Meat Markets, U-Fish, and Punctuation
"I know I'm not an exclamation point, and I accept that. I just want to be a question mark rather than a period."
During Mark's visit, we spent some time downtown. We went down to meet his sister and her friends, in the vain hope she'd have some cute single ones. They didn't show, and the three of us eventually spent some time standing around in Peddler's Pub, a meat market on George Street. The bar is arranged mostly with a dance floor in the middle, and then much of the area around it is elevated. It was already past midnight before we set foot in the place. I was as disturbed as I usually am by meat markets, but I'm also not too ashamed to admit that at least part of my hatred of the places stems from the fact that I can't use them to my advantage. In the "U-Fish", as I referred to the dance floor, there was mostly a lot of what I figured to be early-20s girls, with the exception of one woman in her 30s with a definite air of "I'm getting fucked tonight, and don't much care by who" about her. She'd probably have been an easy target if we were so inclined - it'd mostly just be a matter of swooping in after last call - but neither of us were into even trying. There were very few women there I even found attractive at all, excepting one of the bartenders. She'd still be too young for me, really, and even if hitting on bartenders wasn't tacky enough, or if I was the type to actually hit on women in bars, I put her a weight division above me anyway.
Myself and Mark ended up staying up talking until the wee hours of the morning, and by wee hours, I actually mean past dawn. Women and our relationships with them was certainly a large part of the conversation, especially having come from that environment. I found it interesting to see just how much of our feelings on the subject were the same. I've always considered Mark a weight division above me, a much better looking man than myself. I'm not saying he's Tom Cruise, I guess I'd still put him in the broad middleground, but at least at the upper end of it, whereas I put myself more squarely in the gray, unnoticed masses at centre. I found it interesting that both of us know - in our minds - that the whole "punch your own weight" theory is bullshit, really, and we should simply feel free to hit on whoever we feel inclined to hit on. But it's worth noting that while we both know better - in our heads - we both still follow the rule, because in our hearts we can't bring ourselves to change our beliefs. From that conversation stemmed the above quote (by me). We both agreed that we accept that we're not the kind of guys who turn heads when women see us, in that "oh, I want him!" ("an exclamation point") kind of way, but that we'd each be happy being confidently in the "hmm... could I do him?" category ("a question mark"), as opposed to the "uh.. no" category ("the period"). At least if you're a question mark, your foot is in the door, and perhaps charm can carry you the rest of the way. Which brings us full circle, of course, to the problem we both suffer - we each lack the confidence or poise to easily insert ourselves into conversations with unknown women, and instead hope for some sort of a segue at a houseparty as opposed to tossing a line at someone in a bar.
The other net result of that evening was to shift my focus back onto women and sex, or lack thereof, after I'd done such a great job of putting it out of my head lately. So the result is that I spent a lot of the holidays horny, with no prospects and no casual-sex acquaintance at the moment. I have some responses to my various personals ads I can contact in the new year and explore, but I've so little faith in that system nowadays, I'm mostly just waiting for a miracle, and worrying far more about a real job anyway. At least if I had a job and my own place, I'd feel a lot more confident and comfortable, and I could "burst forth" onto the singles scene, instead of skulking through it drearily like I do now.
I miss Mark, and his visit here gave me a lot to think about, on a variety of subjects, not the least of which is simply friendship. Some of what he said was painful to hear, but honest, and I both love and respect him for it, but at the same time it leaves me reflecting on how good or bad a friend I've been to a number of people these past few years, not the least of which is him, to whom I've concluded I've been altogether shitty. So I guess my very first New Year's resolution this year is going to be that: to be a better friend.
New Year's eve itself was relatively uneventful. We didn't have as many people as we'd expected or hoped. Geoff's flight got screwed up. I got stranded at his place in the wee hours unable to get a taxi to take me to the houseparty I was going to drop in on. I was a bit of an asshole to a few people who probably didn't deserve it (Geoff's roommates), simply because... well, nothing simple about it. Petty reasons I won't bother to get into. And I spent, of course, a fair deal of my time leading up to New Year's eve dreading it a bit, on account of it reminding me of a particularly terrible night a few years back I'd rather not relive, but can never seem to put out of my head this time of year.
Which - without a decent segue except inside the confines of my own skull - reminds me... I think some time soon, in order to get some leftover anger off my chest, I may intentionally break a promise I made to someone long ago. They'll not even know I've done it when I do, and neither would any witness in the room. It will be a simple, silent gesture, and I won't need to say a word to do it. I have only to decide if the promise was to her or to myself, and if breaking it will make me feel better or worse. But it's caused me to do a lot of thinking lately, about the nature of promises and of relationships, and to wonder when someone "gives you their word", just how long it's good for.
In all honesty, from me, it's usually good for about 5 years, max, unless it's something really personal. That's how long it takes me to completely forget whether or not I actually promised to keep something a secret, and if someone is not still in my life to double-check with, well, then I guess they're screwed. But hey, if I've totally lost contact with them for years, I'm not sure just what debt of loyalty I'm still supposed to feel anyway.
And to think, this started with me having just one simple thing to say.
During Mark's visit, we spent some time downtown. We went down to meet his sister and her friends, in the vain hope she'd have some cute single ones. They didn't show, and the three of us eventually spent some time standing around in Peddler's Pub, a meat market on George Street. The bar is arranged mostly with a dance floor in the middle, and then much of the area around it is elevated. It was already past midnight before we set foot in the place. I was as disturbed as I usually am by meat markets, but I'm also not too ashamed to admit that at least part of my hatred of the places stems from the fact that I can't use them to my advantage. In the "U-Fish", as I referred to the dance floor, there was mostly a lot of what I figured to be early-20s girls, with the exception of one woman in her 30s with a definite air of "I'm getting fucked tonight, and don't much care by who" about her. She'd probably have been an easy target if we were so inclined - it'd mostly just be a matter of swooping in after last call - but neither of us were into even trying. There were very few women there I even found attractive at all, excepting one of the bartenders. She'd still be too young for me, really, and even if hitting on bartenders wasn't tacky enough, or if I was the type to actually hit on women in bars, I put her a weight division above me anyway.
Myself and Mark ended up staying up talking until the wee hours of the morning, and by wee hours, I actually mean past dawn. Women and our relationships with them was certainly a large part of the conversation, especially having come from that environment. I found it interesting to see just how much of our feelings on the subject were the same. I've always considered Mark a weight division above me, a much better looking man than myself. I'm not saying he's Tom Cruise, I guess I'd still put him in the broad middleground, but at least at the upper end of it, whereas I put myself more squarely in the gray, unnoticed masses at centre. I found it interesting that both of us know - in our minds - that the whole "punch your own weight" theory is bullshit, really, and we should simply feel free to hit on whoever we feel inclined to hit on. But it's worth noting that while we both know better - in our heads - we both still follow the rule, because in our hearts we can't bring ourselves to change our beliefs. From that conversation stemmed the above quote (by me). We both agreed that we accept that we're not the kind of guys who turn heads when women see us, in that "oh, I want him!" ("an exclamation point") kind of way, but that we'd each be happy being confidently in the "hmm... could I do him?" category ("a question mark"), as opposed to the "uh.. no" category ("the period"). At least if you're a question mark, your foot is in the door, and perhaps charm can carry you the rest of the way. Which brings us full circle, of course, to the problem we both suffer - we each lack the confidence or poise to easily insert ourselves into conversations with unknown women, and instead hope for some sort of a segue at a houseparty as opposed to tossing a line at someone in a bar.
The other net result of that evening was to shift my focus back onto women and sex, or lack thereof, after I'd done such a great job of putting it out of my head lately. So the result is that I spent a lot of the holidays horny, with no prospects and no casual-sex acquaintance at the moment. I have some responses to my various personals ads I can contact in the new year and explore, but I've so little faith in that system nowadays, I'm mostly just waiting for a miracle, and worrying far more about a real job anyway. At least if I had a job and my own place, I'd feel a lot more confident and comfortable, and I could "burst forth" onto the singles scene, instead of skulking through it drearily like I do now.
I miss Mark, and his visit here gave me a lot to think about, on a variety of subjects, not the least of which is simply friendship. Some of what he said was painful to hear, but honest, and I both love and respect him for it, but at the same time it leaves me reflecting on how good or bad a friend I've been to a number of people these past few years, not the least of which is him, to whom I've concluded I've been altogether shitty. So I guess my very first New Year's resolution this year is going to be that: to be a better friend.
New Year's eve itself was relatively uneventful. We didn't have as many people as we'd expected or hoped. Geoff's flight got screwed up. I got stranded at his place in the wee hours unable to get a taxi to take me to the houseparty I was going to drop in on. I was a bit of an asshole to a few people who probably didn't deserve it (Geoff's roommates), simply because... well, nothing simple about it. Petty reasons I won't bother to get into. And I spent, of course, a fair deal of my time leading up to New Year's eve dreading it a bit, on account of it reminding me of a particularly terrible night a few years back I'd rather not relive, but can never seem to put out of my head this time of year.
Which - without a decent segue except inside the confines of my own skull - reminds me... I think some time soon, in order to get some leftover anger off my chest, I may intentionally break a promise I made to someone long ago. They'll not even know I've done it when I do, and neither would any witness in the room. It will be a simple, silent gesture, and I won't need to say a word to do it. I have only to decide if the promise was to her or to myself, and if breaking it will make me feel better or worse. But it's caused me to do a lot of thinking lately, about the nature of promises and of relationships, and to wonder when someone "gives you their word", just how long it's good for.
In all honesty, from me, it's usually good for about 5 years, max, unless it's something really personal. That's how long it takes me to completely forget whether or not I actually promised to keep something a secret, and if someone is not still in my life to double-check with, well, then I guess they're screwed. But hey, if I've totally lost contact with them for years, I'm not sure just what debt of loyalty I'm still supposed to feel anyway.
And to think, this started with me having just one simple thing to say.
posted by unfoldingsoul at 1:40 AM
1 Comments:
In my humble opinion and for what it's worth you are a solid question mark ;)
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