Self-fulfilling prophecy, FTSwindle

I smell what he's cooking

Oh blogosphere... Sometimes you have to laugh to keep yourself from crying.

Self-fulfilling prophecies are when things come to fruition because people indirectly cause it to happen, whether it be via their own neurotic tendencies or by someone else's subconscious actions. For example, Spencer Pratt believes he's a famous celebrity. Does he have any discernible talent? Not that I've seen. Is he an unbearable douchelord that most of us wish would just go away? Undoubtedly. But guess what? Those of us that hate him yet talk about how much he sucks (hello, ME!) are helping his celebrity grow because there's really no such thing as bad pub when you're famous for no reason to begin with. SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY.  

Nice flesh-colored beard, dick. 

Why do I bring this concept up, you ask? Well, I have a self-fulfilling prophecy of my own that reared its ugly head this afternoon. My belief is that Murphy's Law - whatever can go wrong will do so - was originally created with my love life in mind. The only thing that was more surprising than The Old Lady sending me the "we need to talk" text this afternoon (we all know what that means) instead of coming over to hang out like we planned is the fact that we even got to the relationship stage to begin with. I say that not out of a lack of confidence in myself - far from it, I know I'm a catch - but out of an increasing paranoia that anytime I try to get involved with someone, it will somehow find a way to unravel. But then again, maybe it is me, as one can only run into the same coincidence SO many times before he has to find the common denominator of his problems. The more I say I'm not superstitious, the more I find myself being superstitious about things, and I've trained myself to not become too comfortable talking about relationships and potential ones because I actually believe it will jinx them. I wish I were kidding about that.

As a self-proclaimed romantic, I'm just not wired like most guys. It takes so much effort and so many things falling the right way for me to even get into the ballpark that most guys reach so effortlessly that when these things inevitably fall part, it's unbelievably disheartening. I'm not into "chasing tail" or adding notches to my proverbial belt - anyone who knows me can tell you that. Call it a lack of game or whatever you wanna call it, but there's no point in trying to be something you're not, and like Kanye said, everything I'm not makes me everything I am. Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying I'm better than those guys because I'm certainly not above the friends with benefits type of thing in the right situation. But 9 times out of 10, when it comes to dating, I'm much more of a slowly get-to-know-you kinda guy, preferring to go about it the less pressure-filled, easygoing way of talking to someone personally as opposed to approaching a girl in public at a bar and trying to manufacture a connection out of thin air. As far as I'm concerned, slow and steady wins the race because life is a marathon, not a sprint (ironic because I was a sprinter in high school track: I HATED any distance-related events).

It stands to reason that the one relationship I've had as an adult that would have lasted as long as I wanted was the one that I couldn't ever fully get invested in. I'm not so delusional that I think I'm the only one to experience this, but that doesn't make me feel any better and I can only complain about my own lot in life. Tonight is one of those rants that my boys back home would refer to as "homotional," but writing is the only real immediate catharsis I have ever known. Dammit, I'm one of the good guys, am I not? I just don't understand how the good guys are the ones who tend to strike out more when we're trying to do it the right way with the right intentions when Tucker Max is out there serial fornicating and not even apologizing for having nothing more going for him than being a literal and a figurative dick. It's like being broke and seeing those pro athletes that make millions upon millions of dollars and then end up broke when they retire; How in 5 hells does Antoine Walker blow $100 million in a career? Why should he be rich instead of someone who can take care of their money? What kind of world are we living in?

I blame Adam and Eve for taking a bite out of that fruit when God told them not to. Everything was perfectly peachy until they got too curious and here we are thousands of years later living in a messed up world.

Serpent: GOTCHA, BITCH!

Ha, that serpent was a rascal. Like I said, sometimes you have to laugh to keep yourself from crying. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....

Yall take care now.