Incommunicado: The Art of Bad Relationships

Okay, let’s be honest. How many times have you said one thing to a partner but were thinking something else? Have you ever actually had the thought, or worse, said, “Could you just wait until the [game, show, decade] is over?” during a conversation? Have you ever been accused of not listening?

I know I have. The question is why? Why aren’t we honest, upfront, and real with the partners in our lives? Is it because we get bored? Do we actually lose interest? Are we all just a bunch of douche-bag-idiots determined to screw up our own lives?

Or is it something else?

Being single, I’ve had hours to ponder this question (nothing, and no one, to do will do that to you), and I think I may have discovered a reason, or at least a reasonable excuse, as to why we do this in matters of love. It’s the act of dating, or early courtship, that screws most of us up!

Why dating? Simple. All of us manipulate ourselves to better fit our perceived ideas of what the other wants in a partner. We hide, lie, or hold back the truth about the things we don’t like about ourselves. We push the things that unite us, and stuff those that don’t in a dark closet with the rest of our secret desires, our unfulfilled wants and needs, our unmentionables. We do it easily, and often, and we call it compromise. But, in reality, what it is false advertising. It’s the human equivalent of infomercials. Sure, it slices, it dices, it squirts mustard with the push of a button, but after a year and 4 uses, will you feel it was worth it? Did you really need something that only fulfilled part of your needs? Do you miss the things you stuffed in a drawer to forget?

This is what we do people! We start off not communicating! We don’t offer-up the real me because of the fear that the other person won’t like the real me. We hide our true selves just to have parts and pieces of us loved. Sometimes we do it to just fulfill a physical need. And we do it over, and over, and over again, because we know, we just know, that no one would want the real me.

You know you do it. We all do. Even the best of us are completely screwed up. And the reality is that this unfortunate flaw is built into the very core of our being. We will never change. We will always have difficulty communicating. But it doesn’t mean we have to do it blindly. It doesn’t mean we have to hide everything. It doesn’t mean we have to be afraid of being ourselves.

It means we have to be as much of our real selves as possible. It means we have to let others be as much or their real selves as possible. It means knowing yourself. It means being honest, telling the truth, and dealing with things when they do come up in as rational a manner as possible.

It means communicating.

Still single and unable to talk to girls,

Scott

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I’m In Love With A Girl That Doesn’t Exist

It’s true. I’m in love with a girl that doesn’t exist. I don’t even know her name. Actually, she doesn’t have a name because she lives in my head. I don’t even really know what she looks like. Sometimes I think she looks like Zooey Deschanel. But most of the time she’s kinda of a blur.

Mostly I know that she doesn’t like all of the same things I do, thinks different from me, and makes me laugh. I like her because she’s “real” with me.

Yeah, I’m in love with a fantasy of a girl that gets pissed at me and tells me no!

I guess I’m kind of a realist when it comes to fantasy (at least the kind of fantasy I can freely divulge on this blog). I think I know why though. I think it’s because deep down, at the core of it all, I’m a desperately practical man. As much crap as I talk, as crazy as I’m able to think, deep down I analyze the situation and take the safe, easy route. The one that won’t land me in jail. The one that won’t rape my wallet. The one that won’t make me look attractive to the kind of girls I really (think I) want to meet.

God I have a lot to change…

Well, my rum and coke is empty, so I guess I’ll stop there.

Is this a good post? I guess I don’t care. I have rum to drink and girls in bikinis in tropical Mexico to watch.

Oh,  and the whole “changing the inner-me” stuff to work on.

Still single and sitting alone in a hotel room drinking rum and thinking about life, my core being, and girls in bikinis,

Scott

[FYI Context Update: As of 1:42 am the author would like to note that a 750 ml bottle of Tommy Bahama (yes, of the Hawaiian Shirt variety) Rum that was 1/4 empty prior to the nights events is now standing at 3/4 empty! Yes, I drank half the bottle tonight! Oops! Scott]

Sort of Apology Letter

To whoever thought that I finally seemed to be putting my life in order:

Steady job, love possibility, getting rid of those problematic friends with benefits (only the problematic ones)… Outsiders could swear that it looked like I was growing up. Oh, and also, I’d applied for a PhD and a scholarship, which is also pretty mature, you know, having the foresight to look for ways to pay for your degree.

Well, on Friday I accepted a PhD offer from the university of my choice! Do I have a scholarship? No (thank you economic mess). have I figured out how to pay for the four-year program? No. I can foot the bill for the first year though, and hope for the best. Did I mention that said university is half-way around the world? That I will be quitting my job (you know, the steady job my father was so happy about)? That I will have to look for a place to live without being in the city? That I will use up my savings living in one of the most expensive cities in the world? Oh, and more to the point, once again, putting a huge, Atlantic-sized barrier between myself and the aforementioned ex (OK, not as big as his marriage, but still).

The verdict: Still happy-go-lucky, still willing to bet it all on a long-shot, and STILL SINGLE. Soon to be blogging from a whole new life.

Sabina