Not many will argue against the fact that a sudden death is much more desirable than one brought on by attrition. I personally much prefer my brains being bashed by a piano free falling from the 113th storey of a sky scraper than being torn apart slowly on the rack.
However, sadly, the tale I am about to share with you, is one of attrition. it is one of constant annoyances that individually are quite manageable but it is the constancy that makes them unbearable. See, even a healthy relationship has its rainy days, but this, was Chinese water torture.
If you haven’t read part 1 of this story you should because that will explain some of my phobias that I’m going to bring up in a few lines. But so, I met this girl at school in an English class. I liked her poetry, I did think it was sometimes overly romantic and sentimental, but it was ok, besides she always had a smile on and seemed really nice, AND I simply found her attractive.
So we go out on a couple of dates and everything is great. Great conversation. and we both enjoy each other’s company. And then one night we go out drinking. I had my fingers crossed 67% of the whole time (33% of the time I was holding my drink) hoping that I wouldn’t witness another unveiling of an angel to expose the demon within. Every drink that she finished, I closed my eyes and opened them one by one like watching a scary movie, but no, she drank and laughed and kept acting normal (normal,of course, redefined to compensate for the drunkenness). Beautiful.
So ok, the drinking night went well too. At this point we’ve been dating for a couple of months and one night she kinda sits me down and asks me if it’s ok for her to call me her boyfriend now. I found it kinda odd, somewhat awkward. I’ve had girlfriends before but it just somehow happens usually, you don’t really fill out forms for being someone’s boyfriend or girlfriend. But hey that’s my experience, and if there is something I believe in is that you can judge people eventually, but you shouldn’t judge them before you know them well enough. So I said yes and we were pronounced man and girlfriend by the holy church of formalized relationships.
Now, one of the commandments of the aforementioned church is now that you are out of one box(dating) and into the next (relationship) (where is the out of the box thinking?) you should hang out more. Ok. She’s fun, and smart. We’ll hang out more.
One night we, and a bunch of her and my friends all go to this bar. We’re sitting around the table, all talking and mingling when I feel the weight of this stare on me, I look across the table and find her staring at me, with a shining smile and unblinking eyes, so I give her a little nod and smile back to acknowledge the eye contact, which is what people usually do in these situations to avoid being awkward since you are sitting too far away from each other to say anything so an eye contact lasting more than a couple of seconds does tend to be kinda awkward and lala landish, almost zombiesque. But to my surprise, she nods back but keeps staring and smiling with the same intensity, so I keep smiling back for what must have been 40 minutes or something and eventually dismayed by her seemingly frozen-in-time countenance I give a little awkward puff of a smile that sounded almost like a cough and turned away.
That was a little strange, but I let it go. However, the frequency of awkward incidences only increased. If time is a trellis, and me and her are each standing on one side of it, these little awkward situations were like vines creeping up the lattice work, and eventually I couldn’t even see her anymore. All I could see was the constant awkwardness wrapped around the time we spent together.
Another time I’m talking to my friend, at some bar again, and I really have to go pee, and all of a sudden she wraps her hands around me from behind me and rests her head on my shoulder. I mean that’s a nice gesture, very sweet no doubt, but if somebody puts a funnel in your mouth and pours a whole bucket of sugar in there, I bet you won’t ask for more, no matter how sweet.
So finally I come out and tell her, she listens and nods and smiles and says that she understands and that I’m doing a good job of communicating with her (Where are you dr phil). But from then on it was down hill and the relationship slowly faded away, or got lost in the vines, in about a month or so. I WAS really bummed out though, I mean there were so many things that I really liked about her but it was just the over-sweet awkwardness that took a shit in it all. I sulked for a while indeed.
You know this is sorta like you go to the store and you see these pair of jeans that are exactly what you’re looking for. You go try them on and they feel fine. Besides you really need a pair of jeans since your last pair got ripped in the behind, and you don’t have the passion for long extensive shopping sessions. So you buy them. you come out and wear them for a couple of days and whoops, there right on the waist there is this little tag that really irritates your skin. You put up with it for a while, but it’s too annoying so you get a pair of scissors and cut it. But then what’s left over from it is even more annoying.
So you finally give up…take the jeans off and put them on the shelf and bow before you turn your back like a samurai that has lost a challenge, and go in the other room for some quality seppuku.
To be continued.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
RELATIONSHIPS, DATING AND JEANS PART1
achtung: the following is all purly fictional, not to be taken seriously
you know what's so funny about dating and relationships, a lotta people don't realize it but dating is so much like shoppin for jeans.
I met this girl a while ago. she was beautiful. Tall, a nice body and a likable, smiling face. ok. so far so good. then I go out on a couple of dates with her. she dressed meticulously well (as in hours in front of the mirror) so I kinda assumed the dates are gonna be boring and we are just gonna end up talking about the latest Hollywood comedy, and killing time with the dull knife of casual (catatonic) conversation. but no, to my surprise she truned out to be a great conversationalist. Not only she got every little joke and allusion, but we also ended up talking about politics, books, quality cinema. we even hopped on little cynical, self-admiring tangents about the absurdity of the predominant pop culture in the capitalist vastness that is America.
so cool, wow, this seems like it's gonna be a lot of fun.
and then one night we go out drinking. i could see clearly, as the alcohol level in her blood rose it was almost like somebody was slowly pulling back a veil. it's amazing how much you can know about books and cinema and the current socio-economic misfortunes of african countries simply as a sort of fashion accessory. now, that somewhat explains why at her apartment she had books somewhat ostensibly arranged on the table in the livinng room. i'm not saying that everyone who does that is a phony, but in her case it served as a corroboration of my initial hunch. anyway though, the night goes on, we both get drunker, and now i can see, through the foggy windows of my imbibed brain certain signs of hitherto unseen tensions in her. certain compulsive, kinda rude, almost intentionally provocative checking the phone every 5 seconds for received text messages ... the conversation that on previous days flowed as gracefully as a glider on a sunny sunday was now a colossal stone, and i Sisyphus ... flirting with our male server with mannerism so tacky that it even made him uncomfortable.
well, i thought to myself as she sat across me hunched to be able to read a text without taking the phone out of her purse, i guess i misjudged her...it was fun while it lasted. but had i the ability to see into the future i would have known that for the short amount of time that our acquaintance was going to last she was gonna make me pay for the fun i had while it lasted
my car was parked at her apartment, so we took a cab. she asks me to come in, and i comply, not wanting to act wired and be forced to confront her while we are both drunk, tonight. i go in and sit at the sofa, she goes to the bathroom. i kinda don't know what to do. definitly don't feel like doing what i would have felt like doing in the pre-unveiling era of my friendship with her. so i sit there in a limbo, kinda tipsy.
she goes to the bathroom, and i sit there some more, and some more and she doesn't get out so i get up and knock on the door ... nothing. i slowly open the door and there she is standing over the sink, i look closer, squinting. she's crying ... What The Fuck? hey, wtf, are you crying?...why are you acting so wired tonight? she says (now let me repeat myself: What The Fuck? I was acting wired?)
-I was acting wired? i ask in amazement.
i did not see this coming.
-you know what, maybe i should leave. we'll talk about it tomorrow.
-yeah, leave, fuckin leave, be a man and leave.
she has lost it, what is this? so i go towards the door, i am stopped by her:
-don't go, lets talk about this tonight.
i stop, more like a deer in headlights than anything else, she hugs me and goes back in the bathroom. FREAK, i think, ok. i wait for i don’t know how long it was, I was nodding off at this point. She comes out, in tears and say:
-look what do you want from me, what is it you want from me?
I look at her. Who is she, I have no idea.
I leave
and you know what this is kinda like: you go to the store, there is the rack of jeans that says sale in big red letters on it. you're like fuck it they are probably all extra large but i'll give it a shot. you go take a look, and there it is, a pair your size, on sale. you go try them on, they are a little tight, just a little, but you think that will be ok once you wear them a couple of times, and indeed, you wear them a couple of times and they start feeling great. and then one night you go to get into your friend’s SUV and ghrrrrrt, there they go rippin all the way along that line that goes from your butt to the zipper, and you have to walk back home, one hand covering your arse to keep your whitie tighties from being exposed to the strangers on the sidewalk, and get into the good old unglamorous corduroys. if it felt a little tight at first, it was waiting for the most awkward moment to rip.
to be continued.
you know what's so funny about dating and relationships, a lotta people don't realize it but dating is so much like shoppin for jeans.
I met this girl a while ago. she was beautiful. Tall, a nice body and a likable, smiling face. ok. so far so good. then I go out on a couple of dates with her. she dressed meticulously well (as in hours in front of the mirror) so I kinda assumed the dates are gonna be boring and we are just gonna end up talking about the latest Hollywood comedy, and killing time with the dull knife of casual (catatonic) conversation. but no, to my surprise she truned out to be a great conversationalist. Not only she got every little joke and allusion, but we also ended up talking about politics, books, quality cinema. we even hopped on little cynical, self-admiring tangents about the absurdity of the predominant pop culture in the capitalist vastness that is America.
so cool, wow, this seems like it's gonna be a lot of fun.
and then one night we go out drinking. i could see clearly, as the alcohol level in her blood rose it was almost like somebody was slowly pulling back a veil. it's amazing how much you can know about books and cinema and the current socio-economic misfortunes of african countries simply as a sort of fashion accessory. now, that somewhat explains why at her apartment she had books somewhat ostensibly arranged on the table in the livinng room. i'm not saying that everyone who does that is a phony, but in her case it served as a corroboration of my initial hunch. anyway though, the night goes on, we both get drunker, and now i can see, through the foggy windows of my imbibed brain certain signs of hitherto unseen tensions in her. certain compulsive, kinda rude, almost intentionally provocative checking the phone every 5 seconds for received text messages ... the conversation that on previous days flowed as gracefully as a glider on a sunny sunday was now a colossal stone, and i Sisyphus ... flirting with our male server with mannerism so tacky that it even made him uncomfortable.
well, i thought to myself as she sat across me hunched to be able to read a text without taking the phone out of her purse, i guess i misjudged her...it was fun while it lasted. but had i the ability to see into the future i would have known that for the short amount of time that our acquaintance was going to last she was gonna make me pay for the fun i had while it lasted
my car was parked at her apartment, so we took a cab. she asks me to come in, and i comply, not wanting to act wired and be forced to confront her while we are both drunk, tonight. i go in and sit at the sofa, she goes to the bathroom. i kinda don't know what to do. definitly don't feel like doing what i would have felt like doing in the pre-unveiling era of my friendship with her. so i sit there in a limbo, kinda tipsy.
she goes to the bathroom, and i sit there some more, and some more and she doesn't get out so i get up and knock on the door ... nothing. i slowly open the door and there she is standing over the sink, i look closer, squinting. she's crying ... What The Fuck? hey, wtf, are you crying?...why are you acting so wired tonight? she says (now let me repeat myself: What The Fuck? I was acting wired?)
-I was acting wired? i ask in amazement.
i did not see this coming.
-you know what, maybe i should leave. we'll talk about it tomorrow.
-yeah, leave, fuckin leave, be a man and leave.
she has lost it, what is this? so i go towards the door, i am stopped by her:
-don't go, lets talk about this tonight.
i stop, more like a deer in headlights than anything else, she hugs me and goes back in the bathroom. FREAK, i think, ok. i wait for i don’t know how long it was, I was nodding off at this point. She comes out, in tears and say:
-look what do you want from me, what is it you want from me?
I look at her. Who is she, I have no idea.
I leave
and you know what this is kinda like: you go to the store, there is the rack of jeans that says sale in big red letters on it. you're like fuck it they are probably all extra large but i'll give it a shot. you go take a look, and there it is, a pair your size, on sale. you go try them on, they are a little tight, just a little, but you think that will be ok once you wear them a couple of times, and indeed, you wear them a couple of times and they start feeling great. and then one night you go to get into your friend’s SUV and ghrrrrrt, there they go rippin all the way along that line that goes from your butt to the zipper, and you have to walk back home, one hand covering your arse to keep your whitie tighties from being exposed to the strangers on the sidewalk, and get into the good old unglamorous corduroys. if it felt a little tight at first, it was waiting for the most awkward moment to rip.
to be continued.
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