Why Dating is Annoying.

Well, no blog post could be long enough to cover that. Let's just say, I haven't been on a date in a really long time that left me this cold. In fact, the last one was with a guy. Even on my last date, where sadly, the woman I was with wasn't interested, was it this bad.

Nothing. In common. To talk about. Happened. First, apparently the theater randomly decided to close (fair enough; it's Dobie and most of the students are gone, but they should have said something) so we're walking around downtown and talking.

Correction: we're walking around downtown and I am talking. She said, "I'm not much of a talker," which is definitely true. At least mine and Audrey's awkward silences were broken by one of us (usually her) making a crude joke or a random observance about the political state of the world (usually me)...Aud, my friend, if I annoyed you this much, I apologise. But I don't think I did since we are, in fact, friends.

I'm not even absolutely certain how to describe the extremity with which I am annoyed at this date. For a start, I'm annoyed that I didn't like it. I'm annoyed that I was not attracted to her. But I'm not sure if I'm annoyed because I'm too picky. The run down:

1) Doesn't. Say. Anything. Maybe she's shy. Except, that in my car at the very last minute when I was dropping her off, she talked more than she had the entire time, and I could tell that she was hanging around in an attempt to kiss me.

2) I'm not feeling the cigar smoking, which she did not actually do on our jaunt around downtown. But really, no.

3) I think I'm also annoyed that when we were discussing The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (the movie), that rather than comparing it to the book, she was, in fact, comparing it to the cartoon, having not read the book. That really irritated me. I'm a snob.

4) I just discovered this one. Y'all may or may not know that I'm really self-conscious about my voice. And I think that the reason is because someone's voice is apparently a big deal to me. I didn't realise that till tonight. Why? Because my date's voice...was rather grating to my ears. So maybe it's a good thing that she didn't talk a lot.

5) I am almost certain that she just wanted to hook up. This in itself does not offend me, except that before I hook up, I'd like to have a compelling reason to do so. There really weren't any.

I hope to God that I am not this bad of a date. Because if I am, I'm screwed and I think I understand why I haven't had anyone want to date me in a really really really long time. That's a girl, anyway. And that's why I feel really terrible is because I'm always the one to be ditched and now I'm being a ditchee.

But I also don't think she had anything really emotionally invested in this, so maybe it's ok.

A conversation I had with Deanna last night is making me think, though...but that's another entry.

I think I'll try again with this girl...go see the movie...she goes in her own car, et cetera. Everyone deserves a second chance. And I really want to see the movie, and probably no one would go with me. So I'll have a go.

Well, Damn.

This was not going to be a personal blog; it was rather meant to be more of a literary experimentation, or an Austin blog, something that people read because it's fucking hilarious or something like that. But I seem to have gone all emo instead. Loser.

My aunt, my godmother, in a word, hates me, I think. Today, my sister e-mailed her and politely asked that she not send propaganda through the e-mail, because my sister is annoyed by propaganda. In response, the both of us and our mother received the following:

Thank you for your latest email correspondence.

You have certainly gained my attention and sorry, my bad, my mistake. Christian views that are passed on is a taboo subject. Again, my bad, my mistake.

I, too, am sad about the "massive fights" and am disappointed to say the least. But let me share one thing.... I did not start it, but I am trying my best to understand it.

I now know the guidelines and boundaries to which I am to conform when passing on emails to y'all. I suppose y'all should have given me these instructions about 5 years ago so I would not have taken up your time.

I also now know EXACTLY the status of what is going on with you girls. I have wondered for a time....

Rest assured, I will be NOT forwarding ANYTHING except maybe news (by telephone, of course, hoping the answering machine will pick up) of my passing in the future to either of you. In fact, deletion from my email list will probably be the answer, so the temptation will be naught.

No one needs to be bothered by an answer to this correspondence. I have a response set up to tell me when this message is received and read.

It should be noted at this time that I do not really cry. But I did. This freaking hurt. What the hell, really? We ask not to have to support her politics, and we get this? "Christian values" are "taboo"? What the hell? I live my life, as best I can, according to what Christ said to do. She knows EXACTLY the status of what is going on? What the hell does that mean? No way in hell she knows I'm gay. No way in hell she can logically think that my sister is. She doesn't know crap about what's going on.

You know what's going on? Our parents raised us to think for ourselves (which has backfired on Daddy because he's kind of conservative. It's funny); as such, I decided that no, dammit, I'm NOT going to live my life being miserable for the sake of appearances. I decided, no, dammit, I'm not going to stay at a college where I want to die. I decided that I'll major in something I like. I'll buy a car I like. I'll live life so that I actually ENJOY it.

And that I will not, ever, be joined to someone as worthless as her husband is. And if that makes me wrong, I don't want to be right. I want to love and be loved. I want to LIVE, to suck all of the marrow out of life, lest when I come to die, discover that I hadn't lived (Thoreau. Wish I'd have written that.). I want to have a chance at happiness, at joy...at peace.

Consequently, my Christmas plans are rather bizarre. I've been feeling ill for most of the day, and part of the evening. The only thing that saved me was the presence of my dear friends...their drama and all. What I've needed, for weeks, is to be held. I got it tonight. I just wish that this would go away.

And suddenly...

All of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I should have seen it coming, but I'm a little dense and not just a little stupid sometimes.

Both of the people with whom I've discussed it say that it's not me. They're both lying, but it's kind of them anyway. Of course it's me. It could be the extra fifteen pounds, or it could be my sense of humour. It could be my politics. It could be that I hold the door. It could be that I'm occasionally catty and snarky.

I've never understood the whole 'compatibility issue' thing. Who cares if I like Monty Python and she doesn't? I don't want a carbon copy of myself; supposedly others don't either. But here I am again, with that kicked-in-the-stomach, no-air feeling. And I think...that I'm supposed to be ok with this? Act like it's not a big deal? Sure, for her sake and the sake of our friendship, I will. The last time this happened to me, I said I'd rather have her in my life as a friend than not at all, and I stand by it now.

I'm angry, though. It seems incomprehensible, even to myself, that I am, because she hasn't really done anything to me. Quite. She did say she wasn't interested. But she said it was because she wasn't ready for a relationship; she didn't want to date anyone. Her friends said the same thing, "It's not you, it's everybody." I thought, for some incredibly stupid reason, that if I just loved her anyway, she might come around. Or at least, she would be a happier person for it.

But no, nothing, nothing at all that I've done has made her life better or happier; none of it makes a difference. She has other friends to give backrubs when she's sore, and others to listen to her when she's angry or sad.

Well, I did say that I want her to be happy, and I do. And it looks like she is.

But why couldn't it be me, on any level, that made her happy? I don't make her happy as a friend, and I didn't even get a chance beyond that (again, what is it that's so repellent? I grow tired of hearing how I'm a great friend, but...). Everything I tried to do to make her special, loved (in a friend way), or loved in a not-friend way...backfired. Had the total opposite effect. Embarrassed her, made her feel guilty, scared her, pushed her away. I don't understand and it hurts that she derives no joy from my presence, that she feels like she has to pick fights with me to keep me at arm's length...beyond arm's length. Maybe the arm's length of some ancient giant.

And I feel like there's meant to be some higher purpose, some reason why we were thrown together -- why I felt compelled to seek her out.

I don't know what that reason is right now.

Born to be Wild (Cha Cha Cha)

Deanna's post, when there is one (and there surely will be one) will much more well-written than this could ever hope to be. But she's cool like that, and she's asleep, so I get to scoop her.

After meeting a friend of hers at El Arroyo and consuming many chips and several margaritas (well, they had real food as well), we walked a bit down Fifth to Donn's Depot, which used to be a MoPac train depot, and also has several train cars attached to it (the women's bathroom is in a caboose). Deanna had been there before and said it was cool (Deanna has good taste, incidentally, and the following is in no way, shape, or form her responsibility).

As we walked up next to the place, I started having feelings of trepidation; filtering through the walls and windows were the unmistakeable strains of a very bad cover of "She's a Lady". I eyed Deanna askance, but she was deep in conversation with her friend and didn't notice. We, or rather, Deanna, paid the cover and went in, and she wisely found a table far, far from the band. We ordered a round of drinks as the band stopped playing. We assuming that they were the opening band and relaxed.

Oh, no.

No, no.

They were on a break. This band is known as the Recliners, and they play lounge-style covers. Sort of like Richard Cheese, but he is obviously trying to be satirical. These guys were serious, I think. They covered "Fly Me to the Moon" (which I didn't feel could get worse until tonight), a song by Quiet Riot of which I do not remember the title at this time, and "The Boys are Back in Town" (mess with Thin Lizzy, will you?!) and at last, the coup de gras: "Born to be Wild".

After some frantic searching for the waitress, we paid the bill and made our exit. Deanna shivered the whole way to the car.

It was all in all, a successful evening, as time with Deanna always is, the hideous lounge music notwithstanding.

Christmas Commercials

Need to die. I'm so tired of the jeweler commercials...show your wife/girlfriend/resident female that you love her by giving her a nice, shiny rock.

It will be assumed that I am bitter because I don't have anyone to give me a shiny rock. Untrue! While I do admit really liking my high school class ring (which currently resides in Russia), I'm not really one for rings anyway. But that's not important now.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older and less innocent, but every year it seems to get worse -- this materialism that pervades our culture. It's especially prevalent at Christmas. They step up the commercials for diamonds and jewelry and clothes and malls...it's all so incredibly fake. I think I'm also annoyed that it appears that in December I'm supposed to magically find things for my friends and family that they will like. That's just too much pressure. I have a tendency to see things at inappropriate times, like mid-March, that scream at me "Hey! [insert friend here] would freakin love me!" and those inanimate objects screaming at me are usually right.

I think it doesn't help much that I don't have a whole lot of money to spend (inevitably at Christmas; I think it's connected to the massive tuition payment) and so I feel guilty for not being much in the way of a gift-giver.

But really, the deluge of commercials are really killing me. I don't like most commercials anyway, especially since the radio assumes that everyone who listens to classic rock is a guy. Every third commercial on 102.3 is for a strip club or for "male enhancement". I have no need for either of these things. I could sure use mail enhancement, though. My federal loan hasn't shown up yet...

So it's not as bad as I thought.

After much crying, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, I have come to the conclusion that I am merely more emotionally mature than I was when I wrote that story at the beginning of this year. Yes, more emotionally mature even -after- the crying, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. I think that is just something I'm going to do forever in connection with anything I ever write.

Fortunately, my critic was very kind and didn't eviscerate me; in fact, she found the same stuff annoying that I do. Which shows either a) that great minds think alike, or that b) she's just as bad off as I am. I'm pulling for a).

I think I'm going to try to rework it. Especially since I read a blog entry by the father of one of my close friends which felt for all the world like it was directed at me, except that he doesn't know I'm gay. It essentially read, "You who are saying that you are living as a Christian, but making unChristian life choices are not following God's will and are questioning His will." I don't know to what, specifically, he was referring, but I'm sure choosing to not hate myself for being gay is on the list.

And -something- needs to be out there for people to see how it's not a choice between hetero and homo, but a choice between being happy with how you are and hating yourself. There aren't a whole lot of homosexual public figures that are in particularly stable situations or don't have some sort of eccentricity (Exceptions I can think of offhand are Melissa Etheridge and George Takei). Literature and film involving gays doesn't do a lot either (haven't seen Brokeback Mountain yet, so who knows?). I mean, The Hours was great and I loved it, but when my friend saw it tonight I had to explain to him how Meryl and Ed were lovers way back in the day before they both came to the conclusion that they were gay, but Meryl was still a little in love with Ed and so Allison was on the fringes for most of the movie, much to the annoyance of herself and Claire Danes.

I -LOVE- The Hours, but we still need a movie of lesbians who a) aren't nuts (Mulholland Drive), b) arguably bisexual, such as in The Hours, or c) in the military or something. I, of course, am not claiming that I could be the writer of such a work, but I reckon it's worth a shot.

Today I must stay up all the day, with possibly a two-hour nap. Being vaguely ill the other day and choosing to sleep in has thrown off my sleep patterns something fierce. I do not enjoy sleeping during the day except for in nap form. Sadly, it is too cold for my hammock and my couch is too short on which to sleep (THIS is changing as soon as I get my student loan in May. I love this couch thing, but it's a two-seater. I knew I should have gotten the longer one, even if it's a bit large for the living room), and I cannot nap on my bed because I will fall too hard asleep and not wake up.

Of course, now I am yawning my head off, so perhaps I'll take a nap for two hours right now and see how that goes.

Why the Hell?

Do I do crap like this to myself? I reread the story I wrote for a creative writing class for this past spring semester. It's TERRIBLE! And things aren't supposed to start looking terrible to the writer for a couple of years.

It's bad. It's trite. It's about being in love. Which is bad and trite.

I guess the fact that I can see that it's terrible shows...I'm not in love anymore.

Which is a weird thing to write. I had acknowledged it tacitly; obviously I would not have been interested in dating anyone had I still been in love. I tried earlier this year and got a queasy feeling in my stomach and was busy comparing her to HER. And that didn't happen in October.

It's still weird to write. I'm not in love anymore.
I don't dream about her anymore.
I don't see things in malls or stores and automatically think of her.
I can drive around Austin without automatically thinking of her.
Funnily enough...I think I went a couple of days this week without thinking of her. I don't know for sure, since I wasn't thinking about it.

I feel so fake; I told her I'd love her forever, that I would always carry a torch with her, that I couldn't think of my life without her.

But I can now. I can see a future without her in it.

Do I still love her? Of course.
What if she came back?

I don't know.

Have I found room in my heart for someone else?

Yes.

Twenty Degrees in December.

Ok. Not quite. But it may as well be. 102.3 keeps talking about busting out ice scrapers on Thursday morning. I don't know if anyone else has noticed this...but I have FINALS on Thursday. Finals. Yes. Which probably means I'll have to get up five hundred years earlier than I was going to in order to get there on time. I've never driven on ice.

My Russian Lit final is at eight on Thursday morning. I was going to leave at seven to get there on time (traffic, et cetera). It looks like half past six now. Great, great, great.

I was really happy with the 'unseasonably' warm weather. In fact, I think a world where it is eighty degrees year round is a brilliant idea.

Which is why I am going to move to Australia every winter after I grow up and have money. More on that later; my taco meat is burning.