“Hey Linc,” Mick waved me over, “I was talking to the boss today, and guess what he called the music you listen to??” (Check out my musical tastes here)

“What?”

“Lonely White Boy Stalker music,” he said with a smirk.

“Really,” I replied. “Well listen here, I got another brand of music I love to listen to. It’s called “Angry White Man With His Foot Up Boss’s As—” just as the boss himself walked in.

“Hi guys, what’s new?”

“Nothing,” I said abruptly, and quickly walked back to my desk.

Ahhh, Friday has arrived at last, giving me a little time to reflect on the failure that is my life.

I couldn’t help but notice how the entire world and God Himself blew me off this week. I got blown off by my boss when I begged him for help in working new hours so I could go to law school. I got blown off by my union rep in trying to resolve some of the ongoing issues at work, from the mouse droppings on my desk to the bigwigs’ initial refusal to accommodate my disability. I got blown off by personnel, who I inquired of for a transfer so I could get the *bleep* out of here. I got blown off by Uptown Girl, who strung me along for weeks before finally ignoring me altogether. I got blown off by friends, by family members, and finally God Himself, who I’ve appealed to repeatedly with many tears and pleas for answers and relief from my troubles.

And now, once again, it’s Friday night and I’m here all alone, with only the wedding photo of a girl I had a crush on here at work to keep me company. Evidently someone thought it’d be nice to leave a copy of our department newsletter on my desk, turned precisely to the page that showed a caption and photo of her recent wedding. Thanks dude! assface…

My latest failures, the problems at work, the loss of yet another career dream, the loss of my latest romantic prospective, all finally took its toll on me last night. As I went through my normal work routine, I suddenly broke down and started sobbing. A wave of depression came over me like a dark fog, draining all my energy and strength. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up again. A day later, the depression is still lingering around (and probably will for a while).

It’s times like this when I start to wonder if my parents can still collect life insurance from me if I commit suicide. But for the time being, I decided instead to enjoy tonight’s lineup of Stargate and House, and go to hell with myself by ordering pizza. With extra toppings. And a chicken roll. And some cheese fires. And baked ziti.

Yep, I’m going full on Italian tonight. To heck with you all.

While I was out getting my ride cleaned up at the nearby self car wash, I noticed a couple behind me in an obnoxiously large pickup truck. The guy got out to get some change, so I glanced over to get a look at him. Fuzzy faced, sports cap on tight, shorts down to his kneecaps, and keys with a neckband so long it dragged across the ground as he approached the change machine. I couldn’t get a good look at the girl riding shotgun, but I could tell she was cute.

Normally, seeing a scum sucking scuzzbucket (apparently emulating Eminem or some other pasty white rapper wanna-be loser) like that with a girl would get me upset, but then I stepped back and took a deeper look here.

What was I getting upset about really? Because he had a girl, and I didn’t? But was it because no girl could ever want me, or was it simply because I had standards? Truthfully, I could go out right now and grab up some back alley ho that I could wrap my arm around and show off to all my friends if I really wanted to. But I wanted something better. I wasn’t content to have some two bit slut with the morals of a brain damaged monkey on crack in my life, just to prove that I could get a girl. I was looking for much more than that.

What’s really sad though is that even though I think my standards are reasonable enough, 80 percent of the single female population probably don’t measure up. Under ideal standards, 99.99 percent wouldn’t measure up, while the other .01 percent appear to live only in our dreams. Women today seem to vary from being skanks, whores, sluts, tramps, bimbolinas, etc., to being hellish female dogs spawned by Satan himself. Those who are godly, intelligent, kind and honest are an endangered species bordering on extinction, and even if I happen to come across one of them during my travels through life, there is usually some factor that would prevent me from pursuing them (like being married, for one). This is what our world has sadly has come to these days, and it is in this mess that I must somehow find the true girl of my dreams.

Yet as much as it would pain me to be alone, I recognize just how much MORE painful it would be to date a girl so obviously wrong for me, that to be with her would paradoxically make me feel even MORE alone and lost in the world.

It would seem impossible that I would ever meet anyone right for me, and yet despite the insurmountable odds I face here, I still have hope that she’s out there somewhere, a sweet and wonderful angel who is waiting and praying for me to come into her life soon. Call it delusion, insanity, or psychosis induced by food deprivation, but no matter what, this hope never seems to die. And for now, that will have to do as I fight to get my life in order again.

I haven’t heard anything from Uptown Girl since I last sent her an email, and I don’t expect to. However, she does show up a lot on AIM (AOL Instant Messaging), and there are times where I’m sorely tempted to drop her a line just to see what she says. I wish I had thought of instant messaging her instead of sending an email, and even though it probably would not have made much of a difference, it’s still something I regret not doing. So instead I just watch, wondering what she’s surfing, if she’s already forgotten about me, or if maybe, just maybe, she wants to email me but hasn’t thought of what to say yet. Just maybe?

God I’m so lonely.

So how are ya Linc?

Well, gee let’s see here, I’m eating triple chocolate Nestle ice cream, which has melted messy drips onto my keyboard and sullied my what used to be brilliant white t-shirt, checking my email every 15 seconds in the vain hope that the girl I just contacted on Match.com will soon get back to me, even though it’s been 10 days already and she’s probably married by now, so I am left to face yet another cold dark night by myself with only my pillow girlfriend Isabella to keep me warm.

How’s your night going?

Last weekend my town had a Columbus Day festival, which culminated in a fireworks celebration Sunday night. I happened to get a good view of the fireworks from my apartment, so I watched for a few minutes… by myself of course. I could hear the faint sound of the cheers of delight in the distance by the spectators. I could have gone to the festival myself, but I’ve been in this town for a long time, and in that time I’ve made very few friends, while the rest were people I’d just as soon not see again if I could help it. I suspected some of those people were at the festival too. Ironically enough, the very first time they started the Columbus festival, I was a freshman in high school and played in the marching band for the Columbus Day parade. My love for the town’s fair (and for the town itself) has since waned over the years.

As I watched the fireworks, all I could think about was that I was watching it alone. I was a single rocket, firing off into a lonely sky. And yet, I used to love fireworks, especially as an adolescent. Today, it brings me nothing but pain. The pain of knowing I have spent so many years going to festivals, watching fireworks, hitting the movie theaters, visiting parks and beaches, and yet, doing it all alone, unable to share those experiences with that special someone.

So I couldn’t enjoy it anymore. Instead of taking in the dazzling display, my mind wandered to all those people at the festival, many of who no doubt were holding hands and playing suck face while the rockets soared. I burned with envy and hatred as hot as the fireworks that were currently going off, which soon gave way to a deep despair. There may have been a time when I enjoyed being single, but I realized that time has now come and gone, and now all I’m left with is a sense of melancholy that precludes me from being able to enjoy any of life’s recreations. In short, I’ve stopped living. I can’t go out and enjoy life anymore, because I know I have to do it alone. I’m tired of having to say “table for one” every time I have dinner somewhere, or take in a movie and be unable to discuss it afterwards. I was tired of going on vacation and doing romantic things such as taking a steamboat cruise, or walking down the beach, and yet having to do it all without “her.”

In years past, the despair I would feel at being alone was usually buffered with a sense of hope that soon, someday soon, my suffering would at long last come to an end, and I would finally meet the woman of my dreams. But as one year gave way to another, my hope began to wither and die. It’s no wonder I exhibit so little effort to take care of myself. The loss of hope has given me a loss of will to carry on. It’s like a slow way to commit suicide. I won’t do it outright, so by letting my health deteriorate, this is a round about way for me to accomplish the same goal. The world succeeded in crushing my spirit, and it seems I’ll never be able to recover from the devastation.

All that is left is to hope for either a miracle, or a death that will come sooner, rather than later.