2220: Evasive Action

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“What’s the most significant secret you’ve ever kept? Did the truth ever come out?”
Daily Post, February 17, 2016

To be honest, I don’t have all that many secrets. I spew most of the things that many people might keep private on this blog most days, as I figured out a while back that keeping secrets from people is a sure-fire way to lead to mistrust and awkwardness.

As such, I have to look back to my past to ponder the subject of secrets. And, I have to say, even then, I didn’t have that many in the way of significant secrets. For the teenaged me, though, no secret was more sacred than who I fancied at any given moment.

Deciding I liked someone always felt like a significant moment when I was young. It was always a conscious decision, and there was always some sort of stimulus that triggered previously dormant feelings of attraction and affection towards someone. I’ve never been someone who was solely attracted to others based on physical appearance; even as a teenager, I could appreciate how aesthetically pleasing someone might be, but I would never consider myself to like them until I had some idea of what kind of person they were.

I didn’t need to know a lot about them, mind; being shy and socially awkward from a young age, a member of the opposite sex giving me the time of day and actually talking to me without being obviously repulsed by my bad hair, bad skin and periodic outbreaks of zits was usually enough to trigger a feeling in the pit of my stomach that was both delicious and uncomfortable; I tended to think of it as the old cliche “butterflies in the stomach”, and while there was not one single instance while I was still a teenager where my feelings were requited — my first girlfriend was more a case of circumstance rather than prior attraction, but perhaps more on that another time — I secretly rather enjoyed the feeling of liking someone from afar.

This would lead to internal conflict. My feelings towards that week/month’s object of affection would grow and grow, but with them being a sacred secret to me, I wouldn’t breathe a word about them to anyone, because I’d got into my head that if anyone found out that I liked them, they’d immediately and automatically start hating me. On the few occasions where I did successfully pluck up the courage to admit to someone that I liked them “that way”, not one of them automatically started hating me, which was always a pleasant surprise, but it didn’t stop me feeling that way until… well, perhaps not ever. I’m quite insecure.

Anyway. Eventually those feelings would reach boiling point and despite them being a sacred secret, I’d have to tell someone. Not the person in question though, of course, absolutely not. No, I’d usually tell one of my friends, who would then, usually, proceed to either immediately tell the person in question or, more commonly, hijack one of my school exercise books and scrawl the name of my desired paramour across the middle pages in rather ornate, artistic text. On one particularly memorable occasion the book was returned to me with the name in question actually painted with watercolours, which I thought was rather more effort than warranted by the news that I, once again, fancied that girl I sat next to in orchestra who played the clarinet with me. Perhaps it was my friends’ own peculiar way of demonstrating their affection and support for my numerous doomed, unrequited loves.

Regardless, though, that sort of thing makes up the majority of what I’d consider to be significant secrets in my life to date. I’m not sure if I should be pleased I haven’t felt the need to keep many things secret, or a little despondent at the fact I apparently live quite a boring life…

2031: Delayed Contact

How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?

WordPress Daily Post, August 12, 2015

This is an interesting question! What it’s really asking, I guess, is how I’ve changed over the years. And I’m certainly not going to deny that I’ve changed over the years — in some ways for the better, in other ways for the worse.

Let’s consider the “big things” first. The first thing I’d want to address is my depression and anxiety. As anyone who has had a depressed or anxious friend will know, we can be a handful: prone to bouts of irrational emotion, having a tendency to back out of appointments and commitments because we’re not feeling up to dealing with people, in some cases full of seething rage or unbearable grief at nothing in particular, which is difficult for anyone not living it to truly understand.

Now, I address this because I tend to think of my depression and anxiety as a “recent” thing, though on reflection it’s something I’ve clearly been carrying around with me for a lot longer than I might have initially thought. It probably stretches all the way back to primary school, to be honest, when I was, yes, full of seething rage at nothing in particular and would often get into trouble at lunchtimes and breaktimes for the 10 year old equivalent of casting “Provoke” on a dinner lady or school bully.

Actually, to say said seething rage was at nothing in particular isn’t quite accurate. It was something of a vicious cycle. I wasn’t comfortable in who I was, and kids being kids would pick on me, sensing weakness. I’d then be upset — particularly when, as often happened, my friends abandoned me and sided with the “cool” kids (who were often also the bullies of the playground) rather than with me.

But this isn’t specifically about my history with depression, it’s about whether people I’ve known for a long time would get along with me — or if I’d get along with them — if we happened to meet for the first time today. And the depression and anxiety side of things is interesting to consider; these days, I’m a lot more open and honest about talking about it in most circumstances — sometimes needing a bit of a prompt or leading question — whereas in my childhood and adolescence, when, in retrospect, I was clearly suffering from both of these issues, I didn’t recognise them for what they were and consequently didn’t know how to deal with them. My first girlfriend even left me because she “couldn’t take my moods” — though she did also cheat on me at the school prom, so fuck her, basically.

I digress, but the point, I guess, is that anyone I met for the first time now would have to be able to deal with someone who is aware of their own mental defects, be willing to support them when necessary and be willing to leave them the fuck alone when they need to be alone.

Now, onto other matters also worthy of consideration. Let’s keep things self-deprecating and consider my personal appearance. At school I was fairly unremarkable-looking, though I had terrible hair (still do), bad skin (still do) and zits (thankfully long gone). I felt like I was a bit fat at school compared to some of my friends, but looking back at some old photographs, I really, really wasn’t. I steadily gained weight over the course of my time at university and beyond until I got to the point where I was so uncomfortable I needed to do something about it — hence my joining Slimming World back in February. (As of tonight, I’ve lost 4.5 stone in total, incidentally.)

Let’s be realistic: people judge each other on appearances, like it or not, and six months ago I was absolutely ashamed of my appearance. I didn’t like going out because people would see me; I didn’t like walking past windows because I could catch a glimpse of myself; I didn’t like wearing any of my clothes because none of them really fit properly any more; and mirrors, well, no. Just no. I’ve always had something of a lack of self-confidence — again, this can be traced in part back to my school days; at primary school I was taunted on a daily basis for having “big ears”, while at secondary school the aforementioned crap hair, bad skin and zits were picked on — but this was the absolute lowest point I’ve ever been.

Today, though, some 4.5 stone lighter, I know I still have some way to go, but I’m much more comfortable in myself and, when depression and anxiety aren’t laying me low, I can actually notice myself being more open, confident and less embarrassed to be myself. Just yesterday I successfully made some small talk with the store clerk in Game when I was buying Splatoon and didn’t come away from the experience thinking “they hate me” or “they think I’m disgusting”, which are things I’d thought following a passing interaction in the past. And while this may not sound like much, with everything I deal with in my head, this felt like a noticeable and significant victory, and worth celebrating.

I’m conscious I’m talking generally while the question implies I should be thinking about specific people, but I feel these points are relevant; self-confidence is something that is important in your interactions with anyone, and while I’m certainly not in a position where I’d call myself “confident” or “outgoing” — I’m still an introvert at heart — I am in a position now where yes, I feel like I could meet someone new, have a conversation with them and not make them never want to see me ever again.

Finally, then, there’s the matter of changing interests. My interests actually haven’t changed all that significantly over the years; I’ve always been into video games, board games, computers, music, reading and writing. Perhaps the biggest change is in the “subgenres” of certain aspects, specifically my enjoyment of Japanese games, anime and other popular media. As many of you will know, a lot of this sort of thing is enormously polarising and very much an acquired taste, so if there’s anywhere I think I’d struggle with if I were meeting an old friend for the first time today, it’d be with regard to these niche interests, and particularly a lot of the mainstream popular assumptions about what people who like that sort of thing are into. (That’s a rant for another day, of course.)

There are people I’ve drifted away from due to diverging interests. There are also new friends I’ve made as a result of these diverging interests, that happen to converge in different places. That’s how life goes; as much as we’d like to believe certain things last forever, sometimes we move on, we grow, we change, we become different people.

Ultimately I like to believe that I’m a decent person, and that anyone I’ve known for a long time I’d be able to at least get along with today. We became friends for a reason, after all, and in many cases friendships are struck up over that simple, indescribable “click” you get when you start interacting and realise that the person you’re talking to is someone absolutely on your wavelength. It’s difficult (though, sadly, not impossible) to get rid of that “click” once you’ve had it, and so, to finally answer the original question: I do think I’d get along with people I’ve known for a long time if I only met them for the first time today. Our relationship might develop differently to how it did in reality, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing; true friendships allow you to get along regardless of circumstances and regardless of differences.

1080: How These Endless “Friendzone” Rants Make Me Feel

Page_1 Good morning. Today another article about “nice guys” and the concept of the “friendzone” appeared. Here it is.

Today I would like to talk about how this article made me feel.

It made me angry, and it made me want to cry.

Why? Not because I am the sort of person who exhibits those behaviours — I certainly do not expect women I am friends with to immediately jump into bed with me, particularly because I’m now in a committed, loving relationship with someone who is super-awesome — but because I recognise some of the things being described, and the fact that they are being twisted, generalised and used as a means of shaming people feels like a punch in the gut.

I don’t normally talk about this stuff because it’s embarrassing and difficult to talk about, but I am going to make an exception for today as a means of making my point. This article made me feel like absolute fucking shit, even though I know it was not about me. I am going to talk about my past relationships and how they came to be, though naturally I will omit names and personally-identifying details.

Some context for those who are newcomers to this blog or don’t know me very well: I suffer a pretty strong degree of social anxiety, and have done since an early age. I feel enormously uncomfortable when around strangers, clam up completely when faced with the prospect of making small talk, and even, at times, find it difficult to talk to my own friends or relations.

As you might expect, these circumstances are not ideal for getting together with someone. Consequently, even as all my peers around me at school were getting into relationships, going out with people, having sex and bragging about all of the above, I was left constantly frustrated and bewildered. My already-active imagination would picture what it might be like to be in a relationship with someone — note: relationship, not simply having sex — and I’d even go so far as to imagine how those conversations might go in great detail. One of the diaries I kept as a teenager included numerous fantasy scenarios of how I might get a girl I liked to talk to me, and how I might express my feelings. Sex did not enter into this at all — I simply wanted to be with that person. (I’m aware writing fantasy conversations in itself is creepy, but I was ashamed of these entries the moment I wrote them, and inevitably ended up throwing them away immediately.)

The fact I overthought these things meant, inevitably, that I never did anything about them, and I was always absolutely mortified any time a friend of mine would tell the girl in question that I liked them. I hated myself — you can thank near-constant bullying through primary school and a fair proportion of secondary school for that — and thought that the girl discovering that I liked her “in that way” would cause her to immediately hate me because I was certain that no-one would ever want to be with me. (This never happened, of course, but it’s the way my mind worked, and to a certain extent still does.)

Fast-forward a bit, and I got into my first relationship during a school production. I had got very close to a female friend of mine, and after the fact I learned that most of my friends were expecting us to get together as part of the production. However, what actually happened was that she set me up with a friend of a friend whom I didn’t know very well and didn’t particularly fancy. I’m not particularly proud of saying this, but I entered into that relationship because I was worried no-one else would be interested in me, and I wouldn’t get another chance. (I was young. And stupid. And suffering from what I now recognise to be mental health issues.)

As it turned out, said relationship grew quite nicely over time, and I realised I actually did quite like this girl — I just didn’t know her that well before we were pushed together. We did a lot together, I got on well with the rest of her family and it was all looking good.

We never had sex, though. I remember vividly “missing my chance” on this. We were sitting in her bedroom one day fooling around, and she mumbled something to me. I couldn’t make out the words because she was embarrassed to say them out loud. In retrospect, it was obvious that she was saying “I really, really want to make love to you” but I was too scared to make assumptions — too wrapped up in my own self-loathing to believe that anyone would ever want to have sex with me. I asked her what she said, and to say it more clearly. She wouldn’t. The moment passed.

A couple of months later, it was our school prom. We went together. We did not leave together, because she cheated on me on the dance floor with a guy she is now married to. Good on her, I guess.

My only other relationship at school was one which lasted from Monday to Friday of one week, during which time I saw my paramour precisely once and kissed her once before she decided at the end of the week that actually, she didn’t want to go out with me after all, and that we should go back to being friends again. Once again, sex did not enter the equation. The fact that our relationship began at a recording of Songs of Praise may have had something to do with that. (I swear I am not making that part up.)

Fast forward to university. Early in my student career, I met someone who seemed perfect for me. We spent a ton of time together. She was constantly in my room, she was into the things I was into and we had a great time together. I knew very early in our relationship that she was someone I wanted in my life. I was attracted to her, I liked the person she was and I wanted her around as much as possible.

I said nothing. Because I was too scared. Because I hated myself. Because I thought she would hate me and think I was some sort of disgusting pervert if I said anything. Consequently, she got together with someone else, who I spent a healthy proportion of time absolutely despising as a result. (Said person is now, paradoxically, one of my closest friends. Funny how things work out.)

I liked a couple of other people at university. I even went to the effort of sending a secret Valentine to one, complete with a cuddly toy and some truly dreadful poetry. (I am never writing poetry again.) She immediately knew it was me and let me down gently. I left it at that and we continued being the friends we were before. Again, sex didn’t enter into the equation. I just liked this person and wanted to be with them.

My next girlfriend at university was someone I got together with at a Christmas meal for one of the groups I was a member of. I’d never met her prior to that night, but we hit it off and were in each other’s arms by the end of the night. Neither of us were the one-night stand types, though, so we went our separate ways at the end of the evening and arranged to meet up again. We went out a few times, but she dumped me after I bought her a Christmas present because it made her feel “weird”. That made me feel weird.

We subsequently met up again later a few times and went out, but we eventually lost contact. To this day, I’m still not entirely sure quite what went on there, and if I could have done things anything differently. Ships in the night and all that.

I could go on, but we’d be hitting a bit close to home if I started talking about some of these other relationships. What I wanted to (hopefully) make clear by sharing some of these things is that in many cases, a dude making friends with a girl and complaining of not being able to take things any further is not always a case of “putting in kindness coins and expecting sex to fall out”, as runs the phrase I’ve seen numerous times recently. In many cases, it is a simple case of the dude in question not knowing how to express that he would like to take things any further. In more cases than one, you can probably see that I blew my chances with someone largely as a result of my own crippling self-loathing and lack of confidence.

I have had a number of situations in my life that fall into the “friendzone” category by popular definition, and I’m fully aware they’re my own fault for not expressing myself properly. But it’s not a case of being a creeper, or of expecting a woman to provide me sexual gratification in exchange for my kindness — in every single fucking case I wanted an actual relationship with that person; because I wanted to be with them; because I wanted to share my life with them; because I felt we understood each other. It was not because I expected them to have sex with me. It was not because I wanted to have sex with them. I didn’t express myself because I was too fucking terrified to say anything to them, because I was too fucking terrified that they would run away from me screaming if they thought I was a creep who was leching after them.

You see, herein lies my problem with articles like the one I shared at the start of this post. They are gross generalisations. There are men out there who don’t know when to quit. There are men out there who have unreasonable expectations of women. There are men out there who see women purely as sex objects there for their own gratification.

I am not one of them.

But every time I read one of these endless fucking “friendzone” articles that uses a lot of words to say almost nothing we haven’t seen a hundred times already, I feel like shit. I feel like a creep. I feel like a piece of sub-human scum. Why? Because I recognise some of the situations being described. I have been in some of the situations described. And yet, apparently, the following quote from the above article is universally How It Is:

Here’s the hard truth, Friendzone. You’re not a nice guy. You are a gutless, pathetic, sad, horny little worm who’s too afraid of rejection to just tell a woman how you really feel.

Yes. Yes I am. Yes, I am a gutless, pathetic, sad, horny little worm who is too afraid of rejection to tell a woman how I really feel. Do you know why I am afraid of rejection? Because I hate myself. Because the early part of my life was spent with people reinforcing my own self-hatred through near-constant bullying and harassment. Though those days may be long gone, the mental scars remain. And every time you say shit like the above, even though it may not be intended to be about me specifically, I take it personally. And it hurts. And it makes me angry. And it makes me want to cry.

It hurts even more when you make the assumption that I am afraid of rejection purely because I want sex. As I have hopefully outlined above, in every single case I was the one who wanted an actual relationship but found myself unable to express it properly. I’m pretty sure I can’t be the only person in the world who feels like this, so every time you publicly shame “friendzone guys” like this, you run the risk of doing some very real damage to what is probably already a very fragile sense of self-esteem and self-worth for those people you have inadvertently and inconsiderately lumped in to your catch-all descriptions. While you may cause some of the creepers to re-evaluate their behaviour and start behaving in a less misogynistic manner — though personally I feel it is unlikely that they will read anything like the article above and take it to heart — you’re just as likely to make people who already lack confidence to never ever want to put themselves out there. (Those are the people who will read the articles.)

I am very fortunate in that after my last relationship — which led to marriage — fell apart and nearly destroyed me completely, I found someone who loves me for who I am, respects me and is a good match for me. Not everyone is so lucky. If I were still alone right now, I don’t want to think about how awful I’d be feeling. Fortunately, instead I find myself on the way back up from the bottom rather than slowly sliding into the abyss.

So just fucking stop it with the “friendzone” and “nice guy” articles. Please. We get it.

(As an aside, I would like to stop writing about this now because I know it’s probably quite tiresome to read. But in this instance I felt it important to respond to the article linked above. I will return to writing about something more entertaining tomorrow. Hopefully. None of you die or anything in the next 24 hours.)

#oneaday Day 948: Please Find Another Term for “Nice Guys”

I had a lengthy discussion with a couple of people on Twitter earlier regarding the term “Nice Guy” and the negative connotations it appears to have picked up recently.

For the uninitiated, the term “Nice Guy” (with caps) refers to the sort of creep who hangs around women in an attempt to get into their pants simply by trying to make himself the “default” choice. He does his best to worm his way into their life and make himself available, and doesn’t take no for an answer, instead preferring to guilt-trip his targets and complain to anyone who will listen about being “friend-zoned”.

Now, I won’t lie; I’ve used the term “friend zone” before (usually jokingly) and, when single, have got depressed that certain women whom I liked and was spending a lot of time with didn’t seem to reciprocate my feelings. Or, to be frank, in most cases didn’t know about my feelings at all. Because I didn’t tell them. Because I am a nervous wreck in even the most mundane of social situations at times, let alone a high-pressure one like confessing that you like someone. If I had been turned down, I would have left it at that. (And in fact, in one case where I did confess my feelings and got turned down, I hit the brakes immediately.)

In short, while I may have, in the past, used some of the terminology or exhibited some of the behaviours of these “Nice Guys”, I am certainly not and have never been a creep. I do not and have never believed, as the wise Mitu Khandaker once said to me when describing this phenomenon, that “if I put in enough Kindness Coins then Sex will fall out”.

I do consider myself a nice guy (no caps), though.

Herein lies the problem I have with this term “Nice Guy” (with caps). It carries with it such baggage that it is no longer possible to refer to yourself or someone else as a “nice guy” (no caps) because of the negative associations with “Nice Guys” (with caps).

See where the confusion is coming from, now?

The thing is, being a person who considers himself (and is often described as) a “nice guy” (no caps) makes me feel like absolute fucking shit any time the “Nice Guy” (with caps) discussion comes up. I know that it’s not about me, I know that I don’t exhibit those behaviours or put women in unsafe or uncomfortable situations, but it still makes me feel like crap. I already lack confidence in personal (not professional) social interactions, especially when meeting new people. I already worry about coming across as a dick, as being boring, as being a creep, and now, with this “Nice Guy” phenomenon and the widespread adoption of “Nice Guy” (with caps) as the accepted terminology, have to worry about whether or not I’m being too nice and coming across as, in the words of my fine friend Campfire Burning (a participant in the discussion from an earlier and another self-professed “nice guy” (no caps)) a “creepy misogynistic would-be or actual rapist or paedophile”.

So please, for the love of all us genuine nice guys (no caps), please please please find another way to describe these creeps. There’s one, in fact. What’s wrong with “creep”? Or “jerk”? Or “terrifying, predatory guy who just won’t leave me alone”? Or “Hello, police, please? Yeah, I’m being stalked.”

I know the reason that people refer to them as “Nice Guys” (with caps) is because they refer to themselves as “Nice Guys” (with caps), but in doing so you’re just reinforcing the stereotype that the words “nice” and “guy” when put together is somehow a bad thing. And it isn’t. Those of us who are nice guys (no caps) are being slammed with the reputation of an unpleasant, undesirable part of society. And that is most certainly Not Okay. So cut it out. Please.

#oneaday Day 698: Congratulations Mr and Mrs Burvill

It was the marriage of my two friends Simon and Jennie today, now to be known as Mr and Mrs Burvill. It was a great wedding and I wish them all the best for their life together ahead of them, especially given today’s surprise announcement that a baby is on the way too. Congratulations to them both.

Attending weddings for me is a bit strange these days. Anyone who has been through the breakdown of a marriage will likely know what I’m talking about. On the one hand, you’re super-happy for your friends making a bold and very public statement about their love for one another. But on the other, you can’t help the odd bit of cynicism creeping into your mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely no doubts in my mind about Simon and Jennie’s marriage. They’re clearly made for each other, and they’re going to make brilliant parents too. I just can’t help making comparisons to my own failed marriage, now mostly a memory left in the past save for the actual legal bits — a process of healing helped immensely by the lovely lady I now live with. Thank you, Andie.

I know the things that went wrong. Blame lay on both sides, despite things I may have written at the time when it was all collapsing around me. But as with so many things, the dubious benefit of hindsight allows you to look a little more objectively at what happened and realise what went wrong. In some cases, it could have been fixed; in others, the end of it all was an inevitable, unavoidable eventuality.

In my own case, there were elements of both. I shan’t get into specifics here, as that’s not fair to Jane, who isn’t here to say things for herself (obviously), and it’s also not something I particularly wish to dwell on in this particular format. Suffice to say that despite the fact the experience of splitting up nearly destroyed me completely, it’s probably for the best that we’re no longer together.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to Jane for my part in the breakdown of our marriage, and I forgive her for her part in it. It’s both our faults, and it’s no-one’s fault at the same time. It’s just something that Wasn’t Meant to Be, and I think in the long run we’re both likely in much better situations than we were in together.

Enough maudlin musing on the past. I have a future to look forward to. While it’s not the rosiest it’s ever been at the moment, things could certainly be much, much worse.

To those who have helped me through difficult times, whether or not you realise it, I thank you.

#oneaday, Day 30: Julia

The Internet is a curious thing, as we all know. It’s given us LOLcats, cakefarts, puddingfarts (so I’m told… I haven’t dared look that one up yet), Twitter, Rickrolling, gayrolling, that kid throwing a WoW-related (fake) strop and jamming a controller up his arse, porn, dancing chicken man, leekspinning and all manner of other things besides.

The other thing it gives you is people.

As a kid at school, I often wondered what it would be like to meet people outside the local community where I lived. I grew up in a small village in the countryside that had a pretty close-knit community. You could probably name most of the local “characters” off the top of your head if you had a good think… largely because pretty much everyone got involved with everything. And, just to add to every country stereotype ever, there was even a semi-regular “village show” which was inevitably filled with middle-aged men and women making jokes that were smutty and/or at the local vicar’s expense. It’s pretty neat to see a close-knit community like that, actually, though I question how much it actually happens these days. It probably does, though I doubt to the same degree.

I remember when the Internet came to town, though. Or, more specifically, in the form of CompuServe, which wasn’t the “proper” Internet—that was a mysterious and difficult thing that no-one quite understood at the time. CompuServe was a window onto the rest of the world; people who were potentially far away that we all had access to for the first time.

CompuServe had one of the earliest chatrooms around—this was so long ago that the term “chat” hadn’t taken on the widespread meaning it had today. No, in keeping with the times (or possibly not), CompuServe elected to call their chatroom facility the “CB Simulator”. You know, because it was like CB radio in that you could talk to random strangers. Only it was completely different because you were just typing things.

I remember “meeting” a few people through this facility, with one in particular springing to mind. Her name was Julia, and she was from somewhere near Manchester. We got chatting and hit it off pretty quickly, and thus began a long campaign of emailing each other back and forth. I can’t remember any of the things we talked about—the usual teenage things, I imagine—but I remember that we were getting on well and it felt like we were pretty “close”.

So eventually, we had the opportunity to meet. She was going to Alton Towers with her friends, and as it happened, my friends and I were planning a similar trip. So we decided to make our trips coincide. I was pretty excited about the whole thing. She’d sent me a couple of (clean!) photos which seem to have managed to travel from computer to computer with me completely unintentionally, and she hadn’t promptly cut off all contact when I sent her a photo of myself looking slightly uncomfortable in a dinner jacket on prom night. Which was a good sign.

I’m not sure what happened. Perhaps it was shyness, perhaps it was the presence of all our other friends “cramping our style”, perhaps it was the fact that one of my friends was hitting on one of her friends (and doing quite well, from what I could tell), perhaps I wasn’t what she’d expected or hoped for (she totally was what I was hoping for, she was a hottie)… but we found it pretty difficult to talk to each other in “real life”. It was weird; we’d told each other lots of things, including plenty of “secrets”, but as soon as we were faced with one another it was suddenly like starting over… and it became a missed opportunity, sadly. We drifted off and lost contact after that. There was no “breakup” or words spoken in anger; things just… “stopped”.

I think about Julia every so often and wonder what she’s doing with her life. I hope she’s happy, wherever she is.

#oneaday, Day 28: He Seems Nice

Fellow #oneadayer @Bungiesgirl wrote an excellent post the other day about “The Curse of Mr Nice Guy“. She hit the nail bang on the head; there are times when it almost seems that it doesn’t pay to be a nice person, for a guy at least.

Thinking about it, I’m not actually sure I’ve ever known anyone who’s used the oft-quoted “I love bad boys” line. But I certainly know a couple of people who have consistently ended up with people who make them miserable when it may be that there is, in fact, someone standing right in front of them who would provide them with what they want out of a relationship. Only, because they’re one of the proverbial “Mr Nice Guys”, they’re not even in the running for that person’s affections. At least, not in the “anything more than friendship” sort of case.

Some people call this “friend-zoning”, where Mr Nice Guy has become too good a friend to even be considered relationship material. I’m not sure where this phenomenon or the term to describe it originally came from, but it happens all the time, and adds an interesting twist to the age-old question of whether or not men and women can possibly be friends with each other without the desire to insert parts of each other into various orifices getting in the way.

The simple answer to said age-old question is, of course “Yes, don’t be silly”. Take stock of your friends for a moment and there’s probably a good balance of both boys and girls there. And there are probably some people of the opposite sex (assuming heterosexuality for the purposes of this argument) that you don’t want to jump at the first opportunity. Even when drunk. The reasons for this could be many; maybe you don’t fancy them, maybe you value your friendship too much, maybe you’ve even had a relationship with them in the past. But the fact is, opposite-sex friendships can and do happen.

It’s when they’re a little lop-sided that difficulties happen, and such is often the case with Mr Nice Guy.

Let’s take a hypothetical situation. Ms Ladygirl is having a tough time of it. Her partner, Mr Wrong, isn’t what she wants, but she doesn’t want to leave him—either she doesn’t want to be alone or she has somehow convinced herself that she “loves” him. She confides in Mr Nice Guy, who 1) fancies her and 2) thinks it’s blindingly obvious that he could do a better job of providing her with happiness, cake and orgasms than Mr Wrong could ever do. Mr Nice Guy, being a decent, upstanding sort of chap, though, also generally does not like to exacerbate situations where emotions run high by throwing his own, possibly unexpected, feelings into the mix. So he listens to Ms Ladygirl, offers her support, takes care of her, holds her hair out of her face when she’s sick, carries her home when she gets wasted and then leaves her to sleep while he walks home to go and have a biiiig wank and cry into his pillow.

It’s a difficult (and, I hasten to add, completely hypothetical) situation. But what should Mr Nice Guy do? If he says nothing, then obviously nothing will happen for him. If he says something, though, Ms Ladygirl may interpret it as a selfish act—”I want you. So get rid of him.”—whereas he in fact meant it more as “You’re not happy. I want to see if I can make you happier than he does.”

Of course, there’s always the chance that Ms Ladygirl would correctly interpret his advances, cast aside Mr Wrong and happily live forever after with Mr Nice Guy. But due to the nature of your average Mr Nice Guy, that doesn’t happen that often.

Which is a pity, really, because Mr Nice Guys, as their name suggests, are in fact very nice guys. They’re not boring, they’re not clingy, they’re not any of the assumptions you might care to make about them. They’re people too; people who like helping others and hope that one day their caring, considerate, compassionate nature will bring them a partner who truly deserves their attention.

So if you’re a Ms Ladygirl and you’re clearly dating a Mr Wrong, I’d strongly urge to to pay attention to those non-spoken, non-obvious telepathic signals that the Mr Nice Guy you inevitably know is highly likely sending you.

Do the guy a favour. Grab him by his lapels and kiss him. Neither of you will regret it.

#oneaday, Day 213: Intensity

There’s an old saying, isn’t there, that claims if you lose the use of one of your senses, the others become much more acute. Having never been blinded, deafened or whatever the equivalent words for losing your senses of taste, smell or touch are, I can’t speak for the truth of this. Although I did have a nasty cold one time that stopped me from being able to smell very much, though a good curry sorted that right out, just in time for me to be able to smell the musty flatulence caused by the not-inconsiderable amount of spices therein.

But there is one sphere where pretty much anyone can get a taste of what this is like. The Internet. When you’re talking to someone on the Internet, you might not be able to see or hear them. You’re certainly not touching them, smelling them or tasting them, unless there’s some exciting new Skype-compatible technology you’re all using that I haven’t heard of yet. But regardless, friendships and relationships form, grow, break, explode, spread, all the things that real relationships and friendships do, in fact.

Except for the fact that the lack of “something”—be it sight, sound, smell, touch or taste—makes everything that much more intense. For many people, cultivating a friendship in “real life” is a drawn-out process that takes some time of getting to know each other, getting a feel for one another, understanding what makes each other tick and so on. This process still happens between people who have met online, but at a vastly accelerated rate. The very nature of communication on the Internet means that responses can be considered more carefully and, assuming you’re an honest person, made more honest than you might feel able to be if you’re sitting in front of someone, their piercing eyes gazing into your soul.

Of course, the opposite’s also true. It’s much, much easier to be a bastard and a liar thanks to the wonder of the Internet. And, in many cases, without consequences. Some people find this fun. But the emotion and the hurt it can cause is just as real as the feelings of friendship, affection, even love that can also be felt in these relationships between people who have never seen each other, in some cases.

On the whole, though, the opportunity to meet and talk to people from all over the world is something which should never be taken for granted, whatever form it comes in. Whether it’s posting on a message board, writing an email, using Twitter, checking out someone’s avatar in Second Life, raiding with guildies in WoW; without the Internet, there’s no way that a whole bunch of these people would be in our lives. Old friendships would be lost and forgotten. New friendships might never be made. Soulmates might never find each other. And you wouldn’t be able to read the deranged, 1:30am ramblings of someone such as myself.

Some might say the world would be a better place for that. But, y’know, I kinda like it this way.

#oneaday, Day 188: Compromise

Compromise is a tricky business. In some senses it’s good. It shows a willingness to co-operate, to fit in, to be a part of society. But in others it means giving up part of who you are, usually in order to make someone else happy, or in order to fulfil the supposed “natural order of things”.

The trouble with refusing to compromise, though, is that you end up locked into an endless cycle of pursuing the unattainable and then feeling bad when it remains, well, unattainable. The clue’s in the title, dumbass. What makes you so special that you can attain the unattainable? You’re not BBC iPlayer. Wait, that’s something else, isn’t it?

Anyway, whether it’s a job or a relationship, unless you roll all natural 20s on every skill check you ever have to do (metaphorically speaking, of course) there’s going to be some element of compromise there.

And in a way, I think that’s a bit sad. Why should people have to give up on their dreams just because “society” (whoever THAT is) says it’s “never going to happen”? Why should people settle for second-best? Why should people have to put up with annoyances for the sake of something or someone they really love?

Because those things and people are also hoping for perfection and failing to find it, of course. Everyone wants to meet that special someone, Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty, Christina Hendricks, whoever. But does it ever really work like that? How often do two people find each other and they’re perfect for one another? How often does someone step into a new job and think “Yes. This is LITERALLY my perfect job. There is nothing I would change about it whatsoever.”?

Our individual happiness seems to be made or broken by other people, and it’s a fragile thing. One little action, one thing said, one decision made; that can change everything. I know this only too well.

So what’s the answer? Is there one? Right now, at this crossroads in my life, there are two things I want that would help everything just fall into place. One: a job where I get to do something I love for a fair wage and get appreciated for it by the people I work for—both employer and customer. Two: well, let’s just say the term “nerd princess” would about cover it.

Is this too much to ask? Am I expecting too much? Do I put too much faith that all the good karma I have stored up over the course of the last 29 years will eventually lead to something awesome? I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to feel insignificant. I don’t want to be alone.

And above all, I really don’t want to compromise any more. As selfish as it sounds, I want to be happy. I want good things to happen. I want to meet someone awesome and nerdy and gorgeous and ride off into the sunset leaving the pain of the past behind.

I feel I have earned this. But is it just an impossible dream?