Arguing With Your Woman: How to Stand Your Ground

Every argument I’ve gotten into with a girlfriend was like storming Ohama beach during the Normandy invasion.  Devil horns protruding from her nipples, her mouth constantly fired .50 caliber nonsense for minutes on end until her C-cups deflated and shreds of manhood peppered the ground like a torn piece of paper.  What the hell have you done this time, men?  Is she justified in sounding off her displeasure, detonating all of her eggs purposely so your inferior sperm cannot infiltrate the enemy camp that is her reproductive organs?  Or is she just causing a ruckus because Cosmopolitan told her that it was healthy for the relationship?  Whatever the case, my 0-47 personal record will serve in helping you conquer these battles without her claiming assault to a 911 operator.  Below are a few common scenarios featuring arguments between couples and how you can come out on top.

Scenario #1: The “Nope, I’m Fine” Situation

You: “Is something wrong, babe?”

Your Girlfriend: “Nope, I’m fine.”

(Repeat exchange six or seven times)

The Argument: Not even an argument but toxic nonetheless,  this is the most aggravating form of “actions speak louder than words.”  Her job is to keep her lips sealed about the issue at hand and employ the man to figure out what’s bothering her.  Most men would rather pull splinters from their urethra than hidden information from a woman’s skull.

How You Should Respond: “I’m sorry, hun, but the Women’s Rights movement didn’t succeed by angry women being silent.  I’d rather you be a nagging cow than pretend Mary Shaw ripped your tongue out.  I firmly believe that communication is key to a successful relationship, and if you can’t do that then Helen Keller has got the upper hand, I’m afraid.”

Scenario #2: The “Wearing the Pants” Situation

Your Girlfriend: “I feel like I’m the one wearing the pants in this relationship!”

The Argument: Is she right?  Does she have a metaphorical scrotum bulging out of the slacks that dictate a relationship?  The point of this argument is for her to claim power over her boyfriend, although her exclamation states that she desires the converse.  This is supposed to rile you up and make you reclaim the pants that once gave you unimaginable power.

How You Should Respond: “So you want me to be in control and not let you have a say in anything?  That kind of contradicts the whole equality thing you’ve been striving for. In that case, go upstairs and you’ll find luggage that I have prepared especially for you.  You’ve just won yourself an all-expenses paid trip to Saudi Arabia: a magical land where men who wear the pants roam.”

Scenario #3: The “Jealousy” Situation

Your Girlfriend: “Stop looking at her! You’re always looking at other women that aren’t me.  No, you can’t get lunch with her.”

The Argument: You should not be ogling at other women.  Obviously this is a legitimate argument, however she can get a wee bit extreme with it.  This argument is employed more as an attempt for your girlfriend to glue your corneas to her figure so you don’t accidentally pop an erection with another girl’s name on it.

How You Should Respond: “I could argue that your eyes wander like Paris Hilton’s lazy eye on the Red Carpet.  Why else would you be telling me that I should ‘dress more like him’ or ‘act more like him’?  I’ve noticed how you dress and flirt with other guys when we go out somewhere. Excuse my retinas for registering the existence of other females that aren’t you. If your dog in this fight is a double standard then I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.”

Scenario #4: The “What Movie to Watch/What to Watch on TV” Situation

Your Girlfriend: “We only watch whatever you want to watch.  Why can’t we ever watch things that interests us as a couple?”

The Argument: Have you ever spent an hour on Netflix cycling through all of the movies and TV shows, yet you still can’t decide what you want to watch?  Do you have any idea how difficult it is when you add an extra person into the mix?

How You Should Respond: “Don’t give me that.  I let you pick movies, too, but I can only stand so much of Sarah Jessica Parker’s mouth.  Also, I’m sorry that I couldn’t get into Duck Dynasty.  I really am sorry, but it’ just not my cup of tea.  By the way, are you ever going to shave?  It looks like the cast of Duck Dynasty is filming an episode down there right now.”

Stockholm

Ryan awoke from his slumber, a deep sleep that was not interrupted by a medley of dreams and nightmares circling about his cranium.  His toes twitched to confirm his existence as the rest of his body progressed to work together to move him from the bed.  He swung his legs off the bed while his arm held his body up for support.  His feet are submerged into a pool of vomit that sketches the outlines of his toes and heel.  A woman’s pale, scarred arm is protruding from underneath his bed.  He rises from his bed in hysteria, falling to the ground in the process.  He quickly backs up and sits against the opposite wall in his bedroom.  A woman he knows is lying dead underneath his bed.  A nearly empty bottle of antidepressants is near her body along with a key and a crumpled up piece of paper.  Ryan sneaks closer to her body and takes the paper, and then returns to his place on the wall.

The paper reads:

Dear Ryan,

I assume when you find this letter and read it in its entirety, you’ll remember who I am, or rather who I was.  Before you found this letter, I was nobody to you.  Ask anybody about the events that preceded this and I’d be considered the shy girl who never really said much and kept to herself.  No, you never really knew about me until that one night we shared.  Following the aftermath of that night, “shared” seemed like a poor choice of words.  This was all you, and I was a recipient, a victim, if you will.  You’d think after such an event, all of my hatred would be pushed upon you.  To be perfectly honest, I didn’t hate you.  In fact, I hated myself.

Why would a girl hate herself after being raped mercilessly by the man she loved?  Well, I was pretty defenseless as you could probably imagine.  If I had the strength to escape, believe me I would have done so.  However, I couldn’t.  You allowing me to leave after such brutality did not seem like much of an escape to me.  I was hurting ever since I left your bedroom that night.  I figured that I wouldn’t tell anybody because I was too embarrassed to report what had happened to me, as well as the fact that the man who claimed to have loved me would do such a thing.

Over the next several years, I resorted to a variety of methods to punish myself for not being strong enough.  It started off with hysterical crying, eventually evolving to sharp objects that could tear into my skin and draw blood.  I was put on an assortment of antidepressants to complement the therapy that I thought would help.  Scars developed on my arms and thighs to remind myself of why they were there.  When you finished raping me, you threw me against your desk until I fell to the floor.  While I lay there crying, you left the room for a couple of minutes.  I found the keys you used to unlock your house to let us in for the night.  I took one of the spare house keys off of the key-holder and kept it for myself.

I contemplated for the longest time about whether I should come back to hurt you like you hurt me.  The first night I came to your house you were already asleep.  I stood over you with a knife for a couple of minutes with a feeling of power rushing through me.  It was as if we had reversed roles and that I was in control.  I decided to not go through with it.  It was around this moment that I acknowledged how I always loved you before you did what you did to me.  I tried with every ounce of my being to convince myself that you were actually a good guy despite your actions.  I convinced myself that you actually still loved me.  I did nothing that night, but I did return.

Every once in a while, I would come back while you were sleeping and lie under your bed.  This was my attempt to pretend that we shared a bed together, even though I wasn’t in the bed with you.  It comforted me to think that you were nearby and that you nor anyone else would hurt me.  I came back many nights and did the same thing: I would come back to feel love again.

Eventually, as I started to visit at night more frequently, the power that this love had on me started to dwindle.  I needed you to know that I was there with you.  I could never figure out how to do that until now.  My body has been tortured ever since that one night and my soul was being poisoned as it lived inside.  It needed to escape for good so I could for once live in peace.

What lies before you is my dead, physical body that will spend the rest of its days on the surface.  Don’t worry though, I will still live on as my soul is still with you.  You now remember who I am, and I will live forever in your conscience.  I still love you, and I forgive you.

– Molly

Ryan puts the letter down in shock and observes that Molly’s eyes are open, looking straight at him.  He looks around the room to see a shadow move closer to him.  Each forward movement of the shadow caused him to feel a chill, his breath eventually being exposed in the air.  She would be with him forever.

Broken

Recently, I’ve read numerous blogs dealing with heartbreak, loss, and mainly women feeling hopeless because of insufferable relationships they have experienced or currently experiencing. Television and online news sources are almost always reporting the physical, emotional, and psychological harm done to women from their husbands, boyfriends, dates, other men etc. I can never get the stories I’ve heard from my ex-girlfriend out of my head.

It’s hard to imagine how many individuals have become monsters. All it takes is one action to make this transition complete, forever branding them evil. These are monsters who feel nothing at all when inflicting pain on others. We all wish the world would rid itself of such contaminants that impede our progression as a society. How uncharacteristic of a man to do such things to a woman they “loved.” Raping a defenseless woman who may have once trusted you. Beating her senselessly until the flow of blood and physical scarring signals you to stop. Taunting her excessively until her emotions get the best of her while your malevolent voice haunts her within the safety of her own mind. A feeling of power and superiority flows through your veins. Look at her now; she’s broken.

Not completely. She’s on the road to recovery without you in the picture. A few minutes worth of pain and suffering you’ve imposed on her will take her months, maybe years, or even a lifetime to fully recover from. The monster within you should have never surfaced, because now you’ve altered her life and your own. She’s making moves to heighten her self-esteem to a level you once allowed her to have, but you stripped it away from her. However, she’s not permanently broken like you originally assumed because she’s stronger than that.

She’s beautifully broken. She’s working towards loving herself again and not being afraid of another man who may have a monster within him. She’s still beautiful, the scars you’ve embedded onto her body and in her mind doesn’t change that. She’s making progress, seeing a light guiding her in the right direction. You’re living with a monster for the remainder of your pathetic life.

To all girls and women out there who’ve suffered at the hands of a man you once trusted, I wish you a happy recovery and a happy life ahead.

Not Yet Human, Only a Stripper’s Pole

Are you one of those people who puts “virgin” on the line when the Check-In form at the Doctor’s office asks for your sex? Maybe you’ve had sex or maybe you haven’t. The question is: was it good? You could tell the doctor a lie, but he could just twist the family jewels into a knot until he exorcises a truthful confession. After that, he gets to juggle my testicles while he laughs maniacally towards the heavens like a schizophrenic clown. This isn’t what I imagined foreplay to be like, let alone sex. Hell, me grinding on some girl at a party is like Michael J. Fox playing with an Etch-A-Sketch. He’s toyed with my weapon for a whole minute and the edges of my machete have yet to dull, still remaining sharp as ever. Once Blue Cross Blue Shield covers my embarrassing visit to the Doctor, he’ll elegantly tell me to “Get fucked” and go slay some dragons with my sharpened sword until the blade dulls. He tells me not to come back until there’s blood.

Lovemaking is said to be one of the most beautiful things in the world. I may be biased with my lack of experience, but it could be much more beautiful if our reproductive organs were more attractive. Watching yourself bump uglies is like watching the ugliest couple in school make out until their faces are coated in thick slobber. I could get the same effect if I let an army of banana slugs charge into my boxers.

My resume isn’t particularly impressive, although my current position as a pole for women to dance up on remains as promising as ever. It would be nicer if bystanders didn’t throw coins, dollar bills, and phone numbers at her while I mastered the art of standing stiffly as she swings around my limbs like monkey bars. I’d like to think I do a really good job, however most gigs last no longer than the amount of time the doctor likes to play foosball with my junk. I can’t wait to be promoted to full time human being.

Don’t fear, gentlemen. Soon enough we’ll all earn our promotion.

She Finds My Heart

She stands in front me, pondering why I am the way that I am. My entire body is intact and I’ve professed my love for her, but she is curious to see me on the inside. She wishes to scavenge for the love within my inner chambers, layer by layer of my anatomy.

Slowly she begins to grab hold of my skin, the outer most layer of my being that she’s used to seeing everyday, and rips it off like wallpaper.  There are a few more layers of skin to peel if she wishes to go any deeper. It’s almost like a mask and costume of deception to her, hiding what I really am on the inside. Blood permeates through my layers to let her know that I am indeed human. I implore her to dig deeper.

She has arrived at the muscular system. Blood still flows but it has picked up the pace. I have the strength to uphold myself, and my love for you shall do the same. Go even further my love, you haven’t reached the center of my universe.

She’s proven how eager she is as the blood stains her hands and the ground below us. The warmth of the blood shields her from the ice coursing through her own body. She continues to pry my muscles from the tendons connecting to my bones. In the process she has managed to dispose of my organs. My stomach still pulses with nausea, yet there is no sickness inside of me for there is only love. My lungs are working overtime to compliment the thumping heartbeat to ensure I’ll be with her until my last breath.

She has finally reached my skeleton. The bones are still shaped correctly to hold me up as she is minutes from discovering the love within me. This is the first time my inner self has escaped from the eternal darkness. She has allowed the light to fill my pale skeleton as the life spills out of me. She removes the roof of my skull and pulls out the brain. She examines the beauty of its complexity and takes note of my thought process. This is also the first time that she’s been able to read into my mind. There is no code to decipher, she can see exactly what I’m thinking. Telepathy at its finest. She gently places my brain back in and closes my skull.

She works her way to my heart. She snaps my ribcage open like it was a trap door and grasps my heart firmly with purpose. She’s careful so as to not drop it, risking disease and splinters from piercing it the second it hit the floor. A feeling of warmth and love impales through her hand as the feeling travels through her arms and towards her heart. Love possesses her own heart as she nears the end of her journey. She has reached a moment of clarity as blood trickles down her arms and soaks the rest of her body. She has found the center of my universe and her own. We live through each other in the heart. Do you see now, my love?

Now stitch me back together.