Plenty of Shit Revisited

After returning to the dating wasteland of KC, where I met the rudest woman on the planet, I found myself with an urge to meet someone with whom I could spend time with.  There seems to be a bit of a lull, with respect to dating participation, which likely has to do with the holidays and holiday hangover.  I've been on Match and Okcupid off and on, with little success.  Plenty of Fish has been a non-starter for reasons I outline here.  Call it boredom or perhaps desperation, I decided to give it another go over the holidays.  In order to maximize the likelihood of retaining my account, I recycled nothing; completely different username, newly created gmail account, etc.  Damned if it didn't work.

Plenty of Fish has historically been a free site and commensurate member quality.  The latter hasn't changed, but like OKC, there's now an option to pay a monthly fee.  For $9.99 per month, upgraded membership offers a long list of negligible benefits.  My favorite is 'massive increase in messages', mostly because the claim isn't backed by anything so trivial as what will drive said massive increase.  You also get a gold star next to your profile, indicating you've been fleeced, I mean that you're a serious member. 

Upgraded members also have the option of only receiving emails from other upgraded members, because being conned out of $10 per month somehow demonstrates you're serious about meeting someone.  Except those members who check that box are doing themselves a disservice.  In the week or so since I've gotten back on the site, there have perhaps been three profiles out of many I've viewed where the little warning pops up about only paying members can contact this person.  Two of the three met my criteria and were of interest to me.  Except here's the bottom line - the likelihood of my tossing $10 out the window to send notes to two women who, based upon the law of internet dating averages, only have about a 10% likelihood of responding.  Except it's even lower.  My response rate on POF is abysmal.  Seriously, back in Richmond, women who didn't respond to my note on POF would show up on Match and reach out to me.

More Scammers

 While I was with my parents, prepping them for their move, I was shocked by the number of scam phone calls they received.  These were after I blocked the assholes from the original set of scams.  In the interest of payback on scammers everywhere, I did my best to have a bit of fun with the ones who called.

For example, we received a call from someone claiming to be with the Social Security Administration (actually, two different people over two days), advising that my parents' SS numbers were being used fraudulently and assets could be seized.  So, when I asked them to confirm they were with SS, I followed with rapid fire questions.

When was the Social Security Administration founded???  Under what president?  Tell me!!!

The woman went on to receive 'What are you wearing? Who's your daddy???'

A demanded the guy tell me if he sucked dick and that he sounded like a major cum chugger.

Another call was from an IT services company who said they were going out of business and were authorized to refund the $500 fee they charged (there was no service).  All I had to do was log into an account with personal information and something else that I clipped with another peppering of questions about billing history, last payment, and whether the guy sucked dick or just fucked goats in the country he lived in.  

Surprisingly, none of the people stayed on the line long.

But these are more examples of scams that the elderly could easily fall for.  My mother was actually engaging the Social Security dick sucker, before I grabbed the phone from her.  

8 Weeks in Hell; Wait, Make It 9...Someone Just Kill Me!

Now that I have a few minutes to myself, I thought I'd highlight some of the fun I've had since September.  Read previous entries to see how we got here, with me downsizing and moving my parents to Kansas.

The Move

Long story short, I did my best to juggle my professional responsibilities with getting my parents streamlined and ready to move.  I failed at both.   My parents were absolutely no help; zip, nada.  Just the opposite.  My mother wanted to take fucking everything.  And every time I brought up the little point of 'you're moving from 3,000 sq ft to 1,300, so you can't fit that', my mother's response was 'we'll find a place for it'.  

Because I couldn't fly the dog (her aerodynamics suck), yours truly made the 23 hour trip from Florida, driving said dog.  Said dog was an amazing little trooper and because of logic, she's become mine.   Didn't want a dog, but she's awesome and a great companion.   

We arrived the day before my parents were due to fly in, so I took the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, if only for one night.  (it had been over three weeks)   I collected them at the airport and the fun began, starting with me going from living in their guest bedroom to living in my own.  

The Steak

Having my parents live with me, in a word, sucked.   I'll share one story that sort of encapsulates the whole experience.   I had procured three fairly decent (the highest grade available in KC) ribeyes that I intended to grill for dinner Saturday night.  Steaks should be as close to room temperature as possible, when throwing them on the coals; gives you a nice char immediately leading to a consistent medium rare center.  So, in the morning, I pulled the steaks, threw some salt on them, sat them on the counter, and went about my business.  When I hit the kitchen, later in the day, to prep for dinner, I found the steaks conspicuously absent.  Long story short, my father put them back in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil.   I was less than pleasant to both parents over the situation, because I take grilling meat very seriously.  I tried again the next day, but the steaks had gotten too funky, after two days on the counter.

After a week of hell, their shit showed up on Friday.  As expected, the amount of shit that was packed had the apartment busting at the seams.  My mother seems to have brought roughly three large moving boxes containing expired food.   My father's health had begun deteriorating (I suspected, due to the stress and energy he was burning) and my mother is in full regalia as she reigns as the regal drama queen.  

It was with great joy that I shoved them into their semi-functional apartment on a Sunday night.  I was awoken the next morning by my mother telling me that my father's condition was even worse and he couldn't get off the floor.  Off he went in an ambulance, with me in tow, not far behind.  Long story short, he'd apparently taken a header in my house and sloshed his head sufficiently for his brain to begin hemorrhaging pretty badly.  Into surgery he went for the benchmark of complex activities, brain surgery.  By Thursday, he was better than I'd seen him in months and the hospital released him.  It was a bit early, in my opinion (and his brain surgeon), but whatever.  

At this point, I was naïve enough to think nothing else could happen.

Except, he became incontinent the first night home.  After two days of it not getting any better, you guessed it, we went back to the hospital.  By that time, I knew that place inside and out.  Anyway, they got him stabilized and sent him to a rehab hospital to finish healing and regain his strength.  Deep breath; okay, now things are going to even themselves out.  Wrong!  The fucker called me yesterday morning to pick him up from rehab, which I thought was strange that the call wouldn't come from a medical professional.  You guessed it, he discharged himself AMA (against medical advice).  We had a brief yelling match in the entry of the rehab place, where I found myself quite close to just kicking the shit out of him for being a dumb fuck.  If a nurse wouldn't have been present, all bets would have been off.  But the asshat walked out to the car and got in; should have locked it as he walked over.  Water, dams, etc. 

Sure enough, he came home and feels like shit.  My response to his pain and ailments has been 'if only you had access to a facility that had doctors and nurses to address these issues...guess you're fucked.'

On the plus side, their house is under contract, after only two weeks on the market.

I just keep looking at the prize, six months out, that is returning to Richmond.

 

The Tale of the Tardy Tawdry Tart, Part 1

Preface:  This is my first work of fiction, inspired by someone both submissive and challenged by punctuality.  When I considered a sub being late, it would only make sense it would occur toward the beginning of a relationship, when a couple enjoys the honeymoon phase.  A true Dom wouldn't tolerate habitual tardiness from his sub, for long..  What follows is not traditional BDSM material, but I think it reflects a real life engagement.  Not all of it can be hardcore action.  There will neither be additional fiction forthcoming, nor a Part 2.

And yes, I do enjoy alliteration, thank you.  

He looked in the oven for the third time in the past ten minutes, this final check confirming what he already knew; the food contained within was well and truly past its prime.  The dish wasn't something he necessarily cared for, nor were the prep techniques within his traditional skill set.  But she'd mentioned it was her absolute favorite food and he intended to surprise her; she was worth the effort.  Except, just like almost every other time they planned something together, she was late.  Not by a few minutes; it was now half past when she promised to arrive.  Ordinarily, he rolled with it, because of how lucky he felt to have her as his partner.   She was the total package of intellect, wit, and beauty; and she was a dirty girl.  They'd only been a couple, or D and s, for two months, so there were still some uncharted waters to navigate together.  He wouldn't admit to it, but he'd already fallen for her, hard.  

However, action was clearly required to break her pattern of tardiness.  Besides, she was his possession, and possessions do not show their owners such disrespect.  As he sat, stewing over the problem, pondering how he'd address the situation, the doorbell rang.  

All of the negativity evaporated when he opened the door.  Her smile never failed to brighten his day and melt his heart, just a little.  She was wearing a short, flowery yellow summer dress that straddled the line between cute and revealing.  Her auburn locks cascaded over her shoulders.  She looked amazing.  Because she was a good girl, save her ability to use a clock, panties would have been left at home.  After he closed the door, he scooped her up, wrapping her in his strong embrace.  She loved how safe she felt in his arms and he loved having her there.  

Suddenly, without preamble, he released her and stepped away.  When he turned to face her again, gone were the kind eyes in which she'd been bathing a moment ago, replaced by those that belonged to The Iceman.  She knew she'd been a bad girl and assumed the proper submissive pose of hands clasped in front of her, with her head appropriately lowered.

He spoke with without emotion.     

'Once again, you're late to arrive.  I've begrudgingly overlooked your tardiness so far, but no longer.  Tonight, I planned to surprise you with your favorite dish, which as you know has a short window in which it can be served before becoming inedible.  Needless to say, that window has long passed.  I even had the aardvark flown in fresh.  Your disregard for my time can be no longer tolerated.'

The feelings came rapid fire.  A flash of warmth from his thoughtfulness; he'd really gone to all of that trouble for me?  This was quickly replaced with guilt over squandering such a precious gift; all of the time he spent to make her happy, ruined by her.  Then the fear arrived.  Could she lose him over this?  She'd never seen him so devoid of emotion, before.  It was the fear that remained, then blossomed.

She looked up at him with genuine remorse in her eyes, resuming the role of his partner, 'Oh my god, honey.  I'm so sorry.  If I'd have known...'

Her sentiment of contrition was cut short by the withering look he gave her.  She quickly returned to her proper position and place in this portion of their relationship.  

'Sir, I am sorry for causing you such trouble.  My behavior has been completely unacceptable.  If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise it won't happen again.'

She dropped to her knees in order emphasize the sincerity of her supplication,  

'You are my possession, confirmed by the necklace you wear, symbolizing your submission.  Do you acknowledge this to be true?'

'Yes sir, I belong completely to you for you to do with me as you wish.'

'And I have upheld my portion of the arrangement, correct?  You are properly taken care of and your journey of pleasure has lived up to your expectations?'

'Yes, sir.  It's so much more than I could have imagined.'  

'Then it's time you began to act accordingly and show your owner proper respect by arriving in a punctual manner.  After all, what would happen if the other members of The Fraternal Brotherhood of Dominants, Chapter 5 caught wind that their president was allowing his property to behave with such disrespect?  I'd receive a vote of no confidence before I knew what happened.  Everyone over there wants to be in charge as it is.'

She struggled to maintain a straight face, but his injection of humor caused her to breathe a sigh of relief.  It was a signal that his affection for her remained constant.  His ability to make her laugh was one of the things that she found most attractive about him.  

'At first, I considered a more traditional course of discipline, involving the paddle I recently purchased. However, after consideration, I find such punishment to be lacking in finesse and may not actually deter you from future transgressions.  In fact, you may enjoy such corporal punishment a bit too much.  In fact, I bet your sex just gushed a bit at the thought of me spanking your hot little ass.'

With that, he stepped forward and reached up under her dress, briefly admiring her rock hard nipples attempting to pierce the fabric.  She gasped in surprise when she felt him roughly pawing at her sex.    He withdrew his hand and examined his fingers in an almost detached manner, as though lost in his own thoughts.

'Drenched...', he said in a borderline derisive tone.  'Just as I suspected.'

'Do you know how to modify a dog's behavior to prevent it from jumping up on you?  Not by punishing it, but by not giving it the one thing it wants most when it jumps...you.  So, you hook the dog's leash to a solid object and beckon the dog over to you.  If the dog jumps, you turn away and move just out of the leash's radius.  You take away its reward, you.  If the dog doesn't jump, you remain in place and praise it and it eventually learns the behavior to receive its desired reward'

God, he was talking about training her like a dog.  She knew she should be offended, but at the same time, she couldn't deny her arousal toward the thought.  It was as close to complete objectification as she'd been taken.  She'd been a bad girl and deserved whatever treatment her owner meted out.  This man knew how to push buttons she didn't know existed within herself and she'd come to trust him implicitly, as a result.  He could do anything he wanted to her and she'd willingly comply.  His voice snapped her back to the present.   

'In order to ensure your behavior is well and truly modified, you'll be treated accordingly.'

She looked up and saw he had a collar and leash in his hand.  Again, with any of her previous lovers, she'd have yelled the safe word, called him a pig, and walked out the door.  Except now, she just thought of how she truly was becoming his possession and it made her feel warm inside.  She leaned forward to make it easier for him to fit the collar.

After affixing the collar to her dainty neck, he took a step back, leash in hand, and spoke again.

'What was the one thing you were looking forward to most, coming over tonight, beyond enjoying my winning personality and charm?  Perhaps for me to subject you to the same treatment as I did a few nights ago?  You told me you'd never passed out from an orgasm before.  Was that what you wanted tonight?'

He'd proved over and over that he could make her orgasm at will, but hold her on the brink, if he desired.  She loved when he demanded she beg for her release.  She always felt like a used dishrag, when he was done with her.  The memory set her whole body ablaze.  

'Well?'

She bit her lower lip a bit and said, 'You know I want that, sir.  You have the videos showing how turned on I was for you the whole week.  I tried to be a good girl.'   

'Hopefully, you'll have fond memories of the pleasure I brought you, because tonight, you'll go without.'

He was withholding sex?  She wondered if he wasn't the man she thought he was, after all.  Withholding sex was petty; something an insecure little boy does.  Worst of all, withholding sex was flat out lazy and lacked imagination.

'Lest you think you'll escape so easily, your hot little body will still receive copious amounts of attention and pleasure from me, just no closure, if you will.  Tonight will be all about denying those things you most want.'

With that, used the leash to guide her into the bedroom.    

'Remove your dress and lay down on the bed.'

His voice remained as cold as ice, so she quickly complied. 

'Hands.'

She quickly found herself restrained to the bed, both arms and legs firmly anchored, unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction.  

Once she was bound in place, he blindfolded her.  One of the most intense sexual experiences of her life began with him taking the same actions.  She was completely at his mercy and, oh God, could he see her literally dripping for him?  Of course he could see the wetness glistening on her bare pussy and the small spots materializing on the sheet as it dripped. 

The blindfold not only added a level of suspense for her, it also prevented her from seeing the look of absolute desire on his own face.  This amazing woman never failed to stoke his own inferno of lust and he wanted nothing more than to devour her.  She needed to be taught a lesson, but this truly was the case of being more painful for him than for her.  

With his possession properly secured, he left the room to give final considerations to his course of discipline.

High Praise

 Someone from my past reached out to me recently and gave me the most genuine, if head swelling, compliment.  I've previously written about her in the epic, thrilling posts The Reference Fuck, and Cum On My Tits, A Love Story.  We were talking the other night and were both feeling a bit frisky, so there was a bit of play.  I directed her to touch herself in the ways I knew she liked and said horrible things to her.  The compliment came in the chat after.  

She told me that I had taught her more about her body and what brings her the most pleasure than she ever could have been able to on her own.  

It was certainly nice to hear, considering I can feel my skills atrophy more by the day, here in Kansas in a pandemic.  Here's hoping you're lucky enough to be learning more about your partner's body, this weekend.

For The Love of Dog

Those who've read my earlier posts know I'm a huge dog lover.  I had dogs growing up, all the way until my marriage ended.  While I haven't had a dog of my own for the past decade, I got my dog fix volunteering at the Richmond SPCA.   If you've read my most recent posts, you know that I've taken in my parents' dog.  Sadie is a catahoula mix and white as the driven snow, with these amazing blue eyes.  And she's quite literally saved me.  

And I get that I sound as though I've discovered something that was obvious to everyone else and should have been obvious to me.  That some readers are making goofy faces and saying 'Duh!'.  Obviously, I'm going to explain, or this would be a pointless entry.

Again, if you've read some of my more recent posts, you know I've had some incredibly challenging times with my parents, recently.  Being an only child, single, and in a strange land, I've been forced to shoulder the burden alone.  While my Iceman mask remains unmelted and I really am quite adept at dealing with things and moving on, I'd be some sort of sociopath (okay, a worse one) to not feel a bit untethered, battered, and alone.

Even before my parents imploded, the solitude imposed by the pandemic had induced mild circling that ultimately leads to the death spiral of mental health.  

Every day, Sadie reminds me what unconditional love feels like and I've smiled more since becoming her daddy than in the previous three years combined.  I've never had a dog who wants nothing more than to be close to me.  To make that easier for her, I bought her a second bed that I put in my office.  Her favorite thing in the world is when I get on the floor with her, so she can snuggle and receive copious amounts of pets.  She's the most affectionate dog I've ever had.  Every time I lean down to pet her, she responds as though I'd been gone for a week, even if it's only been 10 minutes.  As you can see in the picture below, she also considers my doing pushups in my gym downstairs as the perfect opportunity to snuggle.  

At the moment, Sadie is snoring away in her crate, a few feet from my kitchen table, where I'm typing this.  And I wouldn't give her up for the world.

Submission

 I'm blatantly stealing this from another blogger, who discovered it elsewhere, but it was too on point not to share.  

Seven Figure Scam

 Thankfully, almost no one who reads this knows my true identity, which I guess is sort of the purpose here.  That anonymity allows me to share shit that's quite embarrassing.

Ultimately, this one will include a life lesson, followed by a complete rant.  I'm breaking it into two entries to make it less of a hump to read.  Buckle in for a bumpy ride.

My father in a nutshell - really fucking smart, emotionally stunted, and a drunk.  He was a well educated professional and rose from essentially being a clerk up to the C suite.  He and my mother have been in Florida for about a decade, living in their exclusive gated community.  My relationship with him hasn't always been great, due to the second and third trait I listed above.  The last few times I visited, something about him seemed off, as though his mind was losing its sharpness.  But I figured it was because he was drunk most of the time...was it alcohol or the onset of dementia?

About a year ago, I received an email from him indicating he and my mother needed to come live with me, because they were out of money.  It seems he had lost most of his retirement savings in a investment scam around real estate in Turkey.  I got on a plane and found he had just enough to stay in their home.  I also made a point of finding out exactly how he had been scammed and was flabbergasted.  Every bit of 'official' communication came from the common email domains starting in Y and G.  This included the heads of state banks in Turkey and UAE.  Once they hit him once, they kept hitting him with stories about how his money had been found and all he had to do was send even more money to get it back.  And he blindly sent them over $750k.  These fuckers screamed amateur hour.  In one instance, my father asked about an email he supposedly received from the Murat Çetinkaya, the governor for Turkey's central bank.  Aside from it coming from one of the email domains I mentioned, a quick search found that dude had been sacked by Erdogan two months prior.  I couldn't fathom how my father couldn't recognize this shit for what it was, prima facie.  

Anyway, I left from our visit and hit him hard with the message of don't give any more money to these people, which he agreed.  Since then, I'd been asking him regularly if he'd been in communication with the scammers and he promised that he wasn't.  My mother was convinced otherwise and told me so.  But her mental acuity isn't exactly stellar, along with her physical health.  Plus, this was at the beginning of COVID, so I wasn't about to jump on a plane.  Until I got another email about a month ago.  You guessed it, his alcohol induced early dementia self sent what money he had left to the scammers and he was about to be homeless...again.  He wound up giving seven figures to scammers!!!

While the scammers had gotten slightly more sophisticated, they were still amateur hour.  There was an investigator from Interpol on the case, Dustin Scott.  However, our boy Dustin was also communicating via the same G email platform and writing using the exact same syntax / vocabulary as the other goat fuckers.  Oh, and he was also receiving communication from Nuno Matos, the CEO of HSBC UK, you guessed it, same syntax and vocabulary.  Numbnuts sent a statement showing the balance in my father's account.  Except any moron could look at the document and immediately tell it was bullshit.  No bank, outside of perhaps some third world country, puts the CEO's picture on statements.  Even more so, they don't spell his name wrong on said statement.  

So, I jumped on a plane and did what I needed to do.  This may sound callous, but fuck my father.  His dementia is the result of his unwillingness to quit drinking.  I rode him pretty hard, asking him repeatedly in what universe did he think he was going to get his money back by sending them more money.  Going through the communication, the goat fuckers were even trolling him.  One piece of comms from HSBC came from Lisa Simpson.  Oh, they also threw a woman into the mix, who he sent $30k for a diamond ring because he said he loved her.  Now, this is a sensitive topic for me, because a few years ago, my father drunkenly admitted to having a ten year affair with a family friend.  So, my father is essentially a scumbag, on top of a drunken moron.  You may sense some displeasure with this situation on my part.  Well, there's a fuck ton of it.

I'll conclude Part 1 with the life lesson, which is if you suspect one of your family members of dementia, take action.  I should have taken over the finances after the first three quarter of a mill, but a) I figured the fuck tard had learned his lesson and b) he would have fought me tooth and nail.

It's a lovely fucking life, isn't it?

Some Marketing Advice for Online Merchants

Dear Online Merchants,

As a marketing professional and consultant, I'm regularly baffled by what many of you consider as acceptable engagement and retention practices toward your current and prospective customers.  Most are abysmal, which is putting it nicely.

I suggest each of you visit your website and discover for yourself how potentially aggravating most of your sites are.

Lately, I've seen a disturbing trend on suppliers' websites and it pisses me off both as a consumer and marketing professional.  Upon entering their websites, merchants will immediately accost you. Popups that scream 'Sign up for our email newsletter!'  'Chat with an expert now!'  If this is my first visit to your site, in what world would I want to sign up for your newsletter?  I want to know if you have what I want and the garbage you're throwing on my screen makes that act longer than it need be.  If I'm searching for an automatic iguana washer and you only have manual versions, I certainly don't want your newsletter.  What I want is to view a clear, comprehensive site, complete with all of the information for me to consider making a purchase decision.  

If I do need to chat with an expert and you've badgered me to do so, have a damned expert on the other end.  The few times I've actually engaged an 'expert', I've known more about the product than they did, mostly because I've already read the less than complete user manual on your site, which is his only source material.  I've had an expert tell me the product was compatible with an accessory I wanted to use with it, when in fact, it wasn't.  Fortunately, I didn't believe what I was being told, and it ended well.  No thanks to the 'expert'.

Email Engagement

Once someone has consented to receive emails from you, don't make them regret it.  How do you accomplish that goal?  First, let's talk about frequency of engagement.  Start by performing an honest self-assessment of how frequently your customers want or need your product / service.  Is your product a luxury or a necessity?  Do customers frequently make impulse buys of what you offer?  How many other options exist for customers in your product space?  Okay, you got it?  Keep that in the back of your mind; we'll return to it later. 

Before we discuss optimal frequency of email engagement, let's go over the different types of email you'll consider sending.  First are the emails that do nothing other than remind customers you exist and sell things they said they were interested in.  There's no need to share anything particularly earth shattering in  the 'hey, we're here' emails.  It's a free pass to lack exciting content.  But don't do that.  If a contact has consented to receive email marketing from you, they should feel as though opening your email was time well spent.  

The second type of email is the announcement.  This can be a new product, a sale, a new service, free donuts, etc.  Information on how to get the most out of your product is a great way to engage, too.  

Let's return to the earlier exercise and using what conclusions you made about your own product or service, let's start with determining how frequently you should remind your contacts that you exist.  Say, how many times per year.  Now, take that number and divide by four.  There is absolutely no reason to remind contacts you exist more than once or twice (at the maximum) per month, unless you've got an effective Covid vaccine.  

Announcements can be as frequently as you have something new to share.  These are the emails where you'd damned well bring some value to the recipient.  That means don't announce you 'Now have iguanas in stock!' if you've never run out of them.   And don't make the mistake of fabricating savings, by portraying something as being on sale, when you're just highlighting your everyday price.

All of this may seem to be common sense, but the number of times I've had to opt out of receiving emails says otherwise.  One of my favorite brands of men's shoes put me on their list, after my making a purchase from them.  They proceeded to send me an email every damned day, reminding me they had shoes, nothing more.  Same with an online seller of liquor.  I received three fucking emails per day, but they couldn't tell me when my order was going to ship.

There's one final type of marketing email to cover.  That's the one that encourages you to give another look at something you'd viewed on their site.  DON'T EVER SEND THIS TYPE OF EMAIL.  Speaking as a consumer, if I had any interest in purchasing that item, I'd already be aware you have it.  Receiving an email of this type serves only to peg my spam meter and often results in my making my purchase from another vendor, who doesn't send me these sorts of communication.  If you're some sort of twisted sociopath and feel you must send this email, offer the recipient some sort of motivation to come back and buy it.  Something like 10% off if you buy this item in the next hour.  The companies I receive these emails from don't offer any inducement for me to return to their site and their emails smell of desperation.  'Please come back and give us money!'

Ultimately, you need to ask yourself one question before sending another email and that is "what value am I bringing to the recipient, when I send them this email?"

I would suggest some of you take the time and effort you expend on spamming inboxes and channel it into creating a world class customer experience.

Sincerely,

SR

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.