U N L O A D E D

Previously on U N L O A D E D:

The magic of boobs.

A online community specializing in the subject.

The chance to make a lovely woman's dreams come true.

Yes, I've been a little late with posting my update. But your lovable blogger has been a busy boy and, perhaps, a bit of a naughty one as well. Through the mischief, there is but one thing that keeps me going and it's NOT knockers.....it's you. Yes that's right, you the readers who I aim to provoke and please. Ah, the madness I'll subject myself to for your satisfaction.

And we continue our tale.....

Infiltration

On my computer screen was a gateway. A new and strange place. This was not simply a website but a vast enterprise that only the magic of the internet could bring. Against my better judgment, I dove in and began the registration process not knowing what was in store except lots of boobs. But how will I be helping? How costly would it be? Was I in over my head?

The monthly fee was a meager $9 dollars per month. A man of modest means, this was well within my budget. I clicked OK and I was in. Within minuets the messages began pouring in from women seeking the gift; the gift of boob. I was overwhelmed, somewhat frightened, intrigued, passively aroused and feeling damn dirty. Was I taking advantage of some form of personal insecurity, or were they fixing on taking advantage of me?

The Process

The inner workings of the website are simple but effective. Women place their profiles and pictures up and if you want to chat or post a message you can, at the expense of a credit. Message credits aren't infinite, they are given to you (5 in total) at the beginning of each month. Of course you can purchase more in allotments of anywhere from 10 to 50 for a fee. These message credits aren't just for saying, "hello" or "hey baby," they also plunk 1 dollar into the woman's donation coffers. So, the more chit chat, the more money rolls in.  It's actually $1 to them per message so 10 messages to a young lady is $10 toward the boob job. There's even a meter to keep track of how much you've donated to each woman and how close they are to reaching their goal.

Of course messaging isn't the only way to show generosity. You can make direct donations in any amount you desire. You can also purchase a block of virtual gift certificates and store them in what's called a "boob bank." So you can get 10 gift certificates at $2 each and donate them to the women you made friends with.  Becoming friends with the women gains you access to her portfolio of pictures, if she has any.  This is where the real fun (or horror depending on your point of view) starts.

AXXXCESS

While the women in this community aren't obligated in any way, shape or form to reveal things they're uncomfortable with, many are in great comfort showing all. This is where a woman seeking the gift of boob can really get the money rolling in. Becoming friends with certain women on this site can get you access to racy photos that range from sexy teasing to hardcore. For the right donation you can even gets sets of erotic photos that can be shot to your liking. And if you're feeling very generous, some women will even share videos that they've made. And yes, those too range from erotic to XXX hardcore. How hardcore? Let's just say that some are willing to show you if they spit or swallow after...well...you know.

I hear some of you now:

SLUTS!!

WHORES!!!

TRAMPS!!!!

SKANKS!!!

NO RICARDO!!!! NO!!!!!! DON'T GIVE THEM THE MONEY, IT'S A TRAP!!!! THEY DON'T REALLY LOVE YOU.

Are they really all of the above and when did I say that I was on the site looking for love? This was but a small cross section of the type of women you'll find here. And personally, if she's a consenting adult, then she's free to do what she likes for the gift of boob whether we agree or disagree. This is, after all, what makes this place so interesting. So...what of the other women on this site? Are they all free and loose? What other types of women would utilize such a site and are they selling their souls in doing it?

We're about to meet some of the other women that are seeking the gift of boob and I'll give you a little background on their stories. The results may shock or surprise you and it will all be revealed here, on this blog, for your reading pleasure and consumption.....

But not tonight.

Tonight I will ease back on my couch and contemplate the things that I have done. Tonight I'll look inwards at my mind and soul and outwards to the gift..........the gift of boob.


Coming up next......

More on giving the gift of boob.

To all my fellow Jews out there, I hope you had a great Passover. To those of you who are not, try to finagle your way into a Seder sometime as it's a great excuse to stuff your face and bang down lots of wine.

I went to 2 gatherings this weekend and I had a great time at each of them. The first family who hosted yours truly are from my synagogue and were some of the first friends I made there. Each year they have had me over and treat me as if I'm family. They are truly awesome people in every sense of the word.

It's a long gruelling road that stretches before me every morning and night. The destination is always the same but the story of getting there is different each day. I wonder if it's all worth it. Paying the bills, keeping a roof over my head..yeah...I guess I have to make this trip over and over before something gives.
If I can't be happy about this daily drive, I might as will use it to think.

So many cars on the fucking road. We're all in a rush to go nowhere. If you're out the door really early you might see less of them but the fatigue sets in and your stuck out there just like the rest of the stiffs. You accept it and then you try to put it out of your mind. It hurts less that way.

I see an assortment of flowers and a cross laid out by a tree on an exit ramp on the highway. Someone must have hit it and died. He or she was a football fan. One of the floral arrangements is made to look like one. Maybe it was a high school kid. I'm passing too quickly to read it but the early morning frost has bitten into the colorful vegetation, causing it to wilt and and shed it's vibrance. A lot of people must of cared for this person. I wonder how many other people have died travelling this road and I hope I'm not one of them. Would anyone put up a memorial for me if I did? How would it look like. All of this is too morose. I shift my attention to the jammed lanes ahead of me.

No accident here, just everyone in a rush to go somewhere they don't want to go at the same time. I'm too tired to be angry, I just go along with it.

"It is what it is." Such a stupid saying but it fits right here, I don't like what "is" is. I'm getting angry, I shift my attention to the radio.

More fighting in Iraq, people are losing their homes. Banks lie to them and people lie to themselves to grab a hold of that elusive American dream. I look around at the cars around me. They're here fighting for that so called "dream" also. Have any of them found it? And if they did get it are they happy? Was it everything they thought it would be? The look on their faces begs to question. I hate money. I hate how we jump through hoops for it but we have too. I hate how the banks, media and all beat us into submission by telling us buying things we can't afford will make us happy. We're all hamsters running in a caged wheel. Many can't stop running and even more can't get away. How would we escape if we wanted to? I can't deal with that now. 

Rita Hayworth, Tori Amos, Nicole Kidman, Wilma from the Flintstones, Kirsten Dunst, train wreck Lindsay Lohan and yes, even Marilyn Monroe have (or had) one thing in common; beautiful, natural red hair. OK, I take back Wilma from the Flinstones because she wasn't a real person and she wasn't hot as far as animated characters go in my opinion. I'd have to give that honor to Jessica Rabbit. And while Marilyn went blond to possibly have more fun I say why can't redheads have just as much or more?

RED

The color evokes love, passion, intense energy, heat in situations of lust and desire and warmth in times of need. Some may think of blood and if not in the gory macabre sense, then as a means of sustaining life and vigor. There is a current of aggression to the color red. Not the kind that assaults us in a negative way, rather it taps into our senses and desires for something exciting. We see it in cars that catch our eye on the road which say "fast" to our subconscious. We are struck by it's assertiveness and sensual insinuations when the right woman walks into a room in a well fitting dress of this color. On the right body a woman's beauty is accentuated in numerous ways. The curves, the geometry of a beautiful woman's body, become all the more pronounced. The color red is a most special one indeed.

However, the color of red hair takes all of these principals and advances them forward a step. The color is "in the body" so to speak. It is genetic therefore it's an actual part of them and not an accessory. While hair may be seen as a form of natural ornamentation to some, real red hair is such a striking enhancement to a woman that it's almost an essential appendage like an arm or leg. Some of you may disagree and that is all fine and well but when my head turns to look at a woman with red hair, it is for that reason first and foremost. In a sea of blond and raven haired beauties, red hair is almost a novel and most precious alternative to admire and fantasize about running your hands through.

Fire Down Below

My experience with redheads is not all inclusive but memorable. I had ventured down to the city to meet a mutual friend of a coworker that I had met a week before at a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden. She was a photographer or at least an aspiring one and had fair skin and long curly red hair. Over beers and conversation things grew intense. Enough so that when it came time for me to grab a train at Grand Central to trek back home to Connecticut, it became an obstacle to what was to come. Or what I thought was to come. Fuck the train, there were always more ready to take me home tomorrow. I'd spend the night at her place per her invitation. We kissed by the famous clock in that makes Grand Central so grand as people passed and made our way to the subway.

The young woman in question was not without baggage. She had a boyfriend several states away. Guilt set in but she still wanted me to stay. What was going on in her mind I will never know. But I was deprived of a honor and privilege that could have been mine. And that was tasting the sweet ginger and feeling warm heat below. To run my hands through that small patch of red goodness, to feel it brush against my face as I moved in for the kill....yes...that would be wonderful.

But I've already said too much.

Primal Attraction

Perhaps it's the sharp contrast: My dark hair and skin against their fair complexion and red locks that fuels the attraction. The old tiresome observation of opposites attracting may be true here. My last redhead sighting involved a beautiful barmaid. A nice Irish girl with long straight red hair that almost went to her waist. The Lady Godiva look was never here nor there for me but her green eyes and gorgeous smile left my in a state of euphoria and desire.
Oh to hold her in my arms and have her taunt me with that red hair. What an experience.

But it was not meant to be, she had a boyfriend too. Such is my luck.

I may never fully grasp my attraction to redheads beyond a instinctual level but maybe it's not for me to figure out, rather just go with it and enjoy. We only live once and some things needn't be complicated. We have enough of that and I'm all for keeping it to a minimum to insure maximum pleasure.

Coming up...... Are women more prone to fighting each other than men?

Also...

The drive.

And......

Giving the gift of "boob."

Sooner or later, whether it's a vacation or out of some other necessity, we'll have to rent a car. You've got places like Hertz, Alamo, Rent A Wreck an so on all offering a variety of cars to suit your needs for a decent rate.

As some of you know, my car was rear ended by a minivan in early December and after tangling with the the woman's insurer known as Chubb, I was finally able to get them to pay up and fix my car. While the photos from that accident didn't look like much, the internal damage to my car was. The trunk was crushed. The exhaust was cracked from the impact. The entire rear frame of the car was bent downward. Taking all of this into consideration, there was loads of work to be done and as of this time, I still don't have my car back!!!

As part of Chubb's service to accommodate me as my car is getting repaired, they agreed to pay for a rental car. This is usually standard policy. So, when I dropped my car off at the body shop a call was made to Enterprise Rent a Car. Hey, they pick you up and you can't beat that. Or on second thought, maybe you could. It took them over an hour to get to me, they ran out of cars. I could have walked to the Enterprise office in less than 10 minutes. Just as I finally decided to do that they arrived with a nice little Nissan Versa, a white one. Not my style but not as bad as I thought. It was new, clean and seemed to have all the bells and whistles.

I was whisked to the Enterprise office to fill out the formal paperwork. Didn't take long, really. Everyone was very nice and accommodating. They asked for the insurance claim number so they could bill Chubb but they also asked for my credit card for "verification purposes." Fine by me, I was told that if anything happened to the car they would use it to charge me. Keep this in mind as I continue with this story.

I'm lead back out to the parking lot where me and a representative from Enterprise do the obligatory walk around to see if the car has any damage. There is none and the car is is given a clean bill of health. I'm given the keys and just as I'm about to sit down and close the door the Enterprise rep holds out a piece of paper and pen.

Enterprise Rep: Wanna sign a waiver?

Me: A what?

Enterprise Rep: A waiver. You just sign it and you're not responsible for anything that happens to the car.

Me: Really? You do this?

Enterprise Rep: Yes we do, just initial right here and if anything happens you're off the hook.

Me: How...is there anything more to this? I mean I....

Enterprise Rep: Nope. Just a waiver. It won't even count against your insurance. We'll use theirs.

Me: Well, I can't argue with that.

I initial it.

Later......

A week or so has passed and I miss my car but I am enjoying the simplicity of this Versa. Sure the other people driving them on the road seem to be women who live alone and own 12 cats but I had the sporty model which set me apart from them. While at work, I got the hunger for some pizza. I was also feeling generous. I offered to pick something up for one of my colleagues at an Italian restaurant down the road that's actually run by Greeks but who cares, the food is good. They have gotten to know me over the last year or so and when I came in pick up my order I was greeted warmly. They told me the total for my order and I reached for my credit card, they swiped it and.....it got declined!!!

WHAT!?!?!

I was mortified and embarrassed.

What they (Enterprise) DID NOT tell me is that they put a several hundred dollar charge on my card which is nowhere to be found on any of the paperwork presented to me. I am aware that many rental car companies do this, but they usually TELL ME BEFORE DOING IT!!! I was under the false impression that nothing would be charged to me but rather the insurer, Chubb. A stupid name but if they are picking up the tab, great!

I quickly reach for my debit card and use that, anxious to get out of there and bury my head in the sand.

Perhaps it was just a miscommunication, a missed detail. I was willing to give Enterprise the benefit of the doubt. But then, the following week, came another phone call. One that would bring me to the point of rage. One that would have me declaring war and unleashing a fireball of hot blooded Latin temper reinforced with good old fashioned Jewish style kvetching.

I would have my revenge soon enough...........and you will learn how in next installment.

Coming up...... The conclusion on the Evils of Enterprise Rent a Car.

Also... Breathe in and die....the dangers of the prescription drug, Advair and my horror story.

And..... Attack of the matchmaking yentas.

Sometimes we need to take off the armor. It gets heavy, burdensome, stifling. We men want to strip it off and collapse from exhaustion into the arms of the right woman. It's been so long, carrying it all inside. Here she is, right in front of me or you...ready to accept all of us. It's not that you want to tell her that you cry after reruns of Little House on the Prairie or that your scared of mice because that's just not true. What you are is vulnerable in the deepest parts of your soul and while you don't fear mice or creepy crawly creatures or knife wielding thugs you are scared. You are scared shitless at THIS moment. The moment where you have to tell her how you really feel about her. That you want her, need her, will go crazy with out her.

Of course you can go on without her but you prefer not to. So you let it rip. You tell her and then, you either have it thrown back in your face or it's accepted and then, over the course of time, used against you. Why? How could she do this? That bitch!

Ladies, this scenario that I've laid out isn't etched in stone for all of you but it is something that many a woman has done to a man. "Men" on the other hand are better insulated from the pain inflicted from such episodes because they don't allow themselves to be placed in this position.

Thug

This is not the look I usually wear. Rather it is a silly costume and an attempt for me to show you that many men you encounter are wearing a costume (metaphorically speaking) similar to this; a wannabe tough guy that is not tough just obnoxious. This is where men revert to becoming "men" in the extreme sense of the word. Women are objectified to keep them from getting too close and causing damage. Suddenly the lyrics to hip hop tracks crudely discussing affairs of love and sex begin to make sense. Screw the love and get the sex, she's not worth much more to you after that. You let the door slam in their faces. You look down on them. You take satisfaction in NOT calling them back. They will ALL pay for what they did to you. You are raw, you are aggressive, you are mad and you will take what you want.

From across the room some poor women will see this energy about you and confuse it with dominance. She will show interest. You don't care what she has to say, you tune her out. You forget her name. You wonder what you have to do to fuck her and get rid of her quick and easy so you can move on to the next target. You don't reveal much about yourself. You give one word answers. Strangely this attracts woman to you even more than engaging them in conversation. You're a mystery now. A challenge that she must solve. She hounds you with calls, wonders what you are doing at all times of the day and won't take no for an answer. Within a few weeks to a few months she'll be left in a broken heap by the "man thug" as her other girlfriends gather around and wipe away her tears. She'll then ask,"Why do I go out with such jerks?"

For the "man" it's another notch in the belt. The hunt continues. But deep down he knows that this can't sustain him forever. Or can it? New adventures can't keep the heart pounding. The thug costume is a most sturdy armor.

For those of us that do take off battle gear and just choose to be ourselves, great danger awaits.

HE'S GAY!!!!!

Dress well, comb your hair and speak in an articulate manner that shows understanding and intelligence and you're likely going to get slapped with this accusation. While some of this has been tempered with the rise of the metrosexual, there are still some women that will find the real you too good to be true and go on the attack. I'll never forget the time it's happened to me. I had become good friends with a woman that I worked with and we hung out and spent a lot of time together. She was attracted to me but I was not attracted to her. She just didn't do it for me, what can I say? I loved her company but that's it. Then one day an odd conversation occurred.

Her: Watching you go after all those women like that at the new years party was something to see. Now I know you're straight.

Me: What the fuck does that mean? Of course I went after the women! I was drunk and horny. What kind of stupid statement is that? What was I supposed to do? Jack off into a martini glass behind the bar?

Her: Well....

Me: Well what?

Her: I thought you may be...you know.....

Me: Based on what?

Her: Well you had a background in the arts.

Me: I couldn't play sports! This was the next best thing and it's a great way to pick up women. Especially if I had a good part in a show. And it's not like I was doing fucking musicals here.

Her: You work out.

Me: Yeah I work out. It curves my depression and keeps me from being a pencil neck!

Her: You dress nice.

Me: I spent over a year of my life homeless and looking like shit. I was lucky to eat once a day. The looking like shit days are over for me, thank you.

Her: But you watch wrestling!

Me: Yeah, I watch wrestling!!! I always used to watch it with my grandparents! When they were in the old folks home I would come by and update them on what went down and they would perk up. I still watch it because it reminds me of a happier time in my childhood. I also like to see people get beat up and put through tables.

Her: And....and...you speak well. Really proper...

Me: Mmm...I have a vocabulary....yes.

Me: You express yourself differently than other guys.

Me: I believe in being clear with how I feel.

Her: You said that thing about Pierce Brosnan.

Note: At the time he was still playing James Bond. A series of which I'm a fan of.

Me: I said that he still looked the part despite being in his 50s! I hope I hold up that well when I'm that age!! I'm secure enough in myself to give a guy credit when credit is due. He looked great.

The conversation continued like this, ad nauseum, until I ended it. The lesson here: Don't be too much of a real man because some knuckleheads can't handle it. Another thing ladies, when men tell other men they look great it's much different than when you say it to each other and it has nothing to do with feelings of homosexuality. When a guy says to a guy that they look great it means that he still looks like he can run some laps, play 18 holes of golf or hold their own in a batting cage. It means that you still look sturdy enough to handle manly men tasks. And, as you know, we men like to challenge each other in feats of strength and endurance. It nurtures our fragile egos. Why do you think so many of us watch sports?

Also, like being called "feminine," when did taking care of yourself and being articulate become something exclusive to gay men? I have no issue at all with our gay counterparts but if I were a betting man, I'd say that there are gay men, and there are gay "men."

We Still Need Each Other

For better or worse I've been viewed as being too self sufficient to come off as desirable to certain types of women. Perhaps it's going through so many rough spots in my own life and battling out of it alone. While it's made me strong I hope it hasn't hardened my heart too much. The good thing about this is that I am 100% certain that I'm not codependent. This is a kiss of death for many a person when the enter a relationship.

It's a rough deal out there. We men like the company of a woman and to explore the beauty and mysteries of her body but not at the expense of mental turmoil. Honestly, there's nothing better then feeling a womans bare body against mine and, yes, post coital cuddling is not such a bad thing. In fact, it can be a great warm up for round 2. Chances are you women feel the same way about us men and that's where the issue lies and will continue to remain for some time to come. How do we get to the point of experiencing pleasure and intimacy with each other without the stupid games and costumes. Why do women not know what they want if they are supposedly in better tune with their emotions than us men. Conversely, why do we wen need to throw up so much armor if we are the stronger ones and do know what we want?

I can't stop the cycle for everyone but I can stop it with me.

As for being man or "man," I've learned it's best to be both and knowing when to use it. Be a gentleman sometimes and other times....let that door slam in her face. But pick your spots carefully and honestly and don't become an ass. We have enough of those in both sexes.



Coming up next on U N L O A D E D....The evil that is Enterprise Rent a Car.

Also.... Match maker, matchmaker. The yentas are after me.

And... Breathe in deeply and die. My coughing has stopped but the cure is worse than the disease. Yep I'm going to attack the pharmaceutical industry...AGAIN!!!

We've walked the tightrope, shelved our sensitivity, traded in our articulation for aggression....

To be a "man" is to be the idea of a stone warrior who is, in reality, only half a man without the weapons to fight.

Yet fight we do both as "men" and with our significant others if we have them. We love a dog fight. We compete in sports or work, we get cocky if we win and it feeds our very fragile egos. It's an odd for of self nurturing that is not really nurturing but self masturbatory and petty.

Machismo

Within the Latin culture there is great pride taken in a man being a "man." Having been raised by my grandparents you would think that the old world ways would have transferred over to me and, in a way, maybe a bit of it did. But my late Grandfather was not a practitioner of machismo. He was sensitive but silent. The victim of circumstance due to the era he grew up in. He didn't fight or look for one but when it came time to fight back he would. There was an issue with this as you didn't know where the limits of his patience stood. The more he wanted to say something the harder he was to read. He would retreat deep within himself and you could see he wanted to say something but couldn't. Then when he did it he was so raw and angry that he would have to backtrack later and recant many of the things he said. He would do it in a way that he'd never admit to being wrong or even apologize, it was uncanny. He was a wonderful man but I wonder how much greater he would would be if he felt comfortable with self expression. I think he could be superhuman if he mastered this. But for a sensitive man in the old world, this was how to be macho. Appear strong, silent, stoic for as long as you could in spite of yourself.

But Machismo isn't something specific to Latin men, it's something that resides in ALL men and "men." We want to be strong and appealing to women but also don't want to get hurt. We want to be able to kill a grizzly bear with our bare hands and swim the English channel later in the day. We don't want the aid of a doctor when hurt. We want to be able to match the grit of a cowboy in a spaghetti western. We never want to cry or have to get into emotionally messy situations.

But most importantly, we don't want to be reminded of our own weaknesses and limitations.

So being macho is the perfect shield for us. We earn the respect of our fellow men and "men" and we can keep our love interests at arms length so they can't do too much damage. Commitment? That's a compromise to a man's machismo and independence. It says to many a man and "men" that they can't do it alone and they aren't invincible. It also says that the spaghetti western adventure is over.

Possibility

Men and "men" are fascinated by possibility, the "what if." The conquest and legacy. To commit means that the definition of conquering will change or simply go away. Men take pride in winning over women or building something on their own. We like to point at something and say, "Yes, I did that." Of course, not all men are are like this. There are many men that do want to commit and have a family and make that their legacy. But for some of us, the question will always linger on our mind,"Is this as good as it gets?"

We simply don't know the answer and to deprive ourself of opportunity in exchange for what's in front of us, as wonderful as she may be.....it still may not be enough according to our expectations. Are they too high? Too low? That is something we must judge for ourselves as each of our cases are unique.

So if you ladies are wondering why he's taking so long to make up his mind then what I'm saying here could be the reason. It's not immaturity, it's possibility. And the more you try to pin him down the more he'll struggle to escape. Frustrating, but the nature of the beast.

Opening Up

This is where a "man" becomes a man and this is one of the hardest things for us to do. Perhaps it's the testosterone but opening up is awful. I dread it, loathe it with all my being. Yet I do it. I owe it to my background in the arts. I was forced to do it as that was the only way to create an honest artistic work or performance. I had to get comfortable with being emotionally uncomfortable. And while it has become somewhat easier, it's not a picnic.

There's so much on the line here. The man you thought you were is now exposed, a sitting duck, ready to be blown to bits by rejection or indifference. Still, if you find the right woman, you have to show your intelligence, your understanding, your real sensitivity at your core and your dominance at the periphery. All the stars must be aligned but we men can do it. However, this will bring about another problem to the suspicious woman and it's something that will push us back to being "men" quicker than a hiccup....

I will reveal that for you here and much more.......

(siting back in my chair and looking at the clock)

But not tonight......tonight I'm going to bed and thinking about the Playboy bunnies and the Playboy mansion. I will have a "man's" dream and harbor no regrets at my digressions.

Coming up next.....The final installment of why men are "men.

It's not easy being a man these days or any other. I've heard so many women tell me that I'm lucky to be a man because we have not as much to worry about. We get paid more at jobs, we're all part of the "boys club," we don't have "that time of the month," and the alleged simplicity of our emotional intellect is so much less of a burden.

It's not shocking that women would come to this conclusion. We haven't given them much to go on. We put out the fact that we don't worry about some of the things they do and we work so hard to avoid the affairs of being put on the emotional hot seat that we seem utilitarian, mechanical, unfeeling unless it's time to screw of watch the game. Is this truly the depth of the men?

The Uniform

Somewhere along the line, the expectations of what we men should be and do in our daily lives became what the stuff that "men" do. Along with the struggle to properly articulate our feelings, this internal deficiency had to also show externally. In my 20s there was even a uniform that "men" wore. And may still be worn now in suburban hell.

• Hair was to barely be combed or little attention was given to it. This would be concealed by a baseball cap.
• A flannel shirt or some type of button down shirt from Abocrombie & Fitch, the epitome of boring no matter how stylish their catalogs get.
• A T-shirt underneath said button down that promoted some form of hard liquor or lewd activity that I wouldn't mind doing with the right woman but wouldn't care to broadcast it either.
• Ill fitting jeans that haven't been washed and could fit 10 people inside of them.
• And finally, an expression intellectual absence accentuated by having your mouth half open at all times and a blank look in your eyes.
  

And like clockwork these men would attract women desperate for attention and got very little of it because the "man" had turned the wheels off upstairs. A curious realization hit me one night while bar hopping; this isn't what these women really want, it's just the only thing they know.

Mind you this is not a sweeping statement on all women, just a sample of what I saw here in my neck of the woods. They were all Stepford Wives in training, this is Connecticut after all, and you could see the suburban train wrecks that would become of these courtships years later where cookie cutter on the outside would meet the buzz saw on the inside. What horrors would develop behind that picket fence? There's a few book and movie deals that could come from it, I'm quite sure.

WOOT! WOOT! You're Out of Uniform!

I'll never forget this conversation I once had with an attractive young woman who simply could not accept that I was able to match her discussion on things deemed too sophisticated for a typical man to digest.

We got onto the topic of films. Artistic ones.

Me: I'm glad to see the independent film movement coming alive here in the US. There's been so many great films that I've caught down at the York Square. But I still have a soft spot for foreign language films.

Her: Porn films?

Me: No, I said foreign language films.

Her: Yeah, sure. At the York Square Cinema?

Me: Yes, I go once every couple of weeks. I like going alone because I sort of clear my head that way and get ideas for my own writing.

Her: Right, so what did you see there?

Thinking she had me cornered I rattled off a list of films and what I thought of them from pacing, to camera work, to writing. It was as if she was hit by baseball bat over the head.

Her: Well it was nice talking to you...um...see you around?

She staggered off, dazed, confused. What happened is quite clear in hindsight. She thought I was trying to talk film to get into her pants, she got proved wrong and when that happened, she couldn't deal with it.

She was so conditioned to think that men will do and say anything to get laid that when I came to the table with facts, she collapsed right in front of me.

Real men are not supposed to watch these films! They want Chuck Norris or something. WRONG. Mind you I can kick back and enjoy that kind of fare, but I can also indulge in the highbrow as well.

This speaks to a bigger problem that we face when trying to be honest and open with women. When you do show what they want to see, many reject it as a ploy. Why? Because it's too far off from the norm. "The uniform." The very thing me and other men are not, nor do we aspire to be.

The Tightrope

At 24 I was dating a woman that was 32. She was rattled by it at first but she was attracted to the fact that I could be articulate about things that other men could not. Because she was a little older, she could appreciate that that quality and not see it as a "ploy."

I still wasn't fully grown into my skin so to speak. I was hammered by insecurity and a feeling of being lost. It was what you could call a quarter life crisis. It hit me bad but she didn't seem to mind it. One day she opened up and told me something that I thought to be nothing more than lip service.

Her: You can't see it now but once you start being comfortable being the man I see in you, you're going to be very dangerous.

Me: Whatever....

Her: You don't see it yet but I can. You're going to grow into it and you are just going to be amazing.

Me: Grow into what?

Her: Being comfortable with being a real man.

Rest assured, dear readers, that I didn't write that to turn this into an essay declaring me the perfect man, I'm not. I'm VERY far from it. But what I've come to understand from that conversation is something that is slowly happening to me now and moving forward. That is, being comfortable with myself and having a quiet confidence about me that resides just below the surface and is not in your face. Too many men want to flash their fangs to show how strong they are. That shows insecurity. A man comfortable with himself knows when to relax, just be.

Women have become so cynical of us men that to be too open and articulate at first glance will scare them off. You have to know when to use it. You have to honestly convey the sense that you can find beauty in a poem or sunset sometimes and have the strength put an unruly persons head through a window or table (literally and figuratively) at other times. That, in essence is the tightrope that many a man must walk in this world of juxtaposition.

Do women know what they want? Is this even enough?

Maybe not as there is still a host of other issues that arise when women encounter something they find "too good to be true."

I will reveal them here, for your pleasure and feedback..............but not tonight.

Tonight I will indulge in a French film with subtitles while having a glass a wine, then flip on my PS2 and play a few rounds of WWE Smackdown vs. Raw.

I will be both man and "man" in one night.

Coming up next..... Part III of why men are "men."

True story going back to when I was training as an actor. I was going to night classes at a place called The Atlantic Theater Company around the meat packing district in Manhattan. The class was about analyzing a script and performance technique. Each week we had find a partner and perform a scene for the rest of the class to critique. One particular scene that didn't go well for yours truly was from a play called Suburbia by actor and writer Eric Bogosian. It was a wonderful coming of age tale of youngsters who were going nowhere post high school and pissing away their time in front of a convenience store. You've seen these types if you've ever had to go to one to score some milk, candy or sodas in a pinch. They think they have it all figured out and use it as a justification to go nowhere as they wax philosophical about life while they chain smoke.

As a 24 year old with a chip on his shoulder, selecting this work to do scene from seemed to be a perfect fit. I found a partner, a gorgeous female, and we were to do the one scene which I could not pull off. Perhaps the only part of the play that felt like a huge obstacle instead of fun: Opening up and expressing my feelings of fear and vulnerability over my character's girlfriend leaving for college and likely to bigger and better things. The scene commenced. Awkwardly I stumbled through, trying to find my grounding to power through this mess.....but I couldn't. Mercifully it ended and reactions from my fellow actors commenced. The first person to comment was an actress. I'll never forget what she said, "It seems like you had a lot of trouble expressing how much you care for her. But it's probably got nothing to do with your acting ability and more to do with the fact that you're a MAN."

The other actress nodded in a agreement and murmured in a "tell 'em sister" kind of way. I had no rebuttal, she was right.

Weakness

From an early age many of us boys who become "men" were not encouraged to express our feelings in anything that comes close to being articulate. Many, but not all of us, were taught to keep it inside to not dwell on it. Just keep moving on until things work themselves out. But the more we hold it in the more emotionally unavailable we become. We carry the weight with little left for anything else when an intimate relationship comes along.

We're told to be strong. Not flinch, be a man. Tough it out. Talk of feelings is not supposed to be in a man's arsenal of weapons. If we do open up we run the risk of looking weak, wimpy, or the ultimate kiss of death...sensitive.

Sensitive = Dead

Somewhere along the line the big thing for men to be was sensitive. In fact, some years ago all the talk on news programs that did a fluff piece on relationships heralded a "sensitive man" as the model that men should aspire to be. Think Tom Hanks in the film Big. The word sensitive in and of itself is not bad but the distortion of word is. To show understanding of someone else's feelings and your own in a way that's expressive and productive would technically be considered "sensitive." However the pop culture definition of sensitive, and the definition that prevails, is a guy who cries at the end of Little House on the Prairie reruns and pretty much lacks any spine when a confrontation arises. Most men don't want to go there. It betrays the code we're all taught while growing up to be a man. And women, most likely, will appreciate the sensitivity of a man when used at the right time and sparingly. While women may say they want a man that is sensitive, I feel they actually want a man that's dominant with genuine tendencies of sensitivity. There's a difference there, a big one. Unfortunately finding men that can walk this tightrope is difficult and many women wind up dating jerks. Why? They mistake the abusive behavior for dominance. They can't find a guy that can do both because we weren't adequately prepared to handle both while growing up.

So you may notice, ladies, that even the men who do not act like jerks have a sort of wall up. And at first that wall may seem exciting to you as what's behind it is a mystery. Women like to unlock the secrets of their men in due time. There's nothing wrong with this.

But perhaps the word sensitive should be put to rest as men who need to nurture a true sense of it, won't because the distorted definition prevails. And again, what man worth his salt wants to be that? Sensitivity, as we've wrongly come to understand it, is dead!

And it should stay that way.

But is it Feminine?

Another true story. A former best friend and I were at a bar watching a Knicks game and we were waiting for a woman who was interested in me to show up with her friend. As they entered we got to talking about how we were concerned about a mutual friend who was getting mixed up with the wrong woman and was playing all sorts of head games with him. He was in a wretched state and we hated to see him like this. The 2 women were fascinated by the discussion they were overhearing.

Woman #1: I'm really amazed by how feminine of a discussion you 2 can have about your friend. I didn't think men talked this way.

Woman #2: Yeah, it's really great that you 2 can talk like this.

Me: Feminine? What the fuck does that shit mean? We're worried about our friend who's dating a total bitch.

Woman #1: Yes but the way you were talking was not something we see guys do. I mean we women talk this way, but I didn't think men did.

Me: Explain this to me....

Woman #2: Well, we didn't think men really opened up with their feelings like this. My boyfriend and his friends don't.

Actually they probably do but far away from you because they don't want to reveal that part of themselves and be called feminine. Granted, there's nothing wrong with feminine if you're a woman or a very flamboyant man or drag queen. But for the rest of us guys, that word, like "sensitive" is the kiss of death.

Here''s another thing. Expression on feelings is not something exclusive to femininity. It's a human thing. Still it's not surprising that many women feel this way about men. They are going off experience.

There is more to our journey in discovering the difference between the sexes and I will share the rest of my thoughts in full.......

But not tonight. Tonight I will imagine a utopian world where male and female understand each other and make love....not war.

Coming up next.....Part II of why we become "men."

Well it appears that this dry hacking cough won't subside. Those of you who read this blog regularly recall how at one point the coughing was so bad that I couldn't light the menorah on Hanukkah because I was nearly convulsing. Thankfully, I didn't burn down the whole apartment.

So here I am, a couple of weeks later, and the cough still lingers. While the fever, chills, headache, nausea and such are long out of the way, this damn cough won't leave! It's not as severe as it once was but it strikes at the most inopportune times. It's frustrating and I've heard all sorts of advice like:

• Drink lots of water.
• Get a humidifier.
• Increase my intake of vitamin C.
• Refrain from exercise.
• Resume exercise.
• Get a dehumidifier.
• Lower my intake of vitamin C because it will hurt my liver.
• Forget about drinking water and drink tea with lots of honey.
  
• See your doctor.

Ah yes, my friends, that last point is the most critical and something I've been too busy to do. I suspect his prescription will be to take it easy and get rest along with lots of fluids. But I can't rest because I have to pay the bills, damn it!!!

The coughing has lead me through a litany of awful situations.

Last Friday

I figured I'd do a good deed and go to synagogue after work. The coughing seemed to have let up until I entered the sanctuary.

Me: Cough! Cough! Cough, cough, COUGH! Ack! Cough!!!

I take a seat as the services begin and just as I get it under control, a critical point of the service arrives: The Mourners Kaddish

This is a point in the service in which people who lost loved ones on or around this time stand and recite the prayer to mark the anniversary of their passing. As the Rabbi begins to read the names of the deceased the coughing begins in earnest.

Me: cough.........ahem......cough......cough.....cough.......ahem.....

The rabbi then asks the mourners to rise and the reciting of the prayer begins. This is to be a solemn and poignant moment.


Congregation: Yit-gadal v'yit-kadash sh'may raba....

Me: AAAAAAACCCCK!!! HAK!! HAK! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! AHHHACK!! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!

I can take it no longer. I get up and stagger out of the sanctuary and head for the bathroom. As I do the congregation stares, mouths agape, eyes wide in shock.

I compose myself in the bathroom and make a return, trying to not call anymore attention to myself.

ME: ACK!! COUGH! COUGH!!! AHEM!!!! COUGH!!!

I excuse myself AGAIN.

Whispers from the crowd, rumors that I am carrying the plague or SARS.

After the service, a wonderful couple about to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary approaches me.

Husband: Boy you sure have one nasty cold.

Me: (nodding) Cough! Cough!

Wife: Rick, we're going to be celebrating our 60th wedding anniversary soon and after services we'll be hosting an Oneg Shabbat at our place. We want you to come by.

Me: (nodding yes) COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!

I give the thumbs up and bolt for the door. This good deed was a total disaster.

Later That Night.......

I needed a fucking drink. I promised some coworkers that I'd meet up with them in Sono, a trendy area in southern CT with lots of hot spots. For a while the beer poured and the coughing diminished. I was feeling a little bit better but I was not there yet.

The good news, I was getting a lot of good vibes from the women in the bars. I like this. But the coughing fits left me a bit inhibited. I didn't want to hack up a wad of mucus on them. That would be a pretty big turn off. We checked out another bar down the street and ran into an attractive redhead we all worked with. She was very happy to see me and sat on my lap. Her hands were pretty free over me and I didn't mind it at all.

The coughing subsided.

She called her friend over to introduce her to another coworker I was siting with. Maybe he was hyped over what was going on with me but he got a little too friendly with her way too quick. Unlike me who didn't mind the aggressiveness, she did. The result? Her demanding to leave and taking away my potential company for the night, but not before getting a nice kiss. Before we knew it, they were gone. I could have smashed a bottle over my colleague's head but we have to work together and he's really a good guy. But really, he may have cost me one. I told him it's best to let the woman lead in these situations. He agreed. I also noticed something that was NOT good....

The coughing returned.

This Past Week......

My boss ordered me to stop coughing. It didn't work. Since it was Christmas time the work volume was light and the office was empty. I sat alone with most of the lights out....coughing.

This Friday Night....

Went back to Synagogue and for the most part the coughing was under control. No more stares. Good deed done.

Saturday Night.....

All is well until I decide to go to sleep. The coughing hits me with a vengeance. I give up on the prospect of slumber and resort to watching Busty Cops 2 on HBO late night.

While the visual stimuli was overwhelming...the coughing subsided.

Suddenly I discovered the pattern and source of relief to my ailments. It was so clear to me and made so much sense. It's what I want, what I need; a valuable lesson.

Never underestimate the healing power of a beautiful woman's body or her affections.

Coming up Next......Where art thou Vegas Starlet?

We all have our hopes, dreams aspirations and goals. We do our part to achieve them and hope that the work invested is bringing us closer to where we want to be instead of pushing us further away.

This is a difficult thing to gauge and sometimes we don't know for sure or won't know until some time has passed. It's only then that we can be witnesses to the fruits of out labor and feel that good work has been done. However, during these periods, there is tremendous time for self doubt to fester and rear it's ugly head. It is then that we wind up at parties and run into people we haven't seen in years or perhaps a person of importance that could play a role in the advancement of your career. It's inevitable that in these casual discussions that the other person will rattle off their accomplishments and then turn the spot light on you with a simple question:

So what are you doing?

The other individuals accomplishments seem so much more solid and ambitious. Your mind races, searching for answer that will be at least on par with his or hers.

The throat tightens, ever so slightly.

The sound "um" wants to pour out of your mouth in a steady stream.

The palms grow a bit sweaty.

You fidget or shrug your shoulders.

Finally you take a deep breath and let it rip, stringing together a shaky list of "plans" you have with a tone of forced confidence that only accentuates your insecurity. You don't want to look like an oaf or layabout. You want to portray that YOU TOO are on the move and working on something grand.

The other person will nod and declare how wonderful it is that your doing these things. They will follow up with how far along you are. The best answer you can muster is something a long the lines of this:

You: Well....um.....you know......things.......working on it.......it's...uh...coming right along.

You feel your heart sinking and you clear your throat once more, hoping they believe you. Soon the talk ends and you both go your separate ways. You realize what an awkward time that was and spin into self evaluation mode. "This can't happen again!" You say to yourself. You go home and construct more solid and stock answers to defend yourself the next time you're at a cocktail party. You'll shine like a star and people will be in awe of you. It's not to be a liar but to hold your own in a world that seems as if it's passing you by. You may not be as far along as others but you'll make what you have done sound great.

But the self doubt still lingers. You wonder why haven't you gone as far as you'd like. You question if you have enough in the tank, the will, the fortitude. Did you chase the wrong calling? Soon these thoughts haunt your entire being. And as you step out into the world there is only one thing you feel like....

FRAUD!

You're not the writer, inventor, artist, poet, singer, songwriter, musician, entrepreneur or bad ass you hyped yourself up to be!! No, no no! You're none of these things. You have your job at a generic office, factory or store, not the goals you aspire for! You are what you do! You're a cubicle slug, factory zombie or retail scum. You hate this! People notice your discontent but don't know what your problem is. You scream, "LET ME OUT!" But where is the OUT?! Is this it? Is this all? It wasn't supposed to be this way!!!!

The ugly word reverberates throughout mind, body and room you're in.

YES! That word! Say it with me:

FFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUDDDDDDDDD!

Oh God no! Not this this way! Not like this! This can't be my fate!

You look around, people stare with sideways glances. Children scatter. You're own pets no longer recognize you.

HHHHEEEEEELLLLP!

You dive back into your goal with a fanatical conviction to prove this all wrong. You can do this. You can make it! Damn all of you who say no! Curse you! Or you can give up and go back to the status quo. So simple isn't it? But so fucking hard.

We have this choice everyday. We can make it or avoid it. But everyday that you choose to say yes, then it's as real as anything else in front of you.

Coming up next...... Can I please stop the coughing? And..... When Vegas Lost a Starlet.

Well, it seems like an eternity since I decided to announce my entry into the Slamdance screenwriters competition. At the time my hope was to advance enough to get exposure and feedback. And, as some of you may recall, the feedback was VERY POSITIVE.

However, in the end, it just wasn't enough to get over the hump. I've known about my elimination since the end of summer but I've held back on discussing it until now. Why? Because I wasn't sure how I felt. On one hand I was grateful for the favorable review but on the other hand I as perturbed that I didn't advance further. Trying to rationalize the logic of the judges is beyond my control. In fact, it's not even something I should dwell on. It's one loss out of thousands of rejections that are headed my way. It's the nature of the business. But I surmise that even the most seasoned writers deep down agree with me when the rejection comes.

It Sucks!

I don't care how thick skinned you say you are or how many years you've been in whatever business you're in, when you pour your heart and soul into something and they say no, it sucks! "Just give me a chance!!!" You cry. But the decision maker on the other side has heard and seen it all before and has been hardened. There is no mercy. Again, it's the nature of the business. It's not going to change for me or anyone else anytime soon. And even if you're in the inner circle and are paid to write films as a career, it still may suck since your story could get changed to appeal to 13 year olds which will result in higher ticket sales. If that does not rub you the wrong way then just look at the writers strike going on right now. They are living the dream but it's become a nightmare for them right now. TV is heading into reruns and reality show hell with their absence but sooner or later this has to have a happy ending. It's what writers are paid to create no matter how implausible.

Still this "defeat", if you wish to call it such, is a drop in the bucket. In the grand scheme of things it means nothing to lose but a whole lot if you "win."

So What Now?

I can't change what happened and as I said, it's not worth stressing over. There will be more rejection than acceptance as I try to get my work out there. But here's the thing, I've got nothing in the tank right now as far as major stories go. Yes there is this blog and yes it's great to whip out some quick stories to keep the knives from dulling, but I can't get the mojo going and this also sucks.

The other thing that sucks? I have not been motivated to work on the last script I completed.
I feel it's a great story but I also feel overwhelmed by it. So much so that to open it up and begin revisions hurts like hell.

Was it the "defeat" this summer or the series of events that's been distracting me from my priorities? Is it the Blackberry? The current job? This blog? Or fear?

I haven't a clue but the shutdown of sorts scares me. Where did the spark go? Will it come back? Should I forget the whole fucking thing?

These are questions only I can answer and I will have a brutal wrestling match with my thoughts in the weeks to come. "Defeat" should never be a reason to give up in any goal you've set for yourself but loss of will is something you should fight to get back. Without a will, there's not a way. If there's no way, there's no fun to be had at the end. This disturbs me as I want that fun and sense of accomplishment in my life. Unfortunately what I have become at the moment is a working stiff. Just giving enough to make it through the day so I have enough left to make it through the next. And when I say "enough" it's actually a lot.

There's a balance to all of this and once one can figure it out, I think victory is right around the corner. You just have to have an open mind to what that means.

So have you ever lost focus with your goal? Have you lost your motivation? Have you just wanted to say, "damn it all and throw in the towel to be a safe, working stiff?

Unload here.......

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D.......

FRAUD!

Yep, like clockwork ladies and gents. I get to keep my car and no sooner does that happen then a mom in her minivan comes crashing into me on the highway!!!

The accident was not my fault so I get the car fixed for free. This will be of great inconvenience however.

Stay tuned for pictures of the fender bender, they're great!!!

I just fucking love it!!!




UPDATE

As promised, here are pictures of the fender bender. I love how the rear bumper slants, ever so slightly, on the drivers side. It could have been much worse but still it sucks.





























































I spoke with Chubb, the company that insured the woman that hit me and possibly one of the worst named companies ever. Not only do they have a pathetic name, but they had the nerve to say that they can't verify that the woman is insured with them based on the information I provided which was:

• Her name
• Her address
• Her drivers license number
• Her insurance policy number
• Her vehicle identification number
• Her date of birth
• The make of the car
• The year the car was made
• AND THE CASE NUMBER OF THE INCIDENT GIVEN TO ME BY THE CONNECTICUT STATE POLICE WHO WERE AT THE SCENE!!!!

WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED CHUBB!?!!?!?

She (the Chubb rep) then suggested that I just use my own insurance to cover the repairs as it would be done faster. UNACCEPTABLE!!! I told the Chubb Representative that I would NOT do that and they can take care of it. She said that would be fine but it might take 2 weeks!!!!

What is this!?!?!

Note to other drivers, avoid the Chubb flubs! They suck. And really, who the hell would want a company named Chubb backing them up? How can any of it lead to good?

I'm sick of this already. I'm going to drink play with my Blackberry, maybe watch some porn if the mood strikes me.

Later folks.

Coming up on U N L O A D E D....... What to do when you lose.

As I begin my celebration of the Jewish festival of lights, my enjoyment has been hampered by a vicious cold that has had me out of it for the last day or so. Unable to really get out of bed yesterday with violent coughing fits and a fever, today I was determined to drag myself out bed. I staggered through the aisles of the grocery story to pick up the necessary drugs needed to keep me barely functional and Hanukkah candles to carry out the mitzvah of lighting the menorah.

Paths were cleared immediately for me to pass as my obvious pestilence struck deep fear into all those who laid eyes on me. If they didn't hear me they could hear my coughing and wheezing. No one wanted any part of me. Making it through the checkout was a breeze.

Upon arriving home my eyes began to water and close up. My left eye remained opened just enough to make my way through the apartment, grab and don my yarmulke and attempt to read the berakhahs (blessings) aloud.

It went something like this......

Me: Barukh Atta...COUGH, COUGH COUGH, COUGH!!! Ackh! COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!!

(I fight to light the shamash candle and barely succeed)

ME: Barukh.....COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!!

(l fight to light the second candle and get hot wax on my fingers almost causing me to drop the shamash candle)

Me: ....ack......COUGH....Adonay...Elo....COUGH , COUGH COUGH!

(another violent coughing fit ensues and my yarmulke goes flying off)

Me: COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!

At this point I give up and jam the shamash candle back into the center of the menorah and run to t