So, recently someone tried to solicit my advice on how to pick up girls.
I managed to avoid laughing in his face.
To date, at the age of 27, my conquests consist of-
1- A girl I met in College, with whom I made out a lot but never did the deed.
2- A girl I met in college with whom I made out ONCE. We never did the deed.
3- My now-ex girlfriend, who I met for the second time the summer before my last year of college. We..... made out a lot, and had a veritable truckload of sex over the three years we were together.
But that's it.
Literally.
I have had sex with ONE woman, and, counting her, have only kissed three.
Haven't been laid in... it'll be three years in May.
So.
Clearly the guy asking my advice is a sorely misinformed sort.
My lack of success with women has three root causes, none of which seem to be immediately apparent to anyone else-
1- My Face. While I don't shatter mirrors or turn people to stone, the fact is, I have a singularly unfortunate face.... particularly when it's in a neutral expression. This prevents most people from either noticing me or taking action if they do. Of course, I may be wrong, it might be more to do with....
2- My powers of perception.... or lack thereof. On at least two occasions, I have been informed that a girl was giving me "the eye."
I have never noticed.
My Ex had to practically club me over the head for me to notice.
I cannot read non-verbal cues to save my life, at least when it comes to the whole date'n'mate scene.
In bars, it's even worse.
Parties? Even more so.
Not that I go to a lot of parties, which brings me to...
3- My attitude. I hate crowds, hate bars, hate parties, hate getting drunk.... Add that to a certain sense of apathy, and you arrive at a fellow who prefers to stay at home alone.... while cursing his own loneliness.
Saddest of all?
I'm starting to think my libido is in atrophy.
Back in high school, I may not have been able to say word one to a girl I was interested in, but I HAD girls I was interested in.
These days?
Nothing.
And man does it suck.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Where the hell did I get all this STUFF?
Seriously.
I own entirely too much CRAP.
One car.
Four guns.
Two computers, only one of which works.
Enough gaming books to fill a small library.
Old toys.
Looted toolboxes.
Clothes of varying caliber.
Regular books.
A pile of CDs
A bunch of VHS tapes.
Some DVDs
Several armies of Warhammer miniatures.
How the hell did I let this happen?
Is it terminal stupidity, or is it something more sinister?
I own entirely too much CRAP.
One car.
Four guns.
Two computers, only one of which works.
Enough gaming books to fill a small library.
Old toys.
Looted toolboxes.
Clothes of varying caliber.
Regular books.
A pile of CDs
A bunch of VHS tapes.
Some DVDs
Several armies of Warhammer miniatures.
How the hell did I let this happen?
Is it terminal stupidity, or is it something more sinister?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Travellin' Man
As far back as I can recall, I've been prone to move around.
Not moving as such, you understand... I lived in the same house for most of my life.
No, my family and I just took a lot of trips. Part of this was simple common sense.
When you live in Alaska, taking a vacation or two helps keep you sane. Seeing a warm sunny day in October can keep you from chasing your neighbors around with an ice auger.
But we left the state, on average, at least twice a year. Mostly, we went to California or Indiana, where the parents of my parents lived (and live, in the case of Mom's parents).
The point is, I've been packing up and trucking along since I can remember.
Until the last three years.
After my last grand trek through Canada to get here, Indiana, where I have done, accomplished, achieved and gained NOTHING, I have been more or less shackled to not merely Indiana, but to Bloomington.
You see, even when I was in Alaska and not out of the state, there would be trips to the cabin in the south, trips which more or less entailed enterign a different climate.
Now?
I find myself mired in Bloomington, trapped in a town that did its best to give me the boot five years ago. Graduation should have been my farewell to Bloomington, and to Indiana.
Where I used to be able to get some distance under my feet, make some tracks, I've bogged down in the mire.
And that, as much as anything, is why I hate it here.
Not moving as such, you understand... I lived in the same house for most of my life.
No, my family and I just took a lot of trips. Part of this was simple common sense.
When you live in Alaska, taking a vacation or two helps keep you sane. Seeing a warm sunny day in October can keep you from chasing your neighbors around with an ice auger.
But we left the state, on average, at least twice a year. Mostly, we went to California or Indiana, where the parents of my parents lived (and live, in the case of Mom's parents).
The point is, I've been packing up and trucking along since I can remember.
Until the last three years.
After my last grand trek through Canada to get here, Indiana, where I have done, accomplished, achieved and gained NOTHING, I have been more or less shackled to not merely Indiana, but to Bloomington.
You see, even when I was in Alaska and not out of the state, there would be trips to the cabin in the south, trips which more or less entailed enterign a different climate.
Now?
I find myself mired in Bloomington, trapped in a town that did its best to give me the boot five years ago. Graduation should have been my farewell to Bloomington, and to Indiana.
Where I used to be able to get some distance under my feet, make some tracks, I've bogged down in the mire.
And that, as much as anything, is why I hate it here.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Of Boars and Spears
So, I want to go kill a boar with a spear.
There's an outfit in Florida which can guide me affordably (although I'd need to bring my own spear, which I haven't got yet).
And thus, I find myself seriously considering it.
I've never been a fan of hunting an animal with firearms... at least, not in terms of an act that is enjoyable in and of itself...
But getting up close and personal, using a sharp piece of metal on the end of a stick? Stabbing a wild pig as it rushes at you?
Somehow, that dings my trolley.
Now, if I could just dredge up ninety bucks for a good boar spear....
There's an outfit in Florida which can guide me affordably (although I'd need to bring my own spear, which I haven't got yet).
And thus, I find myself seriously considering it.
I've never been a fan of hunting an animal with firearms... at least, not in terms of an act that is enjoyable in and of itself...
But getting up close and personal, using a sharp piece of metal on the end of a stick? Stabbing a wild pig as it rushes at you?
Somehow, that dings my trolley.
Now, if I could just dredge up ninety bucks for a good boar spear....
Lyrics I've Come to Appreciate Greatly
"Punch your lights out, hit the pavement, that's what I call entertainment."
-Mindless Self Indulgence
"When somebody loves you it's no good unless he loves you all the way."
-Frank Sinatra
"I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line, beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine."
- Bob Dylan
"Twenty-one guns, box made of pine, letter from the government sealed and signed delivered Federal Express on your Mother's doorsteps."
-Clutch
"You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true. I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do, 'cause I'll never be with you."
- James Blunt
"Dream with the feathers of angels stuffed beneath your head."
- Clutch
"Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season."
-Kansas
"See the fire sweepin' out very street today, burns like a red coal carpet, mad bull lost its way"
-The Rolling Stones
"There are women in Cypress Grove, and if they catch you, you don't go home. So get to booking and don't look back, a one way ticket on a two way track."
- Clutch
"I'm afraid of nothing. It's the only way to be."
- Monster Magnet
"I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings."
- Tom Petty
"I've got soul but I'm not a soldier."
- The Killers
"Arm yourself because no one else here can save you."
- Chris Cornell
"No, you won't remember, you won't remember me, there'll be no ripcord in my destiny."
- Darkest of the Hillside Thickets
"Hell yeah, I'm the one that you wanted, hell yeah, I'm the Superbeast."
- Rob Zombie
"I've seen the morning light, I've seen the morning light, and it's not because I'm an early riser, I just never got to sleep last night."
- Bob Dylan
-Mindless Self Indulgence
"When somebody loves you it's no good unless he loves you all the way."
-Frank Sinatra
"I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line, beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine."
- Bob Dylan
"Twenty-one guns, box made of pine, letter from the government sealed and signed delivered Federal Express on your Mother's doorsteps."
-Clutch
"You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true. I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do, 'cause I'll never be with you."
- James Blunt
"Dream with the feathers of angels stuffed beneath your head."
- Clutch
"Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season."
-Kansas
"See the fire sweepin' out very street today, burns like a red coal carpet, mad bull lost its way"
-The Rolling Stones
"There are women in Cypress Grove, and if they catch you, you don't go home. So get to booking and don't look back, a one way ticket on a two way track."
- Clutch
"I'm afraid of nothing. It's the only way to be."
- Monster Magnet
"I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings."
- Tom Petty
"I've got soul but I'm not a soldier."
- The Killers
"Arm yourself because no one else here can save you."
- Chris Cornell
"No, you won't remember, you won't remember me, there'll be no ripcord in my destiny."
- Darkest of the Hillside Thickets
"Hell yeah, I'm the one that you wanted, hell yeah, I'm the Superbeast."
- Rob Zombie
"I've seen the morning light, I've seen the morning light, and it's not because I'm an early riser, I just never got to sleep last night."
- Bob Dylan
Monday, March 23, 2009
Naming Names
Let it be known, I'm something of an odd duck.
It's something I've come to accept as well as I imagine I ever will, and only the fact that pointed reminders of it bother me still makes it relevant.
And one of the least overt signs of this is that I LOVE naming my stuff.
My first car, a 1988 Toyota Corolla which served my family faithfully from 1988 up until about 2005, received the sobriquet, "Cross-Eyed Mary" after I'd been driving her less than a year.
My current automobile, a '97 Saturn SC, received its name on day seven of my drive from Alaska to Indiana (bad move, that). As I sat in a motel in Minnesota, it came to me.
The Reverend Otis P. Jivefunk, Minister of Culture.
It had clearly been a long haul.
Sometimes, the names are based upon whimsy, sometimes upon what an object is. I own a Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle manufactured in 1941, with the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union stamped on the receiver. I named the grand old shoulder cannon "Uncle Vanya," in honor of another angry old Russian. It kicks like a mule, the muzzle flash is visible from space, and it has a steel plate on the rifle butt rather than something sane, like padding, but the old man fires true and hits like a freight train. Who could ask for more?
Then there are things named after deeds I have done with them.
Frogchopper, my Cold Steel Gurkha machete, labored namelessly for over a year before the Great Summer Bug-Out. On that trip, the bullfrogs were making a nuisance of themselves untila good friend of mine went after them with his .22. Rather than simply waste them, I took the frogs over to a sectioned log and chopped them in half so we could eat the legs and use the front halves as catfish bait. Hence, Frogchopper.
In the midst of all of this, I find the things that I don't name stand out more than somewhat.
Neither of my pistols has a name of any kind. Nor do my many secondary knives. My computer has no name (although my old latop, Mimir, certainly did). My straight razor has no name.
I've come to believe that the more "commonplace" I see an item as being, the less likely it is to receive a title.
Although that still makes the pistols odder than somewhat...
It's something I've come to accept as well as I imagine I ever will, and only the fact that pointed reminders of it bother me still makes it relevant.
And one of the least overt signs of this is that I LOVE naming my stuff.
My first car, a 1988 Toyota Corolla which served my family faithfully from 1988 up until about 2005, received the sobriquet, "Cross-Eyed Mary" after I'd been driving her less than a year.
My current automobile, a '97 Saturn SC, received its name on day seven of my drive from Alaska to Indiana (bad move, that). As I sat in a motel in Minnesota, it came to me.
The Reverend Otis P. Jivefunk, Minister of Culture.
It had clearly been a long haul.
Sometimes, the names are based upon whimsy, sometimes upon what an object is. I own a Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle manufactured in 1941, with the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union stamped on the receiver. I named the grand old shoulder cannon "Uncle Vanya," in honor of another angry old Russian. It kicks like a mule, the muzzle flash is visible from space, and it has a steel plate on the rifle butt rather than something sane, like padding, but the old man fires true and hits like a freight train. Who could ask for more?
Then there are things named after deeds I have done with them.
Frogchopper, my Cold Steel Gurkha machete, labored namelessly for over a year before the Great Summer Bug-Out. On that trip, the bullfrogs were making a nuisance of themselves untila good friend of mine went after them with his .22. Rather than simply waste them, I took the frogs over to a sectioned log and chopped them in half so we could eat the legs and use the front halves as catfish bait. Hence, Frogchopper.
In the midst of all of this, I find the things that I don't name stand out more than somewhat.
Neither of my pistols has a name of any kind. Nor do my many secondary knives. My computer has no name (although my old latop, Mimir, certainly did). My straight razor has no name.
I've come to believe that the more "commonplace" I see an item as being, the less likely it is to receive a title.
Although that still makes the pistols odder than somewhat...
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