Letters To My Little Brother: Misadventures In Growing Older (3 page)

More
 
extroverted
 — I am, but I don’t think it’s my second-biggest trait. I really hate prolonged social situations.

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geeky
 — lol and I didn’t even answer that I go to Magic The Gathering tournaments.

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aggressive
 — Yeah, I can see that.

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old-fashioned
 — This is only because I said I hold doors for people and I don’t like anuses.

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into
 
exercise
 — My bench press would disagree.

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mathematical
 — I looked up the answers to all the math questions on Google. I guess that would give me good logical reasoning skills.

Less
 
independent 
—
 
I do hate eating alone. (See: Chapter 1.)

Less
 
kinky
 — Is this because I didn’t want to give anyone a rimjob? And because I don’t do rape fantasies and I don’t dress up in furry costumes? Don’t I at least get some points for the mutual masturbation thing??

There is one last part of online dating that I should mention: the profile pictures. People put the dumbest images of themselves for potential partners to see. And remember, these are
the only
images that people have to judge you on. For example, why would you put up a picture of yourself:

…in tiger face-paint from a 5-year-old’s birthday party?

…where you’re asleep?

…where you’re making your best pooping face?

…with someone playing the accordion?

…in a crowd so it’s impossible to determine which person you are?

…where you clearly don’t look your best? Why would you use all the selfies you took in the mirror instead all of the model shots your friend took with their Canon 5D?

…with 3 or 4 different hair colors? I might like you blonde or brunette, but hot pink definitely doesn’t do it for me.

…with a baby (and btw it doesn’t matter if it’s your kid or someone else’s)?

…with your dog? I’m not interested in your fucking poodle. I’m interested in whether or not you’ve got a hairy, throbbing mole on your forehead.

…with your cat? Now I might be an outlier here, but I’m pretty sure most guys are less interested in your cat and more interested in your, uh, ‘other cat.’

…with a bunch of steroid-inflated dudes with designer stubbles straight out of 
Jersey Shore
? Is that meant as a warning that
Star Wars
geeks like me aren’t welcome here?

…in a pitch black room with only your laptop screen to light your face in the eeriest way possible? Why would I ever want to date the girl from 
The Ring
?

After I filled out all these answers, I began to trawl the database for possible talent. One of these methods involved checking out whoever checked me out. See, the cool thing about OkCupid is that you can see the people who have visited your profile. The uncool thing about OkCupid is that you can see the people who have visited your profile. Trust me when I say that you receive no self-confidence when you review all the profiles of the girls who’ve checked you out. You honestly wonder what hole some of these mole people climbed out of. I mean it’s like, “OH MY GOD WHY IS YOUR EYEBALL POPPING OUT OF ITS SOCKET AND WHY, DEAR GOD WHY, IS YOUR ESOPHAGUS SPROUTING FROM YOUR EAR? IS YOUR MOTHER ONE OF NEVILLE’S MANDRAKES???” The good person in me says, “Matt, don’t judge. There is no such thing as ugly. Just different kinds of pretty.” The cynic in me guesses all the attractive people in the world can actually find dates, so only the ugly, broke misfits (myself included) sign up for free online dating sites.

In my first few weeks, I only received two messages. One of the messages said, “Ben & Jerry’s Half-baked really is the best kind of ice cream.” I didn’t respond because I didn’t think it was polite to say, “No shit, that’s why I wrote it on my profile.” The other message said, “Hey man, how’s it going? Just moved to the area recently, trying to make some friends. Do you play any sports?” I haven’t replied because I don’t feel comfortable with someone calling a friendly honorific like ‘man’ without ever having met me. Plus I’m not a man anyways (see “Peter Pan joke” above).

On the flipside, the first message I sent said that I liked this girl’s profile, that I liked doing zip-line races on the playground in elementary school (cause she mentioned she likes zip-lines), and that she should see the video of the kid predicting his victory in Final Jeopardy (cause she said she liked the show). I told her I thought she looked pretty and I’d like to get to know her.

She didn’t respond. I probably shouldn’t have been so forward. Since I could see that she’d logged into the site like 3 times since I sent it, I could thereby conclude that she’s probably seen my message and ignored it. God. Damn. It. It’s tough enough being shut down in real life — like when a girl gives you that look when she frowns and raises her nose like she smelled soured milk or a physics student who hasn’t showered in a week — but it’s brutal realizing that a total stranger thinks you’re either too unattractive or creepy (or both) to merit a reply. And what’s even tougher is she’s supposedly at 93% match with me. So apparently not even the people just like me actually want to meet me.

So I sent a second message to someone else. The following is the actual message. It is embarrassingly bad. Seriously. No wonder she never replied. That being said, here it is in its entirety, along with my running (retrospective) commentary.

Dear Online Dating Girl,

My name’s Matt. I’m totally new to this messaging thing so I apologize in advance if I’m doing it completely different than everyone else on this site :-/

I probably shouldn’t have opened with an apology. As Gibbs from 
NCIS 
would say, apologies are a sign of weakness. My dad taught me as a kid that saying sorry is just a word and it can’t fix anything. I probably should’ve paid closer attention. In this case, I thought it would be a good way to defuse the awkwardness of my first approach, but I think it actually made me look like a total wimp. I probably should’ve said something more along the lines of, “I liked your profile and I thought it’d be nice to talk to you. And while I think you seem like an interesting, fun person, it doesn’t hurt that I think you’re really pretty too.”

Also: why did I use a freaking smiley face, especially the one with the backslash? Was I trying to express my facial emotion through hack-job symbols? And, if I wanted to really make it look like my actual expression, why didn’t I make the nose twice as big?

I thought I’d say hey from one trilingual person to another (though I probably only speak 2.5 languages at this point). Unfortunately we only overlap in English or else I’d attempt the rest of this letter in German or Arabic.

Problems:

1) That sounds totally arrogant. It’s like me saying, “Oh yes, I see you have a Maserati and I too am a connoisseur of expensive cars. I prefer Ferraris and Lambos, but I guess your choices are fine as well. Do you too like caviar, snobbery, and nautical-themed pashmina afghans when you’re on a boat and you’re going fast?”

2) The self-deprecation didn’t help here. I’m not sure it comes off as funny as much as insecure. Damn it.

I should mention that I’m into watching basketball too, but I’ll avoid bringing up how my Blue Devils beat up your Tarheels last week. (jk my classmates would kill me if I didn’t find a way to rub it in ;-) ).

1) More snobbery. Lemme just name-drop Duke real fast.

2) Why “should” I mention I like basketball? What is the goal of mentioning it? It seems like a lame attempt to find meaningful connection between us.

3) ANOTHER SMILEY FACE?? COME ON!

4) The backhanded joke could be a plus or a minus, depending on how well she takes sarcasm. But, since she’s making her first impressions on this, I’m gonna guess she just thinks I’m a dick.

What kind of dogs do you have? I’ve got these two border collies, who I love to death, but they are truly insane. They constantly follow me around and try to herd me like sheep. Whenever a car leaves the driveway, then run in a circular track that they’ve traced into the front lawn. They have so much energy that I’m not sure I’ve ever caught one sleeping.

Dear Matt,

What’s the point of telling this story? It’s not funny. It doesn’t reveal anything about you. It’s kind of weird that you talk about your dogs sleeping. Oh, and it’s an awful transition into asking her about herself.

You’re a fucking creeper,

-Yourself

Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that you seem pretty and smart and that I’d love to message you or talk to you more (or however this OkCupid stuff works).

Okay, that’s not bad, right? Compliments are good. The messaging part works too, and I think there’s some humor/personality in the OkCupid joke at the end…

I’ve always got an extra ticket to the Hurricanes games if you’d ever like to go out one night.

Too forward. Back off, Matt. Way too soon for that.

Oh, and if you haven’t already been there, I highly recommend Waraji sushi on Duraleigh Road in Raleigh. Other places might give you better bang for your buck, but Waraji is seriously the best sushi east of the Mississippi.

It’s nice to recommend a sushi place, since she apparently “can’t live without” it, but you probably shouldn’t have used the word “bang.” You used it in an idiom, yes, but she’ll probably think you were making a double entendre and therefore think you’re a man-whore looking for slimy sushi sex.

Hope you’re having a good week,

-Matt

That’s probably the most innocuous thing you could’ve written. You’re just not a closer, bro.

I ended up going on like 5 or 6 OkCupid dates before I came to my senses and realized that if I kept meeting new girls, then I’d either end up dead in a ditch, held as a sex slave, or happy. There was just too large a “crazy factor” involved with these women. Either my mania scared ladies off or their inner Stage Five Clinger appeared and latched onto me waaaaaay too quickly. One girl made me a painting. A PAINTING! Online dating was too a volatile space to be in. I’m not a gambling man, so I didn’t take the 1-in-3 odds of becoming a sex slave. So I left online dating.

A few months later, though, I ended up meeting my current girlfriend on Tinder, a dating app for your phone. Tinder is God’s gift to those of us with declining morals and absolutely no shame. In case you don’t already know, it’s online dating turned into a game. (The app literally calls itself a game.) All you do is look at pictures of random people and judge whether you like them or not. That’s it. No personality descriptions. No stories or shared values. No discussion or mutual goals and ambitions. Just 100% physical judgment. If its utter shallowness were crystal meth, not even Walter White could make stuff as pure. I’d found my inner sinner’s Heaven… well, Hell. You don’t go to Heaven if you use this app.

So far, four months in, she and I have worked out fantastically. I’m sure I’m jinxing us by writing this, but she and I have had the least drama out of any relationship I’ve ever had. Gone are the days of debating with a girlfriend about what our ‘label’ should be. Gone are the arguments about not calling and texting enough. I have no idea where our relationship will take us — and quite frankly I don’t want to even think about the future right now — but I’m genuinely stunned that I can get along so easily with a partner. I’m starting to wonder if this is what relationships are supposed to be like or if this is just an outlier. Either way, I can actually say that I am happy. The devastation I felt over the past few years may take more time and more prescription drugs before those wounds finally heal, but right now I can say that I’ve made significant efforts towards thwarting my loneliness.

Take it from me, Squirrel: if you’re lonely, you literally can’t get any lonelier because then you’d be Matt From The Past Two Years. (And two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. I think that’s called the Highlander Theorem.) I wouldn’t recommend online dating until you believe you’ve finally hit rock bottom, but if you do, I can say I’ve been there before and I’ll always be there to help you back up.

I love you more than anyone in the whole world,

-Big Boy

CHAPTER Three:

How to ask the hard questions

Dear Squirrel,

I’ve never been someone to shy away from the difficult questions that life seems to enjoy throwing our way. Sometimes I deal with the regular “why am I here?” and “what’s the point of life?” questions. I come to fairly hedonistic conclusions about having one life to live and making the most of it while I can, but then I turn around and temper myself to live the uptight, principled life I’ve always strived for. My fears of cavities and herpes also have a hand in there somewhere. Occasionally I ask myself if I’m a good brother to you, or if I’m staying active and living a healthy life, or if I’m going to start fixing my sophomoric habits like making finger guns and “shooting” you with my farts.

Back during the Dark Days of my teenage years, I enjoyed playing one particular game in my head: to whom would I want to speak on my deathbed and what would I say to them? I was a surprisingly macabre and troubled kid — hence why I took enjoyment in thinking about my eventual demise — but the question popped into my head again recently when OkCupid asked me, “Would your family/friends be surprised by what they find in your possessions if you died?” Since I don’t have any dildos, bloody knives, or bricks of heroin, I’m pretty sure no one would be surprised by my earthly things. Plus they already know about my secret stash of
Star Wars
concept art collectible action figures and the love letters I keep in a box in my dresser anyways.

So we return to the original question: to whom would I want to speak and what would I say? Back in the day, I had a million answers. I had friends I wanted to thank, crushes I wanted to admit my feelings for, family members I wanted wish goodbye. But now? I’d have more questions to ask than answers to give.

Was my life worth it? Did I do it right? Did I come to terms with life and self? Did I find someone to love and did they love me back? Was I fulfilled? Did I achieve the greatness I so desperately sought? Did I live up to my own expectations of myself? Was I a good son, brother, grandson, nephew, etc.? Did everyone know I loved them? Would I die with any debts? Would I pass before anyone aired their final grudges and grievances against me? Would they forgive me and vice versa? What would happen when I died? To quote Brand New, “Do I get the gold chariot? Do I float through the ceiling? Do I divide and fall apart cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark?” Is there a Heaven? Would I get in, or did my intense worship the female body disqualify me? Do I have to pass some sort of test or something? Like would I have to admit that I didn’t go to church enough and that I really did consider shooting my neighbor’s barking dog with my BB gun? If there’s a Hell and I end up in it, what would be my eternal punishment? Would it be something out of Dante’s
Inferno
or would it be something unique, like running around a loud, sweaty nightclub while trying to wrangle hundreds of screaming children? Or is it all just a fade to black?

That’s some shit right there, huh? As I said, I was a pretty morbid kid and there’s clearly a bit of a holdover in my adult years. I’m sure I should probably pray more, or read the Bible, or take up the rosary until I find my inner calm. But I don’t think that’s necessarily right. I have my faith but I honestly don’t believe it has anything to do with death and eternal life. I think it has to do with living as a good person.

I know that’s kind of paradoxical to the point of most religions. Don’t they generally say to live a good mortal life in order to find solace and peace in the eternal one? I guess so. But who am I to judge? Who am I to say that my Catholicism is any more correct than the Islam of my brothers and sisters across the globe? At mass every week, there is a line in the Apostles’ Creed about how we affirm our belief in “the holy Catholic Church.” I never say that part. I don’t really believe in it. I try to accept that Christ as my savior and I tend to believe in God more often than not, but how could I possibly say the holy Catholic Church is more correct than Hinduism or Jainism or Buddhism or Judaism (or, hell, even Atheism)? Aren’t we all trying to believe the same thing anyways? Be it through a personal moral code, a savior, a god, or multiple gods, aren’t we all trying to live up to a higher standard of humanity?

So maybe I would have some things to say to people after all. I clearly can never shut my mouth while I’m alive, so I might as well use it while I still can.

To Mom
: I love you. You really are my twin. That’s all I’d say because if I said any more than we’d both start crying.

To Dad
: I love you too. Even though I always gave you more shit than anyone, you really are my greatest role model and inspiration. I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to be you, but I’ve certainly done my best to emulate you.

To our sister
: You’re really strange. Probably the most unique character I’ve ever met. I say that as a compliment. I know Squirrel’s your favorite, and that’s cool cause you basically raised him, but you’re my fiercest defender and I love you for it.

To my friends
: What’s the point of life if I can’t share in it with you? All of you are the best. Period.

To my enemies
: Mutherfuck all y’all. Especially you, Barking Dog Across The Street.

To Jesus
: My bad, dude.

To God
: So…can I have yo’ number?

To the TSA
: I dislike your unconstitutional powers more than I hate the Hurricanes’ losing seasons, Tolkien’s prose, brownies with nuts in them, and carnies.

And, of course, to you
: I can’t believe you don’t like my letters, you little douche. But I love you the most anyways.

I guess what I’m saying is that life should be lived as if you may never speak to those people again. Say what you feel and mean what you say. Live every day to the fullest. Have no regrets. Be honest and truthful because you might never have the chance to right your wrongs and untie your lies. Hug everyone you can even if you have an aversion to germs and casual physical contact (like I do). Kiss more people (well, that’s my goal anyways). Whether you think YOLO means going HAM all day every day or whether you think it means quietly pursuing peace, I just encourage you to chase life until your feet won’t run any further.

That all being said, life isn’t always about such paralyzing, mortal-fear inducing questions. In fact, some of the hardest ones we have to ask end up being the funniest of all.

Let’s return to my dating life for the millionth time. Once I’d fully committed to pursuing my current girlfriend, I had a few new and intriguing anxieties pass through my head. Did she dig my patchy beard? Did I have bad breath? Did I need to put all that weight I lost back on? Am I cute or am I sexy? Am I kind enough? Do I give her enough compliments? Will I dislike her if she starts to get zits or blackheads? What happens if I don’t like her perfume? Is it immoral for me to hold her to a certain hygienic standard like showering before our dates? Is it fair to demand that she never text and drive? And, dear Heavenly Father, how should I dress in front of her?

When I went on our second date, I actually had to ask myself if I should wear my
Millennium Falcon
shirt to jazz it up or wear a nice blue Oxford to tone it down? I chose the Oxford, which worked out well because I ended up meeting some of her college friends. I was sort of like a human version of
The Ugly Duckling
, and that only would’ve been worse if I’d dressed like I just got out of WonderCon. I wore sneakers; her male friends wore Sperry Topsiders. I am Eastern European and Irish; they were about as Anglo as tea and crumpets. I gelled my hair up like a middle schooler; they wore those baseball caps with Times New Roman stenciling on the front spelling their university’s initials. I was a jaded 24-year-old with lots of ambition but no path to success; they were 22 and “so excited” to start law school and new jobs in accounting or some other boring, cookie-cutter career. If I’d rocked my
Star Wars
swag, then I’m pretty sure my girlfriend would’ve never given me date number three.

(Not to call her judgmental or shallow, but let’s just say I was fighting an uphill battle. For our first kiss, I pulled her from the sidewalk into a secluded area of trees and bushes. I figured it’d be romantic. Chicks dig spontaneous stuff like that. Her response to my moves, however, was, “Oh, and there we go. Going into the bushes for a kiss. Yup. That’s not weird or anything.” Clearly we got off to a great start with that one.)

The sad thing about that story is that all of my Nervous Nelly questions were totally valid. They weren’t some crazy figments of my imagination to distract me from my real anxieties about being unworthy and incapable of affection. If anything, my awkwardness and uniqueness ended up contributing to my girlfriend’s attraction in me. She saw a guy who thought about all these things, who desperately wanted her to like me, and who — while still conforming to regular social protocols like wearing collared shirts — stood out from the rest of her potential suitors.

This level of “healthy anxiety” isn’t easy to maintain. As the tension of a situation increases, so do the consequences. Should you be in a sexual situation, for example, there are many ways to negatively overwhelm your partner. I’m not even talking about the point when you request handcuffs/a third partner/The Butter Churner. I mean something even more intimate: STD etiquette.

Think about it. How do you ask someone if they’ve got some sort of disease? If this were the workplace, you’d get sued up and down for HIPAA violations. What’s the best way to go about it then? When do you ask? How can you trust someone? How can you trust them if you don’t know (and therefore can’t trust) the people they’ve been with?

So I thought of some examples of how these conversations might go…

Scenario 1 — “In the Moment”

Potential Partner
: Hey, I had a really great time tonight.

Me
: Yeah, me too…You wanna come over to my parent’s house? That’s where I live because I’m a lazy creative writer with a dwindling bank account and no pride or self-esteem.

PP
: I thought you’d never ask

[We go upstairs. Kenny G and the rest of my boner jams playlist can be heard in the background. I finally gather to courage for a kiss after, like, 2 hours (give or take). Things start heating up. I get down to my Batman undies.]

PP
: I want to take the bus to Pleasuretown, Matt! Drive us there!

Me
: Me too! Just one question though: do you have AIDS?

PP
: Huh??

Me
: AIDS. Haven’t you heard of it? It means auto-immune —

PP
: I know what it means! You think I have AIDS??

Me
: I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking. I can tell you don’t have gonorrhea, obviously, but I didn’t have a chance a chance to swab your mouth with the rapid tester yet, so I figured it’d just be easier to go ahead and ask.

[Potential Partner smoothers me with one of my teddy bears.]

Scenario 2 — “The First Date”

PP
: Haha, Matt, your jokes are always so witty and clever. I really like you when you reference Harry Potter and other esoteric elements of pop culture.

Me
: Thanks. You’re great too. I really like you.

PP
: Aww, thanks!

Me
: So…do you wipe front to back or back to front?

PP
: Excuse me?

Me
: Do you always pee immediately after sex? Wear cotton panties?

PP
: What the fuck?

Me
: I just wanted to know if you take the necessary precautions to defend yourself from urinary tract infections.

[Potential Partner throws her glass of water in my face and stands to leave.]

Me
: What about STDs? You don’t have to tell me how many guys (or girls, let’s not be discriminatory) you’ve been with. I just wanna make sure you’ve had a blood test anytime in the last month or two.

[She leaves.]

Me
: We still on for Friday then?

Scenario 3 — “Hook, Line, Sinker”

[Potential Partner walks into her apartment. I’m already sitting there, waiting creepily.]

PP
: Oh my God! You scared me. What are you doing here?

Me
: I got a really weird phone call today.

PP
: Oh no. What was it about?

Me
: It was from your ex. He said you gave him chlamydia.

PP
: You don’t know my ex. Nor does he know about you.

[I panic. She caught onto my lie awfully quick…]

Me
: Did I say your ex? I meant your doctor.

PP
: My doctor?

Me
: Yeah. We’re BFFs. He wanted to warn me.

PP
: And who is this doctor that you spoke to?