Adult Jello

So, this guy I had been emailing with for a while finally called me last night. The call lasted about 45 minutes, but I hesitate to call it a conversation.

A sales pitch?

Well, I now know all about his parents, his parents divorce, his dad’s new wife, his thoughts on arranged marriages, his own divorce, his trip to Paris, his apartment, the apartment he was looking at moving to, the books he most wants to buy, his drunken grandmothers tendency to hit him with kitchen utensils…his thoughts on zoos and his penchant to quote late 90s romantic comedies…. All he knows about me is that I have a dog and I’m in graduate school. That’s it.

Wow.

He also has a vague Canadian accent. My favorite lines was …“Crème brulee is like jello for adults.”

I’ll accept that. But, don’t like rag on me if I eat it because you think of it as “adult jello.”

Eh, it’s fun to crack, but it doesn’t wiggle! Well, he was mostly insinuating that he likes to do dirty, adult (ahem) things with his crème brulee. Which, really? Crème brulee seems like an ill fit for anything not involving a meal and appropriate linens.

If you want to get freaky with dessert, there are other options…MANY superior options.

So, after rambling on about masturbating koalas and the joy of suveed duck, not the same conversation luckily, he asked if he could call me again.

And you said…?

“Sure?” I mean…I had no idea what to say.

I can picture it…A total “Sure?” (LOLSOB) moment.

 

Yep. (Pause.) I'm at work...Otherwise, I'd totally google "adult jello." (Pause.) There was a jello penis on the first page of results just for "jello," so I'm pretty sure there would be some awesomely bizarre things. Yet, fittingly, no creme brulee...

- The Queen

To Thine Own Self Be True

"I think I remember Hamlet accurately."
"Well, I remember Mel Gibson accurately, and he didn't say that. That Polonius guy did."

About a week or so ago I was out with some friends celebrating the Queen's birthday. (Queen of Spades, not the Queen of England. Google tells me her birthday is coming up this week, however, if any of you wanted to send felicitations.) A friend and I ended up talking with two guys who had been sitting next to her at the bar. It was fairly uneventful chitchat until the end of the evening, when one of those two gentlemen asked me to talk politics with him. Specifically, he asked what I thought about "the fact that our whole government is going to shut down because of abortion".

OK. So.

I'm not really sure why I went forth with the conversation. Honestly, I don't usually like to argue with people I don't even know, and besides which, "belligerent humorless feminist"* isn't typically considered attractive, you know? (*I don't actually think I'm either belligerent or humorless, but I know how this stuff is often perceived. Anyhoo.) So I politely said that the potential government shutdown wasn't really about abortion, but that the issue of abortion was being used to make the debate more heated, and that what was really at the heart of the issue was access to preventive care and contraception.

This led to Guy #1 saying a variety of interesting (read: totally off-base if you ask me) things, such as:

1. "I don't want my tax money paying for abortions!"
2. (when told that it doesn't, actually) "What, you actually think Planned Parenthood follows the law and doesn't use federal money for abortions?"
3. "Well, we don't subsidize smoking, why are we subsidizing birth control? We should tax condoms like we do cigarettes!"
4. "Poor people just choose not to be educated. I mean, the internet is free and everyone has access to it, so they have no excuse."
5. "You might end up getting pregnant when you're not planning on it for a variety of reasons. Maybe your marriage isn't so great so you weren't planning on having kids, maybe it's because you got raped. Either way it's about choice."

Yeah.

So there was about fifteen minutes of him saying things, and me disagreeing with him and offering some information/opinions, and the whole time I'm thinking, "This guy is kind of out there" and "Well, his friend who was seeming sort of interested in me is probably about to run for the hills. Oh well." But I couldn't justify hearing someone saying "a bad marriage = rape, basically" and other such things and just letting it slide and giggling and saying, "Oh, I don't know!" Because yeah, not really me. I mean, to be fair, it would have been me even as recently as a year ago. But these days, I'm not so much interested in pretending to be neutral about stuff for the sake of looking dateable. My true nature will emerge eventually, why engage in false advertising?

Imagine my surprise when Guy #1 and I wrapped up our conversation and I prepared to leave, and Guy #2 asked me if I'd like to have dinner sometime. I'm probably making much more of this than it deserves, but as someone who has been told that my opinionated nature is a liability in dating on more than one occasion, that was...nice. You know?

So we did just that, went out for dinner, and had ourselves a nice time. So we'll see...

Dating PSA

Dear Daters over 30,

While it was understandable in your teens, and even twenties, to not know how to let someone down gently, it's really not okay after thirty.

I suggest that if you go on a few dates with someone and say things such as: we should go (insert restaurant one has never been to here) or Oh, you've never been to (insert touristy location here)? We should go when it gets warmer. Or if you end the date saying: Give me a call next week, when that person calls or texts because they are thinking you are also interested, please, I am begging you, grab your sack and have the balls to say something like "I'm really sorry. I'm just not sensing the connection" Do NOT blatantly ignore them. WTF.

The day after

Well, friends, after a bit of a hiatus from the search to find love, I went on a date last night. I'll save you all the details on how I found myself single again. Suffice it to say--he's a douchebag and a shade on the crazy side.

Last night's date went well. We actually have a mutual friend and went to college in the same city, so we had that to talk about if all else failed. As far as first dates go, it was full of all of the awkward getting to know you and weirdness of any other first date. I don't even have an outrageous story to write about, it was a perfectly normal date. I would definitely go out with him again, that alone deserves a round of applause.

So today is the day after. Where I become way too preoccupied with whether or not I will hear from him. We did leave saying we'd like to get together again, but sometimes I think people just say that to be polite. I did text him earlier to thank him for dinner and some other flirty "yes I'm interested in seeing you again" line. I hate this part...

XX NB

DELETE, DELETE, DELETE

There's an expression, "In order to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs." Plenty of people have waxed sentimental about the necessity of destruction as part of creation, of wiping the slate clean to start over properly.

Well, I am on my way to a delicious omelet this week. Western, perhaps?

Part of this was motivated by a recent "person" doing something so incredibly insulting and selfish that it made me want to go to his apartment (with which I am quite familiar, having spent many nights there, no matter what he told his new girlfriend, THANKYOUVERYMUCH) and punch him in his stupid lying face. But because I like my freedom and I don't really believe in actual violence, I refrained. Instead, I did some deleting. Any connections to him online? DELETED. His phone number? Oh, the joy in seeing the question "Delete XXXXX?" on my phone. YES.

But I also got to thinking about some other people in my life, with whom I had relationships that were not so contentious and dysfunctional, but certainly were a bit complicated. And somehow, my fiery rage motivated me to look at those situations and be more honest about them. The results? I've destroyed some safety nets. I deleted the parts of those relationships that were making things complicated for me (in one case) or for him (in the other case).

And then I deleted myself from online dating completely.

I'll go back eventually, but for now I am not in the right head space for any of it. While this means I'll have nothing to write about for a while, I hope it also means that I can focus on rebuilding.

Nothing Is Scarier Than a Clown

 From the inbox of the Queen...


"So there's this kid, six years old, adorable but a little vulnerable, and it's his birthday. He's in his room, squint-grinning at the mirror and putting on his favorite shirt, his bright red Birthday Shirt. He's been saving it for today. He heads downstairs, where all his friends from school are playing, eating cake, pinning the odd donkey tail... whatever it is six-year-olds do in herds. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs, and slaps Jake a behind-the-back snapoff and a quick jab to the shoulder as the doorbell rings. It's the clown! He asked his mom for a clown at his party, and she went and ordered the best clown in town, because she's that great a mom. He's barely got the knob turned when the clown bursts in-- giant shoes, weirdly glossed eyes and a pleasant bulge around the waist (for the sake of the craft). He's a regular Pagliacci. The clown taps out a double-time reel in the oldest and finest of traditions of professional asses and squeaks out, "Hey! It's your birthday! Happy birthday! Isn't this great? Oh! You must be the birthday boy. Look at you, with your bright red shirt! Whadda think you are, some kind of a... tomato?" The boy squints a bit, doesn't say anything. He sort of sulks for the rest of the party, like he just can't get into the flow of it anymore. The clown leaves like he came in, his friends all go home, and the kid kinda sulks his way through the rest of school. Fastforward, the kid's in high school. Not too many friends, but he joins the improv team and he's brilliant. He gobbles up every award they've got, he's president of the club by his second year. The teach in charge wants to send him to Nationals, but he won't have any of it. He graduates and goes to Comeback College, full ride. Finishes summa cum laud. After college, he goes to the Himalayas. He climbs to the top of the highest mountain, where he trains under The Guru. After a year, the Guru raises his hand and says "my son, you have a response to every word from my mouth, a riposte to each retort and more devastating, more creative counter-repostes than I have ever imagined. You could crush a man's spirit in three lines of banter. You are ready."  So the kid, now a man, descends the mountain and returns home, to his mother's house. He calls up all his old friends from elementary school. They haven't heard from him in over a decade, but they were friends and damn but they were curious. They all come to his birthday party. He hires a clown, the best clown in town. It's the same clown. The kid is in his room before the party. All his friends are downstairs, killing six packs and Halo critters... whatever it is twenty-somethings do in herds. He puts on his favorite shirt, his bright red Birthday Shirt, saved in his drawer all this time, and goes downstairs to answer the door. The clown bursts in! His big shoes are a little worn, he's grinning under bloodshot eyes, and his waistline is a little beyond standard for the craft. He's a regular Punchinello. "Hey! Happy birthday! It's this great? Oh! You must be the birthday boy. Look at you, with your bright red shirt! Whadda think you are, some kind of a... tomato?" The kid, he's ready. The pressures of the last decade roll off his shoulders and he feels as light and free as a six-year-old. He's in the zone. He looks the clown in the eye, squints a bit, and the old man's routine falters-- the clown misses a beat. He takes a quick breath, straightens up and lets it flow. The kid says, "FUCK YOU, CLOWN!"

AAAAAAND ice broken! Hi, I'm *****: intrepid adventurer, sometimes swept by (potentially endearing?) absurdist moods. How are you? If you're still reading, I really hope you hadn't heard that one already! If you're half so awesome as you sound, I really hope you'll say hi. Plus, I have a new ZOMBIE BOARD GAME with your name on it. How many people do you think it would take, spread surreptitiously through the car, to get a whole train singing "Hey Jude"?"

Whaaaaaa? I was told there would be no actual clowns in online dating. Nothing is scarier than a clown.


Also, I'm exhausted just reading this. All in all, it's fairly entertaining in a strange way. I just...Where do you go from an epic clown story?!

Sir, please lay off the caffiene.

Why do men think I'm a dominatrix?

I do love Betty Page...

"How are you doing? My name is *****, and I am writing you because I would like to find someone who might have some interest in having a servant. I am interested in pursuing this arrangement on a long term 2 or 3 time a week basis, and I promise that you will not regret it if you give me a chance.

I am honestly looking for a someone like yourself who might be interested in having someone like me who would like nothing more than to cook, clean, do dishes, laundry, chores, run errands, or even give manicures and pedicures. I am pretty handy to have around the house, I can fix things pretty well and am not bad at organization either.

This is not about sex in any way, and I have had this arrangement in the past and I feel like it has worked out pretty well for those who have been willing to take advantage of it. And just to stress this... This is completely legit and I am 100% serious. I could be extremely useful to you if you were just willing to consider it.

Please think about it, and please know that just being able to talk to you would be a privilege in my book."

My first thought was, "That would be so useful!"

My second thought, "Ah, he can write in full sentences!"

Which was then followed by..."Why do I keep getting messages like this?!"

Perhaps I should pursue a new career plan?

Fellow bloggers, you know me...What's the deal?