Friday, December 14, 2007

Why all I want for Christmas is some self-esteem, and maybe a puppy

La chair est triste, hélas! et j'ai lu tous les livres. (The flesh is sad, alas! and I've read all the books). That pretty much sums it up. And yet this putain de paper isn't finishing itself. I don't know why.

I'm down, discouraged, and feeling all too acutely the effects of the R-word once again. In the past week alone I've undergone more rejection than I feel equipped to handle at the moment. Case in point:

Friday night: Go out with roommate and psychic friend. A certain male friend of roommate will be joining us. Have previously engaged in mild flirtation and one goodnight kiss with said friend, which didn't lead anywhere. Still, though. Could be interesting. Think, stupidly, This could be fun. Get hit on repeatedly and insistently by short, trollish man who can't take a hint. Look around desperately for male friend, who has disappeared. When he finally returns, encourage him to put arm around waist with a pointed help me! nudge. His arm looped half-heartedly around waist, turn to troll, still hanging around at level of right shoulder, and shrug. Hey, that's life. Troll does not take hint and keeps coming back. Obviously wasn't clear enough. Nudge male friend again, who doesn't respond. Must have nudged too gently. Nudge again. And again, harder. Realize am being pointedly ignored by male friend who is engrossed in deep conversation with fake hair-wearing psychic friend. He will spend the rest of the night with her on the dance floor. "He's a subtle dancer," she will say later. "Like me." At the end of the night, they will make plans to get together the next day. Note to self: never go out again.

Saturday: Text message from snuggle friend asking if I would like to take a break from paper for a drink. Am wishy-washy. Need to work, and yet, need to drink. Fed up with texting back and forth, call him. No answer. Leave voicemail. He finally calls back an hour later. He didn't see my missed call at first, he says. He had multiple missed calls, thought they were all from his "friend", Tyler. So, where do you want to go, I say. You really don't like making decisions, do you, he says. Um, we've gone out once, I say. So I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. He huffs and puffs and says he really can't think about any of this right now. But if I decide where I want to go, give him a call. But, you probably won't, will you, he says. I shrug, out loud. But I do call, an hour later. I will say, this is silly, let's just go somewhere. I've been in the house all day. He doesn't answer, again. This time, his voicemail box is full. I wait for him to call me back. He doesn't. Ever. Next day I send a text, saying, What happened to you last night? No reply. So. Now that's over, too.

Wednesday night: Searching for any possible distraction from paper-writing drudgery, turn to Craigslist personals. The lowest of the low. Respond to three ads of men with no photos; who knows what I'm getting myself into. Send three short e-mails with attached photo, as requested. Continue to check my e-mail for responses that never come. 0 for 3. Kind of want to die.

Friday: Find cute and interesting prospect I seem to have previously overlooked on Okcupid. Seems like my kind of guy. Height considerably above average: check. Ability to grow facial hair: check. Similar taste in music, movies and food. Sense of humor. Send a short and hopefully cute e-mail. Wait anxiously for a response. He views my profile at 7:43 p.m...That's all. No reply. The ubiquitous and unstated thanks but no thanks.

So. A streak of bad luck? Stars aligned against me? Emitting desperate vibes and/or foul odors via the internet? All of the above?

My question for you is, at what point do you throw in the towel? At what point do you say, I can't take this anymore, and I give up?

6 comments:

  1. OK, OK, we'll get married as soon as I find a new health care plan in Boston. I mean, I will need the wheel chair and the oxygen tank on the honeymoon, so could you sort of be . . . flexible? And there is a bit of an age difference, so ... no sex and no children. But you're OK with that, right? Before I forget, do you know how many hospitals there accept Medicare Part B?

    Love,

    M

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  2. Done and done. You are rich, aren't you? :P

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  3. Ms. Whiner,
    Id say welcome to the club, but you'd already joined.

    Craigslist? Egads. That is desperate. Are you looking for a guy or for a reason for a prescription?

    Yes, its winter time, and the long evenings and suffocating time indoors, stooped over dusty French journals make this all seem more depressing. I've even heard that Sunday in New England is going to feature high winds and torrential winter downpours. But spring remains around the corner (OK, up the block and around the corner) and the red-blooded males of New England will be filled with vigor and be eager to take advantage of your "readiness."

    'Course, its seventy or so in Los Angeles today.

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  4. Rich? Yes, darling, I'm very rich ... in memories. But we'll have our love to pay the bills. Or something. And you will be teaching so there will be no money worries at all, right?

    And how can a chair be sad? Such a silly Diary. Perhaps English should be your language of choice, ma cherie?

    As for the CL thing, please let someone know where you will be at all times. No joke.

    Worriedly,

    M

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  5. you rock- finally more of the internet world is taking notice!
    luv
    tal

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  6. Feelin' that same kind of rejection/dejection bull lately. We should toast.

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