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.

It’s no secret that I live the life of a Downtown Man. Women who lived in an uptown world, along with their fancy college degrees and white collar professions could never go for a blue collar bum like me. Social status doesn’t exist in a vacuum after all, and if I don’t got the mojo, then there’s no way I can land me some high class ho-hos, ya know?

But Billy Joel, he made me believe. He made me dare to dream in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, there was an Uptown girl out there who could see past my blue collar ways, and past the gruff exterior. Yes you did, Billy Joel:

But I see now that it was all a dirty, filthy, vomitous lie. Damn you Billy Joel!! Damn you for making me dream wonderful dreams, only to see reality grind them out like so much meat!!!! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you…

Yep, I got another rejection letter lined up, this time in response to a Craigslist ad that I could swear I never posted, and yet somehow it got posted anyway.   Don’t worry though, this is my last one because I am so, so, SO done with this whole dating-relationship crap.  I am finally going full on Lone Ranger here, and bite me all of you who think I can’t be happy being single.

So anyways, why am I rejecting this one?  Because dude, she totally looked like a guy.  Seriously.   She’s British though, so that might explain a few things, but still, dude, she really totally looked like a guy.  Here’s my farewell email to her:

Dear Look-Like-A-Man,

I wanted to like you.   I really did.  But see, here’s the thing: you look like a man.   A man wearing a pretty blonde wig, but a man nonetheless.

I can deal with plain looking women.  I can deal with women who are overweight.   I can deal with women who have disabilities and missing body parts (unless it’s the head maybe.)  I can even deal with women who watch reality shows.  I cannot however, in this life or the next, deal with a woman who looks like a man.

Even slightly mannish features creep me out in ways not even Richard Simmons could do.  There’s just no way I could see myself embracing you intimately or puckering up to give you a kissy without my inwards screaming out, “MAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!!”

So you see, it’s not you, it’s me.  I do hope though that you will someday meet that special guy who thinks a mustache on a woman is sexy, and that the two of you will be very happy together.  I however, must sadly follow another path.

So, best of luck to you, and here’s a little parting advice: do try to shave every now and then, ok?

Much love,

Lincoln

No of course I didn’t send it, but I was in a conundrum.  I didn’t want to blow her off, but I didn’t want to tell her straight up that I was only interested in women who looked like women either, so what’s a stud like me to do?

Then a thought came to me: make her think she’s rejecting ME instead.   Brilliant!

So I did some surfing to find the dweebiest, weeniest photo that still looked authentic enough for me to use as a picture of “myself,” then wrote her a friendly email in which I casually mentioned being heavily in debt and living with my parents, but she needn’t worry, I worked a prestigious job as a low-level clerk, so it should only be just a few more years before I can finally move out on my own.   Say, when I’m 36 or so…

Here’s the photo I used.  Poor guy, whoever he is I hope he never sees this post:

It’s been a few days now and I have yet to receive a response from her.  Dude, I awesomely rock.

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.

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!

It’s over, I’ve lost.

After 23 years of rejection, heartaches, unrequited love, enduring the rude, cold treatment of every women I’ve ever been interested in or in love with, I’m tossing in the towel.

My latest failure took away whatever remaining hope I had. Even though we seemed to have so many specific, rare things in common, I only managed to hold her interest for maybe 5 minutes before she decided I just wasn’t worth her attention anymore, and blew me off without warning.

I guess that’s it then. I’ll never experience what it’s like to hold hands with a girl, to kiss her, to hold her in my arms, to tell her how much I love her and care for her, and have her tell me the same. I will be single and alone for the rest of my life, and I’m sure all my enemies will gain immense satisfaction in knowing I will never be happy.

Ah well, I won’t get mad about this. I’ll just get even.

After all, if ya gotta go, go with a smile!

HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!