Men have to emagine that women who talk to them are interested in a relationship. If not, they end up as lonely old men, old bachelors.
I, however, at 57, am seeing the adage creep up on me that says there is no fool like an old fool. I am not particularly loathsome. I still turn heads albeit older ones or imaginary. But acknowledging that there is no fool like an old one and that it may have applicability in my life will not stop the fantazies of imagined love.
I was on the bus compaigning for Obama. I was sitting by myself because people, in general, then to avoid me. I imagine it's because I don't convey friendliness very well but lately, after seeing pictures of myself taken from behind, I'be begun to think that maybe it's because I take up too much room (I'm more broad shouldered than most). Or, maybe it's pheromones--who knows what it is. The point was that there was an empty seat next to me and this really sexy young woman reporter sits next to me and begins to talk to the foreign TV crew behind me. I try my best to ignore her but after a few minutes she turns to me and asks me my name and what I'm doing there. We talk for a while. Each moment felt like an eternity while I struggled to appear interesting to her even mentioning my novel that had been collecting dust and lying about my employment status (semi-retired, I said).
She kept her knee against mine but I am more mature than to think that meant anything. We finished our conversation and she went on her way to interview others. On the trip back home, I was waiting in line to get on the bus. She was stalled at the front of line looking for the ticket that the driver was demanding from her. Now, here is a woman from a major New York magazine fummbling for her ticket. Do I offer her mine? That would have been the gallant thing to do. But neantherthal that I am, If I can't expect anything from a woman (remember, "no fool like an old fool" plays in my mind all the time now) why should I risk being stranded in PA because of a femme fatale? I felt like a cad when I handed the driver my ticket and passed her by without saying a thing. Hey, men can be gallant to women in need but when it comes to a woman whom they perceive as someone who would tell them to "bug off" if they so much as suspected a hit coming on, well, that's a decidedly different situation.
She finally got on board the bus. No doubt some truly gallant man came to her rescue--or, she found her ticket. It was getting dark and I saw her interviewing others. As I never expected her to talk to me again, I extinquished the overhead light that accentuated me in the darkened bus. Sure enough, as she made her way to the back of the bus, she passed me by. No suprise there, I thought to myself. A long time went by as I held my Obama sign against the bus window. Initially, some may have seen it but when we hit the highway and it got dark, it was doing no good to anyone.
About 15 minutes before we got to Port Authority, who sits down next to me but my lovely vixen. Actually, she sat on the arm rest. No doubt in a passively agressive stance. She asked how I had fared. I struggled again. She got up after a few more questions and thanked me. My eyes followed her and her bewitching smile and then I noticed how the smile turned to disgust. Was it my breath? Did she know I harbored lustful thoughts? What a trooper she was to smile throughout the interview. But human nature being what it is did not allow the followthrough in deception. Her disgust of me came through loud and clear.
Those were the thoughts I held as I decended the steps of the bus with my Obama sign. The driver, whose telephone number was being asked for by the reporter (for verificaiton purposes she told everyone), held out his hand to me and I thought, shit, now that's great. Now this guy thinks I can't get off the bus by myself and she's right there witnessing the whole fiasco. I descended, indignantly no doubt, without his help and went past the lovely without so much as a goodnight to her.
A few days later, I found the article she had posted online. I was graciously mentioned in the first paragraph. I emailed her to thank her and she curtly thanked me. No more, no less; just a lot of fool going on.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Share a house with in-laws and die a 1000 deaths
This is a tale of a castaway, been here for a long, long time; and the tale of how two men tolerated each other because of some unrelated reason. For me it was sex with his daughter--not much else. For him, it was fear of his wife and daughter and a sense that he knows, like any sensible man knows, the difference between right and wrong and nobody better question that inborn Russian programming. Everyone, including his closest relatives will tell you I have Ace figured out to a tee. Now, at 57 years of age, I've taken all the shit that I can take.
Ace, as we all do, has many human frailties but only two have irked me to any great extent: one, he is the sole arbiter of what should be thrown out without consulting with the owner; and, two, he's a scam artist of the highest echelons of deceit. He's thrown out many valuable items that belonged to me but, if it's a doll belonging to his daughter, that doll stays put.
So it was that my son came to look for the Weber grill I had salvaged from the trash at some apartment building where I was a kind of concierge. Ace, as it turns out, had thrown it out because it was "broke." Seems a wheel had popped out and it looked broke.
I took a Weber cover that I had bought and threw it near him saying, "Here's a new cover for that Weber you threw out."
"What barbecue grill?," he asked, buying time. When he couldn't come up with a suitable lie, he admitted that he threw it out on account of its condition. I told him it was my property and he should have asked. In short, he ended up calling me a dead beat and I pointed out the major financial points involving his daughter's insane doll acquisitions and his below-market rent. My mother-in-law unsuccessfully tried to subdue the discussion.
I'll not defend myself against deadbeat charges except to tell you what his own daughter said to me: "Oh, I see you and Grandpa had a fight. Don't worry about it, he calls everyone names. He called Maggie (our daughter) a slut." My wife keeps the peace, I think, because she knows that there is nothing keeping me from seeing a lawyer, and pocketing big bucks after the sale of the house and half her dolls. I told her things would be quite different from now on. I think I'll start by tacking 95 theses on our refrigerator.
The moral of the story is this: Life is too short to take shit from your in-laws no matter what they think they do for the extended family. Second moral, if you share a house with your in-laws you will die a thousand deaths.
Ace, as we all do, has many human frailties but only two have irked me to any great extent: one, he is the sole arbiter of what should be thrown out without consulting with the owner; and, two, he's a scam artist of the highest echelons of deceit. He's thrown out many valuable items that belonged to me but, if it's a doll belonging to his daughter, that doll stays put.
So it was that my son came to look for the Weber grill I had salvaged from the trash at some apartment building where I was a kind of concierge. Ace, as it turns out, had thrown it out because it was "broke." Seems a wheel had popped out and it looked broke.
I took a Weber cover that I had bought and threw it near him saying, "Here's a new cover for that Weber you threw out."
"What barbecue grill?," he asked, buying time. When he couldn't come up with a suitable lie, he admitted that he threw it out on account of its condition. I told him it was my property and he should have asked. In short, he ended up calling me a dead beat and I pointed out the major financial points involving his daughter's insane doll acquisitions and his below-market rent. My mother-in-law unsuccessfully tried to subdue the discussion.
I'll not defend myself against deadbeat charges except to tell you what his own daughter said to me: "Oh, I see you and Grandpa had a fight. Don't worry about it, he calls everyone names. He called Maggie (our daughter) a slut." My wife keeps the peace, I think, because she knows that there is nothing keeping me from seeing a lawyer, and pocketing big bucks after the sale of the house and half her dolls. I told her things would be quite different from now on. I think I'll start by tacking 95 theses on our refrigerator.
The moral of the story is this: Life is too short to take shit from your in-laws no matter what they think they do for the extended family. Second moral, if you share a house with your in-laws you will die a thousand deaths.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The end of Love
I am 57. It recently occurred to me that I was at the end of my rope when it came to sexual attractiveness. Lately, I've been ignoring pretty faces I meet randomly in public. I'm hoping that I'll be able to accomplish more in life without daydreaming about that pretty female that used to capture my attention not too long ago. I know, it's sour grapes. I agree. But to tell you the truth, what else is there? I know that even if a Kathryn Hepburn came along (she had an Electra complex), I would not know how to proceed. Basically, what I'm saying is that my needs today are for money sufficient enough to hire Governor Spitzer's ex-girlfriend--to bad I can't barter with her.
Friday, May 09, 2008
The love takes a dive
Well, here I am at 57. I can't remember the last time the female thrilled me. In retrospect, I, as any thinking man, would have opted for no sex. Sure, it's great but it's no more than a biological switch that ensures the procreation of the species. If sex were not a beautiful sensual thing, would we want it? If it didn't tickle some unseen underarm, would it still control our every being?
The answer is easy. We don't need it. It's just a recreational drug. What can man do without it? Plenty! To obviate that addiction is to devote an extra decade or two to anything more worthwhile.
The answer is easy. We don't need it. It's just a recreational drug. What can man do without it? Plenty! To obviate that addiction is to devote an extra decade or two to anything more worthwhile.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
DYFS
Well, you might never think that you and Dyfs would ever lock horns but I"m here to tell you that it could very well happen to your.
I was in my basement apartment minding my own business when my 21-year old son comes into the room and tells me that Dyfs is upstairs and wants to speak to me. My 14 year old daughter also comes in with her face downtrodden. My son tells me that my daughter has fabricated this story that I hit her in the face while drunk. I call her a moron and ask her to leave.
Backtrack: I see my daughter about one week earlier and ask her how she got that bruise on her face. She tells me that it was a pimple that she squeezed a bit too hard. I tell her to tell me the truth for the bruise looked like a black eye. I tell her that no man should ever hit a woman--I thought that maybe a boyfriend hit her.
A few days later, the mother of my daughter's girlfriend comes by to ask my son Andre what's up with the bruise. My son tells this woman that I am incapable of hitting anyone in the family. The woman, who, according to my son walked as if she were inebriated, proceeds to call the H.S. to tell them that she had heard from her daughter that I had hit my daughter while in a drunken stupor.
The school calls dyfs and they come, interview, and decide that I will not be prosecuted for my daughter and family members testify on my behalf. However, it is Dyfs 'policy' that whenever alcohol ingestion and violence are even remotely associated, the perpetrator should take a drug test. I agreed to take the test but after days had gone by, I realized that I was the victim and that I should not give in to their 'policy.'
I told them that the governement had no right to lead innocent people by the nose just because of some 'policy.' The social worker told me that they would have to seek a court order. I told them that I would see them in court.
My background: Eight children with one wife. No history of abuse. History of coming to their aid when the school system jeopardized their future. No teetotaler but not one whose anger increases with alcohol consumption. On the contrary, I mellow out with alcohol.
I await the trial in front of a judge.
Angel
PS My daughter was examined by a doctor who said that the bruise was self-inflicted. She is now in therapy.
I was in my basement apartment minding my own business when my 21-year old son comes into the room and tells me that Dyfs is upstairs and wants to speak to me. My 14 year old daughter also comes in with her face downtrodden. My son tells me that my daughter has fabricated this story that I hit her in the face while drunk. I call her a moron and ask her to leave.
Backtrack: I see my daughter about one week earlier and ask her how she got that bruise on her face. She tells me that it was a pimple that she squeezed a bit too hard. I tell her to tell me the truth for the bruise looked like a black eye. I tell her that no man should ever hit a woman--I thought that maybe a boyfriend hit her.
A few days later, the mother of my daughter's girlfriend comes by to ask my son Andre what's up with the bruise. My son tells this woman that I am incapable of hitting anyone in the family. The woman, who, according to my son walked as if she were inebriated, proceeds to call the H.S. to tell them that she had heard from her daughter that I had hit my daughter while in a drunken stupor.
The school calls dyfs and they come, interview, and decide that I will not be prosecuted for my daughter and family members testify on my behalf. However, it is Dyfs 'policy' that whenever alcohol ingestion and violence are even remotely associated, the perpetrator should take a drug test. I agreed to take the test but after days had gone by, I realized that I was the victim and that I should not give in to their 'policy.'
I told them that the governement had no right to lead innocent people by the nose just because of some 'policy.' The social worker told me that they would have to seek a court order. I told them that I would see them in court.
My background: Eight children with one wife. No history of abuse. History of coming to their aid when the school system jeopardized their future. No teetotaler but not one whose anger increases with alcohol consumption. On the contrary, I mellow out with alcohol.
I await the trial in front of a judge.
Angel
PS My daughter was examined by a doctor who said that the bruise was self-inflicted. She is now in therapy.
Linux
Surrender
I've given up on using Linux. Not that I spent any appreciable amount of time learning it or using it but having struggled with Microsoft all these years, I just don't have the motivation to switch OS because you reach a point where your present OS (XP) is behaving and you can use your favorite programs without interruption. I gave it a shot but Linux lacks a primer for Microsoft users. We, need to know how to do in Linux what we did in Microsoft. How do I download. How do I execute. how do I find. These questions should be answered by Linux implementations if they ever hope to gain ground.
Forwell oh Linux. N'er did I know thee well.
# posted by callejero @ 9:15 AM 0 comments
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Linux Trial
Well, I caame into the possession of a Pentium II Dell and decided to try installing Linux--just in case Microsoft got to me with its expense, vulnerability, lack of speed, intrusiveness, and downright un-American monopolizing.
I went to a site called Budget Linux CDs and picked up three different Linux versions: Mandrake 10.0, Yellow Dog Linux 3.01 and Wlx 1.0. It couldn't have been easier OR cheaper at a buck or two per CD. The purpose of the site is to spread the use of Linux and they are doing a great job.
I put in my Mandrake CD and started her up. The dell started executing the Mandrake CD and told me that I didn't have a hard drive. Well, luckily, I had one laying around and decided to try it out on the Dell. I started her up again and the software read the HD to discover that it didn't have a partition. This was not surprising as I had wiped the HD when Windows last misbehaved. Mandrake asked if I wanted to Partition the drive. I said yes and and it presented me with a recommended partition which I accepted but which I could have changed in inumerable ways. At this point, I could have opted for a DOS-16, DOS-32, Linux and dozens of others at any size I chose. I went with the Mandrake recommendation and the software proceeded with the installation which took about 30 minutes. After, some easy configuration options where I picked out the first UI listed (KBE), I rebooted.
[NEXT: What I saw on the desktop]
# posted by callejero @ 3:30 PM 6 comments
I've given up on using Linux. Not that I spent any appreciable amount of time learning it or using it but having struggled with Microsoft all these years, I just don't have the motivation to switch OS because you reach a point where your present OS (XP) is behaving and you can use your favorite programs without interruption. I gave it a shot but Linux lacks a primer for Microsoft users. We, need to know how to do in Linux what we did in Microsoft. How do I download. How do I execute. how do I find. These questions should be answered by Linux implementations if they ever hope to gain ground.
Forwell oh Linux. N'er did I know thee well.
# posted by callejero @ 9:15 AM 0 comments
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Linux Trial
Well, I caame into the possession of a Pentium II Dell and decided to try installing Linux--just in case Microsoft got to me with its expense, vulnerability, lack of speed, intrusiveness, and downright un-American monopolizing.
I went to a site called Budget Linux CDs and picked up three different Linux versions: Mandrake 10.0, Yellow Dog Linux 3.01 and Wlx 1.0. It couldn't have been easier OR cheaper at a buck or two per CD. The purpose of the site is to spread the use of Linux and they are doing a great job.
I put in my Mandrake CD and started her up. The dell started executing the Mandrake CD and told me that I didn't have a hard drive. Well, luckily, I had one laying around and decided to try it out on the Dell. I started her up again and the software read the HD to discover that it didn't have a partition. This was not surprising as I had wiped the HD when Windows last misbehaved. Mandrake asked if I wanted to Partition the drive. I said yes and and it presented me with a recommended partition which I accepted but which I could have changed in inumerable ways. At this point, I could have opted for a DOS-16, DOS-32, Linux and dozens of others at any size I chose. I went with the Mandrake recommendation and the software proceeded with the installation which took about 30 minutes. After, some easy configuration options where I picked out the first UI listed (KBE), I rebooted.
[NEXT: What I saw on the desktop]
# posted by callejero @ 3:30 PM 6 comments
Thursday, November 24, 2005
The List
Angel Jimenez. His own erotic fantasies. Union City, NJ. 1955
Two 6-7 year olds back in the late 1950's whose mother caught my friend and me experimenting with her daughters in Union City, NJ. Thanks to their brother spilling the beans and opening the garage door just as we were in the act. I don't think she saw much because we never heard from the mother but then, neither did we see the girls again.
Beverly H. and her sister Barbara. Both a little older than me. Nothing except fantasies. Union City, NJ. An older boyfriend of theirs had this really great bike with fat wheels (conventionally fat), multi-colored tassles hanging from the bars and every accessory imaginable--you could palpate the envy here. I never knew if it was because of the bike or because of the mount.
Nancy and Ramona from Washington School in Union City, New Jersey. I was way too timid to even look them in the eye.
A beautiful girl from Union Hill HS who lived on 48th Street, Union City, NJ, or thereabouts. Again, I was too timid.
Marcia J. from Rutherford. First or second date. One timer. I wasn't aggressive enough with her or I sent her a 45 she didn't like or her parents didn't think much of me. Whatever. She did have the nerve to go out in a snow storm with me to a disco in NY. When we came back, she kept asking, "Is that all?" Boy was I stupid then. I beat out George Costanza on that one. I thought it was important to be a gentleman on your first date.
Anita P. First or second date. One timer. My first and only date with "big'ums." Moved to Florida and that was the end of it. I would have made inroads, especially post-Marcia, but Anita was Portuguese (I think) and those people like many believed in chaperons.
Dianne. College. Sophomore year. Lost my virginity to this very sexy lady. Oddly enough I never accepted deviant sex from her even though it was to become the norm in my life.
MJ. Married her. Still there. She had what I always needed. A pretty face and a svelte bod with never an objection. Lesson to married couples: let your man stray and he'll always return home. Wifes, please understand that it's different with the female because of biological principles--you must not stray during the child-rearing years. The husband is jealous because this emotion minimizes the possibility that he will be stuck caring for a child half of whose DNA belongs to another man.
Paula. College. Senior year. Greek lovely whose feet I enjoyed massaging. Alas, MJ had captured my heart. There was also this lovely blond at a performing arts class that I took but MJ had captured my heart. Had MJ not come along, these would have been very fair game indeed and I may have married either one of them instead of MJ.
Teresa. Work-related. A few lunches. A horse ride where she demonstrated how sexually liberated she could be with horses. I gave her a painting of horses I had done. She was more interested in my friend John, though. After she was let go by my boss, I never saw her again.
Mary and Lydia. A resurgence of puppy love. Lydia's boyfriend once called me to say that if I ever again made a move on Lydia (I had kissed her on the cheek), she would tell Personnel about it.
Michelle. Was there soon after my wife's infidelity. She was engaged though and always thought of me as a fossil. Just a super subtle flirt who knew how to keep me in check. She was a good person though. She got her mother to give us diapers and ointment for one of our kids. Most importantly for me, she never threatened me with a trip to Personnel.
Annie. An odd situation. The only inkling that flirtation was going on was that she parked near me. But I convinced myself that it was only coincidental.
Susie. Married to a cop. Never even touched. Didn't know if she flirted back but I imagined she did. My biggest excitement came when I saw her and her husband at a company picnic at Great Adventures. At one point, I saw her arguing with her husband on the line to the cable car. At the other end, there she was, alone on a crowded bench wearing eyeglasses. What did I imagine? That she was trying to make her husband jealous and was setting me up for a confrontation with him. I never looked at her the same way again although she remains in my top three.
Recently (Summer/Fall 2007), I started to exercise at James Braddock park in North Bergen. My radar was still functioning and I found myself staring and wishing once again. There was this slim younger blond but she was always with this androgynous person. There were a few Russian "wives" that always tickle my fancy. One was with an obese man--they never returned. One read magazines at a bench and, at one time, she looked at me directly and started to dance to her ipod but I was never one for the improvisational flirtation and I just looked at her and passed her by. I think I hurt her sense of femininity and she never returned.
Then, there was the homosexual. I know he was interested in me because he was always around even when I altered my schedule to confound him. I've never been one to tell gays to kiss off, preferring, instead, to ignore them while hoping they go away. This one never did and I had to severely change my habits for him to get the message. It got so bad that I was considering wearing a left ear lobe earing and, at one point, I asked him if he had seen the nice hottie that was seated on a particular bench the day before--he hadn't of course. Older gays are such sad creatures. Civil unions should be legal for what life is it to always be in search of your next partner? That is not to say that homosexuals do not philander but it seems to be less of a problem because when you see a gay couple they tend to be an exclusive number.
I came across a picture of a copywriter and I wrote her to tell her how she reminded me of Paula the Greek. Alas, she was married and way too young for me. But a true lady; responding to my email with all the charm and good sense of a southern woman although she herself was Northwestern.
Two 6-7 year olds back in the late 1950's whose mother caught my friend and me experimenting with her daughters in Union City, NJ. Thanks to their brother spilling the beans and opening the garage door just as we were in the act. I don't think she saw much because we never heard from the mother but then, neither did we see the girls again.
Beverly H. and her sister Barbara. Both a little older than me. Nothing except fantasies. Union City, NJ. An older boyfriend of theirs had this really great bike with fat wheels (conventionally fat), multi-colored tassles hanging from the bars and every accessory imaginable--you could palpate the envy here. I never knew if it was because of the bike or because of the mount.
Nancy and Ramona from Washington School in Union City, New Jersey. I was way too timid to even look them in the eye.
A beautiful girl from Union Hill HS who lived on 48th Street, Union City, NJ, or thereabouts. Again, I was too timid.
Marcia J. from Rutherford. First or second date. One timer. I wasn't aggressive enough with her or I sent her a 45 she didn't like or her parents didn't think much of me. Whatever. She did have the nerve to go out in a snow storm with me to a disco in NY. When we came back, she kept asking, "Is that all?" Boy was I stupid then. I beat out George Costanza on that one. I thought it was important to be a gentleman on your first date.
Anita P. First or second date. One timer. My first and only date with "big'ums." Moved to Florida and that was the end of it. I would have made inroads, especially post-Marcia, but Anita was Portuguese (I think) and those people like many believed in chaperons.
Dianne. College. Sophomore year. Lost my virginity to this very sexy lady. Oddly enough I never accepted deviant sex from her even though it was to become the norm in my life.
MJ. Married her. Still there. She had what I always needed. A pretty face and a svelte bod with never an objection. Lesson to married couples: let your man stray and he'll always return home. Wifes, please understand that it's different with the female because of biological principles--you must not stray during the child-rearing years. The husband is jealous because this emotion minimizes the possibility that he will be stuck caring for a child half of whose DNA belongs to another man.
Paula. College. Senior year. Greek lovely whose feet I enjoyed massaging. Alas, MJ had captured my heart. There was also this lovely blond at a performing arts class that I took but MJ had captured my heart. Had MJ not come along, these would have been very fair game indeed and I may have married either one of them instead of MJ.
Teresa. Work-related. A few lunches. A horse ride where she demonstrated how sexually liberated she could be with horses. I gave her a painting of horses I had done. She was more interested in my friend John, though. After she was let go by my boss, I never saw her again.
Mary and Lydia. A resurgence of puppy love. Lydia's boyfriend once called me to say that if I ever again made a move on Lydia (I had kissed her on the cheek), she would tell Personnel about it.
Michelle. Was there soon after my wife's infidelity. She was engaged though and always thought of me as a fossil. Just a super subtle flirt who knew how to keep me in check. She was a good person though. She got her mother to give us diapers and ointment for one of our kids. Most importantly for me, she never threatened me with a trip to Personnel.
Annie. An odd situation. The only inkling that flirtation was going on was that she parked near me. But I convinced myself that it was only coincidental.
Susie. Married to a cop. Never even touched. Didn't know if she flirted back but I imagined she did. My biggest excitement came when I saw her and her husband at a company picnic at Great Adventures. At one point, I saw her arguing with her husband on the line to the cable car. At the other end, there she was, alone on a crowded bench wearing eyeglasses. What did I imagine? That she was trying to make her husband jealous and was setting me up for a confrontation with him. I never looked at her the same way again although she remains in my top three.
Recently (Summer/Fall 2007), I started to exercise at James Braddock park in North Bergen. My radar was still functioning and I found myself staring and wishing once again. There was this slim younger blond but she was always with this androgynous person. There were a few Russian "wives" that always tickle my fancy. One was with an obese man--they never returned. One read magazines at a bench and, at one time, she looked at me directly and started to dance to her ipod but I was never one for the improvisational flirtation and I just looked at her and passed her by. I think I hurt her sense of femininity and she never returned.
Then, there was the homosexual. I know he was interested in me because he was always around even when I altered my schedule to confound him. I've never been one to tell gays to kiss off, preferring, instead, to ignore them while hoping they go away. This one never did and I had to severely change my habits for him to get the message. It got so bad that I was considering wearing a left ear lobe earing and, at one point, I asked him if he had seen the nice hottie that was seated on a particular bench the day before--he hadn't of course. Older gays are such sad creatures. Civil unions should be legal for what life is it to always be in search of your next partner? That is not to say that homosexuals do not philander but it seems to be less of a problem because when you see a gay couple they tend to be an exclusive number.
I came across a picture of a copywriter and I wrote her to tell her how she reminded me of Paula the Greek. Alas, she was married and way too young for me. But a true lady; responding to my email with all the charm and good sense of a southern woman although she herself was Northwestern.
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