Worst Conversation With My Wife Ever

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Over the years I have made it a point to keep my relationship with my wife and our marriage off of my blog and definitely off of Facebook for sure. Granted, looking back through the years and lifespan of my blogs I see that I’ve scratched the surface enough for readers to know that I am indeed married to a wonderful, caring wife. I don’t just say that here because she reads my blog, it is said and conveyed daily in our private lives, just so y’all know I’m not looking for brownie points from her. My wife and I have a “bad” habit, we talk with each other all the time about things that actually matter, we go beyond talking about work (which is actually forbidden by both of us), the children, or the bills that pile up. Yes, we do talk about those important things but they are not allconsuming to the point where that is all we talk about. We are different in how we talk, I like to talk in a long winded manner, telling stories, and bringing the details to light. Yes, we have talked about that as well, seems to get worse as I age. My wife on the other hand is more emotional about things, eventhough she tries to be short and sweet, she suffers from a similar affliction of not being able to get to the point. She considers it a fault of hers, but I admire that she trusts me with her emotions. The other day we had one of those “out of the blue” conversations that she likes to start on occasion. Out of the blue for me but well thought about on her part. Just know this, I will be 47 next month and she just turned 40 this past June, so I personally understand we are not the same age we were when we got married 17 years ago. We’ve put on a few miles, a few pounds, a few wrinkles, and much gray hair for me personally, we don’t talk about her one or two she has pop up, we just color it and move on.

So, she asks me if I think she is turning into her mother as she gets older. I will explain my answers here as I explained them to her. A husband who pays attention to his wife sees changes over time, sees the different moods and generally knows what causes them and what cures them, he listens not only to what she is saying but what isn’t being said as well. I like to think I have a good handle on “reading” my wife and she has a great flare for doing the same to me. We have learned that there is a time and place for everything. I don’t know about other marriages but I consider ours healthy in many ways, the main one being we still love one another, it not tolerating each other, it’s wanting to be with each other, needing and depending on one another to get through each day and night. The answer to the question is no I don’t think she is turning into her mother. But, and this but raised an eyebrow with my wife, as we get older, as our children get older, I see her professional life taking over the mother and wife life. Meaning, she puts in long exhausting days at the office being a manager and being in charge of people, money, and property all with the goal of turning a profit. Most people don’t think of a doctor’s office as a business and the goal of every business is to make money. She has been an office manager there for 14 years, she knows her shit frontwards and backwards. On top of that, she does it all with just her high school GED. (Life happened, that’s all I want to say). But when she gets home she doesn’t need to be in charge, everything at home usually runs like a well oiled machine, thanks in no small way to my own personal efforts. You see, I work my 40 hour work week in three days over the weekend, so I am home all week long mostly.

Yes, I have seen her go from her early 20s to now 40, yes the body I knew for her then has changed, yes her mind has matured as well, and yes I do see the start of the crows feet wrinkles and the occasional gray hair or three. Big deal, we’ve gotten older, it was expected, I knew it would happen, her problem, in my opinion as told to her, is she has yet to accept the fact that she has now turned 40. Women, in general, in my opinion, treat 40 like a death sentence or something that is so feared that when it happens that they magically are going to change and not be wanted any longer. I have never, nor will I ever, tell my wife I want to trade her in for two 20 year olds. I like where we are in life together. Does my wife wear a moo-moo? No she does not. She does wear sweats and my old t-shirts around the house. When not at work she has her hair up in a pony tail and isn’t wearing make-up, which is what I like. I don’t like all the make-up and bullshit, but she does, so I shut up. But what she really wants to know is if I think that she is mentally, or the way she speaks, or how she acts, or how she thinks, or is anything she does show signs of her turning into her mother. This ultimately could be the question of death for me. I might need to sleep with one eye open, she does spend a good deal of time watching the I.D. channel. My fate has now come crystal clear to me, it has all been a dream, now I get to die a horrific death that nobody will ever be able to blame on her. But does it have to be so bad? I think not, and here’s why.

I explained to my wife that she need not worry about her own personal growth, evolution, and development because she should be happy that she remains her own person. It’s true, she’s changed, I’ve changed, we all change for better or worse for whatever the reason may be. I tease her a bit though, and tell her I like her mother, she has some great traits and qualities which I really admire. At the same time, I enjoy who my wife is, how she acts, how she speaks, how she thinks, how she moves, how she dresses, and especially how she makes me feel every single day, which is loved. I unfortunately do not think my answers are well taken or understood simply because I can only give likenesses and observations, because in my opinion, the only person who truly knows the truth is her and how she feels. Yes, I am her partner, but no I don’t read minds, a person can only learn by what he is shown or told when it comes to a relationship such as marriage. Is she the same woman I met all those years ago? Yes and no. But here’s the catch, I like who she is and how she represents herself, she is her own person, I feel lucky to be allowed to be with her through the best of times and the worst of times.

To sum this all up, we all change as we age, we all make a choice to either accept those changes in our partner or to not, and sadly that is why we see marriages fail, failing because people don’t think long term, they don’t consider that maturity makes us different, and we don’t prepare mentally for those kinds of challenges. Why? Only reason I can think of is it is because we are selfish. But I’m no marriage counselor, I’m no expert in the field of relationships, I just a married man who still enjoys the company of his wife. I offer only one piece of advice, find what works for y’all and nurture that entire process and live life like there is no tomorrow, because, you know, shit happens when we least expect it to happen. I look at my late grandparents, married 83 years at the time of his death and she died of a broken heart 2 months later. That’s love, that’s needing the other person to be in your life, that’s being heart-broken when a part of you is missing.

Okay, I’m done with my story, my peak into my private life, and I hope y’all understand that our marriage is not one of tolerance but one of acceptance. We are who we are, it is what it is, and we all just need to relax and be who we are comfortable being. Or be like me, an asshole tainted by my dislikes for people in the general population of our planet. Yes, I have a low tolerance for most people, but at the same time I have compassion towards those I care about, more often than not there is no middle ground, and I don’t play well with others. With that being said, I end this post, but fear not, there will be more, much much more.

When We See The Light Under The Door

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When we see the light under the door it peeks our curiosity to the point where we have to accept the consequences and just open it. What if we have our hand on the knob but can’t bring ourselves to turn it, for fear of what’s on the other side? The fear of the unknown can be far worse than the thought of seeing everything is as we left it. Sometimes though, even though we may be really afraid, all we need to do is open the door just a bit and let the light come flooding out. It’s certainly not as frightening as throwing the door wide open and finding out there could be anything behind that door! But just a crack isn’t so daunting and the light it lets out enables us to see so much more than when the door was closed. In fact, we may be amazed at how much light is coming through that very small gap. Once we’ve opened the door very slightly, our eyes adjust to the new light level and then we may be able to open the door even more. We forget how daunting it was just to walk up to it and how much energy it took to put our hand on the knob. But now it is open and this is where we begin the story of husband coming home after being deployed to a far away land only to find that all of his fears are coming true and are in front of him.

The husband frequently wondered what went on behind the closed bedroom door when he was away for long periods of time. After he had some years in the Air Force under his belt he had heard of many disappointing returns that were less than the anticipated celebration. He always comforted himself with the knowledge that his wife loves him enough not to be caught off guard by loneliness. That only happens in other marriages; in those marriages where there are already underlying problems and the love has began to fade. The husband always made it a point to remain committed in his marriage and walked away from situations which might be considered compromising. The husband did this faithfully without question every day he walked out the door of their house. He was always comfortable knowing that his wife would be there to greet him with love each time he returned. As time rushes by and he began to be separated from his wife more, he finds himself consumed with fear that maybe his time has finally come to be the one who is disappointed when opening the door.

The husband had seen many things in his life, from the gruesome to the absolutely beautiful, but nothing prepared him for what he was about to witness. This time when he saw the light under the door he could hear noises, he could hear voices, and he was hearing sounds of a struggle. The husband did what came naturally, he whipped the door open with such power that it was hard to keep it from embedding itself into the wall behind it. He saw two people on the bed in the master bedroom, both frozen in a test of time to see who would move first. The husband wishes what he was seeing was not so, but when he blinked and re-opened his eyes what was happening became even clearer. He stood at the door waiting for something, anything, to help him make sense of the scene in front of him. But there was nothing, the moment was frozen in time, the faces were almost expressionless in their disbelief. The husband reached for the door handle and then pulled the door closed. He needed a few moments to clear his mind because he was in the process of making some decisions that will change his life forever.

Now that the husband had opened the door he saw firsthand that things were not at all normal. Now he can’t imagine seeing anything different and now he is having a hard time trying remember how he was feeling before he opened it. Is he mad. Is he sad. Is he sorry. Is he crushed. Is he calm. Is he in pain. He is mad, the emotion he feels is pure anger. The husband waited patiently sitting in his chair in the living room for the door to open again. In his own mind he had waited an eternity and was willing to risk opening the door again. As he arose from his chair the door swiftly opened up. Following the door opening came two bodies, one he was familiar with and one that he wanted to kill. In reality, he had it in his mind that they were both moments away from taken their last breathes on planet Earth. But wait, his wife is choosing to speak, she tells the husband she can explain. He thinks to himself a question with a grin on his face, how can this cunt explain why she was just caught with another sitting on her chest with her legs spread wide with his dick in her mouth? This should be good. Now he wonders why he opened the door in the first place.

While the husband stared through the couple he apologized for what was going to happen next as a consequence of the mistakes they have made. The husband produced his pistol, up until this point only destroying paper targets, his Desert Eagle was his favorite, he imagined the holes it would make in his new targets. He imagined the mess he would have to clean up after words. He imagined a quiet place in the desert where every creature there would devour every last bit of the evidence. The husband commanded that the couple kneel before him and beg him for his forgiveness. They both kneeled in silence of words but the crying was deafening even though it was but a whimper. At this point the husband announced his unfaithful wife that from this day forward she will only be referred to as a cunt. With that being said he put the pistol to the head of his wife. He sat there, remembering their wedding vows, thinking how it will be til death do us part. He pulled the trigger, click. He watched as she pissed herself knowing that the gun was not loaded. In one backhanded swing he struck the head of her lover. Her lover now is on his side, unconscious, bleeding, not moving or crying any longer.

Soon enough the base Security Police arrived. unsure what happened, the Security Police separated the husband from the situation and removed him from the house. The husband watched as the ambulance came to take care of the wounded lover. The husband knew his marriage was over the moment he saw the cunt fawning all over her lover, assuring him that her asshole husband was going to pay for what happened here tonight. Fuck it, the chips have fallen. The husband spent the next ninety days in the county jail under the charges of domestic abuse. He was also charged, by the Air Force, with assault and battery of an Officer. All charges were later dropped and removed from record by request of the Officer. How nice. Within a few months the husband and wife were no more, the only evidence the husband had of his failed marriage was the devout love from his young daughter. The husband was awarded full custody of his daughter as the courts believed the mother to be a bit unstable.

Moral of the story? Be careful how bad you “need” to open closed doors. Be prepared for whatever is behind the closed door. Finally, never kill anything in rage, not even a cheating cunt of a wife. Why ruin your own life because of someone else’s stupidity? If you haven’t guessed yet, this story is my own. At first the gun was loaded, I had every intent of putting them out of my misery, then I gently removed the clip and placed it in my pocket, these few moments assured me that I might go to jail that night but I will not go to prison for the rest of my life. The reason for me telling this story was because I have touched the subject off and on of my ex, I thought it was time everyone knew why she gets referred to as the cunt.

Sweet Wine From My Grapevine

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Over the years one thing that has always stood true is the fact that I know allot of people both in and out of the United States Air Force. This comes in very handy as a resource from time to time. Most of the time it isn’t personal, it’s just things people thought I might find interesting. It has also been a valued resource when trying to locate people that can never be matched by none other. Last week I found out some things that shocked the shit out of me because I never, in a thousand years, thought it would happen the way it did. Such is life right, sometimes we get proven wrong beyond our wildest dreams. Before we talk about the fantastically surprising yet fitting news, we must first explore the pre-cursor of the career, the actual career, and the ultimate demise of that career of the woman I will be discussing. So, if you think you are ready then lets kick the tires and light the fires to get this story in the air.

Back in the 90s there was a young mother who didn’t want to work so she struck a deal with her husband. The deal? She decided to go to college to pursue a career as a social worker. She promised her husband that this was a great idea and when he would eventually retire she could be the support for the family. Push forward a few years now. Just prior to receiving her Master Social Worker degree the marriage fell apart and eventually had to be dismantled in the best interests of everyone involved. Push forward even more you say? After getting her LMSW (Licensed Master Social Worker) she applied and was granted entrance into the United States Air Force. Afterwhich she guilted their only daughter into moving out from her father’s house and into her own. Shortly after having the sole custody of father case overturned she had the husband (at least on official government paperwork) declared deceased which granted her special hardship privileges since she was a single mother whom was widowed.

The careerfield she chose was so hard up for people that they waived the age restriction of 35 (she was to turn 35 shortly before entering). She was also provided an enlistment bonus (I won’t disclose how much because it will just piss you off) in exchange for an eight year commitment. She would also start her new career as a Captain (0-3), skipping the rank of 2nd Lieutenant (0-1) and 1st Lieutenant (0-2) altogether. She bit that like she was a ravenous vulture ripping apart a decaying carcass. She made many friends in a variety of positions which always guaranteed that she stayed stateside and most assuredly never having to do a remote or hazardous duty tour due to her hardship status. Time passes and she found it possible to increase her rank another two times, Major (0-4) and finally a very fresh (like under 60 days fresh) new Lieutenant Colonel (0-5). Just imagine with me now, she did all of this within 8 years 7 months and 18 days. There are those of you scratching your heads right now because either you don’t understand how long rank takes to acquire or you do know how long it takes to acquire rank. Either way, it was accomplished at the fucking speed of light.

Recently, she decided to early retire. But wait, it gets better. She retired for FREE because she hadn’t been in long enough to get a retirement of any sort from the Air Force. Wait, it gets even better. Want to know why she got out? She had two long time friends who both recently retired after giving 30+ years of service to the Air Force each. They were the muscle and guarantee that she never had to do a duty she didn’t want to. But, seems just before they retired a little birdie blabbed to the Air Force that not only was she never a widow, but her daughter lives in another state and is a mother herself. Oops. Anyway, her name came up to go to Qatar for 2 years. There was nobody to “save” her from going, so she just quit the Air Force. She has since, within the last month, moved to another state where she can be a private social worker in private practice. She will not even tell her daughter where she is living.

Now, perhaps you are wondering why any of this gossip of a career gone south would make a hill of beans to me. I’ll tell you why, I am the deceased husband. Most of this I already knew over the years, up to the point that she exited the Air Force rather abruptly within the last few months instead of going on the tour to Qatar. I have mixed thoughts about her. In my mind she is still the same back stabbing cunt that led us down the destructive road of divorce. On the other hand it would seem that it was her time to dance with this bitch we all know as karma who also thought she was a cunt and decided to treat her like one. Either way, she loses. No, I don’t win, but man is this some fun shit to watch unfold over the years. Wow, wait until my oldest daughter reads this post. Good thing I already called her.

Travel Trip Grape Stomping

The Death Of A Journey’s Ghost

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I’ve wrote my fair share here about how I worshipped at the alter of Crown Royal for many years. However, I have never told the story of the journey I thought I was on, the journey where I was looking for the questions to answers I had, and how my journey came to an absolute sudden stop. Over the past weekend I came across a ghost from my not so distant past. I wasn’t looking for the ghost, but I think I was lead to finding it for a reason. I think my finding the ghost let me reflect about the past and how it led me to be where I am today. Over the years I have given alcoholics a very hard time because I don’t believe being an alcoholic is a disease or a disability because it’s absolutely not, being an alcoholic is a choice because drinking is a choice. Personally, at this point in my life I don’t care if a single person agrees with me or disagrees with me, it’s a choice and that’s a damn fact. Oddly enough, I’m listening to “Whiskey In The Jar” by Metallica as I write about all of this. I can’t help it, I like the song, it drowns out the chatter of the conversation happening in Spanish 10 feet away. I didn’t need to be put in a “mood” because I was already there, already at the point where I had opened the wounds far enough where I was ready to write without any struggles. But I am struggling, I struggle with the feelings and emotions that have come out since opening the coffin of my dead journey. The big question y’all might be having is what journey died and how did it die. First of all, the short answer is I didn’t like where my life was going so I killed it dead, then I stomped a mudhole into it, then I kicked the shit out of it, then I burned it until it was a crispy critter,  and then I buried it. Obviously I didn’t kill it or bury real well, I killed it alright, but my burial lacked conviction because I found it or it found me, however one chooses to look at it.

Now, before we begin exploring, let me just add that I’m not glorifying drinking or downplaying alcoholism as a prominent problem in American society. You might here me poke fun or saying derogatory things about both, but they are based on my experience, my observation, and my own opinion. So, with that, let’s start at the end because that is where my actual journey began. When I’m done writing this today this the journey might be over, it might get buried again, and for sure the reminders (triggers) have been dealt with accordingly. So, anyway, I was looking through some boxes in my storage building for a box, which as I found, was un-labeled, that contained files I needed, to include my DD-214 (discharge paperwork) and some other VA paperwork. Back when I packed all this up it would appear that liquor boxes were what I had. Mostly because I worked at a bar, so I always liberated the sturdy boxes. I didn’t know what box the files I was looking for actually looked like because I have slept since that day. As I went through the boxes, opening around 50 or so boxes, I came across a long forgotten collection, I found 3 boxes of Crown Royal bags of mixed and varied sizes. I sat down in my chair and thought damn, this was a slap in the face I wasn’t expecting. Way back when, back in the day if you will, I used to drink allot, you may not actually be able to comprehend how much, just know it was more than the average social drinker. My drink of choice was Crown Royal on ice, and many times I just skipped the ice altogether because I kept my Crown in a freezer. When I was in the Air Force I stockpiled Crown Royal, when I say stockpiled I bought it regularly by the case or two to three cases at a time. It wasn’t because I had parties all the time, it was my personal drinking stock. When I drank with friends I drank what they had and usually allot of tequila.

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I can’t even began to phatheom the amount of Crown Royal I drank just while I was in the Air Force. Need I remind everyone that I built explosives for a living? To this day it still surprises me that I still have all my fingers. When I got my retirement orders I began to really stock up because I knew I would need Crown Royal on the cheap after my departure. I priced it out on the economy and found that I could buy it at the package store on base for right around 1/5 the cost. After I got out I drank as I pleased like there was no end to my supply for around 2 years. I always had an excuse to drink, if there is such a thing. My brother-in-law at the time, married to my baby sister, was an entertainer of sorts. He had a small band that consisted of himself as lead singer and guitar player, his sister who also sang and played keyboard, and her husband who played the drums. On occasion there were other members but my brother-in-law was such a dick that they didn’t stay that long. Anyway, every weekend starting Friday night they would play all the local dive country bars which were all b.y.o.b. (bring your own bottle) holes in the wall in the middle of nowhere at times. I don’t care for the wanging and twanging of country music much but I figured what a better place to get laid than by some drunk redneck girls. It has been my experience that redneck girls can ride for well over 8 seconds. After an ugly divorce I wanted two things in life and only two things, I wanted to drink to forget my own name and I wanted to fuck anyone who didn’t need me to remember her name.

Bonus, I could do as much as I wanted of both and nobody batted an eye at me. Not that it would have mattered because quite simply I didn’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion. About six months after getting out of the Air Force, while working for my father the concrete contractor, I found myself working on the other side of town. After an extremely long day in the heat, humidity, and the hot Texas sun, I was ready to call it quits for the day. Making my way home I drove by a bar with an advertisement I could not ignore, they were have a wet t-shirt contest, and drink specials. I was all over it. When I went in, after paying cover, I was entering the club with a mission, get drunk and find some tail. Bingo! The first thing I saw was a fantastic ass bent over the bar grabbing something from behind. My reaction? I walked up to her and smacked that ass with all my might! She jumped up so fast I almost got whiplash watching her. I knew something was up because it was all happening in slow motion and I was still 100% sober. She looked me square in the eye and TOLD me I owed her some drinks, some dancing, and a good fucking to take her mind off of how bad her ass was stinging. It’s a deal. We drank. We danced, well, she danced, I just moved around in a stuper. We drank. We made out a bit. We drank. Then I took her home, she was special.

We got married a year and a half later. Before that we spent allot of time together, I eventually moved her and her young daughter (1) into my apartment on the other side of town. She got a job and we were moving on. I introduced her to my weekend habit of going out to country gigs and life was one big party. Shortly after we got married, within the first month or so, after a night out partying, I woke up in my own puke. This wasn’t the first time, but I vowed that morning it was going to be the last damn time. And y’all know what? I’ve never looked back. Shortly after that my dad retired, leaving me without a job, so I contacted a friend of a friend of a friend who hired me as their front end bartender. My wife was worried that being in that close contact with alcohol that I would be heading back down the path of least resistance. She had no problem with it being a full nude strip bar but worried about me around all the alcohol. She had always heard it only takes one sip and all hell can break loose.

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Fortunately for both of us I had no interest in the drinking any more. No, I never really quit drinking, but I quit drinking myself just shy of a coma every night. In fact, these days I don’t drink much at all, we don’t go out to bars, and most of my friends are actually family. So far so good. Personally I can’t see myself going back, I know, never say never. What happened to the Crown Royal bags? Currently my mother-in-law has them in her possession. She wanted them to make a quilt for me. I explained I didn’t need a quilt because I don’t want the everyday reminder of what an asshole I was when I was drinking. So who knows what she will eventually do with them. No, there was no Crown Royal remaining, which is unfortunate because that makes an easy Christmas present for most of the people I know.  You’ve heard of cleaning out one’s closet, well this was my version. Oh, I found all the records I was hunting for in the first place. No telling what is in the rest of those boxes, probably shit I don’t need to be seeing anyways.