confirmed.

I think I need to find Misogyny for Dummies or something to bone up on how to be a proper bachelor. I’m too much of a softy and need some tips on how to fit into this role, since I’m pretty much stuck with it. Since I’m against suicide on principle but dislike pain, I need to find a way to deal with my future. As a 39-year-old virgin who has been rejected by every woman he ever approached, I am aware that my chances of sexual success are minimal enough to be considered zero. An anesthetic lifestyle with extensive coping mechanisms will be required.

Since one of my major problems is excessive empathy and emotional attachment to people who don’t really like me that much, this is going to be a challenge.

The best way of getting through the next 30-40 years would be, I originally though, massive amounts of alcohol, but my stomach won’t really tolerate that. I really don’t need the legal problems that go with other drugs, either.

The life of the glutton gastronome is appealing but would cause such serious medical problems for me that the risk/benefit there is pretty rotten also. I can’t see that losing limbs, eyesight, etc. would really be a good tradeoff.

I considered becoming a religious fanatic, which I’d be pretty good at, but I can’t stand the other religious fanatics.

So if anyone has tips on how to be a properly anesthetized bitter aging woman-hater, please speak up.

I’ve had it with being the understanding friend, the avuncular companion, the pathetic geek in the corner, or the spare guy who’s always there between boyfriends. Those roles are all just too painful. Please help me find a new stereotype.

Hugs,

Substitute

(no subject)

When I’m really, really down I listen to this song on repeat.

It makes me feel like I know what Heaven might be like.


And we’ll all go together
to the wild mountain thyme
across the purple heather..

No.

Robert Mitchum sing Calypso!

What am I supposed to think of this?

Since I’ve given up pretending anything is okay, and since I’m louder and whinier about how shitty it feels, I get responses.

And I know people are trying to say what they think is helpful and truthful. And I know these are people who want the best for me. But, I get:

“You should work on being content with what you’ve got” from people who have what I want and don’t seem to think it’s such a big deal

“I have no sympathy for you unless you meet lots of people” from more than one attractive person who doesn’t exactly need to comb match.com for people

“You need to go out with people you don’t actually want” from people who have someone they wanted and didn’t have to fake it

You know, folks, I don’t see most of you going out every Friday night with someone you barely know and don’t like so much. I don’t see you being content with whatever plate of shit is all over your lap, you’re as upset as anyone else when there’s something broken in your lives. I don’t think you get it at all, or even want to try. You assume that I haven’t tried any of the fixes you have in mind.

Just so you know. I’m not just whining that “I can’t get a date”. It’s a lot worse than that. I’m a sexually immature guy pushing 40 who’s never had a real girlfriend. I’m horribly sensitive. I get dumb 12 year old kid puppy love crushes on people who disdain me. I can’t get along with anyone my own age and the younger people I’m friends with find me old enough to be gross. I’m overweight, bald, and ungainly. My intense fear of rejection makes it nearly impossible for me to approach someone unless I like her so much that it’s a self-defeating project. I magically pick people who are unavailable to me. I care when you’re not supposed to care, I don’t lie when you’re supposed to lie, and I get attached to people before they have any interest in me. I fall for people who are too young for me, too beautiful for me, too experienced for me. I am in no “league” at all.

I am a punchline to a joke about sexual losers.

I’ve lived with this reality for more than 20 years. I’ve maybe tried some of the things you think of in the first 30 seconds. I don’t mean that you’re not trying to help, I mean that it feels like I’m in a wheelchair and you’re suggesting a new brand of athletic shoes because you’ve never been here.

I’m in therapy for the second time in my life and there are no guarantees of anything getting better, ever, even inside my head. The likely outcome of my life is that I will die very alone having connected with no one. Evidence to the contrary has not appeared. All I have against this huge disastrous neurotic mess is 21st century voodoo, that no one can prove actually does anything.

The fact that some of you find me entertaining and good at Trivial Pursuit is oddly enough not cheering. I appreciate that you want to say nice things but when my core as a male human is totally rejected it’s not easy to say “hey, but I told a funny story last night and knew where Panama hats are made!” and feel good about it.

Yeah, it is me. I am obviously doing - or being - something completely wrong. But my chances of fixing that are slim, and long-term, and right now I go through every day totally fucking empty inside. And I have to watch others connect over and over, and get nothing, ever.

This has been my entire adult life. I am broken inside. None of you are, not like this. Please stop pretending you know what I feel like.

I should never have shared this in the first place. Everyone hates weakness. Well, hate this: I’m a sexual failure for reasons no one understands. Half my life has dripped away and the rest is looking worse. Fix that with a dating service and a self-help book and a “pray about it”, why fucking don’t you.

I’m sure every woman who reads this would never let me near her after this. And that would be different, how?

PROCLAMATION

ON THIS 4th day of the month of March, in the year of our Lord Two Thousand Four,

IN THIS City of Newport Beach,

IN THIS County of Orange,

IN THIS State of California,

BEING THAT numerous people we know have had a day which is unduly full of Fecal Matter, packed with Refuse, jammed to the brim with Sludge, and frothing over the top with Bilge and Sputum,

AND ALSO BEING THAT this comes on the heels of the first third of an inauspicious Year full of Illness, Divorce, Injury, unrequited Romantic Love, great Trials at the hand of the Government, loss of Employment, mental Anguish, Overwork, and inexplicable Failures of the Providence in which we Trust to Provide for us,

IT IS HEREBY PROCLAIMED that the Fourth Day of March in each Year shall be known henceforth as Crapmas.

By the Power and the Seal of the Great Lodge of the Exalted and Honorable Order of the Diedrichs Table, vested in me in my Office as an Ancient and Confirmed Member of the Thirty-Third Degree, I do proclaim this forth.

Ignatz Mouse
General and Presiding Plinthist
Grand Oriental Chief of the Ninth Secret Lodge
Grand Persiflager of the Reformed Templars
Hierophant-Elect