Jason

Ran into Jason J-dawg T. tonight.

He is living in Oregon somewhere. Starts with an "R". Came back to California because he needed to deal with some sort of legal issue.

He did 2+ years in San Quentin for robbing houses in Castro Valley. He served time in 2001.

He found me walking by him as I casually made my way out of Walnut Creek BART station. I was headed to meet my new girlfriend and he yelled out my name. We chatted for 5-10 minutes and I saved his number in my dying Blackberry.

He was still there when I got back at 11pm. Mel and I had had dinner, three martinis each, and had a solid lovemaking session in the back of her SUV.

He was waiting for a ride. Someone from Oregon was coming to pick him up at the train station. I waited past a missed train. We talked for almost half an hour.

I told him about almost getting married once (Amanda), about making almost $2MM by 23 and losing it all a half year letter, about traveling the world and "doing time" in Britain and Spain. I told him about girls that hurt me and dating blondes. Dating a lot of blondes.

He told me about prison. He told me about living in the same space as lifers, about having his bunk mate try to kill him with a hair pin (is that what it was?), about trying to commit suicide by hanging himself on a phone cable by wrapping it around his neck, standing, and leaning into it until his consciousness started to fade.

It is poignant to recognize that the difference between him and me was a couple of smart decisions and a couple of lucky ones. It is relevant to consider that we were boys back in the day, that we were equals, that 25 cents felt the same to either of us -- one quarter of a slurpee or one game of Street Fighter. Is it because I have a higher IQ? Or because I simply look white? Is it because I got read to at 2? Or just a little extra tenacity when hiring managers at fucking fast food joints told me to take a hike?

He stood there, speaking, talking, lamenting, ranting, and almost crying. He stood there, and I knew him better than anyone had known him in over a decade. And he knew me more, better, realer than my own mother.

It was a religious moment just as it was simultaneously a fleetingly penitent one.

That could've been me. I was one bad decision, one negative review, one firing away from the same fate.

--

As I stood there, taking him in, it was a strange juxtaposition of emotions.

I thought of the hot bourgeoius private school high maintenace chick I had just finished cumming on as she professed her love to me. And I thought of waiting tables, and doing time for disrespecting authority (stupid traffic violations or not).

I thought of my company and how I was frustrated that the 55K salary I am making is less than I made at 22 and how my time investment alone represents a sacrifice of $150K annually. And then, I thought of being mad when, in the summer of 1997, some random Mexican stole my orange and I felt violated, only to be reminded "You're in fucking jail! Just be grateful all you got taken from you was a fucking orange!"

I thought of being in charge, of sitting in meetings and commanding attention, authority, respect, and

(I don't know why, but when I went back to retrieve this and post it, it was truncated. Maybe I got a phone call and never finished?)

friday nights and lonely sundays

i hate them.

all of you. them.

there is no solace in knowing the game. no comfort in realizing how to PR, front, fake, and mimic my way to pussy, affection, and attention.

i hate you anyway.

In fact, dare I say it, because I can see how I can get you, because I see what I must manipulate, if only I choose to do the work, to "get" you, I think less of you.

I've been out on about 12 dates in the last 30 days. All of them were great. Most of them... I don't know... well (counting)...

Yeah. I think I can/could have gotten a date with all of them without much effort. Two phone calls and a quick pitch. If that.

And that means, if I played my cards right, I could get laid in about 5 days. From... yeah, right now.

And I don't want it. I don't want them. I don't want... well, ok, the thought gives me pause. It's been awhile.

But yeah. I hate them. All of 'em.

There's more to say, but I'm drunk, I have to work all weekend, and, well, no one reads this anyway. Yawn.

It's happening again

no writey, no bummers, right?

Well, I'm writing.

Part of it is it that I want to cry. I want to feel a glass of wine (or two), I want to enjoy the solitude, feel alive in my own solace that is... that just. Is.

A part of me misses ex-GFs. A part of me hungers for the new ladies that are out there, floating, teasingly, just out of reach, wanted, like only someone I show the "real me" exists... unattainable. Therein, I suppose, lies the neverending source of angst. Why aren't I good enough as-is? Why must I put on the mask of confidence (or arrogance), the mirage of having it together, the distance of selective unavailability?

Why can't I just like you. Just want to be with you. Just hunger for it, not have "better things to do", have responsibilities. I do... for real. I just want to like you so much I'll set them aside. And that's... bad?

Or I can stay out too late, tease the animal that is a potential relationship that scares me. I can respond to an 11pm invite for tea and be put in a situation that can't end well. A situation that makes me an asshole for leaving, or her a slut for letting me stay, or me immature for wanting or not wanting or hoping or rejecting. Makes me feel evil no matter what I do.

But then, of course, I feel pretty shitty a great deal of the time anyway. And, likewise, maybe so do they. And so, then, why not have more sex? Why not have more teasing? Why not have more touch, more mock-intimacy, more pleasant dreams even if short lived? Why not?

I don't know why not. I think, generally, that more sex is good, that more intimacy, faux or not, makes people happy, that the world would be a better place if only we all screwed more.

But maybe I've been sad and angry and in pain for so long that it's just more comfortable. Maybe I like it.

I'm almost there. (sip of wine) I can almost feel the tears coming. I want them. I want to feel. Something. Anything.

I want to love and hope and dream. I want to be angry and hurt and feel pain and hate. I want to scream for no reason and laugh instead of cry. I want to cry just know I'm alive.

I want to remember them. I want to remember them all. I want to remember the pain from when they left. And I want to love the world enough to heal it, to heal myself, to gain, to feel, to earn... to deserve to be loved back.

Here they come.

Release.

--

I don't miss anyone today. Whether that means I'm over them all, or just used to the solitude is anyone's guess.

I must like it. I've rejected dozens of fantastic, attractive, intelligent women for seemingly no reason.

--

The contradiction is definitely there... I think of these "new", unattainable women, and yearn, yet know that once I have them and they want me on Mondays and Tuesdays I'll feel stifled, pressured, and smothered.

No, I don't get it. Yes, I think it's possible that someone out there could be compatible with me, as contradictory as I am. No, I have no idea how I'll ever find her drinking wine and crying alone. Yes, it's lame. No, I don't give a fuck.

--

Maybe I just need a god damn vacation. Oh, wait, that's right! I only do those with women I care about.

Sigh.

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?