I Am Now A Certified Badass…Okay That Might Be A Slight Exaggeration

Our primary message here at the Big Dick Chronicles is “Go be awesome!” What sometimes gets left out of the equation is the companion message, “Go be humble!” You can brag about a lot of things, but being humble typically isn’t one of them.

Humbling stories generally aren’t the ones you want to tell in public, which is exactly why I’m going to tell you my most recent one.

(The next few paragraphs should be read with a deep undercurrent of sarcasm, otherwise you will come to the conclusion that I might be retarded.)

I have been a fan of martial arts since the days of my youth when Chuck Norris’ beard single-handedly conquered Cambodia. Since we were too poor for real lessons, my early training consisted of two hours of USA Networks Kung Fu Theater every Saturday afternoon. And then when I was 11, Jean Claude Van Damme released the ultimate at home training manual, Bloodsport.

This is considered a training manual in most developed countries.

You can find it in the “How To” section of your local library.

My point is that, even with no formal training, I consider myself fairly well versed in the ways of hand to hand combat. I wouldn’t call myself a badass, but that’s more a function of my self-deprecating nature.

(Okay, sarcasm off. That’s about all the bullshit I can handle.)

As I’ve mentioned before, my kids have been involved in Tae Kwon Do for almost six years now. This year, my twelve year old son got moved up to the adult class. Since I now have to be there for the adult class anyway, I decided to join them.

Stepping into this class has turned out to be quite the humbling experience. I’ve been there to help coach my two oldest children all the way to black belt level, but I am starting this class as a level one white belt. I am practicing the same forms and techniques that I helped teach my daughter when she was five.

Perhaps the hardest part is that I am prohibited from practicing any techniques or moves outside of my belt rank. When I spar with the other grown ups, I am limited to three types of kicks and no hands to the head. They joke that sparring me is like trying to play a Nintendo after years of playing an Xbox 360.

Perhaps hardest of all, my eight year old daughter got to break boards this week. I’m not even permitted to try.

How long has it been since you were brand new at something? More importantly, how long has it been since you were brand new at something and had to be tested on it?

Friday was my first test to move up in rank. There is one other white belt in our class, a thirteen year old named Caleb. He was my partner for all of the demonstrations we had to do.

He's like a fluffy little polar bear!

He’s like a fluffy little polar bear!

This is where you have to decide if an experience is going to humbling or humiliating.
I won’t lie; there was a moment when this process seemed a bit humiliating. I’m a grown ass man putting myself in front of a panel of judges, being evaluated on the same criteria as a 13 year old.

But isn’t that part of the test? No matter what your station in life, no matter how important you think you are, if you walk into a Tae Kwon Do class, you start as a white belt.
Being able to set aside your ego and let yourself be open to instruction is a vital part of the process.

I had a great time at the test. My main goal for the night was to keep encouraging my little white belt buddy. He was nervous as hell. Looking at it from his perspective, I’m pretty impressed by him. He was being judged on the same criteria as this obviously awesome Chuck Norris clone.

If I could grow a beard, I'd probably take over the world.

If I could grow a beard, I’d probably take over the world.

Once we have established ourselves as adults, nothing takes us out of our comfort zones quite so fast as being “new” again. I don’t particularly like feeling incompetent, but I also don’t  like thinking that I was too weak to put myself in that position.

So if you feel like you could use a good dose of humility, I encourage you to go learn something brand new. It is even more effective if there are a bunch of little kids involved who know more than you do.


Friday Night With No Kids! Let’s Do Something Different!

Like go to bed early.

As I’m mentioned before, we live in a rural area. We’re about an hour from anywhere big enough to go out for a night on the town. So it is a constant struggle to decide if we want to be out of the house for several hours, or just stay home and enjoy the quiet while we run around in our underwear.

I put these on as soon as the kids walk out the door.

I put these on as soon as the kids walk out the door.

This weekend, the in-laws took the kids overnight and we opted for staying in. I picked up a couple of nice KC strip steaks to throw on the grill and we settled in with some cheesy b-rated vampire movies.

"You aren't immortal. It just feels like it because this movie goes on FOREVER."

“You aren’t immortal. It just feels like it because this movie goes on FOREVER.”

And booze. My friend the home brewer sent us home with a bottle of his moscato wine last week and my wife popped the cork on Friday. Apparently he makes it pretty stout because, after two glasses, she was out like a light by 10:30.

We call this foreshadowing

We call this “foreshadowing.”

(I’m going to throw out a “readers discretion advised” warning here. So ladies, if you are squeamish about non-consensual sex topics, you may want to skip the rest of this.)

We often joke about the idea of having sex while she is asleep. Her general attitude has always been, “If you can get it done without waking me, have at it.”

I have never taken her up on this challenge. As you know, I’m working to overcome a severe “Nice Guy” personality. My hesitation is not a moral objection; my fear was based on the idea of her waking up and rejecting me and then I would feel like a complete tool. She says I’m just a pussy.

So here we are. I help her to bed and she is laid out topless in her skimpy underwear and stockings. “If you can get it done without waking me, have at it,” is running through my head. I know she won’t care. As long as she doesn’t get sick, we’ll laugh about it in the morning.

So what the hell, I went for it. It was such an awkward experience that I had to make myself stay with it to completion. She never moved a muscle. I made myself walk away and leave her laying there.

Understand, there is not an ounce of disrespect involved here. My wife is the light of my life. This was just about pushing my comfort zone, knowing that I was well within her comfort zone.

So I turned off the light and went downstairs. An hour later, I came back. Except for pulling the sheet over her, she hadn’t moved. I messed around with her for a few minutes, no reaction. She was out.

What the hell, let’s go for it.

Again, I made myself continue to completion, the whole time waiting for any hint of protest or discomfort. But it never happened. I finished and walked away.

I came to bed at 12:30. I had to push her legs over to her side of the bed and roll her onto her side so I could curl up behind her and tuck her in under the covers. I laid there beside her for about ten minutes and then I got curious. She was still soaking wet. How does that happen? I don’t know, but you know, what the hell.

This time I didn’t finish, just enjoyed her for a while and then curled up and fell asleep.

We woke up on Saturday, and I prepared to tell her about how the rest of the evening went. She beat me to it.
“You had fun last night.”
“Oh really? What do you remember?”
“You fucked me three times.”
“You remember that? How? You were out cold.”
“Nope. I remember all of it.”
“But you just laid there. You never even twitched. How is that possible?”
Shrugs. “I don’t know. Just glad you enjoyed it. I was worried I ruined your evening going to bed so early.”

There is still so much I need to learn about how you crazy women think.

Aarrggh! I Hate Making Mistakes!

I pride myself on having a pretty good instinct.

If you are familiar with the Myers Briggs personality types, I’m a 50/50 split between an INTP and INFP,

Yep, that's me.

Yep, that’s me.

the key being that the “N” stands for intuitive. My life has been spent believing that I have a reliable gut level Bull Shit detector and for the most part, it seems to be true.

I’ve got a whole host of stories of the times that I got it right. Those moments when I almost seem to be supernatural in my ability to predict events and make choices that seem to defy logic, but ultimately end up going well.

But this was not one of those times.

Two years ago, I wanted a truck. We live in the country and trucks are almost a necessity. I had a Jeep that served as an excellent third vehicle, but was getting up there in miles and I wanted to get rid of it before it started having problems.

Driving down the road one day, I spot exactly what I’m looking for; a four door four wheel drive Dodge Ram.

Seriously, what's not to love?

Seriously, what’s not to love?

I stop, get the number off the windshield and make a call.

The guy informs me that the motor and transmission were replaced 85,000 miles ago. He’s asking $5,000 for the truck.

Understand, I drive vehicles into the ground, so 85,000 miles is just getting started in my opinion. We talk a few times but I’m still trying to sell my Jeep so I can just pay cash for the truck.
Then, one day I’m standing in the shower praying about what to do. I hear a response, (in my head, not out loud) “See if he’ll take less.” If he will come down, I can come down on my asking price on the Jeep. I call the guy, he says he’ll take $4,500 cash to be done with it.

Great. I can drop my asking price $500 on my Jeep and still break even. (foreshadowing alert,,, I never sold the Jeep)

We set up a meet. He’s driving in from out of town as the vehicle is parked at his in-laws house. A few hours before the meet, he calls and says he had it checked out and it might have a slight engine problem, so he’ll take $4,200 as his mechanic can fix the issue for $300. Reasonable, right? I say sure, we’re good. Red flag #1 missed.

I show up and he has the truck running when I get there. Red flag #2 missed. Why would he do that? At this point, I’m already sold so it doesn’t cross my mind to ask.

We talk a bit when we meet. I’ve got the whole family with me. “It’s a great family vehicle” he assures me with my wife and kids standing next to me.

I take the vehicle without so much as a test drive. My instinct says this is a good deal, so why bother, right? We sign a bill of sale, I pay him in cash and drive off.

Immediately, something feels wrong. I know there are issues to take care of. I got it cheap so I can afford to spend a little on repairs. But the sensation that something is wrong continues to grow. I missed something here. This is going to end badly.

The problem with a well honed sense of intuition is that it predicts the bad as well as the good.

The next day, when I started the truck to drive it to my mechanic, it blew thick white smoke for five minutes straight. Oh, so that’s why he already had it running when I got there. Huh.

I get it to the shop and it all goes down hill from there. Yeah, what you’ve heard so far is the pleasant part of the story.

There is no new motor. The transmission was replaced 85,000 miles ago, but not the motor. The motor is original to the truck with 325,000 miles on it. Well, that’s just great. What else you got for me?

That $300 repair turns out to be a full replacement of the heads which are shot. If you’re not a car guy, that means radiator fluid is leaking into the engine block, mixing with the motor oil and generally causing things to go to hell. Hence the billowing smoke when you first start the motor.

$2,700 later, I’ve now spend $7,000 on a truck with 325,000 miles on it. Oh, and guess what? It still isn’t fixed. The power steering pump leaks, the engine is overheating, and the cruise control doesn’t work. I found a new mechanic after this ordeal.

Fast forward two years. I’ve driven it less than 600 miles since I bought it. I’ve replaced the power steering pump and spend several days of my own labor to find out that the thermostat had been installed backwards, hence the overheating. The truck is finally in running condition and I can’t wait to sell it, just to get it out of my sight.

Today, I posted it on Craiglist for $4,000. I would be glad to just roll it down the hill and set it on fire, but I can’t justify losing every dollar I’ve sunk into it.

In two hours time, I’ve got an offer for $3,000 cash, we’ll meet tomorrow morning.

Yeah! The truck is gone! I can finally move on!

Not so fast.

I can’t find the title. For the last two hours, I’ve searched the house. It isn’t here. The best I can tell, it probably got thrown out in a pile of mail that was bagged up several months ago.

I contact the buyer and tell him I can’t find the title. He offers to pay me anyway because he really needs a truck asap. Sorry man, I can’t give you a vehicle with no title. He’ll probably be gone by the time the replacement title arrives. A few weeks from now, I’ll have the title, locked securely in our documents safe, and post it again.

And I’ll be happy to sell it at a $4,000 loss. Because that’s what happens when stop paying attention.

Why Are Men So Obsessed With Boobs?

Okay, I’m gonna ask for a bit of patience here. Asking why men are obsessed with boobs is a lot like asking, “why is the sky blue?” Sure there is probably some accurate, boring scientific answer, but as far as us normal folk are concerned the answer is, “What kind of question is that? Because. Just…because. What the hell?”

I’m not just posting this topic as an excuse to post lots of boob pics with witty captions,

Seriously. This is not why we're here.

Seriously. This is not why we’re here.

it was actually the result of a real conversation that occurred at our kids Tae Kwon Do class.

It began as most good controversies do; with women talking. One of our friends was complaining about her boobs, I believe in reference to buying bras.

Then the women go into one of those awkwardly personal conversations about their bra habits/preferences which leaves us men with no choice but to stare at their chests the whole time they are speaking because, hey, you have to educate yourself if you want to understand the conversation.

She ended up making a comment about wishing her boobs weren’t so big and we all went, “Eh?”

The subject of our discussion.

The subject of our discussion.

She isn’t built like a 12 year old boy, but she isn’t exactly suffering from lower back problems either. The other two participants were my wife, and a third mom who is a bit on the large side. She of course, suffers from DDD size breast which are not attractive by any measurable standard. At one point in the conversation, she turns to me and says, “Why are men so obsessed with boobs? What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

I basically acknowledged that yes, men love boobs of all shapes and sizes. We aren’t necessarily concerned with shape or size, we just like boobs. I told her that Ron White was dead on when he said, “Some friends of mine asked me if I wanted to go to a strip club, and I didn’t…want to go. But I ended up going, ’cause—back me up on this, fellas—once you’ve seen one woman naked, you…pretty much wanna see the rest of ’em naked.

Women do not understand this! But all the husbands in the group thought for a second and then nodded, “yeah, that’s about right”. The women were left shaking their heads.

Which leads me to an uncomfortable truth that I didn’t bring up at the time; if any woman in that group had said, “you wanna see my titties?” I would have said, “yeah, I do….okay, that’s enough. You can roll them back up.”

After our class, I had a few days to consider the question and realized I really did want to have an answer. After several days of giving it lots and lots of consideration (I’m willing to suffer for my work), I came to a conclusion.

We arrived at class a few nights later and I sat next to the fat chick (a term of endearment I assure you. She’s an awesome lady and she’s outspoken about her size. It’s cool) and leaned in close.

“I have an answer to your question.”
“What question.”
“Why are men obsessed with boobs.”

She shifted to face me and perked up. “Okay, I want to hear this. What have you got?”
“Men are obsessed with boobs because that’s where you keep the nipples.”

When she finally quit laughing, she asked me to explain.

Screw all those theories about evolutionary biology, pair bonding, and mate selection. Those are just excuses male scientist make for wanting to stare at nipples all day.

This is important scientific research. You uneducated peons wouldn't understand.

“This is important scientific research. You uneducated peons wouldn’t understand.”

Ladies, if you’ve ever had trouble trying to understand what all the fuss is about, it really is quite simple. We aren’t obsessed with boobs, we’re obsessed with nipples.

If they were located somewhere else, on your elbows perhaps, we probably wouldn’t give your boobs a second thought. But you’d have a hell of a time keeping us from rubbing up against you when standing in a crowd.

This led to an obvious follow up question which was much easier to answer: “Why are you so obsessed with nipples?”

Again, screw all the real science; I’m talking about real life here. So here it goes; my completely unscientific, totally anecdotal answer to one of life’s burning questions:

1. It is one of the few things you keep hidden from us.
In a world of yoga pants, thongs, and skin tight shirts, there really isn’t much that women today try to hide. From the waste down, you’re walking around damn near nude.

Seriously, what is the point?

Seriously, what was the point?

Unless you’re doubling up on the sports bras, we’ve got a pretty good idea of the size and shape of your breasts. But even with all of that, there is one part of your body that remains elusive.

When men first begin to encounter bras as teenagers, the concept of “support” is lost on us. We can sort of understand if you need to keep those puppies caged while playing sports or running, but for the most part we understand one single concept; you wear a bra to keep us from seeing your nipples.

We know this because every woman we know is extremely self conscious of being “nipply”. You want your breast to be prominent. You like the look of good cleavage, but you will cross your arms and cover yourself at the first sign of protruding nipples.

Ladies, let me ask a hypothetical.

You are home alone, hanging out with no bra on. Someone comes to the door and you don’t have time to throw one on. You answer the door with your arms crossed. Are you trying to keep us from seeing the natural state of your breasts, or are you keeping us from seeing the outline of your nipples?

From our perspective, your protectiveness of any evidence of nipple is a sign that it is something valuable and that intrigues us.

2. Movies and magazines have trained us to believe that is isn’t nudity unless there is nipple.

As much as we enjoy the sight of breasts, we don’t consider that we’ve seen you naked until we’ve seen nipple. And somehow, you women seem to agree with us. A woman will wear the skimpiest bikini on the market and proudly pose for pictures, but will be embarrassed to the point of death if there is even a hint of “nip slip”.

(I know you were hoping I’d throw in a photo to demonstrate, but I can’t quite bring myself to post nudity on this blog..so no.)

Actresses on television can show any and every part of their breasts without censoring except the nipple. Strippers can be completely topless as long as they wear pasties. In our current American culture, we’ve come to a consensus that nipples are the taboo part of the breast.

For example, topless women are a large part of the daily photos of one of my favorite sites, thechive.com. What you will notice though, is that they don’t include any uncovered nipples. The women in these photos, mostly selfies I might add, confirm in our simple men’s brains that we haven’t actually seen them nude because they covered their nipples.


See? Perfectly acceptable. No nudity here.

See? Perfectly acceptable. No nudity here.

Hey, I’m not saying it makes sense. I’m just saying it’s true.

3. Nipples are our only reliable visible indicators of sexual interest.

The immediate response to this point was, “That’s not fair. There are all sorts of things that make our nipples get hard.”

True, but the same applies to our dicks. It doesn’t matter. I get an erection every time the wind blows. But were you to see it, you aren’t going to assume that it’s because I have to take a piss. You would see it as a sign of sexual interest.

That’s how we see nipples. Obviously, I can rationally understand that a fully dressed woman walking through Wal-Mart isn’t pointing the headlights my way because she wants me. But what it does do is remind me that she is a sexual person capable of being aroused.

And that’s really all we care about, right guys? We want to know that the women around us are capable of wanting sex. Perky nipples don’t necessarily mean sexual availability, but they remind us of that potential.

Oh great. I just confirmed your worst fear, didn’t I ladies? When we men see evidence of your nipples, we get horny and there is nothing you can do about that. I would love to tell you that it isn’t true, but it is. Sorry.

But, take heart. Once you get past the creepiness factor of realizing that every guy has this reaction, even the creepy old man greeter at Wal-Mart, you will understand that you’re wielding an awful lot of power in those holsters.

Here’s an experiment; next time you find yourself a bit too pointy, get real coy, sway side to side a bit, and ask your guy for some outrageous favor. Not something impossible, like a new car, but something that he has no valid reason to comply with. “Farm boy, fetch me that pail.” You get the idea.

Don’t be surprised if you get an immediate, “As you wish.” Okay, maybe not immediate. He’ll likely take a moment to stare, but the point is, you win!

So be proud of those high beams, ladies. They are one of your most powerful weapons. Also be aware that it matters not what size you are. We are transfixed by nipples whether they are attached to an A cup, or DD’s. Although I will confess a personal preference for a full cleavage.

Say hi to Mrs. Big Dick Chronicles.

Say hi to Mrs. Big Dick Chronicles.

Okay, last thought. Here is something you ladies may not know. I took a poll of some of my buddies; would you rather see your woman in a skimpy bikini top, or in a full t-shirt with no bra?

The answer was unanimous;

This is sexier....


is sexier

Than this.

than this.


Okay ladies, I’m giving away of lot of guy secrets here. You got to put this information to good use, and by that I mean go seduce your men. With great power comes great responsibility and all that.



It’s Valentines Day! Let’s Hear Some Horror Stories!

Ah, February 14, the day when you get the opportunity to go buy flowers and candy for your wife and pair them with a card someone else wrote that expresses your undying devotion and love.

None of these things actually include the word “sex”, but it’s all done with one very understood, if not spoken, intention; you wanna get laid. So how did that work out for ya?

It probably looked something like this.

It probably looked something like this.

A joint survey by Men’s Health and Women’s Health found that 50% of men expected to have sex tonight. By contrast, only 43% of women expected to have sex because it’s Valentine’s Day. As my wife pointed out, it doesn’t really specify if they meant 43% were looking forward to it, or that 43% felt pressured to have sex.

Our Valentine’s Day plans consist of catching up on 13 episodes of NCIS. No chance for a babysitter left us with very little motivation to make this anything more than a typical Friday night. We agreed ahead of time to no gifts. So, I now have plenty of time to put together my “best of” post for Valentine’s Day Horror Stories.

Seriously, this is what we all want to read about, right? We’re all veteran’s at the marriage game. We roll our eyes at the exuberance of young love, telling their tales of over the top romantic gestures. We want the carnage!

So let the games begin. Here are a few of the choice morsels of Valentine woe that I uncovered today.

Via http://www.dailydot.com/lol/reddit-valentines-day-horror-stories/ we have this gem;
“So here I am, a 20 year old socially awkward swede with barely any experience with girls. However, for some strange reason yesterday (13th) I grew the balls to ask a girl out for valentines. Not only did she say yes, she ended up going home with me and spent the night. This is where the story begins. … See, some of you redditors believe you are socially awkward, allow me to laugh. The first time I share my bed with a girl, I end up dreaming about going to the bathroom to pee. “Whats this warm sensation?” I ask myself. “My waist is so warm!” Suddenly wake up from girl shouting and yelling.
…Oh god, I had PEED MY FUCKING BED. IM TWENTY YEARS OLD AND I JUST WET MY BED. Please allow me to die.

Or, he could just send her a card....

Or, he could just send her a card….

There were several great entries at worstvalentinesdaycontest.tumblr.com like this one;
“Last year for valentines day I had planned on proposing to my girlfriend at the time. She was a cheerleader at Kennesaw State. I had planned to propose to her at one of her cheerleading events in front of her friends & a stadium full of people. I had arranged to wear the mascot uniform & propose to her. Well I of course had to let 2 of the other cheerleaders know & the coach so to make sure it was ok & so they could help me set it up well one of the cheerleaders thought it would be ok to tell somebody else then they went & told another person & she overheard them talking about it. Therefore she knew & on February the 13th she broke up with me & I spent valentines day by myself.”

dumped ecard
And this guy:
“Last year ws the worst valentines day ever. i go to school in iowa, and my ex girlfriend went to school in illinois. we were only a 4 hour bus ride apart. i told her i wouldnt be ale to come home for a date on valentines day bc i had a test that day. she ment absolutly everything to me, so i decided to skip my test and go home to surprise her with a nice date. i got in contact with her roomate when i got to her school and called her roomate. her roomate was headed home that night, so she gave me her keys so i could go into their room and surprise my ex. that night i opened to door to what i though would be my ex girlfriend watching tv and doing homework, what i actualy saw was horrible. she was naked in bed with some guy who was not me! a nice glass vase with 2 dozen roses shattered on her floor while she tried to tell me she was sorry, and she didnt want me to find out about this.

i hate the valentines day and everything it stands for. it breaks my heart just thinking about how i had my heart broken and looked like the biggest idiot in the world just trying to be a good boyfriend.”

This one is a bit long, but worth the read;
” My buddy and his girlfriend decided to invite me to take her roommate out on a blind date for Valentine’s Day a few years ago. I jumped at the opportunity, as all my college buddies were going out and I didn’t want to be by myself. It was about an hour drive from where I lived, so I packed a bag just in case. I showed up to pick her up for dinner, she looked great, and I was excited for the date. We went to Flattop Grill for some stir fry dinner, which was decorated for the occasion and a nice place to enjoy good conversation and a hearty meal. Things were going great, and towards the end of the meal she invited me back to her place for a few drinks.
We got in the car on the way home and the conversation continued to go well for a few minutes and then got silent. She got a strange look on her face and began to fidget in her seat as the ride continued. About 10 minutes from her apartment things took a turn for the worse. A horrible smell filled my car, and I thought I may have hit a skunk or another animal that had been dead for weeks. The smell continued to get worse, to the point where I thought I was going to gag and I looked over at my date to see if she was showing signs of smelling the same thing. I asked her if she smelled that and she quickly said no as if she did really smell it but was afraid to say so. I told her I was going to pull over to see if I had hit something and she quickly told me not to because I could check at her apartment. We got to her place and she quickly ran inside before I could say anything. I checked under the car for any signs of rotting flesh, and as I was about to write the incident off to bad luck and move until I looked at the passenger seat. There in the middle of the seat was a large brown stain, and reality began to set it. My blind date had taken a full on dump in my car and not said anything to me. The car stunk for weeks and I had to have the seats cleaned 3 times before the smell finally faded. I still have the smell in my nose to this day.
Oh and I forgot to mention that the car stunk so bad I didn’t want to drive home, so I crashed on the couch at her apartment. It would have been fine but for the fact that my buddy and her roommate came home and I got to listen to them having sex all night. Combine nasty dirty sex sounds, with the sound of a snowplow going by every hour or so, and the stench of rotting butthole in your nose, and you officially have the worst Valentine’s Day ever.

I never talked to her again.”

I think he's being a bit harsh. We've all been there, am I right? Right?

I think he’s being a bit harsh. We’ve all been there, am I right? Right?

This one is a bit painful, but we don’t shy away from the hard topics;

” You wanted to hear the worst Valetine storys ever I have one for you! 6 years ago I got up early really early about 5 am went to the wally world and purchased a nice vase and a dozen roses, some candy, valetine cookies and a really nice card for my wife. I got home wrote her a wonderfull love you note in the card and placed it all on the kitchen table which was by the exit door to our house so she wouldnt miss it. I then rejoined her in bed. She got up for work looked at the stuff and left leaving me in bed without even coming back to say thank you, I love you or anything. I called her at work a couple time that day expecting her to say something but she never did. That day I prepared a wonderfull dinner and got some wine for us to have over candle light. When she got home we began to eat dinner and she had still said nothing. Halway through dinner she let me know she didnt love me anymore and didnt know if she was going to stay or not. We had been married 5 years! Well needless to say things were wierd for a couple of weeks I could sense she was leaving. I asked her to do me one and only one favor which was to let me know b/c I didnt want to come home from work one night and all of the stuff just be gone. She promised she would never do that to me. on feb 28th I came home from work at midnight and half my stuff was gone I had a note on the table. I woke up the next morning my cell phone stopped working, the house phone stopped working about 15 min later, and the cable went out within the next hour. The only thing in my name was the electric she couldnt shut that off. She had pre planned everything. we were divorced within 2 months and within 30 days of the divorce she was remarried. All true! It about killed me for close to 2 years. Now I am happily remarried to a different woman of course and never have I been happier! It all worked out in the end but it did almost kill me. Hows that for a valantine story?”

Most of these are men’s stories, because this is a site for men. But here is one from a women’s perspective just to demonstrate how completely unattractive a wimpy beta guy can be;
” Yeah, so… I was dating this guy some years back. We met on Thanksgiving, so by February had been dating a few months. He was cool to hang out with and I had a good time with him, but I was at the point of wondering if I wanted to even continue. Valentine’s Day rolls around, and he came to stay with me for the weekend. When I opened the door upon his arrival, he was damn near giddy. He told me to go into my bedroom, close the door and stay there until he said I could come out. I sat behind closed door listening to crinkling paper and things rustling around, the front door opening and closing couple of times, and then finally he came to get me.
When I walked out to the living room, it looked like a bottle giant bottle of Pepto exploded in my living room. There was pink and red stuff EVERYWHERE. Did I mention yet that I loathe the color pink? Anyway, candy, bears, hearts, flowers, trinkets, all of it… scattered across the front room of my place. He proceeds to go to mushy on me, telling me how I rescued him from the pit of his depression and brought him alive again, blah blah blah. After a sufficient amount of fussing over me, I said sheepishly… “I have something for you, too.” He lit up in a big grin, and I knew I was in trouble as a retrieved the paperback book titled “How to Be Southern” that I’d gotten for him. I handed it to him unwrapped and (I think) managed to say something graceful like, “Well if I’d known you were going to do all this…”
The Valentine’s Day ordeal was enough to guilt me into staying with him another couple of months, and in the end he broke up with me. I should’ve known better than to date a Yankee.
Disclaimer: No Yankees were harmed in the telling of this story.”

So, besides a few laughs, what is the point of this?

The motto of our marriage is this; “The secret to a great marriage is low expectations.”

It sounds a bit jaded, but this is serious. All disappointment is the result of unrealistic expectations. Let me state that another way; when your expectations are not in line with reality, you will be disappointed.
Keep in mind, it doesn’t matter if your expectations should have been considered realistic. For instance, if you expected the Broncos to win the Super Bowl, it would have been a perfectly reasonable expectation. But you would have been wrong and you would have been disappointed.
By contrast, a Seahawks fan had no reasonable expectation that they would win. So, had Denver won, a Seahhawks fan may not have been happy, but they would not be disappointed; they weren’t expecting to win.

Managing expectations is at the heart of maintaining healthy relationships. One of the pitfalls of Nice Guys is that they are filled with unspoken expectations. Not wanting to appear selfish, they stay silent; secretly hoping the other person will understand them enough to be able to meet their needs without having to voice them.

The secret to a successful Valentines Day is properly managed, low expectations. Be reasonable in what you are expecting out of your spouse. State your expectations up front and don’t be offended if your expectations don’t match up with reality. In a healthy relationship, this is just another day.

All I Want For The New Year… Is A Stalker

My wife asked me if I had any goals for the new year. Yeah. I want a stalker.

It’s a bit of an odd resolution, I’ll admit, but this wasn’t some off the cuff remark. I promise you, I have spent several minutes thinking this through. I’m quite certain that I’ve considered every angle and I want to go through with this.

If I were a woman, I wouldn’t even consider it. But I think it is different for men. Guy stalkers are creepy. Always. Without exception.

Women stalkers at least have the potential to be sexy. I’m old enough and mature enough now that I think I could handle having some unknown woman idolize me from afar.

Yes, I know. I've been warned.

Yes, I know. I’ve been warned.

I’ve told you before that I didn’t exactly have women beating down my door when I was younger. I’ve never had to deal with telling a chick to get lost, I’m just not that into you, or “it’s not you it’s me”.

I’m sure it wouldn’t be fun to deal with every day, but just once I would like the chance to shake my head and say, “that bitch just won’t leave me alone.”

Obviously, I would never want to deal with this in real life. I’d have some explaining to do with my wife and I don’t particularly want some crazy chick knowing where I live.

She can save that for the next guy.

She can save that for the next guy.

Which makes the internet a wonderful place to pursue this odd goal. No one here actually knows me. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make me the object of your obsessive affection, right?

Since I don’t want to wake up one morning with my bunny rabbit boiling on the stove, I think I need to take a few precautions. I need to make sure that I can attract a stalker on my terms. There will be rules, ladies, and if you want to participate you need to abide by them.

So here’s what I’m thinking.

1. No actual crazy chicks please.
Like I said, I’m new at this. I’m not experienced enough to accommodate an actual stalker. I would probably be overwhelmed and simply ignore you. That kind of defeats the purpose.

I’m looking for someone with just a hint of crazy; enough to be willing to break common internet etiquette, but not enough to make me want to call the police. Also, crazy chicks generally lack the sense of humor needed to make this play out.

2. No tit pics.
My wife is pretty protective of my chest. Please don’t ask me for them. Or at least, don’t get pissy if I tell you no.

3. My wife must approve.
I know, that sounds a bit strange doesn’t it? But remember, she reads my blog. Actually she proof reads my blog. She’ll tolerate a certain level of intrusion, but she’s got a pretty keen sense of women’s intuition. If she thinks you might be certified crazy stalker, I’ll have to give you the “it’s not me, it’s you” speech.

4. Understand that this will eventually end.
Remember, you’ll be stalking me under my terms. Of course, the whole point of stalking is that you don’t go away when I tell you to. Just don’t take it personally when I finally do tell you to go away.

Well, what am I supposed to do? You won't answer my calls, you change your number. I mean, I'm not gonna be ignored!

Well, what am I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you change your number. I mean, I’m not gonna be ignored!

Maybe I should rethink this. Nah, let’s keep going.

5. This is about me, not you.
I know, I’m being a bit selfish here. But the point of stalking is to profess your undying love for me. I’m not really interested in hearing about your life. A small amount of personal story is fine as long as it builds towards explaining why you think I’m so wonderful.

Okay ladies, let the auditions begin. I’m not entirely sure how I go about choosing a specific stalker. If I ignore your comments, I don’t know if that is supposed to mean I’ve rejected you, or is it just a test to see how serious you are? This may be a work in progress.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I might not be very good at being stalked. I’m not good at being flirtatious, so all the good stalkers will probably decide I’m way too boring to stalk and I’ll be left with the bat shit crazies.

I suspect that the highlight of this endeavor will be watching my wife laugh at me. But I’m cool with that. This is the reaction I typically get from her for most of my great ideas.

I Guess It Is Time To Become A Porn Site

I understand that the point of advertising is to convince you audience that you have something that they need. My job is to convince my readers that there is something relevant here that they would be worse off for not seeing, or reading. You need me to improve your life, or so I tell myself.

But, there comes a point where you must accept the fact that you have to yield to your readers. The majority of my daily viewership is the Asian Pacific fetish crowd. They show up in droves daily, no doubt leaving disenchanted upon realizing that I’m actually trying to offer advice that will help them stop searching for porn.

So, dear readers, you have spoken and I have heard your cries.

Without further ado, I present for your viewing pleasure, butt naked wild Asian ass.

Wild Asian ass

Wild Asian ass

If you’re in to the MMF thing…

Asian ass threesome

Asian ass threesome

For you real hardcore gangbangers…asian ass group

If you are still with me so far, I’m hoping I lose you on this next one…asian ass pedo

Alright, so we’ve covered the Asian ass porn about as fully as we’re going to. I’m expecting this to increase my viewership at least 100%. I’ll let you know you it goes.