My very first rant on this site — damn, success tastes great!
Actually, it tastes like the sweaty crotch of a morbidly obese woman, whose sanitary habits leave much to be desired. About as unpleasant as socializing with those beneath me. Which is everyone.
But I’m getting too far off topic here. The point of this is to explain why modern day relationships often end, and horribly so. There really isn’t hope of salvaging most of these nightmarish pairings, because it’s not a problem with the “couple” — a word that makes me cringe and reflexively extend my middle finger in an insulting manner — but each entity within.
A lack of patience.
This is the very, very root of the issue. For whatever reason, American youths pick up this message that you’re only cool/mature/important/whatever if you’re involved in a relationship. In adolescence, a person is still developing in many ways, though primarily psychologically. Co-dependency issues arise as the idea that being alone makes you a fucktard is hammered in. A phobia of sorts develops here, in which people begin to fear being alone, single, what have you.
What does it lead to?
It leads to people lowering their standards, and taking what they can get the quickest, as opposed to chilling and taking the time to figure out what it is they want, then seek it out. In lowering your standards, and subsequently ending up with the fat chick that smells like cheese, your self-esteem takes a nosedive. Or, if said cow turns you down, you’re not only still single (and apparently of lesser value for it — common perception in people of all ages … I’ll explain in a moment! I know you’re fucking arguing with me right now, going all “nuh-uh” and shit. Just SHUT THE FUCK UP!) — where was I? Oh, yes, not only of lesser value, but also … the fat, nasty cheese-bitch rejected you. That means you’re worth less than gouda, bro. Sucks to be you.
The perception of the asses — I mean masses! Honest …
Being a single male (because women are just a fucking headache — and I don’t meet my own prerequisites for anything beyond casual fucking), I’m often the subject of a variation of this question: “What’s wrong with him?”
And no, it isn’t inspired by signs of depression. As I converse with people in my life, shit like one’s “status” comes into focus. It could be people talking about their love lives, or lack thereof, and somehow, the crosshairs eventually lock onto you. You find yourself talking to them, saying honestly “Dude, I’m so cool being on my own”, while people nod their head in the “I’ll nod and pretend to agree, though I really want to know what your problem is, and why you can’t get a girl.”
Can’t.
Not “won’t” or “haven’t”, but “can’t”.
Because so many people are unhappy when single, even when they say otherwise, they have difficulty comprehending the perspective of someone who’s THRILLED not to be burdened by the boundries and limitations of exclusivity.
Women tend to think less of a single man, in most situations (in clubs and bars, the rules are different, as everyone is more or less expected to be unattatched). Automatically, they wonder why he can’t get a girl. It’s always can’t because, again, most people just cannot understand being happy to be alone. It goes against the teachings of our particular society. Essentially, you’re only worth something when you’re worth something to someone else.
Let’s examine the mentality.
The mentality of the asses … I actually meant asses this time. … dick.
We focus on the “me of the we”.
I always hear people going on about compromise, but I don’t think their definition and my own match up. Compromise, to me and the dictionary, is, more or less paraphrased, to quit being a selfish fuck and meet someone half way. To most other people, it’s quit being a selfish fuck so I can. Double standards are, sadly, the fucking norm. The worst part is that few really outgrow this behavior.
I see broads flip the fuck out when their boyfriends talk to another chick, even if it’s something rather innocent. These psychotic bitches, however, still flirt with other dudes, and it’s A-O-K. Still, they force the guy to compromise which, in this case, means for him to ignore the opposite sex alltogether, while she retains freedom to flaunt her junk with ferverent abandon.
Guys do the same shit, too. Hell, I know a guy who does worse. This dude won’t just flirt with a chick, but he’ll seduce them, do his thing, then go to his girlfriend’s house afterward. I keep telling him to just dump her and go play. Then I stop giving a shit, and just leave him to demolish his infinitely fucked up relationship.
Yet if she were to do that, herself … there’d be hell to pay.
This is the “me of the we”, where people often forget that a relationship exists to benefit both parties rather than act as an ego boost and a crutch for one half.
The problem, itself … yes, I have a fucking point.
A relationship is not the means to attain self-actualization.
As a matter of fact, it’s a step backward. You leave high school, and leave home, waving goodbye to your security. BUT WAIT! You have your significant other, so that sense of security remains, even if you’re not actually protected from anything — financial woes, employment, the Herpes, et-fucking-cetera. The problem is this sense of security causes one to stagnate, disallowing growth beyond that point, which makes existing co-dependence issues even worse. This shit becomes harder to kick than smoking, and even less fun.
An exclusive pairing halts development of the self, and that just sucks. People need to cease commiting to something that is neither worth their time, nor likely to last. I’m not saying being single for life and just fuck; what I’m saying is make sure everything is in place, that you have control of your life, and are adequately established in order to be a functioning half of a worthwhile tag team.
Now, I love Jim Neidhart (I know … WTF does that have to do with anything? Just trust me …)
But think back to the Hart Foundation days. You had Jim Neidhart and Bret Hart. One went on to fame, championship, and a screwjob in Montreal, while the other went on to be … Who? … No, the name was “Who?”. I’m not asking a question, shitbag. Both men saw tag team success as The Hart Foundation, but one can tell that only one half of that pair had his shit together well enough to do something for himself, on his own. The point of this is to be Bret Hart, and not Jim Neidhart. Go on to be a world champion, not “Who?”.
The Solution. Yes, I’m shutting up soon.
Fuck relationships and all that jazz right now. Just fuck it. Fucking forget it. Dump your significant other, because the chances of them being what you want, as opposed to what you settled for because it was easiest to attain, is slim to fucking none. If you’ve failed to establish and define yourself, then it’s that other person who defines you.
You’re not Bret Hart, the champion. Your Jim Neidhart, what’s-her-name’s boyfriend. And what’s-her-name is fat and smells like cheese, if you remember. If you stay, you will fall further into stagnation, because your other half is in that same rut, having avoided establishing their own image. Bottom line, neither of you know yourselves, just one another, and really … beyond the fact you both like Ho-Ho’s and NASCAR, there’s not much else to know.
“Sort your fucking life out.” A quote from “Shaun of the Dead”, and definately words worth remembering.
Forget owning a big house, a flashy car, and all that stupid shit. Bells and whistles are all those are. That’s not success. Not even in the same fucking zip code.
Besides, if you’re smart, you won’t ever spend more than $3,000 on a house. (Three thousand, that’s right.)
What you need to do is take the first step: Decide what you want to do, and do it. It sounds easy, seems hard, but is just really kind of … eh. The work to get to where you want to be is the only hard part. Making a decision is easy. Money equates to freedom in capitalist America, so you need to get used to not being shit if you’re flat broke. Wealth, while nice, is all bells and whistles. Fuck all that right now. Just get enough to support yourself. YOURSELF! Don’t worry about enormous salaries. Make sure you can take care of business, but are down with your schedule, your work, and the drive to and from. Take it from me, the fewer details about your job you dread, the better your punctuality and production will be.
So I said to get a job. Not like you haven’t heard that before. Now, we move to step two: reconditioning.
Cut yourself off from everyone for a weekend.
Turn the cell phone off, mute the answering machine, and stay away from the internet. Get used to being by yourself, and enjoying the time. Read a book, take a walk, write, whatever floats your boat, yo. Do whatever you’re compelled to, that’s solitary, and let your mind go where it will. It’s simple. This brief immersion will slowly get you used to being alone.
And guess what … you’ll survive it, you emo fuck.
Step two should be repeated once a month.
Step three comes after getting established, finding true independence, and becoming comfortable in your own company. Step three is the fun one: date/fuck as much as you can.
You have an idea of what you like, at least physically. Just an idea won’t cut it. You need specifics. You need to be able to identify, early on, habits that would make or break a relationship for you. You need to be able to recognize warning signs that alert you to Psychotic Bitches (for men), and to know when Creep-sense in tingling (a mutant ability for women). Interaction is about nuance, as well, so you need to be able to sort out the little things you like, and dislike, as well as the larger issues.
You know how you learn all this shit?
Interaction with numerous people. The polar opposite of just settling for the first thing to display signs of interest in you. This is also an essential part of getting to know yourself. It’s kind of sad that when people ask you what you look for in a member of the opposite sex (or same, depending upon orientation), your response sounds like a bland internet personal.
Yes, we all want someone who’s attractive, intelligent, funny, kind … yadda, yadda … Yoda.
Wouldn’t it be better to know you wanted a “smart-assed broad who rocks the fart joke” rather than a chick who’s “funny”? See the difference?
Sense of humor is varied in all people — some prefer tonal comedy, such as “Napoleon Dynamite”, whereas some, like me, dig the comedic genius of one Kevin Smith. There is infinite variety and nuance. Wouldn’t it be better if you had more than just a general idea?
This is all elementary shit, so there’s no reason that divorce rates should be what they are. I think a little common sense would also keep the number of single parents down — let’s face it, as a kid, one of the worst things that can happen for you is to be stuck in a one-parent household. A topic for another day, but still, it sucks.
I think I’ve ranted and condescended long enough. Hopefully you’ve learned something, and will quit fucking up your lives, and, consequently, ruin mine by being terribly annoying, and bringing along baggage.
Get a job, an idea, and a little sex.
It’s that simple.
Written by The Wildly Discontent Fuzzball
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