This chick never texted me back. Sara. Beautiful girl. We had a great date. Ended up at her house; we had a Grateful Dead singalong for like 4 hours. I for one had a really good time. And we texted back and forth, and then I sent one kind of stupid text message, and it was over. Never heard back from her. Never will. Maybe I should have called her. But no. You can’t send two unrequited texts and then call her. Maybe I should have called her in the first place. Instead of texting her. Maybe maybe maybe. Every little thing. Maybe it’s something I fucked up in some way. And I would have gotten to have sex with her. But I also would have had to listen to, and pretend to like, her horrible horrible retarded music. Maybe it’s nothing to do with what I did. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. She works 3 jobs, two of which are at night, and has to spend her days flying around on wires into the mouth of a giant puppet of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, while singing. Every day I have to drive by a billboard of the goddamn Creature from the Black Lagoon and be reminded of her. There is nothing I can do about it now. I can’t text her. Anything I do would just debase myself, make it worse. This is the same shit that happened with Erin. I’m obsessed with it. The only thing that could possibly make me happy in the entire world would be if she were to text me back. Or If I met another, equally hot chick, who didn’t suck as much.
She had a yeast infection. Or at least her pussy was extremely sweaty and smelly and my attempt to jam my flaccid drunken penis into it at 6am caused a red dot to appear on my helmet. Why hasn’t she texted me back. I thought she liked me. She told me she got on match.com specifically to email me. Then she threw me for a loop with this whole “be your real self” thing. Stop running game on me and just be who you are. If I had been my real self I would have told her I really, really, really want to fucking see you again. I need to do so as soon as possible and I will move absolutely anything out of my schedule to accommodate. But that would have been too desperate. It would have come off as desperate because that is the fucking truth, that I am desperate. Chicks see you running game and they tell you not to and it’s their fucking trap, and what they really mean is run game harder, and crueler. But if you have a shred of humanity left you slip up and blow it.
The texting was going well, and then it just stopped. One shitty text. One not-perfectly-though-out text. Everything is too fucking delicate. There will not be a girl that pretty in my life again for as long time. Fortunately there will not be a girl that retarded in my life again for a long time either.
Looking for some cause for this—looking for an answer to something I already know. She just doesn’t like me. Somehow she thought better of it. It’s good. I’m looking for true love, not some dimwitted twat who believes in astrology. But still— what if I had done something different? What if I had been my “true self” and said those desperate things? The— what the fuck is the phrase from Unbearable Lightness of Being— what would have happened is unknowable. Life is meaningless because you can’t see what would have happened if you had done the other thing.