How Not To Be Jealous...

I'm an American. From 'Merica, and as such I get jealous anytime anyone but me is handling my wife in any way, shape or form typically reserved for the husband. How does one not be jealous?

Last night she went out for a drink with some other dude. It made me physically ill.

Rationally, I don't like it. Emotionally, well fucked if I know because I obviously have an issue controlling my emotions.

She wasn't gone all that long, but it felt like an eternity, it felt like the entirety of our marriage had gone by during those three hours. I suppose its lucky for me, or not, she didn't like the guy too much. I imagine she would have been out for longer had she liked the dude. I've been out on a few dates myself. None of which have been anyone I would really even consider dating long term. But I don't think I'm wrong when I say that married people shouldn't be dating. But its a new world so I may as well try to make it work for me. If I'm going to be given the green light to do whatever the fuck I want with no repercussions I may as well embrace it. Except there are always consequences...to everything.

In this case, if I get to step out, so does she. Which is where I have a hang up. I know its wrong. I know it isn't fair. I don't care. We're not talking about a court of law here, there aren't any rules to this. If I want to feel shitty about it, there isn't a thing in the world wrong with that. Anyone who tells me different can pound sand.

So the question is, and most likely will be for quite a while can I control my jealousy and get it to a point that it, at minimum doesn't make me physically ill. This is uncharted waters for me. I mean I've dealt with women doing other men, I've dealt with cheating, I've dealt with non exclusive relationships, but they all had one very important thing in common.

I did not love the person on the other end. Its very easy for me not to be jealous when I don't love the person on the other end. Because I do not give a fuck what they do or what happens to them. Woman I don't love goes out with a man and doesn't like him, so what? Put this in your mouth. Woman I do love goes out with a man and doesn't like him, I'm physically ill.

I watched my phone in case she needed me for something. Another woman I wouldn't have budged if she texted me she were being kidnapped. "Sorry doll, you've obviously got to pick your dates better."

So how does a guy like me, who's not what anyone would consider enlightened, pretty well a caveman, manage to blend my love for her with my desire for her to be happy at the expense of my peace of mind. Which, my mind hasn't been at peace for a minute since she brought this up.

She was even nice enough to explain to me how sexual a person she is, using the words, "your wife is pretty much a slut". So that was awesome. Felt really good to know that my wife is a cooze. By her own admission. That's another one I've had to digest. That the mother of my children is a cooze. I wonder how many guys would listen to that shit?

We've been together 8 years now, and the slut thing, according to her has been there forever. Which may be true, I don't know, nor do I care. Because she didn't bring it up in any substantive way until now, and I won't be gas lighted. She's been trying, telling me that I just wasn't paying attention. Which, while probably true, means she should've fucking talked louder. The questions that I have to answer are many:

Is my self respect going to be intact?
Will I be able to date myself without lying my ass off? Guys don't care if woman is married, women do care (or they pretend to)
Will I be able to even get near her again after the first time she does fuck someone else?
She's the mother of my children so there's always the fun child support and all that good stuff that comes with divorce, is that worth it?
Should I just say fuck it, you do what you want, just do 50% of the work at the house and pay 50% of the bills and I'll go sleep in the other room.
How much is my marriage worth after finding all this out?
How much is she worth knowing what she wants to do?
How much am I worth allowing it?
How much am I worth participating in it?
How much are my kids worth to me putting them in this kind of situation?
And on and on it goes....stay tuned as we answer these and I'm sure, many more questions.

The Real Face of Online Dating

Online dating, the internet. Its an absolute cesspool of humanities worst dregs. Some of them have vaginas so what the hell. Since my wife has proposed this open marriage shit, Er.. I mean thing. I promised I would give it a chance.

So here I sit at the kitchen table typing away at this thing, while she is over on the couch texting God knows who. Most likely setting up a date for this weekend where she will go and promptly get her ankles pinned to her ears. I don't remember signing up for this.

But I suppose I got myself into this mess. I didn't really pay as much attention as I should. I didn't put in much effort sexually, romantically or otherwise. So I guess I'm getting what I've got coming? You know what, fuck that. That's bullshit. This isn't something that I deserve. Its not my fault she didn't say word one about the fact that she liked BDSM. Yes folks, that's where the impetus for this whole thing came from.

She wants to get tied up and whipped like 50 shades of fucktard. So I have to offer up my wife to the internet and the Armageddon of dick picks, and dicks that populate it? Yes apparently, that is what I have to do. It still strikes me funny that through all of this, no matter what I said, it was never considered that this was the wrong choice. It was always the right way, because it was what she wanted. She even found a therapist who would back her up. So that's been a fun hour once a week that I have to drive another hour for.

I'm not going next week. I'm not sure where this is gonna go. I must seem really pathetic. Which is most likely true. She wants me to see this as fun. Something we'll be able to look back and at and smile when we're old because we didn't let the time we had left fucking go to waste. I suppose she's right about that. Which doesn't change the insane amount of jealousy I'm going to feel while she's out and about with them ankles in the air.

I don't know how this is going to go, or maybe I do and I'm just stringing it out for some damn reason. I don't know what. I think the next few months are going to be either extremely fun, or extremely tumultuous. Stay tuned...this might get good, but it might get bad too.

She Said What?

Going on three months ago, my wife suggested we start an open relationship. Yep, every man's dream? Right! Yeah, I'm not so sure anymore. I've gone out on a couple dates, and fucked one girl who was just recycled from before I got married. How has this made me feel...that's what this blog is for. My own personal therapy. So I'll start out with a little email I got from the Daily Stoic today. Hopefully, they don't mind.

Most of us tell ourselves that we’re putting up with ill-treatment or keeping our mouths shut about our beliefs because we’re working on something big. We tell ourselves that we’re slogging away in this industry or that industry not because we’re big supporters of it, but because we need to, to get where we are going. We’re accumulating money or resources or playing politics to build up our base so that one day, some day, we can finally stand up and be who we really are.

Marcus Aurelius reminds himself in Meditations that he could be good today...even though his first impulse is to put it off until tomorrow. That’s what we all do. In the future, we say, then we’ll be blunt and honest and principled.

The problem is that this never seems to actually happen. DHH, who we interviewed for Daily Stoic a while back, joked about all the people in Silicon Valley who justify their 100 hour work weeks for dubious startups in order to get “Fuck You Money.” But for all the wealth in San Francisco...there seems to be very few people ever getting around to saying those words, or living that life.

Shakespeare has a better line in Julius Caesar. His relations with the Senate are falling apart and it would be easier to lie to smooth things over, but he catches himself before he does:

Have I in conquest stretched mine arm so far

To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth?

This is an important reminder for each of us. We’ve worked this hard. We’ve accomplished this much. We’ve carved out these skills and built these relationships. For what? To keep putting off the day where we stand up for ourselves? To keep going along to get along forever?

No. Now is the time. Now is the time to be good. To live as if we had the “Fuck You Money” or conquered enough of the world to tell the truth. Because there is no magic turning point. There is only the moment that we decide to be the person who lives those words.

 How do you live like you've got fuck you money when you can't even keep tabs on your wife?

So There I Was...

No shit, ankle deep in baby shit, watching Fancy Nancy with my daughters and remembering the bad ass mother fucker I used to be.

But we'll get back to that. I've been prompted to get writing by family who tells me that they miss me writing. Well, I don't have a whole helluva lot to write about now. I'm just an average joe with an average job, I'm your average white, suburbanite slob...

So let's go back and write about a guy I used to know, We're going to go back about 10 years from now to 2008, to a place called Freeport, IL. Hole in the earth if there ever was one, but we're in the gymnasium of the National Guard Armory there and there's nothing but soldiers and we're about to embark on what might be the fucking funniest year of our lives...

"FALL IN" The platoon sergeant bellowed. He bellows a lot, he's a platoon sergeant. Look up self important in the dictionary and you'll see this guy standing behind a second Lieutenant shaking his head.

Then the trampling sound of 40 some pairs of boots hitting the floor over and over as all the soldiers of second platoon come running for wherever they had been prior to those magic words and into formation. So now you've got what was previously a gaggle of soldiers has now formed into those wonderful lines. Basically, for you civilians out there "fall in" means stand next to and behind someone until you are all next to and/or behind someone in nice little rows so you can be counted easily. Its one of the first dog tricks you're taught upon entrance into the US Army, which I will refer to for the remainder of this rag as "Mother Army" mostly because there were only two things in my life that abused the shit out of me, but I still loved...my mother and the US Army.

Anyway, the platoon daddy turns his head, looks at the first guy in the first row, also known as the squad leader and says, REPORT.

The guy looks back, he's not actually the squad leader, that guy is someplace else. Who knows where, he's a 6 we don't get to ask. Anyway, the faux squad leader says, 1st squad, all accounted for. Which is the answer you give when you've got no clue where everyone is. Truth be told, the report is typically fairly specific, at least it was in the regular army. It was usually something like this, "1SG, 2nd Platoon, 1st squad, 12 assigned, 10 present, one at sick call, one CQ off." or some shit like that. CQ is charge of quarters, basically the guys who answer the phone and make sure the drunks get back to their barracks rooms with only minor injuries all night.

This process repeats itself, 3 more times. Far as I can tell, we've got 33 of the 48 we're supposed to have. Not sure, really wasn't listening.

The platoon sergeant does the funny little pirouette, formally known as "about face" and stands at attention waiting for the Lieutenant to come on up. The lieutenant walks as fast as he can around from the rear of the formation, not gonna lie, he's got what my buddy Tony would refer to as a "duck butt" which is an ample bottom that protrudes far out from his backside making his gait a pretty funny thing to see, even more so when he's basically power walking like a soccer mom from the back to the front of this formation.

We've all got a pretty good idea of what's coming next. The commander walks to the front of the room and surveys his troops. You can see from the look of him that he's got a fairly high opinion of himself, but it doesn't change the fact that he's a 4 eyed douchbag if there ever was one. More to come on that.

The rumors have been swirling for months, who is going, where are they going, when are they going? No one knows, everyone heard from their sister's friend's brother's uncle's former roommate who heard it from the transsexual midget they were having an affair with behind their wife's back that its....Afghanistan.

The commander shouts with all the base his girly voice will muster, "COMPANY" He pauses to allow the Lieutenants to snap to attention from their state of parade rest and shout themselves, "PLATOON" Which makes me silently chuckle to myself because duck butt up in front basically took a big ole' bite out of his britches with his butt cheeks, but anyway...

"ATTENTION!!!!" His voice cracks just a bit on the third T.  He does his own pirouette, indicating he's going to turn this formation over to someone else, which throws me off. I'm a soldier, at least in formation, anything out of the norm throws me off. I mean have you ever seen a basic training company practicing "rear, march"?

Anyway, another officer comes strutting up to the front. He's big brass. You can tell by the way he walks. People don't walk that way unless they're very used to people getting out of their way, and standing up when they walk into a room.

He gets up to the front, salutes the commander, the commander moves to the side and this guy, in an actually manly voice, shouts, "ATTENTION TO ORDERS"

And all the rumors cleared themselves up real quick.....

Why Can't I Watch The Bears In Detroit?

I'm a Bears Fan. Have been since birth. Had I not been a Bears fan I would not have made it through my childhood as one of my family in Spartan-like fashion would have chucked me off the side of a building to make sure I didn't grow old enough to have children and infect the rest of the world with my weaknesses.

My hatred of the Packers knows no bounds. I'd rather die of some weird cancer than to live a long and healthy life as a Packer fan.

My beloved Bears have actually got a team worth watching this year. They just kicked the ever living shit out of Tampa Bay this afternoon 48-10. Which leads me to my next question. Why can't I watch the Bears in Detroit?

Blackouts and local markets and proprietary mumbo jumbo be damned. Why in the blue hell can't I watch the Bears in Detroit? I live there now, my job always picks the place I will fit in least to send me.

So I scoured the internet looking for someone I could pay to watch this game. I really did. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to give the NFL money so that I could view their product. Sounds fairly American to me. But I couldn't. There was no LEGITIMATE way for me, a life long Bears fan, who has been suffering since 1985, to watch my team which finally, at long last, is worth watching!

Now, there were no shortage of clever little work arounds that could be done and there were even a few places that would link to some streaming service that they got through, what I'm sure could be characterized as nefarious means. I could have even used a VPN to pretend I was in Europe and watch any game I wanted to, live for I think $199 per season for the NFL gamepass.

But if you buy the Gamepass in the states, you can only watch the games after they are over! The guy who thought of that little caveat should be set on fire in a dumpster somewhere.

Oh, and the Europeans have an option to just buy their team's games for $129. I'll tell you right now I'd be all over that. I'd go so high as $160. Ten bucks per game seems reasonable. I'm sure the NFL would make a pretty penny on that, plus they could bypass the networks and take the money directly from us. But since I live about 250 miles from the team and the city that I love, and have money that I'm more than willing to part with, I still can't watch my beloved Chicago Bears play.

In today's day and age I could buy LSD blotters with Marilyn Monroe's face on them. Why the hell can't I watch whatever football game I want. I'm sure it has something to do with money and someone other than me getting it, but I think there's a huge market here. All these cord cutters out there, give them an easy one stop shop to watch any football game they want.

I mean the playoffs and the SuperBowl are all on TV, why the hell can't we watch the regular season games? Fuck you Roger.

Welcome To The Freak Show...

I've been silent for quite a while. Not for any particular reason and for no particular reason am I coming back to bless you all with my words now.

However, not one to dwell on the past, let's get right into it.

George Carlin, whom I quote often, once said, when you're born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat.

A truer statement I have not heard and for some reason I haven't heard it used in reference to good old Donald J. Trump. Which is a missed opportunity if you ask me.

Now, why do I bring this up now and why do I choose such a loaded topic to start again? Its just whats knocking around my brain. Regardless of what you or I think of Trump, the man is still the president until such time as he quits or his incredible ego actually causes his head to physically explode. So we've got a few minutes yet...

Normally, I watch him with kind of a bemused indifference. Not because he's not a lot of fun to watch, because he is, but because its gotten to the point where all you have left is hoping he'll try something new. Something he hasn't done before. Its like watching porn and hoping half way through they'll start teaching algebra or some shit.

However, he did piss me off recently. Good ole Bergdahl is on the chopping block and the fact that he can't keep his mouth shut for nothing has delayed his sentencing. Bergdahl if you remember, from way back (Operation Where's Waldo?) is a piece of monkey spunk that I and my fellow soldiers went looking for while in Afghanistan. We didn't lose anyone, no one got hurt, luckily for us. But it doesn't change the fact that fucko the clown walked off the FOB put all of us in danger because he couldn't keep his shit wired tight and now at long last someone was about to drop the hammer on this fuck and Trump delayed it because he couldn't keep his yap shut. Just had to say something. And the defense used it to delay his sentencing for a few more days or however long it ends up being.

So, there's that.

Alright, I'm out of here for tonight. Hopefully, I'll be back tomorrow. Trying to start a good habit.

I love you mom...

Saint Anger...

It eats at you. It gnaws at your insides. It poisons you and your family. I can't imagine my life without it. I don't think I've ever known a day without it.

That's not true, there've been plenty of days without it. I remember them like they happened a thousand years ago. Before the war, before the pain, before the kids, and the mortgage and the responsibilities and the and the and the and the... It goes on and on forever ad infinitum.

The anger that one man can feel is truly astounding. The lack of a reason for such anger is also just as astounding. They tell you that you've got PTSD and somehow that's supposed to be helpful. Sorry Beavis, but not really. So now I know why it's there but I don't know how to get it out. The out is the part that I care about and the fact that I can't get it out just makes me all the more angry.

That fucking war was 7 years ago, for me anyway. Seems like quite a long time ago. Until I start thinking about just how far I've actually come since then. Which isn't very far. I've never been far from the FOB in my mind. It's one of those places that tends to stick with you.

Why does it have to? I want to know how come I can't control the place in my heart that's given to war? Why is the heart, at least the existential version of the heart the one organ we can't really control? I control my legs, my arms, my fingers etc. But I just can't seem to control the place in my mind occupied by this fucking war.

It dominates my days, even this far on, I am never more than a heart beat away. A familiar smell wafts by, I'm back. A sound echoes through the air, and I'm back. Words are spoken and I'm back. A child cries and I'm back. My own child cries and I'm back.

My wife tries to help me but how do I explain to her or to my family that I can't control my brain and something that happened to me before I even met any of them is dominating my mind, when I should be concentrating on them? I've got kids, kids who need me and a wife who does too, yet there's this place in my mind that is reserved just for Afghanistan.

And the fact that I can't evict it from my mind is, as best I can tell, the source of all my anger. Catholics, which I'm not, have a saint for everything. I wonder if they've got one for anger. If they do, or if they don't, Saint Anger, pray for me...