[Warning: it is 4:00am as I write this and I am not sober.]
I recently started reading this guy's blog. Let's call him Keaton. Keaton's is funny, intelligent, but a little socially inept and very unlucky in love.
The more I read Keaton's blog, the more I cringed at his the little social mistakes and the more I wanted to help. I jokingly offered to set Keaton up with one of my cool, single female friends (I have several), and then the joke became serious. He agreed to let me work my matchmaking magic.
During the course of trying to find out whether he and one of my friends would be compatible, I started criticizing some of Keaton's strategies with the ladies. I tried to give him pointers on where he was going wrong, and offered advice on everything from what not to talk about on a date (money troubles) to what kind of shoes to buy (black, in the loafer family but not quite). I stressed being chivalrous, told him to keep the sexual innuendo to a minimum, and suggested what to wear (jeans, button-down shirt, suit jacket).
We exchanged dozens of emails during the past few days and I did everything I could to retain my anonymity. For me, this blog represents being able to write freely on any sex/dating/relationship-related topic, and keeping my real self secret from Keaton was crucial. At the same time, it also gave me the freedom to be brutally honest with him and tell him, in great detail, why he was failing with the ladies. I even offered to go on a pretend date with him, to assess his technique (in retrospect, it sounds awful to me, too).
To my utter shock, Keaton listened to my advice, to the point of buying the pair of shoes I suggested. One thing led to another, and we ended up in different bars in the same neighborhood. I was with a small group of people and, after a couple of drinks, sent Keaton a text message asking if he wanted to stop by. He agreed.
I should have seen this coming. I was expecting to meet a guy that was moderately-but-not-very attractive, whose personality would make me run for the hills.
I recognized him right away, because he was wearing the exact outfit I suggested. It hardly mattered, though.
When I saw him, I was stunned and frustrated. Stunned, because he was infinitely more good looking than the pictures he sent me. Frustrated, because I knew (from the very beginning, before we even met) that he wouldn't go for me.
What made it even worse was that the people I was drinking with, who I met that night, couldn't stand him. Which shouldn't be a big deal, but I knew most of my friends would probably be put off by him, too. Even so, I couldn't help but be drawn to his warped sense of humor and be horribly attracted to him. He managed to inadvertently offend or put off every person I was with, and I tried to roll my eyes and pretend to be just as put off as the rest of them, even while laughing at most of his jokes. Instead, I did the thing I do where I act really obnoxious toward a guy to cover up the fact that I like him. It was devastating.
Sucks to be me, right? I tried so hard to mold Keaton into someone that one of my friends might fancy, and I ended up fancying him myself, even though I knew there were a thousand reasons why nothing would ever come of it (starting with the fact that I'm not his type and-- well, there's no point in listing reasons beyond that, is there? Though really, if we ever did get together, we'd drive each other crazy.).
That's what I get for trying to adopt my own Pygmalion.
Serves me right, too.
And now? I can't even make good on my promise to set him up, because I'd be too fucking jealous if he hit it off with one of my friends (he probably wouldn't , but I don't even feel like I can take that chance).
Whose fault is it for creating this drama and putting myself in this awkward situation? Who's the social retard (apart from Keaton)? That's right... me!
Good lord. I better hook up with someone new soon, because I don't know how else to deal with this whole disturbing scenario.