The Rapid Decline of "The Relationship"

It is less the anatomy of the relationship that I want to focus on, but rather the morphology. Morphology, a term that relates to the structure of organisms, does not have to be so strict. It does not only pertain to the inner workings of the human body but to all things that change, all things that are subject to a paradoxical shift. I write this as an introduction and will bring in a co-author for this post to vent on an inherent downside, at least biographically speaking, from this vicissitude.

One can see from just reading an excerpt for Fitzgeralds This Side of Paradise, that there has been a massive metamorphosis in the roles, attitudes, and dispositions of the sexes. What used to be orthodox is far from it today. In Fitzgerald's mostly autobiographical tale of young Amory Blaine, the main protagonist meets and inspiring women named Rosalind. Depicted as a strong-natured women, infatuated with worth, vanity, and having others discover its preponderance. Quoted, her philosophy is "carpe diem for herself and laisssez faire for others.  He instantly falls in love with her, in not much of a different way than men fall in love today, by kissing her.

This tale, taking place in 1920, unfolds much differently than things tend to today. The young egotist falls hopelessly, and in an all encompassing way, in love with Rosalind. She was only 19 years of age, dependent on a rich father, but much more mature than the 23 year old Blaine. From the moment they met over her elegantly fashioned armoire, he was ruled by her hand. She could play with him as if he was a a 2 foot tall marionette. A women of Rosalinds stature needed to date a man well beyond her years, as many times women of her age did, then.

Today, while we do see people marrying older, or younger, it often doesn't occur. Two people feel obligated to oblige by societal norms rather than conforming to contemporary thought. They often date at the same age, where maturities do not match. The societal paradigm shift can be blamed for this and the inevitable downfall of many relationships.

Additionally, the role of the woman is has obviously changed, and it take no morphology investigator to point this out - far from a social archealogical finding. It does change the relationship. As the women becomes more secure in herself, as she should be due to having more of a role in the family than childbearing and upbringing, things change. Not that the wealth and success of a man in not an asset, but it simply is no longer a sole concern. As we reach back to the Rosalind/Blaine example, occupation, or inherited wealth was on of the first things analyzed on a decision matrix to wed. One simple thing this does in young relationships is make the man less secure. The dinner that he buys is accepted and appreciate, but it wasnt needed....and perhaps she could have bought a nicer one.

Lastly, is the amount of people we meet. 5 degrees of separation has always existed, but now, with social media, online dating, and extended families it is more like 2 degrees of separation. By googling anyone, you are sure to find a connection. In the "old days," a cliche term I could not help but indulge, you only met so many people. The thought of settling, though you would never call it that, was not a bad idea. Today, we are obsessed with the "next best thing," and the fear that this is not our fated path.

With all that being said, and in attempts not to be too long winded. I'll hand over the conversation to a DC colleague of mine. My apologies for any slight vulgarity. #sorrybutnotsorry

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Let me begin with a revelation I had on the bus the other night.  It’s no secret that while in a relationship with a girl, managing her and your friends is similar to a ballroom dance between psychologists. In the name of complete transparency, a ballroom dance in which I’ve always stepped on a couple toes and ended up dropping the girl on her ass during the dip because I’m a little drunk.

Anyway, here’s how I see things shaping up- five distinct stages of what happens on Saturday night.

·         You go out with your friends, I'll go out with my girls, and we'll meet up later! :)

·         You go out with your friends, I'll go out with my girls but text you most of the time, and we'll meet up later!

·         You go out with your friends, I guess, and I think I'm just going to hang out at home tonight. Maybe you can come by at like 11:30ish?

·         We can go out for dinner with our friends.

·         We have no friends.

This makes me hate dating women. No matter how much vetting out you do beforehand in that datey, honeymooney phase, things will always shape up this way.

Every single time. As soon as I drop the hammer and crush this girls’ dreams of matrimony and parenthood- the very instant that their parents go from enamored to disgusted by the mentioning of my name- the girls immediately revert to step one. She begins the cycle all over with some new unsuspecting guy that’s just trying to soak his meat stick in her baby hotel.

This isn’t just a hair-brained theory from a guy cracked out on Redbull vodkas, HGH, and Got 2 Be Glued. This is real shit people. I’m a mother fucking young professional who, by and large, is a productive member of society.

The proof’s in Zuck’s pudding: exactly two weeks after a girl becomes single, my aforementioned cycle begins. You see it. Old friends who she hasn’t talked to since the early days of your relationship start coming out of the woodwork with extensive wall-to-walls. I see posts and think, honestly- Where the fuck was this girl when we dated? This seems like the absolute coolest girl ever. Oh wait, shit. THAT IS THE SAME GIRL THAT I MET A YEAR AGO, PRE-TRANSFORMATION. Super fun, sarcastic, going out and getting drunk all the time, really close to her friends.

Then as soon as we start dating the friends get more and more distant. The nights out begin to become rarer and rarer. Oftentimes without you realizing it or wanting it, this girl is subtlety making herself more available for you. And if you’re not around, she’s making herself more available to craft text messages that rival War and Peace in length and putting calls into AT&T customer service to try and get the 7 page SMS limit increased.

The distance of friends increases. The level of fun gets lower and lower. Until finally the girl just evolves into a sour bitch with me as basically her only friend.

I don’t fucking understand how having a boyfriend does this to girls. Girls that, when you meet them, are so fucking mysterious, in-control, and confident that your dick twitches thinking about them in a meeting at work in full length pencil skirt.

It’s really about having a girl that you want around. And in the beginning, this façade of a woman is fucking cool! You love to have her around. Hey, meet my friends! Let’s get wasted! Then as things devolve… you fucking hate having her around. Texts from her are like little 160 characters-or-less punches to the thick root in between your legs.

In the beginning, you go out together, have your groups of friends meet up, etc. It’s fucking awesome! It’s fun. You’re enjoying their company and getting laid more than you ever will in your goddamn life (pure frequency here). I would date that.

But then, as the relationship moves forward, the friends get pushed away. I do not fucking understand it. And I am honestly not sour on any of my past relationships- honestly- best of luck in your new LDR with the guy in the national guard you went to highschool with.

The worst thing about this? IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN AGAIN! This cycle is going to play out a few more times in my life, despite my best attempts at mitigating it. I can’t stop it! It’s like I’ve seen the fucking movie in the Ring and now I’m just waiting for my 7 days to pass with my dick in my hand.

What’s the solution? Can the cycle be broken? Some guys say you can give a slight push- start going out with only your friends until she follows suit. That MAY help briefly- I tried this tactic and it led to her old best friend being looped back into her social calendar for once-a-month after work margaritas. And while she was there, the more of that sweet sweet sour mix and Jose entered her bloodstream, the faster those bony, malnourished fingers were flying on her iPhone keyboard. And to my dismay, she didn’t have the balls to just find another guy to satiate her hunger for communiqué (I would have welcomed her cheating at this point just to have a reliever in my goddamn bullpen).

This is going to sound horrible and it’s going to hit your palette like misogyny that’s been fermented in ball sweat to increase its potency.  But there’s an honest, horrible truth about all of this, boys and girls. Women are weak. They’re fucking weak! They’re weak and dependent on men- for everything. Not dependent like, I need his money to pay my bills; dependent like, I need the approval and attention of a man in order to be fulfilled in life. Women have transgressed from 1919 and are in a much better position to be omnipotent and rule a relationship. I’d welcome that- they simply choose not to. They still become submissive and revert back to the days of their great grandmother Muriel.

How did this creature even make it this far in the human race? I’m telling you, if they were stripped of the baby machine they’d die out in a generation. When the going gets tough and shit happens- disease, natural disasters, international conflict, the men would step the fuck up and handle that shit, granted with a little gritting of the teeth and testicles slightly retracted towards the tummy, but they’d fucking get it done. Afterwards, he might go take a breather, have a drink, go out and do a weird drug he hasn’t seen since college.  But it’s over. Where would the women be? In the fucking broom closet with a box of tissues, trying like the goddamn dickens to clean up the mascara that’s dripping down their face, turning them into a really sad excuse for a Cirque du Soleil character.  AND DIALING THEIR FUCKING MOTHER.

Honestly, this weakness pisses me the fuck off. I would think at this point that men would just be able to lay eggs and fuck a Fleshlight every night. That’s a fucking world I want to live in.

You may say- well, bro, what about the billions of people who are happily married on earth? Honestly, I’d challenge you to really take a hard look at how many happy marriages there are. I’d say the number is pretty fucking low. THINK about the men you know that are in successful relationships. They are basically willing to have a girl have them by the balls. They are willing to slow way down with their guy friends and eventually stop hanging out with them. They are willing to accept that any social interaction they have will be couples-only.  They are willing to “hang in” on a Friday night because “they really need to relax” whereas their true instinct is to go out and try to touch girls inappropriately without being arrested again.

NOW think of the guys that have trouble with relationships, like yours truly- they simply aren’t willing to stop going out. They aren’t willing to accept a cooking class as “their Saturday evening.” They aren’t willing to give up their friends- the people who were there for, in many cases, DECADES before this pussy on a stick, and will absolutely be there after her bulimic ass turns herself inside out post-meal for the final time.

WHY do girls need to put up this bullshit façade, while they are single, of power, sex, mystery, and the possibility of anal later. When they ALL deteriorate into the same fucking thing- withering messes of estrogen and katy perry songs, with an internal self-worth as high as the girl who was held hostage for 17 years by her father in Germany or wherever.

This weakness permeates other stages of the relationship too- such as the pre-relationship. Which party is the one who presses for the next step? Which party is the one who wants to put the foot on the gas, make things official, meet the parents, go on vacation, get married? Why do girls need this in order to be happy? How come every guy you know that is casually dating a girl says “yeah man, it’ll never be anything…” then 3 months later you see selfies on Twitter in the bathroom of a Howard Johnson’s that he sprung for to celebrate the 87 day anniversary of their first hand holding. Because they get pressured into things they aren’t comfortable doing. And they get comfortable with that person and just end up saying, well, fuck it, she’s good enough for now. Then the “she’s good enough for now” ends up becoming two years, the last 8 months of which you completely hate each other, until finally you get the balls to cut it off or cheat on her blatantly enough that she stops  talking to you? WEAKNESS. Girls are too weak to have a guy who is a friend who they go out with and have fun occasionally- exclusive or not- but not be a BF? What’s the big fucking deal ladies? Really?

I’ll end this with a solemn note. Women of the world: I’m coming for you. I’m going to sneak into your life with the charm of Neil Patrick Harris and the wit of George Clooney. I’ll woo you with the same fucking unfunny jokes and made up stories as I did the girl last time. I’ll hold the door for you and not try to fuck you the first night, which apparently nowadays means I’m a goddamn gentleman. Then, when you least expect it, I’ll be gone. Hopefully hurting you enough to make you grow a fucking pair of balls next time. Because that’s what we’re all looking for. A bitch with a big, bulbous set of hairy balls.

Destination v. Destiny

"Look Daniel, Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor; its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not to is home visits. You have to go for it." - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I often fear that I will get so close to my destined path, and just be inches from tasting its fruits, only to have missed the opportunity, hidden beyond the corner of the next .1 mile block. Life is about grabbing the bull by the horns, drinking the half full glass, calling the winning numbers. It is about perseverance.

Giles Duley, a photographer for fashion, glamor and the music industry for 10 years, always thought he had reached what he was destined to do. He believe he truly had it figured out, that he had accomplished his fated task, and had fulfilled his inner peace. He was rudely mistaken, tragically but definitively. While stationed in Bahrain, he stepped on an IED (improvised explosive device) while routinely monitoring the surround grounds. His arm had to be removed, a valuable asset to a photographer. Months earlier his mind was jarred by a young boy who he had befriended in Russia. He intended to return later that year with a camera, for the boy had taken an interest in the art, and had never seen the beauty of life captured between well adjusted pixels. His country had been ripped apart my authoritarian rule and indoctrinated poverty. He was stricken with loss, but given beauty, in a place where it was only smothered or dreamed of.

As Duley lied in bed with, his arm amputated, conjuring up thoughts of death, and how his life is to change, if he chose to continue it, he received worse news. The young Russian boy was found dead; he had overdosed on pain medication and vodka, at the age of 14. Rather than lie around and feel sorry for himself, while the rest of his body awaited eagerly to the travel with godlike speed through the rest of his life, Giles Duley had a revelation. Reporting the news, and capturing its surroundings would no longer suffice. It was the story of the people, that he would take into custody and propagate. Through him, these stories of the less fortunate, the brilliant, the abused, and the victorious would reign.

So quick are we to move away from our goals, and often because we feel we are on the wrong path. If you truly do believe that, then perhaps you should try another route. How simple it would be to defeat the words of Robert Frost and at the divergence of two roads, travel both. You can always take both roads, the common path and the one less traveled, but isn't it always the latter that proves more compelling, more truthful, more serendipitous, and with more foreordination?

I am not sure if there are any Latin connections between the terms destiny and destination. But if there are, I offer this. As we grow more reliant on GPS devices, electronic maps, and Siri to guide us to our destinations, we miss the detours. We miss the failed attempts that lead to eminent findings and illustrious sites. We miss the mistakes that teach us life lessons, earths fables, and stranger tales. We should let go our of metaphorical GPS devices, carrying us directly where we think we ought to go, and simply enjoy the ride. When I reach my destiny, I can only hope it's a rewarding destination, but one I will not seek with normal travel.