alfie is back

i'm debating how much to write, because someday, somehow, someone I actually care about might happen to read this and it could conceivably hurt her feelings. Because if I do this often, eventually one of the girls I divulge information about will actually be important to me.

But it's fun, so fuck it. >:)

So I've seen Shonna twice now. She was my first date when I re-entered the scene last week. Good kisser, but it's been awkward. Cute, but there's a little SF elitist jumpin' up in the background. Pretty fun to hang with -- she's smart (masters degree from a 2nd tier almost-ivy school), but she grew up, by my accounts, with an almost-nuclear family and doesn't really know what it's like to really struggle. We talked briefly on our first date about how she was humbled by her difficulty in finding fulfilling work after grad school. I get it, of course -- lord knows I've been struggling with "purpose" all over the place, but riding my bike to the next BART station to save 30 cents just seems a little distant from not being able to get the perfect gig after blowing $100K on grad school. Plus she's got the standard late-20s, living in the city lifestyle, which means she's busier than shit. Wanting a boyfriend is not the same having time for one, ladies. I kinda want you at least two nights a week without scheduling a week in advance. I know, silly me. Some of my friends might even say hypocritical. But at least I manage half a dozen businesses. Most chicks who are "really busy" have just filled up their lives with hobbies. Which is fine, but where am I supposed to fit in?

But I digress. I like Shonna, but I worry because I haven't really let it all hang out. The Alfie manual says steady as she goes on this, of course -- at least until her first orgasm -- but the sorrowful little bitch inside me wants to just put it all out there and see if she still likes me.

Don't worry. I won't.

Who was that weird chick last week? I went out with her on a Saturday afternoon and was ambivalent. Then she pushed the issue and got all weird. By Tuesday I was writing her an email saying that she toppled me off my fence by being impatient. I cited the two day rule, and said that despite the cliche "I don't want to play games", the damn game exists for a reason. It's because it friggin' works. Every time I've stopped playing it... in my entire history, I think... it's backfired. Chick gets a big head, or just loses interest, or starts treating me bad. Selective unavailability, boys and girls. But not so much I can't remember your name, ok? See above paragraph.

Her name, her name... Tammy. That was it. She got all bent out of shape when I cited the two-day rule and told me I had no social skills. Ahem. I guess that's why she was jockin' for a second date and some alfie lovin'. Because I can't hold a conversation. (lol)

Ok. Then Monday I went out with Kelly. Great body, but she didn't show her age well. She was 25 and could have passed for 30. Sorry, hon. We had sushi, and the conversation ran kinda dry. I kept probing and she kept answering, with only some obligatory probing back. I think she wasn't accustomed to dating at all -- that all of her experiences had been hook-ups and the classmate/workmate boyfriends. But I, of course, because I have no social skills, chameleoned like I usually do, and gave the nonchalance right back to her. Weird. She invited me out for more that very night, but I declined because it involved athletics and I had an injury. Then I didn't kiss her goodnight (she wanted me to), and blew it even further by calling the next day. In my pea-brain at the time, I thought, "it will make up for not being agressive with the good night kiss", but alas, on further reflection, it just topped off the lameness. She hasn't called back.

Yes, even Alfie falters sometimes. But I'm out of practice, don't forget.

Shoot, I'm missing one... oh, Angela. I met her for lunch last Friday. Cute, but not my style. Great conversation, lots of things in common, no chemistry. I stewed on it all weekend and emailed her today, asking if she'd like to hang out as "just friends" sometime. She responded with a resounding "yes", so hey. I think I pushed the "no chemistry" card a bit during the date, actually. It's amazing how much shines through, isn't it? Even if you're genuinely interested in the conversation, but not so much in the girl, it's somehow communicated if she's paying attention.

I need to work on that skill. My chameleon abilities usually carry me, because women generally find me attractive, but it would be so much more pimp'n to actually manipulate how the girl feels about me by altering the vibe I'm projecting.

Plus then maybe I could alter my own consciousness using such a skill. Hmmmm. But again I digress.

Saturday I met Lola. Yes, another one. I don't know how many that is, now, so don't ask. Six or seven. Or eight. Whatever. Piss off.

She was great. Good vibe, sociable, very laid back. Very nice curves, into her work, lives in the east bay, sensitive to costs, and likes to cook. Good, good, goodness.

Saw her again Sunday night. It went well.

So, I'm over for dinner Sunday night, and I'm the only vagina fan at the whole damn table. Seriously. There were six of us: 4 girls, a gay guy, and me. whoo-hoo!! I felt sooo bad, though... Lola had a neighbor named Lauren who was fantastic. (I know, I know, it's not a fetish, I promise, it's just the way it works out.) I could tell she was likin' Alfie, too, but I was so very obviously Lola's date. I don't know how I could possibly work that out, but I'd like to. Lauren was feisty and petite, down to party, yet has a day job where "casual Fridays" are special. OMG. Sooo right up Alfie's alley. And look, she has the name. "Lola" is close, but "Lauren"?

(ok, ok... lemme think... Lauren C, Laura D, Lauren R, Lauren B, Laura from far away, Lola from yesterday... hmmm. Is that it? I feel like I'm forgetting someone... but I guess not. Six? I think I loved four of them, at least in my own way. Like I've said before, "the one" will probably have the same name. There's just as many Saras as there are Laurens, but I've only dated two of those!)

But, despite wanting to overtly flirt with Feisty Lauren, I played my cards the way they were supposed to be played, and thoroughly enjoyed Caring Lola's company. I'm definitely seeing her again soon. And no, not to cozy up to Feisty Lauren. Although if that happens, so be it. >:-)

I feel like I had another one... oh, right, tonight. Tonight I met Morgan, who reminded me thoroughly of my Aunt Debbie. Same wit: sharp, quick, and a little dark. Pretty positive in spite of some negativity in her childhood, slightly thick, great laugh, very down to earth, pragmatic. She's pragmatic even in things like relationships and honest about what her definition of love is (on at least the tidbit I got). All great stuff, certainly.

Except I'm not all that attracted to her. I even told her so, in so many words, telling her she reminded me of a maternal figure, which was really good in some ways, but really awkward in others. I told her I'd be down to go out again and take it from there. To "see if I got over my internal weirdness". Damn, I'm good.

Truth is, though, she's good peeps and I'd like to be friends with her, but I don't think I'll suddenly feel any chemistry. Despite the great time, she's no Lauren/Laura/Lola. Any of them.

I have a Brittany coming up in a couple of days. Pretty excited about her (hotness! :-)).

back on the market

I started dating again. Out to dinner last night, out to lunch today, got a number at the St Patty's party I attended tonight.

I have what most guys would consider a good problem... women fall in love with me (or would, if I just went through the motions for another date or three), and my problem is that they just... aren't.

Aren't the one, or aren't the make believe, L-influenced version of what I now think a relationship should be, or...

I know from afar. I know often from the match profile, have a suspicion from the first email, the first phone call. I know. They're too old, or too cynical, or too tall, or too California. Too elitist, too set in there ways, too closed off, too too too.

And not enough that little girl I'm finally getting over. I know I am, because I looked at her profile today (thank you, facebook) and her 2700 photos posted, and I didn't feel anything. I just commented, out loud, on how young she is. And was. I still missed her, but I was more or less conscious that I was missing something make believe.

Or, at least, that's what I'm telling myself these days, that it was just fantasy at best, that despite how amazing I thought it was that she broke threw my cynicism and made me hope again, she was just a little girl, and it is and was foolish of me to miss something that never was.

At any rate, I'm not crying right now.

It's nice, I guess, to have some girl I just met laugh out loud at my ex and ask, in all sincerity, "how could anyone ever cheat on you?" It's nice to kiss a girl I've never kissed before, however awkward, and...

Oh fuck it. I'm lying to myself. this SUCKS. I date women who aren't worth my time. Kisses should not be awkward, even first ones. If anything, the only thing wrong should be that we both anticipate so much that we come on too strong, and a sexy nibble comes out a little too sharp. And I shouldn't sit across from an almost-pretty girl and try to talk myself into thinking she's cute, or interesting, or has potential. I shouldn't want to drink and drink and drink some more just so the conversation gets MORE interesting. I shouldn't think about going home and playing on the internet at 10:30pm on a Friday night because, well, that sounds like fun.

So? What then? I keep dating women who aren't worth my time? Or I stay celibate? Or I mold one of these barely good enough girls into someone bearable through manipulation and sheer imposition of my will? So I can maybe have good sex with one of them in six months? So I maybe talk myself into loving them if they stick around for a year? So I have someone to call at 3am instead of looking at pictures of the one that got away on the 'net?

I dunno, but I'll tell you what. I HATE THIS. It's not that I hate women. I mistrust them, yes, and I DO expect them to eventually leave me -- the only question is whether it's sooner or later -- but that's a far cry from hate. I don't even resent them for not appreciating. Because, truth be told, so many of them actually do. I'm a catch, and getting a real-time reminder of that is as easy as replying to one of the 10 winks a week I get on match, flirting a little bit with my words over email, and then wasting an hour drinking coffee with someone I might, maybe, if I suspend my idealism and hope for a few brief hours, want to sleep with.

But I want so, so, soooo much more. It's no longer about just being appreciated and nurtured. I want to appreciate in return. I want to look at my girl and think she's a goddess, even if we just spent all day and night together. I want to hear her on the other end of the phone and cry because I miss her so much, even when she's mine and I saw her just an hour before. I want to wake up without her and feel cold, because, goddamn it, I'm more used to having her there beside me than not.

I want to listen to "Such Great Heights" (Iron and Wine) and feel happy, not sad, because I know what that feels like and have that sensation every time I just pause to think about it.

So. The only question is... what to do until then? Do I just call up a fuck-buddy and have good, but non-rewarding sex occasionally until I find her? Do I keep dating like a madman in hopes that one of them will surprise me? Do I just, like so many women my age, just pack it in and accept a life of solitude?

Sigh. I hope too much. That little girl who came over to say goodbye tonight, saying "we're going downtown to Jupiter. You should come with us." And who, after a sorry excuse about my ride being a party pooper and wanting to bail, gave me her number without even blinking... a little tiny part of me, even as I can't even remember what color her eyes were, wonders if she could be... if she could be. Special.

Special. The one kinda special.

Getting over...

I'm not. I'm not getting over any of them.

I've had a lot of time to "live with myself" lately... trying to deal with all of the things I don't have to address when I just keep running 1000 miles an hour.

It doesn't help. I sit in my car talking to this confidant or that, being open, getting informal therapy, getting through life just... maintaining. Barely.

I know only fantasy, only the hope that someday I'll hope. I know only tears and sad songs, only pain at being left, alone, neglected, and hurt.

I've cried so long and fought so hard. I'm just tired now.

A friend said to me today, "you used to struggle to fit in, to fake it, but now you -- you're resigned to it. You're fight has given way to apathy."

And she's right. I'd rather be fighting, because it implies all the wonder and strength that is youth, even if the trip is painful and the journey arduous.

I'd rather be anything. Anywhere. Anyone. Any place but here.

And so I stay up late late late, so late it's early, and when the movie ends, the book closes, and the song concludes, there's still me, trying not to be alone with my thoughts right before I fail yet again to fall asleep without thinking of some girl who didn't really love me. Like she said she did, or said she would, or just showed me for a brief moment before the facades all fell away and the hopeful, innocent little boy I was sometime a long time ago died yet another small death.

--

Resigned. To the fucked up world that is everything I've ever known. A world without a god, where people are just selfish pricks, and...

I guess I don't really believe that. Maybe I wish I did because I just hate the idea of facing the day. Today, tomorrow.

It's funny... the "light at the end of the tunnel" bullshit just popped into my head. The fucked up thing is that you can't tell you're in a tunnel if it's pitch black. Or that you're at the bottom of the well.

If I died today, it would be so poetically tragic, the man-boy who had it all, yet couldn't find even the smallest peace. If only it would mean something.

Because like everything else in this world, there's not a whole lot that's special. Not me, not mom, not the girls, not work, nor play, nor that game-winning jump shot.

No one remembers. No one cares. No one wonders. And no one never, ever, ever stays. Protects. Loves.

I've inspired and achieved, earned and learned, hoped, dreamed, and even loved. Why can't I have any back?

Where's mine? When is it my turn? Can I ride the pony? I don't care if it's the smallest one or the ride already started or the saddle is broken. Just let me ride it a little. Please?