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Teasing princesses, nosy devils who Changed, and a fighter tired of struggling. 
Why do otherwise good women feel the need to manipulate guys?

I get why pure evil women do so. For fun. For power. For the thrill of getting guys to fight one another for her honour/amusement/whatever.

I get why popular women are hard to reach or spend time with - because everyone else wants them, and I have no chance with anyone who has 900 friends already.

But when a friend of five years does this to me, I have to wonder if her motives were ever even 1% good.

I met her through a friend, at least a smart guy into science and good music, and she stayed. Of course, her first action as someone who stayed longer than anyone - like, 2 months - was to touch my forearm when I said I was thinking of adding romantic elements to my writing (action-packed stuff). It was the same thing a romance author I met in class at Uni did, so I didn't take much notice.

When she got glasses and braided her hair, and I asked about that, she said she liked to pretend to be a nerd to lure boys in. "I'm a nerd, tee hee!". Instant dislike. That she stayed proved dedicated to the ruse, I guess, because I think it was the year after that she started with the sexual innuendo, something like "Harder daddy! What?" and that got... a raised eyebrow. At best. I figured she wasn't pure or innocent or even a virgin, it's not like it's a perfect world where virginity is this sacred thing that ONLY gets released on a girl's wedding night, that's the kind of thing idiots believe.

But I did have to re-evaluate her whole angle in being my friend for so long, when two weeks was a record, unless I didn't like them, in which case I couldn't get rid of them soon enough.

"Fill me in" came out of nowhere, and then she suddenly started dancing for joy, and saying we should totally go on a cruise together. While we might have been friends on Facebook by this point, it'd been about 4 years after all, I immediately rejected that and she tried harder to sway me. I realised she either didn't respect me as a friend enough to ask if I'd want to or not, and I think she just wanted me for her own ends, OR she was so drunk on some strange sense of personal victory that she got a reaction that she didn't stop to think if I would even be willing to do that. Especially as we'd never even once been outside the drinking establishment together before. A cruise is nice and all, but if it's me, her, and two random dudes I'd never met before, I knew enough to suspect her motives weren't platonic.

She barely showed up after that, she turned on me when I brought up the idea of doing *something* other than drinking together, and she had the gall to put on an almost waterworks display of "that bitch stole this stool I was minding for you" with fear and anger. Then she stopped talking to me, disappeared for six months, and left me to 2016.

She reappeared once, briefly, after our mutual friend asked me the question "if you were on a tropical island resort for a year, and could spend one day with anyone you like, who would it be?".

She disappeared inside for one drink, claiming she was depressed, and I didn't see her for another four months. And only when a mutual friend was having a birthday there. I then learned that she's been living next door, suburb wise, to where I'm currently living now, all this time and has been house sitting further away in the absence.

I think I get now why it all fell apart. She never bothered to be a friend. She all but demanded I go on a cruise out of some misguided idea of "it'll be good for you" because I "got" some innuendo she delivered ("finally, *someone* got that!") and I realised she wasn't being honest with me. I think that's manipulation.

A major blow-out after a year of taking every other option and then committing to spending time with me only to crash her car that very day finally got to me, and when I realised I'd deleted her and that I would never have a chance like this again to get angry at a girl who wronged me, I let her have it. The secrets and weirdness came pouring out, and the fact she liked me as a friend was the only thing I ever believed about her. "Never had a boyfriend" turned into "that guy I brought around the week after I lied to you to protect your feelings had been a boyfriend before" was pretty much all I needed to hear.

Power plays are stupid and desperate. I knew I was right to trust my gut. I gave this one the benefit of the doubt, and it went even worse than I thought. No I have a policy: treat people based on their actions, not their words. Words can be true, and can be lies, but actions are what matters. If words and actions don't line up, there's something you're hiding, and it won't win you any friends, is the message I have taken away from this 6-year experience. The little group I'd built up in that time, in that place, has now fallen apart. I hope this girl realises that lying to guys is the main reason they don't trust her and that, if she wants to understand them, it has to be sincere or they'll pick up on that and clam up because, contrary to whatever tv dramas etc say, guys aren't always stupid. Fools for falling for manipulators, or seductresses, maybe, but a lie only holds up so long as it's convincing. I knew not to trust her. She wore down my armour a bit, and then struck the weak spot for maximum damage, but then she had the indecency to show her face again, and drag out the feelings of mistrust, and I finally just went nuclear on her web on lies, and the response was gloriously enraged, the kind of response that only a liar who's been caught out will do. An honest woman doesn't get angry like that and "clear things up" in ways that contradict everything, an honest woman admits her faults and talks about herself, instead of hiding behind lies and deception and manipulation and power plays, is the takeaway from this, I feel.

I just wish she'd been as efficient at that as my ex was. One month dating *her* was at least over and done with quickly. It's the long lie that poisons the most. Especially when you're happiest each time the liar disappoints me.


Sometimes, bitches really do be cray.
“I have Asperger’s Syndrome.”
“What’s that?”
Sigh. It’s rude to say “If I have to tell you…” but…
Now that that snark is out of the way, let’s get this show on the road. *crushes out his cigarette and grinds it into the ground, pics up the mic, opens his mouth, and…*
Shit.
Okay, sit your cool, smart, funny, sexy selves down around the camp fire and let me open a can of Personal Experience and give you the gift of my special brand of thinking. And yes, when I say special, I mean both “snowflake” and “mentally handicapped” because yes, I am both. And while I suck at a LOT of other stuff, I can do what 90% of people don’t have the chops to do.
I can write. I have a piece of paper that proves it, and a failed attempt at a book that proves just how hard that actually is, when you’re doing this on your own.
I also have parents who are freaking saints with bad childhoods. They hardly got the chance to RAISE me, dealing with the fallout of their own crappy lives, and it was only my primary school’s principal accepting me anyway (I went to preschool, primary school, and highschool in the same suburb) that got me an education (by the standards in those days, anyway) and some social life, and churches that gave me some more-or-less good morals, even if the kids at one treated my brother and I like utter shit (we went through a few churches, and ended up reconnecting with a girl I knew from preschool through one, but I was not a very confident person, still not despite any “evidence” to the contrary (see the title?) and it was only after I reached 25 that my anger issues started to subside with the aid of a good church, two writer’s groups, Uni (most of those friends have disappeared, but I have a legit soul mate from there) and… a suburban pub that has been through some pretty big changes over the years.
And then I had to move out of mum and dad’s place. In 2016. With a disability. Into a downgrade of a house. And it was just one crisis after another this year, and I found that, having being knocked off the fence of faith vs everything else, that I was comfortably sitting on, it took seeing Christian friends picking me up and actually spending time with me when nobody else would to see how green the grass looked from that side.
In 2016, I learnt some *extremely* valuable life lessons, and I’m sure my mistakes will come back to bite me in the ass some day, and I definitely need to do some communication courses and cooking classes and that sort of thing, not that I didn’t have a head-start, but I gotta dial those skills up to eleven (and curb the referential humour, even I’m getting a bit tired of it, though I am what I am). Basically, I have to work on myself. Some people didn’t get that, no matter how hard I explained it to them.
My lesson is that I didn’t hold my tongue. I didn’t check myself, and so I wrecked myself. And then David Bowie died and, I’m not saying he was holding the fabric of the universe together, but…
Despite my mother’s insistence that I don’t talk about my disability in print (she’s hard to handle and dad’s been a mess this year too with his autistic traits), I’m talking about this anyway.
I am saving them a TONNE of money while giving my landlords the ability to go be Grey Nomads like they’ve always wanted, so while I may grumble, I think 2016 speaks for itself and I feel so much freer at this end of it, and while it chewed me up and spit me out… it didn’t actually kill me.
It did however give me an unhealthy coping mechanism. Alcohol. Like, a really exacerbated level of it.
I pretty much came close to death from drinking too much to deal with life’s chaos on my own terms.
But boy was I a hit at karaoke one big party night. Face painted red in David Bowie’s lightning bolt, just regular facepaint, sweat, tears, glitter, and wouldn’t you know it, I caught a bus home that stopped at a tavern that was doing not just karaoke, but live band karaoke - Rockaoke - and a bunch of twenty-somethings into rock and roll took one look at me and I  their reaction said it all.
“Holy crap, what happened to you?”
“2016.”
“Oh.”
I also apparently aged ten years, according to my new, classier local’s system (one user error I can’t even blame on alcohol, as I was drinking water at the moment I signed up by mobile and must have put a 7 where I thought I put an 8, and now I’m apparently 41, and you know…)
I definitely feel it, ridiculously exaggerated though that may be. I lost my mentor, and my dog over Christmas, and the ability to deal with a lying girl I used to know, but I gained a tonne of clarity and had a few funny stories to tell, and while I railed against it all for ages there, I can see the silver lining - I finally got some real talk, and it was a real eye-opening learning experience.
Some people graduated, some people died, some people got butt hurt (mostly me), some people gave me the real talk I craved, and I learnt who’s a real friend, and who’s just a fair weather friend.
I completely purged a particularly frustrating local girl from my late 20s life, the brutal way, it needed to happen, I went to Rogue One and saw some parallels, went to the beach and just stood knee-deep and let the waves wash away the utter car wreck of a year, and got on with life.
I think the only genuine funny moment was when I told an ibis to go home, it was drunk, and the waitress right next to me laughed and it was magical and I realised… I wasn’t really talking about the ibis.
So that, sadly, is what Asperger’s Syndrome is like to deal with in times of utter chaos. That I moved out of home this year, developmentally delayed, so many friends literally unable to be around, was more than I could take.
But man, was that a trial by fire. And the water at the beach felt sooooo good after all was said and done.
I think I can do next year sober, if I’m honest with myself. It’s not a commitment, as such, but it’s probably true. You go through the fires of hell, you’re gonna need some water. If that’s holy water, well, who am I to argue?
I hear this time and time again in movies and the like when someone commits suicide, but I'm wondering whether that's even true. I mean, I KNOW I watch too many movies. You don't have to point that out to me. *points to DVD collection* 

But maybe, just maybe, if people actually paid attention to quiet people, quiet people wouldn't be so sick of it as to take their own lives, yes? 

That's my response to the cliche in the movies. 

No one suspects the quiet ones. No shit. Maybe if these characters showed the quiet ones some compassion... 

To extroverts, introverts being out in public are a foreign concept. It's like, "You mean some people actually think with their brains?" Extroverts think by talking. They're literally thinking out loud. Hence they change topic mid-sentence, and introverts can't keep up. Extraverts are energized by social interaction, and can't wrap their heads around the fact that yes, some people get drained by too much interaction. It's like mars and venus, but personality types instead. Not sure what that would be, probably "Extraverts are from Jupiter, Introverts are from Pluto" I guess? 

Extroverts tend to make you feel welcome... while keeping one eye on the rest of the room, hunting for the next target. Introverts focus on you, something extroverts tend to be unused to. 

That's what I read somewhere on the internet, anyway. So it must be true. 
I got a haircut this week, for a date, and unfortunately, due to things outside of her control, she had to cancel. Bummer. 

I finished a tonne of work on my book, and then logged in to Facebook to learn that a man I knew and respected passed away, and that was sad. But he wouldn't have wanted me drinking alone on a Friday night and crying into a bottle over him. So I went out, and expected to have an ordinary time. 

The lead singer of the band playing that night was a blonde bombshell. And she could sing. And she was being paid for it, I'm pretty sure of that, though it was their first time here. Apart from my friend at the casino the other weekend, and another band waaaaaay back in September, the last three or four years, live bands at local venues have all been dudes. Like, 100% dudes. To have a female singer for a change was novel enough. That she was also gorgeous and had a great voice too, and was a wild child, well. 

I made a new friend that night. Not her, but a guy who has recently just read my favourite book of all time. I added the guy based on that fact alone. Not the fact that the chick he knew wanted to dance with me, and respected that some people aren't comfortable with dancing, so with that respect I decided to let her have this one. 

Saturday I met someone at a party with a "glad to be alive" theme to it. My intro was, and yes I improvised this, "Hi, I'm [my name], I've heard absolutely nothing about you!" And shook her hand. She seemed to have heard about me from my brother, I think. Or something. They seemed to know each other. 

The host took part in a 48 hour gaming challenge, and although the controls were fiddly and poorly laid out, the game was pretty funny. It was this 8 bit, isometric, Minecrafty parenting simulator. You run around after your kids, and prevent them from dying. And they die easily. Drowning, BBQ fire, poison berries, dingoes, child services (they couldn't have a pedophile in a van and get published with the PG rating, for instance), and things like that. It was pretty funny, and you get graded on your job, and at best someone got a B-. That was mostly for the BBQ and table setting, but it did have the high score for number of kids saved. So that was an accomplishment I guess. 

Today, I went to my writer's group, we had a ball, we laughed at sooooooooo many sexual innuendos, and it was a good time for all. I haven't been able to go to jack all meetings this year, the year from hell, so that was something I desperately needed. 

On the way home, I went through the city mall, and passed an asian hairdresser handing out flyers. I said no thanks, since I'd just gotten my hair did. Then she asked "just a quick question..." so okay I thought. "Would you like to buy a hooker?" Um, no thanks. I can't think of any hair products or tools called that, so I have to assume she meant what she said and was talking about hiring her as a prostitute. Unless I'm missing something. 

And later tonight a friend I haven't spoken to in forever actually spoke to me, complimenting me on my hair. 

So yeah, my hair was... rather popular this weekend. 

Not bad for a simple "half off everywhere" $30 job at the barber down the road. At a quote-unquote hairdresser, they're more used to women, they charge more, they require appointments, and either they're silent or terrible conversationalists or they're bitchy or, sometimes, on nights when the sun doth shine and the moon doth glow and the grass doth grow... you get one who's an amazing conversationalist. Who happens to live in your suburb, too, despite you meeting her in the city. This place is a men's barber shop, independent, and while I don't meet any women there, that's okay. They're good blokes there, real no-bullshit fellas who Deliver. I love this place. I always get good feedback from people in my life after I get my hair done there, too. Especially earlier in the year, when I'd been rejected hard, I'd gone into a spiral of binge drinking, and there was this stupid thing with the internet being down for six weeks, leading up to an election, and they wanted to fuck with my career prospects which, frankly, have been pitiful already. So when I saw myself in the shopping centre window, in a grey jacket and rocking the hobo look, I thought to myself "No, it's my mum's birthday. I am NOT showing up looking like this." 

Amazing what one simple haircut can do for a guy. And none of this perming and styling shit that metrosexual types do (no offence to any who DO, I just don't like that kind of thing, and if you haven't noticed by now, I do swear almost like a sailor, not quite that badly but still pretty regularly). 
The awkward moment when you can't remember if your last date was last year... or the year before. Was it a movie with one person you weren't *interested* in and just wanted *someone* to go to the movie with, cause you're a nigel, or was it someone you went on one dinner date with and then nothing came of that despite your sincere intention to catch up with them some time... which you did yesterday... but that was *actually* 2 years after the fact, not one, like you thought. 

And you've gone through the last 12 months more alone than you've ever been in your ENTIRE life, of 30 years, when life gives you so many lemons that you should be selling them with Vodka and salt because you're often told you look like the guy from the Hangover. 

I thought 2015 was good. I must have been thinking of 2014, because I figure I dated on TWO occasions that year. And the second I didn't even realise until the cinema guy said "that'll be (two tickets worth)" and you realise... hang on... that's not how much a ticket costs... unless... 

That's what I'm trying to avoid taking into my next date on November 2. Nor the decade it's been since having a girlfriend at all, unless you count someone online who's face you're not sure about, but was better to you than most girls you've dated have EVER been to you. 

But the last 3 or 4 I actually did the asking... and I finally, after several years of awfulness, got what I asked for. 

Man, I hear relationships are hard. But when you've only had one, a decade ago, with this awful person who made your life a living hell for a month, it really makes you wonder... are there even decent single women in this city at all? (who would be interested in second dates) 

Disabilities suck. I should know. I just wish other people knew I have one. 
Make me laugh, and you can make me do anything. Make me smile, and you won't have to.