Innovation at Plenty of Shit

Plenty of Fish The website has been a previous target of my ire and continues to innovate in ways to raise it.  If I've not previously mentioned it, I was finally able to create an account on the site and not have it deleted fifteen minutes later.  Like other free dating sites, there's now a premium service option, where you pay and receive some sort of benefits.  No clue what they are, since communicating is still free and I don't care enough to investigate.  As usual, I have an opinion and that is those who pay for a free dating site are ripe targets for fleecing.  

One of the new features available to both the fleeced or unfleeced, is the option to check a box that prevents the unfleeced from contacting you.  The site attempts to convince you that they're more serious about finding a partner.  My position is do you really want to date someone who's dim enough to pay for a free site?  And besides, am I really going to pay for a service in the hopes the one person I'm interested will even respond?  Nah.  In any case, I've run across a few who've not unchecked the box and pass them by.  No one's been that irresistible.  That's where the site shows how slimy it's become.

Like every dating site, there's some way to 'like' another user.  You'll receive a little notification someone liked you and they show up in your matches.  Until I hid my profile, I was receiving a growing number of likes from really beautiful women.  I'd click on them and immediately got the pop up saying this member only receives messages from those who've been properly fleeced.  Hmm...something's not quite kosher, but I can't put my finger on it.  LOL

I'm sure you can fill in the blanks from there.  

On a semi-related note, Okey Cupie has updated their site / app again and achieved the pinnacle of making it completely unusable.  No longer can you just do a basic search for people in your area, within an age range.  You're forced to search by interests or some shit.  Oh, and of course, they want to fleece you as well.  Not surprising, considering they're both owned by the same company.

Of course, at this point in time, fleeced or unfleeced, ain't no one worth the risk of infection.

And that's the dating scene in 2020.

Be Very Very Quiet

This entry has zero to do with dating or sex, but it's cool stuff and keeping my shelter in place mind off of dating, sex, and my hatred of the Midwest.

I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice to say one of my work friends is an evil enabler, when it comes to things that go bang.  My current stop on the train to a permanent spot on the government's watch list is Silencer City.

Late last year, I purchased my first silencer.  Cool, right?  For a gun guy it is, so humor me.  What's not so cool is I still can't take it home.  You see, once you've purchased and paid for your adorable tube of quiet, the ATF must still approve that purchase, so, your little black cylinder of joy sits 'in jail' until the that happens, which can be up to a year.  I'm at 188 days, not that I'm keeping track.  (Update:  the total wait time was ultimately 352 days.)I own the silencer and can use it at my dealer's shooting range; I just can't take it home.  Shortly after my second conjugal visit, I discovered that you can legally build your own silencer.  The best part is that the associated ATF approval for that only takes about 30 days.  Well, why didn't you tell me!?

You may be thinking you need your own machine shop to fabricate one of these little gems, but it's amazingly simple.  There are devices called solvent traps, which are tubes that screw onto the end of your barrel during cleaning, and are designed to catch excess solvent and cleaning patches.  They have little dividers and chambers to maximize the amount of material they can hold.  But when you drill a hole through the center of the solvent trap and through the dividers, it becomes a silencer.  There's quite a bit more to it than that, but nothing that can't be done with a drill press and a Dremel.  And like most hobbies, there's a very active online community that you can lean on for advice.  

So, off I went.  I've designed and built two silencers, so far, and am waiting on ATF approval for two more.  God bless the ATF.  Each and every silencer application, officially known as a Form 1, requires a background check, submitting two sets of finger prints, and a $200 tribute to the crown.  Once approved, you receive a tax stamp (it literally is a stamp) for the silencer you want to build.  With that in hand (or in your email), it's time to break out the tools.  Should you drill prior to receiving your stamp, you are committing a felony.

The best part is that if you've done your homework,  you'll wind up with a can that outperforms ones you can buy off the shelf.  That is, if you design for a particular application.  For example, my first silencer was designed to be used solely for subsonic 300 Blackout, and it's damned good.  The loudest thing you hear is the rifle's bolt cycling.  

And now, the Q&A:

Do silencers really work as well as in the movies?  In a word, No.  A silencer will decrease the level of sound created by a gun shot, but it won't eliminate it.  This is particularly true with higher powered rounds, which still require hearing protection, while using a silencer.  Plus, there's the noise of the gun cycling, as I mentioned.  One of the folks I know measured the sound of a bolt cycling at 112 decibels; about as loud as a jackhammer, which is not quiet.

Why would you need a silencer?  I'll admit my primary reason for wanting to own a silencer is because it's fucking cool (for a shooting enthusiast).  I'd be lying through my teeth if I claimed to not to have felt a little James Bond ish, when I threaded a silencer onto a gun, the first few times.  There are also legit benefits to using these devices.  If, heaven forbid, you have to use your gun to defend your home against an intruder, you either suffer permanent hearing loss or use a silencer.  They also protect your hearing, when shooting at the range.  High power rifles are really loud that hearing protection (plugs, muffs) can only do so much; I had a mild ringing in my right ear after a recent session.  A silencer attenuates the sound enough to make them safer; you'll still want to wear hearing protection, though.  

Why would I want to build a own silencer?  Because You.Can.Build.Your.Own.Silencer.  Plus, as I mentioned above, you can frequently achieve better results versus commercial offerings.  They're lighter, too, because we tend to build everything out of titanium.  It may seem unusual, but some people make a hobby out of it.  

Once I finish my last two suppressors, I'll be departing Silencer City.  It's been a fun hobby, but it's not inexpensive.  The can I mentioned above cost me $640, not including the $200 tax stamp.  

When This Is Over...When Is This Over?

The pandemic has caused us to behave in a way that's so atypical for most people.  Everyone wants this to be over, obviously to end the suffering and death, but to get the hell out.  Most everyone longs to break from the confines of their homes and interact with friends, family, lovers, and so on. 

I've read and heard so many sentiments, from people, regarding what they're going to do when this is over.  Road trip, begin dating, having sex with whomever I want, pursue a life long love of curling, raise pangolins in the Belgian Congo.  The list goes on.

But when is this over?  When do you emerge from your bunker and resume life?

If you're waiting for someone to broadcast an ALL CLEAR, you'll be waiting for some time.  That will take an effective vaccine to be developed and distributed, which is at least a year out.  Until then, you can count on the sociopath in chief to bungle the response, with the infections and deaths flowing from peak to peak.  He'll likely screw the pooch on getting a vaccine to the populous, as well. 

Countries with competent leaders thought they'd contained the virus and allowed a slow reopening, only to have to shut things back down, when the number of cases began to surge again. 

And the virus has become a nasty fucker, killing people without them exhibiting symptoms and attacking beyond the respiratory system. 

So, when is it over for you?  At what point will you attempt to resume some sort of normal life?

Is your decision tied to an infection or death rate dropping to a certain level?  Perhaps, it's a mental barrier, where you say 'fuck it, those fucking pangolins are calling!'

Personally, I'm nowhere near that point and won't be any time soon.  And I truly feel for those who's lives have been upended and lost their incomes.  My stylist texted me yesterday, telling me her salon was reopening and could she book an appointment for me on the 24th.  Oh hell no.  I told her I'd pay for an appointment, but not show. 

So when is it really over for you?

Fuck Me Harder And...Put in a Happy Little Tree

In trading notes with the remaining ex, who recently resurfaced, she reminded me of one of the most amusing moments we had in bed.

It was a Saturday afternoon and we were relaxing to an episode of Bob Ross.  We apparently began to feel frisky and after pausing Bob, we found ourselves in the heat of passion in my bedroom.  I had a first floor master, so the living room was just outside the master bedroom.  Anyway, as I'm thrusting deep inside her, her nearing her next orgasm, Bob Ross begins to talk about putting in happy little trees.  The DVR I had would only pause for 20 minutes, then resume playing.

I rolled off of her, both of us laughing hysterically about our sexplay being interrupted by Bob Ross.  Needless to say, I went out and properly shut Bob down, before returning to complete my mission.

A Herd of Exes

At some point, over the past few weeks of lock down, I recall seeing something on social media on a trend of people reaching out to reconnect with their exes.  I quickly dismissed it, because it's just not something I would do.  That's not to say I wouldn't like to reconnect.  With the exception of those like the thing that wouldn't leave and borderline ex-wife, I still respect the hell out of most of those I've been intimate with.  Unfortunately, these are also the women who I was unable to give them what they wanted from me.  Trust me, I miss interacting with a few of my previous partners and had tamped impulses to reach out, before the quarantine. But the last thing I want to do is dredge up feelings they've hopefully put in their little boxes.  Causing others pain because of my own selfish motives isn't something I can allow myself to do.  I just wish that someone would tell the ones I miss about the selfish thing.

This evening marks the third woman, who lives on the above list, to reach out.  Two immediately ghosted me, one remains present and in communication. 

How many exes have you reconnected with, during the lockdown?

Down in Flames Part II - The Insightful Bachelor Bares His Soul

This afternoon, I connected with Number Four's mother and we spent two hours chatting.  I think she needed the conversation as much as her son needs my advice.  I filled in the gaps where she had been stuck at 'something just isn't right'.  Long story short, borderline doesn't change its stripes.  If anything, it's worse for Number Four, because it seems as I suspected, the ex has added narcissistic personality disorder to her mix.  She's essentially a more sophisticated Donald Trump, with boobs and no legs.

We cleared up a number of lies that have been told about me and confirmed certain suspicions I had at the time of my divorce.  Even the most independent soul appreciates some occasional validation.  The conversation provided validation for her as well.  There were a few chuckles over the blatant manipulation tactics my ex continues to use and it made me feel good to be able to provide some guidance that'll minimize the damage to Number Four, his mental health, and bank account.  Unfortunately, the call also broke my heart.

I've likely mentioned it in another entry, but when borderlines have more than one child, one becomes the 'white' child and a another, the 'black' child.  The white child can do no wrong and is the apple of their mother's eye.  The other child rarely does anything right and never feels unconditional love; their childhood is a series of loyalty tests.  In most cases, the black children become borderlines, themselves.  I knew nothing of this when I met my wife, but it was impossible to miss how she favored her son over her daughter.  In an effort to balance the situation, I made a point of showing Alexandra consistent, unconditional love.  She was my golden haired princess and I was both her fiercest protector and biggest cheerleader.  The two of us were thick as thieves.  But as she grew into her teens, our relationship became a bit rocky.  I continued to do my level best to be the constant in her life, but it was tough.  She had already begun to exhibit what I now know to be borderline tendencies and was frequently just out of control.  We had some contact after the separation, where I begged her to get into therapy, offering to choose a therapist and pay for her treatment.  Her mother had thrown her out, so I even offered to support her living expenses.  All she needed to do was go in with an open mind.  She wound up breaking contact shortly after, not managing to go to a single session.  Worth noting is my ex made it more attractive to the kids not to have contact with me, so we completely lost touch.  No, that didn't hurt at all or become one of the few topics I refuse to talk about any further than what you've just read.

Anyway, I still kept tabs on the kids via social media.  Alex went on to drive urban revitalization in our hometown, open two thrift shops, get married, and was named a woman in business to watch.  I was so proud of her and overjoyed that she seemed to have broken the cycle.

During my conversation with Number Four's mother, she told me that the Alex she knows is what she can best describe as angry.  She said she lies and manipulates almost as much as her mother, if not to the same level of sophistication.  Learning that completely broke my heart.  She's the innocent, the baby, and she's had no one to protect her who understands what she's really been through.  It's a fucking tragedy and a fucking crime.

Now, if you'll be so kind, I need to see about pulling a knife out of me...

Marriage Number Four Down in Flames!

For those who've muddled through my previous entries, you're aware of how my ex-wife is the gift that gave and has kept on giving.  From the manipulation, to the throwing of the ham, to the hell she put me through in our divorce, marrying hubby number four, and the piece de resistance, becoming a wedding officiant.  I thought that she was done, hoped she was done because I genuinely hold no ill will toward her and want her to be happy, because she's got more than her fair share of demons to contend with.  But I was optimistic because she and Number Four have been together for ten years, a new record for her.  I thought of her the other day and wondered if she'd finally gotten it together.

Then today, my father called to inform me that Number Four's mother reached out to him.  Apparently, the marriage is on its last leg and circling the drain, and NF wanted to know what divorce attorney I'd used.  I can only speculate that my ex complained about how much of a bastard the guy was, hence his desire to go with the same formula.  My attorney has no love lost for my ex, partially because she was trash talking him to his (unbeknownst to her) daughter at a cocktail party.  Oops...  Maybe he'll offer a discount; she is a repeat defendant after all.

I feel for the guy, because everyone who knows him has nothing but praise for how kind and goodhearted he is.  But as I've noted before, you have to be pretty naive and more than a little dense to sign up to be Number Four in the first place.  Poor guy is about to enter a living hell, when he asks for a divorce and no one deserves that.  I'm hoping to connect with him before he pulls the trigger, so he can at least be a little prepared for the firestorm that's about to engulf him.


All part of life's rich pageant, my friends.  Thankfully, I'm not on the stage as one of the players, this time.