Because there’s too much to cover. I don’t know where to begin. Do I cover past, present or future? There’s so much shit going on in my life right now, to try and right some half-funny half-asspained blog post covering it all would be impossible.
There’s all the sex I pulled off of OkCupid in New York. There are the recurring daily stabs of emotional pain that seem to come out of fucking nowhere, perpetually accompanied by the face of my ex, reminding me that I’m still wholly alone in this town. There’s the recently mended relationship with my father, where I’ve felt for the first time in 21 years that I actually have a dad. The recent realization that if my ex, after getting into med school as a result of fucking nepotism, simply did the bare minimum and became a practicing doctor, she’d make triple to quadruple as much as I’d be making, even if I occupied a professorship at a top 10 university.
My struggle to keep a constant sleep schedule. My attempts to cook enough palatable food to fuel my batshit-crazy metabolism. My struggle to not use psychoactive substances to give me enough will to confront the day or to numb me out so I can sleep.
I mean, even writing this doesn’t feel natural. It feels forced and fragmented, desolate and whiny. I want to be able to be candid and humorous, not continually spouting cynical vitriol.
My life still feels like shit from wall to wall. Fortunately, I know a way out. All life is hard-wired to survive and reproduce. Any nervous system will gratuitously reward its host with happiness and a severe inability to give a fuck if it succeeds in pursuing these goals.
Survival is already handled, so that leaves reproduction.
There’s this scene in Little Miss Sunshine, where the grandfather tells his mute grandson to fuck a lot of women Dwayne, not just one woman, a lot of women. That’s basically it. I’m mentally ill because my PANIC system is in overdrive: I have no-one outside of my family who I feel is genuinely my friend, no one to tell my brain you’re one of the herd, you’re safe, chill the fuck out. Of course, making friends with guys is the more practical and sustainable option, but it’s moving too slow. I still haven’t grasped that ephemeral fucking quality that makes dudes want to hang out with me. I’m getting better at it, but its moving too slow. I need chicks.
I asked my therapist why I was better at getting shit started with girls rather than guys. He said it’s because I’m attractive and I knew how to handle the sexual side of things i.e. I don’t freak the fuck out like most guys when it comes to putting the hand on the thigh or extending the invitation back to my place. And as for being attractive, I don’t know. I’m still convinced I look like a muppet unless I contort my facial muscles into some awkward configuration whereby my jawline doesn’t look like someone is trying to push a bent boomerang through a tortilla.
The point is, I’m better at making social interaction happen with females than with males. Not necessarily prolonged and sustainable interactions: the chicks also quickly discover that I’m not exactly as good at being a friend as I am at getting them into bed. Apparently it has something to do with my read people and enact empathy in a social setting as opposed to after the fact. Who knows. Who cares. It’s too fucking painful being alone all the time so I’ll keep deriving what joy I can from crashing and burning until I make some lasting relationships, male or female.
So how do I do this.
Well, it’s paradoxically as difficult as it is simple. As soon as I see an attractive girl on campus, I immediately go up to her and say ‘Hey, I saw you and I thought you were really cute and I wanted to come and meet you. My name’s So-and-so.’ That’s it. Then it becomes a fucking flowchart to see if shit will work out; a ‘No’ anywhere along the way means I have to instantly drop it and find the next girl.
Does she like me back? This has to be indirectly ascertained throughout the entire interaction.
Is she attractive up close?
Does she have a boyfriend?
Is she religious?
Is she smart (mutually incompatible with the above)?
Is she funny?
If she fulfills all of the criteria that unfortunately only an exceedingly small portion of the female population does, then I get her number and arrange a date. After that, fate decides what happens. Some of them never text back for seemingly no reason. Some will turn out to be weird or incompatible in one way or another. However, sometimes shit turns out great. I’ll have amazing sex, or these intimate moments that wash all the pain away, or just simple grade-A validation.
So yeah, that’s it. I tried this shit back in February, and it worked. Kind of. I’ll have to start immediately, since right now it hurts to live.
Fuck a lot of women, Dwayne.