Happiness

I write this shit because game blogs have been driving me insane and I’m trying to get back to why I read them in the first place. All the soul is gone from how it used to be. Millions and millions of blog posts about how to develop human relationships, with no humanity whatsoever. All about how to sleep with a million girls that nobody names or talks about. Facts, figures, autistic conceptions of how the world works, research studies, and no actual life, which is the point of game — to get a fucking life. Well, enough of all that.

When I was in college, I went back to the DC suburbs for Summer Vacation. The four normal, not promiscuous, not fashionable, all male video gamers known as my high school friends passed out in the basement of a suburban McMansion, and I stayed up talking to the kid’s ex-girlfriend, who I’d known in high school but never talked to. I had no game but bullshitted for a while, before basically saying, “I’m bored. You want to do something?” Apparently, girls like doing things. They like when you take them places and show them shit that nobody else knows about. What they really like is spending time with you. Not that you’d ever read that anywhere.

Virginia’s the oldest part of America. They set up shop there in 1607, which means the girl they named Virginia, who was born the day they got there, was already well-into puberty by the time the losers up North got their heads out of their asses. If you look around, you start finding abandoned plantation houses in the middle of the woods. Unmarked slave graveyards that nobody knows about. Rock quarries filled in with water, to cliff jump into. Rope swings and swimming holes. Shit to do in the suburbs when someone you barely knew existed is now in your car, suddenly hanging out one-on-one at 3am.

The girl had never been skinny dipping, so I took her out to a creek in Bull Run. Put our clothes back on and made some obviously untrue shit up about being a champion wrestler, then taught her some obviously retarded moves involving clapping and hopping, then pinned her when she tried them. Put her car into neutral while she was driving. Punched her bobble-head animal in the face every time we got in the car.
We drove the car into a field and passed out, then woke up the next morning and kept hanging out for a week. Found a different place to sleep every night, hooking up at 3am in gazebos, on top of elementary schools, in public parks. Like gay men in the 70’s, boning down under the bleachers on the sidelines of a field I played soccer on at age 8. Ran around all day having “adventures.” Dumb shit, anything. I got obsessed with the idea of eating ghost peppers, so we tried to find some. Talked her into playing beer pong with espresso and she stayed up for 2 days. Made bombs out of household supplies. Zero to 24 hour a day hangout for a week, within 10 minutes of basically meeting her.

That went on for a Summer, and then it ended. I did the same thing a year later with a different girl, sleeping on a mattress in the back of her dad’s minivan, deliberately buying beer and getting as lost as possible every night, then parking and finding our way back in the morning. I don’t think of either of them when I list relationships I’ve been in. It was just some shit I did.

Last year, I was in the city in the Summer and I ran into a girl I had a crush on for 2 years in college. She had one on me too, and I always knew it. She would get nervous when I was around. My best friend had a fling with her, then died in a car crash 6 months later. I called her from New Orleans and she was crying because she thought I was in the car. Once, she asked me to go to a movie with her, and dressed nicely and did her hair. I didn’t realize it was a date until a year later. We slept next to each other one time, but never kissed or acknowledged anything. She was the type of girl who always had a boyfriend, though, and I was the type of dumbass who didn’t want to steal anyone’s girl. There were a number of girls throughout my life like that, and I don’t know how I managed to drop the ball so completely.

I saw her last Summer and she asked if we could hang out. She’d recently broken up with a guy who was probably cooler than me, by the city’s standards. Got her number and wondered if it would happen this time. Made sure to seem aloof. Subtly mentioned other girls around her. Didn’t respond to all her texts. Met her at a bar after a week of coordinating. I think she cancelled once, so obviously I had to be too busy to hang out when she wanted to reschedule. Talked to her for a little while with detached body language. The game didn’t work. Never saw her again.

Everyone acts too cool. Everyone is aloof and distant. Everyone has cooler places to be and cooler people to be with, when in reality, when they go to those places and see those people, they act too cool for that too. That’s how people act when they’re exposed and vulnerable, and under constant fear of personal attack. Aloofness is beta. Nothing could possibly be more beta than aloofness. I did that for a year and a half, and fucked more girls than any other year of my life.

I also failed to connect with anyone, because I was acting aloof, because I was still fucked up over the last girl I’ve been with that I didn’t want to piss on after pulling out of. A girl I was with for 3 months, and haven’t stopped thinking about for two years, long after I GF20OW’d. That’s for another post, though, because she’s the reason I read game blogs, dove headfirst into traumatized sociopathy, and stopped living like I did in the Summers. Slowly, though, I’m moving back in that direction. Away from being an asshole, away from her, and away from the past. Fuck all that. Fuck the past. Mostly though, fuck game.

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2 comments on “Happiness

  1. Jake says:

    “Millions and millions of blog posts about how to develop human relationships, with no humanity whatsoever. All about how to sleep with a million girls that nobody names or talks about. Facts, figures, autistic conceptions of how the world works, research studies, and no actual life, which is the point of game — to get a fucking life.”

    It IS autistic and retarded. I read, fascinated by the extrapolated conceptual underlying dynamic, disgusted by the robotic, dork-turned-sociopath-creep personas. Really, so proud of finally being able to accomplish the ONE thing that every member of the species naturally does (fucking), to then spend every waking hour antagonizing of the exact how-to of that (amazing) accomplishment.

    Yikes, seriously.

    • You’re right, but let’s be real about it — every member of the species does not do it naturally. Approx. 80% of human genes come from female ancestors and 20% from males. Looking at this in conjunction with the general rule of thumb that other primate mating hierarchies (gorillas, chimps, orangutans) revolve around a few men fucking a harem of hairy ape women, the fact of the matter is that most primate males will never reproduce. The intellectual obsession makes sense when you consider that it takes the masses of nerds from biological extinction to reproductive (and thus biological) success. Absent a belief in transcendent metaphysical meaning, this is the difference between having and lacking any purpose in life.

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