chapter 1A Chapter by RSGFor me, all girls are
the same.
It’s been like that since I can remember. I
could never understand the meaning of the quote “No, this one is different”,
when all of them seem similar to me. I’ve already tried to comprehend, study or
research about the modus operandi of
the central nervous system of this common species, known has women. I want to
understand the difference between them, but all the facts that I gathered,
point and prove the premise that I had established for so long: different on
the outside, but in the inside the fundament is the same, even when some paths
are quite interesting, I’ve always arrived to this same conclusion. At least,
in my 22 years of living, I could find a way to objectively differentiate some
girls… well, I can say when one is pretty or not, hot and even if they have
personality or lack of it. And of course I could find someone attractive and
interesting enough to start dating, but in the end, they all become indifferent
to me and I lose all interest.
I’m in my fourth year
of med school, with other 200 students, and I’m yet to find someone who leaves
their imprint. Someone that fires my heart rate, as if they would’ve stumbled
on my aorta cross, leaving their footprint. I’ve started thinking
that the problem could be mine, but my blue eyes have earned me some nice
nights, but it’s just that… a night. Maybe it is just me that is nonchalant
about a love life. But I’ve been trying. I swear. I am not one to just go to bed
with someone, because they’re pretty or hot. I like to have a conversation
first. I have to find them interesting and I try to find the difference, but
there is no denying on how girls are becoming so vulgar these days. Let me
explain…
The first ones, and
personal favorites, I like to call “Clotherectics”: the ones that, when they
look at the mirror, are kind like the anorectics, but instead of seeing fat
where it doesn’t exist, they see clothes (let me just say that fat is often
present). They seem to find that their reflection shows a lack of skin, so they
change from the mini skirt to the micro skirt, but… even then they feel like
there’s a lot of coverage and they’re only happy when wearing the nano skirt
and I can see just a tip… of their uterus. I’m almost sure that they can’t read
or count, because if they could, they’d probably identify the sign that says “Adult” and not “child” in cloth stores
and would find clothes with different sizes from “9-10 years”… well at least
they can count until ten. I’m saying this, because I’m sure they all buy
clothes in the child’s section. That the only explanation I can find. And what
about their personality? Well, I do not know. When I see their figure I won’t
even let them open their mouths and talk to me. A girl who thinks that has to
dress like that to attract a boy needs to work first in their self-esteem. I hope that one day they’ll understand that’s
not attractive or interesting at all, I mean, all of it is already exposed…
there’s nothing left to imagine and explore.
Next come the “tomboys”.
Let’s see, I don’t want to hurt feelings or else and I’m not against liking who
we are and what we look like. I’m all for it actually… but everything has a
limit! Because the girls that I include in this group like beard… and not in
men… if you know what I mean. When I see them, I have this prompt need to buy a
jar of wax and say “girl, wax; wax, girl”, so they can meet for the first time.
I even think that they pee standing better than me… and even I start to want to
pee sitting down. I can’t achieve a conclusion about their personalities,
because when they talk I can only notice how theirs Adam’s apples are more prominent
than mine and hear the testosterone reflected in their voices, making me shiver
and my spermatic chord retract so much that I start to think maybe I’m gay.
The next group I call
“The offsets”. Remember the girl in the corner of the bar? The one with her
hands in the pockets, sometimes moving just the head in the rhythm of the music
and that look like the bar is the last place they’re comfortable in and want to
flee? Yes, that’s the one. They are completely dislocated from their natural
habitat… just like a lizard living in the North Pole. Some of them are pretty
and all, but the expression, as if their suffering from bowl pain draws all the
attractiveness. When you approach them, you have to make an effort to remember what
you see in BBC wildlife. You need to be careful and soft. Any brusque movement and
you’ll start to see the pouring sweat, the tense neck muscles, the jumping
carotid and the hard breathing. At that time, when they see you are making a
move, the adrenaline will kick in and they’ll be responding with a “fight or
flight” reaction… either you’ll be leaving with a black eye or she’ll be
running for the hills, and someone will call the police, because you’ll, certainly,
look like a stalker.
I mean, I’m attractive,
but I’m not Brad Pitt or something.
The next group I’m
about to describe doesn’t have a name, but I refer to them as “teen stupidity”.
Everyone can guess the age of the members, can’t they? First thing, I would
like to know, how is it possible, that the parents of these 13 and 14 year old
children, let them go out at night… but we all know that the progenitors have
been loosing, from generation to generation, their figure as authority. But,
well… they’re funny to see. They don’t even understand their ridiculous figure
when they enter the bar half-naked (I say half, because the child’s section
still fits) and with bras, evidently filled with cotton, so much that one
breast is pointing to China and the other to Brazil. They apply a layer of
make-up, thinking that would make them seem older, but let’s be honest, it just
seems like they rubbed robbialac paint on the face, with a brush. I laugh
really hard at the way they walk in those high heels, like they’re practicing equilibrium
in a balance rope.
The peak of my night is when they try to make
a move on me. They gently pass through me, light touching, so they can
apologize next, claiming it was an accident. My only instinct is to tease them
more. I’ll buy them a drink, which they hold high, so that everyone can see
that they’re drinking, while the other hand holds a cigarette, as they continue
to talk to me, trying to hold back the cough and tears caused by the smoke. I
never pay attention to conversation… I’m really trying not to laugh out loud,
until I can’t hold it anymore. At that time I just say it’s after midnight and
they should be in bed. They act really insulted, saying that they’re 18 years
old and try to leave me there, as quickly as they can, but the heels are a
b***h. And, again, I laugh. Laugh to avoid crying and thinking that this is our
future society.
And last, but not
least, there’s the group of the normal. The ones that go out at night to escape
from day stress, but with whom you could easily initiate a conversation in any
other place, besides a bar. They’re the ones that don’t overproduce themselves
to attract a boy and, because of that, their features are more delicate and
endearing. There’s something interesting that catches your attention and you
want to meet them again, so you ask for their number to grab a coffee again. The
ones you feel like talking about goals and the future and even surprise you
with their structured opinions. You start to feel they’re special; you’re attracted
to them and you consider having a relationship.
I’ve met, in my whole life, three girls like
that. I’ve thought that, each one of them was “the one”, but the initial
physical attractiveness passes and I feel no emotion. It’s not that I don’t
still care for them. I’m still fond of them, but they seem happy with the routine
and the talks become lesser and lesser. You miss passion and the initial flame
that burnt you inside with desire is extinguished. Everyone has flaws… but you
would want to mold to theirs with no effort. You would even think those are the
characteristics that made them different… the perfections of their personality.
I can’t classify what I feel. I just know that I’m empty, when I should feel
complete. They’re fulfilled with the ordinary, when you want the extraordinary.
And I know that’s not
their fault.
Ordinary, common,
normal, extraordinary, different… they’re just words, and words are relative.
To other’s eyes, my relation will be ordinary, but it’s in my eyes that should
exceed expectations… or I would hope that. I’ve accepted that I’ve been
idealizing the perfect relationship and that my expectations are too high… or I’m
just stupid. My only conclusion is
that my brain cannot accept the meaning of different applied to girls. But I’ve
settled with that.
Until I’ve met her.
© 2015 RSGAuthor's Note
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Added on September 28, 2015 Last Updated on September 29, 2015 Tags: love, asperger, mental illness and society taboo Author |