Fifteen Honest Facts

1. I tell people I am a bad parent, but I secretly think that I'm getting pretty good at it.

2. I blame the girls, always, even if I messed up too.

3. I miss Kate, sure, but I mostly miss Mary. Which is a good example of why we aren't speaking.

4. I hate school. I'm only going because I think I'll have a better chance at getting a job if I have a degree.

5. I can't help but be depressed when I talk to the woman I may or may not love.

6.A few of the moderators at the Cracked forums are dickholes, a fact which I note despite never having drawn their ire. On a related note, I spend too much time on the Cracked forums.

7. I care entirely too much about what people think of me.

8. I am nothing like Mr. Darcy, despite what some people say. I'm an asshole who comes off as a good guy.

9. There are three women I would have at one point gladly married (not all at once), and who would never have me.

10. I will probably never work up the gumption to fix this blog up.

11. I would probably be severely homophobic if my best friend wasn't gay.

12. I bought a guitar because I liked Guitar Hero. I kept practicing because of Amy. I keep practicing now because I can't stand being terrible.

13. I can hold a mean grudge, over several years.

14. I live in constant, overwhelming fear that I'll inherit MS.

15. I like to pretend that I'm a smart guy who acts like a dumb guy. I am beginning to suspect that the opposite is true.

Notes on the "unpolished writing" tag.

As you may have noticed, a lot of entries have the "unpolished writing" tag. As you may have also noticed, a lot of this blog is shit. The two aren't necessarily related, sure, but they're supposed to be. "Unpolished writing" means that I finished the entry in one sitting and remain highly unsatisfied with it. It will be taken off when I have corrected or added or omitted whatever. After that, the only excuse I have left for the shittiness is my lack of talent.

The friend zone is a diabolical necessity, and The Great (Attempted) Escape.

Women are thought to have invented it in the 1860's, during the ravages of the Civil War. Naturally, military men were everywhere, and several of them were missing limbs. Hotties of the Civil War period were in a bad situation. It would be rude to outright deny the armless, legless, and earless their love, but at the same time, ew. Thus, the friend zone. For those of you who were popular in high school and continued to melt the inhibitions of women well into your adult life, or those who generally don't speak to women, I'll explain the friend zone.

The friend zone is when a woman (or hey, man, who knows?) begins to classify a man as an absolutely platonic figure in her life, while the man in question has romantic feelings. When a woman puts a man in the Zone, she will often string him along, unintentionally or otherwise. Invariably, they will date asshole men, who are nonetheless far preferable to her cronies in the Zone. (With good reason) Women are driven by instinct to seek a superior male specimen, and if you've been on the internet for more than an hour before reading this, you clearly aren't a superior specimen. More likely, you're shy and deferential when a woman speaks to you. (I'm certainly not going to offer dating advice; I'm the least believable source on the subject I can imagine. I will only say that this behavior generally only appeals to women who have been endlessly jerked around by more attractive, interesting men and have (temporarily) grown tired of the lifestyle. But I digress.) Men who aren't labeled as possible mates are filed away into the friend zone, no matter the sincerity or intensity of romantic feelings on the part of the male. The friend zone is nigh-impossible to escape, unless you suddenly become smarter or (more effectively) better looking.

Now, the friend zone can be used as a tool for good. Some guys are just not boyfriend material. Lacking social grace and holding loyalty to a woman only because of her tits and smile, these morose bastards are best suited for duty in the friend zone. They can provide an emergency shoulder for an upset young women, and can often be conned into doing various favors for the woman whose zone they reside in. The main problem here comes from the expectation on the part of the male that these favors mean that the female is indebted to him, in the eternal, universal currency of poontang. Obviously, this is fucking retarded.

We will call this the “Jack” tier of the friend zone.

The F-Zone holds a special place for the ex-lover. Now, this is the most morally ambiguous usage of the friend zone in my opinion. An ex-boyfriend who treated you like shit before the breakup deserves his spot in the zone. Stringing him along, encouraging him, but within moderation...it will drive a man up the walls. This vengeful usage of the friend zone gets high marks, from where I stand. This tier of the zone is highly effective because there is a higher possibility (solely in the mind of the male) of getting a relationship or (more truthfully) sex out of the association, because of the past romance. At the same time, this part of the zone can be used for unintentional evil. Some women, rare though they may be, don't understand that by stringing along an ex-boyfriend they are not sparing his feelings. They are fucking with his head, and might not even know it. If they do know it, they are either a sadistic bitch, or the man deserves the mindfuck, as previously detailed. Another weakness of this tier is that it's the second most escapable. Recidivism is always a risk after a relationship ends anyway, and maintaining a friendship may occasionally lead to feelings developing on the part of the female. The best solution for this is for the exchange of tales about each other's sexual exploits, which will escalate (because naturally each individual wishes to be the one “moving on) to the point that you'll both be disgusted with each other and the feelings will become confused with resentment. This is best, because hurt and angry are the same as happy for smart people (Dr. Who).

We will call this the “Jack” tier also, if it's all the same to you guys.

The next tier is the most boring and certainly the least known to me. This is because it is not really the friend zone. This is where women put men who they very much plan to date/sleep with/ride like a government mule/play pool with when they have a boyfriend. They're often dorky in a Paul Rudd/Zach Levi sort of way, which is to say, not dorky at all. They have social skills, they're fairly attractive, and they often only have to wait until the Biochemical Reaction We Call Love runs its course in the woman's preexisting relationship to get out of the Zone. They will complain to their loser friends about being Zoned, and some of them will smack him upside the head because he has NOT FELT THE PAIN!!!1

We will most certainly not call this the “Jack” tier.


By my count, I reside in the Zone of no less than four women, which means I am just as unattractive and stupid as you think I am, as well as easily giving away affectionate feelings.

On St. Patrick's day, I drunkenly and halfway unintentionally made an attempt to escape the strongest (by far) of these Zones. It worked out as well as you might think.

Tomorrow night, I make a mad fucking dash toward the gates of another Zone. I will either leave as a potential partner or as an asshole, but if I fail, I will be a glorious asshole.

Thoughts.

Toby Young says that love is a biochemical reaction which lasts for approximately 18 months. He neglects to mention that this period is followed by a confused jumble of emotions, including boredom, frustration, and affection which never quite reaches the previous level of intensity.

I suck.

I've had four "major" girlfriends. There's no precise metric for determining a "major" girlfriend, I just consider these women to be those who I think I "loved". This is why the group includes a woman I'm unlikely to ever personally meet, and a woman who I dated for only a short time. I've had several lesser girlfriends, with whom I was certainly in committed relationships, but who never inspired the same kind of emotion from me. I don't intend to compare and contrast these relationships; at different periods each woman made me feel both incredible and worthless.

This is all necessary preface for future entries, but the point I'm getting to right now is this: I get jealous of the men with my ex-girlfriends. It's a stupid, illogical, self-destructive thing, but there you go. I think that perhaps this is because each of my "major" relationships ended in a somewhat unsatisfactory way. My mind tells me that, indeed, I'm not attached to any of these women at present, but I simply can't help but occasionally feel jealous of their new men. For that matter, I get jealous when other men even flirt. Usually, I am mature enough to handle this and not let it become an issue...unless I'm drunk.

Last night, I was drunk. Suffice it to say, friend-love feelings can get mixed up with love-love feelings, especially when Guinness is involved. Unfortunately, I can't count on her own drunkenness erasing her memory of last night, but thankfully, the woman in question doesn't read this blog, so I can be frank in my quasi-anonymous reflections. The fact is, I would totally pursue a romantic relationship with her, if she lived within a day's driving distance. She doesn't, therefore I don't, but I have trouble keeping the bitter ex and lovelorn ex of my psyche from showing their ugly faces during our interaction. The solution isn't complex but it is rather difficult.


I went to a gun show the other day. I've been going to these things since I was just a small boy. I bought a "Guns don't kill people, people kill people" sticker to paste alongside my "Obama 08" sticker. I like gun shows, not just for the wares, but for the people. These are the types I've known all my life. We share a background, if not a philosophy. That's enough for me.

I've hung up my hat as a cougar hunter for the time being. It turns out, when a woman reminds you of your local best friend and an ex-girlfriend, especially the bad parts, the weirdness doesn't stop, it only gets worse.

Things I need to do on this blog.

1. Massively fix up The Dark Side of No Ma'am. I love the idea, but I can barely even read it. It's just so awkwardly phrased, and very hard to tell that the narrator is supposed to be superior-sounding instead of mopey-sounding.

2. Write something new, long, and complete, which is not based off of a life event.

3. Write something interesting.

All the news that's fit to print, and here's hoping I have no familiar female readers.

Last Friday: Giving up the chance to see Watchmen on opening night so that I could date a girl. My inner dweeb was hateful toward me the entire week leading up to it. Girls, he told me, aren't the answer. In the end, the battle between my hidden geek and my underdeveloped avatar of common sense ended with a stunning upset victory. Thus, the date. The object of my infatuation lives in Albuquerque, the only real city in the entire state, and a goodish distance away. 4-5 hours by car, give or take. I arrive, check into my motel, and Lisa's customized ring sounds. I fairly prance to the table I put my phone down on, and answer. We exchange a bit of small talk. She asks if I'm already there. I say yes, and she procedes to cancel on me.

She cancels on me.

She fucking cancels on me!

Five hours! Five!

A close friend she knew from high school was in town for the night, leaving on a flight the next morning. Hadn't seen her in years. The friend wanted to catch up. Lisa obliged. She neglected to ask if I minded. She instead said that she hoped we could see each other maybe Monday night. Now, I can't really be away from home for more than a day and a half. I have mondo responsibilities, even driving 10 hours for consecutive was cutting things a bit too short. Monday is the night before I have class. So no, I couldn't see her that week. I somewhat coldly said goodbye, and pondered my choices. I could either A. Stay in the hotel and drink, or B. Drive home so that I could drink. Having something of an affinity for hotels, I went with option A.

I didn't get shitfaced. I'm not even sure buzzed would be proper. At my height and weight, it's damn hard to get drunk. But I sure as heck wasn't sober at around midnight, when Lisa called. She's tipsy, I can tell. She asks if I would like to come over and hang out, have a "first and a half date". Now, naturally, I'm conflicted. I think Lisa is an awesome gal. I am miserably lonely. She could well be offering sex, but I'm frankly not too concerned about that this early in a relationship. I go over.

We drink. We talk. We cuddle on the couch. We watch Grosse Point Blank and Knocked Up. I dig this girl so hard, you don't even know. At 4 or maybe five, she stumbles off of my lap, gives me quite the chaste peck on the lips, and goes to bed, telling me that I'm welcome to sleep on the couch. I am slightly frustrated, but frankly probably too drunk to want or be able to do anything anyway. I drive back the next day, or perhaps more accurately, later that same day.

I spend the entire day ruminating on what I did. Hadn't I just handed her the keys to my mind? She called and I came running, as one friend succinctly put it. She had cancelled on me after a five hour drive, and I forgave her instantly. My sister-in-law, who is in the interest of full disclosure Lisa's sister, told me that I had given up any right to be mad when I went over there that night. This, I think, is a good if extremely woman-like point. Nonetheless, when Lisa called and asked if I'd like to see her on Friday, I told her that I wasn't going to be able to squeeze the drive into my schedule. She then offered to drive herself. I, being something of a prideful moron, say that I just won't have time, and offer a vague and unsupportive "maybe some other time". I beat myself up about this as soon as I do it. I like her. She's the first woman since the heady days of October 06 who I have fallen for so entirely, and so quickly, and I have an inkling that she feels the same.

So she texts me one night. Says, "You were so bullshitting me about not having time, right?". Considerably unsober, as is usual past 9 PM, I respond. "Maybe a bit". She calls me an asshole, I tell her that I don't disagree. She says, "That's okay. I was an asshole too". Now, maybe I have only dated somewhat maniacal women, but I rarely, if ever hear of a woman admitting fault for a relationship misstep, at least, doing so honestly and not to drop the subject or avert an argument. I call her, and it becomes apparent she is drunk and thus was probably honest with her texts.

Tomorrow, she is driving over and I am taking her on a picnic. My area has nothing to do at all, but it does have excellent weather and pretty landscapes. Picnics are neat anyway, and I get a chance to show off my cooking, even if it is just cold fried chicken.

(Hrm. I originally digressed in a highly disturbing fashion, but I've removed that paragraph, having deemed it unnecessary.)


The question here: Is it better to swallow your pride for the sake of infatuation or to stick to your guns in the face of regret and loneliness?

Huh.

Well, that certainly didn't work out.

It's late.

Kate and I didn't work out because we were just kids.

Angie and I didn't work out because I couldn't give her things she needed.

Taylor and I didn't work out because I was too slow for her.

Amy and I didn't work out because I couldn't be there for her.

It's an odd feeling dating Lisa. She strongly reminds me of her sister, who is the closest thing to a sister of my own that I have. This sort of makes things uncomfortable. She strongly reminds me of Amy, who is the most recent "one that got away". This sort of makes things awkward, because I have to ask if I'm just trying to date Amy by proxy.

I like her a lot. I do hope I can make something of this.