Scarlet Angel's blog: "Writing & Poetry"

I have finally discovered what's wrong with "some" men.... Their mothers went to use a nasal aspirator on them when they were babies, but instead of removing the boogers, they removed their brains instead.

I constantly see postings from guys that go something like "Why do woman always date the assholes and pass up on the nice guys?" or "Why do nice guys always finish last?" (Some of this stuff can be reversed for woman to think about too, about men and what men to avoid!) ================================================================================================== "Most" men who are self-proclaimed "nice guys", are one of two things. Either a liar, or a pussy. With that being said, you couldn't possibly know the whole story behind women and the men they choose. You only know what the women tell you about their relationship. And, even that can be completely opposite of the true story. I KNOW for a fact that controlling jerks are out there... I've been with enough myself. But, I also know that a lot of women, just like a lot of men, lie their asses off, and only tell part of the story. They want people to feel sorry for them, etc. Which is why they stay in "abusive relationships" cause there's no real abuse going on. There are a few woman who are in truly abusive relationships. And most of them stay either out of fear or because it's the only thing they know and it's the change in what they know that they fear. And, then there's the ones who say "But, I love him"... They're just stupid. And, then we have the difference between what you think might be abusive, and in reality, is not. If he has a pissy attitude because she STILL doesn't have a job after three years and they can't afford to pay the bills, that's not abuse. He needs to kick her ass to the curb, which is where you will then fit in, because she's looking for her next sugar-daddy. As for women who stay in controlling relationships, most of the time, they don't realize that the controlling factor is there until it's too late. Usually, it's after all their friends are gone and their relationship with their families have been stressed, that they realize their husbands/boyfriends are controlling. Controlling men will do anything they can to get rid of a woman's personal/family relationships to keep control. If she has no family to run to, or friends to help her, she's stuck. Also, there's a fine line between respect and the creation of boredom. Some men respect women to the point of boredom. Not many women want a man she can walk all over. And, not many women want a man who exhibits desperation. And, if you exhibit "stalkerish" behavior, you can totally just forget it. When you start telling a woman you would never treat her that way, and you would respect her and treat her right and treat her like a queen and do anything on the planet for her and she should be with you instead of the jerk... She'll walk away for two reasons most of the time... One, it looks like desperation on your part, and two she probably thinks you're lying just like the handful of jerks she's talked to before (refer to opening statement). Also, just because you'll respect a woman doesn't mean she'll like you beyond friendship. There's MUCH more to it. Like chemistry. Just because you like someone, doesn't mean there will be chemistry there. Also, face the facts... One woman may think you're all cute and adorable, whereas another woman is not physically attracted to you for whatever reason. You must also consider the fact that opposites attract. For example, what would happen if you had two controlling people in a relationship? They both try to take control, and it just doesn't work. Relationships are not cut and dry, like "I'm single, you're single, we belong together". Life doesn't work that way. What happens when you put two people who will NOT take control in anything? They are left in a life of boredom and limbo, because neither person will take the initiative to do anything. And, there MUST be attraction on both sides, not just one. When I see guys post this stuff online, I have to laugh. Because most guys truly have no idea. Or, they do and refuse to admit to themselves. And, most of the time, they commiting the worst of sins when looking for their love. When looking for your "one and only", try to follow some of these hints: 1. Don't be a pussy. 2. Don't look for women who are in need. (Be their friend. That's what they need! not a new man!) 3. Never talk to a married woman as more than a friend. (If she cheats on him, for ANY reason, she'll cheat on you, too) 4. Don't act like a stalker. (Sitting alone in your car outside her house on a rainy night while she's sleeping because you think "it's romantic, and you're still close to her" is cause for a restraining order, not a relationship!!) 5. Don't tell a woman you want to marry her after only talking for two days on the internet. You don't even know her! 6. Meet her MANY times in person before committing to a relationship. For all you know, everything she told you online was a complete lie. 7. NEVER EVER post another "nice guy" bulletin on the internet. Most woman will read it and see it as a sign of desperation, and you will lose.

I didn't write this, but I love it!!!!! Quote of the day "Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater. If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she'll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her. So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of sh*t!"

I'm not a really religious person, but I liked this story. I didn't write it, just reposting it from someone else. THE ROOM 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last. Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted. The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it, " Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him Brian's Essay: The Room... In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?

Copied from a bulletin... Too good to not save... I saw you, hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But, you didn't see me, put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday. I saw you, pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But, you didn't see me, playing Santa at the local mall. I saw you, change your mind about going into the restaurant. But, you didn't see me, attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief. I saw you, roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by. But, you didn't see me, driving behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window. I saw you, frown at me when I smiled at your children. But, you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless. I saw you, stare at my long hair. But, you didn't see me, and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love. I saw you, roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves. But, you didn't see me, and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none. I saw you, look in fright at my tattoos. But, you didn't see me, cry as my children where born and have their name written over and in my heart. I saw you, change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But, you didn't see me, going home to be with my family. I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But, you didn't see me, when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane. I saw you, yelling at your kids in the car. But, you didn't see me, pat my child's hands, knowing he was safe behind me. I saw you, reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But, you didn't see me, squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn. I saw you, race down the road in the rain. But, you didn't see me, get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date. I saw you, run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But, you didn't see me, trying to turn right. I saw you, cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But, you didn't see me, leave the road. I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But, you didn't see me. I wasn't there. I saw you, go home to your family. But, you didn't see me. Because, I died that day you cut me off. I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But, you didn't see me. Repost this around in hopes that people will understand the biker community .