Friday, September 28, 2007

A Letter to All the Lonely Numbers

Dear all you marked single, swinger, cod, or skirt,

After about 3 solid months in the ones column (but really, if you break it down it's been a little longer), I finally came to this little revelation today, and I'd like to pass it along to anyone who wants to agree or disagree with it. This might be common knowledge that I'm just discovering, so please excuse my naivety, as I'm fairly new to this whole confidence game.

Many things happened over the last month and a half which have brought me to this idea of mine. Definitely the most prominent was/are the antics of a little fucking douchebag creep giving out single servings of "hickeys" to ex-girlfriends...but let's not dwell on that nonsense, because like my mugging a couple months ago, the happenings have ended up helping, not hurting.

Okay, okay, enough prologue, let's get to the point. The dance floor (by dance floor I mean singles scene, but dance floor sounds cooler) is a peculiar and sexy temptress. On one hand, you've got to suck up your belly, pride, and confidence all at once and initiate conversation with a person you don't even know. First impressions are a cold hard bitch, so the first step ain't the easiest by a long shot. But then once you do get past the inaugural "hello," it's time to start getting sized up. You start juggling, and this person you introduced yourself to is seeing just what kinds of objects you can keep in the air. "Okay, he can handle tennis balls, so let's try throwing a pirate sword into the mix." "Okay, he handled the pirate sword with some dry wit and then casual touched my shoulder, so let's throw a live porcupine in the air and see how he handles that." And that's the way the dance begins. Every. Single. Time.

So by now, either you've dropped a few items and ran off stage, or you've kept everything in the air and basically said "Listen, I'm obviously an amazing performer, so let's get casual, okay?" You buy them a drink. You get into it. And here's the next roadblock. My friend, who is not me but has the same mother as me and is not my sister, thinks a nice girl is going to be turned off by his personality, once he reveals the real brother deep down. And to that I say horse puckey! My main argument comes in here: if you think they're going to judge you for who you are, why don't you just fire right back and judge them for who they are not.
Example: I am now quite comfortable going out on a Saturday night wearing a t-shirt, jeans, my shit hot air force ones, and maybe a little scruff on my face. And when I'm out and I've knocked out the first two steps on the dance floor, I'm going to highlight the fact that I frequently enjoy comic books, I watch dangerously high doses of TV, have an intense obsession with food, or will kiss Deric on the face if it gets a laugh. And I don't care who laughs, as long as somebody does. And if she has a problem with anything you happen to mention about yourself, you're the not one with a problem. Why doesn't she like comic books? Because they're nerdy? Nope. Certain comics are awesome. I'm not at the comic store every Wednesday picking up the new X-Men or what-have-you, but I do enjoy an issue of Scud, the Goon, or the latest Doug TenNapel every now and again. Or how about TV? I'm a huge fan of the show Angel. Why? Because it's a great fucking show, end of explanation. What does she read? What does she watch? Is she funny, or just good looking? Because looks ain't looks without a sense of humor. And in my book, looks don't exist without a sense of humor.

So instead of "categories" of people -- "frat boys" "wallflowers" "geeks" "dweebs" "motorheads" "assholes" "dickheads" "sluts" "prudes" "waifs" "cockblockers" "annoying friends" -- let's start implementing "individualities." Yes, this is sort of "everybody is a unique snowflake," but not really. Because you will meet people who are similar. Who are unoriginal. Who are dull, boring, rude, smug, shitty. But how does that shittiness bounce off of you? Maybe you're a little shitty yourself. There is no ideal candidate for your ballot. It's politics, but right now, everybody should get 1% of the vote. If you even vote at all. Everyone's in the race, and your vote can go in any direction, because there's plenty of time until the polls open.

I've battled self-esteem issues pretty much nonstop since the 8th grade. (What's up 'injury to my happy place'?) Didn't get laid in high school. Always wore other people's nicer clothes when I went out during college. Spent 5 years with a girl who, at the end, told me she was no longer physically attracted to me, but wanted to stay together because she loved me (I'm sorry, was that more an insult or compliment. Maybe it was an implement. A knife to my brain, heart, and crotch at the same time.) So the whole confidence racket has been a tough one for me to break into. But I think I'm there, thanks in no small part to Deric's lucky red shoes, but also to the fact that I'm going to be me, and if you don't like me, you can fuck right off. The Hauzes are awesome. Some say we're cursed...but maybe it's our own fault for growing up with a black cat. Fucking Phoebe, always doing something to fuck us over. But seriously, there is no curse, and there is no raised bar that you have to meet. It's the dance floor and people are dancing.

You are you and you need to be you. "She won't like me because I'm an asshole." So go out and find an asshole who will give it right back to you. "I'm not attractive." No you're not, you're just not comfortable in your shoes. Get more comfortable shoes. "I've got no game." There is no game. I tried to get game once, and I was told I didn't have it. So instead, I started acting like myself. And surprise, it's working. "I'm too fucked up for someone to be able to handle me." Yeah, that's probably right. But they're fucked up too. Don't you realize that yet? Everybody is fucked up. There are wars fought everyday over what mythical ghost people think everyone should believe in. Shows like Arrested Development and Firefly get cancelled, while shows like According to Jim and Two and a Half Men are now in syndication, their creators now very rich. Family members are estranged. Soulmates don't end up together. Verizon is always going to find a way to fuck you out of money. Hickeys are annoying whether they are on your neck or inside your ex-girlfriend. Fallout Boy is going to continue to exist. Things are fucked up everywhere. What makes you think people aren't the same? People is where fuckups come from. It's a vicious cause & effect world. You want to lock yourself in your room for a month, but then how are you going to pay rent? Shit's tough, so man up.

Fuck the Secret. Fuck the Game. Fuck any rules about the dance floor you've been told. Confidence is you. And I'm not going to write a book about it. In fact, this blog's a little too long, and if you're still reading, then do this: put on the comfortable shoes and get the fuck out there. Because it's a great fucking time. And even if things don't go in the optimum direction, you'll still have food and TV waiting for you at the end of the day, and two out of three ain't bad.


Lisa said...

:-) Okay, new favorite post.

Seriously, thanks Brett. That's awesome. Especially after a night of thinking the only guys who will give me the time of day at some bar/club place are strange, sketchy, heavily-accented guys from Yugoslavia, Albania, Germany, or Canada. (That was tonight. And yes I said Canada.) Blah sometimes I hate the singles scene. It's impossible.

Anyway, you're amazing and so is your blog - and so is this post. It makes me want to give you my number. ;-) Yay for being yourself.

Brett... said...

Canada, eh? Where were you drinking last night, the UN?

Lisa said...

Yeah that's what I was wondering too! Apparently Tonic is the hotspot for sketchy europeans... and canada. Yikes.

sheila said...

i really liked you and i rarely like anyone...i didnt even notice your shoes...

Brett... said...

Ahh...yeah, but its my blog so I feel the need to rant every once and a while. And my friend who's not me and has the same mother is my brother...just to clarify. This blog ain't really about me. Although the red shoes I stole from Deric are pretty slick.

JJ Banks said...

i hate to dance, and dancing hates me...but i love the dancefloor. cheerio.