I used to keep a blog off this site so I could rant on about my frustrations and hopes in perfect anonymity, in the belief that this would allow me to be frank and discuss my life as a type of personal therapy.
I’ve decided that’s all hogwash.
So here, in full light of the world, I’m starting over. I kind of hope this site never gets into the address bars of the browsers of someone I’m currently dating-but if it does? Meh. For the most part, people I know in real life are still unaware that this site even exists.
So what’s first? Right now I’m in deep conversations on AIM with a friend back in Texas who’s almost ready to commit suicide because he thinks he’s worthless and too fat and will never have sex and all that good stuff. Indeed, he’s becoming somewhat misogynistic. I comfort him, telling him that in high school I wasn’t such a charmer either, but, assuming a mock cocky stance that David DeAngelo would be proud of, I tell him to take charge of his own life, get that weight off, and just start talking to people-this last being the most important step. He says that this is all well and good for me to say since I’m such a dashing charmer and all but that it doesn’t work for him. (Ha!) In addition, after giving him some advice which has served me well over the past few years, he told me that it didn’t make any sense. Life, I said, doesn’t make any sense and if you pretend it does, you’ll only be unhappy. And so he is.
I feel sad for such guys. I know I used to be one of them. But I’m afraid that when at last they find something and then find that it’s mediocre, they won’t be able to take the disappointment and they’ll just give up. Very recently I got out of a relationship in which the girl, while beautiful (she reminded me of Rachel Weisz), somewhat bored me. She preferred to stay home with the dog and the iguana and was taken aback when I suggested doing something goofy like seeing Snakes on a Plane on opening night for a few laughs. What’s more, she liked to go to bed at nine or ten, whereas I am still clacking away at my computer at 4 AM. But she made me happy. It wasn’t as though I was enraptured by her or anything (this became painfully obvious one night at her apartment), but she was someone whom I looked forward to seeing. We never had a single argument and our kisses were tender affairs which remain dear in the memory even now.
But she was boring.
This might be okay for some guys-you know, the kind who marry the cheerleader and hope she never talks-but I need something more (cf. my last post). Had this been a first relationship, I’m afraid to think about how I would have acted. Would I have latched on to her? Would I have been disgusted and never want to be in a relationship again? Would I have gone gay? (Okay, a bit extreme.) I tell people like my friend that you just have to get out there and ask people out, that you just have to get out and have fun and take rejection in the face, and nowadays I can’t understand why this is so difficult for so many of them. I told him that if he wants to get over his fear of rejection, he should work as a political canvasser. It works quite well. Imagine standing on your little area of space on Belmont Avenue saying over and over again, “Hi, my name is Jeremiah. You have a few seconds for the Democrats?” For hours. And hours. People will tell you to fuck off. People will argue about the party for their entire coffee break and never give you a dime. You get a chance to talk to some beautiful women but they only smile at you (sometimes), compliment you on your eyes, or tell you that you’d have better luck with her had you been a Republican. And don’t tell her your parents are Republican: that just makes it worse because you’re seen as a traitor. Okay, so this is a bit person-specific. But imagine dozens-hundreds-of people rejecting you hour after hour. Eventually you get to the point where it rolls off your back, much like your sweat since they stuck you out there on the non-shaded side of the street in the middle of a hot Chicago July. It’s one of the best remedies for a fear of rejection.
I’m not Brad Pitt. But at least I took control of that area of my life, and while I have had my ups and downs, I can accept them as life. I can accept the fact that I lost iguana girl because it just wasn’t meant to be and move on. (I do miss her kisses, though.) But the steps towards that are important. I can only hope that my friend in Texas does the same, because I’m really worried about him. Perhaps, like me, he believes that love is the only thing worth truly living for. Or maybe he just wants to get laid. But he won’t even try. And right now I’m worried about him.