Now that I’ve escaped the jungle, I am very gently easing out of my monk-like lifestyle and am fraternizing with the fairer sex once again.
To the one reader who knows which part of that sentence is a lie, yup, fair enough.
Anyway, it is not going well. It never goes well. Dating is awful and I think I know why.
Girls LOVE LOVE LOVE dating. It gives them a captive audience to unleash all their head-fucking drama upon some poor victim, even if only for an hour before he flees in disgust. And that’s not including all the wonderful drama-producing opportunities of the planning of that date, the last-minute doubts and changes of plans, the ‘can I bring my sister?’, the coming 30 minutes late and asking over and over, are you mad? You’re not mad, are you? I can tell you’re mad! Because she want you to be mad and have a big fuss over it – that was the whole point. Peace is a vacuum which women seek to fill with drama, themselves the vortex of attention at the centre of it.
Sex is fine. Like Delicious Tacos, these days I have no great trouble just finding a girl to take home. The thing is, I’m now getting sick of that life and would prefer to just have girlfriend. Even a long term girlfriend. I’m forty years old – I don’t want to still be trawling FilippinoCupid at sixty.
But as Tacos is finding, it is very hard to find a girl who is suitable for anything more serious than a quick fling. Things are rough out there.
I haven’t been dating for the last week though, because I’ve been suffering from dengue fever. I was unable to eat and shat out everything instantly anyway, yet for some reason I still have my pot belly while all of my tiny musculature has been cannibalized by my vital organs to make up for this calorie deficit. Come on white supremacists, are these really the genes you want passed on? Barack Obama is a Superman compared to me, manboobs and all.
In a moment of lethargy and confusion I put on the television for the first time in more than a year, and I found a channel that only has 80s and 90s shows on. So here I am, in a small city in the Philippines, fevered and alone, watching Night Rider.
80s girls were pretty hot. Just look at the extras.
But now I’m recovering and thinking again about what to do regarding these ladies.
For starters, any available girl no longer a teenager is already going to be a single mother. I briefly dated a 23-year-old with two kids. Things were great, she said dad had custody, we went on one of those dates that moves from the cafe to the beach to a restaurant/bar where she sang karaoke and she’s a singer in a band so she’s pretty good, she keeps looking over at me as she sings the romantic bits and giggles shyly and looks away – she even pretends to blush! – and the old expats there are gawking at her like Captain Obvious and giving me admiring looks even though I’m a weedy, socially-challenged twerp, she keeps telling me how the waitresses are saying I’m handsome and she’s talking about local places she wants to go with me in the future, and after a beer or two I would have been ready to fall in love with her if not for that deep-rooted cynicism that my beloved reader has come to know and love.
I thought, she’s all over me tonight but by tomorrow I might be less than nothing in her eye. I’ve seen it before so many times that this echoes in my mind like the slave employed to whisper in the ear of the returning Roman general during his Triumph through the city: ‘Fame is fleeting’.
So we went home, she claimed to finish three times, and by daybreak she was joking about how she liked morning sex then pushing me away with haha not really, and by breakfast was giving me grief because I said no to hanging out with her and her family all day. I liked her and wanted to see her again, but I made it clear that meeting family would happen later on.
As she rode of in the trike I waved goodbye and she poked her tongue out at me. Not in a cute way – she was just really angry.
There was more communication between us, but whenever we moved towards actually meeting she’d maintain radio silence for a consistent two hours before announcing that actually she had her daughter or was with a cousin or something. Smelling the coffee, after less than I week I politely released her by saying clearly she doesn’t have enough time for the relationship or some rubbish like that.
Then she started stalking me across several platforms and still is. Doesn’t want to meet or actually shag, but can’t live without the drama that I might provide. Like how a cat doesn’t want the injured mouse it’s playing with to die.
Oh, and she insisted on wearing my t-shirt home as some kind of slut memento the one time we met, and I knew at the time it was a kind of anchor that she would use to get back into my life once she’d made herself insufferable.
I told her to keep it.
So I dated another girl, 24yo single mother. Her parents look after her son and she seems to have little interest in him – she lives with her aunt because at home her brothers boss her around. No mention of the kid or whether she misses him. I quickly decided she’d only be good for a bit of fun, and she was.
She said she was free so I told her how to get to my new place, but six minutes after saying she was free she said her tummy hurt and she would message later when it felt better.
Some time later she said she’d come over anyway, even if she wasn’t feeling totally better, but then after a ridiculous back-and-forth in painstaking detail about how to get to my new place, she just didn’t show up. I was getting sick myself by that stage so I didn’t mind too much, but a few hours later I asked her where she was and yup, she’d never left home because she had a tummy ache.
I asked her several times why she hadn’t troubled herself to message me about this change of plans but of course I got no clear answer. She doesn’t know herself, but you and I do: drama. She wanted me to worry and then call her, so she could know I was thinking about her and then she could whine about how sick she was and get sympathy from me, all without getting my dick the slightest bit wet. This is the dance of love: it’s a computer game where girls get points for drama and attention but lose them for giving away sex, while the reverse holds for men.
So fuck her off. It was only after I got over my fever and re-read these messages that I realized how much bullshit she was giving me. She’s still messaging me, but by now I realize that this is a retarded bait-and-switch operation, though she does not consciously know it herself: she’s trying to arrange another meeting so that she can cancel it or not show up. She can’t help it, nor can she understand it. In her mind, she really will suddenly feel sick or honestly forget about it or have to respond to some emergency of her cousin’s. It is like women are another, not entirely self-aware, species. This is not one of my usual throw-away comments that I snark for laughs. That is what I really think: most women have no insight into their own actions and thought processes. They can be rational in certain situations, i.e. in their profession, but when it comes to relationships their feelz take over and their rational capabilities are safely locked away for the duration.
I’ve got other girls I’m in touch with and I guess I’ll meet some of them, and a few are actually employed and meet the half-plus-seven rule, but I’m extremely cynical about this whole dating business.
I’m starting to think, there are no girls around these days worthy of a long-term relationship, let alone marriage. I do not base this on the last two bimbos, but on the entirety of my dating history. If like me you have high standards for behaviour and virtue, there’s not much out there. Every girl has a deep-seated need to play stupid mind games, she has had affairs with bosses, criminals and married men, is obsessed with her smartphone, and cannot be treated with kindness at any point or she will lash out in contempt.
Game can only help so much. Let the dread slip for a nanosecond and watch the claws come out and rip your face to shreds. When Rollo’s wife leaves him you’ll believe me.
I also base this dark view upon my perception of other people’s relationships. Their wives and girlfriends do things that would drive me mad and make me leave in a heartbeat, but they can’t because their kids and/or their low self worth leaves them stuck.
Went over to my mate’s house on his day off after having survived my African ordeal – I was a bit shell-shocked but delighted to see him and his kid again, now that it was all over. He suggested staying for dinner and I said sure, but then wifey-poo messaged and said no because she’d had a hard day at work.
She ‘said no’, to one of her husband’s oldest friends hanging around for one evening after returning from a long, stressful and dangerous situation, before he heads off overseas again. Apparently seeing me once a year is one time too many.
She’d had a ‘hard day’ – she only works two days a week.
And there’s the guy whose wife refuses to shag him or talk to him about any important issue. Or the wife who makes her husband do all the childcare even though he has huge work responsibilities while she works part time.
To the single women out there: this is why no one wants to marry you. I know you are unable to see it in your forebrain and think it is totally incorrect, but your profound, underlying desire is to make a man’s life a misery. You would be ingenious about doing this without even realizing that you were doing it.
The only relationships that I’ve seen work, somewhat, is where the woman is utterly dependent upon the man for her basic material needs, and where the man is able to [redacted].
Face it, Nikolai: I am too unforgiving to form a serious relationship anymore. Mates, sure. I can do friendships in limited quantities. I can even be friends with women. But I can no longer have a romantic relationship with a woman. They are so shocked and disbelieving when I break up with them the very first time they go crazy – this, I suppose, is what they mean when they accuse men of being afraid to commit. For me it is just intolerance of the acts of stupidity and trouble-making that their instinct drives them to commit.
I guess I’ll just be a pants man for maybe 15 more years, and save up a pussy fund for after that.
Oh, have I updated you on my general situation? I can’t remember. Having thought it over and talked with Blokes Who Would Know, it seems I don’t quite have enough money to fully bludge and am not psychologically suited to such a life in any case. So after a nice break I’ll go back to work for a few more years, something in a chilled location, and then maybe have another go at leisure mode once I’m a bit older.
Maybe it’s just the dengue fever talking, but I find my life just as empty and absurd as you do. Risking life and freedom in Africa, shagging my way around Asia . . . what is it for? Your entertainment? I don’t think it entertains you lot enough to justify the price that I pay.
I don’t know what I want. Nothing makes me sustainably happy – I just get little sugar hits here and there from girls and trips to the beach. I get satisfaction from my writing but it is not good enough to be a raison d’etre – it’s just a hobby. The main benefit of work is not money, it is keeping me busy and my mind off the emptiness and loneliness of my life.
Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m going to call a couple of people who know how to cheer me up, and tomorrow I’ll be fine. Life is not an endless Aimee Mann song. But that is how things are today.