Heading out for an errand, earlier in the week during the morning rush hour. I was XMSrius channel surfing, ran across a national radio talk show. The topic was How to Feel Better About Yourself.
The way to do this is by cheating. Not at cards or a board game, but with someone other than your spouse or significant other. A recent survey indicates that instead of people feeling bad about cheating on their spouse or significant other, they are adpt to feel better about themselves.
I suppose in retrospect this can have a positive benefit on your ego feeling wanted or desired. Certainly this ego high is a momentary feeling. Why not go for the gusto when the moment arises? You may never pass that way again. The opportunity may never present itself, the timming may never be just right again.
One night stands are an example of going for it. Not worrying about the reprocussions or what tomorrow will bring. That’s probably the best sex ever. You’re in the moment, you’ve got the feeling, you’re ready to peak. Who knows when you’ll feel this sexy again?
Paramours are a part of the European culture. Americans being purtanicals have shunned the idea of extra marital affairs, swingers, spouse swapping. Even though you may not agree with these lifestyles, you secretly have to admire the couple that swings or swaps openly. Here are two people that are secure in their relationship to enjoy a third of fourth person for sex. It’s pure sex for the sake of organsm. There’s no call me tomorrow expectation. Or when will I see you again. True a little different with a paramour, but there is open knowledge that one or both will part each other for days or weeks and live a life with their perseptive spouse, until such time they meet to have sex again.
Then there are the sex clubs…a different animal all together. And since my time is short I’ll save this subject for my next visit to the keyboard. But before I go I want to say; having sex for the sake of sex can be soul cleansing. America needs to lighten up…live and let live. WE humans are wired to have sexual feelings, urges, desires and being just plain horny…some more than others.
So the next time you need to feel better…consider cheating.
I’m often worried about things I say and if the person has misinterpet what I’ve tried to convey. I replay the scene over in my mind after it’s said and done. I’ve been told that I am way, too hard on myself. I am a Libra by nature, but I am also a pragmatic person, which totaly defies a Libria’s inability to make a decision. I look at things from both sides and I’m fair in my assesments. But I also make decisions and once they’re made they are virtually in stone. I yield vary rarely.
Except, like most people I strive to be thought of in a well sense, a positve being, a person who cares. I do bite my tongue often as not to hurt anothers feelings. Only the mean people know my wrath. I do faulter when it comes to intent and perception. Which is why I replay those conversations over and over until I’m convenced that what I said came across as it was meant to be. And when I feel an error has been made, I plot a course to rectify the incorrect perception.
I am very good at reading ones body language. When I’m around new people I am somewhat quite, in the background in order to read the body language before I contribute to what is being said. I know when a person is uncomfortable around another, when a person has no clue of what is around them…Then there’s the self indulged individual who is not listening to the other person(s), because they are too busy forming what they plan to say next. This dim witted individual will ask the same question at least twice and will say; “…nice to meet you…” Each time they see you. These folks I am quick to tell them we’ve met before at least a couple of times, just to see the blank look on their face. At that moment they’re trying to figure out what was said, what is it they should already know. It’s histerical!
So I play the game, the replay. Sometimes things are said in just…mistaken, misinterpeted. My goal is to be understood. To be thought of well and let that be my legacy.
“No man is an island…” (unknown)
Are they born this way? Does the toll of life make them become cynical. Maybe a disappointment along the way has created this disposition. Whatever the reason, they are miserable with themselves, unhappy and no light at the end of their dark tunnel.
Is there a difference between the negative individual and being mean? I ink there is. Some people are quick to show the darker side, forgetting about the good that resides in their lives. this negative energy flows like a virus from them to those around them.
Earlier this morning I gathered with a group of ladies to play a match of tennis. This would be the second meeting for my partner and I with the other two. My partner, a very kind soul, lovely person is most effected by one of the other ladies. This one lady, we’ll call her “T”, has the aurora of a darker cloud over her head. Literally when I look at her I see thunder clouds dancing around her. I’ve been in her presence prior to these two matches and the story is the same. T’s problem is the first word out of her mouth is either “I” or “my”. She doesn’t compliment anyone but herself. She starts her intro to you with a negative story of something or someone who has done her wrong. You say good morning, she chimes into her spill to each person that walks up. If you’re the first to arrive and 3 other people show up, she going to recite the same thing to each. If you try to change the story she steers you right back to her sadness. Woe is me!!!
I personally thinks she’s not getting any at home. No affection from the husband, no banging on those occasions. She lacks tenderness. Some women ooze tender feelings, T is the complete opposite. She’s not shy when you try to compliment her. She will tell you a story about her matching shoes with her skirt, matching her nail polish and her cooler. But hold on, because it will become a sad story about somebody doing something to her.
I usually sit or stand, whatever the case may be, and watch the scene unfold. If you could read the captions over my head, like a comic strip, you would see that I am one step ahead of T’s misery telling, plotting the course she’s going to take next. I say very little. Because I feel to entertain her with comments or questions, allows this negative flow to enter my bright sunny karma. Yellow and black makes purple on the color wheel. And the wheel of life purple is an odd color therefore it throws unbalance and chaos into one’s karma. The same goes for the tennis match. If you don’t buy into her constant chatter, her need to repeat the score loudly when she’s not serving is distracting.
My poor partner has not learned to shut her out. Because if she did, ther score and the match would have a completely different outcome. I tested this theory today. After we loss the first set, I walked up to my partner and said; “Can you shut her out? Not hear what she’s saying? But see her as a target? Hit your ball at her, make her back up or run? ” Well, we ran her ass! The she ran the less she talked! We actually won the second set, easily. I reminded her of the focus during the tie break and damn if we didn’t pull it out.
But oh my goodness! After the match, as we sat and chatted, the dark cloud grew, the storm brewed and the rain burst upon us. She began to dish on Sererna, how mean she was to win a match 6-0, 6-0 on a poor girl’s birthday. And she didn’t like her hair, she didn’t like her sister’s hair. It went on for 5 minutes of her dislikes.
Of course she was unhappy that she’d loss the match…would have probably been the same if she’d won. I try not to verbalized about those that I’d don’t like to play against because of their dark personalities. That shit will always come back and bite you in the ass. I revert to my poker face so as not to revel my true feelings. Once again being the Chameleon, I was born to be.
Women will stab you in the back without a second thought. And if you’re stupid enough to tell a women something you want to remain a secret…well that too will bite you in the ass. I’ve had many women over the years tell me someone else’s secret. When she starts the story with; “…don’t tell anyone…”, so and so did such and such. If she’s told you, trust me, you aren’t the first or you will not be the last. I’ve actually told so called secrets to those who have championed themselves as my “best friend” in order to see how true a friend they are. I’m still waiting for that bestie! I had a reputation in college as a man snatcher because a “best friend” repeated my so called secret and added her spin to the story. When I heard the story again I couldn’t stop giggling as it was repeated to me. It was made more hilarious because my bestie was standing next me, completely mortified. After I stopped laughing, I turned, gave her a look and walked off, never to utter a word to her again.
How dare you tell a friends secret. That’s mean. It’s self centered. It shows your dark cloud. If someone thinks enough of you to confide in you, how could you break that bond and repeat it? Its an act of a mean spirited person. You shouldn’t have to have pledged the priesthood in order to maintain silence for a friend.
If I had a hundred dollar bill for every secret I’ve been told, I’d be a millionaire. I’m not perfect, by no means. I feel a secret that is told to you should remain that…a secret. Unless of course the person tells his or her secret to another and another…
I’m new to blogging. So if I’m all over the place bear with me. I have many thoughts I’d like to express and need to organize them in my head. This has been a long time coming. I am using a pseudonym in order to explore cutting edge topics.
I’ve experienced many things…have encountered many types of people. I consider myself a chameleon, change with the moment, carry out unspeakable task without anyone knowing I’d rather not be bothered, or it ain’t that great but make you feel like you’re the best at your game. I’ve practiced my poker…not cards but for the games in life.
The shell I’ve built around my feelings has sheltered me from many mishaps, mistakes, errors in human judgement and my philosophy of going for the gusto…seizing a moment that may never happen again. Those gusto moments, however, have occurred more often than I could have imagined.
I’ll venture into one such moment that comes to mind.
When I was in my early twenties, a struggling college student, supporting myself and paying my own tuition, rent, food, the necessities of living. I met this radio personality who was a hound dog, if you get my drift. He wooed me, nothing spectacular, not even a restaurant meal, MacDonald’s after a movie.
He decided I was great eye candy for a dance hall event he was having. He told me, in confidence, that although it was being advertised as a charity event it wasn’t. He and his buddy were pocketing the money in order to live high on the hog at a fancy hotel for the upcoming annual basketball tournament.
This tournament was the event of every year…anyone who was someone was there. Rooms booked the day after the event ended. Students from up and down the coast, alumni from all the schools involved came from all across the country. You were lucky if you got a room in a hotel within a 50 mile radius of the center. It was a fashion show. A be seen event for 3 days and nights. Students would pack 6 to 8 in a room to be able to afford the trip, food and game tickets. I had been one of those students the year before. Slept on the floor with only a cheap thin towel as a pillow.
The dance hall event had been on the radio, of course…he did the afternoon show. He and his buddy wanted me to help work the door. “Wear something sexy” he said, as me fondled my breast. I nodded an affirmative, gave him a faint smile that he read as an approval of his gesture with my breast. When I turned to walk away, he patted my ass. My first instinct was to turn and slap his face, but I thought no…he’ll pay in another way.
The night of the event arrived. I dressed provocatively. I used my best perfume given to me from my aunt for my twentieth birthday. My platform wedges, my tight bell bottom jeans. He was pleased. He patted my ass and gave me a kiss of approval. I played to his moment as his damn dick pressed against my thigh. As he leaned in he whispered; “tonight baby.” Once again I gave him the faint smile and he was pleased.
The dance hall was packed. Folks from all around, brought their bottles of whiskey, paid for ice and soda set-ups along with the cover at the door. That was my job. To stand at the door, collect the money while he flirted, bumped and grind the more endowed single ladies who’d come unaccompanied. The doors were shut at 11, my job was done. A waitress walked over, handed me an envelope. On the outside was scribbled; “thanks a bunch a little something-will call tomorrow. I headed to the ladies room, waited my turn for a stall. In the privacy of the cubical I open my envelope. Two ten dollar bills and a coupon for a McDonald’s berger. Yep, he’d ditched me for a new ass to pat. Which was just fine with me. I scurried from the ladies room, made my way to the exit without being seen by him or his buddy. But before I left my cozy cubical, I removed several hundred dollars that was stuffed in my bra, pockets and panties. I organized the stack of bills into a roll, rubber banded them and slipped it into my knee hi’s, hidden by the large bell bottom of my jeans. There was enough to pay next months rent, buy food and a nest egg for next semesters tuition. I was ahead of the game, my finances in great shape for the first time since being on my own.
Never saw him again during my status as a student. I avoided those places I knew he’d be. But I did see his buddy one sunny afternoon as I stood at the entrance of the a Boeing 737 just inside the the jetway…greeting passengers for their flight to Detroit. He took a double take…I smile and said; “Welcome aboard, sir'” It was a defining moment for me, in many ways.