Life and Art at the End of the World
{ Monthly Archives }
Here’s a newish piece, and one of my favourite recent ones. I call it In Grandma’s walls. When I was a kid I used to be fascinated and hypnotised by my Grandmother’s floral and arabesque wallpaper and the monsters and shapes that it would create. I chose a slightly more lugubrious approach, but hope to kick-start the viewer’s imagination.
Quite a fair number of my friends and acquaintances have, of late, encountered the emptiness and despair of a broken-heart. It is a really shit thing that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy (well, except for Josh. Do you hear me Josh? Motherfucker). It really is the worst thing to go through. And it is also difficult when it is one your friends or close family members that are going through that torture because, after all, what can you really do?
In fact, the pain and sorrow is so intense for many people, that they will often refuse to ever fall in love again, or put up hurdles and barriers for the next hapless guy or girl to trip over, thereby saving themselves the trouble of ever having to fall in love. You know the type that I am talking about: throwing themselves into empty relationships, or investing everything into platonic friendships, or just sitting at home thinking that they will never, ever fall in love again. These sad, empty people need help. They need people to remind them that there is love out there, and that the only thing to do is simply to dust yourself off and try again.
Take me, for example: recently I had my heart torn and broken but I’m not bitter, sad or unhappy. In fact, I feel better than ever. And why? Well, because I’d been through this before and knew what to expect. And I have developed a very special set of helps, tips and rules to help me cope with a broken heart.
I am sharing these life-saving tips with the world today, exclusively for Underculture.
If you don’t know what this article is all about, I recommend reading the original Meeting Miss Right Article. Also, I’ve added quite a bit to this article and have updated it quite a few times. So, to those of you who read the first couple drafts here, and are confused by the additions, I apologize.
It has been just over three years since I first wrote the ‘Meeting Miss Right’ article. It has been one of the most popular pieces of dementia-induced tripe on my site. And, for a reason I am still to figure out, it has garnered more than its fair share of attention from the ladies.
Much has happened since those heady, drunken, and self-destructive days. I have grown and developed as a person without the need of therapy, faith healing, finding God, Hindu sex, yoga, alternative healing, or any other bit and piece. I have no-one to credit except myself, my friends, and the wonderful women I’ve gotten to know. I have gotten over my broken heart, and for that I must, again, apologize to everyone for being such an openly weeping, self-absorbed and whiny pussy. I am also older and potentially wiser. And I am also absolutely no closer to having a decent relationship.
Bugger.
Quite obviously, the time had come to revisit my position on dating, women, and meeting Miss Right. Hang on! It’s going to be a bumpy ride!
What has really changed since the first article? C’mon, be honest.
Well, for one, I am past the 30 mark by a good couple of years. I am slowly moving from the land of ‘Youthful Still Looking’ to the desert of ‘Perpetual Bachelorhood.’
Now, some of you, when you read that phrase, specifically those of you who are single and over thirty, will nod in agreement. Why? Because you know exactly what I am talking about: it is that quiet, barely audible whisper in the background that tells you that you may be single for the rest of your life.
Up until now, that voice has been pretty easy for me to ignore. It only pops up and says its bit late on a Sunday night, or when you’re driving home at 02:00 AM. But I have been noticing it getting steadily louder over the last couple of years, and I can quite clearly see how it could turn into a thunderous boom given a few more years.
But many of you will not nod, of course, you will say things like: “being single is good”, “relationships are over-rated anyway”, “enjoy your freedom”, “the right one is waiting for you out there”, “be patient”, and “there’s plenty of fish in the sea”. Each and every of those little phrases comes dripping out of couples’ mouths like some saccharine-coated accusation. It achieves nothing apart from keeping their internal (probably thunderously booming) voices quiet.
Yes. I am aware that being single does not equal being miserable. I am also far from being miserable. And, yes, I am also very well aware that many relationships are over rated, pointless and empty, but that’s not the point. The point is that, those comments are for OTHER PEOPLE with THEIR OWN PROBLEMS. Here, we’re talking ABOUT ME. It is my website, after all, and I get to fill it with whatever I want.
Anyway, the point is I wish to be in a happy, healthy relationship with someone I love. I don’t think that its so fucking difficult to comprehend. I wish to do it, not for external pressures, and I am not wanting it because I am so lonely and unhappy that I can’t live with myself. I am not crying myself to sleep every night, for God’s sake. I live a happy, content, emotionally fulfilling life for, for fuck’s sakes, I like being with someone else, and being by myself holds no more mysteries for me. I crave adventure.
Back to the subject at hand: I have also been drinking a lot less, and substituted my alcohol consumption with actual bravery that only comes with self-acceptance, self-reliance and self-esteem. Despite this, I still seem to be no closer to finding love, because it is quite clear that it is not all completely random.
You see, randomness and chance would imply that it is all down to chance and that by playing the odds, and just being ‘get out’ there, things will eventually roll my way. This is the ‘Infinity of Monkey’ approach, and it’s what I have been doing thus far. I’ve had some moderate success, in terms of what is traditionally referred to as ’success’ in dating, but it has not brought me any closer to what I want, and therein lies the problem: The only way to get what I want, I must stack the odds my way. And there’s only two ways of doing that: by being rich or good looking (well, three ways of doing that, if you count being both as a third option). And as you can imagine, for someone like me, that’s just not an option.
This immediately brings us to the first comment people make when I lay my case out: A lot (and I mean a lot) of people I meet tell me that I am too picky. They also tell me that I should compromise more readily in order to meet a person. Now, those of you who know me, and know the type of girls I fall for, know that I am not shooting for the stars. I am well aware of my limitations but… I’m straying off the point.
I used to believe that maybe these people were right and I didn’t compromise enough in terms of what I wanted and expected. I also used to think that being picky was a problem. But recently, it has dawned on me with the clarity of 20/20 hindsight that “Wait a minute! How fucked-up must I be in to decide that being in a relationship is of more worth than my well-being? Hello???? Fuck that. I am me, and I like who I am.
Obviously, though, that kind of attitude does not endear me to all. But what are my alternatives? To change myself into a pretend-boyfriend just so I can get some regular sex and social acceptance? Am I to be happy with a woman loving someone I am PRETENDING to be? I didn’t think so.
I have seen those happy relationships: they are comprised of two consumption puppets, filled to the brim with repressed emotions and unfulfilled desires. They exist purely on the support of their stunted players who have no identity, no personality, and no existence outside of the relationship. These are the victims of the Romantic Ideal.
(Note: the next bit deals with women but it is, by no means, restricted to them. God knows there’s more than one guy I know who falls into this category.)
I have dated more than one of these Romantic Ideal victims. Sure, at first, they look care-free, happy, and contented. They look like they’ve got everything sorted out and their heads screwed on straight. But scratch the surface and behold: there is a young woman whose sole purpose is to find a man and be in a relationship. That is all. They are uncluttered by ambition, personal goals and the need for individual growth. They study to meet a man, they hang around with their friends to meet a man, and the overwhelming majority of their extra-curricular activities is centred purely around meeting a man. It is very scary.
Don’t get me wrong, they are easy enough to be with, and know how to take care of themselves but, ultimately, the relationship ends up being unfulfilling. (I’m going to release my inner gay man here) Sex can only substitute so much in a relationship.
And I suppose, therein lies the sad irony of their lives: their focus on being the perfect girlfriend and being part of the happy ending scenario that they let it slip through their fingers.
These encounters did give me a lot of insight, though, and no small amount of experience but, ultimately, they didn’t bring me any closer my happy ending.
I wish it was all that simple. But, unfortunately, I actually like engaging in a person emotionally and intellectually (I know! Call me crazy!). Meeting someone and entertaining a brief physical relationship is not what I’m after. And despite what people think of me, it’s never been what I’ve been after. It is not something to aspire to. It is easy, unfulfilling and, even thought they are good at the time, they are ultimately pointless, because, silly me, I actually want to want the person I’m bumping uglies with.
So, am I expecting too much? Have I also been misled by the Romantic Ideal? These possibilities are very real. Should I just stop complaining and stay in a relationship without loving the person because the sex is good? Is that what is expected of me? Maybe I am just maladjusted, but the very suggestion makes my skin crawl.
And then there’s the flip side of the coin: a couple of people happy and in love. In fact, there seemed to be no problem with the relationship at all, apart from the fact that almost every single one of our core beliefs was mutually exclusive, if not downright antagonistic. This brought to light the very tragic realization that, sometimes, love is not enough.
Try as you might, sometimes people are so bloody different from each other (never mind that we were both stubborn and uncompromising), no amount of love, support and admiration is going to turn a destructive situation around. It is a powder keg which was, luckily, dealt with calmly and rationally. That was a clear sign that it was time to move on. It was just one of those things.
And why am I writing all of this?
Well, because recent events have sharply reminded me of just how great, wonderful and terrifying being in love is. I’d forgotten just how awesome meeting someone you really, really click with is, down to feeling butterflies and hearing thunder. Alas, that story does not have a happy ending because, well, because my dice just aren’t weighted enough in my favour And, despite being charming, funny, intelligent and talented, I seem to lack those so very simple but oh-so-important attributes: money and good looks.
At this point, I’d like to differentiate myself from the jilted and disillusioned. This isn’t a “Oh my God, women only want money!!! Whores!!” complaint. I am fully aware that women want all the things that I want: I am not willing to compromise, and I’d be a hypocrite and a fool if I expected them to. No, I am quite well aware that I am not a prime catch. It is the sort of slowly dawning realization that, after having been on the periphery of my vision for a while, is now slowly coming into focus. It is one of those crystal-clear insights into the working of the world that comes with age and a couple of kicks to the teeth.
I am just not the best that a woman that I want wants, and that’s the sad long and short of it. All the best intentions, good will, love and dedication and support will not change that. It never has. The happy history of winners and lovers is written on the back of the losers. I’m now beginning to realize where I am. I suppose that we could compare dating, love and relationships to picking the cool, athletic kids for a game of dodge ball: with every selection of which you are not a part, your status in the food chain slowly gets reinforced. At the very end, it is a shouting, screaming voice.
Now, shit, you obviously don’t get to where I am by not being able to roll with the punches. So I’m not all that bitter, there is, after all, always a young lass at a local bar who serves Tequila - enough to keep the mind occupied for a while. I’d like to think I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. What it will take to prove me wrong is going to require a little bit of a love story. And we all know the way those stories end up…
A last note
One of my favourite reads on the Internet is a particularly funny, brilliant and insightful columnist by the name of Dan Savage, who writes for The Onion AV Club. Recently, a reader wrote in for something that touches upon my Meeting Miss Right articles. His reply was perfect, to the point and almost poetic. I decided that everyone needs to read that column regularly.
 Do not be fooled by these two young lasses - they will kill you with Tequila. I should know. They killed me. I am dead. |
 This is Gerri, like the mouse, not Gerri, like the German Nazis. |
 Even when she’s eating, she’s cute. |
 Now you, too, can be the proud owner of your very own life-sized Carlo Doll ™. |
