LoserNet Home | Index | Previous | Next Old Man Stories and Other Strange Tales

The Year of Living Dangerously
The Saga Continues
Back to Cali

Note: This volume has been edited beyond recognition.

Tuesday February 24, 2004

Well, all I have is my pathetic journal. That's the only stability in my life. It may end up being all I have. That's because I am a fucking loser. I mean, what else can explain it? I have no answers anymore. My eunuch-like behavior also stems from my forced monk existence of the last four years. I literally made myself follow certain monk vows. Thus, I have actually trained myself to be a faggot. I will have retrain myself to be a man again. Frankly, I won't be around long enough to accomplish that task. So, I found a few middle-aged guys like Professor Marv and Pseudo-professor Bill to go drinking with. I met the latter today while I was telling Pseudo-professor Glen that I was going for a drink somewhere. This is what losers do best. I won't be going out with the young hotties anymore. That's a done deal.

It's kind of depressing knowing that I'm the only one not doin' da wild thing. Worst of all, I am sitting at home with moms while everyone else is doin' da wild thing. I suppose that I can be comforted in knowing that Robert and Pseudo-professor John are also at home with moms. We are all chokin' da chicken. I have to say, that it is an extremely comforting thought. It is almost too pathetically funny to believe that we are going to waste the rest of our lives without the company of any babes. We'll be joining the ranks of The Master and Pseudo-lifeforms Jim and Paul. Isn't that great? Actually, it fucking sucks. However, none of us take this matter seriously. Robert is so tanked up on meds to even notice.

An uneventful day. However, I should note that the Asylum is in complete chaos. I was called in yesterday on more allegations from Ernie. Most of the faculty are completely demoralized. Even the old timers are telling me that it's gotten really bad. The accreditation team is also coming for a visit later this week, so the administration is completely stressed out. I have distanced myself from that crap because I have other issues to worry about.

I still haven't decided whether I will let the cat out of the bag concerning the townhouse purchase. In a week, I will have to break the news to moms that I am moving out at the end of March. I have been observing more of the "cocoon" phenomenon. I noticed that moms freely goes into my room at any time. I really don't have my own room. I just sleep there. There are no clothes in my closet. Everything has remained packed in a laundry crate. I have never moved in, so to speak. So, I really do not live there. Mostly everything else that I own is boxed up and has been that way for years. When I returned home, moms was warming up food for me. I was becoming quite perturbed because I wanted to eat in peace. I don't care if the food is cold. As I tried to wash the dishes, moms was putting stuff away. It's easy to see why the Ninja Turds never did anything. They were constantly being served. I can't handle it. This has been instrumental in subliminally emasculating me. This erosion of my masculinity has been cumulative over time.

I saw Robert at the Diploma Mill. He was happy as a clam. He has not done anything about the alleged job prospect on Maui. He is back in the comfort zone of the "cocoon." He has already forgotten the minor lessons of his exile. Of course, that was a joke since he lived for the first few days in hotels paid for by his mom's credit card. I am not sure how he can even fool himself into believing that he was independent during that time. It is little wonder that he has no babe. Sooner or later, he's going to realize that my warnings were accurate. By then, it will be too late.

Wednesday February 25

I am really starting to notice that moms is constantly serving me. For example, food and snacks miraculously appear whether I want them or not. Essentially, if I don't get there first, it's done for me. I am sure that Robert is going through the same crap. We are also constantly told what to do, usually of a trivial nature. This is especially emasculating and humiliating. Middle-aged guys should not be living at home with their moms. By the way, the situation that I've described is not just isolated to Robert and I. This is the way most local families operate. That's why there are so many people of varying ages living at home with their parents. That is also why local babes can be a lot more dependent than mainland babes.

Actually, I should just tell moms about the townhouse. That way, she will invite the Ninja Turds to move back in immediately. Moms needs to serve her family. If I am not there, a serious void will exist. However, I believe that moms will live on into her nineties. Thus, the Turds will have to live by moms' rules for a long time. I'll be glad that it's them and not me.

In chatting with Robert yesterday, I asked him about the babe situation. He moved his arm up and down, mocking a chicken chokin' motion. This whole thing is just one big joke with him, or he just doesn't realize how little time he has. Perhaps he just loves living at home with moms. Then again, the meds could be destroying his mind. We're talking about a 46-year-old guy here. Sheesh!

I guarantee you that I will not make it through the year unscathed unless something happens. It is that bad. I have been debating this issue over and over. Should I try to go back to the monk life-style? I'm not sure that I have the conviction to do so. However, if it is as all of you have said and I cannot find a babe because of my spineless behavior, then I will have no choice but to invoke "mind over matter." However, I am so weak mentally now that I almost think it will be impossible. This is what I am fearing. What happens when I lose it? Previously, I postulated that Robert went through this. Now, he in therapy and is on meds. He is also a basket case. I also cannot see myself becoming like Pseudo-lifeforms Paul and Jim. I just can't see it. Something had to have snapped deep inside their medullas. One just cannot be that happy being an eunuch.

Caroll called last night. She's losin' it, too. We've actually been playing phone tag for most of the week. So far, we have been providing each other with emotional support. We also had a few laughs. This has been a blessing because I have no support here as you well know. Speak! III by LoserNet has also been buzzing with activity.

It started at lunch today. Shirley and I were at Taco Bell for lunch as usual. I somehow decided to go off on a dissertation about the "cocoon." I went through the whole scenario and how it ended up emasculating both Robert and I. "This is about the babe situation, isn't it?" she asked at the end. I denied it, but everything always has to do with the babe situation. Before we left, I noticed that Toad was there in the dining room. Toad is my age and it looked really bad. You may remember that Toad is the psycho stalker whom I had to have arrested.

I wasted a lot of time this afternoon thinking about the issues of resignation and acceptance as both apply to myself. I read the AskMen Forums as well. There were many interesting threads. Today's threads were most profound. I discovered that much of the advice and opinion mirrored what has been posted to Speak! III by LoserNet. I read a lot of threads about mackin' on babes properly. One good example is how a guy must kiss a babe to indicate a bold romantic interest. I felt nauseated because I knew that wasn't my style. I would never be comfortable doing that. I felt so emasculated and hopeless that I immediately went to Long's and bought a bottle of cheap booze. I was sitting there in the faculty computer room drowning my sorrows and listening to House Music. It was so pathetic. I decided right then and there that it was over. I was ready to throw in the towel. However, the cheap booze kicked in. I began recalling some instances from the past. Then, I remembered the infamous Monday Night in Santa Monica when I was on the dance floor with Janet. I just grabbed her and kissed her. We kissed for the longest time. Lots of tongue action. We had not even touched each other before that. I had snapped into action by instinct. I could no longer deny that it was not possible. There were a few other instances that I recalled as well. Realizing this, I almost lost it right then. What has happened to me? How did I become such an eunuch? Is it because I have been in the "cocoon"?

I downed the whole bottle before I left on the last express bus. I couldn't decide whether I was just plain disgusted or that I somehow wasn't really me. It just doesn't make any sense. I was not afraid of rejection with Janet. We were all partying at the time. How did I program myself to be such an eunuch? I can only suspect that my five years in the "cocoon" is responsible. I have been emasculated, and I have no sense of the damage done. Arrrggh!

Thursday February 26

Last night, I laughed hysterically a few times. The point is clear. I have become an eunuch. What am I going to do about it? Actually, I was feeling a little nauseous after my revelation. I have still not ascertained whether life in the "cocoon" is responsible for my compete emasculation. Yet, how can one suppress instinct otherwise? Can it really be true that living at home with moms for five years has caused me to become a faggot?

I looked at the oversized cranium in the mirror and observed that a lot of gray hair have sprouted within the last month. My stress and anxiety levels have been ectremely high, which may explain why. I have not been able to settle my nerves. My life is totally out of control. The additional stress of purchasing the townhouse has exacerbated the situation even more. The babe situation is what is really bringing me close to the edge. I've got to relax, or the Big Five-O will be the beginning of my demise. I have no plan. No answers. I'm basically living on a prayer. I just hope everything will turn out okay. This is how my life has been. I have always waiited until the eleventh hour, and somehow everything worked out. Naturally, this can only go so far. Sooner or later, it catches up with you. So, that's where I am at today. Remember that I wasted most of my life away. I was cruising when I was younger. So, I was broke and in debt six years ago. I made a miraculous transformation in five years. However, one aspect of my life is unchanged. Yep, the babe situation. It's the eleventh hour, but no reprieve is in sight.

I was glad to not spend too much time at the Asylum today. The accreditation team is visiting and everyone is completely stresseed out. Work is really very care-free for me. I refuse to take it more seriously than I have to. I do the best job that I can. Being an engineer has made it possible for me to streamline my tasks. Other faculty are slaving away with archaic methods. I was losing my mind all day, though. You already know why. I walked over to Chez Pasta for a drink (read: glass of wine) just like I did the other day. That's my happy hour. Professor Marv had sent e-mail saying that he had "something of interest" to tell me. I called him while I was waiting for the express bus. He said that there were a few full-time positions opening up at the Diploma Mill. He put a really good word in for me. The problem is that I do not have a doctorate. However, he told me to go for it anyway. That's what I will do. I do not care if I end up as a low-level professor. If I do get in and also keep my administration position at the Asylum, I will make a lot of dough. Both are supposedly full-time, but I would be working only a few more hours than I do now. As you know, I put in about 25 hours per week. The express bus didn't show up, so I ended up on the street bus. I got home pretty late.

By the way, the news was on the tube when I was Chez Pasta. Rudi Bakhtiar was doing the newscast. Man, she's a hot babe! Then, there's the ol' lavahead. It's amazing that I have turned my life around. With the purchase of the townhouse, I am now close to where I should be as a man. I thought that I had a lot to offer any babe, but apparently this is not so. I do not just mean material offerings, by the way. Well, I guess this just means that I will end up like The Master. In time, none of this matter because no babe will be able to bring anything to the table.

Friday February 27

Caroll has been really stressed out, just like most of the people I know in my age group. She, too, has pushed herself down Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs to the survival level. Thus, she is constantly on the edge about work and money. She has no time left for herself. She has become even more miserable, but she is still my friend. I worry about her. She also provides emotional support to me because we both have gone through a lot. I do the same for her.

I only have a couple more days before I tell moms that I am moving out. I am still up in the air about disclosing the actual purchase of the townhouse. I will defer the decision until later. There will be a lot of logistical problems that I must surmount. I have no furniture. I also don't have any other household item. All I have is the townhouse and the appliances that come with the place. I already feel the pressure to change my mind and remain in the "cocoon." I will probably work out a transition plan. In other words, I will stay at moms' house for a couple of days in the week and the rest of the time at my place. That way moms won't be alone, at least until the Turds move back.

March 1st is going to be a pivotal day. I make the final commitment to move. My social life will change considerably. I will begin planning for changes in my own life-style, including my daily schedule. I will no longer be on moms' schedule. There will also be changes in how the journal is updated. I will not have any Net access at the townhouse. So, the journal will be sporadic.

Big news! Ernie has been discovered. The accreditation team has noted the dispencies in his credentials. Ironically, the Dean is defending the loser. This is yet another major embarrassment for the Asyslum. Shirley came by the faculty computer room a few minutes before her 2pm class. Her morning class was canceled, so we did not eat lunch at Taco Bell. I walked her to her class. The instructor did not show up. So, she hung out with me for a while.

Saturday February 28

Shirley and I discussed the concept of the "cocoon" for the past few days. She thinks I've lost it. She's too young to understand the debilitating effects of the "cocoon." In the end, she asked, "Does this have to do with the babe situation?" I admitted that there are some trace elements. "You know, you could find a girlfriend if you really put your mind to it," she added. I chatted with my parallel life buddy, Robert, last night. He was in good spirits. Naturally, we discussed the babe situation. "The better we feel about ourselves, then the babes will come," he told me. This is a marked improvement over the Russian mail order babe Web site. I also chatted with Caroll briefly. I asked her opinion on whether I should tell moms the whole story about the townhouse. "You will have to look in your heart for the answer," she said. "It will also hurt your mom if she found out from someone else." That's true. I have only a couple of days before I will have to say something. It has also been raining hard for the past two days, which just adds to the somber nature of these times.

I took my morning hike up Koko Head, but I didn't get much of a tan. Then, I went on my usual Ala Moana rounds. Ala Moana Beach Park has a lot of homeless people hanging out there. Because of all the rain, they had all of their belongings drying out on the grass. That's another reason I like the park. Lots of losers. I felt right at home. I ended up at Kahala Mall, just like I did last night. This evening, I was supposed to meet up with a former student, Ryan. However, that didn't pan out. So, I ended up at Border's. I chatted with Robert. He spent the last two days cleaning his room. Obviously, he's loving it in the "cocoon."

Sunday February 29

I still have not made the decision to tell my family about my townhouse. I will defer the topic for a couple of days in order to buy time. Clearly, Caroll is right concerning this matter. I will have to make a moral judgment. The concrete workers union has been on strike for three weeks. Much of the construction activity has stopped. My bro may be laid off as a result. This would be a perfect opportunity for the Ninja Turds to move back in. How do these things happen like clockwork?

I also ran into Pseudo-professor John's buddy, Brent, at Barnes & Noble yesterday. He said that sometimes only the two of them show up at their Sunday basketball game. They have been playing cards, going to the movies, and hanging out. I told him that they should start chasing babes. He laughed.

My social life will soon reduce to nothing. Shirley's differences with me has already caused her to stop doing things with me. We only go to lunch at Taco Bell. I will probably engage in one more weekend of drunken stupidity before I go back on the wagon. I won't have a lot of spending money once I start my mortgage payments. I am also planning to drop my cell phone plan down a notch. I won't need a lot of free minutes. And, with my emancipation from the "cocoon," I will have to restructure my whole time schedule. There will be many additional free hours because I won't be dealing with moms' schedule and curfews. There will be some life-style changes.

For one thing, my endless weekend treks must end. Or, I must tone it down a bit. I am on the go almost every waking hour. I cannot handle sitting in the "cocoon." This is an obvious reaction to the monk years. The anxiety attacks and claustrophobia are withdrawal symptoms. After a Summer of constant activities, I never adjusted to the void. Much of the tension stems from life in the "coccoon." I have become so cognizant of the subliminal conditioning that I now resent it. In contrast, my "parallel life" buddy has returned to the "cocoon" with open arms.

I woke up this morning with much anxiety. My mind was filled completely with doubt about leaving the "cocoon." I now actually have no reason to leave the "cocoon," just as is the case with Robert. I really wanted to cancel the whole whole townhouse deal. If anything, I should have considered a condo in town, possibly in Waikiki. My best bet would have been to become homeless. Or, I could have transitioned into the life-style popularized by Pseudo-lifeforms Jim and Paul. Even Robert makes fun of those guys, particularly the latter. Who really is worse off?

I am also having second thoughts about my trip to Cali. It serves no purpose except to waste time and money. Most of my friends do not really care if they see me or not. They have their own lives to contend with. I am destined to be like the countless old folks I see on my weekend treks. Most of them just hang around Ala Moana all day long. They just want to be around people, but no one really cares. They're too old. Is this my destiny?

I did my tanning hike up Koko Head this morning, and then I was off on the endless trek. I managed to chat with Caroll for a few minutes while I was hanging out at Border's. The conversation today was a little different, and I believe that she's on to something. I ended up Kahala Mall for a while before I finally returned to the "cocoon." No word from baby.

Surrender & Faith

"We probably need to surrender our lives to God," Caroll told me. It was an unusual discussion, and one that was far more candid and reminiscent of the old days. "I haven't been able to do that because I still want control over my life," she added. I agreed. I am not exactly sure why, but the whole purpose of my endless treks became clear at that moment. I always manage to catch short naps during the bus rides, which is very relaxing to me. In addition, the rest of the time is when I contemplate life and gather my thoughts. The foolish Ala Moana tour is simply to add color to my journey.

I was devoid of anxiety attacks for most of the afternoon. I was actually able to sit calmly at the beach and further reflect on my situation. Ever since this mid-life crisis ordeal began, I have resorted to prayer. Some days, it feels as though I have been possessed by the sinister kahuna. I have never really understood my life. All I know is that, for some strange reason, I have always been saved in the eleventh hour. In fact, the past five years is testimony to this. There is no possible way that I could have turned my life around without some help. Even Caroll recalled that I was on a real downhill slide back in Convalescent City. Even with the babe situation, some kind of eleventh-hour miracle transpires. Remember how Lori and I hooked up. We lived over a thousand miles apart. We would never have met otherwise.

There have been many instances where I have felt that some kind of intervention had to have happened. It all started one night in Convalecent City. I was out on the town with the boys. We were in JP Andrews, a local watering hole. For some reason, I had to go back to my car to get something. I ran back across the street in front of a car. The car stopped inches from hitting me. I laughed and waved at the driver. He looked relieved. I remember that day well because I should have been laid out by that car. From that point forward, I became even more cognizant of small eleventh-hour miracles. During the monk years, I tried to survey this matter of spirituality. Even when I abandoned the monk life-style for more hedonistic pursuits last Summer, I made it through unscathed.

Be careful of what you wish for because it may come true. My greatest desire has been to live forever, or at least to be young forever. It seems silly, doesn't it? I expended a lot of mental energy on this, and somehow I believe that it is the reason I have not aged significantly. It's true that I am finally seeing signs of aging, but I have never looked my age. There are, of course, many logical reasons to dispell my belief. However, as I push toward the Big Five-O, I have to wonder. There is no one else in my age group that I know of who is able to pull off the same thing. I firmly believe in "mind over matter," which brings me to the topic of faith. Could all of this be a matter of faith? I am not necessarily talking about religious faith, mind you. It is faith nonetheless. Recently, my faith depleted to an all-time low. However, my conversation with Caroll made me aware of this. As I mentioned earlier, I have reason to believe that I have been protected by an outside force. And, thus, faith becomes a real issue here. This has nothing to do with hope. Hope is simply optimism that that the cards will turn up in one's favor.

I was at peace with myself for the first time in months. As I sat on a bench at Ala Moana Beach Park, I contemplated my life again but in a different perspective. I reviewed it in terms of the forces that brought me here and have also kept me out of the Abyss. It is truly a miracle. I was very relaxed and calm. Even the thought of the Big Five-O did not invoke anxiety attacks. Something is going to happen in the eleventh hour again. Naturally, it requires some participation on my part. However, something is going to happen in the eleventh hour. It always does. "Sooner or later, this has got to end," I used to keep telling myself. That's me of little faith. I think we're at half past ten now.

Monday March 1

In my own foolishness, I thought that something would happen in the eleventh hour. The folly of my error is that the details of the eleventh-hour intervention is unknown. No one knows the time, place, or players. It just happens, but usually when things appear somewhat hopeless. Say, that's the way it is now. I am also going to disclose the whole townhouse deal. I don't care if the Turds use that to their advantage. It will all come out in the wash, just like it did for Ernie.

There are always opposing forces in the Universe. Thus, my mention of the sinister kahuna is not just fiction. This entity does indeed exist. It is diametrically opposed to the force that protects. Both the sinister force and the sinister kahuna have brought me to my knees many times. And, I have wept in pain as a result. The most important thing is that I must never curse the benevolent force which protects me. That's what the sinister ones want me to do. All of this may sound pretty nutty, but I have come to know the truth. There are some very strong forces that control the Universe.

An uneventful day. Shirley and I ate lunch at Taco Bell. I also contemplated the small series of miracles that changed my life. The fact that I even met Lori was unusual enough. However, I would probably have never returned to Hawai'i if it were not for her. In addition, the current friendship that I have with her has been tantamount in the changes I have made recently in my life. The whole transaction for the townhouse has gone smoothly because I have worked through her friends Brenda and Debbie. In fact, I've learned that we're right on schedule for the closing on March 18th. Lori is helping me out in other ways, some of which I will disclose later. This is not something I could really expect of an "ex," especially one who is now married. Overall, I have been blessed in life with truly miraculous events.

Tuesday March 2

A truly uneventful and comatose day. Same old at the Asylum and the Diploma Mill.

Wednesday March 3

I still have not mentioned anything to my family about the townhouse purchase. I now have to transfer about $14,000 to my local bank. Then, I have to cut a cashier's check to hand over to escrow when I finalize the deal. Parting with this much dough is not fun for me. In fact, it's causing a lot of anxiety. I need to discuss this matter soon because I will be moving out starting on March 18th.

Essentially, I had the day off today. I have no life, so I ended up in town. I had absolutely nothing to do. I listened to House Music. Well, I did some work, but I was done within a few minutes. Oddly, Shirley did not bother to call about lunch today. I called her and left a message. When I was returning from the gym, I saw her crossing the street. She didn't see me. She never called back. Something is afoot here. I had to get a couple of drinks at Chez Pasta to end the day.

Thursday March 4

Everything has gotten a little strange. I have noticed that Shirley has been treating me a little different lately. Shirley called last night. We had a nice discussion, so everything is okay. For a while, I thought we were going our separate ways. Shirley is going to Mau'i for the weekend. She still wants us to get together. That's fine.

An interesting day. I received a phone call from a blocked number at 11am. I was chatting with Pseudo-professor Ralph at the time, so I missed the call. Glen walked to Taco Bell with me and kept me company while I ate lunch. He told me some crap about Ernie. The rest of the day was uneventful as usual.

To be continued ... Go to D.28

© Copyright 2004. All rights reserved.