Have you ever had so much to say that you had no idea how you could possibly summarize it all? Buckle up, folks. My tales of previous horrible dates will have to wait. Even the cross-dressing hoarder. And the guy who leaked snot on my face.
I will attempt to begin at the beginning.
A few months ago I met a really cool guy on OkCupid. We shall call him The Italian. He’s a supervisor with a Chinese based company that proofreads legal documents. He lives on China time so it’s kind of hard to get together during his waking hours, but we managed. We were supposed to go on this really hip first date silk-screening shirts and sipping wine at the Warhol museum, but he was feeling a little sick so he canceled. (Men are such babies.) I was pretty crushed. Okay, completely crushed, but I went anyway and got over it. He never did reschedule, so I finally put him on the spot and asked if it was happening or not. He said we should meet at least once after all that, but he didn’t think things would work out due to his vampire lifestyle and the hour’s drive between us. My thoughts ranged from, “Why bother?” to, “This %$#@&! right here…” to, “Eh, well, why not?” In the end I just sighed and agreed to meet.
We went to Applebee’s (SO hip) since it was the only place open late. I liked him, but it was clearly a not-a-date. He’s quirky, intellectual, feminist, charming, chivalrous, and a bit odd. Ever the gentleman. Lovely smile. He brought me a book called “If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler” because I had previously mentioned that I would love to write a book in which the character falls in love with the reader, and this book had a similar twist. He gave me a hug at the end of the night (after asking permission) and, after hemming and hawing a moment, said I could take my time with the book. He was clearly not interested. An hour later he shocked the heck out of me by asking for a second date.
On date two he made us dinner at his place (specifying that this was not a sexual advance) and we went for a walk in the local cemetery. That sounds weird, but it was a beautiful place and the deer don’t care a fig about the people walking by. We had a great time (he cooked pasta with cured pig face and it was DELICIOUS) but I didn’t think he was really attracted to me. At the end of the night he asked to kiss me (am I a good kisser while holding my gross garlic breath? Unlikely) which also shocked the heck out of me. Turns out he’s a very passionate kind of guy. I think he would be unlike anything I’ve experienced before, but we will NEVER KNOW, because after our next date canoeing on the lake (which was very brave of him considering his deathly fear of water) and his statement that he’d like another, I explained that I was confused by his mixed signals (why you no text me?!) and he said he really doesn’t have time for dating. F***.
I asked if he would like to be friends. He said he would. A few weeks later we met up to hang out at a bookstore and get lunch. It was marvelous. He surprised me with a copy of “The Slaughterhouse Five” at lunch, complete with an inscription referencing an earlier conversation. Honestly I am nuts about this guy, but I have to keep it in check because he is clearly not interested. Okay, not clearly. He’s very complimentary and he wrote a cute inscription in my book, which feels indicative of a long-term… relationship? Friendship? But he still never returns my text messages.
It was in the midst of all this that I lost both my great aunt and my uncle to cancer. There were a lot of extremely depressed moments. I could have filled a thousand blog pages with sadness and loneliness, but I chose to send long emails instead. Better to get it out of my system in a medium that would not immortalize my misery. I had a lot of strange, vivid dreams, several of which involved my scumbag ex-boyfriend being present but not speaking to me. He was very angry. One dream that really stood out to me began with Robin Williams crashing at my place. I was happy to see him (who doesn’t love the Genie?!) but it was a bit awkward and I couldn’t tell if he was looking for sex or a hug or what. He seemed lost. A little sad. In the morning he was gone. The next day I looked up dream analysis. It said people often dream of celebrities as a way of identifying with some aspect of them or a character with which they are associated. Robin Williams. Keeping it together with a big smile on the outside and an unbearable sadness on the inside. It wasn’t hard to figure out. I even have the itty bitty living space.
A few days later I woke up at 1:30am once again dreaming that my ex was angry. And not just regular angry – psychotically plotting murder and sabotage angry. We don’t talk anymore, but I had the overwhelming urge to text him. (He owes me money so I kept his number.) “Everything okay? I keep having dreams that you’re angry.” He was in fact in the middle of a huge fight with someone at that moment, so now he thinks I have him under surveillance. I would call him a loony bastard, but if I sent a concerned text to Obama when he was in the middle of an argument they’d probably have me arrested.
I also did a Tarot reading. Oh, did I forget to mention that I pretend I’m psychic? Here’s the deal. I think most psychics are frauds, but I do believe humans have the capability to connect with the universe in ways we cannot understand. I have had far too many experiences that were more than a coincidence. I’ve heard people’s thoughts in my head before they spoke them aloud. I saw a ghost walk down my hall when I was 12. I’ve had premonitions. Life is weird, y’all. However I am also a huge doubter, and think absolutely everyone is full of crap except for me. Maybe also me. Anyhow, I was stressed out and sad and beginning to panic because none of the jobs I recently got were actually making me any money, so I did a few readings. They were glorious. I mean, I couldn’t have asked for better answers. It basically came down to this: “Baby, don’t worry about a thing. Because every little thing is gonna be alright.”
I ended up with two paying jobs. One as a substitute, which is apparently hoppin in the last months of school, and the other as a caretaker for mentally and physically disabled people in group homes (NOT counseling, as I was led to believe). Then I did a free trial on match.com and came out with one phone number. But then. THEN. There was Plenty of Fish.
Stay tuned for all the sordid details… Glory be!
Yours, His, and Everybody Else’s,
The Silly Girl
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