On Shingles, Smoking, and Embracing Misery.

I have Shingles. Mother Fucking Shingles.

It’s the chicken pox virus, a form of herpes, if you never knew. You had to of had chicken pox in the past to get Shingles, as the virus remains embedded in your nerve cells long after you contract the disease. Should it ever escape, it’ll infect one branch of your nervous system, usually around one side of your torso, and the skin above the infected nerves will redden and blister. Trust me, I know.

I felt odd on Friday night, after not being able to sleep the night before. Like the hairs on my back were glued to my shirt, and every time I moved, they were tugged and pinched. I was tired, out of sorts, and a little achy. The red spots appeared the next day.

I didn’t worry, at first. One thing about living in California is that there are always bugs, year round. One thing about there being bugs year round is that there are spiders year round. One thing about there being spiders year round is that, when the weather gets too dry, there aren’t enough bugs to eat. And so, the evolutionary crucible being what it is, California has birthed several species of Man-Eating spiders. I have become accustomed to waking up with multiple gouges most mornings, and it terrifies me that one night I will wake up and have to witness this parasitism transpiring. We all take a little bloodshed as karmic payment for the nice weather.

On day three the blisters showed up, and I got worried. Worried, of course, that I had some odd disease, but more worried in the American sort of “ fuck I don’t have health insurance, and this might end up costing me THOUSANDS” sort of way. Fortunately, I live in liberal ole’ Berkeley, and so dropped into the free health clinic. I have a right to be skeptical, as it is staffed by volunteers with marginal medical training, but still, they have to confer with doctors, and the bottom line was that I- likely- had Shingles.

And so I’m left watching this rather disgusting proliference of red patches and blistery yuck slowly work its way around my right torso, in a strip centered around my mid-rib area. I’m subject to malaise in the evenings, and I’m assured it will linger on for the next 2-4 weeks, until my immune system finally catches on and kills the little shits.

I mention all of this to complain. Just before I wrote this sentence, I had initially thought to say “ I don’t mention all of this to complain, but…” And then I realized I was lying. I WANT TO COMPLAIN, but I know it makes for poor reading unless you justify it. Let me justify it.

I decided something. I decided to embrace my misery.

I don’t want to complain (LIE), but this summer has been brutal. Break-ups, joblessness, homelessness and Shingles have all knocked me around. Still, much is of my own doing. Smoking, for example.

I smoke (currently). I have smoked for a long time. I thought is was a cool way to prove I was not a wanker that should get beat up in the hallways at age 13, and have embraced it ever since, a sort of mental wall that stated:

“ Don’t fuck me up, because clearly I am destructive enough, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE even, to not care about FUCKING YOU UP TOO.”

….Which was fine for a sort of desperate bid for a teenager, but needs to be lost before your thirty-fifth birthday.

Guess how old I’m turning next month!

I had decided on a quit date, which my friends who have managed to quit things tell me is Bullshit. I had chosen my mother’s birthday, for obvious reasons, at least obvious to those of you who know me well enough for this to be obvious. But, well, it’s going to suck whenever I do it, and I might as well be efficient about it, a move that would thrill my Ex in its naked efficiency. I’ve been moping about the house anyway, purposeless, and why not condense ugliness and pain? The quality and texture of our lives are defined by the overhang, the issues we superscribe as constant, and if I’m docketed to be miserable for the next few weeks, might as well multi-task. And for this reason, I WILL COMPLAIN. That will be all the blog contains for a while. And this is OK. Fuck it. I’m not looking forward to it, but knowing that life will be sucky for a while, well, so be it. I’m going out for a smoke while I still can.

On Movie Making: A great reason to not write

Because we're making a Blockbuster. I won't tip my hand too much, but it involves both these wonderful masks and the spiritual guru from the last post.......I'll keep you posted......

On Help

This man can help.

I swear.

On Not Posting

I haven't posted for a while. I haven't wanted to.

The reasons for this are complicated, but lie largely in

A) all the crappy stuff that's happened to me in quick, random succession and

B) a realization that crappy stuff happens to everybody, and being a whining self-pity whore does no good to no body, so time to stop whining.

So, when i can manage to screw the ole head on straight, I 'll be back again. Soon. Just you wait.

Stupid Wedding Injuries

There are two welts about three inches above my waist, on my lower back. Precisely where you would find the clamps that anchor one's suspenders.

It started with some mean windmills and moonwalking- although the esteemed J.T., age 3, eclipsed my performance. I will follow his breakdancing career with interest.

It ended with an old Filipino lady hustling me back over to the dance floor to complete my Vanilla Ice- ne Robert Van Winkle- impression, which, I must say ROCKED, but also chewed up my knee, to the point of limping. I am clearly too old for this.

Clearly, this is a filler post- just a way to give a nod to family and friends.

Congrats, Bro, and Sis ( in-law, we aren't hillbillies, although we sometimes act inbred). Rocktacular wedding. Not only was a good time had by all, but you've given me an excuse to post a photo of Vanilla Ice on the blog, which is really all anybody could ever want, you know? Oh, and I'm glad you are married, too.

Sex and the Single Teacher part 3: Women Seeking Men

For those of you just joining us, welcome to the internet dating experiment. I'm not a woman, but I play one on my blog. The ads are facetious- I just wanted a peek into the mentality of the internet dating world. The last one, Men seeking Women, yielded typical results, that of fake women trolling for my email address, trying to get me to shell out for booty photos. And so, let us see what happens when we juxtapose the genders.


WOMEN SEEKING MEN (Casual Encounters Section)

The Advert:

Seeking to Discipline-30 Strong, professional woman, PhD, independent and self-actualized seeks SWM who needs a little “discipline”. BBW, 6’7”, confident, and 2 months pregnant. I choose this for myself and have no need for someone to be a stand-in for a Baby Daddy. The hormones are kicking in, however, and I need someone to fill me up. I am a dominant searching for a submissive- you must earn your way into the Promised Land. Your pic gets mine. No penis photos.

RESPONSE #1:

Not even 5 minutes after posting, I get my first response, the subject line reading

HOT HUNG ITALIAN SUB

Which is awesome, as it only needs four letters removed to sound like a Jimmy John’s Sandwich Special. He’s been kind enough to not directly show me his goods, but close e-goddam-nough. But, hey, I’m a lady, I get to bide my time and choose- I don’t need to reply just yet.

RESPONSES #2-8

All within 10 minutes of posting, one guy from his iPhone. Jesus, who the fuck trolls craigslist ads from their phone?

Clearly, I’m going to have weed out a few of my suitors out of the dating pool, pull the plug on their sprinklers, so to speak. I’m also worried that they might make me if I don’t change my email. So time to set up a new address. I’m going with the tag
Mistresshelga67. I think it’s cute.

RESPONSES #9- 87 Kajillion

There really are too many. Still, though, this dominatrix thing is great, every response, while completely perverted, retains a gentlemanly ambiance. If I were a 6’7” BBW PhD, I’d definitely consider my dominatrix options. There are quite a lot of requests for face-sitting, plus, every 5th guy or so complements me on my pregnancy. A few choice quotes:

“I want you to sit on my face and dominate me, use me as your sex slave like the filthy man-whore I am. Make lick your asshole around and around, tease me with you breast and pump my cock with your hand. Let me know.Sorry for the long email, I sort of got carried away:)”

“Make lick”? Sorry, dude, points off for bad grammar.

“Your(sic) 6 ft 7inches? Thats(sic) hot.”
Don’t I know it, sweetie. Mistress Helga needs you to use your apostrophes.

“Young guy ready to serve your every need. Big foot fetish and would love to have you facesit on me. No strings attached you Dom me sub action”
-Sent from my iPhone

You shouldn’t be able to send this from your iPhone. Drunk-dialing is a scary enough prospect.

“I won’t bore you with stories of my sexual prowess or the enormity of my cock – although I have been told both are impressive.”

Eh. You just did.

“I would be happy to fulfill your needs during your time of your pregnancy.(btw - congtrats!). I don't know the details but would love to chat. I'm sane, d&d free, considerate. However, I'm nowhere near 6-7, hope that's not a problem.”

Hey, dude, you win points for the ‘congrats’, although check your spelling. Don’t get hung up on the height thing- Mistress Helga knows she Kicks Ass.

“Pls know that i am not a CL faker or BS artist. Not a hustler or a game player.”

Yea, yea, No one is if you ask them. Shit, watch this- “I am not a CL faker.” See how easy that was, and yet, how untrue?

“…want you to sit on my face and dominate me….”

Always with the face-sitting. Do these people understand I’m 6’7”? I could hurt somebody.

“…limits are scat, underage and permanent marks.”

Uggh. As least we share limits. Isn’t ‘scat’ used for other species? Does this mean human feces are OK?

“serving as a maid?”

Did I SAY maid? Do your homework.

“Good afternoon, hope you are well. Would you be up for someone to worship your feet? Are you really 6'7" or is that a typo?”

See, at least he read the ad. Did I mention at least 1/3 of these fellas are into the foot fetish? Why is that? Feet mostly just stink.

“Hi there, my name is J*** and I am 25 and live downtown in the financial district. I am 5’10’’ in good shape and am exceedingly well endowed. I have long maintained a fascination with slightly more mature women – and find that they make the best lovers.”

‘Slightly more mature?’ I’m only 30, for fuck’s sake. Thumbs down.

“Dr. Mistress I saw your advertisement I am a foot shorter than you and require your pregnant discipline.”

I’m pregnant. The discipline is not.

“I am highly experienced with most areas of bondage, dominance and submission. As a male Dom, I have enjoyed giving corporal punishment, such as spankings and floggings and general torture since 1980.”

An Established Mom and Pop Spanking. Thank goodness for Olde Tyme Values.


You would think the most disturbing thing about this little experiment would be how easily I found myself slipping into the role of the Dominatrix, and it was sort of spooky. We all should be able to vote for who we want to be reincarnated as, ‘cause I definitely found my calling. Still, though, this is difficult. Is this what women go through all the time? I feel like I’m rummaging through a pile of half-assed resumes, written with crayon and smattered with coffee-stain rings, such is the quality and care of the responses. Are all men this clumsy? Am I?

Another disturbing aspect is that I’m starting to feel a little guilty, like a tease. I’m not sure if I should or not- this is really an ad calling out for some fantasy role playing, and aren’t I providing a service, some fodder for this, albeit mostly for my own amusement? For this reason, I don’t email any of the more carefully rendered responses back, as I don’t want them to get their hopes up. I email back a few poorly written ones, the guys who don’t put in a lot of effort, and the small dialogue doesn’t bear mentioning. Well, there was one guy who was going to cook up a meal, and I started to get interested in the prospect, having him design a menu and everything, before ducking out, remembering that I am not, in fact, a dominatrix, and he’d almost certainly kick 17 types of shit out of me if he found out all his efforts were for a currently underemployed snarky blogger.

Really, the most disturbing part is how goddamn NORMAL all these guys look. A few I’m imagining I even recognize (isn’t that Chuck from East Quad, back in college? Wow, he’s a lawyer now.) I’m not going to be able to leave the house without looking at the bank tellers suspiciously. Oh fuck, that’s not true. I’m a man myself, been one my whole life, and I know we are all pigs. This is no surprise. I fear, though, I’m going to have problems if I continue the logical extension of this experiment. Soon it will be, as my homosexual buddy likes to say, “time to be getting’ gay.” It’ll be bad enough to try and pretend to be a gay man, but it’s the lesbians who are gonna make me, I’m sure of it.

COMING SOON: Men Seeking Men

Sex and the Single Teacher part 3: Men Seeking Women

There was never meant to be a part 3.

I was supposed to be hitched, done, out of the pool, dried off, re-clothed, outside the YMCA and reading the New York Times in a coffee and bagel store.

Now I’m single again, and I’m not at all used to the idea. They say it takes half the time of the relationship you were in to get over it, and so I’ve probably got a while. Still, though, one must make hesitant steps towards moving on, and so I’m scrolling through the Women Seeking Men ads, not because I intend to contact anyone, but because, well, I guess I can now.

They are exactly what you would expect.

There is much talk of theatre, an interest in actually leaving the house, eating food, long walks, soulful overtones injected into mundane and inoffensive activities. They are generic, hesitant, a broad net cast in hopes of catching any fish, and perhaps a fear of sounding exclusive and opinionated.

Others are specific, a laundry list of requirements, each bullet point telling containing its own story of failures past. They don’t want ‘game players’, they do want honesty, you have to be OK with a kid, a weight problem, an STD. Its remarkably efficient and honest, the new dating scene, but many of these people go too far. I’m short- should I be ruled out over a serial adulterer? He can lie- I can’t grow 2 extra inches.

Still, though, one I find amusing. I couldn’t find it again if I tried, but it’s sort of blasting the whole notion of specificity, and concurrently, generic taglines. This woman says something to the tune of “ …And why do you all say you like long walks on the beach? That’s why I don’t go to the beach anymore. Too damn many of y’all, walking around aimlessly, pretending you like Jazz and theatre and moonlit nights. You aren’t that sensitive. You’re men, just be men.”

Something like that anyway.

I email her, I tell her I think her ad is funny, and she replies, and goes on a little more about how all the ads are too damn specific.

This resonates with me, and I come up with a plan.

The problem with summers off is that all the stupid ideas that cross your brain in a day….well, you have time to execute them. I have no intention of going on a Craigslist date at the moment, but the notion of the uber-specific ad is funny to me, and so I decide to post.


MEN SEEKING WOMEN

The Advert:

OPEN MINDED GENTLEMAN-35

You: Between 5’6”- 5’7 1/2”, brunette (chestnut w/red highlights preferred), weight range of 115-125, Stanford educated, olive complexion, Virgo w/Sagittarius rising, divorced for no less than 2 years, left leg ½” shorter than right, w/mild scoliosis, in search of LTR, SAA, SWM, OPP, FCC, VIP and EPA.

Me: Into long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners, opera (because sensitive men love the opera), travel, food (not for consumption), communication, light body hair, excessive ear wax. You must be OK with this.

NO: Trannies, lefties( southpaws OR communists), fatties, Ford drivers, flag-burners, knitters, walkers, eaters, sleepers or game players. Sorry, but that’s just how I feel.

Must posses own Segway.

Now, I don’t really expect anyone to reply unless they get the joke. Still I get a couple replies, generically written, mentioning nothing about the ad. I’m clearly not a Mensa candidate, but I can tie my own shoes, and it requires a similar IQ to see where this is going. If these are even real people, they are baiting me, trying for my email address, gearing up to flood my inbox with Viagra offers, penis pumps, whatever. I can’t complain- am I not baiting them as well? I figure the polite thing to do is reply. You know, start some discourse. See if they bite. I use an old email account, one infected with penis pill adverts some years ago. See? I can even button my shirt up correctly if you give me a couple of tries.

RESPONSE #1:

To: Clarence Bean
From: Filia Alida

Hey, My name is filia, I just found your post on craigslist. Just to let you know some stuff about me, I just turned 28 last month, and i?ve lived here for three months. It's hard to find a good man now a days. So i thought i'd try craigslist. If you are interested in getting to know me.. shoot me an email. Talk to you soon

To: Filia Alida
From: Clarence Bean

Filia,

Thank you for responding to my ad. My questions for you are:

How tall are you? I have requirements.

Do you like food?(not for consumption)

Are you in possession of a Segway?

Hope to hear from you soon,

Clarence Bean.

PS. I sincerely hope you are a human being, and not a penis enlargement tablet. I would be crushed.

To: Clarence Bean
From: Filia Alida

Whassup, S*****? (Ed. Note: she figured out my real name from my email address. I feel like I’ve just been made, but I press on nonetheless) want to take a break from what youre(sic) doing? I just logged into my cam site, if you want to have a little fun. Let me know if youre(sic) interested, ill check back in a few cutie

To: Filia Alida
From: Clarence Bean

My Goodness.

Filia, I am heartened that you are a real person, and not a tablet. I'm so lonely. What is a 'cam site'? I surely would like to have a little fun. Do you like Segways? This is what I consider the penultimate of fun. Did you know that most people use the word 'penultimate' incorrectly? It does not mean ‘ultimate', but a sort of secondary 'ultimate'. I hope you know the difference. No matter, I am willing to make an exception for you. Perhaps this 'cam site' will be the ‘ultimate.’

I wait with bated breath ( not 'baited,' that is for fishing),

Clarance Bean AKA s*****

End of Correspondance.

RESPONSE #2

To: Clarence Bean
From: Mary Stewart

Hey I'm Mary and I dig your post. I will send you a pic a little later I don't have one on this computer at the moment. Get back to me on marysparanoidagain**@gmail.com because I've been missing mail from people that I know on this one lately, something about getting mixed up in the junk folder. Cya.

To: Mary Stewart
From: Clarence Bean

Dear Mary Stewart,

Thank you so much for your reply. My initial reaction was that of wonderment- could you be related to Martha? While I respect Martha, I would have to politely decline correspondence. Martha is white, and, as you know, I am looking for an olive-skinned lady.

It was your command of foreign languages that clued me in, however, that you might be of a dusky hue. Of what cultural persuasion is the word "Cya"?

I would like to "Cya" ;)

At any rate, I do hope you own a Segway- perhaps we can go riding soon.

Scoliosis? No matter, I am willing to make an exception for you. Possibly, we can put an elevated pump on just one foot. Like Cinderella, only ethnic.

Don't worry, I am paranoid, too.

Sincerely,

Clarence Bean, AKA s******

PS I sincerely hope you are a live person and not a tablet that counteracts erectile dysfunction. I would be so disappointed. I look forward to your 'pic'.

To: Clarence Bean
From: Mary Saunders

Hello, thanks for getting back to me. Do you have pics? I'd love if we
could chat a bit before meeting up because you never know about people
from the net these days! You should check out my pic on
amateurdatingonline.com it is pretty hot. My profile is hottbod2. I
would send it through here but I don't have any pics of me on this
computer yet. Anyways, let me know what you think and when a good time
to chat is for you. Later babe! Xo

To: Mary Saunders
From: Clarence Bean

Never know about people from the net these days INDEED.

OK Mary "SAUNDERS"- don't think I didn't notice your clever ploy to unobtrusively change your last name. I'll bet you ARE related to Martha Stewart, and are merely seeking to conceal it.

You are making me paranoid, Mary.

You probably don't even speak Cya.

Still, though, I'm exited that you have a hotbod2, as described in your email. Are your legs the same length?

Hoping to hear from you,

Clarence Bean.


End of Correspondence

The stupidest thing about all this is while I know these people (sic) aren’t reading a word I say, I’m beginning to look forward to their emails, which sort of smacks of pathetic. OK, perhaps not ‘sort of’. I think I need a new approach- I'm beginning to sound like that guy, you know, what's-his-name who writes all the letters.

And so, a little reflection.

Truth be told, humans aren’t really all that different from the rest of the animal kingdom. I think most men would be happy to connect their testicles to a sprinkler head and let the semen rip, hoping to impregnate something, anything. Women are left holding umbrellas, so to speak. The biggest complaint from the ladies’ ads I read on craigslist is a proliferance of penis photos, something I’m not so sure I want to see myself. But, in the nature of scientific inquiry, let’s give it a shot. This is a learning process, and how could I not give equal time to all genders if I'm claiming due scientific process? I’m going to have to make this next one a little more believable, though.

COMING SOON: Women Seeking Men.