Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I had grand aspirations today of a giant, 4000 word post, but Uncle Jason drank a little too much last night. Actually, that's a lie - it was much more than a little. So much so that Uncle Jason is counting the minutes left in his day so that he can go home to lay in the shower and sob, feeding on a steady diet of Bayer, white bread, and Gatorade. Awesome.

It was a great night though. One of those nights that you and your roommate decided randomly at 8pm to go "grab a beer", but six hours later you're standing in the middle of Orchard Street with a half-dozen friends, eating a doner kebab, screaming at the top of your lungs arguing about who would be the Susanna Hoffs in your newly-formed three hours ago all-male Bangles cover band.

Me: "I would definitely have to be the Susanna Hoffs - I'm the best singer."
Roommate Brian: "Yeah, but she's small and hot and you are big and fat."
Me: "You mother fucker - you're just jealous because you'd be the beastly blond one."
Friend Jeremy: "Also dude, you play bass, so you'd have to be the bass player. I'm the best-looking, so I'd be Susanna Hoffs."
Me: "I swear to god I will fucking throw you under a fucking cab! You're too skinny - women like guys with some meat on their bones."
Brian: "And in your case, meat in their hands - at all times. Even when sleeping."

Etc, etc, etc.

But I will share a story that I hope will not spiral out of control into a giant 4000 word post. My freshmen year of high school, I had a female math teacher named Ms. Johnston. Ms. Johnston was, by most accounts, above-average looking. Not a knockout, but perfectly cute and more than acceptable.

However, Ms. Johnston taught at an all-boys high school. When a cute twenty-something teaches algebra to 200 thirteen year-old boys, she becomes the most gorgeous woman in the history of the world and the object of many a crush and masturbatory fantasy. I personally was in love with Ms. Johnston and would have murdered a police officer with a fork in exchange for some inappropriate touching on her part.

As I continued my education in the all guys high school, other female teachers, some much less attractive than Ms. Johnston, became attractive in the my eyes and the eyes of my classmates. As the school year progressed, they evolved from normal looking women to "My god, I would eat my mother's shit to bang Mrs. Dale on the wrestling mats". Ah, to be young and lusty.

The point is that "hotness" is circumstantial. Ms. Johnston was good-looking in real life, but to us she was a sex god who made Cindy Crawford look like this guy.

This didn't occur much in college. Probably because I was surrounded by beautiful girls, so each woman had her proper place on the hotness scale (well, I personally wasn't surrounded by beautiful girls, but I certainly was around them, and by that I mean I spent upwards of four hours a day in a stall in the women's bathroom on the third floor of O'Neill library listening to those said girls empty their adorable little bladders and occasionally, if I was very lucky, I got to hear a lil' bowel movement).

But in the workplace, it's right back to that skewered hotness scale. There are only a handful of attractive girls at work, and they become lionized by the lusty males over time. Seeing an attractive girl every day amongst a sea of not-so-attractive people (both men and women) leads one to lose his sense of perspective.

But last night, I got that perspective right back, when I ran into one of the hot work girls in a social situation. My friends and I were out boozing, standing by the jukebox not talking to anyone but ourselves, when lo and behold - Hot Girl From Work walks in with two friends.

I didn't approach her or anything, as she doesn't know who I am, but it was pretty shocking to me. Not just to see her, as in "What are the odds that she's here?" sense, but to see her in this new context. Every day, or almost every day, I see HGFW in the cafeteria or around the building, but here she was - right in one of my favorite bars.

The weird thing: she lost her a good deal of her hotness. Sure, she was still good-looking and all, but she was much less attractive in this new setting. Part of me thought that this was because the aura of mystery was gone. Instead of seeing her in work and fantasizing about what she does in her spare time (think: bubble baths, sorority sisters, horny monkeys on cocaine), I saw her "true" self: just another drunk like myself.

But the bigger part, I think, is that the playing field was leveled. No longer was she a diamond in the rough. She was at a bar that had many other attractive women, so she was no longer top dog. Hell, one of her friends was better looking than her. It's sort of an obvious thing to say and realize, but it hit me all at once - she ain't all that. And to be honest, it scared me.

She and her friends only stayed for a few drinks and shortly left. Still shaken by the incident, I had only one recourse: drink more and faster. So I did. And now I want to die.

At lunch today, I saw HGFW in the cafeteria, and it was different this time. Instead of my mind slipping-sliding right into the fantasy where she intentionally drops her tray right in front of me, says "Whoops!", gets on her knees to clean it up, then says, "Since I'm down here, I might as well give you a Turbo Beejer" and then for the next three days she manhandles my penis like some large animal taking the life of a smaller animal, I thought only, "Eh".

Maybe next time I see her at the bar I'll approach her and say, "I work with you. Can I touch your hair? I'll give you $8. Please?" That'll surely win her heart, then we can starting doing it in my office. Sweet.

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