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Saturday, May 03, 2003
A new video clip has been added under PETE MEDIA. It is an actual TV news clip chronicling my misadventures with the Virgin Mary. (See other link, "Pete Vs. Virgin Mary" under same header, for the full story first, if you weren't a reader when it was originally posted.) Thanks for forwarding the video link, Kale! You swing, pal. For going above and beyond, I've ordered you up 72 virgins. They are waiting for you in heaven even as you read this. And the best part is, you don't have to blow up jihad-style to earn them. You've more than earned the honor by unselfishly making the vid-clip available. So, after you die, have at it. And now, on with the show...


1. The Girls I've Known

More rambling ruminations about one of my favorite subjects:

As the late Elvis Presley would've said, "Girls, Girls, Girls."

Actually, he also might've said, "Them girls in this here porno magazine sure are purdy... Oh, my heart! My heart!" before taking a header off the Graceland master bedroom toilet, but that isn't relevant to the story I'm telling.

So let's move on, shall we?

I met a real purdy grrl via our respective web logs. That should've clued me in right there. Two words: "blog romance". Or the possibility thereof. When your life starts to turn into a 'hip' news headline, it's probably time to run screaming. But, obviously, I'm none too bright. Add to that, I have a tendency in life to step off the precipice into the abyss with my eyes closed, going on little more than faith that the landing will be a soft one. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

It was all light-hearted banter and humorous Tete de Tete, with a subtle undercurrent of sexual tension. After a few days, she invited me to come visit. We both agreed it justf elt "right". She - and I - wanted to see what, if anything, could develop. Oh, did I mention she lives hundreds of miles away? In any case...

Her friends thought she was a bit nutty. My friends told me I was "entering the danger zone". Blah blah blah.

Neither of us seemed to care, as we're both the "outrageous and impulsive" type.

But, when push came to shove a week or so later, and I suggested some definite travel plans, she seemingly back pedaled so fast that her ass all but left tire tracks in the road. (Well, at least that's my interpretation.)

Her final excuse for nixing the plans? "Oops, I just found out, my housemate has the exterminators coming out that weekend, and she asked me if I can stay with friends for a few days, so your visiting won't be possible." (This after she had informed her housemate four or so days earlier that I'd probably be coming then.)

In the lameness-to-plausible excuse spectrum, everybody I've told the story to has placed this one squarely at the "lameness" end of things.

Unless, of course, the house is so overrun by vermin and insects that extermination just can't wait. I received no confirmation on such a large infestation, so can only wonder.

Other weekends in the foreseeable future just aren't workable, for a variety of reasons. Details aren't important. Just trust me on this point, ok?

And so it goes. When I emailed to ask just what the heck was going on, I didn't hear back. As of this writing, I still haven't. So it's time for the ole "vent and purge" routine. Please excuse the mess, readers. I am truly sorry for the spectacle that is my love, or lack thereof, life.

I don't know. Maybe she met her "outrageous and impulsive" match in me and, quite frankly, it kind of scared her. From what she said, most boys tell her she's "too much" just prior to dumping her. Personally, I found her kind of charming.

Or maybe she's not as "outrageous and impulsive" as she'd like to think. Perhaps, coming off a decade-plus marriage just over a year or so ago, this recently divorced grrl is just "sowing her wild oats" through massive partying and drinking. Oh, and by inviting this 'blogger bad boy' to come visit, even if he is apparently the one guy that seems to "get" her, despite only talking (via email and by phone) intensely over the course of a couple of weeks.

Who the hell can say? I can't and she's not talking. First she wants to meet me and now it's as if she doesn't even gno me. Perhaps she's just Shy And..?

Which brings us to a segue point into the next disaster.

It's Mia the Web-Cam Girl, whose exploits I've noted previously. (See "Web-Cam Fun!", 3/25/03, and "Dreaded R-Word", 4/14/03; in "Random Bits" IV & V columns respectively.)

She's what I call a "friend with privileges", which is just a politically correct way to say, "Sex but no strings attached."

I hadn't seen Mia for about three weeks. She had been busy with her business and that husband of hers and such. But she called me one day previous to the aforementioned "visit cancellation due to extermination notice" routine. I said we should get together, "over coffee or something", to talk.

"Or something?" she hinted.

"No, just coffee." I replied

I had planned on telling Mia that the sexual hijinks were off, because I'd cyber-met somebody else, whom I planned on visiting. Just to see what might develop there. Yes, I was hip to the possibility of development.

So, over coffee in a public place, I thought about how I'd pull all this off. Without sounding like a jerk or a complete nut, I mean. But before I could start, Mia says:

"I've made a decision, and you probably aren't going to like it..."

As it turns out, Mia's husband "accidentally" found all the email exchanges she'd had with past "friends with privileges" on her computer. He then "accidentally" read about a year's worth of these saved exchanges.

Note to all married people: If you're going to have cyber-affairs, never ever save the evidence on your hard drive, because - after all - "accidents" do happen.

In any case, one "friend" in particular had sent Mia nude web-cam shots of himself and, obviously, her husband was a might more upset over this fact than he was over the simple email exchange with the others.

When the exhibitionist in question found out (Mia emailed him to tell him, even though they'd been out of contact for over six months), he came back into her life.

And now, as she was telling me, Mia was all too ready to leave her husband for this particular friend. It just felt "right". There was a connection between them that she said she didn't really have with the hubby.

In one respect, I was relieved. By her speaking first, I went from "dumper" to "dumpee" which, considering what I had planned to say wasn't too bad of a deal.

But, in another respect, it really irked me.

I thought to myself, "Why can't I meet a woman who is so intensely interested in ME that she'd be willing to move heaven and earth just to be together?"

Oh sure, I'm urbane and witty and such, and fun to hang around with - a regular "good time Charlie" - but, hey, when it gets down to brass tacks... bump bump bump another one bites the dust, as Freddy Mercury would say if he wasn't, you know, dead and all.

End chapter two. But that's not all!

Late last night - that is, 12:30AM - somebody I dated for a couple of weeks in February called me out of the blue. That would be Shelley. (See "The One About the Sleep Over", 3/4/03, in 'Random Bits III' for back-story.)

She's been sick lately, and wanted somebody to talk to I guess. In the course of the conversation, she mentioned she is now dating a musician-type. I don't know why she called me instead of him. After all, he IS a musician-type, so chances are he'd be up at 12:30AM, right?

My best guess? Slow torture. Of me. But what the hell do I know? It is only a guess on my part.

So that's the story of my supposed alleged love life in the last two weeks.

Ironically, I'm really not a "player". If I'm single then, yes, I play. But if I get into a relationship (Big-R relationship, as in boy/girl-friend type), then I'm honest and loyal to that woman. I'm like a goddamn dog in that respect. I never cheat on girlfriends. Ever.

Yes, my cynical and sarcastically hard exterior hides my rather sensitive nature. Or some shit to that effect.

So, thanks for reading. I'd rather "talk" to you than a professional. First, it's a lot cheaper than the $100/hour some of these fancy-shmancy psychologists charge. Second, by blogging it, I don't have to hear the suppressed laughter my lovely tales of woe engender.

Earlier this evening, I went to the big monthly downtown Phoenix "First Fridays" unguided tour of the art galleries. All the hipsters and shysters were there to see and be seen. While hanging out, a girl kissed me tonight for no other reason than she found me cute. It was some intense kissing, and not half bad either. What with the kissing and the intensity and so forth.

So maybe there's hope yet. Not so much for the possibility of anything meaningful, obviously, but at this point I figure I can do one of two things:

a. Even though I detest them and don't have them, try out the "one-night stand" thing I've heard so many wonderful things about. Or...

b. Become a born-again Christian, and join a monastery until I'm old and gray and, finally, die.

It's a tough choice.

2. Girl-to-Boy Translations

As most boys already realize, girls speak a foreign language. They hide the "Girl to Boy Translation" Dictionary from us. Yup, we've pretty much been on our own.

Until now.

A few passages have surfaced and, thank the Patriarchal God, us boys got a hold of them. Here's what was found:

"It's not you. It's me."
Translation: It's definitely you, pal!

"I hope we can still be friends."
translation: I hope we can be friends. The kind that never speak to each other again. Ever.

"I like a sensitive man."
translation: Sensitive to my needs and desires. But if you actually start crying, I'm so out of here.

"I don't want to hurt you."
translation: When I cut your heart out, I'll do you the courtesy of not handing it to you while its still beating. I hope you appreciate my kindness.

"I don't mind if you go out drinking with the guys, instead of spending the evening with me."
translation: If you actually go, you are so dead.

"I'm going to do (fill in activity here)"
translation: I'm really going to do (fill in complete opposite of activity listed above), and then fully expect you to be understanding when you find out the truth.

"I've never faked an orgasm with you."
translation: Not only have I faked them plenty of times, I'm faking one right now even AS I SPEAK.

When given these translations, most boys shook their head and said, "I really didn't want to know that!" They then both spit and grabbed their crotch in public to emphasize the point.

The girls denied the authenticity of the purported translations, and immediately changed the subject by complaining about their finding the toilet seat left up AGAIN.

(Note: Some of my translations first appeared in one of the 'Comments' sections on the Gnome-Girl blog @ http://www.gnome-girl.com)


posted by Pete 5:04 AM
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