Barfly

I am such a pessimist that I could have a stinky attitude at the resort, on vacation. I think that my main problem is that I feel old. And married. Al Bundy is my spirit animal. There is so much skin on display that I can’t help feeling despair. It’s a case that I can have anything I want, but I can’t have everything I want. And I want it all.

One of my implicit rules about this blog is that I don’t talk about sex. I could, but I don’t see what good would come out of it. Not for me or my future self, nor Dear Reader. For all the talk I do about radical transparency, I still feel like I’m a pervert, or that there’s someone I know reading this that would ruin things if I actually wrote what I felt. All the pretense about anonymity would fail if I thought for a second that someone I knew was reading this.

Also I’m pretty sure it’d be instant grounds for divorce.

Not to cast blame, but my dad was a pretty blatant sexist. I don’t think that we could even go for a drive together without him casting eyes and making lewd comments about whatever attractive women we saw along the way. I assume it was some sort of masculine signaling thing. I know that he cheated on my mom, he also thought I was gay because I summarily rejected the way he treated women. It’s probably why I got stuck in the friend zone with women for so much of my earlier years. The same way I rejected my dad’s gun culture, car culture, so did I reject his casual misogyny and sexism.

My dad and I are great these days, by the way.

I’ve never been one to shy away from admiration of the female form, though, and it’s been on prime display here at the resort. I really do understand patriarchal systems that have sought to oppress the female form. It really is distracting, for lack of a better term. Being a girl-dad as I am makes it even more ridiculous.

I’ve felt somewhat depressed this trip. It boils down to the first of the Four Noble Truths, that suffering is caused by desire. My desire has been great, but it’s been tempered by the realization that it can’t be fulfilled. After all, I’m Married With Children.

I’ve seen so many attractive women here the last few days that I joked to my friends that I have whiplash. It was bad enough at the park, but it’s been unbearable hanging out at the pool. I feel like a pederast.

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