image stolen from nymag.com
Here’s the whole fantasy. You are at the doctor’s office. Or at work. There is a pretty young woman there. That alone: fantastical. She is not looking at her phone, grunting cruelly at some other guy’s text. She does not have a boyfriend. She looks at you. You are not invisible to her. Not innately puke-inducing like a silverfish found in her panty drawer, hauling its unwieldy H.R. Giger chitin sperm casing between wispy twitchy legs and trailing a six inch smear of dust and hair from under the refrigerator. An attractive woman a) exists in the same place as you b) acknowledges you. c) does not recoil and cry out for some other guy, her boyfriend, to come kill you with a magazine while she hides her eyes, and later she’ll tell the story of the ugly silverfish in her drawer to her colleagues, wail on facebook, make an accusing phone call to her landlady.
A pretty girl who does not have a boyfriend a) exists, and b) thinks things, and says them; she speaks and then you are having a two sided conversation. Not just you digging into the terrified cavernous emptiness of your adrenalized OH FUCK A PRETTY GIRL head for a perfect thing to say, voice cracking like Peter fucking Brady, flailing to drag it out past her first sentence when it becomes clear she never thinks about anything. Or if she does, it’s dogs, or astrology. She talks to you and wants to know you and plays you some nice music and you keep hanging out and between now and when she becomes your girlfriend none of the fifteen billion other men on Earth get in her face with a better proposition, and suddenly your texts go unreturned for long painful eons, and the desperate agony makes you repulsive to her like a gangrenous wound. To her, and all other women.
Every day you are a worm dying on the sidewalk after the rain. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl picks you up and tosses you back on the grass. She’ll leave you. That’s part of the trope. But all you needed was just once, a nice pretty girl talks to you somewhere. You got a better shot at crapping out the crown jewels.
delicioustacos 
Finally. I kept coming to this blog everyday for a month now, waiting for a new post. Just so you know.
Oh yeah, that must have been worth the wait.
this was worth it. short, but captured the hellish nature of being a guy in a way that all guys understand but only DT can express this susicintly (sp?).
(online dict?)
RSS
This, I liked.
Silverfish, not so much.
Them fuckers be like psychedelic eyebrows runnin around.
Welcome back DT. How’s AA?
Hoping you’re well.
I better not wait another month for an article. I am pretty sure at some point a long time ago you became my spirit animal. You and Andrew W.K. got mashed up and every once in a while I come here to visit the zoo. I need more of you in my life. Hope you are holding it all together. ❤
I had a girl like that once. British black girl, Nigerian family, graduated from an Ivy, tiny petite and new to my city.
We went to a concert of music that wasnt too interesting, and we talked for hours. She spoke about all sorts of things. Really intelligent and nice and feminine and cool.
Second date we ended up in the bedroom and she wouldnt have sex. Virgin, she said. I didnt believe it but she was adamant. She did at least suck me off and I nutted so ok. We lated there talking, she was so smart and funny and nice and tiny and had this great little ass that popped out for a skinny girl.
She asked about our next date, when it would be, what we would do. The poor girl was probably spending all her time with socially awkward nerds, I must have seemed really interesting compared to Computer Scientists, a guy who went to concerts and travelled, imagine that.
I said we would do something soon, gave her some interesting ideas.
I never called her back. I stayed with my girlfriend. Not as smart. More domestic, looking for less adventure and stability.
Was I her manic pixie dream boy?
Nah, just a cheating asshole.
She was funny and nice and tiny with a great little ass. There is no way you were her dream boy.
Meanwhile, the ones who aren’t Pretty Girls cry their pillows wet every night wishing you’d look at them and see something other than – at most – a convenient set of orifices that makes extra noises sometimes.
Glad you’re still breathing, DT.
Almost any girl can be a Pretty Girl.
Just stop being so god damn fat.
Nice try, little buddy. I lost the weight years ago. You know what? No dude is satisfied with the Pretty Girl he can actually get. It’s the Next Prettiest One that will really make him feel alive inside. *shrug* You know what makes a real difference? It’s not how thick the waistline is, it’s how much you dismiss the attention.
Small, it’s simple.
For lotsa guys, its the thrill of the (c)hunt.
Fat chicks all over the world are still pretty. No one cares about what you think, Anonymous. You care so little you don’t even put your name, which makes sense because no one knows you, because no one cares who you are.
This makes me sad about life.
“She is Sam (Natalie Portman), a local girl who is one of those creatures you sometimes find in the movies, a girl who is completely available, absolutely desirable and really likes you…we learn nothing about her, except that she’s great to look at and has those positive attributes.” -Roger Ebert, review of Garden State. In other words, she doesn’t exist. Pixie, indeed.
Shh, DT is supposed to spend the rest of her life never settling down because the only person good enough for him is someone who has no issues at all whatsoever because he has so many that he has to make up for her lacking. You know, so he can turn into Don Draper.
I never realised ole Natalie was rockin the Horsegums so hard
Adios, mine erection. Hardly knew Ye.
this was kinda good.
Hi taylor,
Thanks for the heckle. You seem like fun.
Come on by my ranch & we will play Konami’s Double Dribble.
I will even spot you ten whole points. No. Twenty. What the hell.
Just as long as I don’t hafta look at that kewpie doll face of yours.
Like you and your doing anything to fuck and leave as soon as possible, and the men who read it who are just like that and the ones who post just as idiotic blogs who are then read by even more idiots who can’t acknowledge their stupid fears aren’t, in part, to blame for this. Also, you live in LA. It’s not going to happen.
Hard to make sense of this comment.
Either your rage has unbalanced you
Or yer just mashing your sausage fingers
A wee bit too hard on the keyboard between spatulafuls of Nutella.
All I saw was, ‘HUE HUE HUE BR BR BR BR’ As well as moderate amounts of what might be feminism mixed into that garble of a post.
There is no online translator for Huttese. Pity.
DT, I’m glad you’re continuing to keep yourself around these readers of yours who are obviously convinced it’s all just a joke. The life you lead is just one big joke that you’re not really living. It’s all for entertainment. In real life you’re just a normal bro. You’re probably taking all of this from your friends. No one could possibly be so fucked up, right?
You really aren’t this fucked up but if you keep this blog open, trying to appease all of these idiots by writing the worst about yourself, you’re never going to be as happy as you could be. You’re going to dedicate an hour or two every day looking at yourself in a broken glass and convince yourself you’re a monster. You’re funny and smart and you have nice arms. You already have such a low standard (if being patted on the back for being the guy who does things NO OTHER GUY would actually admit to doing can be considered a standard.) Restore your settings to default, bro. You’re winning the competition of worst guy they know who still gets laid. Congrats. You win having no sense of purpose in life.
Also, what’s a spatulaful? Fat fingers, huh? Everyone knows you have to double check your spelling when you’re talking shit about people’s writings.
And, Keel-ee calleya ku kah, wermo.
Such venom. Good heavens.
I realise youre mad cos you’re hung like a lightswitch, but still,
“U kulle rah doe kankee skocha kung”
I know I know I know. Youre an unhinged nut job….
Flippin dafugg out over words on a screen from a Stranger.
How American.
BUT you might serve to amuse me when I’m bored (often).
Gimme yer OKCupid, I would *love* if we could really get in the shit.
All in good fun, of course.
People who talk shit about dick lengths are usually the ones least secure with their own bodies. I’m hung smaller than a light switch. More like a pearl.
You guys are all idiots.
He’s not making this up.
It’s entertaining, but videos of little Asian kids getting chopped up and eaten are entertaining to some people.
It’s not fake.
Just because you watch it doesn’t mean it’s fake.
It just makes you a fucked up person who likes to watch as dumb shit happens to people.
In which country do they denounce paragraphs?
Fundación United Collective Konstabulatory
Yard Order of the Unicameral.
This happened to me exactly except the girl just did it so she could manipulate me and take sadistic pleasure in watching me get upset at her infidelity.