Release of Frustration (Chapter Two)

"So?" She says, effortlessly.

I hate the way she says "So?" it makes me question my obsessive behaviour towards the pursuit of her. She cuts my words with what seems like oblivious arrogance. I hate arrogance. It makes me feel socially inept. Like when you're in a nightclub and everyone in your 'friend' group is dancing but you're not. Because you can't. Or think you can't. Better to stand against the wall with a glass of watered down Coke or Pepsi, for the sake of Balance.

At dinner parties I choose to argue against the well educated professionals in order to restore my own sense of arrogance. I’m not good at dancing. I am good at arguing. I initiate conversations of taboo to dictate the flow of the mood. In my perfect scenario the dinner party breaks out into a ruckus of violence; a war of class. Me, being the middle-class soldier, but fighting the cause of the working class also. I become the Che Guevara of the nicely planned out dinner party with annoying guests and canapés placed strategically in the back of the room. Designed by some social leech with the intention of forcing you to satisfy your hunger by walking past humans and making random small talk with them before your hunger is quelled by the food bites that even a hobbit wouldn’t be content with.

"Nelson Mandela was a terrorist." is one of my favourite lines to blurt out with a degree of venom. This is ALWAYS greeted with disagreement by the PC brigade.
     In this instance, the ‘oh so-liberal’ 30-something professional with his ‘oh so-fashionable' dress sense - Gap khakis, v-neck jumper and black rimmed spectacles interjects...probably a doctor.
"You can't say that, he is the greatest living human"
"Greatest living terrorist, yes" I correct him.
Another from his sort, probably a feminist novelist, mid-forties offers her unwanted opinion from underneath her glasses.
"By definition he is a free fighter..."
"Who blew things up" I retort.
"He fought for freedom. Comparative to Che, another freedom fighter. Although, he, far more commercial, they are both the same. It could be argued Mandela has achieved more. "
"Indeed - but technically he just blew stuff up in order to make a point. He's kinda like a child who doesn't get their own way so they stamp really loud, storm upstairs and slams the door really loud. I put him on that kinda level. A spoilt brat.”
“You cannot say that.” She replies, as if her words are set in stone.
“I probably can.” I say, child-like.

Conversations of modern-day politics and self-assessment tax forms don't entertain me. Neither do they touch my richter scale of knowledge. It’s easier to make outrageous and taboo controversial statements and then back them up with concise arguments using facts as metaphors. It’s a form of communication. It’s a method of mingling.

All of which leads me to my point, in main. Social ineptness. I hate that feeling of not fitting in. Even now in my later years it’s something that erks me. Neurotic some may say. I prefer to call it an indifference to indifference. Yes, it makes me arrogant which is why when arrogance is garnished on me and I'm socially inept and unable to deal with it. I feel so small.

I choose to vent my frustration on others, others who exude arrogance but don’t know how to use it properly. This is part of Happiness. Venting your frustration. Releasing it, if you will.

You didn't call me back, is what I said - hoping to have an impact on her that would rock the foundations of her world and lead her to think that she has done wrong in this particular case. Hey, it might have even made her fall for me on a deeper level. Upon reflection, it was akin to whining.
      Her reply: "so?"...so concise, so arrogant, blew my whining out the water - what may have started as anger, on my part, ended as the whimpering of a weak soul. Besotted by her very being.
       Each second in a day my sole aim, beneath all the thoughts of disease, despair, embarrassment, self-indulgence and the occasional slip into sexual appeasement, is me trying to make her feel socially inept. Make her feel the need to say to me..."Why don't you call ME anymore?"...so, in return, I can offer this rhetorical question to her..."So?"

Never mind, there are plenty more dinner parties and social situations for me to release the frustration.    
     Cinema with 'friends' tonight. Even if I do like the film I’ll say I don't...if they like it. And if they don't like, well hell it’ll be “my favourite film of all time.”