Subtitle: Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday
Things you could say other than vanishing:
(Arsey Darcy Edition)
I got back together with my ex.
I’m seeing someone else and we’re starting to get serious.
I’ve realized I’m gay.
I have contracted a rare disease and I must now go live in a leper colony.
I’m joining a monastery to become a priest. I must live a life of celibacy.
I’m going to become a eunuch and receive castration.
I’ve always dreamed of singing much higher. I’m becoming a castrato.
It’s not you, it’s me. I’m a dickhead.
I’m actually Batman, so for us to date, it would put you in grave danger. I must go.
I just found out I only have 24 hours to live. So I’m gonna go do my bucket list. Bye.
This is not working out and I don’t want to see you anymore. Thanks for your time.
I am an emotional fucktard and since you aren’t, I feel like this relationship is far too imbalanced.
I’m leaving you for a 90 year-old-woman in my popinjay book club.
My job is transferring me to Zimbabwe and I don’t want a LDR.
I prefer the feel of a bicycle seat nestled against my scrotum rather than you. So I’m going to peddle off now.
I finally rode a rollercoaster for the first time and crapped my pants. I must now go into intense inpatient therapy to deal with this experience.
I’m a giant dweeb and you’re cool. I need to take a sabbatical to work with an image consultant and a life coach full-time.
I died in a tragic accident and now I am calling you from beyond the grave to say one final goodbye.
I realized I have a testosterone deficiency and I am going to begin the process of a sex change.
I’m moving to Amsterdam to ride my bicycle everywhere, escape noise pollution, take drugs, and analyze Van Gogh paintings.
From Kevin Conn: My split personality doesn't like you.
I had lunch with a friend today and as I was telling her the tales (no microwave, no cable/satellite, no noise pollution, Van Gogh lectures, blah blah blah) she looked at me and goes, “Yeah. Um. Good luck with that.” And I laughed and laughed. She was like, “It’s entirely possible that his disappearance is a gift. Maybe take that as a sign and go on.” Another friend of mine really put the screws to me this afternoon. I like people who give it to me straight. I have immense respect for that. *I will sidebar from this topic momentarily.* So he’s like, “I get the impression that you don’t even like him. Or at the very least you definitely aren’t sure if you do. You just want some validation that he likes you and finds you desirable. That’s kinda bullshit, dude.” It was like that feeling when you get popped by a rubber band. Yep, yeah, pretty much. My friend nailed it. That’s why I love him. What am I even twisting my guts in a knot for here? I didn’t behave badly, I didn’t Simon Cowell the guy, I didn’t do or say anything controversial or rude. I was well-behaved. If he can’t handle me on good behavior, Lord knows he couldn’t handle me mad or upset. Which segues to my sidebar:
In Plato’s Symposium, Aristophanes talks about the origin of soulmates, i.e. that people were once joined together and Zeus split them apart because the gods feared them to grow too powerful. See that’s why I like DJT. There’s no explanations, there’s no feeling of being “too much,” there’s no discouragement, there’s no PC bullshit, there’s no “tone it down because it would be too much balls for someone else to see.” Do you know what a relief it is to have one other person on the planet who makes you feel like it’s OK to be you? Fuck me, that’s priceless. That baseline level of understanding is amazing. I totally get that people need a little tension to keep things spicy and interesting. I’ve been having this dialogue with my friend Terry. He talked about a date where he and the girl agreed on practically everything and as a result, they were bored quickly and stopped dating. I can see how that would happen. However, in my case, I really want to be with someone who gets me and who I have some level of respect and admiration for. If I look at a man and think “fucktard,” the likelihood of me marrying him is zero. What woman doesn’t want to look across the table and think, “I feel better with this person in my life.” As Greg Behrendt says, “You have one asshole. Why take on another?” Touché! I don’t want to marry someone and feel like every discussion is an explanation. I remember Arsey Darcy’s face, “Why would you want to ride rollercoasters? Are you an adrenaline junkie?” It was like I had said I like to periodically rip my toenails out and eat them for breakfast. Christ Almighty. So yeah. If nothing else, this novel experiment is proving to me what I don’t want and what I don’t want to compromise on. The joie de vivre thing is pivotal. It’s more important to me than someone’s physical appearance or education level. When I look back on my ex-boyfriends and think about differences and arguments, I don’t know that any of them had a matching level of passion for life. One or two of them may have had decent career ambitions, but no joy of living. My high school sweetheart was a wet blanket of colossal proportions. Never wanted to go anywhere, never wanted to do anything. One time he invited me over to his apartment with the expectation that I would sit on the couch and watch him play in the floor with Star Wars toys. It was so gross and weird and childlike. I’m not MJ or Peter Pan, OK. I don’t want to watch you play like a 7 year old boy. We broke up many years ago. Last I heard his life was pretty much what I had predicted it would turn out to be. So sad. Some people may want or need a polar opposite to be happy. I just don’t. Compatibility to me means we’re at least on a similar baseline of understanding. Not clones, but a similar wavelength. Instead of Must Love Dogs or Must Love Cats, it’s Must Love Trump.
