9 May 2014
0750 hrs
Hey there, Patient Reader
So here am I,
confused and frustrated about the state of my life. The personal state, I mean. Professionally and academically, as it seemingly
always has been, I am doing just fine.
It’s the personal aspect of life wherein, as it seemingly always has
been, I am having the utmost of difficulties.
Case in
point: I was asked out on a group date
that was actually a set-up. I was thrown
into the mix with the Asker’s (hereafter referred to as “H”) roommate (hereafter
referred to as “J”).
Ordinarily, this is a situation
that could go poorly, but the woman is quite attractive (no, that doesn’t
matter, her looks) and is smart and laughed at my jokes. That does
matter. More importantly, I laughed
at her jokes, which actually
surprised me. I am never surprised.
But I hate
the whole set-up thing. You know what I
mean, Patient Reader. I later expressed to
H that there was a hint of confusion regarding who was with whom, at least at
first. Remember, Patient Reader, your
Cunning Fennec Fox here is the Dense Neutron Star; unable to discern from the
universe if it is my own pull or that of another that attracts the bodies
around me.
H said she
had a date last Friday, a week ago, and so on Monday I asked her how it
went. “Hmmm? Oh that . . . the guy is nice but painfully shy . . .” she said, “It
was S, you know, you met him the other day . . .” And it’s true, Patient
Reader, I did meet the guy.
He was indeed timid, yet nice.
And then a
thought occurred to me, and I put forth the query: “So was the other night (the night of the
Group Get-Together) a set-up for the two of you?”
“No . . .
but it was for somebody!” was her witty reply. Aha! Confirmation
of Suspicion!
So now all of the pieces of the
puzzle have clicked into place. I was
only quasi-dense.
“Pretty sneaky . . .” I kind-of
joked. She asked, “Well what was I
supposed to do? Tell you that my roommate
wanted to meet you and that this was basically a meet-and-greet for the both of
you?”
My answer? “Yes.
That’s exactly what you should have done . . .”
Now, Patient Reader, here we go
again. For the first half of my life I
was admonished frequently for lying.
This included lying by omission, white lies, and manipulation. Even the fun little lies we tell others, even
with the greatest of intentions, to get them to the things they won’t, or we
think they won’t, ordinarily do. Oh
yeah, that’s manipulation in a sense, right?
I would have gone ahead with the Meet-and-Greet anyway, but I would not
have spent the majority of the night confused as to who my fucking date was in
the first place.
Here in the second half of my life,
I refuse to play games. I find them tiring
and I am far too weary to try and crack the codes of women, especially the
crazy ones. And in the female of the
species, as of late, I find the very lies and manipulations and games for which
I was admonished all those years ago.
So what the fuck?
I tell H this very thing; that her
little white lie was totally unnecessary in the first place, but I said it in
my sweet and non-confrontational manner; the meekness with which you know I am
overflowing . . . right, Patient
Reader? Right?
Seriously though, I did say it with
a smile and with a ribbing tone. But she
got the message and still she seemed hurt by the implication that she was
dishonest (which is our nice way of saying that she lied). Hurt that I hold others up to the same
standards I hold myself. And they’re not
the highest of standards. I know people
make mistakes, and some of them huge. Y’all know as well as I do that I am an
Asshole. I have a very fucked-up past,
and I don’t judge individuals by theirs, but I measure a person by the way they
treat me when they don’t have to be kind.
Now I piss people off because I am too honest. Well what the fuck? So I should lie and say that she looks great
in that outfit even though it looks like a clown suit, rather than tell her to
go get some slacks out of the closet that show off her figure? I use that example because it actually
happened to me. And I was in the
doghouse for weeks.
So fa chrissakes please, women out
there; don’t ask us to be honest if you want us to be liars, too. And certainly don’t expect us to know when
you want us to be which. We’ll always
get it wrong.
So go ahead and be angry with me if
I don’t say things like “I lurve you,”
if I don’t. I like looking in the mirror
and seeing an honest dude and not one that asks his shameful reflection, “What
in the hell are you doing?”
All of you women out there, women
of all ages, do the world a favor and grow the fuck up. Not you, Patient Readers of the female
persuasion . . . I know that you are not
part of this surrealistic charade.
So that’s the first part of the
rant. I have to get to class, but I will
post part two either later today or tomorrow.
Until then, I remain-
You Know Who . . .
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