Monday my BFF, my brother from another mother drove away to Denver, Colorado to go to college.  I'm proud as hell of him, but dammit, having lost my girlfriend two weeks earlier and then now Shaggy, I'm feeling alone as hell.  It's been hard not to get at least a little emo about it all.  This has, however, thrown into sharp focus the state of my own life.  Always the one to appreciate having the proverbial mirror in front of my face, rather than freaking out over it (however negative or how much I may dislike what I see), this has spurred new inspiration to get my shizzle together.  Filled out my FAFSA, and have sent it off to two local colleges.  Time to get my ass an edjumucation in a blue-chip career field.  

Been hanging out a lot with Jen lately.  It's funny, two former lovers now bitching to each other about the woes of single life.  Few people could withstand the honesty and the irony.  Having the female companionship has been a godsend in buffering* the sting of loneliness.  Anybody who has read this blog for any amount of time WELL knows how much I suck balls at being single.  I'm still trying to figure out exactly how to sidestep the "beggars can't be choosers" approach to dating.  Believe me, with popular social scenes sporting damn near a 5:1 male to female ratio around here, choosing is not an option.  It's beer and watching the pretty "bad boys" get the girl.

*I accidentally typed 'buggering' at first. Made me chuckle.

Anyway, I'm having my ups and downs, but nothing I can't handle with a little help from my friends, and a pint or two or three or four of Murphy's.  Best Irish stout on the market, BTW.  I got a new toy in the mail: a cheap plastic Holga lens that fits on my Canon 50D.  It boogers up focusing and colors, and causes a darkening (vignetting) and blurring around the edges of the image.  Here are a few I took of Shaggy as he hung out in my apartment Sunday, one last time before high-tailing it out of Troy.  These are straight out of camera with no manipulation.

Pretty cool, huh?

In other news, I have vowed to learn how to do the Melbourne Shuffle, as has been revived in popularity by LMFAO and their song Party Rock Anthem.  It's basically pretty easy, and I dance my own weird "Andy Shuffle" (coincidentally quite similar to the established Melbourne) like a fiend to dance music anyway.  Why not learn some basic steps to not only get in shape a little, but also have something substantial to bring to the dance floor rather than just my usual brand of awkward slapstick idiocy. 

Imma tear dat shit up! :-)

House Ghost Music

I have a house ghost.  Not really, of course, but it's an old historic building, and it has its own personality.  So I've named what goes bump in the night Geoff.  Short for Geoffrey, of course, but don't you dare call him "Joff-rey".  He hates that.

Joking.  Anyway, I'm sure if I have a house ghost, I've scared HIM off instead of the other way around.  It's 4:14am Saturday night \ Sunday morning, and I'm dancing my ever-living ass off to LMFAO played at a ridiculously loud volume.  If anything, I'm going bonkers, hands waving in air, feet nonstop shuffling, and Geoff in all his ghostly vapor is curled up in the fetal position in a dark corner of the attic trembling, whimpering "Make it stop!  Make it go away!!"

I invited him, of course.  How awesome would that be? :-)

How many swigs to the bottom of the pint?

Four.

I went out to a bar with two female friends.  They both got hit on more times in one single night than I have in my entire fucking life (twice, and I vividly remember both magical evenings), and they have the NERVE to COMPLAIN about it.  I am 33.  They are 22 and 26.

This is the fundamental difference between men and women.

Another alcohol-fueled post...

January 5, eh?  Been a while, hasn't it?  Either quite a bit has happened since then, or else, very little different has happened.  Depends on your point of view. Your angle.  I'm kind of slanted in my PoV, considering I'm me.  The one experiencing all of this.  So of course it's a neverending swirling maelstrom of events, whether dramatic or mundane.

So here's my version for you, my dear readers, condensed and sweetened for easy purchase and longer shelf life:  Since my breakup with Jen, I've spent a hellish month and a half working in Florida at a job that, upon return home, has left me feeling like I've died a little inside.

And within that timeframe I've gained and subsequently (and pretty much par-for-the-course-ly) been dumped by a woman.  This time it was different.  I came home from Florida jaded.  I know what you all are thinking: "Wow, Andy went to Florida during January and February... he must have spent his time sipping mojitos on a pristine beach amongst micro bikini clad caramel-colored supermodels."

Such was not the case.  In fact, that could not have been any further from the actual reality of the godforsaken situation.  I'd spent a month and a half at a shit hole motel living alongside the mangey infested underbelly of humanity, the vast majority of the time having been spent dodging panhandlers and $20 crackwhores.  I seriously could have fucked any number of women for a mere Jackson apiece.  Just so they could afford to buy crack.

Glamorous.

So what all this adds up to is this: given both past experience (and failed romantic endeavours), and also recent events which have left me jaded to the point of losing hope for humanity, any new girl in my life is up for some serious vetting before I go plunging head-first into a committed relationship, as was my usual modus operandi.

In other words, like a well adjusted and fully functioning adult, I took my time with this latest woman, rather than flipping out on her like some horny teenager.  I didn't push her into anything.  I let the profound connection and "click" that we shared bloom at its own natural pace.  And she dumped me via email days after I took my dear sweet time in asking her to be my girlfriend.

I can't win.

---

So here I am, your friend and humble narrator, back at SQUARE FUCKING ONE, 33 years and at least ONE THIRD into my alarmingly short time on this planet, convinced now of the thorough naiveté that the hope that I sooner or later fall in love isn't a TOTALLY UNREASONABLE REQUEST.

I'm never going to be a dad.  Never going to be a father.  Natural selection knows who is fit, and who isn't fit, to be a parent.  While every braindead beady-eyed abusive drooling stupid baby-shaking punching screaming child-beating silverback gorilla neanderthal DUMBFUCK seems to have no less than five or six kids, Mother Nature somehow has deemed me unworthy for such endeavours.  Idiocracy, anyone?

Charles Darwin can suck my cock.