A Tirade

Alright… You up there in the cosmic vapor. God, Yahweh, Allah, Odin, Ra, Ganesh, Zeus, Quetzalcoatl, Ishtar, Marduk, or whatever else people call you. What do I have to do? Actually, is it more appropriate for me to ask what did I do?

Is it not enough that I seem to be eternally single, but you have to rub it in by having assholes come to me for relationship advice? Is a homophobic moron whose favorite mode of communication is calling people "gay" what women really want in a man? If not, then WTF mate?

I have been single for far longer than I care to remember, and things just seem to be going downhill. This summer it was multiple females informing me, before I even thinking about making a move, that I am "a great friend who is always there to listen to them, but just not boyfriend material" (Oh how I love that sentence when I have done nothing to elicit it.) Then there was the capstone of the summer… the “Oh I got engaged this morning, and I think you need to know that before we go out on a date”.

Now… well now you decided to take a new tact. You decided to raise my hopes before slamming me down. Is there some kind of sick “how many times can I make George slam his head against the wall before he just gives up” game that I don’t know about?

Once upon a time, I wrote up a nice post regarding my views on Nice Guys and the Friend Zone. Unfortunately, viewpoints change, people change, and most importantly I have changed. When I wrote that I believe it wholeheartedly. I held myself responsible for everything that had happened in my love life (even those things I logically know I had no control over). I beat myself up over each and every one of the failures in the past. I blamed my own hesitant nature. I told myself that somehow it was some flaw in my nature that was causing these failures.

Heh, I am done with that. It isn't my fault. There isn't anything wrong with me. Being a Nice Guy isn't a problem . . . regardless of how many times Bob wants to play "Nice Guys Finish Last" today.

*Comes back after attacking the computer for a few minutes.*

Smug asshole is lucky I don't have a baseball bat in my room...

Now where was I? Oh yes, Nice Guys. As a friend and I decided yesterday, it isn't so much that Nice Guys finish last. It is more like there is a sniper making sure the Nice Guys don't even leave the starting gate. Sadly this time he was a little slow and I got a few feet out of the gate before the shot hit. I think it is worse this way. I guess the Divine realized that the same old "telling him that they are just gonna be friends before he can get his hopes too high" ploy wouldn't be as effective this time.

Well, he/she/it got me good this time. I actually let my natural cynicism fall. My normal walls keeping my hopeless romanticism away from my own love life were lowered and I allowed myself to think maybe, just maybe. But no. I think that currently my emotions run along with the emotions of the character Dave from a webcomic I read. The comic is "College Roommates from Hell" by Maritza Campos. (Click the image to enlarge it)

So, this is all I have to say right now... Women, know what you want before you lead a guy on. Guys, can I get a hell yeah to a quote from Dr. Gregory House - "To women. Can't live with 'em, and you can't kill them and tell the neighbors that they are stripping in Atlantic City."

Now, I will finish this little rant with a quote from Neil Gaiman.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.