Idol Week 34, in which there is recursive absurdity and I end up hiding in my shell
{This is part of a 3-way intersection with alien_infinity and n3m3sis42, whose entries can be found HERE and HERE, respectively. They both called theirs "twitterpated", and I considered "cesspool" for mine, but given this is really just a bunch of recursive absurdity that ends with me hiding in my shell, I think the only thing I can fairly call it...is turtles.}
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Wuv. Twue Wuv.
And while on the subject of horrifying things, let's add Freudy Kreuger, Godzilla, poison spiders, and 1970's polyester leisure suits into the mix, though honestly I think 'Zilla and Kreuger dish a bit less damage on average, poison spiders are significantly less toxic, and intentionally wearing polyester is only slightly less suffocating.
Suffice it to say, I'm spectacularly bad at this bizarre ritual you earth creatures call "romance", but at least I've made some positive strides. For example, I've actually figured out that I'm more attracted to women than men, and I've also figured out that relationships are dangerous and potentially explosive things to only be handled with extreme caution. But, like most humanoid life forms, I had my share of "OMGWTF" run-ins during my formative years and inadvertently signed up for a few classes at Hard Knocks U.
I first tried my hand (no pun intended, ya pervs) at the whole "boyfriend" thing when I was 13 and in the 8th grade. I had a huge crush on this boy from my algebra class, and it was puppy love in the first degree. He had gorgeous green eyes and shaggy hair and a sharp sense of humor, and best of all, he seemed to like working with me in class a bit *too* much, and he wasn't just some toolbag out to copy my answers either. His class average was actually two points higher than *mine* was, and the fact that we were both geeky enough to compete for the highest average in honors math was surefire evidence it was just meant to be. Oh, the perils of 8th grade puppy logic! As everyone knows, when it comes to junior high romance, it is against The Code to simply go up to someone and ask them out or inquire if they might be interested in perusing a relationship. Oh hell no. Proper procedure dictates that you either 1) write a note to the effect of "Do you like me? Check one: []Yes []No []Maybe" and then pass it to them in the middle of class or 2) Get your best friend to ask their best friend how they feel about you (but ohmygod don't be too obvious about it!) and stand there nervously waiting with a gaggle of your OTHER friends until your chosen messenger returns with news of your glorious victory or crushing defeat. In this case, an intricate, complicated web of he-said she-said telephone messengers revealed that he and I both found each other to be "cute" and "funny", which was clearly a solid foundation for a serious 8th grade romance. Then, and only then, was it deemed proper for us to actually directly discuss anything.
Now, this dude happened to be the ex of a girl I was friends with (cue dramatic music), but to the best of my knowledge, that was ancient history (cue more dramatic music). However, Tina, the friend in question, apparently had a very different perspective on the matter, and I found this out when I received an incredibly angry phonecall from her demanding to know why I was going out with her boyfriend. Naturally, I was more than a bit taken aback, but I was also a 13-year-old dumbass, so instead of considering the possibility that MAYBE the object of my affection was a raging asshole who was trying to be a player, I instead simply assumed my friend was still pissed off about a fight we'd had over some completely unrelated nonsense earlier in the week. In true 13-year-old dramatic fashion, she had a habit of trying to drag out every stupid fight or argument she got into with anyone, and in equally dramatic 13-year-old fashion, I always took the bait like a champ and had no clue when the wisest decision was to actually disengage from the fight or STFU and listen. So she and I totally got into it and the conversation ended with a flourish of obscenities on both ends and her telling me that I could "keep that dirty dog" because I deserved him anyway...but not to say she didn't warn me. (Yup. More dramatic music goes here.)
I should have twigged something was seriously amiss when two weeks later, Tina was still cheesed off. She liked to drag stuff out, sure, but never to this degree. The shit finally hit the fan one evening when Boyfriend and I were sitting in my room playing Mortal Kombat on my Sega Genesis. (Yes, I was whupping his ass. Royally.) Apparently, however, this not what 8th grade boys have in mind when they find themselves alone in their girlfriends' bedrooms, so he decided the best course of action would be to put the controller aside, lean over, and kiss me. Suffice it to say, the guy kissed like Slimer from the Ghost Busters cartoons, and I was thoroughly grossed out. I figured maybe kissing was one of those things you just sort of had to learn to enjoy, so I let him try it again, and nope! Still nada, and the videogame still seemed like a far more appealing option. Boyfriend had other plans though, and those plans apparently involved groping my chest. At first I was just sort of mildly curious, but then he tried to pull my shirt up, alarm bells starting going off in my head, and I immediately crossed my arms over my chest. If the jerk had backed off, or even attempted to ask if and\or why I was uncomfortable, he might have redeemed himself. But nope! Instead, he chose to inform me that I should take my shirt off, because Tina had always taken *her* shirt off. I wasn't old enough to realize just how much of a douchebag comment this was, but it definitely didn't score him any points. I rolled my eyes and put the controller back in his hand. We played another round, and I relentlessly slaughtered him this time. Then he kissed me again, which was gross, and then he tried to stick his hand down my pants, at which point I completely freaked out, shoved him away, and flat-out snapped, "What the hell are you doing?! This isn't what I invited you over for!" His gallant response? "Well I didn't know that when I came over! We've been going out for three weeks! Are you ever going to be ready?" The comment itself was jaw-droppingly horrible enough, but the fact that he said it in a tone of voice that sounded put-upon and mildly annoyed, like he was being denied something I inherently owed him, just shocked the hell out of me. I'd like to say I walked out of the room, or told him the relationship was over, or any number of things, but I just sat there staring at him because I couldn't believe this was happening. So he decided to press the issue and defend his stance on the grounds that "everybody else is doing it"...and then he made another grab for my pants. I'd like to say that THIS TIME, I walked out of the room, or told him the relationship was over, but what actually happened was I punched him in the jaw. Which was definitely better than just staring at him, and I'm not sure if he or I was more startled, but dammit, getcher hand away from my pants! I told him if everybody else was doing it, then he could go do it with everybody else. Then I told him to call his sister to come pick him up because I had homework to do. He sulked, then broke up with me, then called his sister to come get him. I was really more baffled than anything else, the whole thing just seemed so ridiculously surreal, and then I found out the next day he'd apparently called Tina for an (attempted!) reconciliation, complaining that I was a total bitch and had broken up with him when he told me he loved me. Naturally, stories got compared, information got disseminated, and a certain bozo had an incredibly difficult time getting a date for the rest of the year. Schoolyard justice at its best!
I, however, didn't try the dating thing again until my senior year of high school (I had no desire to have sex with boys, and it didn't occur to me until many years later that this might be because I preferred to have sex with girls, so dating just wasn't forefront on my mind as something to dedicate any time to pursuing). The guy I tried dating as a senior also turned out to be a massive booty hound who just wanted to pressure me into taking my clothes off. I messed around with him a bit, hated it, and the relationship blew up. Then I tried some actual sexy-tiemz with a guy in college, hated it, and the relationship blew up, except this time I let myself get way too emotionally invested, so it was drama drama DRAMA. Then I tried dating a few girls, did enjoy sexy tiemz, but one of us was always more serious about the relationship than the other, so...you guessed it...drama drama DRAMA. Then there was an idiot at work who decided he was going to be my intarwebz stalker when I didn't return his affections (drama!), and then there was another idiot at different work who decided he was going to proposition me after my second day on the job (draaaaama), and then there was yet ANOTHER idiot who couldn't figure out WTF he wanted with me so he just led me on and confused me for a year (DRAMA!), and by this point, I was finally just like "You know what? All you earthlings are FUCKING WACK. I got enough stress in my life without this damn circus, so deuces!" And I totally broke out the shiny turtle shell to camp out in.
I've been happily single and uninvolved for quite some time now, and quite frankly, I'm loving it. I'm enjoying life WAY more than I ever was when I had a "special someone" whose only specialty was driving me bonkers. Maybe I'm being a chickenshit by doing everything I can to stay off Cupid's radar. Maybe there *is* somebody out there for me and I'm totally missing out. Maybe there isn't. But in the mean time, I'm pretty darn sure that intentionally involving myself in the ridiculous shitshow known as "the dating scene" is at best, asking for trouble, and at worst, a sure sign of madness. Sure, I'm attracted to specific people sometimes, and I deal with those incidents as they come along, but I don't feel any overwhelming need to be with someone just for the sake of being with someone, and I never really have. If anyone asks, I just tell them I'm in a committed relationship with my Gamecube. And I may or may not be cheating on it with my Sega Genesis.
Hey. I've got to be naughty *sometimes.*
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Wuv. Twue Wuv.
And while on the subject of horrifying things, let's add Freudy Kreuger, Godzilla, poison spiders, and 1970's polyester leisure suits into the mix, though honestly I think 'Zilla and Kreuger dish a bit less damage on average, poison spiders are significantly less toxic, and intentionally wearing polyester is only slightly less suffocating.
Suffice it to say, I'm spectacularly bad at this bizarre ritual you earth creatures call "romance", but at least I've made some positive strides. For example, I've actually figured out that I'm more attracted to women than men, and I've also figured out that relationships are dangerous and potentially explosive things to only be handled with extreme caution. But, like most humanoid life forms, I had my share of "OMGWTF" run-ins during my formative years and inadvertently signed up for a few classes at Hard Knocks U.
I first tried my hand (no pun intended, ya pervs) at the whole "boyfriend" thing when I was 13 and in the 8th grade. I had a huge crush on this boy from my algebra class, and it was puppy love in the first degree. He had gorgeous green eyes and shaggy hair and a sharp sense of humor, and best of all, he seemed to like working with me in class a bit *too* much, and he wasn't just some toolbag out to copy my answers either. His class average was actually two points higher than *mine* was, and the fact that we were both geeky enough to compete for the highest average in honors math was surefire evidence it was just meant to be. Oh, the perils of 8th grade puppy logic! As everyone knows, when it comes to junior high romance, it is against The Code to simply go up to someone and ask them out or inquire if they might be interested in perusing a relationship. Oh hell no. Proper procedure dictates that you either 1) write a note to the effect of "Do you like me? Check one: []Yes []No []Maybe" and then pass it to them in the middle of class or 2) Get your best friend to ask their best friend how they feel about you (but ohmygod don't be too obvious about it!) and stand there nervously waiting with a gaggle of your OTHER friends until your chosen messenger returns with news of your glorious victory or crushing defeat. In this case, an intricate, complicated web of he-said she-said telephone messengers revealed that he and I both found each other to be "cute" and "funny", which was clearly a solid foundation for a serious 8th grade romance. Then, and only then, was it deemed proper for us to actually directly discuss anything.
Now, this dude happened to be the ex of a girl I was friends with (cue dramatic music), but to the best of my knowledge, that was ancient history (cue more dramatic music). However, Tina, the friend in question, apparently had a very different perspective on the matter, and I found this out when I received an incredibly angry phonecall from her demanding to know why I was going out with her boyfriend. Naturally, I was more than a bit taken aback, but I was also a 13-year-old dumbass, so instead of considering the possibility that MAYBE the object of my affection was a raging asshole who was trying to be a player, I instead simply assumed my friend was still pissed off about a fight we'd had over some completely unrelated nonsense earlier in the week. In true 13-year-old dramatic fashion, she had a habit of trying to drag out every stupid fight or argument she got into with anyone, and in equally dramatic 13-year-old fashion, I always took the bait like a champ and had no clue when the wisest decision was to actually disengage from the fight or STFU and listen. So she and I totally got into it and the conversation ended with a flourish of obscenities on both ends and her telling me that I could "keep that dirty dog" because I deserved him anyway...but not to say she didn't warn me. (Yup. More dramatic music goes here.)
I should have twigged something was seriously amiss when two weeks later, Tina was still cheesed off. She liked to drag stuff out, sure, but never to this degree. The shit finally hit the fan one evening when Boyfriend and I were sitting in my room playing Mortal Kombat on my Sega Genesis. (Yes, I was whupping his ass. Royally.) Apparently, however, this not what 8th grade boys have in mind when they find themselves alone in their girlfriends' bedrooms, so he decided the best course of action would be to put the controller aside, lean over, and kiss me. Suffice it to say, the guy kissed like Slimer from the Ghost Busters cartoons, and I was thoroughly grossed out. I figured maybe kissing was one of those things you just sort of had to learn to enjoy, so I let him try it again, and nope! Still nada, and the videogame still seemed like a far more appealing option. Boyfriend had other plans though, and those plans apparently involved groping my chest. At first I was just sort of mildly curious, but then he tried to pull my shirt up, alarm bells starting going off in my head, and I immediately crossed my arms over my chest. If the jerk had backed off, or even attempted to ask if and\or why I was uncomfortable, he might have redeemed himself. But nope! Instead, he chose to inform me that I should take my shirt off, because Tina had always taken *her* shirt off. I wasn't old enough to realize just how much of a douchebag comment this was, but it definitely didn't score him any points. I rolled my eyes and put the controller back in his hand. We played another round, and I relentlessly slaughtered him this time. Then he kissed me again, which was gross, and then he tried to stick his hand down my pants, at which point I completely freaked out, shoved him away, and flat-out snapped, "What the hell are you doing?! This isn't what I invited you over for!" His gallant response? "Well I didn't know that when I came over! We've been going out for three weeks! Are you ever going to be ready?" The comment itself was jaw-droppingly horrible enough, but the fact that he said it in a tone of voice that sounded put-upon and mildly annoyed, like he was being denied something I inherently owed him, just shocked the hell out of me. I'd like to say I walked out of the room, or told him the relationship was over, or any number of things, but I just sat there staring at him because I couldn't believe this was happening. So he decided to press the issue and defend his stance on the grounds that "everybody else is doing it"...and then he made another grab for my pants. I'd like to say that THIS TIME, I walked out of the room, or told him the relationship was over, but what actually happened was I punched him in the jaw. Which was definitely better than just staring at him, and I'm not sure if he or I was more startled, but dammit, getcher hand away from my pants! I told him if everybody else was doing it, then he could go do it with everybody else. Then I told him to call his sister to come pick him up because I had homework to do. He sulked, then broke up with me, then called his sister to come get him. I was really more baffled than anything else, the whole thing just seemed so ridiculously surreal, and then I found out the next day he'd apparently called Tina for an (attempted!) reconciliation, complaining that I was a total bitch and had broken up with him when he told me he loved me. Naturally, stories got compared, information got disseminated, and a certain bozo had an incredibly difficult time getting a date for the rest of the year. Schoolyard justice at its best!
I, however, didn't try the dating thing again until my senior year of high school (I had no desire to have sex with boys, and it didn't occur to me until many years later that this might be because I preferred to have sex with girls, so dating just wasn't forefront on my mind as something to dedicate any time to pursuing). The guy I tried dating as a senior also turned out to be a massive booty hound who just wanted to pressure me into taking my clothes off. I messed around with him a bit, hated it, and the relationship blew up. Then I tried some actual sexy-tiemz with a guy in college, hated it, and the relationship blew up, except this time I let myself get way too emotionally invested, so it was drama drama DRAMA. Then I tried dating a few girls, did enjoy sexy tiemz, but one of us was always more serious about the relationship than the other, so...you guessed it...drama drama DRAMA. Then there was an idiot at work who decided he was going to be my intarwebz stalker when I didn't return his affections (drama!), and then there was another idiot at different work who decided he was going to proposition me after my second day on the job (draaaaama), and then there was yet ANOTHER idiot who couldn't figure out WTF he wanted with me so he just led me on and confused me for a year (DRAMA!), and by this point, I was finally just like "You know what? All you earthlings are FUCKING WACK. I got enough stress in my life without this damn circus, so deuces!" And I totally broke out the shiny turtle shell to camp out in.
I've been happily single and uninvolved for quite some time now, and quite frankly, I'm loving it. I'm enjoying life WAY more than I ever was when I had a "special someone" whose only specialty was driving me bonkers. Maybe I'm being a chickenshit by doing everything I can to stay off Cupid's radar. Maybe there *is* somebody out there for me and I'm totally missing out. Maybe there isn't. But in the mean time, I'm pretty darn sure that intentionally involving myself in the ridiculous shitshow known as "the dating scene" is at best, asking for trouble, and at worst, a sure sign of madness. Sure, I'm attracted to specific people sometimes, and I deal with those incidents as they come along, but I don't feel any overwhelming need to be with someone just for the sake of being with someone, and I never really have. If anyone asks, I just tell them I'm in a committed relationship with my Gamecube. And I may or may not be cheating on it with my Sega Genesis.
Hey. I've got to be naughty *sometimes.*