so, after much internal debate and, with the possible consequence of a suffocating dose of pity (ok, so pity may not be the word i’m looking for, but it’s the best i can do without a whole separate rant), i have decided to share the story behind my infamous nickname (thank you hal and leigh) and the reasons why i so despise it.

if you can believe it, i went to a formal dance in college.  i was in a tuxedo and everything.  amazingly, i looked pretty good.  my date to the shindig also looked good, if you can believe it.  the girl, my date was the younger sister of one of my frat brothers… (yeah, i don’t remember the details.  i think she was going school at ohio state in columbus and wanted to go to the dance.  i hadn’t planned on going, but somehow was talked into it.).  i don’t recall him have any issue with it.  in fact, if my memory serves me, we all went to dinner together before the gala.  (it was a great time, though there are aspects of that night that i will forever regret).  i don’t remember many of the details of the evening, other than i had a good time and, i think, my date developed a bit of a crush on me.  i could be wrong though.

at some point, either that night, or some time later, the girl decided that i reminded her of something from her childhood….  that’s right, you guessed it.  for reasons i will never fully understand, i reminded her of a carebare.  i guess it had something to do with the fact that i was kinda round and, apparently, cute.  i wasn’t fond of the simile then and i’m not fond of it now.  actually, i don’t think it turned into a nickname until a bit later, when my roommate, who thought it was so damn funny, that he coined the actual name: tenderheart.  that’s right, during the course of one night i had been reduced to a stuffed animal.  a cute, lovable, fucking cartoon character….  as friends will do, and fraternity brothers even more so, they began calling me that on a regular basis, simply because it pissed me off no end….

now, here’s the reason why i HATE that nickname so much….  i hate cute.  what i mean is, i hate the word.  i try to never use it and cringe when others use it around me.  what i hate even more is when people use the word to describe me, “oh, you’re so cute.”  carebears are cute and now i will forever associate the word cute with carebears.

sure cute has some beneficial uses.  puppies are cute.  babies are cute.  however, i have a hard time with a 20-something man being called cute.  cute is nice.  cute is friendly and cuddly.  cute is the friend that sits, quiet and concerned, while you bitch about the boyfriend who is did this or that to wrong you.  the cute 20-something is always the friend, never the boyfriend.  you can argue with me about this if you like, but i’ve have yet to see an example to refute this theory of mine.

women don’t want to date the cute 20-something.  women want to befriend the cute 20-something.  they want the shoulder of a cute 20-something to cry on….

say what you want.  call me bitter, or cynical, or narrow-minded, but while you might think the nickname is fitting (which it might be), now you know why the sound of it makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

i can’t even begin to tell you how frustrated i am right now….

oh yeah, and in case you didn’t know… women are crazy.

i have to say, i often think i’m more sentimental than most people.  i may not show it, and you might not know it by talking to me, but i think it’s true.  especially when it comes to my friends and family.  it’s also true of those i can no longer call my friends, but once did.

i got some bad news today; the father of someone who i used to be very close to passed away.  My first thought was, “i hope she’s alright.”  my second thought was, “i’m really sorry i can’t be there with her and her family.”  this is a friend i haven’t seen in years, whose family i haven’t seen in twice as long, and someone i haven’t really spoken to in more than a year.

and still i consider her a friend.  in fact, i still describe her as one of my all time favorite people.  this is what i mean about sentimental.  she’s not in my life and i’m not in her’s and while i can’t practically call her a close friend for that very reason, i’ll admit that i miss our friendship and that i think about her often.

see, i can’t help but blame myself for the way things are.  there was a time when we were so close.  then things got a little strange and a little difficult and i freaked out.  i lost my cool, my temper, said things i shouldn’t have, and as a result, i lost one of my best friends and favorite people.  we eventually patched things up, after i apologized, a few years later.  still, things were never the same after that.  i pretty much screwed things up beyond repair.

the story itself isn’t a very interesting one, unless you knew us and even then you might not think it’s that interesting.  that being said, i feel no need to go into details.  i just have this to say….

i miss you.  i wish we talked more.  i wish i could be there to provide even the littlest bit of comfort during this hard time.  just know that you are in my thoughts, as you often are.

boobs are the enemy of man. boobs make men weak. one moment a man can be completely reasonable and rational. as soon as there are boobs around, however, men turn into stupid blubbering morons. they’ll do almost anything boobs ask them to do. “buy me a drink?” “sure.” “i can’t afford a ticket, can you let me go with a warning?” “sure.” the only power or advantage women have are their boobs. of course, that also means that women with no boobs don’t have any power.

this is a firm belief i’ve had for quite some time, but only feel the need to write about it now. you might be asking why. why now? well, it’s simple. i’ll let you. my roommate has completely succumb to the power of his girlfriend’s boobs. while he may not often act like his age (which i don’t really mind, because i don’t really either), but when his girlfriend is around, he turns into cutsie, whiny boy: the perfect compliment to his cutsie, whiny girlfriend. what amazes me is that we know a girl, who shawn wouldn’t date in a million years, who has remarkably similar characteristics. they’re both whiny. they’re both cutsie. so what’s the difference? this other girl has no boobs to speak of.

all of this isn’t to say that the girlfriend isn’t intelligent (though you might not know it to listen to her). maybe it’s that my roommate likes whiny girls. maybe its a fetish; some people like feet or bondage, maybe my roommate just has a thing for whiny girls. it is surprising to me, though. i mean, its one thing, i guess, to like the whiny, bratty girls (oh yeah, did i mention she’s a spoiled little brat?), but what i think is more frustrating than anything else is the fact that when she’s around, he turns into cutsie whiny little boy. the transformation is astonishing. the two of us could be having a complete adult sounding, reasonable conversation, but if she calls or shows up at the house, all that goes right out the window. the adult sounding man curls up into the fetal position and the cutsie, whiny man appears. it’s kinda like watching a man transform into a werewolf, only scarier.

he says he likes it. he assures me that when (though i say if) i find a girlfriend, i’ll do the same thing… and enjoy it! what the fuck? i really, really hope that isn’t the case. at this point, if that’s true, i’d just as soon remain single and keep what little scrap of dignity i have. the power of the boobs will not get me. i will remain resistant to the power they have, at whatever the cost. i mean, is it worth transforming into a whiny, six-year-old-sounding boy for the sake of some ass? somehow i doubt it, though i obviously can’t say from experience.

tucked away in all this stupid bullshit, maybe there’s a solution…. destroy the boobs! destroy them! we must develop a weapon that can prevail over our enemy. in the meantime, in lue of a useful, powerful weapon, maybe we can anesthetize all the boobed-women and force boob reductions on them all, thereby taking away their power over us men. it sounds like a good idea to me, of course, if you come up with any weapon ideas that would be more fun, be sure to let me know.

what is this strange need people have to ‘couple up’?  i mean, beyond the biological desire to procreate, why do people date, live together, marry, etc?  where does this desire to find a ‘soul mate’ come from?  and does it serve any purpose or have any positive influence on a person?

hmmm….  i can’t help but want to ‘couple up’ just like everyone else.  well, i mean, i guess there are those people who don’t care, but for the most part, everyone wants that.  i’m no different.  the thing is, it’s easier for some people than it is for others.  why is that?  i have friends who’ve had a steady stream of different boyfriends or girlfriends since high school, maybe even before.  but not me.  in my whole life, i’ve only had a handful of relationships, none of which lasted very long or ended well.
not long after girls became ceased having cooties and started having boobs, i came to the conclusion that there are just some people who aren’t meant to ‘couple’.  i am, most likely, counted among that group of people.  from a biological stand point, this is simply a matter of evolution.  in order to perpetuate the best traits of our species, the less-desirables have a greater difficulty in finding a mate and are less likely to have offspring.

there was a time when this notion upset and frustrated me, but the more time i have to deal with it, the more i fail, the more clear it is that it’s simply a matter of fact.  the sooner i accept this, the better off i’ll be.  of course, having said that, i have to admit that its true.  i’m starting to come to terms with this fact and the more i wrestle with the notion, the more ok i am with it.  there’s always going to be a part of me that is bothered by this notion, but every day that part grows smaller.  i’ve pretty much accepted this.

in some ways, this realization simplifies my life quite a bit.  while everyone else i know is looking to couple up and get hitched, i can take some comfort in the fact that this is something i simply don’t have to worry about.

this isn’t to say that i’ve lost interest in girls, its just to say that i’ve lost interest in trying. that’s right, i quit. i can now admit, with only a twinge of discomfort, that i am a failure when it comes to women…. now i know what you’re going to say; “you haven’t really tried. you’ve never really tried.” while that might be true, i don’t know that i completely believe it. i mean, to some extent, it’s true, but only from someone else’s view point. these peole don’t know that i’ve torn myself up, time and again, trying to overcome whatever crazy fear and panic it is that locks me up. i can refer to example after example of my failures. so, when i say that i’ve failed, it isn’t to say that i’ve been rejected and have quit. it’s far more complicated and pathetic than that. the truth is i never got to the point where i might be rejected.

in all my years i’ve only asked two girls out. only one said yes. my failure isn’t with women, i can see that now. my failure is with myself, which is all the more sad. but after all the times i’ve lost against my own fears, i’ve finally come to this conclusion: this is how it is for me.

i used to think i was broken, that something was wrong with me, but i’ve realized that this is exactly how i’m supposed to be. i’ve been in therapy for over a year now and while i’ve come to like myself more, i’ve also started to accept things that i don’t have power over. i started to say previously that i am bound by biology. this is what i’m referring to. as i get older and come to like myself more and more, i can also accept this about me. for reasons unknown to me, this is how i am. for better or worse. ultimately, i can’t change what i am. if i believe in g-d (which i’m not sure that i do), i can say this is the role g-d has given me. i may not understand it. i may not be happy about it, but i am beginning to accept it. if i take g-d out of it, then it becomes a simple matter of biology and genetics: i wasn’t meant to reproduce. this flaw in me, biologically, will see its end with my death. its a flaw that won’t be passed on to any offspring, to any children. honestly, i don’t know which one lends me greater comfort.

say what you want. say that i’m being silly. say that i’m just feeling sorry for myself. say whatever you want, but i quit. i’m done thinking about girlfriends. i’m done trying to find a date, or a girlfriend, or someone to marry. i’m through with it all.