Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The "Do"s and "Don't"s of Dealing with a Girl You Don't Want to Date. Alternate Title: Sorry Oak

That title is something I made up back when I lived in NYC. Pretty cool, right? Yeah? Totally awesome, I say.
I used to think I was pretttttty radical. Still kind of do. I fancied myself the ADA of my own personal episode of Law and Order. Not the dykey red-haired one that's always trying to fist Olivia, but the tall, brunette that gave Jack McCoy the only stiff-arm of his long ADA-bedding career. (Or so I imagine. She very well could have had one too many Sloe Gin Fizzes and let him play "just the tip". I hope not though. These people are real to me. They're all I have.) I thought I was so cool, so cool that I could pick and choose what feelings I had, and avoid any sort of emotion that made me look less than totally ADA-y. In hindsight I was and still am, sweetly retarded. (Thanks Jen). Samantha Jones I am not. She's fictional. I don't think a lot of people understand that. Hot. Cool. Totally fictional. I'm not saying I've had my heart broken or anything. I've always been too chickenshit to fully get my heart broken, but I've been really fucking pissed off a couple of times and also one time I wasn't allowed to get pissed off. (I did anyway, but because I couldn't get mad at the dude I channeled it into an awesome diet which I have yet to be able to replicate. If I could bottle that shit I'd be a gazillionaire.)
I'm going to go over three real-life case studies of examples of guys that I wanted to date but that didn't want to date me and how things played out. (Note: I hate ALL of the nomenclature for the male gender in the English language. I hate "man", "guy", "boy". I also hate all words for female underpants. Actually, I kind of like the word "underpants". If I ever get a dog I might name him Underpants. DON'T STEAL THAT!!!!) This post is for all the homies out there who want to be able to bag chicks but still look like the good guy. Or less cynically, how to stay friend with girls you've hooked up with and want to be your GF. I'm going to teach you all you want to know. Why? Because I want you to think I'm the cool girl that has all of this figured out, thus fooling you into thinking that I'm too cool to become a clinger when in fact I'm the worst clinger of them all but you don't realize that until AT LEAST week 3 when you notice that my ability to climb tree and look in your window is neither cool nor cute. What do we think, Jen? Bored yet? Well it's only going to get worse so pour yourself some wine. Oh can't get the cork out? Sad face.

Case Study #1. Subject: Richard Dreyfuss. (names may or may not be real or spelled correctly.)
Richard was my roommate and we worked together. (I KNOW. Please hold all questions, comments, exclamations, under the breath mutters, rebukes, cat calls, racial slurs and facial tics until AFTER the lecture.) We hit it off immediately. We were both well into our respective alcoholism at this point but one time we even bailed on the bar to sit at home and hang out with our pet spider, Max. (Granted he drank 12 beers and I a bottle and a half of wine, but it doesn't count because we weren't at the bar.) Those were the happy times. A couple of weeks later I came to find Richard had a girlfriend who lived in Vermont. I think he may have told me straightaway, but I was either too drunk or too deluded to realize it. This was hard for me because I was totally clinger status at this point and we lived and worked together and he was wicked fun AND I was always drunk. But I managed stop anything really serious from happening further. Actually he may have stopped it, but history is written by the person with the blog so fuck you. Things were okay for awhile, and Richard and I still hung pretty tight. That is until he started fucking another girl with whom we worked. Nuclear. Psycho. Rage. Spiral. K-Hole. Crazy. I was inconsolable. Completely taken by surprise that this guy who cheated on his girlfriend with me would bang another girl IN FRONT OF MY FACE. The humanity!! The summer took a sharp turn for the worst at this point, and things ended with me smoking a enormous amount of pot, writing him a long hate letter and leaving it in a drawer in the house for him to find. Or to not find. "Dude, I'll just like, leave this here and if he's meant to find it, he like totally will and if he's not meant to find it, he like, won't. Totally, man. Pssshhh."

Case Study #2. Subject: Morgan Freeman
Morgan Freeman and I worked together. (Yup. I know.) Morgan was really nice. I was just coming out on the other side of Case Study #3 when MF and I started hanging out. I was sad, and he was nice. It was pretty innocent at first. Movies and shit. We made out once and then nothing for months. Then one night I went out to sushi dinner, got drunk, called him and shit got real. I was surprised by the whole thing and I think he was too. Especially considering I was supposed to be moving to another country in a month, so no matter what happened we had a hard date when it would all be over. I suppose that's what made it easier for me to commit. I didn't actually have to. So I totally threw myself into it, and from what I understood he did as well. We spent almost every day and night together in the two weeks up to my departure. Then I left. We hugged. It was sad. Get on plane. Arrive in foreign country. Said country didn't like the taste of me, and spit me right back to the U.S. like so much rancid Unagi. So I was back. And I called him. And he didn't call back. And then I saw him. And he wasn't happy to see me. So I got drunk, and I called. And I called. And I called. Then I moved to another city (in America) and cried. For a million different reason (probably least among them, Morgan) I cried for about a week. Then I emailed him, and he was very nice and tried to explain the best he could but I still don't get it and probably never will. What happened in the 22 hours I was on an airplane? If it was anything less than at least 3 phenomenal blow jobs with full ball cuppage this kid is fucking hit.
Case Study #3. Subject: Anjelica Houston
WE FUCKING WORKED TOGETHER. WHAT?? I could have gotten fired for this shit. I don't even know how the whole thing stared, but I know there was booze. I think the moment I hit clinger stage with him was watching him take shots of vodka and chase with water. SWOON!!!! Anjelica was very honest with me. He told me daily that he was a total asshole. That he was going to hook up with other girls, that he didn't want a girlfriend. That totally sucked to hear. But you know what sucked more? The night we were out at a bar and he tells me that he's going home to hook up with another girl. He looked me in the eye and told me this. I think he even said "sorry". Well, fuck. What's a girl to do? No self-righteous rage? No lies? He has not lied to me at any point. How am I going to deal with this? And he knew I was fucking pissed, at least I hope I told him as much. I'm not sure that I actually did. In my experience with Richard and Morgan (And TV shows.) this is when dudes check out. Peace. It's been nice knowing you. You're about to go crazy and kill my bunny. I'm cutting all ties. Anjelica didn't check out. He stayed around, but not in a mean, taunting kind of way. He didn't go out to the bar when I was there and let me throw myself at him like the sad, battered drag queen I turn into when I have too much Boone's Farm. He still talked to me and treated me as he always had, but he wasn't around as much as he used to be. I was incensed. How can he not let me hate him? How can he be treating me like he still cares about me but just as a friend so I'm not totally confused? How could he be helping he deal with this in the healthiest way possible? I don't even know if he was doing it on purpose, which is even worse! Is this dude so good to his core that he just naturally treats all people as he would wish to be treated himself? WHAT A FUCKING COCK SUCKER!! The real shitty part about the situation with Anjelica was that we had to be in the same office and the other chick he hooked up with was there too. Otherwise I've moved on from that pretty nicely and I count this chap among my best friends.
So what? Who fucking cares? No really. Who cares. I'm not going to try and answer those questions. I wrote this post because it's my blog and I wanted to get it all out. I think deep down I hope Richard, Morgan and Anjelica read this because I never had the balls to be as honest with them as I'm now asking them to be with me. If they do read this I want them to know one thing: THEY'RE FUCKING REAL!!! ALSO, that I know all of you (well maybe not Richard) were doing the best you could. We're all just fucking chumps walking around trying to not die and in the process protecting ourselves the best we can. I guess the one thing that stands out with Anjelica is the honesty, which is the hardest fucking thing in the world. Why did he have the balls to just be honest with me when nobody else did? I don't know why. I wish Morgan had known that he wasn't into me before I'd left and told me as much. The worst part about that situation was feeling like a total idiot. I wish Richard had...well I wish I'd never met Richard. (Richard: Call me. Seriously.) Clearly I made mistakes too......Ha. Just kidding. I totally didn't.

So dudes, here's moral #1: Never hook up with me. Moral #2: if you absolutely HAVE to hook up with me NEVER tell me you like me. Moral #3: If you have to hook up with me and you have to tell me you like me and you actually don't like me JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH. And then duck. You're a fucking deadman.

1 comment:

Fat Bad Baby said...

I'm the Rebecca Donaldson-Consopoulas of your work relationships.