A Debilitated Heart

A young co-worker, just eighteen years in age, but wise beyond his years, approached me the other night.  He had a look of seriousness on his face, asking a serious question and not wanting one of my usual smart-ass quips.

L_____ is, as I said, wise beyond his eighteen years, and we've engaged in some inspiring subjects while restocking the coolers at work, but this subject, as it does with many, was stumping him and it was easy to understand why.

"How do you know when a girl is really into you?" he asked.  For a moment, I was sincerely touched, but remembering that my luck with the fairer sex has not been what anyone would categorize as, ideal.  Before I could answer his question, he added, "I asked this girl out for a coffee and she said, 'Hell yeah!'"  I confounded.  Even in my (extreme) few successes, I'd never gotten a 'hell yeah" as a response.

I paused for a moment, attempting to recall some fragment of useful information, but alas I had to confess that my knowledge wasn't up to par.  That no tidbit of information from me would bear any fruit of usefulness.  "I don't know," I explained, "Usually when I ask a girl out for a coffee, she somehow hears it as 'Can I have sex with you?', although I'm really talking about a warm refreshing beverage."

He thanked me for listening and continued on with his tasks, leaving me to dwindle on my past.  Silently I reminisced about the many rejections I've received over the years, concluding on two that I couldn't distinguish between as being the worse rejections.  Later on, I approached young L_____ and asked for his opinion.  Like I said, he's wise beyond his years.

"I asked one girl out for coffee and she answered with a resounding 'NOPE!!'  No hesitation.  No thoughts on the matter.  Not even so much as eye contact.  I barely got the question out and it was a 'nope' with a hard 'P' sound." I explained.

"Well that was harsh." he said.

"The other rejection," I continued, "The girl paused, scrunched up her face and uttered with disgust, "Eww. No."

L_____ was taken aback, then started to calculate in his head which rejection was truly the worse of the two.  He went with the latter, stating that the exclamation of disgust was definitely worse.  All these years, I'd always considered the first as worse, as no consideration was placed into the decision, but upon reexamination, I'm going to have to agree with my young friend.  Pausing to think about it, then shrieking with fear and disgust, does seem more offensive.  Damn.  My life sucks...!

I've always suffered from seasonal depression.  My sadness and loneliness seems to culminate during the winter months.  Professionals have explained it to me that it's the lack of sunlight and that the sky always seems so dull and grey.  I've always disagreed, stating that it's because all the shit that most couples enjoy together, happens during these months.  My spell usually begins just before Halloween and extends off into springtime.

I've gone on to explain that Halloween is a time that is most enjoyed with a partner.  Go out to a bar or a party and have some fun and laughs.  I'm usually a designated driver, instead, often looked over by party patrons.  Next is my birthday.  I've never had a girlfriend or significant other to share my birthday with.  Probably explains why I prefer to hide away and ignore everything when November 29th rolls around.  After that, it's Christmas.  Everyone around me is bragging and showing me what they got for their loved one and all I can do is fake a smile and feign interest, wishing I had someone special to share the holiday with.  I did have someone special many many years ago, but she died in a car accident days before Christmas, so the season has always been a little tarnished for me, though I don't dwell on the negativity as much anymore.

I've never had a New Year's kiss.  While everyone around me is smooching to Auld Lang Syne, I'm left looking at the floor, reminiscing about the one year that I did have a girlfriend on New Year's Eve, but because she didn't like public displays of affection, I was rejected.  A few years later, I'd be celebrating the New Year with some friends at a house party, one woman spoke up and said, I'll give everyone a New Year's kiss, but not Jeff.  Talk about a proverbial kick to the junk.

St. Valentine's Day is next.  I got a dancing gorilla with a top hat once from a friend at work.  I kinda had the hots for her, but nothing every grew from that.  (Ironically, she was the one who uttered - "Eww, No.")  I still have that dancing gorilla today and on St. Valentine's Day, I press the button and watch him dance for a few seconds.  It makes me smile and feel special for a moment... I've never had anyone special to buy flowers or chocolate for.  No one to take out on for a romantic dinner.

I have had a few successes with women.  I'm not a complete loser.  I'm mostly a loser, but not completely.  However, on closer examination of what worked to get those successes, I haven't got the foggiest idea.  One or two of them were alcohol-related, so anyone's guess is as good as any.  A couple successes more were the result of off-the-cuff smart-ass remarks.  Endeavours that have not been successfully repeated.

I'm often told that I'm a nice person, but beyond that, I don't know what is wrong with me.  I know I'm not interesting.  I don't do anything interesting.  I don't have any hobbies that I can share with people.  No extra-curricular activities that can strike interest.  I haven't any passions that anyone deems interesting.  I'm afraid I'm a lone wolf, destined to walk the world alone.

These days, life is especially tough.  I've not been able to secure gainful employment since being laid off from CNH in June of 2014.  I see many of my co-workers around and about and they've all found jobs to supplement their lifestyles, while I've been "lucky" enough to get hired onto a back-breaking minimum wage job that is slowly killing me from the inside out.  I've sent resumes to countless employers and even have an employment coach trying to help me out.  It seems like the more resumes that are sent out and the more rejections I get, the more useless I'm feeling about myself, every day.

I'm glad I have my cat, Monkey, otherwise I don't know where I'd be, if I were to be at all.

My birthday is on Tuesday.  I plan on staying home, with Monkey.  We're going to watch TV.  Share some laughs..., then I have to go to work that night. 😞
Damn!  My life sucks...!

My boy, Monkey.

Better Than Sex

Yep!  You read that title correctly.  The feeling may not exist every time, but when it's done right, a good hearty burp can feel better than sex anywhere on the planet.  My belch of preference is that which accompanies a nice swig of ice cold Coca-Cola.  There's nothing like it.  Sometimes, if the belch erupts immediately following a big sip, I can still feel the bubbles of carbonation tickling my throat.  I swear it's as satisfying as hearing a baby's first laugh or receiving a warm embrace.  I love it!!

Granted, maybe I'm doing something wrong, if I feel that burping is better than fornication, but I think I have the basic mechanics of it down pat.  It's not something I have an opportunity to do very often, unlike drinking carbonated beverages, but as memory serves, the investment into the sexual act, far outweighs the pay off.  I can't speak for my female counterparts, but I'd imagine they would agree.  All the snorting, grunting, sweating and what have ya, barely covers that final UGH!  Where as, I can sit down drink back a one-plus litre of Vanilla or Cherry Coke and become completely fulfilled for the mere cost of a couple of bucks.

Am I going to pay the price for this admission?  Perhaps, but truth be told, there's not a lot of dogs barking up this tree and I doubt there's going to be anyone coming a knocking at my door to try and prove me otherwise..  Granted, I've had quite a dry spell in the romance department, partially due, I'm almost certain, to my affinity for carbonated beverages, but I'm sure a shitty attitude may be a contributing factor,  However, no matter my outlook at the time, a tasty bottle of root beer isn't going to judge me based on attitude.

To all the lovely ladies reading these words, who've blessed me with the gift of coitus, once upon a time, I thank you and I assure that you've done nothing wrong.  Although, I'm sure you're looking back now with some reservation and disdain.  I enjoyed the time we spent together.  It was fun while it lasted, but to use that old phrase, "It's not you, it's me."

Inspired by T-Dub
(You know who you are...)

Man On The Moon

I have the perfect body.  That is to say, that if this shitty body I have, can be defined as "perfect".  The norm would dictate otherwise, but I've come to the realization that no matter what sort of workout regiment or diet I was to commit to, my level of desirability to the opposite sex, will be null and void.  To elaborate further;  Even if I were to become the most physically fit fella in the city, I'd remain ugly as f*ck.  

No matter how much I squint, looking into the mirror, it is still my ugly mug that I see squinting back.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not even clear on the conquests I've already had in my life.  To the best of my knowledge, every one of these fantastic women have had good vision, therefore by simple deduction, I have to believe that it was charm and charisma that got me to share that special bond with them.  These days, however, I'm rarely faced with a situation that will allow me to impart my special characteristic.  It's rare that I converse with anyone at work, especially those of the female persuasion.

I was thinking the other day, that if I were the person I am today, back in high school, there's a good chance that I'd have been more popular than I was.  In high school, I was invisible.  A "living ghost" as it were.  Roaming the halls, too shy to speak to just about anyone.  I had friends, sure, but my place on the pecking order was near the bottom with the dog shit and spent chewing gum.  Whether that was the case, truly, it's how I've always perceived myself back then.

Nowadays, I don't have many opportunities to mingle with people.  Availing myself in a social situation, faced with any single women.  I've gone to the bar with friends, but really, does a person really wanna establish a relationship with some floozy who's half cut with her boobs bouncing out of her two-sizes too small shirt?  Not really.  Fun to watch from the corner of the booth, but I can't respect someone who doesn't respect themselves.  Although, as I type out these words, it would seem that I, too, have little self respect.  Not to mention that the premise of exchanging an intelligible conversation with a heavy bass pounding in the background is f*cking impossible.

I'm not that interesting, anyway.  Even with those I've already have an established friendship, I rarely have anything significant to share.  One of my best friends in the world, who ironically I only see once every few months, I never have anything that interesting to share when we do catch up.  He'll ask about what's new in my life, and I almost always have nothing to tell.  I work, I come home, I repeat.  Weekend comes and more times than not, I stay in the entire weekend.

As per my current situation of not meeting anyone, or having opportunities to engage anyone long enough to warrant a social outing of warm refreshments and a tasty meal, I suppose that's on me.  Ball's in my court, so to speak, but I honestly couldn't even tell you what sort of venues are out there for a single (unattractive) fella like me.  Go to a church?  Gimme a f*ckin' break!  Plus, I wouldn't feel right about seeing someone who believes so strongly in something that I find absolutely preposterous.  Online dating?  Not a chance.  I tried that years ago and got burned by one chick and then the other described herself as "athletic", but in reality was a chain-smoking battle tank.  I'm no prize, myself, as I've plainly pointed out, and definitely should not be throwing rocks from my glass house, but f*ck.  I'm not interested in cigarette-ash-stinkin' sibling of Jabba the Hut.

Another argument for winning the lottery would be my sudden attractiveness to women.  With a couple mill in my bank account would definitely make me much more attractive to women.  I know this is a shallow point, both on my account and theirs, but with enough zero's behind a number, would even make John Merrick* suddenly appear like Gerard Butler to the most finicky of women.  In the meantime, I think I could maybe get away with just wearing sunglasses everywhere.  Kind of like Belushi in The Blues Brothers.  Wearing my Raybans always make me feel better about myself anyway.  

The biggest frustration I feel, I think, is when I look around me and see all these other ugly motherf*ckers of equal or greater hideousness, partnered with an attractive significant other on their arm.  A special someone  with whom to spend time with, laugh with, converse with.  Someone to just be with.  That's all I'm really concerned with.  The physical aspects of any relationship is one thing, but someone to just be with.  A shoulder to lean on when the times are tough.  A smile to share a laugh with when the times are great.  I don't think that's too much to ask.  I just don't know how to do it, is all.  I believe that deep down, I'm a fairly decent guy.  I have a good job, own my house, and have an awesome head of hair.  I'm not perfect, this is true, but people seldom are.

It's been said by those who come out of a marriage and are faced with the single life once more, of having "ring rust", so to speak.  Having no idea on how to dive back into the dating pool.  I've never been married and I still have no f*cking clue....

.

*John Merrick was "The Elephant Man"* 

The Little Tramp

I had some time to kill before going into my doctors appointment today, so I took the opportunity to continue listening to the Howard Stern program that was repeating on Sirius 100.  Rarely do I tune into any other channel on Sirius, as I really enjoy the Stern programming, but it is a rare occasion that I get to listen to a show in it's entirety, so being allowed a few extra moments today, was a gift, for lack of better terminology.

Howard was, like always, at the top of his game, this time ragging on the Tony Awards, which aired last night on CBS.  Howard praised Neil Patrick Harris, who hosted the event, as being fantastic.  Harris has been on the Stern program in the past and has always proved himself to be a great guest.  However, the rest of the Tony Awards, did not meet up to the notoriety that it's self-boasting tends to celebrate.  Howard proceeded to ridicule just about everything and everyone associated with the program, stating that he greatly disapproved of the pretentious attitudes displayed by the participants.  Even going so far as to poke fun at acting legend Bernadette Peters, who introduced an award using a high society sounding tone of voice and accent that greatly distanced her from where her roots lie.  "She's from f*ckin' Queens!" Howard chuckled.

Disappointed greatly in the awards show, Howard explained that he wanted to got to bed and watch True Blood, before turning in for the evening.  Howard works a very early time for his radio program, so late nights for the King of All Media, are a rarity.  Only he found himself with about twenty minutes to spare, before True Blood was to begin.  He could've continued to watch the Tony's, but he was so turned off by the behavior of "those theater types", that he opted instead to self-pleasure himself.

This is a subject that Howard speaks about quite often on his show.  He's a married man, with a beautiful wife and a healthy relationship, but sometimes a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do.  Besides, which his lovely wife was out of town.  So to his laptop he went.  

Howard is a huge proponent of the YouPorn website.  It's like YouTube, only with a more "colourful" catalog.  He also tends to lean towards watching "babysitter porn".  I've never seen it, but every time I hear about it, I think of the movie "The World According To Garp", starring Robin Williams.  I'm not sure if it's because he has sex with the babysitter in the movie or that other scene where his wife accidentally bites off the dick of a guy she was giving a hummer to in the driveway of her house.  Either way, the subject doesn't seem very appealing to me.  And it didn't seem to interest Howard either, though I'm sure it was for entirely different reasons.  He claims to have watched the same video over and over several times, so decided to look for a new subject.

The Howard Stern Program has had a lot of adult entertainers come visit the studio over the years and so he drew inspiration from one of his past guests, Little Lupe.  He typed her name into the search engine on the YouPorn site, but found nothing by her.  Some "artists" wish to retain their integrity and resent the free status that is YouPorn, just as some mainstream programs cannot be found on YouTube.   Instead of finding Little Lupe under the YouPorn site, a plethora of other "Little's" came to light, including Little Person porn, which is funny as hell to watch.  Bridget the Midget....  Ha ha....  I tells ya....  But Howard wanted nothing of the sort.  Instead he found something that sparked his attention.  "Little Tramp Has Sex For The First Time".

Howard began explaining the premise to his co-host, Robin Quivers and his audience, but I blocked it all out, laughing hysterically because I thought at first it was old sex footage of Charlie Chaplin, aka "The Little Tramp"...  Ha ha haaa....  Can you imagine?  I certainly did.  I laughed so hard, tears began to form in the corners of my eyes.  I continued to laugh as I crossed the parking lot, heading for my doctor's office and even as I approached the reception desk, I still had a stupid-ass grin on my face.  It was a perfect end to an otherwise troubling day.

Bad Touch

Seems that this Penn State fiasco is flooding the news reels as of late. The sex scandal in which one of the assistant coaches has been caught fornicating with children for the past fifteen or so years. This subject doesn't really affect me one way or the other, but after listening to the media banter back and forth on what should have been done, by whom, and when, I find myself, now, filled with some opinions on the matter.

Paterno, who up until just last week, had been coaching the Penn State Nittany Lions for close to fifty years. The man who holds records for the winning-most coach, with an astounding 409 victories, allegedly knew of the misconduct of his assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky, and some of the children who were in his charge. Subsequently, JoePa has been dismissed of his coaching duties, due to the black smudge he's put on the university. Although, when you look at all the details, it's been revealed that Coach Paterno did act within the guidelines that were in place for him for handling such misconduct. However, because the controversy is so blatantly wrong, he's going to be the fall guy for the entire scandal...

The scandal that erupted this past week, however, was the mention of then-graduate assistant, Mike McQueary, who'd reported to Coach Paterno, that he had walked in on Assistant Coach Jerry Sandusky who was at the time, sodomizing a young ten year old boy in the showers. Many have speculated as to why McQueary failed to stop the rape, even suggesting that if they were in his shoes, that they'd have charged Sandusky and not only removed him from the child, but would've assaulted him physically. I believe shock-jock, Howard Stern mentioned that he would've punched Sandusky's teeth down his throat.

It's tough to say what a person would or wouldn't do in such a situation. Everyone wants to believe that they're the tough guy who's going to save the day, but who can say for sure, how they're going to react to such a shocking discovery. I, myself, would have probably intervened, and likely would've gotten my ass kicked by the stocky naked guy with the boner. This, on the other hand, would've given the young victim ample time to flee to safety.

I can't speak for Mike McQueary, except for the fact that he is a ginger. Bright orange hair and little to no pigment in his skin. This is likely why he failed to intervene. There's no such thing as a tough ginger. Throughout history, no tough gingers. Even Richie Cunningham, though he'd gotten into a scuffle or two with Ralph Malph and Potsie, The Fonz was always there to bail their wimpy asses out. Even Ron had Harry and Hermione to save his ass on more than one occasion. So there you have it. Even in Hollywood, there's no fiction so unbelievable as the premise of a tough ginger. THAT is why Mike McQueary never stepped in.

Although I make light of some of what has transpired, I in no way condone the mistreatment of children, in ANY way, especially the sexual misconduct that transpired over the past few decades.

There's talk now that Joe Paterno's name will be erased from the record books and from the trophy's that align the halls of Penn State. This I disagree with. I don't think it's right to erase someone from existence just because of an oversight. I say "oversight", because the man is in his f*cking 80's. He's eighty-four f*cking years old. Try talking to your grandparents about an adult man, in a prestigious position in society, having sex with children. They'll never believe such a thing could occur. Even though they've been on the planet since dinosaurs ruled the earth, and know how f*cked the world can be, they will never believe someone who is well-respected in the public, could manage something so heinous. JoePa, is the same way. It's been speculated that the man has been losing his marbles for years. So why omit his memory, when his is already beginning to fade.

CHEWBACCA - What a Wookiee!!!!

According to Wikipedia, Chewbacca became Han Solo's first mate and sidekick after Solo, then an Imperial Captain, disobeyed a direct order to kill the wookiee, who was at the time a slave for the Empire. Solo was discharged from the Imperial Navy, who would go on to become a smuggler throughout the galaxy. Chewbacca, owing Solo a life debt, would serve Solo for the rest of his life.

I've always thought Chewbacca had sad eyes. Even when vexed, he maintained a certain sadness about him. I could never quite put my finger on it, until recently. Unrequited love. It wasn't until I suffered some heartache, that I was able to recognize others going through the same turmoil. Chewbacca is sad, because his love for his life companion has not been reciprocated.

Life debt or not, Chewie had the freedom to say "f*ck it", grab his purse and go home. He never did, though. Why? He was secretly in love with Han Solo. The man who saved his life all those grimnals before, was this wookie's "one and only".

There may be many naysayers who would quickly feed me to the Sarlacc for suggesting such blasphemy, but when all the pieces of the puzzle are placed together, I would venture certain speculation that many doubters will quickly become supporters.

First of all, check out Chewbacca's well-coiffed mane. In the first movie, Episode IV: A New Hope, Chewbacca's hair is slicked back. He looked confident and comfortable in his role as Han Solo's sidekick and first mate. Not a single hair was out of place. Who else has perfect hair like that? Italian mobsters and homosexuals, and the last time I checked, there was no Italian mob on the wookiee home world of Kashyyyk.

By the second movie, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, he maintained that sidekick role to Han Solo, only he was no longer the proverbial "apple of Han's eye". The Corellian has set his attentions on Princess Leia. The jealousy he feels towards the princess is only surmounted by his love for Han Solo. It is his love and respect for Han that prevents him from tearing her limb from limb.

Gone too, is his attention to detail. The well-groomed hair that was once slicked back, is now dishevelled and in general disarray. He figures that as long as Han Solo has his sights on Leia, he doesn't stand a chance, so why bother.

In Episode V, Han also announces that he and Chewie would be departing from the Rebel Alliance, looking to settle terms with Jabba the Hut. This is why Chewbacca is working day and night to get the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon back up to speed. His efforts are thwarted momentarily, when that "hero" Luke Skywalker nearly gets himself killed by a Wampa on the ice planet of Hoth. In the scene where Han, Leia and Chewie are surrounding Luke in the medical bay, and Leia leans in and plants a big kiss on Luke's lips, if you look at Chewie, you can see a look of complacency wash over the seven foot behemoth. He knows that once he and Han leave these freedom fighters behind, he will no longer have to cry himself to sleep at night, whimpering silently to himself wondering "What does she have that I don't?" Try a vocabulary that doesn't consist of barks 'n' growls..., not to mention a vagina.

By Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, we've learned that Han Solo has been captured by the Empire and Boba Fett, who have frozen Han in carbonite and was then whisked off to Jabba the Hut. On display in Jabba's palace, an elaborate rescue was put into play, plopping Chewbacca right in the middle. Released from the carbonite, Han Solo was blind and frigid. Chewbacca put up no resistance in pulling the haggered man close to his bussom. Han pays no mind as he's literally freezing, but Chewbacca is clearly in a state of bliss.

The wookiee is clearly gay for Han Solo. I mean, it's SO obvious. He has a purse slung over one shoulder. He fires a crossbow laser rifle... Why the f*ck would you need a crossbow laser gun, if you can't shoot anything from the bow? It's clearly a fashion statement on the part of the gay wookiee.

Kind of like how Smithers is gay for Mr. Burns. Both dropping desperate hints of their affection all the time, but neither object of their love, can see it. They simply are unable to see the forest for the trees.

I don't know what comes of Chewbacca in the grimnals following the fall of the Empire. I don't live in my parents basement and I'm able to talk to real girls, so I haven't followed up with any books on the subject, and as far as my getting some of the terminology correct, I must credit Google with everything.

However, if I had to put money on it, I would think that one quiet evening, while transporting Glitterstim Spice from Kessel to an area south of the Si'Klaata Cluster, perhaps. The two old friends might get to reminiscing over a bottle of spirits, about life before the rebellion and before Leia and Luke complicated their lives. Maybe the spirits will help to break down some of his inhibitions and in a quiet awkward moment, Chewie will softly moan and grunt his true feelings for his patriarchal companion. Maybe it will be in those fleeting moments, with the once tropical paradise of Rion in the background, the two will engage in their forbidden tryst... Either that OR Han Solo will be so put off by the gesture, that he would pulverize the wookiee with a shot from his sidearm, just as he should've done and those decades before, then jettisoned his furry ass into deep space.