ME from the future: Billy, you will probably not publish this. I would like to tell you that its because you have low self esteem, but let’s be honest, its because you don’t know what this post is going to be about. Except now, you have this idea of writing vignettes of people you’re incapable of understanding [*cough* judging *cough*] right now. And here’s the fun bit – some of them may or may not be from college, though they are largely composites of a number of people. You will probably regret this, you coward of a writer, but if Lizzie could post the utter and complete rejection of Darcy, I could do this much, right?
Also, yes. You are doing this entirely because someone on Facebook said they miss your posts. And no, its not because it reminded you that you have to post, or it gave you confidence. It’s because you are entirely driven by your ego and narcissism. Your juvenile need for approval is exposed, Billy. Kindly adjust your clothing. None of us want to see that nasty business.
The Girl Who Will Always Be Boring And Doesn’t Know It
She’s always had it all. Her hair falls like Rachel’s; her butt to waist ratio is practically perfect; she can understand complex theories and concepts almost before she encounters them; her boobs are only just short of Jennifer Lawrence, which is as close to perfection as normal people get; Her legs are probably longer than my entire body; she probably has 2 percent body fat; she has the aesthetically pleasing back dimples, the skinny arms that Liz Lemon had nightmares about and no armpit cleavage. In the Photoshop enabled world of today, she may just have gone unfiltered. Probably not, but there was potential. Her face was ok.
But perfection comes for a price. The price in this case, was NOT her ability to know interesting stories or people. She always had something to add to gossip or a non-boring story to tell. She had that. What she didn’t have was the ability to tell any story without making me think of sour milk and cleaning my room. She could bitch about people well enough, but it fell short of entertaining by a mile and skipped right to unnecessarily mean. And mean in a sneaky way. As if she was thinking of ways to be mean without letting people know.
She could run into midgets having sex with a bunch of zebras one day and want to talk about it, and I would still be…
Her inability to interest me does not end there. She will spoil things. She can kill a conversation in the least creative manner – by saying something lame that sadly enunciates two things – her inability to understand the point of a conversation and her inability to say anything interesting. It also does not help that she’s quite the raging dog of a female persuasion – about practically everything but herself. She is…. the least interesting conversant in the world. She doesn’t often drink beer. But when she does, she’ll take shots, because that’s what’s awesome.
Conclusion: Nobody can have it all.
They’re Not Greek Gods
Some people have it made. They are practically gods. They have everything most people would be comfortable and even satisfied with. They are as close to gods as life could get in all its dreariness and its uncertainty for mere mortals. They are the gods. I don’t really know how.
But then of course, there are Greek gods. Not Hrithik Roshan or Paul Newman. Zeus and Hades. The Greek gods were very human. In fact, they were sub-human and super-human in their abilities to be utterly human. They could feel passion that made them and the objects of their passion slaves of their loins (and on occasion, their hearts; but mostly, their loins). They could be ascetics beyond what blood flow and biology allows and they could love beyond what poetry tries, although that isn’t very hard. They could be Caligula for all their love of humans – they could call upon whomever they wanted to make the hours go by faster, to make themselves more human. They were not usually refused. If they were, they normally responded by transforming people into trees, like Apollo did to Daphne. Often, even when they weren’t refused, the mortals were transformed into other kinds of objects once they came in contact with the gods. Like Zeus and Callisto, who was transformed into a bear first and into a constellation next. That’s not exactly an object but it is a thing, if nothing else.
Of course, the Greek gods were never condemned for their behavior. It was expected of them. What else are gods supposed to do, if not have their pick of people; and of standards of decency; and of scrutiny? All of which could be molded to suit them. They were gods, and people were supposed to worship them, love them and do anything at all to get in their good books.
And of course, the Greek gods were not real. God itself is not real. And if they were, humans could never pretend to be gods. They could try, but it inevitably meant Tartarus or the continuous eating of one’s innards by an eagle whilst chained atop a mountain over centuries. Which in the real world would mean that if people acted like Greek gods, especially to their friends, they’d usually get a very clear and unmitigated –
Conclusion: Remember girls and boys, David Copperfield thought his school senior Steerforth was magnificent and the epitome of everything golden that could be said of humanity. He really, really wasn’t. He was actually less awesome than most people in the book. He was shitty to his friends, shitty to his girlfriends and died young, fulfilling tenets of poetic justice. That’s not a good sign. He was very human. But not a very good human. And not really worth debasing yourselves over.
Too much? I did inform some of the concerned people that this was coming. Let’s face it, I informed the people in the second one. First one is just a fun composite of a number of people I’ve met. Or is it? You’ll never know
Also, I wanted to write a bit more but I haven’t had a very good day. I am very, very pissed. I have literally never been this angry in my life. I can’t even begin to express… And since I refuse to write about why I’m angry because fuck you, that’s why, I can’t really be judgy or sufficiently pissed about anything else.
But just to beat a bunch of haters to the punch (in case there are any out there), here’s a little one talking about a few of my faults.
The Girl Who Is Writing This
I always think I’m right. I very rarely am. I’m often cruelly honest to my friends. I have a very high opinion of myself despite having very few parts of my life settled. One of the parts that are not settled – jobs and future plans. Despite this, I am almost always pleased with myself, which I combine with an inane self-loathing that no doubt drives my friends crazy. I have no feelings when it comes to romance. But I care excessively about the friendships I have and try practically everything to preserve them, no matter how much it flat-lines. And I pretend I don’t. My good opinion once lost, is lost for a long fucking time. I am very lazy, and I am never sure if I have enough brain to compensate for that – I very likely don’t. I always analyze and categorize people and inform them of it, while never bothering to do it to myself. People are rightfully pissed about this. I see things from several perspectives and I sit on the fence for most things because they’re not interesting enough to have an opinion about, according to me. As if the shit I do care about is that important – they’re not.
That’s all I can think of now. I don’t want to be too self-involved.
On a different note – The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. I have no idea how they made a tongueless kiss that hot, but FUCK ME. Literally, Daniel Vincent Gordh, I request fucking by you. To me. In my private parts.