Friday, June 16, 2006
A Match Made In Hell
I feel like some of my recent posts have cast an unpleasant light on the men I've dated. (It happens to be the harsh light of reality, but that’s neither here nor there.) The point is, it’s not really as bleak as all that, and since I’ve spent so much time whining, I guess I may as well mention the highlights as well.
There’s pretty much just the one, though. Scott.
Ahh, Scott. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways... hmmm... I want to say six.
Well, there’s more, but they're the generic things like amazing sense of humor, fun to be with, great in bed, dependable, thoughtful, sweet, blah blah blah. I’m more interested in the more unique aspects...
1) You know how when you’re nervous to go on a date, people tell you to just be yourself? What a load of crap!
People used to tell me that all the time and I’d think “Hey, yeah, I’ll just be myself!” But then I’d go on the date and get wasted, talk about other people I was dating, order everything on the menu, chew with my mouth open and scratch myself.
That tended not to work out so well.
So then, rather than myself, I tried to just be Christina. I’d take small, dainty little bites of food, laugh politely when the guy made dumb jokes to the waiter, and bat my eyelashes a lot.
That worked much better, but then after about a week or two we’d be out to a nice dinner and my glass would stay empty a little too long, and I’d slip. One “Who the hell do I have to fuck to get some god damn water around here?!?” later, and the jig would be up.
But with Scott, I can do stuff like that. You know why? Because he’s rude and crazy too! I’ve allowed him to witness a level five crazy fit, and it didn’t even faze him. He just waited until I was done, gave me a muscle relaxant, and everything was A-OK.
2) Here’s another thing... see that picture? That’s not Scott. That’s uncle Jesse.
I wouldn’t dare to put a picture of Scott up because Scott, much like me, is psychotically private and secretive to the point of paranoia.
He has a profile on Myspace, but uses a fake name, a fake age, a fake birthday AND won’t put up a picture- I have no idea why. He says he doesn’t want people to know personal information about him… which apparently includes his real horoscope sign.
In fact, I shouldn’t even have used his name. Uh, I was just kidding. His name isn’t Scott. It’s…ummm… Scot. Yeah.
Unlike me, Scot has a really sweet side that involves a love for small animals and “helping” people… I kept hoping it was an act, but so far, no luck.
3) What does Scot like to do with the majority of his time? Mostly talk about how fat he is, and list the people he wants to fuck. Sound familiar??? Yes, it does.
4) Here’s when I knew Scot was the one for me… on our second date, he brought me a Bedazzler, and a DVD full of porn.
As he handed it to me, time slowed, he was surrounded by a heavenly glow, Dream Weaver started playing in the background... it was love. I spent the entire next weekend watching hot lesbian bondage orgies, while putting giant rhinestones on everything I own.
After that, I was hooked.
Every once in a while, he’ll just do something that just melts my heart. Like the other day we were at the movies and this attractive, young, preppy, recently married couple sat in our row. Scot looked at them, turned to me and said “They’re fucking once a week. Maybe twice. Soon it’ll be never. They’ll be divorced in a year, and she’ll be cheating on him long before then anyway.”
Is that the sweetest fucking thing you’ve ever heard? Honestly, aside from me, who on earth would see a happy, young couple and think “Awww, look a them… so young… so in love… BLAH!!! DEATH! DEATH AND MISERY TO YOU!!! A CURSE UPON YOUR UNION!”?
5) Scot and I have what I like to call "matching luggage". That is, we both have creepy, deep seeded commitment issues.
He doesn't give me a hard time about my hatred of words like "boyfriend" "relationship" "marriage" and "bagel".
Scot doesn't care that I opt to introduce him as my "life partner", even though it sounds really gay. He understands that I am a lone wolf, and that I walk alone.
And most importantly...
6) He dances for me. To awful music. Complete routines. Pop and Lock technique included. I am not kidding.
Posted by Carmela Machiato at 9:47 AM