Sometimes I Just Wanna Dance

Today presented itself with a situation where I found myself wishing I had a girlfriend.  These occasions happen frequently and often in situations that don't necessarily garner feelings of loneliness or anything like that.  Instead, I often find myself wishing for a sweetheart for reasons other than romance.  It's usually a situation where I find myself at a disadvantage and wish for a significant other to step up and help a guy out.  Today presented a situation very much like that.  I required some assistance, even though, in the end it turned out that I faired alright all on my own.

My sister is a hair stylist.  She used to cut my hair regularly, but in recent years, she's been dialing back how often she works and therefore her time is much more precious and dedicated to her long list of cliental, leaving me with a mop-top, so to speak.  It was during one of those hiatus' where I let my hair grow out, quite lengthy.  I felt alright with the longer lochs, but when my hair began to thin, it looked like I had a skullet (that's a mullet that bald guys grow ~ not sexy at all).  After getting fit in for an "emergency" cut, I had my sister shave my head bald.  Following that impromptu appointment, I purchased my own set of clippers and set to shaving my own cranium every few months.  Today happened to be that day.

I always find it difficult to shave the back of my head.  I duck my head in close to the bathroom mirror, opening the medicine cabinet on the side, as much as I can to view as much of my head as I can.  There are some blind spots where I rely on my sense of touch to feel whether I need to run the area over again with the clippers.  "Man, I wish I had a girlfriend to help me with this." I muttered aloud.

Granted, there are other benefits to having a girlfriend.  There's the bouts of loneliness where another person would be a blessing.  Having the ability to venture out on the town for a nice meal or take in a show or play.  Do a lot of the unique couples experiences that I hear about from my friends.  It'd be nice to make memories with another soul that feels about me the same way I do about them.  That's all fine and good, so then my brain, the way it works, then places these fictitious females in different roles that would benefit me beyond just an emotional crutch.

When I'm hurt or injured, it would be a glorious blessing to have a partner who was a physiotherapist.  Help me heal up some of these nagging injuries in a way where I needn't attend inconvenient appointments.  My last physiotherapist, Elissa, would have filled that vacancy nicely.  She's a free spirit and smart as a whip.  Always laughing at my goofiness, but alas, she's in a relationship.  With a chubby little dude, so my weight would not have been a roadblock. 😄  

A girl with mechanical skills would have been very beneficial, recently, when I was struggling to get my Mustang running and put back on the streets after a nine year absence.  It would have been a true blessing to have my girl push me aside and say, "No worries, baby.  I got this."  To be honest, that's probably why I like Megan Fox.  She probably, in reality, doesn't know dick-all about cars, but that one scene in Transformers, was all the convincing I needed.  Even if she, my fictitious girlfriend, if she had a father or a brother who could do mechanical shit, that would have been really cool, too, although in my mind, the conversation went a lot different.

"Thank you, sir, for helping me out with this.  I wish I knew something about fixing cars, but..."

"Hey. No problem.  You make my little girl very happy, so I don't mind helping you out with this kind of stuff." My faux girlfriend's dad would say to me, "But..., if you ever hurt my little girl, no one will ever find the body."

😨 Gulp.  That fantasy took a sharp turn for the worst. 

I always thought having a girlfriend who was a cop would be really hot, too.  Someone rough and tough on the street, but soft and warm the moment she comes home and slips into a pair of baggy sweats or whatever.  Plus, she'd have handcuffs.  I'll stop there. No need to elaborate on that. 😂

The girlfriend sitch is pretty f*cking bleak.  I have no idea where people meet anymore and even if I did, I lack the self-confidence to approach anyone, anyway.  Even the girlfriends and hook-ups I've had, I don't have a clue how I managed to succeed in those situations.  I know alcohol was a factor in a couple, but I really don't know how I charmed the others. 🤔  Even if I were to recall how to attract a lovely PYT (Pretty Young Thing), I don't have much to offer, anyway.  My body is broken.  My personality, from what I've learned as of late, leaves people hating me.  I know of two friends, right this minute, who's significant others dislike me greatly.  I'm told it's my personality.  That hurts, mostly because I don't act like the real me around anyone, because, if we're being honest, I don't even like me.  I guess that's another red flag.  How can I love someone else, when I hate myself?  No use bringing anyone into this shit situation until I get my own bullshit figured out.

I guess I'm just destined to be alone.  At least until I figure out why I'm such a piece of shit.  I don't want to bring a lovely young miss into my life, only to break her heart and have some angry father or brother come brutalize me then hide the body so no one would ever find it. 😬

I don't know when or why my life got so messed up, but the girlfriend sitch is currently nil and that's how it has to be, I guess, but man...  Sometimes...  Sometimes, I just wanna go out and dance.

 

The Bowls Are No Laughing Matter

I was sitting quietly on my bus, lost in thought when I heard a quiet voice beckon my attention.  "Mr. Bus Dwivah," he said softly, sounding almost apologetic, "My sista just punched me in the bowls."

I'd never heard this child make so much as a peep, before.  No 'good mornings' or 'good-byes', so I wasn't accustomed to his form of speech.  That aside, being a fellow dude, I know the seriousness of being hit below the belt.  It hurts to even joke about getting hit in the nuts.

I followed him back to his seat and spoke to his sister, who's a couple years younger than him.  A tiny little lady, she can't be anymore than kindergarten age, and even more quiet than the boy.

"Did you hit your brother?"  I asked.  She shrugged her shoulders and hunkered down in her seat, before whispering, "Yes."

"Are you sorry?"  I asked.  She shrugged.  "I think you need to apologize to your brother." I added, to which she shrugged her shoulders again and spoke a single word apology.  "Sorry?"

"That sounded like a question." I said.  I think you need to move to the front of the bus, for now." I said.  This form of justice doesn't seem to dissuade any of the others I pull forward, but having no idea how to speak to children, this is the only form of authority I feel I can wield.  When I requested she move forward, she stubbornly hunkered down even lower in the seat, and informed me that she was quite happy where she was and that she would not be moving.

A part of me almost wanted to grab the supervising teacher standing outside my bus, but I didn't want to get the school involved in a sibling squabble.  Finally, the boy, who's nuts had been punched, said that he'd move to the front.  I immediately told him that he needn't take the punishment and told him to sit wherever he liked.

I don't know what led up to the little girl punching her brother in the "bowls".  I doubt there's any problem so extreme at four or five years of age to warrant a punch to the nards.  Then again, I wonder just how hard she'd punched him.  He was quite able to spring to his feet, straight away, and come calling on me to intervene.  I, personally, haven't had a lot of experience being hit there, but admittedly, I have had the misfortune of sitting on them when climbing into my truck.  When I owned my Camaro, this misfortune happened quite often.  Thankfully, not in my Mustang, yet (knock on wood).  But whenever such an accident happened, I could barely say my own name, let alone go for a walk.

Whatever the case, it doesn't matter.  It's all speculation.  When I dropped the kids at there spot, the mother of the two kids in question was present and I made sure to inform her of the physical exchange between her daughter and son.  I repeated that I doubt any problem for kids so young, would warrant in a rebuttal like this.  After all, The Bowls Are No Laughing Matter.

Public Service

I've never really been a fan of the Ford Mustang. While others around me have "ooh'd" and "aah'd" over the Ford sportster, I've idolized other sporty modes of transportation. Cadillac's have always held a special place in my heart. Not the cookie cutter ones of the 1970's, mind you, that were basically Chevy Impala's with Caddy emblems on them. Those sucked ass, but the classics of the 1950's and 60's, as well as some of the modern classics of the 90's and new millennium.

Mustang's though, never really appealed to me. Granted some of the ones from the late 1960's and early 70's, until about 1972 or 3, were pretty cool, but I've never fancied myself as buying one. Even the modern Mustangs with their now nostalgic features are okay, but still not something I envied.

However, I always did say, to myself and others, that if I WERE to get a Mustang, it'd have to be a convertible. There's something to be said about the topless Mustang. Just a classy look, in my opinion. So this past August, I ventured out and treated myself to a second vehicle, my beloved 2008 Honda Ridgeline, being my primary mode of transportation. I found myself, locally, a 2001 Ford Mustang convertible. It's originally a California car, purchased off the lot in Palm Springs, California. She's a beautiful cherry red, with tan leather interior and a tan top. It's only a 3.8L, which while it isn't as powerful as the V8, is still strong enough to get me into trouble with the local law enforcement, if I'm not careful. Besides. I think it's more important to look good behind the wheel of such and automobile than to look like a f*cking asshole racing about. I hate those idiots, putting everyone else's safety in jeopardy so they can "look cool".

A few moments ago, I was on Facebook, wasting time on this chilly Saturday afternoon, when I came across some Mustang photos of one of my "Facebook friends". Like most Facebook friends, I've never met this individual, nor have I ever exchanged two words with them, other than to pass off "gifts" in whatever game we both enjoy playing. So always interested in pictures from car shows around the globe, I shuffled through a few of the pictures, pausing on a couple to share my opinions of what I saw. Until I came across a smashed Mustang convertible.

The model and year looked just like my car, only this one was a deep grey in colour. Underneath the photo, a question was posed. "Have you ever been in a wreck with your Mustang?" I posted how I recently acquired my Mustang and how I don't even like to leave it unattended when I'm out and about in public. But then I was reminded of an accident I'd had when I was a teenager. An accident where I demolished a Mustang with my car.

It was a late afternoon, early evening. I was stopped at a four-way stop. Then proceeded to go. That's when the 1974 Chevy Nova that I was driving struck a Mustang II, broadside. I was barely moving, but it sent this tiny car spinning down the street, it's right side caved right the f*ck in. I panicked, as this was my first accident ever. We exchanged all the required information, but I knew that (not only was) I f*cked, but that car was going to the junk yard. Completely obliterated.

However, it was a Mustang II. Much like the one pictured above. Mustang II's are the red-headed step children of the Mustang world. An embarrassment. Something to be shunned and hidden away, tucked under the stairs, never to be acknowledged again. Therefore, I don't really feel that bad for wrecking that automobile. Sure, the blemish went on my permanent record, but driving records only go back about seven years, so that's a distant memory today, but because the Mustang II is such a huge piece of shit, I think I did the world a service rather than anything negative. So it's been a long time in the making, but "YOU'RE WELCOME, WORLD!! YOU'RE WELCOME!!!"

Have a nice day!