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Regular One - The Journal of ...
Note: This raw document is now the pathetic substitute for what was once a glamorous journal. This is all that's left. This journal is not edited to the usual LoserNet standards. It has been restored to "public" status after a brief hiatus. This journal should not be confused with the Journal of the Mind.
Monday September 27, 1999
Somehow it dawned on me today about why guys love their cars. It's nothing new. The car is a substitute for babes, more so than being a means to attract babes. I realized this as I looked upon my own desire to own a BMW Z3. No, I take that back. I realized this when I was talking with a few of the babes in my classes. All of them are handmaidens in the making. That sounds unfair but it's true. And, who am I? A male university professor. An icon of the last bastion of the old patriarchal system. A fossil. I am the enemy. Their wily ways are the only weapon they have against someone like the ol' lavahead. I sensed the undercurrents of animosity. The "male as rapist" syndrome. As they indiscreetly displayed their wares, I could sense their thoughts. You want some of this, don't you? Just try it and see what happens. You'll never know what hit you, pig. It is safer to own and take care of a nice car like a Z3. Never mind the metaphors accompanying the ritual of waxing the car and other such myths. A guy loves his car unconditionally as he would a babe, if she would only let him. Babes are too anxious to jump the gun and claim some kind of chauvinistic wrongdoing. Of course, there is no way to do the wild thing with a car. The biology will have to be preempted for another time. Maybe never.
As a guy and monk, I must seek out my spiritual pursuits first. I must discover who I am as a guy. I must return from whence I came. I must indulge in exercises of the intellect. I must continue my religious reading. I must divest myself of needless possessions. I must exercise control over the fire water. My vanity will be the Z3. It will be my babe. It will be my vengeance upon the handmaiden. It will be my ball and chain. Yet, it will be my freedom on weekends as my six-four once was. I will feel the air ripping through my monk haircut as I tear down the expressway. Are the babes looking? Who cares! Go back to your leader, you vixens of lust! I've got some waxing to do! Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!
Tuesday September 28
There have been no recent entries in the two on-line diaries I've been following. And, there are at least two more days before Anonder uploads his journal. Why do I follow other people's lives? Why do people follow mine? By the way, Annie wrote:
RE: Claire and Heather. Well, first of all, the picture of H makes her look like a high-end prostitute. If that is what you want, save up your money and go rent one. That's what they're there for. From your info provided, she was a psycho. That's what you want? Fine. Go get it. Oh, you'll have to use your wallet as bait. But I guess you already knew that. Hmmm, I guess she's what you mean when you use the word "demure". Funny, I thought it meant otherwise. As for C, well, you knew her well enough to take a picture of her backside. I think when you asked her about H, you made her feel like the ugly one. Nice going, Chief. You see, guys who meekly do what society bids tend to idealise the blonde. And those who aren't blond know it.
You seem to have a lot of rage still. You seem to have a tendency to depersonalise women. You have always done that, though. Until you get to know them. You describe them in terms of body and body parts. I wonder if they and their kind refer to you as the Empty Wallet, or the Easy A. "Displaying their wares" sounds hollow and bitter. But I guess that's the song you want to sing. You've been singing it for a long time.
Do you ever notice the dumpy girls? Do you ever notice the plain girls? Do you ever notice the shy and scared girls? Do you ever notice the women your age? They might carry excess weight, wrinkles and grey hairs as battlescars, but I'll bet thay have accomplished more than those who whine, complain, pity themselves and feel an unjustified sense of entitlement. Nobody is plainer inside than handmaidens are. They may look good on the outside, but the inside is nearly always rotten.
Okay, Empty Wallet here and back at your service. My friends Kevin and Jennifer have separated. I was sad to hear that. Chimp World. Welcome to it. Annie appears to be a little upset with the ol' lavahead. Well, the ol' lavahead seems to have that affect on babes. One thing I should make clear is that I have never discussed babes in terms of "body parts." My only statement is that certain babes have Playmate bodies. Annie also challenged me to "come clean" about the babes. Well, to be honest, I used to notice all kinds of babes before I became a monk. As Mike (from the old Del Rio Research Center days) used to say, "I'm attracted to all women." I can't help but think about all the babes I wished I could have had (before I became a monk) as I listen to "Paradise" by Underground Solution on NetRadio House. I found all kinds of babes to be attractive. Thin babes. Slightly thick babes. Brunettes. Blondes. Redheads. Pale or tan. Modest or well endowed. Barbie Doll types or natural ("plain") babes. They all drove me nuts! Fortunately, I was (and still am) a wimpy little turd. It is moot for me to explain myself about babes because they only notice me if they have some need to become nauseated. I'm Empty Wallet and I'm outta here!
Wednesday September 29
Time for the Brain Donation Department courtesy of the MSNBC web site. This was a real lawsuit:
A man, perhaps a couch potato, took the Anheuser-Busch (brewers of King Cobra) commercials literally. He sued for $10,000 for emotional distress and physical illness based on alleged false advertising. He said the commercials implicitly promised "success" with women if he drank their product. He did drink their product, and he was not successful with women. Not only was he unsuccessful, he got physically sick.
Well, I drink those products myself and look where it got me. Fire water doesn't attract babes. It's what one consumes when one doesn't have babes. Sheesh! Don't let the smooth taste fool ya!
I shared that legal anecdote and a few others with my classes today for the sake of humor. The babes in my classes are okay. I really do enjoy talking with them. The one babe who displays her wares on a regular basis is adamantly opposed to computers and the Net. A couple of the other babes in another section are planning a "pot-luck" day for our class. It will be kind of a lunch party instead of a regular class session. Not many people have a job like this, eh?
Not to worry, though. The words of my buddy "Bud" still echo within the cavernous oversized cranium. Of course, I am fortunate. The only temptation facing me is in my mind. A few monk chants and that will be cured. Young babes like Joyce are somewhat fascinating. I observed her playing with her hair and looking back to where I was standing several times while the class was watching the "Three Nerds" video. Then, she stayed after class to ask me about the Java programming language even though she is a Communications major. She's also the one who asked me during class if I was married. Oh man. I can understand what happened to "Bud" and how easily he must have fallen from grace. Woe is me if I fall from grace in that manner! I'll resign from the university before that ever happens.
Thursday September 30
Two weeks left before my financial demise and all I can think about is babes. What kind of monk am I anyway? Hermit mentioned in his on-line diary (on My Dear Diary) that he ended up working on a university campus for a day. He got to see what I see everyday. College babes. Let me quote from his entry:
The Professor sees this every day. It does make an unattached man wistful, if not frustrated. Grasp that most men are finished by the time they reach 30 years of age, in this ballgame. I was out of the running long ago. What Co-ed would desire a tradesman, semi-destitute? Ditto. Women my own age? Most are already married. But I can see the angle: The smiling jerk, the crud in the sportscar, are instinctive signals that he is a "provider". The unthinking guy talking much about nothing, and laughing at stupid crap is a signal that he is "normal", and not prone to mental illness, so healthy offspring can/will result from union. Given this evolutionary criteria, one shouldn't get angry just because they have lost out. I think women are actually more practical than men when the mating game is commenced, as a whole. Maybe people like me are designated by natural selection to become extinct, have their genes tossed into the scrap pile. I would just breed other hermits and social malfunctions ......
Well, that about sums up the situation, eh? I have other things to worry about. Like how I am going to sue the makers of Keystone beer for emotional distress because I can't find a babe. Sheesh!
Friday October 1
The babes are still planning the "pot-luck" lunch for one of my classes. Of course, one of the babes is a cheerleader for the university. Not to be outdone, two babes in another section have decided that there will be a "pizza feed" event for that class. Naturally there will also be sufficient quantities of fire water. Speaking of which, the babe who usually displays her wares was a little hammered in class today. I could smell the scent of booze from across the room. She had been partying since the night before. The cheerleader babe said that she saw someone who looked exactly like me on the Windward campus of the university. He drives a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I told her that I drive the six-four. Her eyes lit up. As I suspected, I drive a kid's car.
And, here I am. A monk in the middle of all of this debauchery. I am a confused man. I am even more confused than in the old days. At the risk of further criticism, I will confess that, yes, I am attracted to gorgeous young babes. Is this a fault that will bring me eternal damnation? I will never act upon my impulses. Believe me, there won't be any opportunities. The only reason these babes even acknowledge my existence is because I have something they want. A grade. Nothing more, nothing less. As I have made it relatively easy to succeed in my classes, there is no need for anyone to cross the lines of ethics. If I was at least 15 years younger and a stud, there would be problems. A squirrely, old loser like the ol' lavahead will present no temptation to the babes.
All of it is part of another game. The celebrity game. Or, at least, a mild form of it. I have learned one thing. There is ultimate power in being able to present oneself in front of a group of people. I can see why performers and entertainers have so much power over their audiences. Most people want to be led. They want to be moved. They are essentially sheep looking for the shepherd. Why else would an ex-con be able to form a cult in Georgia and persuade his flock to construct a Sphinx? The true nature of this power lies in having something that people want. An educator is really a poor example. Students are forced to take classes and tolerate the mediocre entertainment value. Yet, it is a platform for standup comedy, albeit a shabby one. I have no idea why I break into my pathetic routines. I am compelled to do so. Do I secretly want to be a star? This is a question I've asked myself time and again. I have had no reason to take this teaching position. My personality is more suited to the Dilbert zone. I now crave an audience. It is a drug. An addiction. Just like the fire water. There are days that I dread being in front of the class. Yet, when I'm there, I want more.
We all crave this kind of attention. Most of us want to bust out but we don't know how. We are trapped by our inhibitions and the mundane. Each of us is one of many in a faceless crowd. Inside, the voice grows stronger to shout out, "I am here!" Look how hard people try to impress others within their so-called "fifteen seconds of fame." Even loser stories have potential. Old-time comic Lonesome George Gobel (remember him?) had tremendous draw. And, my favorite loser, Garry Shandling, was a riot. And, let's not forget Rodney Dangerfield. A monk should revel in humility and obscurity. Where have I gone wrong? What comes to mind is Caine in Shock to the System.
Saturday October 2
In all seriousness, the situation is reaching critical mass. I am not sure if I am going to make it out unscathed. The real truth of the matter is that I need to find a babe. I thought that I could survive well by being alone but my singular wit is just not cutting it. Hermit is going through the same thing from what I can tell. We are both at the crossroads of sanity. If I was financially secure, I would have moved on a long time ago. I would have moved to a small town like Convalescent City and lived in obscurity. Here in the city, amongst all the vermin and crap, it's no fun being alone. Living with moms makes me feel even more alone.
Right now, I am trapped with nowhere to go. I have no dough. I am getting older and I am becoming desperate. Anxiety is beginning to override my logic functions. And, as I said, my singular wit is not going to carry me. I have reviewed my Mission Statement as per Covey, written before the walls came tumbling down. It's about all that survived. However, I have grown impatient. Just how long will it take me to realize any of my objectives? Do I have that much time? Will my sanity remain intact during that period? Even a modest ten-year plan will put me in my mid-fifties. What then? The more I have divested in order to gain my so-called freedom, the more enslaved I became. I had less in the way of material possessions but my earning power dropped proportionally. Why? This is an amazing discovery because it suggests that mendicancy is a losing battle. This kind of freedom is not attainable in our economic system. I am just bringing myself closer to dereliction and psychosis.
I am the Professor. However, can I be as creative as the Professor on Gilligan's Island? I cannot create much from a bunch of stale coconuts. I cannot attract babes without something they value be it money, looks, power, or sex. I have nothing to offer in any of those areas. Even my ability to provide companionship is suspect. None of this should be a surprise to me because I prophesied that my life would turn out this way fifteen years ago. This is not a case self-fulfilling prophesy. I made a critical decision to leverage my future so I could enjoy my life then. I knew the implications but took the risk anyway. After all, I was doing such a good job of winging it through life back then. Surely, I'd make out okay later. Was I ever wrong! I even considered the psychological ramifications but there was no way that I could really extrapolate what my thought processes would be like over a decade later. That was the folly of my error.
In a way, I have really nothing to complain about. I took a proactive stance. I knew what could and would happen. I refused to prepare for the future. Now, I am forced into a reactive mode. I further insured my demise by embracing the fire water again. I know that there are some things that cannot be changed. However, there are still avenues left to discover. The babe situation is another story. As I sat at Barnes & Noble writing my journal, I could not help but wonder what the future will hold. Why the hell am I working? What if I finally do get some financial security? Then what? I can't honestly say I would be better off than a homeless derelict. I'll live in a hovel no better than a cardboard box but I'll have to pay rent. I'll eat the same food or worse than what they get at the mission. I can take a bath at any time but so could they if they choose. Yet, everyday that I walk along Fort Street Mall, I see that the derelicts have more friends than I do. Some even have babes. Who really is better off? Out of despair may come hope. For the time being, it seems as though I have given up. That's not true. I'm trying to regroup. My own stupidity has reduced my selection of viable options. Now, I wonder, what would the Professor do?
Sunday October 3
I'm drunk ... I'm drunk ... I'm drunk as can be ... (sing-along) ... take your hand and move it up and down ... oh brother. Yep, it's another day in the life of a fool. After I polished off an unbelievable amount of fire water, I drove my six-four down to Foodland to get more. I saw the most awesome babe driving a Saturn behind me. Somehow she ended up in Foodland to use the ATM machine while I was standing in line. What a babe!
Babes and more babes. One of my former students called me earlier today. The topic? Babes. It's always babes. I have been invited to a few parties by students but I have been careful to be non-committal. Why do I need to go to a party where there will be young, voluptuous college babes? Babes and more babes. All I want is babes. There is nothing else to life except babes. What is happening to me? It's a good thing that I'm a loser.
I sat in the detestable resin chair all day and dropped back an enormous quantity of brewskis. I thought about Joyce and all the other babes at the university. I could feel the pressure that "Bud" must have felt. It's amazing! I really need to get on my hands and knees and pray for forgiveness or to be taken out of my misery. What would Hermit do if he were in my shoes? Right now, I don't care what happens. Financial collapse? Who cares? No dough. Who cares? I'm just going to run up my credit card until the walls come tumbling down. I have many more credit cards, one of which has a $13,000 credit line. It's time to roll out the barrel. The beer barrel, that is.
Monday October 4
Ten days before financial collapse! I have made no effort to put any funds into my automatic withdrawal account for my loans. I don't have any funds to deposit. It took a lot of effort to stay off of the fire water once I got home. I believe that I have let the handmaiden get the best of me again. I should have more faith in the words of the sages. Their prophesies will repeat themselves again. And, it's no longer my problem. On the eve of my own destruction, I cannot help but feel that there still is no justice.
It really is too bad that I'm beyond broke. I must eventually find some kind of other work, preferably full time. I enjoy what I do even though it is taxing. I spent most of my day talking, either doing lectures or just socializing. Talking is tiring especially for someone like me who has never been a "talker." I also finally ran into Bruce. So, we caught up on the latest news. This morning, I saw a babe on the express bus. No, not one of those drop-dead gorgeous babes. She was a babe nonetheless. Very sultry. Come to think of it, she was drop-dead gorgeous! That's the kind of babe I need to find to marry. She's a working babe probably in her late twenties. Sheesh! Why can't I just be a good monk and look for a monastery to join?
Journals of the Mind and Soul
There are days that I could smash my beloved computer against the wall, what with it skipping characters all the time. I have been religiously reading the Web diaries I've mentioned before. I find it interesting to read about other people's lives in the universe at the exact same slice in time. Cruel Love has panned out to be more than an eerie parallel of my own life just a few years ago. It is scary to read it from the feminine perspective. Her paramour is, from what I can tell, very similar to the ol' lavahead. The descriptions of his personality and such are spooky. I can say neither here nor there about what will happen next. I have some chilling premonitions but it is not my place to intervene. I am only an observer. Nothing more, nothing less. Hermit has fallen into the abyss. The issue? Babes. He has crafted a superb and candid exposé into the inner psyche of life gone awry. We grapple with the same issues particularly with the morbid choice of solitude and isolation. He has a singular wit about himself that is so reminiscent of the ol' lavahead. Spooky. It's all spooky.
Tuesday October 5
I have no idea why I haven't designed the Java Chicken Choker yet. Today was one of those days I just wish I was doing something else. I am dealing with many people who haven't gotten the concept of education. I am only a facilitator. It is up to the individual to learn. That is why I never use the term "teacher." It really is easy for me to see why so few can become leaders. Most are destined to be pathetic sheep. It's draining my energy and robbing me of my will to live. I want out. I want out real bad. Where am I to go? That's why I have depended on the fire water. It's my only escape. Today is Day Two without. I can barely face reality.
Pain. In countless journals including Hermit's, it's the same theme over and over again. And, it has to do with romance. I have no idea why the single most important aspect of life (that we are all entitled to, by the way) is always the most painful. Is it the myriad games that we play? Is it that no one really knows what love is? Or, is it just plain stupidity? I know this pain well as I have seen my own journal metamorphically transform itself into a woeful tale of debauchery and betrayal. I was under the mistaken impression that people pair up for the sole purpose of caring for one another. Was I wrong! There will be many who are quick to chastise me for always concentrating on physical attraction. Let's all be honest now, shall we? We have to be physically and sexually attracted to whomever we choose. Otherwise, why do we not just all be friends? It's so much less complicated. Too many people want to hide behind a veil of "correctness." So much so, they begin to believe their own rhetoric. Their actions soon betray them. I don't have anyone to impress so I will tell it like it is. Babes are always the first to chastise guys about the issue of physical attraction. Yet, they are the ones spending a fortune to become "beautiful." I don't see too many of them hanging all over slobs with beer guts and telling their girlfriends, "Well, he has a great mind." That's also why babes are so eager to be with the so-called "bad boys." Actually, it becomes easier to see why there is so much pain. We thrive on it like a drug. At some point, there is really little to differentiate between the feelings of pain and the feelings of pleasure. If we can't have one, we'll take the other.
Wednesday October 6
The bus drivers are protesting so all of the buses have been late including the express buses. The details are sketchy. I caught on yesterday that the last express bus arrives in Hawai'i Kai earlier than the bus that leaves before it because it is empty. So, I caught that bus today. I was the only one on the bus. And, yes, it passed the earlier bus on the way home. I have seen the handmaiden's friend Anne on the bus frequently. Today, she was a little upset about the bus situation.
I enjoyed riding the bus alone. Yet, it somehow reminded me of my life. I am the lone rider on the bus ride to hell. Well, hey! Someone has to do it! My mind has been overloaded with the usual garbage. I can barely think. What I really need is some fire water. Can I abstain for another day?
It has finally dawned upon me. I do not need a babe. I believe that The Master, myself, and perhaps even Hermit are discovering that we have been drawn in and enticed by our own desires. These desires are being fueled by the outside world. It is the same way that I sometimes fall prey to materialism. The outside forces are too great and exert so much pressure that we finally give in. Never wholeheartedly, though. That's what brings on the guilt and the confusion after-the-fact. However, what can we do? We are not isolated from the outside world. We are a part of it. I am singing along to "Deliver Me" by The Timewriter on NetRadio House as we speak. Yes, deliver me! Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!
Thursday October 7
My credit card bill came yesterday. That should have been enough to push me to the edge. Oddly, I didn't even have a drop of fire water. Today is another story. I am grappling with the temptation as we speak. The authors of the other on-line diaries and journals (which I read) have taken a brief hiatus. I feel as though I should do the same. My days make no sense to me. My purpose is blurred. It has nothing to do with babes. Frankly, I'm sick of babes. At least from the standpoint of the "game." I still enjoy the company of babes. That's why I usually have lunch with Leticia and Charlotte, students from the business college.
I only have a few viable years left in the singles market. However, I have no dough and, therefore, I cannot compete with my peers. If had been more responsible, I could have been a Z3 Boy. Seriously, I have wasted my life away. How many guys are my age and are broke with little more than a suitcase of possessions? They usually sleep on a park bench as well. So, I have to take myself out of the singles market and be the monk that I was meant to be. Even if I dated any babes, I could never pass the first stage. Once they discover that I have less worth than most high school kids, it will be over. If I can recover from the current fiasco, it will still take me ten years to pay off my loans with everything I earn. I'll be close to sixty then. Let's be honest now, shall we? It's all over but the cryin'.
Friday October 8
I was in a horrible mood today. Most likely because of the punk kids making noise all night. I went outside and told them to shut up. Someone later called the cops. I have been compelled to get hammered although I don't really feel like it. Strange, isn't it? The dreaded weekend is here and I am certain that I will give into the fire water just as I did last night. Lizbeth, the author of Cruel Love (Web diary at the My Dear Diary site), has finally seen the denouement to her own living romance novelette. She wrote to the ol' lavahead recently and said:
One great thing about being in a loving relationship is that the need for drink, drugs, food, whatever, all tend to wane and be replaced easily by the natural highs of caring, sharing, and of course sex.
I see no reason btw that you shouldn't have a babe, you are certainly okay looking, smart enough and all. Are you sure these girls that are 'displaying their wares' aren't seriously trying to tempt you?? You could miss out on some prime opportunities if you continue to see yourself as a loser.
Lizbeth is right. Her words reverberated through my mind today. I actually felt like getting down on my hands and knees and praying. Along the same lines, Annie wrote:
I just want you to meet a wonderful girl .... woman ... and have this truly wonderful, amazing satisfying, uplifting partnership like I have been blessed with. Yes, I know, one man's poison is another man's chocolate and all that (I think I mixed up that saying) but my gut feeling is that you would be happy with someone who would give you good intellectual input as well as an awesome rodeo hug.
As a monk, I don't have much choice. My only bonding will be a spiritual one with the Creator. Will the Creator forgive me for my transgressions? I can't deny that the pull of biology is still there. The fire water can't subdue it. So, I must revert back to my old strategy. Mind over matter. I'm off to a good start because the eunuch-like behavior and Data-like personality have come back to me naturally.
Six more days before my ultimate financial demise. I have made no decisions. If I default on my loans, I will lose all of my credit cards. That's what I live off of for now. It's time I devised a contingency plan. I am also considering my return to school for a doctorate. Many of my colleagues have already matriculated in doctoral programs. That would buy me more time but I will be a senior citizen when I graduate. Does it make sense for me to go back? On a questionably positive note, I will be taking the comprehensive exams for my remaining incomplete graduate degree next month. I only have a few weeks to study two years worth of material. I am living on the edge. The edge of sanity.
Saturday October 9
Big headache. I decided early on that I needed fire water. I was working on a plumbing project that I thought was going to turn into a fiasco mainly because I decided to ask for advice while I was at City Mill. The problem was a leaky shower faucet. I removed the valve but I couldn't find an exact replacement because it is thirty years old. The brain donor at City Mill advised me not to buy to closest replacement. I envisioned the project spanning a week with me running all over town to find the replacement valve. That's when I decided to get hammered. Then, it dawned on me that I am an engineer. I took a close look at the fitting. There was nothing apparent to me that would preclude the use of the replacement valve. I decided to take a chance and buy it. Sure enough, it worked fine. This incident made me realize that we are susceptible to this kind of bad advice every day. Remember my nightmare with Fujitsu tech support? I have no dough so I cannot afford to pay anyone to fix things for me. That is what has enabled me to become a jack of all trades. Of course, what good has that done me?
I have also decided to start applying at for work at places like Burger King and Taco Bell. The reason I am in financial dire straits is because I only make about $200 per month income at this time. That's it. If I work full time at one of those fast food joints, I can make more money. Can you believe it? So, now you see why I am in bad shape. I spend about as much as I earn on booze alone. Do you see why I am trapped? My life has been and always will be a true test of mettle.
I am going further and further into debt each day. My net worth is -($46,000). Yep, that's a minus sign. My only assets are my computer, the Bose Acoustic Wave, and my six-four. Basically worthless. This would be a laughable situation if it were not my life I am describing. Now that you fully understand my financial situation, perhaps you can see why I am also in a fragile mental state. Hermit is probably in a similar state as he has not written any new entries for days. I want to stop writing myself but I can't. It's the only way I can express myself because no one cares to hear this crap. I'm sure that no one wants to read it either, but at least I am not forcing anyone to be my audience. Contrary to what some may believe, the fire water has helped curb my thoughts about just ending the whole situation, if you know what I mean. Fire water is the magic elixir. Where would I be without it?
That brings me to the subject of babes. Why am I always thinking about babes? I am not high enough up Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs to be thinking about social needs. I still at the basic troglodyte level of survival needs. Way at the bottom of the heap. Thinking about babes in my situation is analogous to pondering how to spend a million dollars when one is broke. It's all moot. I should be thankful for Net access because I have virtual babes like Jenna Jameson appearing often in Adult Buffet and Adult Slider's Post. What more do I need? Sheesh!
Sunday October 10
Justice is sweet, isn't it? Especially if it is served upon oneself like it has been for me. Woe is me! Paul (from Chaminade) met up with me last night at Barnes & Noble. We went back to his place later to kick it. My mind hasn't been able to focus on much. Random thoughts have been intruding upon me lately. How can I find a babe like Jenna? What is it like to do the wild thing with Jenna? These are the kinds of questions that can tax a guy's sanity. That's why I spent the day in and out of a coma due to the fire water.
I have also been pondering the fate of my six-four. Should I fix it up or get a new Z3? I could invest a couple thousand dollars over the next few years and have a refurbished vehicle or I could put myself much further in debt by buying a new Z3. What sounds more logical? I could actually spend less than $1,000 and just make the necessary minor repairs on my six-four just to keep it running. Seriously, why should I put myself further in debt just to have a new car? Will I be able to attract more babes? Let's get real now, shall we? By the way, Jenna could afford to buy a thousand Z3s. In cash. Oh, that Jenna! Damnit, I'm a monk! Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa! Mummify!
Perhaps I need to find something else to do except sit around and get hammered. Quite a few people have asked me if I was a surfer. They said that I looked like a surfer. Say what? I look like a computer geek. Well, maybe that's my call. I enjoy the water. I pretty much lived in the pool when I was training for swimming. If I took up surfing or kayaking, I'd have to keep my six-four. In fact, I saw a rack that can be mounted on my six-four to accommodate such toys. Why am I even thinking about this? I'm not an athletic kind-of-a-guy. I'm a wimpy loser. Sheesh!
Monday October 11
Today was not a good day for me. Moms was suffering from dizzy spells again. I am becoming more worried as the days go on. How soon before things get really bad? I won't go into details about the rest of day. The clincher was when I had to see the handmaiden at the gym. She must have had the day off. We didn't acknowledge each other so there was a positive side to the event. Still, I became perturbed when I saw her. Frankly, my rage is really my anger at myself. How could I have been so stupid as to be attracted to that scandalous ho'? In retrospect, I see that I was extremely desperate and lonely. Any babe could have had her way with me. The wild thing was the lure. For guys, sex is all-consuming. It's not a matter of selfish gratification either, as many babes would like to tell us. That's plain rhetoric anyway. They know better. Many babes like the handmaiden use sex to control guys just as there are many guys who just want to score.
Well, it's all water under the bridge. I'm the guy that's left holding the bag. So, I have to deal with it. I am now alone with my hand and some K-Y. My parents are at a vulnerable age. I am penniless. This, my friends, is justice. I ran into Bruce today. His disillusionment with graduate school is providing some impetus to rethink the dubious e-Commerce project. The whole world has gone crazy. Sometimes I wonder about my own sanity. How can I be a monk and be thinking about babes and da wild thing all the time? I'm like a schoolboy gone bad. I really need some input. Should I keep my six-four or get a BMW Z3? What about my Bose Acoustic Wave? What should I do about the babe situation? Can I find a new babe like my new favorite (at right)? Should I just go back to being a good monk? Or, should I go for broke? Heck, I'm broke already.
Tuesday October 12
Remember that babe I saw on the express bus a few weeks ago. She was on the express bus this afternoon. She kind of looks like my new favorite babe (see Monday). For some reason, she kept looking toward the back of the bus where I was sitting. My mind started playing tricks on me. Realizing that I am a mere monk brought me back to reality.
I noticed today that the proliferation of dating and romance articles on the Net are located on those so-called "women's" sites. Interesting, isn't it? The sad part is that there are so many resources for babes about these subjects and there are none specifically tailored toward guys. Babes have codified the whole mating process. It has become a behemoth of confusion. This is the big problem in relationships today and probably at the root of why babes feel that everything is all one-sided. They do all the work to maintain a relationship, the babes contend. Where, pray tell, are guys supposed to learn this material anyway? No one seems to want to educate us and, frankly, why are babes the supposed experts on romance to begin with? These inequities are what spell out the recipe for disaster. That's why I have to check out. I'm a monk and that's all I'll ever be.
You see, I've long ago realized that there are certain guys who babes just abhor. They have a sixth sense about these things. I'm one of those guys. That's why babes do not normally associate with me. Even in the university setting, I find that the guys really like me but the babes are reserved. They keep their distance. It's all for the better, I'm discovering. My lifestyle and my personality preclude babes. I'm one of the "boys." Heck, I am the "boys." Sheesh!
Wednesday October 13
I haven't been able to get out of the funk I've been in since Monday morning. I can barely even make it through a lecture since I just don't feel like talking. Perhaps I've been awaiting a message. That message came in the form of Anonder's journal. September was a particularly interesting month as Anonder found himself in a similar plight as the ol' lavahead concerning the mendicant lifestyle. Anonder forced himself to give up the luxuries such as his beloved sausage-shaped sofa and his bed, opting to sleep on the floor. He also divested himself of his dining room set, choosing to eat while standing up. This is exactly the lifestyle I lived at the Roach Motel. He lamented:
There is something about the popular notions of "abundance" and "luxury" that produce in me the exact opposite feelings -- "deprived" is how I feel amidst luxury. I feel deprived when eating the rich food served at expensive restaurants, instead of my usual plain fare of oatmeal, lentils, steamed broccoli, sardines packed in water, and candy bars. I feel deprived when living in a large one-bedroom apartment with magnificent view, instead of in an efficiency with no view.
Further, he states:
If I ever found myself in a situation where numerous attractive women wanted to have sex with me, I would probably feel more deprived than I feel now with no lovers. In other words, I'm an ascetic and nothing irks me more than to be deprived of my natural ascetic lifestyle. Why? Should I worry about being an ascetic? Should I try to change?
Appropriately, I am listening to "King of My Castle" by Wamdue Project on NetRadio House as we speak. I love House music more than Smooth Jazz now. Many of the tunes are jazzy but also fairly upbeat and snappy. Anonder described some of his conversations and confrontations with Helen. I laughed as I read most it, and not because it was extremely funny. Anonder has captured the true essence of conversations with babes. These are the kinds of conversations that I had with the handmaiden. The verbal and mental chess game are obvious. I do not think that most babes do this intentionally. It happens when their emotions take over. Then, they all seem to react in a very similar fashion. I could feel myself tense up and become frustrated at just reading the dialog.
I have become more involved in the lives of the authors of three on-line journals that I read. I have never done this before. There is an interesting camaraderie that has resulted. However, I am beginning to wonder whether we have somehow affected each other by the words we have written. I was particularly astounded by Anonder's call to asceticism. That call beckons me now even though I am already poor. And, what of the distant Net relationships of both Lizbeth and Hermit? There are some strange parallels to my own history. Hermit is now seriously contemplating a trip to Europe to meet and woo the Enchantress at her bequest.
There are adventures to be lived and my counterparts are traveling those roads. I am in stasis. The call for another adventure beckons me as well but there is none to be found. Anonder may be off to Reno to seek an ascetic existence in the land of hedonistic opulence. Where will I be? Here. With my [copulating] computer and my hand. And, what about babes? Babes. Do I need a babe? A Z3? A life? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaaa!
To be continued ... Go to R.11
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