Tearing Apart Social Fabric

In new social situations, I have this tendency to experience a mixture of contradictory emotions: I am nervous because I do not know people, yet I'm feeling cocky and excited because I sense an opportunity to be someone new, as any new social situation is like a small opportunity to reinvent yourself.

At the same time I'm also somewhat disappointed in the apparent artifice of all social situations (i.e., it's all an act anyway, so what's the purpose?) and I get these revolutionary, rebellious urges to break apart the social fabric, the social contract everyone implicitly agrees upon, other wise known as social decorum. (Don't ask me why I feel a need to this.) It's a highly ironic, almost christ archetype mode (i.e., me suffer on the cross, like Jesus) where I like to mess with people by pretending I am more of a loser than I really am and I bait them into criticizing me, and then I revel in that criticism because I know I'm not the loser they think I am. I have engaged them in an artifical "scene" where they don't realize that the joke is on them, like a candid camera without the cameras. By setting them up intentionally, even if it is at my expense, I mock their seriousness and affected coolness. If I am with people that know me, they sense what is up. Clever people in the area will also sense and perhaps laugh, which can be dangerous if the people I am mocking are tough-guy, bruiser types.

What the method is, is that I pretend to be a dumby dumb bunnie, say things that are borderline ironic, where I pretend and act as much as possible that I mean what I say and yet I do not mean it. I try to walk the line between making the person not know if I am serious or whether I am joking. I concede it it not very nice.

I did this last summer when I was at my friend Roger's wedding, while I was trying to scam one of the bridesmaids, busty, portly, voluptuous Nikki, super booty latina single mom, a hottie simple farm girl and apparently quite proud of it. I was dancing with her and it was going pretty well. But, because I was involved with the wedding, something came up and I had to leave to go pick somone up or take them home or some crap like that. Things had been going well enough that Nikki let me borrow her car. We had a thing going on. So I left reluctatntly because this meant lose the momentum and the whole 'make a love connection mojo' with Nikki. When I returned, my fears were confirmed when I saw a couple of younger guys had moved in on her and another bridesmaid. They were cooly chatting up Nikki and the other woman, suggesting to "go get pizza". I assumed I wasn't invited in this plan.

So I'm standing there and I really don't have dibs on this Nikki and yet I'm wanting to be manly enough to move in on her. But there's these fresh-faced mullet boys muscling in. I'm there and feeling awkward and just then I ask them, as seriously and as innocently and curiously as possible (and by now they obviously are giving me mad dog stares and trying to lose me), "So, what kind of pizza are we going to get?" So one guy, the ring leader, says to me in a huff, "Oh my god, dude that is so not relevant." I stand there, having sacrificed myself on the altar of coolness, a slain geek.