The Bermuda Triangle

Horse's ass, shit-head, dip-shit, billions of blue blazing barnacles in ten thousand thundering typhoons (for all you Tintin fans out there).

Adjectives that pop into my head like a running commentary whenever I talk to her. I know what you're probably thinking: Boo-Hoo a**hole, you and the rest of mankind. But what makes my case unique (HAH!) is that she is not just one particular person, neither is she a generalisation. She is, in fact, every single woman I have ever cared for, liked and been attracted to. It hasn't been all that many times, in fact, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of women I've felt this way about.

You see, I am something of an oddity. I am not the most attractive person in the world (so I lose out on all the better looking women), neither am I the worst-looking person in the world (so I lose out on the sympathy-chicks too). I am also not especially enigmatic or charismatic, nor do I have what may be called an 'appealing personality'. Don't get me wrong, I am interesting to hang out with, but the word 'interesting' is really starting to piss me off.

So, where were we? Ah yes. Now another thing that is inherently wrong with me: I cannot bring myself to treat women (especially girls) as 'women'. I don't mean that I'm an abusive person and that I treat them like dirt, no (actually people who do that get more girls than I do, it's true!). No, my problem is that to me, all human beings are equal, and hence, I treat all women or girls that I meet just the same as I would treat any man I met... Hi... Hello... Nice to meet you... (insert small talk)... and by the time we come to regard each other as good aquaintances, I'm telling them the same twisted jokes that I would tell my guy friends, sharing a good laugh and generally not really being too concerned with what their opinion of me would be or is.

Now this way, even though I have made tons of friends (male and female), I am in a bit of a pickle. You see, I have entered what men like to refer to as the 'friend zone'. Any guy will know that this is one place where you must never be if you ever want to make it with a girl, because even Dr Phil can't get out out of this place when you get into it (maybe Jerry Springer can, but I'm not too sure about that!).

Being a 'friend,' it is virtually impossible to look attractive to a woman, except maybe if she's stoned out of her skull, and even then its a 50-50 shot. You do not count any more, or better still, it's like you've ceased to have a penis. Now in all fairness, men do that too. I know not all men, but some, like me, have a problem (a major problem) imagining having relations with some of their female friends. It's like it is with your mother, with some people, you just don't go there. But these are only exceptions to the rule.

So, having entered into close contact with any female who is reasonably attractive, or has a brain bigger than the size of her eye-balls, any man would not take long before he developed a liking for her. This, more often than no, turns to attraction, which in turn turns to 'feelings', which finally becomes obsession, and of course, the cause of several nightly self-help (read flagellation) sessions.

So coming back to my problem. I think by now you have realised what the problem is. Now lets move on to something a little more crushing. Imagine that you have actually worked up the nerve to pour your heart out to your 'intended'. The first thing you do is that you try to ease into a conversation the subject of a relationship, that is assuming that you know this person well enough to know whether they are already involved or not. This conversation, mind you, does not need to be about relationships. It can be about anything, the weather, her car, or even sexually transmitted diseases (that one is easy). Essentially, men can divert any topic of conversation away from its original flow to a discourse on sex, women or food (or in the case of the more conceited ones, themselves).

Now having steered the conversation in this direction, you begin fishing for clues. What's her idea type of guy (actually means am I good enough?), what does she want in a guy (actually means am I what you're looking for?), would you prefer if you were friends first or start off as a couple (meaning that I'm standing right here!), or finally, and this is the best one yet, would'nt you want to get to know someone and trust them before getting ivolved (meaning, essentially, with apologies to Roxette, "Hello, you fool, I love you!").

So imagine what an average man, with average self-esteem and average looks, goes through when he's told "No, I don't think I could ever picture myself dating a friend." Now imagine that man is me, suicidally low self-esteem, highly unsatisfactory looks and clinically unbalanced.

Now imagine if this all had happened to a girl.

A plate of Nihari is a joy forever...

Going through a blog today, I was hit by a realisation which had hitherto eluded me. You see, contrary to popular opinion (the use of the word 'popular' is, I think, highly suspect in this context), I am not as big on technology as I appear to be, and the last thing that I would ordinarily have done was to take out time from my self-inflicted business (read busy-ness) to read someone's blogs.
Please allow me now to introduce myself. I am the most conceited, hypocritical, selfish and evil bastard ever to inhabit God's Green Earth. You know how sometimes you see someone walking down the street and you think to yourself "Wow! This guy's cool," or "He must be nice," or a multitude of other pleasant things. You might also see people who, from the very sight of them, disgust you, send shivers down your spine and make you physically sick. I am one of those people. But the tragedy is (and this is my tour de force of Iago-istic duplicity) that people do not see that in me somehow. All I am to them is a harmless buffoon. I mean, how blind do you have to be to figure out that this is guy who's going to screw me over tomorrow, or day after tomorrow, or next month even?
So coming back to the question of blogs... I did not read them, and as such, had no idea what went on in such places (I'm trying my best to make a 'blog' sound like a 'brothel'). But, being the conceited shit that I am, I must necessarily to have an opinion on everything. And one of the more cherished opinions that I nursed was the fact that the journals and diaries that people oftentimes should not be private, because that negates the very purpose of having a vent for your emotions. Since a person's diary or journal represents their take on other people and how such and such situation affected them, it is more logical (HAH!) to make the account public, so that others can read it and either learn from their mistakes or the mistakes of others (Yeah right, as if that's going to happen!), or, as we are wont to do, take offence, fight and be told to piss off!
So imagine my surprise when I, reading the blog of certain individual, realised that these blogs are the culmination of one of my most cherished ideals. Now, since I have been a vocal proponent of this concept for so long, it would seem pretty darned lame if I were not to have a blog of my own, wouldn't it. After all, that's me, always keeping up appearances, trying to fool people into thinking that I'm somebody or something that I am, in fact, not.
Hence, ladies and gentlemen, here it is. My version of Mr Hyde... the place where the real me is finally unleashed upon the world. It's a crying shame that no one will be around to read it.

Oh, and by the way... my titles for all my posts have nothing to do with the content of the article itself, ever!