Up Yours Universe

The closest I've ever come to committing suicide was 23 years ago. I bought a bottle of sleeping pills and two over-the-counter medications. I didn't think the sleeping pills would kill me, at least not in any reasonable time-frame. I was using them as a sedative. But I had reasonable intelligence that the cocktail of the other medications would kill me. What I lacked was a good time frame of how quickly I would die. And this was a real problem, because I didn't want to take the chance of being found alive with these drugs causing permanent damage to my internal organs. And I'd be committed, which would make my life far worse. Suicide was very risky and it also wasn't a viable solution to my problems, because while death alleviates your pain, it doesn't give you what you want. I kept the pills around for about six months. It's probably difficult for people who've never suffered with depression to understand that those drugs I bought to kill myself were not really so much to kill myself, but a failsafe in case things got so hairy that I had no choice. This is going to be very difficult to understand, but the instruments of my destruction gave me comfort. They gave me what I needed to keep going.

The Casual Encounters Craig's List ad I wrote in the previous blog, which was set to be published on CL, pending the outcome of Sunday's date will not be published. It's publication has been suspended indefinitely, though I have safely filed it away. It is my failsafe. It is what I need to "romantically" keep going. Note that I have no plans to kill myself. If I did I assure you I would not tell anyone.

I am not a prude. In fact I consider myself to be hypersexual. But I will be blunt when I say that promiscuity disgusts me. I will no longer be exploited by women. If I'm only good enough to be fucked by them, well, fuck them! Being with women like this is undignified and goes against my survival instinct. CL is not a viable solution to my problem. I know this in my heart. It is a waste of resources. Time and energy devoted to obtaining a very cheap and shallow lay could be better put towards finding a healthy and normal relationship with a normal woman.

I had a bad run of luck recently and I got depressed and frustrated. But I am not going to concede defeat to this asshole universe. I am better than this universe. It should be grateful that I'm around. Maybe tomorrow I will be weak, but today I am a man and I say fuck you, universe!

The seedy streets of the romantic underworld

I had originally planned to touch your hearts so deeply with my sad story of poverty and broken heart that you will cry for me for hours. I had planned to sell this heart-wrenching story and make thousands with it, perhaps as a Lifetime Original Movie, but I decided in the end to just take it like a man and tell you like a man. (Lifetime wasn't interested in the story.)

I'm tired of living up to economic expectations of the educated women I find on these online personals. I'm tired of not-very-attractive, needy women who don't have any economic expectations. They don't want me. They want what I represent, which is an end to their loneliness. Maybe there is a middle ground out there somewhere. I don't know. But I'm tired of looking for it. I'm just sick with exhaustion. I keep putting this off, hoping that a miracle will happen so that I won't have to make this plunge into the seedy streets of the romantic underworld, but I've decided to sell out provided that my Sunday date goes poorly.

My Craig's List listing below, which has yet to be posted, is self-explanatory. This will be posted in the Casual Encounters section of CL. Everything about it is true with exception to the fact that I am looking for a casual encounter. In truth this is not what I want at all. I want a life partner. It will probably be the least obscene Casual Encounters ad on CL in the history of mankind. Most male Casual Encounter ads start with something like, "Need blowjob bad." And if there are photos, they are usually photos of garish looking penises. I will include my real photos, and a head shot. And no naked photos! Believe it or not, my primary motive for doing this is not sex but a deep longing for intimacy, even if it is a mere morsel. I have very low expectations for this. Nobody on CL -- whether it be Casual Encounters or the Romantic Relationships section appears to be fully sane.

I'm a 43 year old, intelligent, educated, progressive, and easy-going straight man. I am seeking a female FWB (Friend With Benefits.). My photos are taken within the last six months. Am 5'10. Weigh 180 pounds. A little bit of a beer belly, but other than that, look pretty good for my age.

I enjoy independent and foreign films, Asian food, deep discussions as well as very shallow ones. I watch the Red Sox but wish I was enjoying time with a woman instead, or at least watching the Red Sox with them. I am single. You don't have to be single, but you must be in an "open" relationship. I do not approve of cheating and will absolutely not be a party to this! I can host, but again, you should not have to be sneaking around in order to see me. While I am very sensual, I am not into anything remotely kinky or weird. I am disease free and practice safe sex. The same should be true of you! I don't do drugs, but don't care if you're a recreational user. I don't want needy women.

I am a very tolerant person, except when it comes to bigots. If you harbor hatred towards people because of race, religion, or sexual preference, then please do not respond.

I will need clear photos of you, taken at least within the last year. Preferably a head shot and a full body shot. Aesthetics matter more to me than age. Race or religion is irrelevant.

Women on CL tend to express a strong desire to be licked. This is something I have not been fortunate enough to do in this century. But one thing I left out of my CL ad is, "If any woman who solicits me on CL thinks I'm going to lick them, they're out of their goddamn mind!"

I think not!

I've never gotten a reply like this before. The funny thing is, this woman is not the type of woman that I'm usually attracted to. And I love how she says, I read "some of" my profile. It is not that long. This woman is out of her mind and will so not get a reply from me!

Hi Ed,

I read your profile (some of it). And it's nice and honest.
You didn't answer too many OKC questions, though...

Looking at your pictures, it's hard to say you're the type I'm usually attracted to. But then, at the end, the attraction is about the personality.

I think we can meet and see from there. After all, we live close, and even if we end up being "just friends", it can be nice.

Let me know what you think,
(NAME).

My contempt for your clique

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

Simulcasting my blog

I've decided at least for now to simulcast this blog on TW as well as Fast Cupid. I'll post the blog at TW first. This way I continue to stoke the TW furnish for that eventual day when I get my damn book done and do more radio to promote it. I also might get fickle again and delete the FC blog as I did before. I still feel extremely overexposed at FC, since I haven't officially quit dating yet. I might even post my milder blogs on OKC as well.

Dating is driving me mad. This apartment is. This work is. This life is. Must escape. Tomorrow I'm going to get real lost. I know the Canadian Geese are back. This is an extremely bad attitude bird but they sort of fascinate me. I know their hangouts. Want to check those guys out. Probably too early for chicks (the bird kind.) They will be dating probably, just like me -- and you. Then maybe I'll see a movie. I think the last movie I saw was that crappy "Slumdog Millionaire." (You sold out Danny Boyle!). I'll go to the Waltham Embassy probably and see whatever ... doesn't matter, just need to ESCAPE. Maybe I'll see two movies. Maybe I'll go to that brewery/bar place next door and get slightly plastered before I see the movie. Have never been there. I've got to have popcorn. Embassy popcorn is edible. And you know what, fuck my lactose intolerance. I'm having an ice cream bar. Maybe two. I'm going to enjoy now and pay later. You know, maybe I plunk down money for a six pack of the good stuff (Grolsch) and get more than slightly plastered when I get home, but I don't want to come home for a long, long time. I am not coming home until it's Wednesday morning! That is a rule! And I need nice greasy Chinese food. To hell with my diet! I need a 24/7 Dunkin' Donuts to hang in also, which reminds me, need to bring the MP3 player and put new battery in. Maybe I'll hit a 24 hour McDonald's or IHOP -- ooh now we're so talking! It is going to be so great tomorrow. If I even think about the misery of my life just once tomorrow, I'm going to kick my ass!

Going back to blogging at FastCupid

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

Fuck all none of you...

What's the point of this blog? I sit here taking the time to spill my guts for, I don't know, 1 or 2 people maybe. If the world really thinks what I have to say is that insignificant than it can go fuck itself. Waste of my goddamn time.

No thrill for me, only dread

Read this woman's profile on okaycupid. Says the following:


You should message me if

.. you know the thrill of waking up in the morning with the excitement of knowing you HAVE to do something, just have to, from the bottom of your heart. I'd love to talk if you do know this feeling.


And I thought, shit, this woman would not want to know me. I wake up each morning to nothing but dread. Do people really feel like this woman? Is it bullshit or do they make themselves believes their lives are exhilarating?

Hopefully no more dating this week...

I panicked before the date because I could not locate on the Internet this place Julia wanted to go to called "Athens". It was a coffee shop. I called, left a message, e-mailed. She did e-mail me a better physical description right before I left, but wasn't sure where it was.

It turns out it was "Athans" not "Athens". I said what threw me was it was spelled with an "a" not an "e', and she said, "Oh, I spelled right." (But not really.)

Julia was a Russian. Said she was 45 on her profile, but I learned later on the date that she LIED and was really 47. but who knows, maybe she is even older. How could I tell if she had already established that she was a liar.

Her prospect as a mate was officially over about 2 minutes into the date when she told me she had removed her profile on okaycupid, the site where we met on, because all these "20 year old's and African Americans" were writing her. I stated very clearly on my profile that I am looking for a "non-bigoted" person. On this website my profile is relatively short. I've noticed that some women really don't read my profile at all. Maybe they just look at my photo, my race, and my town and say "Yah" or "Nay."

Though she was a racist, I had already paid for over $15 for a lemonade (for me), tea for her, and two awful custard like deserts with a French name that tasted like a food experiment gone tragically wrong. She had only half eaten have if hers. I thought to myself, that's $2.50 down the tubes.

She was from the former Soviet Union so I took this opportunity to pick her brains. I was surprised to learn that her life in St. Petersburg which was then Leningrad, as she explained it, far more closely resembled Soviet propaganda then the typical Western view of Russia, the backward nation. Was she a Communist? I suspect not. Was she privileged. Yes, absolutely. I don't think most people in the Soviet Union were afforded the privilege of traveling like she did within the Soviet Union. She had been to all the Soviet Republics, which span a large part of Asia.

I wonder what she thought of Jews. I wonder if she even saw in my profile that I was Jewish. Maybe if she had said something anti-Semitic I would have taken her up on her subtle suggestion to take her to a Sushi restaurant, then exploited her. But it's just a fantasy. Who wants to fuck a 47 year old Commie bigot?

Same old blah...

Yesterday morning I looked at my work and freaked. Got about an hour done before the anxiety and despair became intolerable. My perineum was irritating the hell out of me. I wanted to masturbate to get some relief but I couldn't because that could make it worse. Decided to do my lease with my public housing authority, which takes hours because they want all this financial info and copies, blah, blah. Thought once I get my lease out of the way I could do my work. Did the lease. Solicited some 36 year old on fastcupid. She liked Fante (that was my intro line), wasn't bad looking but had eyebrows like Leonard Brezhnev. I knew this would bother me if I ever met her, but I solicited her anyways because she was 36, and a 36 year old can reproduce. Decided that tomorrow if I can get 5 hours of work done I could drink afterward. My perineum was killing me. I decided to masturbate. Big ordeal. Requires 20 minutes of icing down afterward to mitigate the swelling. I tried to work again. It was fucking useless. I decided that I would need to drink today in order to face my work tomorrow. The 36 year old had written me back. Wanted to engage me in some kinda fucking ridiculous e-mail dialog. You got to be kidding me. There are million boring women out there, some of whom will go out with me without giving me a pain in the ass. Why waste my time. I avoided the e-mail dialog and asked her for coffee. Put odds against her saying yes, but who knows and who cares. The masturbation had not made me worse, it had made me better, so I got greedy and masturbated again. This was risky but it didn't screw me up. I took a shower and got something to drink so I can face today.

Yes, I'm angry and bitter, what are you going to do about it?

I don't mind buying women food on dates. But there is no money coming in and I'm actually reaching into my savings to fund my dating activities.

This Friday I felt so angry at myself for inviting this woman to Chinese food across the street from the Dunkin Donut's we were to meet at. It cost me $30.00. She was what I would term as a longshot. (I mean what do I have in common with an Israeli woman who is into "spirituality" and does free-style dancing? NOTHING.) But I it was 6:30, I knew she was coming from work and hadn't eaten. So I asked her if she was hungry.

I should have not bought her any food on general principal. How come her gray hairs were not in the photograph? How come she looked ten years older than in her photograph? I could've handled the gray hair. I just don't like the deception. All this woman was entitled to was a coffee. I have to stop being so goddamn nice or I'm going to go broke a lot faster.

Just another hack Urologist...

I bet you that my finger marks are still etched into the padding of the Urologist's examining table. I had been gripping it for dear life as he checked my prostate. I thought to myself, perhaps this is what torture feels like. If I did not grit my teeth, my growling would probably have been screaming. And it was interminable. How long could it take to check someone's prostate? Jesus. I think he was at it for at least a minute. And after all that prodding and poking and effort, he finds nothing! How can that hurt so much and there not be something wrong? My GP told me it was enlarged. This is my new GP. She was much smarter than my old GP. She seemed so on the ball! But why does she send me to this hack Urologist? I told the Urologist my symptoms. He literally said he was stumped. He said he wanted to see the report of the CT Scan, but I knew he wasn't going to find anything on it. Two General Surgeons had looked at it and found nothing.

I came home depressed, demoralized, and really worn out from the exam. Called my old man. Bitched and moaned. He suggested I research the problem on the Internet. I put up a huge amount of resistance, but reluctantly agreed. Within a half an hour of research I could describe what I had in doctor language: Post-Ejaculatory Perineal Pain. And I am not the only person in the universe who has this either. Other Urologists know about this. This Urologist should not have been stumped. There is a good chance I have something called (CP/CPPS) Chronic Prostatitis/Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome. I didn't look too deeply into this, but it seems to be one of those fuzzy things like IBS (that I also have), that doctors really don't understand and don't really know how to treat, but is thought to be nervous system related and associated with stress. I thought about calling some local hospitals and asking if they had any doctors familiar with CP/CPPS, but I know from experience that that's like being on the Price is Right. All you get is "Come on Down!" I looked for Boston area doctors that have done research on CP/CPPS and found a guy at Brigham and Women's. The great thing about this hospital is that they list the doctor's e-mail address right on their web page. So I e-mailed the guy and told him my problem and he wrote back telling me to make an appointment. So I will. This will be the third Urologist I've seen about this. At least now I could actually identify the anatomical part that is causing me pain. So instead of saying "Duhh, the area below the scrotum," I could say "perineal membrane" and "ischiocavernosus muscle" like I'm some kinda smartass.

My weekend of dating disaster

On Friday I risked my neck walking on the ice to the train to meet this woman near a university in the Boston area. She was an English prof. It was at 4:30. I'm sure she worked at the nearby university. (It was very convenient for her.) I don't mind, I really don't. I always ask the woman to set the time and location of the date so that they feel safe.

When I met her she tells me she's off because her grandmother died. She said she almost called off the date because of her grandmother's death. Okay, I completely relate and understand. But what I cannot understand is why she tells me later, in the course of the convo that she is going ice skating later on. This just doesn't jive. If she didn't want to be on the date, why didn't she fucking call it off so I did not have to risk breaking my neck and piss away my whole evening? What little date there was, was typical what-do-you-do-for-work, do-you-have-any-siblings, do-you-rent-or-own, blah, blah nauseating bullshit. And it was in Starbucks. I fucking hate Starbucks! While her specialty was not American Literature, I was very unimpressed by her grasp of Melville.

After that date I needed to drink. It was the only way to get through the dread and loathing of the dates on Saturday and Sunday. This is the first time I've been driven to drink in years. I decided I will need to cut down to no more than one date a week or I will need to either drink on a regular basis or seek psychiatric treatment.

Saturday's date was wonderful. I'll call her J. For the first time in so long I felt like I was having a normal conversation with a normal human being. There was not one ounce of bullshit in our conversation. She asked me almost right away what I was looking for -- and I told her, "A life partner." She was so much like me. For starters, she also hated Starbucks. She said she missed the 70s. She truly understood the 70's and how mad the world has become since. I rarely date women my own age, but I felt a miracle had happened and I had found my hippie-youth soul-mate. And she had nice, prominent, femme cheekbones. I told her I liked her cheekbones. Big breasts are all well and good, but I'll take big cheekbones over big breasts any day of the week. I kept thinking about kissing her cheek, real, real slow, and then kissing her lips for approximately forever. J even broke the cardinal unwritten rule of dating by expressing an interest in seeing me again. She didn't have to do this. I was so going to contact her and did so the next day. Left a message on her cell, and what the fuhh ... never called me back. This drove me to drink again, but I'm over it now. I've regrouped, grit my teeth and prepared once again to face the horror of existential crisis. I'll send her an e-mail just to confirm that she got my voice-mail, but well, this doesn't look good...

Sunday's date was just, well, really weird. I'm pretty sure she double-booked me. It was originally tentatively set for what she said "afternoonish." But then was upgraded to my choice of four or four-thirty. I chose four. She didn't confirm until Saturday evening. Sort of hate that, but have seen way worse. She never volunteered a cell number. I fucking hate that because it gives you a sense that you're going to be stood up. She was 20 minutes late. She apologized several times, but never gave me an excuse. I guess I should respect her for not giving me a load of bullshit. She never took her coat off or even her scarf off. Her movements were jerky like a bird. She seemed horribly uncomfortable, almost as though she were shaking -- perhaps she was. She was terribly secretive, got the sense that she was involved in something illicit. All that I got out of her was that she was a "consultant." I was smart enough not to push it beyond that. We actually talked for hours, and went an hour into her super bowl, which I knew she wanted to watch as she was a sports nut. I think I had finally penetrated her defenses. She was actually a very good-looking woman, late 30's but looked much younger. If she didn't seem so damn skiddish and defensive I would have told her this. She was smart too and obviously very mysterious. I had the feeling that there was something substantial about her. She might have liked me. Who knows... I thought about contacting her again, but was awoken the next day with the horrible nightmare of contacting her again. (I am not making this up.) I think it really put me off that she gave me a slight pain in the ass to meet her and never gave me a cell phone number. I cannot deal with people who need absolute control.

No longer eating like a king

I used to get around $30.00 a month in food stamps. And then for some odd reason about six months ago they say they're raising it to around $70.00. And I thought to myself, O holy crap, they must have made a mistake (I've seen them do this before), but who cares, I will get to eat like a king, at least for a month. I ate like a king for 6 months. Food stamps covered my entire dietary staple of eggs, bacon, chicken liver, potatos and heavy cream. It might have even covered at least some of my lowfat yogurt intake as well. But a man can survive without lowfat yogurt. A man could probably live on just eggs, chicken liver and potatos alone for years before dying from a heart attack or terminal disease.

Recently I got this letter form Welfare (though they don't call it that anymore)

Dear RICHARD RICHARDS

Your Bay State CAP food assistance benefits will go to $55.00 on 02/02/2009 beacause your household countable income has changed.

What's funny is that my household countable income has not gone up or changed, and they failed to say that there's a decrease. Do you know what happens when you try to call welfare and try to ascertain what is going on? They hang up on you.

Someday the welfare state will cease to exist. It's only a reminant of what it used to be. People think Obama's going to save the world. But they're living in a dreamland.

I will rejoice the day when the welfare state is dead, for that will mean that all the pissy motherfuckers who work for welfare will be FIRED. In additional, all the right-wing assholes will no longer be able to complain about it. I will gladly give up my pittence of welfare state hand-out to see this day.