On this weeks episode of the podcast Chris and I spent some time talking about new TV shows, or rather Chris listened to me talk about the girls I like on new TV shows. I do enjoy watching pretty girls on TV, but I was surprised to learn that some of my favorite shows of all time didn’t really have very many women I was attracted to on them. This got me to thinking, are beautiful women on TV good for ratings but bad for overall quality? That would be a really interesting thing to write about. But that seems like a lot of work, and God oh God damn am I lazy.
The first show I talked about was Last Man Standing, the new Tim Allen show. It’s a safe bet for Timmy Al in that it’s essentially Home Improvement but with daughters, so seemingly they can get the Home Improvement audience to watch. However, who was the Home Improvement audience? A lot of my friends watched it, but I maintain that if they watched it today they would see that it was a piece of crap, so they probably wouldn’t like Last Man Standing, which from what I can tell is better than Home Improvement, but that’s not saying much. I think Home Improvement also claimed a lot of middle aged viewers, who are now probably old perverts, and the show has a couple of hot girls on it, so that will be right up their alley.
What a sweet ass
The next show I talked about is New Girl, the Zooey – contemplates whether trying to spell her last name from memory or going straight to google is faster, and now decides going to google is the right answer – Deschanel show where she lives with three guys. This is where I first noticed that Zooey Deschanel has a nice set of thighs. Yes, I am a leg man. I don’t really know what Zooey Deschanel’s butt looks like. I only typed that because that was what I was thinking. I didn’t really want you to know that’s what I was thinking, but it’s a true thought. On the show she wears a lot of frilly dresses, short frilly dresses, so it’s rare that you actually get to see the curvature of her butt. “Oh baby, the curvature of your butt is turning me on so much.” Just thought it’d be funny if someone said that.
The show isn’t great, but it also isn’t horrible. That’s the extent of my thoughts that don’t include Zooey Deschanel.
The final show I talked about is my favorite of the three by far, and that show is Suburgatory. It’s about a dad and daughter from New York City who move to a suburban neighborhood where everyone acts very stereotypical yet it somehow still manages to be entertaining because the characters are kind of all stereotypical but in their own way. It’s quirky and generally smart, which is nice in a comedy. The greatest examples of combining silly and smart are Arrested Development, my all time favorite show, and Newsradio which goes from Andy Dick smashing through a window straight to Dave Foley making a political joke that my 12 year old ass didn’t understand but probably still laughed at. Those are my two favorite shows of all time, so I love when shows can figure out how to do silly and smart well. This show does it pretty well so far, but what the hell does that have to do with girls?
Jane Levy
The female lead is a cute red head by the name of Jane Levy. She’s very adorable and although her character is only 16 she’s really like 19 or 20 or something over 18 so I can say she’s attractive without feeling creepy. So I’m very attractive to her as an actress, but her 16 year old character I have no feelings on (because that makes sense…) It doesn’t make not sense (smooth). Also I’m very attracted to Cheryl Hines. I don’t know why I’m so attracted to her, but I am. I mean obviously she’s a beautiful lady, but she’s not so much in my age demographic. I should be mulling over the likes of Selena Gomez, Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber (because you’re a 15 year old lesbian?) Nah man, it’s ‘cause I’m hip to the hopity (well obviously).
What if this post was just about things I put in my ass this week? And I don’t even talk about them. I just make a list. A penny, triple A battery, dildo, not so lucky rabbits foot, cats tail while still attached to the cat. But that’s not what this post is about. This is just another excuse for me to write about my life, or rather my lack of life, seeing as I do nothing all the time, and exceptionally well if I may so as far as complimenting myself.
So in the past week three girls of my past that I haven’t talked to in months have contacted me essentially saying that they miss me, and what I mean by essentially saying that they miss me is that they literally said, “I miss you.” This happens a lot to me. Not to give myself any credit, but if I’m good at one thing, and there’s a lot of evidence to support that I am only good at one thing, it’s that I can get girls who live thousands of miles away to like me. However, I can’t get them to maintain that liking. Because in order for them to miss me they have to go awhile without talking to me, and that’s usually because I scare them away or God hates me and puts tons of attractive boys around them which are much more appealing than me.
So I’m not surprised that these girls miss me. I’m a great guy….um with the asterisk that I’m only great if the girl just got broken up with and is lonely and needs someone to sheepishly heap praise on her – all of which I firmly believe they deserve. But what I am surprised with is that these three girls all contacted me within the same week. Very odd.
I feel like they must all be in on this together. “We’ve all broke Quentin’s heart before” (to be fair only one of them did) but none of them slept with me, which is much worse than breaking my heart. All the guys in the house feel me!? (Not a wise thing to say when the only people ever to read this blog are girls and one guy who isn’t gay but finds penises to be attractive) so anyway back to my girls of my past talking to each other thingie…”We’ve all broke Quentin’s heart before, but that’s beginning to be no fun and way too easy. I say, whichever one of the three I may be,” I’ve got my guesses, “we all try to break his heart at once. The broken heart trifecta. It will be priceless.” Ha! Tough luck doing that. Little do they know I no longer have a heart. Just little red chucks of former love coated with bacon grease. So jokes on them.
Except not really. This whole three girls contacted me within a week thing would be a whole lot more interesting if it didn’t now coincide with Annabelle now officially not talking to me in a week. The old Quentin would be freaking out right about now. Worried that she might’ve found some other guy, with a bigger dick and way bigger wallet. But the new Quentin remains calm…knowing that of course she found some other guy with a way bigger dick and way way bigger wallet.
I kid, I kid. But seriously, this has happened to me way too many fucking times, and I don’t write this for pity or anything because I bring this on myself. First off I’m a terrible human being who deserves no love. But more so than that I go for all the wrong girls. The ones way out of my league and incredibly far away from me. I don’t know what Annabelle’s deal is. But I guess I’m just going to accept it as the end for now again. It sucks because I thought we were as emotionally connected as we’ve ever been, and she gave me plenty of reason to believe that we were waiting to be with each other. I mean nothing big, you know, just when I asked her if she would wait to be with me she said yes. But in her defense she might have thought I said, “Are you gonna leave me because I’m ugly and have a big nose?” (Enough with the self deprecation) In my defense I only do it to hide the pain…and also I deserve it.
I don’t know. I love Annabelle. It sucks how much I love her. At least parts of her. And not just her big boobs, even though I do fashion myself a boob man. She has an amazing personality, so this ending, if this is in fact the end, at least for now, really sucks because there are so many beautiful girls, and while there are so many great personalities, her personality was so super special.
I wasn’t going to talk about all that that much. I wanted just a paragraph or two on it. Let’s move on. This is nothing but a transitionary paragraph. Transitionary isn’t a word apparently. But adding ary to the end of words is excitingary.
On that youtube thingie I came across this singer I kind of enjoyed. She’s really cute. Far too cute for me to care about. Her name is Jayme Dee and she’s like almost a perfessional singer but not quite yet, but her videos have a lot of views but they’re mostly just covers of popular songs but in her own style, or maybe not her own style, but in a different style than the regular versions of the songs, which is something I like when hearing covers of songs.
I wrote this thing yesterday. Today Annabelle told me she’s dating someone else. I told her I love her and I hope he makes her the happiest man in the world. I got angry. I did my best to hide it from her, but I’m fucking angry. Not at her. So this is goodbye…until three months from now she calls to say she misses me…and my life is forever on repeat.
As soon as I knew this song was making my list I knew exactly what the first sentence I would write about it would be. However I was wrong because the thing you just read ended up being the real first sentence, but I’d like to think this first little paragraph is just a preamble, and the real piece doesn’t start until the next paragraph. Just a few moments ago I went through my head how I wanted to start this and where it might lead, and despite this being an extremely happy, good times song, I warn you this might take a dark turn, but will end with a surprisingly uplifting sentence – uplifting and surprising both only to myself.
I haven’t had my Hands Down moment yet. If you don’t know the song or haven’t listened to it by Hands Down moment I’m referring to the lyrics “Hands down this is the greatest day I can ever remember.” Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of great days. All those times frolicking around in Roslyn Lake, whether with family or friends, were fantastic. It was undoubtedly my favorite place on the planet. But it wasn’t kissing someone I really cared after having a perfect day with her.
The turn for the macabre comes here when I have to once again think about having only kissed three girls in my entire 23 years of life. And that’s not making out with three girls, that’s just kissing. One took place when I was like 7, another at 17 and another a few months back. A one time occurrence with each girl and all with girls I have and had exactly no feelings for. It’s devastating to think about. Not once in my entire life have I ever kissed someone I really cared about. I of course mean other than my mother, but I don’t count kisses on the cheek, so she doesn’t count because we haven’t kissed on the lips in years – that’s a cheap joke that doesn’t make sense given what I had previously stated.
It’s weird, but at the same time makes so much sense, that I crave for this thing that I’ve never had. I’ve never made out with any one, I’ve never had sex, I have however cuddled twice, one time each with two different girls, and it was spectacular.
The cuddle thing makes me think. If it wasn’t for the memories I harbor with this other girl, one of the times I cuddled I guess would be my pussy version of my Hands Down moment. It was very unexpected. Both of the times I cuddled actually were. The first time was with a girl I hadn’t really talked to in a long time and we were never really that close but somehow over the internet she had developed a minor crush on me, so that was very weird. And the second time, to be honest, I had more so expected sex.
She was a girl I cared about a lot, and still do, and it was only the second time we had ever met because she lives in a different city and neither of us drive. The reason I thought we might have sex is because I figured we might both end up drunk (which happened), she had told me before she was really into me sexually (hard to believe but true, at least allegedly), and according to multiple sources – one source being her telling me stories of her past – she was, how do I put this delicately, a major whore. Okay, she wasn’t a major whore or anything, she just had a lot of sex, some occasions just happened to be one night stands, not that that’s whorish or anything.
There are certain traits that women I’m into seem to have in common. One of the odder ones is smoking. The last four girls I have really been into have all been smokers, cigarettes, not weed, although three of the four of them actually do smoke weed rather consistently. But much more on topic, three of these last four girls have all been rather promiscuous, to put it gently – the fourth was a virgin until I fucked up by telling her I couldn’t be with her because I was still hung up on that girl I used to love/ do love, and then to hurt me she went and had sex with some guy her asshole friend set her up with, and it worked, hurt me a lot, still does suck thinking about that, but I deserved it so it’s all good.
It’s weird thinking about that, that many of the girls I’ve liked a lot have had their share of boys who aren’t me do sexual things to them. As a person who has done very few sexual things, roughly about zero but it’s hard to keep exact track, it sucks to think about, but I’m not insane enough, or perhaps too insane, to let it be a deal breaker. I’m assuming I don’t seek out girls who have had their vagina filled with enough penises to fill the state of Rhode Island (cheap joke, nothing more). I’m not going to lie and say the large amount of sexual partners doesn’t bother me, I guess I just figure I can live with it if I really care about the person that much. I don’t know why I’m still talking about this.
So of course me and the girl didn’t have sex that night. I didn’t mind. In a weird, some might call homosexual, kind of way I liked it. I wouldn’t have minded having sex with her at all because she’s absolutely beautiful and I care about her a lot so I know I wouldn’t regret it, but at the same time it would have been weird having sex with someone I was pretty sure I wouldn’t end up with. Well I just mean losing my virginity that way. Once I lose my virginity it’s hookers and coke until the cash runs out. There is some truth to that. In my first cuddle situation I could have easily pressed the issue with this very attractive girl and probably gotten some sex, or at least a blow job I assume. But I settled for the cuddle and just cracked stupid jokes the whole time. I don’t think the me who had had sex before would have necessarily went for sex in that situation, but I think he would have at least really considered it.
The cuddling was amazing. It was surreal even though I had done it once before. I guess it’s the greatest physical feeling I’ve ever had. I was thinking what’s worse, wanting what you’ve never had or wanting what you’ve already had knowing how great it is? I’ve never had the making out and sex, but I’ve had the cuddling. So which do I want more? The making out and sex because it seems so great but I’ve never had it? Or the cuddling which I know how great it is? But I guess that’s not really what I want at all.
The more I think about it even if I had made out with that second cuddle girl, and had sex with her, and cuddled afterwards, I still don’t think it would be my Hands Down moment. Sure I cared about her, but it was after I had fell for that other girl. Everything I’ve wanted to do I’ve wanted to do so badly with that girl I loved/love.
It’s so fucking ridiculous that I fell for some girl I’ve never met in real life because all the greatest moments of my life sound so fucking stupidly like nothing, but I don’t really care. So what if my favorite moments are being crunched up in the corner of my bunkbed because it was the only place I got decent reception as I talked to her late at night while she was a thousand miles away in her parents garage, and seeing her for the first time in motion on her webcam and feeling so ludicrously stupid because I had no idea what to say because her beauty was completely stunning, and her posting this picture on her Facebook of a paper she had typed on her old friends typewriter that said a bunch of stuff and then on the bottom she typed I heart quentin and I felt that she was finally becoming less embarrassed about liking someone far away.
Those aren’t Hands Down moments right? They’re so fucking pathetic compared to what everyone else has. So fucking small in the larger scheme of things. But I love them. They’re special to me. They’re mine alone, and I know that. I know that when she thinks about her absolute favorite moments she’s had they don’t involve me. That’s okay. Everything is all relative, and relatively speaking my favorite moments are small, but I don’t care because there’s not a thing on this planet that could make the happiness they bring me look relatively small.
I have this good memory, and it’s weird in a sense. The situation isn’t weird, well compared to my everyday life it’s weird, but other than that it’s pretty normal. I was at a club with Nathan, which is the only reason I’d be at a club, to be his wing man as he tries to find a slutty chick to hook up with – which he was unsuccessful in doing until I wasn’t with him, turns out I might have been bad luck when it comes to getting chicks, which seems to be a common theme running through my life – and Nathan wasn’t really feeling it that night and I was in my ‘fuck it’ mode for some reason, which meant I didn’t really give a fuck and I just wanted to have fun. So I was out on the dance floor dancing, as opposed to everyone else who thought it was a dry humping floor – there was this one couple that Nathan was eyeing, not in a perverted way but more of an admirence (not a word) don’t care, and they basically figured out a way to have sex without needing to be naked – and eventually I made my way over to this group of girls who were enjoying themselves, so I thought it my responsibility to go over and spoil their fun.
I don’t exactly recall how it happened, wait, while writing that sentence I remembered exactly how it happened – I wish I had remembered before I dumbly said I didn’t recall how it happened, now I look like a fool.
There was a couple of girls dancing but then there was a girl leaning against this pole/table sipping her drink and for some reason I decided not to embarrass the dancing girls by dancing anywhere near them, and instead went over to try and start a conversation with the girl who appeared to be by her lonesome – this is my move in clubs by the way, I don’t dance with chicks or even hit on them, I just start drunken inane conversations, in fact it worked out well with that one chick the first ever time I went to a club and I still text her from time to time, she’s very nice, in fact (in fact again?) yes, she was the only person in the west coast time zone to text me back after I texted my happy new year texts to those I thought deserved it, so Megan’s a very sweet girl and I wish her nothing but the best in her life, even though she won’t be reading this.
So this girl I approached, who looked to be in her mid 20s and very attractive, didn’t shoo me away when I started talking to her, which was extremely odd compared to every other encounter I’ve ever had with the females. So we started talking, which was really yelling because these damn kids at the clubs like their music so darn loud, and it turned out she was there with her females friends I walked by who were dancing and having a bachelorette party for the girl who was all up all some dude who wasn’t particularly good looking – I remember that because I recall thinking, ‘really, this is her bachelorette party and she can’t get a decent looking guy to shake her booty with? What has the world come to?’
This is what happened when I googled "lady gaga" and "satan".
So me and this chick started talking more and it turned out she didn’t really like clubs, it also turns out she was 31 which may have been part of the reason she didn’t really like clubs, and she asked me what I was doing there and I told her I don’t really like clubs, which is true for the most part, and then I’m sure I said something hilarious and the whole building erupted with laughter and then quickly got back to dancing to whatever hit Lady Gaga song was out that week. So I was having a nice conversation with a nice girl when Satan in the form of a petite bachelorette appeared.
The bachelorette pulled the girl I was talking to away to go dance with her and the others and like a gentleman I let her go with her nearby friends, but first kindly asked her if she wanted to make out in the bathroom, to which she politely declined – that’s a joke of course. So they started dancing and I was just standing there watching, feeling awkward, too drunk to notice that even though I was watching some pretty attractive girls dance I wasn’t anywhere near getting a boner, and then all of the sudden a miracle happened, and now, it wasn’t me getting a boner, although that would make for a much better story.
The girl who I was talking to pulled me over to dance with them, most specifically her because I’m more than positive that other girls were reluctant to the idea of having me join their little bachelorette dance crew. Much to the quartet of cock blocker’s dismay I started to dance with the girl, and believe me when I say it was beautiful – I said ‘believe me’ because if I didn’t you wouldn’t believe me which would be the right thing to do. The rest of the story isn’t really important, I went to her place, we had unprotected sex, she visited me nine months latter with some kind of little human in her arms, I fled to Canada, and now I’m writing this. But joking aside, my penis isn’t as big as I’d like it to be. But also joking aside we really just danced for awhile then they had to go and I never saw her again.
I was thinking about this, oh let’s say about an hour ago, because I had all these memories flowing through my head of this girl that recently told me she wasn’t into me as much as she had previously led me on to believe. And then it made me think about how it was similar to a situation a year or two ago with a girl. And I was thinking about all the good memories I had with them and ultimately they left me sad because the overall story arc – at least to this point – with those girls ended badly. So as good as all those memories were, and they were great, they left me with a bitter feeling that wasn’t very pleasant.
Then, for reasons I’m unaware of, I thought about dancing with that girl and it made me smile, and then I felt weird because I kept smiling, and then I realized that I didn’t really have a reason to stop smiling (other than the fact of looking like a smiling idiot alone in your room). Most of my great memories are involving girls, girls that I also have terrible memories with. This was just a one time thing. All my memories of this attractive 31 year old girl are isolated within that one time we danced together at the club. She seemed cool, but there was never a time when I wanted to hook up with her in any way so there was never a reason for me to feel bad about not hooking up with her. I like it. Oddly it may be my go to happy memory for the time being. It’s just a good memory. Nothing more, nothing less. I like that. I like it a lot. I think I’m going to continue smiling like an idiot right now.
It was, I’m guessing, somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes ago that I was brushing my teeth in the mirror and thinking about writing another installment of bedtime thoughts and how what has been on my mind most recently is liking these three girls but always getting confused on which I like most when I started to laugh because I realized that obviously it doesn’t matter which one I like most because I will end up with none of them. Of course part of the reason I will end up with none of them is because I will never know which one I like most, among many other reasons of course.
One I could never end up with. I like her a lot, but I just couldn’t end up with her. It’s hard to explain why, but I guess the short answer is that although she would be very cool to be with we have so many things not in common that I could see it being frustrating to her down the line, and possibly a bit frustrating to me too. Plus I could see her being extremely freaked out by my constant need to be affectionate and complimentative – I’ll maintain to my death that complimentative will one day be a word. I want the girl I am with to feel like a princess, for lack of any less clichéd saying, but unfortunately I do not have the bank account of a prince therefore I can only show my affection through words, and not jewelry that costs more than my life – I like that they say you can’t put a price on life, but isn’t that really what life insurance is for?
This is why I should have been born an Anime character.
These other two girls are more openly affectionate and accepting of my affectionateness. However both these girls are of course miles and miles and hundreds of miles away from me. Therein lies another problem with not having money. Why, oh why, was I not born a Gates or a Jobs!? Of course then I would be a geek and inherently not care about any girls unless they were dressed in some kind of kinky anime character costume. Those girl anime characters always have huge breasts. I feel like in a perfect world I would have been born as an anime character in some sort of melodrama where I was the kooky best friend of the protagonist of the show and I had a severe sexual perverted fetish, which I’m now convinced that 80% of all anime characters have, which leads me to believe that 90% of all Japanese men have.
I was thinking a while ago that all these girls I’ve liked would in no way get along with my friends. I think one of them might. And I think another one of the girls I used to like would try to fuck all of them. Seriously. It’s sad actually. But I imagine the idea that my friends wouldn’t get along with my girlfriend, and vice versa, somewhat makes sense to me. I think part of this is that I’m attracted to girls with qualities not very similar to that of my best friends. For one I’m attracted to boobs. None of my best friends have those. But on a more serious level I’m attracted to girls who show lots of emotion, and often times friends are hesitant to open up with one another.
In my group of friends we always make jokes. It’s very impossible to have a conversation without making jokes. Ironically the most emotional argument which lacked jokes was an argument about how we couldn’t openly talk about serious personal subjects with each other because we couldn’t take it seriously and someone, namely me, would always make jokes. For me it’s almost impossible to talk about something without throwing in some jokes. The only exception is of course when I’m talking to a girl I like about something personal to her. And even then the jokes are flying through my head, I just somehow manage to keep my mouth shut, possibly because I’m extremely shy around girls, even girls I know well.
This isn’t on topic, but nothing here ever is or is ever meant to be, but I’m not getting more tired. I was hoping by now I’d be asleep. I can’t write forever. I mean I suppose technically I could, but it would all turn into mindless drivel which is actually a step up from what’s been written so far.
So the problem with this one girl who I thought might be the one – and by one I don’t mean the one who I end up marrying, but rather the one who can finally get me to forget about that girl I was in love with – is that sometimes she won’t talk to me for a while, and I’ll text her and she won’t respond, and it makes me feel like the things she tells me, particularly about how much she likes me, might not be entirely true. Today she texted me asking what I was doing and I answered and texted her back asking what she was doing and she didn’t respond. I don’t expect us to talk every day or even every other day, but I don’t know. I really just don’t know. Like I know nothing at this exact moment. I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes and see what happens.
I’m not sure where I went wrong, but then again if I really think about it I can’t ever recall a time when I was doing things right. I’m not sure what doing things right would be. In kindergarten was I not eating the Play-Doh as well as the other kids? I say that in jest of course, but my mother had this recipe for edible Play-Doh, so as a kid I actually did eat a lot of Play-Doh. I don’t recall it tasting particularly well, in fact far less good than non-edible Play-Doh. Shouldn’t every kid’s toy be made to taste terrible? If we’re so worried about kids swallowing and choking on everything shouldn’t we coat all children’s toys in some kind of broccoli flavored spray? Or better yet make toys made out of broccoli, so at least if they do eat them they’ll be nutritious.
I can’t ever be expected to stay on topic, which leads me back to where I went wrong because I think it had something to do with me not taking things seriously. It’s really hard to take things seriously when you’re young and just want to play video games and chase skirts. I guess I was more into the video game playing than the skirt chasing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved girls, and still do, but I knew my place, and chasing would only lead to further disappointment. At times I feel I made the wrong choice of spending much of my younger life playing video games and watching TV and movies and writing instead of trying to get laid, which brings me to the topic most on my mind today, but takes me completely away from the topic I started writing on.
Another girl I like had sex with a guy who isn’t me. I’m really upset about this, but it has less to do with him not being me and a lot more to do with him being an asshole. She had went on a date with this guy and said he was an asshole and her friend who basically set them up knew he was an asshole so I’m fucking pissed at her, far more pissed than I should be. I just really don’t like when assholes get laid. Especially when they trick sweet girls into it. I shouldn’t be as upset as I am. And I feel a lot of it has to do with me being a virgin.
A girl I loved had had a lot of sex in her life, and it tore me apart, and certainly didn’t help in keeping her from tearing us apart – I lay far too much blame on her when it was entirely my fault. She kept telling me that sex doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how much I can believe that, and until I finally do have sex, God willing I one day do, – you hear that God, please, oh please let me find a lady willing to debase herself to lay down her body in the misery that will be known as sex with me – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully understand the idea of sex without emotion.
I’ve watched a lot of what I guess is best considered amateur porn, where it’s just two people, not necessarily who know each other all that well, having sex who aren’t being paid, or at least to the best of my knowledge aren’t being paid. As a person who has never had sex I end up paying less attention to keeping my hand moving back and forth and more attention on studying what’s going on between the two people – sometimes three, four or even five people. For the guy it’s almost always the same. He’s either lying back and letting her do the work or working hard and taking control, but either way he’s enjoying it and it’s clearly for the pleasure. With the girl it’s a little different though. I always notice the high amount of eye contact that is being made. And there’s always a look in their eyes. A look that isn’t saying ‘I’m enjoying this so much’, but rather a look saying, ‘look what I’m doing for you, you should love me, I want you to remember this, I want this to be important to you, I want this to be more than just sex with another girl.’ Maybe I look into this way too much. By the way, I spend most of my time not actually masturbating but actually commenting on the things I’m watching and wondering why people are the way they are. I get bizarrely psychological when I’m jerking off. The biggest psychological question is how a man jerking off can spend so much of that time wondering what’s going through the heads of the people he’s jerking off to.
I really want to title my autobiography “The Thoughts I Think While Ejaculating.”
So there’s this new girl, well not completely new, I’ve known her off and on for about a year or something, and she’s a girl I met on the internet of course because I still exude this magical odor that when smelled compels women not to want to have anything to do with me, but me and this girl have been talking a lot more for the last couple of months, and, well, she makes me feel like only one other girl has ever been able to make me feel like, or at least as close to that feeling as possible, which is still a lot more than I ever thought possible.
It’s exciting and devastating at the same time. When I was doing whatever the hell we were doing with the online girl before, which is as close to being in a relationship as I’ve ever been, even though we couldn’t be together physically – leave it to me to get into a relationship with an extremely beautiful girl who I can’t so much as hold hands with – I was still happy just being with her at all. It was frustrating a lot, but because I truly, and perhaps stupidly, thought we were going to end up together I never thought about hooking up with other girls, and all those other girls in my life who I never thought I could just be friends with I was suddenly just friends with, and perfectly fine with that.
Ironically it was because of this long distance thing with the girl I loved that made me care so much about Eva, which ultimately backfired when the long distance thing didn’t work out because now I didn’t just like Eva, but I really cared about her a lot, which made me like her as a potential person I could one day date even more. I strongly doubt me and Eva could ever be together though. In my life she’s in the top four girls I’ve liked and of those four she’s the only one I’ve ever met, granted I’ve only met her twice. Still I feel like she’s far too beautiful for me. I know that one girl I was in love with was amazingly beautiful, but we never met in person, so I don’t think she ever grasped how much more beautiful than me she really is, although I’ve seen some of the guys she’s found attractive and dated, and I’ve laughed about this with Chris, but they aren’t extremely attractive, in fact one of them was down right not attractive, of course he was the one she said reminded her of me, which didn’t make me think very highly of myself, but the part I laugh about is that she apparently thought I was attractive but all the guys she’s found attractive aren’t that attractive, so while I like that she thinks I’m attractive, it doesn’t necessarily mean I am attractive.
It may seem like a compliment for a girl to tell an ex that their new boyfriend reminds them of them – yes I said ‘them of them’ and it’s sort of confusing but I’m going to leave it – but I found it to be anything but a compliment. It was more like, ‘Oh, great, you’re dating this guy who reminds you of me, perfect, except I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I am me, and I’m right here, and I still love you, so I’m just saying why go for the cheap knockoff when you have the real thing right here?” The answer in my head is of course, “because the cheap knock-off lacks all the qualities that made you so horrible.”
This other girl I liked online had one too many things in common with that girl I once loved, and in fact still do love. They were both addicted, and probably still are addicted, to the same thing, a thing that in the shallowest way I feel like is the worst thing a girl I like but can’t be with can be addicted to. They both lied to me about big things, as well as some smaller things which they both thought would be bigger to me than they really were. They were both raised in Arizona. Just odd, way too odd. And as of last night I am now aware that they are both completely in love with the man I most despise on this planet, yes, none other than the Dark Knight himself. I don’t even want to say the actor’s name, that’s how much I hate him. I don’t even want to elaborate because it brings me down. It’s really stupid and petty of me to hold such a grudge, but go ahead and check my calling card one more time: yep, front and center are the words ‘stupid’ and ‘petty’.
This new girl… I don’t even know where to go with this. She makes me smile. I just felt like I should write about it. Of course in a way this writing sums me up perfectly I spent the first few paragraphs talking about that girl I loved instead of the new girl. Odd that I would come to write something happy and then decide to write about something that would bring me down. Writing can’t really bring me down though. Even when I write things that sadden me it’s still writing so there’s a certain comfort to it that takes me out of my mind and disallows me to really think about anything. I think that’s why I’m such a terrible writer. I don’t really stop to think about what I’m writing or how to make it better or how to elucidate my thoughts better or whether I’m using elucidate right. I just write, and it just is. I try really writing and really thinking and I just can’t. At least not in this form – when I write script type things there’s a lot more thinking than writing usually.
So this new girl… I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m certainly not going to try and rush anything, especially considering she’s currently further from me than Mount Rushmore – it was in my head because I said the word rush…I guess I could have somehow mentioned the band but I don’t see how that would have been relevant (whereas Mount Rushmore is completely relevant?) this new girl could enter my Mount Rushmore of all time girls I’ve liked. I talked so much about that girl I loved because until now no one has ever been anywhere near close to making me feel the way she has. But I’m not going to compare the two. That would be unfair. I’m still not over her. I’m still not convinced she’s the most beautiful and smart creature on this planet, but I’m starting to believe maybe I can be swayed of that notion. It’s still too early to tell.
Speaking of early it’s six ‘til five in the morning over here, and I had planned on waking up at eight, but now that’s certainly out of the question. I don’t mind anymore. I had a pretty bad night. And I had a huge amount of trouble getting to sleep. And then the new girl texted me, and everything got better. And now I’m going to get to sleep with a smile.
How forgetful so fast I am. I already forgot one of the best qualities of owning this tiny little netbook upon which I am writing this right now at two thirty in the morning. It’s so small I can crawl comfortably into bed with it and write until I am ready to shut my eyes and then place it aside as I hopefully fall asleep shortly. Also I can now watch porn from bed, although for odd reasons I refuse to watch porn on this. I basically use it as a two hundred dollar digital typewriter.
I have trouble sleeping, and that’s the reason I’m writing now. I waste so much time being tired. I’ll be on the cusp of sleeping so I’ll be too tired to do anything productive, but at the same time I won’t be able to fall asleep because my mind will be zooming thoughts of negativity a hundred miles an hour through the highway that is my brain. I wish I could put up a “slow, children at play” sign in there to slow my thoughts down – although it’s not like anyone pays attention to those signs anyway. But I can’t, so usually the last two to three hours of my nights are spent doing nothing but thinking about things I’ve already thought far too much about.
My mantra recently has been ‘don’t think about girls, don’t think about girls, don’t think about girls,’ because when I think about girls nothing good can come of it. I wish it was just a sex thing. I feel like then I could just masturbate and get the thoughts out of my head for a few moments. Although to be honest, and I find this funny, I think I masturbate so often because (aside from having too much time, and therefore penis, on my hands) it sexualizes women, and makes me look at them, in that moment, in a way that I’m less depressed I don’t have them in. Give me the choice of a life without sex or a life without love and I choose a life without sex, even if that doesn’t mean love is guaranteed. Of course that’s being said from a man who has never had sex. As every person must assume once I do have sex my thoughts on which is better, love or sex, will change.
So as hard as it might be to believe masturbating for me has been less about needing to please myself sexually and more about killing time and distracting me from thinking. Lately I haven’t been masturbating as much because I’ve been trying to force myself into doing some things to better myself in ways I’d like to be better, mostly writing. I started a sports blog because I love sports, and what the hell, I might as well write about sports if it might help out my writing. I think the main reason I haven’t done that up until now, with the exception of writing about sports every once a week a while ago when I was trying to write everyday, is because every one I know who has ever read anything I’ve ever wrote couldn’t give a crap about sports. But then again if I keep with the mentally that this is less about people reading my writing and more about writing to get better it doesn’t really matter. Writing is writing no matter what it’s about. Anything helps.
Also I was hesitant to ever really write about sports because when I tried writing about it once a week in the past it just turned into another springboard for me to make jokes. Part of that was knowing that no one reading it really cared about who I thought would win the Super Bowl. But also that’s the biggest problem with my writing in general. I don’t really take it that seriously. I just end up joking, because it’s more enjoyable that way. Comes more natural. Yeah I could have a smooth ass, but that means I’d have to wax it every so often, and frankly I don’t have the effort, plus I enjoy my hairy butt. I enjoy having some hair on my body. So as much as I would enjoy stripping I can’t do it because I refuse to be hairless. Also my penis isn’t big enough (I thought this was about writing?) Not anymore.
The chances of me listening to this song more than ten times in the rest of my life are about the same as me seeing an old couple going down on each other in a park. This song made the list solely on its nostalgia value and for the fact that is was my second favorite song for a very long time. The time during which I was absolutely obsessed with Avril Lavigne. I even bought her first two albums. I knew I had a problem when me and my cousin were talking about if we made an album who we were thank in that little book where the lyrics are usually found, and I decided that even above my mother I would thank Avril Lavigne first because she had the biggest influence on me musically. It was truly delusional. It was a typical man lie and done with all thought that she would read that I admired her so much, and then seek me out and go down on me…to ask for my hand in marriage. I imagined that’s how they would do it in the future. Fifteen year old Quentin didn’t think straight due to the new changes that had occurred to his body, but unfortunately there wasn’t enough change that occurred to a specific part of his body.
Over the years as I discovered better music, particularly the first couple albums from Dashboard Confessional, Taking Back Sunday, and Brand New, I quickly learned that Ms. Lavigne wasn’t hot shit musically. Although, I still of course wanted to fuck her hot shit (does that mean anal?) I sure hope so. So we grew apart. She married that douche from Sum 41, and I stayed single, partly because deep down I wanted to stay single so when she realized I was the only one for her I would be available, but mostly because I was, and still am, terribly shy and awkward and women have never found me appealing in person. My theory is that I’m either spectacularly ugly, or I exude some kind of anti-pheromone.
Lavigne and I hold little future anymore. The two CDs I own of hers are now placed just under John Ralston’s Soury Vampire album. Which is an okay album, but features no songs on this list, so that should give you an idea of how low it is on my album stack. Okay, you probably have no idea. I don’t own a ton of albums – nowhere near as many as my brother who has drawers filled with Cds…and video games – but Avril Lavigne’s CDs fall in places number 60 and 61, just above Jay-Z’s The Life and Times of Shawn Carter volume 3, which actually does feature a song on this list – I’d have to double check but I’m pretty sure it’s the only rap song on the list, and no, it’s not the song Big Pimpin’ which is the most famous song on that album.
I don’t own Arvil’s third album, which I think is called The Best Damn Thing, the one with that ‘girlfriend’ song on it. “Hey, hey, you, you, I don’t like your girlfriend. No way, no way, I think you need a new one. Hey, hey, you, you, I could be your girlfriend.” Had this song came out when I was young I assuredly would have listened to it a million times while jerking off while fantasing of holding hands with Arvil Lavigne. But it came out when I was like 20 or something so I gave it a cursory listen and didn’t care for it much. I kind of liked one song off the album at the time but I never even listened to the full album until recently, and it was, well I can’t say disappointing because I already knew it wouldn’t be good, but it was how you say, not so good.
There are a few artists who I get my hopes up for and hope they emerge into great lyricists. One of the most recent disappointments was Paramore, specifically the lead singer, the adorable Hayley Williams. I liked Paramore’s first album All We Know Is Falling a decent amount, and liked their next album less, and liked their most recent album even less. Much like Avirl Lavigne it seems which each new album the lyrics have devolved into more popish less meaningful gobbledygook I can barely get a boner to.
So let this be the last time I pay any respects (other than masturbating) to Avril Lavigne. A girl who played such a big role during my developing years, and is without a doubt in the pantheon of all time celebrity girls I have liked. By the way, there is an eerily odd reverse correlation between celebrity girls I like most and the amount of times I’ve masturbated thinking of them. For example between three of the highest all time ranking members, Kaley Cuoco, Avril Lavigne and Stephanie Kralevich (local weather girl), I’ve masturbated a combined two times. Once each for Cuoco and Lavigne and not at all for Kralevich. The idea is that I like them so much that it was never a sexual fascinating but more that I liked them to the point where I figured I could actually be in a relationship with them. That’s crazy of course, and I know that now.
Now that I’ve spoken to real women in my life I know that celebrities aren’t hot shit (don’t use that phrase anymore) and that most celebrities aren’t that interesting. I would say that two of the only celebrities I could see myself dating are oddly Sienna Miller (if she didn’t keep going back to that fucker Jude Law and walk around with her shirt off) I think I could live with the second thing. And even more oddlyer Kristen Stewart. I don’t know what it is about her, but in interviews I’ve seen she seems weird, and that’s of course a turn on for me. Another girl I would throw on the list if I were more attracted to her is Megan Fox. I don’t know why, but I think me and her would get along really well, which is probably something I should be embarrassed about.
One last thing about the song. There’s a part in this song where she says, “I wanna go down,” and pauses for a moment before she continues with, “on one knee, marry you today.” When I first heard this song for the half second pause after saying “I wanna go down” I would have swore to the Lord that she was going to say after that “on you”. I laugh every time I hear that part of the song now. It wouldn’t have been entirely ill fitting. If she really loves the guy she’d go down on him. I maintain that at the sexual rate or growth our society is going in a matter of years going down on each other will be the new holding hands for couples. “Aw, look at that old couple going down on each other in the park. They’re so cute.”
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