Some years ago, I read somewhere that one in ten men are bachelors for life. While I can’t remember where it came from, Google seems to back me up on it, and this fact has stuck with me for a while. I get laid about as often as the U.S. takes a census, and I get into relationships half as often as that. So it’s looking more and more like I’ve rolled a 1. Botched it.
I can hear my friends now, “oh, here he goes again”, thinking I’m going to whine and complain about being single, which in their defense, is a natural assumption to make. I’ve been so annoyingly whiny and complainy lately, I’m kind of surprised none of them kicked me in the urethra just to shut me up.
But that’s not why I’m here, not why I’m writing this. If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that everything in my life is better when I don’t give a shit about women at ALL. I had an absolutely brilliant week, with lots of fun times from video games to booze fests, and it wouldn’t have been a tenth as awesome if I’d been mired in self-pity. Now if only this life lesson will stick; personally, I give it a month before I become a whiny and mopey bitch again.
So I’m not focused on women right now. It’s still a goal – despite being ridiculously wealthy and sexy (ha, ha, ha….sorry), I ultimately very much want to find “the one” and settle down. But one thing has been made abundantly clear to me. Unlike what Hollywood is convinced actually happens, she will not magically appear in my life. I need to go looking for her. And this means dealing with something I hate: other people.
One of the funniest people I’ve ever met floored me when he told me he was the most introverted person HE’D ever met. He could get onstage and have an audience rolling in the aisles with laughter with his wacky characters and witty lines, but at home, he’s intensely private and he doesn’t go out much. And this struck a chord with me because I’m exactly the same way!
I don’t like going out. I never have. Going out to a club or a bar always leaves me completely drained. Even if I’m surrounded by ten or fifteen friends I trust, I wind up emotionally and physically exhausted within an hour. And forget the idea of strip clubs, when I’m in one of those, my shields are up so hard that Scotty’s in my brain, screaming, “She can’t take much more of this, Captain!”
And numerous people have tried to tell me I just need to get used to it. Bullshit. That’s like telling one of Jack Bauer’s informants that they just need to get used to torture. It IS torture, for me, an agonizing slog that has me checking my watch every minute or so, waiting for an excuse to leave. One mental deficient suggested this might be a psychological problem, and while I imagined throttling him with his own intestines, I calmly explained that I wasn’t a psychotic.
There are two prominent reasons for this, the first being that I have never liked everything everybody else likes, which includes music, or what passes for it nowadays. Exactly one time in the history of ever, I have been to a club and asked someone “what song is that?” because I actually liked it. When I threw a party of my own, I went through the Billboard 100 lists for the last five years and made a playlist of songs I hated the least, which gave me an hour or so of music. 20 songs in the last five years that didn’t make me want to chew off my own face. So, no, I will not deliberately subject myself to the unmusical caterwauling of entitled dipshits who are richer than I am for absolutely no honest reason. It’s also why I’ve never watched a single episode of Jersey Shore.
The second reason is that I don’t trust strangers and never really have. My childhood is rife with incidents where people I don’t know or had just met treated me like absolute shit on a biscuit, and things have only gotten mildly better since then. My ‘shields up’ analogy from before is not 100% accurate, it’s more like radar. When you force me to go out, I am expending a TON of energy keeping an eye on everyone and everything, waiting for someone to try something or say something awful. You can tell me to ‘get used to it’ all you like, but I don’t trust people, and for good reason, I feel.
So where is all this leading, and just what the hell does any of this have to do with video games, you ask, between thoughts of how awesome I am, and how you want me to see your boobs. Patience, I’m getting there.