This Ain't No Love - Heartbreak Jake

Ah, Heartbreak Jake. Where do I start? I found his blog when I was bored and clicked the "Next Blog" in the blogger header. It can be very interesting and an enlightening experience. That's if you have the patience to shift your way through all the Asian and Spanish blogs.

I feel that I can give a description of Jake. Anything I would say would sound insincere. If you have the time you should go and read through some of his posts. I started from the beginning when I first found his blog and read all of them.

I have chosen a section from one of his posts.

Enjoy
Jane

Nice Labia

...On Thursday night I went out, alone as usual, in Riga. It was drizzling rain and I couldn't find a bar to my liking so I walked around in the rain for a while until finally settling on a place called 'John Lemon' near my hotel. I had a few beers and watched other people laughing and having fun before heading home. Really I just want someone to talk to me but nobody does (these days I don't give off a positive aura I think) and so I headed home. As I left the bar an old lady offered to sell me flowers.

"Fur die frau." She said thinking I was German I guess.

"Nicht frau." I replied, unsure how to express in German that there was a frau I very much wanted to give flowers to but she did not want them.

She said something that I'm pretty sure translated to-"In Riga there is always a women"-and not wanting to talk anymore about it, in German or English, I handed her a Lat and she gave me the flowers. I walked back to the hotel and went through the lobby before deciding I would walk to the nearby river and dispose of my bouquet. Before I reached the Riga River I passed a bar called "Sunset" and decided to step inside for one last beer.

I was easily the oldest guy or girl in the bar by ten years. There was some sort of party going on and the women were unbelievably beautiful, every single one of them, without exception. I sat for a while before two women walked in and plopped down next to me. Both young, both beautiful. This is when I learned that there is power in being a guy, alone in a bar, with a bouquet of flowers sitting next to him. I mean people want to know what's up. The two of them were looking at my flowers and I used the opportunity to strike up a conversation. They both spoke enough English for us to communicate and we began to chat. They thought I was 26, which was nice of them to say, though when I look at myself in the mirror these days I feel as though I am aging at five times the normal rate. I bought them drinks and they offered to take me to another bar. If I were the kind of guy who had luck in these situations, or who made his own luck I guess, this story would end with the three of us back at my hotel room engaged in some sort of Latvian love dance, but it did not. They got drunk and went home and once they left there seemed little reason to stick around so I began the long walk back to my hotel. On the way I was offered sex by a prostitute, whom I turned down, and another woman tried to coax me into a strip club.

I really hate strip clubs. I think other guys feel this way too but don't like to admit it. We're all supposed to love naked women in any and all situations, that's how guys are. I do love naked women, don't get me wrong, but there is something so uncomfortable to me about the situations you find yourself in. I don't mind the actual dancing all that much, though I don't find it particularly arousing either. What I hate is when they come down off the stage and try to chat you up in hopes of getting you to buy a lap dance. Frequently they don't put there clothes back on, which makes the whole thing seem so silly and awkward.

At any given moment in my life there has been no more than one person I have been comfortable having a conversation with naked, my significant other. Outside of that I prefer to be clothed when chatting.

"Hi, what's your name?" They'll say.

"Jake." I'll respond, shifting in my chair.

"Hi, I'm (insert ridiculous stripper name here: Candy, Sunset, Misty) what do you do for a living Jake?"

At this point I usually just give them $20 so they'll shut up, but this is what I want to say:

"I'm sorry but you're not wearing any clothes and while I would love to discuss my career or maybe politics with you I find your labia to be distracting."

In the end I get the lap dance and as long as they don't talk it's fine. But I digress.

I have also been exchanging flirty emails with someone. I say flirty, but who knows, for me flirty equals funny. I don't know any other way to flirt. I'm not the kind of guy who gives smoldering looks or wears t-shirts that show off my pecs. This is because I don't have pecs, I have man boobs, and who wants to show them off. They are perky man boobs and not all that bad as man boobs go, but man boobs all the same. I exercise frequently and so I am not, at this point, the least bit fat. The more depressed I am the better shape I tend to be in but so far I have failed to get depressed enough to be really ripped. Yes, and where 'looks' are concerned I don't do smoldering. I look at women the way a dog looks at a snausage. As if there is this thing that I want but I have no idea how to get it so I just try to look pathetic and be a 'good boy' and maybe I'll get lucky.

So back to this girl. She is someone who I have basically no chance with as she lives 5,000 miles away and she is the sister of a very good friend of mine. The thing is that I don't really care all that much it just feels good to sort of like someone and to think maybe they sort of like you. To not be sending emails about how depressed I am or asking for advice, but to just be normal me, or pretend to be normal me anyway.

I leave on Monday, and as pretty of a town as it is I'm happy to be going home, if only for a day.