Certain people have high self esteem, the rest don’t. It’s the same way certain people are beautiful and the rest… ernghhh! [loud buzzer sound].
The world seems to be horribly unfair this way, but in truth, maybe it isn’t. I’m just sayin’. Before I go off on one of my irrational tangents again (for an engineering major, it’s amazing how long it took me to actually understand the tangent principle… I guess that’s what they mean when they say “leave space for miracles”).
Talking about leaving space for miracles, a friend of mine (atypical statement for people referring to themselves in the third person to avoid embarrassment) was reminiscing lately on the good old days
(good old days is an extraction (inverse of the word contraction) of the phrase “gold days”)
I remember writing a dubious paper in prison school dubbed torture maths (a.k.a elective torture).
In the world of words that are an understatement; ‘torture maths’ reigns as supreme overlord, dictator and potentate. The math master somehow set questions that defied probability. I mean it should be impossible to score 04 (over 100, not 10) in a paper with a 40 question multiple choice section right?
No space for miracles, not a single dotted line. [Sigh] Good times, good times [blatant sarcasm].
Interestingly enough this post has nothing to do with exams. I just tangented (see me inventing new words again, a credit to my English teachers I am) to that topic as a celebration of my last university paper (God willing, lecturer not forbidding).
This post is about innocence lost. Where ‘innocence lost’ of course implies a certain level of cynicism. As a carrier of the cursed XY chromosome set, I came into the world… well… cursed.
(In a matter of speaking. Hyperbole people, it’s just exaggeration… Someone might take this literally and go all holy water and incense on me… No! Don’t be like you don’t know. You know yourself!)
The curse was simple. In the family of epic vampire and werewolf novellas, at the dawning of that phase called adolescence all arrows would point to the formerly despised XX’s and spears would begin to rattle at the slightest… y’all know what I mean.
(at this juncture I find it necessary to inform all minds to watch out for the gutter,… minds already in the gutter should please extricate themselves and follow the clearly marked neon signs to the bathroom to clean up)
The thing about human being’s only using 3% of their brains computing power is hogwash. As an adolescent, a friend of mine personally informed me, he used 25% of his brain power. The sad is, 24.9% percent of that power was furiously performing analysis of moods, actions, words and looks from the XX species. The sadder is, the brain was working a ‘cos90’ job trying to form an analysis.
I personally have nothing against the Eve-kind. Some of my best friends are of the Eve kind. It’s just that some days make me lay awake nights pondering: When the good Lord removed a rib to create Eve why did he remove the most complex one?
On the plus side, as hairless mammals we have one thing on our side…
(not opposable thumbs, thumbs are simply tool manipulators that allow modern man to engage in vital pursuits such as channel surfing and mobile gaming)
I was talking about A-D-A-P-T-A-T-I-O-N!
There is no big mystery when you try as many methods of approach as possible till you hit the jackpot (jill-pot?).
In truth, I understand very little. This vexes me because some of my close species members are of the mind that I do. I am just about as clueless as a honey badger in a wasp’s nest, or a little bit more so.
I have waded through the morass of male-female interaction based on several random interaction-reaction theories. My favorites will I now reveal to you so that you too reader, may achieve (dis)enlightenment!
One of my early favorites was the Brownian Theory. To understand the XX one must first clear the mind. Focus on his center… and give up! To apply a specific model to feminine behavior is impossible so why try, no?
This theory was inspired by the Brownian motion thingy as applied in prison-school level chemistry. If different females and their thinking are like random particle motion, the key rule is MOVE NOT! If you sit still enough for long enough, (and get enough bum-sores in the process) a random particle will bop you on the head before you know it.
Beware however, in the spirit of Brownian motion, you may never get hit (sad, sad story).
My current turn of tactic is one I would like to call the Bulletproof Monk… or more accurately the Bulletproof Idiot.
First the Idiot; one must accept his cluelessness (as done by a friend of mine) and embrace it. To deny your cluelessness is to deny yourself.
(To actually always have a clue is too much work in the first place)
Next is the bulletproof; if you’re going to get shot (down), the least you can do is wear bulletproof vest, no? A friend of mine revealed that three of his fave vests are sarcasm, cynicism and humour.
For added safety on extreme missions, layering of bulletproof vests is not only allowed, it’s a must, after all like the marines: “we take care of family” (may possibly be a misquote from the Mafia or something.)
The bulletproof idiot is much more effective than the Brownian theory. The ‘Bulletproof Idiot’ means that every time you go after someone, it’s someone you like. You don’t have to keep on evaluating random hits for dating suitability.
Theory is one thing however… wish my friend luck in his pursuit!
This article does not by either inference or similarity mean to demean any sex. Any demention (demeaning?) is totally coincidental and unintentional. Notice is also given that comedic license is in force.
No bullets, monks, ‘friends of mine’ or idiots were harmed in the making of this post.
Certified by the ISPBMFMIANE (International Society for the Protection of Bullets, Monks, Friends of Mine, Idiots and Associated Non-represented Entities)