DISCLAIMER: This site contains material of an adult nature, and should not be viewed by anyone that is likely to complain, because I probably don't want to hear it, and if you catch me on a bad day there is a good chance you'll be crying into your pillow later that same day. Also, I like run-on sentences.
In like a lamb...eaten by a lion (or something like that)
March 1, 2013...
Last Friday, the weather guy on my morning news show said it was the 'meteorological start of spring', to which I said "Bring on the short shorts and the titties hanging out, because I'm officially sick of winter".
I only watch that morning news show because I have a crush on the girl that does the broadcast up until 6am, at which point a less attractive (and married) co-host takes over, and my news boner goes away. I don't have a problem admitting my crush on Jenny, because I live in a funny place called 'Reality' (population: me), and I know that I'll never actually have to see her in person and deal with the repercussions of any inappropriate thoughts I might have had up until that point.
You can get away with a lot in this world if you have confidence in the lack of accountability.
In other news, I was talking with a friend of mine last week, and got to thinking about my current non-sexually active status. I think I've officially gone without sex for 1/4 of a year, qualifying this as a 'sexual recession'. As with economics, two quarters in a row of this nature would be a 'sexual depression', and anything over 6 months is a confirmed DROUGHT.
So, given my current expectations, you can plan on me referring to my junk as 'The Dustbowl' round about July, just in time for horrible innuendos related to Independence day and my birthday. Consider yourselves warned.
I also started thinking about attractiveness and context. I don't generally like the scale of 1 to 10 system, but for the purposes os this discussion, let's just use it anyway. I mean, it doesn't take into account personality, sexual freakiness, sense of humor, or bitch factor, so as an OVERALL rating system, it sucks. It's only good for comparitive values of physical attractiveness, and for right now that is all we are focusing on.
Anyway, I was at the gym, and there was this girl running on one of the treadmills, and she was in pretty good shape. She ran at a steady pace for the entire time I was WALKING, so she's going to be in a good position should the zombie apocalypse ever occur.
Now, my gym is awesome, because everyone there is old and hideous (like me!). There are a few exceptions, but they are rare enough that I don't feel the least bit self-conscious about going there and sweating my fat ass off. In the month that I've been going there, I've seen MAYBE two women that I would say were 'attractive'.
In context, at the gym, treadmill girl would be a solid 8.4, because of her rarity in that environment. Where I work, she would drop into the low 7's, and out in 'the wild', she would be a 6 all day long.
I'm not saying that to be mean, I'm just explaining my theory of contextual attractiveness. At the gym, because most of the guys are older and/or in worse shape than me, I'd probably be a low 6, but most likely a high 5. At work, I drop to a 4, and in the general population of society, I think I become virtually invisible. My beauty is of the inner variety. Mama said so.
I guess my point is, we get to a point where we aren't cognizant of our environment, or the conditions in which we see someone. Our minds glaze over important details, not taking context into account, and that can sometimes alter our perceptions in negative ways.
Not just with how 'hot or not' someone is, but with everything. I can walk into most places and be the smartest guy in the room, but there are a shit-ton of places out there where I'd be a mental midget timidly stepping amongst giants.
Admittedly, I have this weird superior/inferior complex thing going on, but even so, I think I'm pretty much on the money with this one.
I actually started thinking about this a month or so ago, when I was talking to one of my female friends at work. To me, she is a 9, but that may be inflated because her personality, humor, and FQ (freakiness quotient) act as modifiers to her baseline hotness.
But, we were discussing her hotness, and she made the point that 'in here' she was at a certain level, but in the outside world she would be considerably lower. It was my first introduction to the role that context plays in determining someone's physical beauty.
I guess what I'm getting at is that we all need to have a certain situational awareness, because context dictates perception.
Or, something. I don't know. My brain has been out of sorts lately, so I may be completely off base. Even though I don't THINK that's the case.
I've had a lot of time to think lately, which is both good and bad. Since I've been writing on the web for about 13 years now, I have a pretty large body of work to peruse from time to time. I saw this piece I had written called The Relationship Vulture, and I really thought it was neat, and I liked reading it because I remembered exactly what was going on in my life when I wrote it.
Somewhere in the house, there's a box full of old journals and other ridiculous crap that I've written, some of it going back 25 years. It's like reading about some completely other person's life. It's so disturbing for me. That guy, in some ways, really had his shit together, and in other ways he was a complete and totaly fucking idiot.
Well, okay, to be fair, not a lot has changed.
I especially like reading about my feelings when I was in love. It's SO stupid, some of it quite sickening, but even when the initial euphoric phase of love was in full bloom, there was a part of me that held back, that knew it wouldn't last, and expected something horrible to happen.
I might have fulfilled a few of my own prophecies back then, but in some cases, I was oddly prescient.
Now, at the theoretical mid-point of my life, I wonder if I'll ever feel that for someone again. I mean, I feel a love for my daughter that no one who's never experienced parenthood can ever understand. All those stupid fucked up love songs, all those poems, all those jewelry and greeting card commercials, they don't know shit about the love a parent feels for a child.
Yeah, I get it, you love your dog, but you know fuck-all about real love. Okay, you love your 'partner', your soulmate, your whatever, but you haven't felt the deep, painful love that derives from a parent/child bond.
I get that love, I understand, I experience it, but I'm left wondering if I'll ever feel that romantic love again, the love you have for another person that DOESN'T share any of your DNA (check local listings, down south this requirement may be waived).
When I was 17, I thought I loved someone, and it ended up hurting. When I was 20, I thought I loved someone, and it ended up hurting. When I was 25, I thought I loved someone, and it ended up hurting. And now here I am, same shit, different era. Maybe it didn't hurt as much this time around, but is that because I loved that person any less, or have I just gotten so jaded and callous that it just can't hurt me like it used to?
So, that's why I think about context, and attraction, and assorted bullshit, because I don't know if I'm even capable of being what someone needs in that respect. I can like someone, I can be attracted to someone, but what if I'm never able to love again?
I have a friend in his 50s, and he's been with the same girl for 7 years, and he'll probably marry her, and he SAYS he loves her. But, I know he's been through a lot in his lifetime, and I see that part of him that's waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for shit to go wrong. Is he able to love her the way he loved people before? Does the fear of history repeating keep you from experiencing it the way you once did?
I don't have the answer. I remain optimistic, but hell, I could just be lying to myself.
Since last I was here, my job security has taken a blow, and my new guitar arrived in one piece. I don't feel like talking about the job, so let's talk guitars!
I love my guitar. I know shit about it, but I love it. It's beautiful. It sounds great. Did I mention I don't know shit about it?
I bought a tuner with it, and it has 2 red lights and a green light, and I didn't realize the strings were supposed to be certain notes, so as long as the light was green I thought it was in tune. Yes, I am a dumbass.
I've been playing piano since I was 6. This is a whole new ballgame, and I'm totally lost. As an experiment, I am going to try to learn guitar TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY via whatever YouTube videos I can find on the subject.
That's how much fucking free time I have, people.
So far, I have learned how to hold the pick, where to put my fingers, and how (almost) to do a scale exercise. There's also this crazy finger exercise I can do, and if I ever get good at this, I'll be able to get a girl off using just my fingers, in record time.
Trying to learn something new at my age is really...strange. I think I can do it, but I don't know. I've never tried it before. Maybe this is one of those baby steps outside my comfort zone (along with eating right and exercise).
I played earlier until my fingers hurt. They don't hurt now, so think I'll play some more. In case it isn't clear, I'm talking about my guitar, not masturbation. I know how my readers are, sometimes I have to clarify.
So, with that in mind, I am done here for now. It's been a long day of teleworking, a lot of stressful things trying to bring me stress, and a lot of me focusing on stuff that defuses the stress. After I play guitar, I'm going to play video games, and maybe watch TV, and then go to bed.
As Morgan Freeman once said, "You better get busy living or get busy dying", which is a much better thing to take away from the Shawshank Redemption than the prison rape stuff, if you ask me.
Maybe lately I've just been trying to get busy living.
It's just a matter of taste (no pun intended)
February 28, 2013...
I talk about sex a lot.
I was feeling under the weather this week, so I went through my online streaming choices and found some old gems from one of my favorites, Stephen Lynch. He's funny, but he's also a fairly great guitar player and singer, which just makes it so much more enjoyable. I'd never heard this particular one before, but it just seemed to sum up my philosophy quite nicely.
I don't know why it is, but more often than not I am drawn to women who don't have pasty-white skin like me. Seriously, I'm about as white as you can get, and not be completely translucent. And it's not that I don't have any interest in white women, it's just that my preferred demographic skews more 'other than Caucasian'. It wasn't always this way, though.
I remember when I was about 20, there was this old guy in my office named Frank, and he knew I came from one of the whitest cities in the area and had never dated outside my race. He used to tell me that I needed to have my 'black experience', before I could say that I had truly lived.
Since that time, I think it's safe to say I have truly lived.
I don't know that my dating resume' will ever look like a United Colors of Benetton ad, but I'm certainly open to the possibility. To give you insight (as if you wanted it) to the mind of a Chimpuat, I can tell you that in my lifetime, I have had sex with 14 girls. That's full-on sex, that doesn't count the 'less than penetration' sexual encounters I have had (which roughly doubles that number).
So, with over 25 years of experience, I don't think numbers like that QUITE get me into the man-whore hall of fame.
Still, of that hallowed 14, almost 36% have been of the non-white variety. That's a statistically significant number, I don't care what mathematical models you subscribe to.
On the other hand, 15% of that baker's dozen-plus-one represents girls whose names I cannot remember for the life of me (and in fact, did not know the name of one of them WHILE the act was occurring).
So, okay, maybe my man-whore card is still valid, given that particularly disgusting factoid.
The sad thing is, I'm probably not alone. We all have that sexual scorecard that we keep in the secret recesses of our mind. It's unlikely that mine will have much more added to it, considering my advanced age, but stranger things have happened.
I think the longer I go without sexual activity, the more my mind slips into nostalgia mode. Compared to where I am in my life today, I would hardly characterize those bygone years as the 'good old days'. They helped build me, and turn me into whatever I am today, but at the time they mostly sucked. The universe gives, and the universe takes away. Or God, if you prefer.
I've weathered my fair share of sexual droughts, and this too shall pass, but the difference this time around is that I can honestly say I am really happy with my life right now. Sure, my balls look like that Willy Wonka chick that turned into a giant blueberry, but besides THAT...things are good.
My stroll down sexual memory lane doesn't bum me out, distress me, or cause me to pine for what once was. I had a lot of fun back then, but I was a fucking mess through most of those experiences.
Hell, halfway through writing this, I remembered another girl I had sex with, at a time in my life where I was as close to rock bottom as you could possibly get. How sad is that, to be the person that someone else FORGETS they had sex with? Well, okay, the girls whose names I can't remember MIGHT feel bad knowing that, but at least I remember their faces (among other things).
At least in one case.
Christ, I am a disgusting bastard.
Well, what is a Chimp to do? I have no one to answer to, no one to color my decisions (other than my daughter), and no one making demands upon my daughter-free days. So, what do I do?
For the past 2 years, I've spent my free time playing video games and watching movies, and it's a kick-ass way to live. When you're in your 20s. When you're in your 40s, it's not exactly sustainable. My body has paid the price, as well as my mind.
So, I started working on my body, and I'm making progress on that front. The interesting/sucky thing about working out regularly is that it takes a LONG time before anyone else around you notices any change. You can notice it in yourself, in the way you feel, the way you move, and the subtle changes taking place...but to other people, you're still a morbidly fat bastard.
Fortunately, I'm not doing this for them, I'm doing it for me, so I'm still enjoying the ride. I just had my 1-month anniversary at the gym, which is the longest fitness commitment I've ever maintained in my life.
Making a habit out of regular exercise is like making a habit out of hitting yourself lightly in the balls until you pee blood. It doesn't feel good to you, sometimes it doesn't make sense...and you pee blood. Okay, well, maybe exercise hasn't made me pee blood. In fact, let's scrap that analogy altogether.
It's hard work, and I suck at hard work. It takes commitment, and I suck at commitment. The only commitment I've taken serious my entire life is my commitment to be a good dad. So, for me to still be doing this, and doing it almost every day, after an entire month...that's a damn miracle.
I don't talk to anyone when I'm there, in fact I go out of my way to avoid contact with other people. Still, when I see someone there, and they're like 300 pounds or more, and they're struggling just to walk a mile without passing out...I just want to go up to them and give them a hug or something. I mean, I know how hard it is for me to do this in my physical condition, but to have the courage to do it when they're so much more worse off...I think that deserves acknowledgement and commitment.
I've often been harsh and cruel to fat people, and that's not about to change. If you're an unrepentant fat bastard, or a back-tittied fat bitch, and you do fuck-all to address it and don't even care...then I'm going to talk shit about you. It's just a fact of life.
I know how hard it is to eat in a more healthy manner, and I know how hard it is to go to the gym after a long day at work, but I also know how hard it is when you can't run and play with your kid because your fat ass wears out before you even start. I know how hard it is when you're too weak and out of shape to carry your sleepy kid from one end of the house to the other, because you've done nothing but sit on your ass eating Pop Tarts for too many years.
Based on my BMI, I was a cunt hair away from being obese. Do you think anyone wakes up in the morning and says "Hoo boy, I can't wait to be a pointless fat sack of shit today!"?
It's hard as shit to go to the gym. It sucks eating green, leafy vegetables. It sucks not being able to chow down on beautiful, delicious Kraft macaroni & cheese 3 nights a week, or wolf down 8 breadsticks and a bucket of cheese sauce...it SUCKS, but what I'm doing is better than the alternative.
I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up, either. That sucks, too. I have so little faith in my resolve, every day I don't give up is a tiny miracle I can scarcely beleive. And yet, almost every day, I go back for more. I push myself a little harder.
I made a choice to work on my body, for my own reasons, on my own terms. It's one of the areas in my life that I knew I needed to do something about, and now I'm doing it.
But, with my body being addressed, I felt like I needed something for my mind. What is a guy in his 40s supposed to do, in order to sharpen his mind? I feel my mental best when I'm being challenged to learn something, and the more difficult the better. For as long as I can remember, I've been talking about doing something, and talking about it, and TALKING about it...and now I've finally gone and done it.
My new Squier Vintage Modified Stratocaster
I bought a guitar. It should arrive sometime next week. I had a coupon. Damn you, Musician's Friend! Damn you to hell!
I have no idea how to play. I can play the shit out of a piano or keyboard, maybe even drums, so music isn't a foreign language to me, but I have no clue as to whether any of my musical knowledge up to this point will translate into this completely new instrument.
So, I guess I'll learn. I got nothin' but time. This is the perfect time in my life to do something like this. If I can spend 2 hours a night at the gym, surely I can spare an hour or so picking away at this.
My daughter got a beautiful acoustic guitar from my ex's parents, for her birthday. She's going to start learning how to play, and I thought this would be a neat way for us to share the experience. Plus, she'll have at least some type of guitar at my house that she can practice on, if she chooses.
It's an exciting time for me. There is a lot of uncertainty is in my near future, but I feel good about where I am and where I'm going. If this sequestration thing evolves into a furlough, and I take a 20% pay cut (basically not working 1 day a week), that just gives me more time to work on this. I might have to learn how to eat less, cut out other unnecessary expenses, and reduce my frivolous spending, but I'll be fine.
So, even though I started out talking about sex and my preferences in the opposite sex, I'm ending this with an air of hope and optimism, which is wildly uncharacteristic for me.
Plus, if you'll notice, my new guitar is black.
Some things never change.
Until next time, remember the sage words I heard on the way home from the gym tonight while listening to Hip Hop Nation on XM Radio:
"Now my side bitch, my main bitch, cause my main ho, ain't feeling me no mo"
Trinidad James - 'Females Welcomed'
I think we've all been there, my friend. Peace out, and send me titties! Your Chimpuat commands it!
Pussy withdrawal? Is that a thing?
February 20, 2013...
Today, one of my friends pointed out that my preoccupation with punani lately is a sign that I am suffering from pussy withdrawal. I could not refute his accusation.
There is a decided lack of labia in my life. A vaginal vacuum, if you will.
I think you get the picture.
This condition spawned the original Chimptopia, back in the dark ages of the internet, when dialup was king, and you could wait almost a minute for a picture of a naked chick to load. Fortunately, porn pioneers pushed the envelope of technology, and today we have quality snatch at broadband speeds. Thank you YouPorn, and God bless you for existing!
But, I digress.
The pursuit of punani has always been a driving factor behind my creativity. It would seem that when my man-juices cease to flow, the creative juices kick in. So, my loss is your (debatable) gain.
I haven't had sex all year. Granted, saying this only 2 months into the year seems a bit...well, less impactful than I might like. But, as a wise man once said, "Sex is natural, sex is good, not everybody does it, but everybody should."
Yes, I know, it shows my advanced age when I quote George Michael, so it's really no wonder that a codger like me is sitting home alone on Friday nights, instead of climbing Mount Snatch and planting my flag. Or something.
So, although a lot has changed in the past 13 years, it seems like a lot has stayed the same. I do like to go back and read the things the old Chimpuat wrote. Some of that shit still cracks me up, and I can't believe I wrote it. Some of it was frighteningly deep and introspective. Some of it was absolute bullshit. But, it's nice being able to see exactly where my mind was, and compare/contrast it with who I am today.
I love sex. Still. I don't expect that to change. I'm certainly not ashamed of that reality. I don't always 'get' the problems people have with the topic of sex. I think I can understand why women would have issues, moreso than men. For a guy, sex is awesome. Even when it's bad, it's awesome. But then, theoretically, a guy will fuck a sock, cuz any port in a storm, but still...sex is awesome. Sex with another (human) is the height of awesome.
I mean, honestly, we've all indulged our morbid curiosity and visited People of Wal Mart, and it's not long before you realize that even the most heinous and hideous sub-species in our culture are fucking like RABBITS out there, because it feels good, and on a graduated scale of relaxing standards...sooner or later, you will meet 'the one'.
I don't mean 'the one' that I mythically searched for, I mean the 'the one' that looked at you when you looked at her, and you simultaneously thought to yourselves "eh, that'll do". Misery loves company, right? Misery can be fairly bearable when you're balls-deep in a wet, warm orifice. I'm not saying that all scary ugly people have to get them through their lives is consensual sex, there may be legitimate love connections going on there, but the cynic in me clings to the belief that they're relationships of convenience.
The same drive in man that makes him climb a mountain 'because it is there' may yet be at work in the conquering of unwanted ugly chicks by unwantable ugly dudes. If I had the social blindness of a romantic, maybe I would believe that love came first, but I don't believe that. I don't think any 2 ugly people get together, fall in love, and then have sex. But I'm a cynic, I'm staring at 2 failed marriages in the rearview mirror of my life, so it's really HARD to believe in love.
I'm not saying I don't. I want to. It's just not easy to do so.
I'm also not saying beautiful people are any different or better. It's just that they have more options, because they're beautiful. Ugly people (myself included) are at a disadvantage.
I lump myself in with the ugly, because they're my people. I don't have a hump, or any unnatural deformity (does huge penis syndrome count?), but I have issues with my appearance. Those issues affect my confidence. My affected confidence causes me to behave with certain expectations of failure. I fulfill my own prophecy, and the circle continues.
For reasons I will never understand, I've had way more than my fair share of fairly hot girls in my life. I even married a couple of them. Honestly, I don't think I can match that kind of success anymore. My confidence is so shaken, so damaged, I'm not sure that I'll ever be 'that guy' again. 'That guy', the guy with the unreasonably hot chick that makes you look at him and think 'what the FUCK?'. I was THAT FUCKING GUY. I've been him, and he is me.
But I don't think I can do it anymore. I'm older. I'm old. I'm out of shape. I'm set in my ways, and boring, and stubborn, and difficult to get close to, and a million other negative traits could be applied...
And, it all makes me seem a bit shallow, doesn't it? As if physical beauty is the only thing that matters to me. But, it's not.
I can honestly say that all of the people I've had sex with since I was divorced, were people I cared a great deal about. There were no "you'll do" moments.
Somewhere along the line, I developed the ability to find beauty in people that other people might not see in that way. And it wasn't based in the physical world, even though there is physical beauty in everyone. I know that now.
I genuinely cared about the women who were good enough to let me exchange copious amounts of bodily fluid with them, stimulating nerve endings until a series of involuntary muscle spasms overtook us both, resulting in yet more of the aforementioned bodily fluids.
Sex, when approached clinically...is kind of gross.
So, even though the cynic in me is convinced that all ugly couples are together because no one else would fuck them, there's still some part of me that believes people can find connection and meaning in the unlikeliest of places.
So...MAYBE the ugly couple in Wal Mart didn't just draw the short straw in the lottery of lust, maybe they have real things in common, maybe they make each other laugh, maybe they make one another feel special in a way that no one else can, or would even understand.
Once upon a time, I would have stuck with my initial belief system, and the cynic in me would convince me that my dim view of the world is the way the world really is, and anyone who disagrees is a fucking idiot with no clue about reality.
I'm older now. I'm old. Maybe I won't find love, maybe I won't ever be 'that guy' with that amazing specimen of a girl, but the part of me that believes in something bigger, something more...well, I guess that part will be okay with that scenario.
I never used to have an optimistic bone in my body. I always expected the worst, and most times that is exactly what I experienced. But...I'm older now.
I don't believe I'll be alone for the rest of my life. I don't even believe I'll be alone this time next year. I have ZERO prospects on the horizon, so fucked if I know why I would think that, but there it is.
The next time you see the ugly weird couple in Wal Mart, and you're tempted to take a picture of her tramp stamp to post on the internet (because after all, if she didn't want you to post it on the internet, she wouldn't have worn her sweatpants halfway down her ass), just CONSIDER that they may actually have something real, something based on something more than the natural imperative to carry out procreative acts.
Love is fucking weird, and you will find it in the strangest of places, and probably when you least expect it. It doesn't look the same to everyone, it doesn't feel the same to everyone, and some people will never feel it at all.
But, if finding it is the path I have to take in order to get laid again, then so be it. This sex drought bullshit is for the birds.