Friday, February 11, 2011

I made a move today. It wasn't the most bold or heroic of attempts, but it was still a motion out of my natural, hum-drum daily routine. It was a well-intended and simple gift, tinged with a shade of snobbish, know-it-all sincerity that comes with almost every sentence I deliver. That is more than likely the problem with the way I act in most encounters with the opposite sex. Either I'm not douchebag and cool enough to play the part, or too mild and uninteresting to pull it off. I obviously don't smile like a rampant toss of the joker card. My flaws are more than public. Unexpected stutters, vicious silences, schizophrenic belligerence, an oddly common habit of looking off into some interesting distant scene when speaking to others (a.k.a. bad eye contact), and laborious insertions of vocabulary exclusively used by intelligencia paint a basic picture of my eccentricism. I don't know what to do, and I probably may never will. Though, for the little trouble of
downloading all the episodes of the current season of Flight of the Conchords and packaging them with Julian Schnabel's, "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly," Michel Gondry's, "The Science of Sleep," and Darren Aronofsky's, "The Fountain," I got a hug from a girl (whom I had an insta-crush on probably two years ago) that seems to give hugs very easily. Obviously, I am in some kind of weird state and baffled on how I ought to handle this. It feels like some fucked up version of that, "chicken/egg" paradox where I'm not sure whether the compound effect of my current frustration lay in my affection for the girl or the day-to-day stress of my impending legal troubles. Maybe the controversy has been enhanced by the imminent danger to my freedom or they have merely caved in the mental ceiling that has already been weakened by the crush. Advice would be keen, though I'm probably going to let this feeling fester for a few more days until I emotionally ejaculate on some piece of vulnerable art surface (WHICH IS EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE).

Sometimes I feel like I've been out of, "the Game," for so long I have little grasp of how to flirt/seduce/interact with a woman in any other way than platonic, congenial ways. As much as I would like to believe that women would appreciate making friends with a man before transitioning into a romantic state with him, I feel that is almost entirely untrue. First impressions and subsequent interactions that correlate to the initial effect are what must be necessary. Maintaining and cultivating the primary interest is key. I mean, if I (or you) appear as some suave or generally appealing fellow in the outset, I/you can't just flip the script the next time around and act all mopey, standoffish, exclusive, or altogether off-putting. This is where I've tended to succumb lately. That and failing to pick up on the initial vibes and signals. Or maybe it is the woman's inability to relate to a man who isn't immediately after the goods and would like nothing more than to bullshit loudly about taboo and loaded topics. But that puts that man into a convenient little box horribly labeled, "Friends," smothering the flames of a wild romance that defies conventions and expectations. And it is more than likely that one wants their ideal more than the other and pursuing any path thereof is a futile lesson in life and karmic/destined relationships. As much as I feel my celebration is belated, that sumptuous cake is only for looks and symbolic appreciation, not for gorging (you can't have said cake and eat it, too).

March 2009

No comments:

Post a Comment