Y2kk Update: Okay... honestly...

What the hell is the matter with me? Honestly, who throws a shoe? Honestly...

...

... the thing is, I just spent the entire last few days, pining and whining and goddam watching chick flick, romantic comedies for God knows what reasons... From When Harry Met Sally to You've Got Mail, I've sat through them all, embarrassingly so might I add... and the saddest part of it all, is that I really don't know why...

... but I do know how it all started...

...

I rented Fifty First Dates on Tuesday (starring Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore in their comeback roles, so to speak). And throughout the course of the movie? At times, I even thought the film was as terribly painful to watch as Mr. Deeds... So many of the jokes fell flat, so many of the characters felt forced, and even some of the romance was too damn sappy for my ears to take without bleeding (especially considering how subtle all the romantic twinges were in The Wedding Singer... which I also bought today out of nostalgia, mind you...)...

... but the thing is, just like with some of my favourite movies of all time?... when the ending to the film was finally finished, and I was all ready to give the film a negative review to my friends and such?... I just don't know how it happens. I just don't know why it happens. But sometimes, just sometimes... and just this time... this one damn time... for this one damn film?...

... I just felt so sad at the end...

... I just felt so empty...

... and I was so damn compelled to figure out why...

...

... so I watched the movie again. And then I watched the movie yet again. It was the first ever time I can recall watching a rental movie three damn times in a single day, and the thing is... the more I watched the film, the more I fell in love with it... I mean, just like with Groundhog Day, there were just so many intricate reasons (in even the basic premise of the film), that truly defined Fifty First Dates as a real guy kind of romantic comedy, the type of which I adore as lore... First of all, you have the archetype of the ultimate 'player'. And just like with so many guy fantasies out there, the guy doesn't really have to change himself to please the girl in the film. In fact, his ability to make women fall in love with him in a single day is what makes him perfect for the woman that he loves. He's perfect for her, she's perfect for him, and there's no need to ever ruin that chemistry... Second, the movie plays off of our giddy hopes that the woman will never change in a relationship, that the chemistry there at the start will never vanish. Drew Barrymore's character was so damn enticing and so damn provocative (at least subconsciously) because of her tragic condition. She would never really change in her relationship with Adam Sandler, and she'll never really want him to change either... Third, the movie definitely plays on my dreams like a fiddle, that I would indeed be the high fidelity of family fidelity. I simply cherished how dedicated Sandler was to Barrymore in the film. He'd do anything for her, and I can only dream of someday doing the same. To change, without ever changing who you are, for the one and only one you love... And hell, the movie even preys on humanity's goddam weakness for the goddam ridiculous notion of reincarnation. Each and every day, Drew Barrymore was essentially born anew again, with a completely clean slate (like a new life) except for her feelings. And goddammit, somehow it touched me so damn much, to the goddam bone of the heart as a matter of fact (...?...), that the bond shared between her and Adam Sandler transcended even human experience. She deeply loved him, deep in the subconscious. And as a science geek, that was perhaps the most beautiful thing ever written... since A Beautiful Mind, at least... And at first, I hated the ending to the film, believing that it was just too damn sad and too damn meaningless that she would never regain her memory, no matter how long her love lasts (plus, her children will probably grow up to be really messed up...). But you see? That's exactly why I ended up loving this film as much as I did in the end (the love part, not the messed up children part...)... because truth be told, deep down inside, I honestly do believe that love can only come hand in hand with pain and punishment. I can only believe you can feel the magic in a touch, if that touch was forged by the willows and morrows of sorrow... and while I'm at it, I sure am a goddam glutton for goddam tragic endings...

... heh... no wonder I still hold onto my obsession...

...

The thing is... if you read my MSN update from last week, you'd realize that I was finally going through that extra horny-bunny kind of period that I always go through come Spring. Or at least, I was reliving puberty last week, it seemed... and I was this week too, right up until I watched Fifty First Dates for the third damn time. And then like a Mack truck, something just hit me... something just snapped in me... something just twinged, and hell, became unhinged...

Fucknabbit.

I became a girl...

Fuck...

I started watching Romantic Comedies left and right! I started daydreaming of finding romance in the streets, of being the perfect man, of being able to say all those extra cheesy lines that Adam Sandler gets to say in the movies, without ever being slapped in the face for saying it... and dammit, I felt completely goddam embarrassed for what I whorishly wrote last week. I really did... half because I knew I'd never find a woman if I all I wanted was a nympho. And half because... well...

... every man wants a nympho... but I want a nympho, that I can truly hold and love...

... no, wait... I don't even really want a nympho... I just want someone to hold right now, that's all...

Last week's update was shallow, even for me... So often I try to convince myself to be realistic with the world, to try to fit in with the modern times... but I'm just not that kind of man. I'm not even the kind of man who counts as a man (if that sounds good to say...)... but rather...

I'm the kind of man, who dreams of becoming a better man for a woman...

... and hell, to prove it to myself, I even actually dreamed it the morning after I watched Fifty First Dates...

... a free morning rental for myself, so to speak...

...

... the burning waking Sun woke me up that morning. I don't know how the sunlight penetrates every goddam window blind that I put up on my windows, but it always manages to do so... and no matter where I put my bed in the room, the Sun always still manages to goddam land directly on my face, to blind me away and choke me back to sleep every single goddam morning, a thousand times fold...

... and well, the Sun did both on Wednesday morning, blinding me and choking me, just to see me snap... it was seven in the goddam morning when I checked my alarm clock, so I just gave the middle finger to Helios up there, and did my best to go back to sleep... but alas, the fucking burning Sun just had to have the last laugh... obviously, I couldn't fall completely back to sleep with the Sun still blinding my eyes with goddam orange tang. And yet I couldn't wake up - not after going to sleep at 3 in the morning the night before, from watching Fifty First Dates for the third friggin' time of course...

... and my mind wandered... I pandered for a wandering, like a goddam lazy panda bear...

... so was I awake, or was I asleep? Probably a bit of both. The best of both worlds. I could feel myself as if I were conscious in my dream that morning, but I wasn't in control of the dream, you know?... and it wasn't an abstract dream - it was more like a daydream with a mind of its own. And in a sense... it was the closest sense I could ever goddam feel to euphoria... it was the kind of dream that you just don't want to let go...

... let go...

... let her go?...

... heh... my dream was a perfect melange of conscious Romanticism desire, and subconscious softcore porn... and I still miss it... my dream - the idea of the dream... the idea of a better life, I mean...

...

... it started out in a coffee shop, where I was sitting at a table reading a newspaper, and I saw my high school obsession just sitting alone at a table of her own, staring out at the windows as if she were waiting for someone else to show... so obviously, considering I consciously was still infatuated with her, I walked right up to her table and just said hello... and she said hello back... we paused for a moment... I didn't know what to do at first...

I final.ly sat down at the table, and we started talking. I started reminiscing about the good ol' days, about what happened in high school and crap like that. But it seemed like she didn't even have a clue what I was talking about... she just sort of gave me a confused look, as if she was thinking to herself that she knew that she should've been familiar with the memories I was refreshing, but she just couldn't remember any of them... Eventually, we somehow got on the topic of the story of 'us' in high school... and to my embarrassment (and to my bitter harassment), that was what she seemed to remember on that coffee time kind of morning... she stared deeply into my eyes then and there, and clearly admitted that she knew I was in love with her in high school. That it was clear-as-mud obvious. That she even saw me standing there, waiting to dance with her on our prom night, only to keep waiting for that one first dance even to this day... As I just sat there dumbfounded, without knowing what to say back, she just kept staring in my eyes and almost scolded me, that she wished that I could've just asked her to dance that moght... a what if scenario, if you will... and as I still just sat there stupefied in a petrified sort of senseless state, she softly just whispered to me goodbye, got up from the table, and began to leave... in panic, and in bitter regret over what happened at our high school prom, I softly whispered back to her, "I still love you. I do love you"... She sort of stopped walking for a second, tilted her head in sorrowful acknowledgment, and walked right out of the door... I bowed my head in silence... I didn't see her for the rest of the day...

The dream then sort of just progressed onto the following morning, when I somehow ran into her father in the neighbourhood. He pulled me over by the collar and forced my ass to sit down and listen to him on a cold hard ass rock... He told me something that even in my dream state, I knew was pretty much right out of the movies... but I didn't really care, because it was about his daughter...

... he told me that his daughter was in car accident a month before. Before the accident, she had a constant fear of dying in a car crash... but even since her fear finally came true, she couldn't even remember being afraid of it in the first place... she couldn't even remember the accident...

... it seemed, my obsession suffered severe brain damage, and had a form of foggy amnesia that she could never fully recover from. She could barely remember anything from her past sans name and family, and she nearly forgets everything that happens to her in a day when she goes to sleep for the night (ala Fifty First Dates)...

... but her dad also revealed to me something that I somehow felt was coming, if only because I knew that I had heard it all before... it turned out that her daughter could still remember every single detail of her encounter with me in the coffeeshop the morning before. He told me that she even remembers every single conversation we've ever had in high school. And he told me, that often she says she misses me, even though we never really knew each other back then... Her father didn't understand why her daughter could only vividly remember memories with me in it, but quite frankly, he didn't really care. All he did care about, was that I and I alone could help her regain her life... He asked me to move into their house by the lake and woods with his daughter (sort of like a cottage... there was a boat in the back...). He wanted me to be by her side for every single minute of the day... He wanted me to be her guide. He want me to be her friend.

Her love.

... he said he knew I loved her...

... and that's why I agreed...

... I moved into their small, little cottage that very afternoon...

...

... I forget what my obsession and mine's first conversation in her home and room was all about, but I'm pretty sure it once again had to do with that fateful night of what-ifs of mine... of if only I had just asked her to dance...

I tried talking to her about other stuff to change the subject, hoping that my voice would help rekindle some of her lost memories. I tried talking about politics, I tried talking about movies, I tried talking about even her old circle of friends and the guys she dated in university, but she couldn't remember anything from her past life. She just couldn't remember anything else than what she did with me... and when I mentioned that I was so afraid that she was a nympho with the guys at her university, she revealed to me that she knows I've never had a girlfriend, and she just can't remember what it feels like to have a first kiss...

... at first I froze up, not knowing what to do or say... and I was just about to panic, when she just gently touched my hand to hers...

... it felt so soft... so delicate... so fragile... so magical... that I simply forgot why I was scared...

... and then she kissed me... ever so softly, on the lips, she kissed me...

... and I remember thinking to myself, even if this was just a dream, I never want the feeling to end...

... so I kissed her back, ever so gently... and I could actually feel her smile on my lips as I did...

... we continued kissing as we fell onto her bed... I started caressing her breasts... she started moaning, desire begging in her eyes...

... we then stopped for a second... just stared deeply into each others eyes, as if we could feel what the other desperately wanted...

We wanted each other.

... and then we made love... all night long, we made love... she didn't want to fall asleep, in fear that she would forgot all over again her first kiss... but eventually we did fall asleep, in each others' arms and embrace in the pale moonlight...

...

... as I woke up in the next morning of my dream, I opened my eyes, saw how brightly my obsession glowed with the morning sunshine, and simply smiled a shy, tender grin... as I kissed her gently on the forehead, I asked her how much she remembered... she said everything - the kiss, the love, the warmth... her breasts against my bare chest felt like pure ectasy wrapped in tender silk, and I just couldn't help myself... I just couldn't help but stare in her eyes once more, and as if her eyes could nod, I made love to her again, in the bask of the red morning glow...

The dream then shifted to a scene in a cold, blue doctor's office. The male doctor (who looked much like her father) was checking out some X-rays or MRI scans of her brain, and came back to us with a prognosis I definitely did not care for... He told us that her condition wasn't improving, that she would possibly never gain back her old memories or the ability to form new ones. He also told us why she seems to remember every single second she spends with me... While every single other part of her brain was damaged in the car crash, the one tiny part of her brain that stored her memories of me in high school somehow remained intact. And with the rest of her brain no longer needing the support, all the blood and hormones of her body were constantly rushing to this one isolated part of her brain dedicated to me...

He told us that she didn't really love me. He told us that I don't actually make her happy. She only feels the way she does now, because of a chemical imbalance in her brain... No matter how stupid I act, she would always love and laugh at my jokes. No matter how callous I may be, she would always be loyal and truthful as a wife. No matter how much I absolutely suck in bed, she would always reach orgasm, and heave and dream of more in the morning...

... and then he showed me scans of my own brain...

Thanks to the accident, she had become as obsessed with me, as I was already obsessed with her...

... my part of her brain was swelling as much as her libido...

... my love for her was natural... but I could see in her eyes - she was simply terrified that her love for me was just not real...

...

... later that night, after she kissed me in tender tears, we talked... she was so unsure of herself, fearing that our relationship could be as fake as The Matrix (glad to know her memory of that god-awful movie never faded away...)... I told her that I was afraid of that as well - she never seemed to like me, let alone love me, in high school. But no matter what, I still loved her. That would never change. And I told her that even if I couldn't have her, I would still stay by her side for the rest of her life, just so that she would never forget a single memory ever again... I cared for her too much to ever let her forget...

... that's when she started crying again, in joy this time... and kissed me gently at first... then passionately... and then we made love... all night long, in each other's warm embrace...

... in the morning, she shimmered in the halo of the Sun, as she wispfully whispered in my ear that she counted 27 orgasms that night...

... obviously, I was turned on...

... I made love to her again...

...

... the dream then flash-forwarded back to the cold, hard doctor's office...

The father-looking doctor once again was checking up on the latest scans of my obsession's brain. He shook his head, almost in disapproval of us (or just me)... He told us that our relationship simply wasn't real. My obsession tried to argue, claiming that I've always loved her, and that she's always loved me. But the doctor simply shook his head and pointed back to the scans... I don't know how he deduced this, but somehow from just gazing at blobby black and white pictures, he realized that the part of her brain that was still intact didn't just hold the memories of me. It also held her old feelings for me. And while all the chemicals and hormones rushing through her synapses were producing love and lust for me now, that was not always the case...

... turns out, the scans showed that she used to hate me more than any other man... the accident had damaged her brain into producing the exact opposite effect...

... she had always been obsessed with me... turned out though, it wasn't the kind of obsession that I had with her...

... she never liked me...

... ouch...

...

... she wouldn't even kiss me that evening... she wouldn't even touch me... She asked me whether she should start taking drugs prescribed by the doctor, to help fix the chemical imbalance in her brain and revert back to whatever kind of personality she had before. She claimed she couldn't remember what she was like before remeeting me in that coffeeshop, but it was killing her inside, knowing that she may be a completely different person now than she was always meant to be...

I asked her then and there, have I made her happy?... she shed a single tear as her eyes sort of nodded for her... I asked her, why does it matter whether our love is real or not, when all I care about is whether she's happy?... that's when she finally touched my hand again, and if by magic, we made love that night... I don't think I ever let go of her hand...

... in the morning, she smiled as the Sun graced her face... she said she had 38 orgasms last night... of course, I beamed...

... but she wouldn't make love to me that morning, no matter how much she wanted it...

... she sat up...

... she told me she had decided to take the drugs, to bring back her old personality. She wanted a life that was real. She wanted to know who she was. She wanted to know she was real. She wanted to know we were real...

... I sighed in subtle desolation... all I could do was sigh... all I could do, was close my eyes as my heart broke in two...

... I then gulped and took a deep breath... I took her hand, one last time, and promised her that even if she starts hating me again, I will never ever leave her side. I would never let her forget a single memory ever again, even if it meant sacrificing everything for a woman who wanted nothing to do with me... I loved her, and that would never change, even if she never loved me... She smiled at my promise, but she also looked sad... I was terrified that she was going to tell me that I deserved my own life, that I have to let her live hers... I was scared that it was over...

... I so wanted her to be happy... but she was choosing reality over happiness, to make herself happy...

... she opened her mouth... she gulped... she sighed... she was about to say something...

... I began to panic... I let go of her hand...

... and...

... well...

...

... that's when my goddam alarm clock went off...

... fucking 9 am in the morning... motherfucking alarm clock...

... what the fuck? Motherfucker...

...

... we all have dreams from time to time, that fulfill our desires so much to the point, that we literally hear our hearts snap in two as the memory of the dream begins to fade away in the morning... I've never known such a loss of bliss, of the dreadful feeling in my gut when I realize that it was all just a dream... not since I never asked my obsession out to dance that god-awful, fateful night, that is... yes, I know - I always have dreams that make me horny. I always have dreams that make me wet. But there have only been a select few, ever rare and ever after dreams that I've had, where I wake up smiling as if it were real... as if I wish fantasy were real... as if I'd give anything, to make my dream real...

... I mean honestly, this dream had it all... let's take a quick analysis, shall we?

It had the classic girl-never-changes scenario. I could love her forever, because she had been changed just for me forever. It's completely selfish and quite disturbing to want a girl to be brain damaged, just so she could be perfect for me, and I could be perfect for her. But the idea of fate, of destiny - it's so alluring. It's the foundation of all dreams... I was the only one in the entire world that could satisfy her emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I could completely trust her, because she completed confided in me... My dream dealt with the idea of true love, that there was only one person in the entire world for me, and the only one person I've ever felt I've ever loved turned out to be the one and only girl for me... the girl of my dreams... My dream even dealt with Oedipal fears. I didn't make any moves until the father figure gave me his approval, and it was only because of the doctor's interference that my dreams of leading a perfectly happy life with my obsession were shattered... I fell in love with this dream, because like all of my favourite dreams, it was the girl who made the first move on me. It was the girl who first showed me how to love, so that I could learn how to love her in return. And from that moment on, I would love her like no other, if only so she would hold my hand just one more time... And the ending?... Such a tragic, bitter pill of an ending. And hell, I'll never really know how it'll ever after end... Will she stop taking the drugs, just to fall in love with me again? Would she still love me, even after taking the drugs? Or will reality rule over fantasy, and just like in real life, I would pine over her for eternity, for desolute destiny, while she completely goes on with her life, never even noticing me, as if I was never there...

... do I even exist? Why must this be real?...

... oh, the irony... the perfect dream, becomes the perfect, painful reality... the high fidelity of languish...

... such a smile, brings the purist forms of agonies... such sunlight, begets such sweet sorrow...

...

... it's been two whole days since I've had this dream, and all I've ever thought about since then, has been this one damn dream of mine... the idea of a perfect dream, and the dream of a perfect woman... and that's why I've been watching all these goddam romantic comedies of mine. Because I've been trying to reproduce the feeling I got while watching Fifty First Dates, even to the point of having a dream that borders on copyright infringement... I've been so direly, desperately trying to regain the feeling I had when I had this dream... but to no avail... all to no avail...

Dare to dream, I always say... and I paid for it...

I really think I need an advil...

...

It's gone. It's lost. It feels like it was never there.

Yet I hold onto it with dear life. I think about it morning to night...

... so yeah... heh... I can definitely say I'm obsessed with her...

... truly the definition of the word...

... because you know what?...

... all the 'perfect' dreams that I have?...

... they're always about her...

... I think... I'm sure...

... never really about anyone else...

... they're always about her...

... and they all started that one damn day, that I actually did hold her hand...

... just for a second... I held her hand for a science experiment, just for one second... one damn second...

... pathetic, I know...

... but we just kind of froze there in time... felt like the moment would never end... and yet it did... somehow, it did...

... but I don't think I ever actually let go...

...

... let go?

... let her go?...

... I just don't know why, but...

... I wish I could, but...

... I just can't...

Y2kk Update: Somebody's gotta say this... I've gotta say this... Something's gotta give...

Right now, I'm really, really horny.

Yes, I'm really, really horny.

... normally this shit hits me in early Spring, right on schedule. But it didn't this year - not exactly at least...

It's been a sad year for me, and I'm not just talking about flunking out of fucking school... every single other year in my life for as long as I can ever remember (yes, even as far back as grade four with my obsession), there's always been a girl as the red delicious apple of my eye. But after what happened last year, after what happened with the girl I fucking always talk about, there's been absolutely no-one. There's been absolutely nobody. Not a single girl to whine about, not a single girl to care... and I don't know why. All I do know, is that thanks to my bitter loneliness, thanks to my goddam Dodgeball segregation and seclusion, I barely even thought of the usual fucking-like-bunnies stuff that normally starts bulging out of my beady eyes come Spring...

Until now, that is...

The thing is, I read a forum thread the other day, about what men do to entice their girlfriends into sex. And of course, the guys were shallow on the enticing details, and much more candid on the "I fucked her brains out all over the room" kind of emphasis... The thing is, I know that most of the guys there were exaggerating. I know that some of them were lying about what the fuck they did, and who they fucked. And hell, yes, I even know that probably half of those girls were just fucking with the guys, just faking howls and moans left, right and center for our painfully fragile masculine egos... But does that really matter? All those guys just made me feel so damn inferior, and so damn meaningless... because chances are, they at least got some... I mean, I've never really had friends that ever talked about having a good shag. The closest I've ever had was a friend who talked about sex all throughout high school, yet couldn't even get a girlfriend until he went to university with all those easy girls gone wild... So I suppose it still comes as a bitter shell shock to my naive little ears, when I finally do hear the greatest hits and tales and nasty exploits of the men who don't whimper their tails between their goddam legs... the ones who don't turn tail and run...

But still... even the male bravado crap I religiously read over last night couldn't really make me go insane in the horny membrane. Not until what I read tonight, that is... because the thing is, just out of curiousity, I had the undying urge to look up the Trance Vibrator or some crap like that, the goddam little sex kitten toy that comes with the Japanese version of the PS2 game Rez. And the thing is... the first webpage I found, was the not so subtle references to the kitty add-on on GameGirlAdvance.com... and, umm... suffice to say, the Jane who runs things over there?... well... I think she's every video gamer's girl of their dreams... Because I mean, as she described it, she was "writhing on the floor" in a "trance" of ecstasy and tales of symphonia, while her boyfriend just kept on plasticly playing through the game, oblivious to the fact that a goddam video game was doing to his girl all night long what every single fucking guy, myself definitely included, could only dream and cream and crave of ever doing...

... and yes, I dreamed... oh, how I dreamed... dare to dream, I always say...

... as Jane put it, "I wanted to concentrate a little more on the, er, physical aspect of the game. I took off my pants... Pretty soon the levels and the images onscreen were just a faint blur to me. I knocked off my glasses and leaned back. I was in a daze..."...

... my God, that's hot... at least for a card carrying geek like me... I have a real fetish for girls with glasses, you know...

And I just couldn't help but yearn and turn this online form of video gaming erotica into my own poetic justice of final fantasy prose... by imagining my obsession from high school, the one I always pray to God is the delicate and ever so graceful nympho of a flower, who would never sell my shlong short, having hour long orgasms by my side as I drive harder and harder through the stages of Rez, in the simple and oh so delicious hope of making her pant and scream and writhe some more... Hey - maybe it's a geek's dream, but it's my dream dammit. Whenever I think of something real kinky and horny, I always think of her. I always think of my obsession. She may not be the most beautiful woman in the world objectively, but dammit, I'll be damned if she wasn't the most voluptuous and viewtiful girl I've ever damn seen. Something about her just screams out that she's a screamer... something about her, just screams out that she'd be the only damn girl on the face of the planet, who'd ever goddam want me... her eyes - she cons me with her eyes... or at least she did - I last saw her three years ago... and how pathetic is that?

A dreamer's dream... she never cared for me... She left for her university, got hitched with a dozen guys, plans naked days with the gang on a regular basis, and hasn't thought of me since... yet, she's still my obsession...

... I suppose that's what the definition of an obsession is...

... if so, alas... I suppose I sadly have more than one...

... because that's when I finally thought back to the girl I always talk about... While I keep drooling that my obsession would be the kind of gal to welcome this kind of Rez kinky shit, I know both in my heart and my mind that the girl I always talk about would never ever have allowed me to do this kind of stuff to her... obviously, because a) she now seems to hate me, b) she never liked me in the first place, c) we were never goddam together, and d) because she even goddam told me so... well, not directly at least...

I still remember the last Valentine's Day that we had together... well, we were obviously not together, but in my misguided mind at least, I really thought we had gotten close... until she told me straight to my face that we had no chemistry, I was honestly ready to take her out to a cup of coffee... maybe treat her to some chocolates and flowers. You know, that kind of generic sappy Valentine's Pussy-whipped Day kind of shit... and then she dumped a truck load of shit on me, and never looked back... and I'll never really know why... not after the way I acted after that... but still...

Around that Valentine's Day, another guy had asked her out. And when she flat out denied him like the cold-hearted bitch that she is, the guy certainly had quite a cold hearted thing to say back to her...

"Fine, bitch. Have it your way. Have fun with your vibrator."...

... and, umm...

The thing is, I wasn't there at the time. But in one of her few moments of trust (I think...),the girl I always talk about eventually brought up this fiasco to me later that day, and asked me quite the question...

...

"What's a vibrator?"

...

... umm... yeah...

I didn't know whether she was Beatrix kidding or not. Hell, I was hoping that this was her way of asking me out to a night of hot steaming sex on the stairs, so I started explaining it... or at least, I tried to, without sounding like the nympho-hoping pervert that I am... and, umm... eventually by the time I got near the word "masturbate", I realized that she had no idea what the fuck I was talking about. I was hoping at the start that she was just trying to be band geek romantic; turned out, she was just being chess club clueless... So I just said screw it - she was a nice girl, and I'll let her stay a nice girl. And I made something up... I forget what, but I said I didn't really know what a vibrator was for, and I made things up. Part of me was scared that she was testing me - I mean, what girl doesn't honestly know what a fucking vibrator is for?... but just from the looks in her pearly eyes? At the time, I was just happy that she was still the innocent flower girl that I always knew she was inside... but now?... now?...

... well... tonight, as I kept dreaming of my obsession and the girl I always talk about having a threesome with me, with vibrators in their laps and the controller in my hands?... I just... well...

I just felt lonely. That's all.

I miss her. I miss them.

And I'm horny.

Really, really damn horny...

... I mean, it's not like even if I ever had a girlfriend, I'd have sex with them, no matter how much I care and crave it right now. Because I am quite the timid little fucker, a pervert with a conscience to abstain somehow... I want my marriage (assuming I ever do get married) to be something special - I want to make sure that the woman I truly fall in love with, will get a gift that truly shows how much I care for her and only her... I want her to truly know that she's the only one I'd ever want...

... yeah, right... that's my brain talking... but there's another part of my body, screaming a lot louder for an hour-long quickie right now...

... a McFlurry, if you will...

The thing is, thanks to goddam forum threads like the one I read yesterday, I'm constantly berating and beating myself up for not being ready for you know what... I mean, yes I want a special gift for whoever will be my wife. But goddammit, talk about performance anxiety! A huge part of me just wants to learn how to be the best damn fucker in the world, just like every other guy in the world thinks he is, just so that the first time my wife and I make love, I can fucking fuck her brains out all over the carpet, and make her scream and moan and orgasm all night long until the entire bloody hell room is fucking soaking wet. I want her to giggle and smile, writhe her body in tender glee, and tease for more. And the only way to do that is with experience... but goddammit, I also know this is just my goddam libido's lame justification of breaking my personal vows and finally getting fucked. If I'm ever lucky enough to ever get a girlfriend that is... and I definitely stress the word if...

Because yeah, I'm real horny. I'm really, really horny right now. And I have no girlfriend. I've never had a girlfriend. And fuck, I just feel horrible now, because I'm not even sure that I'll ever have a girlfriend. Not at this rate. Not with my personality. Not with my timidness. Not with my fucking engineering. And certainly not with my Tiny Tim, three inch you-know-what...

Sadly, size does matter... whether it be the wallet, the car, the ego, or obviously, the you-know-what...

... the size of the Trance Vibrator, I mean...

What's my idea of a perfect woman? One who likes to stay at home, a screamer who of course can't be satisfied by any man but me (and maybe by a quartet of lesbians on the side... but that's besides the point...). I want a nympho as I stated, but one who's loyal and, you know, appreciates me for the loser that I am. I also of course want true love, but in that retrospect, I just wish I could be the man that the woman of my dreams always dreams a man can be... I want to be the perfect gentleman, the perfect romantic, and perhaps the perfect father. I want to be a sensitive, attentive, devoted, charming, and above all else, the absolute loyal lover... And of course, I want to be able to make the lady that I love, moan and groan and die a thousand times a night until they squirt out an entire damn lake for themselves to bathe in come morning dawn... I want every fucking fiber in her body to writhe in sensation and shudder out for more. I want her to caress her breasts and cry for me every single night to goddam make sure she's walking funny for a week...

I know that girls claim they want a good man over a good fuck, but... I want her to be happy, by making her so damn euphoricly happy, that she can't be anything but happy... but dammit, what man doesn't want those very same powers that be? What man doesn't want to be The Man? What man doesn't want to be perfect?...

... what man doesn't want to satisfy? To love?...

... if you asked me just a week ago, I'd say I didn't even care about any of this shit... but I just can't stop thinking about it right now... This kind of crap always haunts and hits me come Spring... And no, I don't masturbate. I don't porn (well... besides anime...). I don't cum... I don't work it out. All I do, is write it out. My fucking webpages - that's my fucking love life for you, sad as that is to say...

... I truly am a lowly poet's sire... pathetic, I know...

... and even more sadly... I'm thinking of buying a PS2 and Rez with the Trance Vibrator if I ever get a job... for you know... just in case...

... Size does matter...

... just in hope...

...

Yes. I really am that horny right now. And delusional... and did I mention horny?...

But hopeful. Also hopeful. And sadly too patient... real patient for a real goddam pervert... if only...

... dare to dream, I always say... and I just can't stop dreaming right now...

Y2kk Update: It's been a horrible past month for me this past... umm... month...

... yeah...

I don't really want to get into it, because I think I've whined enough about it, all that I can... all that I can fucking be...

I mean, I failed the fucking year. What else can I say? My parents may not be saying anything, but they don't have to, because I've said it all.

I'm a failure...

... but I'm not here today to trade blows with myself for the thousandth time this week alone. I've got a little something else to get off my self-piteous, self-pitying chest...

I've been planning to go with my brother to see Shrek 2 for quite a long time now. I mean, technically Troy (starring Legolas and The Hulk) was the movie I've been dragging my brother to see for at least a couple of months now, but it was Shrek 2 that I knew would deliver... So about a month ago, we decided that we were going to see the new Dreamworks movie the first day it aired together. I was sure that he wouldn't break his word, considering?... well... considering all I've sort of done for him over the past several months. I mean, I don't know if I helped him. I'm afraid that I only made things worse for him... but I was there for him at least... I listened... I cared... that has to count for something...

And no, I'm not mad that he ditched me in the end. I'm not actually bitter that he got to see and love and enjoy Shrek 2 last week on opening day, while I still haven't been able to see the goddam film...

... okay, maybe I am just a tad bit bitter...

It's just that, I saw it coming a mile away... so I wasn't upset when my brother couldn't change his plans... Last Wednesday, my parents needed the car at night to go see Mamma Mia in downtown Toronto. And since we were going to use their van, their insurance money, and, well... because they're my parents, I wanted to make sure my brother and I saw the earliest showing of Shrek 2 that we could... And I knew that he was going to bring along a friend or two. He had told me about this a couple days before... I just didn't know that his friends would be bringing their friends, and their friends would be bringing their friends, and vice versa...

... yeah... I guess I am pretty damn clueless...

... it was no longer about my brother and I in arms. It was about his fifty fucking friends, all having a ball, not giving a damn about me because they didn't even know who the bloody hell I was. And the thing was, thanks to either summer school classes, job schedules, or just sheer goddam laziness, his goddam friends refused to see anything but a relatively late matinee showing of Shrek 2, at a bloody hell theatre that would've been jammed pack with rush hour traffic the moment that we got out. And truth be told, I wasn't willing to risk us getting stuck in Toronto, wasting gas at the horribly shocking prices it's risen to, when we were using our parents' car, with our parents' insurance, with our parents' goddam gas money.

So, I... um... volunteered to stay home...

My brother took the bus to meet all his friends a couple cities away, and I stayed home...

... but that wasn't the real reason why I decided to forfeit my free ride...

... that's not the real reason why I'm still pissed at my brother...

I volunteered to stay home, because I didn't want to deal with fifty of his bloody hell friends. I mean, I know this sounds so inhumanly anti-social of me, but goddammit, I hate feeling tacked on! I hate being "teh brotha". I'm not a social guy! All I would do is shake the hands of several of his friends and smile, hoping that I wouldn't embarrass my brother by embarrassing myself... I could've dealt with two or three of his friends that I've never met before. I've done it in the past, and I could do it again... but not when he was bringing the whole damn Custard calvary! And not without him telling me before he fucking lent out an open invitation to the whorish world...

It would've been my goddam last stand. And I couldn't stand for it.

I mean, I'm not pissed I didn't get to see Shrek 2...

I'm pissed that my brother, possibly fully knowing what kind of awkward situation he'd put me in, still elected to ask all his friends out to the movie that I promised we'd see together...

... in the end, that just wasn't possible... not just because of the deadline, but because of me. I wasn't willing to deal with all those people. And I wasn't willing to admit that to my brother's face, so I took the faux-noble way out and pretended like I even gave a damn about my parent's late night rendezvous chez nous...

... touche... without the accent...

... and now I'm bitter... Shrek 2-less, and bitter...

... I thought my brother would make these kinds of decisions of his with me in mind... I can't blame him for wanting to spent time with his friends, but he should've goddam told me first, before I was left feeling cold and left out to dry that god-awful morning... with nothing to do, and no will to even write...

... I guess I've gotten a lot of that lately... being left out, I mean...

I finally got an e-mail from my close friend who got a job in another city. From the two sentences he wrote to me, it sounded like he got wind that I failed my entire goddam term at university... He said he felt sorry for me. He then said he was busy. And that's it... I waited three fucking weeks for him to get internet back, just to get two fucking lines?...

... but that's cool. I wrote him back, all suave and sophisticated or what not. I was sure he'd write back afterall... I mean, he couldn't be that damn busy to completely ignore one of his close friends...

...

... I stand corrected...

... he hasn't written back... And his roommate at the job? He was a friend of mine too. And after three or four long weeks of being out of contact, all he said to me online the day after tomorrow was "hi", then "bye"?... The fuck?!... He said he was busy, that he would talk to me later. Then he left.

I haven't talked to him since.

The fuck.

... yeah, well... I suppose if I was that damn busy, I'd completely ignore the people I was cheerful to just a month ago too... I suppose I would, at least... hypothetically speaking of course, since I have no fucking job... I have no spoon...

I know it's not their fault. Perhaps they actually are too busy... perhaps they simply find it awkward to talk to someone who obviously misses them?... perhaps they don't know what to say to me, since nothing does feel new and exciting to them anymore?... not after three weeks, at least... I don't really know...

... it was awkward... yeah, I know...

... all I know is, it's already started... one month after high school, a lot of my friends already starting ignoring me like I never once existed... and now?... well...

... I guess as far as the universe will forever be concerned, I really don't exist...

And why should I?

... I'm just another failure...

... sounds like fun, I always say...

... except goddammit, this is one damn update that I never thought I'd write...

... I never thought I'd be here... not once, not ever, at least...

... best viewed in Netscape 3 (w/o javascipt on) at 800 x 600 resolution and 256 colours, because that's what I run at ...