Monday, February 15, 2010

Post Valentine's Day Blues I consider buying the underwear of my imaginary girlfriend and post a comment on her blog and then I write this

Holidays are a time for reflection.  Even made up holidays like Valentine's Day.

In that spirit I reflect on Womankind.

I shouldn't.

I have no real powers to reflect on women.  I don't understand women, and the only thing I assume they are good for is masturbation fantasies.

The small tragedy of my life is that I am shallow bastard.  The ironic part is that I am ugly, and therefor I will not have any beauty in my life.

Unless you count beauty in some other way than good looking women.  Which is just you trying to be okay with being ugly.  I have never been okay with that.  I don't accept things (like facts) the way you do, and I won't follow the wise man's advice and "just get over it."

Furthermore, I don't like the idea of rationalizing my shortcomings as strengths.  That is some kind of annoying American businessman trait that has been generalized to the populace. 

I would surround myself with good looking women, but I do not know any good looking women other than the women who work at the bank inside my grocery store.  Or the women I pass by in the street, as I cross in the pedestrian pathway, and they are adjusting their majestic pony tails.  They wipe lipstick off their teeth and peer over me from behind polished mirrors and powder brushes.

I do not know these women in any other way than the brief encounters where I am luridly watching them and they are preparing their speed dials for a quick 911 call.

I have encountered the kind of woman who visits grave yards, and picks apples, or dress with a quirky attitude.  But they do not notice me.

The emo girl with tattoos who smells like mint,  and does not shave her underarms wants me to have tats and an appreciation for some obscure indie label band like Romulan Pychobilly.

Just in case you think I am only shallow about the outsides.  

I also do not know any women with a sense of humor.  I do not know any sensitive women with a brassy tough exterior, the kind you find on family sitcoms in the 1980's.

I once knew a woman who looked like a chicken dumpling.

In my life there has been only a a very short list of women.  This is a sad truth that I cannot explain as easily as you might think.

I see men and women all the time that bounce around between companions, and I wonder what is wrong with me that I do not do the same.

I take notice of the types of people who seem clinically alone and I am not like any of them.  I am far more social. I am just as capable  of getting along in society and faking it like the rest of you.

There is the guy at the bus stop that smokes tiny paper cigarettes.  I think there must be dope in them.  He is a ginger boy.   Soft and earnest his eyes always look watery and his face wears an expression like he is about to cry.  He must be slow in the head.   He cannot operate the bill acceptor on the bus.  The bus driver has to insert his bus fare for him.

He sits next to me on the bus.  He tells me of the Martin Luther King he has read in a book.  The ginger boy knows there is something great happening in the universe. It's all meant to be.

He says, "The arc of justice is great, but it bends towards justice."

That is my favorite quote by MLK.

I would talk to him, but he gives a creepy schizophrenic vibe out.  I keep one earpiece in my ear and explain to him that he should not bother me because I am listening to an audio book.

I explain the word Absurdistan to him (after pronouncing it to him 20 times.)

He thinks Absurdistan has something to do with techno or rap.  Techno and rap have something to do with the coming justice in the world.  But he is quiet and conspiratorial, and only half interested in telling me what he knows.

He wants to hear my thoughts.

My first thought is that I like my own company too much.

I am the only person I know that eats alone at diners.  I eat out alone several times a week.  I eat out alone more often that I eat with company.

I would hang out with you, but you are probably boring.  I would have to make all the jokes.  I would have to bring up all the interesting things I found on my internet searches this week.

I would hang out with you, but then I would have to pedantically explain to you all my references to (pick one: pop culture, current events, obscure philosophy whatever you are not good at.)

I refuse to engage you on any level where you may be my equal.  Unless I know that I can fool you into thinking that  I am smarter than you.

Fooling you is usually easy.  I just use the mind control techniques I learned in Psychology 101 classes. 

Sometimes while I am eating by myself I have to turn off the audio book I am listening to in order to talk to myself about what I am reading hearing.

How am I supposed to be able to listen to an audio book if you are hanging out with me?  Do you think we could get one of those earphone splitters so we can listen to the same i-pod?  Do you mind if I stop the book and jot down notes?  Do you mind if we eat at Whataburger at least 3 times a week?

I suppose you will.


thimscool said...

I'm not boring.

You should have the local PoPo # on speed dial rather than 911... faster response.

Better yet, you should pack heat.


Romius T. said...

you of course are not boring, and yes my little friend leif packs heat so we got that covered!