Once upon a time there was an angry kid. It was me. I was angry that I was fat, that girls didn’t like me, that I had to move to a new city and leave my friends…oh wait, that shit all just happened. I’m angry because I’m fat, girls don’t like me, and I just moved.

I’m actually incensed. Enraged. Blinded with self hatred. And finding no suitable outlet for it. I always thought I’d be enormously rich and successful by this point in my life. I thought I’d be in love with my soulmate, and touring the world, writing music all over the place.

I’m not.

And I could, at this point, tell you all how God’s in cont…

THERE’S STILL NO FUCKING ICE!!!

…how God’s in control and how everything happens for a reason. But I’m not going to.

I’m not going to because I don’t know if that’s all true. I don’t know if God’s in control and everything happens for a reason. I mean, that’s what I believe, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I just plain fucked up. Maybe my calling in life is to be a teacher. Maybe I had signs, over and over again, to change my behavior and I just made a choice not to. I don’t know.

Let me just say, I don’t think I’m fat. I know girls like me, and I’m a little pissed off that I’m down here in “go fuck yourself county” but I’ve hardly moved away from all my friends. It’s a transition period.

What am I going to do? Well, I don’t know. Right now I have a trip planned to France again.

THE FUCKING CAT HAS MY EARPLUGS!!!

Anyhoo, I have things on the horizon. In addition to France, I can potentially play on a cruise ship in the fall. I was playing with a guitar player named Yuji and a drummer named Filippo last year. It was a lot of fun; they’re good guys, great players. And we’d be teaming up with this singer named Lynn. So that might be the answer.

So the deal is, I’ve got more opportunities for work than I’ve had in a long time. And by work, I mean, stuff that I could really make a career out of.

God’s got me here. I’m not driven to do anything else right now. I’m starting to make money here and there, it’s good stuff. So what do I do when things get fucked up?

I guess I write. And God fucking knows if that’ll help.

Pun Intended.

Alex

But I will say that as a man, I’m definitely not alone. No man reads that stupid shit. See, I have major problems with those stupid fucking books. I really hope that you’re just trying to make money because if you really think that crap is going to help you are damaging the very framework of the society in which we live.

What do women want reading that shit? To not have dates? One thing I know that book says is to not accept a date for the weekend after a Wednesday. News flash, everyone. Sometimes I have a Friday night come up and I’m bored and want something to do. But if I call you and invite you to dinner, that would be against the rules, right? So I better call one of my boyfriends.

I guess the idea is to weed out the guys that just want to sleep with you so you’re left with someone who really likes you. Two problems there:

A. Every straight guy out there wants to sleep with you.

B. How do fuck do I know if I like you or not if we haven’t actually gone out? I mean, I’m not 17 any more. The only thing I can tell is that you’re a complete pain in the ass because I have to jump through hoops just to get coffee. The only way I would do it is if I really really really wanted to sleep with you.

Wanna know what I think it is? You’re not very interesting. I mean, I used to really base my identity on whether or not girls liked me. I care much much less now. And really, if you’re gonna read some book by some woman that describes what men like, then you’re probably an insufferable pain in the ass.

So let’s make some mew rules. You can jump through hoops to try and date ME. I’m worth it. I’m a good guy. Everyone says there’s none of us left, right?

Here’s the new rules. Let’s work together on this. There is no”Battle Of The Sexes.” We all want the same things. Women are not conditioned to admit they like sex and men are not conditioned to admit that we like someone to care about emotionally. But we want it all. So accept the date, for the love of God! Do something goofy! You might have the best time of your life.

And you might find that special guy that really really really wants to sleep with you.

Mr. P.

I don’t hate pretty girls, but I hate that a large majority of pretty girls that I run into seem to look at me as thought I’m constantly trying to have sex with them. It’s more like 70% of the time now. I mean, how the fuck do people meet anymore? If I introduce myself to a pretty girl , they look at me like, “Oh, I’m onto you.” I know what you want. Congratulations. You’ve figured out that men like to have sex with women they find attractive. I’ll email the people in charge of giving out the Nobel peace prize.

Whatever. I’m sure that it’s a total pain in the ass to be a woman. Every woman that’s attractive in this world has had men trying to fuck them pretty much since they were 13, or had breasts, whatever was first. But what do want us to do?

We’re under a constant barrage of beautiful, half naked women in the media. It can be hard to feel comfortable being yourself in front of a girl you find attractive. We’re conditioned to look to women as sex objects, first and foremost. And it seems that pretty girls often end up being uninteresting people because they’ve always had plenty of attention.

I know this is old news. And I know I’m not the spokesman for men everywhere. But I’m not a total freak, and I know other men think about this as well. So what do you suggest? I’m single, and of course I’m interested in meeting girls. And I’m not unattractive. And I don’t think I have unreasonable standards of beauty…

So if you’ve read this and want to lay into me because of what an uninformed, shallow, bitter, shell of a man I am, let’s do one of two things:

1. I stay at home and what CSI reruns while you go fuck yourself.
2. Let’s go to a Dodger game and see if we can have a conversation longer than 5 minutes.

Hell, I’m surprised people read this thing.

Lots O’ Love,

Mr. Pauley

I’m a guy. And for a long time there has been a permeating notion regarding men and women and sex. Things such as penis size, and a man’s ability to please a woman seem to have long been accepted as comical commentary and worthy of frequent discussion. And I’m here to say: Huh?

Are you fucking serious?

My penis is a nice size, by the way, but be that as it may, why is totally on me to make a woman have an orgasm? As long as I don’t finish too quick, then we should be able to figure this out, right? I mean, I’ve made woman have orgasms. I know because I had a good enough relationship at the time to believe her when she told me. And that’s really what it’s about.

I mean, you faking an orgasm makes you an actress. A good enough actress to do porn. And you faking an orgasm is basically the same as you acting in a porn movie for the guy you’re fucking. I like when women come. It’s sexy. But don’t pretend to do it for me. If you don’t care, tell me that, and we’ll still have fun. If you don’t feel comfortable, tell me, and we’ll try to make things more comfortable.

And if I finish too quick because it’s been 9 months since I had sex, then I’m sorry, and let’s do it again after a short nap.

It’s really about communication. Even if we’ve known each other but a couple hours, let’s talk, and figure it out. Communication could help solve a lot of disagreements in the world, from relationships to government relations.

And you get to come.

Fuck Yeah,

Mr. Pauley

I know, who cares about this blod that noone will read, right?  But maybe that’s the message I’m looking for.  GOD IS ALWAYS HELPING US!  Right, so fuck it!  I’m happy.  I’m not really, but I am.  I have to do the things that have worked to make me happy.

 The problem is I’m all having this dialogue in my head as to whether or not I’ve been brainwashed.  I can’t get over the fact that some of my friends are in seemingly better positions than me and they didn’t quit drinking and doing drugs.  I just want to be happy.

 I think I’m really going to detail the relationship I want right now.

Love Alex

We played My niece’s 4rth birthday on Saturday afternoon. It was so much fun. There’s a song that I wrote called “Mexican Girl” and she came up and sang it with us. It was so awesome. I mean, so awesome! I know it was only me and a couple friends playing a song in the back on my sister’s house for all her friends, but it was my band that works regularly and gets gigs. The money I make from music is now a substantial part of my income.

I also am in a band with guys that are good enough to back up a 4 year old little girl singing along with us out of rhythm playing a song that they really didn’t know and just played on the spot.

Pretty Fuckin Rad!

I hope everyone feels as good about their job as I do about mine. If not, click here.

Mr. P

I teach, and it’s hard.  How to tell a rock to care about being a stick?  You know what I mean?  If I had been told not to study music at a young age, I don’t know what I would have done.  I don’t think it would have been tolerated.  In some way or another I, or my parents, or my friends, or my sisters, we would have had me plaing and getting better at music.  So did the system get me down?  Fuck no.  Could it ever have?  I doubt it.  I was put here, in some small way, or a larger way, to play music.  And write music.  And talk about music.  And ________ music.  You know?  God wants me playing music.

Byt the way, I’m fucking good at it.  Like, really good.  I’m an excellent singer, I’m an excellent bass player, I write fantastic songs, I have an incredible band, I’m an excellent bandmate, and anything else you can think of.  That’s what I do.  Words don’t describe the love I have for music.  That’s why I’m good and why I know I’m good.  Because I love it.  Everything I do with music in some way or another is driven by love.

And really isn’t that we all should be striving for?  I sure hope so.

Buy my shit!

Mr. Pauley

P.S. For Some reason, this particular blog has been getting some comments.  Apparently, it has created quite a stir.  Read more.