Scary-as-fuck, abandoned mental hospital in Preston, CT

This place scared the hell out of me; I was so glad to get my ass back into the car and get the hell out of there. The place seemed familiar to me because I’m pretty sure they shot a low-budget horror movie there. You can find this God-forsaken place on Route 12 in Preston, CT.

Animals that I saw while in Connecticut

I saw some dwarf camels…

…and a giant chicken…

Conjugate the verb, motherfucker

I heard Donald Trump blabbing away today on Morning Joe. During Trump’s tirade of inane reeking bullshit, he conjugated the verb sing wrong. He used the past participle form sung without preceding it with the auxiliary verb be or have. And this shithead, who went to Penn, has considered running for president. Why don’t rich, right-wing fuckwads learn to speak fucking English before they buy their own elections?

The wake-up caller

It was a few weeks ago. The existential horror of my existence keeps me up until daylight, so the call I received at about 11 a.m. was like a call at 5:00 a.m. for a normal person. The call was coming from my cell phone, which I had forgotten to turn off.

The caller was a woman with a funny accent; I thought the call was probably emanating from somewhere in the Indian subcontinent, and that she was someone from my credit card company trying to verify a suspicious charge. It could also be some scumbag asshole headhunter asking me if I was interested in a job in which I was completely inappropriate for because they didn’t bother to read my resume.

The woman kept asking me to verify who I was. She had mixed up my last and first name. (Many people do, because if you axe the finally consonant off of my last name, it could be a first name.) “Who is this?” I kept saying. I couldn’t hear her because I was so tired and disoriented from being woken up at what, for you, would be 5 a.m.

“It’s Nancy,” she said.

It was the last person on earth I thought would call me. My Romanian Internet girlfriend from Dubai who was interested in breeding with me but decided against it because “I was not safe.” (What this meant was, I didn’t have enough money to support her brood.)

It had been two years since I had last spoken to her. I was pissed at her for not even getting my fucking name right. I thought about saying, “Oh, I remember you, you’re that Romanian woman from Dubai, right?” But then I thought against it because it would have sounded stupid. And then I thought about saying, “Oh, hi, how’re you doing?” But I had too much venom in my heart to say this with much enthusiasm, so opted not to say this as well. All that thought took up a lot of time. Finally she said, “I didn’t wake you up did you?” I had to take a piss really badly and was in no mood to embarrass myself by having to come up with an explanation for why I was asleep at 11:00 a.m. I was obviously fucking unemployed – and she obviously had no use for scum like me, as do all women, unless they are obese. She wanted something. She was not calling me because she missed me. I know this because she had made it very clear to me that she would not even waste her time to be friends with me if I didn’t serve her practical needs of fathering and supporting children and fulfilling her lofty dream of owning a home on Long Island.

“Can I call you back? -- Can I call you back?” I said with some desperation. All I wanted to do at that point was take a fucking piss; I did not want to deal with this shit. There was a long pause on her part. She told me she’d call me back in a half an hour.

I waited for a week for her to call me back. Part of me did want her to call me back, part of me didn’t. What was so odd about her call was that she had called me on my cell phone. Nobody knows this number. Nobody should know this number but my inner circle. I had thrown away her number, but I considered contacting her through Skype or facebook, as I still remembered her last name; although it was Romanian, it was a beautiful name and I will probably always remember it. How did she even get that number? The curiosity was killing me. (Actually, not even the credit card companies have this number – at least they should not.)

I first did a google search on her, found she was married last year and probably working in the hotel industry in Washington D.C., which is what she did before went to Dubai. Last year I had looked at her facebook profile pic, and it was her in a jewelry store with a guy. She looked happy as shit as she looked down at a necklace which was presumably bought for her. At the time, I asked Heather (a former friend of mine) whether this guy in the pic with Nancy was more handsome than I was, for I was struck by how a woman who was as beautiful and intelligent and worldly as Nancy would go for a man who was so dull looking. I always assumed that Nancy would hook up with someone James-Bondy. Heather said that I was more handsome. “Don’t you think he looks kinda ugly?” I asked. “No,” she said. “He looks fine. He looks like my brother.” (I had sort of stuck my foot in my mouth.) Heather, on the other hand, reacted with amusement at the sight of Nancy, for I had written volumes in my blog about how beautiful she was. Heather said she looked terrible – and she was right – she looked bloated and like shit. Heather claimed that she might have been pregnant, that women tend to look sickly when they are pregnant.

After learning about Nancy’s marriage to a superior man, it made me shudder. She had perhaps created offspring with this man, divorced him, and wanted me to care for her brood. Maybe this guy had all the money in the universe but shot blanks. Maybe she was after my sperm as well as the prospect of my money. Maybe she needed citizenship help. Whatever it was, it gave me the heebie-jeebies and I lost all interest in contacting her. I probably would have not contacted her anyway, even if I hadn’t learned this information. How she got my cell number will remain one of the eternal mysteries of the universe. (The credit card companies shouldn’t have this number either; I was just too disoriented to realize that when I got the call.)

What I’m not sure about is why she called me at 11:00 a.m. It could be because I had been forgetting to turn my cell phone on; it could also have been because she wanted to test my employment status or that she was unemployed. I hope she is unemployed. I hope she feels unemployment’s oppressive weight, its humiliation and unjustness. I hope that she never bares children. I know that her powerful thirst for children is at least as great as my own. I hope that she hasn’t and never will bare children. I hope that she feels my pain for the rest of her days. Fuck Nancy; the bloodsucker. Fuck her. I mean, really, really fuck her.

“My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done”

I saw “My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done,” directed by Werner Herzog on DVD as soon as it hit the streets. I'm sorry to say that it sucked.

I don’t think living in L.A. or working with Hollywood actors has, for the most part, been a good influence on Herzog. While Herzog’s “Rescue Dawn” (2006) was awesome, I miss the heady days of the Herzog experience, which featured Bruno S., Klaus Kinski, the beautiful Eva Mattes, and daring shoots in the middle of the Amazon jungle.

Aren’t I lucky to live off the dole?

I think the letter, below, that I received from my public housing office pretty much speaks for itself; however, I would like to add that this letter was slipped under my door at around 4:00 p.m. on September 16, giving me only a few hours before they (maybe) barged into my apartment the next day (on a Saturday) at 8:00 a.m. on September 17 in order to ensure that I haven’t made myself rich by pawning their twenty year old oven and refrigerator. Also, September 17 happens to be Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

I posted a note asking them not to disturb me on Yom Kippur. The note has mysteriously vanished. Maybe they fear a Jewish uprising.

The Man Purse

 

Occasionally I see men walking around with a man purse, and every time I see them, I say to myself, “You go, girl!” I want a man purse. There is simply too much crap a man has to carry around with him in his pockets in the modern world. I need a man purse! Yet I cannot have a man purse because I fear being ridiculed, harassed, and beaten up.

I am simply not man enough for the man purse.

I applaud the brave pioneers of man pursery, paving the way for cowards like me to some day carry a man purse.

Harvey Pekar, Dead

Perhaps my last hero, Harvey Pekar is dead. Amy Goodman announced the news on Democracy Now. She mispronounced his name, calling him “Pecker." Goddamn her!

The well traveled woman

I have criticized women in the personals for years for trying to pass themselves off as well-traveled and sophisticated because they have been to Paris or London or some big Western European capital. Big whoop. But finally I have found a real, truly international woman who has even been to Bali. Anyone who is cool knows that Bali is a must see. She is the real deal. But then I keep reading and I see this shit: "It's very hard for people to be happy, but if you can achieve that in your life, you have succeeded." This is such bourgeois crap. Happiness has nothing to do with success in life. This woman is deluded, perhaps even shallow.

The Cosmopolitan Hotel-Tribeca -- The Worst Hotel in The World

The Cosmopolitan Hotel
95 West Broadway
New York, NY 10007

http://www.cosmohotel.com




I stayed at The Cosmo for one night because I had an interview in the vicinity the next day. The total cost, with tax was $204.33 USD.

I could sense something was not right the moment I stepped foot in the hotel room. This is how the toilet paper was when I got there. It had of course been used by someone, and I felt little as if I were in a bus depot.




The room was a little musky and cramped, but it's Manhattan so I shouldn't complain:




When I attempted to take a shower at night, the shower tub got clogged up:

They sent someone up to look at it. He came back with a plunger and plunged and plunged and plunged. It was getting late, very late. I needed to be at an interview in the morning.



I happen to have experience with clogged bathtubs, and I knew that no amount of plunging on earth was going to unclog it. It needed to be snaked. But they kept plunging.

Finally, after 2:30 a.m., after a lot of bitching and moaning, they granted me another room, right next door. This room had a toilet with a broken fill sensor, so every half minute or so I'd hear annoying water sounds, which was very unsedating. I regret now even giving the maintenance guy a dollar tip for carrying my bag (which I could have carried myself) into the new, shit room.

I had asked for a wake up call before all the shit came down. Of course I never got it, because the fuckers probably never made a note that my room was switched.

In the morning I opted not to complain to the manager because I had an interview and I didn't want to upset myself. They didn't knock a dime off my bill.

The worst hotel in the universe. Stay at your own risk:

From Family Guy to Sex Guy

I have been on OkayCupid for a long time. Too long. In the past, when I had some money (though never nearly enough), I tried to look for a women that I could potentially start a family with. But the recession dried up the already shriveled money teat. I refused to let the dream die, and I plotted and planned to go overseas to find employment -- even devoted several hundred hours to the study of Russian. Recently, I botched an important interview, which derailed my immediate plans of going overseas and put the whole mission plan into question.

There was no use in saying that I wanted a nuclear family in my profile if there was no money to fuel this with, so I went "Sex Guy," and selected Casual Encounters, and deselected Long-term and Short-term dating. Though I like sex a lot, I am not a "Sex Guy." I was just tired of being probed about my assets. It's oppressive. At least a fuck buddy would want me for me, and I wouldn't have to waste my time and energy on women who want more than I can give.

I was horrified to learn recently that I had not fully transitioned my profile from Family Guy to Sex Guy. There was still a remnant of the old Family Guy stuff:

"My dream is to find a (non-crime) partner who loves children and desires, as I do, to create a loving family."

God knows how long it was there. It probably seemed very confusing to people.

So now I am fully and completely a Sex Guy. I never dreamed that I would be reduced to being a Sex Guy. I'm sure it could get worse. It probably will...

Our Presidents...

Our Presidents, after smoking some seriously good shit.

Charles River, after the great rain of 2010

The genital suckers who insure my car

Arbella

Claims Department Head

P.O.Box 699195

Quincy, MA 02269-9225

Dear Sir or Madam,

On 26 March 2010, a Kia SUV, driven by Elizabeth Kim collided into the side of my car while I was parked. I contacted my insurance agency, [undisclosed]. Shortly afterward, a woman called me from Arbella to tell me that an adjuster will be contacting me in order to set up an appointment to have my car evaluated.

On 3 April 2010, someone who called himself Phil, who said he was with Arbella, left a voice mail for me saying that he was an appraiser and was interested in setting up an appointment with me in order to have my car appraised.

I called him the next day around 11:00 a.m. in order to make an appointment with him. He told me that he had already come by that day, and that he had already appraised my car. Phil asserted that there was no damage done to my car and objected to my assertion that the car had been damaged.

I am puzzled by why, if I was home, he did not ring my bell. Phil told me that he had taken numerous photos. Since there was a row of hedges not one foot away from my car, and a severe rainstorm going on at the time, I am puzzled by how Phil was able to take proper photos and be able to do a proper assessment of the damages.

The next day, when it was dry, I drove my car out of my space and took numerous photos of the damage done to my car by Ms. Kim. I have overwhelming evidence of scratches going along the entire length of the side of my car that was hit by Ms. Kim's Kia. Even after all that rain, I could still see the paint from Ms. Kim's Kia. I not only have numerous scratches, but a dent. I also photographed how my car was parked at the time in which Phil asserted that he took these photos, demonstrating that it was not remotely possible to do any type of proper assessment, had he in fact been there. I also have someone who witnessed my parking of my car, who can verify that my car was parked in the position that I stated it was.

I called Karen Cormier the next day and left a voice mail informing her of what had happened with Phil. I also asked her to contact me. She did not do so. No one from Arbella has contacted me since Phil asserted that he had done the assessment.

I demand that my car be assessed properly, by a professional assessor, and that he or she makes an appointment with me in order to go over the damages.

Just let it die

I have never seen so much rain. I've never experienced a warmer March. Is it global climate change? Perhaps. Now Obama wants to drill as well as kill. And there's nothing that anyone can do about it because there is no less backward alternative to Obama in sight. And even if there was, the planet may already be fucked.

Maybe instead of going down with this sinking ship bitching and moaning we should embrace the good aspects of humanity and the great progressive we've made throughout our history, not only technologically, but socially. While it has been slow, we have made progressive and collectively improved ourselves.

I once heard Bukowski talking in an interview about all these people who want to save the human race. He said, why should we save it, just let it die. He was essentially saying that the human race was not worth saving. I think that we are just as deserving of being saved as any other animal, but that perhaps we should not get so fucking bent out of shape if we can't be saved, and not waste energy saving something which is probably not in our nature to be saved. You may say that I am a defeatist, but take a good look at our current situation and offer me a realistic and viable solution.

Our intensive use of resources which has allowed us to dominate as a species is what will probably fuck us. I expect that humans, because of their intelligence, will continue to exist, despite radical climactic shifts, however it will be in a dark age that we will exist is. Future generations will probably look back at us in anger, and accuse of annihilating the world. They will overlook the fact that they are the same animal as we, that it is in our nature to exploit the fuck out of everything, and without this nature, we wouldn't have survived as a species.

Speak English, fucker

I was listening to Jay Severin while driving in my car. I hate this right-wing fucker. He makes a living off of bashing Mexicans. When he starts to feel cornered in an argument with one of his callers, he calls them a homo and ends the conversation.

As usual, today he bragged about how many women he sexed it up with during his college days at Vassar. This ugly fucker might have gotten a lot of sex in college, but I can assure you that when this sex was done with people that it was quite imaginary. Women just don't dig ugly. Trust me on this.

JaySev was also talking some shit today that I've never heard of. He claimed to have been arrested thirty times protesting for civil rights. He claimed to be a close associate of Abbie Hoffman and, if I remember correctly, Jerry Rubin. I'm surprised he didn't say he was a member of the Chicago seven.

JaySev made this statement about his close Yippie associates:

"I had ran with those guys..."

That made me pause for a second. It sure didn't sound like correct English.

When I stopped I pulled out my verb conjugator iPod app that I had bought for $2.99. I was able to verify that this fucker cannot speak proper fucking English. You can not say "had ran." You can say "had run" if you want to form the past perfect tense. In this case, JaySev was trying to express the simple past tense, so he should not have stuck an auxiliary verb in front of "ran." He should have said "I ran with those guys." I'm sure that if JaySev saw me criticizing him like this he would immediately call me a homo. Everything contrary to JaySev is homo.

What bothers me is that this fucker acts as the English Police, having shitfits when people speak Spanish. If you're going to appoint yourself as the English Police and make money off of bashing Spanish speakers, you better speak fucking English yourself. Otherwise you just look like right-wing, jaw-flapping asshole.

Facebook, cannot do it anymore

This was a FastCupid blog post.

The defrienders don't bother me that much, it is the frustration and agony of trying to figure out who the hell it was who did the defriending.

There are many things that I hate about FB. Some of you here are my FB friend, some of you are too good to be my FB friend -- and trust me, you're not nearly as good as you think you are. Some of you I defriended a while ago during a drunken night of madness. I regret this act and every single person that I defriended.

I think that I cannot handle FB anymore. There are two things that really disturbed me about FB recently. One was the woman I was in contact with who I met on OKC. She lived in a rural backwater in the Midwest. She was a quite severely good looking woman, though probably too old to reproduce, and I make it very clear to women that I am looking for someone who can reproduce. I don't however use this language. I thought she was cool. I had mentioned, without even thinking too much about it, that I visit her in Green Bay for a vacation. I would have stayed in a hotel. I was amazed that she offered to have me stay at her house.

I had bashed Obama numerous times on FB. The reason is that Obama pisses me off because I believe he is a war-mongering, business-friendly suckup. I am a Socialist, so what do people expect? In any case, this hot, Midwestern woman says this horrible, defamatory thing right on my FB page about Obama's race. And I'm like, what WTF? It horrified me that I could possibly have been sexing it up with a redneck. And this woman was very beautiful. I could have really, really, sexed it up with a redneck. It makes me shudder just thinking about it. I defriended her and ceased all contact with her. She continues this day to try to refriend me. She does not quit. I probably should have explained to her why I defriended her.

The other disturbing FB situation is another woman whom I have also never met before, yet we established a fairly close bond for penpals. We had also spoken on the phone a few times. I thought she was my friend. I thought she was cool and she understand what a fucking nutjob I could be. Yes, it is true. I did once ask her to leave her boyfriend for me. Though hours later, upon seeing its complete insanity, I told her that I had gone mad and to treat my prior message as a momentarily lapse of sanity. I sometimes go mad, but I am in touch with my madness, and am capable of seeing reality. Not too long afterward, she ceased communicating with me. I don't quite think she understand that I was not as obsessed over her as she thought I was. I don't get too bent out of shape anymore about any woman. I just don't care. I'm not trying to sound cool. I have realized that women don't give me happiness. They give me pain because I do not meet their economic requirements. And I don't really need their sex too badly anymore. If I am to be truly honest with myself, the feeling I feel when women reject me is relief. While I am ultimately responsible for scaring off this FB friend, I actually thought she understand me better, and I am actually no longer interested in being her FB friend and looking at her statuses, yet I cannot defriend her.

Getting back on topic, I'm so fucking tired of Facebook. I am not going to delete the account, because I would appear as defriending all my friends. I think I will just stop posting. I'm not really sure how to get out of it.

If you're an ass-kicker, at least write like one

I'm tired today and feeling a little nihilist. I came across an OkCupid woman with a profile that was quite unreal. This sample from her profile is really just the tip of the iceberg:

Remember, I am a successful woman who needs a guy to match me in my ability to acheive goals. If you are not this guy, please, don't waste my time.

I would not dream of contacting a woman like this, but I have an overwhelming desire to help alpha-doggers with their spelling and grammar as they embarrass me, not that I am any type of expert in these matters.

First of all, we need to remember that old spelling rule we learned in the first grade: i before e except after c. Accordingly, "acheive" should be spelled "achieve."

Is her first sentence grammatically correct? Probably, but it sure done sound funny, eh? A truly successful woman like her would want to be more concise in her wording and instead say something like this:

Remember, I am a successful woman who needs a guy to match my ability to achieve goals.

But even this sounds a little cave-womany.

How about:

I am a successful woman. I desire a goal-oriented man who matches my level of achievement.

Or perhaps you could just try the cut-the-crap approach:

I kick ass! I bite the heads off fuckin' bats and eat them. You should too. Fuck the rest of ya!

Suicide Mission

Dear L,

I am in Florida now visiting my parents. I didn't get access Wifi until today.

I think I learned too much about the intimate details of your life. I am specially referring to men. I know that I have also revealed personal details to you along these lines, and I am a hypocrite, but I am jealous of any man who you like.

I am not speaking to too many people these days anyway. It's hard to be chatty these days. I feel like I am on a mission to create offspring that is so risky that is practically a suicide mission. I could piss away all my valuable time and meager savings on an ESL certificate (which I may not even qualify for or complete) so that I could go to the backwaters of Eastern Europe or Siberia to get fucked (not the sexual kind). Or I could stick around and keep doing what I'm doing which will invariably lead to my being fucked, or as I like to call this scenario -- the slow death.

I actually looked into janitorial jobs today. Goodwill is paying $28,000. This is what an entry level computer programming job paid me ten years ago, where I worked 100 hours a week, so the Goodwill job scrubbing toilets is really the better deal as there is less investment in time and stress. People treat you like shit at these jobs because they assume they are superior to you because of their higher social status, but in my last 28K computer programming job my boss was a fucking tyrant and literally screamed at me. The Goodwill job is probably more secure that any programming job. Maybe this is the better deal than teaching ESL in Siberia. Maybe my chances of meeting a woman for the purposes of reproduction would be about the same. But my instinct tells me that I will probably get fucked as a janitor. I can just imagine the faces my OkayCupid dates make when I tell them that I mop floors for a living. While there are some exceptions most of these people are incredibly shallow despite how enlightened they attempt to portray themselves,

I'm running out of MOJO, L. I am fortunate to look younger than my age, but very soon time is going to catch up with me and I am not going to be able to attract reproductively viable women. Personally I don't give a shit about getting old. I just don't like the idea of being old and being faced with the existential horror of life without meaning.

It just feels like I am desperately running out of time and everything is closing in on me.

You could always call me. But please wait until I get back from Florida on the 27th so that I could have a little more privacy.

Here is my google voice number, if you don't already have it:

A FastCupid blog post I never posted

I wrote this for the FastCupid blog but never posted it:

There is a whole little universe within a universe operating here. It revolves whether I'm here or not.

I could tell you how I'm doing, but people who know me know that I'm probably going to tell you that I'm miserable, lonely, and completely obsessed with a need to create my own family. What many of you don't know is that I have become Captain Ahab and am fully prepared to sacrifice everything in pursuit of my dream.

I pass up perfectly good 44 year olds who write me, and instead chase the elusive 34 year olds that will go out with me. It has nothing to do with getting a better fuck. I really don't care about sex. As horny as I am, my need for sex is the least of my problems. A younger me would never conceive that I would say something like this.

One of the provocateurs on this site stated that I could not get laid. I did not reply to him, but this is really not true. I haven't had sex since 2001, but I've had opportunities to get sex from women my own age within the last few years. I turn down these opportunities because when they present themselves I worry about all the time my having sex with women will take up. That is time that could be better spent plotting to put myself into a position where I can increase my odds of finding someone I can start a family with. In addition, it raises moral issues, which I'm not going to get into.

I have only so much MOJO left in the tank. And right now I'm running on fumes. All I have to do is get just a little bit older, and I will not be able to attract reproductively viable women, anywhere. As the impending doom of age encroaches it takes me further down the road of panic, desperation, and perhaps madness.

The stuff I do when going mad at 4:30 a.m.

I used to read novels, historical books, but now I just read personal ads of people from all over the world. I often do this at night. I am often slightly mad at this time.

I came across a woman from Bulgaria who expressed a very strong desire to live in the USA. I wrote the following to her. She didn’t write back. I didn’t expect her to. By the way, she smoked:

I'm not sure why you want to go to the USA so badly. There's no work here unless you work for the medical industry. And if you smoke in my country you're treated like a leper. Cigarettes in the USA are probably pushing $10.00 USD a pack. You need to be rich to smoke.

I look forward to getting out of the USA. I look forward to working some day. I recommend you go to Western Europe, maybe France or the UK. They have better social programs there. These are more civilized societies.

The good stuff

I don't need to make love to women anymore because the pure deliciousness of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is just as good. The only problem is that my DNA and this beer's DNA cannot combine for the purposes of reproduction. I will need to work on this...

Stay away from this Craigsist guy

I made an appointment and had a verbal agreement with the craiglist handyman in the ad below, an entire week in advance for him to repair my screen window. He did not show. He did not warn me that he was unable to make it. When I called him to find out why he didn’t show up for the appointment, he said “It slipped my mind.” He goes by the name “John” or “JP”.

Handy Man Service (Greater Boston)

---

Date: 2009-10-24, 6:03PM EDT
Reply to: purcifull121@hotmail.com ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

(PLEASE PROVIDE YOUR TELEPHONE NUMBER WITH ANY INQUIRIES SO I CAN CONTACT YOU)

All type of Home Maintenance/Handyman Services including but not limited to:

Apartment/Home Renovation

Interior & Exterior Painting, Plastering & Insulation Installation

Tiling, Hardwood, Tile & vinyl flooring, cabinet repair & installation

Building & Repairing decks. Deck cleaning, staining, painting, repairs of stairs, steps & railings

Wood rot repair, framing, shelves & cabinets, trim work & molding

Window & door install & repairs, Caulking windows and doors, screen installation, removal & repairs, glass install & replacement, plaster repairs

Yard Work, Install Shelves & Organizers, Raking, Snow Shoveling, Picture & Mirror Hanging, Basement & Garage clean up specials, child proofing homes, install knobs & deadbolt locks, repair drawers,repair & install all house fixtures.

FREE ESTIMATES - NO PROJECT IS TOO SMALL (IF YOU DO NOT SEE THE SERVICE YOU ARE LOOKING FOR LISTED HERE, PLEASE INQUIRE)
QUALITY GUARANTEED - REFERENCES AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

JP 617-416-7448

Getting in touch with the dead

I really need to learn a better way of concealing my laughter when my dates talk about their belief in making contact with the dead.

Maybe I can insert a thumbtack in my footwear, and when the urge comes on to laugh or even smile, I can very quickly give myself some searing pain in order to counter the comedy.

Johnnycakes, they kick ass

True students of "The Sopranos" will have the word Johnnycakes indelibly etched into their memories. I needed to fully experience the Sopranos experience, so finally got around to making Johnnycakes. Johnnycakes are pancakes that are made partially with corn meal.
I didn't have milk as the recipe called for. I substituted a cup of heavy cream for the milk. (You might also describe what I made as Artery Blocker Cakes.)

The Johnnycakes were incredibly awesome. I'll never eat another regular pancake again. They're too doughy. The addition of cornmeal removes the chewiness from pancakes and gives them a nice granular texture. You barely need any maple syrup because there's no need to compensate for the blandness of regular pancakes. Here's what Johnnycakes look like. Not too bad for a first try.

 

Got the recipe here:

http://southernfood.about.com/od/cornbread/r/bl01002g.htm

Grilled at 375 degrees.

I added one tea spoon of baking soda, not called for in the recipe.

Review: River Ale — Pretty Gamey

Actual price in store: $4.34 (1 PT 6FL. OZ)
Actual worth: $2.00

Some people like wild salmon. For me it is funky tasting. Uncivilized. Drinking River Ale is sort of like eating a gamey, wild salmon. While there are worse things, the experience is slightly revolting.

There is this weird, oily texture to this ale. It’s very viscous. Sort of like a very heavy cough syrup. If you look at the ale, the contents don’t look uniform. It looks as if someone took a ladle and scraped it against the bottom of the fermentation tank and bottled it.

But this is okay. Really. Forget about how it looks. It’s taste that matters and River Ale is, how can I put this gently — an ale for people who are in touch with their feminine sides. River Ale is sweet. Way too sweet for what I would consider appropriate for an ale, yet not sweet enough for you to appreciate the aesthetic of sweetness. I think that had this ale been sweeter it might possibly have been interesting.

Some people love wild salmon and prefer it to farm-raised. Some people like their alcohol with plenty of sugar in it so it tastes like liquid candy. That’s okay. It’s just not my thing. I think River Ale has a serious identity crisis. I think the makers of River Ale are out of their minds to charge as much for their ale as they do.

The low rent district

Recently moved into the low rent district of OKC Casual Encounters

A bombed out slag heap

Not even running water

Refuges of barren emotional lives scavenging for a morsel of something soft or hard

 

Our rent is so low

Probably subsidized by the government

Or God knows

But it's an honest living

We know that we will probably bore you

And that you will probably bore us

To death

 

It’s not that we don’t care about you as a person

It’s just that we don’t care

We have gonads for the grinding

It's strictly business.

End of a dark and savage age

Cave men & women around a Facebook campfire.

Master's & phD's our clubs.

Pointed words our spears.

Social cohesion forged through smilies and LOL's.

A new world is on the horizon.

We are crawling out of our virtual caves and learning to live off the land through FarmVille.

A man’s guide to post first-date rejection

While some so-called experts might say that you need to take risks in dating, I believe that most post first-date rejection risks can be avoided and are actually detrimental to your psychological health. If you feel there is a chance you will be rejected, don't try because you probably will be rejected.

1.) Don't trust what you hear on dates. Trust what you see and feel. While this is counter-initiative, a woman expressing interest in seeing you again, no matter how sincere sounding, is more likely a sign of rejection than acceptance.

2.) The key indicator of acceptance or rejection is parting physical contact. If the woman extends her arm to shake your hand, I don't care how much interest she expresses in seeing you again, she has little or no desire in seeing you again. If you get a tight hug -- especially a prolonged tight hug, you have been accepted and can safely ask the woman for a second date (but do it the next day.) Anything stronger than a hug like a kiss is also a sure sign that you've been accepted.

3.) Pay close attention to body language. If you receive the slightest scowl at any point, uncomfortable look, or closed stance such as arms crossed, you better get a tight hug before asking the woman out again. Also, keep a close look out for distractibility. When women time slice a good share of attention to small children or want to know the score of the ballgame playing, it is often a sign that they really don't want to be on the date.

4.) Traumatic Exit: If a woman starts to complain about symptoms of discomfort from any type of illness, very, very politely give her the option to leave. Offer to walk her to her car. Don't embarrass yourself by not taking a hint. Play it cool. Walk her to her car. Be nice. But don't let on that you're interested in her.

5.) Formal Exit: When women want you to walk out with them, this is most likely a rejection. Like the traumatic exit, play it cool. Often the Formal Exit is preceded by a lot of very choreographed sounding bullshit about how much she enjoyed seeing you and how great it would be to meet again. When I woman does like you, she generally doesn't want to leave. She wants to keep talking for dear life.

6.) Rude Dates: These are very rare dates where the woman is either being rude and/or insulting to your intelligence. For example, if you haven't been eating very long and the woman (who has been complaining or rude throughout the date) says something to you such as "It's crowded. The waiter is eying us. I think he wants us to leave." Say to the woman that she is free to leave if she wants but you're going to finish your meal. She'll probably exit on the spot. As she exits, smile and say and very earnestly say, "It's been great meeting you." But don't get up. Keep eating. Don't look angry. Don't look upset. You're just a guy who's trying to eat his meal who doesn't give two craps about the woman.

7.) No matter how good a date seems to be going, never express interest in seeing the woman again on the same date. It just looks bad. Express your interest the very next day. And don't wait more than the very next day so to look cool. Don't screw around.

8.) When a woman decides to terminate a date after only a short time, extend your arm out as you get up to shake her hand, give her a friendly smile and tell her it was nice to meet her. Make sure to get that hand out fast, you want to preempt her handshake. She might even feel guilty at this point at give you a hug and instead of a handshake. Be very careful not to give her a tight hug. Give only as much hug pressure as she exerts on you. Try to release from the hug before her. Sit right back down. Don't offer to walk out with her, even if she requests it.

9.) Look for any signs that the woman is trying to indirectly tell you that she would like to exit. BUT BE COOL. Very politely tell her that if she would like to go she could. The reason why I cannot express enough that you should be cool and polite about this is because she might actually want to stay. There is so much indirection used in dating that is like navigating through a minefield of bullshit.

10.) If you do get rejected, never ever ask why or ask to be friends or any bullshit like this. Be a man. Don't embarrass yourself.

11.) Not all of these rules are universal. Once in a great while they will fail you. You're the ultimate authority on your date, not me. The key is to trust your instincts, be cool, and if you get rejected, take it like a man. If a woman doesn't want you, no matter how much you want to deny this, you'll never have her, so again, take it like a man and find a better woman.

Review: Budweiser American Ale

Don't be fooled by the name "Budweiser American Ale." There's nothing remotely American about this product. Budweiser is now owned by a mega euro-beer conglomerate. Budweiser American Ale was probably invented by Nazi scientists. It was probably one of Hitler's secret weapons.

Budweiser American Ale is a fucking great ale. It has high-end, hard-to-find microbrew quality taste, with a very modest price. I don't remember the six pack price. I believe it was under $7.00 USD. I paid $25.00 USD for a case. This is extremely reasonable considering the quality of this ale.

What struck me after my first sip is the very impressive lack of aftertaste. It has just the right amount of fizz for me, which is a lot, but not so much that it burns my tongue. Its flavor is not overpowering, yet not too weak. If you're in the mood for an easy drinking yet flavorful ale, Budweiser American Ale is perfect. I don't know exactly how much alcohol is in this ale, but judging by my subjective level of sobriety after drinking it, it has a very low alcohol content. Contrary to popular belief, high alcohol content does not enhance flavor for beer related beverages. If anything it takes away from flavor. This ale also has low acid.

Budweiser American Ale goes down almost as easily as ginger ale. Accordingly, you have to be careful. You could drink a lot of these ales without even realizing it.

As you may know, I am against capitalism. I am a socialist. But I'm fairly convinced that socialism, as we know it, could never offer an ale of this quality at such a reasonable price. People are being horribly exploited somewhere to make this ale possible.

Kim Basinger flirted with me at Fast Cupid

Wow, I must be really handsome! Kim Basinger flirted with me at Fast Cupid. And although she lists her age as 40, she looks so young! She looks the same as the way she used to look 20 years ago!

And, she's living in Boston too! Wow. A real life Bond Babe interested in me. I hope Kimmie won't think me odd if I suggest we go Canadian Goose watching...

The desperate failed mission.

I saw Wolf Blitzer yesterday talking about George Sodini, the psycho who shot up a bunch of women in a shooting spree at a gym.

Blitzer described Sodini as a “man on a desperate failed mission to meet women.” I thought this was funny because Blitzer could have been describing me.

I’ve read part of what Sodini wrote. This is an unscientific statement, but there appears to be a correlation between racism and psycho killing.

Personal ad of the week

I wish I can assure this 48 year old woman (below) that no man is looking at her as a “vessel for his seedling.” She does not even require birth control anymore to prevent pregnancy. This woman doesn’t lean far enough left for my tastes as she’s a fucking financially-stable-guy seeking bloodsucker. Yeah, I’m angry, what are you gonna do about it? I blocked commenting. You can’t touch me anymore.

YOU SHOULD MESSAGE ME IF

You're absolutely unmarried (as in never married or completely, fully, totally divorced). You're a left-leaning, dog-loving, non-smoking, socially aware, financially stable guy who is an excellent communicator and not looking for casual sex or a vessel for his seedling.

The last and final Cheryl entry

Cheryl responded to the message I sent her, published in this blog. Here’s what she wrote:

Hi Dickie,

All of the photos are the real me--or not. I'm multi-faceted. Perhaps also uncapturable--even when caged.

Where did you get the impression that I hate goat's milk? I grew up on the stuff (sort of). Maybe you are mixing recollections of another gal.

I did think it odd that the one and only bird you were interested in observing was the Canada goose. I wouldn't call that botching per se, but I did come away overall with a bit of the feeling that our "energies" were not a good match. It's true my energies have been fluctuating a bit over the past several months, but while I do believe you are a decent and clever man, I haven't hit a point where I've thought we should repursue meeting. If by chance I came across you in the world, tho, I would approach and greet and chat. I wish you well.

Cheers,
Cheryl

Okay, first of all, let’s clear up a few facts. My memory borders on idiot savant. People who know me know that I remember EVERYTHING. I suspect it is a byproduct of whatever causes my learning disability.

Cheryl and I got on the subject of goat’s milk because I asked her about the farm she was raised on. I asked her specifically what farm animals there were. There were only chickens and goats. They milked the goats. I asked Cheryl specifically what it tasted like. She squirmed. She said it tastes like the stuff goats eat. I was not confusing her with another girl. She made it very clear to me that she didn’t like goat’s milk.

Now, regarding the bird watch I had suggested for our second date, it was technically an “aquatic” bird watch, though it was very clear that Canadian Geese would be looked for. I take exception to her statement that it was odd that I was looking for Canadian Geese. There’s nothing odd about this. This is a fascinating animal and they are in abundant supply. Canadian Geese seem to share many more similarities with us than most mammals. They don’t make nests. They have nuclear families. They are good parents. They congregate in large social groups where there is both a lot of conflict as well as a surprising amount of tolerance. There’s something very primordial and beautiful about these animals. I go to see these guys with my friend Renaissance Woman all the time. I don’t think I’m odd. I’m eccentric yes. Certainly Renaissance Woman is pretty cool. We just appreciate these animals because we are animal lovers. Certainly a zoologist like her can appreciate that. Cheryl had read my blog entry about my Canadian Goose watch on Fast Cupid. That’s one of the first things she talked about when we first exchanged e-mails. She specifically told me we could exchange Canadian Goose stories when we met on our first date, and that’s what we did. Perhaps the Canadian Goose watch wasn’t a good second date idea, but it was an extension of a thread from our previous encounters and that’s why I chose a Canadian Goose Watch.

Having cleared up all this facts, fuck her! I have absolutely no desire for her anymore. I don’t like fickle people. They burn me out emotionally and waste my fucking time. I don’t like people who put out mixed signals. If you have mixed feelings or you’re just not interested, don’t express your interest so earnestly. It’s just not cool to do this.

Frankly I was put off by the tone of her whole letter. What is this horseshit about “energies”? Is that like auras? What kind of 70’s hippie crap is that?

What I resented is this: “I haven't hit a point where I've thought we should repursue meeting.” I hate assholes who talk this way. Just fucking say you’re not interested. Why does she have to insult me with this excruciatingly sensitive language? This is a very nasty way of rejecting people, because some people would actually be waiting around hoping for the day where she hits the point where she’s going to “repursue”. I don’t know if people who talk like this realize this or not. In any case, it’s an asshole way to communicate.

And I hate how she says “Cheers” at the end. I hate Americans who try to affect (British) English ways of talking or writing. You come across as a real pompous asshole.

Also, I am not “clever.” I am not remotely clever. I am smart.

I don’t think Cheryl really means she would “approach and greet and chat” with me if she came across me in the world. This is part of the sugar coat. If I saw her I would pretend that I didn’t recognize her and B-line it for the nearest exit.

Fuck Cheryl. I mean, really, really fuck Cheryl. I’m forgetting her already. It was my loneliness and desperation that fueled my obsession over her. I see this now. Had I made money which would have enabled me to secure relationships with desirable women, Cheryl would have been no big deal. I would of ran from Cheryl at the first scent of her ambivalence, which I suspected very early on. I failed to trust my instincts. Desperation and madness ruled the day. These are powerful forces.

My blah morning

I woke up obscenely early at ten o’clock a.m. with a horrendous headache. At first I thought it was a hangover headache, but I rarely ever get hangovers and when I do they are very mild. I made coffee even though I didn’t feel like it. I thought the coffee might make me straight. I had not drunk any coffee yesterday because my stomach was horribly acidic. I made some coffee and after one coffee my headache was magically cured and I was straight again.

I looked at OkayCupid and looked at all the women I would (sort of) like to write but don’t because I’m pretty sure I don’t make enough money for them.

I’m listening to Democracy Now. I do it every morning. They are going on interminably as usual. Amy Goodman is so whiney. I can’t stand her. Why don’t they make the show a half hour? There’s no need to do a full hour.

There was some kind of nasty rash on my ass that had kept swelling and hurt when I sat down. The swelling went down today. Thank God. I was afraid I was developing a staph infection.

I’ll try to get some work done. Another day, another no dollar.

I needed closure

When I was online at okaycupid not too long ago I saw that Cheryl was also online. I had originally met her through Fast Cupid.

I would be very surprised if Cheryl writes back. That’s not really why I wrote her. I wrote her because I needed closure. Everything that I said to her in my message to her below is genuine. I do worry about the poor woman’s back. She had cancer and had a tumor surgically removed very shortly before I saw her.

What I find so weird is that OkayCupid reports that Cheryl hasn’t been written to in a week. I know her profile is very ambiguous but I would think that  a woman as beautiful as her would have her inbox overflowing with solicitations. You normally only see unattractive women getting few responses. Am I the only one who sees her beauty? Had I not met her in person first, would I have not considered her beautiful? She certainly does not look beautiful in her Fast Cupid photos. When I first gazed upon Cheryl I was shocked by how beautiful she was. It took me a good few seconds before I was able to utter “hi.”

Maybe I will wake up tomorrow, horribly regretting what I did. We shall see. For now I feel a great deal of emotional relief. She will at least know how I felt. I will absolutely not contact her again unless she writes me.

Dear Cheryl,

You look very beautiful in these photos. This is the real you. The Fast Cupid photos don't begin to do you justice. I'm so sorry for botching things.

I still worry about your back. I still want to offer to buy you a bottle of goat's milk (knowing full well that you hate that.) I had a lot of trouble letting you go as you really impressed me. I won't bother you anymore. I needed to get this out of my system.

-Dickie

Remembering Rice

I think Jim Rice might have been inducted into the hall of fame today. He was the big star of the Red Sox when I was a kid. You would see him constantly in between innings in cheesy ads, I think for Fenway Franks.

When I was about 14 I was sitting in the bleachers before the game during batting practice. No one was there except for me and these girls who were perhaps a little older than me. Jim Rice came up to the bleachers. He had been in the field taking balls. I think he tossed in a ball for the girls. He told one girl who was wearing this funky hat that he would give her a ball if she would take the hat off. She became really upset at Rice, refusing to take the hat off. Rice threw up a ball anyways and ran off.

It took me many years to realize that Rice was just kidding around with the girl with the funky hat. I thought he was a real asshole at the time but if he was he would not have thrown her the ball, even though she refused to take her hat off.

Excluding the opposing team, Rice used to be the only black guy not only on the field but in Fenway Park. I think that blacks were probably scared shitless to be in Fenway, and I don’t blame them. Boston is not as bad as it used to be. But Boston was one mean city for blacks.

I think Rice would have been vastly more popular and celebrated had he not been black. Looking back at Rice I see him as a very professional athlete and of course a very dangerous slugger. I’m glad he got into the hall of fame, finally.

The not-so-black-and-white-world of me against them

After all my ranting and raving against the Fast Cupid blog community and all the venom I spewed against them, IQ invited me to the blog party in Lowell. I called her on the phone and told her that after all the bashing I did, I could not possibly show my face. The party organizer called me later on and personally requested that I be there. She was very cordial. I had criticized her grammar on this very blog.

After masturbating for well over a half hour this morning -- or rather this afternoon, because this is when I get up these days, I was too spent to drive up to the blog party in Lowell. I was also worried about not getting work done and anxious about my work. I decided to devote my remaining energy into my work. I am taking a break now. I will go back to it. I will try to meet up with the bloggers tomorrow but my work is like a dark cloud hovering over me, so I don’t know...

I continue to berate myself for botching things with Cheryl. I felt like she was my last chance and I blew it. I wasn’t cool with her just as I wasn’t cool with the Fast Cupid blog community.

The world dealt me a bad hand. But I bare full responsibility for these fuck ups. The world is much safer when it is evil and I, living outside of it, is not. Now it is becoming increasingly clear to me that the lines between good and evil have blurred. My paranoia, while it protects me, also fucks me.

I will become increasingly angry at myself. I know myself too well not to know this. And I will become increasingly more depressed and miserable.

The new mellow me

I do not know whether Citalopram will help me with driving anxiety as I haven’t yet been on the highway. Yet I’m fairly confident that it will as I am much more mellow now. My new attitude towards life is, “fuck it.” When I think about the prospect of homelessness now I just shrug it off and say fuck it. The other day my sinus temporarily reverted to the state before my surgery last year. It was so awful. I thought about suicide for the first time since before the surgery. And I just said to myself, fuck it. Fuck it I say to the massive train wreck of my life. Why wig? There’s little I can do.

There’s a price to be paid for everything and I pay for the new mellow me in the currency of sexual dysfunction. I have a lot of trouble coming. It is so much work to masturbate now. I was out of breath after delivering myself one single orgasm yesterday morning. I got up out of bed and I was woozy. This would make sex difficult for me, though not for the woman as I still have good erections. Sex would not be pleasurable for me as my penis is desensitized. I know this because I have had sex under similar conditions when taking Nardil. Sex becomes work, like masturbation is to me now. I am trying to avoid it. I will do it every so often to stay straight or when I’m extremely bored. If I wasn’t taking Citalopram this sexual dysfunction would really bother me, but now I don’t really give a shit. It’s not like I’m having sex, so fuck it.

Another thing that I’ve noticed is that my pupils are unusually dilated. I look at my those big black round circles in the morning and I wonder if I am really from outer space. Or perhaps an android. It’s rather beautiful actually. All that black against the army green of my eyes. I’ve never really seen the ascetic beauty of my eyes until now.

Personal ad of the week

ok hi!!!to be honest i dont like these sites but i guess ill give it another try,,a good man is harddddddd 2 find!! am i so niave 2 think i could find a decent honest cool guy,, proabably but what the hell right??ok a bit about me, im a complex type of girl,, lol,,

This woman is very complex. She seems to have invented a new grammatical rule that I have dubbed the double comma. I am not sure what the double comma does but I have a linguistics experts working on it…

Should I really be mocking these poor people? No. But I am feeling very nihilistic right now.

Nicole Revisited

My cyberfriend City Kitty (a.k.a Black Mamba) wrote an entire blog post about my last blog post. I was impressed! I thought she had some good insights. I have decided to write a blog post about her blog post about my blog post. I hope she doesn’t mind that I am reproducing her blog post in full below:

Interesting to see what is on a man's mind when dating. This is a comment on my cyberfriend Dickie's post, who would not let me comment on his blog so I post it here.

I thought Nicole's original email was really funny with the comment about the kayaking and changing into a tux in no time. I see profiles of men who love the "outdoors" all the time. I am an indoors type of woman and when I get to the "outdoors" part in men's profile I just lose interest almost instantaneously.

Sorry to hear she was carrying a 'big gulp' (and that it was so unattractive) and that she refused to accept a drink from Starbucks. Why did the big gulp bother you?

I disagree with your conclusion that she was a woman who wants her cake and eat it, too. What she wanted was reciprocity. If you want her to support her as of now, then, hypothetically speaking, could you do the same for her when the table turns? You clearly would not have any of that (but you can't yourself get to admit this). You probably would have been thinking "if I had money I'd want to date a babe with breeding potential, not you, you poor mediocre, unattractive woman with Big Gulp - you are supposed to be an answer to my current woes, not a source of headache-inducing puzzles and cross questions". Maybe the woman was smart enough to figure this out with her questions?

Regarding Big Gulps, you just don’t bring them on dates. It looks tacky and cheap and I’m pretty sure it violates the international rules of dating and decorum as decreed by the UN Charter. You just don’t bring big gulps into Starbucks. It’s just totally weird. This was not however the showstopper. It just bothered me a little.

I offer Nicole and plenty of women like her reciprocity. I can give women like this love that they would never dream possible. Entertainment. Stimulating conversation. Excitement. Adventure. I can show them what it truly means to be alive. I am fairly convinced that most of the Nicole’s of this world will never find a Dickie. Some, and I mean (some) will find second-rate men who happen to live well above the poverty line. Doesn’t make them better. In the grand scheme of the universe they’re really not. But most people don’t consider all the features of a potential mate. Paper wealth is treated sort like the way colleges treat SAT scores. It’s a method of easy screening. But it doesn’t give the complete picture. My loving capacity alone is worth a good $100,000 a year. I’m very low maintenance too. Having me around the house would cost little more than your average goldfish and yet I give so much back. I would even clean their houses and cook their meals. And I am a good cook. Do you have any idea how much maids cost these days? Do you think these women are going to find anyone sweeter than me? I can assure you that that’s not going to happen. Almost all the women I date live very comfortable lives. I date the cream of the crop. Why? Because only the most well-educated can begin to understand my genius and extraordinary modesty. I am a PhD magnet. These women can afford me.

Moving on to breeder and looks issue. I think even good looking, fertile women should make me their man whore and be grateful because my real worth vastly exceeds my paper worth. I have Grade A DNA. My children would kick ass. I am convinced of this. Women should be grateful to get the good stuff. Would I have dated Nicole if I made money? No. I would be going for fertile women who wanted children, and I would certainly have a preference for good looking women. Does this make me evil to want children? If so, then you would have to say that the majority of the human race is evil. Does it make me evil to want beautiful women? No more evil than most other men as well as women. People like beautiful people. It’s not evil. It’s an evolutionary force. It’s the randomness of change and adaptation.

I don’t think Nicole figured out what you think she might’ve figured out by me as evidenced by the fact that she wrote me this a week later:

Hey,
I meant to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you. I hope it wasn't too weird for you. Meeting a new person can be awkward. Thanks for making it easy.
Nicole

Maybe I’ve been too defensive with you, Kitty. Nicole scared the shit out of me. I ran away in terror. Her interrogation tactics wore me out. She seemed controlling and potentially manipulative. I felt like potential prey. I don’t want to be on guard all the time wondering if I am being manipulated. I don’t want to be controlled. She wanted to get to know me too quickly. She should have slowed it down. I cannot deal with all of that intensity when I first meet people. I really don’t think I made enough money for her anyways. She made it very clear to me that she was looking for someone who was economically independent. It would not have been wise for me to go for her, even if she didn’t scare the shit out of me. It would only be trouble because I would never be able to give her what she wanted.

Nicole

The reality is that I do not have enough money to appease women who want to breed. I have very grudgingly accepted this reality. My date with Nicole was a product of my new dating agenda. I would no longer seek women who wanted children, and in fact I now lie in my profile and no longer designate that I want children. Now I only seek women who have no desire for children I don’t know why they don’t want children. Maybe they are selfish, do not see the beauty of children, are too old to conceive .. who knows? … but this is what I’m stuck with.

Nicole is one of the rare women who solicited me. This is what she wrote:

I thought your profile and posts were very entertaining. It is refreshing to see someone state he is sloppy and lazy. Sometimes I wonder, who are these strange people constantly kayaking and hiking and switching between jeans and a tux. There seems to be a lot of tux-wearing going on when nobody is looking. I rarely meet these people in real life. I must admit that I finally succumbed to the pressure myself (nobody seemed interested in me when I admitted I watch reality tv) and changed my original profile today into the one I've posted now, but I could not bring myself to write "little black dress" or "partner in crime" or "..all that Boston has to offer." Just couldn't do it.

So are you having any luck on this website? I have not done this in awhile and am finding it harder than I remember.

Nicole

I wrote her back:

 

Hi Nicole,

I don't read men's profiles, but women also like to boast their versatility in being able to go from formal to casual clothing almost instantaneously. There is the "partner in crime" stand by, and my personal favorite, "I see the glass as half full." I love the women who are looking for men to fly off to Paris on a whim for the weekend. It's a severely recessed economy. Shouldn't these people be putting all that traveling money into an emergency fund?

I'm having a lot of luck on Okay Cupid as evidenced by the fact that you wrote me. Would you like to meet for coffee or a drink?

-Dickie

I saw Nicole in a Starbucks inside of a Barnes & Nobles coffee shop in Braintree. I took my 5 mg of Valium in order to survive the drive as per orders of my medicine man.

Nicole was 43 years old. She looked her age. While she was not ugly she was physically very unimpressive. She might have subtracted a little from her height also, but perhaps her clogs made her appear taller.

What I couldn’t get over was the big gulp she carried with her. She said it was diet Pepsi. She assured me it wasn’t spiked. This was a joke. She was a lame joker. I said I didn’t care if it was spiked, which was the truth. But I could not get over that big gulp. I couldn’t see what the big gulp cup was. She had napkins around the big gulp cup. I’m not sure why. To sop up the condensation? Who knows? I asked her if she wanted anything. She said no, she had her diet Pepsi. “Are you sure? I can buy you a cup of coffee? Something to eat?” “No.” she said. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to actually sit down in that place without ordering anything and suck on a big gulp? This isn’t a bus depot. It’s Starbucks inside of a Barnes & Nobles.

This was one of those dates where the topic of conversation is dating. And it wasn’t my idea. I never like to talk about dating on dates. Nicole had some astute observations about dating and people. She wasn’t as sophisticated as me, but I saw a real potential for creative thought, observation, and insight. She seemed to view the world from the unique perspective of an outsider just as me. I believe I was dealing with someone unique and interesting yet this woman was wearing me down with her progressive onslaught of questions. “How long have you dated?” “Do you like dating?” “How often do you date?” “What is the worst date you’ve ever had?” She even asked me if she was asking me too many questions. I of course denied this. She said at one point, one of her dates told her that she was too intense and that she should stop asking him questions. She claimed she was a socialist, but I doubt if she had ever even read Marx. She seemed to have a very trivial understanding of politics.

Maybe an hour, hour and a half into the date I took a bathroom break and ordered some gruesome tasting lemonade/strawberry concoction from Starbucks. So many dates have ended abruptly after I’ve drank something from Starbucks that made me ill. I asked her again if I could buy her something. No. She was fine. She held up her big gulp.

She started making her move. She started talking about how she didn’t like friends. She was “anti-social.” She wasn’t into that. She liked to be with one person. I had no problem with this. She said that she was looking for someone who was financially independent. (Socialist my ass!) She was officially axed as a potential mate right there. I didn’t meet her criteria of financial independence. Why had she not stated this on her profile and saved me a lot of trouble? And then she said, “I hate debt. How do you feel about debt?” I didn’t know how to answer this. She helped me. She said, “If I was with a woman who had acquired a lot of debt, how would you feel about paying her bills?” I told her “I don’t have any money.” She said, “Well, hypothetically.” I had no idea how to answer the question and my mind was too mushy to think. The Starbucks concoction was officially make my stomach queasy. She had mentally exhausted me. I said I had to go.

I hugged her. Our cars were parked side by side in the back of the lot. We walked to our cars together. Her car was not a car, it was the biggest SUV I have ever seen. What the fuck was she doing with that thing, using it to haul bodies?

Nicole wanted her cake and eat it to. She wanted someone cool like me who rejected sameness and cliché and triteness yet she wanted that person to be a part of the animal factory. Can you have both? I’m not sure. If I were part of the animal factory I’m sure I would be an ordinary boring asshole like everyone else, like all the boring men she complained about that she dates and sees on personals. It’s being apart from the factory that gives me the qualities that she was attracted to. And she was attracted to me. I had no doubt about that. Women want too much. She is 43 years old. She is not beautiful. What does she think she is going to find?

Density

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.