The Dating Game

The girl of my dreams rejected me recently, giving me a one for two record (in 22 years) in the depressing game of Convincing Someone to Date Me. I practiced for this moment of rejection for months, repeating in my head hundreds of times a speech explaining my feelings for her: “I really like you as a friend Sybil (a pseudonym), but also in ways that are more than just a friend. If you don’t feel the same way though I completely understand...” etc. My roommate considered this a pathetic tactic; “Make a move on her!,” he often yelled at me. “Girls want guys who have confidence!” I lacked the confidence for such an audacious move however (I also don’t know what exactly “making a move” entails) so I continued practicing my speech instead. This was frustrating for me, as my roommate had “made a move” on a girl, which turned into a serious relationship. As this romance progressed she slept over just about every night, giving me a second roommate in our one bedroom apartment. It feels like I am part of their relationship as well; I always hear them kissing and snippets of intimate conservations like “I can’t believe I haven’t been inside you for a whole week.” I also heard them have sex several times-- sometimes on the living room couch, other times on their bed about 10 feet away from mine-- once they thought I was sleeping. One such experience ended with the comment “Ah, god, its everywhere.” Constantly I’m reminded how they are very successful at the Game, while I’m living like a eunuch.

Even though I could not “make a move” I still had to explain my feelings to her, as they were consuming me. This girl is the epitome of the term “fox.” She is intoxicating; it felt like I was withdrawing from a drug after hanging out with her. The conservations and encounters we had would replay constantly in my mind, during which I would dissect everything that transpired, searching for clues to answer the question that had enslaved my mind: Is she interested in me? As the weeks and months went by we became reasonably good friends, as we shared similar interests; for example we both received B.A.s in History, which I was able to talk with her at length about. Whenever I had such a conversation with her it felt like fireworks were exploding inside my brain. I thought about her so much it felt like she was camped out in my mind, as if it was a national park. Yet as time passed I realized she probably just wanted to be friends, but I had to know for sure. Finally I summoned the courage to knock on her door one day I knew her roommates were gone and asked if I could talk to her for a minute. “Um, sure,” she said with a concerned look on her face, as if I was about to tell her bad news. The speech started good, but once I got past the first sentence I forgot the next line, due to a combination of nerves, intoxication from marijuana, and her eyes. She has the type of eyes one gets lost looking into, a brown so dark its hard to tell where the retina ends and the pupil begins, like those of a doe. Delivering my speech while looking into such eyes was impossible, especially considering their expression changed into a look of-I-can’t-believe-he-is-really-talking-about-this once she realized the nature of my speech. So I stared at the floor instead, which was much easier to talk to. When I was done she stayed silent for several seconds, clearly dazed by the experience. “Um thanks... I guess,” she eventually stammered. “I just don’t feel the same way.” It seems strange, but those words were extremely liberating. Instead of thinking “I wish I was with her... maybe there is small chance she is interested in me” like I used to, I now think “I wish I was with her, but I know she is not interested in me.” This is a big difference, as it allows me to get drunk with my friends without any regrets. A small victory, but eunuchs take what they can get.