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.

Not that long ago I heard a quick news blurb over the radio that said physical altercations between girls and women were on the rise. They attributed this to a more competitive atmosphere but didn't elaborate except to mention sports and career demands. I take it the sports were pertaining to the young ladies still in school and careers to women out of it. Or is it the other way around? No matter. I'm not here to document the top 10 fist fights ever between women. Rather it got me thinking about the relationships women have with each other.

Competition

From where I sit the "competition" vaguely referenced in the news story I overheard was horribly misguided. Sure it's part of it but I've observed plenty of passive aggression in mundane activities that I never knew could be competitive. An example is when I go over to my friends house who has a well established family and lives in an affluent neighborhood. All the neighbors are in each others faces. The men separate to discuss what they wish to do to the house as in "build a new wall" or "add a recreation room to the basement." Then there are the wives:

Wife 1: You're little Tommy is so full of energy. How old is he now?

Wife 2: He's 8.

Wife 1: Really? He doesn't look a day over 5! I bet he'll age well. Sometimes it helps to be a little...behind...with things.

Wife 2: Well Tommy got a bunch of Os for "outstanding" on his last report card. He almost did our taxes for us last year. He's great with numbers!

Wife 1: Really? Tommy count to 100 by 2s with me.

Wife 2: Yes show her how to count by 2s.....

Tommy: 7.....8.....15....

Wife 2: NO TOMMY! BY 2S!!

Tommy: Pee pee?

Wife 1: I'm sure he's just tuckered out. Oooh, your cake...in the oven...it's burning.

Wife 2: Oh..sh...I've been working on this all day. Now we have no dessert....

Wife 1: Oh, honey that's awful. It looked so good. Was it chocolate? I love chocolate. To bad it's burnt now. How about cutting out the center. I bet that's still...edible..if you spent all day on it after all.

Wife 2: I spent last night on it also.

Wife 1: Well my mother has a recipe that takes a weeks worth of preparation and the cake will just melt in your mouth....

On and on they go, it never ends. It's all hidden behind plastic smiles and strained compliments that are really barbs. This was not an actual conversation that I heard but rather an amalgamation of many discussions I've heard over the years. Wife 1 LOVES the fact that the cake got burnt. But why?

Some of you may think this is just snotty upper class folk being who they are. I thought so until I sat back and listened to the discussions of the common folk; middle class female friends of mine.

Daggers

I sat back one day as me and several female friends of mine had some drinks at the bar. As the women filtered into the establishment the daggers began to fly.

"Fake!"

"Ugly"

"Bad boob job."

"Trim those eyelashes already."

"Stupid hair!!"

"Fish lips!"

"Slut!"

"She doesn't have the body to wear that!!!"

There were glares, stares and resentment. Deep resentment. And the sad thing? None of the women they attacked were unattractive at all. In fact they were all quite beautiful. Clearly the physical appearance was triggering something negative in them. It was almost an innate instinct to beat up and tear down a prime specimen.

In these situations I wait for the right time to throw in my own carefully crafted opinion.

Me: I think she's fucking hot!!

This usually elicits head shaking and lecturing and why I should NOT find these women attractive. Wisely, I use this opportunity to pick their brain with follow up questions. I've come up with a half baked theory which someone else likely thought of but I don't care.

Alpha and Beta

I see 2 categories of women in my travels that can be broken down into many subcategories. Let's start with the alpha female.

The alpha female is the type who can walk into a room and just light it up with her looks or demeanor. She doesn't have to work at it, it all comes naturally. She wields great power over those she comes into contact with not through demands, but a warm smile and the power of suggestion. It need not be sexual at all times but genuine. The sky is the limit for her.

Then we have the beta females. Women in this category are not relegated to it by looks. Quite the contrary. There is a self defeatist attitude that runs through many of them which causes them to lash out instead of reach out. They are defensive and wounded creatures. An enterprising and manipulative beta female will untie the others betas to follow her lead on nights out. She'll make sure the angry fire burns and that none of the women with her speak to men and if they appear to be hitting it off with one, she will cut it short. When they are not out she is the one they all come to talk to for support. However she won't support but rather fuel the flames. Why? It keeps her getting all the juicy gossip and keeps her in a position as the leader.

Beta Superior - A false alpha female who leads by undermining the self confidence of her sister women and keeps true to the concept of misery loving company.

Beta Minor - A woman foolish enough to think they need a beta superior to lead them.

Not all women fall into these categories, obviously, but I've seen many that do.

Cat Fight

Some of this stuff will culminate in a cat fight. I once saw 2 strippers break out into fisticuffs while dancing on stage in my college years. I have no doubt that it tied into some of the concepts I've laid out here. And...OK I went to MANY strip bars back then because...I was in college damn it. But that's neither here nor there. What I'm saying is that perhaps these small jabs are ultimately leading to the physical altercations that were mentioned in that radio story. There is a tremendous pressure on women that I as a man will never fully comprehend. There is an internal pressure they put on each other to be "perfect" and an outward pressure from the media which may or may not be an extension to the self imposed pressure. Does every woman want to be a Wonder Woman? I don't know but I suspect many want to take a Wonder Woman down for the count.




Coming up.....

The Drive...

Also....

Giving the gift of "boob." Is it the gift that keeps on giving?

And later...

The myth of equity.

With Valentines day just around the corner, I suppose it was only a matter of time before some in my local synagogue decided to take it upon themselves to find me a "nice Jewish girl" or at least try to. I suppose there are some benefits to this like not being served pork chops when it's time to meet her parents for a nice dinner or not being cajoled into celebrating Christmas and belting out Silent Night while pounding down eggnog. Then again, this is America where plenty of Jews will eat pork chops for dinner and sing Silent Night around Christmas time because.....it's a free country.

However, it's more than likely that this is not the type of women the matchmakers at my synagogue have in mind. No, they will only select a girl steeped in the traditions of Judaism and can quote the Torah as if she wrote it herself. From there I will be expected to marry her and produce numerous offspring to carry on the traditions of Judaism by sending them to Hebrew school and such. Tradition must be preserved!

Now ladies and gentleman, there is nothing wrong with this if that's your thing. But this is Ricardo we are talking about here and my mission (missionary?) statement has always been the same. I have said it here and I will say it again for all of you:

The Ricardo welcomes beautiful women of all races, creeds and colors.

That has been my way, it has always been my way and will continue to be my way. I've never been of the thought process that we should all just stick with our own. It's boring and I would have deprived myself of many a steamy moment with women of numerous races and backgrounds. The differences are the spice of life. They teach me something new, exciting. It's an adventure and makes me feel more worldly.

I WANT to run my hands up and down the endless legs of a tall blond in Reykjavik!

I MUST HAVE the sweet decadence and soft skin of a Tokyo starlet!

I WANT to sample (further) the well toned body of a woman in Sydney or anywhere in Australia! And I'm not just referring to the wonderful pictures I see of my muse, Nurse Myra!!!

I WANT to burn red hot and see the pink of a babe in Red Square!!

I WANT to explore and shag a buxom beauty in Great Britain!

I WANT to love the taste of curry in the morning with a rose in India!!!

Argentina, South Africa, Canada...wherever!!! There's a lot I have to do before I check out. And since I can fucking breathe again post Advair, I'm more than ready. And most importantly, I DON'T WANT TO SETTLE DOWN!!!

(looks at all of you to make sure you've gotten my point before continuing)

And now back to my story.

The Matchmaker

A service at my synagogue had ended, I was on my way out the door when an older man stopped me. In this case, I encountered a male Yenta, if there is such a thing. Also, that is what others have designated him as so this is how he will be referred to for the sake of our tale.

Male Yenta: Good Shabbos. I think we need to find you someone. You single?

Me: I am, yes.

Male Yenta: You far from here?

Me: Nope. 10 minutes maybe.

Male Yenta: Good! I think we can find someone for you. Shall we?

He gestures toward the hall where refreshments and snacks are served. It's also used for parties and gatherings.

Male Yenta: Figure....she's gotta be living on her own. Good job. Not too needy emotionally or with the money. Around 5 foot 7 for you. Not too short, you're kind of tall.

Me: I......

Before I can say anything he has lead me to the Head Yenta. This woman is known throughout the synagogue for making many a match for the single folk.

Male Yenta: (to Head Yenta) So what do you think? This young man here. Can we find someone for him?

Head Yenta: Oh, I think so.

Male Yenta: No one too short. She's got to be on the taller side and with a job. We don't need her breaking his bank.

Me: There's not much of a bank to break.

Laughter among all of us as in the back of my mind I think...."um....what is this shit?"

Head Yenta: I prefer to go the emotional route to see if there's a connection. I'm sure there are some you will like. I love doing this and I have a great track record.

Male Yenta: Yeah but some things, you know.....

Head Yenta: No I understand. I'm going to look.

Male Yenta: He needs a nice girl.

Head Yenta: He does. He does.

And suddenly, they vanished into the crowd. As if they were never talking to me. Or were they going to work in finding me the right girl?

Dumbfounded, I went over to my rabbi for guidance.

Me: Listen, can I talk to you for a second.

Rabbi: Yeah sure.

Me: The yentas are after me. They want to set me up with someone.

Rabbi: Who!?! What's her name?!?!?

Me: That's the thing, I don't know yet. But you know a lot more than I do about what's really going on here and I don't want to be slammed with damaged goods.

Rabbi: Before you say anything, no matter who she is, talk to me first. Don't give them an answer until you talk to me.

Me: Thanks, that's what I needed.

Rabbi: Ricardo, I like you and I don't want to see anything happen to you.

A voice of reason! As of now, I remain safe.

Of Course, There's always Room for the Right One

My dear readers, there is always room for the right Jewish girl as well. My outburst earlier was to illustrate that the right one can also come in many flavors. Could there be a taut Israeli sabra who's sweeter than apples and honey in my future? Perhaps. It's all the luck of the draw and where life takes me. Will this search bare any fruit? Doubtful. Still the push to pair me off with a nice Jewish girl will continue. I am now in the cross hairs and there is little I can do about it. Even my blogging friend and performance artist Maya Escobar (also Jewish) is determined to set me up with her lovely friend who is.......Jewish. When I asked why the best answer she could give is because this is what she wants for me. It has to be done. There is no rational thought to it but there is a raw insistence that is almost instinctual.

While I despise (LOATHE) musicals, I can't help but think of this number from Fiddler on the Roof. I imagine somewhere in the predominantly Jewish neighborhoods in my state that there are women at least mimicking the essence of this nonsense. Quite frankly, I'm frightened by it all.





Coming up next......

Final thoughts as this season of U N L O A D E D comes to a close.

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."

There are weeks at work where the sooner they end, the better. Last week was no exception. The autumn chill had really started to make itself felt that night. I was just getting out of work and wanted to go straight home but that wasn't going to happen. I noticed that the low fuel light had gone off. Yet another little blow to an overall shitty day. The good news is that there was a gas station nearby and given that it was 9 at night, I wouldn't have to wait in line. It would be quick and painless, something that is seemingly impossible to do in Stamford, CT.

Stamford is a small city with few buildings over 20 stories, yet it has all the congestion and bustle of midtown Manhattan. An odd juxtaposition but something I've learned to deal with.

Actually cope is a better word, but aren't we all?

EMPTY

The tank, the gas station and the feeling in my gut. I would get my gas, go home and sleep off the dull pain in my body and the numbness in my head. I figured I give a call to my Uncle A but got and abrupt "Let me call you back." I'd have to settle for the sound of the gas pump instead of conversation. I watched the numbers tick by, tallying up the the total that would be docked from my debit card when another car pulled up.

Still entranced by the flickering numbers that never seemed to stop going up, the other car's door opened.

The sound of heels on the pavement.

A nasty gust of wind.

The corner of my eye catching long brunette hair flowing and longer legs carrying a perfect body and beautiful face to the stations shop.

A glance over at me and I look away as not to be too obvious.

I like what I see.

Don't you like me?

Our leggy brunette returned to her car and began pumping her own gas. She was using the pump on the opposite side of mine. We were close but I lost my view. These devices are big, obstructive monstrosities. Amidst the sound of gas flowing through rubber tubes into our tanks I heard an unusual and most welcomed utterance.

"Don't you like me?"

What did she just say? Was that directed at me?

"Don't you like me?"

From what I see, yes! But was she speaking to a gas pump that didn't want to work? Or was it someone in her car? A boyfriend? A child? I can't tell because I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!

"Oh come on, don't you like me?"

CLUNK!

That's the sound the pump maid as my tank reached full. The receipt printed out and it was the perfect chance for me to grab it, toss it in the trash and sneak another look at our beauty.

Then our eyes would lock, she'd ask me that question again and I give a smile and say yes.

We'd kiss right there and we'd fuck with reckless abandon on the hood of her car not giving a shit who saw us!

We'd become an item and whenever we walked into a place we'd be the hottest damn couple there. I'd get used to the fact that other men would always be staring at her with lust instead of feeling a twinge of annoyance at their passive agressive advances. I'd do the same, how could I blame them? I'm the stud, they are not. Look and learn you bastards!! She's all mine!

And she's digs me for me and wouldn't care about the fact I wasn't the richest guy around or living in a small apartment as opposed to a penthouse.

The sight of her nude body would always instantly ignite the most intense fire I have ever felt. It would be a super nova! The sparks would never fade and other women would throw themselves at me because I'd be a hotter ticket than I already am. Yeah, that's the fucking ticket baby!!!!

(clears throat)

All I have to do is say yes to her question and it will all fall into place!

And then......I'd catch her cheating with another guy.

BITCH!

She's so full of herself that she's made it a habit of toying with men! I was just the latest victim. The path of broken hearts before me likely stretches to infinity and the path before me likely disappears into the horizon. Once conquered she'd be onto her next target. I would be left bewildered, confused and angry.

How can this be? How could I have been played for such a fool by this sociopath with perfect tits?

NO! I will not let this woman spray me down with gas and take a match to me! I will NOT answer her question and I will leave unscathed to fight another day!!!

Play your games somewhere else you fucking harlot!!!

Driving Off

As I drove off, I finally got a better look at her. Still as beautiful as when I saw her moments before. There was no one with her, no one was in the car, it was just her. She looked at me as if she were still waiting for my answer. I smiled and drove off.

Sometimes it's good to leave them guessing. Even if I'm left second guessing myself.

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

The boss who never was. Do you have that special someone at work who wants to be your boss but isn't and is basically in the same position as you? We'll take a look this cubicle dwelling subspecies.

And coming up later.....

Behold the Blackberry or is it the Crackberry? Is it helping my life or slowly destroying it?

Also to come.....

Dealing with defeat. I don't like to lose, not a bit. A look at how I'm dealing with it and a chance to share your thoughts on how you cope.

The stag party aka the bachelor party. The final passage for a young man who is about to get hitched and "settle down." Presumably this is his last night of "freedom" and "hanging out with the boys. " From there the groom to be will settle down, be domesticated, knock up his wife, have some kids and become a responsible father. Gone are the days having fun and cutting loose. The man becomes the groom and the groom becomes a husband and the husband becomes an emasculated chump. The fun is gone, the life is beaten out from him and he works along with his wife to support and raise his family.

Does this sound grim to you? It should. I wrote it that way because this is the mentality that is behind stag parties and it's very effective. Sure the men love the women they are about to marry but this hanging out, this fun stuff....it's all coming to an end and NOW! Amidst the cheers, drinks and catcalls as the strippers dance and the porn plays out, the sense of symbolic death is palpable at a stag. I find it extremely depressing. Why is it seen this way and why do these events men usually enjoy feel pathetic and empty?

The Chilling Effect

I have long outgrown the need to go to strip clubs but still enjoy some good porn now and then and may turn to it to snap me out of this prescription drug funk. However, these activities ARE NOT what the usual "hanging out with the fellas" entails. The good times involved sitting around, having some drinks, arguing about sports and talking about life. Yet for some reason, as if by instinct, all that goes out the window with bachelor parties. Suddenly we MUST go to the strip clubs and we MUST act like idiots. The second part I don't mind as much because being an idiot, at times, is part of cutting loose. It's the degree of idiocy that one must watch or they may be without friends before long.

Bachelor parties are not just about strip clubs, there are lame raffles to siphon money out of you to finance an overpriced wedding. Never ending card games of Texas Hold 'em because poker games are "in" these days. Cigar smoking from men that never smoke them. (although I do enjoy a good one once in a blue moon) Outrageous ticket fees to even get you into the party and....more lame raffles to siphon money out of you to pay for an overpriced wedding. I have never seen so many of my friends instantly transformed into lonely old men than at bachelor parties. No one talks to each other, people just scream at one another. No one really has fun but they tell themselves to because hey...it's a bachelor party and they force themselves to get drunk. Painful and awkward speeches are made to the groom to be but none of it has substance. The interaction is muted and in the guise of boisterousness.

By this time the future groom has cut himself off from his single counterparts. He can no longer identify with them or he is afraid he'll be made to feel like he's making the wrong move. Conversation becomes limited to canned questions like "how are things?" The friend you knew for years is fading away before your very eyes. He now seems more intent to speak to the other men in the room who are married because they have been there and are more responsible. We must keep up appearances after all. Single friends are now people who have something "wrong" with them. They are poor lost souls who must "grow up" and "get serious about life" yet these will be the same men who (a year or so into the marriage) look to you in awe when you talk about your night out and the new woman you've met.

I have yet to wrap my mind around this "grass is greener on the other" side thing. Was I not once the social reject for not having it together?

I Hate Bachelor Parties

If only it were like the Tom Hanks screwball comedy classic. Then again, maybe not.

Sure I love to look at beautiful nude women swinging from a pole. Sure I love drinking massive amounts of alcohol. Sure I love NOT spending money on raffles. Sure I'm happy for my friend that he's found the woman of his dreams. But energy that pulses through a stag party makes it all seem lonely and childish and pathetic even though 2 people are coming together.

For this, I will not be attending one that I have been invited to. The last stag I went to was for my former best friend. It was actually a ploy to get money out of me before cutting me off. After making a speech to all about what a great friend I was, he kept his wedding day a secret and didn't invite me. All because I talked to an ex girlfriend he dated 10 years back and we hit it off 10 years later. Nothing ever became of us but because I had thoughts of it, he felt justified. He not only cut me off but saw to it that others cut me off too. It is this same man who is inviting me to this current stag. Thanks but no thanks. I know the gentleman getting married and he was a friend, but I feel that I will be cut off again once it's over. The money stays here gentleman! (points to wallet)

In the end, I don't think it's the future grooms last night of freedom. It's a change, a big one, and it needn't involve cutting people off once it's over.

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

Sentimental things. Why do we hold onto them? Do we need to? do they empower of hold us back?

I flew out to Michigan to visit a good friend I've met through the blogosphere known as Irisi. She has a great blog and needs more visitors so stop in and say hello. By the way, Ann Arbor is one heck of a town. Liberal, friendly, clean and lots of academia emanating from every street corner to boot. I felt smarter through osmosis which I do not feel when I walk about New Haven which is home to Yale.

I drank soy milk blasted with organic chocolate syrup. There's more health food stores per capita in Ann Arbor than anywhere I've seen. There are organic alternatives for everything. Who knew?

Met lots of great people with bright futures ahead of them. It was nice to talk to some of them who really wanted to know more about my line of work in television. A menial job, yes, but one that has an impact on what you see on your plasma screens. The young college minds truly are sponges. I was glad to offer any guidance or advice I could.

Since Michigan is in the Midwest, I got to see something that we don't have in the northeast; vast rolling plains. I made it a point that Irisi take me there as this is what the Midwest truly means to me.

Walked the University of Michigan campus where class was out but there were many, many weddings. As it happens, the illustrious halls can be rented out for them. Yuck! (Weddings for Ricardo=vomiting and nausea)

Shouted: WOLVERINES!

Learned about the Greek culture thanks to Irisi who tells me that I look like a mainland Greek. Alas, Ricardo is a domestic creature and a spartan he is not. Irisi, by the way, is Greek and I don't mean in the sorority sense of the word. If she were that kind of Greek, I wouldn't have bothered visiting.

Unfortunately your blogger, Ricardo, was admitted to hospital for severe breathing problems. He almost lost consciousness yet refused to be driven to the emergency room until he was forced in the car by Irisi. Even in this weakened state, Ricardo was still able to overpower her but figured it best to get into the car or possibly die. Ricardo was NOT dying but WAS having a Tony Soprano-esque panic attack. The cause of the stress is not known but drugs and foul play were not involved, just so you know. Anxiety attacks can simply happen with no warning. The bright side, I have a pretty strong heart even though we thought it was a heart attack.

Performed a Pagan based meditation in the woods to relieve the before mentioned anxiety.

Made a good friend in Irisi who was welcoming, supportive in my time of need in the ER, cooked wonderful organic foods and showed me things that I'll never forget.

Thank you.

Still to come on U N L O A D E D; Is it too much to fucking ask? Vote for me on the bloggers choice awards!!!!!

And later.....

The ancient and not so mythical sport of shin kicking. It ain't just for the kids in the playground.