattle-2232636-1600-1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUMGs9A1Nlht6_vCrisQi3w8n308pnQT4a1sCv6Y8nHQ2FxAjlWygg_Dkb5wqxokqxzeej2alEQ9-XXWc-cywe6GYqUzmSUsPxHB31ypJv_gLzsZ5LJehru2tcIkNHgiEayZ9ocY3DTA/s400/Seattle-Wallpaper-seattle-2232636-1600-1200.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There she is.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Microstory: I was an angry kid. In elementary school I used to knock over my desk and throw my books at the teacher, stuff like that. I was constantly challenging authority and getting into trouble. Idaho always dealt with this the same way, by putting me with a masculine teacher who would have me run laps around the field to "burn off my energy" instead of trying to solve the root cause of the problem. I'm pretty sure this is how a lot of inmates are made. For two years we lived in Washington state and it didn't take them very long to hook me up with a child psychologist who had me making model airplanes and talking about my relationship with my parents. This was probably facilitated by me getting kicked out of gym class and deciding to walk home when I was 9 or 10. The teacher freaked out, I vaguely remembering someone mentioning that she thought she was going to get fired for losing one of her students, but Washington state decided to find a solution to my issues and not to just agitate me. Now that I'm an adult and know that this was just a difference in policy, it still doesn't change how my inner child feels about the first society of adults who actually treated me like a real person. It's silly I know, but most of my vacations have been to the Emerald city, and I always feel at home there, so that's where I'm going. I've decided to take a few years off from this normal life thing and chase the only thing that I've ever been good at, being moderately funny on stage in front of groups of strangers.<br />
<br />
Wish me luck.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-80899326281566253672011-11-20T07:53:00.000-07:002011-11-20T07:53:19.326-07:00The Cycle Begins Anew. (Being Single Pt 1)Several weeks ago a good friend of mine asked me to write something about being single. Despite the fact that I had been in a serious relationship for over two years, I still had a lot of strong opinions on the subject (shocking, I know), so I agreed. But I quickly got distracted by life, primarily the organizing and implementation of our annual Halloween party, so I procrastinated.<br />
<br />
The next week my girlfriend broke up with me.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZhxCIW4Yd2Ag7tUZ1EeERo29Pf2QTlqjyuK-N4PSP7v_oBgKjMfsla0Hcgh0v-vcfzHchbqup757AxoGV_dgXWB5oHTaB1W9NQzKJCLG9ikz9j0S-zW5ZEv7bGso5UQNRN4RyRcC37A/s1600/382115_2386747062676_1070771069_2550827_1406771743_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZhxCIW4Yd2Ag7tUZ1EeERo29Pf2QTlqjyuK-N4PSP7v_oBgKjMfsla0Hcgh0v-vcfzHchbqup757AxoGV_dgXWB5oHTaB1W9NQzKJCLG9ikz9j0S-zW5ZEv7bGso5UQNRN4RyRcC37A/s320/382115_2386747062676_1070771069_2550827_1406771743_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am a prophet when it comes to costume selection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So, now that I have a lot of free time and the subject matter is once again fresh in my memory, I thought I'd write a series of posts, starting with the beginning of the cycle: the end of the last relationship.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>PART ONE : THE BEGINNING</b><br />
<br />
Unless it's your first time around the block, your entrance into the single life is usually born into chaos. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHmaJywHIzCzPmDOFqycAOOh0Kuxprz-hpfWEXlswcFihl7ROn1jBEgdSxM_EEuqoO4gHz87MORXFGnk5XxP7cw8wIMpdmgvCpKo3mGZMkOo0o3ARSzHNCo9u57GBqvoL2Bwp9PKHirg/s1600/6132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHmaJywHIzCzPmDOFqycAOOh0Kuxprz-hpfWEXlswcFihl7ROn1jBEgdSxM_EEuqoO4gHz87MORXFGnk5XxP7cw8wIMpdmgvCpKo3mGZMkOo0o3ARSzHNCo9u57GBqvoL2Bwp9PKHirg/s320/6132.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The occasional thrown cookware might also have been involved.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
In many ways this is a newer version of you, a rebirth if you will. Technically you're still in the last relationship, emotionally if not locationally, and you will spend a considerate amount of time reflecting on everything (mostly who they're sleeping with already, even if it isn't true). This is a real sweet spot for meeting someone. Many of my serious ex's started their next relationship in this phase of their newly acquired singleness. It doesn't always work out, every relationship starting during this time period will have it's own challenges, but you're used to being WITH somebody and the transition is pretty easy to go from serious relationship to serious relationship. Granted, you'll be burdening your new partner with insecurities as you talk about your ex incessantly, but it sure beats crying by yourself amiright?<br />
<br />
I sure as hell don't do it like that, but some people are more lovers than fighters, it's best not to judge them for what the rest of us consider a severe character weakness just because there's nobody around to pick up the pieces when most of us get broken up with.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UZti2uipevQoOYnuXHAwaeq0stiJk-bKHscBqkDAPQt7PxIstUkWWZMicOWKqEjtnm7i1dwcSApBtXH2VMZTIsydvCa8m3IgNgeTdMeW3IxZC2AJUc0L7rWxZUD6mh4707uzhhmlImo/s1600/tumblr_lbfx8ngphI1qdbbywo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UZti2uipevQoOYnuXHAwaeq0stiJk-bKHscBqkDAPQt7PxIstUkWWZMicOWKqEjtnm7i1dwcSApBtXH2VMZTIsydvCa8m3IgNgeTdMeW3IxZC2AJUc0L7rWxZUD6mh4707uzhhmlImo/s320/tumblr_lbfx8ngphI1qdbbywo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cowards.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
For the rest of us poor bastards, it means trying to find a balance between the past and the present. Depending on how the last relationship ended, my recent one has been very amicable and mature, there might still be fights with your last relationship, like emotional aftershocks, as both of you adjust to the new reality and still have blame laying around that has to go somewhere. <br />
<br />
Then comes the silence, and it comes quickly. Phone calls, usually frantic and common at first, tend to peter off as you don't really have anything new to say to each other and every third time you hear their voice you feel your throat tighten up, so it just isn't worth dialing the phone anymore. Sometimes you'll forget that they aren't there anymore and you'll want to call them with something exciting or funny, or you'll actually reach for their warmth in the night, and that is one of the worst sharp, emotional pains I have ever experienced. In one breakup this phase lasted so long and was so powerful that I used to hear her voice in every crowded room, I almost gave myself whiplash every other day. After that, especially when you let your guard down, is when you really start to notice how quiet things have gotten.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKirGJCRXojc-dDdQtYmdXEEGDdJSRutU6-j7gDBi5_lfpGFvW6czwYgRrA-1CtZU22lr4L3xYHz_aO3aVhbVwYlgsM9HPq7pfrmwNyy6zwuQpNtZpOxOBQfu6yd5GywuFbqVV4QBDY3M/s1600/2999910536_a0c48002d8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKirGJCRXojc-dDdQtYmdXEEGDdJSRutU6-j7gDBi5_lfpGFvW6czwYgRrA-1CtZU22lr4L3xYHz_aO3aVhbVwYlgsM9HPq7pfrmwNyy6zwuQpNtZpOxOBQfu6yd5GywuFbqVV4QBDY3M/s320/2999910536_a0c48002d8.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shouldn't somebody be making me a sandwich about now?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
If your last relationship had any legs to it, especially after a couple of years or if there's children involved, every decision you made, most moments of your day, were highly influenced by the presence, decisions, and the noises of the people you shared your life with. Suddenly you wake up one day and it's just gone. No more drinking coffee while playing fetch with the beagle every morning, no more bouncing your random thoughts off of somebody you know and trust enough to share with, no more private jokes or shared secrets, and certainly no more of the casual touches you've become accustomed (addicted) to. <br />
<br />
And this is hard. There is no shortcut through this process, if you ignore it your memories will ambush you when you least expect it and, I don't know about you, but I have a hard time thinking up excuses for crying during a haircut. Some people never leave this phase of their last relationship, pining for their loss like dog sleeping on their master's grave. A lot of women handle this phase a lot better than most men, most women having something of a social safety net which helps to absorb the blow, but the secret here seems to be to keep active and to set new goals for yourself*.<br />
<br />
I would recommend writing it down, it helps.<br />
<br />
Eventually your friends adjust to your open schedule, you fall back into the things you loved to do that you stopped doing for one reason or another, and you put your gameface back on for the next phase of your singleness: Lying to Yourself. This is where things get interesting...<br />
<br />
(to be continued...)<br />
<br />
*- I'm currently focusing on my eyelash growing, but I think I might take up competitive napping.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-33633762366221638292011-10-13T18:40:00.001-06:002011-10-13T18:44:18.066-06:00Boise is for smokers.I recently became infatuated with the public debate here in Boise, Idaho over a proposed smoking ban that would effect businesses and some of our larger parks. According to the <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/data_statistics/state_data/state_highlights/2010/states/idaho/index.htm">CDC</a>, Idaho is ranked 15th in percentage of smokers with 16.9%; not as good as our <a href="http://www.ncsl.org/default.aspx?tabid=14367">obesity statistics</a>, but you take what you can get. <br />
<br />
Here's the thing, I've been on both sides of the issue. I used to smoke. A lot.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gvEROB5P5JVhnEU1CE_eCehb0Op2Sjj8rvceXxXXuFRZuMEUQ6ZwOQcPLY-huRKAIYf3s5zOVnUgSGBmpA9EzDbtmI2hVu8UU9QJBe-E2TtG0RZxGoZ4mBhexrP7NjLN5p9pw4wMVxo/s1600/smoker1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gvEROB5P5JVhnEU1CE_eCehb0Op2Sjj8rvceXxXXuFRZuMEUQ6ZwOQcPLY-huRKAIYf3s5zOVnUgSGBmpA9EzDbtmI2hVu8UU9QJBe-E2TtG0RZxGoZ4mBhexrP7NjLN5p9pw4wMVxo/s1600/smoker1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's amazing how many friends you don't make singing karaoke on a weekday all alone</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
As a matter of fact, 85% of the pictures taken of me in my twenties have me smoking at a bar, either singing karaoke or at a comedy show. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYoSUh0r3JuTVAe8h2L_Yyk7_FXwa7j3RGI5FexURXxyjf4D_Vt2_T5Kn3ZM2pblh0aWQIsMRvLPLqSOlFqaj1nJebyAA_t8RJ5Ih3xGayC-eVzngfgB5v8ZZiVvJwrwpziUVhpb8V7I/s1600/l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYoSUh0r3JuTVAe8h2L_Yyk7_FXwa7j3RGI5FexURXxyjf4D_Vt2_T5Kn3ZM2pblh0aWQIsMRvLPLqSOlFqaj1nJebyAA_t8RJ5Ih3xGayC-eVzngfgB5v8ZZiVvJwrwpziUVhpb8V7I/s1600/l.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can really be self-obsessed sometimes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I was infatuated with smoking. Two packs a day was normal and if I was working the door at a club, I could smoke twenty cigarettes in less than three hours. It didn't matter what I was doing, I wanted a cigarette.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1AOjC52Tq7ZIbk1UzmN2ulw0l3af2vIfQchMo40bev4nxI936TkRxk1zMWTSRlbSS2k9-RnZf4r3_9Gzt-iNHvnRgC9m9Rld_gOfewA5B6MXNZaspJkne0kEGxrpg6WpcUcOWWDixLk/s1600/NYEBouqet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1AOjC52Tq7ZIbk1UzmN2ulw0l3af2vIfQchMo40bev4nxI936TkRxk1zMWTSRlbSS2k9-RnZf4r3_9Gzt-iNHvnRgC9m9Rld_gOfewA5B6MXNZaspJkne0kEGxrpg6WpcUcOWWDixLk/s320/NYEBouqet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even when I'm sick on NYE and I've lost my voice and still have to perform.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We all know that smoking is more addictive than heroin, meth, and even bacon flavored meth, and you don't have to watch too many episodes of Intervention or attend more than a handful of AA meetings to see the lengths that your average addict will go to feed that addiction. I didn't quit smoking myself until I developed severe asthma, and I still steal cigarettes after six or seven beers despite the fact that it would be equally as healthy for me to enter a needle sharing competition in Garden City. Almost every smoker hates the fact that they smoke, and how many empty promises have you heard your smoking friends and family make to themselves about quitting but to no avail?<br />
<br />
<br />
The simple fact is that your average smoker is completely screwed. Every single day that they keep inhaling poison into their lungs increases the odds that they will suffer before they die, and that day will come too early for everyone that knows them. For years we have been watching our fellow human beings getting addicted to a product that will almost certainly hasten their demise and it wasn't until fairly recently that the companies selling this product were forced to admit that they were killing us.<br />
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUaLiUJzppEiwr_QqetKarlU5K6oUjm7iqCvwbJQ61ITVOjIWKWv0d3UQBv-79q6D24MQ-UN4VwOawG4V6o6ewjgs_wGhP5-nvxreKCX6tavmguv0ZUPlscs1_5Hj6MwXhlZKG_cs-n4/s1600/moredoxsmokeluckies-notext-400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUaLiUJzppEiwr_QqetKarlU5K6oUjm7iqCvwbJQ61ITVOjIWKWv0d3UQBv-79q6D24MQ-UN4VwOawG4V6o6ewjgs_wGhP5-nvxreKCX6tavmguv0ZUPlscs1_5Hj6MwXhlZKG_cs-n4/s320/moredoxsmokeluckies-notext-400x400.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20,679 Physicians acquired a lot of negative karma</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
But we have science now, and a Surgeon General who wants us to quit that shit, surely logic, common sense, and a healthy sense of self-preservation would dictate that our society would rise up and destroy one of the most damaging things that even exists? Governments and activists have done what they can, we've suffered through ad-campaigns, warning labels, and countless hours of nagging from our loved ones, but it will never be enough. Never. <br />
<br />
The current crop of smokers are already infected. Science tells us that humans have a really crappy ability to predict statistics as it applies to them, we all think that it's everyone else who gets laid-off or gets an STD, which is why it's so shocking when it happens to us. And brains inflicted with addiction will use every single trick at their disposal to continue feeding the monster that is controlling their actions. Smokers, and the businesses who profit off of their addiction, have resisted every single effort to restrict public exposure. It doesn't matter what statistics we show people or how many of them rot from the inside, these forces will not be convinced with logic or reason, because addiction doesn't operate that way. <br />
<br />
And that is where the smoking ban comes in.<br />
<br />
Smoking was once allowed in Airplanes and Restaurants, even in Hospitals. Slowly, and with much resistance, things have changed. Now some states don't allow you to smoke within 10 or 25 feet of a public building, some cities don't allow you to smoke in any public space at all. Smokers have hated it, mumbling to themselves about their "rights" while simultaneously showing off their inability to make healthy decisions for themselves. Even some non-smokers, afraid of the boogie man coming after their bottled water or something next, argue that businesses get to make up their own rules. Well they don't, businesses don't get to dump sludge into the river or pollute the airways with smog without regulation just because they want to, this ban is simply regulating pollution on a small scale for the greater good, one of the reasons government exists in the first place. Smokers also like to speak of their right to smoke, like it was god-given or something, but killing yourself is technically against the law (and religion) almost everywhere, just because the two haven't been connected yet doesn't put them in the right. <br />
<br />
<br />
This is my final point: Boise is a small city, but it is a proud city. We are constantly on top ten lists of places to live, retire, or raise a family. The weather is nice, the people are friendly, and we even have a nice walkway called the Greenbelt that stretches alongside the Boise River for 22 miles because we are health conscious and like to ride our bicycles. A lot of people move here because of all the wonderful and healthy things that are accessible a short distance from town, these facts not only attract people but factor into the decisions of businesses to move here, something that has worked in our favor historically and has positively impacted our local economy. In 50 years smoking will not be a part of this city. Anywhere. <br />
<br />
<br />
So will our city council decide to step up and make the healthy and inevitable decision to make this a better place to work and live, or will a future city council have to do it for them? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fYKv8fgjUS6jIkDnUO6E71pwpwZpVPxUMzmFU-cxh4BKd8tsbavjZezyqUZLQ8ouVz7POTbvnrhgUIy7plSy3hq5Nvg0D_4uoVV-YPpu2IPL2KorC88jdi9gG5HRBJTRAi9Zv0jajLc/s1600/Smokerbra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fYKv8fgjUS6jIkDnUO6E71pwpwZpVPxUMzmFU-cxh4BKd8tsbavjZezyqUZLQ8ouVz7POTbvnrhgUIy7plSy3hq5Nvg0D_4uoVV-YPpu2IPL2KorC88jdi9gG5HRBJTRAi9Zv0jajLc/s400/Smokerbra.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's just stare at each other quietly.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-32260040218577467712011-10-09T09:36:00.001-06:002011-10-09T10:17:19.625-06:00The one where Mikey defends Mormons.The guy being interviewed on the Sunday news show just said, "Values are not specific to any one religion, as we've seen.".<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VK3XiONDbydHWhVFHtgjx-kZSSZM0g0CR3A2h1QmRdvlhwgrKOg1t3tcQDMhFRpo4kzcUtWdxL2D2Hv4Z792L9eGGGRVZLP4O4qK5IzXng0emxAGICYU9EKGJ8n3bmcKew5k9ImKUEQ/s1600/Tom-bio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VK3XiONDbydHWhVFHtgjx-kZSSZM0g0CR3A2h1QmRdvlhwgrKOg1t3tcQDMhFRpo4kzcUtWdxL2D2Hv4Z792L9eGGGRVZLP4O4qK5IzXng0emxAGICYU9EKGJ8n3bmcKew5k9ImKUEQ/s1600/Tom-bio.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom McClusky: Senior Vice President, FRCAction </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I understand that it's this guy's job to lobby for the will of James Dobson and he's a professional spin doctor for the right, but to watch him defend Mitt Romney for being Mormon has been an interesting experience because I'm forced to agree with him. <br />
<br />
For those of you who didn't get bored enough to stop reading before the third paragraph but still don't know what I'm talking about, Robert Jefferies is the senior pastor of a Baptist megachurch is Dallas, Tex. During a republican political event, Jefferies supported one candidate and took a shot at a different one, specifically because he wasn't a 'Real Christian'.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizL10UZHIDdhNnIprpvkn9f708yNUd5f7J96XP2hlENMlm8PNNO58k_hRlLOYnl4K-JIz6e0t1dIxc13h4-ApkoqyT4B3-QT7kVXmSjZRTFbntNrZKY_hKvu1rYV72z9cuFF4JyAUWWCo/s1600/megachurch_Full-724246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizL10UZHIDdhNnIprpvkn9f708yNUd5f7J96XP2hlENMlm8PNNO58k_hRlLOYnl4K-JIz6e0t1dIxc13h4-ApkoqyT4B3-QT7kVXmSjZRTFbntNrZKY_hKvu1rYV72z9cuFF4JyAUWWCo/s400/megachurch_Full-724246.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real Christians, shortly before selling all that they own to feed the poor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Having spent some time belonging to one of the most populated churches in the Boise area, I've experienced the energy that a large group of people worshiping at the same brings to a room, and it is very powerful. I really enjoyed my time in evangelical christian churches, they are a very active group of people and, if you belong to a big enough one, there is something going on every weekend. I've been to church camps, picnics, barbeques, river floats, Olympic style gaming events, car washes, and an entire host of other activities all underlining the importance of having a social gathering place for society to meet and to bond at, but almost none of it, aside from two summer mission trips I went on as a teenager, having much to do specifically with being a 'Real Christian'. Anybody could have been there and I wouldn't have known the difference.<br />
<br />
The biggest rule for Christians is to love their god using all of their mind, will, and strength, and then to love their neighbors as themselves. This rule came directly from the mouth of the boss man himself. While he was busy not mentioning gays, abortion, or masturbation, he spent a lot of time on how you should treat each other. If you really want to go to heaven and hi-five Jesus, the best way to spend your time is getting your hands dirty helping the poor, sick, and imprisoned. Jesus didn't spend a lot of time giving two shits about someone's immigration status or ability to pay for health care, but the evangelical branch of politics sometimes seems to do almost nothing else. For Jesus it was about genuinely caring about your fellow man, even going so far as to get rid of your physical attachments so you would not be distracted away from the purity of that love. Jesus never asked for 10%, he didn't hoard gold like a pirate. <br />
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dyD7vM_rHMWunFjcONFjDsoAMnRGOR8MyM_bctZpSS8d7V8_yXZPbt9mIvQDQV1bDtLXu4K7JNf8AgF-JrMJ_xn1DVAuWQalp0LVcqs0CQfw7WP6fdxrNwZWc0THcGscgvPzU-uGQzo/s1600/Pope-Gold-Pearls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dyD7vM_rHMWunFjcONFjDsoAMnRGOR8MyM_bctZpSS8d7V8_yXZPbt9mIvQDQV1bDtLXu4K7JNf8AgF-JrMJ_xn1DVAuWQalp0LVcqs0CQfw7WP6fdxrNwZWc0THcGscgvPzU-uGQzo/s400/Pope-Gold-Pearls.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know it's Holy because it's expensive.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
As far as I'm concerned, every single major branch of Christianity that I have ever experienced in the solid third of a century that I've been around can shut their hypocritical mouths until they literally put their money where their mouth is and do something to prove that they deserve the title themselves before they start labeling other Christian sects.<br />
<br />
And for the record? I have met thousands upon thousands of Christians in my life and hundreds of Mormons and, person to person, the average Mormon living here in Idaho is living closer to a life of faith than the average 'Real Christian'. Take it as you will, but go out on any Mardi Gras and you'll see a lot more Christian tits getting flashed around, and there's more Christian violent offenders in our prison system than everybody else put together, even after you adjust for population. And the number of Atheists in prison? Less than 1%.<br />
<br />
So maybe what McClusky should have said was, "Values have nothing to do with religion, whatsoever".<br />
<br />
Because they don't.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-57268039839149335782011-09-05T14:19:00.001-06:002012-02-16T14:58:08.376-07:00Napalm Justice!Like most stories where I lose my temper, this one starts off with me behaving myself. I was about to perform at the second stage of the night, a monthly open-mic that normally focuses on unplugged musicians, but this time had decided to book a friend of mine, Olek Szewczyk, in a half-hour feature spot. A few of the other locals had decided to head down with him, why just have one comedian, when you can have four? I managed to bully myself into the choice third slot behind my friend, and waited to go on stage.<br />
<br />
The first act was this young musician, a pretty girl with a short skirt and an entrancing voice. Our little sidekick Sam was immediately twitterpated, Olek appropriately said something inappropriate, and I cynically tried to calculate how long it would take for her dreams to get crushed*. Olek eventually took the stage and awkwardly made his way through the first 25 minutes of his set.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nqXOsUzJOqi-poU_oaGSsQnBsfohGr4XOq4-bmqE5c2ipyvqNZUekVD6hvBODBKMYEKhKNbAbtkvnqMEQwnSldfBzWae7BatZqs3nCwNjVshZOv77MyJ5E_iSSdTc5K26UI0KDBCLN4/s1600/Olekspits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nqXOsUzJOqi-poU_oaGSsQnBsfohGr4XOq4-bmqE5c2ipyvqNZUekVD6hvBODBKMYEKhKNbAbtkvnqMEQwnSldfBzWae7BatZqs3nCwNjVshZOv77MyJ5E_iSSdTc5K26UI0KDBCLN4/s640/Olekspits.jpg" width="380" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awkward is his specialty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
It was a loud room of drunks in an indie bar, but the front several tables were paying attention and I thought he was doing an excellent job. He had just cracked a joke about having only five minutes left and had started on his closing bit, explaining an awkward conversation he had with his mother over her love of a vampire television show. It's not a filthy bit, I've heard worse on network television, and he was only two minutes into it when I heard this voice pipe up from behind me.<br />
<br />
"Time to go," it was an older woman middle aged from the sound of it, and I assumed she was talking to a loud, drunk person behind us when she repeated herself. And then again. And again. It was on the fifth or so repeat, and when she had moved to stand almost immediately behind me, when the audience and Olek all suddenly realized that she was talking to him.<br />
<br />
"Time to go." She was trying to use her Mom voice on him. At first I smirked, my traditional face for mocking people, in expectation of Olek's reply. What I did not realize at the time was this was the first time he had ever dealt with this situation before. Normally the rooms we play in are more under our control, I had just chased out an entire table of drunks at the previous room a couple of hours earlier when my MC decided he should just ignore them (I walked up, took the microphone away from him, and announced loud and clear the traditional mantra of every MC, 'sit down, shut up, have fun')**. Olek handled it quite well, allowing her to fully make an ass of herself, culminating in her demanding everyone to raise their hands who wanted Olek to get off the stage. Nobody did, he said something sarcastic, and we all stared at her as she backed down and went back to sit at the bar. I barely stopped myself from telling her what a bitch she was, somehow forcing myself to mumble it so as not to disrupt the show.<br />
<br />
It was at this point that the girl running the show asked me if a musical duo could go up real quick because their specific audience had to leave. Of course I agreed and I watched Olek rally and finish on a high note. We all applauded and Olek came down to sit next to me. While the musical act, I never caught their name, spent the next ten minutes getting ready, Olek and I got into a discussion about whether or not he should apologize to his heckler.<br />
<br />
"Fuck her," I told him. "Selfish people like her, who feel so self-important that they think a bar full of people literally half their age are as easily offended as they are, and are then subsequently bitchy enough about it to stand up and yell at someone who is almost finished with their act, only thrive because people are passive-aggressive in how they treat them." He decided to go and talk to her anyway, like a damn rookie, while I considered more permanent solutions to hecklers in general.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPrbgmw7XrXZTQPQbcB7Gl6WspwVLmKTQeOKg3gQR84M5PLKFe4XWeemzpTML55GG_cF5Wy5GcEYqVCLIuyzoVw5e9rFggaLR9qz904Ix9MUyKbog2-X02bda5-hRtX8Xd2iroqAbixA/s1600/pfi_hand_grenade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPrbgmw7XrXZTQPQbcB7Gl6WspwVLmKTQeOKg3gQR84M5PLKFe4XWeemzpTML55GG_cF5Wy5GcEYqVCLIuyzoVw5e9rFggaLR9qz904Ix9MUyKbog2-X02bda5-hRtX8Xd2iroqAbixA/s320/pfi_hand_grenade.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing gets your point across like immediate violence</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
On a normal night this is where it would have left off; I would quietly judge Olek for capitulating with terrorists, which is exactly what I told him he was doing, while I distracted myself with my surroundings and desperately tried to enjoy the "music" from the stage.<br />
<br />
But it didn't go that way or I wouldn't be writing about it.<br />
<br />
It turns out the heckler was the reason I got bumped, specifically because she couldn't be bothered to sit through anybody else, and she honestly expected the rest of us to bend before her will. And that's when my switch flipped. You see, I am the stereotypical redhead when it comes to short fuses; I have exactly 15% of the average persons patience, especially when I'm completely sober, and my life is a series of struggles against my own impulses to stab random offenders in the neck with nearby utensils and writing implements. In the 3rd grade I threw over my desk and chucked all of my books at the teacher, when I was eleven I hit a neighborhood kid in the face with a rock because I heard he was bullying one of my younger siblings. I've matured as I've grown, but that seething anger at pretty much everything sometimes still looks out at the world and wants to watch it burn, especially when I'm on stage, which is probably why I almost never get heckled myself, ever.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cVyjK246Wa9uUoVNq9G2xn4nv4m3e715AM6QRlPMMCt9S9velIYbRcUa_P4KtSyNXc0_nos1X-2hfYz3AsubTHk7Tr-bBOE-HCe7R-begVy48AL1R4BZ1Tmqnw4Clu6vv-0aqO4d6W4/s1600/Couch+Stroint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cVyjK246Wa9uUoVNq9G2xn4nv4m3e715AM6QRlPMMCt9S9velIYbRcUa_P4KtSyNXc0_nos1X-2hfYz3AsubTHk7Tr-bBOE-HCe7R-begVy48AL1R4BZ1Tmqnw4Clu6vv-0aqO4d6W4/s320/Couch+Stroint.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Give this man some rum and/or a gun. SOLUTIONS!</td></tr>
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<br />
Needless to say I, as I sat there and watched the burnt-out middle aged half of the musical act ramble on about how 'everything is just a dream, man', in between bad cover songs that the unnecessarily attractive daughter of our heckler could never remember the lines to, I just kept getting more and more upset. By the time it was finally my turn to get a microphone, I had no less than three minutes of specific and accurate observations on her and why she should hurry up and die already. <br />
<br />
And it felt good. It felt good in the way that it always feels good to be justifiably angry***. I locked eyes with my prey and I told the whole room how I felt about her. She was already in a hurry to leave, but after I dedicated my set to her and started telling the most offensive jokes at my disposal, she couldn't flee fast enough. I felt like an anti-body protecting the host from disease and it took my entire set to another level.<br />
<br />
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that for a moment I almost checked myself. After the second sentence the girl running the show went up to the heckler and started to apologize but, immediately after, the sound guy stood up and started to applaud when I explained how disrespectful she was being and the entire audience agreed with me, so I barreled on. And here's the thing, I'd do it again. Not necessarily to defend another comedian, he's since sobered up and regretted his apology, but because selfish people like that need angry people like me to keep them in line. We all secretly want the douche bags of this world to get punched in face, some of us were just born to help that happen. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*- Considering how cheerful her voice was when I complimented her on the way out of the bar, I cut my estimate in half. <br />
<br />
**- Yes, exactly 'like a boss'. <br />
<br />
***- Justification sold separately, not valid in all 50 states, use with care.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-34550260776481086902011-08-28T12:47:00.001-06:002011-08-28T12:53:05.299-06:00Dear Pastor Mike... Someone in the Idaho Atheist group on Facebook posted a link to this - <br />
<br />
<a href="http://pastorstahl.blogspot.com/2010/09/putting-atheists-on-national-registry.html">Pastor Mike wants us to set up a national registry for Atheists</a><br />
<br />
Go ahead, read it and then ask yourself why so many of us are against religion. The comment section is locked out, so I decided to write him an email and then post it to my blog. If he responds, which I doubt, I'll keep you posted. First off here's his picture.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg835y1LrvupcIjNnNVwZRWLfxhSG7AJtnemv21A2rGl1VAlLsoWbvWA5fthygGSoMRNCDxb3bqIujh7v3zyBNBTEceYivh8koXuVyA7Fa3A3RpozNr1NC2NK5APh1FQWqZV47cQd6Y1NI/s1600/Pastor+Mike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg835y1LrvupcIjNnNVwZRWLfxhSG7AJtnemv21A2rGl1VAlLsoWbvWA5fthygGSoMRNCDxb3bqIujh7v3zyBNBTEceYivh8koXuVyA7Fa3A3RpozNr1NC2NK5APh1FQWqZV47cQd6Y1NI/s1600/Pastor+Mike.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The face of brotherly love.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I put in on here for <b>INFORMATION</b> purposes only. It's important that rational people know who wants to put them into internment camps (allegedly).<br />
<br />
<br />
Here's the email:<br />
<br />
<br />
Hello Pastor Mike,<br />
<br />
First off, it is certainly not my intention to offend. As a twenty year Christian I have some insight into the way that Christians generally feel towards us atheists but, after reading your blog about the registry, I just have some questions for you if you have a moment to spend. <br />
<br />
Q1) Considering the subject matter of Matt. 23 (Jesus yelling at religious leaders for their hypocrisy), it seemed odd to me that you quoted verse 33 and directed it towards non-believers. Was this a mistake on your part or was it intentional because it fit the tone you were going for? <br />
<br />
Q2) Considering that Atheists are one of the most mistrusted, slandered, and ostracized group in America, and especially because of the fact that less than one percent of convicted felons are atheists, isn't it grossly unfair to compare us to ex-convicts and sex offenders who are almost universally Christian? <br />
<br />
Q3) Statistically less crimes are committed by Atheists, we don't proselytize, and we are completely indistinguishable from 'normal' Americans, so how long do you think it would take for your hypothetical registry to turn into a witch hunt or to force your fellow Christians into McCarthy like levels of paranoia? <br />
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Q4) Speaking of Communism. Your picture suggesting that a lack of religion will lead to a communist state is humorous, let me tell you, would it be okay if I make a similar poster suggesting that a Christian state will lead to Nazis? <br />
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Q5) Do you actually misunderstand what Atheism means, or do you intentionally label it as a religion because it fits your agenda? If Atheism is a religion, is bald a hair color and is silence a type of music? <br />
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Q6) Would it be possible to sign up for your registry? If your flock is anything like you, i.e. the opposite of everything that Jesus taught about how to treat unbelievers, I would hate to have them come to one of my comedy shows and accidentally have a good time fueled by Satan. <br />
<br />
<br />
Full disclosure: I am posting this email and any ensuing conversation that I doubt we'll have to my blog at <a href="http://beardedatheist.blogspot.com/">beardedatheist.blogspot.com</a> Thank you so much for your time, I hope you have a wonderful day.<br />
<br />
-Mikey<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-51598366969769349972011-08-17T17:16:00.001-06:002011-08-17T17:25:21.410-06:00How to be a good 'open-micer'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpT6wXm11qOLGSO_D8uzAp4TPGVOMYw1Pe-ufFz_6tu72nyzCgsZpIMqWMCLWt_OASpw-p4kg_fof46SccHSA-OnG6RYythBf8qszZM3H7VgapMR5esRnOuMTk5syRFZ4wpbPURqK9ck/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpT6wXm11qOLGSO_D8uzAp4TPGVOMYw1Pe-ufFz_6tu72nyzCgsZpIMqWMCLWt_OASpw-p4kg_fof46SccHSA-OnG6RYythBf8qszZM3H7VgapMR5esRnOuMTk5syRFZ4wpbPURqK9ck/s320/index.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is specific for the Boise, Idaho comedy scene, but some rules are universal.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
First off, what is an open-micer? An open-micer is someone in the comedy equivalent of little league, someone who either is too new or not good enough to perform in anything other than at an open-mic. In some cities, like Boise, comedy clubs are infrequent citizens, so open-mics might be the only opportunity that you have to perform at all. There's no shame in it, the funniest stand-up comics in the world have all had to start somewhere, and even experienced comics will come out and play with the rest of us from time to time. <br />
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There is no average open-mic. If you're lucky, the local comedy club will run a room a few times a month for you, but you might have to start out at a coffee shop going up on stage between a slam poet and a musical act; the rules, however, are pretty much the same:<br />
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<b>#1 - Show up.</b> Show up early and show up often. Most open-mics have sign-up times and lists; many don't put the set order together until right before the show starts but, either way, make sure you are there. Open-mics are like gyms to athletes, and if you don't work out your comedy muscles, don't be surprised when you get all soft; even experienced comics need stage time to resharpen their skills once they've taken some time off. If you show up late, don't be shocked if you don't get on stage. We live in the modern world now and if you can't find some way to communicate that you might be getting off work late, the world is going to blame you for it.<br />
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<b>#2 - Be prepared</b>. It would be nice to be talented and awesome enough to be hilarious every minute on stage without having to think or do anything about it. If you are already that good, what the hell are you stealing someone else's stage time for? For most us, there is an entire process that goes into writing and performing a joke and, if you don't have that process down yet, you should figure one out. Most open-mics are pretty lax about performers bringing up a setlist to work out some new material, but you're going to be a lot more confident and more funny, if you're 'off book'. <br />
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<b>#3 - Be funny.</b> The audience is expecting to laugh. The general rule of thumb with setlists is to close with your best joke and to open with your second best joke. The audience is doing you the favor of letting you work out new material, but make sure to keep a couple of good jokes at the ready just in case you falter, your new bits don't go over well, or the guy in front of you really sucks and they need to be roped back into the show. <br />
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<b>#4 - Write more jokes.</b> The biggest enemy is always complacency. During a recent interview, Louis C.K. said that the only way for a comedian to get any better is to throw away all of his old material, otherwise you'll be tempted to fall back on it. I do it, hell, every comic is tempted to fall back on the old material instead of going through all the work of putting some new stuff together. The only way for you to achieve any of your goals as a comedian, even if it's just making the same audience laugh over and over again, is to bring something fresh to the table. The best comics write every single day, either new stuff or fixing the old stuff. Either way, this is one of the best ways to get better.<br />
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<b>#5 - Don't be an Asshole.</b> Showing up drunk, being wasted on stage, yelling at the staff, not tipping your waitress; all of these offensives are observed and opinions are made by your peers and the audience. You could be the funniest comic in the world but, if nobody likes you, nobody wants you around. Comedians by nature can be very contrarian and confrontational, but be as charming as possible. If possible, tip the staff extra. You'd be surprised how much the opinion of the staff can change the atmosphere at an open-mic. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to drink. Most open-mics have a specified time they expect you to be on stage, don't go over that time. At all. Comedy Clubs and open-mics in Boise usually use a light to let you know when your time is almost up, make sure to look for it. Ignoring the light is the second most common reasons why some comedians disappear after a show and are never heard from again. Every minute you go over your time, I have a new fantasy about where I want to stick an icepick. <br />
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<b>#6 - You don't deserve anything.</b> Odds are you're only half as funny as you think that you are. If you're like everybody else on this planet (protip: you are), you grossly overestimate your own abilities and only listen to opinions that validate what you want to believe. You should be thankful that someone has put together a location and audience for you to perform in front of. If you don't like how something is run, you are always free to experience the headache of organizing and managing your own room but, trust me on this one, it's a shitty job. Remember this the next time you want to bitch about how quiet the audience is at this location, or where the room wants the comics to sit while waiting to go on stage. Even headliners in comedy clubs are frequently forced to sit in green rooms during the show and sometimes aren't even allowed to talk to the staff. Always be respectful of the other performers, the audience, and the staff, and especially to the person hosting/managing the show. The biggest headache of my week is working with my fellow comedians, and every time someone complains about their placing in the show or how much time they get that night, I get one inch closer to shutting the room down entirely. <br />
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<b>#7 - Be supportive.</b> The audience that comes to an open-mic can be a fickle thing. It can take months to build a regular audience, and you still will have shows where only three people show up. If you are genuinely interested in working on your craft as a stand-up comedian, this is an excellent time to learn how to market yourself. In some places you aren't even allowed on stage until you bring in three people, and no bar is going to keep a room available unless there's people there buying drinks. It is in everyone's best interest to do everything you can to keep that stage available. In one instance, my then girlfriend, a fellow comic, and I spent three hours in the summer heat passing out flyers we made on our own to get less than a handful of people to come to an open-mic at our local comedy club, but at least we had someone to perform in front of that night. If you are a smoker performing at a non-smoking show, but only come inside for your set, you get your own level of hell where midgets spend eternity poking you in the legs with sharp sticks. <br />
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<b>#8 - Have a good time.</b> Stand-up comedy is entertainment, it's about escaping your crappy job and watching someone who can make you laugh. <u>YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY FUNNY PEOPLE.</u> If the audience is nervous because the show is in the daytime for some reason and they can see themselves laugh, if the last six comics completely bombed and the MC is drunk and messed up your name, if you are brought on stage immediately after a tear-jerking speech at a benefit show for premature babies (this happened to me), walk up to that microphone and have a good time. Comics who are enjoying themselves are ten times funnier and twice as likely to get laid after the show*. If you suck at every other thing on this list, do this last one. Life is a mess and the good parts are too short, so the next time we're standing next to each other and I'm handing you the microphone after ordering the audience to clap for you, try to remember that for the next several minutes you get to be a comedian, and that's one of the coolest jobs in the world. <br />
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* - Results may vary based upon attractiveness of comedian. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3536629753299726668.post-20059745516989330232011-04-12T11:36:00.000-06:002011-04-12T11:36:02.462-06:00Soviets in space...also, crippling depression...IN SPACE.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8p0MjMi6hE4_W9CmYxJ0e-A3AwDW5kKhGlzCQhYtyDLvxO7IdmtkONXBOY4pH90Asg7EcGGtPLtuilzr15Rpt6vLUpIMw45Xd4FF4izVw7U3NMRtBYq2ZW87z4dZZp0PMbLubQ_FqGYg/s1600/YuriGagarin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8p0MjMi6hE4_W9CmYxJ0e-A3AwDW5kKhGlzCQhYtyDLvxO7IdmtkONXBOY4pH90Asg7EcGGtPLtuilzr15Rpt6vLUpIMw45Xd4FF4izVw7U3NMRtBYq2ZW87z4dZZp0PMbLubQ_FqGYg/s320/YuriGagarin.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><b></b><br />
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50 years ago today, Yuri Alekseyevich Gargarin was flying through space; the first of a lucky percentage of us to sail through the upper atmosphere with little more than hopes and calculators. And, like most children growing up in the States, I believed that I too could one day grow up to join them.<br />
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The world is a cruel place.<br />
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A couple of days ago I noticed that one of my Facebook friends was experiencing some trouble dealing with certain aspects of our reality, the shitty parts mostly, and that an older woman, probably family, was trying to console her with that positive thinking pablum. I left some stupid comment about how inside this eggshell of our existence is a loneliness that never sleeps, ending it with some joke about how the universe is made out of rainbows and candy, but that juxtaposition started the ol' wheels to turn. Because the world really IS made out of rainbows and candy, as well as tsunamis, radiation leaks, and <a href="http://children.foreignpolicyblogs.com/2008/07/09/rape-camps-in-zimbabwe/">African Rape Camps</a>.<br />
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Maybe positive thinking is an excellent survival mechanism for the psyche. Not 'The Secret' kind of positive thinking, where if you hope for things hard enough they just happen (If I wanted to do that, I'd still be praying), but the kind of thinking where we retrain ourselves to notice but not to let into our hearts the emptiness that surrounds all of us at all times out into eternity forever. <i>Sorry, I'm new at this</i>.<br />
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Maybe I should stop selfishly building resentments until my relationships are carved out, maybe I should stop pouring over<a href="http://www.gvnet.com/childprostitution/index.html"> article</a> after <a href="http://articles.boston.com/2011-04-11/news/29407076_1_security-forces-protesters-deadly-force">article</a> after <a href="http://www.benzinga.com/press-releases/11/04/e995499/obesity-is-killing-our-children-softly-in-tampa">article</a> of things that are fascinating but do not help in keeping things bright and shiny.<br />
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But wait... WE WENT INTO SPACE PEOPLE! And it certainly wasn't an<a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/04/08/134597833/cosmonaut-crashed-into-earth-crying-in-rage"> easy journey</a> for all of us. But we did it, and we didn't do it by positive thinking. Like that last, horrible link, illustrates; we, as a species, can do nearly anything with enough expenditure of energy, time, and blood <br />
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Maybe that's a part of growing up; realizing that most dreams do not come true, that there really are monsters walking the streets at night and that they look just like you and me. But still, the universe is full of rainbows and candy, foot-rubs and beer and <b>bacon</b>. It may never be all the things I want it to be, and maybe my life has helped me be a little bit of a curmudgeon at times*, but if I can't learn to enjoy the moments I am lucky enough to have, why am I still here at all? I guess life is mostly about balance.<br />
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Meanwhile, in reality, I'm about to head downtown to plan for our next <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/event.php?eid=207392595945477">game-show</a> with a good friend. Maybe life is learning not to bitch too much about what you can't control. Figures.<br />
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* - Over 90% #notmeanttobefactualAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17255173146321412241noreply@blogger.com2