Lets talk about the G-Spot

The G-Spot is all knowing.
All powerful.
All consuming.

It can stop the strongest man dead in his tracks and make him cry like a colicky baby.
People have waged wars over it. Died for it. Engaged in acts so inhumane, you question the very fabric of reality.

You can’t actually see the G-Spot.
But if you’ve ever been in it’s presence, you know it exists.

It’s no myth and it’s not to be toyed or trifled with.
The G-Spot is real people. Trust me, I know.
It’s 7:40 on a Sunday morning and I am in the very thick of it.
Kept awake by it. Surrounded. Wrapped up in it’s boundless cocoon.


…what did you think I was talking about?

That other thing?
….the sensitive area of the anterior wall of the vagina believed by some to be highly erogenous and capable of ejaculation….Pffft….fake.

No you perverted animals, I’m talking about that destructive motherfucker known as GUILT.

Some of you probably don’t know what I’m talking about or fully understand how incredibly self destructive GUILT is. And to be clear, when I say “GUILT“, I don’t mean that fleeting sense of remorse you feel when you polish off a half gallon of Cherry Garcia at 1:00am after binge watching “Fuller House” on NetFlix.
You should feel guilty about that….honestly, who thought a “Full House” continuation
was a good idea? Especially without the Olsen goblins.


…yea, go on…tell me they aren’t constantly searching for the one ring to rule them all.

No. I mean that crippling knot in your stomach when you take stock of a situation and “realize” you should have done better.
Much better.

I put the words “realize” in quotes because sometimes GUILT is the by product of something that was never in your control.
But sometimes it is.

I’ll give you an example.
When I was 7 years old, I accidentally killed my pet hamster.
And I still feel guilty about it.
It’s the only time I’ve ever killed anything.
And my GUILT stems from something brought about by my direct actions.
Intentional or otherwise, I did this – hence theGUILT.

On the other end, my mother died in 2014.
And the GUILT I carry around with me to this day is a bag of bricks that just gets heavier and heavier each time I mention it.

Why do I feel guilty?
I didn’t kill her. A stroke did.
So why the GUILT?

Because in my mind, I should have been a better son.
I should have done more. Given more. Been there more.
Is this rational? No.
Is there some merit behind this? No.
Was I a selfish little shit? …ehhh.

By all accounts, I was a great son.
I was always there for her.
We spoke nearly every day. Met up for dinner twice a week.
I mowed her lawn ( yes I realize that’s slang for something else…please lets keep this on the level you filthy bastards…that’s my dead mother we’re talking about ) raked her leaves ( not sure if that’s slang, but it sounds like it should be ), cleaned her house ( just stop already ), bought her groceries, etc etc etc – you name it, I did it. No hesitations. No questions asked.
So again, why the GUILT?

Because GUILT is unlike any other emotion or sensation. It’s not grief or sadness or anger or self loathing. It’s a combination of all these rolled up in a debilitating sense of regret. It’s like a burrito…if that burrito made you hate yourself. It’s a hate burrito.
A harrito.
And nobody ever intentionally orders the harrito.

The problem with GUILT is that it’s a burden you willingly administer to yourself.
And the longer you do, the more you “need” it.
It becomes like a drug.

If you’re lucky, the pragmatic side of you knows that you’re doing this to yourself.
But the emotional side won’t let you stop.
In my case, I feel guilty about alleviating myself of GUILT.

And therein lies the absolute fuckery of the situation.

See, GUILT is not tangible, but can only be dealt with as if it were.

The old cliche about GUILT being a weight you wear on your back is absolutely true.
And the more you focus on it, the heavier and more unmanageable it becomes.

The only way to ever get rid of it is to seek and accept forgiveness within yourself and set that weight down. Put it on the ground in front of you. Look at it and say “Fuck off” and then walk away and never ever look back.

You can not…and let me stress this point…you caaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnooooooooooottttttttttttttt do this any other way.

Nobody…and again, let me stress this point…..nnnnnnnoooooooooooobbbbbbooooooddddyyyy can alleviate the stress, the pain and the damage of GUILT except you.
Not your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girlfriend.
Not this guy or that guy.
Not your dog.
Not Superman.
Not Jesus.

Not even Tom Waits.

…..believe me, I asked.
The best he could do was blow smoke in my face while growling something about “dirty slippers in a truck stop parking lot“.
To this day I have no idea what that means.

Love your music Tom, but your self help advice is utter shit.

Anyway, GUILT is not a dragon you can slay with an army.
You’re the only person that vanquish this monster.
It lives deep inside yourself and is as shapeless as the haze that clouds your perspective.
It has no corporeal form and therefore can’t be dealt with my traditional means.

Much like the 5 Stages of Grief, the first step is acceptance ( yes I realize acceptance is the final stage of grief – don’t argue with me )
You have to first accept whatever your own personal transgression is before you can ever hope to move on. And I don’t mean just say “Yup, this is why I feel guilty”.
That just puts you on the Highway to the Danger Zone* ( ha! bet that’s stuck in your head now! ) You have to fully accept it. Understand it and embrace it.
Pick it up. Grab it. And hug the life out of that motherfucker.
Then put it down.

GUILT is on the level with self hate.
They run on parallel lines.
You need to absolve yourself of GUILT in order to assuage the damaging effects of hate.
There’s no other way.
Otherwise you will never get out of the spiral.
You will spin downward until you find yourself in the blackest of holes during the darkest of nights haunted by the screams of your own demons.
Eating harritos.

And just so everyone reading this understands, I am not claiming to be an authority on beating the GUILT monster…or climbing the GUILT mountain….or tackling the GUILT quarterback ( do people tackle quarterbacks? I have no idea..I don’t watch basketball…or soccer ball…or any ball…well, I watch some ball…but it’s more of a health maintenance thing…best not discussed here )

GUILT has me in a fucking chokehold. A grip so tight I can not escape.
Sure – I can tell all of you what to do – but the plumber’s pipes always leak.
I’m writing this with tears streaming down my face.

Need proof?
Here’s a text I sent to my Dad and his wife just before starting to write this post.




GUILT is a cross I am FIRMLY nailed to. And there are days that I PRAY for the end of the end of the end. I have been in that place where you crave finality. You thirst for it. Welcome it like an old friend.

So I don’t claim to have beaten anything.
Except myself.
The only thing I’ve conquered is my delusions. And that in term has given me insight.
Crystal fucking clear, illuminated insight.
The problem with insight is that it’s fucking insight.
It brings everything to the front and places it directly into view.
And sometimes that view is unflattering, unpleasant and grim.
( which coincidentally enough, were three rejected names for the dwarfs in Snow White )

But I am making progress.
I am moving forward.

Focusing on positives. Making conscious decisions not to repeat bad patterns or engage in destructive habits.
Baby steps, to be sure. But sometimes, those are the only steps you can take.

The goal is not to completely rid myself of GUILT, because it is a part of me and makes me who I am.
But to take my GUILT
and simply make it


And this blog and everything that goes with it is all part of the therapy.
Just like this site was for my mother.
( yes that’s a shameless plug…go on click that link )

In the meantime, I will not not stop, I will not drop and I will not roll.
And I’ll always remember to take my Vitamin Vee.
….and so should you.



*Did you know that Kenny Loggins met his his ex-wife during a colon hydrotherapy session? Yup. That’s true. She was the administer and he was the client.
And you thought your first date was awkward.