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The Year of Living Dangerously
Note: This volume has been edited beyond recognition.
Friday June 20, 2003
When the Berlin Wall first fell, there was a lot of jubilation. However, the internal problems of the previously separated portions of Germany became manifest quite rapidly. Resignation from the monk life-style has been somewhat analogous. I won't mince words. The whole process has been extremely chaotic. Externally, everything appears to be under control. However, internally, I can only say that the total infrastructure is ready to collapse. Waves of self-doubt flood my psyche almost continuously. There are points during the day that the majority of my cognitive functions have shut down. Survival mode then takes over. The spiritual and philosophical aspects of my life have also degenerated to encompass a short spectrum ranging from petty materialism to finding a babe. My search for meaning has been tossed to the wayside. I have severely cut back on my listening of the psychotic classical pieces, opting instead for the R&B mainstream crap that I had once forsaken. I also have no desire to sit outside and view the night sky with my Orion telescope. All of this tends to suggest that I have dropped at least two levels of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.
The people in my age group have done little to bring relief. I must observe them engaging in a variety of diversionary or denial coping strategies, only to recognize the resulting chronic psychopathology. I am in survival mode. I am using every ounce of energy to fight the tendency to conform to the standard of my peers, which is really just a resignation from life itself. The physical signs of resignation are obvious, usually in the form of a pear-shaped physique. The latter, in turn, further degenerates both the self-esteem and physical health. Soon, it becomes a vicious cycle which requires psychological and pharmacological intervention. At this moment in time, I am now certain of what drove my Prozac buddy to the brink of sanity. It's the babe situation. I know this sounds laughable. In my discussions with Prozac, I was able to ascertain that every decision or motive of his was either directly or covertly tied to the babe situation. If it were not for that, he should be pretty damned happy. After all, he lives rent-free and can do so indefinitely. His expenses are minimal, and he earns enough to survive. Seeking status, power, and money is useless if he didn't care about being single. This is the point of incongruence, that is, the point where things fall apart. For myself, the monk life-style kept everything in check. I suppressed the desire to find a babe with other "worthy" ambitions, usually ones which required complex deliberation (e.g., the meaning of life). However, internally, the repressed desire to find a babe was waiting for the opportune moment to break free. That moment came about one week ago.
I am almost too embarrassed to admit that this whole subconscious ruse was merely subterfuge. Why is this desire to find a babe so strong? Given the fiasco with the handmaiden, one would think that I had learned my lesson. For those of you who have never read the [UJ] Archives, then you may want to set aside four hours to do so. It's really pathetic. On second thought, don't even bother. I'll be honest with you. If I had actually married the handmaiden and she ended up getting thick, then I would have had to "launch" her. I thought about this today because I wanted to understand why I am attracted to hotties like you-know-who. It's fairly obvious that my primary criteria in selecting a babe is physical attraction, which explains why I am not interested in babes in my age group. This makes me about as vain as the babes looking for a rich guy. This also explains Prozac's motives, although he wants even hotter babes. This also brings me back to my contention that I may possess suppressed Alpha male traits. All this to say that I am in a perilous situation, with no way out.
An uneventful day. I was losin' it for most of the day. That's another reason I must go to the gym everyday. The cardio portion of my workout is critical. I feel so relaxed right afterward. I am also glad that Glen is there. Well, another weekend is upon us. It's Friday night and I have nothing to do. This drives me nuts. I can't force anyone to do anything with me, so I will have to grin and bear it.
Saturday June 21
I called Pseudo-professor John last night. We ended up chatting for about three hours. The topic? Babes and the babe situation. We discussed the current situation with the babe student who seems to have a thing for him. We also discussed my foolish situation. I have to add that Pseudo-professor John has been on hiatus from the Diploma Mill for well over a year, so this is all old news.
My iBook kept me company for most of the day. I was restless, feeling more and more like a loser with each passing minute. I finally walked down to the gym at 2pm. As I walked upstairs to the meathead room, I was thinking about Caine as the Sorcerer in Shock to the System. Remember how he had "power over women"? I was thinking about how I could apply this to my own situation. Then, I heard someone call out to me. It was the handmaiden. I chatted with her for a few minutes. Then, I did my workout. I also gave her my new cell phone number. I don't know why. I suppose that it's time for me forget the past, although I happened to read one chapter of the sickening [UJ] Archives this morning. So there I was, standing there and talking to someone whom I used to be doin' da wild thing with four or five times a day. Booyah! I read the fortune from a Panda Express fortune cookie that was lying around. It read, "You will soon be confronted with unlimited opportunities." I sure hope that it has to do with babes. Well, I'll be spending the evening with my iBook and my Bose Acoustic Wave.
Coffee, Tea, or "Hammer"?
Well, here it is, Saturday night. Nothing to do. So, it's time for One-Man Houseparty, courtesy the fake "Hammer" and my Bose Acoustic Wave. I had to run down to Foodland to buy a bottle of Vendage Chardonnay. The dump was full of guys buying cheap booze. I had to laugh. Look at all of these sorry-ass fools, I said to myself. Of course, I am the sorriest of the sorry-asses. Shirley had called earlier. She got off work and was getting ready to go to town. Tonight is the big night that she meets Bryce over at Dave & Buster's. Okay, let me break open the precious elixir. Well, as usual, you are here with me, savoring this moment. Let's take a sip now, shall we? Oh man! That really hit the spot!
Shirley called again before she finally left for town. We chatted for a few minutes. Even she has observed that the ol' lavahead swings from one extreme to the other in everything he does. "Doesn't that get tiring?" she asked. She then cited the latest example of this phenomenon, that is, my resignation from the monk life-style. Of course it gets tiring! I have given a whole new meaning to the term "bipolar disorder." My Prozac buddy would be proud.
So, I spent the rest of the evening partaking of the "Hammer" and participating in the AskMen forums. I am such a loser! I even had one of the forum members converse with me through AOL Instant Messenger. Alas, a fun time for all! I will say that these weekends are killing me, just like that Clint Black song, "Killing Time is Killing Me." I hate to even consider a weekend job. Slaving away for more dough just doesn't make sense. Yet, what else is there to do? This is the first time in my life that money has not been a major issue for me. I don't have enough to go on a spending spree, but I am out of the poverty zone. In a philosophical sense, the money is moot. When I attain the goal of my five-year financial plan, the money will not even matter anymore. It was only the goal, the sense of accomplishment, that mattered. It makes absolutely no sense to me to renew those goals for another five years because I am advancing rapidly in age. I would be saving for no express purpose but to save. Then, what?
Sunday June 22
Woke up. Drank coffee. Big headache. I am going to limit those One-Man Houseparty events. I am not seeing life any clearer with or without the "Hammer." At this point in time, I must restructure my life. I need tangible goals, similar to the five-year financial plan. Non-tangible goals (e.g., find a babe) make no sense. There are no clearly defined steps to accomplish these kinds of goals. Hence, it's ridiculous to even establish the latter. In the monk life-style, non-tangible goals are never sought, simply because they are not permitted. Prohibition offers structure, albeit regimented. Yet, it fails to appease the inner quest for meaning. All it does is waste a lot of precious years.
I gave Shirley a wake-up call, but she was already up. Shirley arrived at 10:10am. We were soon on our way in my beloved six-four. Naturally, Shirley did not like riding in my six-four. We stopped off at Long's Drugs in Kuapa Kai to pick up some bottled water and snacks. Then, we were on our way again. Shirley gave me the details of last night's encounter with Bryce. The hike was very enjoyable, although the trail was really muddy. Shirley and I both had new shoes on, and they were quickly soiled. We finally made it to the falls itself. It's not very impressive, but the surrounding areas, lush with tropical vegetation, more than made up for it. We sat on a couple of large boulders and took in the scenery. There were many tourists but not as bad as the Diamond Head hike.
We ate at Balé in the Manoa Marketplace. We sat and chatted through the meal. The ride back to Hawai'i Kai was interesting. Shirley and I continued the discussion from the ride in the morning. She described the rather comical "set up" attempt by her sister. I don't think that Shirley wants me to write about it all, so I will leave it at that. She does not seem too impressed with Bryce. We also somehow managed to discuss the matter of growing old and remaining single. Shirley also brought up her friends, Ramona and Tammy. I carefully described the perilous journey that lies ahead for all of us in the "older singles" age group. It's not a pretty picture.
After we arrived back in Hawai'i Kai, Shirley stayed and chatted with me for another 40 minutes in the former "warehouse." It was kind of lonely after she left. Since it was too late to go to the gym, I walked to the park.
I'm not exactly sure what to make of this day. Perhaps it's the residuals of the fake "Hammer." I feel a disquieting disconnection with reality. There are major points of incongruence. I'll leave it at that. As for me, I'm back at Square Zero.
Monday June 23
What I really find amusing is that I have let Shirley in on the psychotic life of a former monk. Just a few months ago, she knew nothing. Now, she knows everything. Why can't the journal be made into a movie and I end up laughing all the way to the bank?
An uneventful day. Well, actually, it might have been eventful but in a bad way. At the gym, Glen noticed that my favorite Asian babe had a diamond ring on her ring finger. She was really obvious with the proximity behavior as well. At one point, she squeezed through a narrow opening next the machine I was on. Let's put it this way — it was an inconvenient route. She also walked by several times for no reason at all. She probably was making sure that we could see the ring, no doubt to remind the losers of their status.
Tuesday June 24
I have made the preliminary decision that I will reinstate myself as a monk when I hit the Big Five-O. That's right. In less than 18 months, I may be a monk again. This is the last roundup for the ol' lavahead. He needs to find a babe within that time or it's over. And, from the looks of it, that's not going to happen. Sheesh! I have been having difficulty with the "mind over matter" method to end my infatuation with baby. Obviously, since I am not a monk, these feeble techniques no longer work. I am just going to have to weather the storm. Is there just no end to my suffering?
An eventful day. I am barely making it through my classes. And, my second Summer class at the Diploma Mill commences next week. Glen has been talking about my favorite Asian babe constantly. He seems to be perturbed about the fat ring that baby had on her finger. I have not even given it a second thought. After I was done with my class at the Diploma Mill, I returned to the faculty computer room.
Wednesday June 25
Last night, I had brief chat with Pseudo-professor John. He seemed much edgier than usual, and he was very condescending about his own life-style. "I lead a boring life," he told me. "Every Friday, I spend all evening playing on-line chess." Heck, I spend my evening reading the AskMen forums. How much better is that? I sensed that he was close to edge about his situation just as I am about my own. He also told me about the times that he and his best friend, Ricky, go out to dinner at Zippy's. They always see at least one table with a couple of babes. "We tell each other that we should go over there to invite them to our table, but we never do," he said. Since I am planning a Dave & Buster's night, I asked him if he's ever been there. He said that he and Ricky have gone there a couple of times, just to check out the babes. I could sense frustration in his voice like I've never heard before.
An uneventful day. After my classes at the Asylum, I went to get a haircut. It looks like the old monk haircut, but I can't call it that anymore. My favorite Asian babe only did a 15-minute workout at the gym. Glen was dumbfounded. I did a double workout to make up for yesterday. I missed a call from Shirley, but I was able to call her back after the gym. She said that she has to file a deposition with an attorney because of a car accident she was in a few years ago. She was the passenger. The people who were in the other car are apparently suing.
Thursday June 26
A day of comedy relief, at best. At the Asylum, I gave Kevin a list of the Summer activities and invited him to join us. He then asked me how Shirley was. Fine, I said. "Have you ever thought about getting together with Shirley?" he asked. "I've been thinking about this for a week." I asked him what he meant by that. He then suggested that Shirley and I should hook up. I explained to him that Shirley and I were FriendZonetm friends. In fact, Shirley is one of the best friends that I ever had the pleasure of knowing. I had to return to my class, so the discussion was put on hold. Later, I dropped by his class again. He then launched into the topic again, also mentioning again that he's been thinking about this for a week. I don't have much in common with Shirley, I told him. "That's okay," he said. "I differ in a lot of ways with my wife." He then listed many of the differences. She's young enough to be my daughter, I then added. "That's okay. Age means nothing," he countered. By this time, everyone was getting into the act. After I resigned from the monk life-style, I told a few students my real age. So, they interjected their own comments. This did little for my current bout of "mid-life crisis."
Shirley had called while I was in class at the Diploma Mill. After I was done, I called her from the faculty computer room. We were having a lively discussion. Apparently, she was subpoenaed to court. I went to the gym and did my mediocre workout. Glen was there. My favorite Asian babe was there. After the gym, I returned to the Diploma Mill. I tried to call Shirley, but she had already left for work. After I returned home, I discovered that Shirley called.
Friday June 27
An uneventful day. I was pretty much left to my own devices, so all I had to deal with was my "mid-life crisis." It's getting worse each day, what with my fragile mental state and all. Even the gym seems meaningless. Glen has been somewhat disgusted with my favorite Asian babe ever since she wore the ring. She was at the gym as well. On the way out, Glen said, "She's looking at us when we were walking by. Whassup wi' dat?" He had a few other things to say, but I'll leave it at that. He's right, though. She was looking right at us for the longest time when she was on the ab machine.
Saturday June 28
Let's recap last night now, shall we? Pseudo-professor John arrived at 8:30pm. We were on our way shortly afterward. On the way, we chatted about a number of things, one being the babe situation. Just as we turned onto Hamakua Drive, I received a call from Shirley. She said that she was still in Kane'ohe at Ramona's place. I thought that she was attempting to renege on us. She said that she would be coming by later. Professors Brian, Russell, and Allison, as well as Pseudo-professor Ralph and his wife arrived a few minutes later. They had to sit at a separate table. About 30 minutes later, we were able to join them. Shirley called me while we were sitting there. She was across the street. She said that she had looked in the joint earlier but could not find us. The live entertainment was pretty lousy. They were playing ZZ Top kind of crap. That was my cue to begin my drinking day. Later, we decided to go elsewhere. Professor Russell suggested The Shack.
We followed Shirley to The Shack. We sat outside on the patio. A few minutes later, I got up to go to the restroom. Shirley asked to join me. I went into the men's restroom and did my business. When I opened the door, Shirley was standing outside. She asked me for some toilet paper. So, I had to pull some off of the roll and give it to her. We did not stay much longer. Everyone else departed fairly quickly. Pseudo-professor John and I ended up at Shirley's place. We were given a tour. The house was not at all laid out like I imagined. We chatted for about an hour. Shirley showed me her transfer units to the Diploma Mill. She will be attending classes there this Fall. I couldn't help but wonder about the sheer number of guys who will be hitting on her. Will she be able to resist temptation? Shirley also showed us the rooftop deck. Then, it was time to go. Pseudo-professor John and I had an interesting discussion along the way home.
Shirley called this morning. She was on her way to Waimanalo for a luncheon. I lapsed in and out of a coma for the rest of the morning. I was still really groggy when I left for the gym. I did my usual workout and walked home. Tonight, I will be watching a couple of the DVDs that Shirley lent me. She wants me to watch the "Ally McBeal" series, so I may watch one episode as well.
Sunday June 29
Pseudo-professor John called last night. We chatted for quite a while. As always, the topic was the babe situation, the one that is driving all of us over the edge. He is wasting precious time by engaging in perpetual self-doubt. The only thing that seemingly keeps him sane is the fact that he lives at home with moms. He is completely devoid of responsibility. All of his basic needs are met. Of course, what is going on is only plainly clear to me because I am the one who has run out of time. And, I am the only one who is going through "mid-life crisis." In my more lucid moments, I am actually able to construct some semblance of reality. However, once the "crisis" kicks in, I immediately take leave of my senses. The monk life-style would have kept all of this in check. Now, the idiotic libido is allowed free reign. The imagination takes over with little constraint. That' exactly what happened to Prozac, as he devised an elaborate schema as a "solution" to the babe situation. Prozac seeks fame and fortune as vehicle to find success with babes, but he is no closer to his goal than he was five years ago. During that time, he was diagnosed with "bipolar" disorder and is now heavily sedated with medication. The three of us comprise a kind of moronic trilogy across the timeline of life.
I am not going to pull any punches here. The three of us are losers, big time losers, with very little going for us in the looks department. Heck, we've got nothing going for us except, possibly, we qualify as "nice guys." I am the only one with repressed Alpha-male characteristics, which is the only reason that I can achieve my goals. I have proven that my brethren do not have these characterisitcs, as they too easily pamper themselves. They are always trying to nurse non-existent wounds. One of the primal characterisitics that babes look for in a guy is the ability to defend and protect them. No matter how ludicrous that sounds, it is still the primary reason that "nice guys" are precluded from the mating game. "That's why they live at home with moms," the babes will conclude. What I really cannot understand is how my brethren can live at home with moms and fail to save a dime, which means that their living situation is exploitve. Pseudo-professor John disclosed to me on Friday that he plans to live at home forever. If he meets a babe, she must be happy to move into his room in his mother's two-bedroom condo. Prozac, on the other hand, believes that he must be able to provide for a babe. A multi-million dollar estate in Black Point is the minimum. Both of these guys have set themselves up for immediate failure. It's a good ploy because they have essentially beat the babes to the punch insofar as rejection is concerned. The ramifications of this ill-fated strategy go deeper as they realize a significant reduction in self-worth and confidence. I have expended a lot of my own precious energy to try to persuade my brethren that they are on the road to self-destruction. I am only met with abject criticism. "You're no better off. Where's your babe?" they ask, mockingly.
In my quest to prove them wrong, I have carelessly put myself down the path of my own self-destruction. I have set my sights on unattainable goals. All that, just to prove I am right. Yet, when I fail, I will only prove that I was wrong. Shirley also called. She did not want to join us today at the beach for good reason. However, I persuaded her to come by. I will have to make sure that she has an enjoyable day. Shirley is really a good friend to me. I am sure that she sees the stupid path that I am on, but she is too polite to say anything. I do not believe that she knows what is at stake, which is what I have delineated here. This is the real Game of Life. Either I am a spectator or a player. The one caveat in this situation is that I have pushed the envelope of rationale. Therefore, I have decided to cut my losses. I am going to mummify the situation.
We had a nice day at Sandy Beach. Pseudo-professor John and I had a long discussion with him about the seriousness of his situation. I could not stress enough the value of time, something that he is wasting carelessly. I described my own situation in dealing with "mid-life crisis" and warned him that he may be on a similar path. Of all the people I know, he has been the most supportive. He thinks that I need to do something about my own situation as well. For me, it is now too late. Eighteen months is only enough time for debriefing. I believe that I have gotten through to him, as there are some significant changes evident in his personality. After the beach, we went to Zippy's in Koko Marina for lunch. The three of us remaining spent a couple of hours talking story in the former "warehouse." We talked about all kinds of things. However, Shirley also brought up the topic of "chemistry," the same topic we were discussing last night. This "chemistry" has to do with a babe's attraction to a guy. I suspect that this was a hint from Shirley to tell me to return to reality. Fortunately, I already had done so last night while I was talking with Pseudo-professor John. I have wasted a lot of my own time on a wild goose chase. And now, I feel terribly stupid. I was never able to face rejection and humiliation like a man, but I should be thankful. It would not have been a pretty sight.
Some people may disagree and feel that I should fight to the finish. Unfortunately, this is the finish. My experiment with the Summer activities was successful, but I find no cause for celebration. Why could I not have done this years ago? Instead, I was a follower, always waiting for someone else to lead. I was also one of the lamenters at the Wailing Wall. Almost everything could have been done years ago. The financial plan. The babe situation. The activities. That's why I'm the Keeper — The Keeper of Lost Lives, one of them being my own.
To be continued ... Go to D.12
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