Devil’s Advocacy

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on July 24, 2013 by Johnny Broken

What is evil?

I was going to directly quote a dictionary until I noticed one of the listed definitions of evil was “that which is evil.” Seriously, Captain Obvious? Great editing job there. I’m also going to avoid using any terms like “sociopath” and “psychopath” because both of those words seem to get different meanings depending on the time of day. So, moving along!

We joke that taxes are evil. Or the judge on the reality TV show that didn’t vote for the contestant with some actual talent is evil. In one area of the world drinking alcohol is a crime punishable by jail time, and in another it’s a given aspect of adult life. Views on marriage vary greatly all over the world. Some religions think you are going to end up in eternal torment if you don’t agree with them. Other religions just want everyone to get along. There’s a branch of Satanism, for example, that believes that you can basically do whatever you want in your life (within reason) and as long as you repent before you die, you’re fine to make it into heaven. Who’s to say who’s right and who’s wrong?
What about what we have little control over? Is wanton destruction evil? What about a child being born with severe birth defects compared to a newborn that’s a picture of perfect health? Now generally speaking, there are some “universal” constants like murder and theft. You could also probably count forcibly imposing your will on others. But once you get past the basics, things get tricky.

So why would I want to associate with evil? And by the by, The Evil Midnight Blog What Blogs at Midnight is a joking reference to a comic book called The Tick. (Hey, it seemed hilarious at the time.) But for that matter, my amusement with an insane supervillain called The Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs At Midnight probably says… something… about me too.

As you may have gathered by now, I do not have normal views when it comes to morality. I think it started back in junior high (which was actually in the same location as my elementary school, which was grades 1-8. So I tend to think of junior high as later elementary school, not early high school.) when my classmates started turning against me for whatever reasons kids do the horrible things they do. Which in turn actually led to multiple dreams (day and night) where I killed my classmates in rather comic book-ish style. And believe me, when you’re young and the foremost thought on your mind is how much you hate 99% of the kids you know, it starts to alter how you look at the world. You don’t want to wear the white Simpsons shirt and purple shorts you wore last year any more. That’s what they do. The bad guy on that action show you like dressed in black, and no one messes with him. Maybe that’s the way to do it?

And then you start to notice that the heroes on TV and in the movies have a lot more in common with the people you hate than they do with you. And the heroes seem to always be saving people you hate too! So the popular, good looking people who like sports and crappy music are the good guys? The good looking hero gets the girl? That’s not how your life is. The bad guy was spurned by the girl he was attracted to? The other kids mocked him because he looked different? He was weak, and wasn’t good at the other games the kids played? That’s more like what you’ve been through.

And then you start wondering about just why the “bad guy” is so “evil” after all. So he wants money. Well, don’t we all? Or maybe he just likes destroying things. Well if you didn’t have to clean up after yourself, you’d break a lot more stuff too. Or maybe he wants to rule the world. Well, most people are kind of stupid, they need someone to tell them what to do. And you’re smarter than they are, so isn’t that how it works anyway? The smart people tell the dumb people what to do.

And then you get a little older, and your mind is opened up to the world of R rated subject matter. Well… hmmm… maybe that guy that got caught in the crossfire wasn’t going to do anything with his life, so that’s… no real loss, right? Or that guard, he was in the military, so he got himself into that situation, they probably expected him to die. Oh, that guy at the bar that tried to get in the villain’s way was just a jerk anyway, he deserved it. And that other guy was old, he was going to die soon anyway. But that hostage lady who was really scared of her captor, there’s no need for him to do… that! That’s not right!

Granted I’m simplifying things extremely here, but I came to the conclusion (I actually typed that out as “confusions” the first time, heh) during my formative years that while I think my thought process tends to lean towards evil, I have my limits. Which is probably part of why an old friend, let’s call him #6, always used to chide me that “Pft. You’re not evil!” when this came up. Yeah, I’m not out murdering people or dealing drugs and I’ve never been in jail for breaking the law. And I have two responses to that. First, there’s a reason they say you should beware the quiet ones. Second, there’s a saying in the geek community that goes something like “I may be chaotic evil, but I’m not stupid.”

So I’ve done some crazy stuff, and I believe in some even crazier crap, but I don’t have a criminal record. Does that disqualify me from being evil? The geek community also tends to call a villain who lives by their own personal code of ethics “noble evil” and I love the sound of that. Another way of describing what I’m getting at is that “even evil has limits,” which I also think rolls off the tongue fairly well.

The thing is though, for as hateful, spiteful, and death-obsessed as I am, somewhere along the lines a sort of Gentleman’s Code fixed itself into my way of thinking. Be polite. Treat a woman with respect. Don’t steal from someone, because it sucks to have your stuff stolen. If you have a job, y’know, do it. Don’t be a freaking slacker and drag everyone else down because you’re lazy. Don’t be an ass in public.

These dueling personal codes also make Renaissance Faires the weirdest, albeit still highly enjoyable, experience for me. On one hand, I’m rooting for the villains because I don’t understand why bad guys always have to lose. (I mean bad guys win in real life, and people make incredibly boring true-to-life shows/books/movies and stuff all the time. So why not make something exciting and true-to-life where the bad guy wins?) But on the other hand, a knight declaring his opponent has fought honorably on the field of battle almost brings me to tears because it’s so awesomely awe-inspiring.

So yeah, I may not think fascism is such a *spooky fingers* bad idea. (I actually think it’s even better if I’m the one making the rules). I also don’t care if some random person dies, or if my own brother is getting married, or what your newborn looks like. But at least I’m nice about it to you.


What did I do? Concluded

Posted in Updates with tags , , , on July 17, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Things were pretty much as normal as they get for me until after I had graduated high school and I randomly ran into a girl I used to have the hots for. (For what it’s worth, she doubled in weight and proved to be screwier than I am. Hence the “used to” part. Shallow, maybe, but… eh.)

We got to talking, and the conversation meandered to something along the lines of how I either confused or flat out scared her now too. “You used to scare ME. What the hell did I do to a crazy punk rock girl like you?!” I started thinking, until she handed me a folded up note that she still kept with her. Turns out, it was a rambling suicide note, complete with illustrations, that I had passed her back in high school. The note was in my handwriting, but I cannot stress this enough, to this day I have no memory of ever writing or drawing anything on that damn piece of paper.

Rather stunned at the time, I stammered an apology, and did my best to save face. Needless to say I’m pretty sure that girl still thinks I’m a certified nutcase, but that’s the least of my worries. I now had two circumstances of doing some, well, scary stuff, and I cannot remember doing either of them. (There’s actually a third thing during the same time period that I know of that I have no memory of doing, but it’s significantly less morbid. A teacher was passing back assignments one morning, and I panicked because I didn’t remember the assignment, let alone doing it. Then he handed me back what I had turned in, a complete drawing, in my style, of my cat with an accompanying haiku. And nope, no memory of doing that, either. And, uh, yeah, back in the day I used to fancy myself as someone who could draw. Wanted to do it professionally an’ everything too. Now you know, I guess. That’s another story for another time though.)

Thinking back about it, I’ve tried to piece together the timeline to figure out what was going on.

1) Satanist phase begins
2) Offered up my soul to demons while extremely distraught
3) I said something to the religious girl
4) I wrote a rambling suicide note.
5) Stepped in a church for the first time in years.
6) Confronted with evidence of things done between Steps 2 and 5 that I cannot remember.

So. Yeah. You may have a few theories of your own as to what happened. And I have mine. To be perfectly honest, I think I actually got myself possessed.

I’m serious.

You can stop laughing.

Or I’ll just wait here.

Anyway. I fully admit I’ve done some outlandish things in my life. I’ve pretended to cast really-real-world spells in front of a crowd. I’ve spread rumors that I was going to sacrifice classmates. I’ve tried to commit suicide multiple times. I’ve gone into a mental ward of my own free will, twice. I cosplay. And I can vividly remember all of it.

But when it comes down to whatever the hell I said to that religious girl, to this day I am at a complete loss. I don’t even remember approaching her the night I’m told I scared her shitless, let alone ever saying anything to her.

And you know when you can at least think of your frame of mind or the experience of creating something? Yeah, none of that for that damned suicide note.

Call it what you will. But at this point I’m pretty much convinced I got myself possessed by… something. And whatever that something was took control during that conversation and the creation of that note. (And I realize that having no memory of drawing the cat sort of throws off the dark theme of the other two occasions, but I wouldn’t have brought any of this up to begin with if it made sense.) And remember what I said about feeling a little funny right after walking into a church for the first time in years? I think that’s when I, well, when I induced a self exorcism. Entering that holy ground got rid of whatever hitched a ride with me.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. But it’s equal parts frightening and fascinating to me that this happened. Losing control when you’re, say, drunk has the potential to be sort of fun. Suddenly losing control and having no idea what you did for a few minutes one night when you’re completely sober is, well, scary. And I only know about these three events because they were brought to my attention after the fact. For all I know there could be other things I did during this period of time that I have no memory of. And that’s like… a plot point out of some weird mystery based video game.

On the other hand, if I did manage to “invoke” something that night, even on a small scale, the possibilities are endless. So it’s not throwing a fireball. Big deal. Seriously, even if minor “parlor tricks” are the only kind of “magic” possible, that’s still something. And if there is even the slightest possibility that I have done something legitimately mystical, exploring that further is something that I would actually consider life worth living for. Never mind how amused I’d be if something out there actually has a claim on my soul due to whatever I did all those years ago. (So I have a weird fascination with demons and the concept of Hell too. What harm could that possibly do?)

Are there other explanations for what happened? Probably. Are any of them more viable than my possession theory? Did I somehow manage, accidentally or intentionally, to block so many events from my memory on my own? Did my time in the mental ward have something to do with it? I haven’t had any mental block episodes since, so I really don’t know. Granted I haven’t tried any invocations since either, so maybe I should see if I can do it again?


What did I do?

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on July 10, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I haven’t been “religious” for a very long time, and it’s arguable that I ever really was legitimately religious in the first place. Grew up in a Catholic family, and just sort of followed along as directed to church and private school and whatnot. I had been losing interest in the blind faith I’d been brought up on for years by the time my Satanist phase hit, but the thing is, I’ve always had an interest in all things mythological.

These days, I call myself a pagan, if anything. I don’t follow any regular practices, but I like to think that I’m significantly more open minded than most when it comes to whatever someone can have faith in, as long as they don’t try to push it on me. Hard to say what I believe as far as what’s out there though, as the only thing I’m certain of is that there is a “high power” out there and it hates me. But I do like reading up on as many different concepts as I can, which probably stems from my longstanding fascination with the mystical and magical.

So let me just get this out of the way now. Yes, I want to believe magic is possible. Real life is too boring for EVERYTHING written about the supernatural and magic (or magick, whatever) to be completely fake. To that end, I have been building my own collection of magic related books, but I don’t have anything like the musty old tomes of wonder you’d see in a movie, mind you. Though I would give an arm to get something like that. I figure that if I keep sifting through enough crap, eventually I have to find something that actually works.

Anyway, I had a point for bringing this up and probably losing most of you as soon as I said magic. But I need to set up a little more context to my mindset nowadays and at the time.

Another thing to keep in mind is that for as much as I generally don’t like going out in public or to parties or to commonplace events (like sports), I do like my niche crowd stuff. Geek conventions, Renaissance Faires, concerts, people I know doing things I find fun, that’s the stuff I will go out of my way to get to. And since I was a kid, one of the things that bugged the ever living hell out of me is knowing that there’s something that I WANT to go to, but for whatever reason, I can’t make it. That’s when the feeling of missing out hits me.

Back when I was dating #5, there was a double date night set up. My friend #6 and his girl were already at their place, and #5 was there too, waiting for me. But the weather forecast that night wasn’t the greatest, and I didn’t have a car that night for reasons I can’t quite remember. So as luck would have it, my getting out to this double date depended on my mother. Which wasn’t happening because of the weather. To put it lightly, I was furious. After an hour or so of arguing and yelling and angsting over the situation, I was at my wits end, which gave me an idea.

I’d been reading about how to invoke spirits, and considering how distraught I was at the time, I figured it was as good a night as any to try. So for the next, well, I don’t remember how long, but I spent a good long time offering up an improvised and heartfelt prayer (yes, oddly enough THIS would be the first time I ever really meant a prayer) to whatever ancient spirit of evil was listening. I don’t remember what I asked for, if anything, but I do remember offering up my soul. When I couldn’t think of anything else to say to whatever demons may have been listening, I shambled off to play some video games and left it at that.

I basically blew off the whole ordeal, if not outright forgot about it, until a few months later. Half asleep on the way home, I drifted on the road, and was abruptly knocked out of my daze by the sound of metal scraping metal. I whipped around to notice that I had actually drifted into another car. Jerking the wheel straight, I started to panic. Oh god, I thought, I was going to be in trouble for damaging someone’s car or my own car or something. Fearing the worst, for whatever reason this time, I felt the need to offer up a prayer to whatever benevolent force might be listening. I’d go to church for the first time in years and I’d turn my life around if nothing ever came of that horrible metallic scraping noise.

I got home, and couldn’t find any damage on the car. The next morning, no one woke me up for an explanation as to why someone was calling about damage to their car. Relieved to no end, I decided that if I had just experienced some divine intervention, I was going to follow up on my end of the bargain. And yeah, I made it to a mass within a few days for the first time in a long, long time. I want to say I did feel odd for a moment as soon as I set foot inside the church, but I think at the time I figured it was just, y’know, feeling awkward about being in a church. Might have had something to do with my having spent months coming up with crazy stories to tell my classmates about how I worshipped the Devil.

An indeterminate amount of time after I walked into a church for the first time in years, I was talking to a friend from my time with the public high school’s theatre group, and a female friend of his came up. I vaguely remembered her acting very oddly around me, and I asked my friend about this. He was antsy at first and didn’t want to talk about it, which of course really only increased my curiosity. Eventually I got an answer out of him, which only made things… worse. His female friend, who was kind of devoutly religious, was apparently terrified of me because of something I said to her, possibly regarding the Satanic Bible. Other people were able to verify this story, though no one would confirm exactly what I said.

The thing is, to this day I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of EVER talking to this girl. Never mind saying anything so dramatic that she’d be scared shitless of me. As a favor to my friend I never approached the girl about it, but if nothing else, this whole ordeal did add significantly to my dark and mysterious persona at the time.


*scans up the post*

I seem to have been rambling on here for a long time already and I haven’t even gotten to what actually freaks me out about all this. So tune in next week, same evil time, same evil blog, for other two stories about things I don’t remember doing and my rather offbeat theory about what really happened.


Planning concluded

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on July 3, 2013 by Johnny Broken

So there I was, nice and thin with a girlfriend. And then I went through that Satanist phase. Which lead to a stay in the mental ward, and a school transfer, and a couple months of eating nothing but a fruit pie for lunch at school. Before I knew it, I wasn’t so thin anymore. Drastic action needed to be taken. Sadly, what caught my eye this time was a commercial for a particular brand of diet pills. I saw no evidence at the time that you couldn’t substitute those for half the day’s meals, so I figured what the hell. I was sort of getting results, what’s the worst that could happen? (And yeah, now I know that the “worst” is basically everything, but I digress.) After around 3 months of taking the diet pills on and off, I got my first maybe-I-should-stop-taking these scare, and that was the end of that. But I was still like 145 pounds.

Skip ahead a while to a local concert I went to during winter when it was like 15 degrees outside. In the club, the people I was with wanted to be as close to the band as possible. So when the headlining act hit, I ended up spending like an hour and a half approximately 2 feet away from the business end of a smoke machine. And remember what I was saying about this being during winter? Well, we were soaked with sweat by the time we left, so it seemed like a grand ol’ idea to walk the couple blocks from the club to the car without our jackets on.

The next day, I woke up feeling horrible. Okay, just a cold, I hoped. By the end of the day, I realized it was the onset of the flu. And the next morning, I felt even worse. And when I woke up 2 days later with freaking pink eye, it was almost funny. I had never been that sick in my life. When I finally got to the doctor the next day, I’ll never forget his reaction. In the examining room, he stepped away from me to look at my chart. Then he looked at me again, inched back, took another look at the chart, inched back again, and then he finally spoke. “You are still very sick, and will need some time to recover. You’re also very contagious right now, so I recommend avoiding contact with others as much as possible.” What was hilarious was that he still kept inching back as he talked, till his back was to the door. And right after he said “possible” you could faintly see the cloud of dust from when he slipped out the door and called for a nurse.

My friends dubbed this period when I was sick with everything at once my “lichification,” because when I finally showed up again after spending two weeks on my death bed, I was like 15 pounds lighter. (And I know it’s bad to have to explain a joke, but a “lich” is a wizard who purposefully turns himself into an intelligent zombie that can use magic, thusly becoming immortal in the process.) My transformation into a lich has been the running gag with friends of mine ever since I dropped below 135 pounds. That’s geek gallows humor for you, I guess.

That’s also why when #3 comments about thin people versus fat people, he says I don’t count because I have a flesh eating disease. Plus there was my hernia surgery that seemingly also had the side effect of stapling my stomach. (I was having major trouble processing food after said surgery, which lead to periodic 10-14 hour long bouts of intense pain. Took some time, but I’ve been able to keep that problem in check.) Ungodly levels of pain aside, I’ve likened the experience to having suddenly gained the stomach capacity of a 6 year old girl. So these days I really have to be careful about what I eat. Can’t eat too much because I’ll either get sick or, y’know, gain weight. But I also need to eat enough to actually maintain weight.

A few months after all that, I got a stomach virus around Thanksgiving. (Which has to be the worst time of the year to be unable to eat much of anything.) That knocked me down to 118, which I hadn’t seen on the scale since my back surgery. But that was also when I started getting this odd burning sensation in my lower back. Signs pointed to that possibly having something to do with loss of muscle mass, and getting back up to 121 or so seemed to make that burning sensation go away. And that’s why about 121-123 is my current goal. Of course, I slowly crept back up to 134 pounds again. A last panicked push with some increased diet and exercise stuck, and I haven’t gone over 130 ever since. I’m at about 126 now, so my goal is reasonable.

But I’ve also noticed something else. At 130, I wanted 127. Then I’d hit 127 and be thrilled. Then I’d stumble into 125 and be ecstatic. And then I’d lose momentum and be back at 127. So when I was at 130 I felt, well, fat, and 127 felt better. But after hitting 125, 127 felt just as fat as 130 did. 127 became the new 130, if you will. And I’m sure 124 will be the new 127.

Oddly enough, I get asked every now and then if I’ll ever “go back” to being as big as I used to be. My approximate response is always “Oh fuck no” regardless of how much my sweet tooth screams in protest. Granted I don’t really have anything to show for my effort, but… no. I’m not going back.

It’s also come to my attention via Twitter that my *holds the tip of a thumb and pointer finger a hair apart* tiny obsession with my weight may classify as anorexia. And… I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean to be honest, I see the mantra “skip dinner, wake up thinner” and I can’t really bring myself to argue with it. And for as much as people comment on how thin I am these days, I get annoyed when I see a guy thinner than me. Oh, I think, he has to have a girlfriend. Maybe if I was as thin as him, I could actually get a girl too.


And this is why I hate planning

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on June 27, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Well… long story short, I had big plans for last weekend, but things didn’t go as I’d hoped. Umpteenth suicide attempt, if you’re curious. I had intended to make the attempt Saturday night, but I didn’t even get that far due to an impromptu minor car wreck earlier in the day. Which is why things are a bit later than usual this week. The specifics of my plans or how they were thrown off aren’t really important right now, and my lack of reacting quick enough to use the wreck to my advantage has me too depressed to explain them any further anyway. So I’m going back to what I had previously intended to post this week.

Many moons ago when I was but a young lad naïve to the ways of the world, like most my age, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t care when I ate, what I ate, or how much of it I ate. I was a chubby kid growing up, but I figured that was just how it was. I mean I hated my relatives for teasing me about it, yeah, but there were some kids at school just as pudgy, if not more so, than me, so I took it as normal. Some kids were athletic and fit, I wasn’t. That’s just how it was. Didn’t really cross my mind that I had any control over this for a long time.

I think my heaviest was around 185 pounds. And considering that I stopped growing at 5 foot 5 and a half, it wasn’t a good look for me. (I apologize if you don’t use American measurement systems. Math and I have never gotten along very well, so I would be the last person to try to convert that to stones or grams or whatever measurement system you use in your neck of the woods.) Now you might be wondering, “Hey, haven’t you said that you’re 5 foot 6 and a half?” and you would be right. Quick story!

I was born with a bad case of scoliosis, and I forget the exact numbers, but something like a 1.5 grade to the curve of your spine is normal. They recommend surgery at like 2.5. My spine was at like 3.2. So as a reward for my extremely screwed up genetics, I got two steel rods inserted next to my spine to straighten it out. And when I finally made it to my grandmother’s for post-surgery recovery, I had this weird feeling of vertigo walking around the place. Then it dawned on me that I had literally been straightened out, and was thusly about an inch taller. The disorientation came from everything being an inch lower than I remembered. Bit trippy, getting used to that.

Anyway. When reality finally sunk in and I realized, “Damn. I’m fat.” I began a lengthy period of trial and error to determine how to best lose weight.

One of the things that I had to plan my life around when I was growing up, was that I was frequently sick in the stomach. Granted a lot of this could be attributed to my nerves even as a little kid, but my parents were also fond of a late night snack back in the day. Hungry? Have a bowl of soup. Or some cereal. Or a sandwhich. Then off to bed in less than an hour. And of course, by the next morning. “Oh, you don’t feel well? Hmm. Ah well, we’ll get you some medicine.”

I saw a TV show somewhere along the lines about healthier living that advised to stop eating before you go to bed. And the exact numbers escape me, but the rest of it was something like you really shouldn’t eat like 2 hours before you go to bed. Sound plan, I thought, and I’ve abided by that rule pretty much ever since. And guess what? Almost immediately after I started watching how late I ate, I all but stopped getting such a frequent upset stomach.

And of course there’s the obvious stuff like cutting back on junk food and soda and the like. And then exercising, well, at all, in my case. But things weren’t progressing enough at first, and my hardcore sweet tooth wasn’t helping either. And then I got that previously mentioned back surgery which was like 8 or 9 hours on the operating table, and 6 months of recovery. Now I would like to point out that when I was barely able to move because my back had been cut wide open so my spine could be fused and bolted straight with two steel rods, the LAST thing on my mind was how much I weighed. At the time I had been growing my hair long, so I admit I was focused on that, but I really never noticed during my recovery that I was dropping weight like crazy. All in all, I lost like 50-60 pounds during that whole ordeal. And I was absolutely thrilled. My hair was long! And I was THIN!

And, oddly enough, this was also when I started dating a girl who was… hrmph, I’m trying to think of how I can phrase this so I don’t sound like an asshole, but I’m at a bit of a loss. So screw it. When I look at the opposite sex, I mentally file women my age into three categories

-Attractive. This encompasses “hot” girls who are thin or toned or curvy in all the right places or whathaveyou. See also, Out of My League.

-Average. An average girl can still be incredibly good looking, but she has a few extra pounds. Theoretically, averages girls are in my league in the dating pool.

-Big. This should be self explanatory. I’m sorry, but I do not find this attractive. And if I lost the weight, so can you.

Now the girl I started dating around this time, let’s call her #5, who also became the aforementioned longstanding girlfriend, was attractive. Well built. Pretty. On the other hand, the girl I dated for a bit before her was a bit on the pudgy side. Big boned, if you will. She was nice, but I will be honest, she’s one of the girls that would not be the first pick of the dating pool. My point here is that once I finally slimmed down enough, I was able to get a desirable, attractive girlfriend. Call my perception of life warped if you will, but a lot of what and how I think was developed through crap I actually went through.

And at that, we are to be continued! And you can relax, I’ll be here for a while. My plans take some alignment of the stars level arranging, so it’ll be some time before I try anything major again.


My type concluded

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , on June 19, 2013 by Johnny Broken

So there I am, stunned by something I never thought I’d hear. Ever. Then my mind finally scrambled back to a functional level and I did a mental “Waitaminute. What?!” I’m guessing it’s probably rather pathetic, but I just can’t get what she said out of my head. Like I said, beautiful women don’t talk to me, let alone go out of their way to say they miss me. But I am a pathetic human being, so it fits. Getting back to the confusion, I started thinking, in my own utterly incompetent way, about how I could seek answers to the questions that were now running through my mind. A beautiful girl who is nothing like me likes talking to me? Why? Should I do something about this? Should I try to talk to her more? Is she trying to test how I react? How should I react? Am I overthinking this?

Rather, well, smitten with the development, I did go out of my way to try to talk to her more. And that’s what’s made the situation worse. Sometimes she’d wave as she passed. Sometimes she’d blow me off all day. Sometimes she’d wait for me outside and we’d talk briefly as we walked in to work. Sometimes we’d never intersect at all during the day. So I really don’t know I’m doing something wrong, or if I should be doing anything at all. And it occurs to me that you’re probably wondering what my end goal is here. Yeah, I won’t lie, I wouldn’t object to dating her, but I seriously don’t ever see that happening. So I’m really not trying to move forward on anything like that. At least not intentionally, anyway. I’m just… I don’t know, really. Stumbling through trying to be a friend? My only real life friend, we’ll call him #3, tells me I’m wasting my time. But after every time I’ve been convinced that she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, in a few days she’s all friendly again. Which lead me to a surprisingly pleasant development. Temporary, of course, but anyway.

I had a week off from work, and the Tuesday after I came back was a free pizza day. Now I usually head off and keep to myself during lunch, but against my better judgment, I figured what the hell and grabbed some pizza. (I normally only eat one of those six packs of cheese and crackers for lunch. After a lot of trial and error, it’s the only thing I’ve found that I don’t get sick off of. And there’s also my, uh, minor obsession with my weight.) As I passed by the lunch room, I noticed the beautiful girl was sitting by herself at a table, which lead to a brief internal struggle in my head for the 5 seconds I had to think it over before the point of no return.

Odd, I thought, she normally doesn’t stay in here for lunch.

Where’s her friend that’s usually joined at her hip, who also seems to be one of the factors in her not talking to me?

Should I sit with her or go off and do what I normally do?

How much will I regret if don’t sit next to her?

What’s the worst that could happen if I do sit next to her?

And for once in my life, I took the initiative and sat at the table. Well, I admit I cheated a bit and set my stuff down at the table and mumbled, “Be right back” as I walked off to quickly wash my hands. And yes, I fully expected her to get up and leave before I got back. And she didn’t! So we sat and talked for a bit. About 10 minutes later she stood up and said she was going to go “burn my lungs” and she walked out. Now I did not take that to mean “let’s go outside so I can smoke” so pretty much right after she left, I did too. And as I walked out, I chuckled nervously to myself that after something like that, I probably wasn’t going to get to talk to her again for a long, long time.

And guess who wasn’t at work the next day? And only for like 2 hours the day after that?

So I wrote the whole thing off, again, as my having scared her off. Which lead to the following Friday. As I was on my way out for lunch, I happened to randomly notice that she was sitting in the lunch room again, alone, at the same table. Well I sat with her again, and we talked for a while. During which, to my surprise she did happened to bring up that she doesn’t do much online. (I had been wondering how to get in touch with her via social media. And now I knew that wasn’t happening.) But again after roughly 10 minutes, she goes out to smoke. Now at this point, I figured that after talking to her that much, I wouldn’t talk to her again for at least a few days, considering how on-and-off she is around me.

And sometimes in my life, I’m damn near psychic.

My division conspired against me and I couldn’t make the “usual” lunch time the next day. And I don’t think I saw her at all the next two days. And then on Friday, I caught her once, but never got to say anything, and she continued on her merry little way. And the following Monday, like a third of my old division, the stuff she was doing, started issuing layoffs. Which, of course, included her.

Now they do tend to rehire people after a slow week or three. But, well, I don’t even know if I should bother thinking about this. I mean I am going to keep thinking about it, because beautiful girls who are nothing like me don’t talk to me. But at this point, I can’t really do anything else about it, regardless of her tendency to avoid me every other day anyway.

UPDATE: I typed this up initially about a month ago, and as of my posting this, the division she was in has only gotten smaller since then. At this point I don’t know when they’ll be rehiring anyone for that particular job, never mind the odds of re-hiring her in particular. So I find it extremely unlikely I’ll ever see her again. C’est ma vie.

-Johnny Broken

Maybe I don’t know my type after all

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 12, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I humbly admit I’ve developed a fondness for certain social medias. The online variety, of course. If there’s a need for a distinction, but anyway, I’m also on twitter @destroyedspirit. Feel free to look me up there. I guess I like talking to no one in particular about topics that people don’t like talking about. Kind of hard for me to do that in real life, as I’ve just recently learned that one of the last two guys I consider a friend is moving out of state for work. As his wife is a controlling bitch of Jabba-esque proportions , my only other real friend and I don’t expect to ever see the guy again. So I’m down to one real world friend. And even he’s an asshole more often than not. Fun times, my life.

Do I have any prospects for a girlfriend? As you may have gathered by now, I’m horrible with women. So I really don’t know. Some random women my age talk to me at work, but I have no idea how to interpret any sort of flirty sign or signal or anything. Or if the looks cast my way are of the “Oooh, interesting” or the “Oooh God stay away” variety. There’s one girl, for example, who confuses the hell out of me. But before I start talking about why she does, I do want to point out that I still don’t know if I should be chuckling or horrified that she has the same hair color and name as that last “real” girlfriend I had all those years ago.

Anyway, this girl, let’s call her #4. The biggest thing is that she’s, well, hot, and thusly out of my league. Way, waaay out of my league. Like I just found out t-ball existed and she’s won a couple world serieissises. (Yeah, I do generally hate sports analogies, but it gets the point across rather well. And yeah, again, there’s no intended innuendo.) If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years with any certainty, it’s that ugly ducklings DO NOT get the swan in real life. And not that it matters, but she’s also a good bit younger than me, and she has two kids. And I know it’s jumping ahead a lot, but you can rest assured, I know full well I’m not ready for anything anywhere near THAT level of responsibility. So, back to the confusion.

Now #4, she’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I could go on about her reading level, but I don’t know if she even has a GED, so I can’t say how badly the educational system failed her. The important thing to keep in mind here is that in a business environment, I’m a grammar Nazi and I’m pretty sure management knows this. I admit that when she was moved right next to my station at work, and I got a chance to hear her repeatedly stumbling over very simple words, at first I started working on a lot of jokes about how she was putting said inner grammar Nazi into a coma. But then a team leader came by, and #4 quite literally burst into tears because she felt that what they had her doing made her sound stupid, which was made worse by whatever was going on in her home life.

After hearing her confession, I just couldn’t bring myself to mock her as badly as I intended. Feeling a bit chivalrous, I decided that so help me, I will make her smarter and as good at this job as I can. Now I should also mention that the guy who sat on the far side of her was equally capable of coaching her, and did as well from time to time. So a few weeks passed, I helped her out as best I could, and the other guy did too. And to my pleasant surprise, I noticed that she caught on pretty quick.

I try to make small talk with anyone I have to sit next to for like 30 hours a week, and the job it boring enough as is, so I’d also try to make her at least laugh from time to time. (There’s a big clue about that career opportunity I’ve been alluding to.) I was relatively content as the next few weeks passed, then I got moved to a different area at work. More than anything, I was annoyed that I was getting moved away from the hot girl that talked to me, and I figured that was the end of it. But this is where the confusion kicks in. When I pointed this out to her, to my extreme surprise, she actually got all, well, pouty that I was being moved away.

My heart skipped a beat. Women, especially the incredibly attractive ones, don’t express sorrow that they will no longer be next to me all day.

She explained that she preferred learning from me, compared to the other guy on her far side. He’s apparently a lot harsher, and I’m more laid back and easier to deal with. For as pleasantly unexpected a development as that was, it was quickly countered by how badly my new desk at work sucked, and my belief that if I didn’t have a desk right next to her, I probably wouldn’t talk to #4 again. Did I mention she’s beautiful? Beautiful women don’t talk to me. Skip ahead a few days to the start of the work day, and I hear someone behind me trying to get my attention. I turn around, and again, to my surprise, it’s #4. She commented on how she doesn’t get to see me anymore, and then she said something that’s stuck with me ever since.

“I miss you!”

-Johnny Broken