A national milestone, a new age celestial planetary convergence, good gambling customer service-- all loosely and linearly segued into why a personal gripe of mine, about a certain man’s intentionally ignorant post-bedside service, actually, really, really does matter. And YOU think THAT was a mouthful?
Today—
Statisticians magically marked 7:46 a.m. EDT as the welcoming moment for the unknown 300 millionth US resident (born or immigrated-- legal or illegal). Unlike, Bobby Woo, the 200th million on November 20,1967, no one (not even a reality show) is attempting to find out who the lucky # 300,000,000th could be. (What do you want to bet, it’s like most lotteries with a thousand people sharing the winning ticket at the same time?)
Holy karmic synchronicity, today’s date is also all the rage among the tribes.org/new age social network types with something called a Cosmic Trigger Event. An email and many web links are being circulated that Mission 1017, said to last from 10:17 a.m. - 1:17 a.m, (a purported but mis-totalled 17 hours) effecting all 6.55 billion earthlings, believers or not, is peaking at 17:10 p.m. (get the 1s,10s and 17’s theme?) no matter what time zone in the world you’re at. (Time is, of course, an earth-bound perception, but best harmonized for new US resident # 300,005,008 ‘s arrival, give or take.)
Vibrations, good or bad, are apparently intensified a million-fold among all of us, from a non-detectable bluish UV light emanating from universe 2 to our own universe 1. One forum commenter asked: “doesn’t 0 good thoughts (x) 1million=0?” And come to think of it, shouldn’t it be 3-fold in honor of the aforementioned ego-centric US milestone, not to mention in salute of my book? ( As my birthday this year converged with the estimated 6.5 billion people mark, I can’t weasel out of this symbolism, especially with a new age, stone name like crystal…)
This first trigger is supposedly the first of many triggers and events to happen by 2013… the Mayan’s, by the way, ended their calendar at 2012…as every host knows, there are always those revelers that linger along way past the end of the party…
The “Sex Manners DO Matter” Segue
While cosmic triggering and terrestrial demographical power-playing wreak the unknown future, Donald Trump and Robert Kiyosaki’s new joint treatise, Why We Want You to be Rich, reaches out god-like to evangelize the astute half of us onto the Noah’s Ark of prosperity. The other half of us will be at their mercy, it seems, as the middle-class dissolves into the economically un-disciplined masses. And in true capitalistic charity, Trump previewed this Noblesse Oblige on me. That’s right, he gave me $50 of my own money back just last night, from a poorly executed Free Slot Day promotion a few months back. And that his staff made some-what good, is why the Donald is my winner’s choice for today’s counterpoint to the poor sex etiqutte servicing from a man I had sex with 6 months ago.
Let the comparisons begin:
The Promotions: Gambling Refund vs Post Sex-Bedside Manners
Trump Marina Casino, on a billboard I passed daily, Free Slot Day, August 26
Interpretation—Play Slots, get money back, if you lose
Reality before Playing— Only up to $50 was guaranteed, and only between noon and midnight
The Event— I got there at 11:00 pm, was up $70, decided to play more, since it was guaranteed, then lost it all with my original $50, before the pumpkin turned (hey, I’ve only played slots maybe 4 times in my life)
Reality after Playing— you had to come back to the casino after Sept 5th to get your maximum $50 losses back
Reality, one month later, by mail— oh yeah, you also have to return before October 4th
My gripe— I didn’t get the mail on time, but shouldn’t they have posted all this BEFORE people played the promotion that day, anyway? Not everyone, can just hop on over to Atlantic City each month.
The Resolution— I called them on Oct 16th, got one lame customer service person, who told me “tough patooties, in casino speak. I told him to get me a supervisor, who went to the promotions department, who said they had extended the deadline to the 15th, because of other people’s concerns… see I was not the only one, who saw the unfairness… and they would extend it just to ‘lil ‘ol me for one more day, since I was in town.
The Bonus—the valet let me park for free, when I told him I’d be parked for 5 minutes (yes, I tipped him $2).
Final Cost— 10 minutes time/gas back and forth, plus the $2
VS
A man I knew and really liked, by phone when I called him, sushi dinner, W. Hollywood, April 24
Interpretation— he would pay for dinner (he had much more money than I, and I drove ½ hour/gas cost), maybe we’d have first-time sex afterward, if we mutually agreed, though he had been hesitant the previous time when I had suggested it, and I was not expecting it that night
Reality Before Playing — the shared bottle of wine at his house, would postpone the planned saki outing, as a first kiss and lots of very sensual touch guided our very connected bodies to the bedroom
The Event—He pumped me hard, flailed me around, rocked the bed about 6 inches away from it’s origin. I had fun, but mostly was trying to show him how flexible I was to his creativity, and was disappointed in the lack of tenderness;
Reality After Playing— he knew all along, but failed to inform me beforehand, that he had to stop at 10:00 pm for an international conference call; and had no plans of having me stay; he didn’t even walk me to the car, but he did hug me, and warned me of a bump in the driveway
Reality the Next Day-three Months Later— I got a chafed chin and a misaligned lower back, along with some other personal concerns, which he handled well; I called and emailed him once a month, with little more than courteous response from him
My Gripe— at myself, for demurring, that night. I didn’t let him know I wanted gentler sex while the sex was happening; I didn’t tell him that I wanted to spend the night, when he was implying I needed to leave. My gripe at him—hey, he was 52 years old (a very sexy, young 52, nonetheless) and he controlled the whole night, without letting me know his rules for the night.
The Resolution—I wrote him a funny quirky, good bye card mid-August about his ungentle- manliness after a particularly disappointing phone conversation. He didn’t respond. Then just last week, I decided I needed to press the sex manners question to him. He basically recommended that I should tell men before I have sex that I expected to spend the night. That it was no fault of his to not think about my needs. No apologies. It seemed spontaneity from him meant he called the shots, unless otherwise intervened.
The Bonus— I learned I didn’t like him very much, after all.
Final Cost— my trust and a slightly damaged psyche/heart
So, who was better? A Trump who had an unclear promotion, with many people never getting their money back, except the few like me who complained, OR a man who didn’t think enough of his sexual partner for the night to apologize to her, if he had not been thoughtful to her, when she brought it to his attention that she was hurt?
For my own preferences, sex trumps gambling, anytime. But lucky be a kind love for this lady, and for the rest of the shared humanity of 6.55 billion and growing, way before 2013, me hopes.
