Idiocy which I sort of hope nobody reads.

I was ditched last Friday on a date with firecrotch. After about an hour, she told me to sit tight and went to speak with her ex, who had just arrived. Ten minutes later, a friend of hers who I know tells me that she just saw them leave in his car. I drive home and drink myself into a rage.

Time passes, she doesn't quite realize why I'm so mad. She thinks that it's jealousy (instead of the fact that she fucking ditched me); that when we slept together, I felt a connection. I relieve her of this misconception, but she ends the night by telling me that she DID feel a connection, and that she thinks I did too.

We talk more this week. Friendliness creeps in. She offers to come over, asks if I want to hang out.

I sent a text to the FC tonight, asking her to come over and help me with my term paper. By which I meant, casual hate sex. The message didn't send because I barely ever have a signal inside my house. I didn't resend it. All I would have to do is tell her that I too felt a connection, and I am nearly certain I could have had sex tonight.

I have fallen for the less pretty, less smart, corny-as-hell romantic, 40 year old. Times, they are a changing. Or maybe not. Because, let's face it, kids, Lisa is the sister-in-law I had a crush on for years mixed with the ex-not-quite-girlfriend-who-I-loved-very-much I confide in these days. Am I really dating her, or am I dating those two by proxy? The more I fall for her, the more I begin to worry that it's just Christina and Amy I'm falling for all over again. The deeper I go, the more important the question becomes, and the less sure I am of the answer.

It hurt both more and less than I thought it would. Not the sudden, drooping, raging depression of last time. More of a black greasy feeling. So I've grown. Not much, but some.

One day, I will have the courage/stupidity to be utterly frank in my blogging. Until then, I leave you with a short selection of things I didn't create but which I feel connected to.

Because it's slow and pretty.

Because it's poppy and dumb.

Because it's excellently done.

Because I'm emo.

Because Joaquin may be a crazy bastard these days, but he can direct a video.

Because it is my new philosophy. James is a showtune, for instance. Kate is something sinister and orchestral. Taylor is a Spice Girls reunion song. Lisa is a poppy single on a rom-com.

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.

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?