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More Bullshit before/after
So I called Margee last night. No answer. Left a message, but no phone number. I was thinking the standard dinner, movie and drinks, although I want to go to an art museum, rather than date 101. Date 101 bores me, but I thought she might look at it as pretentious or an IQ test to go to an art museum on a first date. I'll try again tonight, and that's it.
Two phonecalls makes me nervous. To me, that's approaching stalker territory.
I'm very concious of that type of stuff, particularly since the past two girls I've fucked. They were weird, and I definitly don't want that to happen again to me, and I certainly don't want to make anyone feel as I did. (And I positively don't want to look like that...the epitome of sad, desperate failure.)
Talking to Roomie and his girl last night, (whom I caught staring at my cock, I have a feeling she wants me):
Roomie(to sara):"Jay got a phone number."
me:"I always have phone numbers. I just don't always call them."
Roomie:"That's not very nice."
Is it really so wrong not to call a girl after you get her phone number?. In PSY 210 Social Psychology I was taught that there are four or five stages to interpersonal relationships. 1. Intital Attraction. 2. Exploration 3. Plateau 4. Termination. Most relationships terminate, often before plateau or exploration. So why should I feel bad? Fuck that. Science is on my side.
me:(pause)"Well, somebody has to even the score."
I was kidding about evening the score, or at least I think I was, although its true that I only call a percentage of the numbers I get. Didn't think I was bitter or anything. Maybe I am.
I suppose this is a good thing, as I've been too nice lately, both with girls and in general. I absolutely hate it when this is taken for granted and mistaken for weakness. Time to be a prick.
Oddly enough, when I devolve into a self absorbed prick, I seem to go out on dates more, and have more sex. Its not like I'm a soft guy either way. I suppose me devolving into a prick is simply a matter of degree.
I think one of the big lies in life is that girls are all about intimacy. I think opening up to others scares the hell out of many girls. They'd rather fuck someone than be intimate. As ever, in our society guys are raised to relate to themselves, and then to others. Girls are raised to relate to others, and then themselves, thus the conflict between the sexes.
That, and women are far more mercenary about sex than guys. Things like job, societal standing, money and friends play into a girls decision, where guys, at least until they have their heart broken repeatedly, are about a form of love that does not reside in such definitions. Talk to a guy before the scales fall from his eyes, and he's all about devotion and intimacy. After, well it seems to be about sex and finding someone that makes him feel good.
Me? Fuck all that. I want a girl that can roll with my quixotic caprices, without going crazy after I put my dick in her. Just be...cool. My standards have dropped somewhat, except on a physical front.
I have been hard on myself of late about my appearance. But I have also been seeing people, normal people, as unnattractive. Succulent little girls, and I am finding them unnattractive. And guys are just flat out ugly looking to me. There's likely a combination of reasons for this on my part, but I think television and the movies take a large share of the blame warping my standards of beauty into the unreal.
And speaking furthur of girls, the store I stop in to buy my morning chocolate milk and doughnut (custard bismark), something funny happened to me on the way to work. One girl, amanda with a round face has been watching me. And I have checked her out, but with the smock they make her wear I am leery, as though she might have a decent bod, she may also be chunky, and that's a place I don't want to go. Color me superficial, I have learned about myself that I need a definite hunger for a body to make the relationship work. Otherwise, its just a platonic friendship with dashes of unrequited lust.
So I walk in, and I'm dressed decently today: tan coureroys, blue polo style shirt (i don't want to know how much whomever gave me this shirt spent on it), watch, sunglasses, white sox (*sigh* as ever, i need to go sox shopping), and black soft leather shoes.
She twittered to her friend about something, and said something about my pants. I just wanted a sack for my doughnut.
me:"Hi."
amanda(surprised)"Hello!"
me:"How's it going?"
amanda(flustered)"What? How's-?, Who-?, Where are you from?"
me:(pause, I did not anticipate this)"Do you mean around here, or originally?"
amanda(beaming):"Originally,"
me:"Michigan. Do you have any donught bags?"
I think that may have sucked the wind out of her sails.
Oh-fuckin'-well. I don't even feel bad about it. I should.
But...I...guess...I...won't.
Fuck. This is my existance.
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