Men I have tolerated.
To quote Demetri Martin: "An ex is a lot like a mediocre movie, I liked it at the time but I wouldn't want to see it again."
So last night I received two rather cryptic e-mails, one to my work address, one on my Myspace account (yes, I have a Myspace, I hate it just as much as you do but I can’t help it). The work e-mail was a voicemail recording that my phone sends directly to Outlook if a call fails. The message itself was a rather unnerving expletive-laced threat against my life, which was odd since I'd just had my phone installed the previous Friday. The myspace message was from some girl I didn’t know, telling me that some trollish boy I dumped over four years ago had been looking through my email account. I guess she’s his current flame and caught him doing something naughty with my personal accounts. I know he’s not smart enough to hack anything, so I’m a bit perplexed as to how, and more importantly WHY he’d do something like that after four years of zero contact. I'm not sure how or if the two incidents are related, but it got me thinking about him, and how after all this time I've changed and grown dramatically while he's remained a grease stain on the fabric of society. A puddle of urine in the gene pool, so to speak. And that inevitably led to other trains of thought regarding my love life. Looking back, I can say with utmost certainty that my dating history is probably more entertaining to read than a Tom Robbins novel. Let’s reminisce, shall we?
My first soirée into the world of dating was the high school freshman football player by the name of Dustin Fields, living in a trailer with his parents in Cypress and had his best friend dump me via phone after six months. Apparently he didn’t have the balls to do it himself.
Then, years later, there came the post-high school flame, the punk rock kid that every high school frosh soph had the hots for. Of course, by the time I got to him he’d gained about thirty pounds and had no job. I decided that the relationship was over when he shoved me off of his second story balcony to avoid being caught by his father home alone with a girl.
After him came The Troll. Ryan. The grease stain. That short, squat, troglodyte manchild I thought I could reform. Yes, girls, we all have that one mistake, don’t we? Aged twenty-one, still living at home sharing a bunk bed with his teenaged brother, high school drop-out, never had a job in his life. But all of that was okay, because one day he’d make it as a big rock star. Never mind the fact that he had no band, no songs written and not that much talent. He was gonna MAKE it, man. Really. Honest. Yep. After a few months I realized my charity case was a complete failure and bailed out after finding out he suspected he had an STD and yet refused to get himself tested “for fear of the results”. He also became rather angry when, even though we had never engaged in sexual contact, I told him that there would be none until he had changed his mind. Which, thankfully for me, never happened.
Mere months after freeing myself from the Troll’s Lair I found myself rebounding with a younger, handsome boy named Trenton, an outspoken vegetarian whom shared a community college drama class with me. It didn’t last long. Poor boy. I scared the living daylights out of him. I think the beginning of the end came when I broke the skin of his foot with my stiletto heel as he was lacing up my corset in preparation for an avant-garde photo shoot I had that day. Someday I hope he finds a nice, quiet vegan girl that can make him happy. They’ll share many fruitful conversations about the evils of democracy and spend many a blissful night throwing pipe bombs into the windows of meat packing plants.
Then there was the sweet, soft-spoken effeminate heterosexual graver, who broke up with me after nearly a year of being together while playing World of Warcraft. There really isn’t anything more I could possibly add to that.
A brief fling the following summer, with a painfully awkward aspiring actor who was my exact height and whom I could tell was extremely put off by my eccentricities much the same way young Trenton was. He was the quiet type. God, was he gorgeous though. I know, I know. Sue me.
After that there was the short but passionate relationship with the Russian Model, who shared my sociopathic tendencies. Until I found out that he really -was- a diagnosed Sociopath who had stopped taking his medication. I can't make that up. Even so, I miss him as a friend. We had some damned interesting conversations.
And so, we have come to the end. I've had my hair colored every shade and hue of the spectrum, been a riot girl, goth, bookworm and gamer nerd, and now find myself aged twenty-five, living in Washington, happily sharing my life with my quiet, stunningly handsome, talented little artist boy. Things are pretty swell. No nukes have gone off yet. I don't think.
We’ve come a long way, baby. You have no idea.
So last night I received two rather cryptic e-mails, one to my work address, one on my Myspace account (yes, I have a Myspace, I hate it just as much as you do but I can’t help it). The work e-mail was a voicemail recording that my phone sends directly to Outlook if a call fails. The message itself was a rather unnerving expletive-laced threat against my life, which was odd since I'd just had my phone installed the previous Friday. The myspace message was from some girl I didn’t know, telling me that some trollish boy I dumped over four years ago had been looking through my email account. I guess she’s his current flame and caught him doing something naughty with my personal accounts. I know he’s not smart enough to hack anything, so I’m a bit perplexed as to how, and more importantly WHY he’d do something like that after four years of zero contact. I'm not sure how or if the two incidents are related, but it got me thinking about him, and how after all this time I've changed and grown dramatically while he's remained a grease stain on the fabric of society. A puddle of urine in the gene pool, so to speak. And that inevitably led to other trains of thought regarding my love life. Looking back, I can say with utmost certainty that my dating history is probably more entertaining to read than a Tom Robbins novel. Let’s reminisce, shall we?
My first soirée into the world of dating was the high school freshman football player by the name of Dustin Fields, living in a trailer with his parents in Cypress and had his best friend dump me via phone after six months. Apparently he didn’t have the balls to do it himself.
Then, years later, there came the post-high school flame, the punk rock kid that every high school frosh soph had the hots for. Of course, by the time I got to him he’d gained about thirty pounds and had no job. I decided that the relationship was over when he shoved me off of his second story balcony to avoid being caught by his father home alone with a girl.
After him came The Troll. Ryan. The grease stain. That short, squat, troglodyte manchild I thought I could reform. Yes, girls, we all have that one mistake, don’t we? Aged twenty-one, still living at home sharing a bunk bed with his teenaged brother, high school drop-out, never had a job in his life. But all of that was okay, because one day he’d make it as a big rock star. Never mind the fact that he had no band, no songs written and not that much talent. He was gonna MAKE it, man. Really. Honest. Yep. After a few months I realized my charity case was a complete failure and bailed out after finding out he suspected he had an STD and yet refused to get himself tested “for fear of the results”. He also became rather angry when, even though we had never engaged in sexual contact, I told him that there would be none until he had changed his mind. Which, thankfully for me, never happened.
Mere months after freeing myself from the Troll’s Lair I found myself rebounding with a younger, handsome boy named Trenton, an outspoken vegetarian whom shared a community college drama class with me. It didn’t last long. Poor boy. I scared the living daylights out of him. I think the beginning of the end came when I broke the skin of his foot with my stiletto heel as he was lacing up my corset in preparation for an avant-garde photo shoot I had that day. Someday I hope he finds a nice, quiet vegan girl that can make him happy. They’ll share many fruitful conversations about the evils of democracy and spend many a blissful night throwing pipe bombs into the windows of meat packing plants.
Then there was the sweet, soft-spoken effeminate heterosexual graver, who broke up with me after nearly a year of being together while playing World of Warcraft. There really isn’t anything more I could possibly add to that.
A brief fling the following summer, with a painfully awkward aspiring actor who was my exact height and whom I could tell was extremely put off by my eccentricities much the same way young Trenton was. He was the quiet type. God, was he gorgeous though. I know, I know. Sue me.
After that there was the short but passionate relationship with the Russian Model, who shared my sociopathic tendencies. Until I found out that he really -was- a diagnosed Sociopath who had stopped taking his medication. I can't make that up. Even so, I miss him as a friend. We had some damned interesting conversations.
And so, we have come to the end. I've had my hair colored every shade and hue of the spectrum, been a riot girl, goth, bookworm and gamer nerd, and now find myself aged twenty-five, living in Washington, happily sharing my life with my quiet, stunningly handsome, talented little artist boy. Things are pretty swell. No nukes have gone off yet. I don't think.
We’ve come a long way, baby. You have no idea.