Paganini/Casanova

Niccolo Paganini, an Italian violinist, was so proficient in stringing a tune, that in the 18th and 19th century it was rumored that Paganini sold his soul to the devil. Paganini’s musical expertise is very much comparable to womanizing capabilities of a fat, balding, unemployed male who manages to seduce and bed multiple good-looking chicks.

You may disagree that such occurrences happen, or argue that if they do occur the obese, balding gentleman at hand must have presented himself under false pretenses (i.e., rich). I, however, happen to believe that there are men out there who constitute the very essence of physical disgust and yet have some sort of expertise in attracting females.

I second handedly (through a friend of a friend) know such a guy. He is shorter then a Japanese girl. He is rounder then a sumo wrestler. He has less hair then Homer Simpson. But for some unexplainable reason, chicks flock to him like transexual hookers to Sunset Blvd.

Does his lack of attractive physical characteristics mean he has to make up for it with his personality and smarts? Nope, he has a limited grasp of either. Is he filthy rich? Nope. And yet, his stories are legendary.

Take Tom Leykis, who is also the antithesis of physical beauty, but manages to attract above average ladies. Tom Leykis, however, employs a system and rules to score by, whereas the aforementioned guy does not possess above average brains, and luckily for him, his “skills” are ingrained. He does not analyze what he is doing or how he is doing it; for him it just seems to flow.

Initially, most think “Oh yes, your ‘friend’ is a jerk. That’s how he does it.” Intrinsically, we tend to divide the male population into “jerks” and “nice guys”. Jerks get the girl. And, ironically, the “nice guys” are forced to substitute girls for masturbation or bestiality.

And primarily do to such biases, many self proclaimed nice guys fall into the “act like a jerk” routine. After failing miserably, they begin to publicly proclaim their veteran “nice guy” status as a badge of honor; one that is “unappreciated” by the female species. The "nice guy" begins to envision himself as righteous, mature, and above every “jerk-drawn” female.

The truth is, scoring is not determined by either classification. It’s actually somewhat of a skill, which is sometimes ingrained (‘my’ friend) and sometimes learned (Tom Leykis).

So while both ‘my’ friend and Paganini have an ingrained talent in their respective categories, one can learn to play a violin (perhaps not on a virtuoso level) much like one can learn to score.

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(Side note: Limited updates till mid May; I have things to do. People to finish. Ahem…. )

Hey you...

Hey you, out there all alone
Sitting naked by the phone
Can you hear me?

Bleh.

I am not dead. Well, not entirely.
I am vegetating; I sleep, eat, and poo-poo. Occasionally, I contemplate getting busy- not in the blissful “getting busy” way that results in overpopulation, but in a “fucking-a, I gotta finish [start] a gazillion papers” way.

I am also beyond broke and am officially my parent’s bitch. “You need gas money? Clean the kitchen and scrub the toilet.”

Fuck.
Fuck the IRS.
Fuck the State of Maryland.
Fuck Social Security, Medicare, and Unemployment Insurance.
Fuck the millionaires that aren’t knocking on my door.
(Wait, fucking millionaires may not be such a bad idea, but I digress…)

Hello E-bay. Goodbye shoes. Goodbye Purses.
Hello Ramen Noodles. Goodbye yummy, pricey organic foods. Goodbye Whole Foods.

Odd Phenomenon

The later I wake up in the morning (and the more disheveled I look) the more boys talk to me.

Case in point: Today, I woke up at exactly 6:40. To make it to class by 8, I have to be out of the house by 6:45. At 6:50 I hit CRAZY traffic. I made it to class 15 minutes late, short of breath, sleepy, and anything but appealing. Had I been more scantily clothed, I would of definitely passed for trailer trash.

Apparently this “look” is rather appealing. Thus far:
1) Boy in 8AM class attempted to converse and smiled, oh so cutely.
2) Prior to 9:30 class, I was typing away on my laptop and groovin’ to music, when a boy approaches, taps on my shoulder, and tells me “ you’re glistening! From the bottom of the stair case, your laptop gives you a radiant glow” (Great, so now I can resort to using my laptop to achieve a “radiant glow”)
3) Adrien Grenier Boy in 11:00 class, sat a seat away. He usually sits on the other side of the lecture hall. And he appeared to be glancing in my direction. Luckily his mouth obstructed from movement for the longevity of the class (the boy is in dire need of a brain).

I’m prone to overanalyzing any set of random events, but such occurrences tend to reoccur when my hair is a horrible frizzy, curly mess and my clothes are picked off the closet floor. Maybe my unkempt appearance makes me an “easy target“.

I’ve always taken a minimalistic approach to how I look, there are two reasons for my doing so.

1) I’m goddamn lazy
2) I can continue misleading myself into believing that if I put in the effort I can look appealing.

This realization forms the basis of what constitutes my type of man-meat.

While I am a huge health freak and am paranoid about aging (no signs yet, whew!), loosing elasticity in any part of my body, or gaining 0.0005 lbs, I absolutely hate spending time making myself presentable. Time that it takes to do my hair or make-up is time I can spend doing something more productive (sleeping). How does this translate into qualities I like in guys? Well, I’m very particular about a guy’s taste in other females. That is, if we disagree on what constitutes beauty, he is rendered un-datable/do-able. Why? Because being consciously aware that someone finds the qualities I lack to be attractive does not do wonders for my (lack of) self esteem.

My type of ladies include the likes of Audrey Hepburn, Audrey Tautou, Jessica Alba, Adrianna Lima, and Halle Berry. What does not appeal to me is what I refer to as “laborious sexy”. To get their look, I would have to put forth much time and effort. This category includes Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, the lead chick from Pussycat Dolls, Gisele, Anna Kournikova, along with numerous others. I can see why others deem them to be hot, sexy, etc., but they just don’t cut it for me (it’s called narcissism: the aforementioned ladies and I do not share mutual features.)

Not only are preferences for facial features included in the selection process, but body features are of even greater importance. I’m not a fan of big boobies, because, well, mine aren’t exactly of massive proportions. And although I don’t have much excess weight, I can stand to loose a few pounds and thus I prefer guys who are not fond of hot, tall, stick figures and are into relatively short, “curvy-ish” girls (e.g., Scarlet Johansen, less the boobies).

Ida- a Cyberstitute?

After my SeekingArrangement profile was re-edited without my consent, I again re-submitted my original content. This time, my legitimacy was re-evaluated and allowed and I uploaded pictures that bear no resemblance to Ida 2.0. Within minutes of my profile being “approved” I began receiving inquiries from disturbingly sterile men.

This week, I introduce you to Mr. D





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MESSAGE

Tell me you're being silly. Silly can be fun, as long as it can be serious other times. Are you real?

best wishes,
Doug
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MESSAGE

I am real. Except boobs. They are big, but lot silicone. You like silicone?
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MESSAGE

So you're related to Borat, yes? If I meet with you will there be a camera nearby?

I think I would like to hear your voice. Do you feel like talking on the phone?

hugs,
Doug

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MESSAGE

Borat? Ew! He make joke of Motherland.

I no have phone. I poor student.

You spend 1,000 on me? That cheap.

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MESSAGE

Too bad you don't have a phone. If you were a female goofball I have a feeling I'd still enjoy talking to you.

Really cute pix, though. Do you have any more you could send me? If they're *really* cute I could pay you for them.

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MESSAGE

I no goofball! You make me sad.

I have lot pictures. But I good girl. I no take clothes off in pictures.

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It’s comforting to know that if I drop out this semester, I have alternate career paths.

Barberini Faun

All sexual frustrations aside, sculptures such as the one pictured above should not be shown in an art history class!

First off, my note taking ceases.
I don’t care that the chiastic composition centers on his open pose.
I don’t care how his “uninhibited” mannerism ties to Dionysius and elite self-fashioning.
I don’t care about which elements are stylized and which are naturalized. He has a itsy bitsy teenie weenie. I have a BIG imagination.

Note to professor: If exam requires identifying stylized and naturalistic elements, I am justified in pointing out the stylization of his penis; had it been naturalized it would have been massive, I'm sure. Silly Hellenes.

I am a classy lady, pun intended. After a brief glimpse of the Barberini Faun, I ventured into the Craiglist “casual” encounters section….tales to come!

Go west, young (wo)man

I’ve long been proposing a cross country road trip to everyone I know and have yet to find someone willing to take me up on it.

“Why don’t you just take a trip to New York or Philly and get the ‘road trip’ nonsense out of your system?” Because, I’ve been to New York. I’ve been to Philly. I walked (drove) that walk. I want to head West!

I want to camp out at National Parks, drive the deserted Texas dirt roads, ride a cowboy, play the license plate game in every state, sing my goddamn lungs out for the longevity of the journey.

I want to pack up all my stuff on a random day and donate whatever doesn’t fit into my trunk and head out without notice or formal plans and expectations.

I want to venture off highways at whim. Good neighborhoods. Bad Neighborhoods. Farm land. Urban Metropolis.

I refuse to center my trip around major must-sees; I want to discover my own Mount Rushmore.

All my “mature” and “rational” friends dub me a nutcase, an idiot with over-romanticized expectations. They pinpoint that plans are vital for a “successful” trip: If you head to France, you must book a four star hotel, plan where to go, and what to visit. You must memorize the map of Paris and print out the driving/metro directions to the Eiffel Tower. You must visit the Louvre. You must drink wine and fatten up on cheese. You must, you must, you must! To most, the aforementioned constitute the essence of France. You might as well have stayed home if you did not take a picture with the Eiffel tower in the background.

As for me, I can Photoshop in the Eiffel Tower later. I won‘t put in effort prior to the trip to know of it‘s exact whereabouts. Rather, I’ll wonder around the city in search of it, converse with the locals, and perhaps find something else along the way that stirs my fancy. I’m interested in what and whom I find, and if I never see the Eiffel tower- I won‘t be crushed. I’m certain that my journey to it will be far more exciting.

Same philosophy applies to my cross country trip. I have an idea of what sights and monuments I want to visit and precisely where they are located. I’ll visit Mount Rushmore if my GPS device tells me its on the way. I’ll stop by the Grand Canyon at some point. But I refuse to center my trip around them.

Yet everyone I ever propose the idea to needs concrete plans. “What roads do we take? Where do we stay? What do we see?” And of’ course most proper ladies refuse to camp out in National Parks; “I can’t poo poo and pee pee in holes in the ground”. Ugh.

Where is the adventurous spirit? The romantic fascination of Lewis and Clark? The Manifest Destiny of John O’Sullivan?

My life is on hold. So is my blog.

I’m awaiting a potentially life changing e-mail. No exaggeration!
I’m on my toes.

Can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t eat.

Sleep is for the weak. And well, I have limited thinking capacity anyhow. But I do wish I could stop stuffing my mouth.
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Interestingly, the folks I meet lately have a creative vibe. I’m lovin’ it! Check out Troy’s podcasts. If I owned a radio station, I’d hire him (plus he has a sexy voice)!

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Some time ago, I expressed my anger thusly: “I want to bite off a boy’s penis”. And while I said it figuratively, this girl meant it literally.
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Judge orders discharge of an anti-war Marine.
I too thought Marines were all about peace and love.
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