I made a dish that I still haven't named, which makes it a bit difficult to explain to the home insurance people what happened.
Like any good homemaker with a budget in mind, I saved the leftovers in the fridge. Curse the bastard who invented cling wrap. It’s so difficult to use!
I'll keep writing. I had tried to go to bed, but the way I made the bed made it impossible for me to get under the covers. That is another one of the difficulties of being homemaker. I have to practice more. But not today. After all, I've been sleeping in the bed without making it beforehand for several days. It's fine if I sleep one day on the sofa.
Published by Felix at 12:45 a.m. * Post a comment
Friday, June 1
After digestion
It's been a terrible evening. The insurance people told me to go ahead and buy a new rug, that they don't understand how the fire travelled all the way to the living room, and that they'll wait to see what the expert says when they send one over. I heard laughing in the background, but I didn't pay much attention. In that type of office, the people minding the phones are probably watching TV. I have other things to think about.
Tomorrow, if I remember correctly, I will write about why I'm slowly losing my shirts (the washer is a hellish invention) and how the ones I have are very poorly ironed. It's possible I'll also write about how sad it is to see your fridge empty or how dangerous it is to wash the dishes. Let's not get into that now. I'll only say that I discovered that the apartment has a dishwasher.
I'm not feeling proud of my abilities because I'm not doing very well, but I think I have what it takes, and one day I'll become the homemaker that every woman wants. Then, my life will change.
Published by Felix at 12:22 a.m. * Post a comment
Monday, June 4
Blog for sale
This blog is for sale. The story of my life is for sale, cheap, to see if someone can make something of it, whether as a best-selling book or a bittersweet comedy on film, so that young couples who have no idea what's in store for them go see it. The few hopes I had left of navigating the twists and turns of life with the poor medicine of the written word, of letting go of my pain here little by little, are for sale.
This morning, Lolo, the bastard, caught me just when I was about to start writing on my blog. Not only did the son-of-a laugh, but he said keeping a diary was for little girls and then snitched to all the guys. When I went to grab a coffee, the coffeemaker chorus burst out laughing and made comments like, Hi, Anne Frank, or were sarcastic like Juan Carlos: Do you mention anything about "what we had" in your diary? In short, there was a bit of everything. I grabbed my coffee and didn't even put sugar in it. I escaped to go shut myself up in my office, but needless to say I've never felt more stared at than during the walk there.
I have two choices: abandon the blog or look for some design option that only lets me read it. I could also (why not?) sell it to the film industry, like I said in the beginning. That way, when seen on the big screen, even though it's a very real story, nobody will believe it...
Offers accepted.
Published by Felix at 12:34 a.m. * Post comment
Tuesday, June 5
Climate change
I just got home after a nauseating day at work.
To start, I opened my appointment book in the morning and saw an inscription highlighted in yellow: Don't schedule any meetings. Then I remembered. It was recycling course day. As luck would have it, or rather as required by law, our company has an environmental officer in each branch. Ours is a weird guy who I don't like very much; he's always in jeans and he never says hello to anyone in the hallways except to his own circle of collaborators.
The worst part is that environmental issues are so hot right now that this guy succeeded in getting the greenlight from management to entertain the entire workforce with courses in civic-environmental education. In principle, I don't have anything against him. I always separated what little waste we generated at home, being two people who ate out a lot, and I even made sure we bought a loft with guaranteed energy efficiency, but it doesn't seem fair to me to make nine hundred employees, in groups of fifty, lose an entire day of work when there are so many projects underway.
And that's not the worst part. The worst part is how many hours the course lasts and the incredibly pessimistic message that it imparts (which reminds me of movies like The Day After or Schindler's List, to name some distressing examples). I spent all day looking at images of what will become of us if we survive the car exhaust and the pollution emitted by factories that manufacture...anything, really. They all pollute.
I hardly ate lunch, thinking about all the packaging that the cafeteria sandwiches are wrapped in, which most likely can’t be recycled, thinking that the world would be ruined by opening a pack of peanuts, looking to see if it had the little arrow symbols that says it's recyclable.
Later, the afternoon was a headache, trying to imagine if it was even possible to memorize the twelve different kinds of containers (with their twelve different colors) that are going to be placed in the building.
Then, I went home, exhausted, and attempted to forget what I had just learned, attempted to think about myself.
The only climate change that I care about is loneliness, which is resulting in an unprecedented global warming inside of me.
Published by Felix at 12:02 a.m. * Post a comment
Wednesday, June 6
Episode IV: A new hope
I'm no longer so so so bad at being a homemaker, and once I have it down pat, it’ll be time for me to get my act together in other areas of my life. It's not that I'm constantly thinking about it (even though the loneliness and the self-love are becoming really hard), it's not that I'm thinking about jumping into a new relationship (I'm not ready for that! For God's sake!), but I often think that it wouldn't be so bad if I went out with some girl every once in a while, even if just to get over my fear of women. I don't know if I'll be up to the task. In any case, I have to update my firmware.
Joaquin has set me up on a date. I don't know where he got that idea. Today, when I returned from a meeting with some Asian clients, I found a note on my desk. It said: On Thursday, make sure you're showered and ready by 9 p.m. You're eating dinner at my place (dinner with dessert). I don't know if I began to tremble or I burst out laughing. "Dinner with dessert" means "guaranteed sex" in masculine slang (I say this in case either heaven or hell has sent me any readers), and knowing Joaquin, he wouldn't be arranging a blind date for me—and a double date, no less—with just anyone.
I don't know if it was the promise of meeting someone or the word "dessert," but having to get ready to go out has completely broken me of my routine. Suddenly, I feel like new. New. Could this be the beginning of the rest of my story?
Suddenly, I feel like chickening out. I don't know if I'm ready for a date (I don't think I ever have been). I don't understand women. Does anyone understand women? They're very complicated, with their rituals... They wear double the clothing that men do, and there are more things in their bag than in Doraemon’s magic pocket!
Published by Felix at 12:20 a.m. * Post a comment
Thursday, June 7
Prelude to a kiss
I can't sleep. Tomorrow is The Dinner. I'm really nervous.
I can't picture a better place to meet a girl than Joaquin's apartment. It has some fabulous views. We'll definitely eat dinner on the balcony. He's a guy who knows how to do things right, when he wants. He'll light candles in the dining room and order something expensive because neither of us cook. Yes, we'll definitely eat dinner on the balcony. He often says that when he wants something from his wife, he fills the balcony with candles.
I know this isn't going to turn out well. In the end, I'll get there late or I'll stick my foot in it. Just in case, I've been deciding for the last two hours on a tie, one that doesn't make me look stupid or stuffy, and a well-ironed matching shirt.
(Note to self: Find out if they offer ironing lessons
online. Better if they're not in-person.)
Published by Felix at 12:28 a.m. * Post a comment
Friday, June 8
M, the curtain of smoke
Hello damn diary,
Tonight's dinner was a mgrrwxklkjstxkx! Joaquin had a slight cold, so we ate dinner in the smallest room of his gi-gan-tic apartment. This wouldn't have been a big deal if it didn't so happen that the girl who I was set up smoked like a chimney all night.
I might seem like a jerk, but I can't remember her name. I know that she told me it. Joaquin's wife told me it. Look, this is... just as she exhaled her smoke, I breathed it in and a toxic cloud of tobacco invaded my virgin lungs, and I fell into the most agonizing coughing fit I've ever had. I remember that I sat down and someone brought me a glass of water. She leaned over at my side, worried, and I was able to see not only that she was exhibiting world-record cleavage, but also that she had beautiful eyes. My own were still glassy from the smoke, but I gave her a smile in return for her concern. I'm fine... I responded, trying to figure out her name. She smiled and said, M... (I coughed) I'm M... (more coughing). I never learned her name the entire dinner.
Besides that, things got off to a good start. We drank a little wine, made small talk and Joaquin told a couple of jokes and then had to explain them for half an hour. He always does that: tell a joke and then explain it, again and again, until you can't remember why you found it funny to begin with.
They had ordered Thai food. Good, I said to myself. I was beginning to miss Asian food, Chinese, my eastern family... But I wasn't able to savor the flavors of nam pla. Not only was there smoke floating in the air, but the female guest lit cigarette after cigarette between dishes, showing off her superhuman skill of being able to talk while smoking. I only managed to get some air when Joaquin's wife, who I thought had quit, said, Let's go have a cigarette on the balcony, and they both disappeared in search of an ecosystem more suitable for life.
Joaquin pounced on me, asking what I thought about the girl, but all I could say was that I had hardly been able to get a good look at her through the curtain of smoke that separated us. He burst out laughing. The bastard doesn't know when someone is being serious.
And he didn't let the night end there. He poured us a drink and insisted on another and another and another until the girl without a name said she had to work the next day and was going to call a taxi. Joaquin elbowed me, leaving me short of breath. Trying to survive, I gasped, gulping in all of the smoke that was floating in the room.
So I had to drive the girl home with the window rolled down, despite her protests. We made it without her catching a cold. Idling in front of her building, she brought up who knows how many topics of conversation to delay getting out. At my age, I know when a girl is trying to "connect" with me. At some point, she ran her hand through my hair and I shivered. I should have taken off running right then, because I knew she planned to kiss me and I could only think about her smoker's breath (well, and about her cleavage, which was coming closer and becoming more and more visible with each passing moment, but mostly about her breath).
Finally, she asked if I wanted to come up. I couldn't see anything other than...she was trying to light another cigarette! And in one quick and deadly maneuver, I got out of the car, opened the passenger door for her, admired her incredible anatomy as she exited, and while she dug around for her keys, I jumped back in and disappeared at full speed, cutting her off mid-(smoky) sentence.
I know that I shouldn't be picky if I want to find a girl to spend the rest of my life with, or at least a few hours one night, but there are certain things I just can't do.
Published by Felix at 1:29 a.m. * Post a comment
Monday, June 11
A time of love and hope
This is going to be my Week of Sex. Sure, it's possible that the girl from Thursday wasn't a good idea, but I've made a decision. I don't want my youth to pass me by (I'm thirty-five, after all) without knowing what it's like to be successful at this. This morning, I woke up determined to start calling the girls on Lolo's list (from now on, The List) until one of them succumbs to my charms (or whatever it is I have that's similar).
When I first saw that list, I never thought that I would be desperate enough to call one of his girls. I've never known how to "hook up." I've met women and I've ended up becoming involved with them, but I can't say that I know how I did it.
And I might never know because (dammit!) I've searched the entire apartment for The List and I can't find it. It's not in any pockets or in any drawers or in any jackets or in any folders. I'm going to call Lolo. I hope he's not sleeping.
I'm back. Fortunately, Lolo was awake and has promised to help me. He swears that tomorrow night I'll be going out to dinner (or something more...or something less) with a stunning girl. Lolo says he has the Gym Technique.
Published by Felix at 12:27 a.m. * Post a comment
Tuesday, June 12
In Lolo's shadow
Okay, I've now tried the Gym Technique. To be exact, Lolo used it and I came away with a girl, but as usual, not everything happened as I expected.
Dear damn diary, do you want to know what happened?
Every afternoon, Lolo goes to the same gym as I do (well, where I used to go), but he goes to spinning class and I go to stare at myself in the mirror. I had to go back there sooner or later to lose the belly I've developed thanks to a diet of egg rolls, rice and Ants Climbing a Tree, so I agreed and this afternoon I went straight to the gym after work.
Needless to say, Lolo knows what to do. We were there for ten minutes when the guy goes and manages to "stumble" into two athletic girls, tell them a joke, introduce himself and propose going out for a beer after they finished their aerobics class (he knows how to pick them).
Of course, they said yes. We went to one of those trendy places that are open at all hours and nibbled on starters while we drank beer. I didn't follow the conversation because between the noise and Lolo's jokes, which I never understand, time moved very slowly. At some point, Lolo got up and left with the girl who I had chosen for myself, saying that he was going to take her home. That's when it all happened.
The second girl assumed that I was also going to take her home. She never takes her car to the gym. To stretch her legs or to guarantee that she'll go home with somebody? I didn't dare ask her, but I noticed she was almost as attractive as her friend. I couldn't stop myself. I tried to feel out the situation with a couple exploratory sentences, and she promised me directly, Let's have one last drink at my place and afterward, who knows?
Afterward, well, afterward everything went down the tubes because the girl had one last drink and became incredibly friendly, threw me over the sofa under the watchful eye of her one-hundred-pound pit bull, and stayed incredibly close in order to show me everything she had learned in her massage classes, two yoga positions included. I was starting to think about how I could make the most of such flexibility, but I couldn't keep up with her. Since I had arrived and her dog had smelled me, the canine hadn't taken its eyes off me for a second. I sat on the sofa and it growled, I tried to move my hand closer to the girl and it growled. It was impossible like this.
And when a girl shows off all of her talents and you aren't even able to get one erection in forty-five minutes, it's normal that she tells you goodbye without a promise that she'll call you.
(Note to self: Always bring up the topic of dogs with women in an offhand way and weed out the owners of pit bulls and other dangerous mutts).
Published by Felix at 12:40 a.m. * Post a comment
Wednesday, June 13
In Lolo's shadow (part two)
My friend Lolo is a guy who never loses hope. If you give up on the first chase, that's the end of the human race, he always says, as if he sleeps around to support the survival of the species.
So today, we gave the gym strategy another go, avoiding, of course, the aerobics class. This time, I discovered the stationary bikes. As soon as we entered, Lolo push
ed me to the back row, and I admit that for a long time I was cracking up at his comments about the butts moving and pedaling in front of us. Look, that ass is a ten. That one, however, is an eight and a half. I'm convinced that if Lolo were to compete in the Tour de France (and it were coed), he would always come in behind some woman.
The fun ended when we found a pair of buns that were worth one hundred and ninety points (out of ten). She has small tits, my friend said, but with that ass you can't not give it a try. So he arranged for me to strike up a conversation with her.
Now I'm home, alone. The girl just left and I feel frustrated. It's been yet another disaster. I sure know how to choose women. Should I stop trusting my friend...or his tastes?
In the beginning, it was fine, and the girl didn't raise any objections when I declined a drink (I lied, saying I don't drink), and I pretended to be a catch, telling her that I cook. She agreed to come back to my apartment. The decor didn't scare her. She understood that I was moving. Later, she was even more understanding when I "cooked" up the remains of a salad and some sandwiches. Really, she said, I was just waiting to see if you would kiss me.
It was the most rousing thing anyone had ever said to me, but all that audacity evaporated when, after making our way to the bed while kissing, touching and trying to undress each other, she confessed that she was "really shy" and preferred to do it with the lights off...because it was the first time we would "see" each other, etc. etc.
I feared the worst (that after taking off her clothes I would discover a guy underneath), but what did happen was the most boring sex I've ever had in my life. Not because I wasn't into it or because she was nervous, but the thing is I had already noticed in the gym with a shirt on that she had small breasts, and I have to admit that with the lights off I couldn't find them.
Diary of an Ugly, Recently Divorced Man Page 4