The shitheads hit the fan

So..... I'm back. With some unsurprising news- guys are shitheads and I am a little angry, hence the title of this blog.

OK, so this weekend has been mighty interesting. And, while some may see this as airing dirty laundry, how else am I supposed to get this wretched stench out? It feels as though I have been minding my own business while on a leisurely stroll and ambushed by skunks who in their jealousy, plotted against me in an attempt to cause me great misery.

Now, the majority of these stories contain a certain 'friend' or is she the skunk? I'm really not sure at this stage, but the quotation marks indicate that I am not happy with her in the slightest. And all stories contain one shithead member of the human race.

Story #1: Game on?? *look of puzzlement*

Since we are on the theme of smells, I shall name my friend Jasmine. Now, the saga with my crush is getting old. I agree there and I won't dwell or bore because that is not what blogs are about. But with this knowledge I may have thought I could set my crush up with someone he might get along with. And even though this would have cut me up a little, I'm a good person, and it would have given me a way to move forward. I told my housemate about her but he was very much disinterested. But on the other side of the wall, Jasmine was looking up my friend's profile pics on a very popular social networking site. And she developed a crush.

Now, she knew about my pathetic dreamings and such but that didn't seem to stop her. She told me that she had stolen friend's crushes before and that this even led to a three year relationship. She insisted that I wasn't to be offended about this, that he was and is fair game, and that this doesn't make her a bitch. Now fine, whatever. Honestly, I'm a reasonable person who can deduce that there are plenty of fish in the sea and that this is one I probably won't catch because I have too much fun watching it swimming free.

But then, she made a game of it. She said I have four months to ask him out, or else she would! And I have no doubt that she is serious. Tick tick tick tick. The questions I have about this are numerous:

1. Do I really want him or do I enjoy this crush too much?
2. Am I just associating his company with filling the loneliness I felt BEFORE he moved in?
3. Is he really as good as I set him up to be in my mind?
4. Am I really as able to be myself around him as I think I am?
5. Does he really make me happy?

And as logic buries my crush in a pile of rubble, I still know where the crush lies and I still, every now and then, try to pull layers off the pile to rescue it. Oh- what am I talking about. The goddamn crush is still there. And no amount of logical reasoning or questioning is appearing to have a permanent effect- because I am retarded.

Anyway, THAT story is getting old. But Jasmine, her's is a fresh one. So on top of all the silly games she has signed me up for, we went out the other night and this is where things REALLY started to get smelly.

STORY #2: Skunkiness.

The guys I liked, she liked. If that happens, I don't want a confrontation. I don't want a silly game. She can have a crack- good for her. But they didn't want her. And I could have seen if they wanted me instead. And indeed, I could have been successful. But I like to think that I am a good person. And the (perhaps arrogant?) thought in the back of my head was:
'What if he DOES like me? Will she deal?'
So, I did nothing.

And then I decided the pick up thing wasn't going to happen for me that night. Not because I didn't look smoking hot, because I did. This is partially because said crush invited me out afterwards and I was contemplating going so I could meet his friends. The only reason I didn't go was because the shithead didn't reply to my message telling me where exactly he was (apparently he told me- I knew all along which is rubbish, I made an assumption which may have been right, but I wasn't going to go somewhere ON MY OWN armed with merely an assumption).

So, we are dancing. Someone comes up to me. He's too short. I blow him off. He was alright, I could have just kissed and ditched him but I'm over that. So I just gave him the cold shoulder. She is having NO luck whatsoever, which is a shame, but we all have nights like that- no biggie.

And then she tells me that her brother would have a crack at me- to which I reply 'He's an alright sort, but he's YOUR BROTHER!' Which was honestly how I felt. Anyway, her brother's booty call hadn't arrived that night, which was why he was out with us anyway. It was clear that he would probably just be after something female with two legs and a pulse to fulfil his unmet expectations.

At the end of the night, I wanted to drive home. It was 4.30 AM, I would have been fine to drive, but both convinced me to stay and I said that was fine, as long as I could split in a few hours. So that was fine, until.....

The brother tried it on with me. I have too much dignity for that. To me, that's undignified. I understand some people do these things and that is fine for them, but for the product of a Catholic girls' high school education, it wasn't going to happen. But then I get a text. 'If you are doing what I think you are then I hope it is worth it because we are no longer friends'.

Now, how is this in any way fair? If I made that choice to hook up with him why is it her business? How does it hurt her? If he liked me and she felt like I was taking him away from her, well I suppose I can understand, but I wouldn't be supportive of that argument either. Selfishness would in that case be getting in the way of two people's happiness and that is plain unfair, but to him I was just a possibility of him fulfilling his expectations of that night, which had been quashed by the girl who didn't front. And now the situation is ridiculous, I don't know what he told her and I don't know if we are still friends. As I alluded to earlier, the situation plain stinks.

Which brings me to the final story for this entry- last night.

STORY #3: Why sluts ruin romance.

I was at Carlton Bar. Nice establishment. Lots of stuffed dead animals on the walls and some dedicated patrons sporting fur coats so as to blend in. Anyway, my friend and I meet a young version of Rod Steward and the doppelganger of, in her words, the guy from Good Charlotte. Blonde gets the blonde, brunette gets the brunette. Them is the rules. This is fine, they have accents so at least if something happens I have something to tick off a list somewhere, even if I'm not into Rod Stewart.

So, these English boys are UNHCR workers- the ones with the clipboards that annoy you on street corners. Seriously, I have the perfect friend to set up with the one who's eyes are on me. (She LOVES Rod Stewart AND accents AND the UN stuff I think she would love too) OK back off the tangent. So, Rod and I converse about different football codes, my dislike for Australian celebrities and Take That and his displeasure of Australia's cocaine quality (WTF??) This guy doesn't even ask my name, so he is reminding me of Anton already, thinking that for having an accent, his 'reward' should be a quickie somewhere outside. (I have news for you- EVERYONE has an accent. It's not a talent. It's not anything special. It just is, try something else, mate). But rather than the alleyway outside The Elephant and Wheelbarrow that Anton was knocked back in, Rod wants to do it in the car after I hypothetically drive him home AFTER the soccer game. Now, I mention all this even though I know my sister is reading this, red eared. And I write it with absolute confidence because NOTHING was ever going to happen. I mean- Is romance really a dying breed?

And this concludes my weekend of 'nothingness'. 'Dignity' maintained, crush..... slowly dying yet sadly maintained. Friendships...... well maybe they haven't been maintained. But as for this notion of 'dignity' and that of 'romance'. Many may say- Why is it important? And I'll tell you why. We have faces and names for a reason. We have personalities and thoughts and we are important to our friends and our families. When we die, people miss us. Therefore, we are not just objects. I mean, it is up to anyone to CHOOSE to be an object, but I have a difficult time objectifying myself because I have respect for myself. So, if a guy doesn't even ask my name or attempts to use me to satisfy his failed booty call, I pity him. He needs to solicit the services of a 'massage parlour' or a St Kilda street corner NOT expect that he will get his wish without putting in a little ground work first. And the girls out there without this 'dignity', have you ever thought of making a career out of it? If you did, maybe you'd end up rich and so would we. Rich because romance would return and the world would be a happier place.