You're welcome

The ratio gap between girls who date me, and then immediately marry the next guy they date, VS girls who date me, and then sink into a terrible depression, forever after wandering the earth, ever seeking an elusive something, and that something being, probably, me--is staggering.

It's like, several-zero.

Which makes me wonder--what is this power which I apparently imbue upon ex's, which makes them suddenly appealing enough that any given guy is ready to forever cast in his lot (or at least until the nasty divorce, *fingers crossed*) with this person, this dear ex of mine?

Lest I be crucified, the fingers crossed for the divorce was a tasteless joke, bred of something close to the most mild bitterness that one can espouse, putting one on the cusp of being a tiny bit bitter, and not giving a hot damn. In other words, I didn't mean it. I wish divorce upon no one. Except for a few people. But to none of whom this blog would apply. I typically only cross my fingers for divorce when someone I care about married someone who sucks the worst.


At this point, I do not have one single ex girlfriend that isn't either married, or engaged. And a great majority of these females indeed DID marry the next beaux that got past the 14th date.

I think, perhaps, that I need to seek out my female wizard counterpart (or witch, as it were) who also has this unfortunate ability to magically force ex romances to marry the next person who can coax them into dinner and a movie. If I find this person, perhaps we can cancel out each others' power, or we will simply bewitch each other, and marry whomever comes next.

That would make for some intense pressure, those post wizard/witch relationship dates.


TSA sanctioned molestation

When one has gained between 7-10 lbs, depending upon the time of day, it is a bad idea to dry one’s jeans on high heat, especially be they of the skinny genre.

Working for this photography company on the weekends has ruined my health. Where once I could be found eating fast food maybe once a month, I have digressed to the American norm of mass convenience consumption. I feel like my metamorphosis over the last 2 months provides a most cogent paradigm of everything that is wrong with America.

Seriously. I have gone from being able to furiously pedal for an hour straight with a healthy body weight, to having to pour myself into jeans, getting winded up 2 flights of stairs, and watching the scale present me with 10 lbs more than I have ever had to witness in recent recorded history.

All in a matter of a couple of months. And there are people who eat like this...indefinitely. I have a kangaroo pouch between my neck an chin, without even the benefit of actually having a baby kangaroo in there. Catching a profile view in the 3 way mirror is depressing.

I got molested at the airport because of this.

2 weeks ago, while flying to Vegas, I had the privilege of showing the outline of my genitals to the TSA, via one of those digital x-ray cocksticle exploration capsules. Which is fine. If that keeps me (potential terrorist) from wrapping a bomb around my penis and blowing a plane to hell...great. Have a look. I’ll give you a complimentary pelvic thrust and a shimmy, if you like.

However, I thought that going through said “humiliation” (for some) would in turn, exempt one from having to have ones body groped by a less than eager TSA grandpa(ma). The eve before the Vegas event, I made the mistake of drying my jeans, and being 10 lbs overweight. Upon exiting the voyeur machine, the TSA grandpa instructed me to wait. He then asked if I had anything in my pockets. I looked at the very clear definition of my thighs, and stated “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”
I looked down again, and could but see the outlines of my pockets, which were unfortunately more pronounced than usual, due to said heat/fat.
“I’m going to have to feel you to check.”

At which point, I got super annoyed.

Do I really care if part of this guy’s hands end up brushing my lower genital region? Not really. However, what in the HELL IS THE POINT of those ridiculous machines, if not but to avoid a potential pat down? It makes perfect sense to me, if one passes through a metal detector, beeps, and subsequently requires some groping. I get it. But this stupid machine that is the bane of Sean Hannity and good, modest folks everywhere, is supposed to find the sort of thing that the TSA grandpa CAN’T find with a thorough groping.

The following week, a terribly normal looking woman passed through the sexy-machine right after me, was stopped, and informed by the TSA that a boob examination. Seriously. The TSA lady had to grope all around her breast to look for....explosive breast implants? I’d have been LIVID, had I been this woman. Again, what is the point of this machine, if one still has to go through a rather invasive groping anyways?

At least getting through airport security more quickly is a good motivation for losing weight. I am DETERMINED to melt away this neck pouch over the next 2 months. Perhaps, I shall begin a photo journal, documenting the progress of thwarting this extra chin/neck that is attempting to take permanent residence on my chin/neck.

“Man was meant to have but one chin/neck. Be ye warned.”
-Christian Proverb


Getting jimmered way hard

I think the only really great thing about this BYU coug getting kicked off of the team for honor code violation, is the fact that the event has most certainly turned the obnoxious word 'Jimmered,' (-verb [gym-erd] 1. to get one's ass kicked by Jimmer, a rather high scoring BYU point guard, 2. to get one's ass kicked in anything, really e.g. "Dude, that team like, totally got Jimmered tonight!" "Dude, you totally Jimmered me at Tekken just then!.") into a wonderful euphemism for any "accidental" sexual act, e.g. "Davies totes shouldn't have Jimmered that babe." "After 7 minutes of intense zipper sparking, Davies Jimmered in his pants, thus disqualifying (*see also Jimmering) him from future basketball endeavors."

There are several sad things here. 1, being that this Davies guy possibly gets to go down in history as the guy who couldn't keep his Jimmer in his pants, and therefore Jimmered his team's chance at a #1 seed, and maybe a championship (see how that works? A myriad of uses exist for that one, wretched verb, all thanks to fortunate/unfortunate circumstance.) 2, being the fact that this situation even exists.

Let me first say, that I am glad that BYU is sticking to their holy guns, and not making an exception for a beloved athlete. However, I think that the fact that this situation even exists is completely absurd. Let me also say, that I couldn't care less about college sports. I am in no way affected by the fact that Davies got suspended. But I do think that ultimately the honor code is a coercive system which removes a critical element of agency from those who must adhere to it.

I completely understand that students who wish to attend BYU are well aware of the existence of said honor code before they ever decide to attend the holy university. But the honor code creates a system of "obedience through fear," and spiritual vigilantism that seems antithetical to the nature of the faith espoused by the university. Or, rather, that founded and to this day runs, the university.

Is forcing adults 18-30+ to be away from the opposite sex by the stroke of midnight (or 1 am on the weekends) teaching self control, or forcing obedience? What, exactly, is encouraging students to report the sins of their neighbors to honor police teaching them? I fail to see how such a principle coincides with the religion I was raised in. What about secular punishments for moral crimes? Or engendering fear in a person who would like to 'fix' or 'repent' for something, but is too afraid of getting kicked out of school for attempting to do the right thing?

I think perhaps the most obnoxious thing of all, will be, should the cougs win, all of the inevitable testimony bearing and church lessons built around the story of God blessing the BYU cougs to win the championship, because one player had the integrity to be honest about his zipper sparking at the dawn of March Madness. As though God in any way whatsoever cares about which college team wins the final 4. As though God is going to make one team play worse, and lend another greater skill because some fans pray harder and pay their tithing to a truer faith.

The truth is, BYU Jimmered itself on this one. All for a rule set that those attending the school should, (for the most part - no beards and a curfew? get real) in theory, be following anyway.