--
Ayla reached out. I wonder if...
--
Kim didn't. I wish I didn't wonder.
--
I hate women. There, I said it. I hate you. All of you. Ok, maybe just superbitch or whatever I used to call her. But that's enough.
It's so trite. I don't want to love, so I won't, so I keep you distant, so I don't say what I feel, so I don't feel what I know, so I don't have what I want. If I never give any woman a chance, they can't leave me. Yadda yadda.
Still, I hate you.
I don't want it anymore. I don't want to love, to be in love, to be loved. You all can suck a dick. Preferably MINE.
Eh. That's just spite for that fanciful "maybe this is funny" exaggeration. When in fact, it's neither true nor funny. But I digress.
Laura was (what did I call her? Bitch-Whore? No, that wasn't it. SlutBAG! YESS! That was it!) the last girl I ever had faith in. I haven't had faith in anyone since -- not Kim, not Lizi nor Brie. Not even Kaitlin. Well. Maybe a little. But I wanted to cheat one her like I've never wanted to with/on any girl before, and, well, that was the end of that. But again I digress.
There may never be another. That is... a fact that should make me sad, but doesn't. Well, a little, but not really.
I'm done loving. I'm done hoping. I'm done with faith.
Someday, some girl will love my body enough to put up with that. And she'll cheat on me. And the world will maintain its balance, even if one frozen amongst the cold, dark hearts of its citizens.
Yeah. I hate you all.
--
Adam said tonight, "you never know with those online chicks. I mean, they are always, by nature, lining up the next date."
I asked how that was different from any "city girl".
"Good point."
--
Sigh. It's not you, it's me. No, really. I'm making use of the cliche because it's true.
There are those of you that are open to a "real relationship". I mean, sure, you're all a little psycho and I'd have to lie to you about going to the gym or some other random meaningless shit, but it'd be fine. I could make a lot of girls pretty happy. I could even be mostly happy myself.
But I still hate you.
I hate that I have to work for it. "It" being everything from attention to affection and appreciation to sex.
I hate that I desire your company even though I find it tiring and typically wasteful.
I hate that I am attracted to you even though you aren't as smart as me, you don't work out enough (if at all), you're idea of ambition is a master's degree, and you aren't really a nice person.
I hate that all of you are either insecure or supreme bitches. Why is there no in-between? Better yet, why are most of you BOTH?!
I hate that you whine about waiting for me, but then your idea of fun is reality TV. Why exactly did you need me to be here in order to feel happy? And why must I sit through bullshit when I could be doing something productive in order to win your affection?
I hate that you need two hours to get ready and criticize my dress when we go out with your friends, but my friends get to see you in sweat pants.
I hate that you expect me to include you in conversation, but when I do, you have nothing interesting to say. Make your own social context. Adapt! Oh, wait, you're a cute chick. You've never had to work to entertain anyone for anything and can therefore only talk about the two things you actually care about with any sort of passion -- reality TV and that useless master's degree you're getting.
I hate the dance. We have to flirt for a sufficient amount of time so that you'll remember me before I can ask you for your number, even though you've been checking me out every 15 seconds for the last hour, you've whispered to your friends about me, and you've wondered aloud about my cock size. But no, I have to make you laugh eight times and clown on you in some subtle way so that I create an emotional spike in your evening that you'll remember when you sober up in 36 hours and get my voice mail. Couldn't you just remember me for me and, knowing nothing at all about me, take the risk on fucking coffee after you've been complaining about the lack of quality guys since last March? But no, I'm supposed to be fucking Robin Williams over here and charm your almost-hot little (or not) ass off, make you simultaneously laugh and cry, and provide you with ten minutes of mental orgasm (minimum). Why? Just so I get a fucking return phone call. How about I just be a fucking monkey and carry around some goddamn cymbals? At least then I'd get tips for my effort.
I hate that you fight with me for no reason because I'm better than you. Yeah, I make you insecure. I'm stronger than you. I'm smarter than you. I'm faster than you. I'm better. In other words, exactly what you've hoped for since the day you realized that not all men were created equal. But, no, instead of embracing your good fortune and adoring me for simply adoring you, you have to fucking fight with me for no reason in hopes that one day I'll fuck up and you'll actually be right about something. Are you fucking kidding me? If I wanted a cock-fight I'd go to Mexico or the Castro. I don't compete with you. I'm not insecure about your income or your education. Heck, I'm even starting to get "cool" about ex-boyfriends. Why do you feel this need to? I am your mate. That means I got your back, not that I'm looking for some way to undermine the very confidence that attracted me in the first place.
But, mostly, I guess, despite the obvious self-fulfilling prophecy, I hate that you leave. Because all of you do. Some of you leave on false pretexts, some of you leave because I can't love you enough, some of you leave because you were never really there, some of you leave because you can't help yourselves. Some of you just leave because you are fucking slutbag bitch-whores from hell. And some of you leave because I ask you to.
But all of you, without fail, are temporary. And before you go quote that cliche -- yes, the one that I referred to above -- do remember that I gave you a chance.
I didn't always hate you. I didn't always despise your gender. In fact, at one point, I favored you. I lauded you. I appreciated you as being nicer, warmer, more nurturing, capable of love where men were not. I thought you worth of trust, admiration, and even love.
Yeah, I never got laid in those days. It seems that despising you is a prerequisite for procreation. But again I digress.
I hate you because you have hated me. You ate me up, used me for all of my resources, and spit me out with little regard. You ignored my feelings and my faith, discarding the shadow that remained after you tore my heart out carelessly. Repeatedly. Horribly. Unabashedly.
I hate you because you deserve it. You, who took my dearest wishes, my innocence, my heart and soul, my faith.
I hate you because it is all that I have left to defend my empty heart against yet another defeat.
I hate you because to offer you love, hope, or faith would be a squandering of whatever small shred of humanity I haven't already spent on undeserving slutbags.
I hate you because it is all I have left.
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