Tales of Broken Hearted Dude

Disclaimer : I’ve really never done a post like this before, so I want you all to play along whether you like it or not (at the risk of me finding you and shooting you down).

Imagine a BMW. A BMW 3 series from 1995.

For those of you without an imagination, here it is.

Now imagine a 2012 BMW 3 series.

I love you, you shiny bastard.

Same car, 17 years apart, right?

Wrong. The 2012 BMW looks much better than that piece of garbage from 1995. It performs much better. On the whole its appeal is much more than the 1995 BMW. I admit, I know as much about cars as Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear knows about being politically correct.

So if you were given these two cars and asked to choose, which one would you pick? Let’s be unbiased here and imagine you start leaning towards the (much better) 2012 BMW. You tell the salesman you want it so badly. He allows you to drive the car around, and you do exactly that. Sure there are a bunch of kinks, like the GPS’ annoying voice, or the amount of technology available inside or even the structure of the seats.

But on the whole you love it and you let the salesman know that.

Then you go back to the 1995 car and figure out what went wrong. The salesman for that car assures you its all fixed and proper now, and since you have owned this car and you do know how it works and how it feels, you decide to give it a shot.

Despite the fact that it clearly failed you earlier.

But you say, “Hey, I’m obliged to give it a try”. That makes sense, especially when a cooler and better car is in front of you. So you metaphorically stab the 2012 BMW salesman in his back (he says the knife is still in his back, if you want it back) and leave with the 1995 car.

Visual Representation of pre-back stabbing times.

Now imagine everything I said was about people. I’m the 2012 BMW. I cannot identify who the 1995 BMW is because I don’t want to. And also, you’re the one who broke my heart. No really. You know who you are.

This happened to me. Yes, that was a big kickass metaphor. More than I’d like to say it, it absolutely and catastrophically damages your ego to NOT be chosen for anything (especially when anything = boyfriend/husband). It does. I accept it. It makes you feel worthless, it makes you feel inane and it makes you feel like you’re one of those million ants you crush when you walk.

It makes you feel like nothing.

By blogging about it, I guess I’m trying to vent out my very crushed up, chewed on and spit out feelings and announcing to the world of WordPress what happened to me. I mean, I cannot begin to imagine why anyone would do this at all. Either logic is beyond them, or emotions are beyond me. But whatever it is, “It done fucked me up good ya’ll”, as a gentleman from the Southern United States would say.

Of course I could just say “I’m awesome” a la Barney Stinson and carry on with life. I would. I probably should. But my brain has this annoying feature called “Retrospect” and I totally want to hack into my brain to delete this function. But for all the cliched shit out there about guys who are bastardly sons of bitches and go and break the hearts of all young princessy girls, no one talks about the girls who do the exact same thing.

You could say it doesn’t happen as much and I would disagree. It’s just that most men have the balls enough to pick up the pieces and move on, while that’s kind of tough for me to do so fast. Most men don’t talk about it. Most men go and hang out with their buddies and all is forgotten.

If "buddies" means cans of beer.

Girls bitch and whine about it, and put up annoying Instagram photos with captions on Facebook, so came the impression that guys = bad and girls = good. I object. I’m a good person and I feel more than totally fucked over right now and I want solace.

So in short, my point is : WTF is wrong with me, and what should I do about all this?









Posted on January 11, 2012, in Personal Musings. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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