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.

Welcome to the New Millenium

With the year being 2015, it would seem this salutation comes more than a decade too late, yet I found myself muttering these very words, no more than forty-five minutes ago.  I'd stopped off at the nearby pharmacy to pick up a lottery ticket and some much needed potato chips, in hopes of quashing some cravings I've endured the last couple of days.  I hadn't been in line for more than a few seconds, when I overheard an outburst from the gentleman standing behind me.  

Turning around to see what all the commotion was about, I noticed the older looking fellow, clutching a few groceries in his left arm, while his right was busy motioning all around.  There was no one nearby, yet he seemed to be forcefully addressing someone.  The open air, perhaps.  I haven't the foggiest idea what set him off, but he was quite adamant and passionate about the words spilling from his mouth.  "Men looking like women!  And women acting like men!" seemed to be all he was saying.  Repeatedly, he uttered these words, growing louder and louder with every breath.  "Men looking like women!  And women acting like men!" he repeated, short of chanting.

With a look of confusion painted all across my face, I met his gaze and asked a single word question, "What?!?"

He paused for a moment, staring back at me with a befuddled gaze, then whispered to me.  "What's this world coming to?" he croaked, never averting his devilish glare.  Time seemed to pause for a moment, all activity around me disappearing into a virtual fog, then almost as quickly as it'd stopped, reality rushed back into the light, like a river bursting through a broken levy.  The crazed man recommenced his rant, "Men looking like women!  And women acting like men!"

He continued to rave on, despite exchanged money with the cashier to my right, as I paid for my goods on the left.  I thought quietly to myself, the conversation that would take place, if I had the time to address his properly, and if I actually gave a shit.

I'd begin by saying:  Men & women have been acting like one another since the turn of the new millennium.  Hell, they've exchanged gender roles since before that even.  The 80's had Boy George looking and acting like a woman.  Dee Snider, even dressed the part, albeit he was an ugly-ass woman, as he fronted his band, Twisted Sister.  The gender lines were blurred even before that.  In the seventies and maybe even the sixties.  Unless you've been in a coma for all these many many years, you should have noticed some of this shit going on around you.  You weren't actually in a coma, were you?  If that's the case...

"WELCOME TO THE NEW MILLENNIUM, PAL!!!"

How Does Paper Beat Rock?

I have a friend who used to be a professional Rock, Paper, Scissors athlete.  He was ranked in the Top Five Worldwide and better than that in just North America.  He was very successful, making tons of cash with endorsement deals and alike, then all at once, his luck ran out and it all slipped away.  Flushed down the proverbial toilet faster than an unwanted turd.  Public opinion's "rock" trumped his "scissors".

What struck him down in his prime?  Was it the constant rumours of steroid abuse?  He, of course, denied all the accusations and passed every test thrown his way.  No.  It was the booze and the whores.  The wrong kind of women can get a man in trouble, especially a guy riding high on the successful wings of the World Series of Paper, Rock, Scissors.  A man left with no moral support, but for those left way back at home, is apt to do some foolish things.  I've done a great many stupid thing, and I've not had the luck of an athletic career or a huge bank roll to feed my foolishness.  All my stupidity has been done for free.  However, I'm straying from the topic, for which I apologize.

Despite his short-comings, he's learned many, albeit harsh, life-lessons and has grown to be a much better person, both mentally and spiritually, from it.  Today, he can be found coaching young up-and-comers in the strategy game play that is Paper, Rock, Scissors.  It is his vast experience in this sport that I found comfort in exploring one of the greatest mysteries bestowed upon this world:  How the f*ck does paper beat rock?!?

Paper doesn't hurt unless you have an actual newspaper press roll, which I've learned weighs in at about a metric ton.  That roughly translates out to about a small sedan, which I've had the displeasure of rolling over my foot, once upon a time.  Not a pleasant experience, let me tell you.  Then again, I'm reminded of a particular skit from the first Jackass movie, in which many of the guys were volunteering to get paper cuts between their toes, fingers and even a mouth or two.  In my experience as a receiver of products from abroad, some paper can slice you open like a f*cking shiv, and that my friends, hurts even more than a Chevy Cavalier running over my foot.

Paper, however, cannot cut through a frickin' rock.  Not even that shitty paper from India and China that cut me open so often.  So once more, I'm left asking myself: How the f*ck does paper beat rock?