Love Gas – Part Two

Posted on May 26, 2013 by Professor Taboo

Regrettably (or not) this is my second part of my temporary rant and venting from Love Gas – Part One. My apologies again to those readers who prefer funny, informative, or inspiring posts. I prefer them as well.

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In Part One I mentioned two other times when two previous close female friendships had been sacrificed and severed for new exciting, hopeful love with a new partner or fiancé. One of those two was by a former girlfriend and lover when she started dating a serious potential. I will start with her and make it short because the other “sacrifice” deserves much more time.

In the scheme of these two posts, closing down or allowing to fade away the relationship/friendship of former lovers or ex-spouses is commonly understood, accepted, and nothing really out of the ordinary. Mainstream society, or at least mainstream conservative society, seems to believe that once sexual relations have been had between a man and woman, woman and woman, man and man, or that they once passionately loved one another, then if that deep love doesn’t end with married until death, or until divorced, then it cannot be shared continuously and simultaneously with the newest lover.

I do not agree at all with this (American?) societal stigma, but for the sake of time and space I will not argue against it here and now. Prior to my entrance into the open-swinger polyamorous lifestyles many years ago, I have not had contact with any of my pre-open/poly lifestyle partners, except one. And she asks that for the sake of peace and her children, we keep it very discreet; at least until her children are grown and out of the house.

Ugh, yes it is complicated; especially for her. It is also too complicated to get into here. I considered not even mentioning it. Fortunately for the sake of peace and her children, we live over 300-miles a part and nothing at all has happened physically between us since 1989; way before her current marriage. We do have a long great friendship and she completely understands my warnings and the risks she – and to be fair me too – are taking inside traditional frameworks by NOT including him in the friendship! I’ve accepted that we agree to disagree on how divulging she might/should be with her husband. In the end, it is her business…. and it could become mine too somewhere down the road.

But in my honesty I have wandered off track.

Regarding my former open-swinger girlfriend – who I deeply care for and will always, and have loved deeply and still could – since we ended our “official” relationship, we have always maintained a close friendship. However, what has always frustrated and angered me is when a new “vanilla” man enters her life… our close passionate friendship vanishes. Then when it ends with Mr. Newman (probably because he senses there is another former lover he could NEVER surpass… like it’s a fucking competition anyway!) our closeness picks right up where it left off. I have expressed to her several times, ever since our official ending, how much that irritates me! But apparently (and we both laugh at this point) “I just don’t get it!” Well yeah, no shit Sherlock.

I have learned thoroughly now that I cannot be held or kept responsible for everyone’s “feelings”… and that so includes those men (BFH’s) I have never met! No surprise there Sherlock; duh, there’s a reason why I’ve never met them and may not ever! HAH! Hence, there’s the double-amplified curse/repellant I mentioned in Part One. Yes, I have been told that I would make the worst spy or secret agent. I will own that, proudly.

Now For the Really Big One

An exact likeness of my dear lesbian “Aphrodite” friend.

Several years ago at my favorite club to dance and to the best dancing music by one of Dallas’ best DJ’s, I boldly introduced myself to one of the most stunning women I had ever seen dancing. She was also there with a guy and noticeably dancing only with him; but he seemed very, very young. Here, I will call her Aphrodite and the image left, though not her… does not do her justice. Simply put she turns everyone’s heads; man and woman alike. She defines a pin-up girl to the max.

A day or two later we met for an afternoon lunch around the corner from her apartment. She had many questions for me. What made the afternoon more enjoyable, was her unabashed lack of timidness in expressing her thoughts and feelings; all carefully thought out. What I appreciated most about Aphrodite was that in less than ten-fifteen minutes, she let me know clearly she was lesbian. And she did it with no pomp or bitterness due to society’s treatment of gays and lesbians. I really liked that. I immediately respected her person and discarded every one of my heterosexual fantasies with her… as much as I hated to hear her proclamation. Imagine a boy with a 10-inch frozen icicle and it quickly melts under the 110 degree heat. Nevertheless, we have been close dear friends for over six years. Yet as is usually the case with gorgeous people, we were not immune to vulnerable moments sneaking into our close friendship.

The Risk versus Reward Dilemma

In the third year of our friendship, and during an emotionally disastrous ending to her then relationship with a pseudo-psychotic girlfriend, Aphrodite made many a wee-hour phone call to me asking me to drive over and be with her. She asked because she wanted support in not calling the ex-girlfriend and trying to quickly fix it all or understand it prematurely. This is not an easy road to tread as anyone can attest. Sometimes it really is best to leave things alone until the hatchets are buried. That was hard for her. Ring-ring, my phone goes off 12-midnight, sometimes 1:30am. Grab my keys, get in the car, drive forty-minutes to her place, talk, hug, hold her until we fell asleep. This continued for some three or four weeks.

Then one night late, while thanking me and kissing my cheek, she puts her hand down my shorts and proceeds to maul me. I cannot move — unlike my manly hetero part down there — DAMN IT! She notices my paralysis. “I don’t want to stop” she whispers, “but I will if you tell me.” Are you fucking kidding me!? I manage barely 3-seconds of brain activity and reply “The last thing I want is something like this to fuck-up our friendship.” That did not stop her. In fact, it probably fueled the moment.

A day or two later we talked about that “moment” and wonderfully made nothing big about it or let it define our friendship or situation. It was what it was. I wasn’t going to study it to death. More pressure was not what she required then. Many of our friends would later ask if we two were dating…an item. We had been seen spending a lot of time together. We’d laugh. I had surmised that she was maybe 90% lesbian, 10% bisexual (with the right guy?), but it was left up to her to determine that not me or the rest of the world.

Then a new “incredible” woman came into the picture three-four weeks later. Aphrodite was obviously very attracted to her and very hopeful and excited about their possibilities. Then the grand piano dropped from the 10^th floor: “When you come over to hang out and spend the night, you must sleep in my guest bedroom now.”

The 2011 movie “Your Sister’s Sister” where the lesbian sister sleeps with her sister’s hetero boyfriend.

I understood, but what she said did not sit well with me. She noticed my shocked perplexed expression. She explained to me that in the LGBT community, she would be ostracized for “being with” a heterosexual man. She kept saying “you can’t understand it” as if I were some dumb blood-flows-one-way horny Neanderthal. Granted that is the median in the male high-T world today, I mean there are a shitload of hetero alpha-males who delusionally want to CONVERT hot lesbians, but I am not even consumed by what or where I can stick my dick like the average hetero high-T male! I asked her “have I ever pushed you to be someone you’re not just to satisfy my brain-consuming libido!?” “Never” she answered, “and that is what I have always loved about you!”

But my simplistic logic wasn’t going to change anything. Her own image in the “abnormal” different culture of the LGBT community was more important than our intimate supportive friendship. Now I knew what it felt like to be a nigger in the 1800’s or 1940’s, 50’s, or 60’s – or more accurately all during European and North American slavery. Now I knew what it felt like to be a gay man in a horribly violent binary life-system in the bigot south. Now I knew what it felt like to be considered an inferior human being; pick any historical setting. Take it from me….it really feels like shit.

For 8-10 months Aphrodite and I did not talk. Since then she has been involved in a later new 18-month relationship to a truly wonderful woman. I am proud of Aphrodite for how she’s learned and matured, but to this day she doesn’t really know the depth of platonic hurt she caused. I have moved on from it and we still talk freely and openly as we always have. But she’s asked that I avoid alluding to that evening to her girlfriend or anyone else… and so that damn annoying question rears its ugly head again:

Why can you not openly comfortably talk to your B-GFH the way you talk and act around me!?

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This work by Professor Taboo is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at https://professortaboo.wordpress.com.

Love Gas – Part One

Posted on May 26, 2013 by Professor Taboo

Let me apologize beforehand to my readers who do not favor venting or ranting. But I am a big time communicator of all feelings and thoughts because right or wrong doesn’t matter at that instance! It is the raw honesty that matters and matters critically! No one can or would know how to manage a sensitive situation if they are not working with REAL truths, the bare-naked facts! In a way then, I am not truly apologizing right now; I reserve the right to do it later. But I have to get this off my chest.

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I am not posting this based on any theory. It is not based on any scientific research of which I am presently aware. I’m not even sure if this subject has been written about for ages by thousands. But this post is most definitely from personal experiences and I am getting increasingly fed-up with it!

When I feel my pulse rise like this I try my best to find appropriate ways to vent. One of those successful ways is to go run. Run until I can barely expand my lungs and rib-cage. Another that works for me extremely well is going to a batting-cage and hitting the shit out of baseballs… or softballs if I want to dish out a thoroughly good whacking! True story: once I did bust open the covering on a baseball I swung so hard. I realize the ball was likely old and on its last home run, but still… it felt good!

I am ready to run hard. I am so ready to hit the covers off some baseballs screaming a new expletive with every 1,000 foot homer I hit! Well, I’m not Miguel Cabrera: between 100 – 120 foot homer… some of them frickin’ grounders!

Here is what has happened….. again.

That Delirium Idiot-Inducing Love Gas

The other day I posted a polite encouraging compliment on a dear friend’s profile in response to her photo and comments of how happy she is newly married. I quote: “Isn’t it great to be a great parent [her name]!? And also a phenomenal wife!”

The critical context…

From the 2010 movie “Last Night”. Husband & wife married under wrenching fear, silence & half-truths.

My dear female friend and I have a long close friendship that goes back 30-years to college. We have always been close platonic friends that entire time. This is her second marriage to apparently, according to her, the best man in the world she could’ve ever dreamt for. I am extremely happy for them both! She and I had hundreds of long-distance phone calls running hours long about her first slow dying marriage then exploding divorce which involved her four children. It was nasty and the ex-husband put her through hell and back using the kids, financially putting her through the ringers, and shaming her publicly (via their church) for her extra-marital affair. You’d had thought a public stoning was next.

Over this past Mother’s Day weekend she texted me three long messages overly thanking me for always making her feel she was not the slum-of-the-Earth for cheating on her ex-husband and always fighting his brutal shaming of her and him never taking ownership for his part of a rotting marriage he was clearly a half-part of. The death of a marriage is never ever one-sided; I learned that the hard way twice despite being cheated on both times.

From 400-miles away during her nasty divorce, I had always gladly been available for her. We always had no-holes-barred conversations about anything under the Sun or Moon; I mean ANYTHING! Naturally, this comfort level included much verbal flirting. At the time it helped her self-esteem enormously. Disclaimer: To put any of my reader’s suspicions to bed (seriously no pun intended there!), in our 30-year friendship we had never done anything the least bit sexual; only the verbal flirts over the phone, always 400-miles away.

My Ears Must Be Enormous

When it comes to “unavailable” women, I’ve learned too many times the painful way, my exceptional communication skills, levels of rawness, and articulation are my glory/attraction and my curse/repellant. The doubling of the curse/repellant is also amplified by the seemingly insecure BFH (boyfriend, fiancé, or husband). Here is the kicker: for whatever reasons, the BFH does not know me, or maybe anything about me. He damn sure doesn’t know me like a best friend over five, ten, twenty years or anything about my integrity like she does.

I’ve asked so many times, how/why is this so frequently the case?

Or replace “opinions” with “feelings”.

Yesterday, I received three long text messages from my dear happily married friend. She preempted her message “I know you’re going to hate what I’m about to say and ask you…” She is probably spot-on because we do indeed know each other (platonically) very well. That is simply the way the Universe has put us in each other’s life. She goes on with “…like you and your ex-wives, I am remarried to a very jealous husband who also was hurt deeply and cheated on. I do not want to and cannot mess this one up!” Finally my semi-orders: “Please rein back your [public] comments and their frequency; he is going to get too suspicious!”

After I took about 45-minutes to an hour to simmer down, I responded, “Helen of Troy [the name I’m giving her here], I am 400-miles away and now we hardly ever talk. Seriously?” We no longer talk for hours or as many times because when they began dating it was too risky and she still had some guilt over her previous infidelity. She wanted to prove to him beyond a shadow of doubt that she was no longer a….let’s use a different term than her ex-husband and church used: expressive courtesan. I completely abided to her fears and request then. Reluctantly I will again, and angry again. I want to scream.

Here is my screaming question which annoyingly arises too often with female friends…

Why can you not openly comfortably talk to your BFH the way you have talked for 30-years to me!?

And this question leads to perhaps too many other revealing questions doesn’t it?

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Part Two will be over two previous situations with good close female friends; one of them I promise will be unexpected and even more revealing! You’ll want to stay-tuned. Trust me.

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Of Envy and Its Guises

Posted on May 23, 2013 by Professor Taboo

According to Webster’s New World College Dictionary, envy is defined as 1. a feeling of discontent and ill-will because of another’s advantages, possessions, etc.; resentful dislike of another who has something that one desires. 2. desire for some advantage, quality, etc. that another has. 3. an object of envious feeling; and so on as described in the definition. I have a particular interest in number two: “desire for some advantage, quality… that another has.”

As I wrote about in my previous post She Was A Knockout, I have been visiting my new orthodontist for major dental work. My orthodontist is a very pleasant, kind, engaging man in his late sixties and probably on the verge of his retirement. In fact, after he is finished with me I am sure he could easily retire!

You might already know, Texas is considered on the fringe of the southern bible-belt. In some places – like this small southwest Texan town I’m temporarily in – at times you’d think it was firmly in the deep ultra-conservative south. Everyone knows everyone according to two badges: what 1,000 acre ranch you own or its family you hale from, and what Christian church you attend. With those badges come the assumption that on either Saturday afternoon/evening, or Sunday morning, you along with everyone else in town are sitting in a pew; when you’re not in the pew then you are “spreading the Good News!” during the other remaining six days or at least talking about how great the “news” and life is…or I should say, reborn life.

All throughout his office and patient rooms are table-top statues (image above) with no inscriptions but which clearly depict a familiar scene and New Testament story: Mary the prostitute or a disciple kneeling down washing Christ’s feet. Up on several walls and on several counters are negative (as opposed to photographic positive) shapes that when closely examined spell “Jesus.”

I am humored by his obvious proclamations. After all, it is his office and patient rooms…..that he leases from the property management and owners. And he and his practice, fortunately for him, do reside in a country of religious freedom and speech. Like him, I am certainly grateful for that privilege. I smile thinking that as his paying patient, I must represent Jesus in those statues! Oh no, wait a minute! Could I be the prostitute, or rather gigolo paying my growing dental bill in whatever manner works!? I could easily be enslaved to my dentist for several years after all the services rendered!

Like Penis-Envy But Really God-Envy

A submissive gladly shows service to her Dom/Master

On that note, I have this itching urge to share another interpretation of those many statuettes thoughtfully placed in each of their locations. It is this: Did you know that this statue also symbolizes the servitude of a submissive to their Dom, Domme, or Master in the BDSM lifestyle? I chuckle inside imagining their expressions. And then my warped sense of humor whispers to me: this is like penis-envy, except in this office it is God-envy. I realize my itching ill-expressed humor might exact many more extractions of teeth if I don’t guard my tongue. I repress.

So you might be asking, what does this have to do with envy? Bear with me.

As my dentist popped his rubber gloves to work inside my mouth, we got sidetracked by my curiosity to his two digital clocks in the room. I explained to him (with intended humor) the big one displayed the room temperature, barometric pressure, and weirdly 6:35pm Sunday. That cannot be so because my appointment was for 8:30am Monday; I was on time. Furthermore, there is no place on Earth where it was presently 6:37pm Sunday…so I ask you Dr. Einstein – that is the name I’ll give him here to protect his innocence – have you invented a patient room and chair capable of time-travel? He played along.

But then our conversation turned. He mentioned that my astrological sign/reading for the day might be treacherous (being in his office laid back in the chair) as he smirked. And before I could play along with his wit, he quickly retracted his comment apologizing for mocking a system that is “a bunch of hogwash” and that he doesn’t believe in any of that stuff. Then he continued, “That stuff [astrology] is demonic!” And then he quickly apologized again and stated he should not have said that either because I might like it or believe in it!

Now I’m really enjoying The Orthodontic Squirm Show! And then he digs his hole deeper and asks me “Do you like that stuff? Do you believe it?”

Let me say here, that earlier itch on his statuettes, never wanted to be scratched SO BAD as it did with that question!

Given my situation and trust in his upcoming surgical expertise with my mouth and teeth, I answered, I love space exploration, cosmology, astrophysics, and quantum mechanics. He replied “But that has nothing to do with astrology.” I know it doesn’t I answered. I hoped he was witty enough to understand my read-between-the-lines answer. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing one way or the other if his fumbling had been intrusive or not, even though it wasn’t in the least. But….Let him sweat!

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In almost every case, I have never been offended or put off by Christian evangelicals or proselytizing, or even self-perceived prophets. The kind folks that clutter their front yards with crosses representing Calvary don’t really bother me either. Having grown up in Texas, having spent two and a half years in seminary myself and four years at a Christian liberal arts college and then five years as a deacon and singles ministry leader all in Mississippi, I know the canonical New Testament teachings and doctrines very, very well. Those evangelicals, or proselytizers, or prophets, or simple common folk proclaiming Good News are actually obeying quite well what scripture teaches ALL followers to go and do…daily with humility. I greatly admire their obedience and courage even though I thoroughly disagree with their foundations for doing it.

So why do they do it?

In my mind and reasoning, they are unaware (or in denial) of how amputated, and how misconceived – and maligned through Greco-Roman lenses and traditions – the stories and passages of their bible was canonized versus the real historical events and context of their Savior Yeshua. Those historical facts are apparently boring and unnecessary. So I ask myself again, why do they do it so faithfully? Then the light bulb turns on. God-envy.

The human brain and body is a remarkable coping mechanism to the sometimes brutal unexplainable force of life. So we envy those who seem to lift themselves above the pain and chaos and offer a form of hope (and power?), peace, and order. Fortunately, there are a plethora of successful ways of achieving the happier life or a less anxiety-ridden life and subsequent conquest of death WITHOUT surrendering your soul and innate gifts to an ancient proxy shrouded in Greco-Roman traditions. In the doctrines of mainstream Christianity that “surrendering” is referred to as humanity’s total depravity.

Geocentrism/Egocentrism formerly taught by the Roman Church…which begat all later Christian churches today.

Consequently, and to humanity’s detriment for two plus millennia, mainstream Christian doctrines don’t teach self-reliance, self-empowerment or self-actualization because that was not the Greco-Roman way of control and imperialism during the formation of the canonical New Testament; so we envy its Messiah…a greatly diluted form of individual potential.

I wonder if my orthodontist knows that it is because of astrology and other fields of science that mankind successfully navigated the vast oceans, understood when crops needed to be planted and harvested, that the Earth circles the Sun and not the Sun/cosmos circling Man’s planet, or more importantly three Eastern Arabian kings bearing royal gifts followed a great Supernova in the night sky — which astrologers and cosmologists have determined was not in the month of December — with navigation built upon centuries of incredible Arabian-Persian science and astrology? What do you think?

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Footnote – If interested in the historical context of the Greco-Roman deification of Yeshua of Nazareth, start with my post Constantine: Christianity’s True Catalyst/Christ or the other The Suffering Messiah That Wasn’t Jesus. For further reading and understanding of Yeshua’s/Jesus’ deep Jewish-Roman world, I recommend Dr. James Tabor’s work and website at The Jewish Roman World of Jesus. It is an excellent highly informative site of overlooked context by today’s Roman Catholic and Protestant churches.

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She Was A Knockout!

Posted on May 18, 2013 by Professor Taboo

I had retired from my semi-pro and professional soccer career and was in a transition trying to decide what I wanted to do next. It was 1996 and for the time being I was helping a friend manage one of north Dallas’ well-known nothing-but-soccer retail stores. Many times coaches, team captains, and booster-clubs would come in for assistance in ordering team uniforms for the upcoming school or amateur league seasons. This time of year also included the local women’s teams and co-ed teams. But before I go any further, let me explain the well-known fact risk a “retired” male professional (and lifetime single-gender) soccer player takes when joining an amateur co-ed team and league.

The Play-At-Your-Own-Peril Rule

I began playing soccer at the age of ten. By middle school I was playing competitive soccer – what today is called select soccer – and wanted not only to play professionally, but try to at least make the U.S. Men’s National Team roster. What was often whispered among such serious players with such lofty dreams was try your best not to play with or against the clueless recreational teams and players, but more critically never play with or against girls. Now ladies, before you go into your rant, please bear with me and let me explain what it’s about and why it was a whispered rule.

First of all, not playing against recreational teams is a policy most major sports franchises enforce and hence protect their high-valued stars. Second of all, and a lesson I learned several times in my career, from a tactical and confidence standpoint the stronger professional players gain very little or nothing at all by playing the weaker/amateur team other than a practice, or an opportunity to let 2^nd and 3^rd stringers get playing time. In those rare cases the pro team takes a slim chance in damaging their status or image if they play poorly or worse, lose.

The reason male pro players almost never play competitively against women – and I am genuinely not trying to insult female athletes – is for the simple reason that both teams and genders risk unnecessary injury. In sports, on the whole, women’s bodies move differently than men’s. Momentum, for whatever reason, is initiated and managed differently between the genders. If you don’t believe me, simply watch the two sexes in slow-motion action and how they ‘collide’.

It is a well-established unspoken rule that in competitive contact sports a man plays at his own risk against women. I had known this law for eighteen years.

The Never-ending Beer and Female Introductions Carrot

Returning now to 1996, three attractive female soccer players have been visiting our soccer store often in preparation for the upcoming co-ed season opener. Their player roster is also not complete; they desperately need a goalkeeper! For reasons unknown to me, no one presently on the team wanted to play goalkeeper. And before these very charming women asked, I knew exactly what was about to come out of their seductive mouths…. “We have heard about how good a goalkeeper you are and that you’ve even played professionally!” Huh!? I wasn’t expecting that approach! Hmm, I’ll give ‘em that…. stroking my ego is a good tactical move. But you ladies, I was thinking, are going to have to come up with a lot more before I even entertain the remote possibility of risking my safety! I shook my head two or three times, No, sorry ladies.

And then came the coup d’état.

“We will buy” they countered with smirks “all of your beer after every game and promise to introduce you to a minimum of three HOT women players each weekend!” To say I was aroused would be gross understatement. “When does the season start?” I replied.

In my hyper-excited mind, I imagined consecutive weekends of hot dates galore and massive amounts of sleep-overs. The score line of our games or whether we had a winning season or not was of absolutely no concern for me. I happily signed my lop-sided contract!

Game 1 of 12

The referee’s opening whistle blew. The comical usual cheering and smack-talk began from both teams and their fans/family members on the sidelines. It truly made me laugh; I had already heard the most abusive and slandering and loudest rhetoric in my career having played around the world. I was more entertained by my thoughts of the post-game festivities. Damn, we were only about ten minutes into our game. Ah, here comes a cross into my penalty box from my left, between the penalty spot and the eighteen-yard line….easy, easy pickings. I quickly come out to snatch it.

I scream the usual scream to my defense “Keeper’s!” I launch into my usual very high-vertical leap, snag the ball with extended arms ABOVE my head, and as per my umpteen years of training and experience proceed to pull the ball down into my chest….. but then SLAM and everything goes black and silent.

The next moment I remember are the EMT’s putting the smelling sauce under my nose. HOLY SHIT my entire jaw and face are in excruciating pain! The EMT’s keep asking me several questions, load me onto their gurney, and I am transported to the nearest ER. There the attending physician informs me that I need 10 stitches on my right under side edge of my chin, and my jaw is broken in two places on the left side near the front of my ear. I will also have to have my jaw and mouth wired shut for six to eight weeks. Two of those three women who talked me in to playing are there consoling me “…they didn’t score.” With my best scolding look I murmured what I hoped sounded like “This is NOT how I wanted to frickin meet women!” I mean shit, I never even saw her! How many beers could have been bought with the upcoming ambulance, emergency room, and doctors bill!?

My co-ed season was over before it began.

Manchester United's Jones is carried off the pitch on a stretcher during their English Premier League soccer match against Arsenal in London

Image courtesy of rakball.net

Further details of the collision shared by them made my predicament even more depressing – and over time, made theirs a favorite pub story. A long story short, the girl THOUGHT by unimaginable lotto odds, she’d have a chance to head that ball…. with her eyes closed for God’s sake! The top of her head hit my chin if that gives you ANY idea of how wrong she was! And by the way, that ball she thought she could head was firmly in my hands three-feet above my chin! In my profession, on my futebol pitch, with other professional male athletes, it was a NO BRAINER that no one could have had any chance of getting their head on that ball. They would not have even jumped! I hope as you are reading you are picking up on my enraged astonishment.

May 2013

I am fortunate to have great dental genetics from both parents. As I was taught by my parents, I take above average care of those teeth. As a result, I have learned that my mouth is fine with irregular orthodontic checkups; like on the every 3 to 5 year frequency or more. In fact, I did not get my first cavity until I was 24-years old and it was barely a cavity. Often orthodontists would admire my teeth, entire mouth and all my wisdom teeth.

This time I was returning to the dentist after twelve years. However, this visit I knew I was well past the “praise” of the hygienist and her doctor: I had what was likely a developing abscess. I was expecting the dreaded line “Yes, it will have to come out.” But then my new orthodontist asked a question that was totally from left field.

“Have you ever had a traumatic facial injury?”

The Good News, the Bad News, and the Recurring News

My orthodontist confessed that he really didn’t have to ask that question; he knew I had had a traumatic facial injury. He was viewing all the evidence on the x-rays up in the light. In his many years of practice he had seen it a thousand times. And once again, I had to retell the above story to him. As I was about to begin, I thought to myself, that damn invisible woman is STILL haunting me! And that proverbial line: I didn’t even get her name. The dentist begins his verdict…

The good news is that for not being in for a checkup and cleaning for ages, your condition is good and normal. The bad news is that not only does that abscessed tooth need to come out, but you have two more that need extraction, probably a fourth, and maybe a fifth. “And you know what’s strange about your condition,” he asked, “you don’t have cavities in any of those 3-5 teeth!” The erupting roots in all those teeth are a result of that facial injury.

Now over the next 3-weeks, I will be getting surgical extractions, fitted for a 3 or 5 toothed denture, and paying $2,500 – $5,000 to stop any further problems; from a problem that began with: When does the season start?

The 1970’s Carpenters song Close to You goes on and on in my head:

That is why all the girls in town
(Girls in town)
Follow you
(Follow you)
All around
[But I saw nothing!]…
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you

* * * * * * * * * *

An All-Points-Bulletin for athletic men who have weakened will-power around all things seductively female:

Sooner or later, one way or another, you WILL pay for a woman’s company, that introduction, and anything else you desire of her!

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Live Well — Love Much — Laugh Often — Learn Always

This work by Professor Taboo is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.professortaboo.com/contact-me/.

Sometimes

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Professor Taboo

Attaching music to a message is one great way to make that message stick and stick deep in the heart and soul. As I have been hearing and reading lately the news about equality for all American citizens of all races, religion, ethnicity, and ever so inevitably…gender and orientation — Minnesota being the latest — I thought of this artist and song. I think it (and feel it) very appropriate for these wonderful and right Winds of Change. This post is somewhat a continuation of the previous post: along the lines of genetic and hormonal development in all people.

I can only imagine how scary it must be and feel to be chastised for simply being biologically and neurologically different than the accepted norm since being in your mother’s womb; being different since your embryonic stage. What a sometimes hopeless feeling not to understand why so many people think you and/or call you inferior, sick, or worse a product of evil. In some homes growing up, the bitterness and shaming could even turn violent if a mother or father had a volatile temper. When I thoroughly imagine those horrid circumstances at home or in public, like at school, or possibly every corner you turn….it begins to enrage me against moronic uninformed uneducated bigotry; let alone a lack of compassion, understanding, and peaceful tolerance. Imagine a young child or teen not understanding their “unusual” feelings that seemingly NO ONE agrees with or condones. And perhaps they are always so ready to pound you into conformity for something which was firmly developed in your embryonic stage! If you would like to be quickly tutored on exactly what scientific medical research has been compiling for non-standardized gender relations….read my post Toss the 2-D Glasses. Meanwhile, listen, read the lyrics, and hopefully enjoy this relevant song “Sometimes” by the German band And One.

Daddy said that I’m a good boy
Caus I always did his will
But I can’t remember,
was it me – how did I feel
I call’em family,
but in the heart of hearts I know
There’s something wrong with me,
what can I do?

Mother said that I’m a good girl
I was always dressed to kill
But I can’t remember,
was it me – how did I feel
Now this is long ago
But today I’m really sure
I don’t wanna crawl no more
No I don’t want to

I want to be all alone
(to be all alone)
(leave me all alone)
(I’m so lonely)
Sometimes I don’t know what I prefer to be
That’s all that I can see

So I burnt down the house of hate
The key to close the door
What a nice September
I found out it’s not too late
Its happened yesterday
But today I’m really sure
I don’t wanna crawl no more
No I don’t want to

I want to be all alone
(to be all alone)
(leave me all alone)
(I’m so lonely)
Sometimes I don’t know what I prefer to be
That’s all that I can see