Get It. Those two words imply that one should thrust themselves at another individual interested in emotive confrontation. When I think of Get It, I think of some sexy version of a ready-to-pounce praying mantis strutting its mantis self across the mantis bar and in front of another mantis woman/man/however you want to swing that night. Now, here's why it makes no sense. How can "getting it" be comprised of angst, drive, and confidence when, in reality, we are a society addicted to playing Hard to Get? Get It (all of the puns)? If staying away is the very thing that attracts people the most (entirely different argument I will get to in a few minutes after casting my fists down in frustration at a similar scenario within which I currently reside...)...then how is directly, intentionally, and blatantly getting it gonna "git-er good" (may have just made that partially up)?
Here is a hypothetical "for instance." While I realize it is no longer hypothetical upon its morphing into a true-life Katie tale, I want to call it that for the sake of my pride and only a golden third of my diminished dignity. I wanted a guy. The End. Just kidding. I wanted a guy, I didn't know how to get the guy, my friend told me to go up to the guy. I did. And at first, he was very into the fact that I had mustered confidence enough to fool him into thinking I had a minute amount of swagger. Besides the fact that I immediately slipped on an ice cube and caught his shoulder on the way down, it was not that that eventually rendered him disinterested. If we're being honest, that only upped the interest. I mean really...who wouldn't want someone's frantic talons digging into their shoulder on a Friday night? Anyways. I began to text MooMoo (let's call him that, if not only to emasculate him, but at least to add humor to this sad tale). We texted back and forth back and forth. Then the texts became fewer and farther between. Was it because my text messages were sent four seconds too soon? Must I measure the thought put into each message in teaspoons of nervosa? Can I make nervosa a tangible thing so that I can measure it out with a spoon meant for stirring tea into sugar? The I started to text less.
Here's the problem. If you like someone, how do you "approach" them in a way that comes off as you "not approaching" them and being "disinterested" while being definitely and definably "interested?" Wut. While I realize it is customary within English society (those Brits) to wait quite a while before asking someone out, 'Merica is no place to hold feelings back. When people say Americans are forward, they are both wrong and possibly foreign to Earth. And I don't like to share my food with aliens so...leave. Americans are hesitant to discuss feelings of love and warmth and gushy stuff and things that make you feel like a guffawing, de-shelled armadillo but have no problem attacking you with fangs and stiletto heels if you accidentally cut them in line to get into Liv (for reference, I have not gone to Liv but, as a species foreign to said club, I can only imagine that, aside from wearing skirt/belt/invisible articles of clothing, these are activities club goers take part in). People will flip you off from cars and cut you off with baby strollers as you stumble to grab the wallet you just dropped (yes this did happen to me) before they tell you that you look not sexy, hot, or "smoky-dizzlin'" (this also happened), but pretty. And, if someone does call you pretty, the authorities must be alerted because oh my lord, Voldemort has a cousin and his name has just been mentioned. And so, in such cases, where people are afraid of interest, kindness, and eyeballs that look at not just their owners' phones but also at your eyeballs, what must one do?
Well...I don't know. I know little about things (definitely not vague). But what I do know is that I need to learn about balance. I too lose interest when the other party gains interest. Societal conditioning: please die. I need to learn both how to play "hard to get" and how to rise above it. Speaking of which (this is relevant...I swear)...my professor, who I commonly have a strong distaste for, said this: "Once you have mastered the basics, you can then move onto the genius." Funny how so may geniuses come off as having gone their entirely own, crookedly carved out, quasi path, but in actuality have skid down the same road as everyone else (Van Gogh is a true exception to this rule). This also applies to "gettin' it." Once you have learned the traditional manner in which one might acquire a lady/man friend/person, you can then go on to lure others in with methods other than the traditional "hard to get." Stupid how "hard to get" has become tradition, right? This is when the direct confrontation comes into play. The people who can pull that off have probably already pulled the weasely side nonsensicality (definitely not a word) of "hard to getting." The irony of this situation is this: One would think that learning to confront people/problems/large lizards head on, they could then use those methodologies to manipulate people from afar (literally). What I have found is...not that. Learn the back roads then you can make the dash to the home stretch.
And so, as I begin to remember a dream I had last night (somehow including a super-old Brad Pitt), I realize that, it is possible to get Brad Pitt. I might be 90 when I do, but if I learn how to play hard-to-get, maybe by then I will realize what to say if I walk up to him in a bar...if those still exist when I'm a prehistoric rag. Good night and good luck to all those tryna get-it-in as I lazily rock myself asleep to an episode of Scandal.
Here is a hypothetical "for instance." While I realize it is no longer hypothetical upon its morphing into a true-life Katie tale, I want to call it that for the sake of my pride and only a golden third of my diminished dignity. I wanted a guy. The End. Just kidding. I wanted a guy, I didn't know how to get the guy, my friend told me to go up to the guy. I did. And at first, he was very into the fact that I had mustered confidence enough to fool him into thinking I had a minute amount of swagger. Besides the fact that I immediately slipped on an ice cube and caught his shoulder on the way down, it was not that that eventually rendered him disinterested. If we're being honest, that only upped the interest. I mean really...who wouldn't want someone's frantic talons digging into their shoulder on a Friday night? Anyways. I began to text MooMoo (let's call him that, if not only to emasculate him, but at least to add humor to this sad tale). We texted back and forth back and forth. Then the texts became fewer and farther between. Was it because my text messages were sent four seconds too soon? Must I measure the thought put into each message in teaspoons of nervosa? Can I make nervosa a tangible thing so that I can measure it out with a spoon meant for stirring tea into sugar? The I started to text less.
Here's the problem. If you like someone, how do you "approach" them in a way that comes off as you "not approaching" them and being "disinterested" while being definitely and definably "interested?" Wut. While I realize it is customary within English society (those Brits) to wait quite a while before asking someone out, 'Merica is no place to hold feelings back. When people say Americans are forward, they are both wrong and possibly foreign to Earth. And I don't like to share my food with aliens so...leave. Americans are hesitant to discuss feelings of love and warmth and gushy stuff and things that make you feel like a guffawing, de-shelled armadillo but have no problem attacking you with fangs and stiletto heels if you accidentally cut them in line to get into Liv (for reference, I have not gone to Liv but, as a species foreign to said club, I can only imagine that, aside from wearing skirt/belt/invisible articles of clothing, these are activities club goers take part in). People will flip you off from cars and cut you off with baby strollers as you stumble to grab the wallet you just dropped (yes this did happen to me) before they tell you that you look not sexy, hot, or "smoky-dizzlin'" (this also happened), but pretty. And, if someone does call you pretty, the authorities must be alerted because oh my lord, Voldemort has a cousin and his name has just been mentioned. And so, in such cases, where people are afraid of interest, kindness, and eyeballs that look at not just their owners' phones but also at your eyeballs, what must one do?
Well...I don't know. I know little about things (definitely not vague). But what I do know is that I need to learn about balance. I too lose interest when the other party gains interest. Societal conditioning: please die. I need to learn both how to play "hard to get" and how to rise above it. Speaking of which (this is relevant...I swear)...my professor, who I commonly have a strong distaste for, said this: "Once you have mastered the basics, you can then move onto the genius." Funny how so may geniuses come off as having gone their entirely own, crookedly carved out, quasi path, but in actuality have skid down the same road as everyone else (Van Gogh is a true exception to this rule). This also applies to "gettin' it." Once you have learned the traditional manner in which one might acquire a lady/man friend/person, you can then go on to lure others in with methods other than the traditional "hard to get." Stupid how "hard to get" has become tradition, right? This is when the direct confrontation comes into play. The people who can pull that off have probably already pulled the weasely side nonsensicality (definitely not a word) of "hard to getting." The irony of this situation is this: One would think that learning to confront people/problems/large lizards head on, they could then use those methodologies to manipulate people from afar (literally). What I have found is...not that. Learn the back roads then you can make the dash to the home stretch.
And so, as I begin to remember a dream I had last night (somehow including a super-old Brad Pitt), I realize that, it is possible to get Brad Pitt. I might be 90 when I do, but if I learn how to play hard-to-get, maybe by then I will realize what to say if I walk up to him in a bar...if those still exist when I'm a prehistoric rag. Good night and good luck to all those tryna get-it-in as I lazily rock myself asleep to an episode of Scandal.
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