By Brad Pike ￼
It’s difficult for me to talk about relationships and dating because it seems everyone knows more than me, and it always becomes rapidly clear as I elucidate my own flawed opinions that I don’t know anything about anything and should just shut the hell up. Nevertheless, I soldier on against the rising tide of derision like a fat dumb cow trotting earnestly into the ocean to drown.
In dealing romantically with women, there is, I am told, a complicated system of rules governing behavior. The more apparent one — do not head butt her, do not sit in a car parked outside her house all night, do not text her fifty times a day and then start screaming and then guzzle Drano — I understand. The subtler ones I tend to fail on. A signal which others would describe as “like a flashing ten-foot-tall neon sign” I overlook or misinterpret. Because of this tendency for confusion, I have an impulse to ask a lot of questions, many many questions — something which there is also a rule against because evidently asking questions does not exude “confidence” and “manliness.” I have a lot of questions like, “Are we dating now?” and “What does this mean?” and “If I kiss your face, will you flee in terror?” and “Am I acting like a clingy person, and if so, does it bother you?” All of these questions indicate a person who lacks confidence. All of these questions asked all at once consecutively indicate a person in a state of manic insecurity. This behavior also seems to stereotypically be a “girl thing” and reflects poorly on my potential as a boyfriend. (Which is why I’m writing about it on the internet. Because I’m an idiot.)
Once, after a long stretch of no communication, an ex invited me to a picnic with her new boyfriend and a few other friends. My reaction was to rant about it to anyone in the vicinity — “She’s taking advantage of how reasonable I am! She should be afraid I’ll wreak havoc at the picnic and flip over a table and claw my own eyes out!” I wrote a poem called “Fuck Your Picnic.” I integrated this event into the tragic narrative of my life set to the Road to Perdition soundtrack. Then I went to the picnic, enjoyed myself, and felt generally like a melodramatic idiot.
At the picnic was also this girl, my friend’s sister — let us proceed past this small detail without comment — who exhibited signs which seemed eerily analogous to flirting. She followed me around, seemed intent on talking to me, and later, when I asked for her phone number, she happily gave it. One of my friends even observed, “She sure seems interested in you.” This all seemed like a pretty unlikely boon from a previously cruel and hateful deity. Nevertheless, I took the pieces of this puzzle, assembled it, and — based on my interpretation of the resulting picture — I made the momentous decision to ask her out for coffee. Coffee turned into walking around campus. Walking around campus turned into driving over to her dorm room. When I asked her if she wanted me to come inside, she answered yes. All seemed to be going shockingly well. Impossibly well.
After discussing her art for a few minutes or so, I made a move to kiss her face. As my face swung toward hers, she dodged out of the way and started babbling about some ex boyfriend of hers she was still somehow involved with. I have never gone flaccid so quickly. She started crying. The air was sucked out of the room. Evidently, she had no idea this was a date. She thought I was a friendly boy who wanted to show her around town. At this point, I stood up and said something dramatic like, “I MUST LEAVE THIS FOUL DEN OF DECEIT!”
In my car outside, I stared intently at the steering wheel. I recycled the night in my mind, dissecting it for clues as to what had led me so inexorably to this moment. For one thing, she made a particularly big deal out of paying for her coffee, would not let me pay for it under any circumstances. For another, she hadn’t made any overt gestures or comments that would confirm her attraction to me or knowledge that this was a date. I also had never specifically said “date” or “I like you in a romantic type fashion,” or any other clear warnings that this would be more than a fun activity for platonic friends. Other than that… nothing! Confusion! Brief few minutes of emotional devastation! Then I moved on with my life. (Except for the whole thing where I vividly recall this incident many years later.)
But this wouldn’t be the last time I went on a “date” like this which is why I always return to it as a kind of paragon of awfulness. Experiences like this have led me to be highly suspicious of every aspect of a date. Nothing is for sure. Everything is in doubt. I need a network of experienced analysts nearby to assist me in interpreting various complicated situations, but instead I receive input like, “You fuck her yet, bro?” This is why you should never listen to me when it comes to dating — because I never know what I’m talking about.
[I had a good chuckle when I read this post by Ryan O’Connell. You can read the original post here. http://ow.ly/2bs0YY> ENJOY. Bisou. Ms Zanna ]
When you get into a relationship, you will be a lot happier? I think that’s how it works. I’m not entirely sure. You’re supposed to feel like you’ve won some implicit race—the race to monogamy and security and family vacations and cocktail parties and faded polaroids and diapers and screaming and tears and orgasms and i love you and i hate you. Yeah, I think that’s what it’s all about.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to be a lot fatter? You’ll be eating spaghetti and meatballs every night, which will be topped with I’m In Love sauce. Every dollop of I’m In Love sauce contains 3,000 calories though. In fact, every time you tell your significant other “I love you”, you go up a waist size. I think this is okay. I think this doesn’t matter. I think if you’re going to be fat, you might as well be in love.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to forget about all the bad things that ever happened to you? That’s what happens when you have someone. You. Just. Forget. You’re on love drugs, which causes amnesia, which causes happiness. Every moment of your life is dedicated to being present and attentive. The long stretch of time that exists ahead of you doesn’t feel so daunting. I think that’s how it works. I really don’t know, you know?
When you get into a relationship, it will fix everything? You’ll stop getting sad while watching certain movies or feeling like a piece of crap when you read Cosmopolitan. You’re invincible to it now. They can’t get to you anymore. The lambs have stopped screaming. I’m not a doctor though. Like, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure about all of this.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to be hurting someone very badly someday. Because that relationship will alter at some point and it will feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. This is how it all works. This I know for certain. I know this more than the weight gain and the fixing everything and the cocktail parties and the diapers and the orgasms. This has happened to me. This has happened to you. This happens. It’s sad, I guess, but it’s also just what we have to endure as people with brains and hearts and genitalia. Getting into a relationship means getting outside of yourself and into someone else, and then finding your way back to you again. The whole process just makes you feel so…alive? Yes, that’s it. That’s what it’s all about. Feeling alive big bang boom. Bingo. Can I go now?
Perhaps the most unnecessary question ever uttered, “Why are you single?” has been tolerated by the unattached masses for far too long. You can’t understand why I’m single? Me either! It’s so funny – just last week, someone was whispering, ‘I love you’ in my ear, and now look at me. Single and reluctant to mingle! Because such a question deserves a condescending answer, here are a few for you to memorize and use at your discretion. Enjoy!
“I’m too busy with work. I mean I never planned it this way – who does? But I’ve become utterly consumed by my career. There’s nothing I’d rather do after a long, tiresome day of work than… well, work some more. For me, the satisfaction of a job well done is like getting some [especially when my paycheck arrives!]. I never have time to socialize, in fact. During my down time … well, I’m watching television and taking naps and hanging out with the same four friends I’ve been glued to for the past fifteen years. Yep, no time for a relationship here! You understand.”
“I’m shallow. Don’t take this wrong way or anything, but … my preferred sex? They can’t do anything right. I’m hard pressed to find one benefit of being in a relationship. Flippin idiots, the lot of them, and believe me I’d know. Oh, except if they’re smokin’ hot. Smokin’ hot people, such as myself, are evolved and it’d be wrong to lump them in with the rest of the worthless cretins I’m expected to be attracted to … why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m an asshole. I’m such an asshole, you know? People actively avoid dating me. Within twenty minutes of being exposed to me, people rightfully assume that my dad was too busy to toss a baseball/my mother didn’t hug me enough/I am the middle child. My distaste for literally everything is so off-putting that even people who are attracted to assholes think I’m terrible. And really, I can’t blame them – but I will, anyway.”
“I want to be single right now. Even if James Franco walked up to me right now, right this very moment, and asked me on a date, I’d refuse. You know why? Because I love being single. I LooOooOoVe it. It’s all about me right now – I don’t have to ‘check in’ with anyone and I’m not expected to watch the sun rise with a person who loves me for who I am – I don’t even have to have sex! I mean, what more could I want from life? Being single rocks!”
“I’m picky. Well, there was this one guy … we hit it off and I was just about ready to deactive my online dating profile when he… well, he coughed, you know? This retched, phlegm-ridden hack. And … need I say it? That’s a DEALBREAKER. If you can’t cough like a civilized human being, how am I supposed to introduce you to my cats? So I ended it, right then and there. Some of my friends say I’m too picky, but I’m not – I just have standards.”
“I’m a bitch. If it doesn’t affect me on a personal level, it’s irrelevant; that’s my motto. I’m just a god-awful, inconsiderate person and best of all; I’m completely transparent about it. I’m just owning it, or whatever. Those ‘good’ girls? The ones who consider other people’s feelings and are thoughtful, genuine people? They wish they could own it like me. Jealousy’s a bitch, and so am I.”
“I’m heartbroken. Sure, my last relationship ended three years ago, but I’m still healing. How can I trust again? How can I forget the betrayal, the burden of which I wear like a tattered, ill-fitting badge of honor? No – I am unable to love, damaged in unspeakable ways. Even the late Dr. Kevorkian couldn’t take away this pain.
“I don’t know. I have no idea why I’m single. It’s hard for me to have an affirmative opinion on that… on anything, really. Try me. Ask me a question, any question at all, and I’ll just sputter ‘I don’t know,’ because I refuse to say anything that may endear or repel you. Unless the answer can be Google’d, my reply will probably be an apathetic admission of spinelessness. I have no backbone, I’m bereft of opinion, I possess zero self-awareness, and I sincerely have no idea why I’m single.
Read the original post here: http://bit.ly/pr7ZaV