The 30-year-old virgin

Waxing theological, philosophical, and temporal

First off, for those who've asked... Yes, still talking to the guy. Nearly every day... We're not rushing anything, just getting to know one another. This isn't a relationship. At best it's a prelude. Anything else would be just plain silly given that — until I actually move to London — there are still something like 5,000 km/an eight-hour flight/five time zones separating us.

Now, on to tonight's topic...

I've been thinking, which is a euphemism meaning: expect this to be a long, unfocused, jumbled, barely coherent, rambling post that pulls in too many different directions.

A while back I started reading Filth by Irvine Welsh. I had to stop. I just couldn't do it. It was too offensive, too racist, too sexist, too hate-fuelled, too disgusting, too judgemental, too holier-than-thou, too something... Well, that and the fact that the grammar was too confusing. His lack of quote marks left me unsure of what was being said out loud and what was just the narrator's thoughts.

I decided I needed to wash my mouth out with soap, metaphorically speaking. So, now I am re-reading The Great Divorce by CS Lewis.

Concurrently with this, I've been feeling incredibly dissatisfied with my life. I find myself repeating the same phrase over and over again: I've ruined everything. I've spent my life waiting. Waiting for what I'm not sure. I guess I always figured I'd know it when I saw it.

Sounds stupid, right? Well, it was.

And this keeps bringing me back to last summer. Specifically, I find myself returning again and again to my grandfather's funeral. That reminds me... Someday I should write an ode to him. But that's beside the point.

At the funeral a tremendously dull preacher gave an infuriatingly heretical sermon. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, screaming 'you've got it all wrong, dumbass!'

He used a scripture passage (I forget which one) to support his argument that we as Christians should spend our lives waiting on God. He said that we should do nothing until God tells us what to do, that we should make no decisions until we hear his voice. I wish I could remember what the passage was, because I remember thinking that it was saying the exact opposite.

I've always been a bit of a Hamlet. I think and I talk and I rage against the machine, but I never actually DO anything. Which is precisely what I mean when I say I've ruined everything... I've spent my whole life WAITING for some voice to come booming out of the sky to tell me what degree I was supposed to do. WAITING for some Angel of the Lord to show up and tell me which guy I was going end up with. WAITING for some miraculous writing to appear on the wall to tell me which career goals to pursue. Whatever... The point is that I've missed all my chances. I missed my stop.

Or at least it feels like I have. And that's a pretty depressing feeling.

But that brings me back around again to Lewis. Re-reading Divorce has got me pondering the concept of retroactive redemption.

I have just spent the better part of an hour trying to explain what I mean by retroactive redemption. I can't do it. I can think about it, but I can't express it in a satisfactory way.

How about this... It's the idea that not only can my trajectory be changed, thus alterring where I will go, but that my past can be redeemed as well. So, maybe someday I'll be able to look back and say that if I hadn't spent so much of my life waiting, I would never had got where I am. Maybe I'll eventually see my path as one I wouldn't recommend, but the only one which could ultimately lead me to where I needed to be.

Does that make sense?

Anyways, the whole point is that I need to stop waiting and start living. That way, maybe (just maybe) my life can be something good.

Things that make me go hmm...

I just watched two one-hour documentaries on polygamous relationships, specifically polyandrous marriages (i.e. one husband and multiple wives).

The first was focused on a Mormon community wherein the participants all entered into the relationships knowing they were or would be polygamous. They said believed the practice brought them closer to God.

The second focused on a family of unspecified religion (if they were religious at all). A man and a woman met, fell in love, and got married. After the wedding, the husband confessed that he didn't believe in monogamy. She said she assumed he would have affairs and was okay with this. Instead, he fell in love with another woman. When she became pregnant they decided the best thing to do would be to live as one big happy family. 18 years later, he introduced a third woman to the household and chaos ensued.

The whole thing mystifies me. To be frank, I'm not particularly disturbed by the notion of Heinlein-style plural marriages (i.e. a roughly equal number of men and women married to one another and living together in community), but the notion of deliberate polyandry horrifies me. The inequality of the partners is inherent, as are the implicitly defined gender roles.

Discuss.

Potential

Remember London guy? We've been e-mailing back and forth quite a bit since then. I knew when we met that we had a connection. Our friends complained that they didn't get to talk to either one of us all evening as we were absorbed in endlessly meandering conversation with one another.

And the written conversations flow just as fluidly.

He's entirely not the kind of guy I would normally go for: no tattoos, no piercings. He's got a grown-up job and a house in the suburbs... He's all the things that most women want: romantic, cultured, sophisticated. He likes fine wine, classical music, good food.

Me... I'm not those things. Don't get me wrong; I'm not insulting myself. I don't want to be those things. I'm intelligent and weirdly funny and intense and good at getting stuff done. I don't give a flying frak about wine. I hate classical music. One of my favourite meals is beans on toast. My idea of romance is um... pretty much non-existent.

But... He definitely seems like somebody I could spend time with. He's got long-term potential.

Of course, he's also something like 5,000 km away. For now. But then, I've always been better at long-distance relationships than real-live, in-your-face, in-your-hair ones.

Oh, I didn't mention. He's also six inches shorter than I am. I must admit... That weirds me out.

That might explain a few things

For a long time I've known that I score fairly high on the autism spectrum. Lately I've been researching Asperger's. I've done a few self-assessment tests, which have all indicated a strong possibility that I have it.

It's actually kind of comforting, because it means there's a reason I have such a hard time with people. I mean... I'm not shy, just awkward and strange. If it's true, it means I'm not alone. Well, okay, I am, but I'm not. You know?

And then there were none...

The highlight of last week was a baby shower. I hated every minute of it. Seriously, it sucked arse. I was almost glad to have an allergic reaction and have to leave. But it was my only non-work social contact of the week. I got home and all I wanted to do was go out drinking, but oops... nobody to do that with.

The week before my housemate, kitchen-guy, and I had made tentative plans to go out again the following Saturday. So after the baby shower I thought I might have that to look forward to. But no, didn't happen. So I stayed up late watching Battlestar Galactica. Online. By myself. In the basement. You just can't get any geeker than than that.

Oh wait, you can... Afterwards I blogged about Tricia Helfer's boobs (I'm not a fan).

And then there were two...

It has been years since anybody has shown any interest in me. Years.

I met a guy while I was in London a few weeks back. He's a friend of a friend. He's intelligent and kind and earnest and stable. We had a connection of some sorts. But then I came back home. Last night I got an e-mail from him saying that we had a connection and he didn't want to let that go without doing anything about it, but that it had taken this long to get my e-mail address from our mutual friend.

Last week I met another English guy, this time in my kitchen. He's also a friend of a friend. He's intelligent and sexy and intense and hot. We had a connection of some sorts. Tonight my friend invited me to join him and his friend for a beer. I was so exhausted that I almost said no. But I went. And yes, he really is hot, and maybe a little dangerous. He's also interested. At least, he seems to be.

I don't know. It's weird and unexpected. We'll see...

I might be a little bit drunkish.

Shhh... it's a secret

It's weird. I mean, he's weird. And, well, he's kinda gross. I mean was. He was gross. And he definitely wasn't good looking. But John Belushi had a weird kind of sexy going on.

Ya, I'm that disturbed.

Animal House is on TV.

Turning 35

This one's hitting me hard, much harder than 30 did. At 30 I still had a very young lifestyle. I was surrounded by by young and young-seeming people. I could still brush my failures under the carpet. I could claim I was just a late bloomer. I still had hope.

Now it's clear that I need to stop fooling myself. The best days of my life are behind me, and they weren't very good.

I can (and will) work to make the next phase of my life as good as it can be. I'll work hard to achieve everything I can. But there's no more denying that I've squandered so much of my life. Anything I do make of it won't be as good as it could have been if I'd applied myself when I was young.

Let that be a lesson to those of you under 30. There's still hope, but only if you start now.

Worse than repressed

Once upon a time I was too repressed to get a massage. I got over that.

It's been a about six months since I last went for one, so I figured I was well due.

As I was lying there enjoying the experience, it dawned on me... The last person who touched me was her. The therapist, I mean. In fact, the only person who ever touches me — at all — is her. I go there maybe four times a year, and it's the only human contact I have.

No, wait. There's also the dentist.

It just doesn't get any better than this.

We're sorry; you're unmatchable

I'm getting more than a little tired of the eHarmony ads on TV. Always going on about how wonderful and awesome and amazing they are... How they're matching is so scientific and advanced... They make you think they've captured the dating market.

Oh, but we're sorry. Theres a teensy wee little segment of the population who are just too repulsive to be matched to any of our super wonderful clients. You seem to be one of those few. We'd wish you luck in your search, but let's face it: you may as well give up now.