Passive Pursuit
Things I’m interested in but don’t actively pursue:
(1) Learning a language
(2) Exercise
(3) Exploring my home town
(4) Women
(5) Happiness
(6) Stabbing certain people I know in the neck
This month is all about my resolutions for 2008, one of which is to get fat and never leave the apartment and die bitterly alone. Working off of the list above, though, one thing I land on is the fourth point: The Dark and Horrible Secret of Women.
Now that I’m of an age where all my peers are married with kids, and own real estate, and have suspiciously conservative politics, I’m constantly reminded that I’m sort of developmentally frozen at the level of an 18 year old when it comes to relationships. And also when it comes to life, generally speaking. Because sitting in my bathrobe all weekend drinking and watching downloaded movies and TV shows is “not mature,” right? I’m not really a shut-in, mind you. I have a balcony. When it’s warm, I plan to sit out on the balcony in my bathrobe, drinking, watching movies, and maybe smoking cigars. Or do all that in the nude! Yeah, that’ll be exciting.
I constantly threaten to sit up there nude and wave at all the neighborhood children, but I’ll never do that because I’m the only white guy in the complex so everyone treats me like I’m the guy who moved into the haunted serial killer apartment. I think if I start showing signs of wear or, you know, interacting with people on a less than decent level, I’ll be taken down like a sick gazelle.
It seems to bother my friends that I’m unattached. There’s an almost lunatic need for them to set me up with someone yet, no matter what, they set me up on blind dates with real freaks. Either you develop bad taste after you get married, or all my friends think I’m a monster.
Describing the perfect woman, when challenged, is difficult. Not a fattie and not expensive. I think those are the only real traits I care about. If there’s one thing I can’t justify, it’s spending money on women. I want to turn my money into coffee, alcohol, and drugs, not expensive anniversary presents and an endless stream of I’m-sorry chocolate and flowers. And don’t even mention kids. The only reason I would ever have a kid is if I’m too infirm to go to the fridge and clean up around the house. Or unless a future New Year’s resolution is “take out my aggression on the weak.” I almost made that resolution this year but, well, I don’t have a girl or a pet, so it seems pointless. I met the resolution halfway with “buy a rifle and scope.”
While I confess to, occasionally, desiring human company, I am more aware of the lack of sex than anything else. Those lonely moments tend to last no longer than ten minutes or so before I realize how much of a pain it is to have women around. Would I be allowed to pass out on the living room floor, farting and snuffling, cradling a bottle of vodka to my chest if there was a girl in the apartment? I’ll not even go into my carefully planned masturbation schedule. Or Sci-Fi Saturday mornings with Bombay Sapphire Orange Blossoms. And, of course, if a woman is around, I’d have to stop talking to myself and pissing in the kitchen sink.
It will be pointed out that I also list “happiness” as something that I am interested in but don’t pursue. Happiness, much like women, is somewhat invasive and life changing. What would I be if I was happy? I’d be lazy. I wouldn’t be able to maintain my vigilance against this terrible thing called life. If I were happy then, with each passing day, life would be building up to rip the chair out from under me, slam my head to the ground, and shit in my mouth.
Right now, I know what life is up to. I know it wants to shit in my mouth. Just like some girls I’ve known.
Of course, all that said, my friend has trained his three year old to call me up at work and say, “See you later, alligator. In a while, crocodile. After supper, motherfucker.”
It’s much cuter than it sounds and I do find it endearing.