It Ain't Easy Being Me

One of the reasons I called this blog Ted's Creepy Van is because a lot of folks automatically assumed I already had one.  Over the years, I've been told I look like an ax murderer, a butcher, a rapist, and a serial killer. 

No woman has ever called me handsome, sexy or anything like that.  Ever.  I've always been the scary-looking guy.  Last month I was lamenting that with all the whores and sluts in this world, it depresses me how none of them try to hook-up with me.  A co-worker said, "Yeah, but Ted--you've killed people."   

So I embraced The Van.  The Van became part of me and I, it.  The Van is that part of us all and in truth, we're already in The Van.  The Van is some sort of dark, menacing Tao with odd bits of wisdom mixed with desolate isolation and vulgarity. 

But it has moments where it isn't all fun and games. 

First, let me say it's supposed to be Spring here in Southern Wisconsin but it's not.  Not even close.  It's 36F and the wind chill is about 24F.  The shit cuts right through you.

I was running errands and I saw a woman walking quickly down the sidewalk.  She was beautiful.  Great legs, wearing my favorite bits, and it was obvious she was cold.

We made eye contact as I drove by into the gas station, since my car was on fumes, and she avoided making eye contact with me again as she walked by.

Despite the cold weather and her obviously not having enough layers on, she certainly didn't want a ride from me.  Her look made that clear.  Gentlemanly or not, she would rather have been cold to the bone, than get into a car with me.  And judging by how fast she walked past me with her head down as I pumped my gas, it was really obvious she didn't even want to talk to me.  The head came back up after she passed the gas station.

There's been a lot of talk about Alpha Male vs. Beta.  But I think we need a new category.  Both Alpha and Beta males would have asked her if she wanted a lift.  The Alpha would have given her a broad smile and made some comment that charmed her into accepting.  The Beta would have been so non-aggressive that she might have felt like she was taking advantage of him.  

But what about us Creepy Guys?  The guys who make women uneasy and afraid?

The ones who, when they walk into the room, make the weaker hug the wall and keep a wary eye out. 

The ones who, when people describe them, say things like, "he seems like a nice guy but..." as if there is that thing nobody can put a finger on.

The ones who give off that vibe that lets you know they're looking at you as if you were food.  Or they're trying to decide what color of duct tape would look best on your skin.  

Women have always been terrified of me.  My wife was so terrified to talk to me she was visibly shaking.  She had to talk to me because I had to deliver a message to her English teacher.  She absolutely did not want to talk to me at all.  It was only after our meeting and subsequent e-mail exchanges afterwards that she realized I'm not an axe murderer, serial killer, rapist or any of those other things I keep getting accused of being.

 When I get enough money saved up, I'm going to buy myself some shirts in pastel colors.  Soft pinks and violet hues, and some Drakkar Noir.  It'll take longer for people to worry about what I might do.  It'll be my sheep's suit.

It's too late for this to work on many who already know me and about The Van.  But life is full of first impressions and those precious seconds can mean a lot.  

     

Creepy Video Time!

This video is making the rounds.  I'm not sure who made it, but I offer over 9000 internets for your awesomeness. 


I'll warn you, it's creepy beyond most of the stuff out there.  And it's a tad NSFW, but how many of you would actually click on a vid I post while at work, right?  I mean, come on, it's Uncle Ted--you know I'm not right in the head.  

I Told You So!

This weekend was Pub Crawl here in Monroe, Wisconsin.  It's a big thing here but I don't know why.  I mean, the only difference between this weekend and the other weekends is that people take pictures and post them on Facebook.  I guess you could say I'm surrounded by heavy drinkers. 

I've been pretty butthurt this weekend.  It started because I wasn't sleeping much.  Too much caffeine.  I've been drinking tea instead of soda pop and since I love drinking liquids, I drank way too much. 

So the butthurt didn't start with me not sleeping, but it didn't help, and I found something that really pissed me off. 

Saveur Magazine had some articles on Korea cuisine.  Korean food is now trendy amongst the foodie snobs and various food writers.  Anthony Bourdain gave his blessing and now we're all supposed to eat kimchi. 

I was writing articles on Korean food for American travel and food magazines over fifteen years ago and nobody cared.  This was back before magazines allowed electronic submissions and queries, so I had to spend about $30.00 on International Reply Coupons and enclose them with each SASE I sent off.  It was bullshit and took forever. 

I wrote about the religious implications of the Korean rice harvest and why it didn't matter how cheap the farmers in Texas could produce the same specific grain, it would never sell.  I thought for sure it would sell.  Nobody wanted it. 

I wrote an article on Korean Buddhist cusine, which was different from regular Korean food, and far healthier.  I thought for sure with all the health magazines out there somebody would pick it up.  Nobody did. 

I could go on and on.  I used up my IRCs on queries.  When they were gone, I gave up. 

So last night, I was looking through Saveur Magazine and the online Saveur 100:  2014's Best Food, Drinks, and Whatever.  (Not really, I'm just pissed.)  And they had three Korean items on the list.  First, they had the Gwangjang Market, with all the small food tents and trucks.  Been there, done that, took pictures and tried to get somebody to buy them. 

Second, they mentioned bindaeduk, which is a mung bean pancake.  It's bland as hell and you have to put stuff into it for flavor.  Squid, octopus, veggies, kimchi.  It's seriously bland.  You can buy the mix in an Asian store. 

Third, they mentioned Yuja-cha, which is a tea made from sweetened citron rind and served hot.  It tastes like hot lemonade. 

None of these even begins to touch the surface of Korean culture and the food.  None of it even comes close. 

When I was submitting these queries, I really did look at myself as a diplomat of sorts, maybe even a cultural translator.  I figured it was my job to educate folks.  Part of what I did over there was teach tour guides English so as a result, I learned a great deal about Korea's history and culture. 

Most of these articles I've found were just flashes of random things.  And while they weren't negative, they certainly didn't illustrate just how wonderful it could be, if one took the time to sit down and learn. 

I don't think I would have made a good travel writer for magazines.  I keep noticing how I tend to focus on the culture and why they do what they do.  And none of these flashy, snobby articles do that. 

This weekend, some things happened.  I learned something.  And like always, those lessons seem to circle back around to the past somehow.  I don't talk about Korea much.  I don't talk about what I did there, or how important it was in my life, growth and development as a human being.  And I certainly don't talk much about the people I left behind.  One of these days I will. 

It's easier to talk about food.  Food makes memories easier to revisit.  We eat to remember and when we remember food, we remember the good times more than the bad.  Sometimes I think there is redemption in food.  Maybe that's why I'm so damned big and I can't find pants that fit.  And maybe that's why I'm not sleeping. 




Even Gold Mountain must be seen after eating. 
심지어 금 산 식사 후 볼 수 있어야합니다.

---A Korean Proverb.  

Hosts Needed, Very Rewarding Work

I'm looking for a group of very special ladies.  Ladies who want to give.  Ladies who like to help out. 

Are you between the ages of 18 (cough) and 40? 

Have you ever wanted the joy and delight of pregnancy without all the messy complications from relationships, men, sex and the exchange of unhygienic bodily fluids? 

Would you like to be pregnant just to find out what is is like but not have to deal with all the yucky problems that come from being a mom? 

Then have I got the perfect idea for you--

Be a Host! 

Yes, ladies, you are being offered the chance to host a Ted Spawn. 

I want to clone myself and I need a few lucky ladies to carry the unborn Ted Spawn seed for nine months. 

And who wouldn't want to?  Imagine being the host to the future of humanity!  You could say, as the world burns on television while reporters scream to be heard over the cacophony of destruction, that you gave birth to a Ted Spawn yourself! 

Imagine how lucky you would be to give birth to something so perfect.  A Ted Spawn!  None of your cursed blood, poison genes, debilitating defects or, lower intellect.  A Ted Spawn would elevate you just short of being Mother to a God! 

The process is simple.  A Russian genetic scientist will clone my cells and use one of your eggs, then fertilize them and put them back into your womb.  Within a few short weeks you'll have a little Ted Spawn using your kidneys as a punching bag.

Imagine how jealous your friends would be!  A Ted Spawn inside of you?  They would put down their crack pipes and stop texting with their pimps as you told the whole story.

And when the Ted Spawn is born, you won't have to deal with all those ugly moments all mothers have to suffer through.  The diapers, the crying, the belching and farting.  Your house won't smell like a diaper pail.  I will collect the Ted Spawn as soon as it is born.

Twenty years from now, when they are stomping on the terra, and all of humanity is in awe you will have the joy of knowing you did your part.

I only have a dozen openings available at this time, so act now! 

I would also like to take a moment and say Thank You to all my fans.  February 27th marks the One Year Anniversary of Ted's Creepy Van.  I'm just shy of 5,000 views and I really am grateful for all the support.  Make sure to stop back often because pretty soon I plan to have Ted's Creepy Van bumper stickers available.  Thank You, again! 

  

Why am I Still Here?

A few weeks ago I realized I could take yellow food coloring, mix it with warm water in an empty 2-liter bottle and write other people's names in the snow. 

Snow art.  I'm good at it. 

This started when I remembered a story from my childhood.  Just after a snowfall, I went outside one morning and in the alley behind our house I wrote my name in the neighbor's yard.  Pee'd, actually. 

TED.  Big yellow letters, too. 

Then the temperatures for that week got down to below zero and it froze solid.  Every day my dad would go outside and see that.  He wasn't too happy but I thought it was funny as hell.  The old man behind us did, too.  Naughty kids will be naughty. 

So now I'm working on getting the flow right and other various things.  I've been practicing outside my apartment.  So the landlord called me up this week and asked me if my toilet was broken.  I hadn't realized how much practicing I had been doing until I looked outside.  Everywhere around my apartment were yellow letters and spots.  Bold yellow, too. 

It looked like I had a kidney infection and a bladder problem.  And that I had been sitting around drinking lemon tea or beer for days. 

So I had to stop.  For now, anyways. 

I'm pretty sure my snow scribing skills are going to be a big hit.  I'm working on a bunch of pins for Pinterest.   

Why Valentine's Day Must End

It is time we ended a barbaric and stupid holiday re-invented as a means to sell greeting cards and other crap.

Emotion is powerful in sales.  Trust me, I've sold shit my entire life.  Emotion is powerful.

Fear is the most powerful.  Greed is second.  Love?  It's next.

Valentine's Day marketing uses all of these to lure people into participating and buying into the fabricated spirit of the day. 

1)  The history of Valentine's Day is crap.  Catholic Church Crap.  Lutheran Crap.  Even Chaucer used it for crap in Canterbury Tales.  The Church, like all religions, was about selling you something.  A story about following their rules, perhaps.  Sure, we can wax poetic and talk about the Romans or some other dead civilization but in the end it just doesn't fucking matter. 

Why not? 

Because the holiday of today bears no resemblance to what was celebrated back then.  It was a religious holiday for a martyr.  Only a priest would think it's "Get Laid Day." 

2)  Valentine's Day puts an unfair set of obligations on women who have no reason to take on those obligations. 

Buy a woman some of that over-priced bullshit and she owes you something.  Right? 

Nobody ever gave me the exchange rate.  I think I figured once that a stuffed animal was a smile, chocolate and a stuffed animal was a hug and the whole works plus a lobster dinner meant she had to do something with you even if she hated your guts. 

I have a friend who can't talk about puppies or cars without interjecting rape stats and anger at the man-based culture, but she hates this day almost as much as I do.  And she's right that is has an unfair bias. 

Men are expected to buy shit for women and women are expected to do something about it.  I'm pretty sure women know this, too.  I haven't met a single woman over the age of 18 who likes Valentine's Day.  Not one. 

Maybe married couples or folks who have been together for a long time in a committed relationship could get away with gift-giving.  But there should be a Golden Rule about this--If you haven't asked her out yet, don't do it on Valentine's Day.  Don't even buy her shit. 

If you're not dating, you're not buying. 


3)  Valentine's Day is geared towards beta men who are too timid to ask a woman out.  Instead, they are told that if you buy a woman some crap, it's better than being confident in yourself and simply getting over yourself and talking to a woman. 

I know, that's radical--get out of your mom's basement and go talk to a woman.  Take a bath first, though.  And brush your fucking teeth. 

I am convinced that 1/4 of the men who are called stalkers and creepers are really just shy and timid betas who are working up the courage to talk to a woman but keep chickening out.  The rest are just stalkers and creepers who are bad at hiding.  

No amount of crap you buy a woman will change her heart.  And if she didn't notice you before, announcing yourself as an insecure moron who thinks buying a pre-made piece of crap is a good idea will certainly get you reduced to the Idiot List. 

Diamonds are not a girl's best friend.  Diamonds are what you buy when you know she's committed to you and you want give her something to show off to her shallow, mean-spirited friends because women are evil to each other.  Seriously.  Women are totally fucking evil to each other and will fight to the death in competitions over the dumbest shit.  They'll take that rock and shove it in their best friend's face and say, "See that, bitch?  My man bought me this.  What did your man buy you?  Nothing?  Damn, I guess I win this round." 

So no, buying a gift will not make up for your bad breath, ugly teeth, weak will, or shyness.  If you can't make eye-contact with her, then don't buy her crap.

My fierce and angry feminist friend says that if women are given a gift, by not acknowledging that gift they are seen as being bitchy.  Refusing it would be even worse.  Refusing Valentine's Day crap would be seen as being not just evil, but cold-hearted.  Yes, it would be. But sometimes you have to say, "no." 


4)  Valentine's Day reduces women to a target that is to be chased and have things hurled towards.  She is a woman, not a rabbit in a field.  We're not coursing.  Worse, the whole mess takes on a predator/prey dynamic.  As a woman, you are expected to let some guy buy you crap.  No, it doesn't matter if you don't like him.  No, it doesn't matter if you are afraid of him.  Be gracious, stand still and let the big, ugly guy get close to you. 


5)  Valentine's Day is a way to ostracize others from the reindeer games.  It's another form of bullying.  Somebody might say, "Good!  Let the ugly kid know he's ugly and the fat girl know she's fat!  Maybe then they'll change and do something about it!" 

No.....sadly that's not how it works.  That person is already an introvert and by doing this, they withdraw even further into themselves and away from society.  Bullying never works.  Shame is almost as bad.  Having a day set aside to negatively reinforce people is what Halloween is for.


6)  Valentine's Day has this weird mercantile feel to it, as if I'm buying affection.  And since most women don't like being treated like a whore, that explains why so many don't like the holiday.

"Here, I bought you this in the hopes you'll give me some of your time."

Was it coke or chocolate?  We'll never know!

My man-hating friend, riding high atop a wild moose, holding a spear and wearing a cloak made from the skins of a thousand severed penises, was very quick to say Valentine's Day has the highest number of rapes.  I tried to look this up but no, I couldn't find anything.  It makes sense a little bit, though. 

Not that I would believe the statistics anyways.  I generally don't because my years of political experience have taught me that statistics are just metaphors with numbers. 

7)  Valentine's Day is based on the lie we tell ourselves that somebody is really out there for us.  We're a nice guy, right?  We're a sweetheart, etc, etc.  If that woman just knew me better, she'd love me.  If that woman could see I'm not a scary, ugly, fat, smelly bastard everything would be okay.  If she'd just realize I'm not always angry, I'm just angry every time she sees me, everything would be fine. 

We human beings have a pretty good sense about us.  We can tell when somebody is lying to us, loves us, likes us, or is a danger to us.  We know danger.  We know dislike.  And we are damned good at knowing that a box of fucking chocolate isn't going to make a woman any less afraid of you. 

8)  Valentine's Day makes most women cringe in fear at the thought that some guy, say a creepy, fat guy at work, will bake them something special.  Let's forget how loaded the word "special" can be for now and skip to what it means to know somebody loves you, cares about you, or wants to be with you while you don't want a fucking thing to do with them. 

Yes, unrequited love sucks.  Dangerous love is worse. 

Knowing that the creepy guy is going to do something for you is bad because it means he is going to expect something in return--something you ain't ever gonna give to him in a million years.  You don't love him, don't like him and if he died today you wouldn't even go to his funeral.  But he's going to bring you something on Valentine's Day and you cringe in fear because of it. 

My Marxist Feminist friend, while sitting on a throne made of the bones of men, says women tend to live in fear during Valentine's Day.  At least I think that's what she said.  I had a hard time understanding her because she was drinking blood from a man's skull at the time. 

Even I used this fear as an opportunity for some fun.  [I never claimed to be an angel and if you've read any of this blog, you'll know I'm certainly no saint.  Just remember, I hate everybody.] 

But yes, I've used this fear as a means of getting under women's skin.  I posted a threat on Facebook about embarrassing a woman with an overload of Valentine's Day kitsch.  Nobody in particular, just the dreaded "somebody".

Will I do this?  No, because if I did care about a woman who didn't give a fuck about me, I certainly wouldn't make her more uncomfortable than she already was.  Seriously.  Emotional Respect is the foundation of affection and care.  Why take an unrequited love and make it worse?   This is why I tell women I'm a sociopath.  This way, they realize I'm not capable of love, and therefor no threat to them.  It hasn't worked thus far, but I'm sure it will someday. 

I Sell Truth and Truth Accessories

She walked into my office quickly and stopped so fast her high-heeled boots skidded on the cheap carpet.  Her body said we were about to have a conversation and her face said she didn't want to do it but felt she had no choice.  Her fate was fixed.

I went back to a report I was filling out.

"I need to say something to you," she said.  Her voice had a bit of an edge to it, but not much.  She was forcing it.

"Oh?"  I didn't look up.  The radio was turned down low and all you could hear out of the speakers was the rika-tick rika-tick rika-tick-tick of the slap bass. 

"Yeah," she said.  "It's not any of your business who I date."

I pushed the report aside, reached into my desk and pulled out a Tarot deck.  I set it on top of the desk and looked up at her.

"Then you should tell the men you're fucking to stop bragging to me about it," I said.  We locked eyes.  Her big blues were wild with fear and discomfort.  My cold greys didn't give a shit and had long grown tired of the whole mess.

Rika-tick Rika-tick Rika-tick-tick.

"You're always watching me," she said.  "You don't think I notice, but I do."

"I see everybody.  I see everything.  You're not nearly as special as you think."

She winced like I'd just slapped her.  She needed me to like her--to want her.

"What do they tell you?"

"Lewd statements of intent.  The usual.  Why?"  I took the rubber band off the Tarot deck and began to shuffle.

"No reason," she mumbled.

"Apparently I'm a Station of the Cross on the way between your legs," I said.  She wasn't Catholic and didn't get it.  She didn't get much of anything I ever said to her.  Explaining it would only make her more uneasy around me. 

"Do you tell fortunes?"

Rika-tick Rika-tick Rika-tick-tick.

"No," I said.  "I see fate."

"There is no fate," she scoffed.  Dumb men called her wild.  I guess that's why they always came to me to brag.  Apparently they thought they'd caught a wild one.  But I knew better.  I saw her fear.

The Fear--it radiated off her every time her guard came down just a sliver--which wasn't very often.  She was terrified of something.  Sometimes in the distance, when it was quiet and she was pretending to glow in the center of every man's attention, I could hear the demons screaming at her from the corners of her mind.  The louder they screamed, the faster she moved around the room and the broader her smile.  She was trying desperately to outrun and outshine them.  And when she couldn't do that, there was always the booze, which had taken a visible toll on her in recent years. 

"Just because fate terrifies you doesn't make it less real," I said.  I knew that button could be pushed several times.

"I'm not scared," she said quickly.  Too quickly, really.  And she looked down after she said it in realization.  She might be beautiful, but to me she was an open book with a fourth-grade reading level.

Her left hand shook a bit.  It was slight.  I made her uncomfortable.  This I already knew, but she really was upset.

"I'm sorry they come to me," I said.  "I wish they wouldn't."

"What do they tell you?"  Her voice was quiet.  She was still looking down.

"The usual bullshit some douchey asshole says before they are with a woman way out of their league."

"Is that my fate?"

"No."  I wanted her to walk away.  I wanted this conversation to end.  No good would come from me saying another word.

"So what is my fate?"











To Be Continued....