I Am Going to Die Alone

A Spiritual Essay

“Call you me fair? That fair again unsay.”

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act I, Scene 1)

I am going to die alone. Most active, virile, puissant men of roughly my age and build seem to be pairing off, without incident or consequence. However, I apparently have something as instinctly revolting as Juliette Lewis about me. I mean to make no offense toward Juliette Lewis. Juliette Lewis is a dear friend of mine. Still, she is a haggardly looking woman. She both sickens and intrigues me at once. At this very moment, I feel a slight tingle in my loins, but I digress.

Where does one meet these women? The women with whom so many men seem to be pairing off? I began my search by consulting The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Dating. Despite Mei-Ling from Australia’s stern warnings on Amazon.com, I pressed forward. I was sure that as a complete idiot, this book would do me well. The book cites that approaching women and using several "pick-up" lines would work. However, saying things such as "Baby, your daddy must have been at Pearl Harbor ‘cause you da BOMB!" didn’t seem to make sense. If this woman’s father was at Pearl Harbor, he wouldn’t have been doing the bombing, he’d have been the victim. Plus, "Baby, your daddy must have been a Japanese fight pilot during World War II…" didn’t have the same push behind it. Clearly, my intellect was not sophisticated enough for this book of advice.

I took the night to get unbelievably intoxicated with several of my neighbors at a local refueling station called the "Gas ‘n’ Sip." Asking these gentlemen didn’t seem to help either, as their advice was facetious and pointed. They noted that they hung out at the Gas ‘n’ Sip without women "by choice, man, by choice." I left them there to return home and call the one person who I knew would be able to help me, Tony Hawk. Tony was not home. I left a message, imploring him for insight into my quandary. How can I avoid dying alone, Tony? You are the only one who can help, I screamed into the phone like a man screaming into the phone.

He returned my call later in the day. He wasn’t the famous Tony Hawk, just some guy I found in the phone book named Tony Hawk. I think he’s a Native American fellow. We are meeting for drinks next week. Thus ends my quest for peace of mind. I am comfortable with it. I am going to die alone. Perhaps my new friend Tony Hawk will attend the funeral.