Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
 
a life lesson
If I’m not careful, this post will degenerate into a word orgy about men and how they are dumb and women and how they suck, so I’m going to try to limit myself here. Not because I have anything better to do, and not because I’m lazy (though I certainly am lazy), but I’m trying to get the posts away from “hateful tirade” and most toward “reasonably coherent complaining”. Wish me luck.

One important thing I learned this weekend:

Never underestimate how long a group of guys will watch a decent looking girl play pool poorly in the hopes of getting in her pants.

On Friday night, I went out with about ten guys...and one girl. Rest assured, the girl was not my friend. All my female friends moved out of the city a year or so ago, and since then I haven’t been able to find replacements. I assume this is because every time I get close to a woman (emotionally) I rub my penis against her (physically) and usually any friendship that was building between us gets washed away (or rather, wiped away). But such is life.

This girl was a friend of one of the guys we went out with. It was a larger than normal crew; both my roommate Brian and I had friends in town, and we met up with more friends, so we were rolling thick.

And we were having a good time. Beers and shots were flowing freely, as it was nice to have so many friends gathered in one place. Special props go to my roommate Brian, who wakes up every day during the week for work at 4:45am but somehow manages to go out drinking every Friday night from the moment he leaves work until the lights come on at the bar (more on this later). Jesus. I sleep ten hours a night and on most days I have to have two red bulls to help me get through a shower.

I couldn’t really determine the connection between the girl, whose name I don’t remember but who I’ll christen Jessica, and our mutual friend, my buddy Mike. She was just sort of there, no questions asked. And she was a nice enough girl and pretty good-looking. I harbor no ill will toward her, nor do I blame her for how my friends behaved through the course of the night.

At the beginning, things were fine and normal. Everyone stood around drinking, talking to each other. There were comments made on the side between the guys (“She’s a PYT, eh?” and “She’s got a slammin’ lil’ body” and “Is that Mulgrew over there praying with the guy in the wheelchair?”), but for the most part, everyone was civil and well-behaved.

But as the night progressed and more booze was consumed, I noticed changes in the way my friends acted around her. Chests were stuck out and puffed up. Body language changed, was more confident, louder. The guys started standing around Jessica, hoping to be closest to her. Each man subtly jockeyed for positioning in the race for her affections.

It was more and more apparent that this was becoming a competition for her. This was never admitted between my friends, but it was true nonetheless. It was as though after enough booze, each man had made a decision: “I’m going to get on this girl. But first I’m going to get another beer. But I am totally going to get on her. Oh yes, she will be mine.”

And so we left the first bar and went to the second, an awesome place that has 32oz beers for $7 (trust me, in NYC, this is a steal). At this bar was a pool table, which was the chance for my friends to show off their pool playing to Jessica, akin to when we were in 7th grade and the star basketball player got all the girls while I talked to them (the girls) on the phone about how the star b-ball player was really a dick and they deserved better, perhaps someone who could read above a 4th grade level and knew that the US had a president, not a king.

Once the pool playing began, what followed was a scene that appeared to be adapted from the African plains. My friends (male lions) lorded over their domain (the pool table) while Jessica (the lioness) lolled about. Guys got territorial, each tried to teach her to play pool, and there were some rivalries going on. Each guy did his best pool shark imitation, leaning over her, teaching her to shoot. Then she'd play against guys and with other guys, all the while they'd be refuting each other's pool knowledge, putting each other down to look better in her eyes. It was like the way lions strut around and fight to show how tough they are to the female lion. It was not only primitive, it was primal.

Where was I in this whole process, you ask? I was playing the role of the "slow" lion. You know, the one that sits in the shade, laying around in his own feces, waiting for others to kill something so he can eat it, and occasionally roaring (but not to intimidate, but to complain). I've never done well when there's a competition for a girl among a group of guys. I think this is because of my delicate mixture of low self-esteem, apathy, and pride (and yes, I know low self-esteem and pride are opposites, but bear with me).

For one, I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I'm not exactly "all that". I am chubby (on a good day), have bad hair, have a weird speaking voice, and when I talk to women at bars I spit all over them. Not to mention my baby penis and pea-testicles. So I'm when in a bar in a competitive environment for a woman, I will defer to the other, fitter males present. Hell, I could be in a shelter and still have to defer to the the other, fitter males, but I digress.

Secondly, I really don't care that much about chasing tail. If going after a girl means that I'm going to have to forsake having a good time and subtly compete with my friends, f that. I know that most times when I go after a girl I usually go home with a slice of pizza and a chicken roll, so I'm better off saving my energy and effort and having a good time with my friends.

Thirdly, and probably most importantly, I don't want said girl to think that I'm just another a-hole vying for her attention. I'd rather go with the attitude of, "Well, you ain't that special to begin with, so I'm not gonna go out of my way to impress you because I've had a few beers. Go with one of the other geeks." I know this makes me sound like an egomaniac and very bitter, but, well, I am a bitter egomaniac. You suck too.

I wish there was a happier ending to this story, but there ain't. After watching the guys watch this girl play the worst pool that humankind was ever seen for a solid two hours, she got a phone call, stormed out of the bar, and was gone. Poof. No one knew why, no one knew what happened, and no one said anything about the little competition. When it was all said and done, all that effort, wasted, for nothing. Sheesh.

I'm done. I can't wait to get my eHarmony profile going. Or perhaps I'll just put an add on craigslist like:

Look, I'm tired. About me:

Pros:

I have some money
My friends mostly like me
I am a little bit famous, or at least known
I have a very well-trimmed beard, and my pubic hair is pretty nice too

Cons:

I am not good-looking and in terrible shape
I drink perhaps a little too much
I pretty much just want someone to have sex with
I am vengeful

If you are between 21 and 25, live in Manhattan, and most of your friends would describe you as "doable", please send a picture. Please, no fatties. No small boobied-women either. Thank you for your time.

Keep your fingers crossed.

[Also, a small story about my roommate Brian. Brian had a family wedding in NJ at noon on Saturday near his hometown (it takes him about two hours to get there via public transportation). After work ended on Friday at 4 in the afternoon, he went out boozing and put in a solid half day, staying out drinking until 4am. When he got home, he set his alarm for 8am so that he would make the 12pm wedding. Of course, he slept through the alarm and woke up at 12:15pm. Horrified, he jumped out of bed to learn that his parents and siblings had been texting and calling him since 10:30am. We talked it over and decided he had only one way to go: tell his parents that the power went out and his alarm didn't go off and that his phone's ringer was off. We thought it was the only option, even though his parents would know it was a lie and that he was drunk. For this reason, surely they wouldn't ask him to attend the reception, what with the wedding being two hours away and Brian so very late and hungover.

That was not to be. Brian's dad was more than a little p.o.'ed and ordered him to come to the NJ for the reception. Brian raced to Penn Station, but missed his train. Ashamed and beaten, he spent a whopping $112 on a car service to take him to the wedding, getting dressed in his suit in the car ride over. He went to the reception, spent a few awkward and hungover hours with this family, and when it was over, came back to NYC. He brushed the whole thing off and three hours later, we were all out together and Brian and I were hitting on two girls, him telling them that he's related to Captain Cook and me saying I was in Fountains of Wayne before they got big. Brian was a true champion this weekend and I am very proud of him. His birthday is Friday and I'm going to by him something special. And by "something special" I mean "nothing".

...

And I just read those two paragraphs over and I swear I don't have a man-crush on him. Thank you for understanding.]



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