This chick never texted me back. Sara. Beautiful girl. We had a great date. Ended up at her house; we had a Grateful Dead singalong for like 4 hours. I for one had a really good time. And we texted back and forth, and then I sent one kind of stupid text message, and it was over. Never heard back from her. Never will. Maybe I should have called her. But no. You can’t send two unrequited texts and then call her. Maybe I should have called her in the first place. Instead of texting her. Maybe maybe maybe. Every little thing. Maybe it’s something I fucked up in some way. And I would have gotten to have sex with her. But I also would have had to listen to, and pretend to like, her horrible horrible retarded music. Maybe it’s nothing to do with what I did. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. She works 3 jobs, two of which are at night, and has to spend her days flying around on wires into the mouth of a giant puppet of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, while singing. Every day I have to drive by a billboard of the goddamn Creature from the Black Lagoon and be reminded of her. There is nothing I can do about it now. I can’t text her. Anything I do would just debase myself, make it worse. This is the same shit that happened with Erin. I’m obsessed with it. The only thing that could possibly make me happy in the entire world would be if she were to text me back. Or If I met another, equally hot chick, who didn’t suck as much. Continue reading
STD Diary 2006: Gonorrhea Gonorrhea Gonorrhea
18 JunNOTE: This is from 2006. Do not read this, if you have had unprotected sex with me in the last six years, and think that I gave you some STD. I did not.
Gonorrhea, Gonorrhea, Gonorrhea
Actually I think it might be chlamydia— the discharge is transparent, not all chunky and creamy and green— but whatever the fuck it is, it’s getting worse by the second. Chlamydia chlamydia chlamydia. Papilloma… these are really nice sounding words. I want to go into Planned Parenthood tomorrow and say “hello, i’d like to be tested for” (thick italian accent) ”Papilllllomaa… Gonnorrrrhea…” anyway, at least I had to get fucked to get it. The chick was hot. She was Filipina, which is an ethnicity I’d never fucked before, although I hate how people are all creepy about that. I hate guys who are “into Asian girls…” it’s like the white chicks who only date black guys. There’s always something wrong with them. But anyway, I have gonorrhea! Gonorrhea gonorrhea gonorrhea! Continue reading
Bio from Me & Nikol’s Aborted Internet Dating Advice Column
17 JunCornelius J. Tacos is an underemployed drunkard living in squalor in an undesirable area of Los Angeles. He has no money, no ambition, and his face looks like it got hit with a shovel. His car is the color of primer, and the A/C is busted and the windows don’t roll down. And YET he still gets tons of dates, sex, and relationships, often with not bad looking nineteen year olds, off the internet.
Nikol Hasler is a twice-married single mother of three who lives in a decaying stucco house in Van Nuys with a cadre of rude drunks. She is an alumna of the Wisconsin state foster care system—the Harvard of child sexual abuse—with all the self–esteem issues, broken sexuality, and lifelong substance abuse that that entails. AND YET she still meets and dates tons of handsome, funny, and rich men off the internet. Often they are of above average height with penis girths up to one and one half standard deviations above the norm. Continue reading
Diary: Back to the Pussy War
16 JunOK, now I am back to wanting an actual girlfriend. Like, I want one. I want to get married, settle down, have kids, etc etc. So I gotta find one now. What a fucking pain in the ass.
I mean, seriously. I have tried this. We have been through this. And I failed. But apparently you are not allowed to simply fail– if you go through twenty years of trying to find a nice girl to get married to, and you come out of it beat up and exhausted and you just, you’d like to enjoy a couple months of just sitting on the porch with your cat and a nice room temperature glass of inexpensive pinot noir on a Friday night instead of let’s go out to bars where girls used to go, look at the girls, and be too scared to talk to the girls—you can’t do it; some mechanism in your glands fires off after a few weeks of defeated but relaxing non-activity and says “OK, good halftime, let’s get back out there.” Continue reading
OKCupid: Poly People
14 JunAnyway, poly people. I agree with what they’re saying, when they explicitly outline the tenets of the poly lifestyle, or movement, or whateverthefuck it is on their profile. And they always do. There is always an apologia– I’m just doing what your husband is doing, but I’m doing it honestly. There is always a knee jerk paragraph pre-empting some boilerplate criticism with their boilerplate response. And that’s what sucks about poly people– their put-uponness. Their humorlessness. Same with the “S&M subculture” and all this other shit– I like fucking a bunch of girls; I like pulling their hair and maybe throwing a forearm into their neck once in a while, but I don’t like how much people who self-identify as liking these things talk like some tiny marginal religious group constantly bitching about how they just want to be left alone on their compound. Trust me, people do not give as much of a shit as you think and it would just– it would just make you easier to be around if you weren’t so god damn touchy. It’s like this with porn stars too. Every conversation with them, they’re so guarded, so conscious that they’re going to be held in contempt– they’re nerds, these porn stars. They’re nerds sitting in the AV club constantly bitching about the jocks, who are everyone who doesn’t take a load in the eye for a living.
Dating in LA: Pros
11 JunHere is the real problem with “dating in LA.” I hate even typing that phrase. “dating in LA.” Which, everyone says it over and over again that “it’s hard to meet someone in LA.” Yes, it is hard to meet someone in LA if you are stupid, ugly, annoying, old and fat. It is perhaps not as hard to meet someone in Mobile, Alabama even if you have one or more of these qualities because once you find someone and they find you, you are sticking together because what the fuck else can you get.
But it is “hard to meet someone in LA” even if you are a six foot one employed white male with 9 per cent body fat and a decent tan and a full head of hair that even has some cool, like, the perfect very slight amount of graying going on, and a reasonably strong jawline, and an IQ three and one half standard deviations above the norm, which is supposedly valued, and a sense of humor probably also three and one half standard deviations above the norm, and good skills and knowledge w/r/t art, and music, and other disciplines that chicks are supposedly interested in and want to discuss. And a face that, while, no, you are not George Clooney, is litotically “not unattractive,” which is all that everyone except a vanishingly small percentage of the population can hope for. Continue reading
I Live Alone
7 JunI live alone. It’s great if you like shitting with the door open, which I do. It’s great if you like jerking off. I can jerk off anywhere, any time, for any reason. It’s great if you like making food with strong-smelling sauces that you then fail to refrigerate because you’re drunk and instead let sit on top of the stove at room temperature for several days. It’s great if you like leaving your brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear scattered in various corners instead of the readily available laundry basket, and the clean laundry is also in an unsorted pile next to this laundry basket, and you forget which brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear you have worn and which you have not, and you can’t tell by smelling them, even the clean ones still smell slightly like taint, the way your mouth still tastes a little bit like puke even after you brush your teeth– but who cares, because no one’s going to be smelling your balls today anyway. Maybe just turn them inside out to be safe. Continue reading
Get in Shape, You Disgusting Fat Fuck
1 JunDon’t read this if it’s about you.
I went on a date this week with a girl who actually has a nice body. Can you imagine? A girl, off the internet, whose weight was as advertised. We all know that OKCupid weight classes are two words for OK and then fifteen synonyms for fat, and you know when you go out with someone here they’re going to be at least thirty pounds over what their photos would lead you to believe. It’s just a hazard of internet dating. Something you accept. The girl who shows up is substantially fatter than her photos. Every. Single. Time.
And I was cool with that—I don’t mind if a chick is a little “thick,” or even “plump—“ basically, I have no standards and will fuck anything that moves, and the virtue of internet dating is no one has to see what you’re doing. I won’t email with someone who has “a few extra pounds,” because we all know what a cruel joke that word “few” is in this context, but “curvy,” sure. “Average,” why not. It’s never the “average” for women between the ages of 18 and 29 in Los Angeles, CA, the most body-conscious city on the entire face of the Earth; these girls generously judge themselves by the national average. But still. Fine. Continue reading
OKCupid: Girls with Kids
27 May
My best friend, whom I met off OKCupid, has a kid. And I have discovered that I enjoy the fuck out of going over to her house, cooking a 1950’s housewife dinner for her and her kid, and then we all sit around the table talking quietly and politely about how his day was at school and making sure he eats his vegetables. He’s like fourteen, so, he is close to being a fully formed human being and is at the cusp of a cool time in his life when he will drink his first beer, make out with his first girl, get his heart broken, and etc. I enjoy spending time with this young man and his mother. It has awakened some deep yearning for domestic life that I never would have suspected. Now I want to come home every day to a family, have a woman hand me a martini and talk to my son about baseball practice or some other Leave it to Beaver shit.
So I would gladly date a girl with a kid, because at forty grand a year for eleven hours per motherfucking day someone else’s kid is the closest I am ever going to get to this. But here’s the problem with kids: who is the father. A girl of dating age who has a child who is fully formed enough to enjoy had them young, which means they were impregnated by someone whose last words will be “hold my beer, watch this.” Someone with tons of tattoos who had to quit his band because he broke his fingers on some guy’s face and now has to send three hundred dollars per month of his landscaping income to some actress/ waitress. Or a Nicaraguan barback who drives Denzel’s car from Training Day and carries a switchblade and wants to kick your ass. Continue reading
Stop Telling Me “Just Go Talk to Her”
26 MayStop telling me that, you women and gays. You have no concept of what it’s like to “just go talk to her.” Just listen to me complain about how I can’t get laid and shut the fuck up. Don’t tell me about how you would like to be approached and etc. Don’t even tell me that I’m hot and that if you were single you would be delighted to be approached by me. You are either lying, or you feel that way because you know me, you feel comfortable with me. It is inconceivable to you, the experience of being approached by me for the first time out of the blue. I don’t come off well. If I even have to consider “just going and talking to her” I’ve already lost. How can you not know this? Oh, you’re a woman, you understand nothing. Continue reading
New Book
delicioustacos 