“Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist”--George Carlin
Friday, November 29, 2013
Friday, November 22, 2013
Compliments of Vermin
Dietary Rant warning
I asked Edwardo to ask Indian guy B if was a raramuri of running fame and he claimed he was and could easily run for two days straight. The guy had a touch of grey in his hair and I presumed he could remember running for two days straight but hadn't done it since Miami Vice was on the air. Without calling him a baldfaced liar I just nodded. The running raramuris eat corn, beans, melons and nuts and berries they forage With the occasional fricaseed gopher to round out the diet. They have no degenerative diseases and have been known to run for 400 miles at a stretch. This bloke had moved into a town with Satan (Coke) in the pop cooler.
Notice what I call "the death bloat" swelling his mid section and he got to throw away his training bra for his budding man boobs.
This is were I get spit all over people at parties (which I am less and less frequently invited to).
When I refered to the machine as being evil I really mean destructive to humanity. I am beating up on Coke but it really pertains to any company traded on the Wall Street.
Cokes primary product is absolutely destructive to your body and so they could increase their profits they put an addictive kicker in there for grins.
This is were all the grumpy old men say well it is the customers free choice that they consume gallons of this poison per day. And that is somewhat true and if the consumers stupidity hurt only them I wouldn't care less but the damage is aggregated. In other words my health insurance has to pay to lop off the purple toes of the morbidly obese people that become enslaved to that liquid. This is one of the things that is kind of freakin me out about this country. Al quida kills three thousand plus or minus and we freak out and run around like chickens with our heads kut off and Coke and Kraft foods extrude their way into what I am sure is tens of millions of premature deaths while their "customers" walk around like bloated zombies until at the age of forty they cant hold their own weight anymore and they get those scooters.
Pay attention younguns it wasn't like that even 30 years ago. Look in the old pictures from family events. Go to cabelas and look at all the folks duck hunting fotos on the wall the dudes are thin. then look around you at the zombies. I know I was one till the stent and I had the big awakening.
I actually thank god that I have heart disease because it put me on this path.
I think there is a reason all religions had some food related restrictions because they knew people had to have the fear of god in them to avoid eating stuff that tasted good that is bad for you.
I don't really blame Coke, by the rules of the game they are absolutely forbidden to have a consciense but this has to start from the ground up in my slacker revolution. The guys in the cubicles at Coke wake up every morning trying to dream up new ways to cheapen the product and cram more of the product down your gizzard.
Slacker logic. Coke cost money ergo you need a job to buy coke. Water used to be free and it still comes out of the tap free usually.
Eat like the Raramuri = thin, tons of energy and endurance beyond your wildest dreams
Eat like your average midwestern cube dwelling resident = bloat out, type 2 diabetes by the time you are 40, walk around in a food coma, high blood pressure and lopped of legs by 45 and die of a heart attack when you are 50.
As it turns out because I eat exclusively out of a can on my excellent adventures by default I do eat like the raramuri. I pretty much eat beans and corn and yams and stuff on trips and I will generally loose 5 pounds per week.
Our current national debate on who pays for health care is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. We all pay for bad health one way or the other. The suits love your illness and death it is a treasure trove.
Did you ever notice most of the growth industries in this country are actually failure modes of humanity? Prisons, hospitals, casinos, law enforcement it is all pretty much trying to fix the stuff after it has broken. Well it aint gonna work. Can you imagine Chinas Nightmare if they have the same results as we have with our much touted western lifestyle? 3 billion people with diabetes. Merck will love it.
Our country is full of people trying to make slam dunks without even knowing how to dribble the ball.
I hope I offended everybody
I asked Edwardo to ask Indian guy B if was a raramuri of running fame and he claimed he was and could easily run for two days straight. The guy had a touch of grey in his hair and I presumed he could remember running for two days straight but hadn't done it since Miami Vice was on the air. Without calling him a baldfaced liar I just nodded. The running raramuris eat corn, beans, melons and nuts and berries they forage With the occasional fricaseed gopher to round out the diet. They have no degenerative diseases and have been known to run for 400 miles at a stretch. This bloke had moved into a town with Satan (Coke) in the pop cooler.
Notice what I call "the death bloat" swelling his mid section and he got to throw away his training bra for his budding man boobs.
This is were I get spit all over people at parties (which I am less and less frequently invited to).
When I refered to the machine as being evil I really mean destructive to humanity. I am beating up on Coke but it really pertains to any company traded on the Wall Street.
Cokes primary product is absolutely destructive to your body and so they could increase their profits they put an addictive kicker in there for grins.
This is were all the grumpy old men say well it is the customers free choice that they consume gallons of this poison per day. And that is somewhat true and if the consumers stupidity hurt only them I wouldn't care less but the damage is aggregated. In other words my health insurance has to pay to lop off the purple toes of the morbidly obese people that become enslaved to that liquid. This is one of the things that is kind of freakin me out about this country. Al quida kills three thousand plus or minus and we freak out and run around like chickens with our heads kut off and Coke and Kraft foods extrude their way into what I am sure is tens of millions of premature deaths while their "customers" walk around like bloated zombies until at the age of forty they cant hold their own weight anymore and they get those scooters.
Pay attention younguns it wasn't like that even 30 years ago. Look in the old pictures from family events. Go to cabelas and look at all the folks duck hunting fotos on the wall the dudes are thin. then look around you at the zombies. I know I was one till the stent and I had the big awakening.
I actually thank god that I have heart disease because it put me on this path.
I think there is a reason all religions had some food related restrictions because they knew people had to have the fear of god in them to avoid eating stuff that tasted good that is bad for you.
I don't really blame Coke, by the rules of the game they are absolutely forbidden to have a consciense but this has to start from the ground up in my slacker revolution. The guys in the cubicles at Coke wake up every morning trying to dream up new ways to cheapen the product and cram more of the product down your gizzard.
Slacker logic. Coke cost money ergo you need a job to buy coke. Water used to be free and it still comes out of the tap free usually.
Eat like the Raramuri = thin, tons of energy and endurance beyond your wildest dreams
Eat like your average midwestern cube dwelling resident = bloat out, type 2 diabetes by the time you are 40, walk around in a food coma, high blood pressure and lopped of legs by 45 and die of a heart attack when you are 50.
As it turns out because I eat exclusively out of a can on my excellent adventures by default I do eat like the raramuri. I pretty much eat beans and corn and yams and stuff on trips and I will generally loose 5 pounds per week.
Our current national debate on who pays for health care is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. We all pay for bad health one way or the other. The suits love your illness and death it is a treasure trove.
Did you ever notice most of the growth industries in this country are actually failure modes of humanity? Prisons, hospitals, casinos, law enforcement it is all pretty much trying to fix the stuff after it has broken. Well it aint gonna work. Can you imagine Chinas Nightmare if they have the same results as we have with our much touted western lifestyle? 3 billion people with diabetes. Merck will love it.
Our country is full of people trying to make slam dunks without even knowing how to dribble the ball.
I hope I offended everybody
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Hmmm..... quote of the day
One day your life will flash before your eyes. "Make sure it is worth watching".
Some people are just like slinkies. Not really good for much, but put a hell of smile on your face when you push them down the stairs........
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
From Hedgehog
iiPod. Check. GPS. Check. A fuel stop, take a deep breath and roll out.
Surface streets on a weekday night, the sporadic couple of cars waiting at lights that seem to work on some other schedule than that which allows for a smooth flow of traffic. It's dark, it's late, it's warm out and the windscreen is all the way down. I want to feel the wind. I open my face shield wide and let the air swirl through my helmet.
It's a short trip to the freeway but I find each stoplight annoying. I want - no, I need - that wind in my face, my cheeks are begging for it. The vents are all open and I could be wearing a t-shirt save for the armor and abrasion protection that I could very well put to use.
The onramp speaks to me: GO. The bike is feeling light and third gear is the sweet range for bouncing off the rev limiter, then fourth and fifth, stil cutting out at the top. This bike is my best friend, and I'm sorry to hurt you darlin' but I really need to test this relationship and the only way to do that is to make sure you're going to be there for me when I need you. That time is now.
The half mile of onramp and merge lane yields an even 110 MPH and I can already see the blue lights of the state cop with his traffic stop up ahead so I back off and wonder if he can sense what I'm about at the moment. I slip by him, still standing at the passenger side of the rental car, he looks up and cocks his head but 65 at 7K is still only 65 and he knows it. So what if it sounds like shit.
Over the next rise and I'm back on the gas... 85, 90, 100... I quit looking because I'm sure I don't really want to know ("Do you know how fast you were going?"). Not too many cars around, just enough to make quick lane changes necessary and I need that slalom, that release, that feeling that somehow my machine and I own this piece of pavement.
The next set of blue lights tells me the freeway isn't going to cut it. Oddly enough there's another freeway up ahead and I know the area well enough to know that it'll take me to the sort of places I have in mind. Twisty places. A workout. Places where you'd better focus or you're going to be donating your retinas.
Set a random destination in the GPS and route to AVOID FREEWAYS. This heads me off on a four-lane surface street which is damn near deserted save for the occasional boom-boom Japanese import with a the coffee can hanging underneath. The kids look at me funny in my gear and on my big ugly bike and I couldn't care less. We have places to go, we have things to do, we have to test ourselves now and you wouldn't understand it.
A turnoff goes two lane, headed uphill. This is what I'm looking for. Bring it. I reach up and turn off the GPS altogether because I don't want to cheat, don't want to know what's coming up ahead, the GPS can get me home later when I'm through. Reach down and dial in the "Pissed Off" playlist on the iPod, shuffle the helmet a bit to set the speakers right up against my earplugs and I hear a voice in the wind: "Go. Go now." Leave the stop sign as Jane's Addiction pops off with "Up the Beach" and that first hit, the one that's always free, splits my head and I instinctively bang the throttle wide open and leave it there while speed shifting between first, second, third. I know I'm on it because the front wheel doesn't seem to touch the ground for a good long time.
Suburbia. I apologize, but I'm here to vent. This bike is normally quiet and I'm sure normally you wouldn't notice me rolling through your neighborhood, but with these revs I'm going to making a lot of racket and it's just... well, necessary. You understand. I promise to do my best to keep from hurting anyone.
Clear of houses except the ones with a decent bit of land and some setback - you can see the lights on but they seem far away. A sign promises S turns and recommends 35. Not tonight. The front end is sticky and the pavement is warm and I have some shit to get out of my system, and my friend, this ride, this tool, this machine, this fucker which has hauled my sorry ass around for almost 16,000 miles - this is gonna hurt. Again, I'm so sorry but I need you to suck it up and ignore how you feel for a while.
Green Day. "Jesus of Suburbia". A good groove with a strong beat and it suits this road. It's not loud enough to drown out the crap in my head, though, so the only option is to make more wind and engine noise. Game on. I can't see a damn thing because my PIAAs are setup for slab riding so I just shut them off and trust in the fogs. I think they're enough. If they're not then we'll figure that out soon enough.
Into a long right sweeper, third gear and God only knows what RPM, but the bike is overpowering Nitzer Ebb as I head left and for whatever reason I realize I've got a knee out, long past the point of previous commitment and faith in the GS' front end. The Anakee is good, indeed. Another right, some small hills, one wheel up and right back down again, I can't hear the engine but I can feel the vibe and I just flat-out guess as I slam from one gear to the next and back again. The residents must think the Chicken of Doom is upon them, running through the hills with no regard for anything other than the pure fucking release that's been so long in coming. Sometimes I'm lazy with my shifting and the resulting disconnect redlines this pig with the worst sound you've ever heard from a boxer - suck it up, that's what friends are for - so a dab of clutch and a snick of the toe and the throttle barely has time to snap back from WFO.
The first few turns are simply muscular excersizes. I try to push the pig through them, forcing it to do what I want, but to no avail - she fights me and I'm fighting her and climbing up on the tank to try to make things better but it's simply no use. Trust her. She knows what she's doing. Relax and she'll get you where you want to go.
I slow down enough to slide back on the seat, it's enough to hear my phone ring. My phone. Connection to the world, ADV and family and friends and people who are special. They need to wait a while, and they will, I bet. I reach into my pocket to turn it off, knowing that the little heartbeat it sends to refresh ADV and show that I'm around is going to take a break and so am I.
Patches of residential area, then nothing. 65. Are you ready to try again, I hear... let's do it. You lead. I'll just push the pedals.
One, two clicks on the iPod brings "Where the Streets Have No Name" and it's really time to lay into the throttle again. Downhill, uphill, I've lost track of where I am or where I might be but all I need is the comfort of a clear sky to find my way home when I'm ready so location isn't an issue and I can't be far from much of anything anyway. I'm still laying into the turns pretty hard, but using the bike instead of using it up, and she's there when I need it. At one point I see 120, a new milestone, dangerous speed but still in control, God, the control and the release, and as Bono in his good years belts out "Bad" I feel it coming on and I chop the throttle, lay into the binders and stop off on the side of the road sweaty and in tears. The helmet has to go. I want to throw up but all I can do is cry my eyes out and try to catch the breath that won't be caught until I'm too tired to try anymore and everything slows way, way down.
It's quiet here, wherever it is, all I can hear is the clicking of a very hot exhaust and the shudder in my chest when I try to inhale. And then - nothing. Not a sound. And I ask her, quietly, to take me safely home, and I'm sorry.
You don't have to apologize, I hear. Just GO. And so I do without the GPS and meander my way, slowly and quietly, back to the freeway for the relatively short ride home. With my friend. Thank you, friend.
Surface streets on a weekday night, the sporadic couple of cars waiting at lights that seem to work on some other schedule than that which allows for a smooth flow of traffic. It's dark, it's late, it's warm out and the windscreen is all the way down. I want to feel the wind. I open my face shield wide and let the air swirl through my helmet.
It's a short trip to the freeway but I find each stoplight annoying. I want - no, I need - that wind in my face, my cheeks are begging for it. The vents are all open and I could be wearing a t-shirt save for the armor and abrasion protection that I could very well put to use.
The onramp speaks to me: GO. The bike is feeling light and third gear is the sweet range for bouncing off the rev limiter, then fourth and fifth, stil cutting out at the top. This bike is my best friend, and I'm sorry to hurt you darlin' but I really need to test this relationship and the only way to do that is to make sure you're going to be there for me when I need you. That time is now.
The half mile of onramp and merge lane yields an even 110 MPH and I can already see the blue lights of the state cop with his traffic stop up ahead so I back off and wonder if he can sense what I'm about at the moment. I slip by him, still standing at the passenger side of the rental car, he looks up and cocks his head but 65 at 7K is still only 65 and he knows it. So what if it sounds like shit.
Over the next rise and I'm back on the gas... 85, 90, 100... I quit looking because I'm sure I don't really want to know ("Do you know how fast you were going?"). Not too many cars around, just enough to make quick lane changes necessary and I need that slalom, that release, that feeling that somehow my machine and I own this piece of pavement.
The next set of blue lights tells me the freeway isn't going to cut it. Oddly enough there's another freeway up ahead and I know the area well enough to know that it'll take me to the sort of places I have in mind. Twisty places. A workout. Places where you'd better focus or you're going to be donating your retinas.
Set a random destination in the GPS and route to AVOID FREEWAYS. This heads me off on a four-lane surface street which is damn near deserted save for the occasional boom-boom Japanese import with a the coffee can hanging underneath. The kids look at me funny in my gear and on my big ugly bike and I couldn't care less. We have places to go, we have things to do, we have to test ourselves now and you wouldn't understand it.
A turnoff goes two lane, headed uphill. This is what I'm looking for. Bring it. I reach up and turn off the GPS altogether because I don't want to cheat, don't want to know what's coming up ahead, the GPS can get me home later when I'm through. Reach down and dial in the "Pissed Off" playlist on the iPod, shuffle the helmet a bit to set the speakers right up against my earplugs and I hear a voice in the wind: "Go. Go now." Leave the stop sign as Jane's Addiction pops off with "Up the Beach" and that first hit, the one that's always free, splits my head and I instinctively bang the throttle wide open and leave it there while speed shifting between first, second, third. I know I'm on it because the front wheel doesn't seem to touch the ground for a good long time.
Suburbia. I apologize, but I'm here to vent. This bike is normally quiet and I'm sure normally you wouldn't notice me rolling through your neighborhood, but with these revs I'm going to making a lot of racket and it's just... well, necessary. You understand. I promise to do my best to keep from hurting anyone.
Clear of houses except the ones with a decent bit of land and some setback - you can see the lights on but they seem far away. A sign promises S turns and recommends 35. Not tonight. The front end is sticky and the pavement is warm and I have some shit to get out of my system, and my friend, this ride, this tool, this machine, this fucker which has hauled my sorry ass around for almost 16,000 miles - this is gonna hurt. Again, I'm so sorry but I need you to suck it up and ignore how you feel for a while.
Green Day. "Jesus of Suburbia". A good groove with a strong beat and it suits this road. It's not loud enough to drown out the crap in my head, though, so the only option is to make more wind and engine noise. Game on. I can't see a damn thing because my PIAAs are setup for slab riding so I just shut them off and trust in the fogs. I think they're enough. If they're not then we'll figure that out soon enough.
Into a long right sweeper, third gear and God only knows what RPM, but the bike is overpowering Nitzer Ebb as I head left and for whatever reason I realize I've got a knee out, long past the point of previous commitment and faith in the GS' front end. The Anakee is good, indeed. Another right, some small hills, one wheel up and right back down again, I can't hear the engine but I can feel the vibe and I just flat-out guess as I slam from one gear to the next and back again. The residents must think the Chicken of Doom is upon them, running through the hills with no regard for anything other than the pure fucking release that's been so long in coming. Sometimes I'm lazy with my shifting and the resulting disconnect redlines this pig with the worst sound you've ever heard from a boxer - suck it up, that's what friends are for - so a dab of clutch and a snick of the toe and the throttle barely has time to snap back from WFO.
The first few turns are simply muscular excersizes. I try to push the pig through them, forcing it to do what I want, but to no avail - she fights me and I'm fighting her and climbing up on the tank to try to make things better but it's simply no use. Trust her. She knows what she's doing. Relax and she'll get you where you want to go.
I slow down enough to slide back on the seat, it's enough to hear my phone ring. My phone. Connection to the world, ADV and family and friends and people who are special. They need to wait a while, and they will, I bet. I reach into my pocket to turn it off, knowing that the little heartbeat it sends to refresh ADV and show that I'm around is going to take a break and so am I.
Patches of residential area, then nothing. 65. Are you ready to try again, I hear... let's do it. You lead. I'll just push the pedals.
One, two clicks on the iPod brings "Where the Streets Have No Name" and it's really time to lay into the throttle again. Downhill, uphill, I've lost track of where I am or where I might be but all I need is the comfort of a clear sky to find my way home when I'm ready so location isn't an issue and I can't be far from much of anything anyway. I'm still laying into the turns pretty hard, but using the bike instead of using it up, and she's there when I need it. At one point I see 120, a new milestone, dangerous speed but still in control, God, the control and the release, and as Bono in his good years belts out "Bad" I feel it coming on and I chop the throttle, lay into the binders and stop off on the side of the road sweaty and in tears. The helmet has to go. I want to throw up but all I can do is cry my eyes out and try to catch the breath that won't be caught until I'm too tired to try anymore and everything slows way, way down.
It's quiet here, wherever it is, all I can hear is the clicking of a very hot exhaust and the shudder in my chest when I try to inhale. And then - nothing. Not a sound. And I ask her, quietly, to take me safely home, and I'm sorry.
You don't have to apologize, I hear. Just GO. And so I do without the GPS and meander my way, slowly and quietly, back to the freeway for the relatively short ride home. With my friend. Thank you, friend.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Advice sought
Posted for advice on another site.
I recently completed a divorce with my ISFJ wife of 26 years. She was having an affair with her boss. During the separation and divorce I learned of their cozy relationship and house hunting trips. It was really aggravating to see that they were conspiring against me to the detriment of my relationship and my family. I never got an opportunity to try to "fix" the problem.
She received her 50%. We no longer communicate.
I have enough information to destroy the interlopers career.
At the same time I was cleaning out a closet and discovered some old correspondence I also happened on some news articles about exposing home wreckers on a web site. Coincidence or karma?
I tend to be a little obsessive and this triggered that response again. I think to some degree this may be theraputic as well as interesting to see him squirm and be the receipient of some major discomfort going into his retirement years.
Thoughts from other INTJs? Pull the trigger or not?
Here is my proposed draft. I would of course provide a picture and his complete name.
Here is the story of 2010 School Leader of the Year by the Ohio Alliance for Public Charter Schools. Ray L. He is also a home wrecker who damaged my family, destroyed my marriage and the reputation of the mother of my children.
Don’t shit where you eat. That advice was given to me by a wise neighbor. Not too complicated.
Keep in mind that the Ohio Taxpayers are paying for this guy’s salary.
Ray L recruited my ex and promoted her multiple times. He was well aware that she was married as was he for much of the time. She had a rapid rise, probably to the detriment of other candidates. He is pretty slick. I recently found correspondence from 2003 while cleaning out a closet that the ex apparently thought worthy of saving. This was prior to her employment. Some favorite quotes:
“I’m a Pisces and a dreamer”
“I’ve developed a great deal of fondness, confidence and belief in your abilities”
“I’ve spent all my life waiting, for a second chance….”
“If you’re at happy hour by yourself let me know-I’ll try to cheer you up”
I wonder how long it took him to close the deal?
Ray L was married with seven children. He is ex-military. I understand that his wife stood by him through numerous deployments. He divorced her in 2010. She was likely oblivious to their relationship
.
I should mention that Ray L is 10 years older than my ex. I am not objective, but he is nothing special. My ex was an ambitious attractive woman. As they say in the Army, a target of opportunity.
I always suspected something between those two. While I was on a boy scout trip she called and left a message that she was staying overnight in Columbus unexpectedly. I think she did this a couple of times while I was out on trips. I am out trying to strengthen the family and to provide for my family, they are out destroying it.
She knew way too many personal details such as the fact that at least one of Ray's relatives has questionable judgment and likes to sleep with married men; at least that is what my ex told me. I guess it runs in the family. Again, when does that come up in a professional relationship?
My ex told me more than once that some men cannot maintain an erection while under medication. She sounded a little too familiar with that situation. I do not have this issue. When does this come up? Pillow talk? Too much information?
I was told by the ex that he stabbed someone once in high school.
If you look at his performance record in the schools he has been involved in it is very unimpressive. We agreed that we would never send our children to this school. He has managed to generate a lot of money for the organizations to siphon off and keep some for himself. The last report card for his school was pretty pathetic. F’s and D’s and one C. I understand that he is now bringing his talents to Michigan and Indiana as well.
In my mind a good leader never crosses the line where their integrity can be challenged. In this case they blew way through that line.
After 26 years of marriage I received an email from my ex advising me that she had moved out and taken my youngest son with her. That was my notice. She now lives alone in an apartment with rented furniture. My youngest son has run away and joined the Marines. I don’t expect that he will return to Cincinnati.
During the separation, I learned that, prior to the separation, they had been on several house hunting trips together. They were worried about a tree in the back yard. They worried about the cultured stone counters. They worried about radon. They were not worried about the impact on the family, friends or career. They are too clever to be caught. Yes I have emails.
In Ohio it is unethical and probably illegal for a public administrator to provide anything of value to influence school decisions.
“No public official or employee shall use or authorize the use of the authority or influence of office or employment to secure anything of value or the promise or offer of anything of value that is of such a character as to manifest a substantial and improper influence upon the public official or employee with respect to that person's duties.”
It occurs to me that providing companionship and other services would qualify. Also, Ray L led a board meeting on June 29th. On July 9th the ex purchased a $400 gift to Mr. L and had it delivered to his home. Quip pro quo? Do sexual favors count? What is the going rate?
Ray’s opinion on boards: “I wonder why people sit on Boards? Is it a cheap self esteem boost? I often think the many Boards I have seen are lead around by the nose anyway.”
We tried some counseling. I wanted to make it work and pretend it is all a bad dream. During that counseling I discovered that the ex had purchased a cheap disposable phone and was continuing to carry on with Ray L. 54 hours of calls. A couple of bad photos on it which may or may not have been sexts. What was the point in even going to counseling? I asked her to leave immediately.
The ex told me that women are sneaky. Some are also careless and not quite as clever as they think. I asked her it she thought it was right that David Patreous resigned. I never got a response.
I appreciate that is a bad reflection on me. I have many flaws but pursuing married women is not one of them. Meanwhile, the taxpayers of Ohio continue to pay Ray. He is probably working on closing his next deal.
There was no consensus. Some interesting responses.
I recently completed a divorce with my ISFJ wife of 26 years. She was having an affair with her boss. During the separation and divorce I learned of their cozy relationship and house hunting trips. It was really aggravating to see that they were conspiring against me to the detriment of my relationship and my family. I never got an opportunity to try to "fix" the problem.
She received her 50%. We no longer communicate.
I have enough information to destroy the interlopers career.
At the same time I was cleaning out a closet and discovered some old correspondence I also happened on some news articles about exposing home wreckers on a web site. Coincidence or karma?
I tend to be a little obsessive and this triggered that response again. I think to some degree this may be theraputic as well as interesting to see him squirm and be the receipient of some major discomfort going into his retirement years.
Thoughts from other INTJs? Pull the trigger or not?
Here is my proposed draft. I would of course provide a picture and his complete name.
Here is the story of 2010 School Leader of the Year by the Ohio Alliance for Public Charter Schools. Ray L. He is also a home wrecker who damaged my family, destroyed my marriage and the reputation of the mother of my children.
Don’t shit where you eat. That advice was given to me by a wise neighbor. Not too complicated.
Keep in mind that the Ohio Taxpayers are paying for this guy’s salary.
Ray L recruited my ex and promoted her multiple times. He was well aware that she was married as was he for much of the time. She had a rapid rise, probably to the detriment of other candidates. He is pretty slick. I recently found correspondence from 2003 while cleaning out a closet that the ex apparently thought worthy of saving. This was prior to her employment. Some favorite quotes:
“I’m a Pisces and a dreamer”
“I’ve developed a great deal of fondness, confidence and belief in your abilities”
“I’ve spent all my life waiting, for a second chance….”
“If you’re at happy hour by yourself let me know-I’ll try to cheer you up”
I wonder how long it took him to close the deal?
Ray L was married with seven children. He is ex-military. I understand that his wife stood by him through numerous deployments. He divorced her in 2010. She was likely oblivious to their relationship
.
I should mention that Ray L is 10 years older than my ex. I am not objective, but he is nothing special. My ex was an ambitious attractive woman. As they say in the Army, a target of opportunity.
I always suspected something between those two. While I was on a boy scout trip she called and left a message that she was staying overnight in Columbus unexpectedly. I think she did this a couple of times while I was out on trips. I am out trying to strengthen the family and to provide for my family, they are out destroying it.
She knew way too many personal details such as the fact that at least one of Ray's relatives has questionable judgment and likes to sleep with married men; at least that is what my ex told me. I guess it runs in the family. Again, when does that come up in a professional relationship?
My ex told me more than once that some men cannot maintain an erection while under medication. She sounded a little too familiar with that situation. I do not have this issue. When does this come up? Pillow talk? Too much information?
I was told by the ex that he stabbed someone once in high school.
If you look at his performance record in the schools he has been involved in it is very unimpressive. We agreed that we would never send our children to this school. He has managed to generate a lot of money for the organizations to siphon off and keep some for himself. The last report card for his school was pretty pathetic. F’s and D’s and one C. I understand that he is now bringing his talents to Michigan and Indiana as well.
In my mind a good leader never crosses the line where their integrity can be challenged. In this case they blew way through that line.
After 26 years of marriage I received an email from my ex advising me that she had moved out and taken my youngest son with her. That was my notice. She now lives alone in an apartment with rented furniture. My youngest son has run away and joined the Marines. I don’t expect that he will return to Cincinnati.
During the separation, I learned that, prior to the separation, they had been on several house hunting trips together. They were worried about a tree in the back yard. They worried about the cultured stone counters. They worried about radon. They were not worried about the impact on the family, friends or career. They are too clever to be caught. Yes I have emails.
In Ohio it is unethical and probably illegal for a public administrator to provide anything of value to influence school decisions.
“No public official or employee shall use or authorize the use of the authority or influence of office or employment to secure anything of value or the promise or offer of anything of value that is of such a character as to manifest a substantial and improper influence upon the public official or employee with respect to that person's duties.”
It occurs to me that providing companionship and other services would qualify. Also, Ray L led a board meeting on June 29th. On July 9th the ex purchased a $400 gift to Mr. L and had it delivered to his home. Quip pro quo? Do sexual favors count? What is the going rate?
Ray’s opinion on boards: “I wonder why people sit on Boards? Is it a cheap self esteem boost? I often think the many Boards I have seen are lead around by the nose anyway.”
We tried some counseling. I wanted to make it work and pretend it is all a bad dream. During that counseling I discovered that the ex had purchased a cheap disposable phone and was continuing to carry on with Ray L. 54 hours of calls. A couple of bad photos on it which may or may not have been sexts. What was the point in even going to counseling? I asked her to leave immediately.
The ex told me that women are sneaky. Some are also careless and not quite as clever as they think. I asked her it she thought it was right that David Patreous resigned. I never got a response.
I appreciate that is a bad reflection on me. I have many flaws but pursuing married women is not one of them. Meanwhile, the taxpayers of Ohio continue to pay Ray. He is probably working on closing his next deal.
There was no consensus. Some interesting responses.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Grumpy mood but found a new website
I am kind of in a grumpy mood. Found out I need a cardiac catheterization where they stick a tube in me and look for blockages. Should be fun.
I have been surfing the web. It is a good diversion. I can never suck up too much information.
This was on the front page of MSN today. A homewrecking site. I immediately thought of two perfect candidates.
http://www.nbcnews.com/technology/website-exposes-homewreckers-doesnt-break-law-8C11554126
I am inclined to fill out the form, provide the web picture from Ray Lambert's employer, and let er rip. Bottom line, he fucked with someone else's wife, he is a homewrecker.
Need to come up with a succinct story for the website. I can do that.
I wonder if they would dislike a third-party interfering with their personal relationship? That would suck wouldn't it?
Fuck this no fault divorce bullshit. There is such a thing as fault and such a thing as consequences.
That may eventually drive a stake through Ray's and the ex-wife's career. Google is not your friend.
I was cleaning out a closet yesterday and found an email from 2003 Ray Lambert to Marie Hanna. She must have liked it enough to save it. He is offering her compliments, commenting on boards and how they are easily lead around by the nose and offering to meet her for happy hour. He is pretty slick. He is trying to seduce her. Throw in some power and promotions from Ohio Connections Academy and you might just get laid.
Fucking homewreckers, I hate them. At least they can spend 24-7 together. Probably not as exciting as sneaking off for a quicky in Columbus.
The timing of my finding that email was bad. I think that I have commented on INTJ things earlier in this blog. We are sometimes called "masterminds". That can be used for good or evil. Some famous movie villains are portrayed as INTJs. We hate to be outmaneuvered. We like planning and envisioning the results. A little like a chess which I am pretty good at. Sometimes we just sit back and watch the game play out and have a pretty good idea that it will end badly for someone. Somehow we can do this without remorse. Live and let die?
Hmmmm
I have been surfing the web. It is a good diversion. I can never suck up too much information.
This was on the front page of MSN today. A homewrecking site. I immediately thought of two perfect candidates.
http://www.nbcnews.com/technology/website-exposes-homewreckers-doesnt-break-law-8C11554126
I am inclined to fill out the form, provide the web picture from Ray Lambert's employer, and let er rip. Bottom line, he fucked with someone else's wife, he is a homewrecker.
Need to come up with a succinct story for the website. I can do that.
I wonder if they would dislike a third-party interfering with their personal relationship? That would suck wouldn't it?
Fuck this no fault divorce bullshit. There is such a thing as fault and such a thing as consequences.
That may eventually drive a stake through Ray's and the ex-wife's career. Google is not your friend.
I was cleaning out a closet yesterday and found an email from 2003 Ray Lambert to Marie Hanna. She must have liked it enough to save it. He is offering her compliments, commenting on boards and how they are easily lead around by the nose and offering to meet her for happy hour. He is pretty slick. He is trying to seduce her. Throw in some power and promotions from Ohio Connections Academy and you might just get laid.
Fucking homewreckers, I hate them. At least they can spend 24-7 together. Probably not as exciting as sneaking off for a quicky in Columbus.
The timing of my finding that email was bad. I think that I have commented on INTJ things earlier in this blog. We are sometimes called "masterminds". That can be used for good or evil. Some famous movie villains are portrayed as INTJs. We hate to be outmaneuvered. We like planning and envisioning the results. A little like a chess which I am pretty good at. Sometimes we just sit back and watch the game play out and have a pretty good idea that it will end badly for someone. Somehow we can do this without remorse. Live and let die?
Hmmmm
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
2008 Commercial, interesting, not sure what they are selling
http://www.youtube.com/v/2RT_-0Sarh8?autohide=1&version=3&attribution_tag=8nZAOHfB-1rCZ-BkoXk7nA&showinfo=1&autohide=1&feature=share&autoplay=1
Are American's too prude?
Are American's too prude?
Friday, November 1, 2013
Postponing Halloween
Wimps! Sometimes you have to earn that candy. A little rain and wind? Postpone Halloween for a little weather?
In Minnesota, we were out in the rain, sleet, snow, bizzards, and hurricanes. We would travel by dog sleds if necessary. It was uphill both ways. We had it hard....
In Minnesota, we were out in the rain, sleet, snow, bizzards, and hurricanes. We would travel by dog sleds if necessary. It was uphill both ways. We had it hard....
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