Trouble In A Bubble.

Weirdo Magnets – Why I Find Goth/Emo/Neo-punk/Alternative Girls Vexing

It all begins with a story. And that story that begins with a completely unrelated story.

I was at the Rochester a couple of months ago, sitting in a booth with Aster, drinking a $4 pint. We were talking some girls for a bit but they pissed off. Quite rude actually.

Some guys came up to us. One of them shook my hand and introduced himself as John. There were some seriously weird vibes emanating from these guys. Something was not quite right. I thought these guys were going to beat us up or something. I eye-coded Aster, but I don’t think he caught on. I stood up and moved a metre away, so they didn’t have us boxed in.

Actually, these guys didn’t want to beat us up.

John turned to his friend and said “Okay – her. Five bucks.” Nick walked off to say hello to a girl.

“See this – he’s going to hit her over the back of the head.” Project Mayhem.

“Let me get this straight – you guys come out in bars and make bets about who is going to tap girls over the back of the head?”

“Yep. You guys should join in – see that girl over there? Five bucks.”

I looked at Aster. “Uh. I dunno. We normally just have sex with them instead.”

Old John didn’t really have much to say to that. As an aside, I heard him introducing himself as “Pete” about an hour later.  Strange fellow.

I saw two cute girls wearing all black, about two metres away. One looked goth, but as if she were having an off-goth night. The other looked like a metalhead bikie. I hollered at the off-goth. “Yo. Come over here and talk to us.”

The girls said “uh okay,” and kept talking to the surfer guys. I assumed they were friends.

“Come here,” I commanded.

“Just a second.”

John whispered to me “Nice try, but it’s not going to work. Don’t bother.”

“Yeah yeah, cool man,” I said, and turned back to the girls. “Come here.”

The girls walked over and said hi. I talked to the off-goth first, then Aster started talking to her so I chatted up the short metalhead. She had a black t-shirt that was extremely low cut, like with scissors. It said “BA” then cleavage, then “RY”.

“What’s your shirt about? It’s a band shirt right?”

“Yeah, it’s Bathory!”

“Ah. Like Elizabeth Bathory.”

“Yeah! Or Erzsébet Báthory in Hungarian. They’re a Swedish metal band. But she was a noblewoman and serial killer in the dark ages. She used to kill virgins and bathe in their blood, you know, like to stay young forever and stuff.”

“Oh yeah. I thought she was Romanian.”

“No no. A lot of people confuse Vlad Drakul and Erzsébet Báthory – you know who Vlad was right?”

“Sure – Vlad the Impaler.”

“Yeah. He used to invite his enemies to dinner and hang heads above the dinner table so the blood dripped onto his enemies’ plates.”

“Oh yeah.” I’m meditating to keep my body from flooding itself with the feeling of revulsion – my natural response.

“Hey – do you know Elise?”

“Nah – I just called you guys over because I thought she was cute.”

“Really? Because you did it at the perfect time. We hate those guys we were talking to. Wanna come outside for a smoke?”

We hung out for a bit. Aster wanted to split and check out the Perseverance. So I got Tay’s phone number.

“I don’t have my phone on me – the battery’s dead. And it won’t have battery till Monday. But call me. I know it sounds like a bad excuse, but call me.”

“Alright, I’ll call you.”

“Seriously, call me!”

I thought, that is solid.

The next day I was anticipating calling her.  Then I thought, hang on, I know what type of girl Tay is. I know girls like that. Cute little emo goth neo-punk alternative girls. My friend Aurora who used to have guys follow her into the ladies’ room to ask her how she was going. My friend Soo-ming who would be spontaneously attacked by a flock of fifty magpies. I don’t know how it works, but somehow these girls give out a vibe that just makes weird guys and weird things hone in like a weird-seeking missile.

I called her anyway. Of course I did.

But what do you know. An hour or so after I’d met her, she’d had her drink spiked and spent the rest of the night in Elise’s arms, spewing up.

Weirdo magnets.

Now of course, some of you will think that I’m cruel and unjust for judging a girl when she had her drink spiked.  Oh, she’s just the innocent victim, blah blah blah.  I don’t care.  Actually, I really don’t care because when I rang her up she implied very strongly that she didn’t want me to call her ever again.  Probably because she had her drink spiked by some weirdo in a bar, and with me also being some weirdo in a bar (albeit, a completely different kind of weirdo), she decided I wasn’t proper company either.  Or maybe she just didn’t like me, and that’s cool too.

But come on.  I mean come, on.  You wear a black T-shirt that glamorises a mediaeval serial killer who bathed in virgin blood (allegedly).  You talk about it as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, even the coolest thing.  Some times, you even glamorise suffering, pain, insecurity, self-hatred.  You think “Isn’t it beautiful and fascinating, that dark part of human nature?” – are you really surprised when a malicious weirdo wants to do things to you?  Really?

I mean really.

I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m attracted to these girls though – probably something Freudian or Jungian.  At least I only wanted to fuck the girl and not eat her skin.

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