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Friday, January 13, 2006
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 THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD, PART TWO: ...AND ON THE THIRD DAY
Who'll tell me those lies
And let me think they're true?
What am I to do
You want it, I got it too
-The Rolling Stones, All About You
I know that you kids have been waiting with bated breath all week to learn all about recent recent developments in my personal life, because I'm so goddamn fascinating and all. Well, you won't. At least not all of them.
Needless to say, my life still sucks. But at least it doesn't suck in its usual boring way. About halfway through writing the first part of this, my magnum opus, I recieved some disappointing news. Perhaps you noticed a change in the tone of the narrative in that post. Sorry about that. I get moody sometimes.
Anyhow, that post was originally going to be about half its length, but then, after I digested the disappointing news, two sudden realizations hit me.
The first was that my personal humiliation is incredibly rich in source material. I might be a giant dummy, but I'm not stupid. I know that my personal emasculation would be insanely funny to you, and highly amusing to me as well were it not actually me that it keeps happening to. And over the years, there's been no shortage of degredations - large and small - that I could regale you with the tales of.
Actually, I can't regale you with them. This has nothing to do with my trying to save a shred of dignity for myself. There's very little of that left, and quite frankly, not much of a point trying anymore.
The problem is that there are certain people and situations that I promised that I wouldn't share with my craven audience. I'm a lot of shitty things - the full list of which would probably exhaust the fucking internet itself - but I actually am a man of my word. I'm also not going to burn someone that I've had personal or professional relationships with just to satisfy my moronic sense of exhibitionism. Particularly when all they've done is be dumb enough to have a personal or professional relationship with me. This is something of a ground rule that I laid out for myself when I started this stupid blog, and one I've been pretty good at honouring.
Another problem is that a lot of the people who were dumb enough to have some sort of relationship with me are readers of this the blog, or are aware of it's existence, or know the URL. With very, very few exceptions, these are good and decent people who I have no desire to hurt just because I'm a useless jackal with an abnormal need to be loved by strangers.
This has lead me to two conclusions. First, stop making promises that I regret later because I can't write about things that would be great. And second, stop telling people I know about this fucking blog!
But I figure that I'm fair game. I'm neither good nor decent, and I'm sure as shit not innocent. I figure that if the only one I hurt with this drivel is myself, that's fantastic. Sure, I might be a narcissitic piece of human garbage, but at least I know that my tiny tortures should at least be entertaining to you. Have I ever mentioned how giving I am?
So there, in a nutshell, is the philosophy behind this series. You see, unlike you folks who secretly live on dating websites or hide your failed relationships behind a thin veneer of happiness, I'm going public with what a personal failure I am.
I'm going to document how I didn't get laid by a drunken stripper I met on the fucking subway! And I'm going to do it step by step. In real time. A documentary of failed potential. A psychic suicide. A version of Leaving Las Vegas wherein Nicholas Cage plays my penis. Whatever.
Or I might get lucky. Who knows? Maybe we'll fall in love, get married and she'll inevitably shoot my face off, which would be a public service and ease the burden on you, her, me, and my poor fucking mirror. It could happen. I do, after all, live in a City Under the Gun. But I doubt it. I'm not exactly famous for my luck.
Wow, that might be the most long-winded introduction to an update ever! Christ, I'm almost proud of myself.
Anyway, I decided that I'd use the e-mail address before I finished writing the post. The whole idea of putting it to a vote was my getting a gauge on your reaction to the idea was a massive act of fraud. Now you all know how the Democrats feel.
There was one thing abut the voting that I found fascinating. Even the people who were for it were kind of queasy about the whole thing. That's how I knew that this might be GREAT!
I waited a day, and then I sent the e-mail to J (yeah, I'm thinking what the thing is with me and women whose names begin with that letter is too.)
I was pretty sure that I'd get a response, if only out of curiosity or, better still, a sense of regretful horror. Then I had to decide whether I'd reprint the response that I got. Then I figured that better bloggers (and human beings) that I know have reprinted e-mail exchanges with people that they were in actual relationships with, I figured my doing so with someone that I'm betting I'll never meet isn't likely to hurt anyone.
On Thursday morning, after I got home from work, I found this in my inbox. The only parts I'm leaving out are anything that would identify J, who actually does seem kind of nice.
LOL! Well hello stranger. Your right , I don't remember you and I don't remember giving anyone my EMAIL address. LOL. If I DID give someone my email address, then WHEN and where did this take place??? I think someone else probably gave out my email address maybe because I have been off and on with my boyfriend for so long. I remember one of them saying that they wanted to find my another guy, well please let me know when we met and why your saying i was so much fun!....
Thanks for the signate of death.....quite a reality check in the deceit of hope!
Bye
Before I go any further, I should explain the "signate of death" comment. For those of you unlucky enough to have never recieved a personal e-mail from lil' ol' me, I have a quote as a footer on each and every missive I send. It comes from the great Michel Houellebecq's novel "Platform."
This is the quote...
"I understand death now. I don't think it will do me much harm. I have known hatred, contempt, decay, and other things; I have even known brief moments of love. Nothing of me will survive, and I do not deserve for anything of me to survive. I will have been a mediocre individual in every possible sense."
Now you KNOW why you're so sad that you've never gotten an e-mail from me. Because I'm such an up guy. There you have it, I'm Captain Happy!
Now, if you're not a pretty girl like I am, you really don't understand just how brilliant J's response to my inital e-mail really is. Let's dissect it, point by point, shall we?
- She doesn't remember me. Of course she doesn't. Unlike you, I was
actually there. I was amazed that she actually knew her own e-mail
address.
- You'll notice that she doesn't actually deny giving me her e-mail address. This
is because I might be hot, rich, or have some element of human potential. Which I don't, but she doesn't know that.
- The boyfriend is pointed out again in the event that I possess none of the
above (which, in fact, I don't)
- She goes out of her way to point out the "on again/off again"
nature of the relationship with the boyfriend. Y'know, just in case I'm not
swine, which, unfortunately, I am.
- If it turns out that I AM swine, then her girlfriend - who wants to hook
her up - did it.
I trust that none of you will accuse me of not understanding hot girls. Ever again. J managed to say a LOT in a very short (if mangled) paragraph. Most guys don't understand the intricate thought processes of hot girls like I do. This is why I'm so good at getting other guys laid. Understanding female psychology doesn't go a long way in getting past my face. Trust me on that.
Basically, she's keeping her options open and committing to nothing. I like that. It gives me hope and nothing makes me feel more complete than crushed hope.
Did I respond to J? You bet your ass I did!
Certainly, I didn't point out the things I just pointed out to you. That would be wrong. It would also kill my fun. After all, this MY humiliation, and I want ownership of it!
Jesus, did I just say that I want "ownership" of something bad? Fuck me! Maybe I've fallen too deeply into female psychology! Please kill me?
Yes, I did respond. And I did so in an honest, if highly restrained and sanitized version of the first post in the series. I didn't for example, tell her about my desire to see how far my tongue would reach into her perfect little ass. That would be unbecoming a gentleman like me. And it fuck up the series. After all, the federal election isn't going to last forever, and I'm going to need something new to write about pretty soon.
I was rather gentlemanly about the whole thing, actually. Sure, I pointed out that she told me that she's a stripper, but that was strategic - to show that I'm not judgemental about her life-choices. Granted, I did this because she knows nothing of MINE! If she did, rest assured, she'd kick me in the balls and set me on fire. And I'd like to save that for part seven or eight, if I can.
One of my more clever moves was turning her "it's the girlfriend's fault" back onto her. In my closing, I pointed out that if this was her friend's doing, then her friend doesn't have her best interests at heart as I'm particularly unsightly and singularly stupid.
God help me, I await her response. This could get way fun. Or not. Whatever.
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