I will never be as successful with women as I want to be, and there’s good reason for that. I’m a philosopher’s Philosopher. I care too much about ideas. Have you ever heard of a famous female philosopher? Most of us have heard of Plato, Aristotle, Marcus Aurelieus, St. Augustine, Kirkegaard, Nietzsche, Kant…but how many of us, outside of those who actively study philosophy, have heard of any female philosophers? One can argue that this is likely due to historical sexism and censorship, but I think there’s a deeper underlying issue. One that will brand me as sexist and “a pig” in the eyes of the most die-hard feminists. No matter. I conjecture that, whether we like it or not, there is a fundamental inherent difference—either in brain chemistry, hormonal levels, social conditioning, whatever—between men and women. It is at the core of why we struggle so mightily to get females involved in mathematics and science, why men seem more likely than women to become uber-nerds and fixate on technology, sports, or science fiction.  On a more personal level, it’s also why I have a hard time connecting with many of the women I come across. 

I think there is a fundamental dichotomy between Idea orientation and People orientation.  I venture that, on average, men tend to be more idea and abstractly oriented than women, whereas women tend to be more emotionally and physically oriented towards people. Women will invest a healthy amount of time picking which shoes to wear to go perfectly with this outfit, while men will tinker around with their toys to tweak them out.  It goes back to that left brain/right brain thing, but even that’s not a clear delineation. Even among a highly technical population of PhDs in Computer Science, I find the men to be much more oriented towards solving P=NP while the women want to “make a difference in the world.”

There are, obviously, exceptions. It’s not a hard and fast rule, just a general observation. I’m too lazy to look it up now, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed this.

The thing is, this People and Idea orientation doesn’t have to be a dichotomy, and in fact is not a binary divider. It is a continuum that we all exist on. On this continuum, I feel like I’m on the extreme.  I am by no means the anti-social nerd who doesn’t shower, stays in his basement, and dreams of creating grey goo.  I’m generally good with people, and I do care about people…but Ideas are so important to me. I sit around writing bullshit not to tell stories , but to express my thoughts. I really don’t care that I went scuba diving and my friend wore a polka-dot negligee yesterday, nor do I care about some trivial fucking argument that celebrity X and Y are having over Dumb Shit.

I generally tend to favor girls that can engage me on the ideas spectrum, and those tend to be rare. Even rarer are those that start abstract conversations. I think that, combined with her beauty and vitality, were what drew me to her. What draws men like me to her. I think that there are many, many more men like me than there are girls like her. Demand way exceeds supply.

I found another girl with that something on this trip. A girl who may or may not be as intelligent, but who has the orientation that would take a minor in Philosophy while majoring in Accounting and Computer Information Systems. A ridiculously beautiful  girl who liked to watch anime and used to be really into art and graphic design, still dabbling as opportunities arise. A girl who used to have the industrial piercing, before the exigencies of the stodgy business world made her remove it. A girl who leads a student organization. A girl who has the dedicated drive and ambition of the overachiever in that she’s constantly asking questions and seeking to get involved. A girl that still has an innocent je ne sais quoi about her, but gives off that vibe that says “look under this façade and you’ll see…”.  A girl that went to Barnes and Noble while others wanted to sight-see, and bought a calendar by Alphonse Mucha, as she loves Art Nouveau . A girl who sat by me in the workshops and whispered reactions and ideas, who would gently grab my arm in a Latina gesture of conversation in a way that had me going crazy. A girl that shared that calendar with me on the bus on the way back to the airport, before sharing some of her own artwork. Artwork featuring images from her dreams , including a recurring dream where she was in an island being chased by a giant spider looking thing from Final Fantasy VIII. A girl who said, "No, not the Materia Keeper, that's from Final Fantasy VII. This is the robot from Galbadia in FFVIII."(X-ATM092) A girl who, in that single moment, literally made my mind explode with a "DID THAT JUST HAPPEN!?! NO, NO THAT COULDN'T HAVE JUST HAPPENED!!!" A girl who was, of course, it should be pretty fucking obvious, taken.

Oh but we lingered around each other so. Not completely intently, there were many beautiful girls on the trip and I found myself networking a lot, but it felt like we generally sought each other out. When she asked me to go clothes shopping with her, I got nervous. Doubtly so when my roommate described how unhappy she is in her relationship, describing it to him in the most disparaging terms. “She doesn’t want to admit it to herself, but she’s down to fuck! Don’t fuck it up!” he confidently grinned at me.  So what did I do? Fuck it up, obviously.

Boisterousness,  obnoxiousness,  but worst of all indecision. I don’t fuck with relationships. When I find out a girl has attached herself to a useless, puny mortal, my very outlook changes. I defer to people far less worthy.

But, it was more than that, though. My mindset was not in the right place.  I needed to be a wolf: powerful, confident, driven…hunting. I was a puppy: playful, gently nipping, every once in a while humping mid-air because I didn’t know what I was doing.

I’ve regressed.  On our very first date,  I already knew the exact moment I would kiss her. As soon as the announcement was made. I had a plan. I looked for my opportunity. I executed.  Looking back, even with the girls in NY I didn’t have particular plans, but I was looking for the opportunity.  This time, I was fighting myself about the opportunity. Wriggling my arms through self-imposed chains. Her relationship wasn’t even the determining factor. My ghosts were. When the opportunity came I partially acted, partially second-guessed myself. Awkward.  Every subsequent opportunity, second  guessing myself.

I wasn’t the only one, of course. In the end, I suppose I do take comfort in not forcing something that she would’ve regretted. Despite all the interest she gave me, she was still texting him. When the moment came—I texted her to hang out late in the evening while my roommate was putting our room to constructive uses—she invited me to her room…then didn’t let me in. “Fell asleep.” Ah.

The moment passes. We return to our lives. I return to the world of Forms, seek once again to focus on The Good. She alights to the City that takes all such women from me, the Dark God I sacrifice them to. Time passes, the sand drips.  

But, I’ve reached an inflection point. This trip was desperately needed. Life is made of waves, my sinusoid was concave down.  Devouring myself in the Gluttony of punishment, I stared further and further into the Abyss. Disconnecting, inverting inward, and focusing the magnifying glass into the centre of my core. Lost in the Forms. Blinded by the fire, I could not see the outlines of the shapes. It wasn’t even this girl that did it, really, though I’ll remember her with a smile and wistful nostalgia. Rather, it was the integration of the whole experience. Meeting people, forcing myself to embrace the Idea of Networking for purely professional purposes, was a benediction. The unexpected and overly emotional response to a trivial request, a catharsis. The rate of change of my rate of change became 0. Changing signs.  

Today I stood at the street corner and closed my eyes, recalling every detail I could muster. I remembered her walking across the street, talking to those two guys. I remember my anticipation building as she crossed the street, this skinny young thing working her hips like a diva. I remember her hair was up and gelled in a way I wouldn't have expected in a woman. It bothers me that I can't remember her top. I wanna say it was the red one, but I don't think so.

I walked the steps to the restaurant. It was closed today. Good, I couldn't have sat in there for very long. But through the window, I saw the couch. I remember the couch, the speech, the kiss...I remember putting my arm around her, pulling her close and finding no resistance. I remember desiring to dive into her ocean, asking her about her favorite books, her writing, her parents, anything and everything. I remember time and space collapsing into a bubble where there was only us, only that moment as we shared a bottle of wine. I was surprised when we looked up and the restaurant was empty, the chairs stacked on top of the tables.

I walked back to the university in a reverie. I remember how magical it had all seemed. The evening, the moment, everything. I couldn't bear it to end. I had to prolong it, had to extend it...I had to have her. Oh my god I wanted her. Walking, walking, plotting, plotting...did we talk much? I don't think so. She let me lead her around with nary a question...was she testing me? No, she knew exactly what the score was...she was open. Curious.

I got to the garden and stared at the grass. I remember the garden. I remember trying to have a little fun with the telepathy exercise, but not so much.  I remember lying down on a chilly, transcendental night. I remember us looking up at the stars and saying we would remember this night forever. I laid down on the grass and looked up at the Stars, remembering the time I gazed down at Heaven.

Talking, philosophizing, inundating...I was in rare form that night. My god was I hungry. Every morsel of her mind, every caress of her body, made me want more. I remember tasting the life of her lips, lifting that sweater...was it the cream colored bra? Those delightfully perky breasts. Mischievous, predatory, I wanted more.  When would she stop me? When would she grow afraid? I remember working the button, pulling...was it the thong, or the lucky panties? I remember the hair! It was like a little beard! I remember thinking to myself "What kind of girl goes out "ready for anything" and doesn't do a little maintenance? " I remember chuckling at my Bohemian Rhapsody, anticipating the playful little conversation we would have later about that. I remember wanting to taste her bliss, hear her joy...but she wasn't with me. Why didn't she stop me? Where was she? I remember moving back to meet her gaze, seeing myself in her eyes. There was no fear. Only detachment. I was the bug under the microscope. Objectively, dispassionately, she asked me what I wanted. A single second person pronoun boomed through my mind, but a much more debonair response came out.

I remember holding her, laying on top of her. How could she be so strong, being so slight? How was I not crushing her, hurting her? She welcomed my weight to tie her down, keep her from floating away.  I remember the frost of her hands, and the chill around her heart. I was "a furnace", but looking into those eyes I knew that the Flame of my Heart would burn away her complacence tonight, fearing no one...

Staring at the sky, I felt the tears come. I wanted them to come. But the mist only lingered, it did not condense. Haunted, I was...but unbroken, just Torn. I watched the clouds pass over the moon on a night much warmer, yet colder. Eventually, I got up and left. 

I remember her shivering. Freezing. Spontaneously breaking into a run. An athlete, she was. I liked that. I would have to keep up with her. Abruptly, I remembered her telling me to be careful with her: she would dominate our interactions if I wasn't careful. I had smiled and told her to bring it on, feeling Omega stir with excitement at a worthy playmate, a delightful adversary to challenge and overcome.

What a remarkable pair. We put everything on the table from that first fucking night. People don't do that. People aren't like that. Now I know why. Naive children. Blessed innocence.

I remember getting back to the garage late, Late. Wishing, wanting, scheming, _anything_ so she wouldn't go. But I was tired, my MP had gone to 0-- I had no more spells for the day. I remember talking about her limited driving experience, the kiss...and sitting in my car feeling sublime. It felt like a dream. Would I wake up tomorrow to find none of it was real? Turn the key. Start the Engine. Perfect Insanity. Ha ha ha ha, Perfect Insanity.

Yes, that's exactly what it was. Perfect Insanity, a dream. A construction of the mind beyond the bounds of, but forever linked to, reality. Already--like all dreams-- the details begin to diminish. The sights, the sounds, the chronology. I have forgotten so much. So much. What else will you forget, old man? What will I forget next? The sweetly dank, tangy and intoxicating smell of her sweat after one of her inordinately long runs? The taste of her chocolate chip cookies? The sound of that voice making her trademark "AARRGH" in over-the-top irritation at some small thing? The feel of her soft, tight, yet sharp pussy as it grinded into me,  tightened itself around my throbbing cock, her hands desperately digging into my back, clinging to me as our gazes met, sharing the moment of our bliss? Oh God, her eyes. I will forget my own name before I forget those eyes...

What color were they again?

Concave down, to concave up.

I Love xkcd from NoamR on Vimeo.

"The live flames captured it hypnotically. It danced and capered in a lunatic rhumba before the wall of fire. Its legs twisted. Its arms waved. The fingers writhed in a private rhumba all their own. it shrieked and sang and ran in a crooked waltz before the embrace of the heat."