One Step Forward; Two Steps Back
I just spent some time re-reading my entries from the era of the man formerly known as "Superdate."
He's been contacting me lately from Europe--he quit his job and has spent the last couple of months wandering around the Continent. I'm insane with jealousy, so I needed to remind myself why I dumped him. All it took was the Carmex entry to bring it all flooding back. The thick coating of Carmex as he tried to eat my face, the horrid clothing he wore when he wasn't in a tux (oh, the horror of the bright blue basketball shorts and matching muscle shirt he insisted on wearing as we went shopping in Union Square), the disturbing lack of cleanliness and kitchen equipment in his bachelor pad.
He writes me he's seeing lots of sexy paintings of me in Florence, he wishes I could have painted culinary masterpieces with him in Spain and France...all while he is there with his current girlfriend. And then informs there's trouble in his paradise.
He says he still thinks of me all the time. I think of all the gorgeous flowers he sent, all the fabulous dinners we enjoyed together, all the travel we did in such a short time, how earnestly he loved me. I think of his crippling sexual dysfunction and his grimy apartment which was so incongruous with the rest of his life.
My aunt is holding me to my pact that I will not date anyone for a year. Which is good, since I am apparently completely insane and have begun thinking I could work things out with Superdate if I could just train him to lay off the Carmex and get him into sex therapy for a year or so.
Jesus Christ. Just shoot me.
He's been contacting me lately from Europe--he quit his job and has spent the last couple of months wandering around the Continent. I'm insane with jealousy, so I needed to remind myself why I dumped him. All it took was the Carmex entry to bring it all flooding back. The thick coating of Carmex as he tried to eat my face, the horrid clothing he wore when he wasn't in a tux (oh, the horror of the bright blue basketball shorts and matching muscle shirt he insisted on wearing as we went shopping in Union Square), the disturbing lack of cleanliness and kitchen equipment in his bachelor pad.
He writes me he's seeing lots of sexy paintings of me in Florence, he wishes I could have painted culinary masterpieces with him in Spain and France...all while he is there with his current girlfriend. And then informs there's trouble in his paradise.
He says he still thinks of me all the time. I think of all the gorgeous flowers he sent, all the fabulous dinners we enjoyed together, all the travel we did in such a short time, how earnestly he loved me. I think of his crippling sexual dysfunction and his grimy apartment which was so incongruous with the rest of his life.
My aunt is holding me to my pact that I will not date anyone for a year. Which is good, since I am apparently completely insane and have begun thinking I could work things out with Superdate if I could just train him to lay off the Carmex and get him into sex therapy for a year or so.
Jesus Christ. Just shoot me.