Seriously: do not read this if it’s about you.
A little background. Remember the future wife? I prayed to God that I meet my future wife at the Short Stop; that night a hot chick talked to me. I went out with her, and a) I wasn’t that into her and b) I kind of blew it.
More background: last week I went out with a girl off OkCupid. She was kind of (REDACTED), but a) really, really, really beautiful and b) turned out to be literally my next door neighbor. Like, she told me a bunch of stories about my cat. I (REDACTED), but God damn she was fucking gorgeous. One of those girls— like, beauty is just the absence of ugly. It’s impossible to describe a beautiful woman’s face. For a guy, you can say “strong jaw,” “high cheekbones,” etc. etc., or “chiseled” features, but for a girl, it’s basically— all beautiful women have the face of a six year old white child. And she does. And I took her home; it got physical. We didn’t fuck but (REDACTED). But it was a win. I texted her the next day and said come over Friday and have some chicken.
Nothing back. Nothing for days. You start thinking– oh shit, did I blow it? Did I have no game, and should have waited, etc. Well, fuck that. Fuck “game.” If you even have to think about game you have already lost. I text girls when I want to see them. Or when I think of a funny text. I call them when I feel like talking to them. Which is rarely. The second you start communicating with a script and an agenda you are completely fucked; you are trapped in this counterintuitive, mercenary process, undermining yourself at every turn.
But still. She is really beautiful. And before I sent that text I had to think about the best wording. This shows I had already failed. She could smell the desperation in that text as it traveled up to a fucking satellite three thousand miles away and back down to her fifty feet from my fucking door. And so I didn’t hear back. And I started thinking— well, what if she didn’t get my text? What if she texted me back and I didn’t get it. What if, what if, what if— really? Because that annoying text from my mom came through just fine, and my text to my boss telling him I fucked something up went out and got a response fucking INSTANTANEOUSLY. No. No one ever does not get your text. You do not ever not get someone else’s text. You are a hideous undesirable loser and no one will ever love you, is what the problem is.
Anyway, I texted her again; she eventually sent an awkward rejection. Fine. I was fine sending her a second text because I knew I already blew it. When you’ve blown it, the one merciful thing is now there is definitely no more need for “game.” Text her all you want. Get it out of your system. It’s such a relief not having to try to be cool. Then she IM’d me and instantly jumped off IM before I could respond. Whatever, she is trying to say: we are neighbors, let’s be friendly. Fine. Great. But still. I keep thinking about her. When my phone vibrates, I pick that shit up like a cobra striking at a mongoose because MAYBE IT’S A TEXT FROM HER SAYING “LET’S HANG OUT TONIGHT” OMG OMG OMG!!! This is because she is beautiful. I fully acknowledge that she is a (REDACTED) whom I would never, ever want to date but a beautiful girl just flips a switch. You can’t stop thinking about her.
Anyway. Fast forward to last night. I am drunk and in a bad mood. I decide to go to the Short Stop for additional beer. As I’m walking down the hill, in a moment of sadness, I ONCE AGAIN pray to God: “please let my future wife be there.” Only this time, in my mind, there is a dickish acknowledgement that the last time He answered this prayer it was subpar. At the bar, ordering my drink, I see a guy talking to the bartender, asking if he needs more ice. Remember this guy; he is important.
I head to the back room and sit down and THERE IS THIS FUCKING CHICK hanging all over the barback who asked about the ice. And I have no choice but to sit down 8 feet away from them, knowing that no one is joining me, I am the only alone person in the entire bar, and I now have to watch her being grossly intimate with the guy who I’m sure has been casually boning her and every other hot customer for six months, and FUCK, you know, FUCK. Why do I get up at the crack of dawn to suffer for nothing in an office all day when bartenders are gleefully spreading herpes to every hot piece of ass on the planet with no fucking effort whatsoever. Life is meaningless if you’re not where the pussy is.
Anyway. God nailed me on this one. I said the prayer with kind of a sardonic little asshole twist to it and He heard me, and was like: you want to mock Me, fuckface? How about some nutcrushing rejection. And then I’m going to make you see exactly who is boning the girl you’re obsessing over, and it’s going to be the exact person whom you most envy and resent, and whose life you could not possibly hope to have. Now better head home, you gotta be on that fucking conference call at 9AM sharp.
I have to admit, it was a good one. Nice work, Lord.