“She says she wants to shine a light into the darkness,” but thinks a blog will not accomplish the deed. Does she not realize that with every eye that looks upon her words, a heart might possibly be softened? A mind might be altered slightly? The power to share, to care, and to allow ourselves to affect others… “affect” because we are indeed changing them. It is a scary thought for some and this is not some super power we speak of. It is the power to care and that is a very human quality. That is a character trait that should never be overlooked and instead should be embraced.
A borderless world is social media. This land that we stand in now, these people of all colors and no color at all, their personalities created on fonts called Calibri and Times New Roman. And yet we know them as we do a character from a story we love to reread in the night. These connections are real, as much as some may scoff at silly chains of necessary friendship. These men adorn themselves with lofty titles of “Opinionated Man.” Ignore the wind, it is only the wind from America.
If you want to paint then paint. But if you want to change the world of others then paint the sun. Alter not only their perception, but their reality as well. Do this with pen, brush, keyboard, or word but do it because you do have the power. You have the power to care.
It is a Friday night and I am just now getting ready for the school football game. It is my sophomore year of high school and things have changed somewhat. My friends and I are able to drive, life is a little bit more fun, but the bullying still exists on a frequent occasion. I yell that I am leaving to my mom and rush out the door to my waiting friends and the feeling of freedom and the lack of adult supervision for a few hours. It would be a long few hours.
I don’t remember much of the game, which is odd because I rarely went to football games or large school events as it only invited more opportunities of conflict. I recall it was a nice humid evening, in Memphis, Tennessee, as we pulled into my parents’ house. I remember the familiar double beep of the alarm as I opened the door. In front of me was the door leading to the pool area of our home and to my right was my mother crying. Wait, why was my mother crying?
“Mary is dead,” she says as she rushes to hug me. Shock… I didn’t even cry when I heard the news, possibly because I did not want to believe it. I stored that sadness for later.
Mary had been living with us for the better part of the year of 1998 while she “reorganized” her life. She was smart, witty, had a great sense of humor, and a smile that could slay a room of men. She was from Jackson, Mississippi, where I had grown up and my mother’s hometown. Mary’s mother was my mother’s good longstanding friend. The other connection was through our particular sect of church which had a close knit group of friends from both cities, many of whose parents had gone to college together. Mary was important.
For a kid that had few things going for him, the attention she showed me was amazing considering she was in college already. To a sixteen year old boy, who’s every friend both in school and church was murderously jealous of him for being able to see her every day, this was a huge deal. And now all that was gone. I have a couple special memories with her, oddly enough both involved smoking cigarettes. My always “good for bad habits at the time” brother had introduced me to the joys of nicotine, so I would sneak out and have one on the occasion. When Mary arrived the first week she offered to drive me home from church one night, she had a white Pontiac Grand AM. I will always remember that car. We drove off and as soon as she hit the corner she had one lit. I laughed, and when she glanced at me in question I made a gesture for one to which she gave me with another surprised look.
“Yea, I thought I had caught a smell of smoke the other night, but your perfume does a good job of masking it,” I said with a grin.
“Just don’t tell your mom,” she replied with her memorable laugh.
The second memory is stronger, Mary had been dating my best friend Tim’s brother for a few weeks, but one night she rushes in my room. “I need a cigarette so bad!” she cried with a dramatized sigh. “Quitting for Michael not going so well?” I say with a chuckle as I fish mine out. “No it is not, but I don’t want to leave the house your mom might wonder.” It quickly becomes apparent that with the help of my sister our best option was to climb out one of our second story windows and smoke on the roof. It is one of my best memories of her, maybe of my past, I have. I remember feeling free from my troubles that very minute as we smoked our Marlboro Lights, and for a boy with multiple internal and external struggles going on, this was a blessing.
“They are saying they think she was hit by a drunk driver on the way to visit her mom,” my mother says with a sob. Mary had left that morning. My sister and I had come home to a handwritten note left in our shared upstairs living room telling us to be good and for me to be nice to my sister. It was the type of thoughtless gesture that still touched your heart that Mary was known for and I don’t mean that in a frivolous sense. Her smile could have brightened your day.
We are in Jackson, Mississippi at our old church, Mary’s church. It is a strange thing to know everyone at two separate churches from different cities, but my family does. My father is a Priest, an assistant pastor as he is a full-time physician, so we are forced in a sense to know everyone. I walk to the church doors and I see her coffin. I have never seen a dead body before, is her body ruined? It is my first real encounter with death and I have still not cried. This is possibly one of the two sources from which I learned the lesson of “delayed pain.”
I take a deep breath and walk in. As I approach her body I can feel eyes on me. Everyone knows that she was staying at our home, everyone knows who I am, but most don’t know how this girl, this woman, made an uncomfortable, depressive Korean kid feel like the world might be ok to live in. No one knew that her friendship was like a physical hand on my soul, comforting. As I approach her coffin and I see her face, so pale and still, I am suddenly angry. Nothing good lasts, is my thought as I turn abruptly away and stride quickly down the center aisle and out the door.
It is even more humid and hot in Jackson, than it is in Memphis. I am sitting on the steps of the church as my Godfather, my best friend Tim’s dad actually, comes out to see if I am ok.
“You really cared for her, I know son, it is ok to grieve, ” he says while laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. I tense, for I do not normally like to be touched, but from him it is ok. From him it was a trigger.
I begin to cry.
For Mary, Memory Eternal 1998.
Those things we do. I have many vivid memories of obvious mistakes I have made in my life. Some were major and others minor. I suppose my project has put me in a reflective mood, so I thought I would share a few.
“You want my autograph?” – I remember hearing my name. “Jason!!! COME UPSTAIRS NOW!!!” I of course proceeded to climb those stairs as slowly as possible. You never want to rush into things you know are a bad situation and anytime you hear your mom use that high pitched, shrill sounding voice you know shit has literally hit the fan. Like any other seven year old I had a number of things I “thought” she might be angry at, but I wouldn’t know what it actually was till I saw her. “Did you write in sharpie on your brother’s window sill” my mother immediately asked upon my arrival. I did what any other boy my age would have done. I lied. “Nope, wasn’t me…” I said confidently. “THEN WHY DOES IT SAY YOUR NAME?” Oh… oops…
Betrayal At Krondor – This was my favorite PC game as a kid and it was light years ahead of other rpg games! Unfortunately at the age of 14 I did not have a PC of my own… this was back in 1995 in case you were curious. I solved this problem by formatting my mother’s hard drive so it would fit the 9 hard disks required for downloading the game. How was I to know that format meant – remove forever! I remember thinking at the time, while being yelled at, that it was a serious flaw to place a self-destruct button on a machine that was so valuable.
Dogwoods in Memphis – The first home we lived in on Stonewall had two beautiful dogwoods in the front yard. They were a kid’s dream for climbing and also beautiful to behold once their blossoms opened. I thought at the time that it was a shame that the only thing ugly on that tree was the bark. So I decided to peal it off. I was probably around the age of 8 and I was so proud to show my parents what I had done. It became apparent I had made some type of miscalculation from the look of horror on my mother’s face. My father was furious… it wasn’t like I had cut down a cherry tree or something. In my defense those trees survived and no one ever hugged those branches for dear life like I did.
“Dude Jason… I think we had a wreck…” – We were driving home from Nashville after a night of partying when I fell asleep at the wheel. It had never happened before, but fortunately this time I didn’t hit a car. What I did do was tear up five yards of guard rail, hit a bridge column, and the car ended up catching fire and being destroyed. Did I mention that it happened to be Father’ Day morning and it was possibly my dad’s car…
“Well that doesn’t fit… dammit!!!” – Recently I have discovered I suck at home repairs. I should not be allowed to do them. I decided to surprise my wife by switching out the back sliding door handle with a locking handle instead. Well it helps if you look inside and see what type of door it is. Unfortunately I tried to put a normal lock on a latch handle opening. For those that don’t know, that is kind of like the square peg in the round hole scenario. Needless to say, my wife was pretty pissed at the large hole I had drilled for the handle that didn’t fit.
*Marlboro lights – You remind me of Mary. I miss her dearly. She was a great friend, a confidant, a shining light in my life during a time I needed some light. Taken too soon from us, you will be missed.
*Kids on bikes – I am reminded of when I was younger and still living in Jackson Mississippi. I had a small dirt bike, a hand me down from my brother, and all my friends had nice new “multiple speed” bikes that were just coming out. Needless to say I lost every race. I recall often times throwing my bike into a dirt ditch in frustration.
*Dirt ditches – Anytime I see a street or neighborhood without a sidewalk I am reminded of Jackson, MS. Many of the neighborhoods in Jackson don’t have sidewalks and I get a familiar tingle when I see the same thing in other cities. Ever felt like you were walking down a memory?
*Throwing Stars and nunchucks – I get a vivid memory when I think or see these words. It reminds me of Knoxville, TN. My Asian friends (and the token white dude) were in the parking lot of one of the dorms on campus hanging out. My Filipino friend decided to show us his nunchuck skills. I will say here that he was pretty good. To this day I do not recall any glances of fear or alarm from those passing by, but someone obviously called the cops. A cop car screeched into the parking lot and two white sheriffs stepped out with guns drawn. “Get your hands up and drop the weapon!” We looked at each other in confusion, but of course complied. After making sure we were not a threat, we were left with one last memorable statement. “You boys don’t have any throwing stars or knives do you?” Nice…
*Captain Morgan – Cigarette thrown, angry Korean, guy gets a bloody nose, more rum.
*Wendy’s after midnight – Knoxville, TN we pulled up and ordered almost everything on the menu. As we got to the window we decided it was an appropriate time to spark up. The lady at the window looks over her shoulder for her manager and then says “give me a hit and the food is free.” Win!
*Seattle Washington and stupid buses – So I arrived in Seattle in the summer of the 2000 for the motherland tour to Korea which I write about in my adoption story. I arrived a day earlier so the other people going on the trip were not yet there. One girl was and she invited me to go downtown to the mall to meet some of her friends she had not seen in some time since she was not from Seattle. I agreed and we saw a bit of Seattle and I quickly fell in love with the city. When it was time to go she decided to hang around and I told her I was fine getting a bus back to the airport hotel we were staying at. The problem was that at the age of 18 I had never actually ridden a city bus before. I figured it would be as simple as walking to the opposite side of the street and getting a bus going the opposite direction. How was I to know, I was from Memphis, TN where you don’t ride a bus unless you have to… ever. Needless to say I did not get to my destination and I was forced to ask a police officer, like the orphan that I was, how to get to the airport. Embarrassment
*Scottsdale, AZ – One of the few memories I have of my father and I spending time together. I don’t begrudge him, he is my role model when it comes to providing for a family. He was always busy, but as a chief physician and a teacher at medical schools that shouldn’t be unexpected. It is to a kid though. Scottsdale was beautiful and my father was giving a talk at a place called the Phoenician, which was a Ritz. It was my first Ritz… I will remember forever the mother of pearl swimming pool there. Amazing
*San Antonio, TX – Basic training. Getting a post card 3 weeks in from my family on an Alaskan family reunion cruise. Miserable
*Cracker Barrel – This place is really white and even though I am with white parents I never belonged there. One of the few restaurants I have ever felt that way. I don’t go there anymore.
*The 3 – My two friends and I as kids were the 3 forwards on our soccer team and we kicked some 10 year old ass back in the day. Those fools never knew what hit them…
*The Year Off – My transition from junior high to High School was funny because the inner city schools in Memphis, TN have never had strong soccer teams. When my friends and I entered into the “system” many city soccer coaches took notice because there was literally a “team” of us in the same 2 grades. I remember as we were getting ready to enter High School that I met my future coach, a real pompous braggart that was one of those soccer coaches that dresses as if he is a player too… give it up. He would even try to show us techniques, which was amusing considering most of us played competitive soccer since the school soccer was really just amusing to us. That was the year I “took a year off from soccer” to play golf. The High School coach was not pleased, he wanted us all on his new “super team.” Tough shit Sherlock, I don’t regret it to this day asshole.
*Pre-AP English – “You won’t ever be a good writer. Many people aren’t great at writing, try something new.” So motivating…
*AP English – “Mom I got a 4 on the AP English exam! Can I go shove it in Mrs. ___ #@$%#@%@#$ face?”
*12th grade Art class – My first in school fight that I got caught for. In my defense… it was self-defense. Memorable line from the Principle “we punish all offenders equally here!” My mother “well that is the stupidest shit I have ever heard!” Love…
*2008 – You are released from service Airman. “OMG… OMG”
*The King and I – I was one of the Emperor’s children in a traveling Broadway production of The King and I in Memphis, TN. That was one of the greatest memories of my childhood.
*Boy Choir – I miss my voice. I was a soprano till I was 16 years old. I got made fun of, but I didn’t care. Now I sound like a mortician.
*HarsH ReaLiTy – “This online journal should be a fun and relaxing way of writing a diary…”
Shatter me with your passion and send my soul into the wind. That I may fly towards another and share your words. Cradle me against the torrent of humanity, the tears of anger and sadness of others wash over me. I close my eyes to the pain of the world for a second, a second just to myself… Laying down the boulders of others, I take up my own cross and begin to climb The Hill. Inadvertently I follow the footsteps of others, but I do not share their trials or their story. The mud from their tears provides a fresh pavement for my own footsteps to leave their impression. A trail of humanity for the next.
The power of pretty is evident all around us today. It is on social media, on the television, and walking in front of us at the mall. It is an idea or concept held by society that defines what we consider beautiful and attractive. There is real power in being pretty that is often scorned and mocked verbally, but we all internally know of its existence. The power of pretty can take you far.
What is the power of pretty? This power can grant you wishes you never dreamed of! Have you ever wanted to be a beautiful, yet ferocious vampire that leaps around in trees and is just charming enough to convince a perfectly healthy young damsel into accepting the life of an undead? Try the power of pretty! I hear it even makes your skin glitter in the sun. Have you ever had difficulty reaching the top shelf at work and need help? Try the power of pretty! Help is on the way!
The power of pretty is mightier than any penis or vagina known to man. It carries the weight and authority of the wearer. Some people are simply better at wielding this great influence on humanity, just as some people are simply prettier than other people. For instance a true practitioner of the power of pretty can still be pretty while crying. That is a higher level of pretty and beginners in the practice probably shouldn’t try it. It is very easy to change from the power of pretty to the power of ugly.
I am jealous of those that have this power. They are everyday superheroes that don’t even know the blessing that has been bestowed upon them. Most comic characters have to undergo great trials and tribulations to gain their superpowers. The power of pretty is given by birth. That is probably why it is taken for granted so often. Nothing is more shameful than seeing the power of pretty wasted.
She draws upon herself with beautiful knives of steel. With each stroke she paints a picture of her pain… with pain. Each cut produces a blossom of relief followed by a single tear of desire. A yearning for relief so strong is present that the hand acts without thought. It creates etch marks upon the arms and legs to mark the turning of each page. Another chapter of depression is finished, marked by the flowing of blood. They form droplets of periods and commas on the floor that highlight the desire of the moment. The emptiness of the page that follows reveals more than a lack of desire to write. The absence of a picture paints the image of pain that would be understated by words. It is instead underlined by the “swishing” of a razor and a pained smile of contentment.
There was a time in my life when the land was covered in darkness. It did not matter what time of the day it was, there was simply no light. I walked the world a ghost and prayed to any god that would listen that he or she would simply end it for me. I wanted to die. I wrote the below poem in remembrance of that time of weakness.
And there they lay. The tools of the day. A razor, a pile of pills, and a bottle of Tanqueray.
I have stared in the mirror for hours. All have gone to bed. With each tear has come resolve. We may as well end it all. I hate you. With a hand I gulp the pills, the bottle is already near. I gulp death’s companion. And to the left are the backup dancers.
A letter to someone… I hope… anyone?
Never there is a reply. I say this aloud now as the razor cuts once, twice, thrice… and as the ice cold water washes away my sight. I feel life fleeing from my nearing empty vessel. And suddenly a wrongness, a surrender of an opportunity? I do not know.
And as the light flees the coming darkness, all I can do is embrace the growing warmth.
People fail to realize that there is depression and there is suicidal. To me suicidal is the point you reach when you just don’t care. You could give a shit less about heaven or hell, they are one and the same because your life has become a living hell. It doesn’t matter how many “do gooders” speak soft words in your direction, you only see darkness.
I remember well that time still to this day. The feeling of that night, sitting online and telling a few “close online friends” that I just didn’t care. That it was time to see what the next page brought. I remember a feeling of finality when I shut down my mother’s computer. My steps were almost light as I walked slowly upstairs. Neither asleep, nor really awake… I walked like a man in a daze to my bathroom. I starred at myself in the mirror for what seems like hours and in those precious minutes I decided I was ready to die. I made that choice. I took those pills and I drank that bottle to the head and I remember smiling. Because finally I didn’t feel so cold anymore. The warmth of death was my friend that night and I was ready to receive him.
It changes you… that type of experience. It is nothing to brag about and many might feel ashamed of that type of weakness. To feel ashamed of being human is a shame in itself. I was human that night, but I am lucky my humanity failed to die.
It is always a challenge to take your pen where everyone else’s has gone before. I see the leftovers from their ink still at the bottom of the page, but decide to write over it anyways.
It doesn’t matter what others have said, written, or even felt when it comes to love. No true feeling can ever be duplicated because a true feeling is unique in the moment. I know happy, I have met sadness we are good friends, and I have met content. I have been content most of my life in not knowing what love is. Was, I find we recreate it daily as we live our life together. Pen being moved by both of our hands.
You understand me when I cannot be understood. Standing with me when others would have stood away… far away. I wave to you and you wave back. You will always wave back and that is what will always separate you from the crowd. There will always be a them, they, and those over there, but with us we will always be… us. Us and the promise to love our young future.
I find a need to need a little more. A need to find out who you are and who we might be together. Pages unwritten, but being written by each other’s guiding hand. Writing an ending together as we make the decisions that are our life. I take strength in only just a glance.
Here are some pieces of advice I have on sex and they are obviously mostly for men, but maybe some women can relate to them as well.
1. Men don’t be too quick to defend yourself. When she says “was that it?” Don’t immediately say “but baby that was 2 minutes and 35 seconds longer than last time…”
2. Men you may not want to watch the football game while having sex. If you just “happen” to sync your sexual activities with that of a two minute drill going on women WILL notice. And they don’t take too kindly to it when suddenly everyone is clapping right on queue.
3. If you throw the pillow case and ask for a timeout for a water break and then get distracted by a playoff game while downstairs don’t expect sex for another 4.3 weeks.
4. Using condiments and making things interesting is fine during sex up until a certain point. That point normally begins when you hear voices that say “Are you guys making dessert in there? I hear whipped cream… I want some!”
5. Guys if you get caught looking at the clock have an answer ready for when your woman asks “what are you looking at?” I normally pick the water glass that should be there by the bed because hydration is important, “I was making sure no one was putting anything in your drink.” When she says “…but we’re at home…” you then need to look frustrated and say “baby can we concentrate on our next moves?”
6. Getting caught having sex in public, like in a car at the park, stops being “cute” and “romantic” at a certain age. The walk of shame is a little worse when your 18 year old has to bail you out from prison and drive you home.
7. Have an answer ready for when women ask you those questions like “was it good for you baby?” I like to go overboard with my answer to stop any further conversation. “Yea baby! This Captain is sure happy! You rocked the boat!” If that one gets old you can change it up with something like “This warrior is sure glad he visited this village!”
8. Sometimes women say silly things they have either heard other people say or seen on movies. If a woman says “Baby it is so large” and you are pretty sure it isn’t… just smile and try not to roll your eyes.
9. Pretending you are a superhero makes sex better.
10. Guys don’t just roll off and run do other things. At least give her a high five before you go. That lets her know you care.
Disclaimer: HarsH ReaLiTy is not responsible for any outcome from having followed any of the above advice. We encourage caution while dealing with sensitive subjects such as these.
I see a lot of articles by both men and women claiming that “women are hard to understand.” Why do people find women so complex and difficult to decipher? I figured it was my duty to provide some basic pieces of information for those “lost souls” that cannot understand the opposite sex. You may thank me later world.
Women want a manly man. They want a guy that can rundown a bull and belt out poetry while fighting bad guys with one hand. One tip I hand to men is to always carry a whistle on a date. This isn’t a “rape whistle,” but in fact a “notice me asshole Taxi Driver” whistle! Nothing is more emasculating than franticly trying to wave down a taxi and getting passed by time and time again. Then the woman raises a pinky and “WALLAH” your chariot has arrived! I have solved this problem by carrying a whistle because I can’t do the cool “two finger technique” from the movies. Instead I will blow the shit out of that whistle and hope to impress the woman with my large, bulging red cheeks. You know what they say about large cheeks right…
Men understand that women like flashy things and “the moment.” I have found a way to make ANY moment special. I walk around with a pocket full of glitter and will spontaneously shout “PRESTO” while throwing a handful in the air. The only time this fails to impress is if you happen to be dating a circus performer… they generally expect a second act.
Many females like active and athletic men. I am lazy and get tired just thinking about running, however, I have solved this silly expectation by pretending to get ready to “work out” multiple times a week. I never actually do anything, but the glamour of seeing me “warrior up” normally does the trick. If that fails I MAY do a couple of pushups if the gravitational pull of the earth feels particularly weak.
Apparently women think that men don’t clean… or cook. Men are also really lazy when it comes to remembering when we did it last during arguments. I have solved this issue by creating a Facebook page called “Look honey I did the dishes.” Providing an easily referenced source for women to ponder over BEFORE the argument will always benefit you in the long run. I suggest secondary and third sites for cooking and chores which we men “don’t do ever.”
I don’t understand why guys give up so easily in fights. I know the enemy is cunning and will use loose historical fact to back their attacks. This can easily be repelled, however, by simply never admitting anything. “Did you eat my leftovers from last night?” Nope, no idea what you are talking about… maybe it was the dog…“We don’t have a dog…” Are you sure we don’t have a dog? I have seen many dogs today. You see what I did there men? It isn’t lying if there is enough truth to make it float. If all else fails… use the backup plan and throw glitter in the air and run.
- The easiest way is to cross your fingers. This still counts… I don’t know what idiot told everyone this stops working when you are a kid. I use it all the time!
- It isn’t really a lie if there is an ounce of truth. Kind of like a pool of water that has a drop of holy water dropped in it is suddenly pure right? Makes sense. So just make sure you put “enough truth” to make it “good enough.” You don’t have to feel guilty about getting caught over “good enough” fellas.
- Don’t look her in the eyes. Anything said while not looking a woman in the eyes is questionable and this can be proven in current court records. It will work. Be firm men.
- If you kind of trail off at the end of sentences then “technically” more words “might” have been there. This counts as the “loose ends” rule of covering your ass. Use this only as a last resort and when we say “last resort” this is like backing out quickly with guns blazing “last resort.”
- If you say that a friend did it this will work, but only a couple times a year. If you are using this all the time it gets old and you deserve to get caught. “Aw honey I am sorry I was late… Bob got drunk and threw up everywhere. I had to follow and make sure he got home ok… I am such a good friend.” If you imagine a halo above your head I hear this sometimes actually occurs. If it does, Youtube that and share with all the other men in the world please.
- If you are late say you had to “find the right outfit.” No woman in the world should ever be able to contest this excuse from a man. Ever.
- You are allowed to use the excuse “I was saving a kitten from a burning building” once in your life. It helps to photoshop some stuff and maybe not look like the chess club president. That is just hard to believe…
- If you are frequently out late and can’t answer your phone and your girlfriend (this won’t work with a wife) asks why you can tell her you are a part-time super hero. I have told all the women in my life this and they all believed me. I am so cool.
- If a woman catches you in a lie, code-red alert backup plan Z is breaking down in tears and claiming someone died. You may want to pick someone believable since women have a nasty habit of remembering everything a man says. Everything. So if Uncle Bob is suddenly resurrected at the next family reunion you never thought “she” would make it till… well you better think of a way to resurrect yourself.
- Claiming you are allergic to dust and cleaning products works as an excuse out of housework. It will help to perhaps faint a few times and look really ill when in the supermarket cleaning aisle as well.
One of the most trying periods for males is “the moment of the breakup.” Now I understand that women also breakup with men, but I can’t really speak on their behalf. I would hate to try and talk on a topic I wasn’t clearly an expert on…
I feel it is my duty to provide men out there with some tried and true methods of “parting ways” with a woman. These will help you to keep your sanity and your nerve because it is that moment of uncertainty that will cause a bad decision that will result in a lifetime of unhappiness. For both parties involved. All of these options won’t be available to you, not all of us own horses, but the ones that do I encourage you to try some of these. Putting a video of it on Youtube.com is also a great idea. Here are some ideas for “safe” ways of breaking up with a woman.
I believe the safest method of approaching a woman is in a full suit of armor and on a very fast horse. Preferably one of those Spanish horses I always hear about. In this situation we are approaching the woman not as a possible bride, but as a potential fire breathing woman who might snap upon being presented the banner of truce. I consider breaking up a “truce” because each party is free to go their merry way. I am speaking only of dating here and not marriage, obviously. The armor is in case the woman tries to stab you. Now you laugh, but do you know the type of man that gets stabbed? The one that stupidly broke up with a girl and then turned his unprotected back. Watch the Nature channel men… life lessons.
Everyone uses the giant announcement boards at ballgames to propose… but I think a breakup might go well on one. Simply have them say “I think we should just be friends” during the game on the overhead Television and ensure she sees it. I think that the moment will be so awkward everyone will just laugh it off and be friends… right?
Send your brother to breakup with your girlfriend for you. Brothers are normally willing to do this, for a price, and they will think it is hilarious. They also will be brutal about it and that will be the end of it. Or… your brother will end up dating your ex-girlfriend. You will end up single for 6 months, just long enough to endure a few holiday dinners at which your brother and his “new girlfriend” will glow. You will look like an idiot, but you will be single!
Break up with her while on a hot air balloon ride. If she kills you… you will both die probably. Unless she happens to have her smartphone on her, in which case she will Google map a remote location to bury your body and then fly home. I suggest random metal detector scans. Simply say it is a health issue.
People send singing telegrams and that is just stupid and mean. I would send a mime instead to hand deliver the message. He can then start miming a wall to protect himself…
I think that if you breakup with a woman while wearing a Harry Potter costume and holding a wand she will think you are so pathetic she won’t get mad at all. It will work. Trust me.
Lastly I have found glitter really is the ultimate enemy of a woman’s heart. If you say anything and throw glitter in the air they love it. “We should break up!” [throws glitter in the air] All you will hear is clapping…
Men I am going to get serious here and discuss a major trap that men fall for and never see coming. You may hear or see on a television show a funny skit where a couple plays the “what is your fantasy game.” Normally it is generic and we all get a chuckle from it and move on to the next program.
Men don’t play that game! If you are going to play the “what is your fantasy game” with your wife, girlfriend, significant other, or friend with benefits be absolutely sure you have a “general” idea of what they may say in response. What will you do if you receive some of the following answers back?
1) I want to have sex dressed as a clown. What the fuck? Who the hell are you? How long have we been married! Holy shit!
2) I really want to try group sex. That better be some new trend of exercise…
3) How about we “trade positions?” How about we don’t?
4) I want you to call me Billy from now on. But your name is Helen…
5) Let’s sneak into your old childhood bedroom and get naughty! I don’t even think my childhood bed could be classified as a “single.” We won’t fit…
6) I want to have sex with a stranger! WE ARE MARRIED! HOLY SHIT BATMAN!
7) Let’s dress up like animals and chase each other around! What drugs have you been taking and why aren’t you sharing.
8) Let’s try this missionary position I keep hearing about! Yea that does sound exciting! Is that some new form of role play?
So maybe that last one won’t be said… but you better believe your ass men that some of these other responses you COULD hear. Are you prepared for those types of answers? If not… don’t play that stupid game. It is a horrible, horrible, horrible idea!
1. Audition and make it into a boy band. She will crawl across glass to have you back! Just make sure it is an actual boy band and not one of those creepy 50’s, “give it up already” bands.
2. Date her sister or mother. It will work.
3. Become a motherfucking sorcerer. Who needs women if you control the power of magic?
4. Date a girl/woman of a completely different race and also personality (preferably one you have never dated before). Post that shit ALL OVER social media with ALL SMILES. You will send your ex-girlfriend into epic levels of self-doubt.
5. Never, ever, EVER answer your ex’s phone calls. Wait a few months and if she is still calling answer once with a “who is this again?”
6. Create time lapse videos of you and your dog doing EVERYTHING you and your ex did together. Some cheesy music and maybe a few make out scenes will really make the videos memorable.
7. Do everything you told her you would not do with her and take tons of pictures doing it. Again, overshare on social media and know that she sees it. And she hates you.
8. Date a girl with the exact same name. No it won’t create a complex for you, but instead will irk the shit out of her every time she sees a new Facebook post with her name on it.
9. Immediately get married. The next week. That will show her!
10. Write a post on your blog saying “Oh Shit! I found out something horrible from the doctor today!” But never elaborate. She will definitely call you soon.
Men I thought it might be nice to give you all a quick guide to the anomaly called “the decorative item.” If you have a steady woman, live-in girlfriend, or wife you may have encountered these strange objects around the house and thought to yourself much like me “what the fuck are these for???” Make no mistakes, these items are not to be used . Ever. EVER! They are merely for the… what again? Because not even guest are supposed to use them.
I give you item A men, the decorative towel.
These specimens have been seen throughout the world and are invading bathrooms daily. What are they for? Don’t touch it! …god are you crazy? That was close. Just look. Now consider this, even if for some reason some intruder came in and I saved the day like the Korean Superman I am I still better not use that towel to clean my blood. That towel right there gentlemen… yes, it looks normal doesn’t it? We are all in agreement this is a normal towel? I don’t get it either… next they’ll invent decorative beers…
1. Play dead. Before you laugh and say “that won’t work” have you actually tried it? Seriously, fall down and don’t move. Even if she yells your name or pokes at you with her high heel. Just pretend like it is nap time.
2. Start to pray. I normally look at them and indicate they are supposed to join in… and keep shooting astonished looks that they aren’t.
3. Keep saying “I love you” till they stop talking. It will work. Have faith.
4. Counter everything they say with a bad adage about some sport they hate. Women absolutely hate when we do sports analogies and it is enjoyable to see them squirm.
5. Yell “That’s right I forgot to do that thing!” and run out the door… you may want to wait a few hours before returning. Possibly with some flowers.
6. Tell her suddenly that Bill has died. When Bill shows up to your house the next day fall to your knees and cry “Lord! It’s a miracle!”
7. Keep turning the argument to her anger issues. Even if she doesn’t have any. It makes them rethink themselves and they end up getting frustrated and dropping the topic.
8. If you are married or dating an Asian woman yell out “Godzilla” and use those few seconds wisely.
9. If arguing while eating suddenly “choke” on a chicken bone and allow her to be the hero. No one wants to argue when they are in hero mode.
10. When an argument is about to start in bed I use two options. I either fart and allow the humor of the moment to dissolve the tension in the atmosphere OR I start audible snoring until she gets the picture.
Note: I am not responsible for any possible… repercussions of following my relationship advice…
When she is sleeping. – “Psss baby. Are you awake? Your Mom’s birthday present slipped my mind today and is still in the car. I’ll mail it tomorrow, it will only be a few days late. You think that will be ok???”
When she is giving birth. – “Hey honey, I don’t mean to interrupt you, doing great by the way, but I forgot to tell you I filed taxes late and we are being audited for $5,000. Nothing you should be worrying about right now. Keep breathing remember, through the mouth and nose!”
Right before surgery. “You know babe before you go I forgot to mention I got fired, but I hated that job. So you pull through and we’ll pull through together champ!!! Can I borrow $5 by the way?”
Right after you lose big on the poker table. “So babe, how does our overdraft program work with our bank accounts again???”
Right before they open the cage with an angry bull ready to buck and you strapped on it. “So honey… About those rodeo belt buckles I own and brag about, I may not have technically “won” them… I’ve actually never done this before!!!
Right before the cops take you way. “My real name isn’t Harry Butts…”
- Dads can hear through walls.
- The toilet acts like a giant ear canal and helps me to hear everything in the house.
- Your father is a part-time ninja. I fight crime while you are sleeping.
- I see and know all. You might want to remember that in the future.
- I can hear the smallest thing break in this home.
- I am Superman’s Korean sidekick.
- I tracked you from when you got the cup in the kitchen, got water from the fridge and spilled some on the ground, noticed a lack of cleaning noise happening, and I heard you run up the stairs and trip on the fourth step. What is going on with that fourth step by the way?
- Your sister started crying.
- Go talk to mommy. Daddy is busy being busy.
I hope to see you another morning. When we can rest upon our troubles and use them as cushions as we weave our tales for one another. Rest easy dearest for you have earned it. I know not how long your journey may be, if other journeys will supersede the first and cause our sails to drift further away into the night. I have kept my promise and turned my eyes to the third star and thought of you. Of growing memories being born that I cannot see, but still have seen through your eyes. Your smiles are my smiles, I pocket them greedily from written letter or even spoken thought. My thoughts… yours. Forever.
One of my clearest experiences of being in trouble was an unfortunate incident as a child when I got caught lying to my parents. In my defense if parents didn’t ask so many questions there would be a far less likely chance of me telling a lie as a child. More questions means a greater percentage chance I would “bend” the truth. Rarely would I ever outright lie, but there was this one time…
“Jason Chandler Cushman come upstairs right now!”
As we all know if there is ever any doubt as to the severity of a situation the usage of one’s full name is a clear sign. I considered a lot for an 8 year old as I climbed those fifteen stairs of inevitability. What had I done? What were we eating for lunch? Look the Lego piece I was missing! I wonder if this is actually one of those rare times when my mom used my full name for a GOOD reason! Is there a god and if so why did he create so many stairs? Normal things that an 8 year old considers.
When I arrived at the door to the room of the brother that never let me in, touch his stuff, play with him, talk to him, or even just “see him” some days I found him with a smirk on his face standing with my parents. The smirk of a sibling is never a good sign either, but I remained faithful that this was a good meeting I was being cordially invited to.
“Jason did you write on your brother’s window in marker?”
My life stopped. This was one of those moments in a boy’s life where there are obviously two choices. On the one hand I DID remember writing “something” on my brother’s window, but no matter how I strained my brain I couldn’t remember WHAT I had written. I took the safe and obvious route.
“No… I didn’t do it!” I said with confidence, a confidence that was building by the second.
“Then why is YOUR NAME written on the wood in sharpie marker?!?” the voice of God boomed from my mother’s mouth. My father added a firm reinforced head nod. My brother smirked even more. And my confidence wilted like a whoopee cushion. I had chosen badly.
She comes into your life and brings nature’s blessing. And with her entrance comes a curse of wanton passion. The grass is still alive as it blazes in the sun. The chorus of our laughter floats gently in the Spring breeze. We are the definition of love and our hands are linked as we dance amongst the growing and the grown alike. We enjoy timeless sunsets on picturesque settings creating canvases waiting to be painted at each moment. We love.
Time works wonders and bonds grow firm. We resolve to walk quietly into the night together. Hands held tightly against the shadows we once faced alone. We pick each other up in the heat of the Summer, against the blazing sun and humanity’s punishment. We turn as one, in unison with one another’s needs. I am your need and you are mine. And like an oak tree we grow together.
The rain has come and we have weathered storms. We still touch… but sometimes our hands Fall like leaves from our tired limbs. The chatter of children running around our base keeps us united, we are still united with finger painted signs and chalk figures. But some nights are cold and the moon shines two shadows upon the ground.
It snows here in Denver. The Winter seems to be most of the year… at least lately. But even with the constant ice, it does melt with the strength of will. A will we share each morning and return to each night. The seasons form a timeless ring that hardens into a golden promise. They touch each time our hands unite with infused emotion. Regardless of what emotion that is the presence of feelings means that we still care.
Smile for me your painted smile. How you lean so beautifully upon your own grace. Are you truly happy as you spread your happiness? Do you droop under the weight of obligation, an unwanted task of unburdening others?
Shed for me tears of happiness, flower mine. Dripping, dropping joy from nonexistent eyes. You present the perfect smile to the sun above. A perfect mask of sun and flowers that only cracks as seeds of desire spread from your existence and show a need to move on.