Gary Ghislain's Blog, page 5

The Secret Book for Getting Girls

You know you always find good stuff and laugh on this blog. I recommend this magic book. If you're a beta-guy and always wanted to use Voodoo magic to make an alpha-girl go cuckoo about you, this book is for you. If you an alpha-girl and wondered why a beta-guy stole a lock of your hair and ran away with it, this book is also for you.

Feed it to your Kindle, smartphone or computer all for free on amazon until November 10th.

Bookworm writes:

"Cool book +
Great Author +
Awesome Theme +
Psycho Friend+
Lovesick person+
F.G. Gerson =
One of the most awesome books in history"I couldn't put it better.


Get in free on amazon.com from November 6th to 10th

5 reasons why being single rocks (a nearly unisex list)

Here are 5 good reasons to stay (or become) single (again).
1. You are safer
Being in a serious relationship is dangerous. Emotionally and Physically. People in serious relationships throw things at each other (true story!), coffee cups, bottles, sharp objects. And that’s just because you didn’t put down the toilet seat. They yell at each other too, all the time. They say things that are so passive aggressive they cut through skin, flesh and bones. Being single, every potential partner is ultra nice to you. Especially on the first dates. They laugh at every word you say, even if you didn’t mean to be funny. They say only good things about you, like they love the color of your sofa or adored your paella. And if they go all Jason Voorhees on you - or just yell at you -, it’s perfectly alright to throw them out or have the police remove them without having to split up your book collection or negotiate the cat custody. 

2. You are fitter.

If you’re single, you can’t let yourself go. That's counterproductive. You have to keep fit. You have to train hard and date easy. You always keep in mind that at some point in the evening, you will have to take off that "Frankenstein" t-shirt and show to a perfect stranger that in fact you look like the Blob. People in serious relationships just don't give a shit anymore and get a second serving of everything. The longer the relationship, the harder they work at that open buffet. Why wouldn’t they? They don’t need to seduce anybody anymore. And they already know that under those t-shirts they hide pinkish rippling goo.

3. You have more friends.

Don’t fool yourself. She hates your friends. When you’re still single, and you just started dating, she will agree that your best mate Bob is really funny. That’s code for “Bob is a chauvinistic jerk!” And as soon as you will chain yourself into a serious relationship, Bob’s gone. And if you have any friends from the other team, oh man, forget about those. Even sweet old Peggy you know since kindergarten. You’ll have to secretly phone her from the basement, hiding behind the boiler just to tell her you can’t go to her mother’s funeral because your new girlfriend thinks she is just another whore using her dead mother as an excuse to snatch her man!

4. You have more energy. 
Real vampirism is not about blood. Long term relationships suck the life out of people. There is so much energy lost in compromising, avoiding the next fight, trying to understand why she will be yelling at you the second you set a foot inside your own house. Imagine you were single again! All that time dreading going back home could be used so much more efficiently! And why go home at all!? You could spend the night out at the pub with Peggy. Remembering her late mother while working on those Jägermeister shots. And you wouldn’t find your clothes packed up in a trash bag waiting for you on the lawn. No more doghouse. No more guilt trip. And the world would be your oyster!

5. You fart better.

Do I really need to explain that one? Farting is best enjoyed when there’s no one ruining the experience by reminding you that you are a disgusting pig. There's a downside, though. What’s the point pushing out a Fart-o-zilla when there’s no one around to time it and call it an achievement.  Though, my daughters are excellent experts at this sport, and they always cheer and applaud a nice one.  

Love, finally the definite definition

 
I don’t know about you, but lately I’ve met tons of good people who don’t believe in love at all.
Well, okay, I’ve only met on person like that - but she was terribly meaningful to me and she was also a really good monkey, deep down. But she seems to know a lot of other monkeys who are just like her and think that love is just extra sticky trouble added to an otherwise quite nice evening of heavy humping.
The general consensus among those apes is that most people are walking around like perfect idiots looking for love like a bunch of emotional zombies - crawling and limping around, holding their bleeding heart out, trying to find warm bodies and bite off their lips Romero style - but with Adele playing in the background.  They may be right. I don’t know. But surely, to have that discussion, we need a good definition of what LOVE really is, don’t we?
You have to buckle up for that one.  
I don’t think love is the unbearable attraction between two persons. I think that’s the most common (and probably most boring) concept of love that’s been sold to us by pop-corns manufacturers. I totally understand that people would question that definition.  Everybody gets that, the attraction. You don’t need to be in love to be madly attracted to someone. You just need to drink too much Jägermeister at the bar and, BOOM!, game’s on. 
I think love addicts and love skeptics are doing basically the same thing any given evening. Their Fridays look exactly the same. I even believe the love skeptics are doing a better job at the mechanic of love. They’re more in control, less emotional and reach faster better stronger that point when everybody involved in the room wants to scream GODDAM EUREKA!
But here is the difference.
You’re ready?
Love is not a feeling and it’s not an extra layer of reality. It’s not a veneer that makes an experience stands out. It’s not just giving extra meaning to the actions we take.
It’s going to be hard to digest, you realize that?
Love is actually changing the structure of the reality we live in. I mean actually as in... actually! Like, there was an apple, and now it's a banana, and all the scientists are scratching their balding head going like... "where did the bloody apple go?" (I imagine them being British scientists, for some reason).
Okay, let sit back. Breathe two good ones. And then, let’s resume the definition of love. One... two!  Love is not a nicer way to kiss at the end of the movie.  It's our only way to rewrite, remodel, change the world around us and our own destiny. And the destiny of everybody involved.  This is why it's such a serious business and shouldn't be taken lightly. People will die. People will suffer. Babies will be born. Parents will pull their hair out. Russia will be invaded. Kings will fall. And the world won't be the same ever again. 
Okay, I’ll try one more time with a Bob metaphor (I love Bob metaphors).
If you’re not in love, and just get wasted at the bar until it’s hard to make the difference between desire and the real thing, all you’re going to do is put on 3D glasses and enjoy a great HD super IMAX true 3D show. But when the show is over, nothing around you has changed. You remain the same old Bob with the same old hangover and the same old set of half embarrassing half funny stories to tell.
If you’re in love, you’ve just reset all the clocks all at once and transformed Bob and his reality by re-colorizing and reshaping everything and everybody he ever knew.
It's like pressing the reset/reboot button. But in the meantime, I’ll have another Jägermeister, thank you!

To Have it and then... to Have it not

 


I met somebody really nice last night at a birthday party. And as per usual with me, before you knew it, all discussions tended to flow toward the definition of romance and relationships.
The funny thing when you’re 40 + and you meet with other dogs your own age, all you talk about is kids, divorce, custody, relocation, who get to keep the microwave - and later in the evening, the wine helping maybe, you inevitably go to that more dangerous territory of the downside of romance and the loss of love.
When you’re 40, you have at least one HUGE romance behind you. (NB: If you don’t, comment on this post, give me a way to contact you, and we talk).  40 + people, we share that experience of being madly in love with someone, being ready to reschedule our entire existence for that person, abandoning all sense of self to become a “us”, and then, fast forward to many years later and a bunch of kids, when you would gladly strangle that motherf**ker.
What happened? Is there a common curse? How can we go from universal lovers to perfect enemies and divorcees?
Is there a truth to the saying that all women think they will change their partner and hate us for failing and that every men wish their partner would never change and hate you for all your transformations.
What is it?
I really believe we’re a monogamous creature with a tendency for extracurricular activities.  I just wonder why we have to fall out of love - and most importantly, why ?
My ex – God bless her, she’s the perfect ex, seriously, she deserves a medal! – is very pragmatic about it. Her theory is that you only need to love someone long enough to make babies and stick around until you kids can manage to open the fridge all by themselves.  After that, all you need is alimonies, a gym card, and a low carb diet.
My theory? I don’t have one. I’m just like David Attenborough observing chimps long after their honeymoon, when they wouldn’t eat each other fleas anymore, even if you paid them in bananas for it.
And then, when the bar was closing, the person I was talking to, she had like this brilliant idea that might fix it all.
It’s a difficult one, but it makes a lot of sense. The real trick, she said, is to manage the delicate transformation from “high burn passionate love” to “slow burn regular love” without collapsing the soufflé.
It’s like the emotional equivalent of coming out of hyperspace speed without hitting an asteroid. And she said some people are just able to do that.  To understand that passionate love was the fire starter but that the rest of their life will be run on everyday love, a more reasonable, less vibrant, state of being together. Yeah that’s right. She was talking about those other motherf**kers you see coming out of the movies still holding hands after twenty years of common life and still talking to each other in full sentences that contain no traces of passive aggressivity. And they walk to their car on the parking lot and drive away to a galaxy far far away in the suburbs, silently hoping Billy Junior will score high on his SAT. 
Those chimps, they might look boring, but they really deserve their bananas! 

Dating Boot Camp

You don’t have time to blog. Oh come on, man. You have a mission. You have to get ready. This is not a beginner’s game. It’s at least the 12,000thtime you line up for that ride. 
You need to exude confidence and ooze charm like goo coming out of a rotting body.
Can you at least use better metaphors!
It all started with a victory dance after you hanged up your phone. The person you like and got to known in a biblical sense want to try the same roller-coaster again. You have like a million things to get right before you join her for another go at the amusement park.
Let me think.
You have to get fitter, younger, nicer, cleverer, and you have about 4 days to complete all that.
Three, four: Confidence!
Last time was easy. You didn’t know each other. You didn’t expect anything. You had nothing to prove. It wasn’t a date. It was accidentally colliding into each other at the bar and then finding your way to the beach just by bouncing around into walls and people.
Things are different now. Dating is a more complex sport. It involves expectations, tact, and finesse while holding the door or ordering freaking shrimps cocktails with the appropriate Chardonnay.
Good thing you don’t believe in the “be yourself” philosophy. Being yourself is the last thing you want on that menu. When is the last time “being yourself” got you anything else than catastrophe? Think hard about it. Bring up all your previous fails. Even the really recent ones. Yeah, that’s right, my boy. You better start working on your Sean Connery impressions. Shaken not Stirred! You freaking idiot!
You’re in the wrong movie altogether. You’re Napoleon Dynamite and you need to cocoon up and butterfly out as Ryan Gosling. And practicing the right dance move won’t cut it either.
But you have to stop typing this and go do ten hard push-ups... and maybe grow some extra hair.
Good luck to you. 

The Importance of having someone to boil your water

You phone her back.
Phoning is a big deal, right? Texting and facebooking, well, that’s prudent. It’s funny that. You can collide and be with someone totally, and then, poof, it’s done, morning comes, showers are taken, coffees are drunk, goodbyes are said and just dialing her number becomes a major struggle.
You phone her back, I said.

You’re in the strange zone. As I said in a post earlier, you’re puppies no more. You were both running around chewing cherry chewing gum and talking John Hughes movies when shoulder pads were in fashion.

In other words, you’re a couple dinosaurs reaching each other on smartphones.

“Oh, hello, hi,” you say, like you’re all surprised and accidentally fell and stumbled on her phone number and speed dialed it by mistake.

“Oh, yeah, hello!” she says, and then she laughs the exact same laugh you liked so much the other night, and you’re thinking, bingo, laughing’s great, man. You remember all the good things. How she slid out of bed and how beautiful she looked when she did. How she made a coffee in your kitchen and brought you one. And then, she says she’s sorry for getting so tipsy the other night, and honestly you don’t remember exactly when that was a problem and you go like, ouch! You start wondering if telling you that she had too much wine at the bar isn’t a polite way to tell you that whatever followed was a big mistake, including the coffee she brought you in the morning.

You say, “oh, no problem. No problem at all! I didn’t even notice you were so drunk.”

And then, you slap your forehead and wish life was like one of your manuscript and you could just immediately edit the stupid dialogues.

She confirms she was well drunk. But she also says you were really funny, and it was a really great night and if you were on a football field, you would just do one of those great knee slides like you just scored a goal. Instead, you just say that you had a really great night too, and sit down on the corner of your bed and scratch your beard thinking real hard about your next move.

You say, “we should do that again sometime.”  She says, “yeah, sure, we should.”

You’re a freaking genius!

You hang up after talking next weekend outings, parties, replays and the right bar where to locate that.

By chance, there’s a song from when shoulder pads were in fashion playing on the radio. You pump up the volume and do a silly penguin dance, until your phone rings. You’re scared you jinxed it with your victory dance and you’re sure she’s phoning you back to tell you that her grandma just self-combusted and that she’s going back to London and she will never see you again.

Instead, it’s a guy from your phone company telling you you’re an esteemed costumer.

Man, you’re so popular you should be a brand.

Voodoo Love

You don’t believe in real magic. Too bad for you!
Magic does exist. It’s powerful and destructive. Do you think two perfect strangers could be brought together if some magic wasn’t involved?
Man, if you believe that, you’re so naïve it hurts.
We’ve lost touch with the complex material that makes reality, and how to interact with it. We think it’s all economics. We think it’s all biology. We think it’s physics. The truth is that we’ve been sold a version of reality that’s as exciting as a dead sardine. And some of us are just struggling to emancipate from it and well ready to be called mad to pass on the message that there’s something beyond what your eyes can see, what you fingers can touch, and what your nearest pharmaceutical company want to sell you.
Reasonable people are so boring - and so wrong at the same time - they should be sent well into a black hole and see how the alternated state of their reality look like when turned into a smoothie of time and space.
Einstein tried to tell them. Those two things we most believe in, time and space - I lie right now beside you, you tell me about how boys used to abuse you a long time ago -, are not even reliable constants.  So imagine the reliability of your uncle Dwayne telling you that witchcraft and magic are just bogus!
Let me get back to the premise of this post. Magic does exist. And it’s complex and extremely dangerous. If you ever want to survive it, you have to follow those two basic rules:  don’t use it if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t disturb things you cannot put back into place.If you break any of those two rules: big deal!
We’re emotional creatures. Our emotions change the world around us. You transmit shitty thoughts, everything become shitty around you. You transmit adequate thoughts, everything get brighter in your life. What we call magic is the ability that some of us have to change the emotional patchwork of people we care most about. And by doing so, changing the texture of reality.
Sometimes, we want that the obvious given reality – you don’t want me, you don’t like me – changes into that dreamed updated version – you want me, you love me! We would do anything to update that software. So we use magic. Big mistake!
By doing so, we disturb the nature of reality exactly the same way a time traveler would by taking a dump in a field of prehistoric daisies or by stopping the assassination of JFK.
The price to pay, you ask?
Illness, weakness, DEATH, if you’re to believe the tarot cards of your mother.
But then again, you would have to believe in those things, you skeptical creature!

The Joy of Mummification

I want my body to do things it can’t do anymore. 
I believe in the spiritual world. I believe we are universal ghosts empirically investigating the material world by incarnating into an evolved primate. We’re here to understand the various pains and joys of being alive. We’re basically experimenting with emotions through the plumbing of a flesh and blood body - and then we die, and get back to our original state.
I also believe that when we die, we go back and report to our homeland, a place near Sirius, 8.6 light year away from here - a.k.a.  a serious morning commute for a soul. But one can’t count when one wants to have fun! 
The problem is that our soul is basically who we are and it is not aging ever - it’s young and fresh and willing – and it wants to jump into that rabbit hole and catch that boy or that girl who smiled at us at the bar and see where that leads. It wants to experience crazy adventures and break things, run on the roofs and possibly fly like superman. While the body that carries it around, it’s just a revolting pack of goo liquifying and falling apart every day that goes.
It’s like the basic plumbing is not matching the needs.  Ask my doctor! Each visit, she rolls her eyes, talks to me like I was a 10 year old and ask me to be more careful next time I go to Paris.  Even the analyst at the lab. He’s getting all excited when he sees me now. What am I bringing to him  this time. Typhus? Cholera? Dirty illnesses nobody has heard of since the middle ages? Golly! He never saw one like this before! I must have such a colorful life!
I don’t really want to go back to Sirius. I think it’s pretty boring up there. You don’t have a body. Everything is perfect. You’re never hungry and you’re never cold. You just float around like stupid gas perfectly content. You’re eternal, man. No accident. No strange encounter or mad partner with a destructive nature. Everybody is reliable. No hangover. No spots or burning pains where they shouldn’t be. 
You know what I mean? It’s going to feel really long up there.  
I think the Egyptian agreed with me on that one. They didn’t want to go back to Sirius either. They had all the flyers and info regarding the afterlife though their priests, and they knew the destination sucked. They were really into keeping the soul bond to that body down here on Earth, even if it meant looking like a recycled toilet paper roll with drying leather inside.
Which is how I feel sometimes, even if my doctor promised the antibiotic will help.

Sex o'clock Sharp

 


Most people are born or die between the hour of 5 and 6 o’clock in the morning. It’s like the body waits for that magical hour to let go and, poof, you’re in the world, or you’re off it.
This strange phenomenon applies to relationships, flings, one night stands, body calls, romantic incident, and big freaking mistakes. 
If you spend the night out with somebody, talking, laughing, drinking, walking, running away from danger,  and finally ending -up on the beach at the 6am mark, a bit chilled maybe but damn happy, your body will just let go. All your walls will fall down all at once, you will lean over and BANG!, there you go, you’re in trouble again.
There was a time, when I was much younger, that was just fine. That was just great! I would just literally live for the 6am phenomenon. All activities preceding that point were just excuses to make it through the magical mark with a person I liked and snug. Now that I’ve entered an age where running after chicken at the farm is painful on the knees, the 6 am phenomenon creates all sort of monsters and weird creatures.
Being a teen, or in your twenties, this is so easy. You carry no baggage. What you see is what you get. You’re a body, plenty of energy and about 10 cool attitudes and 5 shitty ones, and not much more. And mornings after are a breeze, they go like this, “hey dude! Bye now. Nice meeting you.” And that’s it. Light. Brief. Painless. 
When you’re an adults, you just carry around so much back stories,  it’s like you’re emotionally overweight. And there no gym card or a better diet or gentle yoga class that can deal with that. 
When two middle aged adults wake up in the morning, in the same bed, with sand in their butt crack, it creates so much instant density, it’s like a black hole about to explode into existence in the middle of your apartment. You can’t lie. She heard all the lies before. Many times! She can’t tell you stories. You’ve also heard all of them before.  You have 80 years of collective life experience to recollect together before you go get a shower and wash off that sand.
I don’t know.
Maybe I should stay awake till 6am all by myself for a change. See what happens then. But I know me. Comes 6 am, all my walls will fall down all at once, my body will give up, and I will just jump on my phone and start text messaging her hysterically.

The Great Duck Hunt

This sport takes place every Friday night. It happens in bars and clubs all over the world. It concerns those of us after love, and those of us after lust. 
Sometimes, I don’t even know the difference between those two groups.
Some of us think this is an easy activity. You load your gun. You just turn around. You aim. You go like, “do you have a lighter mate? Hey man, nice tattoos!” And off you go for the kill.
Others are waiting for the perfect duck. They walk around with sad faces searching for that one special bird with the green feathers around her collar and the strange “quack” that would make them whole.
I don’t think there’s such a big difference between love and lust. Actually, I think they are two different Polaroid pictures of the exact same sport, taken at different time of the game.
I read today you can easily recognize lust from love. If it’s lust, those are the signs: “You’re totally focused on a person's looks and body. You're interested in having sex, but not in having conversations. You'd rather keep the relationship on a fantasy level, not discuss real feelings. You want to leave soon after sex rather than cuddling or breakfast the next morning. You are lovers, not friends.”
While if it’s love, “You want to spend quality time together other than sex. You get lost in conversations and forget about the hours passing. You want to honestly listen to each other's feelings, make each other happy. He or she motivates you to be a better person!”
Ha. Funny.
Separating those two lists of things, it’s like total bullshit, right!? It’s like talking about the same two people, but catching them at very different times of the game.
It’s like trying to separate dusk from dawn. They belong together. They’re in the same movement. At night, you’re one person. In the morning, you’re the other. You’re not set list of constant qualities. A person is fluid, changing from one Polaroid picture to the next, moving from lover to friend, from hunter to hunted.  Thinking that you will derive any form of happiness from locking that guy or that girl into the perfect duck or the perfect hunter, it’s just ignoring the true nature of us.
What I’m trying to say is this: there’s no war going on between love and lust. There’s no love versus lust. They are two sides of the same coin. One is a night activity. The other is a morning stance. But they work quite nice together.  And that well until Monday.