As I write this, I am receiving my last treatment of rituxinab, the wonder drug that is supposed to prevent the return of my Wegener's, and is apparently being used to treat lots of other stuff these days, so here's hoping it works or a lot of people will be in big trouble, not just me.
So, to me, this means I should look towards the future, and stop worrying so much about the trials and tribulations of the past nine months. God knows you've probably heard enough about it, and I'm sick of re-hashing it, anyway. But to look toward the future, I want to look into the not-too-distant past. Saturday night, to be exact. Let's step into the Way-Back machine, shall we?
My friend's cover band was playing the 11th Annual Lupus Pub-crawl that evening, and I was helping out, as usual. I must admit, this entailed a lot less work than their other gigs, since this place had their own sound equipment, and the band that usually plays there allowed us to use their stuff. So, I basically showed up, carried a mic stand, some pedals, and then drank a lot.
So, I'm standing off to the side, watching the show and the pub-crawlers, and this young lady next to me strikes up a conversation. Like myself, she has nothing to do with the pub crawl, but simply came in to use the bathroom and heard the music and wandered in. She asked me if I danced, and I replied, "Define dancing." At least the treatments haven't damaged my sense of humor. So, we danced a little, and during the break between sets, I introduced her to the drummer and asked her if she wanted to hang with us after the show. I should point out here that, since this was just the second stop on the pub crawl, the show ended at 7:00.
During the course of events, I found out a few things about this girl. She liked Goth music, she was a writer, and, oh, she actually had a boyfriend.. in Utah. So, this naturally set off a buzzer in my head, but while at dinner after the show, my band buddies all said that it didn't matter, that they saw the way she was looking at me, that even if it was true, this girl was a sure thing. So, I pressed on.
After dinner, we re-joined the pub crawl at another bar, and more drinking and dancing ensued. This time, the dancing was getting a little closer (and to be perfectly honest, she was kind of critical of my dancing, which I have already admitted sucks. Cut me some slack, lady. I'm as white as they come). As the night progresses, she begins taking my hands and putting them on various parts of her body. Despite all of that, however, she whispers in my ear, "You know you're not getting paid tonight, right?" Obviously, that should have set off tons of buzzers, but, forgive me if I'm thinking that actions sometimes speak louder. She and I eventually leave the band and move on to one more bar, closer to where her car was parked, and closer to my home, as well. More dancing and touching. She delicately places my knee in her crotch and my hands on her ass. She eventually needs food, so I take her to an all-night diner and buy her a sandwich. She hasn't had a drink in awhile, but claims she may have to sleep in her car rather than drive back to Gloucester. I offer her my couch to sleep on, and at first she seems that she's down with that, but as the night moves on, she says she will, in fact, drive home. Apparently, she is in love with her boyfriend, although she told me that he lives in Utah, they have not slept together and they have been together less than a month. Oh, and she's into bondage. I call bullshit, but accept her ride home and assume she made it back to Gloucester in one piece, but, y'know, who cares?
Now, for some reason, this night really got into my head. I'm not sure if I'm mad at myself for allowing this girl to cock-tease me all night, at her for being a cock-tease, or at society in general for allowing it to be okay for a girl to do this for a fellow human being. To be perfectly honest, she's lucky I'm a nice guy and not some crazy. Seriously, girls have been killed for less in this city.
So, here's where the looking to the future part comes in. I told this story to my friend Heidi, and her response was that I should have walked away at the mention of the word, "boyfriend." I told her that I didn't want to be That Guy, who is only out for sex and nothing else. Even if that is true 90% of the time, remember, in this case I was minding my own business until this girl came along. Her point was that I have to be a dick more often, especially in the world of dating. This, of course, is not the first time I have heard this, but the problem is that it not only goes against all logic, but it also goes against everything I've been trying to do for years. Not to mention the fact that I thought that my recent medical issues had made me realize what is important in life, and being a dick was not one of the important things.
Naturally, I shouldn't be a dick all the time (fun as it may be). Just when women are being bitches, apparently. This is a sad truth, because if you are not a dick to a woman who is being a bitch, then you will be walked on. Plain and simple. And I've been told the reverse is also true. So therein lies the rub.
The real problem is that it's pretty much like opening Pandora's box. You get a angry at one person just for being a bitch, and pretty soon you're angry at everyone. And I've been Angry Young Dursin before. It ain't pretty. But he was confidant and happy and had a lot more sex, so I guess there's a trade-off.
You've been warned.