Bona fide proof of my weirdness!!

I was chatting with a girl I dated a long while ago and told her that within the last few years I found out I was a massive nerd. She said she had known that for a long time. I was surprised she knew this longer than I did. She said that nerds are able to detect each other's presence, even if one's nerdery is inert or dormant. Here is my response.

"It’s nice to know that only your innate nerd radar could detect my nerdiness and that it wasn’t ostensibly discernable to non-nerds. Aaaahhh nerdery…it pleases me. My nerdery is like inertia; once it starts it keeps going. On a more serious note, the only question currently plaguing me is whether a white or black pocket protector would look better atop my breast. Thoughts?

Fair warning should conversation persist between us!! I’m prone to spontaneous bouts of nerdery laced with scientific terminology and concepts. It’s like nerd Turrets. I think I just wore out the N, E, R, and D buttons on my keyboard from typing them so much. I don’t know of any other word to use to explain my ailment. I am not a geek. I am not a dweeb. I most assuredly am a dork. A dork, as defined by me, does not involve a hyper-affinity toward learning but is one that is socially awkward and doesn’t care how he’s perceived. A nerd is overly eager for even the smallest modicum of minutia on any subject. His social status cannot be referred to as “social” unless you believe cyberspace to be an actual social setting. (Our interaction excluded.) Cyberspace exists but not as a viable social arena because there is no socializing without the aid of a keyboard. A viable social arena exists where people are face to face, in the flesh. I guess that makes me a dorky nerd hybrid. Dork only because I don’t care what people think and nerd because I like to learn more than most. None of the other descriptions for either term applies. My digression proves my point."

This should shed light on the fact that I'm still single at age 30 and will remain forever so. A lot of that has to do with personal choice too, if you can believe that after reading this iron clad written proof of my woman repelling ways.

Hell hole defined.

1) A gaping chasm so deep you can see hell if you peer into it.
2) F’ing deep.
3) A well worn prostitute's vajajay that is STD infested.

Hmmmfff!! Frivolous fiction!!

If you believe in such a thing as a perfect girl then I would like to sell you some snake oil.* What are women good for? 2 things. 1- Looking at. 2- Hmmm…did I already say looking at? Oh, I did. Then…ummm…yeah.

The term frivolous fiction not only applies to “the perfect girl” but also to my blog. Clearly I make most of this crap up. I write it, you read it, we both feel sick.

I’m sure my opening statement holds true for the reverse case also but since I’m not into dudes I will pay it no mind.

I was going to type a long diatribe of my feelings on the matter but alas, I’ve got to go to class. Physics. Repulsive, revolting Physics. My how I hate your guts.

*Sell you some snake oil - an old saying that means you are buying something completely worthless. It was sold as though it was a magic cure all but it actually did nothing but lessen your bank account and increase the shyster’s who sold it to you. A snake oil salesmen is the modern equivalent of a used car salesmen. A worthless, shady breed that ought to be eradicated.

Getting sweaty.

If chewing ice were a reliever of sexual tension instead of an indicator of it, I’d have eaten all the glaciers in the North and South Poles by now. What I’m saying people is I need to bury my bone, lay some pipe, get freak nasty, wear a skirt out, get sweaty with a broad, etc. And many times. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. I'm beyond ready to come out of retirement. Old Faithful is ready to explode. I guess I should refer to it as something else because Old Faithful erupts with clockwork regularity. Me not so much.

Another true segment of conversation.

Girl: I had a dream about you last night.
Me: Then I’m sure you’re exhausted today. Me not so much.
Girl: You obviously don’t know me.
Me: Silly girl clearly you don’t know me.
Girl: I knew you last night.
Me: Touché. Sorry about the soreness.

Worry not. The joke's on me.

You may worry about those unfortunate souls that come in regular contact with me. You may wonder how they survive. You may even wonder why they haven’t offed themselves or me. To that I would respond with a scoffing chuckle that would end up making me cough uncontrollably and make others around me think and hope I was dying of respiratory failure.

You see I have this horrible gift to embarrass myself at the most awkward times. Most people get embarrassed/nervous to speak in front of people. Some get embarrassed after a horrible performance in the sack. Some get embarrassed/humbled after a dick measuring contest with me.* I get embarrassed when there is no reason to be. Not because of anything I said or did, per se. It’s because my body sometimes fails to support me in normal bodily functions and dastardly seeks to humiliate me. My body is agonizingly efficient in this regard. My body's weak sauce, bush league and just plain a little bitchish.

*Actually my dick’s so small I piss on my nuts. Not really but I had to work that gem in somehow. A girl I work with likes to tease me and say I have a teenie weenie (TW). Probably for the same reason big bouncers are called Tiny. One day she teased me and said that a girl only said something nice about me because she felt bad about my TW. I said I was surprised she felt anything at all it’s so small.

Thank you, thank you!! Good night!

An actual segment from a conversation I had. For realsies.

I was talking to a friend of mine attending a dental school I really want to get into.

Me: Tell whomever you need to in admissions that I’ll sleep with whomever I need to.
Friend: I like where your head’s at.
Me: I may not like where it’s at if they take me up on the offer.

I am a sad, sad man to think I'm as funny and clever as I do. Does that make you more sad for reading it? Of course not. You are precious and I am retarded.

A possible conversation with my future wife. Part II

Me: Begin disrobing for some amorous activity.
Wife: What?
ME: Copulation will proceed once your articles of clothing are removed.
Wife: Ehh? [blink, blink]
Me: I’m gonna put my thing in your thing and make it sexy.
Wife: Why didn’t you just say that?
Me: I did but in funny ways.
Wife: Who lied and told you that?
Me: [Sob, sob]

All part of the emotional rollercoaster of applying to dental school.

I'm over one the schools I applied to. Every time I call to ask a question I get the same hateful beeotch, Tonya. She cops this attitude like she sits atop a golden cloud and that applicants are not worth her time. I, being the clever person I think I am, tried getting information from another source there. I was promptly questioned as to how I had gotten that number like it was the president’s private line or something and was told the person I called for was the absolute wrong person to call. After the admonishment, I was transferred to Satan herself, Tonya.

I give up. If that's the way they treat students then I don't want to drop $350K there. My buddy is even more pissed off than me. They have the highest secondary fee and he's pissed he's not getting better customer service. A valid point. I would still go if they invited me for an interview but my experience has greatly diminished their standing with me. What does that mean for anyone but me? Nothing, absolutely nothing.