I have been having one hell of a conversation with myself recently. It mostly ends up with me losing, which sucks.
I know, I know. Conversations aren't about "winning" or "losing" but for Christ sake...I give in.
I have finally given in to the fact that I am bitter. I am. I think for the first time in my life I can look in the mirror, and without much reason to think otherwise, feel that most women are nucking futs. This isn't "news" to me or anyone else...just the fact that I am bitter about it now is making me take a step back.
Case in point:
I walk into the professors' lounge area. There is a photocopy machine in the lounge where I do some photocopying because the people whose job it is to photocopy in the photocopy center don't know how to photocopy. But, that is for a different blog at a different time.
Anyway, one of the copy people is in the lounge and fixing the copy machine that I need to use before class starts in about twenty minutes. She looks to be about 25 to 30, and she is somewhat attractive. While I am waiting for her to finish working on the machine, I make some small, idle chit chat. What the Hell do I say to the copygirl? She is totally flustered, and I actually am in somewhat of a hurry to get some copies done.
After about 30 seconds of running out of things to say...I notice she is wearing a pretty cool shirt. It's button down and has blue/white stripes. I innocently tell her, "Nice shirt." That's it. "Nice shirt."
There is an awkward pause from her. And she stops what she is doing. She kind of fiddles with the maching for a few more seconds, then bites back..."Yeah...my (emphasis) HUSBAND got it for me."
People, what kind of world do we live in where I can't say "nice shirt" without someone thinking I am trying to fuck her? Seriously? My mouth nearly dropped to the floor when I heard her response at "shutting me down" from "getting in her pants."
I couldn't help myself...so I said "Yeah, my girlfriend has one just like it! My dead girlfriend."
OK...I didn't say that.
Anyway, I wanted to get the hell out of there so badly. Maybe she could just smell that I haven't had sex in four months on me and instantly assumed that she was a likely target? And as much as I try...marathon training is just not the same thing as sex. Yeah you get all sweaty and tired and the handcuffs really hurt. But that is where the similarities end, let me tell you.
I might as well become a monk. The chances of me finding a gay lover at the monestary are significantly higher than me finding a woman I can tolerate on anything more than a friendship level at this point. And those brown robes are pretty sexy.
Wonder what would happen if I told a monk, "Nice robe"? Internal damnation?
What would have happened if I told her "Your shirt sucks"? Her possible response: "Yeah, and so does my husband"?
The sad thing...this situation so isn't a big deal. It's just emblematic, man.