Confession time, folks.

I must have spent close to an hour staring at my computer screen, waiting for words to spontaneously ooze from my brain meats, travel down to my fingers, and then transfer to the blank Word document. Despite my protest, that didn't happen.

Originally I was going to discuss some drama that I experienced this past week at work, but I decided against it for the time being; while I have no problem talking about the incident, I do know that a few of my co-workers have access to my Facebook and thus my blog, and it wouldn't do to make a bad situation worse by talking about it. So as the great Bard Billy Shakespeare once said, "Seal up your lips and give no words but mum." 

"Preach on, brother."

You get bonus points if you can tell me which of Shakespeare's works that line comes from without using google or wikipedia.

So with my first idea for a blog entry cancelled, I found myself in the vexing situation of wanting to write, but having no subject matter. That is sadly an all too common occurrence with me; the spirit is willing, but the brain sucks a Krogan Quad.

"Go on..."

With that being said, I thought I'd give a general update on what's been going on in the insanely awesome world of Darren.

To summarize, the only awesome thing happening in my world right now is me. Everything else seems to have decided to get together and SUCK. I know I throw that word and others of its ilk around a lot, but I really mean it this time. Things are pretty bad right now.

In the order of the least SUCKTASTIC to the most:

1. My social circle has been cut in half. One of the few friends I have in this city is moving to Spokane, the armpit of Washington State, to go to college. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled he has a goal that he seems to be passionate about, but it kind of sucks for me. He's a recluse who has no problems spending everyday indoors playing video games or browsing the interwebs, so he'll be fine with friends. I, on the other hand, am a social animal (I know, right? Who knew?).

2. My financial situation becomes more and more untenable; student loan repayments, rent, bills, and food are sucking my paychecks up faster than I can save them. As it stands, I don't have the money for all the things I desperately need, such as my own place or a car. Looks like I'll be living went family for years to come.

3. My creative well seems to have dried up for the most part. I'm sitting on a few short stories that aren't going anywhere. Hell, even writing the blog has been difficult, as you can plainly see from the wide gap between updates. I try to power through and write something, but nothing happens. I feel...thin. Sort of stretched, like butter scrapped over too much bread. I need a holiday, guys. A very long holiday.

"That's MY line!"

Which brings me to:

4. The Thanksgiving Disaster. The whole family (My mother, older brother, younger brother, his girlfriend and their three kids, and yours truly) decided to go and visit my Grandma down in our home town of Kansas City, Mo. I cannot express the disdain I feel for that city. The sheer, venomous loathing that wells up from the pit of my stomach.

Kansas City is a disgusting cesspool filled with every negative black stereotype you've ever heard of, and some you haven't; ignorant thug wannabe's gleefully run the streets mugging and robbing folks for whatever they have. The public school system is an absolute disgrace; I was considered a nerd by the other students because I managed a C average in the brief 10 months I went to High School there before my Mother wisely decided we should move back to Alaska before I was killed. And no, I'm not joking; I had a gun pulled on me 14 times *on school property* by various knuckle-dragging primates determined to prove how tough and cool they were.

I could go on, but I'm sure you get the idea. I will sum up by saying this: Kansas City is a filthy pile of concrete and has the highest homicide rates in the entire country. It's worse than Detroit and lacks the star power.

Had Obi-wan ever visited Kansas City, he would have revised his opinion of Mos Eisley.

"You will never find a more pleasant neighborhood of polite, honorable heroes. And the housing market is excellent."

As you can imagine, my enthusiasm for returning to the city of my birth was nil. I can honestly say that every time I set foot in that city, bad things happen. And my streak continued. While we were there, my Little Brother managed to piss off and basically alienate the entire family, my three month old niece caught pneumonia and had to be rushed to the ER, I only managed about 9 hours of sleep the entire four days I was there, and my Grandpa's wallet was stolen.

5. And finally, the reason for our trip: my Grandma doesn't have much time. For 10 years now, she's been fighting a losing battle with cancer. She's been holding out well, but it seems it's gotten worse. Now she's feeling pain where there was none before. And she's tired. We can all see it; the only reason she continues chemo is for our sake.

Last week she had to go to the ER because she was having trouble breathing. Her red blood cell count was low, and there was signs of internal bleeding. She had to have a blood transfusion, and thankfully they found the source of the bleeding and fixed it. But things are grim. I honestly don't know if I'll ever see her again. But I suppose that's just existential truth.

So, that's pretty much it! A lot of stuff going on in the life of Me, and almost all of it SUCKS. I'm trying that thing where I'm positive and wait for the shit storm to blow over. It's difficult; my positive muscles are not unlike the fat kid in gym class who was forced to run a mile by himself because all the other kids managed to finish theirs a half an hour earlier.

That was a lot of depressing, unhappy subject matter, so here's a picture of an adorable kitten. Don't say I never did anything for you.

The Worst Mistake

Going to college is without a doubt the worst mistake I've ever made.

I didn't want to go originally. In fact, I had planned on avoiding it. But a good friend of mine convinced me that not going to college would doom me to a life coasting from shit, low paying job to shit, low paying job. In fact, I remember his exact words: "Dude, you can either spend the rest of your life working some shitty minimum wage job, or you can go to college."

That ill-fated conversation still rings in my head to this day. So thanks for that. You know who you are.

But once I seriously considered the idea, I grew excited.

Like many an ignorant youth, I was brought up on the idea that going to college would be good for me; a great education, new friends, some parties, and as a cherry on top of that supposed Awesome Sundae, I would receive a shiny piece of paper proclaiming to world the incredible might of my brain meat.

Afterwards, employment opportunities would rain from the heavens, money would flow freely, and I could live happily ever after flying around the world in my private jet.

That sounds awesome, right? Of course it does.

What I got was the exact opposite of awesome. The college scene is highly exaggerated. Being the simpleminded youngster I was, I didn't realize that. But I quickly discovered my ideas of higher education were *ahem* flawed. My classes, rather than being the fonts of wisdom I envisioned, were for the most part a big waste of time and money; especially money, but I'll get to that. I can honestly say that within a week of the semester ending 80% of the information I learned in nearly all of my classes seeped out of my ear like rancid snot. I don't know whose at fault for that colorful imagery; the American Education System, the inability of my professors to motivate me to really learn the material, or the fact that I could give two fucks about some bullshit required course that had no meaning to my life goals and would have exactly zero usefulness in that frightening place adults called the Real World.

Regardless, I found myself increasingly dissatisfied with my education.

The social scene was little better than it was in high school; I found a small group of people who shared my interests and clung to them like the neediest sloth to the worlds most comfortable branch. Outside of that tiny circle, I associated with people as little as possible. So just like high school, I was in a clique. And so was everyone else for that matter., so nothing new there.

And worse of all, I got no shiny piece of paper. Yes folks, I never graduated.

There are a myriad of reasons (or excuses) why I never got my Magic Paper of Awesome. And since I know you're interested, I'll share. Aren't I such a nice guy?

Reason the First: The administration was complete shit. All they were good for was near constant increases in tuition and every other little added fee they could slip in; the price of housing, the meal plan with its inedible swill, the on-campus activities and events all went up in price and down in quality. And any major decision was met with delay after delay. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that the university was being run by congress.

All in favor of as inept as humanly possible, say "Aye."

Reason the Second: The Hiring Freeze. During a ghastly three semesters, we were without an official Technical Theatre professor. That might not sound like such a big deal, except that I was a theatre major and I kinda need my technical theatre credits! How cool does it sound to have to sit and wait for the Admin's to get their shit together and provide the students with a teacher so they can complete their major?! Stage Construction, Lighting Design, Sound Design, and Production were all things I needed to learn, and yet could not.

Reason the Third: I didn't need college for my career goal. Ever since I stumbled into my first drama class in middle school, I've wanted to be an actor. Naturally, being young and dumb, I figured the next logical step after high school productions would be college. It wasn't until I faced my pointless delay in receiving my technical theatre credits did I realize that I didn't actual need a degree to act. I had at that point been acting fairly regularly in shows around town. It then hit me that the best way to learn how to act was to go out and act. Audition, work on monologues, see plays, and read.
Don't get me wrong, I did learn how to act while in college; I took every acting class offered, and then some. I had great professors who taught me how to come out of my shell and really perform. But looking back, I could have done that without enrolling in college and wasting thousand of dollars struggling to fulfill course requirements that were unnecessary.

So I quit. And now I suffer the consequences of my foolishness in the form of student loan payments.

My college career has racked up quite the bill, and I now find myself being slowly crushed under the weight of all that debt. Like poor Atlas forever condemned to bear the weight of the celestial sphere, I feel that I'll be forced to endure a life time of this nightmare. For years I've been going through one crap job after another, unable to afford payments; some years, eating and making the rent has been a challenge. And of course, as I run and hide from my doom, it persists, eternally the Pepe Le Pew to my Penelope Pussycat.

Dealing with this debt is causing me serious anxiety, and I don't know how much of it I can take. I'm so sick and tired of having the Sword of Damocles looming over my head. As it stands now, rent, bills, food and transportation plus my loans leaves me barely able to live, let alone save money. And if something serious comes up, like a trip to the hospital or an early release of Kingdom Hearts 3, I'm absolutely boned.

And I have no real options.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Autumn is officially here. The air is crisp with the precursor to winters chill. The trees weep tears of gold and orange and brown. This is probably my favorite time of year; wrapping myself up snug in a blanket, with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a good book in the other, I feel more relaxed than at any other time of year. I also get reflective, as I'm sure many others do. So I find myself contemplating years past and dreams unfulfilled. I have a question for you:

What do you want to be when you grow up?

When I was a child, I wanted to be an environmental scientist. At the time, Captain Planet was my favorite television show. I'd record every episode on vhs tapes and watched them over and over and over again. I'm pretty sure my mom got sick of me running around the house, yelling "go planet!" at all hours. I'd give stern lectures to the neighborhood kids about the selfishness of littering, of how their waste was killing the planet.

As you can imagine, I didn't make many friends.

Time went by, and I mostly grew out of that phase. Or rather, I just became more subtle. I realized after a while that no one likes being preached at, no matter how worthy the cause; get in peoples faces enough, and they'll eventually hate whatever you endorse. After all, no one likes being told what to do and how to think.

Eventually I changed my mind about becoming an environmental scientist (whatever that is); while I slipped the bonds of sheer fanaticism, I'm happy to say that I didn't loss the desire to save the world. I still care about the environment, and as a result am far less anthropocentric than the majority of people I know. Anthropocentrism is one of the roots of my misanthropy, but that's a rant for another day.

When I was in middle school, and just entering my teen years, I joined a drama class on a lark (and by lark, I mean I needed a creative arts credit) and discovered the grand world of acting. And during that year, my desire changed.

"When I grow up," I thought to myself. "I want to be an actor."

In that nearly forgotten drama class, I discovered a side of myself that I was previously unaware of. For the first time since I was little hell raiser, I had found something I could be passionate about again. In a play, I could fall into someone else's life; like a shapeshifter, I could assume a different form. I could be a king, or a murderer or beggar or a god. At times it was hard. But it was always fun.

I carried that passion with me when I went to high school. I fell in with the theatre nerds, and felt right at home. It was a wonderful time in my life; my greatest concern was getting to class on time, and cramming for a random test that I had forgotten about (ignored) until the day before. After classes ended, it was off to the theatre department to rehearse or goof off. It was good times.

College was a rude awakening for me. My faith in my acting ability was cracked when I witnessed people with far greater ability than myself perform; I was a guppie transported to a large lake, a lake with much bigger and hungrier fish. It was also in college that I discovered that awful truism that serves to shake the foundation of so many young actors: the business is a ruthless, cutthroat entity. Actors good and bad, with talents great, small and nonexistent all desperately struggled to climb to the top, to get roles and recognition.

Most don't.

Still, I held my own for a good long while. At first I auditioned and auditioned, only to be rejected time and time again. After a while, as my craft was polished and I became more skilled, I was cast in roles. Some bigger than others, but I was acting.

My downfall came once I allowed the prospects of going out into the cold, harsh world and plying my trade, of joining the rat race, of being lined up in a potentially endless parade of cattle calls and being judged suitable for a role based solely on how I looked or how tall I was or any number of details get the best of me. I let fear slip into my heart and take root.

And like that, I abandoned my second passion.

Oh, it's still there, burning like a feeble ember in a vast darkness. But I don't seem to have the courage to breath on it; doing so would mean having to actually try, and that's out of the question. My inner C-3PO keeps spouting the odds of success, and my inner Han Solo is absent, probably off somewhere making out with my inner Leia or shooting Greedo or whatever that charming bastard does when he isn't telling inner C-3PO to shut the hell up. Han is an ass.

Look at this smug bastard.

So what do I want to be when I grow up? At this point, I honestly don't know.

Tomorrow, September 18th, is the anniversary of my birth. That's right, it's my birthday. I'll be 31 years old. It's strange; I'm not filled with the bittersweet feeling that has accompanied my birthdays the past few years. This year I'm just..introspective.

 Since my 28th birthday, I've experienced a kind of panic whenever September came around; it was at that time that I realized how much of my youth I'd been wasting. It embarrasses me to write this, but I'd been in college off and on for around a decade, and had nothing to show for it. Well, I guess I shouldn't use past tense, because I still have nothing to show for it. Okay, that's not completely true; my 10 years of higher education did gift me with around $50,000 in debt, and a mountain of interest that continues to add to it.

The point is, I started experiencing what I can only describe as a panic depression, a weird fusion of the frantic desire to do something NOW and a crushing sense of defeatism; desperately trying to cram some life and good experiences won't make up for the fact that I had less time on this Earth than I did a year ago, or ten years ago when I was a fresh-faced high school graduate who had the entire world before him and the indomitable will to accomplish anything.

How the hell did I become so world weary without actually doing anything?

We fast forward to the present day. I'm sitting here, contemplatively absorbing the fact that today is last day of my 30th year; on Wednesday, September 18th at 2:23pm, I will have officially aged another year. And I have nothing to show for it. Just more of the same.

You can relax, I'm not about to slip into some "woe is me, woe is me" pity party. I think I've already mentioned that I'm done with those.

For once, I'm not sinking down into the murky depths of the past. Rather, I'm pondering the future, and what I want to do with myself. You see, I have this aversion to what most people call the Real World.

Best. Show. Ever.

The Real World involves waking up and dragging yourself to a job that you probably don't care about to do menial tasks that, in the grand scheme of things, don't really matter. You spend 8 hours of your day doing this distasteful whatever and then, exhausted, you shuffle zombie style back to your dwelling, where you spend the next few hours "relaxing" before you go to bed to get not enough rest so you can do it again the next day. You dance to this tune day in and day out, your only hope that distant beacon of light called the Weekend. You spend all of your energy striving for that glorious reprieve from the tedium, and once that shiny ray of light is finally in your grasp, it vanishes in the blink of an eye. And you're right back where you started.

You spend 5 days of the week striving for the last two, and in the meantime life passes you by.

And you'll probably follow this pattern for the rest of your adult life until you either retire, hit the lottery, or die.

This is my perception of it anyway. Perhaps I've made it seem bleaker than it is. After all, that doesn't account for people who genuinely, truly love their job or feel passionate about it. Those lucky few are truly blessed. The majority of us are not so fortunate.

For as long as I can remember, I've been deathly afraid of the Real World. I don't want to spend the rest of my life struggling at some job that I hate. I don't want to wake up one morning to discover that I'm 80 years old and I'm nearly out of time, while I wasted all of my youth and energy amassing money for trinkets and toys. I've seen how that movie ends; my own mother works 11 hour days, five days a week, and has nothing to show for it.

I can see myself all too easily falling into the same trap.

This represents the Real World, and your foot represents your hopes, dreams, youth, and energy.

It is far too easy to grow complacent. Complacency is one of the more deadly traps the Real World throws at you. You fall into a set routine and before you know it, tomorrow is your birthday. You blink in wide-eyed astonishment as that fact hits home: you are one year older, and that much closer to the end of the race.

The only escape from the Real Worlds' trap, the one thing that will bridge the gap between mere survival and truly living is finding something that you love, something that you're passionate about, something that really interests you, and doing it. Don't let little niggling fears and doubts and haters get in your way; most people are miserable and will do everything in their power to bring you down to their level. The worst thing you can do is let them.

This shiny ray of brilliant optimism has been brought to you by your Friendly Neighborhood Black Man. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

PAX! :O

I can think of no better way of spending a sunny Monday afternoon than doing what I do best: being a huge gamer geek. And I can think of no better way of being a huge gamer geek then doing so at PAX!

Just in case someone who happens to stumble onto this blog doesn't know what PAX is (I can't imagine such a thing) I'll tell you. The Penny Arcade Expo (PAX) is a series of gaming festivals held in Seattle, Boston, and Melbourne, Australia. It was designed to give equal attention to Console Games, PC Games, and Tabletop Games. In these glorious conventions, gamers of all shapes (mostly round) and sizes (mostly LARGE) can come together and check out the latest games, play demos, collect loot, attend tabletop tournaments, and have an awesome time.

Until today, I've never had the pleasure of attending PAX; being dirt poor, I could hardly afford a plane ticket out of Alaska and a hotel for the weekend. Now that I'm no longer living in Alaska, and am no longer dirt poor, it was a simple matter of spending the $30 for a day pass and recruiting an awesome friend to give me a lift to and from the Washington Convention Center to experience what cruel circumstance has denied me for far too long.

Upon arriving, I had an epic nerdgasm.

One box of tissue paper and a change of pants later, I was ready to go. All about, people moved to and fro, going from gaming booth to gaming booth. The constant buzz of conversation competed with the ambient melody of computerized Pings and Bleeps. It was beautiful.

Not having access to a map (those apparently disappear within a few hours of opening on the first day), I spent the first hour and a half exploring, attempting to get my bearings while working on a plan of attack. With six floors across at least two buildings, I had my work cut out for me. I'm fairly certain that I missed out on a bunch of stuff despite my efforts.

For 6 hours, I experienced the glory that is PAX. I stood in lines for everything; whether it be for food, merch booths, game demos, or the disturbingly sticky floors of the restrooms, there will be lines. As someone who hates lines, I was surprised that I didn't mind waiting that much. It was all part of the PAX experience. Plus it afforded me plenty of opportunities to do another thing that I love: people watch. People are fascinating, for obvious reasons. Gamers, even more so. During my time there, I saw:

~ Boba Fett, his arm linked with Princess Leia's (in her slave outfit, of course), who in turn held the hand of an adorable young padawan learner.

~A guy dressed like Deadpool running through the crowds, slinging cheesy one-liners, and actually eating a freaking chimichanga.

~ Countless attractive (and hideous) females dressed as various anime characters, sexy maids, video game characters, and things I honestly have no names for.

~ A table flip. An honest-to-gods table flip. I happened to be passing by the Magic: The Gathering gaming tables when one high spirited neckbeard bellowed in rage and flipped his table, much to laughter of myself and countless others. He was asked to leave; I wanted to offer him a drink in thanks for the entertainment.

~ Vast seas of bean bag lounge areas where folks could take a load off and game on handhelds. But no plopping is allowed.

 Beyond the people watching was the actual game demos. Due to my tendency to wander, as well as the length of some of the lines, I didn't play as many demos as I would have liked. But unless you were fortunate enough to snag a 4 day pass, I doubt anyone got to play all the games they would have liked.

I tried out some of the latest greatest from the big wigs:

~I jumped on Final Fantasy XIV for a couple of 20 minute intervals throughout my visit. It was fun; what can I say about an MMORPG that isn't already known. I will say that it successfully rekindled my itch to play an MMO, as well has my desire to play a good Final Fantasy game (Fuck off, XIII). I *may* give the game a try once I pick up a PS3.

~ I got a glimpse of the much anticipated Beyond: Two Souls. In BTS, you play a girl who has a psychic link with some kind of entity. It can possess enemies, produce telekinetic shields, and a variety of other effects. It's looking like I will be picking this game up in October.

~ Wolfenstein, which is a game about an alternative Earth where the Nazi's won WWII using crazy cyber tech. It takes place in the 1960's and has an awesome atmosphere.

~ Elder Scrolls Online. Wow. I only got to play for about 15 minutes; the Bethesda Security Goons are strict about time. With people in the hundreds waiting in line to try the game out, I guess I can't blame them (grumble). I'm still iffy about an MMO Elder Scrolls, but from what I got to play, it will be a blast once it's complete.

~ Dying Light. A really cool looking zombie survival horror with a heavy focus on freerunning. It was fun. and worth the wait in line. 'Nuff said.

I took my time and went to the XBOX One and PS4 sections. Surprisingly, there was a decent crowd at the XBOX One, despite the recent *ahem* unpopular system design choices and alacritous retraction. I will hand it to them, they have some pretty cool looking exclusives coming out:

~ Killer Instinct, a remake of the classic SNES fighting game, looks freaking sick. Seeing it revamped with the latest graphics brought a nostalgic tear to my eye. I think I'm past my desire to play arcade style fighter games; with the exception of the occasional Soul Caliber match, I've pretty much outgrown them.

~ Battlefield 4 was clogged full of nerds for the entire time I was there, so I didn't get a chance to play. But I did watch a few rounds, and it's looking pretty nice. If you're into FPS, that is.

 I just hope for their sake that those exclusives are good enough to overcome the extra $100  hurdle compared to the PS4.

In addition I got to check out some  awesome Indie Games. A few stick out in my mind:

~ Delver's Drop, a 2D action RPG based around three characters trying to escape an ever-shifting dungeon.

~ Aztez, a game that combines a compelling combination of turn based strategy and real-time beat'em up violence.

~ Assault Android Cactus, a really fun and engaging twinstick arena shooter. I lost track of time and blew close to an hour playing this game.


So what did I take away from my very first PAX? You mean besides playing a bunch of awesome games and being able to fully immerse myself in glorious nerd culture? Of being able to bask in the aura of gamer geekdom?

Shirts.

I became a shirt whore at PAX; I can't count how many lines I stood in or the number of newsletters I signed up for or the number of games I preordered (and promptly cancelled once I was out of sight) on amazon, all for the promise of a shirt. You see, game companies have two sure fire methods of attracting interest and potential future customers at PAX. 1) An astonishing number of attractive females acting as lures for salivating nerds, attracting them into their devious clutches like BBQ attracts black people (It's okay if I say it), and 2) Free shit. Key chains, posters, stickers, and SHIRTS. Shirts galore! You get free clothes, and in exchange they get to use you as walking advertisement for their product. Everyone wins!

So I got shirts. By my count, I have 15 new additions to my wardrobe. All for the price of NOTHING. Damn I love PAX!

I need a project!

So this is going to be a relatively quick post; it's almost midnight, and another exciting work week begins tomorrow.

Lately, I've had this persistent itch...

No, not that kind. I mean this weird, restless desire to do something creative. Something above and beyond thinking up blog posts to give all three of the people who read it a quick and amusing glimpse into the life and thought process of yours truly.

It was inevitable, really. I know too many of these damn creative types; musicians, artists, actors, and writers are pretty much all I associate with. Granted, none of these people are actually *around* me, but whatever. And even beyond personal affiliations, there are all over the interweb cool, hip individuals letting their creative juices leak out of their smug, brilliant heads. They are doing web comics and vlogs, Video Game Let's Plays and movie reviews. They blunder about crafting memes, and in general, make the lives of social rejects such as myself a little brighter.

The point, dear lads and lassies, is that I find myself in need of a serious creative outlet. I need a project! I need something right-brained (yes, I know the left/right brain thing has been disproved) to bring balance to my current state, which is pretty meh, to be honest.

The only problem is that I have absolutely no ideas for cool, hip projects. However, I do have an overabundance of BLAH, so maybe it will work out.

A Tale of the Dreaded Friend-Zone.

Well, dreaded for guys, at any rate; I've rarely encountered a group of women standing around, complaining about being friendzoned by the hot guy who lives on the fourth floor. Or maybe they do, and they just practice a rare and valuable ninja art called Subtle. Perhaps it happens to women just as often as men, but men don't know about it because we are poor listeners and sexist pigs and *insert gender bias here*

Maybe, but I doubt it.

It wasn't my idea to upload an entry about this subject; the number of blogs featuring the angsty, despairing wails of antisocial neckbeards incapable of speaking to any female who isn't their mom could well reach into the hundreds of billions; I have no desire to contribute to that unwashed mess. However, a friend of mine who keeps insisting that I write about stuff (Gods, it's as if she actually cares about my aspirations of being a world famous novelist or something...) suggested that this tale I'm about to unfold would make for a great blog entry; the fact that she hasn't heard this story yet doesn't seem to matter, so here we go.

This miserable tale of woe takes place in May, right around Mother's Day. Since the beginning of 2013, I had been talking with this girl, let's call her Jenny, via online messaging. I met her on OKCupid, one of the countless online dating sites that have popped up like weeds in the interweb's prize garden. I've never been a fan of the online dating thing; I've seen and heard too many horror stories about them, involving everything from dudes pretending to be chicks, to dudes pretending to be chicks pretending to be dudes. I prefer to actually meet the woman in person first; I know, I'm weird...

But I figured, what the hell? I'm in a new city, I have zero friends, and am perpetually Forever Alone, so I might as well give it a try. Plus I know people who have done the online thing and met with great success. What could go wrong?

Anywho, I had been talking to Jenny for a few months via messaging; we'd have yet to meet in person. Our profiles on OKC were pretty closely in sync; a 93% compatibility is nothing to sneeze at (if you're the type who cares for that sort of thing). We had a lot in common; a love of reading, taste in similar movies, cartoons, etc. Plus she was hip to current nerd pop culture, a quality that's very important in a woman. Right up there with boobs.

The only problem was, I had no interest in her as a prospective mate. You didn't see that one coming, did you?

When we first started communicating, I had made it abundantly clear that I was not looking for a relationship. Now, you probably think that's a weird stance to take while surfing an online dating site, and you might be right. But OKC has this little section where you get to spell out what your are looking for on the site; not everyone is after relationships, or even a date. At the time, I was looking for friends and activity partners.

No, not those activities, you perverts. Get your minds out of the gutter. I wasn't looking for *ahem* casual fun time either. Just friends.

I mentioned this fact to her, and she said she was fine with it. We spent the next four months or so chatting,  and when we met up a week before Mother's Day, it was for the sole purpose of hanging out as friends.
We went out to a local bar, had some drinks, and talked. It was a lot of fun, and even though I have little interest in alcohol, I had a good time.

So let's jump forward to Saturday, May 11th. The day before Mother's Day. I was invited by Jenny to go bar hopping out in Bellevue. The plan was to spend a few hours running around downtown Bellevue, do some dancing, people watch, and then retire for the night. Jenny had made her couch available to me for the night, and on the morrow she would drive me back home.

Before I go any further, I want to say two things. First, I need to reiterate that I was NOT looking for anything other than friendship from Jenny. She knew it, and I knew it. Second, I am not the most observant person when it comes to recognizing signals. I once point blank told a hottie who insisted that she knew me from somewhere that I did not in fact know her from anywhere, and that she must be mistaken. In the background, my friends where groaning, slapping their heads, and silently calling me an idiot. One even went so far as to pound his forehead repeatedly into the bar top once the dejected hottie vacated my presence. My friends mocked and ridiculed me for months after that. And they were right to do it.

That second point is important, because *I* noticed her putting the moves on me. And if I notice it, it must be horribly obvious to all. Throughout the evening, she:

~ Played with her hair, twirling it around her finger while giving me sultry looks with eyes that smoldered.

~ Made a point of touching my arm or leg as often as possible.

~ Laughed at every one of my stupid jokes and idiotic ramblings. And there were a lot; Stupid and idiotic make up 80% of my sentences on any given day.

In addition to those telltale signals, there were other, more obvious signs that something was up.

~ At one point, we had entered the first of many bars. I'm paraphrasing, but she said something along the lines of, "I'm going to have to stick by you; if I leave a man as good looking as you standing around for even a minute, you'll be surrounded by women trying to get in your pants."

~ Later, when we had stopped by a cool little spot to get some food, our waitress, a smoking hot blonde, paused and sized us up. Again I'm paraphrasing, she said, "You two are really cute together. I like this." That part was fine, but what wasn't fine was the way Jenny took that opportunity to reach out and take my hand. It was awkward, to say the least.

~ As we headed back to her place, she was having a hard time walking; a few hours dancing in heels will do that to anyone, I guess. Taking off her heels, she then leaned on my shoulder for support. I guess that one could be an innocent gesture, right? You would be correct, if you disregarded the ever so subtle butt rub she offered in thanks.

Once the night was over, and she had retired to her room while I awkwardly tried to go to sleep on her couch (I HATE sleeping in an unfamiliar place), I reflected on the evenings events. I knew things would come to a head soon.

And I was right.

It was the next day, Mother's Day, May 12th. She had graciously drove me home that morning. The conversation was subdued; I hoped it was just because she was recovering from a night of drinking and dancing. Once I arrived home, I showered, did a little studying for a Math exam I had the following day, and then the family and I were taking my Mom out to eat. Because, you know, Mother's Day.

On the way to the steakhouse (it's always a steakhouse), I got a text from Jenny. It read: "After last night, I realized something. I realized that I really don't want to be your friend. I want  to be more than that. And I know that's not possible. For the record, I really did enjoy my time with you. I'm not sure if I can just be a platonic friend."

Well damn.

The Friend Zone sucks. I kind of understand how women must feel when they turn down the advances of some brave soul who approaches them. I feel bad, despite the fact that I made every effort to keep things platonic. I kind of feel that I could have done more to keep a wall between us, but at the same time, I didn't want to hurt Jenny's feelings.

I really did enjoy hanging out with her; she's an Archer fan, after all. But I was at a point in my life where dating was impossible; unemployed, with no prospects, no car, and living entirely on the kindness of family. I was in no place financially for a relationship, nor was I in the right state of mind; I battled with depression and low self-esteem on a daily basis. I would have ruined any sort of romantic relationship within weeks.

What really sucks about the experience is that I lost what could have been an awesome friendship. But what could I do? With her feeling the way she did, there was no way we could have still hung out.

Oh well.