Marriage and such

I was just facebooking and was struck by how many of my peers are married.

It makes my singlehood feel a bit weird. I know, this is nothing new, but it is somehow more "real" seeing pretty much every single girl I've ever dated married or pregnant. Or, you know, both. I guess that happens sometimes too. (muted snicker)

"Raining in Baltimore" is playing on my not-a-goddamn-iPhone. It wasn't for you, J., but I still remember. I really really need a raincoat... really need. Really need...

Unfortunately, I don't think he's about to get laid and looking for a condom. I think it's an allegory to the storm of living with depression -- whatever the cause. Bummer for him.

Maybe for me too. Sometimes.

Slutbag is with a dude she's into enough to announce it to the world on Facebook. Her cousin is getting married. Her best friend who wanted us apart ("why would any girl living in the city ever have a boyfriend?!") is married and just had a kid. All the girls I ever loved (ok, except the last 12 months) are married, having kids, and by all external appearances, are very happy.

Without me.

Julia Dempey (sp? correct?) from that scene in Before Sunset comes to mind. "It's not that I wanted to marry them. It's just... why didn't any of them ever ask?! Why did they stay with me, live with me, love me, and then break up, only to marry someone else right after?" The quote is obviously very fucked up from the 5 years and 200 bottles of wine since seeing it. The idea is close, though.

I don't really miss any of them. Well, maybe Kim, because it's recent, but that's fading every day, and I'm not even sure what I miss. The level of intimacy, perhaps. The feeling that she had my back and was on my side. Which, I guess, she was... sorta. Weird. She could drop me over nothing yet I felt like if faced with external hardship she was my girl through and through. Probably a side effect of being crazy. Her, in this context, but yes, both of us.

But anyway. I'm not really all that sad. I have found a certain solace in my work and a good glass of wine. Could it be that this is it? Acceptance of "never finding someone" or whatever the cliche is?

Arrrgh.

I suppose I don't really care. I really, really want to be so genuine with women right now, despite the fact it never seems to work that way. No girl ever wants to date me when I'm touchy-feely, attentive, and actually excited about them. I've never met one.

Remember your training, young Alfie. Selective unavailability. It's not hard. You run a startup for fuck's sake.

LOL. #1 way to get out of a relationship fast: fall in love with them! I hate to say it, but I totally used that back in my "I hate women" stage. Maybe not quite love, but certainly a flavor of it. (Hi, we just had sex and I totally think your bed is uncomfortable and want to bail and sleep in my own bed. So what do you think about kids? Picket fences? Suburbs? Oh. Yeah, I guess I can go. You want me to leave? Really?)

It's pretty fucked up that the road to actual intimacy involves a shitload of pretending you don't like someone when you actually do.

--

I suppose the problem, actually, is that I'm still nuts. I want to fall in love in three dates and feel intimate in 4 days. Like, well, back in the day. Fairy tales and being sixteen and all that jazz. I know it's crazy, but I actually kinda like that about myself. I kinda like that romantic fairy tale notion, that idea that it could just work with a stranger you just met.

It's fucking stupid. But I miss that in myself. And I wish I still believed in it.

I guess part of me still does believe. Or, at least, wants to badly enough to hope for it.

Another part of me thinks it is downright pathetic. Yin and yang. Maybe they will always juxtapose.

Maybe that's the point.

I'm lonely

There's really nothing else to say. The problem with being the guy everyone turns to for answers is that no one ever calls just to say hello.

What's the Male version of a Cat Lady?

I think it might be "internet entrepreneur".

'nuff said.

Ok, not enough.

Another girl came and went before she even came. Heck. She may yet come. But she's a flake, and the future is not at all cogent in the way that I had been imagining this past weekend.

Heh. Not like I expected anything... just. Yeah. Let myself get a little carried away.

Easy pickin', she was. Easy. All I had to do was not actually like her.

Sigh. But whatever. When I read this a year from now, I won't event remember who this is about (RJF mean anything?). And that's fine. Because it really isn't that big of a deal.

Still. It is definitely one more whipping pushing me, yet again, in favor of being an asshole. None of this aggressive "let's hang out again, what are you doing, um, tomorrow" bullshit. More like "the only way you get to see me tomorrow is if you're cookin' me breakfast!"

LOL.

I don't want to be that guy. But he gets laid a lot more than I do. And is that happier...? I dunno.

Sometimes.

Sigh.

If the goal is simple being remembered, don't the girls you hurt remember you a lot better than the girls who thought, "wow, really nice, pretty cute, but way too intense. I'm not calling him back."

Yeeaaaaah.

The world is a backwards place.

I loved Kim. I put a lot into "us". And she hates me.

I was unwilling with Jill. And she remembers great sex and roller skating.

I loved Laura. And she remembers... something. I don't really know. I'm just mad that she's happy and I'm not.

I was careless with Sarah. And she remembers great sex and some good Madeira.

I loved Amanda. And she remembers "what was that about".

I was... eh. You get the picture. What do they remember? Are they really so hurt?

I know this argument is old, I know this has been said before, but maybe I keep coming back to it for a reason.

If there really is no hope for whatever fairy tale I fancifully believe in when I let myself forget how much it hurts when she eventually leaves, why not just have great lovers?

Another round trip

Kim came and left again.

I'm almost done with my bottle of wine. I actually went out to get it this time.

It's really, really good tho. PAP level wine. Mmmmm.

I'm coding. Yeah, for money. Well, at some point hopefully. Batch scanning for MC. Woot. Funny thing happens when you are three glasses deep and distracting yourself and no one is calling you. It all seems... less important. Which, actually, it was all along.

I am too hard on my people. It is a flaw. I need to be a better manager.

I am too hard on myself. I need to be a better human.

I am not really that hard on my women. They need to be better.

I loved her. But you see people in their true colors when faced with adversity. Faced with miscommunication. Faced with the unforeseen occurrences of life.

My phone wasn't sending SMS messages today. I didn't know this; it was the result of an unrelated change in service with AT&T yesterday. Some random chick in Louisiana hit "enter" one too many times. Not really that big of a deal.

Except that she felt like I flaked on her. Because I texted. And texted. And texted again, worried.

And she didn't get any of it. But, rather than ask about what went wrong, rather than think out loud about the possibility that technology might have failed, she chose to chew me out.

And I responded with silence. Then a defensive, "so you think I'm being disingenuous when I tell you I tried three times to reach out?"

And she called me a bad person. A flake. A liar. Insinuated that I was cheating. That she was last. That I wasn't capable of love. That I wasn't capable of having a relationship. That I had no regard for her feelings.

Sigh. Well... yeah. I do love her. But, well, fuck her. She was acting like a bitch. Perhaps, in fact, she is a bitch. But then, she probably has to be for me to love her, right?

Sigh again.

So... if I'm actually insane, if I actually crave this drama, some sort of need to prove myself, etc., and I've nonetheless channeled it into my work (MC has to rock, otherwise I'm a big fat loser, woot), then why do bitchy chicks have to be the only ones I'm attracted to?

Or, put another way, will I have to "settle" for some one that does not push my apparently insanity buttons - someone balanced, flexible, understanding, etc., yet not very tantalizing - in order to fake sanity? Or, in order to be... ugh. Successful?

I need a good woman to support my efforts. I need someone to pull me out of work on Friday nights, yet support me on Thursdays. Someone who tells me to go handle my shit on a random Sunday, yet convincing me that a week off next June is totally fine. Someone who supports my work, my gym hours, and my lot in life, yet pulls me out of it just enough to make me a better man than I am all on my own.

The problem is... that chick is out there. And I'll probably find her attractive and have sex with her a few times. But I'll find her boring and long for the next Kim.

Or the last one.

Is this the path? I have to settle for someone who feels boring? Or feel the bimonthly pain of someone I long for?

Is life really this limiting?

Winter Blues

I am alone.

It is cold in my house. It is colder outside. It is cold in my heart.

I hold onto my hate because it is dependable. I hold onto my anger because it keeps me safe. I hold onto my cynicism because it is sometimes all that I have.

I walk out on good women and away from women I love. I shy away from all that might be great, because it has the chance to cause me horrible pain.

I hate women. That I hate at all is a terrible waste.

Will this ever get better? Will I ever face a Christmas without pain and loneliness, without me pining over an ex, without trolling match, without some sort of self-inflicted drama?

I can count my happy Christmases on one hand and still have plenty of room left to flip you off. That sucks.

The answer? Perhaps I need to fly south for the winter. Perhaps, actually, I need to fly south altogether. Fuck norcal, fuck San Francisco, fuck home, fuck bay area elitism, and... damn I really wanted another "fuck". It just felt right rhythmically.

Armchair Therapist

Tracy looked at my profile. I wonder if...

--

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.

A little lonesome

My software baby has entered a period approaching normality -- I have people back from vacation, from stupid "illnesses", and I've hired a new guy.

As such, I took the last day and a half off.

Turns out the rest of my world is still there, and it all came tumbling down upon me in the last couple of days.

I have three mortgages in "loan modification". Basically a euphemism for "you done fucked up, but so many losers are in the same spot, we'll help you out." Yeah. The deals seem so good I'm seriously considering doing it on the other 5. Or 6. Yeah, I dunno how many mortgages I have. Whatever.

So, like, free money, don't pay for two months and get a LOWER payment? Yeah, that's a real hard decision. Siggh. Somehow I think that, while I'll probably lose my platinum amex, it probably isn't that big of a deal. I feel a little immoral even considering it, but well, shit rolls downhill. Maybe this will make up just a little for all the stupid fucks that seem to think it's ok not to pay their rent. Assholes.

Oh, yeah, and my breakup from 6 weeks ago suddenly seems like it happened yesterday.

I miss her. I didn't think I would. I worked really hard to keep my distance.

Funny thing is... I kept my distance largely because I "just knew". Only, if you make the call before you start, does that effect the outcome? Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that?

The 200 things I didn't like about her (it's Kim, for posterity) keep coming to mind and seem ever more trivial. Pretty silly. I miss her, so her flaws seem less important, yet if she were here, and we'd just spent the weekend together, and I was pondering what I would be doing if she were more (whatever), I'd be resenting her. er... "resent" is too strong a word. Just... taking her for granted. And perhaps lacking in patience.

Yeah. It's me. I know. A lot of help knowing that does.

Patty says I hate my mother and won't trust/love/be with any woman until I settle that.

She's surely correct in part. But then, you know... duh.

Last weekend we had a conversation after a "friend" busted me a new asshole because I had a penis. It's a long story that is of little consequence... suffice it to say that I met a freshly divorced gal who was attracted to me. And then, before I realized that she went to Stanford and got an MD solely so the passing public wouldn't see the glowing neon sign behind her head saying "I truly believe I'm incredibly stupid and have to be the smartest person in the room in order to feel at all human", I went ahead and showed my brain to her.

And they say I'm difficult. Oh my god. I think I'd have preferred if she just socked me in the jaw. At least then I would've realized what a bitch she was right away. It took me a half hour before it sunk in with that whole words/attitude thing. Psssh.

But anyway. I'm babbling because I'm a little buzzed. If you're reading... lol. I want to call the three of you out by name and say hello! Ok, I won't. Sorry for digressing.

Anyway. Patty was telling me that she had had a hard life, implying that I shouldn't take it to heart, that I'm a bigger person, bleah bleah blah.

It was well intended. I'm ok with it. I'm also proud of what I said.

"Yeah, well, we all have demons, but you don't rip someone a new one within ten minutes of meeting them for no reason.

"At some point, you are an adult. You are no longer your father's son. You are responsible for your own bullshit, your own drama, your own anger, and your own negativity to the outside world.

"At some point, it is not daddy's fault that you didn't go to college, that you have no friends, and that you are a depressed little fuck. Grow up, take some good drugs, get your dick wet, and move the fuck on.

She pointed out that I date dozens of women every year and have hurt many of them.

I replied, "Yeah, but I don't lead them on. I don't become "boyfriend" and make commitments unless I'm really gonna try. I tell them I'm flawed, and more often than not I actually just break it off. I turn down good sex, good times, and super hot arm candy because I know I'm gonna hurt them sooner or later. I can't tell you how many times I've done it."

"And that was NOT was I saw tonight. That shit was wrong. That wasn't 'I'm really conflicted because I hate all men right now, yet I wonder what you look like naked and I'm gonna be adversarial as a result.' That was mean. That was evil. And in my angriest moments, in my most hurt states, I'm not that person. I'm not that bad."

Ugh. Mental masturbation. No one cares. Not even me. Although, it may be a blessing that crazy bitch wasn't a blonde. I might have absorbed a bit more of that mind fuck.

So anyway.

I haven't written in ages. Being busy is a bit of a blessing, I suppose.

I suppose the elephant in the room that I'm trying to circumnavigate is simply that I miss my ex-girlfriend. I miss the crazy chick I only let myself get close to because I didn't think enough of her to be afraid of hurting her. A little.

WOW. So, I let a house go into foreclosure this year. It was underwater, the mortgage wasn't in my name, bleah bleah... it's complicated. The important part is that I collected rent on that place for 9 months before the bank repo went through. If only, if only, huh?

Thing is... the guy I rented it to was fucking NUTS. Run over his chick in the car, get sent to jail, it's ok, here, shake her hand, it's all good now kinda nuts. Yeah. For real. The no-way-in-hell tenant.

Except I went ahead and rented to them. Because, like, who cares? Your getting a good rental rate, it's a nice place, and in 6 months your life will be utter chaos with or without me, so WTF?

And it was. Chaos. And it is. I shook his hand the other day. Called myself a pussy and lowered myself to his level for 10 minutes so I can get my washer and dryer back. Yeah, I'm pragmatic.

My point is, of course, that because he's a fucking freak it doesn't seem wrong to be an irresponsible landlord.

And so it is with my girlfriend. Er... ex-girlfriend. She's crazy. I knew that in the first two weeks. I ran like hell. I broke up with her after 2 weeks, on the phone, right before both her birthday and Xmas. Good? Bad? Inhuman? Desensitized? Whatever dude, it was two friggin' weeks. TWO WEEKS. That heartbreak you can feel her having? Um, is that your phone? Oh, hey, it's the eighth grade calling, it wants its hormonal imbalance back. Sheesh.

But we had such chemistry. And she kept coming back for more. And I was busy, but enjoyed her company every other week when she booty-called me. And then, here and there, we went to brunch the next morning. And six months later, I liked having her around. And there you go.

Ugh. A little part of me loved her. Not like I loved (puking a little in my mouth) Laura... nor like Kaitlin. A little more crazy. A little less pure. A little more lustful, a little more sense of "I deserve this chaos, it makes us compatible', a little... sigh. A LOT. She brings my psycho to the surface.

And therein lies, perhaps, a bit of my catharsis. I let myself get close because I didn't respect her. I felt like I deserved her. I felt like it was ok to use her because I knew I was being used. It was ok to not treat her as well as I could, to put the gym and work and myself first, to roll my eyes when friends asked about her, to basically be a bad boyfriend... because I didn't want it to work out.

The part I can't quite get my head around emotionally is that I've had plenty of girls fall in love with me for whom I felt very little. I simply pulled away, troubled, excusing myself before too much time had passed, before habits had formed, before before before.

Sometimes I made them cry. But they were little tears, and I was that guy that got away that wasn't over daddy issues, or just had his priorities maligned, or just needed to grow up a little.

And I'm ok with that.

But this one was a little different. It's not that she deserved to be treated better -- although, upon reflection of my level of affection for her, of course she did. It is the realization that I basically sabotaged it from the beginning.

Sigh.

Patty is wrong. It's not my mother that I need to get over. I don't hate chicks because of Vicky.

I hate chicks because of Laura.

Vicky gets suspicion. She is the reason for "You owe me nurturing. You owe me support and an ego boost". Which isn't so bad, actually. I mean, sure, it's a chip on my shoulder that helps turn off a good chunk of the female population, but it's not really evil nor all the embarrassing. I'm just a guy that needs a little maintenance. Whatever. There are some trust issues there, perhaps, but they are totally just "edgy", not abnormal.

So I won't date a nice girl until I get over Laura. Riiiiiight.

I think I might want to just date another hundred chicks and have a lot of sex for awhile longer.

I guess I just don't really want to get over that yet. No, I don't know why. Yes, it's weird.

Maybe I like it.