Ugly is back, and ugly as ever.
I've never been one to embarrass easily. I fully understand that I was born of parents who rightfully should have been embraced by a roadside freak show, so my threshold for embarrassment is non-existent.
I also had an older brother who took great pride in reminding me daily of how ugly I am. He'd encourage me to wear ski-masks in the summer, and even till this day he buys me Hunchback of Notre Dame videos for Christmas. Best of all, he would leave the lid up and the bowl unflushed after his daily dusting. Wouldn't have been all that bad had he not told me daily to go look in the mirror in the bowl..
Not to mention, being so clumsy as a child, I was reduced to playing with the girls. There's no better way to be told you're ugly than to have to spend every afternoon with the neighborhood girls. Afternoons that consisted of having my hair style till I had 9 degrees of hair unfitness, being pinned down and having the latest eye shadows tested out on my lids first, you get the drift. Thanks to Ivana Nitikitin, I now boast nine eyelashes after she read that they eyelashes grow back very long if you pluck them all and put mink oil on your lids. (I will refrain from telling you of what happened when these girls got older and needed someone to model clothes for them.)
When you're ugly you get very thick skin. It's a curse, and a blessing. You don't have to worry much about older cougars showing up at your door. You don't have to worry about any woman showing up at your door. Hell you don't even have to worry about people looking at you at all.
Russians are worst than prostitutes on Rodeo drive. Russian liquor, cold weather, and being locked in for weeks at a time have beds rocking like jackhammers. Russians fuck, and fuck a lot. Few are virgins past 13. Unless you are hideous looking. Having bulbous eyes that couldn't stop looking at each other, being cursed with thick trout lips that never set together due to a severe overbite, slumped shoulders, elongated ears with hair all over them, a curvy nose that left girls asking if "it" was the same way, just didn't get the women flocking. Even with vast amounts of liquor.
Hanging out with girls prepared me for my eventual best blessing. Being one of the girls growing up isn't fun for a guy, but it has it's pays off. First you get to see every female in town in various states of undress as they consult you for your fashion opinion. This leads you to having more staying power than any guy around, way before you ever get any. Just try sprouting a woody in a room full of females holding a lingerie party. I still have the scars from the heels I was beat with.
Second, you learn exactly what females like and don't like. There's no dating needed to learn this when you have one girl after another telling you of her experience with this vibrator, that one,
I suppose I should let you know my bitch days went much deeper than just this. Of course I was the one sent to town to buy maxi-pads, I had to go to the depot and pick up the vibrators that were always ordered under my name, I was asked to check their shave jobs and occasionally fix them, asked to zip up tight clothing, paint nails, and so on.
Men will fight wars over pussy. Or to obtain it. When you're ugly as hell, you know there's two ways you're going to get regularly laid. After the first prostitute I approached scurried away, I knew I had to hit the books. And hard. I studied, and studied, and studied. Then came a scholarship. Two years later, I'm still not getting laid, so I apply to a distinguished program for Engineers. I'm accepted. I rush off to a foreign land.
Five years later, I have two degrees and a good job. 25 and still a virgin. I'd be a liar if I told you there wasn't a few opportunities. Drunk college girls are easier than lot lizard begging hairy truckers to spare $5 for a gum less blow job. I had a few crawl in my bed. However, I just couldn't bring myself to taking advantage of them in their state of intoxication.
I was 26 when I first laid eyes on her. The bluest eyes, the kind you just can get lost in. She had short bouncy hair, perfect skin, thick eyebrows, and a shrilly but cute voice that said how are you in a warm way. I nodded and of course looked right away she said that in passing. I didn't see her again for a few weeks, this time I ran into her at a local park. On her hair was a butterfly clip this time. She walked right up to me, and said, "Hey, aren't you the guy who saved that kitten from being hit by the car?"
(A few months before this I saw someone discard a box out of a vehicle. Right after, I noticed the box moving, so I ran over to it. A small kitten was in it).
"Why yes, I was." She went on to tell me just how much she appreciated that. That her roommate had brought the kitten home that night, and how she had fell completely in love with it. She told me she wanted to thank me for doing this when a home cooked dinner. I couldn't stop looking at this woman. She was drop dead gorgeous, so I quickly accepted.
Soon after this, we became very good friends. She had grown up in Vancouver, had a degree in Interior Decorating but worked in a cake shop, and had come to Germany with a friend for one year. She loved to sing, dance, cook desserts, make jewelry, explore museums, swim, and wanted two children. She was very spirited, loved to be around people, and had non-stop energy. On the weekends, we began traveling all over Germany with roommate Veronica and her boyfriend Raphael.
Of course, I was very careful to walk behind her, never make any attempt to hit on her. I knew I'd never have a chance in hell with this girl; she was breathtakingly beautiful. She didn't have a boyfriend at the time, but dated many men. Being the bitch of my childhood, she sought my dating therapy, and I gave it to her, ever so keeping my jealousy to myself.
After one year, she left, and I cried for a week straight. For the first time in my life, I was deeply in love. I continued to call her every day. I missed those blue eyes so much I began painting them. One very brave night thanks to Grey Goose, I shipped a painting I had made of her. She called me up crying, saying that was the most touching thing anyone had every done for her. On and on she went about how I am the only guy in the world who has ever listened to her, that I'm the only guy in the world she can completely trust, and so on. She suggested I move to Vancouver because she greatly missed our friendship.
Three months later, I transferred to Seattle. On the weekends I'd transport to Vancouver. We spent every single weekend together, in between her dating schedule. She was not 27. I picked her up and comforted her weekend after weekend as one guy after another didn't appreciate her beautiful soul, listening to her deep wails from a heartbreak.
One night, about four years after we first met, she called me up and asked me to come meet her at a hotel. I got there and she was in an pearl evening dress with matching heels. My heart beat was faster and faster seeing her. She led me to a table with a candlelight on it. We were the only persons in the room.
"Rocco, I want to marry you," and she presented a set of rings. I was floored, we had never even kissed. She giggled and said give me your hand, and made a bitch out of me putting a ring on my left finger. I quickly took it off and slid it on her finger, and asked some deep questions. We were married five months later.
We made an arrangement on my wedding night. I'd pretend always to be some stranger behind her in public, never appear in any tight-wighties around her, and the lights will always be kept off during well. She would continue to be my best friend and lover if so.
The 24th was the 14th year anniversary of marrying my best friend in the world. We celebrated this with a trip to Sweden.
Happy Anniversary to the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, the mother of my children, my wife Monika.
concile our differences (as the politicians are now doing), my great fear is that the numbers will soon drop below critical mass, and the rooms will then implode on themselves.
