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Just when you thought things couldn't get crazier ... now the guy who lived below The Loser Living Upstairs gets his own show.
 

The Excruciating History

I was born a virgin 41 years ago. It was not until I was about twenty or so that I realized that I really was a virgin. I was a late bloomer, so to speak. I was about forty when I realized that babes existed. "Where have I been all these years?" I ask myself now almost daily. I am likened to the The Fugitive in a sense. I am on the lam, trying desperately to find the elusive one-armed doughboy who has the answer. Metaphorically speaking, the shadowy, dreamlike silhouette of doughboy represents my struggle between my ignorance and my libidinous desires. But, the question is, desires for what?

Monday June 12, 1995

I woke up in a cold sweat again. It's happening again, I thought to myself. The nightmares, the chills, the screaming ... it's all coming back again. I quickly get up and log on my computer. My trusty computer, and my beloved AIX account. Nothing could placate a troubled man more than reading alt.fan.rodney (as in Dangerfield) and I ... I was a troubled man. Perhaps it is because my neighbor (and I use the term loosely) has left for the summer. Perhaps you know him. He used to live upstairs. Virginity can really affect a man. I made a pot of coffee and as I sat reading the newsgroups, I felt flushed and feelings of extreme anxiety overcame me. Unlike my buddy, however, I did not feel compelled to engage in activities involving the chicken. I knew, though, that it was another virginity attack. It took pretty much the rest of the day and an old calculus textbook for me to regain my composure. I went to the gym today. As usual, babes were running amuck in there and all I knew was that I was confused. I tried to work out, but there were too many distractions. I had to leave this insanity, and returned to the Roach Motel. I needed a drink, but I am on the wagon. My nerves are shot. Damnit! I tried to see if pacing in a circle would help. What kind of idiot would pace around in a circle anyway? Okay, we know who would. Well, I figured that I might as well log on. It's going to be a long night and a long summer.

You know, I've always been invisible to babes. It just dawned on me when I was at the gym today. I was in one of those step classes with some of the guys. I noticed that all the babes were talking and flirting with them, but I was totally invisible. Come to think of it, that is the same phenomenon that occurs in my classes. I am in one of those programs that has mostly babes. I am totally invisible there, too. But, let's get back to the step class now, shall we? I finished the class and walked into the weight room. The guys were in the class talking to all the babes for about half-an-hour. Then, it occurred to me ... I was meant to be an eunuch. This is Social Darwinism in action (not that I believe in that). I am not sure whether to be elated or perturbed by this discovery. I know one thing for sure ... I am going to have to become a monk!

Then, it occurred to me ... I was meant to be an eunuch.

I have never dated a babe, no less talked to one beyond "Excuse me, can you tell me where the mission is?" And even then, they first look around before realizing that I am the only one there so it was I who asked the question. I am totally invisible to babes. I notice that when they walk by me, their eyes are focused straight ahead. They see right through me, and sometimes they step on my feet because they did not know I was in front of them. They pass by and immediately recognize some stud like The Bull and then the Ice Princesses melt into some demure persona. I definitely have to get in touch with the monks. I just hope I am not rejected by them. Can you imagine being rejected from becoming a monk? But, back to the concept of invisibility. Last week I was in one of those step classes at the gym. The class hadn't started yet, and I was standing by my step. The instructor came over and asked if anybody was using the step I was standing next to. I said I was. She did not even hear me and started putting my step away. I grabbed the step before she could take it away. Startled by this, the instructor blurted out, "Oh! I didn't see you there!" After the class was over, The Bull was giving massages to the babes. They were lined up to get a massage! I had to slink around the line to make my way out of the room. Sheesh! Why didn't I just stay home and log on my computer?

What is the wild thing? And, how wild is the wild thing? These are questions that virgins usually want to know. I certainly don't know. There is an odd stigma attached to being a virgin, no less being a 41-year-old virgin. Some have mentioned that they can easily spot a virgin. Now, how does that work? Virginity has to do with the wild thing. No wild thing equals virgin. Wild thing equals a whole new life. Or so I have been told. How about no wild thing equals monk? Being a monk means no wild thing forever. That sounds good to me. So, I contacted The Monastery and indicated my interest to become a monk. Naturally, the monks were excited at adding to their numbers. The life of a 41-year-old virgin is very boring as you can well see. It is the same old thing everyday. Wake up. Drink coffee. Read e-mail. (I had to put myself on some of those Listserv things just to get mail. There is nothing more pathetic than to log on and see the old "No mail" message.) Read newsgroups. (Although humorous at times, these newsgroups are getting to be all the same. One way or the other the wild thing comes up. Is that all people think about? Even computer nerds are obsessed with the wild thing.) Eat lunch. Lapse into a coma. Come to. Go to the gym. Listen to nonsense. Return to Roach Motel. Eat dinner. Log on for no particular reason. Reflect on being a 41-year-old virgin. Then, lapse into a real coma. Does not being a virgin change this? Will I log on less? Will I not lapse into a coma? Will I read all the newsgroups with a renewed vigor? Will I anticipate listening to the nonsense at the gym? And, what if I had a babe? Will that change the big picture? It boggles the mind, doesn't it?

I'm a regular guy in a loser's body! It is hard to believe that life is based on appearance, but it's true. A winner looks like a winner and a loser is hopeless. Virginity is a function of looks, too, as I have come to find out. The vast opportunities that always come up for studs like The Bull occur in significantly less frequency for regular guys and may occur once in a lifetime for losers. What about if no opportunity comes up in 41 years? Well, let's face it, nothing's going to happen. The best thing to do is fade into the woodwork. That won't be hard for me. I'm already invisible. There is a consolation, however. Losers are everywhere, but they try to fade into the woodwork, too. So, if I was out on the town I doubt that I'd see any of them hanging out at any of the watering holes talking to babes. The losers are most likely at home, like me, watching the pathetic lineup of loser programs on the tube such as Incredible Bloopers, or something like that. Network producers know what losers and virgins want on a Friday night!

Computer withdrawal! This site was down for a day and I have already experienced computer withdrawal. Another day of that and I would have been on the floor in convulsions. Then, 9-1-1! The paramedics would arrive and have to rub some diodes, capacitors and TTL on my face and chest to revive me. I have been hanging out with my homeys, The Bull and the Bishop, in the last few days. The Bull has so many babes after him it is unbelievable. After all, he has told us that several babes have told him that he has the "most perfect physique in the gym." No wonder I don't feel like working out any more. There's no sense. The Bull has another of the top-five babes after him, and she is making all the moves! He has got it goin' on! How does he do it? That is a rhetorical question, however. I had no other recourse but to log on. I foolishly kicked the phone that I carelessly left on the floor as I made my way across the room to get something. The cheap receiver flew off the hook, and I had to hang it up and run back to the computer to see if I terminated my connection. "That cheap phone," I muttered to myself, even though the connection was intact. The primal level of virginity has surfaced. I have now transferred and focused that energy on a cheap $9 phone, which by the way, was not the cause of a possible modem interruption. Rather, it was my own stupidity. I could use a cigarette right now.

I am sure that I was meant to be a monk. I have noticed the quiet existence I have. Contrast that to my other neighbors at the Roach Motel. People are always slamming doors and stomping around. They are constantly throwing things around. Every move is a statement saying, "I am here!" Perhaps it's because my nerves are shot, but I move in silence. Even the act of closing a cupboard door is done in total silence. The Roach tenants slam the cupboard doors. I guess this insures that the door is shut good. I notice that guys do this more than babes, but I could be wrong. It's a macho thing, and it is also a basic symptom of the deeper frustration that covertly tugs at the psyche of every male, virgin or not. The frustration manifests itself in other forms, usually an uncanny inability to remain still. Thus, the frustrated male is engaged in endless displacement gestures as he awaits the consummation that will restore the testosterone balance. For some, it will be a long wait. The good news is that I will have my interview later this week in the first step to becoming a monk.

I went to the gym later in the afternoon. What a mistake. As usual, I was caught up in all the debauchery, but only as an observer. What else could I be? The Bull continued to woo baby, and he is only a step or two away from winning her over. There was a lot of muttering within the ranks. Well, that's easy to understand since The Bull has shown them all who's boss. I was doing military press when I somehow recalled the incident with my phone. I started laughing, realizing the stupidity of the whole situation. I remember holding the phone. Intrusive thoughts of violence passed through my mind, all because I could have lost my modem connection. I realized what a true loser I am. And, I have the ambiance of the gym to further remind me of that fact. But, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin!

I didn't get much sleep last night because I stupidly drank a whole pot of coffee late in the evening. I staggered into the bathroom this morning. Whoa! My reflection scared me out of my wits! No wonder I don't know any babes! My caffeine-induced insomnia gave me ample time to reflect on my 41 years as a virgin. Yep, 41 years and no babes. It is as if I have been living in my closet all this time. Just me and my coat hangers. My humble, yet pathetic, existence cannot even compare to that of The Loser Living Upstairs, the story that my story replaces this summer. Woe is me! Fortunately, my monk interview comes up later this week. I doubt I will meet any babes by then, eh? That phone thing still haunts me. I am apprehensive knowing full well that I was only a step away from violence. And, for what? All because I tripped over the phone lying on the floor in the middle of the room and almost cut my modem connection. I unplugged the phone. I don't even understand why I have a phone. I can't even remember the last time I had a phone call. Why do I have an answering machine? The tape is still like new. I wonder if it even works. Who would call me? I don't know anyone. I am invisible. I really am surprised that the Roach Motel management did not rent this place from under me. After all, I am invisible. There are times that I begin to wonder if I really exist or if I am somebody's bad dream. Maybe I am some computer geek's artificial intelligence project gone awry. Who's to say? I had another pot of coffee again this evening, so I have many more hours to reflect on many more things. Oh boy.

Well, it's Summer Solstice, and the official beginning of Summer. I cannot even begin to tell you what that means for a 41-year-old virgin. To celebrate this event, I got up and made a pot of coffee. I logged on to see if I had any mail (aside from Listserv fluff). Nope. Well, so much for the celebration. I may have to rent The Lonely Guy tonight. Hard as it may be to believe, I really need to become a monk. I have got to get out of this nonsense before I lose my damned mind. I have no choice but to become a monk, especially when I have to compete with a guy like The Bull. Life is unfair, isn't it? The Bull has got it goin' on. He has the looks, the most perfect physique, the true stud personality, and the babes. I, on the other hand, have nothing. Maybe The Bull is right ... I need to learn my place. That's why we all look up to him, because what he says goes. He can pick and choose from so many babes. How many of you are so fortunate? The most gorgeous babes you will ever see are vying for The Bull's attention. Isn't that something? As for a loser like me, well, it's like the one day I was at the gym working out. A couple of true gym babes were standing nearby. I heard one saying to the other, "You know, every time I come in here, only the ugly guys are here." I looked around and there were just two other guys in the whole place (it was a Sunday afternoon). Maybe Jimbo was on to something. I told him that I wanted to become a monk. He laughed, and said, "You might as well not work out. There's no need to become a buffed-out monk." How right he was! Working out is only an attempt to look good. Looking good is only an attempt to attract babes. A loser cannot attract babes. Therefore, there is no need to work out. It sounds logical to me. Well, there are always advantages to not knowing babes. For one thing, I am not going to be doing the wild thing, so I will not be losing my virginity. This is a real plus when it comes to being a monk.

The second day of Summer. It is a perfect Summer day. All the studs like The Bull will be going to the beach with their babes. The losers and virgins ... well, let's just say that they will try to keep their minds off of babes. I have anxiously awaited this day, a fitting day, for the monk interviews. It is the proverbial fork in the road. Naturally, the decision is an easy one because in one direction I am only an observer, and an invisible one at that. The other direction is a direction of growth. My limited secular experience will definitely serve as an advantage. The concept of invisibility has made that all possible. It still baffles me how that works, but I think that being an eunuch or exhibiting what I call the eunuch-like behavior is at the crux of invisibility. We humans have an uncanny ability to sense impressions of other people. We base that sensory impression on a variety of information that is intuitively processed. Women supposedly are better at this, but I believe that men have the same capability. Men, however, are usually too wrapped up existentially to really be cognizant of the whole process. In the mating game, men are totally preoccupied with displaying their wares. The more reserved or unsure that a man is about doing this, the more likely he is perceived to be inept or eunuch-like by women. Women have no use for eunuchs. If they want an eunuch around, they would be better off with their girlfriends or a computer. At least they would have more in common with other women or the computer serves some purpose. The eunuch, however, serves no purpose in the general scheme of things because the eunuch is biologically dysfunctional.

Realizing this, I reviewed my behavior patterns, and sure enough, I am likened to Commander Data on Star Trek: TNG. That makes sense. Eunuch-like behavior requires the true Data-like personality. Has Data ever displayed his "wares" (outside of emulation)? Does Data walk with a swagger? Does Data do the "chest thrust"? Does Data make the microsecond mating eye contact with babes? I think not. After all, Data is harmless. Women do not like harmless men. If they want a harmless entity around, they'll get a dog.

The monk interview went well, and I am certain to be accepted as a Friar. I had the pleasure of meeting the Abbot. Things were going real good until I went to the gym. During the course of the day, that prick "owner" (language approved by LoserNet in view of situation) got in the Bull's face and mine as well. This prick has a real problem. If I wasn't going to be a monk I would have cracked his head open right then and there. I need to get down on my hands and knees and pray, for these thoughts of transgressions will be my undoing.

I had a difficult time sleeping because of that prick gym "owner." Fortunately, Dr. Psycho, M.F.C.C. was able to provide a useful analysis of the prick. Please find it in your hearts to forgive me for calling him a prick, and for questioning his ownership of the gym. As a future monk, I need to exercise restraint and "turn the other cheek." The Bull was a little upset, too, but he felt more pity for the prick than anything else. All I can say is Lord have mercy on me. The Bull mentioned that the prick was watching him when he was in the company of his babe. Yeah, the prick is probably jealous. I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to yank The Bull's membership because of baby. I went to the gym today, and I can't say that I enjoyed myself. The prick did show up to play his mind games. All I know is that I need to concentrate on becoming a monk. Otherwise, who knows what could happen? There is a kind of force that has built up probably from my 41 years of virginity that, when harnessed, may be far greater than imagined. There are greater issues at play here, but the true nature of the force may be fully transferred to the prick. There really is a need for inner peace. Fortunately, The Bull and the Bishop were around to provide some levity. Naturally, all they could talk about was their babes. But, hey! That sure is more interesting than talking about the prick!

I couldn't sleep very well last night as I began having intrusive violent thoughts about the prick. I could see myself walking into the prick's office and clubbing his head in excess of fifty times, thereby bludgeoning him into the nether world. It was beyond real. I could feel the baton in my grip. The laughter was welling up inside me and there was a feeling of euphoria accompanying the whole scenario. I then envisioned the prick yelling at the aerobics instructor of the class we were in. The prick was badgering her and putting words in her mouth to justify his subsequent yelling and threat to both The Bull and myself. I could see the whole aerobics class watching this spectacle. And, I felt my left eye starting to twitch. For that is how it all happened. The prick needs to pay dearly for what he has done. The prick needs to be punished.

I tried to calm down by vacuuming this place since I have not done that in nine months. I happened to suck up the speaker wires to the loser's entertainment center and screwed up the wires bad. I felt very dizzy and flushed as a tremendous rage overcame me. The phone rang during this fiasco and I did not have the answering machine on. I turned it on to have it answer the phone but it failed to do so. So, I picked up the answering machine and pounded it on the floor repeatedly. I have no idea if it even works anymore. It is all because of the prick! I was so enraged that I was not sure whether I was going to throw one of the appliances through the window. I think I need to get some restraining devices because I almost snapped. It took over four hours before I regained some semblance of composure. Even reading my old calculus book did not help. Now I must spend the rest of this evening in contemplation.

I missed the hike with some gym people. After the incident with the prick, I just did not want to see any gym people. I am taking the weekend off from the gym, too, to avoid the possibility of seeing the prick. I feel bad about the hike, although there will be some gym babes there. I found out that one of them is very vocal about her dislike of the ol' virgin. As it turns out, she is not in the minority. For some reason I have not been entirely invisible. I know of two other guys who I thought were equally invisible. The babes absolutely do not notice them, and the babes do not hate them either. I should be so fortunate. I think the answer lies in the fact that those guys do not talk to anyone. I have a little more of a higher profile amongst the guys, and it must be conspicuous. My gender-specific public relations must be apparent to the babes, and they must conclude that I am some kind of pervert or misogynist like the prick. Woe is me! The whole situation is a can of worms. I also decided to remove myself from all the Listserv nonsense. I cannot deal with that extraneous noise right now because my nerves are shot!

After the incident with the prick and upon further reviewing my invisibility, I have decided to go deep, deep undercover. I am looking forward to my indoctrination as a monk, which happens later this week. However, in contemplation I have discovered the dark side (not like Star Wars) of my persona, a nefarious side that appears to lurk and wait for an opportune moment to reveal itself. It is the evil that lurks within, and now I have come to see how weak I really am. Even my virginity came into question, and I began to sense a force ... a presence, if you will ... that I have never felt before. The floodgates have burst open. I have been swept up in the torrential currents. The anger, the rage, is what has caused all of this. It is the prick who is ultimately responsible. The Bull and the Bishop were at the gym yesterday. The Bull and I have been talking to quite a few people who have had a similar experience with the prick. Of course, once The Bull saw his babe, he forgot about the prick. Both The Bull and the Bishop were getting a lot of play in the step class. I, on the other hand, was my usual invisible self.

Life just doesn't get much better for a 41-year-old virgin than just waking up in the morning. I am already a monk as far as I can tell. The highlight of the day was being at the gym and seeing the prick. He made several attempts at conversation but that had to be avoided at all costs. I have mastered the most courteous responses I will offer the prick. These include "Yeah, okay" and "Yeah, right." The Bull's babe showed up, and that was the last we saw of The Bull. The idiocy just continues and continues. There is no question that I have to break out the shades. This will be my final step to invisibility. The shades are very important because it prohibits any external eye contact. As one's eyes are hidden from view, so is one's soul. Yes, shades ... the greatest invention of all time!

I was expecting the prick to be hanging around trying to test my patience, but I guess he gave up with that crap. The Bull did not show up today because he knew that his babe was not going to be at the gym today. It must be nice to have one of the top-five gym babes after you, not to mention the other top-four. Some guys have it, while some others were meant to be monks. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's because of the prick, but I have noticed that there are some real babes out there. I never noticed them before which, it turns out, was a blessing in disguise. I can't have any of these babes. I'm a loser! Babes only want hunks like The Bull. Yes, The Bull. He has it all ... the most perfect physique, the looks, the personality, and he's also Big Money Grip. He's a financial wizard, and he's made millions in the stock market and he's not even twenty-five! I drive a beat-up 1964 Chevy Nova (my six-four), and I live in the Roach Motel. Ugly is a compliment to me! And, my personality ... well, I have seen more exciting stones. Speaking of stones, this brings up my trademark ... the stoneface. Have you seen those big stone heads sticking up all over the place on Easter Island? I swear somebody used my head as the model. I wish I knew which one of the natives to sue! All I got goin' on is the rent! When a loser starts thinking about babes, only one thing can happen. Drinking binge? Close. Actually chronic depression comes to mind. It is so much easier to be in the euphoric virtual-life of the Internet. I can see things I have never seen before without having to take the risk of being there. No laughter. No ridicule. If I want to participate (delurk) I can, and nobody will make a judgment about me unless I write something stupid. Many losers are tempted to act like studs in an environment that shields them from view. I find no entertainment in that nonsense. It is nice to be a real person, an equal, for once. I am thankful for that. It is nice that there are very few babes on the Net, otherwise we would see the same kind of stupidity we see in real life ... fools trying to flex their (cyber)muscles. Jees! Give me a break!

I swear somebody used my head as the model. I wish I knew which one of the natives to sue!

Another day and another dollar ... short. Today is the one-week anniversary of the incident with the prick. I thought nothing would happen since I have been avoiding him like the plague. Well, I was wrong. In the course of about fifteen minutes I was kicked out from the gym for "having an attitude." Then, I was back in again. I do not know what is going on and the gym is the last place I need this crap. I pay for this treatment. Isn't that something? I could rant and rave about the situation, but who really cares? The real issue is being a 41-year-old virgin. I would assume that I could have taken everything in stride and that there would have been no problem if it had not been for the tensions involving 41 years of virginity. There is an unstable core ready to blow. I am using every bit of energy I have left to control the violence that is rapidly building. As I am on the wagon, I must try to vent this force in an alternative manner. However, it is not working. I feel as if I am being consumed by another entity. Perhaps I will not make a good monk. Maybe I need a babe. Maybe I need a cigarette. Or, maybe I need a life!

I had to postpone my initiation into the brotherhood of monks, mainly because of my inability to purge the rage within. I also began to realize my mortality and the fact that at forty-one I have done nothing. Worst yet, I know no babes. It is a totally alien situation to me. I couldn't sleep last night, and I ended up logging on at 4am. After an hour of fun, I tried to hit the sack. I must have gotten about three hours, so I was only half as delirious as I expected to be. Perhaps I should have pulled an all-nighter. Now, I am engaged in some kind of weird introspection in an attempt to figure out why I know no babes. Somebody once told me that there's someone for everyone, but I think I just found the exception to the rule. In the course of my 41 years I have not known one babe. Everyone I know knows babes. Sometimes the babes initiated the process! That has never happened to me. Well, there's no question that I'm on the right track insofar as becoming a novice monk. Do you know anybody (aside from me) that babes find repulsive? Probably not. Even the most repulsive guys know babes. I am beyond repulsive. Well, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin!

Upon a recommendation, I viewed The Name of the Rose last night, a very interesting who-done-it set in a 10th century monastery. I hope that kind of debauchery does not occur when I become a full-fledged monk! I went to the gym today, although I was somewhat reluctant at first. I figured that it would be quiet there since this is a holiday weekend. Two aerobics instructors from the valley came in to work out. They were here for the day to go to the beach. They took the class I was in. Whew! I could never have babes that looked like those two babes. Naturally, they did not even notice my pathetic presence. I remember thinking that it was a good thing The Bull was not there, otherwise they would have been giving him a lot of play. Isn't that something? Maybe getting kicked out of the gym would have been a blessing! Then, I could just stay here at the Roach Motel and never have to see babes like those two. I wonder what other losers think when they see babes like that. Do they get depressed? Do they get mad knowing that they could never have that? Do they want to become monks?

You know, I was sitting here at the Roach Motel wondering how one talks to babes. You see, I really have never had a real conversation with any babe. What does one talk about with babes? What does one say to babes? It is all rather rhetorical anyway. I'm pretty sure that babes are sizing up a guy when they talk with him. They have no time to waste on losers because there is nothing to be gained. Well, that makes sense! That's why I know no babes! Perhaps a good personality would compensate for looks. Unfortunately, I don't even have a personality. I truly am a boring guy. Babes do not like boring and ugly guys. That means I am also a social outcast. Things are not looking too good for the ol' virgin. Jeees! No wonder I can't even get a job. Who would hire me? Sometimes I have to laugh because I cannot even believe that someone like me really exists. Then again, maybe I don't.

I just finished eating a whole half-gallon of marble fudge ice cream. That will be the extent of my 4th of July celebration as I will be here at the Roach Motel all day tomorrow. Everyone else has somewhere to go and something to do, that is, everyone except the 41-Year-old virgin. Some of the guys at the gym were making fun of the 41-year-old virgin. I guess they do not realize the plight of such a stigma. The Bull was making significant headway with his new babe, as can be expected. Babes love guys like The Bull. He's got it goin' on! Babes want fun, excitement, and everything else. They have no time for losers. That is why I will be logged on most of the day tomorrow. I could not even imagine a day when I do not have my beloved AIX account. What would I do then? I guess that is why I must accept my lot in life and become a monk. Yet, I still feel those pangs of desire and temptation. What a fool I am! Every time I see those gorgeous gym babes, the very ones who fight over The Bull, I wonder to myself what it would be like to have a babe. It is the biology that is within all humans that tugs at my psyche and my sanity. It is unfair that true losers like the ol' virgin are given that biology, only to suffer in torment of unfulfillment. The biology is the hardest to fight. It becomes an issue of mind over matter. But, realistically, what are the alternatives? There are none except to go out and make a true idiot of oneself. Can you imagine what a babe would be thinking when approached by a loser? Can you fathom the repulsion that babe will be experiencing? Good Lord, it is so much easier to accept one's lot in life. Windows Solitaire is not all that bad, come to think of it. Maybe I should just forget about being a monk and collect hurdy-gurdies. Then, I can watch them, fantasize about those babes and pull the pud. Yeah! Pull the pud! That is as close as I'll ever get to doing the wild thing. Maybe in a few years virtual reality will make it all even more realistic. There is hope after all!

It is a beautiful day, and I am logged on to my AIX account. I have been retyping every other word, as I am having a transposition problem. I notice, too, that I have been choking (not the chicken) randomly for no reason at all. This has been increasing within the last month or so. It is yet another sign of being a loser. I have also been giving some thought to shaving my head. "Is it a monk thing?" I mutter to myself. Shaving my head would definitely make me an outsider. But then, I've always been on the outside looking in. That is what I am, an observer. I am the perfect observer because I introduce nothing to the system. I have beat the Heisenberg uncertainty principle! Being an observer is nothing different from me living my so-called life or watching the tube. At least with the tube, I can change the channel ... errr ... I only get one channel. I guess the tube and my life are the same. That's funny because babes on the tube are like babes in real life. They are all around but they do not know that I exist. Now, where's that razor ...

The Bull is on his way to the East Coast, but prior to his departure he mentioned that he may have blown it with baby. What? This is unheard of! Sure enough, I noticed that he and baby were not doing much together. Well, baby is a babe. I guess even The Bull could choke, given what a babe she is. Speaking of choking, I ran a few errands after the gym. I went to Starbuck's to buy a pound of coffee, and as I walked in I immediately noticed that the one Starbuck's babe was working. She was helping some customers at one end of the counter. Fortunately, I had to stand in line and there was someone else working there. I had one set of people ahead of me. My counterperson was making a coffee drink. Baby had just finished with her customer and she was fiddling around with the coffee machine. I thought she was going to help the people ahead of me. My counterperson came back to help them. Then, baby was done fiddling with the coffee machine and came over to help me. I forgot what I was going to order. Like a fool, I was babbling about a pound of coffee but my mind went blank about what kind of coffee after I saw baby's blue eyes. And, she had on this bright lipstick. She was all dolled up. Good lord! What a babe! Then, she went over to grind the coffee after I randomly picked one. Baby was wearing some little shorts, and it was then that I knew that there was some sinister force toying with my sanity. A loser/virgin need not see this. There is no question that I have put off becoming a monk too long. I need to snap into action. All I know is that the Starbuck's babe puts almost all of the gym babes to shame. Kick a man when he's down!

As I sat and read the newsgroups with my cup of coffee, I realized that this was the coffee that baby at Starbuck's ground up. I will save the package forever. Just kidding! I have become a little worried as I have been too easily distracted of late. I watched Much Ado About Nothing last night, obviously in an attempt to further procrastinate from my real work. As it turns out, this film was a Shakespearean romantic comedy. It only served to remind me of how much we are inundated with romance themes. No wonder being a loser/virgin creates so much anxiety. As with the other underprivileged of society, we are left feeling like degenerates. And, this explains why people are always running around frantically trying to pair up with someone. The media tugs at our senses and induces a craving that longs for fulfillment, but most people are still emotional infants. That is why, beyond the wild thing, I don't think people know exactly why they want a relationship. The biology is the hardest part, be it physical or sexual attraction. Both are manifested in infatuation and limerance through extremely strong feelings that overload the senses and create a composite sense of euphoria and anxiety. It is a strange feeling that moves people to do some crazy things. Perhaps, it is best to be an eunuch!

I have finally come to my senses after having that slight lapse into the realm of stupidity the other day. The Cardinal and I found ourselves at Starbuck's last night and baby was working there. Fortunately, I am once again an eunuch. We were discussing the gym, naturally, and in the course of our conversation I began to realize what a steamy cauldron of lust the gym really is. I am beginning to realize what is going on all around me. Perhaps that is because I have just started wearing my dork glasses in there. I'm going to have to switch to the shades very soon. As it stands, my nerves are completely shot. It's time for me to go into seclusion, at least until Monday. Actually, what is the difference from when I'm not in seclusion?

I have basically spent all weekend in my closet, although I cannot say that I am refreshed. The time did not produce any fruitful results. However, I can say now that I am truly ready to make my monastic commitment. I contacted the monks and have scheduled my initiation. The time has come. That will mean an end to gym life, and an end to this pathetic account of an equally pathetic lifestyle. There is a sense of relief and denouement, but there is also a sense of defeat. A 41-year-old virgin's life is one of tragic comedy at best. The popularity of such an account is a painful reminder to all that live it and further substantiates the maintenance of denial. It is in silence that we walk, shrouded from public view by our own insignificance.

After spending another evening with the boys, I was slowly beginning to realize the futility of continuing in this lifestyle. Basically, after three hours of talking about babes, I felt fatigued, not because I am a 41-year-old virgin, but over the sheer vanity of life as we know it. There is no meaning to life except to fulfill our primal needs (read: desires). We spend countless portions of our lives in pursuit of experiences that will offset our mortality. Whether it be the saga of a neighbor who is inconsiderate or bemoaning one's virginity, the true vanity of it all remains the underlying theme. Yet, it is this garbage that leads to self-discovery. Do I care if I lose my virginity? Actually, does it even matter? Sometimes I think chasing babes has more to do with impressing other guys than anything else. And, for some people it is a useless venture. I remember when I was out on the town a few times. Some friends and I went to the club. It was wild. There were babes everywhere. The babes were running around, and they were even asking the guys to dance. I was standing at the wall with my friends and all the other guys. Babes were running up and asking all the guys to dance ... well, not all the guys. Soon I realized that I was the only one left by the wall. I immediately slinked over to a dark corner. It was nothing short of pathetic. That's why I don't go out any more. I don't need other people to remind me that I am a loser. Sheesh!

How much longer can I keep up with this charade? There are far more important issues than babes that need to be addressed. It really goes to show you where a lot of people are at. In a way, I don't blame them. Mortality drives a person to impulsively seek gratification. The more gratification, as the logic goes, the more satisfaction. It seems to be more of a diversionary technique. Elements of hierarchy come into play, as it usually does, to preclude the unworthy ones. So, what are the unworthy left with? Most likely they are like me. I spend time picking hairs out of the fabric of my sofa. This is a great time killer, by the way. Laugh, if you will, but think about it. This is no worse than drinking, and it is more productive than chasing babes.

My long-awaited monk initiation happened today, and it is a real feeling of rebirth. I have already put everything I own (which wasn't much) up for sale. Material things mean nothing to a monk. I must go into seclusion for a few days to contemplate. Then, I must separate myself from the secular world. It is a great moment, and I anticipate being a part of society where only spirituality matters. Who needs all this nonsense? The material world is the ultimate "ball and chain." Even these words serve as a pathetic prison of the mind. Now, off I go! Hiho! Hiho! Heehee! Ha! Ha! Haaaaa!

So, off he went into the nether world of eunuchs, never to be seen again. No one noticed his inconspicuous absence. Life goes on ... WAIT! He's back! What's going on here?

Monday July 18

Unfortunately I jumped the gun. I thought that I was to commence my residency at The Monastery this past weekend. In the excitement, I foolishly neglected to read my paperwork which states that I will not be in residency until September. There is some embarrassment associated with this idiocy. So, I must now return to my secular life once again for at least another month. My head is held low as I realize how I must return to my previous status as loser/virgin. So, what better way to raise one's spirits than to go to the gym. It was like I never left (well, it has been only four days). The minute that I walked in, I was already inundated with the latest concerning The Bull. Apparently, an informed source mentioned that The Bull's new love interest is already seeing someone. Whoa! Turns out it's the Channel Three weatherman. The Bull, of course, does not believe any of this. However, I think he's met his match. Baby is just too quick for him. I'm glad it's him and not me. I have to watch my homey's place for a few days and he has cable so I am going to have to check out this weatherman guy. And, I am going to have to get back into the swing of things as the 41-year-old virgin. That means I have to log on and update all this nonsense. Damnit! Why couldn't I have just become a monk right away already?

The Bull has still been working on baby even though he already has been told that she has a stud. He justified his actions because baby has never told him she has a stud. He asked about the weatherman, if you can believe it, and according to him she said that he was "just some guy." Baby is smooth, far smoother than The Bull, I'm afraid. The Bull just cannot accept the fact that his time has come and gone. We all went to the step class and The Bull kept his distance through the class, no doubt testing her to see if she's still interested. She went over to talk to him, which was the red cape for The Bull. He went and sat next to her during the floor work. I left class immediately after. I could hardly wait to get back to the Roach Motel and log on.

Something strange must have happened last night after I left the gym. The Bull is acting strangely. When I asked about his babe, he just said, "I took care of business. There's nothing there." Something is really wrong here. He also mentioned that baby was going out on a date tonight with her boyfriend. I assumed that it was the weatherman. What brought on this sudden touch of reality? I go into seclusion for a few days and things just go to hell in a handbasket! I mean, I don't have much say in what goes on. Well, hey! I'm a loser! But, I was surprised to see things degenerate so quickly. There is a lot of muttering going on. All I wish is that I was sitting in the small little room one gets when residing at The Monastery. I will have nothing in there except the Good Book and a candle. That's all I need.

I have opted to go into semi-seclusion. I declined to go over and hang out with the boys as I am somewhat fatigued by the whole situation. Earlier in the day, I decided to put all my possessions (whatever is left) up for sale on a local newsgroup. I have already unplugged both my phone and answering machine. These are up for sale also. My phone line will remain in service but merely to log on to my beloved AIX account. Nothing more, nothing less. Except for the computer, I am now cut off from the world. I am, in effect, a monk or a hermit. I received an offer on my television so I dropped it off on my way to my homey's place. I am not going to miss that evil box. At least I won't be tempted to start up a hurdy-gurdy collection. Ironically, I went to my homey's place and ended up watching the tube because he has cable. I decided that I should watch the Channel Three news so I can see who the weatherman is. Sure enough, he came on at 11:15pm. He had short hair like I do, and his ears were sticking out (with short hair the ears always stick out). What a dork! This is who The Bull lost out to. Oh boy. I laughed for about twenty minutes, then I drove home laughing all the way. For the first time I did not feel like a true 41-year-old virgin. There was some kind of odd redemption in seeing the dork weatherman.

The Bull continues to be adamant about not telling anybody about what transpired between he and baby on Tuesday. All he will say is that "it is over" and "there's nothing there." Something is really fishy, though. After further prompting, he mentioned that she became very teary-eyed after mentioning several boyfriends from the past and somehow she made some statement about how all of us guys are jealous because we can't have her. Nothing made sense about the conversation. Later, one of my sources came by and mentioned that The Bull had told him that he had told baby about the things all the guys (that's us) were saying about her. Now, it was all making sense. Unbelievable as it may seem, The Bull was grasping at straws to save a sinking ship. He thought he could score a few points at our expense. He mentioned that she told him that she had a boyfriend. Duh! Didn't we tell him that earlier? The Bull's reputation now stands tarnished, as he is appearing to be more a fool than a stud. This was the ultimate rookie maneuver. Even I, a 41-year-old virgin, would not have pulled a stupid stunt like that. Sheesh! There was nothing left for me to do but go back into seclusion for the weekend.

Well, it's confirmed. The Bull did pull the rookie maneuver that was described to me on Friday by my source. He felt that it was his duty to tell her about the rumors going on around about her and how derogatory they were. Now, I heard all the stories and not one of them was derogatory. Most were about baby's previous dating history. Baby moves at a fast pace. The Bull apparently did not believe that. It just makes you wonder whether The Bull is really cut out to hold that title. My source said that The Bull's rookie maneuver reminded him of something that a 13-year-old virgin would do. Word spread like wildfire about the incident, and all of us who associate with The Bull were not happy because we were implicated by default. My nerves are already shot, and now I have to deal with this new public relations fiasco. It really is a blessing that I have nothing to do with babes (actually it's vice-versa).

Things have gotten totally out of hand now. The Bull's rookie maneuver is the talk of the town. All of the guys are chastising The Bull because it was such a stupid move. Worst of all, The Bull's allegations have now made all of us suspect for spreading the alleged rumors. One of the guys prompted The Bull to claim that it was I who was the source, and it was I who was spreading the word that his babe was a whore, a prostitute! I exploded in a rage and thereby shattered any and all appearances of being monk-like. The Bull was now blaming me for his demise. No doubt, I, the 41-year-old virgin, was responsible for his inability to get baby. This is when I went ballistic. Call me PsychoVirgin, but I went off for twenty minutes. In the course of that time, I disassociated from The Bull and inadvertently, the Bishop. There was cussing. There were threats. When all was said and done, I was minus two friends and knee-deep in crap. It is a strange thing that occurs when babes unwittingly come between guys. A guy starts doing stupid things to win baby over and jeopardizes friendships in order to score a few points. I also found out that the infamous weatherman was a different guy than I thought. The guy in question is a true stud. The Bull is rapidly fading as the icon of manhood. His mortality is showing. The days of his title are numbered.

Since I have been listening to the Roach Motel residents slamming every conceivable hinged apparatus, I have decided to reciprocate but with much more vigor. I am gradually moving further and further away from the monk personality. It is as if I am being possessed by some evil and nefarious sinister force. The potential for raw violence to be unleashed at any time is a constant fear now. Woe is me! Even the most mundane utensils are subject to possible violent review. I am glad that the computer has never given me problems. I cannot imagine what kind of force would be unleashed and what would be necessary to contain that force once unleashed. Is it the virginity thing, or what? I do not even know.

The public relations fiasco continues and, at this point, all I can do is let it die out on its own. The damage is done both with The Bull and the weatherman's babe, and between a few of the guys. It is amazing to see the strength of the spell that babes have on guys. Men turn into quivering blobs of jelly in the presence of babes. And, when things don't work out, they become raging bulls eager to charge at anything and anyone. The babes have a tremendous advantage in this game, and they play it to the hilt. They need not even acknowledge any guy because deep down they know that the guys will eventually have to come around. Then, all they have to do is pick and choose. Thus, when a stud comes around, it is flirting. When a loser comes around, he is a stalker. Intention is based on baby's perception and the law backs her up. Why don't the babes just save everyone the trouble? They should make all the first moves so that the undesirables will be weeded out. That way they will also save a lot of guys the frustration of being played close, which normally erupts into a public relations fiasco as we have just witnessed right here. It is no wonder why seclusion is such a welcome refuge for me.

I should have become a monk a long time ago. Look at the way I eat. I went for months eating the same thing everyday ... a can of tuna and a bowl of rice. Twice a day. Now I am eating a 69-cent can of Bush's beans and a bowl of rice. I have been eating this every day for about a week now. Maybe I'll go for six months that way. Because of my frugality, I generate very little refuse. All I throw away in a week is enough to fill a small milk carton. Everything else is recycled. No wonder I am a 41-year-old virgin. My little shoebox here in the Roach Motel is just about empty. I have sold almost everything. The rest I will probably give away. The shoebox actually looks pretty big now. What a pathetic mendicant existence I lead! You know, babes are definitely not attracted to this kind of lifestyle. Yet, I have come to realize how pivotal babes are. This has become more obvious to me as I reflect on the events of the last few days. There is a lot of sexual tension in the air. At the gym, I witnessed the same phenomenon that I notice anywhere else there is a large group of mixed singles. There are a lot of fleeting glances. There is a lot of movement. There is occasional eye contact of the "I see you over there so I look away" variety. Then, there is flirting. It is always the males that initiate the conversation, but the babes appear to make themselves available by proximity. Of course, the guys are left to base their impressions of any feigned interest on conjecture. It is a pathetic game. Fortunately (I guess), I am not allowed to participate in this game. Well, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin!

I was rudely awakened by the slamming of cupboard doors around 6am. I got up and kicked the cheap Roach Motel-issue desk into the adjacent wall. Things got pretty quiet after that. It must have been the dream I was having. I had parked my six-four (1964 Chevy Nova) near some happenin' joint. I was doing something nerdish that I cannot recall, but when I came back my six-four was gone. I called the police, and they started hassling me and insinuating that I made up the story. During the hassling, the clown was interrupted by some other clown who told him that my six-four had been found. It was wrecked. That is about the time I heard the slamming doors. Being barely able to discern reality, it was little wonder that I was engorged with rage. It's a good thing I wasn't dreaming about babes. Just kidding.

I was reading alt.support.shyness and it dawned upon me that the majority of what little posts there are concern babes. A guy was commenting on an observation that he had made about other guys. He noticed that most guys are quick to deny that they are even remotely physically attracted to babes, yet their actions betray them. I have noticed that, too. I listen to all the guys talk about the babes that they are interested in and, naturally, they are the best looking babes. I ask about this and they all tell me that looks aren't important, it's baby's personality, what's in her heart, etc. It is merely coincidental that they are true babes. Yeah, right. Everyone is so tuned in to political correctness that it is taboo to confess any primal desires. No wonder a lot of people are screwed up! They hide these desires under a subterfuge of rhetoric. I'm not even sure they are convinced. Just what color is the ol' kettle these days?

I considered going into seclusion again last night, but took a chance by stepping out for a bit. I went to a going away party for a co-worker at one of the watering holes downtown. Much to my surprise it was a very enjoyable evening. Three of us went to Starbuck's for coffee afterwards. My other alternative would have been to sit here at the Roach Motel listening to The Idiots Next Door slamming the cupboard doors. I hope this does not inspire a Web page like The Idiots Next Door. Sheesh! The Cardinal and I had dinner earlier last night, and we discussed the current restructuring of the gym hierarchy that has just occurred, and the newfound alliances that have resulted. It still is unbelievable to me that everything came apart at the seams because of babes, or I should say, the effect babes have on guys. That deserves another "Sheesh!" I kind of wish that I had stayed in last night. I was hoping to go into seclusion but it just was not possible. I could feel a nervous energy brewing. I did all my houseboy chores, but that did little to quell the energy. I had to step out for a couple of hours into the dark of night.

It is the second day of another heatwave. It is not the kind of day a 41-year-old virgin should find himself out and about. There were babes everywhere. I knew I should have gone into seclusion. I did happen to see The (former) Bull's ... err, I mean the weatherman's babe downtown. She was with the weatherman! They went to Starbuck's, and so did I and my homey Tom. Those Mocha Frappuccino drinks are something! Thank goodness the Starbuck's babe wasn't working there. I would have lost my mind. Thank goodness The (former) Bull wasn't there. He would not have liked what he would have seen. I was glad to get back to the Roach Motel so I could log on. Going downtown during a heatwave is a real reality check, I'll tell you. I was really reminded of my invisibility and my virginity. There is not much I can do about any of that, so it's just me and my six-four (1964 Chevy Nova)!

Well, I gave up partying three years ago. I gave up smoking two years ago. I have been sober for about nine months. I stopped playing Lotto about four months ago. I sold my TV although I rarely watched it. I mainly got rid of it because my possession of it represented hypocrisy on my part. I never had to give up babes, however, since I know none. Clean living! That is the essence of a monk's (and a virgin's) life. More disassociations are being invoked as a result of last Tuesday's falling out. This clean living can get to a man, especially if his nerves are shot. When one has to deal with the Roach Motel residents like The Idiots Next Door and their dog, Fido, it would not take much to give in and get hammered. Only two more hours before the liquor stores close. Can I wait it out here by logging on? I sure hope so. I can see myself hopping in my ol' six-four and chugging down to the local Dork-n-Bottle for a forty dog of King Cobra. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya! Since I'm already down, I might as well throw in a good swift kick by bringing up the babe situation because that's what is at the root of the whole problem. It really isn't the fault of the babes. Rather, it is the stupid charade perpetuated by these over-testosteroned idiots all around me. Can't these damned fools zip up their pants and shut up about the babes already? The (former) Bull has been conspicuously absent since the falling out and I don't blame him. I'm about ready to make myself conspicuously absent. Well, it's midnight and I made it! No liquor store. No getting hammered. And, still no babes. Whew! (wiping my brow) That was a close call!

Continue the adventure now ... move on to August!

The Life and Times of a 41-Year-Old Virgin
Starring

41-Year-Old Virgin ... Tralfaz
The Bull of the Gym ... Himself
The Bishop ... Himself
And a cast of thousands.

Original Soundtrack by Foolboy-G
Presented by 41-Year-Old Virgin/Partners in association with JumpStart Productions.

© Copyright 1995 by The 41-Year-Old Virgin.
LoserNet^tm Love It, or Lose It.