Theme Song: "Sex Is Not The Enemy" - Garbage
On a dark & gloomy Tuesday night, I'm wasting away in the CUB Junction, discussing the themes of sex and love in Philip Roth's controversial novel, Portnoy's Complaint. Towards the end of the book club meeting (a.ka. 3 hours of my life I'll never get back), my phone rings 5 times consecutively... probably Papa. Anywho, it gets so annoying that I finally turn the damn thing off. We are finally released around 10 o'clock, so I head back into the night. As I groggily zombie-walk down the sidewalk, I check my voicemail, and much to my surprise, I hear this:
*boop* James, this is Danny Strein. I read what you wrote on FaceBook and I'm very upset by the things you said. I thought I made it clear that I wasn't interested in you last year. Tomorrow I'm filing a complaint and I hope this will all stop. Thanks, Bye. *boop*
DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK? WHERE DID THIS COME FROM? C'mon, seriously, you have got to be fuckin' kidding me with this bullshit! Harassment?! FYI, YOU AND I HAVE NOT SPOKEN TO EACH OTHER IN SIX MONTHS!! Whenever we're in the same room, we ignore each other; in fact, for the better half of this year, I found myself actively avoiding you. And that's not because I think you're so hot or whatever it is YOU THINK, it's not that at all... everytime I look at you, I'm reminded of how I made a fool of myself, I see you and I feel like a stupid, disgusting gargoyle, unworthy of being loved. And you have the nerve to think I'm the vicious Monster?! How could I still like you? Other than your artistic ability, I don't know exactly what I liked about you... if I remember correctly, I made it perfectly clear in that V-Day card that I wasn't sexually attracted to you at all, that you're not the kind of guy I typically chase after. No lust... for once.
Those entries (see Ridiculously Romantic & High School Confidential) come from my online journal and were written back in February when I had strong feelings for you. As of three months ago (post-New Orleans trip), I've been officially over you; Hell, I even felt secure enough to finally befriend you on FaceBook without fear of awkwardness. And Why the FUCK are you mad anyway, you self-centered prick? My journal is, and always has been, about my life and the people in it. In all my entries involving you I explicitly acknowledge that I'm the idiot, I'm the one who had the crush, I'm the silly faggot who put his honest heartfelt emotions out there and had them stomped on, I'm the one who was subsequently avoided like the Black Plaque AND YET YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S HURT?!! UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!
I guess I should've interpreted "See ya around" as "Fuck You, Never Speak To Me Again. Have A Nice Day." Of course. Arrrgh, as a gay man, I thought I was done with that doublespeak crap. I say this 'cause from experience, I see how women have such a hard time articulating what they want, how they feel, and that's why out of the blue, one tiny thing causes them to SNAP, chop your dick off in your sleep and hurl it out the bedroom window like a goddamn javelin! *shudder* For that reason, I just wish you'd GROW A PAIR and tell me exactly what you feel! I've always been honest with you, I didn't have any ulterior motive when we met, and it just kills me that the ONE time you actually call me up is to bitch and moan about ancient history... history that you ALREADY know--you lived it... you just never saw it through my eyes. I wished I'd known sooner that you didn't want to even be acquaintances; had that been made clear, of course I would've stopped trying to reach out to you as a friend.
The fact of the matter is this: after putting myself out there and taking a BIG risk by telling you how I felt, I was rejected. I wasn't even concerned about my own pain but with causing you any pain, the last thing I ever wanted to do. Once I received your response email, I tried to laugh my humiliation off and I immediately apologized for making you uncomfortable. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT, PFFFT?! Well, guess what, I REFUSE to apologize to you again for something that happened seven months ago; you're so good at looking pitiful all the time, but now, when I see you, I feel NOTHING... if not, anger and disdain. I wash my hands of you and the drama that follows you. Adios.
*deep cleansing breath* Whew, that felt great--I don't think I've ever used the word I so much in my life! ;-D The dating pool around gBurg is starting to get very shallow... downside of experience is that it makes you picky. Although I do love making the first move, nowadays I'm not as quick to go for it, ESPECIALLY if that special guy is "playin' it straight." It's bad enough that on such a small campus I'm constantly haunted by the Ghosts of Penis Past (gBurg Scene=0 Degrees of Separation), I don't wanna deal with that other strong emotion... HATE! Because when you love someone and when you hate someone, he/she monopolizes your thoughts and everybody else just falls into the invisible category of apathy.
Oh well, I just hope that I don't go carnival ape crazy the next time I randomly run into Danny--not until now have I been hearing Geoff's words repeated over and over in my head on an endless loop: "James, man, one of these days, you're gonna snatch someone's eyeball out!" And that was before Kill Bill Vol. 2 even came out! That's right, I killed your master! *YOiNK!*
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