spoiled
So here’s a thing that’s lame.
I am not a cynical person. I have healthy scientist/New Yorker skepticism, and a fairly firm grounding in reality. But for the most part I live in a rather optimistic, full-of-faith reality of my own, in which people are essentially good and helping people is the right thing to do and small sparkly fairies populate the forest.
And I get that that’s naïve and I don’t much care, because it doesn’t come from a place of sugarcoating and denial. It comes from my personal assessment that my actions are more in line with my ethics when I imagine the best of everyone. One tends to find what one is looking for, after all. So I look for the interesting parts of everyone and lo and behold, it turns out everyone is interesting. And I look for the good qualities in strangers and sure enough almost everyone has them. It’s made me more open minded and it’s made me more compassionate and it’s made me a lot better at parties.
But last night I went on a second date with Operaman and can I just say? It was a fucking fabulous date. We joked beforehand about him picking me up like in some Real sort of Date, the kind no one I know goes on anymore, and so he showed up on my porch in a dress shirt and tie, but the shirt was a 70s collared ugly print shirt and the tie was wide and green, and it kicked ass. And we ate at a sidewalk table of a brightly colored Cuban restaurant, four little plates of tiny delicious food and festively garnished lemonade. Followed by a divine chocolate dessert down the street.
Now back in my more youthful days, I’d be pretty unreservedly thrilled right now. This guy is cute and cool and he seems to like me. He says the sorts of things one says when one likes someone. He appears eager to see me again. He is prone to sending rather delightful post-date emails.
And yet this very small part of me is frustratingly, maddeningly, unshakably suspicious.
Because the last person who said and acted as if he liked me in fact did not like me at all. And if one can’t believe words and actions, what exactly is one supposed to go on? I suddenly feel so gullible. He sang to you in French? my housemate has asked incredulously about the
So while 99% of me has spent the day in post-good-date-bliss, there is this excruciatingly irritating 1% I’m really pissed about. And it is saying, he ordered in Spanish and uses words like prescience and looked enamored when you finished the crossword? Maybe he’s selling a bridge, too.
But luckily the 99% part is a lot bigger, and is about to kick the shit out of this I-can’t-fucking-believe-this-is-still-getting-to-me new part before I start acting sensibly instead of diving in.
posted by tortaluga @ 5:37 PM
9 Comments:
I'll come on down and stomp that 1%'s ass into little deadbuglike mushed smithereens if you need it. Well, actually, because you might in fact need the 1% to recognize an axe murderer if you sit next to him on the plane, I'll just gag it & tie it up and tell it to stay quietly in it's corner and not bother you unless you are in TRUE MORTAL PERIL.
In the meantime, I suggest that you follow my sister's lecture #14, therein entitled "If you don't shave your legs you won't take your pants off" because we know how effective that suggestion is.
Holy sparkly fairies girl the man wore a GREEN TIE for your real date. And it's a great cuban restaurant by the way.
Besides, Operaman is a much catchier nickname than frenchie. That's all I'm saying on the subject. Today.
Favorite sentence of the day: Holy sparkly fairies girl the man wore a GREEN TIE.
Don't issue that 1% a visa...Leave it in Canada where it fucking belongs!
You need the 1%. There are no unfathomable leaps of faith without skepticism, no excitement without fear of failure, no love without the possibility of heartbreak. Respect the 1%, because I've no fear that you, above anyone, would ever let it rule you.
you may notice some inspiration/borrowing on the sparkly forest fairies if you've been reading lately...but I feel they are quite apropo for both of us these days!
Correction 1: Previous boy did in fact like you.
Correction 2: There was no singing TO in French, merely singing ALONG to existing music (There was, however, much Vanilla Ice--perhaps a greater sin).
Please ensure this new boy does not: 1) live in a faraway city and different country (that he likes), 2) work at a job that he also likes in said foreign country, and especially 3) has not recently come out of a 2-year live-in relationship (which makes even the most annoyingly pragmatic french twat want to fly to Timbuktu). In the odd case that this new boy may be as flaky as some french boys you may have known, avoiding a 3-month hiatus after a 2-week start may help keep things going on the same track.
I'm not trying to justify being a flake. I'm just trying to give you some good reasons to kick the ass out of that 1%.
well. that was unexpected.
but for the record, there was singing, in french, without vanilla, in turkey.
i remember.
p.s. the thing is. previous boy was aware of all these logistical realities throughout the “hiatus,” which, as i recall, involved no insignificant amount of him explaining why they did not matter and lobbying for my return. consequently what is tricky for me right now is that i had come to expect that people my age had figured out how to be honest with (a) themselves and (b) those they don’t care to hurt, but in fact that is not the case. so i find myself with a newfound doubt in my ability to trust where people are at. it’s what my housemate jamey would consider being smart and learning from experience, and what i consider bullshit. i’m going to put myself out there either way, and if i’m getting screwed over i’m getting screwed over. the point (for me) isn’t to never feel bad. the point is to recognize all the ways the universe is conspiring in my favor and to delight in the possibility of what will happen next, without ever wasting time with wondering if i’m being stupid.
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