Wednesday, January 09, 2008

The Questions that Plague Me

Last Friday, I went out with a girl on a sort of blind date (We had e-mailed and spoken on the phone, and I had seen pics of her), and I had a great time and so called her a couple days later to set up a second. And now I am waiting for the callback. And waiting... The interesting thing is that it has me wondering why I, and everyone else, go on dates. Is it a quest to find that special someone, who I doubt even exists? Is it because all straight men want a really hot chick on our arm, if only to stick it to the other straight men?

As I wait, I wonder why it all concerns me so. If I'm so content being single (which I am), then why am I worried if she'll call so I can go on a second date? Why did I even go on the first one? Certainly not to get my jollies, since I'm fairly certain I'm not the type of guy who goes all the way on the first date (I rarely go all the way ever.) Why do I even care about any of this? Why am I even writing about it?

I think I know the answer, and it has nothing to do with the girl. Like I said, we had a good time and I enjoyed her company immensely. The answer has everything to do with me and my ego. Ego is the only reason I went on the date (and I guess the prospect that perhaps one day down the road I may have sex again.) Ego is the main reason I'm wondering why she hasn't called me back now. Obviously, my brain knows she has a life of her own and she'll fit me in sometime (I suppose), but my ego doesn't realize this. My ego says that I'm Dursin, and there is no way she has better or more important things to do, because I'm the best thing ever in the history of the universe that anybody could be doing. Other than Britney Spears, I may be the least self-aware person on the planet.

This ego of mine, which I do nothing to suppress, is the only reason I do anything, really. I do 150 sit-ups every morning because I want to look good, not because I want to live a long and healthy life. I pay a bunch of money to get my thinning hair cut every six weeks because I really am that vain, when I could probably go to some town barber and get the same results for ten bucks. But who the fuck am I trying to impress if I'm so happy being single? If I simply allowed myself to grow fat and bald, being single wouldn't necessarily be a lifestyle choice, would it? So why do I bother with it all?

Probably because I do want to be ready in the event that (very) special someone comes along, who will see it all my way and not be controlling and be hot and great in bed and have her own life and be everything else I always yammer on about. This is a pretty particular list, so I have convinced myself she isn't out there, and that is why I am content being single. However, there will always be that asterisk in case she is, so I want to look good.

Or I may be severely fucked up.

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