"I'm gonna be so damn funny when I grow up."
As I got older and became more comfortable with myself in some ways, it also became clear to me that if my life were a John Hughes movie, I was not the guy getting the girl at the end. Some fat kid is not some handsome kid. I focused on being the funny kid. Like so many other funny people, humor was a good way to mask the troubles in my life. Shitty parents, poor self-image, bury it all under a pile of hilarious observations and quick-witted comebacks. Just so you know, I was really good at being the funny kid. People liked me. I went to parties, I went to concerts and bars, I was out there and loving it. I had a good time. But there was some damage already done that I never realized.
If you read my work somewhat regularly, you'll notice my go-to source for humor is sexual perversion. One might say I have a preoccupation with sex and sexuality. If I were a more introspective person, I'd tell you that's because the fat kid in me was and remains remarkably insecure about how he's perceived by women. For the entirety of my teens and into my 20s, despite being popular as the funny kid, I didn't date much and never had any serious girlfriends. This reinforced for me that the problem was the way I looked. Girls didn't like me, in my mind.
"No thanks, I'd rather make out with a poop-covered cactus."
When I actually started having some luck with women, and even up to this day, if I'm not being cognizant of it, I find myself straying down the same path of joking around with explicit sexual imagery because part of me wants to know that you, whoever you may be, are OK with that from me. You can see me as a sexual person and not be repulsed. You may even be interested in me sexually, a concept that for all the world was as foreign as seaweed-and-mayo-flavored soda to me during high school and college. I need it because I don't believe it. I'm like a skeptic who hunts ghosts for a living. I never expect to be validated, but I want it real bad. Plus, also, if I did find a ghost, I'd totally parlay that into a show on A&E or something, and probably a three-book deal at least. I don't think that correlates at all to sex, though.
The first girl who expressed any interest in me in a physical way ended up being my girlfriend for about 75 years longer than was healthy for either one of us, and it was because I couldn't imagine doing better. How fucking sick is that? In reality I would have been better off fucking a lobster carcass and conversing with a Ouija board and a Furby, but hindsight is 20/20, and a fucktarded human psyche can convince you of a lot of sad shit in the moment, even if that moment lasts a few years.