Now I’ve got that off my metaphorical electronic chest. I’ll say something else somewhat misogynistic.
I feel like most nights I could go out to some sanctum of beverages attract a female (or females whey), pull some trick or play some game enough to be near the process of engaging in the horizontal mambo very soon after.
Judge that as you like.
Without a hint of sarcasm or sounding condescending, at various times in my life and for a lot of dudes and dudettes such practice is considered a lot more than adequate.
Waking up in an awkwardly accommodating bed (or person) was more than well and truly enough to have signalled a reasonable bookend to an excellent night/day weekend or holiday.
But I have grown, or in the eyes of some shrunk (It’s only the whiskey), not that long ago going home with someone you’re not sure you like yet would be considered good.
I’ve pasted this point in my life I think.
The point which I’ve got to (by hating most people basically) is that I’d rather go home by myself a lot of the time (with the possibility of a subway sandwich as my source of enjoyment) than have to try and tolerate someone else I have every chance of not liking a short interrupted sleep later.
Especially without a stiff drink.
I am getting older as we all are and over this time I have acquired tastes and patterns of my own which may in part comfort and also become defining to myself in some nature. What this has included has been a solid hatred for the possibility of anything mediocre in my life. Although that being said the notion of disliking clichés is in itself a cliché and if I tried to analyse this in more layers I’m sure the universe has every chance of doubling back on itself. Or I’d just confuse you and most likely myself also.
But that’s exactly what these posts are not about, they are meant to be rare uninterrupted moments of thoughtfulness harmony. Yeah…
So back to talking about girls. I know a few things about women, and one of the few things I know about is how little I know about women.
So what I meant to say is I know very few things about women. But what I know and love as you’ve read is I love myself. (If you haven’t read I don’t)
So what happens when I put together my lack of social skills and at times extreme ingenuity when it comes to using alcohol as the basis for any of these such interactions?
The Answer: Uncomfortableness
People (Myself included) enjoy what they know, it’s comforting a lot more than the unknown which apparently is feared and probably also (besides of course severe brain injuries) explains why so many people watch “Packed To The Rafters”, this of course goes completely against what I said earlier about fear/disgust in regard to the mediocre and bourgeois.
Because people, women especially want comfort, entertainment and safety, on the majority the stumbling bumbling idiot who’s not in anyway friendly is not really the best approach I’ve found.
On the other hand the completely interesting but yet completely exotic and mysterious thing is also appealing for some reason. But this method involves not only timing, (which I lack) but also delivery (also lack) and an attention span longer than 2 large drinks (which the majority of people my age lack).
