I make a pretty good living. I live alone. I spend the majority of my time alone, in fact. Every once in a while I’ll think that I should get a Real Doll.

A Real Doll, if you don’t know, is, well, a sex doll. Unlike the inflatable ones that bob along with a look of perpetual surprise, Real Dolls look kind of human. At least, if you’re not looking too closely it looks like a real person. And they’ve got a sort of skeleton so they’re posable. And life size.

My apartment is small. Very small. Sometimes the maintainance people come in for whatever reason. Like, inspections or whatever. Usually I have a few hours notice, but sometimes an emergency comes up.

I wonder how embarrasing it would be to have a Real Doll sitting around when they came by. I guess I could shove it in the closet; there’s barely enough room for that. Or maybe I could leave it out sitting on the couch (in clothes). Maybe that would freak ‘em out.

As long as they didn’t use it. That would be kind of gross. And disappointing. I mean, if I spend a lot of money on a sex doll, I expect it to be faithful to me. Is that too much to ask?

Sure, I know what you’re thinking. I’m just a super horny guy willing to pay money for a person-looking mannequin to get his rocks off. But it’s not just about that. No, it’s a bit worse and it makes me question my sanity a little bit.

It would be nice, see, to have someone else around. Even if she didn’t talk much. Or move much. And, hopefully given the situation, didn’t talk very much. She could even be in the bed as I slept which seems like it would be better than having a big bed all to myself.

I would not take her out to dinner or a movie. Or put her in the car so I can use the carpool lane. She would strictly be a homebody. That seems a bit sane, yes? Maybe?

Much like anything else I think about buying, it’ll never happen. I have a hard time ponying up the money for a computer I want, I’m not going to spend twice as much for something like that.



I don’t like to brag or show off. No, it’s true. Whenever I do, something is apt to go wrong. Like, if I had someone in the car with me and was all like, “Check out how fast this car takes off from a stoplight,” then, when I hit the gas something would happen to make me look foolish. Like the transmission falling out. Or pistons shooting up through the hood. Stuff like that.

I’ve been a bit quiet lately because I’ve had some health issues. They cropped up right after I mentioned that I still had, at least, decent health. So, there you go. It’s nothing serious (so far that I know about), but it’s one thing that’s followed by something else that’s found that requires another visit to a different doctor, etc, etc, etc.

I went to a dermatologist yesterday to see about a mole. Everyone was nice to me. Really nice. The dermatologist herself treated me as if I were some kind of celebrity and kept saying how nice it was to meet me. She was cute. She was younger than me.

And that’s when you start to feel really old. Not just that everyone else is younger than you, but that people are nice to you. I wonder if I were ten, fifteen, years younger if she would have treated me the same (assuming that she was the same age). I think people tend to forget that, despite a large age difference, people still have an active sex drive and that it’s fairly common for older people to find younger people attractive.

I’m still waiting for the announcement that ‘they’ have figured out how to extend life and keep people looking younger longer. I actually don’t think it’s that far out; maybe not in my lifetime, but maybe not much longer than that. Which would figure.

But age is weird, anyway. Living from birth to age 30 seems like a really long time. Living from 30 to 60… yeah, it doesn’t seem that long at all. For most of your life you’re old, which is why it’s amusing to us to watch the younger generation act all high and mighty. Like thinking old people shouldn’t be on the Internet. Or lording over their mastery of SnapChat. Whatever that is.

That’s the way it goes, though.


Girls weren’t into me in school but I believed that one day, maybe through work or something, I find a great woman and we’d go out for a while and then we’d get married.

We would have a child or two and live out in the suburbs. I’d do dad things like play catch, throw a football around, get suckered into tea parties with Mr. Flopsy and Mrs. Patchquilt. My wife would do wife things and make me do wife things just to be fair.

We’d have friends and throw New Years parties and Halloween parties and have family over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We would head off on vacations and have fun but tiring times.

The kids would get married and have kids of their own and we’d do the grandparent thing and spoil the kids rotten.

At some point, I guess, I would pass away surrounded by my family.

None of that happened. I have been married, but they never worked out very well. I never had kids of my own. I don’t even have friends so there’s no point in throwing parties.

Some people have no regrets; I have nothing but. I wouldn’t recommend it.


Wherein I make a decision and then rescind that decision and do quite a lot of waffling about it.

My life isn’t terrible. Granted, I don’t have any friends (not true, I have 1 1/2 friends), I don’t have family that cares about me (mostly true, but not entirely), I don’t have a family of my own (totally true), and women, as a rule, don’t care for me very much.

Unlike some people, however, I have a job and a place to live. I’m in mostly good health. I have a cool car. So, there you go. I have stuff.

The question, I guess, is was it worth it? All the things that happened to me, that I went through, that I put myself through… Was it all worth it to bring me to this place where I am now?

I haven’t done anything really good in my life. I haven’t cured cancer. I haven’t brought joy to millions. I’ve done a lot of nothing, really. So I thought, “What if I used this new blog thing to write about my life?” I started it to keep it away from people I knew so I could write freely without offending anyone. The only way someone would find it would be by searching for it and I don’t think anyone cares enough to bother.

You may be confused. If I have people that I don’t want to offend, why don’t I have friends or family that gives a crap? I have a lot of acquintences on social media. Most of them I’ve never met, they’re just people I ended up connecting with online. I’m also connected with my family, although there isn’t much interaction. I’m sure if I said that they didn’t care they’d be up in arms saying it wasn’t true. But, you see, that would be the only interaction I would get. It would literally take offending them to be noticed by them.

So I’m not too worried about someone searching and finding this.

Writing about my life would be difficult for me. I recognize that, in the past, I wasn’t the best person I could have been. Some would argue that, too, saying that I was a perfectly wonderful person. I know better.

My hope would be that someone might read it, see the mistakes I made and then not do them. It’s just that simple. In reality, I could just make a short bullet list of things not to do and get it over with really quick. That loses impact, though, when there’s no context given. For example, you can go ahead and tell someone not to spend a lot of money on stupid things but they’re going to do it anyway because, hey, who knows what will happen in the future? But when you tell them not to spend money on stupid things because they might need it in the future for something important, then it begins to take shape that there are ramifications for actions.

Maybe, then, I can do a good thing for someone else by pointing out the errors I have made.

On the other hand, some people just don’t get it unless they make their own mistakes. There’s no way around that.

On the other, other, hand do I want to give away that much information about myself? And, also, I would need to be considered an unreliable narrator. Not out of a desire to mislead, but because I can have a pretty poor memory, sometimes. Also everything I say is colored by who I am and my own expectations and realizations.

Maybe I should think about this some more.


We all have them. Even me. I remember a lot of them, too. They mostly have the same general theme, which is being kind of lost but trying to help someone else find their way.

Dream interpretation is something I don’t usually go for. It is my belief that dreams are very personal to the dreamer and whatever it means (if anything) is something only that person would be able to figure out. Books on dream interpretation may say, for example, that water means physical sex. To the dreamer, it might mean a mortal fear of water and not something sexy at all. My therapist always wants me to tell her what I think my dreams mean. I have no idea. Maybe a book would help.

My dreams start in public places. A restaurant, maybe. Or an open air flea market. I’m usually alone. Sometimes my dad is there and I talk to him for a little while. Sometimes, I know my wife is there but I can’t see her. Or I can’t see her face. She’s never near me, though.

At some point I start walking and trying to figure out where I’m going. Usually trying to find an exit. The surroundings gradually change. A big shopping mall might turn into a small town tree-lined street, for example. It’s never a sudden change like walking through a door. Somewhere along the line I’ll meet someone else (usually a woman) who is also lost and I’ll invite the to come along with me. Every once in a while I’ll be attracted to the woman and start thinking about making advances. Suddenly, they will have a significant other. Seriously. Even in my dreams I have no luck.

Then the alarm goes off and I wake up.

One time I dreamed that there was a door in my (very small) apartment that I never noticed. I opened the door and found the ‘rest’ of my apartment. It was huge with at least two floors and a fireplace. I can’t even tell you how annoyed I was when I woke up and realized that I wasn’t missing 3/4 of my apartment.

Make of that what you will.


So, I’m not saying I don’t have introverted tendencies. I probably do. While I like being in large, lively, groups I tend to be more quiet around people I don’t know. When I get to know people better, though, then I’ll talk non-stop. I’m not particularly good at small talk, though. There’s not much about the weather that hasn’t been thoroughly hashed through already.

I’m also careful about what I say. I have a peculiar sense of humor and I know that puts people off, sometimes. For some reason, people take me far too seriously when I’m saying something that (to me) is obiously ridiculous. It feels easier to keep my mouth shut than to explain what I’m talking about.

That makes it a little difficult for me to just walk up to somebody in a bar and start talking to them. The rare times when I have done something like that, it usually ended quickly.

The other day I was in the grocery store with my mother. I do things like that because I am a Good Son. Well, not really. But I try to be. Anyway, while walking around the aisles bored I saw what looked like an old woman in a frumpy dress. She had her back to me and was looking at product on the shelf. I let my gaze drop down to the bottom shelf because I really had nothing better to do but look to see what gets consigned to the spot nearest the floor. I noticed that the old lady had nice legs. Furthermore, her feet looked suprisingly young.

Later, we ended up crossing paths again and she wasn’t old at all. I don’t know why she was dressed frumpily and I’m aware enough to know that asking would not be a good pick up line. Neither would, “Say, I notice you have nice legs and pretty feet.”

Maybe it would. I assume it wouldn’t. I would think a old guy paying attention to a woman’s feet in a grocery store would be a kind of creepy thing.

The other reason why I don’t go up to random people in bars is because I don’t go to bars. But also because I always feel like I’ll be bothering someone. I don’t want to bother people. I don’t call people because I feel like whenever I call it will be the wrong time to call. And who calls people these days? And I don’t have anyone to call. But if I did, I wouldn’t call them because I feel like I’d be interrupting something.

I mean, I know what I’m doing throughout the day, which is nothing, but I don’t know how busy other people are. Weird huh? Have I mentioned I have a therapist? That’s actually fodder for a whole other post.


It appears I didn’t actually finish my last post. I got distracted by not going someplace and totally lost the thread. That happens, sometimes.

I left off at not buying an iMac and admitting that my excuse is now that I’m waiting to see what Apple announces later this year with the Mac Pro and, a remote possibility, something about new Minis.

Rather than explain everything, let me, instead, walk you through a typical purchase decision. Let’s say it’s for a new Widget and it costs $500.

The first thing to do is say, “Gosh! That new Widget is really fucking awesome! Boy, what I couldn’t do with one of those!” Then I start investigating into it more and read other impressions of the Widget.

“Let’s see,” I say to myself. “Seven thousand people think the Widget is really awesome. Six people think it’s garbage. Those six people must know something…” I trail off in my mind.

But I still kind of want that Widget. So I start talking about it at work. Constantly. “Hey! Did you see that new Widget? Is it the bee’s knees, or what?” I say. And my co-workers gently, but firmly, leave. Because they’ve been through this before, where I talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about buying something and then I never do. They’re married with kids and houses. They’re lucky if they can get away with buying a candy bar at the grocery store check out line. I have no wife, no girlfriend, no kids, and nothing that really costs me a lot so they wonder why I’m not walking around with gold teeth, hair extensions and driving a really nice car. So all this kind of annoys them.

For the record, I have a nice car. I love my car. My car is my penis extension. And nobody wants to see that either.

So, after everyone walks away I bring up my spreadsheet. Because I have a spreadsheet. It contains all the money that comes in and all the money that goes out. It’s got calculations, forecasts, graphs, running totals and Year To Date totals. And I stare at it. I stare at it wondering how that $500 will affect me in the coming months.

It won’t. Not a bit. Then I start thinking, “But what if I need that $500? What if there’s an emergency? What if I get fired tomorrow? What if…” I think of all the things that could possibly go wrong that will cost me so much that whatever $500 I spend will impact me so horribly that I’d rather kill myself than buy a Widget.

Eventually I get over it. I realize that it won’t affect my finances too much if I spend $500 once. Then I remember that I had to get the car fixed (the other one, not the good one that I love so much) one month and that cost way more than $500 and, look, here I was with another $500 to spend. Or Christmas presents for family that doesn’t care about me. Or this that and the other thing that cost about that much, if not more. So, yeah, I could spend it.

But do I really need it? No, I do not. I have a lot of other things that do the same job as a Widget. This is strictly a luxury Widget. Just something that would make me happy.

Make. Me. Happy.

Do I deserve to be happy? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m afraid to be happy? That’s kind of a weird thought.

Anyway, once I get to the happy part that’s when I finally decide to not buy whatever Widget is looking interesting.

Besides all this you may be wondering why I want an iMac at all. It’s mostly for the 5K screen. At the time, I was taking a lot of pictures and it would have been infinitely spiffy to be editing those photos on a giant 5K screen. These days, though, I don’t take a lot of pictures so it makes even less sense to get one.

Instead, maybe I’ll concentrate on not upgrading my Windows computer.