Friday, June 9, 11:28pm.
Like the otaku that I am, I end my Friday night once again not in the arms of a hot babe or with real friends but in front of the 'puter, creating another myspace account to do some pussy trolling on the down-low. Even though I already have a legit account.
My username: Hitozuma.
I'm so awesome! None of those ditzy chicks who usually talk to me will even know what it refers to: hentai, specifically, crazy monkey love with married women. You know, the bored, horny ones who don't get it enough from their husbands??? Yessss- booty at last! I'll be going through those profiles like they were free coke! Last summer it was older single women; this is the summer for freaks with negligent misters. I don't mind being Stud #3 or even 4. Husband is away in Sudan with Médecins sans Frontières investigating a meningococcal meningitis outbreak. Achingly beautiful lover #2 just flew to New York to accept a Carnegie award for his latest sculpture. Maybe that hunky Colombian gardener with the sexy cumbia moves caught a cold this weekend? That leaves moi- smelly-illiterate-corporate-slave-animator-with-the-funny-gait. Good for a cheap fling every now and then; never the top dog. I don't deserve a loving relationship, anyway. Or one longer than 3 months.
Well .... no married women just yet but one of the girls I bookmarked had a photo of her with some guy grabbing her left breast. Ah, another quality girl. If only maman could see...
I know, I know- I've announced a million times before that the Internet is not a good place to meet girls but what are my options??? Stupid LA bitches who don't give me the time of day...
Oh well.. back to spanking Charlie until he throws up.
otaku n. one who is obsessed with anime, video games, or computers, has lamentable social skills and rarely leaves home
syn. retard, loser, boob
Back to the beginning.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Tearin' up my heart
I can't believe it. Lance Bass beat me to it.
"I love women. I've definitely, you know, been with women.... It's just I grew to a point where deep inside I knew that I could never truly have a relationship with a woman."
How much more of my "LA women suck" spiel can people take?
It's not me- it's them. I can't help it if I lose interest after a while- their boobs aren't big enough, they're not witty enough, not fun enough, don't speak enough languages well, can't entertain me sufficiently, they don't dress sexy, don't have sexy hair, their shoes don't match their clothes ... in short, they're simply not fabulous enough for me!
The perfect woman should be as hot as this:
Back to the beginning.
"I love women. I've definitely, you know, been with women.... It's just I grew to a point where deep inside I knew that I could never truly have a relationship with a woman."
How much more of my "LA women suck" spiel can people take?
It's not me- it's them. I can't help it if I lose interest after a while- their boobs aren't big enough, they're not witty enough, not fun enough, don't speak enough languages well, can't entertain me sufficiently, they don't dress sexy, don't have sexy hair, their shoes don't match their clothes ... in short, they're simply not fabulous enough for me!
The perfect woman should be as hot as this:
Back to the beginning.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
"Gentille, sans plus"
I broke up with her just before Valentine's Day. Hooray- I didn't have to look for a gift or take her out to eat. But I told her from the very beginning that I didn't want to get serious.
I waited a few days to tell my mom about our first date. She pressed me for details (Maman likes to know about my love life). I told her to relax, that if there had been any fireworks I would have told her sooner. The new girl was a medical student (i.e., much more intelligent than me); I told her I liked smart girls. She was tall for a Japanese. She chewed her fingernails - c'est nul, it sucks, I told mommy.
But we went out again and again. By late October I was telling people she was my girlfriend. Hey, I wasn't seeing anyone else, right? By that time I was fed up with going on new dates, anyway. Orianna was a distant memory. Besides, it was nice to have a girl interested in me for a change. I told my mommy that we got along well (doesn't everyone the first 3 months???? -Ed.). I sent her photos for my family to look over, always eager to see if my women were good matches for me. My mommy's reaction: "Did someone set fire to her face??" My lovely mom. My little sister found her frightful and couldn't bear to the think of my lips on hers. She begged me to find my equal, someone as beautiful as me. (Yes, my short sister with the hook nose.) My papa also urged me to dump her before she went psycho on me, too. He also observed that I must be afraid of pretty girls, like my brother- we have a thing for ugly girls (that includes Chrisann and Carolina). My brother? He's too busy living and enjoying life to comment. (My parents also don't pump his head full of lies.)
She was sweet and kind to me, ma doctoresse, patiently listened to my self-delusions and ridiculous worldview, my bitter condemnations of that psycho and even tolerated my rampant pussy trolling - right in front of her eyes! But alas, she didn't light my fire.
After a while I told my family that she was "nice, that's all," but ça me fait compagnie, at least I have company. (My mommy thinks it's OK to use and then throw away girls who are less than perfect.) I complained that she annoyed me because she didn't talk about anything particularly interesting- psychotic patients, grossly sick children and people in really bad shape with some nasty diseases. How boring! Who the hell wants to deal with that??? Can't she talk about something else more fun?? Like Marianna used to do- that psycho bitch!
She was also constantly sick, asking me to take care of her. I drove all the way to the Valley, did what I could and then ran home to complain to mommy that she was a big baby. I can't have that! It takes too much attention away from me. I should be the one indulged and coddled. I'm the pretty one.
I went to Montreal over Christmas and New Year's to see Carolina and Chrisann and also interview for a job at Ubisoft. Saw lots of cute chicks at the clubs. They actually talked to me. :-) I could live there. I returned to cold, dry, boring LA. Ma docteuse picked me up at the airport and we spent that night in my apartment, as I told my mom. I also told her not to worry- on rigole, sans plus- we weren't serious (or at least I wasn't).
In the coming weeks I complained to my mommy that she was getting clingy. We got into a fight one weekend- she accused me of not being affectionate enough with her. She agreed to leave me alone for a short while. I went home to my true love- pussy trolling. Match.com, Yahoo, Matchmaker, myspace. I don't like fights. Needed a new girl now.
I moaned to mommy that I was getting tired of her, even irritated. I remembered all the fun I had with Marianna, who was a lot more interesting and intellectual, always thought of cool things to do. Psycho bitch! I knew I was getting difficult, but that would just make it easier to meet new girls. Time to look for zee perfect woman again.
By the end of January, I had enough. She asked if we could hang out one weekend but I wasn't really excited about it. I agreed to see her, then I announced that it wasn't working out. I reminded her that I didn't want to get serious, anyway. She left quietly.
And then the shit hit the fan. Marianna broke into my email account. I'm sure it's because she found out that I had a girlfriend. There was that phone call in my apartment that weekend. She must have heard the new girl's voice and was outraged. Bitch. It took me a few weeks to get back into my accounts. Yes, more than one. Yes, a few weeks. I'm slow.
So, all that time telling her that Marianna was psycho, difficult, contrary, too excitable (and also fun, a thrilling conversationalist, extremely intelligent, passionate, with perfect hair and perfect skin and an unforgettable booty), I got bored with her nice-all-the-time schtick.
Do I really know what I want???
Back to the beginning.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Lucky Luke
Pssst!
Lucky am I to have casual or absent "friends" who believe my heavily filtered and hallucinated life stories. Too uninvolved in my life to know what I actually do and say beyond the veneer of politeness and self-aggrandizement. A few still need directions to my workplace or home- that's how out of the loop they are! They'll believe me when I say that my nutcase stands outside my door through the early morning hours, that she constantly begs me to marry her, that she calls me at work trying to get me to have dinner with her. When in fact, she's quite happy to know that I'm still churning my walrus in front of the computer and in the shower, socially deprived as usual.
My real friends live in Morocco, France, the East Coast.
Here I have dates, booty calls, coworkers, homely girls who want my attention and will drive to see me at the drop of a hat.
I complain to maman and papa, my cousins, Chrisann and Caro, that girls here are no good. That they can't see me for my elegance, glamour and mystery. They get the impression that I'm picky (= have standards) and turn down girls down en masse. The truth is, most girls aren't interested in seeing me after the first date. The pretty ones, the ones with good careers, the interesting ones... the ones with a degree! But I won't tell anyone that. I'll blame the girls. They're the ones with the flaws, not me! But anyone with half a brain who spends more than a few hours with me at a time can see the truth. That the ones awestruck by me are nothing to write home about. Les petits mortels, as my papa says. They're plain or even homely, uneducated, uncultured, monolingual, dull, ignorant, pedestrian, gentille, sans plus... frigid (ha! I'm not l'homme moyen sensuel, you know).
Like Bush, I present nothing but platitudes, false bravado, blame games and strident self-delusions. Also like him, my audience is happily ignorant and not too keen to probe deeper. Therein lies my advantage. If they spent any significant time with me these days, they'd see differently.
They'd know that the girls I seek are not the ones who contact me. It weighs on me, hence my bitter tone. They'd know that when things go well in a relationship, I eventually get bored. That when I'm with the type of girl I know I may never meet again and things get rocky, I reserve the right to cheat on her, so I can be with a "nice" girl for a change (even if it's just 30 min in the sack and inane conversation), and when she overreacts at the news, I cheat on her again, because she's not being nice. (She should have been more accommodating and just excuse my behavior as part of being a man. That's what a young, adoring girl would have done.) They'd know that I look for casual relationships ("generous and shamelessly sensual"), take the scraps who agree to such an arrangement, then moan about not being married. They'd know that I don't want to marry one ex because she's too American, too short, not well-traveled, not freaky enough in bed and too picky an eater. Another ex I don't want to marry because she's too frail, also not freaky enough in bed, a pothead, too emotionally high-maintenance (why should I spend my time comforting and reassuring someone? So what if we're close?). They would know that I spend most of my time in "relationships" (longer than two dates) complaining about everything, eventually unappreciative of my generous and understanding (sometimes even adoring) companion, while raving on and on about the perfect woman and wondering out loud why my present company can't match my ideal in looks, breast size, multilingual ability, degree level, intelligence, gastronomic aptititude, entertainment quotient, etc., bemoaning my work deadlines, meals, my favorite porn sites and video games - in short, spend most of my time engrossed in myself. Why can't women these days be "strong" enough to put up with that?
Once I emailed my player-mentor, Jean-René, about Danielle, my first psycho ex from college. Ridiculous pseudo-philosophizing about girls... and...that she fell in love with me, then with Otmane, flying to Switzerland to see him. After that I never saw her again. Or so I told him.
The truth is I saw her several times again in LA, the last was my farewell party before Morocco in the summer of 2003 (there are witnesses). She wanted to have sex with me. I didn't refuse, even though I thought she was a bitch. How can I say no when I had no other options? But of course, I won't tell people that. I'll tell them that she's still asking about me, desperately waiting for me to tell her that it was love after all, begging me to take her back. Little do they know, I check out her friendster profile every now and then. As Tim knows, when I see Julianne Moore on the screen, I stop in my tracks and my briefs start to get tight thinking about Danielle.
My sister asked me once why my psycho ex was so angry at me. I simply told her "It's too delicate- I don't want to go into it." Pheww! Why tell her the whole story when it'll just make me look bad???
I won't admit to anyone, esp. to my own little terrorist, that I'm unhappy with or without reminders of my deficiencies. Regular company (not casual friends) can witness my perseverative rants about that psycho's vicious email taunts. They would know those emails bother me because they pinpoint my anomie- anxiety about meeting girls (and keeping them), relationships, getting married, not having real friends, my career, my intelligence, my feminine body, my hairline. My self-esteem is too important to admit stupidity or bad judgment.
When I need company, I don't juggle a long list of options- people I have something in common with, buddies through thick and thin. I just call whoever is available and interested in hanging out with me. Since Tim has his own life, that usually means just one person. ;-) The only thing we have in common? She can't get a date, either (see previous). Some people just aren't involved enough in my life to know certain details and to verify tall stories and will believe anything I tell them. The ones who've been in recent close relationships with me? Well, they don't exactly want to be fixtures in my life, hehe.
Back to the beginning.
Lucky am I to have casual or absent "friends" who believe my heavily filtered and hallucinated life stories. Too uninvolved in my life to know what I actually do and say beyond the veneer of politeness and self-aggrandizement. A few still need directions to my workplace or home- that's how out of the loop they are! They'll believe me when I say that my nutcase stands outside my door through the early morning hours, that she constantly begs me to marry her, that she calls me at work trying to get me to have dinner with her. When in fact, she's quite happy to know that I'm still churning my walrus in front of the computer and in the shower, socially deprived as usual.
My real friends live in Morocco, France, the East Coast.
Here I have dates, booty calls, coworkers, homely girls who want my attention and will drive to see me at the drop of a hat.
I complain to maman and papa, my cousins, Chrisann and Caro, that girls here are no good. That they can't see me for my elegance, glamour and mystery. They get the impression that I'm picky (= have standards) and turn down girls down en masse. The truth is, most girls aren't interested in seeing me after the first date. The pretty ones, the ones with good careers, the interesting ones... the ones with a degree! But I won't tell anyone that. I'll blame the girls. They're the ones with the flaws, not me! But anyone with half a brain who spends more than a few hours with me at a time can see the truth. That the ones awestruck by me are nothing to write home about. Les petits mortels, as my papa says. They're plain or even homely, uneducated, uncultured, monolingual, dull, ignorant, pedestrian, gentille, sans plus... frigid (ha! I'm not l'homme moyen sensuel, you know).
Like Bush, I present nothing but platitudes, false bravado, blame games and strident self-delusions. Also like him, my audience is happily ignorant and not too keen to probe deeper. Therein lies my advantage. If they spent any significant time with me these days, they'd see differently.
They'd know that the girls I seek are not the ones who contact me. It weighs on me, hence my bitter tone. They'd know that when things go well in a relationship, I eventually get bored. That when I'm with the type of girl I know I may never meet again and things get rocky, I reserve the right to cheat on her, so I can be with a "nice" girl for a change (even if it's just 30 min in the sack and inane conversation), and when she overreacts at the news, I cheat on her again, because she's not being nice. (She should have been more accommodating and just excuse my behavior as part of being a man. That's what a young, adoring girl would have done.) They'd know that I look for casual relationships ("generous and shamelessly sensual"), take the scraps who agree to such an arrangement, then moan about not being married. They'd know that I don't want to marry one ex because she's too American, too short, not well-traveled, not freaky enough in bed and too picky an eater. Another ex I don't want to marry because she's too frail, also not freaky enough in bed, a pothead, too emotionally high-maintenance (why should I spend my time comforting and reassuring someone? So what if we're close?). They would know that I spend most of my time in "relationships" (longer than two dates) complaining about everything, eventually unappreciative of my generous and understanding (sometimes even adoring) companion, while raving on and on about the perfect woman and wondering out loud why my present company can't match my ideal in looks, breast size, multilingual ability, degree level, intelligence, gastronomic aptititude, entertainment quotient, etc., bemoaning my work deadlines, meals, my favorite porn sites and video games - in short, spend most of my time engrossed in myself. Why can't women these days be "strong" enough to put up with that?
Once I emailed my player-mentor, Jean-René, about Danielle, my first psycho ex from college. Ridiculous pseudo-philosophizing about girls... and...that she fell in love with me, then with Otmane, flying to Switzerland to see him. After that I never saw her again. Or so I told him.
The truth is I saw her several times again in LA, the last was my farewell party before Morocco in the summer of 2003 (there are witnesses). She wanted to have sex with me. I didn't refuse, even though I thought she was a bitch. How can I say no when I had no other options? But of course, I won't tell people that. I'll tell them that she's still asking about me, desperately waiting for me to tell her that it was love after all, begging me to take her back. Little do they know, I check out her friendster profile every now and then. As Tim knows, when I see Julianne Moore on the screen, I stop in my tracks and my briefs start to get tight thinking about Danielle.
My sister asked me once why my psycho ex was so angry at me. I simply told her "It's too delicate- I don't want to go into it." Pheww! Why tell her the whole story when it'll just make me look bad???
I won't admit to anyone, esp. to my own little terrorist, that I'm unhappy with or without reminders of my deficiencies. Regular company (not casual friends) can witness my perseverative rants about that psycho's vicious email taunts. They would know those emails bother me because they pinpoint my anomie- anxiety about meeting girls (and keeping them), relationships, getting married, not having real friends, my career, my intelligence, my feminine body, my hairline. My self-esteem is too important to admit stupidity or bad judgment.
When I need company, I don't juggle a long list of options- people I have something in common with, buddies through thick and thin. I just call whoever is available and interested in hanging out with me. Since Tim has his own life, that usually means just one person. ;-) The only thing we have in common? She can't get a date, either (see previous). Some people just aren't involved enough in my life to know certain details and to verify tall stories and will believe anything I tell them. The ones who've been in recent close relationships with me? Well, they don't exactly want to be fixtures in my life, hehe.
Back to the beginning.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Kitten with a quip
My little terrorist keeps sending me vicious taunts.
She found out that I created a profile on www.datingdynasty.com with the username "Misterbigg." Correctly pointed out that I wasn't on a date that early morning but online as usual, looking for cyberchatte, pussy, because I can't get it in real life. Nothing to take to court there! :-(
The rotten missive?
"El-'ein baSeerah wel-eid qaSeerah LOL" (Your eyes see but your hand can't reach.)
...I think. My Arabic sucks.
Damn your black heart, Marianna!
Back to the beginning.
She found out that I created a profile on www.datingdynasty.com with the username "Misterbigg." Correctly pointed out that I wasn't on a date that early morning but online as usual, looking for cyberchatte, pussy, because I can't get it in real life. Nothing to take to court there! :-(
The rotten missive?
"El-'ein baSeerah wel-eid qaSeerah LOL" (Your eyes see but your hand can't reach.)
...I think. My Arabic sucks.
Damn your black heart, Marianna!
Back to the beginning.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
"Crazy," sou nan desu ka?
My kyuubi no kitsune sent me another hate email- OK, just an email header about me spending yet another night in front of the computer instead of on a hot date, or any date- but so what??? I'll just have to tell people that she's still in love with me - I have no other explanations! Yeah, that's the ticket. Good thing they have no clue about my life and will believe me.
I will never take her back for the following reasons.
I'm going back to nice, normal girls... like phone answerers, bartenders, aging temptresses and graduates of mediocre state colleges!
Meanwhile, I shall have to tell my side of the story. With the same blog site that she uses. Aren't I original??? I also still eat shwarmas and drink jellabs from the restaurant that she led me to one day. Imagine that- simply crossing the street can lead to such treasure! Yet another thing I should thank her for, but since she's being a bitch these days, I won't give her that.
I will never take her back for the following reasons.
- Bad teeth (like Vanessa Paradis)
- Small chest (like Audrey Hepburn)
- Petite (like Natalie Portman)
- Weird (like Angelina Jolie)
- Tempestuous bitch (like Josephine Bonaparte)
- Her extraordinary memory for details (like Anaïs Nin-- damn!), especially in conversation ... and most of all
- Way too intelligent for me! I'm tired of having to reach for the dictionary every time she emails me or ask my mommy to explain one of her puns
I'm going back to nice, normal girls... like phone answerers, bartenders, aging temptresses and graduates of mediocre state colleges!
Meanwhile, I shall have to tell my side of the story. With the same blog site that she uses. Aren't I original??? I also still eat shwarmas and drink jellabs from the restaurant that she led me to one day. Imagine that- simply crossing the street can lead to such treasure! Yet another thing I should thank her for, but since she's being a bitch these days, I won't give her that.
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