wisdom. testosterone. and a little bit of bs

dating game

Defining Moments


Hmph. Ok, so I googled myself today. Well, I actually googled my site today and I gotta say I’m a little miffed right now. There seems to be a lot of “alpha male” how to’s and  do it yourself kinda sites….and of course being curious, I checked out a few of them. And I was mildly surprised at what I found.

Has it really gotten so bad that lame guys have to write books about how to pick up women?  Wow.  I kinda feel bad for them in a sense. All this “how to be an alpha male”…how to walk, talk, and act like one to score chicks. You ARE kidding me, right?

Alright let me clarify something real quick. Lames, please take note, (get your #2 pencils out).

BEING ALPHA HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH WOMEN, YOU JACKASSES….. Being Alpha comes down to respect, leadership and your ability to maneuver in any given situation. Other men see it and give deference to it or challenge it . It’s never been about women. That’s just a side benefit that we gloat in the faces of the loser. Think of it as a “look what I have and you don’t and if you get one , I can easily take it away from you” kinda thing.

No manual is going to teach that. Deep down in your heart , you will still be lame.  Let me expound upon that for a sec.

LAME: a characteristic of an individual who puts forth no effort in life, one who succumbs to his defeats. someone who sits idly by and waits dependently. a person lacking confidence, self esteem, and self- dignity….anyone buying a book to pick up women.

And not to besmirch women, (because they have their own catty thing going on that we can only scratch at the surface of), but they generally like a man’s three “P” abilities. Provide, Protect, Procreate. There is nothing you can tell me that doesn’t come full circle into this. Try me….I haven’t had to teach a class in awhile. Any mature adult male knows this whether he admits it or not.

It’s easy as breathing. It’s something I’m not even aware of most times. It’s how I think on a subconscious level (hence, the title of this blog). I won’t go so far as to say you have to be born with it…and money certainly won’t empower you with it either.

You have it or you don’t. Deal with it and move on. Stop speaking in baritone when you’re really an alto, quit copycatting and be yourself.  Give up the books on how to get laid and focus on your self respect and dignity. Maybe then will a woman of grace give you the time of day.

Just do you.


I’ll have what she’s having…


I’m going to walk a very narrow line regarding this topic. You know how you hold an intervention for a drug user and they lash out at you? Well…..let’s just say denial isn’t just a river in Africa.

This topic goes out to Bridget and Mindy who threw this topic at me like plates at a Greek wedding.

Why is it that some women have relationships with men who are already in one.


Let’s examine our subjects, shall we?

The Man: He’s happy at home but….something’s missing. He’s not trying to work things out by communicating and he’s not leaving either. (yes, there are different variations, but hey….I’m not writing a book here.) consider this the default characteristic.

The Woman: chronic bad relationship finder, insecure, leads with her emotions. couldn’t find a good man if you put her in the million man march. And since women are more complex than men, I’ll offer more than one variation to her characteristics. The second type: fiercely independent, controlling, likes an “even table” (i’ll come back to that later). She snatches opportunities and doesn’t care who is cannon fodder. The third type: the platonic friend who’s the  “oops how did we get in this bed” chick. She’s not in it emotionally. She’s in it for the diznik…

We all know some of these people don’t we? Or you probably do, and don’t realize what their Modus Operandi actually is. But the question (before I dive off into a tangent) is why? I’ll answer that question with another question. Why is it that women’s menstrual cycles sync up after being in prolonged proximity of one another?

“She who ovulates first, has the babies”…doesn’t make a bit of sense does it?  Until you factor in we (both men and women) have a genetic primal code built right in our DNA. REPRODUCE AT ALL COSTS. So the syncing is a matter of competition in a sense, because if you’re not ovulating….somebody else is. And that someone else is getting the man you wanted for yourself. Then there’s that damned shortage. Macy’s had a sale on men and all you had left to pick from was the clearance rack.

We’re much more civilized than our cavemen brethren, so we don’t act on our  primal urges, but our body still responds as it has for a milennia. The competitive gene is still there, affecting your judgment and emotions and most importantly your logic. And let’s not forget about those ticking time bombs that are set to explode sometime in your late 30’s, early 40’s….yes, I’m talking about your ovaries.

Now along comes Jimmy Valiant. Man, he’s a nice guy. nice job. nice teeth. He’s tells you all about his family, and the fun they’re having. If only your last ex- boyfriend wasn’t so into feet and vegetable dip, you could’ve had all that. And he’s got nothing on Jimmy….He’s attractive, and he’s all but drunk off the amount of pheromones wafting off you like a hot pie in a window sill. tick…tick…tick, damn it’s not your watch! Uh oh, you can’t be cramping now….no worries, its your fallopian tubes doing pilates, getting ready. Why on earth is your body doing Kegel’s  right now?!?

Then it happens. Something that shouldn’t have but did, you feel guilty but you are enjoying yourself waaaaay too much to stop. It can’t end good can it?  Just listen to any country music and/or blues song to find out how it ends.

And there you have it. Thank you Bridget, Mindy, and this bottle of Moscato I finished off, while writing this entertaining piece on the fly.  Hit me up on Facebook again, and I’ll pen any topic you throw at me. Just don’t count on the accuracy….kidding!!! I’m right all the time.

Deuces.


10 things your mother forgot to tell you


mother daughterMothers often pass down unwritten rules to their daughters to prep them for the real world. To you ladies that missed out and/or didn’t listen, this is for you.

And suffice to say, it is FAR from complete. It’s just a few tidbits of what I’ve garnered in my 46+ years of existence. Some of you will gripe. I don’t care……you’re mad because I’m right.

10. Cook all you want…but a man prefers sex over biscuits any day of the week. The key to a man’s heart is comprised of many different things. cooking for him is at the bottom of that totem pole.

9. the tomboy/girl next door thing is cute, but your man still wants a lady. Keep rocking ballcaps and tennis shoes if you want. You’ll find yourself in the dugout being replaced by a new catcher at home plate. (no pun intended).

8. His friends aren’t really “your” friends. He doesn’t trust them like you think. There are rules and levels in the camaraderie of men. Especially his drinking buddies. Use common sense, before you find yourself in an awkward situation.

7. It really is all about the “Presentation”. the hippie movement isn’t making a comeback and you’re not from some obscure European country. groom yourself….muttonchops on the inner thigh is nasty.

6. Your BFF of many years will sleep with your man and go shopping with you the very next day. Yep, there are women like this, and the funny part is that they aren’t skanky or slutty. They want to test drive what you have. plain and simple. sad, but true.

5. If you don’t want to raise a dysfunctional son:

a. don’t separate him from his father (a good father) even in a divorce.

b. don’t bad mouth the father within earshot of your child.

Why? because once you crush a boy’s hero…once you remove his mentor, his blueprint to life, who is he going to learn from? you? no offense single moms, you don’t have the kahunas to turn a boy into a real man…there must be a male role model in his life. Trust me, unbeknownst to you, there will be a deficiency.

4. Do not bring your dates around your children too soon. that’s such a great example of relationship building. Your daughter will mimic you, and your son will assume you’re easy. (and that’s putting it nicely). Oh, and the kids will tell their father, who will roll up on your new beau at the most inopportune time.

3. Number four leads into three…Just like sons need fathers, daughters need their mothers. you are her blueprint to womanhood. She’s watching you and mimicking all of your actions….ALL OF THEM. the phrase, “do as I say, not as I do” is null and void. so it goes without saying, if you’re on the pole….

2. Feminism…for the most part, is cool if you’re a lesbian or a bitch. (I can hear emails flooding my inbox now).

1. Feminism and independence go hand in hand. and too much of that said independence will usurp your man’s headship. Doing this WILL cause him to resent you. He’s going to feel castrated. Yeah, I grew up old school, but far from chauvinistic as you probably have formed that opinion of me already, I don’t care. Look, if you’re really feeling incensed over what I’ve written, let me soothe your ruffled feather a bit. Even though I grew up in the bible belt, I’m not churchy and have never been given to quoting biblical references. Generally, I let my actions speak for me, but… 1 Corinthians 11:3 ” Now I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of every woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.

As I said before, this list is far from complete. But if you only take one thing from this blog, make sure you understand that raising your children APPROPRIATELY comes first. As a man, my goal is to ensure my son is prepared in all aspects of life. To make his journey easier than mine, to tutor him on life’s trek. Ladies…THAT IS THE LEAST YOU CAN DO FOR YOUR DAUGHTERS.


Facebook Episode 1


I have a confession. I stealth on Facebook and hide myself online because my friend’s list is 85% friends and 15% unknown psychotic waiting-to-have-an-episode nutjobs. So…better send me a message, cause I will never “pop” online…ha ha.

I don’t even know where to start with Facebook. Between the virtual farm crack addicts or Facebook admin giving pantie shots of my privacy away. There’s SO much. And it’s daunting for some. Why are you sitting behind your monitor laughing, knowing your best friend’s page is jacked up, or the girl you graduated high school with somehow manages to murder the english language via text as if she were illiterate. but we graduated together….right?

*steps up on soapbox* ATTENTION AVERAGE FACEBOOK USERS! You are not Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, you are not John Fitzgerald Kennedy…stop with the quotes and the “positive” messages. You motivate no one but yourself. Now, if someone messages you and tells you that your message helped them make it through the day, by all means keep it up…but after, oh let’s say 9 or 10 posts of cut and pasted plagiarization and you get zero feedback, you lose 128,125,128,523 points in motivational skills and should move on to recipes for crock pots. *steps down from soapbox*

So Facebook has become the virtual social hub of our existence. Our identity online right? Yet some of you…I ain’t saying names, have been on Facebook for at least a year with no picture (or an up to date one). Who are you hiding from? Or should I say, what are you hiding from us? You in witness protection? Were you horribly disfigured? Do you not own a digital camera? Actually, the last one isn’t an excuse….turn your phone over and push the button on the side.

No pic in a year? Delete your account today.

There is just sooo much wrong with Facebook, yet I faithfully log in to “see” what my family and friends are up to, post pics of weekend activities, and report the weirdos.

My message of the day Facebook users: Moderation is key. Too much of a good thing is bad for you.


More Cushion for the Pushing?


belly fat Any other day, I’d bypass this subject and wouldn’t think twice about it. I’m sitting at home sick as a dog, channel surfing. I see the Tyra Banks Show (re-runs obviously) about women loving men with big bellies. And then the subject was broached on Facebook. So I have to ask ladies…REALLY?

Because I heard a lot of lies. lies. lies. Maybe it was to save face, or maybe it was the fact that they no longer consider their lover’s body part of the equation of love. Maybe it’s all about the dollars and to hell with the body. I don’t know, I’m just trying to gain a little perspective.

See…I know without a shadow of doubt that some women don’t like skinny guys. I used to be just that. Being skinny as a rail, trying to talk to a dimepiece is a futile attempt  no matter what your charming smile or winning looks have done for you in the past. Some women don’t roll that way. They want a physical man who can handle himself and be able to bring food to the table. I get that.

But beer bellies? I’m heavily into the gym/fitness thing and I am a pretty sizable guy. At 42 years old, 232lbs, I still have no gut. Am I to believe, I’d lose out to the fat guy at the end of the bar with a bucket of Natural Light beer?  To quote the fictional senator Clay Davis from HBO’s the Wire, “shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

Muscle>Fat everyday, all day.

Guys, PLEASE do not fall into this sitcom reality TV show/facebook  tomfoolery. Get your asses in the gym. Nevermind what women think….ok scratch that(what was I thinking), consider your own health for a minute. Abdominal obesity can kill you (indirectly). Not to mention affecting the lead in your “pencil”. It’s a sure sign that your estrogen levels are rising. And I’m hoping I don’t have to break THAT one down to you.

Our abs are quite useful. When you find them again, you can email me and thank me for getting rid of your back pain and improving you sex life. Abs act as a stabilizer for your torso and a gyroscope for your….hell, if you didn’t know all this time, you might be outta luck on the latter.

Ladies (just the ones that like big men), tell your man the truth, yes you want a big man for the comfort and joys of life. One that can also handle himself and protect you. A guy that can be that “blanket” you want. You don’t want a guy who runs around making jokes about his “tool shed”. Encourage your big man to go walking, ease him into the cardio. Before you know it, he’ll be able to “see” himself again and won’t have to reach blindly for it.

Am I too harsh? Probably. Am I an insensitive ass? Definitely. Listen I know there are conditions which prevent some men from exercising and/or eating right. To those guys, I’m sorry…this isn’t meant for your eyes. I’m strictly referring to those 30-40 somethings who are fully ambulatory yet down kegs of beer at happy hour, talking about “yeah I’m gonna start working out again”. Meanwhile their wives and girlfriends are on the Tyra Banks Show talking about, “Tyra, my big bellied man is putting it down”.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit”.


The Return


He’s coming back to the game. And as much as his peers will hate it, they will also welcome him back with open arms. All while making snide comments behind his back. No, it isn’t Brett Favre and it sure as hell ain’t Jordan. It’s Eldrick. And before you get your panties in a bunch asking who Eldrick is, I’ll tell you.

Eldrick Tont Woods…affectionately (and intimately) known as Tiger. Now, there is absolutely nothing about Tiger Woods that I could expound upon that the media hasn’t already filleted and gutted a million times already, except for one thing. Why he got caught. (no, not why he did it, why he got caught).

Tiger Woods is an island unto himself. That kinda makes it hard to do dirt when you’re visible from the weather channel’s satellites. Secondly, he went against the grain of every celeb/athlete’s mantra. He had no Entourage.

Entourage (read: boys who you pay and trust to do YOUR dirt and take the fall). These people are made up of people you know before the fame and fortune and when the shit hits the fan, will gladly scoop it up.

Celebs with entourages usually have a bad image of boozing party hounds, so Tiger refrained from having one, not realizing their true purpose. Damn, hindsight’s a bitch ain’t it?

But let me make myself really really clear. In no way do I condone Mr. Woods infidelities. He was stupid and got caught with his hands, feet and who knows what else in the cookie jar. Apparently, he thought he was a college frat boy. I remember my college days, (barely). I felt unstoppable. I vaguely remember my mother mentioning something about me burning out before I turned 25 (guess what mom, it was sooner…).

I didn’t have an entourage but I had friends I trusted impeccably. Question is, who does Tiger trust? It’s kinda funny though, because real tigers hunt solo, at night and ambush their prey. The two legged tigers we know use Patron Margaritas….or cereal.

If only he had one good friend to say “I don’t think its a good idea, let’s go” We wouldn’t be reading about all this nonsense now. But you know what, it’s not all his fault.

Let’s back up a sec. So the wifey had no idea? She was clueless? Yeah right, whatever. If the handwriting is on the wall, you just don’t apply a fresh coat of paint. Let’s not forget this has been going on for years, and she just now decided to bash his head in? A one eyed man with a cataract could see she didn’t care what Tiger did UNTIL it was about to become public knowledge.

So why are people so hellbent on what Tiger is or isn’t doing? Americans (some of us) are boring, mundane hum drum people who live their lives vicariously through someone else. Everyone wants to shake up their lives and do something wild and off the cuff but is afraid to. That’s why Vegas is so popular. What? you thought it was because of the casinos? Kill yourself now and help the census.

People like to commune socially. That’s why everyone is in everyone else’s business and personal affairs. And when celebrities and/or an athlete’s business come to light…oh boy, the fireworks fly. Tiger’s affairs were, socially speaking “a multiple orgasm” for the media and it’s endearing public.

The man liked to get his multicultural penis wet. He’s also given billions in charity benefiting children. Does this make it right? Hell no it doesn’t. Not at all. But tell me…what has your trifling baby’s daddy contributed other than his seed?

Stop casting stones. Welcome back Tiger.


New Year’s Resolution? Who me?


Happy New year!  It’s that time isn’t it?  Time to make that new years resolution.

‘I’m gonna lose weight”

“I’m gonna save money”

and my all time favorite, (one that I can speak on) “I’m gonna work out and get in shape”.

Yay…I for one, welcome January. I’ll get all the cannon fodder I need for my blogs right in the gym.  Here’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask so many people. Why do you need a certain time of the year as an excuse to do something that you’re NOT going to stick with year round only to make the exact same excuse at the same time next year? I stopped making resolutions a loooong time ago. I figured out that obviously, I never wanted to do said resolution in the 1st place or I would have done it a lot sooner.

I get it though..sorta. a new year. a new beginning. a new you. Thing is, this could work with other holidays as well.

Easter… “Resurrect a new you”.

July 4th…”Celebrate independence from the old you”

Christmas.. “the birth of a new you”

New Years is just another holiday excuse. Let me give you a few synonyms for the word excuse according to Brittanica: apology , cleanup, cop-out, cover up, evasion, subterfuge, justification, plea…see where I went with that?

Hey, if you stick with your fitness program…great, awesome. I owe you an heartfelt apology and I’ll offer you my personal help and assistance. But my money’s on the ones who just paid up for a whole year at their local gyms and will be outta there by……mmm, let’s say March. It won’t even be 30 days for some. C’mon, I haven’t spend the last 13 years of my life in a gym and not have noticed.

I see you…on the phones, wearing makeup, scoping out potential mates (ok nothing wrong with that part), socializing like the gym is a club without a liquor license. Refusing a trainer and still working out wrong, holding up the machines that real gym members need. And you wonder how can you work out for so long and not see any results.

I didn’t forget about you weekend warriors (part timers in the gym). you have a little definition, so you swagger around the gym after you bench 225, flexing like you’re in the Arnold Classic, grunting like you’re in a strongman competition, wearing your little brother’s wifebeater so you can appear bigger. Tipping the scales at 220lbs does not put you in the big boy club (unless you’re 5’9). These guys usually quit after they tear a muscle from lifting improperly.

Ladies, ladies, ladies…there are sporting goods stores that sell non-tight fitness gear. So there won’t be any need to tie a shirt around your waist to cover up all that ass you’re trying to hide. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Don’t buy it, and we won’t look. Thus negating the need to cover up what you thought was sexy in the sporting goods dressing room. If men decided to wear loincloths in the pilates class, it would take you outta your game just a little bit wouldn’t it? Mmhmm, thought so. It’s all good til the shoe is on the other foot. Or, to put in more simpler graphic terms…til there’s a large penis in your face and you begin to remember why you’re working out in the first place.

All in all, its going to be fun times these first few months. I have a few goals of my own as well. Only I made them back in October ;)

See ya in the gym!


Volume Control


You know that friend of yours that talks REALLY loud?

So loud in fact, that you have to remove the phone from your ear, or back pedal away from them to avoid the spittle? It’s not their fault. It is however, their coping mechanism. The majority of them are extroverts. Outgoing, bright, optimistic, sunny people who want to brighten your day(and move the spotlight from all the skeletons in their closets).

Go ahead, just try to get a word in edgewise on these boisterous bubbly braggadocios blow hards (say that 4 times fast) and watch how their volume increases incrementally to over talk you. A normal conversation is now a shouting match. Your friend will then pull out a megaphone to finish his/her statement FTW (for the win).

As soon as I recognize the signs (the ability to hold 3 conversations at once and lead them all), I prepare myself for bouts of silence.

That’s right, the nemesis to these amplified vocal beings…the anti-talker. If I’m interrupted more than twice in a conversation, I shut up.  Obviously that individual isn’t interested in a meaningful conversation and one of my major pet peeves is having to repeat myself. Being forced to repeat myself makes me want to cripple people. (update: I’m no longer crippling people, the treatments work!) Once you stop talking, they realize their mistake however briefly. But like a broken radio knob, they return to full volume in no time at all.

There are SOME advantages to having a loud talker around.

Planning an event? Just remember it’s good to have at least two or more loud talkers at a party or function. Ensure there is an even number of them and your party will be a success as they cancel each other out simultaneously livening up the scene.

This can sometimes backfire however, creating another insidious loud talker:  the alcohol induced loud talker.

Oh yeah… now you have to contend with breath, spittle and at times become a leaning post. Because drunks wobble. There is nothing you can do but shred the napkin (aka the coaster) that your drink is sitting on and stuff it in your ears to protect your ear drums. A face shield would be nice, but it’s not too aesthetic in social settings.

Remedy:  Introduce him or her to the person next to you and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Works like a charm, trust me. Let them slobber and shout all over that person.


What’s that smell?


I’m really trying hard to be as unbiased as I possibly can when I say this: Ladies…desperation is not a good look. I should probably elaborate a bit more, “being desperate in getting a man” is not a good look.  Yeah, I know there are guys who are just as desperate, but I’m not one of them and I’ll be damned if I hang around those losers, so I ain’t writing about them…yet.

I can smell it you know. No, not that Dolce & Gabanna you’re wearing or it’s Avon equivalent, the desperation. Seeping outta your pores like next day tequila. That 4th quarter hurry up offense to score…A woman’s game clock, it’s a shame there’s no overtime…. Ovaries, apparently are like time bombs. You gotta use em before they explode. Huh, who knew?

Whenever I’m out socially, I get that look. You know the look I’m referring to: that extra linger-look away-then look again-smile look. It’s THAT look men love to get. It brings back that untainted school boy in all of us. That “yeah, I’m the sh*t” feeling.

However, It’s the wild eyed, “I haven’t had any sleep because I can hear my Fallopian tubes cracking” that scares the bejesus out of men.

I had a T-Pain experience at Chili’s the other day. Hanging with the guys, killing the 2 for 1 all night drinks specials when the bartender says “a lady is buying you a drink”. Cool, I turn down nothing but my collar…

It happened in slow motion (at least for me it was). I saw the approach, I saw the smile, I saw the switch in her hips that screamed “I’M FERTILE, I NEED A MAN, I NEED BABIES”. Then I saw the look of disgust when she caught the light’s reflection from my tungsten carbide diamond wedding band. It was like someone had messed up her $85 dollar perm. She wasn’t even cordial when I offered to return the favor. Maybe it was the walk of shame back to her table or the giggling schoolboys that my friends turned into.

Most of all, I’m sure it was the disappointment. I felt bad for her in a sense. She looked weathered/tired in the dating game. You know how desert travelers see mirages and get that burst of excitement and energy only to find out it’s nothing there? Yeah, like that.

What can you do? As long as we have the genetically encoded primal need to procreate there will always be trials in finding a mate. That goes for both men and women, but its just funnier to me when women have to do “the walk of shame”.  Divine retribution? maybe.


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