Saturday, July 31, 2010

First Horse Ride

Have you ever ridden a horse? Horses are an amazing animal. They have evolved with humans and are on the cusp of domestication. There are wild horses, tamed, broken, and stallions. They're strong, huge, muscular, fast animals...and they are our friends. I don't believe we would've gotten to the point this society is without them.

And yet, there are people afraid of them; and I'm going to get racist here. Inner city blacks are afraid of horses; deathly afraid. I went through treatment with these thugs that would shoot you as much as look at you and they could not walk up to a horse. They cried and begged not to be near the horse.

Okay, let me explain the situation. Part of our alcohol treatment was equestrian. We were tasked to lead horses around to accomplish some menial task; I psychological test, sort of get your mind out of the way and do what's in front of you. All the inner city black guys couldn't fucking walk up to the horse. I swear, their shorts got brown. They were excused. To this day, I do not understand the connection.

However, in Mexico, I rode my first horse...and it was amazing. This was before Alison M. and I were married. We were on vacation in Puerto Vallarta. There was a boating trip to some remote area that we found interesting. I don't remember the name of it, but it was remote. Although being part of the mainland, you had to get to it by was that remote. I didn't even realize how remote it was until I took flight.

I was drunk (go figure) and chose to para-sail. They strapped me up and hooked me to a rope connected to a small boat. Before I knew it, I was yanked up 100 feet above the ocean, and climbing. The salt-air was blowing in my face and all fear of heights had instantly gone away...I was too high to care. Then, I looked around, and found the beauty of Mexico. The sky was clear; I could see for miles. I'm not talk a few miles...I'm talking all of them. I mean I could see the curvature of the Earth. It was so cool.

And then a calm came over me...all fear of heights gone. And I started to look around. I look back towards the shore...and all I saw, for miles and miles, was trees...beautiful fucking trees. And then I knew why we had to take a boat trip here. There's just no other way to get here.

Then I look down. Twenty dolphins swimming just under me, in clear blue water. And they were directly below me weird is that? It was so sweeet! I'll never forget that experience.

So, I landed and Alison chickened out. But, we then rode up the the falls.

We have to ride horses up to these falls. They are on cliffs and are very dangerous. Alison rode a donkey and rode a horse. Before we mounted, she notices the fucking three foot long dong on this mule...I've never seen a dick so long. I guess he was in heat.

I'm getting off my story. The man that gave me the horse told me he is, "a little wild". So, I used all my readings about horses to try to control him...which was little: squeeze the leg, pull the rains, talk to it. He didn't listen. I feared for my life. We walked up those cliffs near far drop offs. I gave my fear over to his ability to navigate those cliffs. He knew what he was doing; I'm sure he'd done it a dozen times before.

It was the ride down that was fun. I think he sensed that I was a control freak. When we finally got to the clearing, I'd squeezed my legs against his chest, whipped his rains, and yelled, "Charge!". It was like what he was waiting for all day long. That fucking bronco heaved up and started to run. I've never felt so much muscle between my legs (and I'm saying that in a gay sense.)

But, I remembered my training. Be in sync with the horse. So, as his ups and downs came, I adjusted...and we rode. I'm not talking just riding, he wanted to run fast. So we ran fast, and I just leaned into it. And I kept calling, "Yah, yah", and he fucking took off like a rocket. It was like him and I were one.

I can understand why people own horses...they're beautiful animals.

I wish I was back on that beach. Those people live so much simpler lives than us. They're happy.

I miss that beach.

-- Without Wax

Friday, July 30, 2010

Without Wax

Originally uploaded by Incognita Nom de Plume
Sincerely Sober/Without Wax I will explain later.
I have so many things spinning around in my head; I just want to get them out.
First of all, I want to thank those who have added supportive comments.
Spinning is one way of gaining control. You can spin out of control, yes. However, early in WWI flying dog-fights, pilots learned that when their plane was spiraling downward, trying to turn out of the spiral failed. But, turning into the spiral took them out of the death spiral. It's counter intuitive, like jumping into an incoming wave. Many young beginner swimmers run away from a crashing wave at a beach. But, surfers know that if you run towards the wave and dive right into the base of the wave, you'll end up popping up on the high end of the wave, just behind it...instead of getting clobbered by it.

I need to learn when it is appropriate to drink and when it is not. I blame not having parents, I really do. Dad died at 15 (my age); mom died then too. Can you image, all of the sudden, not have any parental guidance at 15? Add to that, I'd just gotten to know my dad (that's another long story). I have to become my own dad now.

Without Wax is taken from the Dan Brown novel: Digital Fortress. It is the Spanish translation of sincere. Breaking it down, cere is the Spanish word for wax. Sin is "without". Sin was translated to san; I forget how. It is close to sans serif, the type font. Serifs are those extra parts on a letter in a fonts that add style. Sans serif is technically, without extras. So, fonts like Arial, are simple, without extras. But, Without Wax means much more. It's about being honest.

Side note: Without Wax/Sincere was mentioned obscurely in Dan Brown's last novel, The Lost Symbol. Evidently, Robert Langdon (the main character in that series {The DeVinci Code}) had read an obscure reference in a 'boring novel' by some unknown author (his character's author, of course) to the connection between the word sincere and without wax. That's how he solved that pyramid puzzle; boiling the wax and all. All right, you'd have to read both novels to get it. Anyway...and by the way, you'll notice my blog predates the Lost Symbol novel, so the term Without Wax gains a little bit more notoriety.

When sculptures cut marble into beautiful works of art they sometimes make mistakes. They'd chip off a little bit more than they'd intended. Since wax was the same color as marble, they'd often cover up their flaws with wax. The end product would look exactly as one would know the difference, except the artist.

A sincere sculpture is one without wax.

In being anonymous with my telling of when I'm sober and when I'm drinking, I'm still not violating my oath to readers. I can say anything here because of that. I can be myself, yet I cannot be identified. That has it's pluses and minuses. This is my most visited website, but I can't use it to spring-board off of, because it would identify me.

I am drinking as I write this. I've planned this weekend to drink out some anger. There's nothing better than drink AT someone (yah, that'll show them).

But, I have to tell you; I initially wrote this blog as a way to write letters to June W. I really didn't even realize that until after the first year of doing so. And when she found this blog, she printed ever page of it. I'd thought that was it; she'd fallen back in love with me!

What a putz! She'd just become yet another cougar with a hot tub.

But, I like this place. I get to say anything I want, whatever comes to mind, without hurting anyone or myself (I always use aliases of real people in my life). The gossip you read is of real people, but always disconnected from their real names.

Next: How to find a woman that accepts my current life style. Either that or write a crime novel.

-- Without Wax

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

4th Step

Fourth Step

After a week of sobriety, I thought about doing the fourth step. I can’t, I just can’t. It is too deep of a well to explore. I’ll never get out of it sane. And no fifth step will ever convince me that these regrets will magically disappear.

I know this journey is supposed to produce a better human being. And I know that I’ve been a pretty selfish being; sometimes human (well, half-human). The root of my character defects is that I am selfish. That is the one thing that June W. and I still have in common. It’s probably what attracted us to each other. I know, pretty sad.

I don’t want to be selfish any more. Yet, I have little to give. Everything is gone. I am working on the selfish flaw; I have been for the last five years. June could see that. That first time we got together after I’d been sober for nine months, I could see the feelings inside her. She was envious that I had a break from the rat-race to re-evaluate myself. I think she could see that I’d lost the lust for greed; that was something we had in common. That was a drive that took our careers in so many wrong directions.

But, she saw so many more changes in my character. She at least saw that I’d become a different person, hopefully better. I think I have become a better person over the last five years, although my bank statement would beg to differ.

I can say this for sure: I clearly know right from wrong. I know how I got into this mess. I know the steps it takes to mess up. And I know that sharing those lessons honestly with my next friend, lover, co-worker, or boss; will clearly end that relationship. That’s where the anonymous part comes in.

Remember my first wife, Alison M. She was a known alcoholic, and yet I still married her. I thought I could fix her...silly me. I should say ignorant. Because, when an enabler, like me, marries an addict, he has no idea what he’s getting himself into. What I’m talking about here is I used to be on the other side of the fence. I used to be the one surrounded by addicts. I was the social drinker. I mean I tried several drugs, but none really tripped my trigger.

Then I met Alison. It was a typical pub-crawl night where my brother, Robert J., and I would go to a club that hosted older ladies. It was called The Hop in Huntington Beach, CA, owned by the Righteous Brothers. It was late in the evening when I asked Alison to dance. She responded very suspiciously. “What, you don’t want to dance with those other young blondes?”, she said. I convinced her that I really was attracted to her. I could tell she was in a pissed mood. How much so, I’d only learn later.

That night, Alison was like a mustang I had to break, to tame...and I did. I seduced her. She drove me home. We fell into the pool. Our cloths fell off. We made hot passionate love. And when she woke up, she had a smile on her face. She was a different person than the woman I’d asked to dance the night before.

I never really understood the Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde effect that happens with sever alcoholics; like Alison, and later, me. What I found out later, through deduction, that Alison was in her frenzy stage of drinking that night she went to the bar. When we fell into the pool (okay, I pushed her on purpose), I discovered that she was only wearing a small top and skirt; no underwear (I drew a line, in the water, up her leg to find her panties only to discover there were none; talk about arousal). She was cruising; and acting crazy.

This is what happened: Alison was pissed about something (it really doesn’t matter with us alcoholics; it’s just another excuse to drink). She got home from work, decided that the day was shot, so why not open up the red wine and indulge. She deserved it after the crap the military gave her that day (She worked for McDonald-Douglas). Then against her sober judgment, she split off wearing little, to her favorite dance bar. She probably didn’t even think about changing.

She was attracted to me when she saw me dancing with other ladies. But, at the same time, she was pissed that she wasn’t initially asked to dance. Her anger grew. When I finally got around to asking her to dance, she thought she was last-call. That’s why the angry greeting.

Back then, when I was 25, I knew; I just knew I could kick any habit. I’d already kicked a few (meth and coke). They took a toll on me. I saw in Alison a woman that I could “fix”. Engineers are all about fixing things, right? So, I agreed to fix Alison.

We got married in Las Vegas. We told no one.

As a husband, I learned early that it is very important to get home early (not to work late) to monitor her drinking habits. At that time in my career, I worked late. I worked until the problem was solved; typical engineer stuff. But, if I didn’t get home before Alison started drinking, she would switch into the Mr. Hyde mode. She’d get paranoid, hyper, angry and crazy. It would take all my effort to calm her down enough to feed her dinner. It was a stress: I must get home before she starts drinking.

And the next day, she wouldn’t remember a thing; total black out. She’d be chipper as a bird.

The funniest thing is that I never saw any of this behavior in me. I did everything that Alison did and more before I ever really got A.A. Talk about denial. And I was worse. Even when I talked about denial, I was in denial.

So, I know how people view alcoholism: in stages; stages of denial, really. No one really wants to fall in love with an alcoholic. No one wants to hire an alcoholic. And no one wants to admit that the person they fell in love with is an alcoholic. That’s why they call it anonymous.

What I’m trying to say is that no one above your sanity level will understand the depths of danger below until they’ve experienced it. But, by then, of course, it’s too late.

-- Without Wax

P.S. Has anyone figured out why I sign Without Wax?

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The Fiction

When a man falls in love with a woman, there is fiction involved. She thinks of him as a provider. He thinks of her has as a very small warm place to be.

When this falls apart, they start to lie.

This happened with June W. and I.

She was gorgeous. I had blue eyes. We thought, we had the fiction, that we could make it together forever.

The economy proved us wrong.

She thought that my knowledge of technology would save us. I drank it to death.

Then the lies start.

I lied about the drinking and she lied about her skills.

I know how to program computers, I just don’t know what she can do.

I know my skills. I don’t know her skills. And she doesn’t want anyone else to know them.

And because she is so stupid, she’ll never really know how much I really love her. And I’m so fucking tired of loving her. I’m tired of writing about her. I wish she didn’t exist.

When she meant a lot to me, she didn’t even really realize what that meant to me.

I don’t think she really has moral value to any man anymore. I hate to say it, but it must be true.

I hate to say it, but she's not as smart as I thought she was. I must be more stupid. And I wish I had never met June W., because I've never fallen so dangerously and deeply in love ever in my life.

-- Without Wax

Saturday, July 03, 2010

No Two People

Originally uploaded by Jillian.Xenia
No two people want the same thing at the same time ever in life. Life is short, so we accept their differences, for a while. If you adore a feature of her for too long, it becomes a liability. And if you ever bring up a flaw, you’re dead.

This is the philosophy I’ve derived with women. You have to become careful around them. They want to be known as attractive, but not hit on; especially in the work place. They want to know that they can always fall back on human recourse when a man that she is not attracted to is hitting on her.

So, if you’re not the perfect man, you’re either celibate or a stalker. Put it this way: People that desire fun sex have a hard time hooking up. If you desire sex on a normal basis, you’ll see the opportunity everywhere around you. If that person you desire doesn’t…well then you’re in trouble.

How do you put that in check?
And then if you ever get deeply passionate, you’re sunk.