Ridiculous.

It is ridiculous. It is ridiculous that I am wide awake and thinking about her and she is fast asleep.

It is ridiculous how invested I am and how she wants to be invested but is too afraid to put her closely guarded deposit down. (God I love a finance metaphor!)

It is ridiculous that I, an adult, can’t just go up to her and tell her how I feel and kiss her.

It’s even more ridiculous that I contemplate doing that on a daily basis and yet when I see her I can barely muster a smile.

It is utterly ridiculous that I tell myself that I can be the one to make her happy and confident.

Ridiculous.

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Evening.

Dear Mindfuck,

Dear is too formal and Mindfuck is too informal.

Hi Brainsmush,

Is that better? Who the feck knows.

You’re probably sat at home on your sofa right now watching tv and snacking. I’m trying to get to sleep but evidently it isn’t working.

I feel like I’ve got a lot to lose. I’ve got my pride and my bravado and a hell of a lot of weight.

You have more to lose and I understand why you’re clinging onto it all.

I can’t and won’t guarantee you that this will be easy. I’ve learnt from my therapist that nothing can be guaranteed. 

She has a point.

I will not make promises that I can’t keep. With that in mind, I promise you these things:

  • I promise that I will always be grumpy before 6am.
  • I promise that I will always be allergic to cats and covered in their fur but that I will always consider getting more.
  • I promise to take note of the little things – like how your eyes seem brighter when you have no make up on.
  • I promise to be annoying and needy and ever so slightly immature.

On paper, we don’t make sense. It’s a good thing that we aren’t just fictional characters. I am not your ideal man and you are not my ideal woman and yet I feel like a nervous teenager when I see you.

I’m ready to lose my bravado.

Love, Similar Mindfuck 

She.

She is not the one. But she is a one and, as Germaine from RBW said, that’s all I need right now.

She’s not enough and yet could be deemed to be too much.

She teases me and rejects me and confuses me on a daily basis. She tells me she’s scared and I get that. But fuck it, I’m scared too.

She is everything I love and hate and she mirrors so much of me that it’s scary.

She is nowhere near where I am. And I fear she never will be.

Tinderphobic.

Has anyone had any genuine success on Tinder?

I joined Tinder a week ago, mostly out of intrigue, and so far I haven’t been impressed.

Firstly, it wouldn’t let me sign up without connecting to my Facebook profile which is bloody annoying as it shows my first name; which I never answer to.

Secondly, I hate having to crop pictures; most of my pictures (when cropped) are so zoomed in that all you can see are my eyes and porous nose. No-one wants to see my cavern ridden nose.

Thirdly, and probably most importantly, it all feels very synthetic and an awful lot like objectifying. I wouldn’t normally decide whether or not I wanted to talk to someone based on 4 poor quality pictures of them and a 203 character profile. I am the first to admit that I’m not massively photogenic but am I a good catch? Hell yeah! (I’m so modest too, always an attractive trait!) 

Have I had a nice conversation on there with someone nice? Yes. But do I want nice? No. I want that instant spark and connection that I’m not sure I can get staring at my smudgy phone screen.

Sorry Tinder, I’m swiping left to you. 

I owe you something.

An explanation. Unfortunately, you might not get it until next week but, in the meantime, I want you to ask me questions; about anything. Seriously.

I’ve done this before (https://waggcomedy.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/answers-to-your-questions/) and I fancied doing it again.

I’ll answer anything whether it be about cats or alcohol or sexuality or work or astronauts or tissue. I’ll answer questions about myself and questions about any dilemmas you may have.

So comment on this post with your questions and I’ll make a video on Thursday (probably) where I’ll answer them.

 

Stupid things people say: no. 7

Bet you thought you wouldn’t see one of these again, eh?

Here’s one that’s annoyed me recently:

“…what next?”

An example of this is “First gay people are allowed to get married and then what next? Animals marrying humans?”

This stupid phrase is an example of a slippery slope argument where people automatically assume that once one thing has happened that loads of other things, that they deem to be bad, will also happen.

In reality, however, there is no actual evidence that things follow one another in a downward spiral and so simple hearing those two words together actually makes my skin crawl!

You. Oh you.

I know you’re smiling at me saying that. Maybe you’re even laughing. I don’t blame you – I am hilarious.

There’s that confidence again. I think you think I strive off it but actually it’s the bane of my life.

It’s the reason why I could never say this to you in person. I want you to see the vulnerable, naïve side to me but that literally petrifies me.

I know you need to see it but I can’t bring myself to let you in and frankly why should I? You’ve hardly been forthcoming with your softer side and I don’t see why I should expose myself as a complete wimp to you when all will do is sarcastically retort.

I get the feeling that if I’m nice to you, you’ll think I like you. And I do like you. I like you a lot.

But I can’t tell you that because you’d never like me.

I’m an overweight, grumpy, just post teenager who is obsessed with Clare Balding and has a car that smells like rotting Dominos pizza.

I mean is that really appealing?

I’m not rich or good looking or thin or particularly intelligent. I am average, mediocre, bog standard and, yes, I know that’s what you want but I’m not what you want.

No, don’t feel sorry for me. Not that you would. You’re constantly reminding me that you have very little sympathy for things and that an awful lot of my problems are self-inflicted.

Seriously though, if I cried what would you do? Rush over and hug me? Tell me to grow up? Or, and this is the worst one, meekly pat me on the shoulder and pretend to care?

I’m not saying I’m going to cry on you because I’m not.

I don’t want you to see me as a whiney pain in your arse because I know how much you hate people like that. And I want to be someone you like.

Really like.

I know I shouldn’t change myself to be someone you’d like so I can only exaggerate the bits of me you already like and skim over the bits you don’t; hence the confidence and constant comedy.

Is this still making you laugh? No, I thought not. I’m sorry about that. I’ll try harder in future. But until I reach a point where I become your favourite comedian, can I at least be a steady second?

Yeah? Thanks.