I felt the audiophile CD. But it wasn’t warm. It was a silicone tit, not the real thing. Real boobs sag. The girls think we hate this. Along with stretchmarks and that roll of fat around their middle. Whereas this makes girls real. They’re built with a higher percentage of body fat. They’re made to give birth, to nurture. Who’d want to sleep with a ten year old boy? A STARVING ten year old boy?

A woman built for the media orders a salad and picks at it. A real woman savors her food, she evidences sensuality. Something that’s hard to see, but all men pick up on. The same way it’s hard to quantify why vinyl sounds so much better than CDs. You just FEEL IT!

From Bob Lefsetz, a cranky old A&R/Music industry guy.

He sums up something I’ve been saying for years. Yeah, I know I’m not the only one. But, it’s something that’s been on my mind alot since a conversation at work last week. One of my coworkers is in his late 20′s – and has never had a girlfriend. Here’s the deal – he’s more bear than Brad, if you catch my drift. Yet, if a woman is more the 5’5″ and 120lbs – she’s “unattractive”, and would never do. IMNSHO, he has reduced the field of possible applicants for the position of girlfriend to less than one percent, because of his buy-in to the media’s ridiculous female image. First up, there the problem of finding a breathing human who actually looks like that – when the “models” don’t even. They’re made up, strapped in, taped up and photoshopped beyond belief. They have surgery, injections, eating disorders. They are made, not grown. Add to that that that type of superficial female human will generally have the same falsified “ideal man”, and the shaggy haired, bearded 5’10″ 250 pound guy has a negligible chance of ever meeting MS. Right.

When I mentioned that, his response was, “Oh, so I should just settle for someone who doesn’t meet my standards, then.” No, dude – your standards are unrealistic. Examine them and adjust them to the real world – or follow the road of plastic surgery, extreme dieting and move to where the “pretty people” live. Change yourself one way or the other.

I told him that some of the coolest chicks in the world hang out at Renn Faires – and his response was those chicks are all fat and scary. Yep some women at Faire are definately obese. Some horrendously so. Most are not. And if by scary, you mean unafraid to be themselves, to assert themselves, to be interested in more than soap operas, hair salons and keeping house, yep.

Bah. Fuck drag racing. I’ll stick to rally racing. Curves, hills, valleys and interesting scenery along the way. The journey becomes the destination – and the long winding road is the best way to get there.

We still haven’t heard anything about Psycho Momia‘s ride. But we have mostly adjusted to not having it anymore. Through the kindness of a friend, we have unlimited use of a car, which takes a lot of the stress off.

We have also come to the conclusion that we won’t be able to send both girls to montessori in the fall. It’s just too much money. Oldest child will have to go to public school, where she will do fine, but maybe not learn as much or as easily. On the flip side, Psycho Momia is looking into possibly becoming a Montessori Teacher.

Coming up is an all night gaming session with Agrippa and Zen Bones. I am thoroughly looking forward to it.
In a fun backwards look, my last post about sex and the parent, stimulated (heh) some interesting conversations. That, and a couple of other things, brought us back to life. Naturally, due to the perverse nature of the universe, we are smashingly horny – and I’m sick, with the worst of it happening at night.

Sometimes, ya just can’t win.

Speaking of winning, Obama was sworn in the other day. Lots of money was wasted. lots of very powerful, yet empty crap was said, and the separation of church and state was again mocked. Meanwhile, politics continued on in it’s normal fashion. His administration reiterated that the bullshit telecom immunity will be upheld, as more info that the NSA basically raped the US datastream, building dossiers or everyone with a net or phone connection came out. He publishes info that says former lobbyists won’t be working in related offices, and yet, the nominee for deputy defense secretary used to work for Raytheon.
No bailouts have been killed, no pullouts have happened, more taxes are being proposed, more spending of money on useless shit is being planned.
Change. Yeah right.

I suddenly realize that there is truth to the rumor about why scotsmen wear kilts.

Oh, and no, there’s no news about the car.

If you try it, let me know! Everyone I know that has, has been very pleased…

Housing issues – no, we aren’t moving, nor is there problems finically there. It’s just the constant struggle to find the ways to make time to make the improvements and repairs that are needed. And then there’s the whole insurance thing. Due to some weirdness of the insurance companies, we have two policies on the property – one for each dwelling. They used to be on the same carrier – but the Carrier decided that since we had 2 claims in 7 years (small ones, too) – that they only want part of our business, and that they’d cancel the fire insurance on the back house. WTF? They still have full insurance on the main house, and liability on the back house, but I have to deal with a different carrier for fire. I don’t get it.

I guess maybe I was wrong about the whole point of having insurance.

The same curses I lob at those fine folk are also being thrown at the medical industry. Bunch of cheats, liars and thieves.

I’ve come to the conclusion that while I have a plethora of skills, they are mostly not salable. I have a ton of useful knowledge, a decent set of brains, and a good set of hands. What I lack is the ability to sell myself in a beneficial manner. Worse yet, I lack the desire to do so. I like to show what I can do, I like to do what I can do. Getting someone to buy it? Not so much.

Psycho Momia and I have been suffering a bit on the intimacy scale as well. This has it’s roots in several places. One is the time factor. Generally speaking, We just ain’t on the same schedule. I think we’ve had one day off together in the last six weeks – and that was smallest ones birthday. Another root stems from the aforementioned situation with the red tape. PArtially from the fact that dealing with these people (and I use that term loosely) makes me loathe humanity in general, and partially from knowing I screwed the pooch so badly. Kind of tramples the self worth, ya know? And then there’s the purely physical aspect. Suddenly, I am hyper aware of the fact that I’ve gotten more than a bit bulgy about the midsection. Don’t like it, but like the idea of going to the gym far less. I may start riding a bike soon – if I can find the time to do so. I need to start exercising – and I don’t want to. I’ve never been the kind of person who wants to do it just for the sake of it.

On top of all that, I am about to turn 40. Which is leading to all sorts of introspection. I’m pretty good at not comparing myself to others, and only holding myself up to my own light. But, my light is fucking harsh. And I have in part become a grumpy curmudgeon. And I don’t much like that, so I’m changing it. I ain’t about to become all sweetness and light, but I will be more tolerant and upbeat, dammit!

One part of the 40 thing is I wanted a big ass party. I figured that I deserved it, because on the whole, I’ve done alright with the hand I was dealt to start. So I get myself all excited about the idea, and start telling folks about it. I sent out a massive email, contacted folks on the various social networks, etc. Psycho Momia and I start talking about it, and then we got hit with a couple of eye opening, bowel loosening accounts due. As responses began to come in, I was running about a 65% “sorry, can’t make it” rate – including folks who had confirmed previously. Which didn’t help. At All. So I canceled it. Screw it, I thought. I’ll just sulk. I don’t need to have a party with lots of people.

The amazing thing? And the thing which will end this on a good note? The sheer number of folks who responded to the cancelation emails with concern. Thank you folks (you know who you are) for caring. And I’ll be better, doc as soon as I am able!
(can anyone guess what song that line comes from?)