othelladub's Diaryland Diary


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"We play in the den of the Gods and snort at death."

- May Swenson (05/28/1919 12/04/1989); US writer

"Basically, I hate conformity. I hate people telling me what to do. It makes me want to smash things. So-called normal behaviour patterns make me so bored, I could throw up!" -Wendy O. Williams (05/28/1949 04/06/1998); US singer

There are some things which I'll always have trouble understanding. Social rules, manners, and expectations all seem so unnecessary in so many instances. It seems superficial to expect of others what you, yourself, are not required, or do not feel compelled to do.

It seems I have been rude, inconsiderate, and petulant in my interactions with several individuals over the course of a handful of months. While, in retrospect, I can certainly recognize some of the criticisms tossed my way by these folks, I can't see how no one else takes any responsibility for their own involvement in such matters, which, unbeknownst to me, were ripe for deterioration.

There's certainly a double-standard when it comes to respect regarding male/female relations. As a male, I'm subjected to several forms and layers of judgement/inspection/assessment, and honed in upon with laser-like precision, whereas it seems that, as a female, there is a flexibility to enjoy the moment, not bring up any complaints or concerns, and then restructure or re-evaluate one's thinking or to process information or reformat one's recollection, or smudge the accuracy of an experience based on whim, fancy, or biological imperatives.

This flexibility is not, likewise, extended to males. In the instance in which a man may change his mind about the quality of an interaction, or experience, he is blasted and labeled and critiqued with a scorching deviancy of delicacy which is insufferable, insatiable, insulting, superficial, and lacking in clear, reasoned thought.

Many women seem impervious to accountability as far as responsibility for a 50% share in levels of responsibility when it comes to dating. If a date goes poorly, or if one isolated aspect of a date goes sour, it is the man's complete and whole responsibility. It is his mistake, and he must bear the brunt of the criticism and negative energy.

There is no relaxing first date. It is an interview process from hell. It is a chemical analysis, sprectrolysis, cardiogram, fecal fact-finder, dirt-digging expedition of tenacious weakness-scouting. It is an exercise in detecting minor flaws to store away for later use. It is a complete waste of time, as far as making a simple attempt to enjoy oneself in a loosely enjoyable, relaxing environment. Every choice is judged, every aspect weighed, every sign of wealth or speech pattern or choice of film, dinner, or walkway is disseminated. It is a laborious, scathing, symphony of putrid repugnancy which represents in no way the concepts or ideals of love. A first date is the antithesis of true love, and shares nothing with beauty.

The few women for whom a first date is a free-flowing, jubilant, relaxed, flirty affair, are, to my knowledge, already married.

11:18 p.m. - 2003-01-20


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