(no subject)
if i have any mother fucking kids im telling them to never fall in love. or at least not until they're 25, which is when they say your frontal lobes mature, the crucial part dealing with delayed gratification and planning, etc. now i may be completely fucking wrong, which is highly possible in this case, but i think young love set the sloppy mismatched stage for the following intimate relationships. maybe it paved that fresh neural pathway that my mind wants to keep taking.
kids, have you ever heard of codependency? insecurity? projection? do you see how your mother and i behave? do you want to be this way? no, you dont. thats the answer. stick to meaningless, mindless, orgasm-oriented use-each-others sex. or abstain. if i were you i would just abstain. did you know you can get herpes in your fucking eye just from giving head? you really dont want that.
that's how i will have the talk with them. if they press the issue, then or when they hit puberty or whenever, i will not sugarcoat a bit of it. i wont try to protect myself or their mother(s) or any of my exes. i couldnt live with myself if i knew i was propagating an unrealistic model of behavior and emotion that calls for people to ACT one way when they think or feel another. i will present the raw human interaction, however damaged, selfish, or cold. or pathetic. it should also serve well as a course on "this is why you dont want to..." and "this is why daddy..."
kids, young relationships are doomed. even if you learn to live with the codependency, jealousy, and mutual insecurity, two years after you're married your spouse will see an unfamiliar, interesting, unconventionally attractive member of the opposite sex and an old familiar stirring will take place inside them. it will probably be on the internet or at the organic grocery store, maybe a coffee shop. they will proceed to see all the qualities you dont posses that they may have desired at any point in time, possibly at present, in this person. nevermind the fact that they are seeking a useless degree in some art or professional volunteer field, or that they're still being supported by their parents and suffocating in continually increasing student loans. love does not consider these things. not this kind. you will be cheated on. and because you experienced such emotional devastation at such an unforgiving, formative age, you will take your spouse back. it's mostly because the love you share with this person is functionally detached, still there even if it's just because you're so used to each other and both know no one else will take your second- or eighth-hand baggage. but it's behind a wall of cold self-preservation. you love them but you remind yourself constantly that you could live without them. you did before. and she'll come in at 3am through the kitchen door after you left her at the o'charley's down the road where you'd been celebrating one of her co-worker's birthdays. you'll think about how many drinks she's probably had in the four hours since you left to come flirt with the babysitter on her way out and watch Roadhouse on cable tv. you look in her swimming eyes as she drops her purse and slumps on the counter. it smells like she dumped a bottle of perfume on herself. it still smells like fucking weed. she's sloppy. it doesnt even matter who she fucked you just know it happened. you picture all the times you've had sex with her, or tried to, after partying together like this, only with that rich, balding asshole mark's head. it was probably him, he always tucks in his fucking shirts and you never do. and he always drags out that repetitive, polite small talk bullshit every single day. you take a long drink of a room temperature keystone. it tastes like shit and you get even more pissed for holding back and not drinking the rest of the 30-pack because you didnt want her to find you passed out in front of the computer with porn open again. and because you kind of expected this to happen and it adds to the validity and credibility of the whole scenario if you aren't piss drunk when you confront her about being piss drunk. also, the kid is asleep upstairs and you can't yell or break shit and explode with melodrama like you used to when you were in your seventh year of college together in that shitty-chic apartment. but throwing a beer can against the wall won't damage anything or make too much noise. so you do, right as you finish making an overly hurtful remark about being surprised she's not bowlegged, too. i mean, shit, you can still smell the condom lubricant through the nasty perfume you dont even recognize. fuck, she must've had a threesome and put on the other whore's bottled spit.i want to throw something else at her but i also want to hit her so i compromise and toss a bag of tortilla chips at her head. it's not as satisfying as the half full beer exploding just above her as it hit the wall next to the door frame. and now there's chips and beer all over the floor and in your mother's hair. i can't tell if she's crying or moaning but i really can't call into work again this pay period so i tell her to "stop being a sad whore and get the fuck in bed." i have absolutely no sympathy for her as she shuffles across the kitchen, falls in the hall, and crawls to the bed. i kind of try to feel bad but i can't. she's been smoking weed and having casual extramarital sex while i've been drinking light beer here alone watching commercials for antidepressants and fancy soap all night. no, she's deserved this animosity. but the hate and disgust are quickly replaced by shame and self-loathing. because while your father has often hoped for your mother's violent early death, he knows he's done the same thing or worse. even if it was ten years ago and only happened five or six times and hasn't happened since, he knows that in the court of a lover's mind there is no statute of limitations.
anyway, the point of all this was to show you that in an effort to minimize the repeated pain you'll experience in puppy love, you will grow cold and objective, often irrationally so. to avoid deep-rooted hurt and self-doubt you will take some surface level disappointments from someone you get along with, and yes, love, but may not have the most genuine interest in. it's called compromise, children, and in this case it's evolved into deep, solemn regret. but i guess you could look at it this way: if your mother hadn't gotten slobbering drunk and group fucked until three in the morning we wouldn't have fought and therefore would not have had the make up sex that you were all conceived out of over the years. i still resent her for coming in stoned after she made me quit smoking weed when she was pregnant. if your mother makes you go to church again this sunday tell the pastor to thank god for making your mother a whore so you could be born. lesson learned?
kids, have you ever heard of codependency? insecurity? projection? do you see how your mother and i behave? do you want to be this way? no, you dont. thats the answer. stick to meaningless, mindless, orgasm-oriented use-each-others sex. or abstain. if i were you i would just abstain. did you know you can get herpes in your fucking eye just from giving head? you really dont want that.
that's how i will have the talk with them. if they press the issue, then or when they hit puberty or whenever, i will not sugarcoat a bit of it. i wont try to protect myself or their mother(s) or any of my exes. i couldnt live with myself if i knew i was propagating an unrealistic model of behavior and emotion that calls for people to ACT one way when they think or feel another. i will present the raw human interaction, however damaged, selfish, or cold. or pathetic. it should also serve well as a course on "this is why you dont want to..." and "this is why daddy..."
kids, young relationships are doomed. even if you learn to live with the codependency, jealousy, and mutual insecurity, two years after you're married your spouse will see an unfamiliar, interesting, unconventionally attractive member of the opposite sex and an old familiar stirring will take place inside them. it will probably be on the internet or at the organic grocery store, maybe a coffee shop. they will proceed to see all the qualities you dont posses that they may have desired at any point in time, possibly at present, in this person. nevermind the fact that they are seeking a useless degree in some art or professional volunteer field, or that they're still being supported by their parents and suffocating in continually increasing student loans. love does not consider these things. not this kind. you will be cheated on. and because you experienced such emotional devastation at such an unforgiving, formative age, you will take your spouse back. it's mostly because the love you share with this person is functionally detached, still there even if it's just because you're so used to each other and both know no one else will take your second- or eighth-hand baggage. but it's behind a wall of cold self-preservation. you love them but you remind yourself constantly that you could live without them. you did before. and she'll come in at 3am through the kitchen door after you left her at the o'charley's down the road where you'd been celebrating one of her co-worker's birthdays. you'll think about how many drinks she's probably had in the four hours since you left to come flirt with the babysitter on her way out and watch Roadhouse on cable tv. you look in her swimming eyes as she drops her purse and slumps on the counter. it smells like she dumped a bottle of perfume on herself. it still smells like fucking weed. she's sloppy. it doesnt even matter who she fucked you just know it happened. you picture all the times you've had sex with her, or tried to, after partying together like this, only with that rich, balding asshole mark's head. it was probably him, he always tucks in his fucking shirts and you never do. and he always drags out that repetitive, polite small talk bullshit every single day. you take a long drink of a room temperature keystone. it tastes like shit and you get even more pissed for holding back and not drinking the rest of the 30-pack because you didnt want her to find you passed out in front of the computer with porn open again. and because you kind of expected this to happen and it adds to the validity and credibility of the whole scenario if you aren't piss drunk when you confront her about being piss drunk. also, the kid is asleep upstairs and you can't yell or break shit and explode with melodrama like you used to when you were in your seventh year of college together in that shitty-chic apartment. but throwing a beer can against the wall won't damage anything or make too much noise. so you do, right as you finish making an overly hurtful remark about being surprised she's not bowlegged, too. i mean, shit, you can still smell the condom lubricant through the nasty perfume you dont even recognize. fuck, she must've had a threesome and put on the other whore's bottled spit.i want to throw something else at her but i also want to hit her so i compromise and toss a bag of tortilla chips at her head. it's not as satisfying as the half full beer exploding just above her as it hit the wall next to the door frame. and now there's chips and beer all over the floor and in your mother's hair. i can't tell if she's crying or moaning but i really can't call into work again this pay period so i tell her to "stop being a sad whore and get the fuck in bed." i have absolutely no sympathy for her as she shuffles across the kitchen, falls in the hall, and crawls to the bed. i kind of try to feel bad but i can't. she's been smoking weed and having casual extramarital sex while i've been drinking light beer here alone watching commercials for antidepressants and fancy soap all night. no, she's deserved this animosity. but the hate and disgust are quickly replaced by shame and self-loathing. because while your father has often hoped for your mother's violent early death, he knows he's done the same thing or worse. even if it was ten years ago and only happened five or six times and hasn't happened since, he knows that in the court of a lover's mind there is no statute of limitations.
anyway, the point of all this was to show you that in an effort to minimize the repeated pain you'll experience in puppy love, you will grow cold and objective, often irrationally so. to avoid deep-rooted hurt and self-doubt you will take some surface level disappointments from someone you get along with, and yes, love, but may not have the most genuine interest in. it's called compromise, children, and in this case it's evolved into deep, solemn regret. but i guess you could look at it this way: if your mother hadn't gotten slobbering drunk and group fucked until three in the morning we wouldn't have fought and therefore would not have had the make up sex that you were all conceived out of over the years. i still resent her for coming in stoned after she made me quit smoking weed when she was pregnant. if your mother makes you go to church again this sunday tell the pastor to thank god for making your mother a whore so you could be born. lesson learned?