Thursday, November 24, 2011

Post One Hundred and Forty Eight: You Make Me Feel Like A Wanker.

I hate the dating game. It's a thorn in my lonely side. Think about it with me, if you will.

I spend a lot of time cooped up into small, sterile spaces. I focus on and over clammy unresponsive corpses. Then, after eight or so hours I go home to 'decompress'. This down time sometimes involves baths. It sometimes involves wines. It sometimes involves Bruce Springsteen and a quiver of crackers and dip. More often than not, I think about how nice it would be to do/hear/eat these things in the company of someone else. I admit to owning romantic feelings.

It's reasonably difficult to meet someone that you'd like to spoon with when your money making activities involve aspiration, exhumation and repatriation. Moreover, it's problematic if you suffer from repeated bouts of sexually induced frontal labotomisation. Oh, how shit it is when you like someone and you turn into a mumbling and/or babbling retard in the presence of the very person that you'd like to kiss on the face.  I am like Stan and the sexy time target is Wendy, or however the South Park simile would go.

It feels like this disintegration of any personal social charm is worsening too, assuming that I had any in the first place. When I was younger I believe I was happy to make a dick of myself. I have learned a helplessness in my latter years like Scar from The Lion King, but I can't function well enough to imitate a crappy pseudo confidence.

I suck at the dating game. Let's jump to third base and buy a puppy. By let's I mean, me.



  1. the problem with self-analysis is that we are far too attached to ourselves to ever be able to get enough distance to make an adequate evaluation. how do you measure the tire pressure when you're driving the car? while the obvious answer to that is in-tyre monitors, we're not so lucky.

    you, however, are lucky. and i say luck there as a simile for 'being in a good position', rather than 'experiencing a good outcome of small probability'. there is a special gravitas about you that tempers with the silliness and hyperactivity you criticise yourself for, and it is one of the many things that makes you inherently special.

    i used to be embarassed by how far fighting was driven into my psyche. i'd subtlely 'condition' my knuckles on benchtops and desks without realising i was doing it. i'd step through doorways as if i was stepping through the forward entry technique. but at some point i've just had to accept that this is who i am - these things got into me early and sometimes i'm inappropriate or silly because of it. so to should you be happy with your brilliant self, crush foot-mouth and all.

    just don't spew in their faces, no-one wants that

  2. Christopher Pollock, you are very special to me. Can I tap dance at your wedding? You, of course, can do so at mine (if a cure for crushfootmouth is discovered in time).

  3. Oh man, I am the same. I try to temper it with Xanax, but it doesn't always work.