Bizzare Conversation

                                                                           He sat across from  the Pastor                                                           and his wife took a seat nearby, avoiding eye contact .

The silence proved too awkward, so the Pastor spoke.

Pastor: Well, *Joey, why don't you just become a prostitute?

Joey: (swallows, taken aback): I ... I guess I have no desire to become a prostitute.

Pastor: How many women have you chatted with online?

Joey: (Thinking) In the past 12 years? Maybe about a thousand.

Joey's wife hides her face with her hair.

Pastor: Why should she stay married to you?

Joey: She has her own mind.

Pastor: Do you want to stay married?

Joey: Of course. I love her!

Pastor: I don't advocate divorce, but do you see why she has every reason to divorce you?

Joey: That doesn't make breaking up a home with four young boys the right thing to do.

Pastor: I'm trying to retire. I need to reduce my case load. I don't have time for you. I'm sorry for your situation.

(Good thing this session is free ... he couldn't save a marriage if he tried!)

Pastor: You have a gentle attitude, but I'm not sure of your motives.

(A catch phrase? What motives ARE you sure of?)

Pastor: I'll walk you two out.

*Not his real name

Alpha Male

 I came across something on an Internet ad about "save your marriage."
 That's been my theme for a year and change, so I clicked on it. Each page of the ad lured me in. Some guy who authored some material on saving marriages, from a guy's perspective. It made sense. I read the words on the screen with him, nodding in agreement.
Okay, okay, now for the catch. How much is he trying to sell his marriage salvation material for?

Hmmm. $197. Not bad. Worth a try, especially if what he says works. Money back guarantee. Okay...

Bought it. Read it. Riveting stuff, though simple. Good testimonials. I think I have hope again. Basically, the idea is to re-capture the attraction your wife once had for you by not being a wimp. Standing up to her and then loving her brains out when she complies. The author says its the kind of man the romance novels epitomize.
So, be that guy. Be the Alpha Male she wants to lead her and protect her and the children.
The weird thing is, the woman always tests the man to see if he is Alpha material. She tries to "beta-ize" him and make him subservient to her. He usually becomes beta-ized because he's tired of the drama she dishes out.
But ultimately, her desire for him dwindles if she successfully beta-izes him. She wants an Alpha who will stand up to her.
I get tested the very next day after reading up on it. My wife is on the phone, ragging me out about something she wants me to comply with.
I don't react (per the book).
I state my case and leave it at that.
She calls the cops.
The cop doesn't know why he's there. "I got a call," he says. I show him my ID. I really am the poor sap who's wife called to have him removed from her property.
He leaves. I leave.
I feel good about standing up to her. If this is how to win her back, it's gonna take awhile, but at least I have my dignity.

I shoot people for a living

 Think what you may, I get paid to shoot people.
 I walk into crowded restaurants, four or five nights per week, and shoot them. My style is to go down the row, booth, by booth, table by table, taking the same path, shooting everyone I can. If someone is on the cell phone, I leave them alone. Or if I know them, sometimes I let it pass. But almost everyone else gets shot. I make them sit close and smile when I do it. I shoot them in the face.
 I shoot women, children, old people... I shoot more children in the summertime and more older folks in the fall. People prefer I shoot their children and sometimes ask not to be shot.
 I grant their requests. After all, there are plenty of other folks to shoot.
 After I shoot them in the face at close range, I return to where they sit and take their money. Not a lot. The most money I've ever taken from one table is under $70. I usually get $8 a pop. Sometimes $16.
 But it's enough to make it worth my while and come back to do it again.

September 1, 1991

 Today is September 1, 2011. Twenty years to the day have passed since that day in St. Louis. We'd been together the night before in Kansas City, enjoying a Labor Day Weekend festival. Little River Band was on the stage. There was magic in the late summer night air. There was magic in her voice, in her smile, in the smell of her hair.
 After experiencing the experiences of young love on the west side of my home state, we headed for the east side and took in the St. Louis downtown fare. I took my VHS camcorder and recorded her smile, her sweet voice, the surroundings, the Gateway Arch, the crowds, the kids playing under the spray of water released from a fire hydrant.
 It was my time for young love. Twenty years ago today.
 I dug out the old VHS tape with the date on it "Shannon Sept. 1, 1991" and played it again today, to remember, to the day, what I had, 20 years ago.
 Our lives blended into a marriage less than two years later, and then came the boys... four of them. I treasure my times married to you, my darling. My sweetheart. You used to say to me, "Honey, sweetheart, love of my life..." It was when you wanted something from me, but it was cute.
 I miss you, dearest.
 My heart is as heavy as a rock today. Remembering what I had, crying over what I lost.

Half her age ago

 My wife was 20 when I met her.
 Now, she's 40.
 Half her life ago I became her boyfriend. I remember... 20 years ago this month, the fading of summer blending into the freshness of a new school year (for her, the junior year of college). I was an old, established guy of 25 pursuing a career in journalism with a youth pastor gig on the side!
 I remember we'd only met once, in June. But I felt like I knew her real well. After all, I called her every night to be sure she remembered who I was. Calls usually took at least two or three hours to make sure she was doing well.
 I'm sure "Ma Bell" didn't mind, in those pre cell phone days of long distance rates. I even got her her own private telephone line, so she could avoid the scrutiny of Christian college co-eds clamoring over her calls taken on the public phone in the dormitory hallway.
 She boarded later with a college professor's family, literally retreating to the solice of a closet to ensure privacy during our intimate talks.
 Half her age ago, my wife-to-be considered me her hero. My words mattered.
 What matters most now to me is how to be her hero again WITHOUT words, but with actions.

A year ago

 A year ago my life was normal.
 A year ago my wife and I slept in the same bed.
 A year ago I rode in the same vehicle to church with my family.
 A year ago I didn't know the horror that lurked around the corner.
 A year ago I was days from disaster and didn't know it.

 If I knew a year ago what I know now, I would change everything about everything to make everything better.

Elevator

 At work there is an elevator. You can choose UL (Upper Level) or LL (Lower Level). Not much of a choice. Not much of a ride. But it gives me a few moments alone. I have learned I can cry or release a sob of anguish and recover as if nothing's wrong before the doors open. I've got it down to a science... timing my grief just long enough to get the effect of my anguish without jeopardizing my feelings in public.
 Sometimes, it's just the simple things in life where private meets public life that makes it all worthwhile. The ability to release the grief into the atmosphere unobstructed and unobserved in a public place where I spend much of my time.
 It's almost a naughty way of saying, "I can cry at work if I want to. I can think about you if I want to. I can be insanely sad if I want to and you can't stop me with your new life of separation from me."
 Just me and my elevator. Who would have thunk such a simple device would create such solace, albeit brief and sporatic?
 Perhaps if I had a longer elevator commute, my grief would develop to the unbearable stage. As it is, the brevity affords insulation from debilitating breakdowns and the cumbersome climb to stability and normalcy which follow.