Every year for the last 2,012 years a new year has started on January 1st. Why this still surprises everyone absolutely baffles me. People are super surprised that 2011 is already over and asking where the time went and I'm thinking, "Really? Because I knew the EXACT TIME AND DATE that the new year would start and I still didn't do anything about it."
And it's not that I'm lazy. I'm just a realist and I am ok with the fact that I don't have a 6 pack and a super fine girl friend who isn't also bat shit crazy. You can't have both. I know that. You either have super fine or bat shit crazy and I evidently signed something somewhere that said I always opt for the crazy ones.
That's the thing though. I don't hinge my desire to better myself on the changing of the year that means absolutely nothing to anyone but calender makers and the Mayans. And the Mayans played basketball with peoples heads. I'm just sayin is all I'm sayin. I generally try to do the opposite of EVERYTHING they did. Calender makers aren't that bad I suppose. Not at all really. It's the consumers of these calenders that concern me. Any grown man who has a calender of women in bikinis in his bedroom is probably a creeper. Just a heads up ladies.
Regardless of how many times you are surprised by the exact same date and time every year, new years eve is a time of celebration and I get that. Hell, I myself like to make glorious toasts at stranger's parties like I am the most famous person in the world. What I don't like is the awkward moment at 11:55pm when you realize you don't have anyone to kiss but the girl who looks like the cookie monster and/or elmo and you aren't sure how you feel about muppet herpes. There is no amount of hooker sex that can wash that away.
So I wish you all a happy new year and a fresh start in 2012 aka Sunday. I hope at least one of you sticks to your resolutions and I pray to all the deities that have ever been worshiped that I don't make out with a muppet this year.
Raise your chin and raise your glass,
Muden
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Stupid Is Winning.
The stupid people are out-breeding the smart people by like 200 to 1 and it is going to take a natural fucking disaster of Biblical proportions to even the odds.
Let me explain how I got there.
It is a tragic truth that stupidity and ignorance have become the societal norm in American culture. One cannot explain the synopsis of Jersey Shore without first viciously slamming their face into a wall to knock a few brain cells loose to ensure that no words containing more than 2 syllables are used. Anything involving anything remotely Kardashian? Pathetic. The Kei$sha, Drake, Beiber pop music scene? Idiotic. With the plethora of intellectual movies at our disposal I am simply dumbfounded that the horribly juvenile and Disney-ish Twilight Saga remains the king. Harry Potter has more substance and that's kind of sad.
Harry Potter was written for children. Don't fight it. Just accept it. Twilight was written for preteen girls. If you are a guy and you like it, you are probably gay. Don't fight it. Just accept it.
Still with me? The paragraphs get big here. If you stop scrolling the mouse wheel it's kind of like a pause button for the internet. You're welcome.
With every passing conversation we are reminded that as someone who strives to achieve intellectual enlightenment we are the minority. When what starts out as a plan to visit an exhibit displaying the newest archaeological finds on subject X, Y or Z quickly deteriorates into, "Let's go watch airplanes fly in the sky!" it hurts in my soul.
And none of this is disputed. For the most part everyone likes to think that they are decently intelligent. These are the same people who use "know" instead of "now" or "no" and end every other sentence with a misplaced dot dot dot. But that's not the point. Nobody wants to admit that they are slowly circling the drain into mental retardation and that's probably because most people don't know that "mental retardation" is not a derogatory term. That's like telling a stripper she made bad life choices. It's not an insult, it's just the way it is.
So where do we lay the blame then? Surely in America we can find SOMEBODY to blame. The obvious first stop on the blame train is the educational system in our public schools. They would confute any arguments with standardized test scores and levels of extra curricular activity participation. Impressive enough. However these are the same schools that make you drive twenty miles per hour so that you don't run over the 14 year old crack fiends who barely pass English class while chewing on erasers. How the HELL do you almost fail your own language? How is that even possible? What other language could you possibly know that confused you so much that you couldn't even bullshit your way through a paper like everyone else? Unless your parents are crackerjack white and you can speak fluent Zimbabwean I have to wonder if the short bus was full that year. But back to the speed zones. They have to stop. If your child is 14 and has not figured out how not to get hit by a car it may be time to let Darwinism do its thing. Don't stand in front of things that are bigger than you when they are moving. How is that not obvious?
Do we lay the blame with the parents? I think it truly depends on the generation. Our generation grew up with imaginations and bloody knees. Playing outside was glorious and coming in for dinner was punishment. Now children are punished by being forced outside to interact with other children. Any chances of aliens discovering the ruins of our culture thousands of years from now and saying, "Hey wow these guys were pretty damn intellectual!" goes right out the window after my generation dies. There will be no authors. There will be no artists. There will be no composers. There will only be horrible hipster stick figure drawing self-diagnosed ADD having pill heads who carry a sense of self worth that is so falsely inflated it may have had everything to do with whatever catastrophic events ends our civilizations forever. Why? Because Stephen King has 126 NY Times best sellers and Kei$ha has more money. Fuck it. Because Stephen King has best sellers period. How the hell does an ugly ass chubby chick sing songs about how hot she is and nobody says anything but Kim Kardashian has a fake marriage and we flip the fuck out? Did you really think that was about love? Seriously? You kinda just proved my entire point.
We live in a time when having an intellectual debate on philosophy, history or science is "a rare treat" and for whatever reason we only date people who will never EVER be able to have a conversation like that with us. It's like we are genetically hardwired to only breed stupid from here on out and that's why I'm a big advocate of the avian flu. The stupid people are out-breeding the smart people by like 200 to 1 and it is going to take a natural fucking disaster of Biblical proportions to even the odds. Bring on the floods Moses, I'm smart enough to use parts of my fence as a boat. It's the guy next door who'll be wading chest deep in water holding an umbrella and taping straws to his kids noses so they can "breathe like elephants when they float on their backs" who you need to be focusing on.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
How To Find Your Soulmate... Kind Of.
I’ve never actually used a pick up line. I suppose I am what you call a friend-zone ninja. I come out of the shadows and stumble around in the hallways of your heart for awhile until I trip on a lamp cord and smash your favorite vase. At which point we both realize I have been here all along and we move right into crazy monkey sex. It’s not the most glamorous of methods but when I stray away from waiting for love to fall into my lap I always end up in situation like “the ex.” My God that was an awful experience. I had never actually used the words crackhead and heathen in the same sentence before her. Hard to believe. I know.
But there were a few lessons to be learned from that experience. First and foremost, if she looks like she’s been on a 3 day coke binge she probably was. And secondly, attraction and intellectual stimulation are two very different things. Unfortunately that is never really evident until it’s too late.
So how then do we as men (and those who watch Jersey Shore) make this distinction? That’s not really up to us. I mean, you COULD stay home on Saturday nights and hide behind the premise of saving yourself for the right one. But let’s face it, rubbing one out to some dumb ass blonde doing the pretzel on Bang Bus isn’t really the scenario any woman wants playing out while fate is slowly bringing you two love birds together. Imposing an unofficial house arrest on yourself is a slippery slope indeed my friends. Before you know it , you will find yourself sitting in front of your computer screen at 3 in the morning after a 7 hour session of World of Warcraft picking your nose with the “clean part” of yesterdays sock because it somehow feels more dignified than just sticking your finger up there and wiping it on your “sleeping pants.” Sure you aren’t spending money on drinks and you aren’t going through the motions of an ultimately meaningless relationship resulting in the waste of another year of your life putting you on the wrong side of thirty with no kids and no one to wash your booger socks. It’s totally worth it right?
The unfortunate fact of the matter is that women hold all the cards when playing the “looking for something that will last” game and we have nurtured that monopoly since the day we first stepped foot into a nightclub. What’s even more unfortunate is that when you really are in a place where you are ready to settle down and diddle only one person you have the horrible challenge of competing with guys who are absolutely not looking for anything but do a damn good job of pretending otherwise.
Do you then just give up? I mean, who WOULDN’T want a level 75 Mage with a flying unicorn and a magic wand of +100 stamina?! No. The truth is it’s a crap shoot. The same way that woman you just KNOW you would be perfect for is dating some ass hat who doesn’t know the difference between Rome and Athens because she has no choice but to throw her darts and hope she hits a bulls eye at some point before she hits 35. After that it’s pretty much a free for all on both sides of the gender wall and works on a first come first serve basis. (I am sourcing that information to Shayne’s Nightclub on FM 1960.)
The point I am making is sitting and waiting will get you nowhere. There is absolutely nothing working in your favor and sitting on your hands is an idiotic plan of action. There will never be a magic solution to finding your soulmate. You just very simply have to stand up and tell someone how you feel. I'm not saying tell someone you could see yourself married to them. HOLY SHIT DON'T DO THAT. But throw your darts out homie. You'll never find someone if you don't know how to make an awkward situation even more awkward and still come out on top. If they give you a chance, great. If they make a strange face and come up with an excuse it's perfectly ok to go all Buffalo Bill all over their ass. (That's not true.) If the woman you were “waiting” on hooked up with someone else... oh well, move on. If some woman in the grocery takes your breath away and you would like to get to know her... do it. If you find yourself unable to bare the thought of a life watching your female friend cry over other guys... maybe it’s time you stopped hiding behind archaic assumptions of what does and does not work. Love is a risk and playing it safe is a pathetic attempt at making something poetic out of something as mundane and bland as uncooked spaghetti. I wont lie, I’m not real big on approaching someone unless they give me a sign. I’ve been head over heels for someone and just let them walk right by and into someone else because while I’m all about taking a girl home from the bar, I’m not so good with putting my heart on my sleeve and hoping someone is careful with it. That usually ends with me in a couchless apartment staring out the window with an odd sense of calm as I watch them take the headlights out of my car with a 9 iron.
One day I’ll be able to follow my own advice. Until then I’ll see you guys Tuesday for the raid on Ragnaros. I’ll be bringing my Warlock.
But there were a few lessons to be learned from that experience. First and foremost, if she looks like she’s been on a 3 day coke binge she probably was. And secondly, attraction and intellectual stimulation are two very different things. Unfortunately that is never really evident until it’s too late.
So how then do we as men (and those who watch Jersey Shore) make this distinction? That’s not really up to us. I mean, you COULD stay home on Saturday nights and hide behind the premise of saving yourself for the right one. But let’s face it, rubbing one out to some dumb ass blonde doing the pretzel on Bang Bus isn’t really the scenario any woman wants playing out while fate is slowly bringing you two love birds together. Imposing an unofficial house arrest on yourself is a slippery slope indeed my friends. Before you know it , you will find yourself sitting in front of your computer screen at 3 in the morning after a 7 hour session of World of Warcraft picking your nose with the “clean part” of yesterdays sock because it somehow feels more dignified than just sticking your finger up there and wiping it on your “sleeping pants.” Sure you aren’t spending money on drinks and you aren’t going through the motions of an ultimately meaningless relationship resulting in the waste of another year of your life putting you on the wrong side of thirty with no kids and no one to wash your booger socks. It’s totally worth it right?
The unfortunate fact of the matter is that women hold all the cards when playing the “looking for something that will last” game and we have nurtured that monopoly since the day we first stepped foot into a nightclub. What’s even more unfortunate is that when you really are in a place where you are ready to settle down and diddle only one person you have the horrible challenge of competing with guys who are absolutely not looking for anything but do a damn good job of pretending otherwise.
Do you then just give up? I mean, who WOULDN’T want a level 75 Mage with a flying unicorn and a magic wand of +100 stamina?! No. The truth is it’s a crap shoot. The same way that woman you just KNOW you would be perfect for is dating some ass hat who doesn’t know the difference between Rome and Athens because she has no choice but to throw her darts and hope she hits a bulls eye at some point before she hits 35. After that it’s pretty much a free for all on both sides of the gender wall and works on a first come first serve basis. (I am sourcing that information to Shayne’s Nightclub on FM 1960.)
The point I am making is sitting and waiting will get you nowhere. There is absolutely nothing working in your favor and sitting on your hands is an idiotic plan of action. There will never be a magic solution to finding your soulmate. You just very simply have to stand up and tell someone how you feel. I'm not saying tell someone you could see yourself married to them. HOLY SHIT DON'T DO THAT. But throw your darts out homie. You'll never find someone if you don't know how to make an awkward situation even more awkward and still come out on top. If they give you a chance, great. If they make a strange face and come up with an excuse it's perfectly ok to go all Buffalo Bill all over their ass. (That's not true.) If the woman you were “waiting” on hooked up with someone else... oh well, move on. If some woman in the grocery takes your breath away and you would like to get to know her... do it. If you find yourself unable to bare the thought of a life watching your female friend cry over other guys... maybe it’s time you stopped hiding behind archaic assumptions of what does and does not work. Love is a risk and playing it safe is a pathetic attempt at making something poetic out of something as mundane and bland as uncooked spaghetti. I wont lie, I’m not real big on approaching someone unless they give me a sign. I’ve been head over heels for someone and just let them walk right by and into someone else because while I’m all about taking a girl home from the bar, I’m not so good with putting my heart on my sleeve and hoping someone is careful with it. That usually ends with me in a couchless apartment staring out the window with an odd sense of calm as I watch them take the headlights out of my car with a 9 iron.
One day I’ll be able to follow my own advice. Until then I’ll see you guys Tuesday for the raid on Ragnaros. I’ll be bringing my Warlock.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Grandma Siddiqui
Sometimes it is necessary to carry the pain for some time before you can process the sinister wave of sadness that crawls through your thoughts and over your heart. Sometimes it is better to rip a part of your life from yourself like an old band-aid. In either case the hurt remains.
I think you were the most giving person I have ever known. I think you gave us one last gift in your hesitant passing, and I do not think I know how to thank you. You gave us time to explore the hurt and step slowly into the reality of a world that will be a shade darker without your smile to ignite the fires that made the sun shine brightly on us all.
You granted us the chance to uncover our heads and reveal our souls. And in doing this you have given something so profound it leaves me breathless and lifeless in its enormity.
I am not ready to truly say good bye just yet. I do not know that I will be soon. Surely, I will carry this with me for some time before I can let go and talk about you or visit your home without falling from my facade. My victories. My failures. My strengths. My short comings. You were the silent judge who never passed judgement. It was a figment of my own mortal imagination and with your passing I am unsure of how to even finish that statement.
I miss you more than I thought I could.
When the matriarch passes I struggle to see the beauty that lies within the sadness. I do not see these tears turned to pearls.
But I am sure they are there.
Love Always,
Mohammed Kaleemuden Siddiqui
Monday, May 30, 2011
Muden Gets His Swag On.
Swagger gets you laid.
It seems direct enough, and when you approach it logically swagger can only be defined as being a Don Juan of sorts with the ability to melt women at the mere thought of your swag.
The problem, however, is two fold. A) This definition requires the use of the word being defined to be explained, and B) I don't have swagger by this definition. I want to have swagger. No self respecting 6 foot 4 manipulator of the written word and dancer of the Salsa can walk around not having any manner of swagger. The next step down is walking out of the mens room with toilet paper trailing out of your jeans, and I'm just not ready to go there yet. If Jay Leno can have swagger then so help me God I must have it.
So I went and spoke to my long time friend, and Kracker Nutt brain child, Eddie Tantintgco. Tantinko? Tangtripyo? Clearly a man of great swag appeal (his girlfriend is smoking hot), I figured he would be my swag appeal spirit guide.
He was not.
We spent an hour comparing Google Chrome to the new Mozilla Firefox, discussing the nature of absorbing business practices and models from every employer we have ever had and lastly what class we would be playing on Diablo 3. Guys with swag don't discuss nerdy things and then eat a bowl of Pho before going home and feeding their rabbits. Eddie did make a few valid points that put the whole thing into perspective however. "When you were a promoter you had swagger." He offered through a mouthful of noodles (which looked very swaggalistic). "It just hadn't been branded as such yet." If returning to that lifestyle will get me a date with Olivia Wilde then call me Hunter S. Thompson and send this one man wolf pack to Vegas baby!
The next swag professional on my journey was a guy whom my call announcer has dubbed, "Poptropico." Poptropico, or Procopio if you know the guy, is one of the founders and strongest supporters of the swag movement. I knew this guy had real swag appeal because instead of having an actual conversation with me, he just kept shooting one liners at me like, "My swag is so stupid you can call me Kelly Bundy." Clearly the key to swag appeal is creating your own brand.
Done.
"The ladies call me Modem."
Instant swag.
Procopio quickly branded my brand lame, and explained that what I was looking for was a lasting impression for women to walk away with. "Your swagger has to make them remember you even if they have a man." This seems counterproductive to me. I thought the point of swag was to go straight from hello to crazy monkey sex. By his definition I could just pee on her car and the next week we would be having babies. Three of them. Side note: Peeing on your crush’s car is sure to lead to citizenship! Alternatively you could just say hello but I feel like this would be a much better idea.
The last stop, and final hope of swaggerlistic salvation was my editor, Beena Yusuf. I called her while driving my black BMW, wearing Guess jeans on the way to the bar. By all previous definitions, I was the towering pinnacle of swagger rolling on $1,200 worth of tires. She readily disagreed. “First of all, swagger is lame. You will never hear a woman tell her friends that some guys swag really turns her on.” Truly, she was crucifying any hope I had of reaching swagger nirvana. “And why are you looking for swagger anyway? You have tons of swagger, Muden.” I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. “Just be yourself. You make women laugh. You are a genuine person. That’s what women want.” Anyone else would have taken the compliment and ran with it. But she just told me I had tons of swagger so I felt the need to press the matter. “That’s what you want in a man.” I retorted, quite pleased with myself. “Not all women want the same thing.” She paused for a moment, no doubt overwhelmed by the weight of my swagger.
“The women you want to spend your life with want the same thing everyone else wants. This idea of swagger, if I can address it without saying it’s a real thing, is basically how good a guy is it at getting some.”
I agreed with this which made her happy and we hung up. Turns out I do know what women want.
At the end of my journey I still had no swagger to speak of. I had however discovered the path to attaining said trait. A feed sack full of cocaine, funny one liners and the desire to run down the street yelling, “The ladies call me Modem!”
In truthfulness, I do not know that swagger can be defined as a singular, defining character trait. In the book of Muden, the only one that really matters, swagger is the loose grouping of various personality traits and physical habits that attracts a woman to a man. That being said, every woman would have her own definition of the swagger that she is searching for. Or, simply stated, a type of guy she is attracted to. There is the “bad boy swag” personified by Poptropico, the “popular guy swag” personified by Eddie Tantigckoyo and finally my own version of swag. The grouping of my many personality traits all rolled into one all enveloping adjective. “Funnyhappyloyalhungryambitiouseducatedthoughtfulsarcastic swag.” Or as I like to call it, “The Modem Swag.” It may not get me any one night stands but I’m sure Meghan Fox will appreciate it.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Yes, I Am Listening.
This is frustrating because I never know what to say when the subject comes up. This is frustrating because I hate laying my deeply ingrained personal issues onto someone else, as inevitable as that may be. I did not want to write this, much less on a public forum, but there is something that needs to be said and a responsibility to do so. Especially after all this time. Especially now that when we should have been forgotten you are still letting loose your tongue.
I suppose I should have said upfront how juvenile I thought the whole thing was. I should have told you that I thought you were a closet prude and not because you were afraid of intimacy but because you have the emotional availability of a mentally handicapped rabbit. There is a reason some people are never in relationships. I should know, I spent too much time with one. They never say no. Never commit. Never give a reason. They just drag people through the motions until one of the parties gives up and walks away. I can only assume that no one had ever walked away from you before and that is why you felt the need to tell everyone how madly in love with you I was. That must be why you are telling people you broke my heart and that's why I just stopped talking to you.
So after all this time of ignoring your game I stand in a place where the echoes of your words are directly effecting my life. And while I do not wish to hurt you any more than I assume I have, I can not stand here and take the lashings any further.
The truth of the matter is we never dated. We were talking. We shared a Coke once. We went to the park a few times. We hung out here and there and we once almost kissed. I told you what I wanted and you told me what you did not want so I kept it affable. When you edged closer to me I edged further away out of respect for myself and the emotions I did not wish to get involved. I grew tired of your insistence that you wanted nothing of a relationship while your actions spoke otherwise and so I walked away. I was not rude about it. I never spoke negatively of your character. I gave no false impressions when your friends inquired as to what happened.
Yes, there was a time when I humored the idea of a relationship with you. Even if for only a short time. But we did not take that path and it took less than an hour for me to move on. I would ask that you please do the same.
- Muden
I suppose I should have said upfront how juvenile I thought the whole thing was. I should have told you that I thought you were a closet prude and not because you were afraid of intimacy but because you have the emotional availability of a mentally handicapped rabbit. There is a reason some people are never in relationships. I should know, I spent too much time with one. They never say no. Never commit. Never give a reason. They just drag people through the motions until one of the parties gives up and walks away. I can only assume that no one had ever walked away from you before and that is why you felt the need to tell everyone how madly in love with you I was. That must be why you are telling people you broke my heart and that's why I just stopped talking to you.
So after all this time of ignoring your game I stand in a place where the echoes of your words are directly effecting my life. And while I do not wish to hurt you any more than I assume I have, I can not stand here and take the lashings any further.
The truth of the matter is we never dated. We were talking. We shared a Coke once. We went to the park a few times. We hung out here and there and we once almost kissed. I told you what I wanted and you told me what you did not want so I kept it affable. When you edged closer to me I edged further away out of respect for myself and the emotions I did not wish to get involved. I grew tired of your insistence that you wanted nothing of a relationship while your actions spoke otherwise and so I walked away. I was not rude about it. I never spoke negatively of your character. I gave no false impressions when your friends inquired as to what happened.
Yes, there was a time when I humored the idea of a relationship with you. Even if for only a short time. But we did not take that path and it took less than an hour for me to move on. I would ask that you please do the same.
- Muden
Friday, April 29, 2011
How To Catch A Man. IT'S A LIST!
Everywhere a man turns he is being told how to catch the woman he wants. Everywhere a man turns he is being told that he is wrong, and this is how to get her. What happened to what men want? For all of the talk we hear about men catching a woman, you would think there would be some sort of discussion on what a woman needs to do to catch a guy worth catching. And yet there is none. Men are being told to evolve their way of thinking while women are still relying on shaking their ass and wearing revealing skirts to catch a guy with a stable bank account. Wait. Was I describing a strip club or one of the 15 females I will meet Saturday night?
Take a moment to let the gravity of that situation set in.
Aaaaaaaaand there it is. So here is the original blog: http://www.scribd.com/doc/2703893/Ten-Secrets-of-the-Female-Mind
And here is a rebuttal from Word.com
We rely on you to make us feel comfortable.
Really? How about you not go out of your way to make shit as amazingly awkward as you fucking possibly can when you see me across the room and decide you want me to come talk to you. In what heroine based world are you living where ignoring someone directly translates into "Come talk to me!" How about we play a game called men like confident women and nothing says confident like you growing out of the high school mentality, walking across the room and saying, "Hey." If you are relying on me to effect the degree of discomfort you feel in any situation then my dear you are in for one hell of a ride because 9 times out of 10 I don't have any semblance of an idea as to what the hell is going on beyond whether or not I'm hungry. If you want a man to make you feel comfortable, make him feel comfortable. We all have comfort zones. If you aren't brave enough to venture outside of yours then why should we step out of ours.
Lesson #1: Grow a pair and approach the guy you want to date.
We EXPECT you to respect us and YOU BETTER respect yourself first.
No shit. We aren't fans of disrespect either. So how about you not rattle off snap judgments like a machine gun within the first 60 seconds of us meeting each other. That guy in your office who obviously has a crush on you doesn't need you to ignore him. If you want to preach to us about looks not being everything, you are going to have to start believing it. Next time he is at the coffee machine find out how his weekend went. If you want us to respect you, offer it... don't just hold your hands out and expect it. Guys will respect a woman who deserves it. We will NEVER respect someone who doesn't.
Lesson #2: If you want respect get your nose out of the air.
We are not that complicated; we long to love and be loved.
Right so... bullshit. You aren't complicated? How did you write that and not have your face melted off by a lightening bolt from the Heavens. You live in the moment and remember the screw ups more than the good times? How does that not strike you as something that YOU need to work on and not me. Turn the tables and let me only remember the screw ups. Don't turn your faults into our challenges.
Lesson #3: Expecting me to deal with your "female personality traits" is not cute, it's juvenile. If you want a grown man, act like a grown woman.
We want to be high on your priority list; but not higher than your mission.
So when we say, "Baby I can't tonight I have to work on these contracts." night after night after night after night you are alright with that? No. You're not. You want to be on top of the list and so do we. Welcome back to reality. Men want a woman who can be completely independent but make us feel like a king. There is nothing sexier than a strong woman who can go toe to toe with your wallet, your intellect and your education greeting you with a hug and a kiss when we get home.
Lesson #4: Make a man your priority and he will be fine with you having to put him second when the need arises.
We don't want you to appear flawless, smooth or too perfect.
Alright, I'll give you this one. On both sides of the road the expectations are perceived as way out of reach. The fact of the matter is that all a man wants out of a woman when she approaches him is the ability to make him laugh. Yes, looks matter. However being amazingly beautiful but dumb as shit takes you right back to the level we put strippers in.
Lesson #5: We don't want the model from the magazine cover. We may want to sleep with her, but the word relationship never crosses our mind.
We want to be able to fully embrace the power and seductiveness of our femininity.
How does that have anything at all to do with us? The way you carry yourself is your responsibility and only yours. If a man is not letting you be sexy and feminine you may be dating a gay guy.
Lesson #6: Men want a woman not a dude. A woman who knows about cars is cool. A woman covered in 5 year old engine grease is not sexy.
We want to be emotionally swept away, and not just impressed.
I agree with this and it goes both ways. Men don't at all want to hear about your daily schedule. I'm sorry sweetie but we just don't care how often you go to the gym or what you are studying. Really doesn't matter. Men want to be excited about hanging out with their girlfriend. We want to laugh at the same things and share crazy experiences. If we aren't laughing withing the first five minutes of our introductions then welcome to the friend zone.
Lesson #7: You aren't the only woman we have ever spoken to. Say something to grab our attention that makes us smile.
The truth of the matter is that everything these lists say is over simplified and more often than not... wrong. Women are as diverse and different as men are and the idea that one can read a list to find his dream girl is nothing more than a way to get people to read something not involving Lindsey Lohan or Paris Hilton. I'm sorry Miss Scribd.com but your list was more fail than I have seen in a long long time.
Cheers,
- Modem.
Take a moment to let the gravity of that situation set in.
Aaaaaaaaand there it is. So here is the original blog: http://www.scribd.com/doc/2703893/Ten-Secrets-of-the-Female-Mind
And here is a rebuttal from Word.com
We rely on you to make us feel comfortable.
Really? How about you not go out of your way to make shit as amazingly awkward as you fucking possibly can when you see me across the room and decide you want me to come talk to you. In what heroine based world are you living where ignoring someone directly translates into "Come talk to me!" How about we play a game called men like confident women and nothing says confident like you growing out of the high school mentality, walking across the room and saying, "Hey." If you are relying on me to effect the degree of discomfort you feel in any situation then my dear you are in for one hell of a ride because 9 times out of 10 I don't have any semblance of an idea as to what the hell is going on beyond whether or not I'm hungry. If you want a man to make you feel comfortable, make him feel comfortable. We all have comfort zones. If you aren't brave enough to venture outside of yours then why should we step out of ours.
Lesson #1: Grow a pair and approach the guy you want to date.
We EXPECT you to respect us and YOU BETTER respect yourself first.
No shit. We aren't fans of disrespect either. So how about you not rattle off snap judgments like a machine gun within the first 60 seconds of us meeting each other. That guy in your office who obviously has a crush on you doesn't need you to ignore him. If you want to preach to us about looks not being everything, you are going to have to start believing it. Next time he is at the coffee machine find out how his weekend went. If you want us to respect you, offer it... don't just hold your hands out and expect it. Guys will respect a woman who deserves it. We will NEVER respect someone who doesn't.
Lesson #2: If you want respect get your nose out of the air.
We are not that complicated; we long to love and be loved.
Right so... bullshit. You aren't complicated? How did you write that and not have your face melted off by a lightening bolt from the Heavens. You live in the moment and remember the screw ups more than the good times? How does that not strike you as something that YOU need to work on and not me. Turn the tables and let me only remember the screw ups. Don't turn your faults into our challenges.
Lesson #3: Expecting me to deal with your "female personality traits" is not cute, it's juvenile. If you want a grown man, act like a grown woman.
We want to be high on your priority list; but not higher than your mission.
So when we say, "Baby I can't tonight I have to work on these contracts." night after night after night after night you are alright with that? No. You're not. You want to be on top of the list and so do we. Welcome back to reality. Men want a woman who can be completely independent but make us feel like a king. There is nothing sexier than a strong woman who can go toe to toe with your wallet, your intellect and your education greeting you with a hug and a kiss when we get home.
Lesson #4: Make a man your priority and he will be fine with you having to put him second when the need arises.
We don't want you to appear flawless, smooth or too perfect.
Alright, I'll give you this one. On both sides of the road the expectations are perceived as way out of reach. The fact of the matter is that all a man wants out of a woman when she approaches him is the ability to make him laugh. Yes, looks matter. However being amazingly beautiful but dumb as shit takes you right back to the level we put strippers in.
Lesson #5: We don't want the model from the magazine cover. We may want to sleep with her, but the word relationship never crosses our mind.
We want to be able to fully embrace the power and seductiveness of our femininity.
How does that have anything at all to do with us? The way you carry yourself is your responsibility and only yours. If a man is not letting you be sexy and feminine you may be dating a gay guy.
Lesson #6: Men want a woman not a dude. A woman who knows about cars is cool. A woman covered in 5 year old engine grease is not sexy.
We want to be emotionally swept away, and not just impressed.
I agree with this and it goes both ways. Men don't at all want to hear about your daily schedule. I'm sorry sweetie but we just don't care how often you go to the gym or what you are studying. Really doesn't matter. Men want to be excited about hanging out with their girlfriend. We want to laugh at the same things and share crazy experiences. If we aren't laughing withing the first five minutes of our introductions then welcome to the friend zone.
Lesson #7: You aren't the only woman we have ever spoken to. Say something to grab our attention that makes us smile.
The truth of the matter is that everything these lists say is over simplified and more often than not... wrong. Women are as diverse and different as men are and the idea that one can read a list to find his dream girl is nothing more than a way to get people to read something not involving Lindsey Lohan or Paris Hilton. I'm sorry Miss Scribd.com but your list was more fail than I have seen in a long long time.
Cheers,
- Modem.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Everything I Learned In Colorado.
I hate hippies. I hate them the way Encyclopedia Brittanica hates Wikipedia. This is the sole reason I have never truly moved to Austin. Fuck hippies. Highlands Ranch is NOTHING like Austin. There are no hippies in Highlands Ranch. Let's not compare the two anymore. Thanks. Having set that precedent, we may now proceed with my return to the world of blogging.
I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.
So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.
On the plane I learned two very important lessons:
1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"
2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.
I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.
"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."
So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:
1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.
2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.
3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.
4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.
So that was awesome.
Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."
Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.
We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.
I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.
We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.
The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.
I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.
Cheers,
- Muden
I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.
So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.
On the plane I learned two very important lessons:
1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"
2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.
I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.
"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."
So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:
1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.
2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.
3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.
4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.
So that was awesome.
Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."
Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.
We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.
I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.
We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.
The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.
I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.
Cheers,
- Muden
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