You Are Not A Special Snowflake

Every night I am witness to a blur of names, faces, glitter, booming music and flashing lights. The bartenders produce an endless stream of alcohol, emptying purses, wallets and bank accounts of hard earned cash. This intoxicating combination of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen is used by the hordes to drown their sorrows, boost an otherwise inferior self-confidence, create some plausible deniability to get their fuck on, or just because “everyone else is doing it.”

The crowd bounces to a series of doofs, zings and whirs played over the top of a once classic song. Girls stand in the middle of the dance floor trying to look sexy while the masses of men ogle and drool, wishing they had the confidence to approach them. Maybe the guys explain to their friends how much they would like to ‘fuck the shit out of that whore’, sounding very cool. Maybe they make no mention of it in case their friends tell them to approach. They don’t want to be made fun of when they bitch out.

Some bloke has spent the last 15 minutes watching the stunner in the middle of the dance floor. He can’t help but be amazed by her shiny dress, her six inch heels and her near perfect body as it sways and kicks to the beat. He finally musters up the confidence, moves closer and tries to introduce himself over the music, since he knows no better.

The girl tells him to “fuck off”, turns her back and grinds up on her girlfriend, pumping even more hormones through the veins of the non-sexworthy onlookers. The attention, the music and the candywater in hand are all she needs to feel good about herself for this night. Her emotions are running wild and she is loving it. Never mind the bloke, who is now subject to laughs and sniggers from a bunch of wankers who never had the balls to approach, and never will. But if you ask them, they “could totally get her if they really wanted her”. For a minute there, our boy let go enough to put himself on the line to appraoch the girl. He now walks back to his mates, deflated and sad, never to approach a girl again….

Rejection fucking hurts at times. The thing is, it really shouldn’t matter. You’re only programmed to think that it hurts. It can be wiped and reprogrammed, through the process of desensitisation. There’s a big difference between a guy who gets brutally shot down again and again, picking himself up each time and a guy who makes one attempt every six months. Oh, but my situation is different, I feel X and Y and I can’t do it because of Z. Shut the fuck up. You are not special.

You are letting your reality, ego and self esteem be dictated by a bunch of external factors, mainly women. Oh but what if she doesn’t like me? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if she tells all her friends I’m a creep? Honestly, who the fuck cares. She is not special.

Think about these girls who you are letting dictate how you feel about yourself.

“Hi, I’m Stacy, I left my crappy job early to spend two hours in the mirror, applying 4 inches of makeup and fake tan. I redid my hair four times to get it like this. I bought this ridiculously expensive sparkly dress which helps push my boobs together because Cosmo said it was the shit. I walked straight to the front of the line tonight because last week I hit on the fatman bouncer, who remembers me because his dick gets hard every time he sees me *giggle*. I’ve also been flirting with the bartender who thinks he has a chance, so will go to the ends of the earth to provide me with cheap or free drinks to keep me happy. I’m going to get approached by a bunch of guys tonight and I’m going to reject all of them (not before using them for some free drinks), making me feel so good about myself. At the end of the night, I’m going to go home and get double teamed by the DJ and the club owner in a random hotel room as they take photos. In the morning I’ll go buy some more cigarettes and figure out which pills I’m taking the following night, after all it’s this stuff that keeps me skinny. Then I’ll go back to my shitty ass job and start all over again. Yaaaaay!”

Really? You’re going to let HER make you feel down and dejected when she turns her back on you?

Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck. Yuck. But it makes you sad? I’m sorry, but you are not special.

There’s a lot of weak people in that story. How do you think the girl feels deep down when she realises she has nothing of substance going for her? Yes, it happens. She isn’t always as happy as she seems in the club. Blokes who pretend they are the shit but under the cover of their over-inflated egos are a child desperately calling out for a little love. A normally power tripping dick boy of a bouncer who suddenly becommes putty in the hands of an attractive woman. A bartender who fails to see that the girl is simply using him. None of you are special.

I was totally blind to this kind of shit before I found the community. This is the kind of stuff I wish I didn’t know, to be honest. This and other things like learning how women are biologically wired to cheat. It makes me a little sad. It doesn’t provide a lot of hope for mankind, but it does help cultivate a big drive to rise above all of it.

It doesn’t really suprise me how a lot of community guys develop either a hate for some women or an inability to trust them ever again. It’s not new information that many community guys enjoy getting theirs back at society for the endless torture as a kid by fucking as many women as possible, not really helping with their own insecurities. I’m not going to lie, there’s a crapload of girls I’d love to degrade in some way. Maybe batting their face around with my cock before blowing a load in their eyes, denying them a hand towel or shower and sending them on their way. It’s kinda angry I know, but fuck the kind of girl I have in mind annoys the shit out of me.

But I trust that there are positives to be found somewhere. There ARE some fucking awesome girls out there. I’m beginning to think that the club is not the place to find them, though. Sure cool girls still go to the club, but I liken it to trying to find a gold ring in a sewerage treatment plant. A big one.

But where are the girls who have a life outside the veil of fake tan, drugs and make up? The girls who enjoy hanging out under a blanket watching a movie before a night of amazing sex? The girls who don’t look for validation in every corner and will have a, god help me, actual fun, interesting conversation? (No, I don’t fucking care what name Sally at work called you) The girls who will get hammered with you, cut loose and stand up and yell at a game of footy?

Where the fuck are you?

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