Thanks For The Laugh

For those who've read a good chunk of my blog, it's understandable that I don't have much reason to be thankful to my borderline ex-wife, beyond being incredibly grateful to have gotten away from her.  However, a friend sent me a link to her latest side venture.  She's become a wedding officiant.  For those who don't know (I didn't), an officiant, according to Wikipedia (yes, I got lazy on this one) is:

Secular officiants include civil celebrants, Humanist Society–appointed officiants, Justices of the Peace, marriage commissioners, notaries, and other persons empowered by law to perform legal marriage ceremonies. 

I'll remind my readers that I was husband number three and that she's gone on to marry number four.

The punchline to this entry can be found in the first sentence of her little bio.

I'll just leave it there.

Satisficing In Your Relationship

If you're in a relationship that's less than a few years old, I want you to take a look at your significant other and ask yourself what attributes he or she possesses that made you partner with them.  Being  honest with yourself, is one of them that he or she is safe?  Is one of the most appealing features of your partner that you know they won't leave you?  If so, are you living a fulfilling a relationship or are you satisficing?

Satisficing is a decision-making strategy that aims for a satisfactory or adequate result, rather than the optimal solution.  In other words, 'so long as he's stable and won't leave me, I'll partner with him.'

Don't get me wrong, security is important in a relationship; after all, none of us would eagerly partner with someone you knew would likely run like hell, when some heavy lifting was required.  But what do we sacrifice for that security?

As usual, I'll share some of my own experiences to illuminate the dynamics of dating for safety.  We'll start with my ex-wife, who I've written about before.  After I ended the marriage, she immediately jumped into the dating pool and coupled with a guy who clearly exhibited safety.  Before going any further, I'll refresh my readers on my wife's attributes that are salient to this topic, which were that she was very attractive and skilled at manipulation.  As a result, she could have had a wide choice of men.  The one she chose was mostly unemployed (he has a graphics business with no website) and demonstrated no indication of a backbone, the times our paths crossed.  My intent isn't to insult him, rather than stating facts.  She was the one in charge and was obviously the hottest piece of ass this guy had ever gotten his hands on.  In summary, this guy wasn't going anywhere; he was eminently safe.  As evidence, they've been together for over ten years, which is longer than any of her previous relationships.

I'd also previously referenced my next example, which is a woman who left me before I could leave her.  She latched the fuck onto the next guy she dated and wound up marrying him.  In her case, because we remained friends for a bit, I am well aware of the sacrifices she made.  Again, it was obvious this woman was the hottest thing he'd ever dated and was obviously not going anywhere.  She would complain to me how the guy was a mess, from the divorce he was going through, and was the stereotypical dull dude.   How uncultured he was and that he was a raging homebody (she was the opposite).  He had four of his own kids, where she had two.  Again, no insult intended, but her resentment for her own children lived just below the surface, yet she signed up for a full boat Brady Bunch?  He was gainfully employed, however. 

The one attribute these men shared was their commitment.  'Til death do us part, even if you're the cause of my imminent demise.' 

This would be all well and fine if one could accurately identify the safe ones.  In my experience, the ones who we perceive as having no better options to be the safest.  Except that's not the case.  I'll speak for men, because I am men.  You give some poor shlub an amazing, gorgeous woman who's a rock star in the sack, and he may very well begin believing he can attract other women out of his league.  Mr. Safety isn't quite as safe as you thought.  Of course, he'll realize that's not the case and come crawling back, but that's another topic.

So, look at your significant other again and ask yourself if you're satisficing.

GUMBO!!!!

Damn, I love good gumbo.  Ever since taking a cooking class in NOLA, I've endeavored to conjure some up, worthy of the respect of the 132 year old Creole lady, who taught it.  After a few batches that were close, but not quite, I nailed it.

Take a look at that nice, dark roux. 

And, the finale of some delicious (if I do say so myself) gumbo.

I'm in Heaven, even if it's still Kansas...

Vanitas, Vanitatum, et Omnia Vanitas

Recently, I engaged in an activity that, until recently, would have discounted as a non-starter.  I'm speaking of cosmetic surgery.  Surely, that sort of thing was the domain only of the vain or insecure.  Certainly nothing someone like I would engage in.  My 'brand', my value proposition as a person is built on intellect, humor, philanthropy, and being inquisitive about the world around me.  I have no need for such superficial nonsense.  Obviously, something changed my mind.

While the rest of my body remains in line with the number of years on it, less actually, my face hasn't.  Stress, genetics, who knows, but I feel as though I've aged ten years in the past three, and certainly look older than I should.  One of those reasons is that I was born with hooded eyelids.  I've always noticed them, but in the past five years, they seem to have begun a mad dash downward.  They finally reached the point where they impacted my vision and frankly, my confidence.  So I scheduled an appointment with a surgeon.  I knew having them addressed would make me look a bit younger, plus the procedure is covered by insurance.  That's a win win in my book.  Then, the surgeon explained he could do the lower lids at the same time, for less than if I were to have them done separately.  Basically, another $4k to have the bags under my eyes, which had also begun to bother me, disappear.  He also noted your brows tend to move downward, as you age.  He said it was an extra five minutes per side for him to make an incision and put in a stitch to raise them, so he'd throw that in for free.  It was a surprisingly easy decision to make.  Look noticeably younger for only $4k?  Absolutely. 

Had all of this activity been out of pocket, I doubt I'd have ever considered having either of the procedures done.   But there it was, all laid out and oh, so easy.

And so, eight days ago, I found myself on an operating table, with a surgeon slicing, dicing, burning, and throwing chemicals on the area around my eyes.  Initially, I was a bit freaked out over being conscious during the procedure (I'm quite touchy about my vision), but whatever drug cocktail they pumped into my arm was properly calming.  Still, I was completely awake.  I recall joking around with the surgeon and Larry, the anesthesia guy.  At one point, I inquired whether they'd brought in the machine that goes ping.  (Monty Python...Google it)

As one can imagine, I've been less than the ultimate example of pulchritude, post operation.  The swelling and bruising have only begun to subside in earnest over the past 36 hours or so and I feel comfortable that my appearance will no longer traumatize small children (any more than usual).  However, the results are undeniable.  While I despise selfies, I've taken a series of them to chronicle my recovery.  When I compare recent pictures to the one I took immediately prior to surgery, even with the swelling that will continue to subside, my eyebrows are lifted and the bags under my eyes are mostly gone.  Most incredibly of all my eyelids no longer hang over my eyes.  That's incredible because I still have a ton of swelling in that area; things will continue to improve!

Putting aside the vanity aspect of the procedures, did they improve my life at all?  The answer to that is a resounding 'Hell, yeah!'.  Today was the first time I left the house, during the day, where my eyes were perfectly clear and not hazed by ointments.   I took a moment, while stopped at a light, to perform a quick assessment of my vision.  Holy shit, I can see so much more!  I'd reached the point where I felt as though I perpetually had a sun visor on, limiting my vertical field of view, and that visor had disappeared.  Prior to the surgery, looking above the horizon required rotating my head, whereas now, I need only to look with my eyes.  It truly is an amazing improvement.

So, here I am on the rare occasion where my position on a subject has been significantly altered, although I still consider those who have elective cosmetic surgery to be vain.  So despite what I've always told myself, it seems I am not without some vanity of my own.  And I'm okay with that.

Out of Work Trophy Wife Encounter

Yes readers, one sneaked through my selection process and it didn't end well.  Our first interaction was through Match and she seemed intelligent, motivated, kind, and hot, but not OWTW hot.  Her profile and initial round of notes indicated she was a special needs teacher.  I'll fast forward through much of the intervening communication and provide the salient facts, since she's not really worth typing a great deal about.  We got onto the topic of sex, she wanted it, I'm a master at talking dirty and creating images, we were going to meet last night for dinner and she'd come over and begin to explore her submissive side.  I do love me some exploration.  We both seemed to want a genuine relationship and I parroted her desires, in that aspect of our communication.  I probably took it a bit further due to a combination of excitement over (seemingly) finding someone in Kansas worth dating. 

At this point, I'll mention recognizing a few red flags pointing to a potential OWTW, including how her successful, and apparently fuck nuts, attorney husband had traded her in on a younger model.

The day before our date, she went a bit dark, cutting email down to a single note.  I asked her if everything was okay, at which point she told me she thought I was pushing for something more serious than she wanted.  I responded that I had no interest in jumping into anything.  Her note made it clear she didn't accept what I'd told her.  Perhaps if I'd mentioned that there's no way in hell I want to establish anything remotely resembling roots in fucking Kansas. 

By the time our date rolled around, I knew there was no way she was coming home with me.  She arrived decked out in designer clothing and admittedly, looked quite delicious.  Dinner was full of vacuous conversation, where I learned she actually wasn't teaching, or working at all.  She was dabbling and not happy with any of her teaching options.  That one wasn't an immediate bell, because I was still determining whether I could get her in the sack.  Sorry, I'm a guy after all.  Dinner ended, with no conversation about her coming home with me, so I broached the topic.  As expected, she declined, sticking to her story of my wanting to move too quickly and how she didn't want to hurt me.  I commented that she had clearly made up her mind before coming to dinner, which she denied.  I'll come back to that.

I made the mistake of asking something to the effect of why she came to dinner, knowing she wasn't going home with me.  And she let me have it with everything she could think of: the rushing into a relationship, how she didn't like the phrasing I used in one of my notes, how I didn't apologize properly for something she felt I needed to apologize.  She was put off that I couldn't come up with any sexual fantasies, when she asked (sorry, they're not really fantasies after they've been fulfilled).  Then, she berated me for foisting fantasies onto her (except they weren't fantasies, but dirty things most other women enjoyed).  She took issue with things I'd said that I never said; those had to have come from some other guy.  On and on it went, with no end in sight.  I've had women I'd been dating for months tell me off in a shorter amount of time than this woman I'd just met.   She'd run through her list of transgressions, then circle back to the beginning, finding some new grievance to add for the next rotation.  I've never experienced anything like this!  I did everything I could think of to indicate the conversation was over, to gracefully make an exit.  I did this twice, but she wasn't losing any steam, so I wound up doing something I've never done before.  I got up and walked out on her, muttering something to the effect of 'have a nice life'.

It hit me later that all of these supposed transgressions occurred before we laid eyes on each other, so which only adds fuel to my previous query of why did she meet in the first place.  What a truly horrible encounter.

As I'm sure you can tell, I'm still angered by the whole episode, but was able to perform a post mortem on the date and finally uncover her motive for coming to dinner; the only possible motive.  She was still sexed up, from the dirty talk I'd been plying her with and was hoping I'd be more of a stud muffin than I appeared in my pictures.  At that point, she would have likely forgotten the whole 'hurting others' thing and gone home with me.  Transparent and shallow; not the things I look for in a woman.

And what pisses me off the most is I spent $30 on some fucking grapefruit flavored Absolut that she asked for me to have for her.  It's not the money, mind you, but the reminder of the bitch every time I open the freezer.  I sure as hell won't drink it.  Anyone want a bottle of nasty vodka?

A Bit About Me

Long time single, married, divorced, and dating in my late forties, I’ve learned a few things about life, relationships, and love.  After being married to a woman with undiagnosed borderline personality disorder, I’ve become sort of an amateur psychologist, which has been both a blessing and sometimes, a curse.  I’ve been blogging elsewhere, mostly for myself, but more than one person has encouraged me to write publicly.  Apparently, some people find me humorous and insightful, but what do they know…

I lived in Richmond, VA, but have reluctantly relocated to KC.  There's obviously more to me than being able to understand human behavior and being single.  I’m a successful marketing executive with a rewarding career.  I’m passionate about cooking, working with homeless dogs, and German sports cars.  All of these facets will work their way into my forthcoming posts in one way or another.  There will also be a few dirty stories, recounting a few of my most memorable encounters. (although, I'm doing less of this, because a few women I've had my most memorable encounters with read my blog)  Sometimes, my entries are just thoughts that need an outlet.  However, most of my entries will be frank examinations of issues surrounding relationships, dating, and mental health.  I've been told my writing manages to illuminate emotions that some had struggled to understand or even realize existed.  I do my best to keep my 'kimono open', sharing my own emotional challenges, when appropriate.  

All opinions and ideas expressed herein are my own.  In other words, when I consider writing about a topic, I don't read the work of others first so that I 'know what to think'.  Outside source material is only utilized in two instances.  I often incorporate material, to provide facts / statistics to topics where relevant.  Also, if there's a bit of information related to the topic of a post, but the addition of the information risks a side journey, I may link to an article on it.  For complete transparency, all outside source information will be cited and/or hotlinked, unless I'm referring to a self-evident trend validated by a dozen studies.

Fair warning to those expecting warm and fuzzy, politically correct viewpoints; you won’t find them here.  I’m blunt and share what’s on my mind, sometimes to my detriment.  I pride myself on being relevant, because I only write about topics I’m either intimately familiar with or have researched thoroughly.   Unlike some bloggers I've encountered, I do my level best to avoid self-indulgent drivel and whining, although there may be a few occasions where I do so.  But those will all be prefaced with a warning of self-indulgent content; besides, it's my blog.  Speaking of prefaces, I seem to have an affinity, so you'll see many of them.

My goal is for my readers to consider the time taken out of their day reading my blog to be well spent, or at the very least, not wasted.  In support of this goal, while writing an entry, I repeatedly I ask myself whether I'd read it, were it written by someone else.  If the answer's not a yes, the entry is either reworked or trashed.  And if I get bored writing on a topic, to the bin it goes.  If writing something bores me, how can I expect those who read it to feel otherwise.  Is there still bias in this method?  Sure, but I don't have the resources to hire focus groups, so it'll have to do.  

Some of my posts have been migrated from another venue in which I blogged.  So, I’ll apologize now if a few feel out of order in the grand scheme of things.  

In any case, I invite your comments, positive or otherwise, in the comments section or at theinsightfulbachelor@gmail.com

Safety Is Important - Flotation Devices

Well, I've reached a point where I'm back to the online dating world and have noticed something new about women in Kansas.  Damn, there are a lot of them here with implants!  These enhanced blouse bunnies are easy to spot, because chests just don't match the rest of these women's bodies.  I'm sure there are plenty of women with implants who seek a more natural look, and you'd never know without a feel test, but these women have chosen the porn star big wahwahs route.  No way you could miss those pontoons.

Giving it some thought, this trend shouldn't be much of a surprise; one of the first observations I made, viewing dating profiles, was the rather robust trade in cosmetics, here in the KC area. 

And while finding time to pen this short 'holy shit, lots of fake sweater meat here' entry, I've also encountered a bunch of women who seemingly wear false eyelashes all the time. As with many of these things, I encountered one woman in particular who had fake lashes so large, they prevented her from wearing sunglasses and smeared her windshield, which heightened my awareness to them on other women.  But even in the most casual photo, there's full makeup and accoutrements. 

I'll resist the temptation to venture further into what the dedication to bolt on's and such say about someone.  It's a woman's body and she's free to do with it as she chooses.  Perhaps it's a thing, here in flyover states.  People sure as hell don't spend their money on travel or other enrichment, so they might as well have prodigious cans.  Some major league yabos, I tell ya. 

And yes, I enjoyed working in as many euphemisms as I could in the short entry; because like most men, I'm twelve and easily amused.