The Daily Hell Vol III
Bumsville Issue 10 - Some Like It Poor
November 23, 2008
It's been a few days since the party
for the Literary Journal and for some reason, something is still
bothering me. If I had to guess, I would say that it was the fact
that I left in the middle of what probably would have been the
successful execution of a drunken hookup. When pressed later on, Shannon
said she never saw the girl and had no idea if she had actually left
with her friends, so for all I know she may have come back a minute
later wondering where I had disappeared to, just as I had wondered of
her. I have tried to be less confident of that, in hopes of keeping
my sanity and not wondering what if, but when I told my roommate, he
simply told me I was a complete idiot for having left and that
clearly this girl wanted to sleep with me.
That I will grant as a possibility but not a probability, if only as I said, for my own peace of mind. What bothers me most about this, or at least makes me anxious to go out there and try being social again, is that I have never had much confidence around women. And on Friday, I was brimming with it. I would like to know if this was a fluke or a new trend in how Connor deals with life. In order for you to understand why this is extraordinary for me, you must understand what in the past has been ordinary for me.
If I am attracted to a girl and want to flirt or even just chat with her, in most cases I am very socially awkward. I try to formulate witty sentences in my head and over think what to say and end up stuttering over my words or blurting them out in a mish-mash of consnents and vowels. I get nervous. I don't know why. Maybe it comes from not having sisters or from having had an emotionally-scarring acne-encrusted adolescence. Maybe since I lost my virginity dressed in drag everything seems all mixed up and backwards. Regardless of the nature of its cause, the effect has been perfectly clear.
Despite my best efforts or the receptivity of the female in question, I have a hard time being my normal charming self around women. Initially approaching them is the most difficult part- thinking of something to say and worrying that I'm just bothering them. This almost certainly stems from some kind of low-self esteem- believing that this girl would never want to talk to the real me, so I need to act like someone else. Again, could be because of my awkward transvestitory introduction to sexual intercourse, could be because of some unknown childhood trauma. I just don't know.
For years I've used alcohol as a means of bolstering my ability to relax in these situations but have come to realize that it does not actually improve your self-esteem, in merely blights your better judgment, which is generally telling you not to approach these women because you are awkward and undesirable.
So with that pesky nuisance Better Judgment chloroformed, in the corner, and out of commission, you are free to awkwardly and undesirably approach the woman of your choice. Unfortunately these are the limitations of alcohol- the extent of the benefits. You suddenly come to the stunning realization that Better Judgment was trying to help you all along. Alcohol got you into this situation, but it can't get you out. And you're still a nervous stuttering fool.
You're struck by the weight of it for a
split second and you look to Better Judgment who, semi-conscious in
the corner, lifts his drooping head just long enough to say, "Fuck
off man! You fucked yourself on this one," before passing out. Better Judgment is an
Like a "moral warning" episode of Tales From the Crypt, you realize you got exactly what you asked for- but not what you really wanted. But you are not the man who wished for his lover to "set down roots" only to have her turn into a tree. You are the man who wished he could talk to women, only to find out you still couldn't do it well. You have willed yourself into a situation in which you have to talk to these women. But now, instead of the normal nervous stutters and stammers of your everyday awkwardness, you have to contend with the slurred nervous stutters and stammers of your drunken awkwardness. Because while you were busy worrying about Better Judgment asphyxiating on his own vomit, you didn't notice Motor Skills staggering about with a brown bag-wrapped bottle of schnapps.
Friday night I didn't experience any of the nerves or tics I usually fight through when talking to a pretty girl. I just asked her name and if she'd like to dance. When talking with her I didn't over think what to say. Fuck, I probably under thought it if anything. The point is, I actually felt confident. Speculating as to the reasons for this sudden transformation would be just that- mere speculation. I have many female friends and indeed a sister-in-law now so I suppose I'm more comfortable around women. The horrors of puberty are just fading decade-old memories as are the one or two acne scars on my otherwise flawless, gorgeous, chiseled face. I also haven't fucked while dressed like a woman in at least a couple years. But really I think I have just finally found myself in a situation and I suppose an identity I can be happy with and confident in, strange as that may seem given the what the situation actually is. I am an unemployed, unpublished writer who is nearly broke and living on government assistance. Would you like to dance?