The Last Supper

***Indian Girl is moving away!***

I met Indian Girl on December 28 or 29. One of those days. She had just moved to the island and was looking for friends to show her around. You see, she has the kind of job that takes her to strange places where she gets really physical with clients, and sometimes even have them naked. So she was going to be here for 3 months and wanted to enjoy herself.

At first I was shy. A bit quiet. But later I started opening up, and we started hitting it off like gangbusters. In fact, we liked each other so much, that we have one of those high school girl-like pacts. If she's not married by 40, I have to inseminate her. Now whether it will be through direct injection or a turkey baster is still up for negotiations.

I've been practically all over the entire island with IG. Tons of beaches, all the tourist spots, several hiking trails, etc. We've also been to many restaurants, to the detriment of my wallet. We're pretty much close enough that we know about each other's sex lives. Heck, she knows, from my experience, not to point a man's loaded weapon at his own face. Dangerous.

But now she's leaving at the end of the month. Machu Pichu and I have been telling her to come back on a new contract. IG has been telling us to go visit her... but I think she's going to end up in Hicksville, Shithole. I think an Asian guy like me would stick out worse than a skinhead in a synagogue.

As part of the events leading up to her departure, IG, Machu Pichu, and I, planned to have dinner at a fancy restaurant. IG was going to get ready at MP's place after work, and I was going to meet them there at 4:30 PM.

At 4:00, I was out of the shower, clean shaven (top and bottom, haha. Don't ask.), and getting dressed, when my phone rings. It was MP on IG's phone. "Hey, we need you to pick up some alcohol on your way over."

I got to the grocery store's booze section and I called MP back. "I'm looking for the Boone's Farm, but I can't find it." MP had me searching high and low, not because she's a control freak, but because I suck at wine selection. I had to read the labels of hundreds of bottles. She ignored me, then randomly chose some brand she heard of. At the checkout, the cashier made the guy in front of me donate to Muscular Dystrophy. When it was my turn, she tried to give me the money. WTF?

I got to MP's place and I found 2 tipsy women. MP poured me a glass of wine in a huge glass meant for lushes. I then had to stand in the bathroom while IG and MP applied makeup. I felt like a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. I did get to witness a makeup accident that turned MP in to a reverse blackface. Luckily she got it sorted out without taking another shower, which would have taken another hour.

"Just rub it off with a dry towel," IG suggested, "I do it all the time."

"You mean the towel I used to wipe off my naked body last time I was here," I asked.

"EEEEWWWWWWW!"

Yeah, thanks. I get that reaction a lot when women think of my naked body.

So while the girls got ready, and continued boozing (I stopped due to headaches), we just chatted like little girls. We talked about the usual things. You know. Sex, clothes, jobs, that kind of stuff. The two girls were also lamenting the fact that since they got to know each other, they've been gaining weight. They sure as shit did not like it when I explained that since meeting IG, my waist has gone from a 34 to a 31, and my shirt size went from L/XL to M/L. They did say that I better not get too skinny lest I end up looking like Riley. They also said that Riley is kinda cute, but needs to get some kind of personality, and needs to grow a pair so he can actually converse during dinner. I just got my dog's balls removed, so I guess he can have those. They were shocked when I explained that Riley rarely shuts up when he's out with the guys.

"I bet they not going bring my Pepsi. They always forget my Pepsi. You see that? The guy didn't even write it down. They going forget it. I never get my Pepsi," said Riley all through an hour long lunch ad nauseam.

Since I was the one who drank the least, I got chosen as the driver. It was like a scene out of Animal House. We all piled into my Yaris (chicks dig fuel efficiency). I swear I could hear some crazy frat boys yelling, "to the Food King!"

We got to the BeachHouse. It's a restaurant right on the beach in the Poipu area. Decent food with nice atmosphere and an incredible view of the sunset. Since MP was a concierge, she was really on the ball and FAILED TO MAKE RESERVATIONS. But no problem. We got there just a few minutes after they opened for dinner, which means we got one of the few tables that were up for grabs. IG and MP immediately started with the alcohol. I was the tea-totler designated driver, so I had a virgin Lava Flow.

We were drinking and talking, and we took over an hour just to order our food. IG's drink tasted like vomit, so MP, of course, said something to our waitress Christina, and got IG a new drink. When our appetizers arrived, the sun was nearly setting, so we went outside and took a bunch of pictures. We beat the tourists out there since they were waiting for the sun to touch the water. So basically, we kind of looked stupid in front of people we will never see again. Isn't that fun?

Then we went in and started on our appetizers. Then the sun reached the water and we went out again. Sucks for the people by the exit. I think IG actually bumped a guy each time we went in and out.

Our dinners were not bad. My entree came with asparagus. I guess my pee smells bad now. IG had fish. She always has fish. She likes fish. But, is that fish fishy? She doesn't like fishy fish. Her fish needs to not smell fishy. It also has to be really cooked fish. She doesn't like raw fish. Raw fish is too fishy and smells too much like fish. No surprise then that she thinks I'm gross because I like to go down on women.

Dinner was followed up with desert. It was some kind of chocolate soufflé with vanilla ice cream. For some reason, the manager also gave us a chocolate peanut butter ice cream dessert thingy gratis. I think MP must have batted her eyes at the guy. We always seem to get free stuff when she's around. Speaking of free stuff, MP tried to pimp me off to the waitress. Of course, I didn't know what they were talking about at first, and when I did figure out what she was doing, it was too late. Fortunately, for the waitress, she was already married to the manager. Now MP's new plan is for us to hit the bar on the military base to find me a GI Jane.

But back to the dessert. IG and MP both had orgasms from the first bite. That put me last in the race again. Fuck. IG wanted to take one of the desserts under the table. When Christina came around to check on us, the girls were like, "could we be left alone?" "Oh God! Oh God!" "Don't touch me. Don't touch me." I, on the other hand, was just munching away. Sometimes it takes me hours to finish a meal.

After two and a half hours in the restaurant, we were ready to leave. When the valet pulled up with my car, I paid the guy and proceeded to get in. MP stood by the passenger door with her hands on her hips and a big smile on her face. "Um, hello? Door?"

"WTF woman? You think this was a date?"

IG cracked up then kindly opened the door for her date.

The original plan was for us to go to Tree's Lounge. However, that bar was a bit far from where we were, so we went to the jazz bar Stevenson's Library. The jazz bar is located inside the Grand Hyatt, and when we got there, I wondered out loud if my friend Lauren was working at the front desk. This would later bite me in the ass.

The bar was dead, so we just had a beer each, talked a bit, then left. As we were leaving, I was looking at the concierge. I was thinking that MP could try for a job there since she doesn't like where she's working at now. The girls thought I wanted to hit on the concierge. When I tried to explain that I wasn't going to hit on the concierge, they then thought I wanted to hit on the girl at the front desk. Sigh. Women.

Back at MP's place, we downloaded the pictures we took on IG's camera to MP's computer. Of course we were all crowded around this one tiny laptop, like girls at a slumber party, trying to see the pictures. Then we sent them to my email.

Now comes the freaky part. I ended up looking at pictures of cocks with IG and MP. It's not something guys normally do. I mean, if looking at cocks would make my lover (female. Nice try you assholes.) get off, then by all means, I'm for it. But you don't normally look at cocks with your girl friends. And it was all INDIAN GIRL'S fault! Dirty, dirty girl. She told MP about the cock pics on craigslist, so MP wanted to see them.

"See? Have you ever seen a cock that curved down like that," IG asked.

"I have. But this one doesn't look like it's curving like that. It just looks like he isn't fully hard yet," MP replied.

"I don't know. I've never seen one like that. Might be kind of weird," said IG.

"I was with a guy whose cock curved downwards like a C," MP proclaimed.

"How the hell would that work? How would you have sex," IG asked.

"Well, when we had sex normally, it would be pushing into me on the bottom-side. But if I turned around with my ass in his face, it would work better... felt pretty good too," said MP.

"WTF!? Hello? I'm still here. Awkward!," Nonwheezer said with his hands held palm up, shoulder height in the universal WTF pose.

OK, so on to the pictures. My fingers are getting tired of typing. I posted a preview of a few pictures to my nerd group before going to bed and these are the replies I got when I woke up.

Minnesota Girl: Man, Hawaii is beautiful!

Lecherous Old Man: Twin peaks everywhere.

SUX IT Guy: IG could make a good living doing pr0n, IMO.

So here they are. Captions follow the pics.



I just got lei'd! And I didn't have time to finish putting on my pants.



"My drink tastes like vomit," said IG in a cheerful manner.



I came here one time and I ordered this drink and the setting sun shone right through it. It was beautiful. Hic! I think I need another.



Guess what these are. Never leave your camera unattended when you go to the bathroom.



Nonwheezer. "Oh, he looks good in this pic." Thanks girls.



OK, stand there. Now move 6 inches forward. Turn your head to look at me. Now smile. (MP micromanaging IG)



Wait. I think I have the flash setting wrong. Let me try this... click. Oh, hey. It came out pretty cute. (Nonwheezer)



Machu Pichu, Nonwheezer, Indian Girl



IG tends to be prim and proper sometimes. I could have sworn I heard her say, "you touch my ass and I'll kill you."



Contrasted by MP, who tends to have a higher blood alcohol content.



What are you two, on a date?

I Should Not Be Allowed Near Women

Been a while since I wrote something. I actually had a busy October, but I promised not to write about it. So you guys will have to be satisfied with November. For November, I seem to be having weird interactions with women.

This is what happened when the Band Teacher and I went out to lunch one day:

We were seated and a nice caucasian waitress came over to take our order. After she left, I said, "she looks like she works out."

When the waitress came back with our drinks, I asked if she works out.

"I surf and swim a lot. I haven't been to a gym since I moved here though. But I love the beaches around here. I'm from San Diego, but the ocean around here is just so much better. Is it my large shoulders? Back in school, the guys used to ask me to flex. Do they look weird?"

"Not at all. In fact, I think you look very attractive."

After she thanked me, she went back to work. I talked to the BT about body language and how it's fun to see all these couples here and try to figure out what's going on. Then I said that if someone was watching us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. I was looking at every single attractive female in the place while my "girl" took it casually. The BT said that if they paid attention to her body language, they should know we weren't a couple. I told her she was wrong. Then I pointed out how the hostess wanted to seat us side by side.

I then noticed the waitress had her back to us while she fiddled with those computerized drink terminal thingies. She had nicely shaped legs, but the BT refused to look when I told her to.

When the waitress came over with our food, I spoke again.

"I never got your name."

"Oops. I'm sorry. It's C*****. We're supposed to introduce ourselves when we first greet the customers. . . [she spoke too fast at this point]."

Lunch took some time to finish. I had a really big cheese burger and the BT had a fish taco. I told her to be ready because I was going to make a fool of myself. C***** came back with our bill.

"Hey C*****, what do you think of this? I'm a 35 year old teacher. I love mountain biking and riding motorcycles. Any of that sound interesting?"

"Yeah! I love motorcycles."

"How about movies? You interested in movies?"

"Oh, I do love going to the movies, but I have a boyfriend."

"Might not be a good idea then."

"Yeah. But um, aren't you with, um. . . your wife. . . girlfriend?"

The BT piped up, "oh no. I'm just the sister he never knew he had nor wanted."

"Oh, you two are just friends," C***** asked.

I replied, "yup. But the funny thing is we were just talking about how people would mistake us for a couple."

C***** finished with, "you know what? Thanks. You really made my day."

"No problem. In fact, I really enjoyed looking at you." [wtf was I saying? I need to stop drinking beer during lunch.]

Later that day, on my bike ride:

There's this one female security guard for the hotel where we ride our bikes. I saw she was working today, so I was determined to talk to her before I left.

I pulled up to the guard booth, and she waved. I stopped, took off my sunglasses, and said, "you know, I see you here often, but I've never introduced myself. My name is Squiggy."

She stood up and came closer to shake my hand. "My name is C*****."

"Hi C*****. So how does a girl like you become a security guard?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I keep trying to tell them to hire more women so I'm not the only one."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure how you'll take this. I was going to say that you were the most attractive security guard around here, but since you're the only female one. . ."

C***** smiles.

"Well, I guess I should let you get back to work. It does look rather boring though sitting here all night. Maybe I should sneak in some beers?"

"I'm allergic to beer."

I look stunned.

"So what do you do when you go out?"

"I hardly go out anymore. I usually stay home. When I did go out drinking, I would drink hards."

"You usually stay home? How old are you?"

"21"

"Twenty one??? And you don't go out drinking?"

"I used to drink a lot in high school," C***** smiles.

"Ah, I got it. It's no fun now that you're legal, huh. Well maybe I can take you out for drinks one night. I'll see you around."

"Yup. You will since you've seen me often before."

She later declined my offer a couple days later to get drunk.

This happened during the work week:

Girl Student: Mr. Squiggy, Miss [cute Science Teacher] told me to ask you something.

Me: Um, kay. . .

Girl: I'll tell you after class. (40 minutes later) Miss Science Teacher told me to tell you to buy a ticket to my hula performance.

Me: Huh? Why?

Girl: She bought one, but she doesn't want to go alone.

Me: So she told you to ask me?

Girl: Yeah.

Me: Um, kay. . . how much is a ticket?

Girl: $20 for the dinner too.

Me: Twenty bucks???

Girl: Yeah. Miss Science Teacher bought the $20 one.

Me: Great. OK. Meet me during lunch. I'll go get my money.

Email to Science Teacher: You're going to drive for this.


After mountain biking:

In the afternoon, while we were loading up our bikes, a rental car pulled up to the lookout. Out popped some old fogie and a tall, attractive blonde. We made some small talk about things to see around there. She, her mom I guess, her grandpa, and a hot sister were out for the day touring. They came on a cruise ship. The tall blonde looked good, and she was doing stretches in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to flirt with her. I guess I R-tard.

After jogging that afternoon with a girl:

The girl adjusted her sanitary napkin in front of me. I also matter-of-factly pointed out her nipples were showing. To which she replied that it's natural since she was wearing a sports bra and she was active. Then she started to poke at her nipple while I watched.

"Um, let's get going before something else besides your nipples gets hard."

The BT and I went to a bar:

There was another attractive waitress, go figure. However, she was dressed differently from the other waitresses. Of course, me being me, I had to ask. She explain that she worked behind the bar, and was also a food runner. She also explained that her uniform matched the guys, but of course, the one she wore was a more feminine style. I agree.

While the BT was settling the tab, I kept watching that attractive waitress. She was stocking some drinks behind the bar, and whenever she bent over, her top would lift a little and expose her lower back. I thought it looked great. No muffin top, no tramp stamp, no blemishes. Nothing but smooth skin. (The BT later asked how I was able to determine that in the poorly lit conditions. I hate her for ruining my dreams.) I decided I had to say something to the attractive brunette.

I took my chance when she walked past me. "Excuse me." She stopped. I reached out my hand, and she put hers into mine. I got to look at her close up for the first time that night. She was very pretty. However, several hours of mountain biking, including a crash, a 2 mile walk/jog, a couple of hours wrenching on a motorcycle, and alcohol, all conspired to give me the equivalent of a first grade reading level.

"Yes," she asked as I held her hand.

"You remind me of a Gilmore Girl." DOH!

To the old saleslady in a jewelry store:

"Can I get a fiance to go with this wedding band?"

In Macy's when a 5'8" blonde walked past me:

"Careful sir," warned a saleslady.

"Thud," said my foot as a kicked a shoe display really hard.

"Sorry. I was just looking at the pretty tall girl."

In a different store, helping my friend find a gift for his girlfriend:

Friend and I: Hi H****. (She was a friend's wife)

Me: Hey H****. If you were a girl. . .

Friend: What do you mean, "if?"

Me continuing unabated: What would you do if you got a stuffed animal as a gift? You'd probably just put it on a shelf or something, right?

H****: Yeah, probably.

Me: But what if someone special gave you a cute blanket. Or maybe a cute pillow. Wouldn't you love to get that?

H****: Oh yes!

(I threw in that last one more for discussion. Would women prefer something like a blanket or pillow to a stuffed animal?)

I Get the Weirdest Questions

From girls on my cellphone.

One night, out of the blue, a girl calls and asks:

"Do you have a foreskin?"

Another girl on a Sunday evening:

"Are you in your pajamas?"

"No. You know I don't have pajamas."

"So you're naked?"

It was a roundabout way of asking if I would go to the bar.

She also asked, "are you on the toilet?"

"No. If I was dropping a log, I wouldn't have answered my phone."

"I would. Haha. Just kidding."

If I was dating these girls, then those questions would be a lot more fun, but I'm not, so they just leave me confused.

From The Blues Brothers

Jake: It's good to see you, sweetheart.

Mystery Woman: You contemptible pig! I remained celibate for you. I stood at the back of a cathedral, waiting, in celibacy, for you, with three hundred friends and relatives in attendance. My uncle hired the best Romanian caterers in the state. To obtain the seven limousines for the wedding party, my father used up his last favor with Mad Pete Trullo. So for me, for my mother, my grandmother, my father, my uncle, and for the common good, I must now kill you, and your brother.

[Jake falls to his knees]
Jake: Oh, please, don't kill us. Please, please don't kill us. You know I love you baby. I wouldn't leave ya. It wasn't my fault.

Mystery Woman: You miserable slug! You think you can talk your way out of this? You betrayed me.

Jake: No I didn't. Honest... I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN'T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD.

[Elwood covers his head in anticipation of more gunfire, Jake removes his sunglasses to make a wordless appeal, and the Mystery Woman visibly softens]
Mystery Woman: Oh, Jake... Jake, honey...

[Jake embraces the Mystery Woman and they kiss]
Jake: [to Elwood] Let's go.

[He drops the Mystery Woman and walks off]



I know how the woman felt. Well, not exactly. At least the woman got some made up excuses. I got nothing.

If you read the previous posts, you know that I was trying to get a date with a pharmacist. How did it go during the last month and a half? That's what I'd like to know. You see, I got absolutely NOTHING from the pharmacist.

Of course I could probably use a slap on the head for some of the idiot moves I pulled. I left some terrible voice mail on her phone.

"Hi (name withheld), this is Squiggy again. I know I left you a few other voicemails, but the truth is, I'd actually like to get to know you better. I don't know what it is; maybe because you're an intelligent lady, or maybe because you play video games. I'm a video game um... geek too. (The Band Teacher) told me about it. Anyway, yeah. Um, so I want to get to know you. Maybe take you to lunch, or dinner, or uh shopping? So um, yeah. I hope to hear back from you. My number is 867-5309. Yeah."

I also sent her a virus plushie with a note to try and entice her to reply to me.



Still no reply. It's times like this when I feel like the Elephant Man. Why the fuck is it so hard to get a first date? At this point, I really don't even care for the date. I'd just like to know why the pharmacist never bothered to reply. Could it be she thinks I'm some psycho stalker? Maybe. But we did meet in person a few times, and that was cordial. Could it be she's some narcistic ego maniac? I'd like to think so. Makes it hurt less when the bitch is off her rocker.

Bottom line, Girls, if a guy works up the balls to ask you out, just give him an answer. Doesn't matter if it's positive or negative. Just answer. If not, I will hunt you down and cut your heart out with a spoon.

Guy of Gisborne: Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?

Sheriff of Nottingham: Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more.

God Said Squiggy Can't Be Happy

A couple of weeks ago, the Band Teacher introduced me to one of her friends. We'll call her the Pharmacist. I found her to be rather cute and intelligent. However, me being me, I didn't make any advances.

Of course, you need to remember that every woman I found myself attracted to has some serious issue. Two girls turned out to be lesbians. Another turned out to be really a guy.

Anyway, the Band Teacher and I went to the movies last night. I was hoping the Pharmacist would come, but seeing as we were going to the last show, it was a long shot. Throughout the evening, while shopping and eating, I kept bringing up the Pharmacist. This kind of grated the Band Teacher's nerves. She was like, "just go over to her work place and ask her to lunch. Some girls actually like the spontaneity."

BTW, this is making me excited:


So after about 10 hours of convincing, I decided I would ask the Pharmacist to lunch. I got up this morning, stoked my courage, and drove to the mall. I went in to the pharmacy.

Me: Hi, is **** working?

Helen, my brother's co-worker's wife: No, not yet. She works the evening shift today.

Me: Figures. I was going to ask her to lunch.

God: (chuckles)

Helen: Oh, that's nice! She should be in soon. Why don't you come back and ask?

I go off to another store to buy shoes for my trip. I return to the pharmacy about 40 minutes later. Lucky me, I see the Pharmacist working at the window, so I don't have to announce my intentions to everyone working.

So I chatted with the Pharmacist for a bit. I made her laugh a few times. Then I took the leap.

Me: I came by here earlier looking for you. I wanted to ask you to lunch.

Pharmacist: Oh. I just got in about a half hour ago. I don't get a break for about 4 hours. (The clock in the store reads 11:55)

Me: So what is that, like 5? (wtf? All of a sudden I can't do math.)

Pharmacist: About 3:45-4:00. I'll call you. You have a cellphone?

Me: Yeah. My number is ***-****.

Pharmacist: OK. I'll give you a call.

God: (mutter mutter)

Given I had time to kill, I figured I would do more shopping, and also go to lunch with my brother. Of course, I only ate a wee bit. I had to buy some shorts since I only have two everyday shorts and I don't think running shorts would look good in Connecticut. I also planned on buying a new bike seat, and a Green Day CD that the Band Teacher was looking for.

Right after I picked out a pair of shorts, my phone rang.

Pharmacist: Hey, my co-worker can't come in today, so I need to take my lunch early before the others finish work. I'm just going to grab something here. Sorry.

God: Haha! Take that, ya fukker! (pumping fist in the air)

Then the sky blackened and the clouds opened. Torrents of rain came crashing down. Squiggy knelt on the ground, soaking wet, with outstretched arms reaching for the heavens screaming, "Why?!? Wwwwhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!?"

Something like that.

Ailments, Aging, and Androgyny

There were no real big topics that popped in my head this whole week. I did have a few mini-topics, but nothing really worth sitting down to write. Then I noticed that I haven't written anything in a whole week. Guess I'll just jot down my little minis into one post.

About a week and a half ago, I got a cold sore. No, it's not genital herpes. I would have had to eaten some bad clam to get that, and unfortunately, I haven't eaten any shellfish in a while. This sucker was on the inside of my bottom lip, right in front of my teeth. If I used my mouth for any reason, it hurt. Brushing, eating, ventriloquism, they all hurt. It put a damper on my nightclub routine.



And just to make life more interesting, right when the cold sore no longer hurt and was disappearing, I got a pimple right on my nose.



It wasn't any old pimple too. It was the grand-daddy of pimples. It was the sebaceous cyst! It's the orca of acne.



So I got two choices now. I could try and schedule an appointment with the ONE dermatologist on the whole island and maybe get to see him by April, or, I can wait it out. Gonna be a long month.

*****

Lately I've been seeing signs of aging. I noticed that it takes me much longer to recover from colds than when I was young. I seem to take about a week now which can suck because I managed to get two colds this year. I was planning on getting a flu shot at the start of the flu season, but then I got the flu. So I figured I was done for the season. Then I got another bout a month later. I am so awesome at foresight.

As I age, I keep an eye out for gray hair. I usually have a mop-top head since I'm too lazy to get a hair cut. I used to Flowbee my head rather than take time to go to a salon. But my hair still remains black like usual.



Except for my chin whiskers.



How is it I can have a gray beard but black hair? It gets worse.

The other day I looked down "there," while I peed. Next to my penette (a penis, only smaller) was a gray pubic hair. WTF?



I didn't even know that could happen. I plucked that sucker out. (The hair, not the penette.)

*****

I was on the phone with a female friend.

"I'd like to see you get really mad for once," she said.

"You sure? Because I would punch a girl."

She seemed taken aback by my statement. I guess it does seem misogynistic and violent.



Don't get me wrong. I don't condone violence against women, or any violence at all. I'm not suggesting that I would go out and randomly punch a woman for kicks.

Donkey punching is still subject to negotiation.

I just believe that if anyone attacks or intends to harm me or my charges, I would use everything in my power to eliminate that threat. Doesn't matter if the assailant is male or female.

You see, I'm not advocating battering women. I'm advocating gender equality. Equal rights and all that jazz!



I'm progressive like that.

He's Making a List; Checking it Twice

I've been had. Yup. I've been hornswaggled. I can't believe it took me this long to figure out the conspiracy.

For a long time now I've been getting down on myself. This usually happens when I'm lonely. I try to figure out a reason why my luck with the fairer (though more devious) sex really sucks and I start to nitpick on all my shortcomings. Then usually someone comes over and blows air up my ass. They give me a bunch of false compliments to boost my morale. Of course, I'm so starved for attention, I buy everything hook, line, and sinker.

How bad can my love life be? I asked a girl out once and she turned into a lesbian.

Now someone of my superior intellect can only be duped for so long. (15 years) I was bound to figure it all out. I happened upon an article on building self esteem on athealth.com. There was a suggestion in the article to make a list of your positive attributes and stuff. So I spent a few hours going over the things I possess that could be a positive with the vaginal sex. It wasn't a long list.

OK, here is the list. I removed anything not uncommon. The list should consist of things almost-sort-of-kinda unique to me. Therefore, ten fingers, ten toes was removed.

1: I have broadband. YouTube and porn at light speeds.



2: I own a sports camcorder. It's a nifty video camera that fits in your pocket.



C: I own an economy sportbike. Yeah, it's not the top model, but most girls are too stupid to know that.



D: I have an external DVD burner that lets me transfer a bunch of computer videos onto disk. It comes in handy for watching Jdramas.



V: I have a job. A real job that requires college degrees and special licenses. I don't make much money though, so any future brides cannot be whores.



VV: I own a Yaris. Hopefully the same dumb chicks that think SVs are cool will not notice how cheap I am.



X: I own a pair of black leather jeans. They're a motorcycle type of jeans, but they almost got me a callback for the part of the biker guy in a 70's boy band.



Twelvely: I have a ton of DVDs. I have US, Japan, Hong Kong, and Korean releases. I also have the player to play them.



Thirteenish: I have Love Actually and Flash Gordon on VHS.



One Million Dollars: I own a dress. It was for Halloween, I swear. I've never used it to go to the nightclub on a Friday night in order to try and pick up guys so drunk they would have sex with anything. Promise.



12345: I also have a kung fu outfit. My secret kung fu identity is Sum Dum Gai.



3.14159: I have a trumpet. I don't mean to blow my own horn, but I used to be pretty not bad with it in high school. But back then, I was still cute enough to get girlfriends, and I didn't need a trumpet. Or a list. Stupid list.



24/7: I have scars. Not just the wonderful acne scars to remind me of my bad skin, but also battle scars. I have a scar from a gash I received while playing sword fighting when I was a kid. I also have scars on my elbows because I suck at riding bikes. There's also a big one on my knee from a tumor I once had. Even the tumor couldn't stand to be with me and left.



525,600: Helmet ears. Um. Yeah. Ears.



And that's my list. Impressive, eh?

Now looking over this list, I can see for a fact that those compliments people gave me were nothing but lies. Nothing on this list will get me some play except for the broadband. Chicks dig high download speeds. I think I will sue my so-called "friends," for infamation of character. Like that? I made that up. Instead of maliciously destroying my reputation, they've been maliciously trying to bolster it. Those jerks.

Sigh. I hate athealth.com. The list thing really backfired. I'm not feeling much self esteemed at the moment.

You know what? Screw the list. Screw possessions. I will win the heart of a lady with my charm and good looks. Any women interested? Here's my pic:

Youth in Asia: Socks and Thongs

The Band Teacher came over for a final visit. She's heading back to Arizona for the next semester of college. She stopped by to chat for a bit and to say goodbye.

In case you forgot, this is the Band Teacher's very fit and very firm body:



When she got here, we started chatting outside. I usually don't feel comfortable with people in my room. I have sweaty mountain bike and motorcycle gear in my closet. If the trade winds blow just right, my room smells like a gym.

I showed her the brand new tires on my bike. She came with me when I ordered them, so I figured I may as well point them out. I also explained that I had a bit more scrubbing of the tires to do to kill off the chicken strips.



"I don't know. I would feel more comfortable being enclosed," she said. "I'm not sure what the thrill is about."

"You never straddled a throbbing V-Twin before?"

"I've never owned one before."

That's when I started staring at her inseam. Of course it was to check her leg length. No, really. I wasn't ogling... much.

Her crotch came up about the height of my crotch, so I told her she should try sitting on my bike. She did so cautiously since she hadn't sat on a motorcycle before. I ran back and forth to both sides of the bike to get her into the proper position and to make sure she didn't scratch herself on my new rearsets. Those things have sharp edges meant to dig into boots.



While behind her, I noticed the top part of her jeans was a bit open. I couldn't resist a peek.

"Hey, I can see inside your pants."

"HEY! I'm wearing a thong you know."

"Really?" And I peeked again. I was playing around though. I didn't really try to look at her thong. I told her that too since I didn't want to be TOO crass.



The Band Teacher hopped off the bike. I hopped on right after her. Although our genitalia are located around the same altitude, it was easier for me to get my feet on the ground. Part of the reason could be her weight. She's only 113 pounds compared to my 200. Troll flesh is made of depleted uranium. Her body could only compress the suspension and seat cushion half as much as the orc.

Another reason was her position on the seat. She sat toward the back of the seat. I sat balls on tank, and I pointed it out to her. Not so much my balls, but the fact that the seat is lower nearer to the tank lets me get my feet down. I told her that her brass balls probably got in the way and she agreed and said she would shift them to the left next time.



Next we played with my dog. The Band Teacher first met my dog when he was about 8 weeks old. He's about 10 months old now and about 50 pounds big.

"He seems happy to see me."

"How do you know?"

"Because... he... is."

"He has a boner?"

"Yeah."



I can't blame the dog. If young women gave me that much attention, I would be sporting wood 24/7.

I played with the dog a bit and he slobbered all over my hands. He has this weird thing where he needs to lick things or put things in his mouth. He doesn't bite my hands. He just coats them with saliva.

"Smell my finger," as I stuck my hand under the Band Teacher's nose. "BTW, you always wear thongs?" I know for a fact I have never seen panty lines on the Band Teacher before.

"Almost always. When it's that time, I don't."

"That time? Oh! That's right, you use pads." I once had to help her shop for pads and depilatory creams. I still don't know why these feminine hygiene products come in strawberry and cream scents. Do women expect someone to eat... oh. Never mind.

"Yeah. I can't use tampons. My vaginal muscles are so well trained that I can tie the string into a bow and eject the tampon 20 feet all while I sleep." (She didn't say this. This is what my male brain heard.)



"I don't believe you without video. Did you try ping pong balls yet?"

Then I took her for a ride in the Yaris.



This car is a total chick magnet. They can't get enough of the spacious interior. The well thought out ergonomics. The energy conserving 1.5 liter four banger. The sensible styling. Bland, yet tasteful.

While in the car, I bemoaned the fact that I lack actors to help me make YouTube videos. I'm as ugly as dog poop, so if I am ever going to make videos, I need human-looking people. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who both looks good and is willing to help. The Band Teacher said that Hawaii people aren't great actors. She does have a point. Everyone I know either sucks on screen or is too embarrassed to be of use. But then I remembered Mikey Inouye.

Mike Inouye has a very popular video blog on YouTube. I've watched several of his videos and he cracks me up. What makes it even better is that he collaborated with Abbegirl to make a few. Abbe is a pretty blonde.



"There you go with the blondes again. Are you into blondes?"

"I don't think I have a preference. The other day when I was passing the Shrimp Station," I point over my shoulder even though the Shrimp Station is seven miles away, "I saw a pretty black girl. I swear I couldn't stop looking. She was hot."

"Hey, that's cool that you don't care about race."

"Yeah. I think my only real criteria is that the girl has a vagina."



When we got back to my house it was time for the Band Teacher to leave. She wasn't sure if she would be able to return during the summer or if she would have to wait until next winter to come visit.

"The next time I come back, I'll show you another thong."



Me:



*********************

On December 29, I had to say goodbye to a dear companion. We had first met nearly 14 years ago. Back then I was really into rollerblading. It was through rollerblading that we met. Even after I stopped skating and moved on to other activities like diving and drag racing, my companion remained close by. Then when I started riding my motorcycle, my companion came with me on most of my rides.

However, because of age and a hard life, my companion no longer had any strength left. He couldn't stay up and he couldn't support me. I had no choice but to give my companion a dignified end.

Goodbye, socks. I will miss you.