What does she got that I aint got???

Now you got to ask yourself this question, if you were to get hit down by a car, would you want it to be a Benz or a Lada? If you’re going to be put in prison, do you want it to be for a big crime or a little one? Then in the same breath if you know your significant other is leaving you for someone else, do you want it to be for someone better looking or uglier?

Mars seems to have a somewhat different outlook on this entire situation, that I’m sure Venus will have choice words for. Where as the female may be concerned with questions like "is she prettier that me" or "does she have a better body", men seem to really only be concerned with one key issue… "is he better than me in the sack".
This may stem from the fact that the male ego doesn’t permit us to see another male as better looking or better built, but our animalistic instinct would always like to know that you were a better lover.

Lets face it, a mans personal appearance meter can be boosted by things like money, possessions and success, whereas the only real thing a woman can do to enhance her appearance is slap on another quote of makeup, a wonder bra or a tight short skirt. In the end it all comes down to sex.

Think about it ladies, has your new love interest asked you any of the following questions pertaining to your ex boyfriend–

1). Does he have a bigger dick than me?
2). Did he always make you come?
3). What positions did you guys do?
4). What did he do that you didn’t like?
But gentlemen, how many times have you heard
1). Is she prettier than me?
2). Did she have a bigger butt?
3). Does she have bigger breast?
4). Are you still attracted to her?

In the end it’s only wise to remember that no two people are alike in appearance, and attraction is something that doesn’t only stem from a physical perspective. But if you can keep your lady happy in the sack, there will be a lot less breakups and a whole lot more make up sex!

Faith & Love,

Mars

for more Random Gibberish follow me on Twitter @PsykeMike

To The World or To Jamaica??

I made the comment on 'Trivial Pursuit' this morning which in effect suggested that I was dissatisfied with the level of Contribution Usain Bolt was making to his country, in relation to the number of accolades we are so quick to give him. Amongst the many text liners that wanted nothing more than to lay me to rest.. one facebooker had the guts to say they actually agree with me..

Heres what they said and how I responded

FACEBOOK:
I TOTALLY AGREE WIT U THIS MORNING USAIN IS COLLECTING SO IS HIGH TIME HE GIVES SUM BCK, THE ONES MAKING LESS MONEY R GIVING BCK HE NEEDS TO GIVE BCK SUM OF HIS PARTY MONEY

MY RESPONSE:
Although a lot of what I say on the show is in jest, this was one time I was hoping people would see a bit of truth echoing.

We can't ignore the fact that he is a talented young man, and he does scrape a bit off the top to give back... but not in relation to his popularity.

I won't pretend to know the Bible back to back, but I do remember something about giving all that you have. I would never suggest that Bolt hand over every cheque he makes... but scraping the pennies left over to save face doesn't work for me! Jamaica is quick to give him the title of 'Honorable' and not recognize that with great power comes great responsibility.... even Spiderman knows that.

Other athletes, whose popularity or purse could only dream of amounting to what this young man makes, or what he can do are giving back in multitudes.. and I wouldn't be making this statement if I even saw the efforts of his charity.

Bolt could summon President Obama to the country if he wanted too. He dines with the best and parties with the A-listers. Use your popularity to usher in a number of investors, big names, enthusiast WHATEVER back to the country!

Stop pointing your fingers to the sky, and back at the country that raised you...

Update

Ok Guys. I know everyone hates me by now because I left them hanging with the story.

Quite a bit has happened in the last couple of months I kid you not, but this has not dissuaded me from concluding the story. The truth is my only laptop hard drive (with the conclusion) was fried and I just didn't have the motivation to re-write. But after the many threats, evil phone calls and hate mail I received...I decided to do the public some good.

THEREFORE.. tune in next week for the conclusion of my story which has now been titled.. Remote Acces!

(Untitled) Part 6 of a short story I began writing... read the first 5 parts first!!!

The following morning Steve was wearing one of his unusual smirks which only left me wondering why he could still find something that amusing at eight thirty in the morning. He seemed to shoot me continuous glances as he would pass my office door, and I even caught him making a gesture with his fingers which I could only interpret to mean “you’re the man!” When my nerves could take it no more I had no choice but to pull him inside the office and badger away until I received a full explanation as to why he found it fit to waltz gleefully through the halls, when everyone else was wishing the clock didn’t alarm that morning.

His almost dead on recollection of the conversation which had taken place between Cynthia and I the evening before, had left me with only one conclusion. Maybe the sweet and innocent girl who I had seen fiddling her way through the hallways was just like the other low life’s I had come to know in this work place. Maybe while I believed that she and I were sharing a moment, she and a band of fifteen or twenty other females were really conjuring up ways to make me look like an idiot on the other side of the screen. After a while it appeared that Steve sensed my discomfort and quickly found a reason to be excused from my presence.

With a huge sigh, I dropped my weight back into the office chair so hard that it rolled a little under the quick transfer of momentum. I allowed my work bag to just collapse to the floor, forcing the lid open, and a few of the stationary that had previously been at the bottom of the bag made its way onto the hardwood. I starred at the ceiling for a few minutes with a look on my face which would only suggest that I was feeling defeated or indifferent, which ever it was my frustration was almost on par with my lack of wanting to be up at that hour of the morning.

When I finally managed to gather myself, I collected what items had been scattered on the floor and dumped them in the half ajar desk drawer, before clicking the power button on my computer. These prehistoric machines had been around from the era when computers were first made, so I knew I had enough time to grab a coffee, hunt for the paper and use the bathroom before it would completely boot up. I managed to complete my task in just under 7 minutes, and it was somewhere between the thought of the meeting I had to attend at eleven o clock and what I would be eating for lunch that day, that I saw a weird flash on the screen of my computer.

At first I thought it was an error message, or some notice telling me about updates I would need to install. But slowly I concentrated my gaze towards the name at the top of the message box, and much to my horror and excitement, I saw the words, ‘new message from Cynthia ‘Flor’ Ortega’. There was a moment of hesitation, either to convince myself that I was not as mad as I thought I was at her for relaying the contents of our private conversation the day before, or to control the excitement I was now feeling at the thought of what the message could be. I finally worked up the courage to click “open” and the words “sorry about yesterday” appeared on the screen. To my luck the date and time at which the message came in was at the bottom corner of the box, and I realized that only 2 minutes has lapsed from when it was sent.

As much as I wanted to just leave the occurrences of yesterday in the past, a small part of me felt the urge to get some answers. After all this was still the initial stages of getting to know an almost complete stranger who you’re interested in, and the worse thing you can do at this point in time is come across desperate or pushy. I figured the best way to play the whole thing off was to sound as ‘matter of fact as possible’ and my response was something like…

“Had to get out of here fast yesterday, eh?”

I wasn’t completely sure she would understand the sarcasm in the question, so I hesitated for a brief moment at what her response would be, and after a minute she responded again by saying

“yes, and I am sorry. Are you mad?”
“Of course not, I wanted to leave the office en seguida”. I thought it would help my lie if I threw some over used Spanish in.
“What do you do for lunch today?” was her next response.

Now normally I would have assumed this to be a subtle invitation at an informal date, but I couldn’t help panic at the fact that her English was just that bad, and the simple rules of engagement (or assumption) should not be applied in this situation.

“The same thing I do everyday”…. Was my initial thought, but then I realized a lot more than I expected was riding on this answer.

“I don’t know, what do we want to do”, was the cheekiest, most flirtatious, response I could come up with, without sounding too imposing. Part of me felt satisfied, while another part hesitated at the thought of what could possibly be going on in her head at this very moment.

Its not strange for visitors to a strange country to be over-cautious when dealing with native people. After all the first set of words we teach foreign exchange students are the bad ones, the first set of explanations we offer for things are the wrong ones and the first set of things we try to do to foreigners are sleep with them! So it was quite possible making a pass at someone who I have maybe exchanged a total of a paragraph of words with with was not so smooth at all. I was actually halfway to the keys to ‘correct’ my response when she immediately blurted out…

“Garden Grill… 12:30”

Before I had a chance to reply she had once again signed off of her computer. With my eyes still concentrating on the screen, I slowly eased back into my poor excuse for an office chair and began to retrace my thoughts. I was having a hard time trying to decide if I was frustrated or excited. This was the second of only two times that Cynthia had made such an abrupt exit, but only this time she had given me something to look forward to. It was then that I realized that I should stop feeling sorry for myself and be happy with the fact that…..… she had actually asked me out!

It was at this point in time, being at work so early in the morning was not such a bad idea, however lunch time could not come soon enough.

(Untitled) Part 5 of a short story I began writing... read the first 4 parts first!!!

I froze for a moment, as any normal overly excited individual might have, before I double clicked on the message, just to make sure what I had seen was authentic. Before I had a chance to gather my thoughts and elicit a response a smiling face appeared in the message box on my screen. I knew at that point in time, I had no choice but to respond, as it appeared this was my best chance for an opening line. I had replayed the scenario several times in my head before, which looked sort of like something from the movie “You Got Mail”. I envisioned Cynthia hunched over her computer at her work station, using her already elf sized body to block the screen as she pattered away at the keys. She would maybe even make a glance or two to the side to verify no one was watching, before adding her reply to my response, which I was yet to compose. However, my mind went blank for those few seconds, and all I could think to send in return was…

“ :)“

I knew at this point in time, any chance of making a good first impression was lost, so I had to immediately follow up my response with a typical question.

“how’s it hangin?”

I instantly caught myself and remembered that she spoke very little English, so maybe slang wasn’t the best mode of communication. My thoughts were right, because she didn’t seem to make any sort of reply the few minutes I was waiting. What could have easily been interpreted as a short period of time, would seem that much longer to a person who is already over analyzing a situation involving a union between two people, especially when one party is definitely interested in the other. I corrected myself and then typed

“are you having a busy day?” to which she instantly replied

“yes it is very buzy :) ”

“really! Why is it so busy?”

I felt it wise to throw a quick question in, just to keep the conversation going. It gives ‘them’ a reason to have to reply.

“lots of bookings. What are you doing?” was how she wrote back. Clever girl, it seems she may have caught on to my technique. I began sputtering away almost a full paragraph on the reports I had written in the morning and how I was working on a list to send to purchasing. With all my efforts she replied with a simple
“ok :)”

At this point in time I was feeling a little uneasy, coupled with a small sense of satisfaction. I had already overcome the first step of establishing contact with this girl, and was now working my way into what I had hoped would be an interest jerking conversation. However, her very short answers had me wondering if she was interested at all. I began to run through a multitude of situations in my head, from the lackadaisical office girl, who was indulged in some 3 day old report, flipping back and forth to our conversation when she felt the need to give her eyes a break from the page. Or maybe even the very interested girl who had hoped that she would have been pages away into a mind blowing conversation by now, only to realize she encountered an average Joe who only saw it fit to send her useless facial expression and rhetorical questions. It also didn’t help that I was now lost in a train of thought and hadn’t written anything in the last few minutes, which may have her believing that maybe I had run out of things to say, or had nothing to say to begin with.

“I am sorry my inglish is very bad”, was her next response, which immediately killed all prior thought and put me back in the drivers seat. I began to pour out compliments of how I thought she spoke really good English, “a lot better than mine, that’s for sure”, to which she continued to respond with electronic smiles and gestures of written approval. When my kindergarten English began getting the best of me, I resorted to throwing a few one liner Spanish words that I may have remembered from the subtitles on movies I had seen months before. I could tell she wasn’t impressed, but gave me credit for making the effort.

As we grew more comfortable with each other, I started to do as any man would have done, and I ran ahead of myself. Replaying images in my mind of me and her walking up and down a beach, reciting lines from the numerous titles I had come to know, maybe even taking her up to my room and introducing her to my cat. That would make her feel sorry enough for me, or maybe even relate to the difficult situation I now found myself, being nose deep in this remote part of the world, with no easy way of finding escape. I could play for her some of my favorite Latin tracks, to which we could break out into one of those passionate, in sync, Antonio Banderes/ Jennifer Lopez type dance routines, where our bodies would move like a liquid substrate in a chemistry beaker being twirled round and round. Or maybe I could just invite her to go watch Dirty Dancing!

“do you like movies?” was my next question to her, which I thought she could answer easily in the same breath. But to my surprise her next response was…

“I am sorry, but I have to leave now… bye”.

And there was no smiling face, or written gesture of good will. Before I could even reply she had signed off from her computer, which meant any attempt to contact her at this point in time would have been useless. I would have been forced to stop her in the hallway and ask her for her phone number if there was any hope of us continuing my ballroom fantasy, because the hour of the day suggested that she would no longer be returning to her computer.

Still motivated by my phantasmal urges, I made an attempt to rush out of my office hoping that I would catch her evacuating the hall. No longer did I see the urgency to be candid about my expressions of interest. At this point in time all I could think about was rekindling the connection we had made for those few minutes on the computer, with the hope of jump starting something that would take me away from this social genocide that I now called home. Little did I realize that the state that I previously mistook for patience, would so quickly be transformed into desperation as my one hope of a comfortable existence had just left me out to dry with my eyes still glued to my computer screen.

I heard the echoes of a door shut in the hallway, and I couldn’t help but leap from my seat towards my window to catch a glimpse of what might be Cynthia making her way to the office exit door. My office was the last door perpendicular to the exit at the bottom of a very long and medieval like tunnel of business rooms and potted plants. Her office was located closer to the top of the hallway, which would give me just enough time to witness her make her departure, or stop her dead in the tracks. I hadn’t even gotten my door fully open when our eyes made four… but for only the slightest second, as she tucked her chin back into her collar and walked straight towards the exit as she always did. I barely had enough time to analyze the lines on her face to know if she flashed me a look of disdain, pity, apathy or contentment. All I knew was that my short lived consolation had transformed into agitation and I could not help but question myself.

Could she have been the one I was talking to only moments earlier? What could have driven her to scurry away so quickly? And would I ever get the chance to talk to her again?

(Untitled) Part 4 of a short story I began writing... read the first 3 parts first!!!

Having been out of the dating game for a while I had to rely on an alternative source for providing me with the ‘low down’ on Cynthia, as a simple “Hi my name is”, was way too much for my nerves to handle. Let’s just say it’s only wise that if you haven’t driven stick shift for a while, don’t expect to look like anything from out of Fast and Furious when you jump back into a vehicle that requires you to work the transmission. Especially if there are a number of other mechanical problems you have to overcome. Therefore, calling in reinforcements wasn’t too out of the ordinary. I turned to the one guy in the workplace I could actually trust when it came to this sort of a thing. It would only require that he was not interested in the target himself, and that he was given play by play descriptions of everything that took place, from the first meeting, to anything that transpired after wards!

So I wasn’t that surprised when Steve appeared in my office with a sheepish smirk on his face, as if he has just won a very large bet. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand in which he had done a horrible job of folding properly enough, because it didn’t conceal the email address which was scribbled on it. It led me to believe that maybe he purposefully wanted the entire workplace to know that he was delivering a message that should have been kept private, and was even more carefree about the fact that there was enough evidence showing to incriminate who he was carrying the message from. With great haste I snatched the prize from his clutches and immediately began pounding away at my keys, entering the initials which had been scribed on the leaflet.

I’m not sure what made me believe that Steve would have saw it fit to give me some privacy at this point in time, but all I knew was that it grew incredibly difficult to remain oblivious to his constant questions, and over-exaggerated comments on the female specie. There was no doubt he was feeling immense satisfaction for himself, and would stop at nothing to make sure I was aware of the great deal of gratitude I now owned him. You see, Steve was the kind of character you may have never even knew existed, had he not been required to leave the comfort of his work station to make random office calls to staff who experienced computer mishaps. He was the hotel’s computer guy, and could perform a number of hidden tasks that would seem incredible to us normal click-and-point off-liners, as he would call us. I still remember when, Steve made a half naked picture of the Sales Manager ‘accidentally’ appear in everyone’s inbox, just because she refused to sign for a few computer monitor’s he was expecting that week. Or when he made the Resident Manager’s computer mysteriously start changing reservations and moving around itinerary. I still suspect he was the one that broke into my myspace page and changed my info to include that I was now ‘interested in men’ and looking for ‘a very sexual relationship’. He was the kind of guy you would want on your side if you began typing up an email to the head of the company telling him how much you wanted to grab him by the throat and drown him in the swimming pool, and then you accidentally clicked “send”.

In the midst of his comments on successfully getting a girl to bed, and the right kind of music to play in the sac, I managed to enter the email address into my computer. I knew there would be an additional waiting period before I would finally be able to say I captured Cynthia’s interests, because even though the message was sent, it was now left for her to accept my invitation. I decided I would quell my anticipation by running head first into some real office work.

It wasn’t a-typical for us office rats to take a break every now and then and just babble on about someone else’s misfortunes or some personal occurrence, but Steve had seemed to take up a considerable amount of my time now and I was eager to play the role of ‘enthused employee’ once again. I think he sensed my impatience and lack of response at this point and time and with a gesture that lacked desperation he made his way out the door. I guess it wouldn’t be too far fetched to say I was happy to see him go, as it was nearing that point of the day we called ‘the hour of power’; the dying 60 minutes before it was time to call an end to the days activities. I quickly turned my attention to my work station again, and it just so happened that in the middle of composing a Purchasing list, a message suddenly appeared on my computer screen…

“Cynthia has accepted you invitation..”

Racist? I know you are but what am I

So on this particular morning as I was completing the last set of sit ups on my almost extinct ab lounge machine, I was treated to a particularly interesting interview on one of my favourite BET shows, My Two Cents. The interviewee (whose name I am yet to determine) had published a book in which the premise was that the black community is to be divided into separate categories based off the intensity of the pigmentation in their skin, in other words, there should be a separation of light skinned blacks and dark skinned blacks. This brought me back to an idea I had in a University Social Psychology class, where we were given an essay to write on stereotypes, and I, being the already extreme ideologist that I am, suggested that racism was inevitable. It damn well cost me a good grade in that class I can tell you that! But the basis of my argument is something I see reflected in society today, which almost forces me to go back to that professor and demand a higher grade.

The idea comes from a social mechanism in which human beings tend to classify things in their surrounding, for several purposes. It’s a phenomenon that we see reflected in a Psychological process called classical conditioning, where a simple Skinner Box demonstrates how a rat can interpret a completely unrelated event like scratching it’s butt, to the distribution of a food pellet. Silly creatures you say… well where do you believe superstitions come from in homo sapiens ? Back in time unrelated events occurring too close to each other led to the belief in things like gods… In modern time it makes people scurry when they see a black cat, or think twice before they open an umbrella in a house. Or more popularly, makes someone forward an email to all the friends on their list, just to prevent having years of bad luck (or bad sex).

But going back to stereotypes, Psychology teaches that classifying certain characteristics, can even save your life in times of quick and urgent decisions (schema). Now I may not be a scientist, but something tells me that if I am ever lost in the woods, a plant with a particularly pungent smell may not be the first one I choose to eat from; An animal with a particularly unpleasant demeanor may not be the one I choose to pet, and a location with a particularly somber appeal may not be the one I choose to take shelter in. Similarly, if I’m walking in the city one night and I see a white bearded man behind me in a sleeveless leather jacket with tattoo’s and a bandana, he wouldn’t be the one I would choose to ask directions from. Maybe past events, experiences or something we read in a book may have taught us how to link these cues to unpleasant outcomes, and my first reaction would be “well maybe he’s a skin head looking to inflict harm on me as a black man”. The extremist may take my leather jacket example and argue that what I have demonstrated is stereotyping which may ultimately lead to racism; but in a split second sort of situation, I’d rather be wrong and alive then right and not alright! The explanation is that as human beings we tend to look for social cues, with the ultimate rationale being our survival.

This now brings me back to the idea I had in that University essay where I mentioned that racism is inevitable. Even if there were no whites, Indians, Chinese or Blacks, people would find some way to categorize human beings and place them into a social hierarchy. Imagine we were all literally colour blind, and all we could see are shades of grey, is it possible that we could all get along as variably grey individuals or would we see the need to classify people, based on hues? I ask this question because I have recognized the human ‘urge’ to classify things into good, better and best, and therefore believe that regardless of circumstance, we would continue to stereotype and group a set of people just to satisfy this ‘urge’.

This is not a completely left field idea. Why is that we see the need to see who is the better specie, the better gender, the better country? Why do we spend large sums of money to find out which country has the prettiest woman, the best designed car, or the smartest set of people? And again why is it necessary to know which country is the most famished, decorated, or even the most violent? The answer to many of these questions is survival, and it does make sense when we relate them to objects in most cases, but why is it necessary to relate them to human beings?

Could it just be narrowed down to an explanation as simple as… survival?