Digital Cowboy

Digital Cowboy
Poker is life. Life is poker.

Archive for the 'Manly manliness' Category

Dreams and disappointment

Thursday, May 6th, 2010

I threw my wife out of this house for the second time yesterday. I’ve wrestled with it ever since.

I’m writing a blog post at 4 in the morning because I can’t sleep. Not because I’m angry. Because I’m too damn stubborn to let go and look out for myself.

That woman sat in my living room and started into her litany of accusations about what an asshole I am… again. I’ve had enough that. Or so I thought. At that moment I had. So I gave her the truth with both barrels.

It was a short conversation and a long story. But it ended with her standing up and heading for the door as I said, “See? We can agree on something! It’s time for you to get the hell out of my house! And don’t come back until you’re ready to apologize to me and the girls for what you’ve done to this family!”

She picked a bad time, too. Yesterday, I had a couple very big talks with my girls.

I didn’t wanna do it by myself, but their mother has chosen to have an 8 year old boy in the body of a 38 year old resident alien instead of being a mother to her children. And because he’s an impetuous little coward, he’s jealous of her children.

So she wakes up every day to a choice between doing the only thing in life that ever mattered to her, or catering to the asshole. For a while now, she’s been making the wrong choice every day. The debilitating migraines she’s battled since she was a teenager have gone from a two or three a year to two or three days a week. But I’m the only one that sees any pattern there.

Yesterday I had the privilege of explaining sex to my daughters. Then – because their mother is a liar – I had the unexpected privilege of explaining to them what a “period” is, about vaginal bleeding and the difference between tampons and maxi pads. (Their mommy told my mother that she had already had that talk with them. She lied. And also never talked to me about it.)

Consequently, I was already a little on edge yesterday when she decided to come into my house for the first time in nearly a year and have a real conversation with me for the first time in nearly 2 years.

She only speaks to me when she wants something, you see. And yesterday, she wasn’t even on a mission for herself, directly. She sat in my living room and looked me in the eye for the first time in a year and a half… because I sent her houseboy an email last night and scared him so bad he had to dispatch his mommy to ask me to back off.

And I looked her in the eye and said, “This is the only way I can get your attention. I thought you should know that I had two big talks with our daughters yesterday. I explained sex to them and once they had that under their belts, I told them that Katie is not my biological daughter and they’re only half sisters. You should have been involved in both of those conversations, but apparently I can’t get your attention unless I scare your houseboy.”

Any questions about why I have custody of my children, even though one of them is not technically mine?

The houseboy donated sperm for a daughter too but never even bothered to fight for her. He abandoned her and fled to another country to try and steal my life and family as soon as her mother got tired of him. People in America seem to have caught on fast because he can’t seem to hold a job.

Then he offered me $10,000 to BUY my children after he lost the legal battle to steal my family.

No. Seriously. He offered me $10,000 cash to terminate my parental rights. He’s still breathing because he made that offer from another room through a court-ordered mediator. I think the mediator was even a little nervous at my reaction to that offer.

That mutt only lives because I allow him to and he’s pushing his luck.

Women’s History Month

Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010

When you get done whining about being oppressed, could one of you lazy victims fetch me a sammich and a beer?

Running the whole world and keeping everyone else down is hard work. I’m exhausted.

Low esteem for others’ opinions

Tuesday, December 29th, 2009

I find it fascinating and inspiring that the people who will often say that I’ve accomplished things they never could and continue to do things they still can’t imagine doing are the very same people that never stop trying to get me to do things their way. They’re so programmed that they cannot see — even while being jealous of me — that I’m not capable of living by The Formula.

I never set out to be different. I’m just doing life the best way I know how — for myself and for my daughters. That usually means that I don’t see things the way the average government-schooled, college educated person sees it. I could have chosen that path. I was in National Honor Society and even “Who’s Who Among American High School Students.” I could have done law school at Harvard or Yale and then Congress and the Senate and… Dear, God. Just the thought of it makes me wanna vomit. (I could still choose it now. But I would fail on that path because I have the one thing that will prevent the success of a whore — self-respect.)

It would have been a whole lot easier and a lot less fun to follow that path. It also has no promise of great reward. I don’t have much yet but I’m not done. On that path nothing would have ever been mine. On this path, everything I ever achieve is entirely mine to be shared only with those I can persuade to take the ride with me. I owe no one anything that I haven’t negotiated in a voluntary, value-for-value relationship.

I understand this isn’t for everyone. I don’t judge others who choose the easy and boring path. But that doesn’t stop them from judging me! I don’t sleep when they think I should. I don’t sleep as much as they think I should… except for the times when I sleep far more than they think I should. I eat too much, drink too much and smoke too much. Except for those times when I don’t eat enough. I spend way too much money except for the times when I’m being way too tight with my money. I also seem to always spend it on the wrong things. Just like I eat either too much or too little of all the wrong and right things.

I’m not changing — either what I do or how I do it — based just on your opinion. If you have useful advice, I’m all ears, always. I’m determined to remain teachable for all of my life. That’s Wisdom. But please stop offering advice for which I haven’t asked in venues where it’s completely inappropriate and don’t ever offer it unless you have actually accomplished something that inspires me. If you’ve never done anything I would like to do, I don’t care how you did it and you probably have no insight that applies to me. (Those offering parenting advice, please take special note of that part.)

With very few exceptions, I’m probably not asking you to go with me on this ride. If you can’t handle big peaks and wild falls, you’re not tall enough to ride this ride anyway. Most of the people that offer me unsolicited advice are the same ones that would’ve puked at least three or four times a year and begged to get off the ride while sitting in the back seat of my life for the last seven years.

That doesn’t stop them from slapping me on the back and telling me how amazed they are at how well I’ve handled it all and how much I’ve accomplished in spite of it all, then – in the same breath – telling me that I need to go to bed earlier, stop staying up for days at a time, get up earlier, work harder or not work so much… ad infinitum.

I can’t live by your rules, Man! What’s more — brace yourself — I’m raising my daughters the same way I live and it’s none of your business.

I’ll close this with the immortal words of the great philosopher, Pee Wee Herman:

You don’t wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

I’m not a rebel by choice. But I’m fine with it. Maybe you should be too if it has absolutely nothing to do with you.

Just sayin’.

Contemplating Father’s Day

Sunday, June 21st, 2009

My father was the greatest man I’ve ever known. He was stolen from me when I was young. I won’t go into all of that again.

I’ve outlived him by a couple years already and that’s kind of strange in itself – you’re not supposed to be an older man than your father ever was, especially while you still have young children.

Medical science was already better than half way into the process of killing my father by the time I was the age of my oldest daughter now.

Throw into the mix that Mommy’s completely off her hinges lately, despite being here at this time last year to celebrate the day with us as a complete family.

It’s been a weird few weeks for me and I just realized a few minutes ago that it’s also Father’s Day today.

Every day is Father’s Day for me because I fought a war for my children and – among myriad other benefits – I get hugs and kisses from them every night right before bed time.

That’s all this father needs. Because it’s all that matters when you’re more than just a sperm donor.

If you’re a “man” that “can’t” be with your children today because your priorities are different, stop lying about it – especially to yourself. Nobody’s buying it. Your kids definitely aren’t. You’re vile, horrible filth.

If your kids are not grown, on their own AND you’re not hugging them today, don’t even bother to answer the phone when they call today. You don’t deserve it and they don’t mean it. They’re only calling because Mommy made them or they feel guilty for your crimes. By example you taught them how to treat you – dishonestly, superficially and without feeling.

In short, you’re as disposable to them as they were to you. And, no, you can’t fix it or make up for lost time. You failed at the only job you’ve ever had that mattered. There are no do-overs on this one.

If you’re a father and aren’t with your children today in spite of all your efforts to be with them, I truly empathize with you. I’ve been there. Keep fighting, never give up and don’t blame yourself until you quit.

Overrun with women

Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008

My bathroom reeks of fruitiness. There are multiple fluffy robes hanging on the back of my bathroom door. I have plants hanging – hanging! – on my porch. There’s stuff in my shower that I can’t even identify – and a lot of it. There are curtains now and everything has been rearranged. I don’t know where to find anything anymore and I’ve been informed that I’m supposed to stay out of the kitchen – I don’t belong there.

Also, most of my stuff is crap and needs to be taken to the dumpster (by me, of course) whenever the pile at the back door warrants a trip.

Hannah Montana seems to always be playing somewhere in my house. Not just the show, the music. And not just in the house. It’s on Mommy’s iPod so we can listen to it in the truck, too. Suddenly picking songs on Daddy’s iPod in the truck isn’t great fun, it’s old news. Daddy’s iPod doesn’t have any Hannah Montana or Emily Osment. Mommy’s here with the good stuff.

My youngest daughter has informed me that I’m now outnumbered and the girls are in charge. In fact, she says, “Girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.” (I’ll leave that irony to the reader and address it with her later. For now I just respond with “Boys rule and girls drool.”) I get no love around here anymore. Those cute little ones that used to crawl into my lap a couple times a day for Daddy hugs are now threatening to throw me out if I don’t shape up.

I thought we were getting Mommy back. Now I see that they were planning a coup. I just respond by telling them that if I don’t start getting the normal daily dose of hugs and love from them that I’m accustomed to, I’ll throw their mother out and when Mommy’s living in a box under a bridge it will be all their fault.

For the love of all that’s holy: I just broke the kitchen rule and went to make coffee… My prized Hamilton Beach Brew Station – the best thing I ever bought for my kitchen – smells like… like… Oh, God help me. The coffee maker smells like vanilla. Sure enough, after I got it cleansed and disinfected from all of the “girl” on it, I went to make coffee and there was some foil pouch of “Vanilla Biscotti blend” where my COFFEE is supposed to be! (Fortunately, I found actual coffee right next to it.)

On the flip side, I never cared much for the kitchen anyway. Also, not only have I not been going hungry lately, I’m eating better than I have in years.

I could do a whole separate post on that. That woman ain’t just eye candy in a kitchen. She’s a creative genius there. She concocts things on the fly that I would pay extra for in a restaurant. Most of what I eat these days has no name – “This is delicious, Baby. What is it?” (her laughing) “I dunno. Something I threw together. I just call it ‘My Mexican Chicken Shit.’ You really like it?” (What perplexes me is that she often does it just with stuff I already had here and makes it look easy.)

I have to admit the place looks a whole lot better, too… if you can block out all the yucky GIRL stuff everywhere. I only just now noticed that the coffee maker smells of vanilla because I haven’t made my own coffee in weeks. And I’ve never asked for coffee; it’s just been made by the coffee fairies while I sleep, I guess. It’s just there when I wake up, usually. Sometimes the fresh coffee smell is accompanied by the smell of frying bacon when my eyes open. (Bacon fairies? Who knows? No tellin’ what she had packed in all those boxes when she moved in.)

I complained to my mother about some of this girly infestation recently and she said, “You’re not foolin’ anybody. You LOVE it!”

She’s right. This briar patch is so awful. I demand that for all my sins and in the interest of justice, I be sentenced to remain here forever.

“When they carve my stone
All they need to write on it is
‘Once lived a man
Who got all he ever wanted.’
Tell me something: Who could ask for more
Than to be livin’ in a moment
You would die for?”