Life Lessons From Hootch, the Bitch

so... I asked the anime girl out yesterday. I know I originally said it was a bad idea but when has that ever stopped me from doing something I shouldn't have.

Anyway, she said no.

Thats sucks.

Some business about going out with her family. I dont know if that's true or not, but I know enough not to press the issue.

Fuck.

I ran into the anime girl again, later on that day in the lunch area. She was eating with her friends. Mostly other pixie-sized chinese girls but also a few calculator watch, pocket protector type fellas. I sat at a table on the other side of the room and took out my lunch and book and started reading. As I was flipping through my book trying to find my place, I noticed the guys at the anime girl's table were blatantly clocking me. I dont think they were being confrontational or were members of the fuckin Triad or anything, but still - it bugged me. "Yeah, thats right pocket-protector guys, I'm the douche that tried to make time with your group's #1 chick. Now would you stop eyeballing me? I got some serious unfinished business here with my fuckin peanut butter and jam sandwich".

To help ease the pain of rejection, I focused on all the anime girl's characteristics I dont find so hot. Her ass - flat as a pancake. If round ass cheeks ever became an evolutonary requirement the anime girl's lineage would surely go the way of the dodo bird. Ok what's next? Oh ya, her waist. Even tho her arms and legs are pretty nice and regular sized, the anime girl's waist is practically non-existant. I think I can grab her hip to hip with my one hand. Thats pretty fucked up. I mean, how is she supposed to give birth to my son, the next Michael Jordan, with those skinny birthing hips?

When I got home yesterday I planned an evening of licking my wounds and taking out some of my disappointment/frustration on the punching bag in my garage. After a little warm up, I turned on my portable stereo and started wailing away on the punching bag, BOOM., BOOM, BOOM, BOOM – like thunder from my garage, it was that loud. I had my feet planted on the ground, shoulder-width apart, I turned my hips and crashed my fist into the punching bag – BOOM. I turned my hips in the opposite direction and crashed my other first against the semi-hard plastic-vinyl bag – BOOM. I felt a little stinging in my knuckles. I took a quick glance. Bits of my skin were beginning to rip off 2 or three knuckles on each hand.

Good.

Drops of blood were beginning to surface on my knuckles.

Even better.

I continued to wail away on the bag eager to see what I would succumb to first – the pain in my knuckles or the sheer exhaustion from going full tilt for more than a few minutes. The answer was neither.

"Hey" a voice from behind me said. It was my next door neighbour, Jeff. "We just got back from the doctor's office," he said. "Jenn (his wife) has cancer again."

Fuck.

Jenn was diagnosed with cancer around 3 years ago. When I first moved in to my house around 18 months ago she was in remission. But I guess her battle is not over just yet.

Life lesson #1: Hootch, dont be such a bitch. Shit can always be worse, dude.