Random Writings and Photos

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Posts Tagged ‘divorce’

Dreaming of a Woman Again

Posted by O'Maolchaithaigh on September 10, 2011

Haven’t had many dreams that I remember in some time. Maybe it’s because I sleep poorly. At any rate, my ex-wife was in my dream this morning. I hadn’t seen her in four years until just recently, when I spotted her dancing at a Salsa event one night. That was something we always did, mostly every week for fourteen years, so it upset me to see her dancing, knowing we could never dance again. She was on my mind for weeks after that, almost all the time. Spending time recently with my siblings and cousins, and laughing with them, broke the spell, and I hadn’t thought about her as much.

Suddenly, I’m dreaming about her this morning. In my dream, I run into her at a party at a friend’s house in the mountains. She asks me to go home with her, so we are driving up this steep mountain road to her place, somewhere deeper up in the mountains. She was always a drinker, so she has concocted a way to drink while driving. She is wearing one of those camelback water bags that hikers use, except that it is filled with wine. She attempts to take a drink from the tube but is having a hard time getting it to stay in her mouth. She is driving, and I realize she is drunk when she swerves across the road into the opposite lane of traffic. It is very late at night, so there is no other traffic, but there is some light snow on the highway, left over from an earlier storm. I am not concerned, as she has slowed way down, aware she is in the other lane. When she gets the wine tube in her mouth and takes a long swallow, she attempts to move back into the right lane when we see headlights behind us. So, she stops the car, on the left side of the road on the shoulder.¬† When the car passes, I look at her, realizing that she never used to drive when drunk. It was always my job to drive her home. I am wondering why I am not driving. I am wondering why I am with her at all, except I know I am still sexually attracted to her. Jokingly, I tell her that drinking WHILE driving will make them throw the book at her. She tells me to get out. It is cold, the wind is blowing powdery snow around the highway. I can’t believe she is serious. I tell her I was only joking. I want, after all, to go home with her.

All this thinking wakes me up: wrong part of the brain for dreaming, I guess.

I am left wondering why I would have a dream like that! Of course, the car ride could have been a metaphor for our marriage, but I don’t know why I would invent such an elaborate story. Perhaps I am correct, and it was a metaphor.

In a car = in the marriage

Worried about car ride = worried about marriage

Not in control of the car = not in control of marriage

Unwilling to get out of car = unwilling to get out of marriage

Warning her in car = telling her I was unhappy, wanted counseling

Cold, snow, mountain = there be monsters outside marriage

Pissed her off; she says get out = pissed her off; she said I had to go

I guess I never resolved that whole thing. I need to let go; thought I had.

Posted in Dreams, Life, love, madness, marriage, My Life, relationships, sex | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

A Tale of Two Cats

Posted by O'Maolchaithaigh on April 3, 2010

Hey Charlie boy, strange furry little child of mine. You want to go out, do you? Here you go, I said. Charlie, a tiger-striped short-haired domestic tabby, lept out the now open cat door. Why they waited like that puzzled me.¬†¬†Charlie and his other half, a black and white short-haired domestic tabby, come and go as they please. Sometime they stay out all day, sometimes they pop in for a bite and pop right out again. Sometimes one or both sleeps on my bed all day. In summer they sometimes don’t show for a day or two. I never can figure them out. They don’t need me to open the cat door, but if I’m in the room, they sit or lay patiently until I notice them, and wait for me to hold the flap up so they can leap through the hole.
There’s cat litter in the house, but they rarely use it.¬†¬†I hardly ever change it anymore. I can pull out the occasional piece of dried shit.¬†¬†I can often hear them running around over my head. They love the flat-roofed houses around here.¬†¬†There are six houses connected together, so they often run full tilt across the roofs, sounding like herds of miniature horses.¬†¬†Cats and horses, of course, have exactly the same gait, moving both legs on either side in unison, alternating from one side to the other as they run.
Often they wait outside the clear plastic door, waiting patiently for me to notice them. I let them in. Sometimes they eat, sometimes they want to be petted, sometimes they are just looking for each other. Sometimes they want to go right back out.
If I’m too slow to notice them, they start scratching the small throw rug by the door.¬†¬†There’s a small rug by my bed that they do the same thing to, if I’m too long in bed in the morning.¬†¬†Charlie sometimes meows at me, but the other one, Kilala, just scratches like mad.¬†¬†Sometimes they want food.¬†¬†Charlie has a high-pitched meow he uses when he’s hungry, so I always know just what he wants. If he wants attention, he simply jumps up on my lap, or on the desk if I’m at the computer.
Kilala doesn’t ever jump up on me. She likes to rub her neck on all the corners of the walls, and likes me to pet her, mostly just around her neck and head. She was the feral one, showing up out of the blue one day.¬†¬†Charlie was barely a year old when she showed up; I had raised him from a kitten. His mother had camped out in the yard, and dropped her litter.¬†¬†I fed them every day.¬†¬†Since this was the second time a cat had dropped a litter there, my wife insisted I get rid of them quickly.¬†¬†Before I did, I heard one of them mewing and crying away from inside the fence I had recently put up.¬†¬†There were pickets on both sides, and he must have fallen in from on top.¬†¬†Fortunately, I had used deck screws to put the fence up, and I undid the screws on the plank closest to the crying.¬†¬†It was the little striped orange cat I’d later call Charlie.¬†¬†I took him over to his mother, petting him all the while.
After a few more weeks I went to Animal Control for a trap.¬†¬†I set it up early, and put their bowl of cat food inside.¬†¬†Later on, I found the mother and most kittens inside.¬†¬†That made my wife happy.¬†¬†She was glad to see them go.¬†¬†It was the second litter I’d had to get rid of. I’d kept the mother of the first litter, after leaving all her wiry, well-trained mousers at Animal Control.¬†¬†They were such lively, healthy animals.¬†¬†I’d watched the mother train them in mousing, bringing them a field mouse to learn how to catch.¬†¬†I hated to see them go, but my wife insisted, and she wasn’t interested in waiting for people to come by and take them.
I had the mother fixed; no more kittens for her.  She was a gentle cat, obviously a runaway, as she was well used to people, cat food and houses.  But, one day a few weeks after she been spayed, she died in the garden.  My wife noticed while she was watering.  I was sad. I never knew what killed her: complications from her spaying operation? insect poison on the garden?
But, next spring there was another female, another litter.  That was the litter Charlie came from.
When I trapped them, Charlie was the only one who hadn’t gone into the trap. So I kept him.¬†¬†My wife wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but as long as the menagerie was gone, she was OK with keeping one.¬†¬†Charlie was almost feral himself, still very young.¬†¬†He stayed away from the house, but showed up every day looking for food.¬†¬†While he ate, I petted him, and it must have imprinted, because, to this day, he often waits by his food until I pet him.¬†¬†He’s the only animal I’ve ever seen who will allow himself to be petted while eating. He even purrs as he chomps away.
I think Kilala was no more than six months old then she showed up.¬† I never knew if she’d stay, so she was just “Girl” for the longest time. She was incredibly thin, but then I noticed her belly hanging down. Damn, another pregnant cat.¬†¬†She took to Charlie right away.¬†¬†They hung out a bit until she had her kittens, then she was often missing.¬†¬†One day I found her with her kittens in a small pit under an old, low-slung bench in the garden area.¬†¬†She grabbed one of the kittens and ran to the fence, vaulting it like a champion despite the bundle in her teeth. Later on, I noticed she had taken all the kittens, probably in the same manner.¬†¬†As they got older, they needed more food than Kilala could provide, so she brought them all over to the bowl I had Charlie’s food in. She had eaten there before, so now she was teaching her progeny where the food was.¬†¬†I had to put a lot more out.¬†¬†I was happy again to see the kittens playing, fighting, running around the yard, but my wife insisted they could not stay. Again, I had to round ’em up and take them away.¬†¬†I kept Kilala of course. She was a great companion for Charlie.¬†¬†¬†I can’t stand to see animals kept by themselves.¬†¬†Most animals, especially cats and dogs, are very social creatures. An animal locked up by itself, in a house or yard, is the cruelest kind of life, I think.
Charlie had already been neutered, and I had Kilala spayed.¬†¬†I kept my fingers crossed, and was very happy to see that she survived.¬†¬†Eventually I coaxed the two of them into the house to eat.¬†¬†They had a ball investigating all the rooms in the house, and chasing each other through them.¬†¬†They didn’t, however, like it when the outside door was closed.¬†¬†They loved running out and in, and out and in again.¬†¬†Whenever I could I left the sliding glass door and screen open.¬†¬†In winter, when I couldn’t, I had to open the door every time they wanted in or out.¬†¬†They never ran away. Even if they were out all day or night, they waited by the door for me to let them in again.
My wife hated the way I catered to them.¬†¬†I couldn’t see just leaving them outside, or confining them inside, so I became their doorman.¬†¬†I didn’t mind.¬†¬†They are affectionate to me and each other, although, just as people do, sometimes they fight with each other. Often they mate, even though both are fixed.¬†¬†It is always funny to watch them, curling together like a Yin and Yang painting, then suddenly fighting, or chasing each other around and biting and hissing.¬†¬†But always, they return and sleep curled around each other.¬†¬†¬†They remind me so much of married couples, with one exception: they stay together.¬†¬†Either one could leave, but they never do.¬†¬†No matter how much they fight, they end up licking each other’s face, and cleaning each other’s fur.¬†¬†And always they like to sleep together.
Not like humans.¬†¬†My wife is no longer with me. We grew apart, without much affection passing between us anymore.¬†¬†I loved her, but she seemed, to me, to be cold and hard.¬†¬†Perhaps it was all in my mind.¬†¬†I told her once, after she’d been away, and she kept insisting, drunkenly, that¬†I tell her, that I hadn’t called her because I hadn’t missed her.¬†¬†I had actually enjoyed a little time away from her. I meant nothing radical.¬†¬†It just was nice to have the house to myself, with peace and quiet, without the constant noise of the TV and her nagging, once in a while.¬†¬†I hadn’t meant more than that, but she wouldn’t talk to me anymore, wouldn’t listen to me.¬†¬†She made me leave, and, of course, I took the cats.¬†¬†The cats went with me kicking and screaming, but they adjusted to the new place, and they stay with me. I never heard from my human companion of fourteen years again.

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New Year’s Day, 2008

Posted by O'Maolchaithaigh on January 15, 2010

A new year.  It was a new year. It was the first new year whose coming I had not celebrated.  I had not anticipated such a new year.

After a fourteen-year marriage, I was alone. The house I’d lived in, worked on and renovated was lost to me.¬† She had that.¬† I would keep my future pension. That was all.

I was uneasy in my new place.¬† Winter-bare trees stared in my windows.¬† I stared at the rented walls, the rented high ceiling, the rented hard brick floor.¬† It didn’t feel like home.¬† It was the nicest place I could find.¬† It had all I needed, a small kitchen space, a nice bathroom, two bedrooms and a fireplace in the living room.¬† I had my books, my old vinyl, my 16-year old TV.¬† Still, I felt like a visitor, as though this was a hotel room far from home.¬† It seemed cavernous, empty and cold.

After almost four months there, I decided I was going to have a Christmas tree, but I had no ornaments.¬† eBay to the rescue!¬† Over the next two months I found and purchased dozens of old glass ornaments.¬† I’d remembered the thin glass ornaments my parents had decorated the tree with every year, many of them German, family heirlooms.¬† Online, I found indents, and double indents, and triple indents!¬† There were¬† multicolored ones, all fragile, large and small, and round ones, tear shapes, bell shapes and cello shapes.

I had walked down the street to the neighborhood tree lot. They brought in-state trees down from Mora every year.  I carried my tree home, as though I had walked into the forest and chopped it down myself.

Once decorated, the tree stood there silently all through Christmas.¬† As the new year arrived, I’d grown to accept it as part of my house.¬† The place seemed more like a home.¬† On New Year’s day, I built a fire and kept it going all day, for just me and my tree.

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Moon Watching, Watching Watchmen

Posted by O'Maolchaithaigh on March 6, 2009

moon

The moon, low to the horizon and huge, has a reddish tint to it tonight.  I tried to take a picture when I got home, but it was behind the trees already.

I watched it heading west on my way home at 3 a.m Friday morning, in the western hemisphere, North America.  It was not full, but the light it reflected on a clear night was spectacular.

It reminded me of the scenes on the red surface of Mars in the movie I had just watched. Watchmen.¬† The only movie I’ve watched in a theater in over a year.¬† The only movie I’ve ever gone to see the first showing of, and at midnight to boot.¬† I read Watchman, the graphic novel, many years ago.¬† Still have it lying around.¬† Impressed me then, and the movie impressed me even more.¬† Damn, that was a spectacular movie.¬†¬† Special effects aside, the graphic depiction of human nature qualifies it as literature, in my opinion, so it ought to be hailed as such.¬† That was one movie that surely tapped into the words and made them even more visual than the two dimensions of the flat page.¬† Of course, imagination has no bounds when reading, so the pictures, the colors, the artistic vision are not necessary, and so neither is the movie. Nevertheless, this is how we entertain ourselves, and ideas must be presented as entertainment.¬† The story, the book, the movie: all are superbly murderous, bloody, violent, tragic, lusty, depraved and, yet, somehow more than that, and much more than entertainment.

Such a story.¬† Is it a tragedy? It ends with horrible destruction, then hope, and finally, a theme that runs through the entire movie ends it: mankind sucks.¬† We could do better, but we don’t.¬† Even the noblest among us would sacrifice millions to save billions, and lie about it.¬† And the lie provides the hope for humanity, and, in the movie’s ending,¬† the lie is about to be exposed.

Of course, I had hoped to have seen the movie with K.¬† She’d heard about the graphic novel, but it was out of print.¬† She hadn’t tried to read it sooner because it was DC comics and, not Marvel.¬† Growing up, of course, I knew about the superior writing in Marvel comics, the multifaceted characters, the gray areas of truth and right and wrong, and the real life, love and rejection, paying bills, death, and jobs and tiny human dramas on the sidelines of every larger action.¬† The stuff that goes on even if you’re a superhero. K admires that about Marvel and doesn’t care for DC comics. I told her it was worth reading.¬† By the time I found my copy, it has just been reprinted, and she had already bought a copy.¬† She hadn’t read it last time we spoke of it, so I’m not sure what she thought.¬† We have similar ideas about war and peace and science and fiction and religion. We’ve read many of the same books, seen many of the same movies, and admired the best of humanity in all of it.¬† Unfortunately, the difference in our ages prevents us from seeing something like Watchmen together.

[aside: ran into K at the coffee cart later this very day.¬† I had to have coffee to stay awake after getting maybe one hour of sleep after this movie.¬† She smiled and forced a wave to me when she got in line.¬† I was talking to someone, so I waited until she come over to¬† sprinkle cinnamon on the whipped cream on top of her iced mocha. Told her I’d seen Watchmen, and she asked me about it. Told her how exciting it was, and the crowds there.¬† Asked her, since it was Friday, after all, if we could meet for lunch later.¬† She said she was having a working lunch.¬† Said she had to go.¬† The oddest thing of all was that I asked her if she had ever read the copy of Watchmen she had bought.¬† She got real defensive; said she’d read it two years ago! But I know she bought it only recently, when the second printing came out, and I had even asked her if she’d read it, and she said no, that she hadn’t had time yet.¬† Now, suddenly she read it two years ago?¬† That doesn’t make sense. Something is very odd here.]

When I asked her if we could see Silver Surfer together – that’s when she let me know.¬† She said, “That would be like a date!” with a look of horror or disgust on her face.¬† “Inappropriate.” That’s the word she used many times.¬† Inappropriate for me to ask her out, to want to meet her after work, see a movie, have a drink, give her flowers.¬† Even leaving aside my romantic interest in her, she can not even think of me as friend outside of the workplace.¬† I rarely see her anymore; we work in different buildings, for different departments, but, occasionally have lunch still.

As intriguing as Watchmen is, I still found part of me wishing I could watch it with K.¬† I didn’t ask her.¬† I know it’s beyond her to imagine going somewhere with me.¬† She’d rather go to a play, like Monty Python’s Holy Grail, with her uncle than with me.¬† I guess old men are OK if you’re related to them.¬†¬† It’s not even sad anymore to think about. It’s something I’ve had to accept, like my former wife telling me I had to move out, or she’d call the police, tell them her life was in danger.¬† Very effective.¬† Very legal.¬† I could have challenged it later, but by then, I’d have been out, and why would I want to live with someone who’d done that to me?¬† And K.¬† How nice it would have been to tell her about all that, to have a friend I could talk to, who would listen. She wouldn’t listen – it was also inappropriate to speak of anything personal.¬† I’m not really sure why.¬† I could understand a woman not wanting to hear about my disintigrating marriage or the end, when it came.¬† But, even later? Long after the divorce, she wanted to hear nothing of it.¬†¬† Of course, sometimes I think it was just because she didn’t want to encourage my inappropriate feelings for her.

But, life goes on. Sort of.¬† In Watchmen, life goes on, but the underlying tensions are not gone.¬† Even the deaths of so many millions can ultimately have been for nothing.¬†¬† I understand the characters in the story who speak of the pointlessness of it all, that we have exactly the society we wanted.¬† We are violent and selfish and greedy and murderous.¬† Perhaps we’ll never change.¬† We cringe at horror, but do little to stop it.¬† We even participate in our own little ways.

And me? I go on for some reason. Inertia? I don’t know.¬† I move along with work, with my union activities, with reading, and movies, and guitar, and hiking, and it’s not doing a whole lot for me.¬† If it were doing something for someone else, perhaps I could accept that as my motivation.¬† I’m just not really sure I care about anything anymore.¬† I was happy enough being married to someone I loved, even if not every day was a good one.¬† I could have gone on that way for a long time, maybe forever.¬† When it fell apart, and, abruptly it was over, I found myself insanely in love with K.¬† I felt so good, so alive, so ready to fall in love all over again.¬† It was exhilarating to believe in love, to think I could actually have the “in love” feeling again. That would have given me a real reason to enjoy life and want to go on.¬† The chances seem slim now.¬† I feel a great sense of accelerated aging, of death coming soon, but¬† I don’t fear death.¬† I would like to be happy while I’m alive, but perhaps it’s just not possible anymore.¬† I don’t even know what would make me truly happy.¬† K. Well, there’s her, and my feelings for her. I’d certainly be happy being with her, but it cannot be.¬† So, I seem to be rejecting all possibilities that come my way: the old girlfriend back in my life, the other former lover living close by, the union sister who tried to interest me in dating a friend of hers, or even herself – why am I so withdrawn, so quick to misunderstand, so quick to push people away?

Posted in Life, love, madness, marriage, My Life, rambling, relationships, war | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Could it be? is better than should’a’-could’a’

Posted by O'Maolchaithaigh on November 18, 2007

I feel good today. There is more bounce in my step, and my eyes seem clearer. It’s a warm fall day, of course, but it’s easy to overlook that when you’re busy obsessing over a failed marriage, an unrequited love, being short of money every month, having union meetings to call and preside over, and trying to figure out how to assist people who need help keeping their jobs, and being treated fairly at work, since they pay dues hoping the union can do that. I’ve a meeting today, but I went for my usual espresso.jpg 4-shot espresso/Americano across the street. I could make my own, but Sunday mornings I want to get out of this casita and be around people. The cafe has wonderfully pleasant staff, and really good coffee. I realized on my way home that I didn’t feel compelled to see my ex anymore. Sometimes I’m tempted to call, to see about going over there, having sex again. I woke up thinking about sex with various people I know or knew, obviously feeling a bit horny this morning. I always have sexual dreams about my unrequited, but she is off limits.

My ex, the Dragon, is still by herself as far as I know. Her general hatred and mistrust of men should keep her that way for awhile. I keep thinking back to that time I went over to finish up the computer swap from my system to hers and having her standing next to me while I lay under the desk pushing and pulling cables and getting everything plugged in. She was wearing that light, almost transparent wrap she has and it was parted, exposing her bare legs next to my eyes. There was a small hole in it, and I mentioned it to her, talking from my position under the desk, not seeing her face. She answered, in a pleasant voice, that she knew about the hole, and regretted that the wrap was wearing out, as it was so comfortable. My hand ached to stroke her legs, legs.jpg and our conversation was not strained or angry, so, who knows? She is sexually attractive to me always. I also thought of others though.

I was married before this. Ran into her in the grocery store last weekend. Talked a bit, but we sometimes see each other at work, so it’s not like we haven’t kept up. I’ve asked her to come by and check out the new place before, or to come for coffee some on Sunday mornings when I’m across the street. I should have invited her right there and then to come by when she finished shopping, because she wasn’t all that far away from my little place, but I didn’t. irene12a.gif I fantasized about being in bed with her again too. She still wears that small gold Tumi knife figurine that I gave her shortly after we met, but she’s been with the same guy now for about 13 years.

My mind connects a vision of Carla from about 27 years ago, to my current object of desire, unrequited, these last few years. She has facial acne, and Carla had facial acne. I remember Carla telling me just before she left that she was pregnant, and she needed money for an abortion, but when I pressed for more information, asked for some kind of evidence, she backed off. I thought she was just trying to squeeze me for money. She had been living in LA, but was here visiting, living with her sister. I met her at one of Mark’s construction parties. He had lots of gatherings of people to work on his house. Friends, students, friends of friends; they all came to help Mark make adobes for his walls, mix mud for the adobes and the floors, pour a slab for his kitchen/living area, etc. In the tradition of barn building, some people brought food and drink; others, like myself, came to labor. It was at one of these work parties that I met Carla, whose sister had brought her along. I don’t know how it started. I must have noticed her or even been introduced by her sister, who I knew from my brief stint as a math assistant at the technical vocational school that she and Mark both worked at. She was a very cute woman, long dark hair framing a pretty face, and it wasn’t long before we were hanging around each other. I took Carla for a ride on the motorcycle to cool off, and we stopped along the arroyo that runs along the nearby Pueblo. It was a damn hot day, and the water looked inviting, so we got in. Since it was next to a highway, we left our clothes on, but that didn’t stop us from playing around, and even dry humping a bit. Can you dry hump under water? Wet hump? Anyway, it was too public an area, and who knows what was in that ditch water? We decided to go to my house, and the sex was nice, very nice. We saw each other for awhile after that. I found it hard to imagine living with a smoker, however. She was sexy, so I can overlook a lot for that, like most men. The t-shirt carla2.gif she sometimes wore said ‘Good Stuff’, and she was. She was often at my house, so I bought a TV for entertainment. It had been years since I’d had someone to live with, and I just didn’t know what to do with her. I liked fucking her, but I wasn’t making any plans. If she had stayed around, who knows, maybe we’d have stayed together, and she’d have moved in permanently? As it was, she said she was going back to LA, and I found that was OK with me. She just announced that she was going. That was after she said she might be pregnant, but we seemed to have settled that, and she didn’t bring it up again. I bought her a carton of cigarettes as a parting gift.

Suddenly it occurred to me that my unrequited is exactly old enough to be Carla’s daughter. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head? They both have the same acne problem and the same build. She may even be smaller than the petite Carla, but since Carla smoked, that could have resulted in a small baby, from the oxygen deprivation. I have visions of Luke and Darth Vader: “I am your father”. Cool. I’d love to be Her father. That would pretty much kill my sexual fantasies, but I would welcome the permanent link to her. I know She is adopted, and she knows her biological mother. She told me the last name once, but I can’t remember. What if? Man, I come up with doozies in this fevered imagination of mine. I had the same thought before, wondering if I could be Her biological father with another woman from my past.

Probably not, but there was this woman Chris, and she told me she was pregnant and that was somewhere in that same time period. She had been something. We mostly just had sex. Sex is one of my all-time favorite things to do. I was busy with a part-time job and lots of studying. I didn’t want a full-time relationship, or marriage. One time, Chris said she wouldn’t mind having another child. Her daughter had been taken to Florida by her ex. She said that, if she got pregnant, she knew someone who would marry her, even if I didn’t want to. I said OK, so I didn’t worry about it after that. One day, of course, she told me was pregnant, and wanted me to marry her. I reminded her we agreed not to do that, that I wasn’t interested in marriage. She threatened to abort the baby if I didn’t marry her, and I just wasn’t interested. I don’t know why. chris2.gif I certainly didn’t have a definite future at the time, and I felt no deep affection for her, and didn’t care if she had the baby or not. I never saw her again, so I don’t know if she decided to have the child or not. Another potential biological mother of Her. How did I go from wanting to live with Her, to marry her, and have children with her, to wondering if I could be her father? Well, I already know I’m insane. What sort of man believes he can hook up with a beautiful sexy young woman at my age? Why would she trust an asshole like me anyway?

 

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