;)

I often find it fascinating the expense that one has to pay to find social approval of his, at this phase I suppose, mere presence, or intellectual significance. Or come to think of it, his last-ditch attempt at maneuvering to be seen as the opposite of an awkward misanthrope. I wish he would understand that nobody would care if he was abducted by aliens in the middle of the joke he so hard tried to make only to be met with an insincere cacophony of laughter donated pro forma. All in the name of fitting in. This epiphany came to me at a recent birthday party organized by a host who obviously had invited as many acquaintances as possible to heighten the likelihood of a larger pile of gifts. She must have been very disappointed.

I admit that depending on the level of perturbation introduced by my often wanton hormonal configuration I could be a reclusive neurotic, which is always the case when meeting intransigents at a party which I have carefully chosen to attend to increase the odds of countenancing awkward situations and awefulkward people, so I could over-analyze the details before I resign to bed at the end of the day. I digress. I have finally found a cure for my conniving insomnia. 

I hate it when my interjectory correction of a tete-a-tete rife with factual inaccuracies to which I was uninvited, is hijacked by said conversationist by way of a convenient plagiaristic restatement embellished with a holier-than-thou overtone. Immediately after I would immerse myself in an endless soliloquy of "fuck you, I just said that!" in my head as a sign of protest. It never worked.

In the presence of butch women or openly gay females that I do not know, I often subconsciously feign machismo, one of the effects of which I would begin to move away pretending I was handsome and ergo sexually desirable. It is embarrassing how irrelevant my natural response to female transvestism is, especially after taking into consideration how much I lack in that particular department. But on the sociological perspective, it creates potential exploration into whether reverse attraction would yield a promising marital expectation if a gay male and a lesbian were to be confined together and be fed sexual hormones in a controlled lab. 

I was tethering our Tiger (a dog) to a table in the porch one fine morning when it occurred to me the double standard in the practice of animal restraint. My fascination was immediately vivified into how it would look like if Chibi (our Persian) was tied on a leash, preferably a metal chain robust and heavy enough to tug at a hyperactive mongrel to remind him that getting too excited is not a favorable idiosyncrasy for a house pet. Yes, the one used to make Tiger feel extremely uncomfortable every time he espies the gate open. I chuckled a little. It would be advisable for Chibi to start hiding at this juncture.

I can sing like Adele. I personally believe her nasal prowess is inferior to mine, and the range of her timbre is limited severely by her fixation upon her depressing yet monochromatic diction. I can juggle with both, not that anyone asks. All I need is a vagina to sleep my way to a Grammy's. Don't get me wrong, I think Adele is poignantly talented. It's just that I have more talent than she does. Dans un monde parfait.

I am an excellent nail-biter. It's a terrific way to recycle protein and keep salmonella from setting up illegal residence under my otherwise unkempt and arguably vestigial keratin. Anyone who believes contrariwise has obviously fallen victim to the marketing strategy of owners of mani-pedi salons. Or who is an expert in nose-picking slash pimple-squeezing who thinks that a hand sanitizer works only for after a poo-poo. My only objection is to how addictive it can be, and how destructive it is to my front teeth. Many, many years ago I did extend my unassailable habit to my toenails (out of curiosity), but it gave me dorsalgia. Plus I discovered about the ludicrous thickness of the toe nail the hard way, which means they are structurally impossible to penetrate with the bare teeth. Oh, and not to mention their impossible hygienic upkeep! So I had to abandon the idea. It is also important to also highlight that such a mundane yet highly profitable past-time activity can only achieve its objective if the nail-biter maintains this cannibalistic relationship only with his OWN fingernails. I can't highlight the word "own" enough to emphasize its semantic significance in the previous sentence. 

I have come to realize that I often start my paragraph with the letter "I". My theory is that I have narcissism and would be proud if someday I could associate with the word "psychopath". In a perfect world, the alphabet would have to undergo a thorough shuffle, and of course it would begin with "I" and then naturally "M". I fervently believe that the modern Roman alphabet is a furtive Jewish conspiracy. 

79.45% of the people who peruse this essay will have to read again in order to convince themselves that they are not stupid or have in the past overlooked the possibility of latent dyslexia. Although at least 90% of them would be correct to assume that I just made this up, an inference correctly derived from my inability to explain simple algebra to myself without experiencing an episode of trepidation. If you are the remaining 10%, go play in traffic, or seek to get yourself spayed.