The Confused Narcissist

The Confused Narcissist

So last year at Valentines Day, I talked about hope and how I had a chance to finally catch a break in the form of a beautiful young intellectual who seemed to be really into me. Well, some of you may remember how that turned out. That break I thought I was finally catching turned out to be much like the road runner that the coyote always thinks he’s catching. The road runner magically got away and the device which I tried to use to catch it somehow malfunctioned and defying all laws of physics, hurled a 20-ton rock onto my head, leaving me to limp my accordion-shaped body back to the drawing board.
Another year, another trail of heartbreak and despair. And honestly, I can’t even really say that heartbreak has been a part of this past year. I haven’t gotten close enough for heartbreak. But the despair makes up for it. And for those of you who think that I’m a player, a commit-o-phobe or a relationship saboteur, I’d appreciate it if you could somehow manage to kick yourself in the throat right now so that I don’t have to do it myself and so I’ll never really have to know about it. It’s better for all that way.
Really, whether I’ve been the punching bag for an emotionally troubled 19-year-old, the butt end of a joke for some hot 21-year old or falsely impregnating people 500 miles away (yeah, there’s a fun story), this year has beaten me down. Every year does. And every year, I try to figure out why. I just need it to make sense because it doesn’t.
And so I approach the situation rationally. What the hell is wrong? The easy answer is that’s it’s me. After all, I am the only common link in all my failed relationships. And honestly, for years I have assumed that is was. But let’s take a look to be sure.
Am I too picky? I think we all know that’s bullshit. I’ve limited myself to girls that will say yes. As long as they meet the minimum requirements that the league has in place. This only applies to first and second dates. Subsequent dates need to be earned. And yes, I am still limiting myself to girls. It’s not that bad yet.
Am I not good-looking enough? Sure, probably for some bitches. But those are probably the ones that are too good-looking for me anyway, so we’ve reached an agreement.
Do I not make enough money? Probably not for some people. The ones that are destined to live their lives submerged in their superficial bog of money and toys. One day, these people will look back at their lives and realize that they did everything they had to do to lead the lives that they would truly enjoy. Sorry, there’s no moral here.
Am I not funny enough? OK, go kick yourself in the throat again, please. You’d better stretch first though in case you have to do it again.
Am I not romantic or caring enough? OK, that’s bullshit and I think anybody who knew me when I actually had someone to care about knows this anyway. I once covered a girl’s room with 100 balloons and had the sheet music to a song I had written her lying on her bed with a dozen roses for when she came home. Sadly, the most romantic thing I’ve ever done was back in 1993. Even more sad is the fact that I haven’t had a relationship last as long since then.
Do I beat women up too much? No. I couldn’t hurt a fly. At least not a female one.
Do I cheat on them too much? No. Probably not enough in some cases.=
Am I not good enough in bed? 937-396-7974. Ask for Becky. Or Kiesha. They only know me as Extendo though. I was a clown at their daughter’s birthday party. OK, none of that is true. But by the time we’re that far in our relationship for me to fail at that, I feel the job of getting someone to know me has been accomplished. But I do know how to please women in bed anyway. I give them all the covers.
Am I a weirdo? I don’t know. Everybody’s weird. I don’t really come out and talk about Magic the Gathering and Warcraft on the first date anyway. Unless they bring it up. And if that’s a trap I’m falling into, the hell with that. If conversations we’re having are really just impossible tests designed to make me fail like all other men have before me to make you feel better about yourself when the relationship goes sour, you can go sit on the bitter bus with Meghan “The Ultimate Quizmaster” and enjoy your life in Bitchtown.
Am I too cocky? Only when I get to dress up as Capt Jack Sparrow. And that has been pound for pound my best strategy anyway.
Am I not confident enough? Aha! We found one! But why would I be? I’m a confused narcissist. I have every reason to think that I’m the greatest person in the world but absolutely no evidence to back it up. I have been able to fake confidence for a long time though in short enough bursts. I usually either channel the Jack Sparrow character or just actually drink that much rum instead.
OK, I’m getting tired of this charade. Mostly because I honestly don’t think it’s me. I can’t believe that. I’m a catch. As long as you don’t need money. Or a car radio. Or a guy that can match his clothes. But honestly, as easy as it would be to blame me, or at least my characteristics, I won’t sign off on that. Because not only does it not make sense, but that would be admitting defeat anyway. But with your help, I’m going to figure this out, people! We have some work to do if we’re going to fix this so that I have the first ever truly happy Valentines Day QOTD next year. Feel free to help me out by telling me some other things that I’m good at. Or suck at. Or let me know if you have a hot cousin who just got dumped or something. Again, females only.
Making nothing out of nothing at all,
The Confused Narcissist.

Still Standing Right Here…

QOTD credits: Dave Walker – (The Confused Narcissist)

The Stupidbowl 2008

The Stupidbowl 2008

I hate Eli Manning. It’s true. It may be completely unjustified and unreasonable but I can’t help it. Even more than I hate Tom “Condoms Are For Losers” Brady. Since draft day four years ago, I have never wanted anyone to fail at life more than him. This includes people who have done me actual wrong, such as ex-girlfriends, evil credit collection agencies and the ass hole bartender at Steinkellers who cards me every time just to piss me off and then will tell Bill his money is no good there. We come in together all the damn time! I’ve been in there at least 50 times, ass hole.

Anyway, this Superbowl ruins all that. Even on the rare weekend when Eli didn’t suck at life, I could always hang my hat on the success of San Diego and the fact that all his bitching and whining about the wrong team drafting him first overall got him in the world’s most critical market on a team that sucked. And I lost a little respect for Chris Berman that day too. He talked about how classy Eli was by holding up the San Diego jersey even though the world knew that he (nay – his dad) didn’t want to play in San Diego. What the hell else was he going to do!? Throw it down on the ground and take a dump on it? Light it on fire and yell “Fuck you and your silly draft rules, Paul Tabliabue! I’ll play for the team my dad wants me to play for!” No, what he did was far more spineless and cowardly. He was the George Bush of the NFL. He got his dad and big brother to fix it. “Wah! I don’t want to play in San Diego! Wah! The country voted for the wrong guy. I’m telling my dad! Him and my brother can fix it.” And then Eli lied to the UN and started bombing other NFL teams based on improper intel. What a dick.

Apparently the Mannings are the Corleones of the NFL. Archie gave San Diego an offer they couldn’t refuse. And that is the day I grew to hate that damn look on Eli’s face. Like Screech could probably go up and steal his lunch money from him and elbow him in the face and he wouldn’t do anything if his dad wasn’t around. And things looked so good until this year. Eli has more interceptions than anyone in the league and he gets throw around and beat up like a scared little rag doll every night on SportsCenter. But not anymore. Now he has a Superbowl and no matter what happens from now on, he’ll always be able to say that. And there goes my argument. It turns our Archie and the Giants knew what they were doing. And I hate them for it. I’m still going to steal his lunch money. If there’s any left after Tiki Barber sees him.

QOTD credits: Dave Walker – (Tom “Condoms Are For Losers” Brady)