Je prends ce que je trouve...

"I'll take what I can get."

Since I'm nowhere near Roppongi's Gaspanic bar full of low-life J-girls on the prowl for any blue-eyed gaijin, I have to degrade myself with low-life Philippinas I meet on the street or online. Mommy's horrified.

That's how I met Tess. Another Philippina who still lived with her parents. She wasn't even 5 ft tall but like the other cockroach (Dad) she threw herself at me too. As usual, she contacted me first - "You're hot!" I couldn't respond in kind so I just called her "sexy." I didn't find her too intelligent and thought she was boring (as I told that psycho) - another party girl from over the hill. When we met at the Getty Center that Sunday all I could think about was lunch. Nothing to email Maman about - not educated, intelligent, fun, extremely kind... but she was horny and available and flattered me endlessly. That's all that counts, anyway, and as usual I had no other options. There were several weeks of teasing and making plans, even though I was already hanging out with Marianna regularly. I told Tess "I don't want to be just another horny guy!" LOL

Damn those pretty girls with a career and their own living arrangements! Plus Marianna was could be a bitch about my constant pussy trolling during and after work. I could have tried to work things out but that requires effort- screw that! I just needed someone to be "nice" to me, if not nice to look at. Besides, it's easy to throw away the ugly ones. I don't even have to tell Maman or my friends about her.

We finally did the deed when I returned from Morocco (Marianna picked me up from the airport but she was being grouchy - not cool). I drove to Tess's parents' house where we made out a little, though unsuccessfully (I'm too big), in her car. A few days later, she came to my place. Luckily nobody saw her. I tried to wash off her scent after sex but she grabbed me in the shower too! After that it was just sporadic emails, nothing to make me want to see her again (plus the psycho could be nice sometimes). I didn't see her again until 6 months later when I needed company (stopped seeing the psycho) and flopped after several other dates, as usual. But when my birthday came around, I celebrated only with Marianna. She's the most fun and engaging- with that brilliant idea for a Naruto birthday cake- when she's not blowing her top over my hoe's.

A few months later, after I stopped seeing the bitch, Tess emailed me out of the blue through myspace. She asked me how my wrist was holding up and what was going on in my life. I told her that I just ended a bad relationship. She asked me "What did you do wrong?" I couldn't reply to that! June? Just ended a bad relationship, though I saw her only a couple of months before? Busted!

I called her a friend to piss off Marianna (she knew better but I don't like to admit that she's right), but like everyone else she's gone now, too. I'm not missing her, either. If she emails me I'll reply, of course! It's the nice thing to do. Who knows- maybe I'll get some free pussy out of it?

Nov 2004, Mar 2005


Romualda Diaz was my first oompa loompa. Can you see why I promised my mommy that she won't have any philippino babies?

Back to the beginning.

Tea for one

She used to slather Bains du Marais oil after a bath. Scent of tea.

Why couldn't she just wear that cheap Victoria's Secret stuff like Marie?



Back to the beginning.

Au contraire, mon frère

My little brother, le moyen Yssef, is universally acknowledged as the black sheep of my family (pay attention, all you casual friends & penpals ignorant about my life!).

But at his age, he's not only more successful than me in his career - youngest Hotel Director in the country - he's always been a hit with the ladies. He's engaged to a girl my mommy called a "monster." (My dad thinks both of us date cafards- cockroaches- because we're afraid of pretty girls. Maybe. See previous posts.)

He never listened to our advice and warnings; he would get insulted. He followed his own path. He's crazy, sexy, wild (like I always write in my profiles about myself). Insouciant charm. Garrulous and ebullient. He's not even as good-looking as me- he's a brunet! The bad Yssef.

But unlike me, he's happy. His fiancee is wildly imperfect but spunky (unlike my ideal dull-witted, big boobed "hot" dates). She cares about him and he accepts her as she is- modest background, troubled teeth, lack of height, career and sophistication, etc. He's touched by her. On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. And he sees that. I can't see past big boobs or bad teeth.

He's so wrong! In a few years, he'll really regret not being married to a perfect girl. I'm gonna find my perfect girl, no matter what it takes. It's my destiny. in the meantime, I'll still take the Philippina hobbits and trolls, Vegas trailer trash, lame teenyboppers and big-boobed no-personality girls who throw themselves at me (gotta have sex at least twice a year, right?). I won't get serious with them but I'll annoy them with talk about my perfect girl. My destiny.

Back to the beginnng.

Trophy Girl

Manouschka serves drinks at a club for a living. She played a zombie in a hip-hop horror film whose name I've already forgotten (and so have the casting directors, poor thing).

This striking and buxom blowhard prided herself on knowing words like "elder" and "inexplicable." Those are big words for a junior college dropout! According to Quizilla on her myspace page (500 friends!) her linguistic knowledge is very high, despite some quite obvious and cringe-worthy vocabulary goofs in her writing that no truly literate or intelligent person would make. LOL She professed a passion for Rumi and Alduous Huxley to separate herself from the pack - not that I know who they are. A self-proclaimed geek, she thought we'd get along famously- me with my animation and she with her... uh, shoes. Did we have any conversations about Ptolemy and zoetropes and The Sinking of the Lusitania??? Did we oooh and aaah over the the Belkin Pre-N wireless router's blazing speed??? Did she even know the video game I was working on??? NOPE! Who cares- she had big boobs. Wooaaaah.

But this is LA- you can be whatever you want to be. :-p

American identity politics being what it is, she claimed in her match.com profile to have royal blood in her veins, in addition to being brilliant (her model friends told her so!), and was having trouble meeting guys with the cojones to last with her. (Like me, she's not too blame for her single status.) Though Haitian, she claimed to speak standard French, plus Spanish. I realized quickly on the first date that she lied about being a polyglot, and was really only monolingual, like most of my dates, but I didn't mind. (With those boobs???) She was exceptionally chatty, like someone long deprived of male company, very eager to show off vocabulary words that she just learned, desperate to prove that she wasn't just a pretty face. (Lucky for her I'm too retarded to notice the truth and see past her boobs.) I told my mommy that she dressed too much like a model and wore too much makeup. (But that's what one does on dates- accentuate what you have and exaggerate or make up the rest, right???) She seemed to be into me -Hallelujah! - and had double DDs too (though fake; see photo). She wasn't even offended that I asked a million questions about her boob job and couldn't take my eyes off them. Now that's a quality girl! Why can't all girls be that confident (or so hard up for attention to overlook such crassness)??? She even went to the trouble of googling me (such a rare skill, you know).

We went to The Geisha House- a sleek, laughably inauthentic, über-trendy Japanese restaurant in Hollywood. Strictly a beginner's Japanese joint, it served everything- sushi, tempura, yakitori, little plates - brought to you by Caucasians wearing fisherman outfits and girls in geisha costumes - a veritable Nihon-Disney! But the numerous video monitors showing porn, game shows and anime were cool, too! I was happy to go because I had a date who was into me, plus I love sushi. Sushi- we have so much in common! She ordered shrimp poppers. I'm glad she enjoyed the food- her choice, like all high-maintenance girls- because it was way overpriced. $150 for mediocre food and the privilege of watching fake boobs all night (it was a mecca for starlets, porn stars, and the "beautiful" people). I told Marianna that it was a "nice" restaurant when she spied the souvenir matchbook on my coffee table. I always pretend to enjoy the activities of a girl who gives me attention, because it happens so rarely.

(Later in a myspace blog I bitched about this - the overpriced, trendy restaurants with no soul. That psycho eventually saw it and pointed out correctly in an unexpected comment, "Branché mais vide (trendy but empty), just like your date- and you said you liked it!" Uh-oh, this hypocrite was busted! So I quickly deleted it. Don't want any of my casual or absent "friends" to notice that.)

Things were so hot that we made out on out first date. I thought I was going to marry her! (I always think this when the first date goes well.) I even told my mommy. I showed her my demo reel from college- because she asked and I was too much of a pussy to say 'no,' not because she was my girlfriend or someone close to me or someone I could talk shop with. Besides, maybe I could have had some nookie out of this potentially bonding moment. Alas, the pretty girls don't give it up too quickly. :-( I didn't find anything wrong with her until she became too uncomfortable with me still chummying around with Marianna. "But she's a cool girl, not too many like her," I protested several times, "I can't just let her go. " But it got to be too much for her. Narcissism reared its ugly head and slammed into yet another insecure actor. After another night working hard for those tips, she told me the next day that we couldn't go any further- not with someone who can't let go of an ex (who easily overshadows her). Plus after reading foul and caustic comments about her on Marianna's myspace blog, she was afraid of her. Nobody likes to be exposed for the pretentious dolt she really is! "Can't let go of an ex" - what the @#$%^&* was she talking about???

Later that night I called Marianna to ask her to come over and watch a movie with me.

Manouschka didn't like to be called a Trophy Girl. She wanted to be appreciated for her.. ahem.. mind. Kinda like me. Hence the literary name dropping on her profiles (me, too). She was looking for a cerebral guy, so why was she so interested in me? Because she was desperate for some action after a biblical dry spell, too! So much in common, tsk tsk tsk... I would never have been able to fulfill her Sex and The City delusions.

In my excitement over a real Trophy Girl, I thought about marrying her. (I'm obsessed with marriage and my mommy had just given me a big push before she left a couple of months earlier. I was on a mission!) But had I stayed with her, she would have no doubt seen me in one of my vicious black moods in which I criticize everything she says and does and forget any shred of kindness previously shown to me: "Why don't you know French? Why can't you speak Japanese and Romanian like ____? Why don't you know these French songs like my parents used to sing to me? Why didn't you finish school? Why couldn't you have gone to a good school? Do you actually read? Why can't we have sparkling conversations like I did with Marianna? Don't you know what real Japanese food is? Why do you always go to these trendy restaurants? The clubs you go to suck. Your waist is too big. Your boobs are fake - they don't turn me on anymore. You didn't slice the chilis correctly. I'm not gonna spend any money on you- what makes you think you're so special?" She's an actress- she's used to criticism, right?

Several months later I assured my anxious mommy that she wouldn't have any Black or Philippina babies.



Back to the beginning.

Kani-nabe.. nan dattebayo?!

"Kani-nabe may be tasty, but there is nothing primal about it. Cool ingredients become hot. Green things wilt. The broth, a simple tincture of water and kombu seaweed, darkens and becomes infused with the punchy aroma of boiled crab shells. Glass noodles soften, slither and collapse into themselves. The broth is whisked away to the kitchen at the end of the meal, thickened with cooked rice, and returned to the table as a loose, fragrant porridge into which the waiter beats a single raw egg."

My own little terrorist rambled on about that one day after showering. She loves food and is proud of her tastes and knowledge.

These days all I get is Orianna asking me if I want to have "sooooup" with her. :-( Good thing it wasn't mechoui - "BBQ"!?

Or another date dismissing Sakura House - Caro's favorite restaurant here - as "interesting." :-(



Back to the beginning.

Homo Disorientatis

How does a Caucasian-looking guy like me find himself with so many Asian women? Ask me, and you'll see how clueless I am!


I don't go out of my way to date mémères - old biddies - from those exotic locations that are an assault on your senses, an overwhelming explosion of sights, sounds, tastes, smells and strange colonic movements.. tropical beaches and 24-hour foot massages... but sometimes you have to widen your net to catch anything. This one bit. Finally! (Too many single dates at that point.) Another Asian, a barely 5 ft. tall Thai divorcee with kids and huge boobs- wooaaahh!

Upon hearing about her my perfect mommy proclaimed "that's no better" (than my regular lot of dumpy or midget working-class philippinas).

Cherisse has a Yahoo album with several dozen "professional" photos of her in various poses with barbells and household furniture. As you can see, her seduction wardrobe comes straight out of the clearance section of Frederick's of Hollywood. Must take this online dating thing seriously to go to that trouble!

She chose Il Fornaio for our first date, a bland surburban California-Italian restaurant in Pasadena. I should have taken it as a sign, but was just happy that someone was finally even remotely interested in me, even if she didn't reach my hip bone. What an entrance we made- she, the nearly 5 feet tall Thai lady and me, the nearly 6 feet tall ladyboy. Unfortunately with the tepid menu I couldn't impress her with what I picked up in Thai Town on a midnight run for sticky rice desserts with that psycho: "Houy nam mai, po! (No spicy- me foreigner!)" whilst pointing to my bottom.

The next day over lamb carpaccio with manchego shavings at a Franco-Japanese restaurant I told Marianna that she was "intriguing." (Don't ask me what it means.) I even added that I might fall in love with her! On our second date, a Saturday, I spent nearly the whole day with her. It was as exciting as a 40-yr-old's day could be. Interminable rounds of golf. Felt like an Escher nightmare, running up and down the stairs at her condo. Ate some healthy grains and tempeh. Made out a little (yesss!). When I returned home I called Marianna to see if she wanted to go with me to Le Petit Four with me the next morning, the day's muscle-building pursuits far from my mind.

As for "intriguing".. well, I wasn't dying to see her a third time. Three days after our second date I weepily admitted to that nutcase that she never had anything cool to say over the phone and that our times together were nice, that's all. When Cherisse called the next week I made up some excuse to avoid her Wednesday (yeah, we already planned to date regularly by that point) and also added that my Saturday was booked. Had to see a film with some "buddies." Besides, I was still on a high from my mommy's encouragement in finding zee perfect woman, who was just waiting for me, somewhere.

A few weeks later I tried to explain my abrupt change of heart by blurting out that in the throes in passion I realized that I wasn't able to give her all that she wanted and insisted that I wasn't good enough for her. Chicks usually believe that.

So she suggested that we remain friends. I could only agree. Do we talk these days? Haha, no way! (Such an explicit attempt at friendship never works. Someone told me that.)

It was all a bit disappointing and blah. I didn't even get a foot massage! As usual, I was left with a friendship in name only.



Back to the beginning.

Big Boss de l'Amerique

is what my some of my relatives like to call me.

Little do they understand, however, that I'm still a small man on the totem pole here at Sony. When we started God of War 2, they hired an outside person to be the Cinematics Lead- can you believe that bullshit??? Jackie hardly ever works, anyway. I'm the main Maya monkey. Not the one who goes to top-level meetings or travels to conferences (with my people skills??); not the ideas guy, the big picture dude, the designer. I give direction to entry-level animators. Peons. I'm the most talented one here- I deserve more than this.

During Christmas I interviewed for a job at Ubisoft in Montreal that I expected them to just drop in my lap - like the perfect woman - and was insulted that they wanted me to start immediately! Couldn't they accommodate my schedule??? Didn't they know I'd have to quit Sony first? How the hell am I supposed to negotiate that? I'm too much of a pussy to tell them. Why can't I just get the job that I want when I want (like the perfect woman)???

As my family tells me, I'm too special to be slugging away with les petits mortels - these little people - forever. I should have my own company by now but I'm still toiling with people less talented than me. And the only way I rewind is to look for tanned booty on DatingDynasty.com at 3:00 in the morning. If I'm not "Mister Big" at work, at least I can be online. :-p



Back to the beginning.

"Caballero, yo te conozco- tu no tienes corazon"

Another psycho rant from my little terrorist when we had The Troubles. I put down her cooking - some unknown dish I could neither pronounce nor spell- or mentioned another "quality girl." I forget now. Her eyes enlarged to take in the object of her scorn. She bared her dragon teeth and fixed her Medusa gaze on me. Though, unlike Medusa, she yelled. Eloquently. Then she would unleash her fury on me like a Gremlin.

One time, though, instead of hurling epithets, she simply started to sing a little song, like she always did when she didn't want to just spell things out and make things easy for me - "That's for troglodytes," she would say.

Soy un egoísta, soy un infeliz
Y no me importa nadie mas que yo.
Soy maravilloso, soy encantador
Y no sé por qué yo nunca soy tu centro de atracción.

Soy un presumido, soy un ganador,
Soy lo que le falta al mundo para ser mejor.

No comparto no convido, no presto no invito,
Que no entiendes lo que digo...

No tengo amigos...
No tengo amigos...
Y nadie quiere estar conmigo.

Pregunta lo que quieras, yo te responderé.
Yo nunca me equivoco, porque todo yo lo sé.

Y yo soy superior, y yo lo tengo todo,
Y con todo lo que tengo a mi lado estarás.

No comparto no convido, no presto no invito,
Que no entiendes lo que digo...

I'm selfish, I'm unhappy
And I don't care about anyone more than myself
I'm wonderful, I'm enchanting
I don't know why I'm never in the middle of your fun

I'm a poser, a user
I'm what the world needs to become better

I don't share, invite, loan, or treat
I hope you don't understand what I'm saying

I have no friends
I have no friends
And nobody wants to be with me

Ask whatever you want, I will respond
I'm never wrong, I know everything.

And I'm better, I have everything
And with all that I have you will be by my side

I don't share, invite, loan, or treat
I hope you don't understand what I'm saying...


And then she stuck out her grisly tongue and stomped home. Well, that's nothing compared to those god-awful ranchera songs she would sing in the shower sometimes! No more drama queens for me. I'm looking for the girl-next-door who can communicate plainly in English or French, who'll watch one of my animations and simply say "You're awesome, Mehdi! Please fuck me." No more going off on tangents about Ptolemy and zoetropes and The Sinking of the Lusitania. I'm sure life will be much easier with a nice chick. I'd be much happier. Now if only one of them would answer my IMs on myspace!

snatch.com

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"Misterbigg"

I wish I could tell girls that I'm as big as this.










In reality, I look like this. (Uzura is pretty yummy, btw.)










I keep stressing over not being married yet but I should be more worried about not producing enough sperm! My baby bollocks have to work twice as hard.

(Psssst! My casual and absent friends don't know this, and a lot of other things, too.)

Klinefelter Syndrome? "One extra X chromosome -> low level of testosterone, sparse body hair, small testes... and inability to produce children." On top of that my near-disastrous forceps delivery makes me say "woaaahhh" too many times! Merci, papa. :-p

So why doesn't NPR play my favorite songs???



Back to the beginning.

"Requiem pour un con"

That loony liked to taunt me with little ditties. This time she changed the words to "Annie aime les sucettes," a sweet song about lollipops - and blowjobs - written by one of her idols, that dirty pun-loving Jew, Serge Gainsbourg (and sung by a 14-year-old girl). Love those Jews.


(Original)

Annie aime les sucettes
Les sucettes à l’anis
Les sucettes à l’anis
D’Annie
Donnent à ses baisers
Un goût ani-
sé lorsque le sucre d’orge
Parfumé à l’anis
Coule dans la gorge d’Annie
Elle est au paradis

(The loony's)

Mehdi aime les cocottes
Les cocottes aiment Mehdi
Les cocottes simples ou paumées
Donnent à sa vie beauf
Une lueur fausse
Lorsqu'une femme lui téléphone
Il commence à sourire
Et lache les boutons de Sony-
Il est au paradis.

Mehdi loves the tarts
The tarts love Mehdi
The simple or even clueless ones
give his dingy life
an artificial glow
When a woman calls
he starts to smile
and drops those Sony controls-
He's in heaven!

Emotionally stable and proud of it

There are pretty girls out there, some with singularly outstanding features (boobs, ass, skin, hair, lips). Or interesting, cerebral girls who could stimulate me in many ways. Girls with a life, maybe a few thousand frequent flyer miles to their names. On the same career level as me. Possibly even capable of thoughtful, sophisticated conversation. Fun in an unconventional way. Ideally they have something in common with me- Japan, animation, sushi/sashimi, Miyazaki, Richard Pryor. I see their profiles. I contact them. But they don't usually reply to me or want to see me after the first date.

The girls who contact me are like Orianna. A long string of flaxen-haired pretty boys on her pimped-out myspace page. (Tacky and overdone... like a teenage girl!) Writes what no mature person would say - "I speak four languages- yay!" and has to remind people "See, I'm smart - I told you so!" (If you have to, then you really aren't- see Manouschka above). Trying really hard to sell herself. Brags about being emotionally stable and enjoys revolutionary pastimes like going to the beach and to the gym. Watches "independent" films... like "Gladiador [sic]." LOL Interested in international cultures and people as long as they're White and better-looking than her. (She even has a Caucasian name - Alison.) Claims to know French but can't string more than two words together (not that her even less savvy myspace friends would notice). Half-Spanish and half-garbled Portuguese to go with all things Brazilian and hackneyed (the shabbier Latin Americans like to identify with sexy Brazil and Argentina).

But that doesn't matter when you can't get the girls you want to give you the time of day!

Unlike other girls, she was full of enthusiasm around me- gushing about my good looks to even strangers and her spud eyes sparkling when she saw me. Most plain girls are like that at the sight of a rock star-god like me (1, 2). Since nobody else online replied to my cheesy come-ons, I was happy that someone wanted to talk to me - my very own groupie! Now I know what Justin Timberlake goes through. I didn't even have to convince her that I was cool- being a fair-haired, light-eyed pretty boy was enough. We went dancing for a few weeks in the typically cheesy samba clubs that amateurish Brazilophiles flock to, sometimes with my work buddy Jason. She even added him to her myspace list but didn't seem too sad when he suddenly disappeared from it (she doesn't like the darkies). My psycho ex showed me some samba earlier (a whole crowd gathered around her to watch at the Temple Club) but I pretended that it was my first time with Orianna. I told her that she danced well (what do I know?). Plus, lots of eye candy at Café Danssa. It was a sad irony to be surrounded by all those sexy Brazilian girls - round asses like my recently departed psycho - but accompanied by a Latina discount diva (from the Valley). She had the flattest bunda there (I notice these things). Puny Peruvian with ambitious heels. "Nice" but thoroughly conventional. Would stick out in more fashionable or stylish dens. Of course, I said she looked nice and sexy to be gallant. I do that to every girl (see Jennifer, Tess , even women I openly find frightful), especially to those who I think need to hear it, since I'm much harsher with my girlfriends (if you knew me long enough, you'd see this.) Kindness never hurts, even if it's insincere. No matter; I was happy just for the company, especially after being dissed repeatedly by the girls I contacted first.

Near her ghetto neighborhood we went to the same lively and authentic restaurant that the psycho introduced me to, so I can have my Pho Dac Biet. Or as Orianna calls it -- "sooooup"! LOL Good thing we didn't have mechoui ("BBQ"???). I also brought her along to a couple of Sony dinners so that my coworkers would think that I was getting some action, even if it was just with a shabby girl from the Valley. Who brings a girl he just met online 2 weeks ago to meet his coworkers??? Someone with no friends, who can't get a date, that's who. I have to keep up the myth that a pretty boy like me can get any girl he wants. Too bad it usually is just any girl. :-(

I thought we were dating all this time but she wasn't even interested in making out. To me, that's just affection- tongue wrestling, polishing my purple-headed storm trooper, practicing the downward facing dog. Any real friend would do that for me, I casually mentioned to an ex-date (also one of the few who actually was interested in me). I mean, with me. However, she was flattered that a pretty boy like me - live, in the flesh - would want to have sex with her, so she insisted that we remain friends. Little did she know that I was desperate at that point. Three months after I stopped seeing my psycho ex, a pretty boy like me still couldn't get pussy!

So I lost interest in hanging out with La Lastimosa, preferring to spend Summer 2005 indoors with my rigs and Sony PS and trying to date older women (hoping for the desperate horny ones). In July she forwarded me a fake match.com profile written by the La Terrorista. She found it "weird." Well, of course, it was- she didn't know that side of me, after knowing me only casually, hanging out for only 3-4 hours at a time, the last time a few months before! LOL So I told her that Marianna was just making it up and didn't know what was going on, plus was still in love with me (have to preserve the ego, you know!) Simple explanation for a simple girl. She believed me (these young girls!). LOL She sent me an email during Labor Day weekend, but I didn't have any desire to hang out with her. Instead I watched Tim's dog, Otto, while he was out of town. She would still email me throughout the Fall- she thought we were good friends by then (so American, these fast and superficial relationships), probably because I introduced her to my coworkers. I apologized for disappearing - what else could I do? She didn't get the point and kept emailing me. She posted numerous comments on my myspace page, like a starstruck school girl trying to get my blond, blue-eyed attention. I didn't post anything on her page- why should I? She continued begging me to have "soup" with her again. ("Pho," you dim Valley peasant). Or have coffee, walks on the beach- anything so she could gaze at my tawny hair and blue eyes (just like the others I had nothing in common with). "Soup" and blue eyes, that's how cultured my usual company is...

Even when I settled very briefly with a nice but dull girl, I wasn't dying to hang out with Orianna again. She sent me Holiday greetings and I replied out of politeness but preferred to stay with my thoroughly emotionally stable "girlfriend." At least I got sex out of it. Plus she was a little older, had some semblance of a life. A woman. A boring woman. With big boobs. And a student of medicine, not one enrolled in a low-rated state school. Sigh. I can't seem to attract stellar girls, just thoroughly mediocre or conventional ones. I didn't introduce her to my lady doctor. Upon hearing that I was finally seeing someone, Orianna could only muster "Is she pretty???" (Typically inane- can you imagine our other conversations?) I didn't reply (more about that later). I would tell others that my "girlfriend" was nice, that's all. Orianna isn't much more than that, either. If she were, I would hang out with her more often! As it is, I'm already looking for more "friends" online... again. Maybe they'll be closer to my age, with some life experience and a career, so that we have richer interactions and not just "nice" times. Maybe they'll be more compelling so that I'll see them more often, rather than just when I have no other company.

Other girls would get the picture after my disappearance of 6 months but she really needed a free meal and an escort on Saturday nights! And I'm the only pretty boy she has ever succeeded in meeting. Apparently her online profiles aren't too successful. Uninspired text. Her photos are cheap, grainy webcam shots from the same sappy angle, one even with her cheek resting on her hand, waiting for her unattainable blue-eyed Prince Charming to sweep her away. Awwww. Besides, how interesting can a girl be when the highlight of her day is updating her myspace profile and adding more Italian Backstreet boys to her list? I mean, people with rich lives can attract interesting or like-minded people in real life and don't need to collect "friends" online, right? I bet she's even unaware that myspace is the butt of jokes in many circles. Ay ay ay, the psycho was right- you attract what you are. :-(

I would ask her to introduce me to her friends or cousins but I'm still at the nice and polite stage with her. Don't want her to think I'm a pig. I save that for my girlfriends, long-term and otherwise ("Wooaaaah, your friend has nice boobs. Would she be interested in a threesome?"). Besides, I prefer my women kinda slim. And educated. As I told my mommy in an email (and as anyone who knows me more than casually has heard), "Latinas get too big!" Her friends and cousins are just as attractive as she is. No, thanks.

I didn't learn too much from her besides some samba, pagode and bossa nova. The clichés of Brazil, but cool to someone as green as she is. Plus all that music sounds the same after a while, anyway. At one point I pretended to be interested, to be nice. But ask me now if I still listen to Marisa Monte or Jorge Ben Jor! I could've learned about Cinema Novo, Mario Japa, had an eye-opening convo about the sertao, or tasted something besides churrasco or seen Seu Jorge in concert but... that's not to be with an ordinary 22-year-old. I don't even like all that sappy Latin pop (ask me who I listen to). Typical for her age, not too much depth (not that I have much). I know it sounds like I'm complaining (as usual) but I don't usually attract dazzling girls- why not? Only les petits mortels- little people - like papa says. I went from a girl who writes French poetry like an estrogenized Verlaine to someone who doesn't even know that Michelle is a French name.

But to her credit Orianna's a good listener and believes everything I tell her about that psycho and the rest of my life without question! :-) Critical thinking skills are so overrated. She gladly tolerates my excessive complaining about Americans, women, dating, etc. Anything so she can gaze at my lovely blue-ish eyes. Did I say that she was only 22???? She considers me a good friend because I reply to her emails and we spend 3-4 hours "hanging out" every now and then when I have nothing better to do and no dates to rush off to (which is most of the time). She assumes I have many friends in town yet she's only met coworkers. As I told my mommy, I take her out to eat and we chat, that's all. "No sexual tension." Do I call her in the middle of the night to unburden my latest bête noire? Do I feel the urge to celebrate my latest career milestone with her? When I want to go izakaya-hopping is she at the top of my list for company? Would she appreciate an early morning marathon of Takashi Miike farcical-horror-musicals? ("That ees too weird, Mr. Mehdi! I no understand," she would probably say.) Or even Naruto (or as she would call it, cartúns)? Do we talk about the latest unnerving NPR piece? Can she drive to my home or workplace without needing directions? NO WAY! haha I don't lend her CDs, DVDs or books - when will I see her next??? As with my last "girlfriend," ça me fait compagnie- she keeps me company- when I have nobody else.

At least Orianna learned "bizous" from me. Now she's looking for French-speaking pretty boys, since I shaved my head to get away from that look, and keep forgetting about her. If she learned a few more French words maybe we can actually have a decent conversation.

But when I can't get a hot date - or any date - she's good company and I can always use her to throw off my coworkers. She even drives all the way through 405 traffic to see me. (For obvious reasons, I won't go up there- she's not worth it. Why should I do any of the work? Homely girls will do anything for me, they're happy for any attention. See above. Besides you don't have to spend more than $20 on them. What a bargain.) It's easier than seeing my old classmate, Jennifer M., or Atsuko, my lively former Japanese coworker - you know, people I have something in common with, who've lived a little, with a passion in life besides myspace?? But it's easier to call Orianna. I like easy! She's not always up-to-date with my life (or email addresses), etc. and doesn't know me as well as someone who's spent consecutive days or whole weekends with me, sharing my meals and my bed, observing my highs and lows (including my vicious black moods in which I complain about her physical and other flaws), glimpsed my impolite and unguarded moments, my special trick to get the bowels moving, my shit-stained underwear - and she certainly doesn't know about my porn/masturbation addiction (in the shower)! - but oh well, she's got a pulse, no?? You may laugh but a few hours of casual company every now and then for lack of anything better is a friendship to me! (Just like Jennifer B., Sharda, etc. - but they got the point eventually and didn't keep begging me to take them out.) She's also good for squealing on my psycho ex's cyber-devilry. You know those teenyboppers with nothing going on, trying to ingratiate themselves with the only pretty boy in their lives!

Il eût mieux valu revenir à la même heure, dit le renard. Si tu viens, par exemple, à quatre heures de l'après-midi, dès trois heures je commencerai d'être heureux. Plus l'heure avancera, plus je me sentirai heureux. À quatre heures, déjà, je m'agiterai et m'inquiéterai; je découvrirai le prix du bonheur! Mais si tu viens n'importe quand, je ne saurai jamais à quelle heure m'habiller le cœur... Il faut des rites.

It's better to return at the same time, said the fox. If you come, for example, at 4 o'clock, at 3 o'clock I will start to become happy. The closer the time comes, the happier I will be. At 4 o'clock, I will get agitated and worried. But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you. One needs to establish rituals.

I see Orianna at just any time.

--------

These days, because of a mean-spirited and spot-on blog, Orianna deleted her original myspace page and created a new one, far from her original ditzy, pretty boy-crazy one with close to 300 "friends," trying this time to present herself as a normal, level-headed, mature person who just happens to spend too much time on myspace. Once again, her comments are full of ridiculously misspelled Portuguese and botched French. Makes you wonder if she really knows those languages. But her equally mildly educated friends don't seem to notice.

And, of course, she asked me to add her to my friend's list (gotta have one pretty boy, right?). I wouldn't have noticed or cared. And not surprisingly, she already posted a flurry of inane comments with broken links on my page. I inserted YouTube links, so she inserted them, too! See how original my "friends" are?? The much sexier girls who I just recently added haven't posted any comments yet. They're just collecting friends. Even if I secured a date with one of them, they would be unimpressed and not call me again, just like Lannsters, plus the other ones who went to the trouble of deleting me from their list. :-(

Orianna even added a picture of us from the "LA French meeting" (stupid little girl- that's LA French Quarter meeting- what do you expect, she only knows two words of French! I know, not the most appropriate company, but as usual I had no other options that night). Just wait, as soon as one of these skanks on myspace wants to hang out with me (hopefully less than 40 yrs old this time), I'll drop Orianna like a hot patata peruana. None of my peers with full lives from the "LA French meeting" is yet a friend, so I'll have to do with Orianna for now. She doesn't seem to have the perceptiveness to realize that I'm just using her as fall-back company, since she's so impressed with my looks. Girls her age (mentally and otherwise) are my bread and butter.

Oh, yeah- she also emailed Marianna "I want to keel you!".... I no like what you write. Too many big words- I only graduate from CSUN! I eh-speak francés muito bem, so eh-stop making fun of me!



Back to the beginning.

Orianna/Alison Vento, baranga ... the girls who throw themselves at Mehdi Yssef are from the peasant underclass

Myspace is the place for skanks

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

"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.

• 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

She will forever be just plain and crazy to me (though people I've introduced her to think otherwise).

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 say to-may-to, she says to-mah-to

No, it would never work, despite the garden of sensual and intellectual delights I often found myself in.

Why? She's hyperaesthetic. With fine feelings, sensitive, nervous, excitable. Abnormally tender, constantly wounded, all nerves. She reacts to all the harsh, strong colors and tones of everyday life as if they were shrill and ugly, even psychically painful. And then the cramping of her self into herself - her volcanic writing. A loaded gun always cocked and ready.

Me? She called me anaesthetic. In my presence, alone or in rare company, she felt at times in contact with something flavorless and boring. Beyond my flat affect, a dark, hollow-eyed nothing-affective anemia. Behind an ever-dull facade, which twitches uncertainly with every expiring whim, nothing but broken pieces, black rubbish heaps, yawning emotional emptiness, and the cold breath of an arctic soullessness.

Is that a summer breeze blowing into my bedroom? Nah - it must be Marianna, waiting for me to succumb to sleep so she can gently poke me with her horns and tempt me in my vulnerable and receptive state to marry her again! Silly succubus.

¨The Internet is not a good place to meet girls!¨

Yes, I´ve whined that a million times already.. but since I have no other option- and no game in real life- that´s how I meet chicks. You´d think I´d get the point by now and realize that I have no connection with these girls besides their sexuality and availability but I have no real friends besides Tim who can keep me company, and he just got married. Just ask anyone who has spent a whole weekend with me (in the past 3 years). Casual ¨friends¨and booty calls don´t count.

In this dry spell maybe another Marie or Jennifer (see above) can contact me out of the blue and "keep me company." I tell those girls they´re hot and sexy but avoid introducing them to my only real friend in LA outside work, Tim, who lives only three doors away. Who cares if they can only turn me on in one way??? Or that they usually speak only one language? Or that we have nothing on common?

Meanwhile, the cool girls are traveling around the world with their own money, finishing PhD or MD programs, moving forward in their highly respected careers, learning new languages, accepting their bodies as they are and refusing to maim themselves with plastic surgery... and here I am on myspace looking for ¨friends¨ with webcams. Maybe someone will fall for that "I'm hot sexy crazy cool" schtick. Maybe someone who's not a teenybopper this time! LOL There's also meetup.com... finding new faces - fully-clothed - for a change - because there was no previous one-on-one introduction where I can show just how bland I really I am. No, it's a free-for-all; you RSVP yes or no and nobody can stand you up. After all, they're not meeting only me, right??? Voila, ready-made company! Why can't it always be as easy as this?

The first time I brought Orianna. I know- a bit inappropriate, but I had no other option as usual! A group full of adults with careers and a plethora of life experiences, yet my guest is a fillette barely out of college and spends her free time looking for pretty boys on myspace, not to mention can't utter more than "Bonjour...c'est moi... bisous." And her idiotic Botox smile. But I can't relate to people my age! The women are all bitches who don't give me the time of day and the real men scare me!

A lot of married women in that group - YAY! Maybe one of those French-speaking Asian chicks will show up. Maybe she'll have big boobs. Maybe she'll have an OK face this time. Maybe she'll be lonely and desperate, too, and want to hear what I have to say. Hmmm, gotta think of something interesting to talk about. She may not be into anime, porn and masturbation like me. Not much nihongo since Caro left, just lots of hentai. Uhhhh......

Sushi??? Yeah, I'll brag that I order natto!

And have a big dick.

That always works.

There's not much else to me, anyway.