Here we go again kiddies! This is yet, another essay that I wrote last semester for a creative nonfiction class. I promise I will write a more current article but for now, this will have to do.
Tonight: Stand up at Mad Dog BBQ on Main St. in Lewiston, ID. at 6:30PM. No cover! All ages! Bring your appetite for jokes and ribs!
Make sure you check out my podcast at timespentpoorly.com
Enjoy!
-DY
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No one told me it would be easy being an adult. I don’t think anyone was informed that. In fact, if were to poll every person on this planet, I would bet that nobody has ever been told that adulthood would be awesome—or even good. Being an adult blows and we all know it. We can’t even reminisce about the past because they are systematically ruining that with remakes of our favorite movies. Yogi Bear? Are you kidding me? The Smurfs? I know what you’re thinking—did he just make fun of The Smurfs?—you bet your smurfin’ ass I just did. Thundercats?–Fuck!
I would be a liar if I said that the past was much better—honestly. I can sit here and write about how awesome it was in 1999 but it wasn’t remotely awesome. I was 5’5” and weighed 300 pounds. I didn’t have any hair on my face and had what could be only described as a lesbian’s haircut. I looked like Cher’s son—or daughter—whatever. Despite my unexplainably good skills with meeting women over the last 5 years (call it luck?) I really haven’t changed as far as self confidence is concerned. Only now, I am better at hiding it under layers of self deprecating humor. Am I a sad sack? Yes. Do girls know this? Not at first. My friends call my ability to break the ice with people a tool used by Satan himself. Perhaps I sold my soul to the devil? Either way I have become a monster. My point is that my origin story doesn’t start with a fellow who was picking up ladies at day one.
The first girl I ever pursued was not a successful story. Her name is Annie and to this day, I give her full credit to the lovable bastard that everyone knows (and love–undoubtedly) today. This very girl was the subject to my torture from seventh grade until the end of high school. Ladies, if you would like to know the best way to ruin an individual boy then perhaps this is your best advice: be his ‘friend.’ There is not existing, a crueler way to destroy someone than sharing with him your troubles of dating and relationships. We will tell you how stupid your boyfriend is for treating you like dog shit and how truly wonderful you are. You see, we are blinded by the fact that you are actually a shallow fool who likes to date assholes for the sake of feeling like an idiot. But God damned it at least he’s attractive right? That is what matters.
The entire time we are feigning interest in your personal life, we should have actually been taking pointers from the douche-bags you were actually sexing up. Obviously these guys have a secret that they are only sharing amongst their other douchey friends. That or they are just really, really good looking. But, I don’t think that is true. Haven’t you ever seen a guy that is arguably a 5 dating what could be considered a 9.5 on the scale of hotness? What did he do to win her over? Was he extremely nice and open doors for her in anticipation that she might actually give a shit about chivalry? The short answer is no.
Annie was very good at keeping me around. I asked her to three school dances during our public school tenure. The first time she informed me that she had a new boyfriend and that she “would totally go with” me if she didn’t have one. I would have to wait my turn. The second time around, she let me know that she’d be out of town with her family but she’d go to the next one with me. Finally the time came when she was set to go to a dance with me. I had never been happier than when she said she’d go to a dance with me. One week prior to the dance she started dating yet another “hillbilly-jock” as we called them, so she would have to cancel. I was crushed.
There is really no way to end the saga of Annie. She is divorced with two sons—and from what I can tell, she is not doing well. About a year ago she asked me why I loved her so much, and I told her it was because I was stupid and didn’t know any better. If I was a lesser man, I could say that her cheating ex-husband was direct karma from her stringing along losers in her early years. But I am divorced and I didn’t string anyone along—so that doesn’t work. The truth is that I needed Annie to happen. It has taken a long time to recreate myself since high school and it happens to be that the changes I have made are in direct relation to the women in my life, I call them the “Big 10.” The monster that I have become today is all invented by trial and error—mostly error.