For the sake of your sanity, don't read this.
Honestly. It's a lot of bullshit that'll just bore you.
Go read Robocop vs. Terminator or Ash vs. Snake Plissken, instead.
The day before yesterday, I got really mad.
I was at the gym, doing the bare minimum of work required to keep my pythons at an efficient capacity. It was sometime in mid-to-late afternoon, so the place was crowded. (Normally, I only go in the morning, when it's empty; but I wanted to see just how crowded it gets later on in the day.)
Like most public gyms, this one has it's fair share of hot girls. Hot girls in very tight, revealing outfits.
Like most other guys, I look at girls. And like those other guys, I'm very stupid about the way I go about looking and get caught about 95% of the time. Recently, though, I've been trying to cut down on this habit. However, the only solution I've been able to come up with is to constantly stare at the ground. Because whenever I try to simply look in another direction, the girls think I've looking at them from the corner of my eye or have already looked at them and am trying to hide it (no, really, I've overheard girls saying this after they pass me). And if there's one thing I hate worse than being caught looking at a girl, it's when they think I'm looking when I'm honestly not.
Anyway, I double... nay, triple the effort to not look at girls while at the gym. I figure, "this is the place they probably get hit on most, so I'll try to not add to the crap they put up with." And, for the most part, I do a pretty okay job.
And, yeah, this stupid rant has a point. At least, I think it does...
Back to the story: So I'm at the gym. I'm about to use one of the stupid machines. I'm standing by it, waiting to catch my breath. I'm drinking my Gatorade. I'm in my own little world, completely oblivious to everything going on around me.
I take a sip from the Gatorade, when BAM! I snap back into reality. And that's when I realize I'd been staring at this girl for a good minute or so, not even realizing it. She's obviously uncomfortable and is giving me that "please stop staring at my breasts" routine; you know: where she looks at me in disgust, looks away for a second to pretend I'm not really there, looks back at me to see if I'm still staring, looks away again, repeat.
I feel a little embarrassed, so I start working out and try to hide behind the other people there.
It's going well so far. I can't see her and I think she can't see me. "Out of sight," etc., etc. I get a good twenty minutes of buffitude done.
But then I start worrying. "Was I really staring at her that long? Maybe I just think I was. I'm probably just being paranoid." So I do the only rational thing a paranoid person can do: I check to see if I'm right.
So I look over at her again. I figured this one last peek would determine whether I had been staring or not earlier. 'Cause, y'know, you think stupid things when you're flustered and paranoid. And sure enough, she caught me again. And sure enough, she repeats the routine.
This time, there's no mistake in either of our heads: I was checking her out and she was uncomfortable with it.
So I left. Right then and there. I turned away and walked quickly out the door.
On the way home, I start thinking about it. Sure, I didn't mean to stare. But that's what I had done.
Then I start to make excuses. I say to myself, "Well, what the fuck does she expect? She's on a fucking treadmill. She's running. She's wearing a fucking low-cut tank top with no bra on. Her breasts are bouncing like a couple of fat kids on a trampoline. She should expect guys to stare! It's not like she's unaware of the reaction her appearance will cause. And all I did was LOOK at her. What's the fucking harm in that?"
And that's when I got mad. I punched the steering wheel; hurt my hand.
And I remained angry at her for a few more hours.
But then I thought, "Well, why should she have to feel uncomfortable just because I'm a pervert?"
So I started thinking about it more.
And I came to the conclusion that I wasn't really angry at her. It was the cliche "I'm just angry at myself" deal. I just have a lot of frustration pent up and needed something to direct it at. It had little, if anything, to do with her, at all.
It all really has to do with this:
During the six weeks before I turned 18, I went through the same thing. I realized I was about to enter legal adulthood, my childhood was now officially over. But I hadn't done the normal things that kids/teenagers do. I hadn't spent my time chasing girls, making friends, or doing whatever other kids do. Instead, I had locked myself in my room. And I had just sort of sat there... waiting for childhood to be over.
So now, here I am. About to turn 21 in a little under two months. It's three years later and I'm no better off. The only difference is that I have a lot more stuff now.
I still haven't kissed a girl. Still haven't even been on a date. I'm accomplished NOTHING so far. I'm just... drifting through life, waiting for something to change.
And the weird thing is, the only reason I want more friends or a girlfriend is because I think I should have these things. It's not because I'm lonely. It's not because I want to feel accepted. It's all about the fact that other people have friends and mates, so I should get some, too, in order to be a normal person. (Okay, maybe it is a little about being accepted.)
But then I realize that I don't even treat the only friend I have very well. I prefer being alone, so I blow him off a lot. We only really hang out once a week, at most, because I'm uncomfortable going out on the town. And as much as I feel bad about it, as much I realize how wrong it is, I find that I'm still too unconcerned with anyone else but myself to change anything.
Which all leads back to my fucking selfishness. This entire stupid entry is a key testament to it. All this whining bullshit about "oh, I was looking at a girl and she got mad, my life is so horrible" is just so fucking stupid I want to just... hit something.
There are people out there with real problems. Serious shit in their lives. I've really got nothing to cry about. Life has been pretty good to me so far. I've had no serious traumas. All my needs are taken care of and then some.
I'm just a stupid, whining bastard.
And that just pisses me off even more. As much as I try to be a good person, as hard as I work to consciously better myself, at the end of the day I'm still just the same self-pitying loser I was ten, eleven, possibly twelve years ago.
And there's no one I can blame for this, except myself. I was just using that girl from the gym as a scapegoat; that whole "it can never be my fault because that would mean I'm imperfect so I blame you" thing.
Fuck. I'm stopping here. This is just driving me nuts.
And I'm sure none of it made a lick of sense to anybody but me.
!
Honestly. It's a lot of bullshit that'll just bore you.
Go read Robocop vs. Terminator or Ash vs. Snake Plissken, instead.
The day before yesterday, I got really mad.
I was at the gym, doing the bare minimum of work required to keep my pythons at an efficient capacity. It was sometime in mid-to-late afternoon, so the place was crowded. (Normally, I only go in the morning, when it's empty; but I wanted to see just how crowded it gets later on in the day.)
Like most public gyms, this one has it's fair share of hot girls. Hot girls in very tight, revealing outfits.
Like most other guys, I look at girls. And like those other guys, I'm very stupid about the way I go about looking and get caught about 95% of the time. Recently, though, I've been trying to cut down on this habit. However, the only solution I've been able to come up with is to constantly stare at the ground. Because whenever I try to simply look in another direction, the girls think I've looking at them from the corner of my eye or have already looked at them and am trying to hide it (no, really, I've overheard girls saying this after they pass me). And if there's one thing I hate worse than being caught looking at a girl, it's when they think I'm looking when I'm honestly not.
Anyway, I double... nay, triple the effort to not look at girls while at the gym. I figure, "this is the place they probably get hit on most, so I'll try to not add to the crap they put up with." And, for the most part, I do a pretty okay job.
And, yeah, this stupid rant has a point. At least, I think it does...
Back to the story: So I'm at the gym. I'm about to use one of the stupid machines. I'm standing by it, waiting to catch my breath. I'm drinking my Gatorade. I'm in my own little world, completely oblivious to everything going on around me.
I take a sip from the Gatorade, when BAM! I snap back into reality. And that's when I realize I'd been staring at this girl for a good minute or so, not even realizing it. She's obviously uncomfortable and is giving me that "please stop staring at my breasts" routine; you know: where she looks at me in disgust, looks away for a second to pretend I'm not really there, looks back at me to see if I'm still staring, looks away again, repeat.
I feel a little embarrassed, so I start working out and try to hide behind the other people there.
It's going well so far. I can't see her and I think she can't see me. "Out of sight," etc., etc. I get a good twenty minutes of buffitude done.
But then I start worrying. "Was I really staring at her that long? Maybe I just think I was. I'm probably just being paranoid." So I do the only rational thing a paranoid person can do: I check to see if I'm right.
So I look over at her again. I figured this one last peek would determine whether I had been staring or not earlier. 'Cause, y'know, you think stupid things when you're flustered and paranoid. And sure enough, she caught me again. And sure enough, she repeats the routine.
This time, there's no mistake in either of our heads: I was checking her out and she was uncomfortable with it.
So I left. Right then and there. I turned away and walked quickly out the door.
On the way home, I start thinking about it. Sure, I didn't mean to stare. But that's what I had done.
Then I start to make excuses. I say to myself, "Well, what the fuck does she expect? She's on a fucking treadmill. She's running. She's wearing a fucking low-cut tank top with no bra on. Her breasts are bouncing like a couple of fat kids on a trampoline. She should expect guys to stare! It's not like she's unaware of the reaction her appearance will cause. And all I did was LOOK at her. What's the fucking harm in that?"
And that's when I got mad. I punched the steering wheel; hurt my hand.
And I remained angry at her for a few more hours.
But then I thought, "Well, why should she have to feel uncomfortable just because I'm a pervert?"
So I started thinking about it more.
And I came to the conclusion that I wasn't really angry at her. It was the cliche "I'm just angry at myself" deal. I just have a lot of frustration pent up and needed something to direct it at. It had little, if anything, to do with her, at all.
It all really has to do with this:
During the six weeks before I turned 18, I went through the same thing. I realized I was about to enter legal adulthood, my childhood was now officially over. But I hadn't done the normal things that kids/teenagers do. I hadn't spent my time chasing girls, making friends, or doing whatever other kids do. Instead, I had locked myself in my room. And I had just sort of sat there... waiting for childhood to be over.
So now, here I am. About to turn 21 in a little under two months. It's three years later and I'm no better off. The only difference is that I have a lot more stuff now.
I still haven't kissed a girl. Still haven't even been on a date. I'm accomplished NOTHING so far. I'm just... drifting through life, waiting for something to change.
And the weird thing is, the only reason I want more friends or a girlfriend is because I think I should have these things. It's not because I'm lonely. It's not because I want to feel accepted. It's all about the fact that other people have friends and mates, so I should get some, too, in order to be a normal person. (Okay, maybe it is a little about being accepted.)
But then I realize that I don't even treat the only friend I have very well. I prefer being alone, so I blow him off a lot. We only really hang out once a week, at most, because I'm uncomfortable going out on the town. And as much as I feel bad about it, as much I realize how wrong it is, I find that I'm still too unconcerned with anyone else but myself to change anything.
Which all leads back to my fucking selfishness. This entire stupid entry is a key testament to it. All this whining bullshit about "oh, I was looking at a girl and she got mad, my life is so horrible" is just so fucking stupid I want to just... hit something.
There are people out there with real problems. Serious shit in their lives. I've really got nothing to cry about. Life has been pretty good to me so far. I've had no serious traumas. All my needs are taken care of and then some.
I'm just a stupid, whining bastard.
And that just pisses me off even more. As much as I try to be a good person, as hard as I work to consciously better myself, at the end of the day I'm still just the same self-pitying loser I was ten, eleven, possibly twelve years ago.
And there's no one I can blame for this, except myself. I was just using that girl from the gym as a scapegoat; that whole "it can never be my fault because that would mean I'm imperfect so I blame you" thing.
Fuck. I'm stopping here. This is just driving me nuts.
And I'm sure none of it made a lick of sense to anybody but me.
!
bryn:
i think you are my new personal hero. first of all: duke of awesome?. damn straight! second of all: i really appreciate your honesty and openness. dude, we all understand your little rants. i get the same paranoia when i zone out in public. you know how youre not supposed to make eye contact with people, because its a sign of aggression? well, ive almost gotten into fights several times just because i accidentally made eye contact with some one with an anger problem, a few drinks under their belt, and an itchy punching hand. thats why im a hermit. not because im a pussy [i can hold my own in a fight], but i dont like going out of doors, and if i do, its not to a public place. dont worry about the no-date-no-kiss-no-friends thing. if youre comfortable and happy with being by yourself, then who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks? dont feel pressured to be social just because you dont want to come off as the unibomber or something. misanthropy is highly underrated.
clara:
You're right, you should have some friends, but not because it would make you normal. You should have friends because having someone to talk to and hang out with takes you out of yourself and your problems. It gives you something else to pay attention to. You need something or someone to love. I don't mean a girlfriend, though that might be nice. Love something or someone. It's important. This is a good place to start.