A Tribute To My Personal Hero
Last night, while I was getting ready for couch and watching Game of Thrones on Twitter in the bedless guest room of my grandma’s house where I’ve been temporarily crashing for seven, short months, I had a powerful epiphany that changed my entire outlook on life. Specifically, my dating life.
Like a message from Jesus [Christ] himself, an impressively unwashed, long-haired, Caucasian head emerged from a figurative cloud of expired Cool Ranch Doritos dust, smelling like three days worth of death, and causing me to have a particularly empowering self-realization:
I deserve better. Way better.
Elegantly nestled between redundant Thrones jokes and vapid fan theories, a knight in grimy armor was fatefully waiting on my television screen Twitter timeline with a unique set of words that transformed my mindset in the most beautiful way possible.
“know your worth and never settle for less than you deserve”
Thanks to a convenient retweet from my Twitter follower and former classmate “Princess Bria” (more informally known as “that Bria girl who fell headfirst down the stairs sophomore year and fractured her mandible), I was reminded of the Post Malone parody account and its endless stream of thought-provoking self-help and relationship advice.
I’ve always believed that “Post Malone Quotes” does an incredible job at tweeting things that the real Post Malone would probably say if he wasn’t a famous rapper and had a completely different personality and genetic makeup.
But I never knew that he (it?) would help me feel so much better about all the girls who managed to destroy my self-worth and leave me writhing in helpless heartbreak. Particularly, about one girl who ruined me in a way that I never knew was even possible.
In November, I wrote about my experience on Hinge and mentioned that I told a white lie about being a Jewish orthopedic surgeon/avid philanthropist in order to manipulate a specific girl into matching with me on the dating app as part of a strategically-crafted, lust-inspired ruse. Normal guy stuff. We’ve all been there.
(Acronym for Nice Jewish Boy)
Honestly, it was just supposed to be a harmless “tactic” to convince someone, who otherwise wouldn’t even consider letting me communicate with her, to give me the chance to show her that I’m actually a great guy with a gigantic heart and endearing personality despite possessing zero of the qualities or characteristics that she’s looking for in a man/partner. I also assumed it would eventually serve as a quality ice-breaker and make for some funny talking points, especially if she were to have an open mind and good sense of humor. Silly me.
Obviously, I ended up telling her the truth about my occupation and spiritual beliefs shortly after matching with her, telling a couple more minor white lies, obtaining her number, going on a few dates, and keeping up an elaborate facade just long and perfectly enough to score an invite to her parents’ luxury ski lodge in Breckinridge, Colorado (my dream vacation) over Hanukkah break. Common man stuff. Surprisingly, however, she did not take it nearly as well as I thought she would. In fact, it was a lighthearted prank reveal/confession that inexplicably provoked her to block my number and leave me stranded at Denver International Airport alone. Ugh.
It killed me to realize that she no longer wanted anything to do with me just because I was a modest, Christian blogger from West Virginia who went to a college with a perfect acceptance rate.
I really thought we had something. I didn’t think she was the superficial type at all. I figured we would last long enough for me to get the opportunity to ask her if she wanted to let me go on her father-funded vacation to Bali and Thailand with her this summer.
But the point of this isn’t to throw myself a heartbroken pity party or beg for sympathy (although it’s been tempting). It’s to show everyone that I’m doing much better than ever now that I realize my true worth and know how much better I deserve in a woman.
Thanks to PMQ, I’m now fully aware of how poorly she treated me in that situation, and that it wasn’t my fault that she decided to throw everything we had away because of her own shallowness. Whatever. It makes me realize how the materialistic, “big city” life isn’t for me at all. It makes me fantasize about the ideal trajectory of my romantic life:
I move back to my mostly rural hometown, a block away from my parents, and exchange flirtatious Facebook likes/pokes with a girl from my former high school who’s only a few pyramid tiers away from becoming a millionaire multi-level marketing professional because she wisely forewent college to become her own boss and work from home and make her own hours, until I realize that she’s actually back together with her on-and-off-again boyfriend, who was the former prom king and current assistant coach of the freshman football team at our alma mater, at which point I’m driven to get on Tinder where, after weeks of swiping on the quarter-dozens of local options, I match with another girl from my high school who used to date two of my best friends and agreed to meet up with me at one of the one mediocre bars in our town to get drinks together and then wait 45 minutes for one of the one Uber drivers in our geographic region to take us back to her place where her roommate, who’s coincidentally her older brother who was on my wrestling team, made it too awkward for me to pursue her sexually, but after several dates to the same local bar, I eventually become comfortable with dating her and appearing in pictures together on her Facebook—so comfortable to the point where I propose to her within 3 months of dating because I have an overwhelming fear of being alone in a town with limited options and pressure-inducing parents for the rest of my life, which ultimately lead to a costly wedding at the same venue where me and all my siblings and cousins had our high school graduation parties, which lead to eleven months of unfulfilling, forced marriage before giving birth to a son and spending the rest of our lives living for the one, week-long Myrtle Beach vacation we take together every third week of August.
That’s what I want. I’m done with the “big city” life. I’m sick of being treated like a priority instead of an option. I’m tired of going out of my way for people who won’t do the same for me. I’m so ready to start a new chapter. I’m fucking sorry for writing this bullshit.