Odd, but sad
I have a job, some people would call it a career, I call it a job. I might be a doctor, a lawyer, a scientist, or a circus clown. What I do is not that important, and really not that exciting. The point of this particular post is the oddness (in one particular aspect) of my job. Like most office(s) mine has a quirky sense of achievement. We have summer interns every year, and mostly they are fresh faced, bright eyed, young pups trying to show the world how determined they are to do my job. The point is that my job requires a lot of grunt work, work that numbs the mind, and glazes over the eyes. Perfect for a summer intern right? Yeah not so fast. Parts of my job are in some ways exciting, and you have to have been employed there for a while to get to the good stuff (like most jobs). I have been in my office for a fair number of years, and do upon occasion get to do some of the exciting stuff. However, in a fit of inspiration my office ALWAYS lets the summer interns participate in the exciting stuff. Not that they have a clue, nor can they really add anything to the project, but there they are without fail getting the plum jobs. While myself, and my other colleagues are busy cleaning the toilets. I am not sure where it is written that the fucking intern gets to do a Macbeth like speech to the world, while the rest of us have no speaking parts at all, but it does rankle a bit. I mean sure you want to show these freshly scrubs cunts the bright future that exists in their field, but do you have to treat the people who do the actual work like a bunch of slack jawed yokels to achieve that goal? After all, we are the ones keeping the damn production going, not Sally the ballerina intern or Freddy the pot smoker. It just seems a bit backwards to give the plum assignment to people who are in your office for three months, and whom it is almost a dead cert you will never see again. All the while the people you should be “training” to do the good stuff are swamped with their own load of grunt work, and any extra grunt work that arises because one of us has to show the intern how to do the good stuff. Makes you wonder why fuckstick companies like GM go out of buiness. Is this the business model for success. After all, loyalty to your employees, and keeping their morale up is not really that important is it?
The Reader
No, not some wankery about some Kate Winslett movie, but a description. I am an avid, full-time reader. I read a lot, I read a wide variety of stuff, and I LOVE to read. It gets me out of this petty pace from day to day, and takes me to places much better than the one I occupy. A good book is a diamond, but much cheaper, and no one had to die in order to get it written. I average about 2 books a month depending on the length of the books, and sometimes it becomes difficult for me to find new books to interest me. I read about a lot of subjects, and like the self taught man in Sarte’s Nausea, I try to have a system to my reading. I don’t start with the A’s and work my forward, but I still have a system. One of the great tragedies of my life is that I will never read all the books I want to read. It is one of the few harmless joys of my life. However, starting in my childhood there have been villains that seem to think their mission in life is to prevent me from reading. These bastards seem to think that when I open a book, I am inviting them to engage me in conversation. NOTHING is further from the truth. I opened this book to AVOID conversation you bastards. Please bugger off, and leave me in peace. I would like to say that the number of people that have done this to me in my life number but few. However, that is not the case their have been legions of these people. The irony of it all is that quite a few of these people have been avid readers themselves. It boggles the imagination why those people would think their behaviour is acceptable. I am not sure why these people do this to me. It is not like I am some witty conversationalist, that can dazzle the masses with my witty repartee. I am not. I say what needs to be said, and then we are done. I am working hard on being laconic, and don’t need any interruptions. The whole point of me opening the book was to rip my mind away from the everydayness of my life, and surrender myself to some other time and place. The mundane days that I live are not exciting enough to keep anyone interested, and no I really do not have an opinion on Dadaism. Just let me read in peace.
I’m Back
The old Blog has been left alone for while. Too much was occurring in real life to worry about keeping the Diary of my Sordid Adventures. But, as was bound to happen, things have calmed down enough for me to resume the periodic scribbling in this Diary.
As an update, the young lady I referred to in earlier posts was a wonderful fuck for several months. We actually kind of dated, and it was really good fun. Unfortunately I couldn’t make my mind up whether or not to leave my partner, and we went our separate ways. It is a bit sad, because it was a good time and she was a great, aggressive, kinky lay. Very large breasts, with tiny pink nipples, a passionate kisser and eager sucker-of-cock. We did it in every room of her house, in every position feasible. Ho hum. And now we don’t talk. Her heart was broken, as I feared would be the case.
Last night I finished talking on the telephone with a young woman in Pennsylvania I had the enormous pleasure to screw whilst at a conference last month. I’m working out a trip to her home town for a redux, although her husband might be an issue to be avoided. We had been flirting via email and phone for a while, and I knew the moment I had her snared. I got to the conference with high hopes but low expectations. The first night she let me undo her bra at the dinner table, careful not to let the other guests see. Within half an hour I had her bent over the sink in the washroom. we went back up to her room, and thankfully her roommate had hit the sack. They had a suite so we had the living room to ourselves. She was nervous as fuck (so was I) but the thought of imminent discovery only added spice to extended oral sex and vigorous humping that place.
The following afternoon we made love again, and that night I assumed I was in for a third time. but life took an unexpected turn and I ended up fucking a colleague from work who was at the same conference. She was very nervous, and very shy. It was a very gratifying experience making her cum, and enjoying the look on her face as I shot my load all over her ample breasts.
So, last night, I finished on the phone with the Pennsylvanian, only walk into the bar and find my aforementioned work colleague sitting with my partner and my partner’s girlfriend. Now, I should mention that also had the very distinct pleasure of double-teaming these two lovely young ladies a few weeks back. a very drunken evening lead from one thing to another, and next thing we’re all in bed, naked and I’m banging my partners friend from behind while she eats my girlfriends pussy. I love getting drunk with horny chicks.
So, anyway, I get off the phone with a girl I’m having sex with, walk into the bar and proceed to get drunk with three other women I’m having sex with…sometimes the path my life takes surprises even me!
Pals
. I am not a fan of people, and therefore I have a very limited number of friends. The number of close friends that I can trust, and talk to can be counted on one hand. In this circle there are 4 of us (all guys). Each of us has his own problems, but we are generally pretty good friends who can count on each other. 3 of us are in at least one serious relationship (hey we are guys) one is, in fact, engaged. Through some mystery which, I cannot figure out the 3 or 5 women involved do not like each other. Each one of them dislikes the other to varying degrees. This has not caused too much strain on the guys relationship(s) with each other, but it is just a matter of time. Some of us do not like the girl our buddy is with, and some of the girls do not like the other guys. It is a total cock up. It has great potential to make some of us ex-friends. This just makes me sad, and I cannot puzzle out a solution. These people (the guys at least) are my core drinking buddies. We have spent a lot of time on the depth of our friendship, and here we are years later looking at disaster. I guess the only one of the group that it is good shape is number 4, but then again he has not had a date with a female in years. This disaster cannot be repaired it is just a matter of time before someone’s feelings get crushed, and friendships end. This is the reason I was drinking alone last night for about 4 hours. Update to this particular disaster. This weekend’s orgy of boozing has led to a bit of a “falling out” between myself, and two of my friends. Not surprisingly one of them was due to the fact that friend 1 does not like the girl I am presently dating. Well truth be told, his girlfriend does not like the girl I am dating, and my friend is merely adhering to the party line. Pretty sad because this friendship pre-dates us meeting either one of the girls involved. Such is life I suppose. It just makes me a bit sad that he choose that route. I do not really blame him for toeing the party line, but certain comments were made that could have been kept to himself. After all, I have never said anything negative about his current partner (I pondered if I had for quite a while before determining that I had not). The only good thing as far as this particular problem is that number 4 took it upon himself (the next night) to royally piss me off. Number 4 can be a bit of a mean drunk, which is fine I guess if that is how you want to be, but sadly for him he sometimes shoots off his mouth a little too much. He made certain rude comments about things that made me consider taking him outside, and punching his lights out. Granted, I would have, eventually, went back outside and picked him up, dusted him off, and maybe bought him another drink, but for a second his jaw was in jeopardy. I am not quite sure how much number 4 remembers of that night, and have not seen him since to test his memory. He has a tendency to get absolutely hammered, and to forget a lot of the shit he says. Let’s hope for his sake that this is the case, but for now he is not my favourite person in the world.
Confession take two
I am from a country, a particular county. It may be obvious which country I am from, but then again it may not. It does not matter too much because I no longer live in the country in which I was born. I moved quite a number of years ago to a different (but not radically different) country. I mention this because while I have some feelings of patriotism for my old country, and very little for my new country there has always been a third country that I admired more. It is a good, fine country, and I decided a long time ago to “adopt” them in international sports. There I am during every Olympic event or football match, rooting for my adopted country. It is not the flashiest of countries, but most people have at least heard of it. It has achieved moderate success in some sports, and abject failure in others. Either way, I still support them. Some people could accuse me of being ungrateful to both the land of my birth, and the country which I presently live, I shrug off that type of criticism. After all patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel (to quote both Lisa Simpson and Samuel Johnson). At least I have take to my adopted country with some pride, friends of mine try to talk to me about my birth country’s national sports teams, and I give them a blank look, but if asked I can name the entire starting XI for my “adopted” country’s football squad. At least I am not a fair weather fan. Now to the actual point of this post, confession.
I must confess, being the right bastard that I am, I have always had the desire to have “relations” with a female from my adopted country. As a whole, it is not noted for an bevy of lookers. To further make it difficult for me to achieve this goal, my adopted land does not have a strong immigrant community in the country I live. With this in mind, I had pretty much resigned myself to having this particular goal remain unfulfilled (one of many, but that is another story). Imagine my surprise about a year and a half ago when as I was drinking myself into a stupor at my local, a buddy of mine introduces me to a girl he works with that just so happened to be from my adopted country! What are the odds? Of course, there were several hurdles to overcome (see my previous post about one). Hurdle number two was that this girl is as mad as a March hare (as I found out after a very few, very brief conversations with her). She has the annoying habit of talking a great deal without actually saying anything that you would EVER want to hear, and here she was at my pub. After determining that the candle was not worth the game i.e. getting her in the sack was not worth having to listen to her prattle on and on about shit I could care less about, I put my goal on the back burner. There is sat for about a year or so. Finally, either she became less crazy, or I became more desperate (I am not really sure which) I decided to go on a “date” with this girl. One thing led to another and yada, yada, yada, I now feel like a true citizen of my adopted land. Guess I can mark that off my to do list, it was listed right under split the atom in my bathtub. I can only hope, with fingers crossed, that she is not as insane as I think. However, I am an incurable optimist. I suppose only time will tell. If I suddenly disappear for a great length of time, call the authorities.
Racist? Moi? Mais non!
The city in which I reside, survive, exist, but not live, is majority non-white. Not that you’d know from the the way the city founders designed and built the place. The blacks live, as usual for this country, predominantly in ghettos and ‘hoods on the outskirts of town, while the whites live downtown, the richer whites in the suburbs even further out. They get to pretend they’re not a part of it all. Cunts. I hate rich people. Thinkyour money shields you? Why do you think folk take such delight in robbing you? You dumb fucks.
Anyway, I digress. As a white man I am subject to various amounts of racism. This fucking annoys the shit out of me. I know very few whites who are openly racist, and indeed, the majority of whites I know are too busy trying to survive and just get ahead to give a fuck what color your damned skin is. The only person keeping you down, my brother, is yourself.
Blame me for slavery? Want reparations? Another fucking handout? Whitey created a welfare system to appease his misplaced guilt back in the 60s. The Watts Riots? Black-on-black violence friend. Most of the property damage occured to black owned buildings and businesses. What we have now is just a lot of assholes sitting around breeding, waiting for the next check. Funny how when I drive through the hood everyone is so fucking poor yet every motherfucker got spinners on his wheels and a dish on his roof.
I don’t.
Slavery… there’s a bag of worms huh? Wanna know where most of the slaves came from? Black slavers! Damn straight! People have been slaving and enslaving for millenia. Don’t make out that white Europeans suddenly invented it in the 17th Century. All they did was facilitate an otherwise thriving trade. That’s just capitalism motherfucker!
Our secretarial pool is mostly black. Some are also fucking idiots. I don’t believe for a second there is a correlation between the two. I also know plenty of white fucktards. I had cause to reprimand one of the secretaries recently. Within minutes I received a barrage of emails from senior management all but accusing me of racism against poor Ms. Soandso. Racism? No, just the God given gift to spot innate stupidity and call it out. She fucked up. But instead of just saying “sorry”, she runs to her manager who shits his (white) ass and reapportions blame on the poor white drone writing this. Dumb bitch. Both of them.
Part of me wants to rant and scream (aside from this place), but it’s the same when my dog shits on the carpet. He don’t know no better. Ms. Soandso has spent the last thirty odd years of her miserable and generally pointless existance being told that it’s the Whiteman’s fault. What specifically is whitey’s fault doesn’t matter. It just is. I knew a kid back in college who prefaced virtually everything he said with “As a Young Black Man…”. Now that was one angry motherfucker. But he was just a vicim of the same institutional racism we all.
How the fuck are we ever gonna get ahead of this? Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
p.s. thanks for being patient while I figured out how to activate comments…
Bete Noir
Sorry for the delay in posting, what can I say? I am a lazy bastard. Being a malcontent does not make me any less lazy. Either way today’s rant/topic is about my office/work. I work in a office that is very structured. The day to day operation is chaos, but the “chain of command” is very rigid. Seniority is, in some respects, very important, age sometimes helps as well. I am somewhere in the bottom third on this sliding scale of seniority, so my life is not as bad as it could be, but it could be a lot better. However, I am a malcontent, and I am not a fan of rigid party line organizations/authority. Being a malcontent I have managed to obtain a healty dislike and disrespect for three people in my office in particular. Now generally, given the number of people in my office (over 100) this would not be that big of a deal. However, let us explore these three individuals in no particular order.
Number 1- Is to be considered number one in more ways that one, he/she is THE boss. The big cheese, the main man/woman, the gaffer, the head honcho etc. etc. A rather vapid individual that try as I might I can not manage to respect. A pure figurehead. Would not know how to perform the most basic functions of the job. A person hired tomorrow would be able to do a better “hands on” job that Number 1. Usually has a blank look and a vacuous smile on his face. Not a leader (which you would hope Number 1 would be) a mouthpiece, and one that is out of touch with his minions.
Number 2- Also a apt description as this person is the second in command of the entire office. Number 1’s right hand man/woman. Is at least able to perform the nuts and bolts of the job. In fact, he/she is the person you go to if you have to make a final, serious, difficult decision. The buck really stops with him. Can at least appreciate his hands on knowledge. However, sadly for me, I have had serious, difficult decisions to make, and Number 2 lied to directly to my face about certain things involved in those decisions. Clearly not to be trusted. Have seriously wished a tree would fall on his/her head.
Number 3- My personel favourite. Maybe Number 3 is not a dual description for this person. They are certainly in the top 7 of big wigs in the office though. Overall jackass and lout. Has that I am older than you and have done it all attitude. Meaning that he/she thinks that seperate rules apply to them. He/she can call you a jackass or insult your intelligence with impunity, but you can never (even in a joking manner) return the favour. Holds grudges against people for years. A very unpleasant person to deal with on a day to day basis. It is his way or it is wrong, it is just that simple. Never put a step wrong, and never will allow you to forget that you have. Best to avoid at all costs. Have a real theortical difference with this person.
Lovely eh? Here I am a bottom third small fish, and the people I dislike the most are three of the biggest dogs in the pound. Perhaps, I should give speeches on how to committ career suicide.
Revenge
An acquaintance of mine is well known for being a malicious gossip. I was warned about her by mutual friends when I first entered the same social sphere. She is the kind of person who takes pleasure in the misfortune of others, but unlike the rest of us content to allow misfortune to land where it will, she will twist and play and tweak and finagle to help engineer situations that allow her the satisfaction of gloating and having something to gossip about. One of the more annoying aspects of her character is the air of saintly perseverance she wears during all this, as if she is surprised that such and such turn of events has come about, and as if she is doing us “mere mortals’ a favor by giving us the benefit of her wisdom.
Being well traveled on this road of life, I have met her sort before in various guises, so forewarned I kept to the periphery. Over the last year or so, I have watched with great enjoyment as her feeble attempts at Machiavellian manipulation brought her entire social structure to the brink of collapse. She was out played at her own game by another woman, who one assumes has more experience at this nonsense. Thus, bereft of friends and desperate for acceptance she turned to me. In order to keep her a suitable distance I generated a construct and allowed her to befriend it. And the stupid girl is now up to her old tricks.
She is trying to play me off against a mutual friend, whilst coming across as a saintly and wise heroine. She carries an air of desperate and impotent rage, as if our doings have brought her terrible misfortune. And of course, once one peers deeper into the situation, it is an obvious house of cards. A nonsense here, a deliberate misinterpretation there, all balanced on her own her nauseating ego. Unfortunately she made the mistake of thinking I am a “nice guy”. She has no idea of the depths of my hate and rage. I have a very short and very violent temper. As arrogant as it sounds, and is: I am not the person you want to fuck with. The last person who tried this lost her job, her fiancé and was expelled from the university she was attending. I take inordinate pleasure in revenge. I have been very well trained and have been doing this for a very long time.
We shall see how this particular scenario pans out. I am very busy at the moment, both professionally and personally, so I’m hoping she stays quiet. I gently explained to her my point of view, and then had her shunned from her social group. Friendless, she tried once more. I am stifling the urge to fucking destroy her, and instead ignoring it hoping it goes away. If I have to interrupt my busy schedule to debase myself once more in the filth of revenge, it will go very badly for her.
Confession is bad for the soul
My bad habit is this: I fuck all my female friends. I mean, I’ll fuck almost anything anyway; it’s a pathological thing according to my (ex-)shrink. But female friends…well, for what it’s worth they come to me voluntarily. I have never forced myself upon someone. Seriously, my life is like something from AlexSuze a lot of the time, or perhaps an Isabelle Snow story… It helps that I’m a kinky little bastard too. Three girls now have sworn they’ll never take it in the ass. They did. They enjoyed it and wanted more. Once you relax in bed, there is a world of fun to be had, of which regular old penetrative sex is but one facet.
Anyway, I guess it’s something to do with my personality. My partner was jealous at first because I flirt compulsively. After much thought I think I’m not so much flirting, as information gathering. I can get people to relax and open up, make them feel comfortable around me, and talk to me. I’ll learn a lot from someone without giving up much of myself. And most of what is seen in public is a construct anyway. But that’s for another day.
I mentioned my partner. It doesn’t matter if I’m married or not. Just suffice it to say that I have a partner, hence this being a bad habit.
I’ve been “good” for months now, since a girl I was seeing left town. In the meantime I have developed a close relationship with another female friend. And this one is special because she said to me from the get-go that sex was not an option. Apparently the mutual friend who introduced us had warned her of my reputation. I was somewhat taken aback, but glad to get things cleared up in such a rapid manner. So, sex-free our relationship has developed until we’re quite close in an almost siblingesque fashion. Which makes this so much worse.
A couple of weeks ago we were both tipsy and flirting. One thing led to another and we kissed. I hoped that was it. Then she came to my house and we watched movies and chatted, and ate strawberries and cream, and then of course, kissed. This time with a little more… I explored her body for a while, but we left it at that. Then last weekend, we went for dinner at an exclusive little bar, known locally for being a gay hangout in the evenings. I was safe from the attention of the boys (not that I mind at all) because after the first bottle of Champagne we spent the rest of the evening glued to each other. It was rather steamy and fit perfectly with the debauched and hedonistic atmosphere of the club. I nearly got a blowjob in the (unisex) bathroom, but held myself in check.
We’re going to a party tonight, and the theatre tomorrow. It will happen again. I have no doubt that we’ll be naked and fucking by this weekend. And the sex will be fucking amazing. Of that I also have no doubt.
However, what will become of our friendship? The strangest thing of all, is that I genuinely care. I once naively believed that sex was possible without emotion. I have learned the hard way that that just isn’t true. I also know that I am a cold hearted motherfucker and I will be able to walk away; bottle up my emotions and get on with my life. But can she do that? And can my damaged psyche handle another broken heart?
Chess
I chose the avatar of this blog after a great deal of thought. For those few among you who do not know it is from the Seventh Seal by Ingmar Bergman. The fellow on the right is Antionus Block (played quite well by Max von Sydow), and he is about the engage the lovely gentleman on the left (i.e. Death) in a chess match for his life. Clearly, the result is already decided Block is just buying time to try to get home from his travels aboard to see his wife and child before the endgame. Throughout the film Death cheats, posing as a priest to take Block’s confession, and only revealing his true self after Block has given away his strategy. Near the end Block intentionally knocks over the pieces hoping to put off his fate. Claiming he does not remember where the pieces where, he hopes to avoid being mated. Death replies that he remembers where the pieces where and sets them back up, however, he sets them up incorrectly. The unavoidable happens, Block is mated, and off he goes to dance with death. Clearly, this is what we are all doing everyday, playing chess with Death. Some of us are better than others, but eventually we all make that fatal move that leads to the endgame. Remember all the stories of people surviving crashes, etc that should have killed them? We say they “cheated death.” Well remember Death cheats back, so before you use the French-Indian defense or the English opening think very carefully.
