Signed With Initials

Originally titled "The Friend Zone", a title which later went to an entirely different story. A more descriptive title would be "Emo High", but fuck you, this title means something to me. Written in Fall of 2008. I'm not usually in the habit of asking non-rhetorical questions in this blog, but feedback is highly appreciated, either positive or critical, so what do you think?





I know that when you tell me it’s you, it’s me. The cliches abound. You don’t want to involve me in the drama of your life, you tell me. I’m a very nice guy, you wish me the best of luck in life, and I’m going to find somebody, someday. The implication that “somebody” could never be you is clear. You tell me this condescending bullshit with a pouty face; for a moment I wonder if you believe what you’re spouting or if you’re simply going through the motions of establishing the “friend zone.” I’m sure that this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, you appeal to the kind of man who can never have you and your words seem almost rehearsed. You make sure to emphasize my good qualities, few though they may be. You're so smart, you tell me. You try for humor and tell me that chicks dig brainy guys. You speak at length while I fiddle with the pen in my fingers and try not to scan the parking lot, absent anything else to do or anything to say. If I tell you the truth, that I’d gladly handle any baggage you bring, I become pushy and obsessive in your eyes. That isn’t far from the truth, frankly, but it’s not conducive to a working friendship. I don’t aim to burn any bridges, so I voicelessly endure the litany of reasons why it’s your fault you don’t want to be with me, while I click my pen and lick my lips and try not to look as empty as I feel.
You spoil what had been a fairly clean dismissal with a few simple words at the end, an afterthought better left unsaid. You tell me that you have feelings for me and my stomach drops. Before you can go on, I stop you cold. I say, you shouldn’t have told me that. I wish you hadn’t told me that. I can barely get the words out; they’re very unsteady, but I make them clear enough to understand. I finally work up the gumption to look into your eyes and I see frustration creep in. No doubt, you think that you were doing me a service by validating my feelings and that I should quit while I’m ahead, while you still want to remain friends. When you ask what I mean by that; I want to be quiet; I want to restrain myself and tell you that it’s just hard and confusing for me and that I really appreciate what you’re doing. I don’t do that. I instead tell you in a steady voice that I wish you didn’t feel the need to lie to me. Your forehead crinkles and your eyes narrow, your mouth comes ajar and your face is angrier than I’ve ever seen it. Red creeps into your skin. I reflexively flinch when you step toward me, big tough man that I am. You grab my ridiculous hair and kiss me so hard that our teeth clack together painfully. You wipe your mouth and storm toward your car. I follow, but your legs are longer and with the head start, you’re in your car before I’m within twenty feet. Days later, I realize that if I had yelled to you that my gum was still on your dash, I very well could have made you laugh and maybe our first kiss wouldn’t have been our last.

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.

My favorite movies, in no particular order, and other shit nobody cares about.

I realize that many of these are less than a decade old. I don't care, fuck you, it's my list. At least I don't have any Pirates of the Caribbean films. I don't subscribe to the theory that something has to age to be considered great; a good movie is a good movie. I've seen a lot of movies, I have no way to accurately state how many but I would guess several hundred. This is based purely on my VHS/DVD collection, which is pretty large for poor white trash. I've seen movies people consider great, from most all decades. I haven't seen what Roger Ebert calls the "official answer" for greatest film of all time, Citizen Kane. I haven't seen very much pre-war cinema, and only a bit from the 50's and 60's. The majority of my viewing centers on the late 70's to mid 90's. I'm no professional critic, I just like them. Later on, I will post a guilty pleasures list, which is a heck of a lot less contemporary than this one.

The Wizard of Oz

Stalag 17

Aliens

The Big Lebowski

Terminator 2: Judgement Day

Casino Royale

The Shawshank Redemption

The Dark Knight

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Superbad

Saving Private Ryan

Jealousy? In my romantic life? It's more likely than you think.

I am jealous of my Amy's boycrush. I have the sneaking suspicion she is jealous of my girlcrush(es). She says "bitch" every time I mention them doing something which endears them to me. The beautiful, drunken singing of one. The late-night drunken indiscretions with the other. Lots of drunken, thinking about it. But then, considering that I am differently-abled when it comes to looks, I can't exactly blame them. I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I've made a few gestures toward Amy since we've started speaking again, and they were not returned, so neither of us are beholden to the other.
(There is also the distinct, even likely possibility that my suspicions are ego driven nonsense.)

I am even more jealous of my ex-wife's boycrush.

I hadn't spoken to Kate in a long time (for us, anyway) until recently. She called me last week and asked when our son's spring break was, and if he would be interested in spending it with her. It broke my heart in no small way to tell her that it had been the week before. They rarely get to spend time together, after all. I arranged for my younger brother to drive his nephew to Albuquerque, to spend a long weekend with Kate. A good time was had by all, apparently. Kate has been more open with me recently, apparently deciding to ignore the huge unpleasant mess from the beginning of the year which began our short estrangement. We've been talking, at the very least. Today, she called me and we spoke for over two hours. It was nice. I love Kate in the sense that I care very deeply about what happens to her, if not in the romantic sense. Apparently, she's been dating a new boy pretty much since we broke things off in January, and it's gotten quite serious... John gave him the once-over, and says that he is not an asshole. I have trouble believing this, since I don't think Kate has ever, ever dated a nice guy.

Why am I jealous of people I don't even know, who are making people I very much like happy?

1,000:1 - I am fairly certain that these new boys are Illuminatus.

500:1 - I think that I could give either of them a better life than their boycrushes.

200:1 - I would like to initiate a threesome at some point in the future.

100:1 - I have a big brother instinct, which demands that I protect my friends from outsiders.

10:1 - I have not-so-suppressed feelings for both women which I'm (vaguely) hiding from them.

2:1 - I hate any attention which isn't directed toward me.

EVEN MONEY - I am a posessive prick.

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.

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?