I found this little illustration to lighten your Sunday. (I assume you're asleep for the night).
Posted on 01/10/2004 10:48:04 AM PST by gdogdaily
Even legendary heroes must sometimes have to suffer vicious reversals. Disaster does not only befall people like you and I. It has, without exception, marred the lives of all men. General Grant had his Cold Harbor, General Lee had Gettysburg, Churchill had Gallipoli, but for you and I, in less heroic circumstances, it could well be ruination by some young, luscious vixen who, by design or accident, succeeded in acquiring the key to all of our endorphin receptors.
Maybe you went out with her for a month or maybe you saw her for three years, yet, whatever the duration, your time together was drenched with pheromones, saliva, testosterone, fascination and euphoria. On your end, it was love or, at least, love’s very close approximation.
For once, everything in life really was copasetic. Your thoughts of the future affected you like an IV full of cocaine. It didn’t matter what this particular future happened to be. Your hopes could have been either conventional or wildly unconventional.
If you happen to be a chump like me, then your wishes involved getting married and having children. In you’re like my friend Vivo, an idyllic relationship manifests living together and seeing the world. If you’re like my pal Johnny Q-bacca, a personal utopia includes copulations with all of her friends, cousins, and sisters– along with the muscular presence of electrical cables, photographic collections, and homemade videos.
My point is, regardless of the specifics, occasionally you come across a wonderful girl who makes you see a horizon that looks mighty good indeed. She answers all questions.
Then, in the midst of perfection, she suddenly breaks up with you. You, of course, do not see it coming. It’s as if you’re a character in a Loony Toons episode when an anvil descends from the sky. It leavens both you and the skyscraper of expectations you began to construct.
She came to your final meeting bearing plans for another Pearl Harbor while you came bearing admiration and (hopefully not) flowers and presents. It is her vocal chords, in this case, that will deliver the bombs and, when they come, they will be deceptively encased in a tone of honesty and caring that undoubtedly comes right out of a “When it’s Time for Him to Go” episode of Oprah or Jenny Jones.
You may hear, “I just don’t think this is working” or “I want something different than you” or who knows what else. But what difference does her explanation make? Don’t even bother listening. It doesn’t matter what she says. If something like this comes up in conversation then you’re done anyway. It’s over. Now she’s looking for someone else if she hasn’t found him already.
Exactly this happened to Vivo’s lifting partner. His girl broke up with him suddenly and unexpectedly. When she did it, he made the mistake of listening and believing her glossy explanations, so he held her torch for two months thereafter. He even moronically defended her when Vivo and I told him it was time to move on.
One Sunday he went with Vivo and Vivo’s squeeze, Hazel, to the diner across the street for brunch. It happened to be a location that he often frequented with his ex. On the way in he saw her walking out with a guy. They had obviously only recently woken up and for her it was on the wrong side of the new guy’s bed.
She greeted him, “Hey.” When he looked dumbfounded that she was holding some guy’s hand, she snottily informed him, “I live here too. You know this isn’t just a restaurant for you. Get over it.”
Put yourself in his position but this time just say “no.” Don’t listen to a siren’s song. Let her talk and talk…after you leave. A Grimm Fable will be told to you and, due to your feelings for her, you may believe it. This will make you the only person in the world who does.
When she breaks up with you, there are several options. You could try to talk her out of it but that is the stupidest choice of all. In such a scenario, she could become a serial player with you paying her rent. When she’s caught either through visual or DNA evidence, she’ll rationalize her guilt away with: “I told you I wanted to break up but you wouldn’t let me and that’s why I strayed” [and strayed and strayed]. Don’t argue with her. Let her go. This way the public knows that whatever or whoever she’s doing is not a reflection upon you.
Notice that I said “public” here which is unquestionably a red flag for many readers. You may be thinking “what do I care what other people think?” Okay, you’re right…most of the time. I too don’t usually care about societal perceptions but the public embarrassment of her behavior will eventually erode your confidence and turn you into a two foot tall version of your former self.
You could also react to the break up in other deleterious ways. You could go ballistic, you could yell, you could threaten her, even start balling, you could stalk her or even say that you’re going to kill yourself, but none of these options should be considered or enacted.
First, if you did any of that stuff, it would fulfill the fantasies of every radical feminist who ever walked– in their anxious and toothless Cro-Magnon fashion– on the face of this earth. They’d run around telling women who are normally too bright or attractive to acknowledge them, “See! All men are all beasts! Contribute to NOW.” You can’t have that on your conscience.
Second, none of these outrageous actions yield anything more than temporary benefit. Why go to jail over some girl who doesn’t give a damn about you? Why kill yourself for someone who has already began moving her things into Johnny Q-Bacca’s porn shack before she ends things with you? And what good does stalking accomplish? You think she’ll a slut? Now you’ll get proof. Congratulations. No, to hell and damnation with counter-productive acts.
What I’m saying here is that you should be positive. Now, at this moment, when things cannot be any darker, is when you should have a character moment and defend your honor.
What you do after she breaks up with you goes directly into the annals of history. Do not let sterling opportunities for redemption slip away. When you’re down about something else a decade later, you can always reflect back on what you did after some girl gave you the hammer and say to yourself, with Churchillian authority, “That was my finest hour.” It will be and monuments will be built anew after she’s gone.
The method of response I’m about to share applies to women you love, to those you merely like, or even to those whose hips are the only part with which you genuinely enjoy interacting. The method can deployed either on the phone or in person.
The first thing you should do is stare them in eye. Then drain your body of emotion before speaking. This might be easier than you think because you may be in a state of shock at the terrible news she’s issued. On the phone, voice quality is all that’s needed, but, if you are standing or sitting before them, then you should shrug your shoulders and slouch as if your remote control just discovered six consecutive hours of football.
Whatever you do, don’t let your speech roll. You’re not selling anything in the traditional manner. You don’t want to act like a conman. Be deliberate. This will allow your words to resonate as the truth. Talk softly and choppily, as if each word was a short step up a mountain. Then impart:
Gee, that’s too bad…[Look around a bit here] I really enjoyed sleeping with you…I mean, you know, your body’s awesome…[full smile now]…I’ll be sad to see that [insert her most attractive body part here] go…I know I’ll never forget you. I’ll fantasize about you everyday, especially before I go to sleep at night.
That’s it. The effect will be the same as Bret Favre showing up to play Quarterback in the fourth quarter for the local high school team. With those simple sentences you’ve turned a 49-3 route into a 23-20 overtime loss. She, if you do a good job and walk away like a gentlemen, will be outraged and confused about your relationship for the rest of her days. More importantly, you have permanently restored nobility to your house, and have esteem from which to draw upon in future crises.
Think about it, does anybody make movies or write books about the strength of character a person displays after they win the lottery? Absolutely not. They write and film epics concerning how we act under adverse or horrific conditions. That’s what people care about and remember. Who cares how the way in which a person dances after winning the Indiana superball?
Why does my approach work? Because your soon-to-be ex thought you were in love with her and now, just through a short speech at a dire time, you have de-legitimized every kiss, every card, every present, every phone call, every dinner with her relatives, every night with her friends, and every “I love you” that you ever whispered. You responded to her sneak attack with nuclear tipped missiles and your strike will send her sprawling into chaos.
Every single woman, even the nastiest beast on the planet, secretly harbors the fear that men are only interested in them for sexual satisfaction. Now, you have highlighted their fears with a mighty green marker and make them a reality.
You don’t need to argue with her or say anything else. Your merely mentioning her breasts or butt at a time of assumed bereavement is enough to dismantle all the pride she previously generated by thoughts of giving you the heave ho. This was supposed to be your concession speech and it was, but all you conceded was that her physical attributes will be missed.
You, Gawain, are now a hero.
Think about all the terrible things you eliminate by quoting the recommended passage above. She had the tale pre-configured before your meeting began. You were set to go down in her life as just another sucker who wasn’t good enough.
She’d be gaily cranking out the story concerning your termination at every opportunity for the next several decades. She’d tell the way in which you groveled or had a meltdown to her girlfriends, her parents, her co-workers, her husband’s to be, and maybe even some clown that she paid to entertain her kid at his fifth birthday party. The plot would have been ugly and emotion filled. Let’s use the author as an example:
“Bernard was crushed. He really loved me. He was so upset. I don’t know if he was ever right after it was over. Bernard kept going out searching and searching for my replica. Who knows if he found her? I hear him and Dianabol are slowly drinking themselves to death. When will they get smart and move to the suburbs? What empty lives they lead.”
Now, after the little speech when asked about what happened with the affair, she’ll snap,
“I don’t want to talk about Bernard. Don’t ever bring up his name again.”
Now, you have accomplished something that one hundred scheming, pathologically lying, Marxist professors never could; you have completely rewritten history. Who was once a dope is now an enigma. Congratulations.
Of course, this doesn’t actually lessen your pain because you probably did love her and will be demoralized for a short-time by her departure, but she’s not your friend any more and pride must be preserved at all costs. Cry on your pillow, punch the wall, or scream on the veranda, just make sure you do it after she’s gone.
There is no chapter in this book in which I more strongly urge you, as a reader, to follow my advice. As Hillary would say, “in your heart you know Bern’s right.”
bchapafl@hotmail.com
I found this little illustration to lighten your Sunday. (I assume you're asleep for the night).
Ready for the other side?
I spent several years with my "high school sweetheart." Although he was never physically abusive, he could make very cutting, thoughtless comments, and rarely paid me any compliments. I didn't realize it then, but I later recognized that he was cutting me down to make himself feel better. I had a lot of growing up to do before I realized I would never allow another person to treat me so disrespectfully, that what I thought was "true love" was, in fact, a manic relationship I was better off without.
Thankfully, I pushed him into the ash-heap of history and never looked back.
Jump ahead a few years. Did some dating, nothing very serious, never anyone who stole my heart (or my head). Built myself up, reached some personal goals, centered myself. And then...in walks this guy who I never thought would turn my world around, but he did.
Just one problem - one very big problem. I could spend hours primping and preening just to please him, and never get a word of praise. I could turn all sorts of heads when we went dancing, part crowds as I sauntered to the bar, have guys offering to buy me drinks and trying their best opening lines. I didn't care about any of it; I only had eyes for him and I was happy to tell him so. I wanted him to be proud I was on his arm, to enjoy being with me.
He was a great guy; courteous, thoughtful, hardworking, bright, handsome, wonderful kisser. I thought I would die without him, but I just couldn't shake the thought that he would slowly evolve into my ex. Since he was so sparse with his words, and particularly stingy with his praise, I kept dreading the arrival of unpleasant remarks.
After eight months, I knew I had to get out while I still had some pride. I was too much in love with this guy. I didn't want to waste years, like I had before, silently waiting for praise and approval. I assured him he was a wonderful guy, and I thought I was a pretty decent gal, but perhaps we just weren't right together. I cried for hours after he left.
He accepted my decision with grace. Then, about a week later, he was on my doorstep, wanting to talk. Words, words, and more words poured out of this quiet giant. We talked the night away.
That was 12 years ago. We've been married for 10, have 2 great kids, and a rock solid marriage. He's still my quiet giant, but now, when I primp and preen, he's wise enough to tell me how desirable I am, and I'm happy to show him how wonderful I think he is.
That's cuz I'm never going to have one.
Anyway, here's a thread you might find, um, interesting: Parties Where an ID Is the Least of What You Show.
Geeze, you are a little too gloomy.
Why, do you think she shouldn't be?
That's because older women are a "sure thing." Guys don't have to put forth much effort to get in their pants, because for the most part, older women are desparate.
We both wanted the relationship but were both holding back, in our own ways. Now, we don't hold anything back.
From that day forward, I was no longer afraid to give my love my whole heart, and he was no longer afraid to share his with me. We both had been burned badly in the past and the ghosts of those relationships were haunting (what was then) the present. We were able to set our sights firmly on the future, instead of looking over our shoulders.
Life sent its fair share of hard times our way; we were able to weather them quite easily because we could talk about anything, at any time, and treat each other with deference and respect. And always, always, there is love.
Have a wonderful weekend :)
There's too much violins on television.
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