Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I Blame All This On Grindr

I don't actually have any groundbreaking new material to talk about but I'm trying to post more often and this is my last chance to squeeze one more January post in. So. 

The dating game is at a complete and utter stalemate. Even still, I can't pry myself away from playing, though I have much more pressing and productive things I could be doing like developing my biceps and studying for my federal tax exam.

Why do I even get into it if every last guy ends up a disappointment? 

Because the beginning is so sweet, when you exchange names and mutual interests. Because he tells you that you are adorable and that you should meet for coffee or drinks. Because it's so exciting to go to his apartment and watch TV in his bed with your socks still on. Because the first kiss is always electrifying to some extent, even if there's no chemistry there. Because if he doesn't call you the next day (or week), maybe he's just busy. Because when he tells you you're "adorable, but..." you can seek some solace in your cuteness. Because even though he's hurt you, you'll get over it soon enough. Ah, because the next one, surely he will be different. 

See, there are a lot of reasons.

My friend and I were on the phone today theorizing reasons why guys never seem to want to keep seeing me after the first or second date. The top three potential reasons were: I look better in pictures that I've meticulously doctored in Photoshop; I smell really, really bad; white guys will only ever respect Asians enough to treat them as casual things on the side that they can dump on a whim and not feel badly about at all.

This habit has become obsessive and it's clearly destructive to my psyche. But I feel like in some ways I've been too overstimulated (by my iPhone, obviously) so that my baseline level of excitement is impossibly high. I just want to feel something so I grasp desperately at anything that presents itself, whether I know inwardly that it's going to damage me or not. There's also a chance that I do this because I'm tired of being alone and feeling unwanted - and that last pesky bit of optimism hasn't been extinguished yet.

See, all old themes.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

"I Like Having Too Many Friends"

I have a lot to say; I always do. I just feel so emotionally-exhausted that I dont know if I have the words in me these days. I'm also regular-exhausted. I have this free 3 [consecutive] day pass at the WSC but everytime I go there's a new receptionist who perpetually thinks it's my second day. I've gone 5 days in a row now. I can't feel my arms.

The picture of complete and utter loneliness that I paint around myself is not entirely true. My situation could be worse. I could be a black, lesbian Jew - I could be Aneesa from Real World Chicago. But I've done ok, working with what I've got, in the district of desperation and dismissiveness. I go on a steady stream of dates, (I'd say an average of 3 first dates a week). I went on three last Thursday alone. The problem is these dates almost always end with, "I'd be cool with messing around, but let's just be friends."

Now I don't know about YOU guys, but I don't give handjobs to my friends on the Metro. So my general reaction to these overtures is something biting like, "THIS IS NOT AMERICA'S NEXT TOP BEST FRIEND." It's insulting to be told you aren't qualified for the upper echelon of dateable guys; what about me isn't good enough for them? Since I'm dating exclusively white guys, it kinda puts me right back in San Francisco in the mid 1800s, "You're ugly. Go build me a railroad."

Somebody on OKCupid put it perfectly when he said gay guys no longer form relationships via their daily lives. Everyone's on an online website or on Grindr where the pool is seemingly limitless. They make split-second judgements without making the effort to observe any other personal qualities. In doing so, "the perfect guy" is potentially bypassed for a "total babe" who is a total nightmare. This guy is either a genius or as pathetic as I am. Perhaps both.

Ok, so let's say I get why people wouldn't necessarily want to be with me. The larger problem I'm wrestling with is its effect on me. Why does it matter? Why can't I be like the rest of these bumbling idiots, content with going on an endless string of first dates until Mr. Perfect falls right into my lap? How come I can't stick my toe into the pool without falling in and drowning?

The truth is, I notice problems with every guy I date too. Mr. Thursday was slightly effeminite, mildly arrogant, and a Republican. Mr. Friday was selfish, awkward, and had this really consicupous stain on his front tooth. Red head #1 was immature, transient, and looked like a dinosaur. Thor was Icelandic.

The difference between me and all the other men is that I search inwardly for ways I can make a relationship with an otherwise imperfect person, perfect. They, on the other hand, only look for reasons why it won't work and treat each one as a dealbreaker. Maybe it's only fed by desperation, but I feel for people, imperfections et al. White people only care about themselves - finding somebody to satisfy their needs. And so the real question becomes: is it worse to settle with somebody or grow old with nobody? 

I suppose the verbiage is still in me, I just have to dig a little deeper these days.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Reflections, Regrets, Resolutions

I've been thinking a lot about time lately. The holidays provide the perfect backdrop for my temporal affective disorder. The one, two, three combination of Christmas, New Years, and my birthday are relentless. They simultaneously remind me of how quickly the last year has passed and how slowly the time ahead of me seems to move. They emphasize how desperation can stretch for months onto a year and happiness can only last for a day, and in some cases, just a few seconds.

Christmas as a young adult is always letdown. The traditions I remember from my childhood have all been abandoned and family togetherness is contrived- merely an excuse for my parents to get me in a room with them and warn me against dating anything but an Asian girl. My sister somehow escaped this purgatory. It turns out San Francisco is just out of arm's reach. I should move there.

My parents and I went to Great Falls on the Potomac on Christmas day. Standing on the bridge above the gushing rapids, my father felt the need to unload some philosophical musings about how time is like water: it seems never ending but the water you see right now will be gone in a moment and you will never see it again. This was depressing. Then my mom made a comment about how if I ever abandon or disappoint her, she is going to jump into the falls headfirst. "How about if I jump instead," I bargained in my head.

New Years was less of a downer. I went to New York City this year; its frenetic pace and the masses of unfamiliar faces helped me forget about my "DC problems" for a few days. Also, I imagined myself as Michael Fassbender in Shame. That was fun. 

New Years Eve, at around 11pm, I text a guy that I'm seeing to wish him a happy New Year. He texts back, asking me what I'm up to. Turns out we are both in NYC, both in East Village. He doesn't want to meet up. The ball drops. And then I go home.

Birthdays are especially hard. I spend the entire year building up immense expectations that this is the one day out of the year that the people I care about will want to make me happy, that the universe will somehow allow everything to go my way, that I will feel loved. Not so. I worked all day, went to dinner with my mom (apparently after not receiving a text from this cute guy that wanted to buy me dinner- not sure if I believe him when he says this now), went home, watched Modern Family, went to bed. I don't even like Modern Family. The only thing more disappointing about the actual day is the fact that I have to wait a whole year to experience it again.

At the moment, I don't know how to feel about time. In some respects, it moves too quickly and I feel like every part of my life is out of control. In other respects, it moves too slowly and I feel like there's no passion, no excitement, nothing to live for.

In the new year, and my 23rd year of life, I've made the resolution to let go of everything behind me and strive to be a better, happier person. But aside from waking up earlier, eating less meat (interpret this however you want), and investing more in my 401k, I don't exactly have any fabulous ideas that will make me the cute, upbeat, loveable guy that I want to be. More importantly, I wonder if change really is easier to achieve now, when the "new year" concept is just an overblown celebration of the arbitrarily selected Julian calendar. WHAT DO THE ROMANS KNOW ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE? 

Maybe my dad was right. Perhaps true happiness exists only for a moment in time, and when that time passes, it's gone forever.