And while we’re at it, tiptoeing without regard in this sea of rants and raves, what the hell is with all the screwed-up conceptions about dating? I mean, seriously: “I’m going to meet a great person, we’re going to fall in love, everything will work out perfectly!” Never-mind how this optimistic hope becomes nothing but a graveyard of tears and regret in fifty percent of marriages, when those “in love” begin tearing each other’s lives apart with selfishness, greed, and indifference. That’s a battle all on its own, but getting to the point where you can engage in that battle is difficulty enough. I’m a romantic person with romantic ideals, but my romanticism and skepticism clash, and which one wins out? Give heed to logic and embrace the knowledge of skepticism. As much as I may want my romantic aspirations to come true, I might as well admit that they won’t. Sure, bits and pieces may fall together; but it’s naïve to buy into this pie-in-the-sky romantic dream which itself is contrarian in nature to the way things really work.
Dating itself is a nasty business, especially if you’re like me and not looking for something casual. If you’re serious about finding someone you can commit to, marrying them, building a family with them… Well, the challenges prior to the engagement are daunting enough. You meet someone, and you like them (a lot) but they don’t like you. Big deal. Get over it. Or someone likes you, and they’re a great person, but you just can’t bring yourself to feel the same way. Maybe you’ll get lucky and like someone who likes you back. But more often than not, complexities overwhelm the situation, and despite any “chemistry” you may have, the relationship backfires in pain and disappointment. Or you like someone, and they like you, but apparently they like other people more, and you have the joy of finding out they’re sleeping with someone else, or using you to get to your best friend. On an off-chance you meet someone who’s exactly what you’re looking for, it’s not unrealistic to assume that the complexities and challenges will be overwhelming, and that either you or they won’t want to put in the effort involved. What’re the chances of finding someone you like, whom you even love, and who loves you back and wants the same things, a person who’s right where you are and wanting to be with you wherever that is? Slim to none, at least in my experience. The nauseating part is seeing friends after friends getting engaged and then getting married, and wondering what the hell is so wrong with you that the people you date turn out to be either (a) cheaters, (b) psychotics, or (c) great people but who have different ideals and desires for the relationship? I’m losing hope—no, scratch that, I’ve lost hope—in finding someone where the puzzle pieces of life can even remotely squeeze together.
It’s all a matter of statistics built up over a matter of time, variables taken into consideration and probabilities drawn from the rudimentary fabric. I’m no John Nash and no mathematician—though I have been watching NUMB3RS a lot lately—and even though I only got as far as Algebra 2 in high school, I know how to draw probabilities from gathered data. Statistically-speaking, the probability of me getting married is rising to a certain point four years from now, and after that point, the probability decreases. Yet, however, there are the anomalies to take into account, and drawing these together, I find that the probability of me getting married is steadily decreasing over time, thanks to (a) less frequent contact with women, and (b) the women I do know being either married or engaged, for the most part, or wanting nothing to do with marriage. At this point, then, I can comfortably assume that the probability of me getting married is dropping, and thus the plausibility of marriage decreases, too. Let’s not forget to incorporate my (a) social awkwardness, (b) awkwardness around women (which is my social awkwardness exponentially multiplied), and (c) the unfortunate reality that I look like I’m twelve and thus the only girls who flirt with me are usually in high school (and the thing is, most high schoolers turn 18 around their senior year, and so there’s no way of knowing if I’d be participating in some sort of pedophiliac activities). Oh, and there’s (d): I’m an excellent friend for women (most of my friends happen to be of the female persuasion), but there’s no romantic interest involved. Apparently I’m of no instrinsic romantic value for most women, and because I don’t meet many women, well… Ultimately, what I’m saying is that I firmly believe that my chances of getting married are dropping with each passing year, and my own cynicism increases with each failed relationship due to a host of factors.
It all ties back into the hope thing. I honestly don’t hope I’ll ever get married. I mean, I want to; but I’m not anticipating it happening. I can imagine everyone else getting married, but when I try to imagine myself getting married, as much as I love the idea, well… I just can’t picture it. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like, because I can’t fathom it actually happening. I’ve gotten to the point where I assume I’ll always be single, that everyone I know will get married, and I’ll die an old man alone without any children.
I always wonder why it is that I have such problems with girls. I’m decently attractive, I like to think, more attractive than a lot of guys. I’ve got that cute look going on, and I’ve been bulking up a considerable amount. But I’m not tall, dark, and handsome. I’m not “hot.” A lot of girls—at least the majority that I know—are concerned about one thing: how fun it’ll be to mess around with him. Yes, I know, that’s extremely stereotypical; and I know that seems very judgmental. Please bear in mind that I’m working with limited data: knowledge of girls I know, and love, and knowledge of girls I’ve dated, and even loved. But let’s be honest rather than skirting around the issue: when it comes to attraction, that’s the main driving force. “It’s all about personality, humor, how well you get along, chemistry.” Yeah, yeah, all of that shit is great, and it plays into it. But I’ll show you two guys, both with great personalities, humor, and good chemistry. One you end up being best friends with. The other you end up dating. The difference? One’s hot, one’s not. The same goes for us guys: we’re great friends with homely girls, but we want to date the hot ones. No one can get out of the guilt (if there’s even guilt to be had here; after all, the way we’re designed, we’d prefer the healthy girl to the overly-obese one). I’m speaking in stark terms here, and I realize this could offend some people. But get over it. You know I’m right. Physical attraction always—and by “always,” I mean fucking always—plays a critical role. And maybe that’s why I have such bad luck with girls. It seems I get the psycho or desperate ones, and the good ones I get end up cheating on me. That’s a whole other bag to go through, and I don’t have the time.
*SIGH* I don’t want to date some girl just to fuck her. I’ve had sex before, I’ve liked it, but it’s not what I’m looking for. Sex can destroy a relationship; not always, as some uptight Christians will tell you, but it’s a dangerous gambit with heavy stakes on the table. Throw out any “religious” or “moral” apprehensions to premarital sex, and you can still make a good case against it. I’m a romantic at heart, and I’ve dated all sorts of girls—girls varying in personality, physical appearance, everything—and I know that looks isn’t more important than personality and how well you get along (though I’ll admit, I’m not going to date a 400-pound girl; sorry, not happening, call me a dick but you’re no different). I want a girl to love and be loved by, to share life with—all the good stuff and all the bad shit that may come along. I want to be a good husband and a good father. I want to support my wife in her endeavors and be at her side when the shit hits the fan. I want my journey to become a co-journey. I yearn for the lyrics to an old song to come true in my own life, where “like vines we intertwined, carelessly growing up and growing old; life was on our tongues, it tasted heavenly so bad.” And yet the song comes true in my life every morning, when “I wake up and I feel alone, I was just asleep, right where I belong, inside this sad, sad song.” And all the while I’m “holding tightly my pillows, frantically searching for her, inside my head she’s somewhere, she is somewhere.” And maybe that’s where she’ll always be: somewhere in my head.
2 comments:
Thanks for this Anth. I find more and more that we are very much alike. I also have more friends of the female persuasion than most guys. I'm the safe guy that you can be friends with and not want to bone. That's been the story of my life. But I think it's time for me to start writing a better story.
When I saw this comment was from you, even before I read it, I smiled. I've always known that we're quite alike, which is probably why we get along so well. We both find ourselves in the same situation, I think, although we've traversed different paths to reach this point. I hope both of us can write a better story, or have a better one written for us (since the stories of life always consist of multiple authors engaging and disengaging, intertwining and enveloping one another). Nonetheless, my story is better for having you in it, my friend.
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