Destitute

Its not that he didn't like her, or love or even. Its not that she didn't excite him in the public eye and in satin seclusion. It wasn't that she fought him too hard, or complimented him too lightly. It never was about the ups nor downs, the centripetal rounds. There were warm embraces, cuddled and muddled on sofas dressed for kings like veneers resting on the caps of already pristine teeth. Love is just love, a tired expression and feeling that has been felt by almost all for centuries past and centuries to come. It has become a saying more often than a feeling as common as the beggar in the city, as the rich on the beach.

It was about the need for her that didn't exist. There was nothing that he lacked, that she could provide. Nothing that he longed for that she could serve on a platter and make him whole. Sex was ever present in a world of sluts and feens. Love was often given with the swiftness of the hands of a thieves; lacking no warmth of pillows or brightness in daisies. Never is it enough. The love glass full but the envy and longing for destitution bounces off the water like oil. The divide becomes ever more present as the two liquids cling to their ying-yang desire. Love is not needed from a man who has it all, nor is anything at all.

Unless there is something. Unless she can dive through the capsule filled with beaded medicine and find the missing ingredient to calm his senses and deliver him from hopelessness. Because the man who has everything is only blind to those things still obscured, those items unknown. Can she paint him a picture of a world that he cannot view? Can she shed light onto a surface that has since birth been masked?

A writer once told me that a relationship is over as soon as you start thinking about the first time you met and look back at "it" as a better time. Over time you realize that this person has nothing you need, and without that in this crazy world, why hold on? We move along through life, love, and existence looking to achieve a goal which starts with a desire. Once the desire is obtained, you continue on until the well is dry - then onto the next until there are 1million broken hearts and a thirsty world.

Sal the Great

Sal was a complex man with a twisted heart. He hated to love but yearned for the loving of others. His dorian gray self portrait never aged but faded slowly like a tattoo exposed to equator sun. The lines blur and the human traits drip like melted gold to a flat expressionless surface.

Always he lied, void of benevolence but with fortitude. Only in times of deceit did he yield to fear and weakness, rarely allowing these wounds to be exposed. "Poor lonely Sal," the city folks would say. While he roamed aimlessly drink in hand, smoke in mouth and emotions on sleeve, chatter arose. "Why this man with all this money, all this beauty and courage alas, sit like stone to pass the time pouring poising in his veins? His loft sits high above the town, and the marble floors reflect a prism of color through the stain glass windows. There is a notion of omnipotence that stems down from above, casting shadows over the everyday worker bees.

If they would go visit Sal as some ill-informed ladies and men would, they would find that the exterior masked the blank canvas within. 1700 sq. feet of echoing space perfectly empty with a bed, a light, and a water-filled row machine. The loft was like a prison to exist in but not truly live. There was no food, no paintings, no character..only a persistent lack of warmth. The bathroom stood only to expect the company of the mist that collects against the crystal swinging doors and porcelain sink. Soap bottles were for one time us,e like a hotel. Clarissa, his maid, would throw them away daily regardless if they were used or not.

The stoic beams that hold up the ceiling from falling down around Sal sit polished and unwavering... even with the tension he carries on his shoulders similar to the chain whipping water on his exercising machine. This is a tomb, a sarcophagus for all to see and none to cherish. The only guests are short time lovers. Sal did not discriminate with sex. His latest companion was a 23-year-old student from Tufts Dental school. After spending a few nights together and becoming "comfortable," Sal allowed him to perform dental procedures on him naked. It was a sort of oral fixation that had multiple facets. But his guests came and went. He often kept them in his life long enough to where they wanted to stay. When and only when he felt the pull of their gentle intentions he would release them back to the wild like a guppy fish - once in a catered-for bowl, then back to the pond of mildew, scum and vultures. This was in fact for the best because Sal was the ultimate vulture - feeding off the nectar dripping from hopelessly romantic pores.

When does the charade stop? Why had it begun? Finding the end is like looking through the back end of binoculars, squinting to find a point without a focus. Sal blames his past and curses his future as a priest who molests children and expects gods forgiveness - fruitless hope.

Tender is the heart that bleeds the slowest
Emptying its cells to spread amongst the frozen floor
Puddled and muddled, thick and mundane
Slow river drift into a thin dark cul-de-sac
Minutes keep ticking like an automatic watch
Never let go, and always worn
Eventually its stops when the tender heart ceases to beat
The great man is alone without time

When he wakes after a conquest there is a moment of panic as he searches for some semblance of wholesomeness. He reaches for the white pills in the transparent orange bottle, flushing them down with alka seltzer or wine. She or he disappears with the coming of the morning sun and the routine begins again. There is no love lost or love gained. There is only a feel of momentary completeness derived form the high of sex and passion...then repressed with innate flight mechanisms cursing through his loins.

Back to the hunt for survival with an empty slate.

Sal the sociopath, Sal the emotioness? Sal the Great.

Envy

Sing soft into the open window as if anyone cared to look or listen.
Part lips like a Mary to her shepherd who steals love from those with no faith
Only to break bread with a supposed answer
If they hear you, would it matter? Would your world change for the better?

Or worse, you go coarse as a lioness calling for a mate in an uninhabited jungle
The trees beckon for the crying to stop, lo and behold the will for love.
Or is it sex so violently cursing through the veins with pain
A virtueless struggle, and impassible feening.

Saddened, but happy because the bruises they show, yearning for those to notice.
Sympathy comes from weaker friends or foes who care not of your healing
but that you were in pain before them. And there they stood;
omnipotent and pretty, like a shadow there to be the healer

The giver the feeler the wanted and the needed, roles of the winning
Oh how life feels on the top, but tread carefully as the water is thin and gravity prevails.
Just as the greed hits the singer longing for an audience
The saved become well and healer becomes unwanteddesired.

So they look for a path to break down the branches, tear up the leaves
Because a life not stranded, no stockholm syndrome, leaves them
Feening for the feeling of the needing and the stealing;
of hearts that feed your cold lungs the air they need to breath and live.

Success Vs. Marriage - The Bell Curve

This is not groundbreaking shit here. Cornell wont be knocking at my door regarding my in depth data analysis and progressive findings. However, it's interested to dissect and digest as food for thought. To what affect does marriage have on the well being of a man or woman. It would be sexually biased and contextually inaccurate to place the scrutiny only on males for this convo. Woman currently have hold of 4.2% of the CEO seats for fortune 1000 companies.

Found in my opinion, the opinion of my peers, and other mildly educated and soberingly boring scholars; those who marry at a young age tend to be less successful. Now, success is measured in multiple ways. In efforts to stay as pretentious and greed driven as possible, while keeping the conversation focused, I am talking about financial success. With that being said, financial success has bearing on other success factors; happiness, adventure, breadth of knowledge, experience, and vanity.

Woman and men alike are bolting out of their collegiate doors, dripping with eagerness and overinflated egos. Their college professors have filled their minds with ill-fitting complements, while showering themselves with praise for preparing their students perfectly for the "everyday world." The old adage "those who can do, and those who can't teach" seems overly apparent here. Many of the profound, literate, and astute professors never once stepped out of the classroom. They merely switched roles from sitting to standing, and some not even that. The truth of the matter is the only thing usable from those 4 years amounting to $180,000 is how to write a cover letter and construct a readable resume that looks JUST LIKE the other 1.78million bachelor degree graduates from 2012. 

Still, we fight. We persevere. We take on $36k salaries in the middle of cities and watched rich people's children or serve beer to the patrons of the financial district at night to make ends meet. We are a strong and horny class. We get by and push because the weight of our wallet correlates with our appeal. Men want sex and woman want to be wanted for sex. How dow we get sex? You get your ass out of the back of the bar and start ordering rounds for the folks around you. 

So we keep fighting. 

We are single and eager with sweat on our brow and determination dripping off the fangs of our canine teeth. We dig deeper to taste that sweet bloody flesh of success. The credit card limit increases and the bar job shoots out the window like a line of blow up a transparent tube. 

College is gone and half the friends from there are considered pions as you have risen above the ashes. You bumped over the $50k/year salary threshold and those who make that are doing okay, but aren't you. You eat out once or twice a week, and a date at a chain restaurant is frowned upon. If you are a female you expect a GOOD meal, vegetarian or not, its going to be fucking plated well. Guys stop shopping the sale racks, but still check the tags. Girls, pick up at least one friend named Jimmy Choo. You are still renting but its not Southie, it isn't Hoboken, your commute is...not...half the fucking business day. You could not be any more single and you're hard or wet from it - a casual online date/sex session here, a date with an old college friend  there who likes your new watch (not fossil). Why settle down girls? Your boss thinks your sexy and his boss trusts you more with the assignments - you're moving up and middle class just wont do. 

HERE IS THE TIPPING POINT. Some will meet someone "special" during the time of peak acceleration. They will be okay in life but they have not given it enough time for the rocket launchers to be fully ramped up. They will miss the opportunity to fly without a harness. These people settle down, and fall in the 33% chance of being financially successful. They may have a partner who supports them and will move across the country for a new opportunity or say "lets wait for kids" and try Europe out. Most wont. Most will put back on the fangs only to suck the life out of your bone marrow, force you to buy too early, sell too soon, and to take less risks than a calling heads two-headed quarter. 

The other fine young men and woman...those who decide to put aside consistent sex with the same person. Those who skip buying a house outside the city, picking up a compact vehicle, and throw away the birth control for baby planning, keep on keeping on. They know when to stop though. They know when they have peaked and they are high enough and comfortable enough in their position to know that the success will continue for their remaining years. These people have a 68% or higher chance of being financially successful. Its not that they don't want a family. Family can assist in remaining stable and regulated, bring you happiness you cannot earn on your own, and allow you to share the beauties of the world with something other than your frontal lobes and retinas. 

The 68%'ers are on top of the world right before they settle down and wed. They just picked up a luxury two-seater...if its a threesome night then the third is going down on the passenger while you drive. If they say 'fuck the car, I am in the city,' they stop renting. They invest in property that will never lose value - downtown, limelight. The trendy J.Crew timex turns into an Audemars. The Clarke's loafers are Ferragamos. The apartment has a doorman other than a pissy old asian landlord. The boat has a bedroom, the bedroom has an actual bed. Haircuts are scheduled and planned, and dont only come into fruition when its a necessity. You don't shave yourself, and you jerk off because you want to, not because you have to. Woman have everything they need and are not looking for a man to "bring home the bacon." They buy what they want when they want and wear things once a season. Their closet is separated by dates of the year, and there is no need to make room for new clothes, only building new places for them and donating the old pieces. Work hours are shorter and the places on your paycheck to the left of the decimal point are longer. You piss excellent and drink down Dom Perignon to replenish the body. 

There is the back end of this story, and that is the back end 33%'ers. They hit their peak, life was great, but eventually they lost sight of their governing values and their eyes become blinded by the shimmering light. As I mentioned before; family, property, travel, and relaxing is needed to fulfill life, for most people. Those who go overboard and stop to smell the roses at the top, will eventually topple over. Some of these people over indulge - they spend on too many frivolous items forgetting that one day the money does stop pouring in at its current flow. Others become infatuated with the glory of the poisonous things that addict and infect our bodies; booze, drugs, sexual disease. Their fun kills them slowly and surely. They start looking like Mic Jagger too young and find out too early that they are not build like a rock star, or that those stars sometime fall hard form the sky without a saving wish. 

There is no perfect formula. Its like a perfect shot that if we knew how to make it, we would drink it all day, everyday. 1/3 part patience, 1/8 part greed, 1/4 arrogance, and I don't know what else. All we can do is think hard about each decision we make and understand that our financial success depends on each of them, small and large. Here's to the 68% chance. Let us drink in the warm fizz of success and spit it out before it loses all its sweetness. 

Trials and Tribulations of an Office Outing

These sort of soiree's occur roughly 2-3 times a year and receive much internal attention from employees and sometimes externally from mildly unfortunately +1's. The employees are half excited, half forced to go, and the +1's, if its an open event, try to find common ground on unfamiliar territory. I wont speak from a first person point of few, but rather for these events as a whole, as I believe the parallels between one and another are vast and in a granular state of congruency.

Whether it's a holiday party, summer outing, or the classic "off-site" work day, the same events occur. Alcohol is inevitably involved augmented by relaxed or non-typical attire. There is a focus on group activities and getting to know one another garnished with laughter and jaunting awkwardness. There may be a game which only makes the fact that people know each other less than we thought, more transparent.

Don't get me wrong - these events are a major step up from the monotony of the work day. I'd much rather converse with our VP about sailing, biking, scotch or clothing than about how I missed the mark on revenue for the 3rd consecutive month and I am one step away from getting tarred and feathered and dragged through the office building lobby. Without fail, a casual conversation will divert into a mildly interesting business discussion, relieving you of the pressure of having to talk candidly and not be too forthcoming.

The Conversations: 
They start off non-existent as you look around the room, talking to the regular 4-5 office folks you do on a daily basis. You commiserate lightly about work and comment nonchalantly on the event at hand, commending those few who took the time to plan, organize, and invite. The first glass of wine, purchasable with pocket lint, but dressed in a fancy napkin to hide the label enters your body igniting a fire, and scratches the itch that you have to always drink around these people. A slanted transition is made from work talk to friendly banter that pokes and prods the threshold of comfortability. Insert questions about where you are living and if you have a significant other.
While talking with a female she tells a story about last weekend and mentions that her and her "girlfriend" went pumpkin picking. You bite your tongue and hold onto this piece of information like your playing a fucking game of clue. You think you just solved the office mystery and found that ______ is a lesbian. Turns out, after you started an office-wide rumor, that she is not in fact a lesbian and only has one girlfriend named Connie who has been her best friend for 18 years. Not that anything is wrong, if she is a lesbian, but you just thought you went all Dan Brown and da vinci coded this shit.

Wine turns to whiskey and whiskey back to wine corrupting your insides and guiding you toward the tinted light of inappropriate behavior. People are starting to become "risk takers" and divulge information about their past employers/employees and leisurely likes and dislikes.

Levels of Drunk: 
1. The non-drinker - Confident that they are distinguished and above all in the group, praying for a drunk idiot to point fun at. While boring at times its overall not a bad move for a work outing.
2. The sipper - Casually taking sips from a drink that is essentially a hi-c juice box until it becomes so warm that its uncomfortable to hold. The sipper still holds onto it because lord knows they are not getting another.
3. The casual drinker - This is a the just married, or locked-down relationship person. The individual is having a couple drinks to "wind down" and plans to go back to their significant other to say "I didn't drink, I just wanted to relax," This is great, it avoids confrontation with the annoyingly jealous bf/gf/wife/husband and keeps you on an even keel with co-workers.
4. College drinker - This person is a new hire who is recently out of college and can still drink like a frat wrestler on cocaine. They are putting back a good amount of drinks but are hardly phased by the consumption. Occasionally they get a bit out of hand and make fun of someone above them in the hierarchy, but are new enough to not push the boundaries.
5. One-too-many - This is typically a VP or mid-level employee who has decided that the work week was stressful and they are going to put back one-extra beverage. Their conversations will now suck. They try to talk about work but are wrong in their responses, and try to talk about outside activities but the stories don't really "make sense."
6. Taking it to the "level" - This can be any employee who decides, fuck it. Or, they really don't value their job. Or, they are comfortable enough in their position that they could take a shit on the boat deck and still have a place to sit the next morning.
7. Terminator - This employee will no longer have a job the following day, or when regular working hours begin. They pre-gamed the event, had 4-5 drinks over their natural limit, physically accosted a colleague in a higher position, ate something that was not food, drank something that contained their own urine, and simply could not speak and form words to defend themselves.





  The Finer Things: 
We all get a little looser at these things, let our personalities out and throw our inhibitions to the wind a bit. It is part of the reason these events are held and it is certainly healthy. There are just some funny things that happen. You may find yourself making fun of someone whom you have not priorly spoken to - great. One thing that I like to observe is the end of the night "goodbye." The effervescent liquor drinks are doing the merengue inside your stomach making you act like a prepubescent teen eating rock candy. You have now spent 4 hours with people you would ignore at a grocery store if you saw them at the end of the isle and they didn't spot you. The night is ending, its time to part ways and see each other in 12 hours. This is where the hugging begins. You begin saying adios to these people you are going to see immediately upon waking up tomorrow. They are one step away from sleeping over. The same person who you have been dodging emails from and holding in piss for the rare chance that you run into them in the bathroom...you are now intertwined in each others arms like newlyweds. If the waitress was to come around with one more free shot there is a 60% chance you may tongue kiss that person on the way out.

Your boss is hammered and slurring his/her words. You're very much inebriated and worried about missing your favorite show. You leave, hugging fucking everyone, and call it a good night. Good news is everyone now know what each co-workers favorite color and animal is...and you may have fucked the front desk attendant. Fun.  - As a caveat none of this happened on my company outing....

Baby bump, Baby-Baby-Baby- Bump

"Congrats! Oh my jesus H fuckjuice - you have a baby bump!"
- While the comment comes out less crude than I have so elegantly displayed above of course, I dry heave into my medium sized blue recycling bin.

The female-strong office is erupting in prenatal excitement. The males put on that half-grin, just-ate-a-shit particle look on their face to try to appeal to the sounds of joy, while harnessing pure cold-blooded despise for those commiserating around them. I am going to try to not enter this in a male-bias manner, although that may lye outside the realm of reality.

"Can I touch it?"
"How far along are you?"
"See, its okay to be fat for a while!"

These are are the comments that are expatiated from the mouths of those who see a co-worker that isn't often around the office. Can I touch it? No fucking thank you. There is a living, vile, alien looking creature who was forced to inhabit a uterus, and expand a stomach by two people who thought it was time to take birth control out back and shoot it in the face. Not to mention it is still the first trimester for this belly show-off, and that bulge is 98% liquid. I can't help but to picture an excessive pen-poke resulting into an desk area explosion of processed food, stomach acid, and person matter. I know thats a bit of sci-fi farfetchedness, but it is making my non-pregnant stomach near an irritable bowl movement.



Take a look at gorgeous Nick Lachey here. He looks terrified, his face is wrinkling - he is losing thousands of dollars by the second. If they have to retake that picture he is going to have to work one year longer, and their guest room will surely be smaller. 

This is not a post to bash childbirth, after all, I am here due to its premise. It is just that the state of being pregnant is not flauntingly attractive, or interesting to an audience of the masses. Its a good thing in the long run, kind of like removing a planters wart from your foot, but doesn't mean you go around showing people the scar hole it left. You can BE pregnant, and have a baby bump, perhaps even talk about/show off that likely mossy mound in the comfort of your own home. Do this with girlfriends, or mothers, likely your father is vehemently opposed to its appearance as well. Do NOT bring that runway show to the office. Where a shawl, loose garments, work from home. They advise you not to travel when intoxicated with baby...so take it easy, stay in the basement like Powder.

Mating and Starving

Eating healthy is becoming overly unhealthy. Admittedly, I have fallen victim to this health food/weight neuroticism sweeping over the country to some extent. I may skip an extra slice of pizza or hold on another dash of salt. It has not stricken all of us, or even many of us judging by the 15 fat fucks i had to dip and dive around while getting off the train. It is however, entering the work force and our everyday lives with an alarming annoyance, like the perpetual sounds of birds mating in the early morning.

You have probably noticed this choice starvation taking place, perhaps you have even seen it start small and escalate. I am not talking about eating disorders, although this is certainly a start, and much much, more annoying. If a chick walks up to me and says she likes to launch her two bone fingers to the back of her throat to induce vomit, fine by me. If wrestler or swimmer male decides he is going to go "Ghandi" and fast for fucking eight weeks completely...excellent, rock out. This epidemic that I am talking about is the over-healthy, label reading, diet pressure pointers inhabiting menus, grocery stores and workplaces.

Each day another greasy haired pimple popper is firing up this fad. Going for a morning run, eating a moderate amount of calories, and sleeping right doesn't suffice. Those partaking in the cult feel the need to read every article they can google, judge the microprint on labels, and eat like a bird to get to the "proper" physical state. You must see it!?

It goes in stages. First, you begin researching, finding things you should avoid eating and make minor adjustments to wheat pasta or 2% milk. The articles start becoming bookmarks, and maybe you subscribe to a weight loss magazine and spend 20 bucks a weak on lean cuisines for lunches. The progression continues to support groups, others who have been on this hike a bit longer than you, the veteran bird food eaters as I like to call them. You get support from them which feels nice, but they also inform you that you are going about it all wrong; the lean cuisine is too high in sodium, silk milk (soy) is the only way to go, and cous-cous is the new pasta. You'r really on a roll now and bananas that may cause colon cancer if eaten at a certain frequency have been replaced by some guava fruit you can only buy at whole foods 3 months  year. Lunch is never purchased, but always brought since "you know how to do it best." The tupperware is filled with a fig, seven shreds of arugula, dried chicken breast (1/2 breast) and an orange peel. There is less flavor in that container than a 7-month old tea bag sitting on a Boston Commons park bench.

People are intrigued by your dish, which excites you - its now your time to shine...or recruit if you will. You talk about your weight loss, but even more, you talk about how you feel that much better than before. You're a new person, rejuvinated and alive. You're fucking starving. It isn't enough for you to just let people know how great you feel and project your insecurities onto others. You have to go further. You start to assess others meals with a scientific eye. You break down every calorie, carb, saturated fat and grain. By the end of your critique the person you have judged is left to feel they are about to bite into an aids patients fecal matter.Fun fucking lunch.

The months roll on, the pounds fall off like flaking skin from a Venezuelan sunburn. Unfortunately, the cult has taken over fully and you are now enjoying nutrients or lack thereof an eroded tree bark morsel and sand crystal water. Your skin is dry, your hair is greasy, your pits smell like Europe from the weak ass Tom's deoderant you are using and you are still fucking starving. Your food chart looks like an IV bag.

So for anyone who is "eating healthy" - take it easy. And, if you want to go fucking Rambo on a diet and turn into a fucking pilgrim, do it on your own time. Do no interrupt my meals, critique my coffee with half and half and real goddamn sugar. Just sit there with your sticks and grass, and vitamin cocktails and shut the fuck up. By the way, for anyone in my office on this food trip; i have been infusing the decaf Keurig cups with a shot of protein, salt, sugar, barley, wheat, heroin, butter, and bread dust. Fucking enjoy.