The Geek-Turned-Player Theory

Being a self-admitted geek, I’ve known many other geeks in my life. I’ve seen some grow up and become successes. And I’ve seen some grow up and become, for lack of a better word, players. Dangerous players.

Not players in the sense of metrosexual predators or greased-up Jersey Shore rejects. These guys are more clandestine. Girls don’t suspect they’re in the clutches of such a geek-turned-player until, well, sometimes never.

First, some background.

A geek-turned-player (GTP) grows up as an unpopular teen. He is the typical nerd, dork, dweeb, pick your favorite insult. In a phase where fitting in is so crucial, they stick out like a limb with gangrene. Though many make it through as strong, self-confident adults, this can foment into a deep psychosis for a few.

This bitterness can evolve in many ways. Some embody the taunts and turn them into strengths, such the skinny nerd who grows up to be a muscle-bound guy. Others harbor the acrimony until the acids melt away their relationships. Some do both.

A GTP is the latter; he does both. He also turns rejections from girls into a dictum of life: he wants to be a guy who can “get” all the girls who’ve rejected him. As you can imagine, a layer of misogyny pervades their actions. They want to get those girls, or girls in general, and hurt them.

Ironically, they overtly state a hatred of players, the guys who can go to any bar or club and get a phone number as easily as a mosquito can feed in a nudist colony. GTPs see themselves as the antithesis of the traditional player.

“I would never have a one-night stand,” they declare. “I will always honor and respect women.” Therein lies the danger of a GTP. Not only are they shattering hearts like a player, but they are unaware of it.

How do they get from geeks to heart-shattering GTPs?

After college, they tend to do well in their careers. They become white-collar workers and executives in well-paying jobs. They date a few girlfriends along the way who imbue them with some fashion sense. They may even start exercising and getting fit. To look at them now, you would never know they were scrawny four-eyed nerds in high school. Now, they look like intelligent, respectful, well-paid knights in shining armor.

At this age, these traits start to attract women in numbers not before experienced by these geeks. Where girls once ignored them, women are now being drawn to them like ants to molasses. And here they sit, happy as anteaters.

Much of this happens to average geeks, regardless of their proclivities. All sorts of sociological and biological factors play into this phenomenon. Single women in their twenties or thirties tend to seek men who are stable, financially, emotionally, etc., even if they didn’t seek those factors when they were younger.

That’s how I’ve lucked out, at least. Go sociological & biological factors!

The GTP differs from the average geek in his behaviors after meeting a girl. The GTP, flush with the exhilaration of meeting a girl, starts to behave like a traditional player. Despite his proclaimed position on one-night stands, his qualms melt away in the heat of passion.

Then he does it again. And again. And again. He starts to realize his sexual prowess and magnetism and begins to flaunt it openly, oftentimes to the chagrin of his peers. He believes himself to be God’s Gift to Women: he has all the qualities of a traditional player, along with money, status, and success. What girl wouldn’t want him?

However, he still puts on a veneer of respect. His misogynic beliefs are well-hidden. Women see him as a nice guy, even months or years after he has broken their hearts.

For the unfortunate, this heartbreak is infinitely worse than being with a player, because of the emotional connection made. Indeed, the GTP’s armament includes psychological weapons such as long, deep conversations, the kind that make women think about marriage and children.

Breaking up with a deadbeat player is one thing, breaking up with a potential husband and father of your children is another.

Deep inside, the GTP doesn’t see himself as a player, however. He still harbors a resentment of players and sees his actions as innocent. This belief reinforces the effectiveness of his weapons. Those long, deep conversations, as they are happening, are earnest and from the heart.

So what changes the morning after? Something subconscious. A switch flips. The emotional connection from last night fades as the excitement of new prey emerges. As soon as another woman starts up a conversation, the previous one is forgotten.

For the goal isn’t to meet a woman and start a wonderful relationship. The goal is to meet women. And to see if he can “get” them. The exhilaration of each new encounter has become a drug.

This is something the GTP never experienced as a teen. He never got the intoxication of fleeting puppy love out of his system like others his age. While most of us are moving on in stable relationships, he is stuck. He is a late bloomer who is addicted to the high of new women.

I haven’t seen much written about this phenomenon before. I suspect it is, thankfully, rare. However, I’ve seen it enough times to discern to articulate this theory.

The popularization of geek culture may be partly responsible for the rise of the geek-turned-player. Or maybe it has always been around and I’ve only begun to notice it.

Whatever the case, the GTP is a dangerous animal on the dating scene. I’ve seen female friends unknowingly wrecked from them. I’ve seen colleagues & acquaintances evolve into GTPs themselves. The result is always disastrous, especially for the women they’ve left in their wake.

Beware the geek-turned-player.

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The Kiss of Vomit

He leaned in close. She could smell his sweat and deodorant.

“Why don’t you like me?” he asked.

She closed her eyes. The words were in her head, but she didn’t have the heart to let them out.

“You know, I got your email.”

She blinked. “What email? I didn’t email you.”

“I think you meant to email one of your friends. But you emailed me instead. You said that I was really annoying.”

Heat flushed through her face. “Oh…” was all she could manage to say.

“Do you really think I’m annoying?”

“Well…” She searched her mind for the right words. He really was annoying. And worse, his sweat and deodorant was beginning to make her queasy.

“I really like you, you know.”

She continued her silence.

Her silence must mean she’s having a change of heart, he thought. He touched her chin. Gently, he turned her face towards his.

“What are you…”

“Shhh,” he whispered. For a moment, their eyes locked. He could see the moon glimmer in her eyes. She could smell his sour sweat and his deodorant’s poor attempt to cover it up.

“Wait, no, don’t…” She moved her face away.

Then he leapt forward and kissed her.

And all of a sudden, she threw up.

It was a violent purging. Her spaghetti dinner shot up her throat like a geyser. And right into his mouth.

He didn’t comprehend the enormity of the moment at first. Then it hit him. Literally. Like a firehose of pasta.

He fell backwards and started hacking. Strands of undigested spaghetti hung from his cheeks.

She heaved one more time. Then she pulled some moist towlettes from her purse and wiped her mouth. Most of her dinner was on him. Only a few splotches landed on her blouse, which she prompted wiped off.

“Holy shit!” he finally screamed. He scrambled to his feet and started vomiting behind a bush. “Holy sh—bleeeeeaargh!”

“I’m really sorry…” She gave him some towlettes. “Why did you try to kiss me??”

He made one more heave into the bushes. “Holy shit…” His dinner joined her dinner all over the grass.

She sighed. “When a girl says No, she means it. This isn’t going to work out. Good bye.” Then she turned around and left.

He wiped his face and continued to spit out the remnants of her vomit from his mouth. A strand of spaghetti dangled from his chin, then fell.

Have you ever vomited in mid-kiss?

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A Night under the Stars

This is based on a true story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. The emails have mostly been kept the same so we can laugh at them.

Date: July 19
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: Hi

Hello Alyssa,

How are you doing? It was great meeting you this weekend at Ann’s party! You sure get red with alcohol… lucky for me I don’t! Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much. How is your new job? What are you doing next weekend… want to get some dinner? Hope to hear from you soon!

Thanks,

jim leung

Date: July 21
To: jimleung@yahoo.com
From: alyssa75@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: Hi

Hi Jim, I’m sorry I haven’t had time to reply sooner. My new job has been really hectic. Unfortunately, I have plans this weekend. I have to paint my house and that will probably take all weekend.

Date: July 21
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: Hi

Hello Alyssa,

That is okay. I totally understand… my job has been very hectic too. My new coworker that I told you about is still annoying me but I think I can handle it. He just seems to talk on and on so much. Says so many dumb things too. I wish he would shut up. Do you need some help painting your house? I am free this weekend and can help. You can treat me out to dinner afterwards too!

Thanks,

jim leung

Date: July 27
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: Hi

Hello Alyssa,

You must be a busy girl. I know how that feels too… I have also been running around like crazy. Work for me is so hectic too! I had to write two reports last week and two more this week. Seems like as soon as I finish one, another one comes. Where does the time go? We are both very busy people. How was your house painting? Do you have time this weekend for dinner?

Thanks,

jim leung

Date: July 31
To: jimleung@yahoo.com
From: alyssa75@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: Hi

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get your email until now. My weekends have been just about as hectic as this new job. I have some friends visiting me next weekend and they’ll be here for a few weeks.

Date: Aug. 2
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: Hi

Hello Alyssa,

Since you are so busy, you must not have any time to eat. I can bring you some dinner… what is your favorite food? I like Japanese food. Do you like Japanese food? Do you like sushi? I’ll bet you like sushi.

Thanks,

jim leung

Date: Aug. 10
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: A Night Under the Stars....

Jim Leung has sent you an Evite:

A Night Under the Stars….

Since you have been so busy, you should take a break. Come have sushi with me in the city. It will be a romantic dinner for just the two of us. Please reply soon.

Date: Sept. 15
To: alyssa75@yahoo.com
From: jimleung@yahoo.com
Subject: RE: A Night Under the Stars....

Hello Alyssa,

How are you doing? I wanted to let you know that A Night Under the Stars…. has been canceled. Recently a friendship of mine has blossomed into something more. Thanks to you, actually. It was through discussions about you that ultimately led the two of us to hang out more and then develop feelings for each other. Sorry to cancel… but I’m a “one girl kind of guy”. Thanks for your understanding. See you around!

Thanks,

jim leung

Date: Sept. 20
To: mikelee@yahoo.com
From: alyssa75@yahoo.com
Subject: FW: A Night Under the Stars....

Hey Mike, ohmigod, is this guy for real? Read his last email. Did he just dump me? We haven’t even gone out! This is like an episode out of Sex and The City. I ignored this guy for like a month and he still can’t take a hint. Why in the world do I attract all the wackos?

Have you ever been dumped by email, before you even had a relationship?

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Top Ten Break-Up Songs

My desert-island, all-time, top five most memorable break-up songs, in chronological order:

1. Chicago – Look Away
2. No Doubt – Don’t Speak
3. Bon Jovi – Misunderstood
4. Vertical Horizon – Everything You Want
5. Hoobastank – The Reason

These were the ones that really stuck around, replacing a warm embrace with melancholy verse. I didn’t pick these songs. They kidnapped my stereo and, by some cosmic hand, stayed in rotation during the painful Days That Felt Like Years.

Chicago – Look Away

The first one is always given a special place, because it was so young and idealistic. Everything seemed so infinite, so grandiose with the first one. Intense is a better word. Foolish is probably a more accurate one.

No Doubt – Don’t Speak

They say that relationships get easier with experience. What they didn’t say was that without wisdom, experience is like fiber—it will go right through you and clean you out. Maybe I’ve learned to deal with it a little better, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over a break-up any easier.

Bon Jovi – Misunderstood

Even the relationships I ended myself weighed heavy on my shoulders. How could they not? I’m a sentimental fuck. Some would argue I’m really a stupid fuck who doesn’t know a good thing when I see it, and I wouldn’t be able to argue with them. I would just walk away, with head and shoulders down.

Vertical Horizon – Everything You Want

I suppose I should be grateful that no girlfriend has ever cheated on me. At least, not to my knowledge. If that’s not the case, I’m not sure I want to know. The break-ups have been about incompatibility of some kind. I like to believe they were all civil, but it’s hard to believe that anything civil involves so much crying and snot.

Hoobastank – The Reason

There’s never a good time to end a relationship. And when we broke-up, I felt like throwing up. Then, a week later, I did. Has a sort of cosmic irony to it, don’t you think?

What’s really ironic is how happy I am when I bring back the memories. Good times filled with smiles, laughs, and hugs, and I breath it all in hungrily. The bad times, the ones with the frowns and tears, I try to block. I don’t want them to fog up the good memories.

It’s always hard immediately after a break-up. There’s always the mourning period where everything is less vivid, more gray, more bland and tasteless. Then there will be a recuperation period. There always is. I’ll look back and be able to look at the good and bad with a smile. Life will have hopefully taught me another lesson. And I will hopefully be a better person.

Until then, I’ll keep listening to my stereo.

What are your top ten break-up songs?

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Smiling Again

Look! Look at him over there. Smiling. See him? That’ll be me someday. I’ll be smiling again someday too.

I can’t right now. It hurts too much. My skin has hardened this way, and any movement otherwise means the skin will crack and bleed.

I remember your laugh. It lingers in my ears; sometimes I think I can still hear it in my empty apartment. I wish I could have recorded that beautiful melody, so I listen to it one more time.

When I look at the blue sky, it doesn’t quite look like a clear, crystal blue sky. Not like it once used to. It’s a reflection of a tear. One great big tear, filling the vast sky like an endless ocean.

I remember your touch. You were always so warm. I’d be chilled to the bone and all you had to do was touch me to melt me down. I’m surprised I never melted away into water.

That restaurant shop down the street, I can’t go in there anymore. It’s haunted. Too many ghosts wander its tables. I wish I had the courage to face them, to sit at our table by the window again. But I don’t.

I remember your smell. I can smell it on my clothes sometimes. It’s like a waif of a memory, lost among old arguments and fights. Like I treasure hunter, I sometimes seek out more of these memories.

Someday, I hope to be able to find enough of them to put back together what we once had. But that’s probably a fruitless search.

I’ve grown accustomed to the taste of tears. They’re salty, a bittersweet salty. I wonder if drinking them will make you thirstier? It’s about the only thing I can swallow nowadays. It’s amazing how one can grow so comfortable with something so bitter.

Do you still see him? Smiling over there. He looks really happy. That will be me again someday. I hope.

Have you ever been hurt so badly that you thought you’d never smile again?

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Misunderstandings

We all try so hard to say what’s on our minds, openly and honestly. Sometimes we aren’t successful. Sometimes we are.

What exactly causes misunderstandings? Why do we sometimes miss, when we’re trying so hard to aim right?

Is it that we operate on different wavelengths? That fear and distrust close off certain doors in our minds? That we aren’t empathic or considerate enough of each other?

Or is it something simpler than that? That it’s just an honest mistake?

Sigh. So many questions. So little answers.

I don’t have any answers. But I do know one thing. It’s tragic when decisions are based on misunderstandings.

A friend told me today that decisions shouldn’t be made on one incident alone either. So it’s all the sadder when a decision is made on one misunderstanding.

Does this mean that a misunderstanding should be totally cast aside and ignored? I don’t know, but like any mistake, a misunderstanding can be a source of growth.

Just as broken bones heal stronger, mistakes are life’s way of teaching us to be better.

I can’t explain what causes misunderstandings, but I know what to do about them. Take then for what they are: an understanding that wasn’t reached by both sides; an understanding that can be reached and achieved, if both sides try.

Not as a tragic decision to give up and stop the race; but as an opportunity to go farther than before.

But only if both sides try.

Have you ever been misunderstood?

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Leading Her On

“Stop it Michael.”

“What?” I asked, leaning up from the couch. “Why, what am I doing wrong?”

“You’re leading her on,” my friend replied.

“No I’m not. How?”

“You’re leading her on,” she repeated, shaking her head, “by staying friends with her.”

“But she said she wanted to be friends!”

She took a deep breath. “Of course she does. Deep inside, she’s hoping you both will get back together again.”

I sighed and sat back into the couch. The leather hissed in concert. “So what am I supposed to do? Stop being friends with her?”

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t want that though. I don’t want to lose her from my life.” I picked up my coffee and blew the hot vapors from the top.

“Sometimes, friendship with ex’s isn’t always possible Michael.” She rested her elbow on the armchair and massaged her forehead.

I sighed again and looked out the window. A young, smiling couple was holding hands and walking a dog.

“But she meant so much to me. I meant so much to her. We’ve shared so much together.”

“Right…”

“We were both a large part of each other’s lives. How can we just throw that all away?”

“Right, but…”

“What we had was more than friendship, more than boyfriend and girlfriend. What we had can and should last longer than…” I paused. My friend’s stare was stone. “…longer than a romantic relationship.”

My friend tilted her head and looked down at the table. “Look at it from her point of view.” She raised her eyes back at me. “You’re an anchor, keeping her tied to this place, preventing her from moving away.”

I forced a knot down my throat. My mouth was dry and coarse, so I took a sip of coffee.

“You’re keeping her here. She cares a lot about you. As long as you remain friends with her, you’re keeping her here.”

It took great pains to swallow the coffee. It was hot and bitter.

“You have to let her move on, Michael. Sometimes, a friendship with an ex isn’t possible,” she repeated.

“I know,” I said, in more of a whisper than a declaration. “I know… I just thought it would be different with us.”

She slumped her shoulders and gave me a flat smile. “I know, Michael. Someone always thinks it is. But do you understand why it’s not?”

I slowly nodded my head. “Yea, I hear what you’re saying. I just don’t know if I totally agree.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Here’s another way to look at it. You continue to be her friend, but you still go out and meet other girls. That’s an awful good position for you, but simply an awful one for her. That’s selfish.”

“Selfish?” I sat up from the couch, hearing it hiss in reply.

“Yes. It’s like having your cake and eating it too.” She regarded her coffee for a moment. “You want to keep her in your life, and you want to see other women. That’s not fair for her.”

“Even,” I stammered, “even if she is the one who asked for the friendship and wants it?”

“Yes. Especially if she is the one who asked for the friendship. She’s not ready to let go yet, and neither are you. But you’ve already made the choice to let go.” She took a sip of her coffee as I momentarily gazed out the window.

“You’ve already made the choice to let go.” She caught me dead in the eye. I shuddered. “And to keep her as a friend right now, you’re going to keep her hopes high. You’re going to keep her anchored to you, even though you’re moving on.”

I looked away and blinked. I felt my jaw tighten. “Yea.” I muttered.

“So don’t anchor her, Michael. Don’t.” She paused. “It’s not fair to her.”

I sighed again, and sank deeper into the couch. “Yea, but… I don’t think it’s that way. I’ll do my best to be civil with her, while maintaining that we’re just friends. I think she’d understand that.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. My gaze wandered out the window again. This time, an older, married couple strolled by, arm in arm.

“Let me ask you a question. Would you mind it if she dated other people?”

“Of course not! In fact,” I smiled, “I’d be very happy for her.”

“I’m sure you would be. But what do you think her boyfriends will think? With you in her life while she still has feelings for you, they’ll see that as baggage.”

“Baggage?” I shook my head. “Why?”

She took a sip of coffee and cleared her throat. “She’s not over you yet. She’s still got lingering feelings for you. That means she’s not ready yet to move on. Baggage.”

I stared at the table, avoiding my friend’s stern gaze.

“You’re not only keeping her anchored, you’re keeping other guys from asking her out. That’s selfish, Michael.”

My jaw tightened as my grip on my coffee tightened. A long, strained sigh wheezed past my lips. I struggled to find a comfortable position in the couch.

“And you know what? This isn’t just hurting her. This is hurting you.”

“Me?” My head shot up. “How?”

“First, let me ask you a question: Would you tell future girlfriends about her?”

“Sure I would. I’d be open and honest about it.”

“Good, that’s what I thought you’d do. When those future girlfriends find out, what do you think they’re going to say?”

“Um.” I scratched my chin. “Well, this could be seen as a good thing, because it shows maturity on my part that I can maintain a friendship with an ex.”

“Sorry, Michael. I don’t think so.” She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “What they’re going to think is that she is your backup.”

“Backup?!”

“Yes. They’re going to think she is your backup. She still has feelings for you. So chances are, if you ever went back to her, she’d take you.”

“Backup?! That’s not true!”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But the point is, future girlfriends could see it that way. They won’t believe that you’ll fully commit to them. Do you know why?”

I shook my head, my jaw too clenched tight to answer.

“Because if you guys ever had a fight, you could just give up. You could just give up and fall to your backup. You may not give the new relationship a fair chance.”

I squeezed the back of my neck. The muscles were tense and in pain. “But I would never do that,” I stated. “You know me better than that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But the point is, future girlfriends could see it that way. You’re jeopardizing future relationships. For both you and her.”

I let out another sigh and sank deeper into the couch, hearing it hiss at me again. “So what should I do?”

“End it, Michael. End it for good. Stop leading her on and end it.”

Have you ever inadvertantly led someone on?

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Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

It starts with an uncomfortable knot in your stomach. Slowly it tightens and expands until your entire chest is a solid rock.

There’s a phantom feeling there, as if you had your right arm cut off but can still feel it. “It can’t be gone,” you tell yourself, “it can’t be.”

You wake up the next morning and it still feels like it’s there. But it’s not.

Soon, a burning sensation sets in. It’s a distasteful feeling and you long to throw the burn out of you. You lash out at anything you see, trying to rid yourself of the fire inside.

This doesn’t work, of course. The fire is too deep, too rooted. And soon, it consumes you as well.

Then one day, you wake up and think, “Maybe I can repair things and get it back again.” You can talk it out and fix everything, you think to yourself.

“I’ll be better this time,” you say, “I’ll be a different person.”

The reasoning doesn’t work though. It ends up being hollow words in a dead tree.

Then the coldness washes over you. You slow down and begin to see less color around you. Nothing seems to matter as much anymore: the knot, the fire, the desire to repair, nothing.

This chill seems to overpower the other feelings. So you embrace it, letting it freeze those other pains.

Over time, the coldness subsides. As does the knot and the fire and the desire to repair things before it.

As the tide, it ebbs back into the vast ocean, and you’re able to look out and enjoy the horizon yet again.

But until that happens, damn that knot is sure tight.

How do you feel when you’ve had a break-up?

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Driving Companion

I didn’t really have a destination; it was just a casual journey with wind in my face, music in my ears, and speed at my hands. It was great.

But it didn’t feel complete.

I started out at Gilroy’s outlet mall and then explored the other various malls in San Jose, trying to do a bit of light shopping. As I drove around, darting down this street and that, I couldn’t help thinking about you.

You used to sit in the seat next to me, playing with the radio to try to find something good on. Sometimes you’d just pop in one of my CDs. Lifehouse or Matchbox 20, or even Linkin Park.

We’d get excited about discovering charming, cozy neighborhoods tucked in the back of grids of suburbs, forgotten by everyone except for the more local of locals. And intrepid explorers like us.

I’d take out the map and you’d pick a place. “We haven’t been there before; let’s go check it out.” Once, we ended up on the Skyline, looking for a restaurant that you found in Zagats. Then we happened upon a romantic Japanese Tea Garden.

Ah, what a treasure that was.

After Gilroy, I came across a nice oasis of quaint, picturesque shops somewhere San Jose. “Hey look, there’s a Crate and Barrel here!” I wanted to shout, because I knew you loved them so much. But when I turned to the passenger seat, I remembered it was empty and I was here alone. The oasis didn’t seem remarkable anymore.

I drove on, without a companion. It used to be a lot of fun to drive around aimlessly, exploring the neighborhoods around me. But without a companion like you, driving around aimlessly is more like being lost now.

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Only Time

Was it dreamt or was it real? When I look back, I can’t tell.

Everyone longs to experience a fairy tale, that perfect fantasy where dream and reality blur. And all you can do is let each day flow into your body and fill your soul.

I’ve been blessed, for I’ve lived the fairy tale of an overseas romance. Because I met you and brought to reality a dream.

I’m back in the States now, and suddenly the real world has struck like cold concrete.

And I’ve found my feelings to no longer be true.

I… I’m sorry.

You ask what could be if we had met in the real world. You ask what could be if we try to continue the dream.

I don’t know.

I can only tell you that my feelings are not the same as they were in the dream. And it wouldn’t have been fair to tell you otherwise.

I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to hurt you like this. To end what started so quickly.

You ask what will be from now on.

I don’t know.

But I think you already answered that question.

When you told me, “Only time knows…”

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