Nine Months for Dorko
When I originally created this livejournal, it was based of the pretension that I wouldn't use it for internet wankage. That is, that I wouldn't simply log on and post up a bunch of crap purely about me, as though guided by some delusion that third parties would read it and find any of it interesting. I still do not believe that anyone WOULD. I am going to break my rule, however, so get ready for some serious wanking.
Not that it matters. I'm fairly certain the number of people who read this are equal to or less than the number of people who have my number on their cell phone, calling into question why I'd bother writing all of this out on the internet. My working theory is that since it is on the internet and accessible by anyone, it makes me feel better for having expressed my feelings in a public forum, while the knowledge that it will be read by pretty much nobody makes it a safe place to do so.
When I was in high school, I spoke often about how I was simply not interested in relationships. I never really pursued the opposite sex with any sort of effort because I really and truly didn't care. After high school I have felt that comfortable wall deteriorate to a state now where it is little more than a pile of old shoes. I am lonely, fiercely lonely, and there doesn't seem to be a whole lot I can do about it.
In the past three years, I have actively tried to add something to the gaping void that is my personal life. All efforts have met with their own particular brand of disaster. I feel I should stress that it is not one singular event that has driven me to post this, but rather the amalgamation of many events, culminating to a point of supreme anticlimax. It would have actually been much better, for me, had my most recent pursuit ended in a fifty car pileup and not the pathetic little half-whimper that it did. The catastrophe would have been far more satisfying in its clarity. I am left instead to stumble around in the same blinding Silent Hill fog that I always have been, only as I grow older I become more and more concerned that I won't find my way out until the best of times has passed me by.
I'm a 25 year old college graduate, unemployed, living out of my mother's basement, and my last girlfriend, who was also my FIRST girlfriend, was about five years ago. Maybe more... I've lost track of the years by this point. I have not, on a relationship level, passed by the 'seeing if you enjoy each other's favorite movies' stage. I am like a child.
I am pathetic in ways that are themselves a force of nature. I am a stand-up comic's punchline. I am a sub character in a teen movie placed there to cartoonishly represent the hopeless loser. I am a caricature of a person.
Perhaps the reader of this feels differently. This may be because of insufficient evidence presented. Perhaps this will help.
eHarmony is an online dating service... in a way, it is THE online dating resource. It and Match.com are the Toyota and Ford of online dating services. As a half-joke, I joined eHarmony, because I thought that maybe, like a well-written romantic comedy, it'd spark off a series of doomed dates with various amusing people. I remember saying, hey, at least it'll be something... an experience, or an adventure, or SOMETHING to spice up my situation. eHarmony is so confident in its ability to match anyone, that they offer to renew your subscription for free if they do not match you with three people by the end of a three-month period. So I bought a three month subscription for something in the area of $75. The application process was more involved than most jobs, and I spent three hours filling out the most extensive personal questionnaire EVER. If there was a part of me not covered by one of the questions, I'm not sure what it is, because I wouldn't have thought to ask it.
After nine months and two free subscription renewals, they finally matched me with ONE PERSON. Excitedly, I checked the name of this person, so that I could initiate contact. This person had one name... I assume it was a first name, thought really, who could tell? The person lived in southern Maine, or so it claimed. There was no more information to be had.
Ready for the name? Here it is:
Dorko.
After nine months, the most powerful dating service in the business, bruised and bloody, hanging off the ropes, made one desperate attempt to match me with SOME human being that was even REMOTELY compatible with me, and the best they could come up with, after almost a year, was Dorko. Dorko from Maine.
I waited nine months for Dorko, and I feel that that sums up my situation.
I'm constantly told by reliable sources that I'm not hideous. I'm not malformed, or mentally handicapped. To the best of my knowledge, I don't emit noxious fumes and my touch doesn't spread disease. I'm working out often, I'm athletic, and I find it easy to make people laugh. However, I would appear to be about as appealing as a dead ferret. A dead ferret that died of some kind of explosive bowel disease that, upon exploding, sent maggots and spiders flying in all directions, and the spiders were on fire, but still alive due to evil magic. Or something. Maybe I just have a funny face.
I'm not sure what more I can do. I could go to bars and clubs and try to meet people, but I'd just be meeting people who go to bars and clubs and I HATE bars and clubs. I don't really have a hobby that involves interpersonal social interaction as a rule. I'm taking care of my body, I take care of my mind, I stay away from bad TV and I don't use substances. I don't drink, I don't get in fights. I'm just cosmically unlucky and, apparently, all kinds of unappealing.
Those who read this far looking for some resolution, sorry to disappoint. But there is no more fitting end to this diatribe because, like me, it simply trickles off at the end. There's no resolution, no answers, and no direction. It just sits here. Enjoy it.
Not that it matters. I'm fairly certain the number of people who read this are equal to or less than the number of people who have my number on their cell phone, calling into question why I'd bother writing all of this out on the internet. My working theory is that since it is on the internet and accessible by anyone, it makes me feel better for having expressed my feelings in a public forum, while the knowledge that it will be read by pretty much nobody makes it a safe place to do so.
When I was in high school, I spoke often about how I was simply not interested in relationships. I never really pursued the opposite sex with any sort of effort because I really and truly didn't care. After high school I have felt that comfortable wall deteriorate to a state now where it is little more than a pile of old shoes. I am lonely, fiercely lonely, and there doesn't seem to be a whole lot I can do about it.
In the past three years, I have actively tried to add something to the gaping void that is my personal life. All efforts have met with their own particular brand of disaster. I feel I should stress that it is not one singular event that has driven me to post this, but rather the amalgamation of many events, culminating to a point of supreme anticlimax. It would have actually been much better, for me, had my most recent pursuit ended in a fifty car pileup and not the pathetic little half-whimper that it did. The catastrophe would have been far more satisfying in its clarity. I am left instead to stumble around in the same blinding Silent Hill fog that I always have been, only as I grow older I become more and more concerned that I won't find my way out until the best of times has passed me by.
I'm a 25 year old college graduate, unemployed, living out of my mother's basement, and my last girlfriend, who was also my FIRST girlfriend, was about five years ago. Maybe more... I've lost track of the years by this point. I have not, on a relationship level, passed by the 'seeing if you enjoy each other's favorite movies' stage. I am like a child.
I am pathetic in ways that are themselves a force of nature. I am a stand-up comic's punchline. I am a sub character in a teen movie placed there to cartoonishly represent the hopeless loser. I am a caricature of a person.
Perhaps the reader of this feels differently. This may be because of insufficient evidence presented. Perhaps this will help.
eHarmony is an online dating service... in a way, it is THE online dating resource. It and Match.com are the Toyota and Ford of online dating services. As a half-joke, I joined eHarmony, because I thought that maybe, like a well-written romantic comedy, it'd spark off a series of doomed dates with various amusing people. I remember saying, hey, at least it'll be something... an experience, or an adventure, or SOMETHING to spice up my situation. eHarmony is so confident in its ability to match anyone, that they offer to renew your subscription for free if they do not match you with three people by the end of a three-month period. So I bought a three month subscription for something in the area of $75. The application process was more involved than most jobs, and I spent three hours filling out the most extensive personal questionnaire EVER. If there was a part of me not covered by one of the questions, I'm not sure what it is, because I wouldn't have thought to ask it.
After nine months and two free subscription renewals, they finally matched me with ONE PERSON. Excitedly, I checked the name of this person, so that I could initiate contact. This person had one name... I assume it was a first name, thought really, who could tell? The person lived in southern Maine, or so it claimed. There was no more information to be had.
Ready for the name? Here it is:
Dorko.
After nine months, the most powerful dating service in the business, bruised and bloody, hanging off the ropes, made one desperate attempt to match me with SOME human being that was even REMOTELY compatible with me, and the best they could come up with, after almost a year, was Dorko. Dorko from Maine.
I waited nine months for Dorko, and I feel that that sums up my situation.
I'm constantly told by reliable sources that I'm not hideous. I'm not malformed, or mentally handicapped. To the best of my knowledge, I don't emit noxious fumes and my touch doesn't spread disease. I'm working out often, I'm athletic, and I find it easy to make people laugh. However, I would appear to be about as appealing as a dead ferret. A dead ferret that died of some kind of explosive bowel disease that, upon exploding, sent maggots and spiders flying in all directions, and the spiders were on fire, but still alive due to evil magic. Or something. Maybe I just have a funny face.
I'm not sure what more I can do. I could go to bars and clubs and try to meet people, but I'd just be meeting people who go to bars and clubs and I HATE bars and clubs. I don't really have a hobby that involves interpersonal social interaction as a rule. I'm taking care of my body, I take care of my mind, I stay away from bad TV and I don't use substances. I don't drink, I don't get in fights. I'm just cosmically unlucky and, apparently, all kinds of unappealing.
Those who read this far looking for some resolution, sorry to disappoint. But there is no more fitting end to this diatribe because, like me, it simply trickles off at the end. There's no resolution, no answers, and no direction. It just sits here. Enjoy it.