Today, after another failure to make connection with another attractive young woman who friended me on Facebook when accidentally stumbling over my profile photo while looking for an old friend there and thinking it was cute, I again must realize I am never going to be the overconfident or self-confident player jackass who can charm any woman out of her panties, into his budoir or to do anything else he asks. I've known a few men like that as acquanitances, since none of them were ever true friends. Usually they stop hanging around me because I'm not fun enough or I'm cramping their style even being in proximity. I can say without any reservations to a deep and abiding hatred for such men out of pure envy about how God gave them qualities I crave and have never possessed. I resent my limitations and never tiring of bitching about it, but the limitation of not being able to impress women with conversation or saying some wrong thing that I don't recognize as such at the time it's said is driving me to the bring of insanity.
I currently work in a call center job where folks on the other side of the telephone I ask about taking surveys hanging up on me or rejecting the honor is not as hurtful this time around as when I was a fundraising telemarketer four years ago. But the continuous rejections by professional magazine publishers of every and any fiction I send them is growing ever more intolerable. For example, last evening I received a rejection of my 6,000-word fantasy story "Maze's - The Biggest Little Convenience Store" by Crossed Genres magazine. I submitted it for the May 2013 Escape theme issue. The story is about a young woman and her fiance becoming contestants fro $1 million tax free if they can find their way out of a modern day maze (resembling an endless Wal-Mart, Target, or similar store) with only one exit the contestants must find while fending off the sometimes unfriendly other people trapped there, alien predators stalking the aisles and false exits leading to worse places or death. In the end, the heroine on her own after her boyfriend sacrifices himself to save her from one tentacled predator (after he had slowly been turning into a douchebag the longer they were trapped there) and she is the first contestant to ever escape what was essentially an alien-engineered reality game watched by untold billions somewhere beyond Earth. This should've been the perfect "Escape" story with a strong female lead character (oddly enough she just developed into that as I first wrote it with no preconceived notions of how the narrative would end). But no, Crossed Genres sent me a different than usual worded form rejection letter with no explanation of the story's rejection except that they only took a few stories per issue and that the rejection was not a reflection upon my writing abilities. I'm sorry but I took that one personally and will never submit anything there again - not that CG's staff cares. But add to this frustration any frustration lingering from rejections by people I contact on the phone at work and the constant failures at making romantic connections with eligible women I meet for the first time (just as may have happened AGAIN earlier this afternoon - I think she didn't like the fact I'm 44 - can't do anything about that unless I could regenerate like a Time Lord from Doctor Who and make certain the new body was youthful for several decades) and is it any wonder that I still consider the sin of suicide as one option for ending the pain hitting me from more than one side in life.
So naturally I envy, loathe and despise any man who has the confidence to sweep any woman of his choice off her feet with devastatingly handsome looks, a golden tongue or some undefinable charisma - qualities I have not, do not and will NEVER possess if I lived to be 100 which I don't want to anyhow. They are the rivals who always win when I lose. Those jackasses could give me all the advice on how to do what they do so naturally they don't even have to think about it, but any such advice is lost on me for the simple fact that God made my brain defective when it comes to socialization with the opposite sex. It's not all about looks. Sometimes the ugliest SOB can charm women out of his league with a clever sharp mind that makes the lady laugh or entertains her sensibilities. Charisma does not always come attached to sheer physical comeliness.
Someone commenting here at an earlier post noted how I'm almost 45 and have nothing going for me right now. Going for me meaning no tangible success at anything having reached an age where men are supposed to be established in whatever endeavor they set out to do. But think about it. If I was now a rather successful author I'd never know if any woman sniffing around my heels is truly interested in me as a basic human being or just wanting to grab onto a famous or successful (or both) personality. I don't want the woman of my dreams to be just a gold digger after the public figure on her arm, but in private cannot stand the man behind the mythical figure/celebrity. I'm miserable enough without facing that danger in contacts with the opposite sex. I'm also sure I'll get some vile feedback from everything and anything I wrote here, so to quote that sage politican George W. Bush (that was sarcasm by the way): "Bring it on."