I should have ended it when he
tried to tell me he was fearless.
Seriously. Fearless. I mean that’s cute, if you’re
seven, and you’re wearing a t-shirt and your underoos and you’ve got this towel
tied around your neck like it’s a cape and you’re standing on top of the couch
or a really big pile of laundry and you’re like “I am the bravest man in the
woooooooorld.”
But like, dude, seriously.
You’re 39. Drop the act. Cause
you are either:
A. Full of shit.
Or
B. A sociopath
Either way, not prime dating material.
But nooo. I met him at this
panel discussion that he was a part of and I’m like oooooh, you are such a
fancy man. You show your artwork all
over the world. Surely your feces must
be lined with diamonds.
So instead I respectful called him on his shit. I said, “you’re
not fearless, you just have a different relationship with your fear,” because
I’m a hippie and that’s how I fucking roll.
And then he did what any rational person would do that situation- regress
into trite, mindless, dirty talk. Oh my
god you said something smart. This is so
weird. I can’t deal. I need to think with my dick. Whew.
Ok. I can handle this. It’s going
to be ok.
I was still convinced of his diamond-studded stools so I
fucking went there. Looking back, it felt like that scene in a horror movie
where the chick is going into that room. You know, that room. That door you’re
NOT supposed to open. And you’re like
nooooo! Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t
do it! Oh, god … nooooooo…You are so
fucked.
But instead of dying I destroyed any chance of ever having a
thoughtful conversation with this person EVER again. The second he feels like his little noggin is
getting a workout…conversation goes straight down the toilet. And now he thinks I’m into it. Nice work genius. Nice fucking work.
So that didn’t work out.
Not because of that particular conversation but because as time
progressed things kept descending more and more onto a newer, douchier, more inane
plane of existence, like traversing slowly and painfully through each circle of Dante’s Bro-ferno.
Am I high? Am I delirious? Is it totally delusional for me
to want to be with a man that can admit that he is a human being? That he has
fears? That he deals with them nonetheless.
That he has flaws. And that he sees that I have flaws and fears and all
that messiness that comes with being a human being and knows that that’s ok?
That’s he’s not going to lecture me or try to correct or suggest what outfit I
should wear? And I will in turn not do the same, unless he really needs help
for some like work thing. And I’m cool
with that. I’m cool with that. Just don’t do that every day because that is
fucking obnoxious.
Please tell me these people actually exist. And some of them are single. Because I’m starting to lose it here.
