Honestly

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I’m an anti-theist. What that means is that I’m against religion for many valid reasons. For example, an ex-girlfriend had gone to her priest and confessed that she had lost her virginity. The priest scolded her, telling her that she had sinned. She never confessed again. Another example is the segregation of people by faith, sexuality, or magic underwear. “If you don’t believe in what we believe, then you’re going to hell!” Think about that for a moment. A serial killer in the U.S. can seek forgiveness from Jesus and be allowed into heaven. But a non-believer will go to hell. That’s fucked up.

So much of religion is based on the idea of faith. In the Merriam-Webster dictionary, one of the definitions of faith is: firm belief in something for which there is no proof. Though, theists often vehemently decry the Theory of Evolution, demanding transition bones, blah blah blah. But to believe in god, you must have faith. Hypocritical much?

Because I’ve been watching the Atheist Experience on YouTube, I’ve gained a superficial knowledge of logic and have found a small hobby of talking to theists about their beliefs. I’m under no illusion that I’ll convert them to non-believers. But it’s always fun to challenge their faith. The issue comes when theists aren’t willing to have an honest conversation about it.

I was talking to someone who was very skittish about taking his lord’s name in vain.

“I know there’s a god,” Skittish said.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I can feel it.”

“Imagine this. You’re walking down a dark alleyway and see a shadow moving behind a dumpster. How do you feel?”

“I feel concerned.”

“Cool. You keep walking and you find that the shadow was just a garbage bag fluttering in the breeze. Now how do you feel?”

“Not concerned.”

“So your feelings aren’t a good pathway to finding the truth since they can lead you astray.”

“But the word feeling is so broad. It can mean anything, blah blah blah...”

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Here was where the dishonesty had happened. I showed that his feeling that god existed can’t be used to show the truth. Feelings can be unreliable. So he diverted the discussion by focusing on something else. I’d wager that if he’d admitted that my argument was right, then he might begin to doubt his faith in some deity. That was why he channeled the subject onto the some vague thing about the meaning of a word. To this day, he likes to muddy words instead of focusing on the subject we’re discussing.

There’s another theist that I talk to, and he commits something called guilt by association fallacy. He spent a lot of time trying to discredit Evolution. I explained that Evolution is both a fact and a theory. He narrowed his eyes at me and started to debate me, and I realized he didn’t understand the difference between fact and theory. So I talked about that. Then he diverted the conversation to how scientists couldn’t be trusted because grant money depends on their results. They’d manipulate the data or ignore evidence that proved their hypothesis wrong to preserve their grants.

I then tried to explain the peer review process and how competitive it is in scientific community. So, if someone wants to make a name for themselves by proving the Theory of Evolution is wrong, for example, then they would garner fame and fortune beyond most people’s dreams. Ignoring what I had said about the peer review process, he continued on the path that some scientists have “cheated”, so science as a whole couldn’t be trusted. Hence, guilt by association fallacy.

I suggested that he talk to a theist who was also an evolutnary biologist and get their point of view. This way they could have an open discussion without having the heaviness of opposing worldviews. Alas, he declined.

Having honest discussions is paramount to growing and learning as a human being. If we’re all about protecting our egos and our beliefs, then we’re never open to new ideas and ways of thinking.

I’m wrong a lot. That’s why I go to my writing group on a weekly basis and have them critique my pages. Otherwise, my writing and story would never improve. I like to say that I’m wrong 50% of the time and am guessing my way through life the other 50%. Life’s too short to worry about being right most of the time. Sometimes making the wrong choices can lead to the right outcome.

Listen to my writing group discuss writing and masturbation on the Uncontained podcast.

Sticks and Stones

"You care about what people think about you. I know you care," my friend told me. Not said. But told.

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I was making fun of her friend who hates my guts. She seems to have a level of Asperger's syndrome. If you're a fan of The Big Bang Theory, the character Sheldon Cooper suffers from it. He's socially awkward and has a hard time reading people.

I said, "Your friend definitely cares about what people think of her."

"No. She just hates you."

"She told you not to invite me to a networking event. That means she cares."

My friend thought for a moment. "She doesn't want to be associated with you among business people."

Smiling, I nod. "She cares."

Then my friend went on a calm tirade, telling me that I care about what people think about me. She assured me over and over that I did.

No. In general, I don't.

I have an acquaintance at the gym. One day, she was telling me about a guy who was hitting on her. And she shucked him off because she was not interested.

"Don't you feel good when a guy hits on you?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I know I look good." She does. "But I feel safe with you."

"I’m not menacing to you?"

"Well, if you're gay, then I'm safe. You won't hurt me."

I was like…

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"Yea. If you're gay, that's OK. I'm safe."

I wasn't sure why she jumped from feeling good about herself to assuming I was gay. I wanted to get back to my workout and didn't want to put forth the effort to tell her that I wasn't.

Many people initially think I'm a woman because I have long hair. I don't correct them. Their mistaken assumption won't make my penis fall off. At least, that hasn't happened.

And that's the crux of it all. What people think about you changes nothing about you. Taking offense only gives it power.

If I took offense to my gym friend, and berated her, then there's some part of me that feels insecure about my own sexuality. Or that somehow my image doesn't fulfill what I think a manly man should look like. And that's ridiculous because trying to prove to someone else that I'm not gay or that I'm manly doesn't make me any more or less of those things.

What's important is what we think of ourselves.

Let's slow down here. There are moments where I think I'm a loser for whatever reason. Maybe I'm comparing myself to someone, and I feel like crap because I'm not as successful as that person. In that moment that I feel like a loser, I'm not really a loser. It's just a feeling caused by that thought. That's it.

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However, if I continue down that road of thinking I'm a loser, then what may happen is that my actions may change. Maybe I’ll stop going to the gym. Or that I’ll get fired from my job because I don't try as hard. And my perception of reality may change. For example, I'll become angry at people because I think they're treating me like a loser. I may treat others badly as a result. All of this can lead me down the road of being and acting like a loser, which can make me angrier…it's a loop.

The moment I let go of the thought that I'm a loser, my mind will clear itself up, and my emotional state will return to peace.

Letting go is always the difficult part. I used to think that letting go meant stuffing my emotions down. That doesn't work. Imagine a heavy thought that you're carrying around in the physical form of a twenty pound weight. Now, try stuffing that weight down your pants. You might not see that weight, but it’s still weighing you down. Trust me. It ain't easy walking around with twenty pounds in your pants. I'm Asian. I know.

Letting go of a thought is like letting go of that twenty pound weight in that it doesn't weigh you down anymore. You're literally free of it. That doesn't mean you won't pick up it up again. So be aware.

You'll know when you've released yourself of that heavy thought because you don't feel it's affects on you anymore. If you merely stuffed that thought down, then you'll feel it somewhere in the back of your mind.

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We're all masters at letting go of thought because we do this every day. There have been studies that suggest that we have 60,000 thoughts a day. Holding onto each one would crush us, causing a mental breakdown. Most people don't have mental breakdowns because as each thought comes, it goes.

What tends to happen is that we focus on the thoughts that "matter" to us. If I was insecure about my sexuality, and my gym friend comes and suggests that I'm gay, then my mind will go into a whirlpool of thoughts about what she said. But I know what I like, so I have no need to confirm or deny my heterosexuality. I just want to get back to my workout.

Back to my friend who assured me that I care about what people think about me.

Generally, I don't. There are times when I do. If I'm on a date with a lady that I really like, then my ego likes to step in front of me and analyze everything that she does and says. That means I'm not listening to and engaging with my date, which likely is putting her off.

My friend is probably projecting her need for peoples' approval onto me. I know her well enough that she does put a lot of value into other people's opinion of her, so it's difficult for her to imagine how I do not.

Everybody projects at some level. If I'm watching a video of someone hiking the trail to Angels Landing, I freak out. I see a picture of a person sitting on the edge of a cliff, I freak out. Me freaking out is irrational because the threat of falling isn't present to me. I'm just watching a video or looking at a picture. But I'm projecting my deep fear of heights.

Hopefully, it's obvious at this point that reality is projected by our minds. That one person can be in misery, while the next person is experiencing orgasmic joy. And that thought is the main ingredient of our experience. This gives us a lot of power. That peace and happiness are not determined by others or by our circumstances. How peaceful we are in our minds determines that.

More and More About Nothing

Cult

/kəlt/

noun

  • a system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object.
  • a relatively small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister.
  • a misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing.

All three of us had just finished our martial arts workout. So we decided to go to dinner at a local Chinese restaurant and refuel. I had attended K-12 with Mary. She was the one who introduced me to the martial arts school. Standing just short of my height, she was attractive and assertive. Her deep brown eyes conveyed a depth that most women her age had yet to reach. Dustin was God's gift to martial arts with a body that rivaled the Greek Gods. I'd always found myself competing against him in everything, and consistently shown up short. Which was great for drilling my ego into the ground. Mary had a huge crush on Dustin. Again, the Greek God gift thing. Again, my ego.

"We're like a cult," Mary said.

"With all the bowing?" Dustin asked.

She nodded, then chuckled, then quickly checked the restaurant to make sure none of the black belts were around.

I chuckled. "Imagine if they were here, listening to us talk like this."

"They'd be pissed," Dustin interjected.

I kind of liked all the bowing. We were instructors at the school. Students walking in and out had to bow to us to show respect for the teachers. In turn, we had to bow to the black belts when leaving or entering the school. After each workout, we would all sit on the mat, like little school children, and the grandmaster would lay some wisdom on us. To question him, however, would be like throwing a shoe at him, and his subordinates would shout, "You've offended me. You've offended my family," and proceed to kick us out.

"You know," Dustin said, "they preach about honor and being humble, but they almost got away with stealing our fundraising money."

With twinkles in her eyes, Mary stared at him and covered her mouth in shock. "For the London trip?"

"Yeah," I said, "but Penn protested and the grand ol'master allowed us to have the money we worked hard for."

Penn was Dustin's and my teacher. Penn was one of the few that Dustin and I had termed thinkers. Everyone seemed to drink the grandmster's koolaid. We knew this because they spoke in his words instead of using their own. Sorta like a fifth grader repeating facts instead of internalizing the lessons.

Mary asked, "Wasn't the fundraising done to pay for the London trip?"

"Yup," Dustin answered.

I huffed. "It'll help offset the costs of flying there, paying for the rooms, the tournament, the food, the new matching uniforms we had to buy, all to make this guy look good."

Dustin shook his head. "In other words, we're paying for it all."

"You know they did this to another team who competed in China," Mary said.

"Yup. We heard."

"Didn't they raise a lot more money though?" I asked. 

Mary nodded. Eyes wide open. Meaning it was a lot of money.

"Crystal couldn't go because of what they did," I said. "She has two kids. There was no way she could pay for the whole thing on her own."

"Or even a part of it," Dustin said. He was close to her. The Greek God thing again.

Mary tapped her lip. "Grandmaster said it was to pay for his coaching services. But that's not how the fundraiser was marketed."

"It was to help pay for the plane ticket to China," she finished.

"Expensive," Dustin commented.

"For a mother of two," Mary said. "Very."

"I think we got our money because it wasn't as much as the China trip."

"I was worried the school would try and steal our money," I said. "But Penn assured us that it wouldn't be. And he followed up on that promise."

"Yup," Dustin said. "We're like a cult."

It wasn't long after that evening that several of us had decided to leave the school. The head instructors hadn't practiced what they preached. They fundraised through carwashes and other activities to help pay for material wealth under the guise of helping the school. They forced students to compete in tournaments to help fund martial arts organizations through tournament fees. They even tried to coax a brown belt to go easy in a full contact fight because his opponent was from a sister school. That brown belt didn't listen and won the fight handily. So the grandmaster threatened the brown belt that if he ever disobeyed him again, he would beat him.

It was a full contact fight. You can't enter a tournament where you're supposed to tear each other apart and hold back. That's a good way of getting seriously hurt in a game where you're suppose to seriously hurt your opponent. And for anyone to ask you to hold back in this situation is an idiot. 

The straw that broke the horse's back was when Penn had proposed several changes that would have improved the school, but he was rejected. A few weeks later, those same changes were being implemented without giving credit to Penn. He wasn't asking for money. So why had the school stolen his ideas?

Now, one of my spies told me they had formed an organization in order to certify their students' ranks. Sort of like a registry. What do they ask for in return? Cheddah. Moolah. A grip. Of course.

This makes no sense. If you've ever watched any cheesy Kung-fu movie, one of the pillars of martial arts is having a strong mind, the belief in yourself.

In other words, I can give someone a black belt, but that doesn't turn them into a lethal weapon. Or vice versa, you can have all the tools in the world to fight. But if you're not mentally ready for it, then those tools are useless. It's sorta like having a garage full of tools, a lift, air pump, and manuals. But if you don't know how to work on a automobile, then your garage and everything in it is useless.

And why would someone need to have their names registered to an organization as a black belt? Are they not one anymore if their names aren't recorded as such?

Think of it this way. If you're a skilled mechanic, and someone asks you to register your name as a mechanic, otherwise you won't be recognized by our organization as a mechanic, are you then not a skilled mechanic? That would be a hell to the no.

The funny thing is they always talk about putting your ego away. That ego can get in the way of personal growth. Isn't the need to have your name recorded as a black belt ego driven? That would be a hell to the yes.

This is interesting to me because I've been writing about insecurity in my posts lately. Here, we have a cult-like organization who has a number of followers willing to pay a fee to be a part of something that really has no meaning. They profess a strong mindset, but when they found my post about them in my teeny tiny corner of this massive thing we call the Internet, they had made the effort to comment against it. How insecure can they be? And it would be one thing if I mentioned the school, the instructors, the location, the system they teach, anything to point in their specific direction. But I didn't. And still they needed to comment on my little post, outing themselves.

So am I insecure that I left that school? No. I loved my time there. I made some lifelong friends. So why am I talking about them? I just needed cannon fodder to write about.

Cannon fodder

noun

  • soldiers regarded or treated as expendable in battle
  • an expendable or exploitable person, group, or thing

 

Dude...

When I first started to develop the characters of my book, Nightfall, I knew one of the subjects I was going to be exploring was ego, and how ego weaves its ugly opinions into their lives and shape their world. And the startling thing I've found was that part of the development wrote itself. It's character arc, how a person moves from who they are today to who they should be tomorrow. 

The story of Scrooge is a great example. When the story begins, Scrooge is greedy, hoarding his riches. Through spiritual enlightenment, namely the three ghosts, Scrooge evolves into a person who is giving and caring.

I was like that. Being Asian, I was raised to save, save, save. Before I was born, my family of six lived in a bedroom-sized apartment. My mother is a huge saver. So I grew up to be very cheap. I had an argument with an ex one time because she asked me to buy her a three-dollar bottle of water at a movie theater. I bought it, but then we fought about it because I was upset at having to spend that much money for water. Safeway sells it for less than a buck. Common!

But I realized that I wasn't poor anymore. I was earning more than enough money to live on, my savings was healthy, and I wasn't living from paycheck to paycheck. But I was still in the mental space of being poor. Luckily for the woman in my life today, I'm not in that head space anymore.

Recently, I asked a friend if I can get a ride to a dinner event. I would take Bart, a public transit system, and get off at the 16th Street station that was literally a five minute drive to the restaurant. He wanted me to get off several stations passed that because it was closer to where he lived. So I reiterated that the restaurant was only a five minute drive from the 16th station.

He then went off and said, "You're the one who needs a ride, dude. Not me, dude. Just meet us at Balboa. I don't mean to be rude, dude!"

Hmm. OK. I can understand if I was asking for rides all the time, but we hadn't hung out for a couple months, so I wasn't sure what his problem was.

Dude. Deeeoooood. Dewd. Dood. Diud. Dhude (the H is silent).

Then I remembered an incident. He had liked this girl for a while and was stalking her online. He asked her a question about a conversation she and I had had. We were talking about FOBs (fresh off the boat) and traded our experiences with them. He then asked her if he was an FOB and she said yes. He took offense to that and might have blamed me for that classification. It wasn't I who had turned him down for a date. But I think he started using the word 'dude' a lot to further himself from being a FOBby dude.

A friend and I met up with a girl one Friday evening to watch a group of bands play. I'm not a huge fan of live music, but I went because I'm always trying to break old habits and thinking. The girl was late, Asian time, and the first thing she said was, "San Francisco is so pretentious."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the restaurants and bars are very douchery." Translation: they charged a lot. "I've been to a lot of them and they're all like that."

"How many restaurants have you been to?" I asked.

"Thirty."

There are over 4,000 restaurants in San Francisco. It's a foodie town that houses everything from food trucks to Michelin rated establishments (Translation: hella good grub). So for her to make a determination that the city is douchery from a sample size of thirty restaurants is kinda small, especially when the variability seemed to be non-existent because she's choosing expensive places, obviously.

Thinking that you deserve to eat well versus just eating good food is egotistical. Personally, I love hole-in-the-walls (not glory holes) just as much as Michelin rated restaurants.

I've always hated the corporate world. I work in it because it's just a paycheck to me. And that's what is so soul-sucking, that the work has no meaning to me. Think of a woman having sex for money, so she can eat, shade herself from the rain, feed her children. Sex should be pleasurable, be an intimate communication of the bodies, and/or maybe, depending on who came first, to procreate.

I look at everyone who seems to love the corporate world and ask myself, "Don't you all want more out of life?" I hear from old corporate execs that they should have spent more time with friends and family. And if I were to get laid off, I don't think I'd mind it so much. I would be shocked at first, but then I'd be free of my voluntary jail sentence to my 6X6 cubicle. 

All of this thinking, of course, is egotistical, like I'm too good for the corporate world. And me spending all this time writing isn't taking away from friends and family, that my writing is more important than the job that affords me to write. Well, yes, to me. But it's still ego. Knowing this truth doesn't change how I feel, but it helps take me off of my high horse. And get on a smaller one. What? It's not a bad joke!

I Am Ego, Hear Me Roar

Is there something in my hair?

A beautiful blonde woman stood like a statue that had been carved from the finest marble under the careful but masterful hands of a passionate sculptor who pined for a lost love long gone. Surrounding her was a group of stupids who were trying to assert their alpha male machoness like a pack of drooling wolves. Two wolves snarled. One flexed his bicep, which surprised me because I didn't think men did that anymore to impress women. This is two-thousand freakin' fifteen.

I was not part of the pack. I tend to hunt alone. OK. That sounds weird.

Anyway, the other wolf barked, "I know you can't do more push-ups than him." He pointed at me. "I can definitely do more push-ups than him, and I can out run the both of you. So I am the best."

He runs marathons as a hobby. Full marathons.

At a prior party, the host had asked a few of us to compete in a push-up competition. Two men were up to it. I sat silently, trying to blend my yellah self to the textured white walls of the living room. That did not work, even after I said no.

I was volunteered to be the third man of the push-up competition. I didn't know how many I could do, but I was not looking forward to finding out after eating and drinking the whole night. And despite one of the men being fifteen years younger than me, and pretty fit himself, I won. So that was how that wolf, who barked, knew I could do a lot of push-ups.

Then he said he could do more push-ups than me. I didn't rebut nor even challenge him because, again, I was at a party, and having a stomach full of junk food hadn't enticed me to test my physical limits.

Bruce Lee Two-Finger Push-up

The thing about ego is that we either feel superior or inferior when we do the stupid and compare ourselves to others. There will always be someone better at something or worse at something than us. And the purpose of growing as a person is to be better than who we were. That was why I hadn't wanted to be part of that push-up competition. It was meaningless to me.

And as a writer, I'm not ashamed to tell people that I've yet to be published, despite working on this novel for five years. I don't go into explanations why. I don't give myself excuses to share with others. I've yet to be published simply because I'm currently working on shoring up my novel. People may judge me, stating I've worked too long for no results. And that's fine. I have no control over what they think. I will continue to toil away inside cafés, pouring over my writing coach's notes, crying at the devastation she's left behind, and doing my best to write the best book.

It's not like I'm curing cancer and people are on the verge of dying without my help. I'm just a writer with something to say.

Tylenol Doesn't Cure Knowitall

Nice white skirt...the car's

No man knows less than the man who knows it all -Some white dude I met at Starbucks.

I was admiring a friend's Fiat Abarth 500. I had seen someone drive an Abarth a couple years ago and loved the sportiness of the car, the cornering ability, the compactness, the Italian design.

"Why don't you get one?" my friend said.

I'd told him that I would but decided to get by my midlife crisis caR instead. 

"The Abarth is faster," he said. "And those caRs were my bread and butter."

Tasty.

He was an import tuner back in the day. Think The Fast and the Furious.

Since I knew nothing about the Abarth 500, I couldn't refute his claim. How could I? But I was slow and curious. Or maybe my ego said, "Fuck dat shit. My caR is faster." Now, my caR isn't a drag car, wasn't built for speed like a Corvette, but it was engineered to be a streetable track car. And Honda accomplished it to the point of making that caR legendary. 

So I looked up quarter-mile times for both cars and found the Abarth 500 was about .2 seconds slower than mine, stock.

The quarter-mile times were attained by race car drivers, and I even have a video of a Japanese racer who attained faster times, making my caR .4 seconds faster. But since I ain't close to being a race car driver, why argue the point in the first place?

I'd met another know-it-all at a New Year's Eve party. He was bragging about how high his alcohol tolerance was, how much alcohol he can consume, and described that he once threw up pure alcohol (no food) after a college party. Fabulous. I don't drink much. I get the Asian glow. For those not in the know, I get beet red when I drink something like a Coors Light. Yes, I'm a cheap date.

So as I was munching on a blackened potsticker, he stated that there are carcinogens present when food is burnt. I said a little won't hurt. He shook his head at me and said it doesn't matter. It can cause cancer. Shut the fuck up! Here was a dude who talked like an alcoholic, drank like one, then barfed pure alcohol telling me I could get sick from a burnt potsticker. Cirrhosis anyone?

A former coworker of mine chastised me for being at the same job for almost ten years. Before my current employment, my longest job had lasted three years. So it would seem that I've plateaued (in the corporate world, yes). But the main reason I've stayed, as I explained to my good ole buddy pal, is the freedom to work in Hawaii, or anywhere else I choose. And it's a day job, meaning I earn a paycheck so I can pursue my passions. I don't look for fulfillment through that job. I suppose if I had, I'd do something different, but I don't so I won't. He was comparing himself to me because at the time he was working for Google. In the Bay Area, working for a big tech company like that is sorta like being cool. 

I guess I ain't cool.

Those who think they know it all have no way of finding out they don't. -Leo Buscaglia

I recently read/edited another writer's romance paranormal novel. Normally, I wouldn't because it's time consuming. But it was a way for me to use what I have learned from my writing coach and apply it to a piece of work other than mine. I applauded my friend for even completing a book. I've met a lot of writers that don't freakin' write. Say what? But as I was trying my best to communicate simply the issues that I had seen, she spent a lot of time defending her book. And rightly so. It's her freakin' baby!

I cautioned her to take any advice of mine with a grain of salt, but I wasn't sure she heard my criticisms. For example, I explained that the rules of a fantasy world that she created must be adhered to. Otherwise, the story falls apart. In Harry Potter, material things, like money and food, can't be created by magic. So when food shows up on the table in the Great Hall, it was the house elves who had actually prepared it before hand. Otherwise, the fact that Ron came from a poor wizarding family and Malfoy came from a wealthy one doesn't make sense.

At one point as I was explaining a storytelling concept, my friend was brushing her teeth.

Though, it was an electric toothbrush, and it was after midnight (we all have jobs), I suspected she wasn't completely paying attention. And that's OK because it isn't my book.

I'm always open to learning new things and having insights about writing and storytelling. I think with any subject matter, the road to learning never ends. But we have to be open to it.

When the student is ready, the teacher will come and sit on yo couch and drink yo liquor and lay some knowledge, yo. Dat's how's it be, yo.

Are You On The Level?

It's a little weird to have a grandniece: my niece has a daughter. Now, I have a grandnephew: my niece has given birth to a baby boy. Does this make me feel old? Hahahaa. A little. Only when I think about the norm that the uncle has kids before his niece does, except my niece and I are close in age.

She told me that one of her friends brags about how well she raises her daughter and doesn't use things like TV and iDevices. That had made my niece feel bad about the way she raises her kids. I advised that any bad feelings my niece had is really her holding onto those thoughts that causes those bad feelings. Let those thoughts go by not putting any value on them, like watching bubbles float away down a river. Don't be a puppet to your own thoughts.

Ultimately, though, her friend is insecure. If she was confident, then she wouldn't need to brag then devalue my niece in any way. We see this a lot when we think someone is out of someone else's league in regards to dating.

On Saturday, I went to dinner with a few friends and an acquaintance had joined who I've called Mr. SUV. You see, Mr. SUV had this girlfriend who didn't want to spend anytime with him, then stated he'd drive a hybrid except it didn't attract the ladies, which he wouldn't need to do if he already had this so called girlfriend. Right? Yeah...I don't know.

Anyway, I surmise that he doesn't like me. Why? He was praising his smart watch, which prompted me to ask him what he thought about Apple's smart watch. He threw air quotes and said, "Oh, the Apple Watch?"

My Preciousss...

I asked him what the air quotes meant. Apparently, the rumor mill had been calling the Watch the iWatch for a very long time, and even Tim Cook was caught on camera using that name. But Mr. SUV complained that they're now calling it the Watch. I guess companies can't change their minds or have code names for their products, despite the fact that Apple had never confirmed they were making an Watch before announcing it. I stated that Apple is doing this to avoid litigation issues with the naming convention of i(Device)s. Mr. SUV rolled his eyes. 

All righty then...

That same night, a friend of mine asked me about the new iPhone 6's. I told her that I loved the feel of the rounded glass screen. Mr. SUV then touched his phone's screen and mocked, "Ooh. The screen feels so good. Oooh." He was on the verge of having a Meg Ryan moment from When Harry Met Sally.

I felt miffed, but reconfirmed that I did love the feel of that screen. I don't know what it is. But maybe Jony Ive should design sex toys. I left Mr. SUV alone because he was trying to impress my friend, which she wasn't, and he didn't need any help from me failing at that, even though I wanted to do this:

I bring up Mr. SUV because he's the kind of guy who always praises himself and devalues others because he's insecure. And because I'm a writer, I'm always trying to tune myself more and more to what people are saying underneath their words.

Someone who is confident doesn't even need to elevate themselves because they know that other peoples' opinions have no effect on who they are. And vice versa. Confident people know they have no control over other peoples' opinions, so why put the effort in trying to change it?

And only insecure people would write about someone they don't like and call him Mr. SUV on their website. Wait. What? I mean, confident people wouldn't even post a Mr. SUV article on their website. Whoa. Hold on. Insecure people and confident people are people too. Sigh. I give up.