I get into so much trouble with honesty. I try to explain to my family and close friends that if they want to really know me, they must know my honesty first. But many don’t seem to understand this very old, very simple concept. I guess it’s for me, an emotional lazy person. If I were to lie, that would take so much energy, so much thought to construct every detail, and fashion it, acceptable, to whomever I am talking with at that particular moment. Being honest takes no real effort on my part, but a momentary thoughtful pause, then the considered idea expressed in discussion. I have a close friend who asked that I assist her in saving money–no contribution on my part, just an emotional supportive ear and an occasional suggestion. Well, she just spent one-hundred and fifty dollars to dye her hair. I asked her to explain to me how this is moving her closer to her objective to save more money. She said sometimes I just want a “looks nice.”
“A looks nice is not going to get you any closer to saving your money,” I responded.
“Okay, forget the support. I don’t need it afterall.”
Is that guilt she is expressing? Is that anger? Or, is it simply a childish response by a young women who never really wanted anything but emotional strokes to make her feel momentarily good about a dream of saving more money?
Life is funny, ya know. I mean, I’m just a dog, right? And I’m expected to give some kind of advice, some kind of commentary every time Amy or Charlie have trouble in the land of love. I’m just a dog, I tell them. But they don’t seem to care. They continue with the rant, and each of them have a rant so important that I can’t nap, I can’t look for cats, mice, or even eat without them following me all over the house. Is this normal? I mean, wasn’t I supposed to be for cuddling, holding so close to add warmth? Were they not supposed to tell me how cute I was every time they saw me? I don’t get that anymore. I think they are going through a scratch patch–in our terms, a relationship problem. But that is how we work. Brozios and bruzias, all the same: they need to see each other as bounce boards, something they can reach out for when they have trouble. They can also be there for one another when times are good.
Now these scratch patches are frequently occur when their is a new fence to jump. Sometimes it takes four of five missed jumps to go over that fence; the other three or four jumps are only smashed faces against the fence. But, that’s how we learn, right? Failure on our way to success–that’s what I’m talking about. In a relationship, I tried to tell them, there will always be problems: who gets the pillow tonight? Who get the last treat? Who decided how long the nap will be? These are all questions we all ask.
“This is not as hard as you might think, but it will take some effort on your part. Next time you see Jeanna, tell her you love her. You see, women, bruzias, just love this. It moves them into that psychologically fulfilled state that they were designed for. Once they are there, they feel comforted, loved, appreciated, validated–all the things that bruzias and brozios need. Remember, it’s all about what we all need; and, it’s about what the other needs, not what we think they need. That’s the problem with most people, women and mens alike: they believe it’s all about you knowing what the other needs instead of what the other really needs. Listen to them, and if it’s not completely out of sink with what is normal and logical, then do it. Another problem that may come into play, and this is where most get into trouble, is when the other becomes conditioned to asking and receiving everything. It becomes a habit, and that habit can become a thorny patch in a relationship. Sad to say, this condition starts with conditioning the other to receive; which begets entitlement. Once they are at that stage, it’s pretty much over for you, my friend. If they don’t get it, then in their minds, you don’t love them anymore. This is an extreme outcome, but one that has happened time and time again. So you really need to handle this one with care. Remember, you got what you bought–and they don’t take returns.”
Little Richie walks into the living room, smelling the air floating along the lower end of the furniture, looking for Buddy at the other. He spots Buddy and runs as gracefully as possible toward the green sofa, the same green sofa most visitors relax upon. Richie falls forward, sliding just enough for the friction his chin is feeling to get warm. He turns his head to signal to Buddy that he’s alright. Youth.
“Well, Buddy, I just don’t know? You ask me if I love her, and I say Yes, definitely. She should know that. I take her things on her birthday, don’t I? I never forget that day. Got it written in a book so I don’t forget.”
Buddy walks over to take a sip of cool water before returning to his spot on the couch. He has a little trouble adjusting and making himself comfortable. “I mean it takes more than that, Richie. It’s not about what you think she wants, as I have said many, many times, it’s what she wants to begin with. Ya see? If you don’t take the time to see what she wants, then you are not listening but making decisions based on what you want. That’s true consideration, my friend. It’s really not that complicated, Richie. So when did the clouds arrive in town?”
“When did the trouble begin, Rich?”
“Oh, the other night, we were discussing what we each expected out of this relationship.”
“NO! That’s the worst kinda of conversation to have, Richie. It becomes a list of things that you are responsible for; now these things have to be done, and done really well. You put yourself in a corner with not way out. Oh, no! Did she have a list of things that she expected from you? Did she read them aloud? Did she nod her head to you after reading each one? At the end, did she smile and say ‘your turn?’ And, let me guess, you didn’t know what to say, right? You were so confused that you forgot where you were; you forgot your name; you forgot what her name was; you forgot where you left your keys, right? And, you forgot you were a brozio, right? And do you want to know why? Because you’re not a Bro no mo! When you lose your voice, you lose your cojones!”
“Uh…right. How did you know, Bud? Were you there? I didn’t see you? ”
“At your place, no. But, I’ve been there–the situation.”
“So, what do I do, Bud, I’m so confused?”
“Let me think.” After a few minutes…”Okay, here’s what you do.”
…to be continued
“Sam, women, they’ve got this internal, bio-generated switch. Now the switch can take on many forms. They can turn off the talking, the attention, the caring, the engagement, the love–almost anything you can think of. And this is all done with the cool emotion of a hooded executioner. That’s why most brozios walk around in a cloud of confusion, asking each other ‘What? I don’t understand what happened. One minute we were in love, the next minute I asked for the water…and that was it.’ I know, it makes no sense at all, right? I don’t really think it makes much sense to them either, but it’s there. It’s like this overwhelming biologically unit takes over all logic, all common sense. Sam, you must have said something. Maybe as you asked for the water you threatened to cut off her allowance; maybe you said her sister wasn’t what you considered sister-in-law quality; maybe you insulted her best friend. You must have done something wrong. I mean, where there is smoke, there is fire, right? And it sounds like you must have done something extraordinarily wrong at that. ”
“No. I did say please, though.”
“Well, that’s it! Maybe she doesn’t like to hear the word please; maybe that’s something you need to work on; maybe you are the one with the problem, my friend? You and your please. Sam, really?”
“You know, Buddy, sometimes your sarcasm can be so annoying.”
“Buddy, I dunno what happened. This is so strange. You won’t believe it. This is incredible. I can’t believe it. This is amazing.”
“Sam, Sam, Sam. What is so amazing? I feel like I’m listening to an advertising teaser. Ya know, when you’re told that the upcoming news or information is going to revolutionize your world. This ought to be good; no, fantastic; no, static removing. Tell me now, what is this news you have that is going to change the way we live, as if anything is going to change the way I live? I’ve got it pretty good now the way I have it?”
Roger walks around in a small circle and sits down to get comfortable. He pushes the extra cushion away from the green one, the one that matches the sofa next to the furnace. Too many cushions to be comfortable, but Amy likes them the way they are. “Well, she just stopped talking. She just doesn’t talk any more. Don’t know what I did; but, it was enough to make her angry enough to give up on any verbal communication.”
“Roger, I don’t understand. She just up and stopped talking? Completely? Not a word? No sound? Not a grunt? Nada? You are the man, Sam! Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get my bruzias to stop talking. I’m saying no talking. Not a word. Okay, I would settle for a low murmur.”
“Buddy, you don’t understand. She just flipped the switch off.”
“Oh, no. The switch?”
“Yeah, the switch.”
“Man, you didn’t tell me she turned off the switch.”
“Budd, what is the switch? My sister just said that woman sometimes turn off the switch. When I asked her to explain, she said to just pass the potatoes; that there were some things, as a woman, she could not divulge, or even begin to explain. She said that only bruzias know how it works because there is supposedly a code that goes along with it. Whaaat?”
“Okay, my cousin Bob was a real brozio, ya know, until his roomy’s girlfriend thought it would be a great idea to have his cojones taken from him at six years old. Since that happened, he has such insight to the bruzia world. Anyway, he explained the switch to me. It’s not really that complicated. Well, if you know what it is, you’ll understand how it works. Bob said it goes something like this…
…to be continued
“Okay, Gary, I don’t know why Gwen feels the need to avoid conversation. Let me give you an example derived from my personal experience. When I was dating this bruzia down in the center of town, she did not like to talk face-to-face. So, I suggested she send me a card, hand-delivered. I didn’t really care that it was hand-delivered or not–I just wanted her to work a little. I guess you could say I was toying with her; having a little fun. You can say I really didn’t see it as serious by then, or I would have sat down a for a pointed little meeting with her. I did, at one point, try to get her to call me early for a wake up call so that I could quickly grab the phone and start a conversation. She allowed the phone to ring until I picked it up, then she hung up–blipped out. We eventually started seeing each other less and less. I just couldn’t communicate with her; she obviously did not want to talk to me. That’s all I have left of the memories of Tracy.”
“So it sounds like you’re saying that I really have no chance of getting this girl to communicated with me?”
“No. What I’m saying is that she may have commubia: it’s just that phobia of talking with someone face-to-face. Ever meet someone who cannot seem to look at you straight in the eyes? Well, that’s a form of commubia. A full-blown case would be when that same person can only talk to you through text message, through a door, loudly through a wall, from behind a counter, or some other sort of veil. Though you get irritated, understand that she may have a serious condition–it’s hard to say what it is. And, as I said, there are clinics and support groups for that sort of thing.”
“What should I do?”
“If you truly want this to work, and enjoy being with her, talk to her about it, and be patient. Everyone’s got something.”
“Wow! I never knew.”
“Or, consider that she may not really want to talk to you.”