Tuesday August 1, 1995
The heatwave continues and I began to suspect
that, perhaps, this is what is causing all the stupidity. Photon emissions
are interfering with post-synaptic functions. I have been a little disappointed
with the non-existent readership of my Web page. It is somewhat disturbing
that a loser pacing around
endlessly is more interesting than the life of a 41-year-old virgin. Maybe
I'd be more popular if I started chasing babes instead of trying to become
a monk. Yeah, that's it! I would chronicle every excruciating and painful
step to ultimate humiliation. Now that's something everyone can relate
to. The problem is: I'm invisible to babes. If I started chasing babes,
I would become visible but only long enough for the crime artist to draw
a composite of me.
Wednesday August 2
The (former) Bull returned to the gym today. The
weatherman's babe was there taking a step class, so you know who else took
the class. The rifts from the falling out last Tuesday continue to grow.
There is a lot of regrouping, but I refuse to participate. I expect to
be ostracized almost completely in a matter of days. I actually do not
care since I now feel free of the stupidity I once was a part of. I am
now clear of all the factions. The real problem is, of course, the babe
situation. Clearly, there is a decline in the number of babes present and
the competition (read: desperation) has reached a fever pitch. However,
when people become prisoners in their own little worlds, they always fail
to see the big picture.
There is nothing like being awakened early in
the morning by idiots like The Idiots Next Door. Mr. Idiot is a dumpy-looking
clown whose voice has only two levels: off and yelling. Mrs. Idiot is his
dumpy sidekick. "Hi! We're the Idiot family and we like to make a lot of
noise so everyone will know that we're both stupid and inconsiderate."
So, with three cupboard doors and four drawers total in the Roach Motel
kitchen, it is an endless slamming soirée. It would be too intelligent
to take everything out at one time. Slamming the shower doors repetitively
is Mrs. Idiot's specialty. Mr. Idiot loves to check the smoke alarm. And,
here's their dog Fido ... "Bark! Bark! Bark!" (translated: "Get me outta
here!") Yes, the Roach Motel is probably an asylum in disguise, although
one would be hard-pressed to find an alternative source of true entertainment.
The Roach Motel is also home to LoserNet! (applause) I decided to take
a more proactive stance in dealing with the public relations fiasco of
last Tuesday. It seems to be working although the damage has already been
done. It becomes obvious that there is only one antagonist (not The Bull
or the Bishop). The best bet is to avoid any more problems and return to
a monk-like state.
Thursday August 3
The county fair opened this week and I wasn't
even aware of that. Not that it matters. There are very few 41-year-old
virgins who attend these kinds of events. Worst of all, I hear that it
is a complete babefest. That's all I need to know! I'll just stay here
at the Roach Motel and listen to the (cupboard door) slammin' soirée,
thank you. In discussing matters further with The (former) Bull, I have
now learned that the one antagonist had fully exploited the situation and
used it to pit us against each other for his own amusement. Fortunately
this crisis is coming to a close and I will be disappearing into obscurity.
So what about the babe situation? I think they (the babes) are all at the
Friday August 4
When I reflect on the stupidity that is chronicled
here, it makes me wonder if life has just become cheap like some sleazy
B-movie. That's all we need now, a 41-year-old virgin waxing philosophic
about life, eh? Let's face it, though, I feel like I'm living at Melrose
Place (minus all the babes). But, hey! I'm an eunuch! A true eunuch
must master the eunuch-like behavior that I discussed a few weeks ago.
That means perfecting the monotone voice, the total lack of facial expression
(stoneface), the rigid posture and robotic movements, and the total absence
of displacement gestures (exaggerated movements). Naturally, if you are
invisible like myself, you need not worry about any of this. The most important
attribute of eunuch-like behavior is the absence of eye contact. It is
essential to never make eye contact for even a microsecond. In a place
like the gym, that would be difficult considering the number of mirrors
around. One could foolishly be gazing in no particular direction, then
suddenly notice that one is inadvertently staring at some babe through
a reflection. If the individual in question is a stud, no problem. But,
if the unwitting perpetrator is a loser, watch out! In these kinds of situations,
it is best to just look at the floor, or better yet, wear some extremely
dark shades. I need to get a pair that are mirrored on the inside.
Saturday August 5
I should have gone into seclusion last night,
but instead I found myself downtown at Starbuck's with V, another homey.
I was planning on staying at the Roach Motel and listening to Bone Thugs-n-Harmony
along with the cupboard door-slammin' soirée mixed in. Anything
would have been better than to be out on a Friday. As it were, Starbuck's
is not immune to the continual babefest that has been going on here. It
was probably more of a babefest there than at some of the local watering
holes. All I can say is that you can run but you can't hide! Sheesh!
Sunday August 6
Have you ever wondered if it was possible to meet
the babe of your dreams at some place like Starbuck's? I mean, here you
are having a good cup of Arabian Mocha Java and across the way is a group
of babes and amongst them is your dream babe. When they leave, you know
that you may never see them again even though they may live somewhere in
town. What do you do? What if you were at Burger King having a Whopper
(your way, of course) when the same thing happens? Or, what if baby works
at Starbuck's? All one can say is, "Awww, krunk!" I bet you thought I stole
that from Conan O'Brian, didn't you? Did you know that krunk is
a rap term? Anyway, where was I? Yes, well, it's a good thing that I'm
going to become a monk.
My homey Tom and I ended up downtown at the Barnes
& Noble Booksellers. This place was jammin' and on a Saturday night,
too! What's going on here? The babes are hanging out at Starbuck's and
Barnes & Noble now? Next they'll be at Ace Hardware. But, hey! Ace
is the place!
I oftentimes wonder what other 41-year-olds are
doing. Are most at home sitting in their recliners in front of the tube?
Some of them are married, I'm sure. Is it a better life than this? Many
may argue that the life of a 41-year-old virgin is about as exciting as
watching paint dry. I have to agree. But, there is something mystical about
the drying process of paint. It is the same kind of gestalt that one
experiences when reading, say, a Web journal. Most life experiences are
mundane, not unlike that of a monk.
It is how we color those experiences that determines
its value and effervescence. Five years ago, I kept a hardcopy journal called
the Homer Notebook, aptly named because I pasted Homer Simpson on the front.
It chronicled a less subdued lifestyle which included endless partying
and babes ... wait a minute ... well, it's all water under the bridge now.
The Homer Notebook is gone. It ended up in the recycler when I decided
that my call in life was to become a monk. Yet, oddly, this past week I
must admit that, in my weakness, I was entertaining the return of that
lifestyle, partly because of the falling out that occurred a week and a
half ago. Since the reconstruction of my ties with both The (former) Bull
and the Bishop, I have learned that their crazy antics with the babes still
continue. Since the falling out, I keep my thoughts about these matters
to myself. But, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin! Who would listen to me anyway?
Monday August 7
|Well, Summer is almost over. That makes forty-one
Summers that have come and gone. Oh boy. You know, the more I look around,
the more I realize that everybody has got it goin' on. It's almost hilarious
to think that me and that guy who used to pace around for hours are the
only two losers in the whole world. Well, I may be speaking too soon. When
he returns next month, he may surprise us all. What is even more surprising
to me is that I have been thinking less and less like a monk. I have been
influenced by all that is going on around me. I may have actually entertained
thoughts of trying to find a babe. Who am I kidding? I have forgotten too
quickly about my invisibility to babes. I really need to start hanging
out by myself more. For example, after the gym, I went to CJ's (Carl's
Jr.) and sat there drinking a Dr. Pepper and catching up on some reading.
I find that much more enjoyable than hanging out with the homeys. All this
jabbering people are doing is driving me nuts. Most of it is useless gossip.
Frankly, who gives a krunk about what anybody else is doing or who they
are doing? I'm the only one that no one ever talks about. In fact, people
I know don't ever ask me anything. I guess they assume that the life of
a 41-year-old virgin is pretty boring. A few of my homeys have had a few
differences with me concerning the babe situation. The Bishop, for one,
has indicated on several occasions that he disagrees with my modus operandi,
or lack thereof. "Why don't you ever talk to babes?" he asked. What he
doesn't understand is that the situation is out of my locus of control.
I am not the bad guy. It is the babes who don't want me to talk to them.
Can you blame them? I am socially inept, not to mention I don't look like
Brad Pitt. I have about as much finesse as an Holiday Inn ashtray. You
know, people don't realize that there is a reason why I am a 41-year-old
||Frankly, who gives
a krunk about what anybody else is doing or who they are doing?
Tuesday August 8
It gets harder to control the rage everyday as
I move further and further from acceptable monk conduct. Some crazy middle-aged
woman (and I use the term loosely) was tailgating me as I was on my way
to the dentist in my ol' six-four. It was bad enough that I was going to
the dentist. This went on for about two miles until we hit a red light.
I told her to not tailgate me and she gave me some lip. I yelled, "Awwww,
shaddup you old krunk!" It was a good thing that I didn't have a nine (9mm)
on me, or I would have unloaded the clip and given her some air conditioning.
Some of my associates have attributed this rage to (what they term) sexual
frustration. Is it the virgin thing again? Is that what is causing the
problem? That means if I was doing the wild thing frequently, I would be
more placid. I would have a perpetual grin on my face and nothing else
would matter. Of course, if it was Shannon Tweed or Teri Hatcher, well,
I guess I could see that. But you just don't see Easter Island stoneheads
like myself with babes like that. #$@%*!
Another heatwave has hit, and it is a scorcher.
The gym was like a steambath. I went to Starbuck's after that for a hot
cup of coffee, if you can believe it. There were three babes sitting next
to me. They were talking about "the situation." I wanted to tell them
that they really don't know what "the situation" is until they have been
in my situation. But really, I think it's the heat.
Wednesday August 9
Today has turned out to be a much cooler day.
The last few heatwaves have really been a bit much. These are perfect days
for the beach. Beach babes are probably running amuck as we speak. Perhaps,
it is best to stay in at the Roach Motel and log on the computer. Things
have calmed down since the falling out. The (former) Bull tried to relate
the latest news about the homeys and the babes. I remained adamant about
keeping a very safe distance from that stuff. The homeys have been hanging
out together minus the 41-year-old virgin, which has proven to be an ideal
situation. I have noticed an absurd trend lately at the gym ... 40-plus-year-old
guys trying to put the make on 20-year-old babes. At least one of them
has come over to share his techniques and, of course, to boast of his exploits.
They all pretty much have the same modus operandi, and they all
get stupid grins on their faces when they make contact such as giving the
babes a backrub or spotting a set. Since they all know that I am going
to become a monk, they must tell me these things thinking it will suffice
as some kind of confessional. Oh brother. I should just tell them to save
it for the new guys.
Thursday August 10
I really could use a new computer. This one is
just too spartan. What am I talking about? I am going to become a monk!
Anyway, after listening to all that nonsense yesterday about the babes,
I have come to learn, albeit vicariously, that if one is interested in
a babe, one needs to go up and ask baby out almost immediately. This "kicking
the can" around for months on end just doesn't cut it. I'm sure that even
the babes are asking themselves, "When are these clowns going to get on
with it?" My former homeys are just going to have to discover this concept
on their own. I won't have to worry about this myself because I'm a 41-year-old
virgin. As it stands, it looks like I'm going to go into seclusion until
Monday. I'm going to check out my mothball collection in my closet, and
maybe I'll even wax my ol' six-four (1964 Chevy Nova). Actually, let's
forget about waxing my six-four, shall we? It's no mystery, the paint is
Friday August 11
I wanted to go into seclusion today but, as The
Idiots Next Door have a house guest, that makes it impossible. As most
of you know, the Roach Motel rooms are 14x20 (that's feet). Now, the Idiots
have themselves, Fido and a visitor all in that shoebox. Mrs. Idiot gets
up at 4am, but I have to admit she is a lot quieter than when she gets
home. I guess she does not want to disturb Mr. Idiot. Mr. Idiot gets up
later, but since he has a house guest he is in rare form. I'm sure anyone
would be thrilled by a demonstration of the smoke sensor.
I stepped out briefly last night to pick up the
latest (Chef) Raekwon CD and stopped by the market. I ran into another
homey, Manuel. He's got it goin' on! He's planning to retire in a couple
of years, and he has already bought a small ranch in a remote part of New
Mexico that he will be moving to. He'll be living the life of a monk! No
babes! No idiots! Speaking of idiots, I have a feeling that a certain pacing
fool is going to be the upstairs neighbor of The Idiots Next Door. Is life
a comedy, or what? The Idiots have left Fido home alone all day. He has
been barking continuously. Why do they have Fido if they are going to keep
him prisoner in the Roach Motel? Poor Fido.
Saturday August 12
The (former) Bull, the Bishop, the Cardinal and
myself took the funk class today at the gym. Can you guess who was invisible
to all the babes? Speaking of babes, there was a new babe in there today
next to me who is a total babe. She was wearing a very flattering aerobics
outfit. It really made me think about the sheer power babes have over all
guys. We don't even know what hits us. As far as I can tell, it is unidirectional.
Very few guys have the same effect on babes. What is truly sad and unfair
is that losers are not immune from that power. The only thing that losers
like myself can do is to go into seclusion or log on the computer. It's
like the old adage, "what you don't know can't hurt you."
I have been drinking too much coffee. Last night
I had a crazy dream involving a gym babe. All I recall was that she had
just purchased a mansion and I was there for some reason. She was running
around frantically because it was her wedding day, or something like that.
I think that the coffee is affecting my ability to reach REM state. I wish
I had gotten some sleep since The Idiots Next Door were gone. I could have
gotten a good night's sleep for once.
So, who was the gym babe? That kind of opens up
the long lost pages of the Homer Notebook. And, it provides an interesting
twist to the tale of the 41-year-old virgin. She was probably the top gym
babe of the time from what I have been told. She was definitely a babe
... tan, long dark hair, Playmate's body and she wore the most eye-catching
aerobics outfits that enhanced her prominent features even more so. I remember
how I officially met her. I was in the Flat's (Where dreams come true!)
with D and LT, having a few drinks. I saw baby come in with her blonde
babe friend. I should have known that my call was to become a monk because
I said, "Oh no! It's Donna!" Then, I turned to the bar and hunched over
to be inconspicuous. A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned and there was baby smiling with her friend next to her. She then
introduced herself and her friend. I introduced myself and she said, "I
know," meaning that she already knew my name. Well, I already knew her's.
That was about four years ago. We used to pal around, and I remember one
night when we went to Izzy's for dinner. We were having some drinks with
dinner. After a couple of drinks, baby went berserk. There was a table
of clowns next to us. Somehow she started a conversation with them. Within
minutes, we joined them at their table. Baby was wearing some tight jeans
and a skimpy white top. The drinks must have really kicked in because she
started squirming around in her chair. "My bra is pinching me!" she exclaimed
and pulled her top up. She asked me to fix it, so here I was playing with
baby's bra in the middle of a crowded restaurant with three guys at the
table who now looked half-crazed. I was almost sure one of them was going
to jump across the table. Some crazy things were happening back then. But,
that is neither here nor there. What matters is that I am an eunuch!
Sunday August 13
The (former) Bull mentioned to me that the Bishop
and another homey, Hugo, went out on the town recently. They were in search
of babes. I asked The (former) Bull why he didn't go along. He said that
he didn't feel like partying. "Party" was my middle name four years ago.
My group, including my roommates, were out four or five nights a week.
We were on the full party circuit, and we knew plenty of others like us.
It was a drunken, heathen orgy. We all became delirious and fatigued from
lack of sleep. The insanity reached a fever pitch before it almost led
to our ultimate demise. The gym was another crazy place. Babes were running
amuck back then, and I was one of the unwitting pawns in the whole game.
I also was one of the few guys that took the aerobics classes. Then came
the cardio-funk dance aerobics craze. I used to have happy hour every day
before going to the gym, especially before funk class, to insure that I
was sufficiently "loosened up" to do those crazy dance moves. Little did I
know that this class would determine the course of my sordid history and
reduce me to the eunuch I am today.
The Return of the Homer Notebook continues. I
remember that I first noticed that babe, Clare, in the funk class. What
a babe! She had long, brownish-red hair that she tied back during class,
fair skin, Playmate's body ... I found out that she lived in the same apartment
complex I did when she walked out of the office when I was going in. She
didn't even notice me. The next day in the gym, just before the funk class,
she came up to me and said that she saw that we lived in the same complex,
and then she asked if I wanted to carpool to the gym. I agreed! Unfortunately,
baby never showed up on time so the carpool never materialized. About three
months later in March, she asked me if I wanted to carpool again. Due to
some other crazy nonsense going on (I should never have reopened the Homer
Notebook), I welcomed this opportunity. We started carpooling almost every
day. Of course, a lot of people thought that something was going on, which
is what I was hoping for given the other crazy nonsense. One day, however,
I realized that I was playing with fire. I remember talking on the phone
with baby and she was telling me about some guy she used to see or something
like that. I told her, "You need to find a new stud, a nice stud." Then,
she replied, "I already have. You." Well, that was an interesting answer.
It was interesting enough to snap me out of the coma I was in. Here I was,
some 36-year-old lavahead, having a conversation like that with a 21-year-old
babe. My mind really started playing tricks with me when I would be talking
with baby on the phone and she would be laughing and describing some coffee
mug that she was drinking from that had rabbits doing the wild thing all
over it. She claimed that the babe who lived there before her had left
it behind. The mug came up again in several conversations. But really,
who was I kidding here? Myself?
Well, the cat is out of the bag, so to speak.
So, what is all this nonsense about a 41-year-old virgin? Am I really 41
years old? Am I really a virgin? Am I really invisible to babes? Sometimes
the bridge between fantasy and reality is a short one indeed.
Today was a quiet day at the gym. My homey Matt
showed up. He's a dad as of last week! As I told him, I won't ever have
to worry about being in that situation. I was working out doing some miscellaneous
sets before the step class when some babe walked over to where I was, then
walked away suspiciously. I recognized her from four years ago (the Homer
Notebook years). Strange things. What was she doing here? She was the friend
of another gym babe who will further add some interesting twists as the
tale of the 41-year-old virgin continues to unfold.
Monday August 14
As you can tell, the ol' virgin loves to write.
However, I just cannot seem to get around to working on several important
papers. People become fixated with composing diaries and chronicles because
it is like some kind of internal dialogue. It is a warning sign that we
have become a world of too much small talk. We all have pressing issues
but we don't know where to take them.
Tuesday August 15
Perhaps that is why everyone appears so desperate
to be in a relationship. My homeys are always lamenting about not having
any babes. Yet, I don't think they even know why they want babes. I can
only guess that we all spend so much time talking at people that
we derive no sense of understanding. Therefore, we seek the elusive relationship
so we don't have to be lonely anymore. Speaking of lonely, poor Fido has
been home alone for three days. Someone comes by everyday to feed him but,
for the most part, Fido spends all day in that shoebox. In fact, Fido spent
most of last night barking, or should I say, howling. Fido must be very
sad. You really have to hand it to Fido's owners, The Idiots.
The (former) Bull, the Cardinal and I went out
to dinner at an all-you-can-eat Chinese place. The (former) Bull has taken
a whole new position concerning babes. I think he wants to become a monk!
The Cardinal attempted to bait him about the babes, but The (former) Bull
just said, "I don't need that (the babes) any more." He was beginning to
sound a lot like me. I must admit that he did remain firm in his position,
but I'm still a little skeptical. One of the local colleges starts up next
week and there will be a plethora of new babes. We'll see how well he's
faring then. We ended up at Starbuck's for coffee and the one Starbuck's
babe was working there. It's a good thing I'm an eunuch! There were some
strange things going on with a few of the babes that were in there. Lots
of fleeting glances in our direction. I knew that they were most likely
checking out The (former) Bull and the Cardinal as I am invisible. A couple
of the babes did some strange maneuvering around us. Whenever I see these
things I always remember what Donna told me once, "Women never do anything
for no reason at all." Fortunately, my residency at The Monastery commences
next month. I want to get out of this asylum ASAP!
I have noticed that I have been rambling on incessantly
here for days. I think I am overdue in going into seclusion. Too much coffee
has led to sleep deprivation, which has contributed to my delirium. The
Idiots must have returned last night. There was a minor door-slammin' soirée
this morning. Well, at least Fido will be happy. The (former) Bull has
really surprised me with his total turnaround concerning the babe situation.
The weatherman's babe must have been the straw that broke the camel's back.
I don't blame him. Babes like the weatherman's babe move too quickly. That
is the way it is for most of the babes my homeys talk about. These babes
go through boyfriends like facial tissues. What is really amusing is how
these babes continue to dog out all guys for being players, yet they (the
babes) see more action than any of the guys I know of. Sheesh! Then, there
are the guys that see no action, the 41-year-old virgins, like myself.
None of it makes any sense, yet that is how the system operates. It becomes
an entity of its own that feeds on all of us and destroys everything in
Wednesday August 16
The Roach Motel is truly an asylum, and I am one
of its inmates. I have not given proper attribution to my new upstairs
neighbor, another inmate to be sure. To his credit, he is only here about
four days a week. He appears to go home every weekend. So far, though,
he has moved the furniture around four times. He watches the tube with
the sound up full blast almost every waking minute when he isn't in class.
He must be an aggie, since he loves his aggie boots. A very loud thump
is heard every morning for each boot as he stomps to get them on. The great
thing about wearing aggie boots in a place like the Roach Motel is that
it makes every footstep sound like BigFoot. Well, it could be worse. Speaking
of losers, I have just been told that I have two weeks before I become
unemployed (I was fired!). I won't even be able to afford the rent at the
Roach Motel. But, while I sit here waiting for my eviction notice, I can at
least get my money's worth in entertainment from my wonderful neighbors and
Fido, too! I'm about ready to start up the drinking, smoking, cussing, and
partying already. Then, I'll end up homeless. This wouldn't be the first time
I was homeless, but that is another story from the Homer Notebook. I had to
revise this entry considerably because it just didn't sound right. My
reaction to this latest situation was callous. All I know is that I have
to be very thankful for friends like The (former) Bull and the Cardinal
because they have provided good company and moral support in this bad time.
Captain's Log Stardate 08.17.95
Enterprise was on a routine mission in the Mutaris system when we received
a distress signal from a Federation colony on an unnamed Class M planet.
An away team was dispatched to the planet's surface, and was greeted by
a group of women wearing skimpy gym attire.
Friday August 18
"Captain, there doesn't appear to be any signs of trouble here. Actually,
things look a little friendly."
"Yes, but where are the men, number one? There were 650 men in this
colony. Commander Data, are your scans showing any sign of the men?"
"No, sir. There are only women on this planet ..."
"Captain, I'm Pilar, and I am now acting commander of this colony."
"Well, Pilar ... where are the men of your group?"
"Oh, they went away. Why don't you make yourselves more comfortable?
Perhaps you need a massage? ..."
"Stop that, Pilar! I'm the captain of a Federation starship! Set phasors
"Wait, Captain, perhaps I can handle the situation."
"Ladies, have you ever wondered about the dilithium reaction that powers
the warp drive of a starship? Permit me to explain ...."
"Good work, Data! They're backing off!"
The eunuch-like behavior does it again! You know,
babes hate the eunuch-like behavior. I'm beginning to hate the eunuch-like
behavior. Except, what can I do? I'm supposed to become a monk, that is,
if I am not an unemployed, homeless derelict before then. Last night at
the gym, I began to realize how embedded the eunuch-like behavior is. In
fact, I am almost certain that there are some not-so-nice comments being
said about the 41-year-old virgin in the babe circles. The damage is irreversible
at this point. I have come to live the part of an eunuch so well that I
do not know anything else. As my world collapses around me, I have become
aware of my own stupidity and, hence, my mortality. Now I wonder, can a
man truly live without babes, or is this just too weird?
Being unemployed can be a real drag, especially
when one is $30,000 in debt. What is even worse is when one has no marketable
skills. I am inept at almost everything including babes. I was even lousy
at being homeless. That was three Summers ago, after the cops showed up
at my place to hassle me. I hastily put everything into storage and kept
what I needed in my ol' six-four. I was literally living out of my six-four.
It was either that or end up in jail. I think that it was then that I realized
the uselessness of material possessions. I was on the road to becoming
a monk, and I didn't even know it. It took me a while to divest everything
I had in storage, but I vowed I would never accumulate all that junk again.
BigFoottm left for home yesterday but he
left his alarm set, so it went off at 6:30am and kept going for an hour.
I assume it will do this every morning until he gets back on Monday. The
Idiots got up and had a door-slammin' soirée. It seems that when
my nerves are the most shot, then the most stupidity occurs. Now, why is
that? Fortunately I have been able to hang out with the homeys. Last night,
The (former) Bull and I went over to Big Don's and sat in his hot tub for
a while and watched a movie. Tonight, The (former) Bull, the Cardinal and
I went out to dinner after the gym. I almost don't want to come back to
the Roach Motel. This weekend would have been perfect to go into seclusion
but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.
Saturday August 19
Yes sir, there is nothing like being woken up
at 6am by someone else's alarm clock, especially when it goes on for an
hour because no one is home. That gives me more hours in the day to contemplate!
Speaking of contemplation, there are definitely some strange things going
on at the gym with some of the babes. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks
on me from lack of sleep. I am becoming weak, and my thoughts are drifting
away from those of a monk. I have noticed the overwhelming presence of
one of the gym babes. Of course, who hasn't noticed her? Right now, she
is the talk of the gym and she has worked hard to earn that place. Alas,
I am beginning to realize that fantasy is beginning to intrude on reality
Sunday August 20
How quickly I forget that I am a loser. In fact,
I forget all too quickly the events which reduced me to the eunuch I am
today. It was about five years ago or so when I first saw baby at the gym.
She was gorgeous with long blond hair, bluegreen eyes, Playmate's body.
I thought she was a goddess. In fact, there has not been another babe like
her until now. Baby took the aerobics classes every day. And then, when
the cardio-funk craze started up, she took those classes, too. Clare was
one of the babes who also took funk when it first started up. There was
only one other guy in there aside from me, my homey Bart. Classes were
fun because Vyvianne, the instructor, made them fun. She also gave a few
of us rap nicknames. It was in October that some strange things were starting
to happen. Little did I know that it must have just been my mind playing
tricks on me. I noticed that baby always stationed herself in the right,
front corner of the aerobics room for aerobics and funk. At the end of
October or early November, baby started the class in the same place but,
by the middle of session, she was usually next to me. Now, I am way in
the back and slightly to the left of center of the room. This was happening
everyday. Coincidentally, this was the same time period that Clare asked
me to carpool to the gym the first time. I told my then-roommates at the
time and, of course, they read between the lines which ultimately caused
my mind to start playing tricks on me. I knew that none of these babes
wanted anything to do with a wimpy loser like myself. I also recollect
mentioning all of this to another homey, Briscoe, in the library one day.
As we spoke, baby walked by. Briscoe then told me that he knew who she was
because they were in the dorms the same year. Her name was Heather. Briscoe
thought she looked like a Barbie Doll, and so I started referring to her
as Barbie Doll Heather (BDH for short). I began going to the library at
night after the gym, and it turned out that baby was also going there at about
the same time. I usually sat at one of the tables near the center courtyard
balcony on the second floor. Baby usually arrived after me and went up
to the third floor. I noticed that she had a very odd route. She would
walk up to the second floor, walk the long way past the balcony area (where
I was) back to the stairway and up to the third floor. The whole inner
courtyard is almost pure glass from the first floor to the fifth floor
so I could see baby ascend the flight of stairs to the third floor. She
would be looking down to the second floor (the balcony area was across
the courtyard from the steps). Somehow I knew all of this was merely coincidence,
but my mind was still playing tricks on me. All of it was becoming kind
of funny in a delirious way by the end of January. That was when things
began to unravel. That is why I enjoy the computer so much.
However, I spent most of today merely piddling
around. After being fired, I have found it difficult to do anything. The
(former) Bull and I took an aerobics class at the gym. Then, we went to
the Wherehouse to check out the latest sale. The Wherehouse is a fun place,
especially since we can listen to all the used CDs. I found Dirty Rotten
Scoundrels at a bargain price. Then, we ate dinner at Kona's. After that,
we went to the Bishop's Box, but I left early because I knew the discussion
would be about, you guessed it, babes. Well, hey! I'm an eunuch!
It is morning three of the BigFoottm
alarm clock stupidity in absentia. Yesterday, I was in the middle of some
crazy dream, or should I say, nightmare when that stupid clock went off.
I think there is a sinister force at play here, toying with the mind and
sanity of the 41-year-old virgin. This may require exorcism.
Monday August 21
There was another hike with the gym people today.
The (former) Bull led the group. Unfortunately, I did not make it. There
were supposed to be a lot of babes going, and that is the last thing I
need to see. I'm a damned eunuch! So, instead, The Return of the Homer
Notebook continues. The odd behavior that I allegedly observed on the part
of baby was puzzling. After all, there was no way that a babe like that
would concern herself with some Easter Island stonehead. Some of my homeys
were concerned that Valentine's Day was coming up. This really showed how
bored we were. My homey Skip came up with the idea to do Secret Admirer.
Three of us thought that it would be a great idea. I was trying to figure
out who I would pick, and then it dawned upon me ... baby! This is how
I would get even, so to speak. I didn't want it to be malicious. It would
be fun and she would also never find out who did it, or so I thought. It
was originally planned as just a flowers thing, but it escalated into a
grand production. Little did I know that it would lead to my ultimate demise
a year and a half later. Actually, who really cares what happened? I just
put these tidbits in to take up space. After all, I'm a 41-year-old virgin.
I don't have a life!
Things continue to go downhill for the ol' virgin.
It seems that my $30,000 debt is being called in all of a sudden. Well,
that's all fine but where am I going to get the money? I could sell my
six-four (1964 Chevy Nova), but that will bring in about 50 cents. I can
raise more money by scavenging empty beer cans. Jees! Looks like the 41-year-old
virgin is heading up the proverbial creek without a paddle. I would be
understating my situation by saying that things are not looking too good
here. Further, the potential for violence has increased ten-fold. How can
I become a monk now? The last time I was this demoralized I was homeless
and living out of my ol' six-four. My six-four and I have come a long way
together. There is some good news, though. I won't have to worry about
Tuesday August 22
I had a difficult time sleeping last night. I had
some zany dream where I walked into a store and ran into Paul Schaffer.
He asked me if I needed any assistance. Then, he recognized me and told
me a few jokes. I laughed. That Paul is a cut-up! After that, me, Paul
and Dave Letterman went on some zany adventure which included us doing
live coverage from some war zone. I think I'm ready to crack.
At this point, I won't be able to become a true
monk unless I can file for bankruptcy. It's too bad no one pays me to write
this material. But, hey! This is LoserNet! By late afternoon I thought
I may have snapped. I almost didn't go to the gym, but I enticed myself
to leave under the guise of shopping for a new computer. There is no way
I can afford it. The gym malaise was the same but things looked up when
I thought that baby was not coming in. The sinister force likes to toy
with the sanity of the oversized cranium, as baby came in late. She was
dressed in black, and she looked hot. I think I saw her earlier in the
day but I could not be sure since the babe in question had her shades on.
The (former) Bull, the Cardinal and I left the gym and went to Matt's palatial
manor to see his newborn son. Matt ordered some Chinese take-out and we
had a great time. Still, as we left, I knew I didn't want to go back to
the Roach Motel. I knew where I really wanted to be, but there is no way
that I'll ever be there.
I tried to regain my composure after I arrived
at the Roach Motel last night. But, "composure" and "Roach Motel" are not
compatible terms. Fortunately, none of the inmates were acting up. I have
had waves of goosebumps all night long and I knew I wasn't sick. I have
felt odd since my comatose adventure with Paul Schaffer and Dave Letterman
the night before. It is almost like I'm being possessed by some sinister
force. Maybe I should call up The Monastery and have the Exorcism Rescue
Team sent here. However, I think I know what the problem is ... I'm losing
my mind. The real pathetic part is the reason why I'm losing my mind. I
almost have to laugh somewhat hysterically as I continue to watch in awe
as my world crumbles. Word has it that there has been some kind of upheaval
in The Monastery. I just hope that this is not the precursor to another
Waco-like fiasco vis-a-vis David Koresh.
Wednesday August 23
Meanwhile, back at the Roach Motel, the tube is
up full blast in BigFoottm Manor and The Idiots have retired
for the evening. I have been packing whatever I have left in boxes. I have
no idea when I may have to be out of here. I have a week to come up with
about $2000 for rent, bills and an installment on my $30,000 debt outstanding.
I have been trying to make things appear like business as usual. Thus,
I have been going to the gym everyday. Even in the midst of this crisis,
I was taken aback by the sight of that one gym babe. Jees! I think this
whole situation has weakened my defenses. But, what am I thinking? Babes
don't even know I exist! I have trained myself to become the perfect eunuch,
and now I don't even know how to reverse it.
The Idiots Next Door were up early and talking
as loud as possible. In fact, they woke up BigFoottm,
too. Imagine if our old friend, Loser, moves in above The Idiots. I think
there's going to be a 1-8-7 (homicide) here!
Thursday August 24
I guess you have been wondering what happened with
the Secret Admirer story, eh? Now that I have plenty of time on my hands,
I can continue with the story. Secret Admirer turned into a grand production.
I was trying to think of great ideas (one for each of the four weeks building
up to Valentine's Day). I remember when I happened upon a plastic Homer
Simpson toy. I knew I had to send this, but I couldn't think of a message.
My homey Skip came up with one for me: "Will you be my Marge?" That is
why Homer (as in the Homer Notebook) came to symbolize the whole project.
The following week, I was dumbfounded about what to do next. Remember,
baby was never to find out who was doing this. My homey Constantine and
I were in the bookstore and while I was looking at the junk on a sale table,
I saw baby out of the corner of my eye walking from the back of the store.
She was working at the bookstore! Homeboy and I were walking over to another
section when he turned to say something and stopped in mid-sentence. He
said that baby was right behind us and when he turned she ducked into one
of the aisles. A few hours later, I came up with the idea to send a singing
telegram to baby at the bookstore. I arranged for Roger Rabbit to show
up on Wednesday at noon, one of the busiest times. We waited in the courtyard
and at noon, we saw this big pink rabbit walking over to the bookstore
with some balloons and a boombox. A lot of people followed the rabbit into
the store. He was yelling for baby until someone paged her from the back.
In the meantime, hundreds of people were now milling about waiting to see
what was going to happen next. Baby walked out to the front. The rabbit
gave her a card and turned some music on. He sang some song with the lyrics
"Be happy...!" while waving his arms in the air. Homeboy and I were in
the store watching this. Next thing I know, homeboy was on the floor laughing
and rolling around. Baby received a standing ovation from the crowd. Finally,
after the finale (flowers) on Valentine's Day, it was over or so
I thought. However, baby found out that the pumicehead was involved, and
she was not too happy. Two days later I rehearsed an apology. I went over
to the bookstore and went through my schpiel. Things became a little tense
at the gym. Baby and I were both changing the times we went there. And,
when we were there, we made sure we were surrounded by associates as a
kind of buffer. Fortunately, Clare decided to ask me again if I would carpool.
So, we began to carpool everyday. It was about this time that I knew I
was destined to become an eunuch. Why am I continuing with this dumb story?
Well, it will all make sense soon as the pieces to the puzzle are put in
I will have to go to work tomorrow. This will be
my last day. I have been picking up tons of applications, but tomorrow
I will have to stop by the local prison. I will applying for the prison
guard position. Maybe I can become a homicide detective later on! I should
have done this twenty years ago. That way I wouldn't have wasted all that
time in school only to end up like this. Good Lord!
The Return of the Homer Notebook continues. About
three weeks following the Valentine's Day public relations fiasco, both
baby and I resumed going to the gym at normal times. My mind began playing
tricks on me as the same routine started up again. Everything was left
to conjecture. In September, my homeys and I were apparently still considerably
bored. It was about this time that I embarked on a major party binge. Apparently,
so did baby. My group was out almost every night of the week and so was
baby. So, not only did I see her at the gym, but also everywhere on the
night party circuit. There were some strange occurrences which only fueled
more conjecture. By May, all of us including baby were out almost every
night of the week. I was almost completely delirious by June of that year.
By this time, Donna had become a party buddy. I mentioned to her exactly
what had transpired over the last year or so with baby. She suggested that
I approach baby about the whole situation. I decided to go with a loser
version of that suggestion. What a mistake that was! I was home alone one
evening, when I looked out from the upstairs window and saw a cop car enter
the parking lot. I knew that they were here for me. Within minutes I heard
a knock. I went downstairs and looked out the peephole and I could see
two cops with flashlights looking through the bushes. Did they think I
was hiding in there? My life as an eunuch was about to begin ...
Friday August 25
I was my usual invisible self at the gym. I have
been having some second thoughts about my decision to become a monk, and
about being an eunuch. I was talking to my homey Hugo. I mentioned to him
how I really don't bother with babes because, essentially, I am a loser.
He said that babes do not like to be ignored by guys. In fact, they hate
it. "Babes want guys to flirt with them." Oh brother! Well, history seems
to indicate that all of the babes would like me to disappear. I wish I
could accommodate them.
I am planning to go into seclusion this weekend.
There is too much going on and the 41-year-old virgin is fatigued. Although
I have been having second thoughts about becoming a monk, I may have the
decision made for me. The recent upheaval at The Monastery has now escalated
and I wonder if its collapse is imminent. As the Summer draws to a close,
I am left wondering about life in general. Should I become a monk? Where
am I going to get the money that is due next week? What about the babe
situation? How am I going to keep my sanity with neighbors like The Idiots
Next Door? What about the final chapters of The Return of the Homer Notebook?
And, finally, what about when I become a 42-year-old virgin? That incredible
babe was at the gym today. She was all dolled up which leads me to believe
that she doesn't have a stud and is looking for one. My homey Manuel and
I were at Starbuck's tonight. The Starbuck's babe was working and she was
all dolled up and looking real good. I then went grocery shopping at 11pm,
and I ran into one of the gym babes. This was the first time I have ever
talked to her. I think I am weakening and succumbing to the sinister force.
At least my mind wasn't playing tricks on me throughout this ordeal of
Saturday August 26
It was impossible for me to go into seclusion
this weekend. Just the thought of sitting in the Roach Motel was sickening.
It was another day of useless socializing. Of course, I ended up at Starbuck's
for coffee and the Starbuck's babe was working there. Kick a man when he's
down! The (former) Bull went to his five-year high school reunion, and
the Bishop went on a camping trip. Everyone else is out partying, so only
The Idiots Next Door and I are home tonight in the Roach Motel. It is like
slow torture. It's not the initial pain that is the killer. Rather, it
is the long wait for the inevitable outcome. Maybe my mind is playing tricks
on me. I remember when I was at the gym yesterday that, at one point, I
was on the Gripper and I stepped off to get another weight plate from the
rack in front of me. I was standing there stupidly trying to read the number
off the plate and that incredible babe came over with one 10-pound plate
to put on the rack. It just dawned on me that she was using a machine at
some distance away from me. There are at least two racks closer to where
she was, one of which was right next to the machine she was using. Now,
I wonder what happened to the other 10-pound plate? When she left the gym,
she put her shades on. Yup, that was her that I saw the other day. She
was wearing those same shades. My mind is definitely beginning to play
tricks on me.
Sunday August 27
The Return of the Homer Notebook continues. After
I let the cops in, they immediately began hassling me and treating me like
a criminal. They told me that baby had gone to the police station with
a friend, fearing for her life. She was afraid that I was going to do something
to her since I had allegedly been stalking her. Interestingly, there was
a proliferation of stalking movies out at that time that it even caught
the attention of several newspapers. It didn't help that we went to the
same gym around the same time every day, that we were both partying with
friends almost every night of the week in the same places, and that we
lived about a block apart. The cops said that they knew I was guilty. I
am sure they were mesmerized by baby. After all, she was a real babe. The
next day, as I was just about to pull out of the parking lot, I saw baby
drive by. Had she seen me she would have thought I was stalking her. I
realized that I could no longer live there, even though I had just renewed
my lease less than two weeks prior. I broke the lease which resulted in
the loss of a significant amount of money that I had paid. I was homeless.
Everything I owned was put in storage except for the necessities which
I kept in my ol' six-four. I spent the next three months homeless, but
I still had a job. My off-time was spent trying to find a place to stay
for the night, or just hanging around the park with all the other homeless.
I took up smoking and I accelerated the drinking. I spent most of my nights
at friend's places or at various motels. It was a demoralizing and humiliating
experience, and it made me realize what babes thought about me. I was a
stalker, a pervert, and a rapist! That is why I decided to become an eunuch.
I invested a considerable amount of time in perfecting the science of the
eunuch-like behavior, the concept of invisibility, and the Data-like personality.
Some unbelievers thought I was kidding. Here is the testimony to the truth
of my words. But, now, in my fragile mental state, I have become confused
and I question my initial motivations in becoming an eunuch. What brought
it on? Was it the year of partying and sleep deprivation? Was it because
of the cops? Or, maybe it was because of three months being homeless. I
did not drink one drop of coffee today, and I am paying the price. I have
never been so fatigued. I almost fell asleep standing up. Of course, this
level of fatigue may be the result of all the fun I have been having lately.
What, with being fired and all.
Monday August 28
Tuesday August 29
|Ahhh, the life of a 41-year-old virgin! Did you
notice that I never do anything with babes? I just know my homeys. Some
of my homeys have been getting on my nerves lately, though, and I'm sure
the feeling is mutual. I think that it is due to my fragile mental state.
Claustrophobia is setting in, too. There was a time that I enjoyed my seclusion,
but The Idiots Next Door helped to change all of that. In fact, I don't
even feel like becoming a monk. I could use a nice, cold 40-dog of King
Cobra right now. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya'! And, what about the
babe situation? You know, sometimes I just feel like breaking out of the
ranks. The 41-year-old virgin should just bumrush the whole situation and
go for broke. Why not just ask out all those 20-year-old babes already?
Who cares what happens? What are they going to do, reject me? Baha! Ha! Ha!
Haaaaa! With all I've been through, that would be a cakewalk! BigFoottm
has been home watching the tube all day. He is beginning to pace around
his shoebox a lot more. Hmmm. The Santa Ana winds are blowing tonight.
It should be a scorcher tomorrow. The (former) Bull and I ate at Hudson's
tonight. We had a good dinner followed by a couple of those famous Mudpies.
What a life! And to think, I need to come up with $2,000 in less than five
Don't let the smooth taste fool
It is becoming very difficult for me to stay at
home here at the Roach Motel given all the stupidity. The funny thing is
I have nowhere to go. At least when I was homeless I always had somewhere
to go. Even those nights I had to spend $30 for a motel room were exciting
compared to the antics of the Roach Motel tenants that I am now privy to.
You know, all of it is somehow related to the babe situation. It is always
the babe situation, isn't it? Damnit! I did not get any sleep last night
because of all the coffee I drank at Hudson's. I have been in a daze all
day. Nothing seemed to make any sense. The current heatwave was sweltering
which only further confounded my consciousness. The gym was a babefest
for the first time in a long time and only augmented my confusion. That
one incredible babe was there today, and all I can say is that for once
I am glad that I was in a coma.
Wednesday August 30
Well, I have just one day left before I need to
fork out $2,000 to pay bills and my rent to stay here at the luxurious
Roach Motel. Since I couldn't get a reprieve, I have no choice but to pass
on some rubberized debit vouchers. It is a good thing that I have been
eating in a monk-like fashion because I am going to be eating those 69-cent
cans of Bush's baked beans for a very, very long time. There has been no
word from The Monastery, and I can only assume the worst. It all comes
at a great time, doesn't it? I am now jobless and penniless, soon to be
homeless. To top it all off, the sinister force is toying with the mind
and sanity of the oversized cranium. I learned of several comments about
the author of The Loser
Living Upstairs, which happens to be the author of this lovely
piece of work. Many (especially babes) thought I was as weird or more weird
than Loser. I don't deny that. Well, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin! What
can be more weird? Since we were on the topic of babes recently (read: continuously),
I happened upon a posting in the alt.support.shyness newsgroup.
The anonymous author wrote:
Thursday August 31
"Regarding what it means to get a wishy-washy answer from a woman you
are interested in: 'Maybe' means 'No, Not Now, Not Ever!' - don't be fooled
by false politeness. Anytime you have to wonder about a situation, the
situation is a LOST CAUSE. If it ever goes right, you will know instantly,
and there will be not question at all that it has gone right; in relationship
issues, women make instant judgments, based solely on hormonal responses,
and there is simply no place for reason, thought, reflection, or the like
- you get 5 seconds (or less) time to be evaluated, and if you don't pass
muster, you can spend all the time, money, and emotional energy trying
to make something happen that you want, and it will mean nothing more to
her than yesterday's Kotextm."
Well, it all makes sense. I can just imagine the impression
a lavahead like myself would make in five seconds. Sheesh! You know, though,
that little tidbit of information comes at an appropriate time. Today,
at the gym, The (former) Bull and the Bishop were in rare form in the step
class. They were trying too hard to get attention from the babes. After
the class, the charade continued although we were supposed to go to Fresh
Choice for dinner. I couldn't wait there for the show to be over so I left.
What is interesting is that during the class I was yelling over the music
to The (former) Bull that we should have just gone to dinner instead of
taking the class. Then, Kathleen, one of the gym babes, turned around and
agreed with me. She was the babe that both The (former) Bull and the Bishop
had the hots for at one time or another. I was really tempted to ask her
to join us for dinner, but I envisioned what would have transpired even
though both The (former) Bull and the Bishop allegedly are not interested
in her anymore. Can you imagine the feeding frenzy that I would have been
privy to witness? At this point, I have too much else to worry about.
The sinister force has been working overtime to
break me down. I neglected to mention that the night the Santa Anas were
blowing, my car cover acted like a parachute and twisted around, pulling
the cable and lock over the hood of my six-four. It gouged the paint. I
know that my six-four is in bad shape, but it has been through a lot with
me. I took my hammer out and destroyed the lock. Today, I was working on
a project on the computer, when all of a sudden it froze claiming a LAN
access error in Windows. Two hours work gone because the autosave function
wasn't set. I had to grip the table for about fifteen minutes because I
would have chucked the computer across the room. Then, tomorrow is the
season finale of The Life and Times of a 41-Year-Old Virgin
There is nothing like ending the season on a pathetic
note. You know, every morning I have to wake up at about 4am and put my
earplugs in because I never know when the door-slammin' soirée will
commence over at The Idiots Next Door. Earplugs are very uncomfortable
so that is why I put them in at 4am. This is the kind of excitement I have
at the Roach Motel. Other guys have babes and lots of dough. All I have
is grief. The (former) Bull's hiatus from babes was short-lived as was
expected. There should be some more fun and games with the babes next season.
My attempts to placate my creditors were rejected again. My nerves are
shot. To finally push me closer to the edge, the sinister force has been
toying with the cheap Roach Motel-issue refrigerator. It makes a loud popping
noise during its charge cycle. Maybe it's a bad check valve or maybe it's
really my mind snapping. I may be losing it but, hey! I'm still an eunuch!
And the fun continues ...
All of your favorite characters are back in The
Return of the 41-Year-Old Virgin! The 41-year-old virgin was in
dire straits at the end of this season. Will he become a monk? Will he
be able to pay off his debts? What about the babe situation? What more
will we learn from the Homer Notebook? How about The Idiots Next Door and
BigFoottm? What about Loser? All this and more when the 41-year-old
The Life and Times of a 41-Year-Old Virgin
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
© Copyright 1995 by The 41-Year-Old Virgin.
LoserNettm Love It, or Lose It.