Half-Assed Ego Odyssey Book 1: Rarest Penelope

So last night I went with Peggy to go eat some sushi. I finally had a chance to try out my Japanese. I didn't get far, but I got to say tempura in a fancy way. So yeah, anyway, me and Peggy talked about what we did over the summer, how I'm bald now and how I don't look that good bald, how Jennie doesn't just think, and relationships. It seems that the only things girls are really into talking about are things that relate to love, sex, and men. I could be (and probably am) wrong, but... well, maybe they talk about school too.

I'd hate to be a girl. PMS, pregnancy, all that fussing around with different kinds of underwear, makeup, and dress sizes. I mean, what the hell is a 4?

It's like a giant part of feminine life is to work on attracting males. They even got magazines with tips on how to "please your man". How sad, I think. And cosmetics! Wow! What women will do to make themselves generically and artificially "beautiful". There are mountains upon silicone mountains of examples, but there's no need for me to go into that. It's just especially horrible (I'm assuming here) being a girl and not feeling attractive, not having self-confidence.

The preceding and following generalizations were made, and are being made for the sake of convenience. I do not believe that all women who participate in the art of cosmetology are generic or artificial or looking to attract men. In fact, Josie Maran, the super model I'm bangin', models for Maybelline and is only somewhat generic and artificial. Josie is actually going to appear butt-nekkid in the UK edition of FHM. *giggles feverishly* Ahem, yeah. So please accept my sincere apologies if I have offended you in any way.

Oh. My. Goodness. Girls are so damn horny too. Maybe even hornier then men. I know this because girls can't control themselves around my sexiness. The sad part is that girls are taught not to act so "indecent". They are also born with this idea of a perfect, fairytale romance, which is a great idea, but will never happen. Perfect isn't perfect anyway. It's like heaven, utopia. It's boring. There's nothing to want.

And it's not like women and men are that different, you know? Take any Jane Doe, remove her make up, boobs, and stick on a penis. You either have a man, or a flat-chested lesbian ready to party. "Yeeha!"

Yeah, I know it's a big secret, but guys wanna be loved too.

Like the other day, I had this conversation with Boss. He was talking about women and how much he loves women and how he has so much knowledge of women and how he had had tried to get with women and how he got close, but didn't have any luck with women. My big (yet very sexy) mouth reminded him that he didn't even actually try to get with women and how he wasn't even close to getting with women.

And there we were. Sitting all silent and shit.

Boss didn't know what to say. I know he wanted to say something, wanted to come up with something snappy to slap my handsome face with, but he just sat there, blinked hard a couple times, and stared at the sky. I felt like a jerk.

So right after I got my miso soup, Peggy finished talking about what she did over the summer and her buff guy friend. It was my turn to spill the beans. I'm not much of a talker, but I didn't do so bad. I told her about my adventures sneaking into Pacbell Park, my new job at a bank vault, dealing with millions of dollars, my new Jeep Liberty, how I spent way too much on shoes, how I loved seeing Chick Corea and Poncho Sanchez live, and that was it. I was almost done. I almost got away.

"So, are there any cute girls in any of your classes?"

"Probably. I don't know... I don't remember."

"So what do you find cute in a girl?"

"I dunno. Lots of things."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Lots of things"

"Well what did you like about the last girl you liked?"

Damn, I thought. It's not like I didn't have a choice though. I could of lied and just said, "I dunno. Lots of things." It's just that, I don't know. I just don't talk about her much.

It was a long, long time ago. We were good friends, really good friends. You know how it is, you get to know that person a little better and it just sort of creeps up on you. Just one night, you start missing that person, you know. And you just know, you know? Well, I found out I liked her that night. I knew she dug me too. She was nuts about me. Not just peanuts nuts, not even macadamia nuts. We're talking coconuts nuts here.

I'm pretty dense when it comes to girls being nuts about me. I mean, it hardly ever happens, I think. Maybe once every ten years. I'm really not all that, I think. It took me a while after staring at all the bite marks on my arm and hearts drawn on my hand to figure it out.

So we started phone dating and stuff. She'd page me "6000-177012171176" (good morning) and "good night" everyday. If she knew I was going out with friends or if she didn't know where I was at all, it was "have fun" or "where are you". Some people complain about being checked on, but to me, it just felt good to be cared about, you know?

When I called her back, we'd just talk for hours and hours about nothing and everything. Everyday, hours, talk, talk, talk. We talked about weird cute things, like "ever wonder what do they do with the holes in the Cheerios when they're done with making them," or out-there things that only we would understand like "the whole world dies with you when you die because it's the only world you know," or how good it feels being naked, or just plain gibberish, but we understood each other. And I think that's what I miss most, you know. She understood my weirdness. She made me feel good about myself. She made me feel like I looked good, like I was smart, like I was nice, funny, a good person.

She also liked art, helping others (she'd volunteer for shelters, etc.), she was so intelligent, and she had the prettiest smile, eyes, and the nicest ass. J Lo aint got nothing on her. And it wasn't even like she was showing it off or nothing. She wore plain, simple clothes, no makeup. But damn, you know?

Anyway, like most relationships, it ended. I don't think it was even a "relationship". I don't know what to call it, but I know it just felt good. And just like that, the goodness made a 180. It wasn't your normal "I hate you bitch, I don't wanna ever see your face again," or "I don't think it's working out, maybe we should just be friends," it was more like nothing. For weeks, nothing. No phone ringing, no pager beeping, no going out, no planning weddings, no sugar, no nothing. We had our problems, I knew that, then one day I pick up the phone and everything is normal again, but she met someone else.

And it's like oh yeah. No big deal. Then it's like damn, I should of. And then... and then it's nothing again. It's space. It's repetition. It's slowness. It wasn't jealousy. It wasn't "what's wrong with me?" It was "who, what, where, when, why, am I?"

Weird, huh?

I started questioning me as a person. Was I good enough? Why did I feel like poo and why didn't she? Hmm... maybe it's because I take some things too seriously, relationships too seriously. How did she get rid of those coconuts so fast? Was her love better than mine? Then I remembered her having the nerve to ask me if I thought she was a good person. Then I wondered (and still am wondering) if I'm a good person. I mean, she's doing all these things for other people, and she cares so much for them, all I do is give some of my loose change to a homeless person outside McDonald's, and she asked me if she was a good person? She's all fine and smart and caring and shit, and she asked me if she was a good person? If she wasn't, what am I?

I eventually got over her. Took me a year and a half (which is lightning quick for me), and here I am, wondering if I'm a good person, what good means, why good doesn't exist without a bad, why everything has to be measured, why measurement is an idea, why ideas replace truth, why truth is an idea itself, why my life never started and will probably never end, and if the whole world will die with only me.

I'm sitting here too. Blinking hard. Staring at... well, the words.

...

Fuck. Now I feel like a big, gagungus pussy for writing this shit. Imma go chop down a tree or do something manly now. Peace.

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