A fantastic, final resolution...

As I creep, ever so slowly, now to my 29th birthday, I have made a decision. A quite simple one really. A decision that perhaps I had already subconsciously made long ago, yet fought a losing battle to not give into. But now, the white towel, is now being tossed into the ring.

This fearless blogger has a disorder, not a life-threatening disorder, but a disorder nontheless. I have a physical look about me because of the disorder, that isn't awful, it's stark. However, it is slightly off kilter that I have always gotten "looks." I remember starting to see it and really feel the effects of it during middle school and high school, which was perhaps why I still think of those years as absolute fucking hell (despite meeting the few friends I still have during the later years of hs).

At the time, I attributed it to bullshit teenage crap, but as I got older, I realized it was actually BS people crap. Thus, I have always been a loner-type; partly because I despise small talk in general, and partly because of the social isolation that was effectively imposed upon me. I was never physically off-putting enough to get those sympathy chicks, nor did I have the personality to be fucking fawned upon. I have the look the says, something is wrong with him, but I'm not sure what. And we know from sociological studies that people fear what they don't know. Women to this date give me "the look." I now as a teacher have noticed that when I'm walking around a store shopping, a woman alone with her spawn will reach toward her kid as I come strolling by, as if I were going to steal the little shit. AS IF, I want a freakin' kid to care for, oy!

Ergo, I have never dated much. I didn't do bars, don't do bars. I don't do clubs, because I can't drink. "But, you don't have to drink," you say. Yeah, well what if I wanted to. That's like saying to a crack addict in rehab, go party with Lindsay Lohan, but don't do any crack. Not possible. I never have been an alcoholic, but my disorder doesn't allow me to drink without murdering my already fragile liver.

The past 2-3 years, with a move to a new part of the country, I thought I could attempt a fresh start. Well, not so much. I have invested some hefty cash (a solid grand) on numerous ventures to try and meet someone to spend time with. All that has led to...zilch.

The last lady I met with, I had been speaking with on the phone and via e-mail messages for a month, and when we met Monday night, we had a great 2 hour dinner, with some great conversation. Which, for me, is a fuckin' rarity, to find someone who has some of the same interests in the world as I. So, I finally hear back after 2 days, and she is going in another direction. This is fine. Sucks for me, but 'tis fine.

Perhaps it's me projecting, but there comes a point when one can no longer ignore what he sees with his own eyes. I am convinced that despite seeing several current pictures of me, the person-to-person appearance proved too much.

Therefore, as of today, Wednesday, October 3, 2007...I am ending all activities in relation to meeting/finding a woman to spend time with. I have been alone here for...29 years, I will move on. The search, has officially fucking ended...so, blow me world. Blow me hardcore.