Sexual Anorexia

There is such a thing. And I have it. Wiki defines it as avoidance of intimacy because of emotional brittleness. Okay. I'm risk averse. I know where that comes from. I had an alcoholic mom and an alcoholic grandmom whose major intramural sport was getting drunk, fighting with each other and waking me up in the middle of the night to answer the question "which one of us do you love more?"

I was 6 years old.

So I shut down and swore that no one would ever hurt me again. Not like that. I knew that I could be physically hurt -- there was nothing I could do about that (and I lived in fear of that, too) -- but I'd be damned if anyone was ever going to get close enough to me to emotionally scar me like that again.

And no one ever did. Not even when people moved away. Not even when they died.

The last time I actually cried over the death of someone I was 19. It was the same grandmother I mentioned above.

I drank because I was a drunk. Deep down, though, I also drank because it made it easy to have sex with people -- and why was that, you ask? Because when you're drunk you are not intimate. Not really. Physical, yes. Intimate, no.

Get it? I do. Now.

In a couple of weeks I'll have been sober for 12 years. And only now is this becoming clear to me.

Next up? How do I fix it?

Stay posted. More will probably be revealed and, as usual, it won't be good.

Growing up is hard work.

Merry Automotive Christmas!

As anyone over the age of, oh, say, reason knows, Detroit saw (or should've seen) the handwriting on the wall during the Arab Oil Embargo of 1973.

And it did abso-fucking-lutley nothing about it.

Eventually that particular oil crisis subsided, OPEC was created, the cartel started fixing prices and we became little more than Harem girls to a bunch of Middle East potentates.

All thanks to Detroit.

Now, of course, the Pep Boys have come, hat in hand and blaming the unions for all their problems, before Congress, begging for $$$$ to help the cash-strapped automakers "get through" this "difficult time."

As others have noted, nobody helped the autoworkers in Indiana and Michigan and elsewhere when the Pep Boys started shipping all the manufacturing jobs overseas, not merely to save money in manufacturing but, rather, to MAXIMIZE PROFITS FOR THE AUTO COMPANY SHAREHOLDERS which, incidently, included most of the senior management of the companies.

As a recovered alcoholic, I'm here to tell you that until somebody hits "bottom" they have absolutely zero impetus to change.

And if there's one thing I've learned in 12-Step recovery, it's this:

"If you keep on doing what you did, you will keep on getting what you got."

So the Pep Boys can bitch and whine and carry on and get out their blamethrowers and try to pin the blame on the labor donkey all they want, the fact is that the TOP of the industry is rotten to the core and has been ever since the end of World War II.

This is what unrestrained, ungoverned Capitalism looks like. It looks like greed run amok. It looks like "get the government off our backs and let the markets take care of the problems."

It looks like a bunch of empty suits begging the American public for more drug money, so it can keep on doing exactly what it always did, making shoddy merchandise and then guilt-tripping the public into buying it.

It looks like shit. It smells like shit. It is shit.

Addiction

The Big Three automakers are begging Congress for $25b to "help them out" of the current crisis.

That's junkie talk for "we're gonna keep on doing what we did and you'll keep on getting what you got" in return for it.

In short, there's no impetus in the handout for them to actually change anything about the way they act, react, think or do business.

The junkie analogy is apt. I know a thing or three about addiction, being a recovering drunk myself. I certainly know enough to not give cash to people or institutions like me. The minute your back is turned, they or I will be right up to our old tricks again. That is absolutely true of the auto makers.

They have not learned much since the Arab Oil Embargo of 1973. How do I know that? Easy. SUVs. Period. But the Japanese learned plenty. And that's when the Japs started selling lots of cars here. Oh, Detroit paid some modest lip service to it -- by modestly improving mileage and lowering emissions year after year -- but not without a lot of whining and foot-dragging in the process.

And now the junkies from Motown are standing there, arms outstretched, pleading national security and love of the Fatherland and bullshit like that.

And you know what I say? Go ahead. Give 'em the money. And then nationalize their asses "in the name of national security and love of the Fatherland."

Bulk Buying!

I tend to take giant baby steps forward in life. Let it never be said that I was particularly adventurous.

In January I finally broke down and got a cellphone! (woo-hoo!) And I recently joined a discount warehouse chain (BJ's).

As I feared I would, I fell in love with the joint the first time I got an eyeful of the Charmin Ultra Mega 48 roll-pak. At long last, a lifetime supply of toilet paper in one plastic wrapper. I was ecstatic to find that I could buy a month's supply of hamburger patties in one package, buy trailmix bars in 35 bar boxes and get enough Ivory bathsoap and alcohol-free Crest mouthwash to last a year.

Unfortunately, in order to get all this crap into the house, something had to go. And go it went. I found that buying crap in bulk is the only way I have at my disposal to help me overcome my natural proclivity to be a pack-rat.

Oddly enough.

Look, I know it doesn't make any sense, but it would if you lived between my ears.

So now I've got enough soup (Progresso) to float a battleship, cans of tuna (Bumble Bee Premium All-White Albacore in Water!) to reconstruct the fish, Hellmann's Mayonnaise to make a potato salad the size of Milwaukee (if I were allowed to eat potatoes) and Liquid Plumr to unstop every drain in town.

My theory is that it never hurts to be prepared.

After all, you never know when we're going to have an unusually lengthy ice-age!