Ugh, I can’t sleep.

See, it used to be whenever I had trouble falling asleep I would think about how I’d meet my dream girl, exploring all the possibilities on how we’d end up together and fall in love.  Just holding on to those dreams would put my mind at enough ease that I could finally conk out and get a good night’s rest.  It was my own personal way of counting sheep, and I’d been doing it for years and years.  No matter what shape or form she took, I could always imagine her easily, beautiful and loving and caring.  My hope kept her real, helped me to believe that she was out there, and that it was only time that kept us apart, until such time finally came to an end.

But now I can’t see her anymore.

As hard as I try to imagine, my mind can’t focus enough for her to appear again, and I’m tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, wondering why it’s so hard now to even put a few thoughts together so I can dream about her for just a little while.

If there was ever a solid indication that my dream has finally died though, this would be it.  Maybe my mind is finally coming to terms with the reality that I will never, ever meet someone.  This world has become too evil, too foregone a conclusion, and I myself am just too different, too detached from humanity for it to even be possible anymore.  Maybe if I had been born 50 years ago I might have had a chance.  But not today.

My dream really is over.  I will never sleep again.

I hate dating experts.  You can’t find a more execrable lot who dispenses either the kind of common sense advice that even a monkey with half a brain wasted on whiskey would know, or a truckload of compost heap designed to liberate you of your wallet money before you realize you’ve been had, and no, Pickup Step #12 wasn’t the sure winner they said it would be after all.  Dating experts are like lawyers, they over complicate what should be simple matters, because if they didn’t, there’d be no business for them.  This is why they should all be rounded up and sent to some death camp somewhere (Florida, maybe?)

Still, I was bored today and ended up reading this series of interviews with 3 popular male dating experts.

And now I feel like blowing sh__ up.

You get advice like don’t be altruistic because women won’t find it sincere, or if I end up getting stuck in the friend zone I should get a new haircut and maybe change my cologne, or my personal favorite, I should try withholding my name intentionally when introducing myself to a girl, that way if she asks me what it is, I’ll know she’s interested, and if she doesn’t, then that means I should move on.

Because you know, there’s just no way to tell if a girl is into you right off the bat without being a rude little bastard.

BUT, it’s agreed that I can still be myself… only the best part of myself that is.  The bad parts I should be  burying in secrecy until we tie the knot, at which point I can then safely make known the depths and widths of my obscenely ugly personality.

Yes I can see myself getting far with these little gems of wisdom.

Oh, and the niceness thing?  We gotta knock that crap off:

Because nice guys are weak guys. They wear their heart on their sleeve and they don’t make the girl work for it. …What happens is that the guy says, “I had a good time, did you? Can I see you again? You’re really a nice girl! You’re sure good looking.” This girl is 28, she’s good looking, and ever since she was 12, guys have been telling her she’s beautiful. So, what effect does that compliment have? It’s a negative.

You know, there’s a difference between being nice and being a weenie, but unfortunately the two often get lumped together as being the same.  If a girl is really into me, of course I’d want to treat her like a queen because she’s genuinely interested in me,  not because she’s a blowtorch of a man hater with plans to dominate me and crush my precious balls so she can win another one for the home team.  She cares about who I am.  That in itself is a trait so rare that it behooves me not to respond in a showering of wubsy wubs and affection.

And really, complimenting her is not a negative, dumbass.  You know why it was a negative before?  Because all those guys telling her how beautiful she was said it because they wanted to get into her pantie wanties.  If a decent guy says it and actually MEANS it though, she should pick up on that and realize she’s finally got something genuine here, and she’ll appreciate his kindness because they come straight from the heart.

Because seriously dude, if she can’t handle being treated like gold by a nice guy (who’s not a weenie), isn’t that an indication that there’s something wrong with HER?  So why does all of mankind have to adapt themselves to accommodate this particularly large segment of fruity nuts bitchdom?  I know why, because you are all a bunch of disgusting horndogs who will do and say anything to get laid.  MEN.  They are the most damned stupidest piggish pig-like pig-borking piggyback pigger pigs to have ever graced creation, honest to God.  When they’re not busy scratching and rubbing their 9 months pregnant sized hairy ass bellies, they’re busy letting one fly while they expound on the intricacies of the latest scores in sports or how they’d like to hit every walking thing within 100 yards that passes for a female, and yet they profoundly believe this is what passes for intelligent discussion.

Ok, that got away from me a little.    Back to the women bashing here.  I noticed they wrap things up by conceding what we’ve known all along, that women are in fact attracted to money and power, only here they try to soften the blow by saying women are attracted to guys with wealth and status, which translates into, uh, money and power.

Sigh.  Remember back when life was simpler and marriages were arranged and we could all marry our cousins and sisters without anyone blinking an eye?  I miss those days.

I’d since tossed in the towel when it comes to online dating, but a thought occurred to me: If I’m giving up, I might as well go out with a bang, right?

And since writing a serious profile that highlighted all my positive traits wasn’t doing dinky squats, I think it’s time I started having a little fun and doing what I do best: pissing the ever living crap out of people.

Here’s a copy of my newly rewritten profile for your perusal, which I titled, “NO FAT CHICKS!!” Bask in the glory that is my manly brilliance:

I am, quite simply, the man of every woman’s dreams. I’m also Italian, which means I can cook, I can sing, and I can love in ways you could never imagine, even in your wildest fantasies.

But if you want me, you must be worthy of me. Here are a few things you will need to fulfill before you should even consider contacting me:

• You must be at a normal, healthy weight. Fat, obese chicks need not apply. Please, don’t kid yourself. If you don’t like it, stop eating and join a gym.
• You must have a positive IQ and have a college education. Stupid women are unattractive. In addition, if you think MySpace is the greatest thing in the world then you have no redeeming quality whatsoever. Please go join a convent and spare us men of your vacuous, mind numbing idiocy.
• You must hate liberals. If Obama is your god not only will I not contact you, I will superimpose your face on naked photos of Richard Simmons and post them to Facebook and MySpace for all the world to see, which will include the captions “For a good time call…” along with your cell phone number and email address.
• You must have no tattoos or body piercings in places other than your ears. They are not cool. Such self mutilation is a sign of a mental disorder. Get help you sick, sick girl (and stay away from magnetic material.)
• You must not dress like a 2 dollar hooker working 42nd Street in Manhattan. It does not make you look sexy. It makes you look like a hooker.
• You must not drink (or drink only on rare occasions). If bar hopping is one of your favorite pastimes, then please don’t let me stop you from continuing to enjoy it… alone.
• You must not have children. If you messed up in a previous relationship and got kids out of that deal, that’s not my problem. Go collect welfare if you want a sugar daddy, you promiscuous monkey ho.
• You will treat me as the rare diamond that I am, because let’s face it, you’ll never find anyone better than me. You will treat me with the respect due a man of my high stature and valor. You will love me like a king, and in return I will love you like a queen (maybe.)

If you can manage to fulfill all of the criteria above (and you’re hot looking too), then let’s talk! If not, then I would suggest signing up for TrailerParkTrash-Match.com and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to find your soulmate there.

Think I’ll get any responses?  

I have no idea when this crap aired, but evidently there was a show highlighting the dating woes of 30-something women, which somehow devolved into how Islam is great and we should all go ass up 5 times a day and change our names to Ahmed Akalahu Mukababah Habib Al Mulla Wulla (or some such 50 syllable name that’s guaranteed not to fit on a standard criminal rap sheet form.)

Before it did though, I managed to glean some interesting quotes:

Like many single women in America, Julie is no stranger to the dating scene — but finding dates isn’t always the problem. “It’s not that there are no men to date. It’s that I’m not meeting anyone that I’m attracted to. Nobody that I think is quality and worthy of me and what I have to offer and what I want to do.”

Evidently chiseled, flawless men programmed to hand over their balls and debit cards seem to be in low supply these days. Remember what I said about women looking for sperm donation rather than men? Well now:

Now Julie thinks marriage may not even be what she wants. Instead of waiting around for a husband, she’s considering having a child on her own. “I’m probably going to investigate an anonymous donor and do it artificially … I want it to be my own biological child,” she says.

Funny how that works. For these type of women, marriage is merely a means to an end, and once their REAL objective has been realized, the husband is promptly forgotten and expected to fade into obscurity. The very notion that he might still expect a little bit of companionship and affection after children enter the picture seems to completely baffle them. “I gave you children, isn’t that enough?!? Go away you pathetic sissy!”

Yeah, just can’t imagine why they’d have trouble finding a guy who’d go for a deal like this.

Then there’s the divorced Mommies:

Amy also realizes that a woman with kids isn’t what every guy is
looking for. “I don’t consider children baggage. I think they’re the
bonus piece to the set, but there are a lot of men who don’t see it
that way,” she says.

Mainly because some of us would prefer not to be the new Daddy to your little bastard children. Not that I have anything against the turdlings, it’s just that I grew up in an environment where everyone around me had “step” in front of their names, and the experience hasn’t exactly warmed me to the idea of taking on someone else’s kids. But that’s just me.

I have to tell you though, reading crap like this isn’t exactly filling me with hope here. I know I’m not much of a catch, but I’d need to have the engine of the space shuttle installed up my junky jongs just to reach the friggingly ridiculous high bar these whiny donkey hos set for us men. But that’s ok, in the spirit of equitable exchange they will be perfectly willing to give us… well… nothing.

And they say romance is dead.

Every now and then I’m reminded that I don’t have the suckiest life in existence, and there are worst things in this world than being a virginal weenie tot who can’t get a girl to pay attention to him for more than .25 seconds.

The latest reminder came when a friend of mine told me about an old buddy of his who was currently going through a rough patch. Apparently the dude was a few years younger than me, had a wife in her late twenties and a 12 month old kid. In her unmitigated brilliance, the wife decided that a 45 year old hairy ape of a man (unemployed by the way) was somehow more appealing to her than a stable, loyal husband, so she ups and runs away with him.

Naturally, the husband’s a little upset about this. He works in a leadership position at a church, and eventually confided in his senior pastor about his embarrassing marital problem. The pastor (along with the church) did what any loving, caring, modern day Christian church would do when presented with a brother in Christ who was clearly in a lot of pain and grief.

They fired him.

After all, having somebody wailing in the pews like that is just bad publicity for the church, which no doubt needed to maintain its seeker sensitive image of sunshine and happiness and lollipop happy dappy joy joy joyness, lest they should start to lose members (and their tithes.)

It’s nothing personal you know, just business.

By the time my friend caught up with him he was drowning his sorrows in a pool of alcohol at some local bar.

Ahhhh, women and churches. Two of the greatest evils to ever bedevil the days of man. Yeah yeah, I know I’m painting with a widey ass brush there, but dammit, it’s what I do, sugar bear.

On a somewhat more sobering note though, there’s a verse in Scripture I keep getting reminded of whenever I ponder over the misery of my nonexistent dating life (and the plight of the churches today):

“Because iniquity shall abound, the love of many will wax cold.” - Matthew 24:12

Even though I’ve been fixated on the appalling lack of charity women have demonstrated towards me (except the beloved readers of my blog, how I wubs you all), this a disease I think that has really permeated all of society, especially in places where the notion and practice of true love should have been most evident (like say, a church.)

It also explains why I’ve always believed the odds of finding my honey bunny snuggly snookum wugs wouldn’t notably improve if I started attending church again. They are just as cold within as they are without, so really, what would be the point? Hugging a crate full of frozen fish would give me more warmth than these churches do.

Meh, that’s a topic for another day though. In the meantime, suffice it to say, as much as I might express bitterness and vile acidic venom towards all things Christian and womenly, once you dig past that rough, wounded exterior of mine, you’ll find I really am… all about love, baby.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, yeaaaah….

You’re my first, the last, my everything,

My kind of wonderful, that’s what you are!

I can’t get no, satisfaction,

I CAN’T GET NO!!

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

While I was surfing online and bopping to a Rolling Stones tune, an icon popped up on my screen notifying me that Girl-Who-Blew-Me-Off had just signed on (actually, that describes every girl I’ve ever wanted to get involved with since Reagan was President, so let’s call her Lying-Introvert instead.) I debated whether to just ignore her, or send her an IM in the hopes that maybe I could get some answers as to why she blew me off. I can’t stand having questions that forever go unanswered, so of course I caved:

Me: Hey, I can see you!

Surprisingly, she answered right away.

Her: yeah it’s a rarity cuz too many people im me at once when i am visible

Hmm, an introvert is so popular she has to stay invisible or she’ll get bombarded with IMs? Well, whatever. I decide to hit her point blank.

Me: Hey, can I ask you something?

Her: sure

Me: You didn’t like my pictures did you. Be honest now

Her: well the pics were pretty much what i expected, not diff from your profile photo…..but what u have to understand is, i have been talking to a few diff people from that site…..

Translation: She thought I was ugly, didn’t want to cap to it, and I was already a foregone conclusion in her mind since she was checking out other prospects, and she was probably wondering why the hell I wouldn’t just take the hint and go away.

Her: also my “social life” has been quite busy lately, i had an interesting weekend to say the least and i’ve been caught up with those things that have been happeneing

Translation: She’d been a-whoring around town going out on other dates, and is now head over heels in love with a tatooed up biker named Butch.

After that, she pretty much disappeared on me again. Don’t ask me how I’m doing, don’t ask me how my day was. Nothing. Boy all that Christian love really comes gushing out when you meet a fellow brother in Christ, huh, sis?

F*%$ing Bitch.

And you know what, that’s not even what frosted my cookies so much. It was the fact that despite us having so many things in common, it all meant absolutely nothing to her. We were both Italian, we both loved 80s music, we both particularly loved Italian food, we were both Christians who had bad experiences in church and currently weren’t attending one, heck even our mothers had once been Catholic but became Protestant shortly after we were both born. The similarities kept going on and on from there.

But the big thing was her mentioning how she much of an introvert she was, and she felt nobody understood her because of it and how she felt so out of place in the world. It really touched me because that’s how I felt too and I thought for the first time in a long time, I might have finally found a kindred spirit here.

And then I learn this “introvert” has a social life that’s only slightly less busier than say, Scarlet Johannson’s. For someone who claims to be an introvert, she sure seemed pretty damned extroverted to me. Except in my case of course. Maybe that’s what she meant.

But, whatever. I deleted her off my IM list, putting this experience down as a hard lesson that I think has finally been learned. Most women don’t care about romance or friendship or companionship. They care about three things only: your looks, your wallet, and your personal sperm bank.

*Sigh* Back to the Rolling Stones…

I CAN’T GET NO!!