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! :-)).
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Boundary establishment -- first steps.
I went out with this girl three times. She was great, but far too busy. In the month we chatted, she was sick twice, out of town twice, and worked her arse off all the time. Part of finding what you want and/or need is denying people who don't fit, right?
This is in reply to her cancelling on something. She had asked if I could get together 'next Monday', which meant a couple of days ago.
Another one bites the dust. C'est La Vie.
---
I'm sorry I never followed up. I've been pretty reclusive, actually -- falling back on the work/gym daily routine.
Brutal honesty? I sorta feel like you don't have time for a boy in your life. Or, you do, but it would be one of those barely-once-a-week routines, and while it could be fun (you're still cute/fun/smart of course), I suppose (yes, i'm conflicted about sending this) I'm looking for something more.
I guess I feel like it wouldn't make me happy. Either we date for a couple of months and I really like you and feel in last place (bleah), or we never really take each other seriously and devolve into just friends or the friends-with-benefits routine.
So... (gulp) at this point I'm not interested in pursuing anything.
I suppose if I have it all wrong and you've just been selectively unavailable in an effort to stay mysterious, let me know. I'd be glad to give it another shot.
Or look me up once you make partner and you get your work schedule under 70 hours a week. :-)
In any event, I sincerely hope you stay happy and healthy. I also hope you find whatever it is your looking for in a partner. I'm also very open to staying friends and would be delighted to join you as an escort to any social engagement.
This is in reply to her cancelling on something. She had asked if I could get together 'next Monday', which meant a couple of days ago.
Another one bites the dust. C'est La Vie.
---
I'm sorry I never followed up. I've been pretty reclusive, actually -- falling back on the work/gym daily routine.
Brutal honesty? I sorta feel like you don't have time for a boy in your life. Or, you do, but it would be one of those barely-once-a-week routines, and while it could be fun (you're still cute/fun/smart of course), I suppose (yes, i'm conflicted about sending this) I'm looking for something more.
I guess I feel like it wouldn't make me happy. Either we date for a couple of months and I really like you and feel in last place (bleah), or we never really take each other seriously and devolve into just friends or the friends-with-benefits routine.
So... (gulp) at this point I'm not interested in pursuing anything.
I suppose if I have it all wrong and you've just been selectively unavailable in an effort to stay mysterious, let me know. I'd be glad to give it another shot.
Or look me up once you make partner and you get your work schedule under 70 hours a week. :-)
In any event, I sincerely hope you stay happy and healthy. I also hope you find whatever it is your looking for in a partner. I'm also very open to staying friends and would be delighted to join you as an escort to any social engagement.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
She Called
It was a drunk dial.
"What are you doing?"
I'm in on a street corner in San Francisco. What are you doing?
"I... I'm reaaaaaaally drunk. I went out tonight and then we came back and drank some more... Are you in Austin?"
(chuckle) No, babe, I'm in San Francisco.
"Ohhhhhh. Well, I wish you were here. I miss you. Why won't you come visit me?
I'd love to come visit you, L------. Why haven't you called and told me this? I'd have come to visit you ages ago if I knew you wanted me to.
"Well, I really miss you. You need to come. Come stay with me... oh... hold on a second..."
(background noise increases)
(line drops)
--
Of course, today I received this via email:
Hey, I'm really sorry to do this but you need to know what's up. I woke up this morning with a text from you and it kind of confused me so I did some research and found out what happened. A few of my girlfriends came in town this weekend and when I passed out last night one of them thought it would be a good idea to call everyone in my phone and really screw up some shit. I've been doing damage control all morning because although they think it's really funny I'm sure a lot of people got hurt, especially me. The person who called you from my phone last night was (...). She knows our whole story and probably thought it was hilarious in her inebriated state to stir up some shit. I cannot express to you how sorry I am, I'm not even sure what was said but I feel absolutely horrible about it. I really can't fix it because I wasn't even aware it was happening, but I did want to at least write you an e-mail to tell you the truth about the situation. Again, please please understand how sorry I am about last night. I hope everything is going well with you.
Sincerely,
...
--
I called today, after reading her message, got voice mail, and then just hit reply, sending a conciliatory message. No big deal, no harm done, ha ha, I miss you fwiw, keep in better touch.
I lied.
I feel more alone than ever today. Sad. Despondent. The way I've been feeling for the last two and a half months only with a little added salt in the wounds.
And today, sitting at my local Peet's, consuming the only drug I don't feel bad about having every day (but appreciate oh-so-much), I got a little angry. Angry at myself for raising one eyebrow when I saw her incoming call last night. Angry at the world for creating the situation in the first place. Angry at women in general for never following through. Angry at myself again for being angry at women, the world, and even at her, because the truth is that none of them really hurt me that badly. Two women did, perhaps. My bitch/whore/cheating ex that I'm over, but still wounded by (being over her is a lot different from being over what she did to me), and my wonderfully absent mother.
That same cheating whore of an ex said to me once or twice that "knowing how much you distrust women did make me want to prove to you that there were good women out there by being great, but it's this huge burden, too. It's too much of you to ask of any woman."
I'm sure you were thinking just that when you cheated, too, right? Whore.
But I digress. Goddamn it.
I want to cry, but I don't feel like I have anything to cry about. Some dumb chick who cheated on me over a year ago? Some silly little girl who I went out with for a month? Getting abandoned when I was 3? What the fuck is that juvenile shit, anyway?
And that just makes me angry again -- telling myself "grow the fuck up" or "man up" or whatever. That my sadness is foolish and uncalled for, that my feelings are inappropriate if not completely irrelevant.
@!(#*$^(####!
I was just lamenting a couple of days ago to a friend about how success has changed the way people approach me. There's this perception that I can absorb anything, that I don't need anyone, that I have all the answers.
The ironic part is that I've never felt more lost. More alone. More... sad.
I need guidance, love, and support now more than ever. And everyone looks at me like this superhero. I'm a millionaire, I get to retire at 30, I'm hot, I can get laid whenever I want, I play a good game of basketball, I can run a mile in six minutes, I know how to dance... I work so hard at being perfect just for acceptance, and I think I felt more accepted when I was looked at like a clumsy dumb kid with a cocky streak. They laughed at me for talking about how successful I was going to be ("You? Buy a house? But don't you work at Denny's?! Okaaaaaay..."), but somehow it was acknowledged that I was working my ass off, and even if I wasn't going to be as successful as I hoped, that was respectable.
Now everyone just wants to fuck me. Tenants hustle me on rent, clients hustle me on work/pay, woman hustle me for sex (why do y'all assume you can't have me for anything else, put me on a pedestal, then just disappear when I actually express interest in putting you on a pedestal too? Sheesh!), and my friends hustle me for support (except for spencer, it all seems to flow one way these days, and even his support is often at arm's length).
Sigh.
--
I just want to be loved. And, just once, just one fucking time in my whole life, I don't want to have to work for it. I don't want to have to pay somehow, whether that means the dance of courtship (I hate the two day rule too, ladies, but I do it because it fucking works), providing emotional support, buying an unreciprocated round of drinks, or just doing the high-maintenance routine of pushing the metrosexual envelope.
I just want it for free.
I want to wear baggy, non-designer jeans and not pay the check sometimes. I want to go out with my friends and not talk about chicks. I want my mom to call me even if my brother isn't in town, even if someone hasn't asked about me, even if she doesn't need advice on buying a car or refinancing her condo. I'm so sick of being judged, so annoyed at the burden of performing on the stage that is the world.
I want S. to look at me and NOT think that my malaise is because I haven't found Jesus yet. Just be my fucking friend.
I want F. to look at me and not talk about money. Mine, his, whatever. I have debt, you have debt, whatever. Just be my fucking friend.
I want C. to not take solace in my despondency, excusing his own snails-pace of making decisions and taking action because, see, look at JJ -- Happiness is unachievable even if you're a fucking superhero. Just be... oh fuck it.
I want S. to not look to me for inspiration, then be disappointed in me when I fall in love with his girlfriend's little sister after two weeks. Or express an interest in retiring so I can be a kid for awhile. I'd do anything to feel appreciated every day, jackass. How about you respect me and be my friend even if I feel needy sometimes? Never mind the laundry list of actual reasons L. and I got along so well. Just be... yeah. There's nothing weak about wanting to be with someone. There's actually, I think, something weak/wrong with insisting that you don't need anyone.
I want D. to call me and check up on me like she used to. I know you're busy, and I know I'm supposed to be a grown-up now, and I know you have dozens of other kids to take care of now who need you more than I do, but goddamn it, it's not getting any better, and I still need you.
Therapy is done for now. I'm hungry.
"What are you doing?"
I'm in on a street corner in San Francisco. What are you doing?
"I... I'm reaaaaaaally drunk. I went out tonight and then we came back and drank some more... Are you in Austin?"
(chuckle) No, babe, I'm in San Francisco.
"Ohhhhhh. Well, I wish you were here. I miss you. Why won't you come visit me?
I'd love to come visit you, L------. Why haven't you called and told me this? I'd have come to visit you ages ago if I knew you wanted me to.
"Well, I really miss you. You need to come. Come stay with me... oh... hold on a second..."
(background noise increases)
(line drops)
--
Of course, today I received this via email:
Hey, I'm really sorry to do this but you need to know what's up. I woke up this morning with a text from you and it kind of confused me so I did some research and found out what happened. A few of my girlfriends came in town this weekend and when I passed out last night one of them thought it would be a good idea to call everyone in my phone and really screw up some shit. I've been doing damage control all morning because although they think it's really funny I'm sure a lot of people got hurt, especially me. The person who called you from my phone last night was (...). She knows our whole story and probably thought it was hilarious in her inebriated state to stir up some shit. I cannot express to you how sorry I am, I'm not even sure what was said but I feel absolutely horrible about it. I really can't fix it because I wasn't even aware it was happening, but I did want to at least write you an e-mail to tell you the truth about the situation. Again, please please understand how sorry I am about last night. I hope everything is going well with you.
Sincerely,
...
--
I called today, after reading her message, got voice mail, and then just hit reply, sending a conciliatory message. No big deal, no harm done, ha ha, I miss you fwiw, keep in better touch.
I lied.
I feel more alone than ever today. Sad. Despondent. The way I've been feeling for the last two and a half months only with a little added salt in the wounds.
And today, sitting at my local Peet's, consuming the only drug I don't feel bad about having every day (but appreciate oh-so-much), I got a little angry. Angry at myself for raising one eyebrow when I saw her incoming call last night. Angry at the world for creating the situation in the first place. Angry at women in general for never following through. Angry at myself again for being angry at women, the world, and even at her, because the truth is that none of them really hurt me that badly. Two women did, perhaps. My bitch/whore/cheating ex that I'm over, but still wounded by (being over her is a lot different from being over what she did to me), and my wonderfully absent mother.
That same cheating whore of an ex said to me once or twice that "knowing how much you distrust women did make me want to prove to you that there were good women out there by being great, but it's this huge burden, too. It's too much of you to ask of any woman."
I'm sure you were thinking just that when you cheated, too, right? Whore.
But I digress. Goddamn it.
I want to cry, but I don't feel like I have anything to cry about. Some dumb chick who cheated on me over a year ago? Some silly little girl who I went out with for a month? Getting abandoned when I was 3? What the fuck is that juvenile shit, anyway?
And that just makes me angry again -- telling myself "grow the fuck up" or "man up" or whatever. That my sadness is foolish and uncalled for, that my feelings are inappropriate if not completely irrelevant.
@!(#*$^(####!
I was just lamenting a couple of days ago to a friend about how success has changed the way people approach me. There's this perception that I can absorb anything, that I don't need anyone, that I have all the answers.
The ironic part is that I've never felt more lost. More alone. More... sad.
I need guidance, love, and support now more than ever. And everyone looks at me like this superhero. I'm a millionaire, I get to retire at 30, I'm hot, I can get laid whenever I want, I play a good game of basketball, I can run a mile in six minutes, I know how to dance... I work so hard at being perfect just for acceptance, and I think I felt more accepted when I was looked at like a clumsy dumb kid with a cocky streak. They laughed at me for talking about how successful I was going to be ("You? Buy a house? But don't you work at Denny's?! Okaaaaaay..."), but somehow it was acknowledged that I was working my ass off, and even if I wasn't going to be as successful as I hoped, that was respectable.
Now everyone just wants to fuck me. Tenants hustle me on rent, clients hustle me on work/pay, woman hustle me for sex (why do y'all assume you can't have me for anything else, put me on a pedestal, then just disappear when I actually express interest in putting you on a pedestal too? Sheesh!), and my friends hustle me for support (except for spencer, it all seems to flow one way these days, and even his support is often at arm's length).
Sigh.
--
I just want to be loved. And, just once, just one fucking time in my whole life, I don't want to have to work for it. I don't want to have to pay somehow, whether that means the dance of courtship (I hate the two day rule too, ladies, but I do it because it fucking works), providing emotional support, buying an unreciprocated round of drinks, or just doing the high-maintenance routine of pushing the metrosexual envelope.
I just want it for free.
I want to wear baggy, non-designer jeans and not pay the check sometimes. I want to go out with my friends and not talk about chicks. I want my mom to call me even if my brother isn't in town, even if someone hasn't asked about me, even if she doesn't need advice on buying a car or refinancing her condo. I'm so sick of being judged, so annoyed at the burden of performing on the stage that is the world.
I want S. to look at me and NOT think that my malaise is because I haven't found Jesus yet. Just be my fucking friend.
I want F. to look at me and not talk about money. Mine, his, whatever. I have debt, you have debt, whatever. Just be my fucking friend.
I want C. to not take solace in my despondency, excusing his own snails-pace of making decisions and taking action because, see, look at JJ -- Happiness is unachievable even if you're a fucking superhero. Just be... oh fuck it.
I want S. to not look to me for inspiration, then be disappointed in me when I fall in love with his girlfriend's little sister after two weeks. Or express an interest in retiring so I can be a kid for awhile. I'd do anything to feel appreciated every day, jackass. How about you respect me and be my friend even if I feel needy sometimes? Never mind the laundry list of actual reasons L. and I got along so well. Just be... yeah. There's nothing weak about wanting to be with someone. There's actually, I think, something weak/wrong with insisting that you don't need anyone.
I want D. to call me and check up on me like she used to. I know you're busy, and I know I'm supposed to be a grown-up now, and I know you have dozens of other kids to take care of now who need you more than I do, but goddamn it, it's not getting any better, and I still need you.
Therapy is done for now. I'm hungry.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
See, I'm not the only one
Love 2.0
"Yet how to meet a mate? They are getting too old to cruise trendy Yelp parties or to ride the N-Judah in hopes of getting picked up on Craigslist's "Missed Connections." They haven't found a single drinking establishment between Palo Alto and San Jose that serves up a better ratio of men to women than Anchorage, Alaska. They frequently are too busy to devote enough time to online dating services. Meanwhile, the friends who used to set them up with eligible singles have peeled off in minivans lined with child safety seats and Slurpee-resistant upholstery."
I've said it a million times, and I'll say it again: the Bay Area is the WORST place on the planet to meet someone of substance.
"Yet how to meet a mate? They are getting too old to cruise trendy Yelp parties or to ride the N-Judah in hopes of getting picked up on Craigslist's "Missed Connections." They haven't found a single drinking establishment between Palo Alto and San Jose that serves up a better ratio of men to women than Anchorage, Alaska. They frequently are too busy to devote enough time to online dating services. Meanwhile, the friends who used to set them up with eligible singles have peeled off in minivans lined with child safety seats and Slurpee-resistant upholstery."
I've said it a million times, and I'll say it again: the Bay Area is the WORST place on the planet to meet someone of substance.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
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