Subtitle: “severe OCD and a collection of t-shirts from Baby Gap.”
Sometimes you just know when to stick in a fork in it because it is done. Sadly I think Arsey Darcy and I are done. To just vanish with no closure is the worst to me. I mean, really. That is the worst kind of bail out. Going along like all is well and then disappearing is shitty. It just is. There are plenty of times when I have to have conversations I dread. Both at work and in my personal life. But you suck it up and do it. You break up with someone the right way even when you don’t want to if you have any integrity about it. As Greg says, no answer is your answer. And that’s true. There’s plenty of dating advice out there that if a man leaves you to “process his feelings” and then returns, you should be beholden to take him back. To me, if a guy disappears after only two dates, it’s best to assume he’s strapped on his skates and he ain’t coming back. If he meanders back like Dorky Dork-ass and wants a third date, I’m afraid he’ll be waiting a mighty long time.
I suppose when you know that you are actively putting out a fleece for God’s feedback, well, you get what you get. He’s either going to tell you, “Yes, this is the right direction” or “No, it isn’t. Halt.” (Or is it maybe the One Direction? LOL. Couldn’t resist. I still don’t know why Simon wants to resurrect the boy band phase.) My friend Frank said it well today, “He just sounds like too much of a project for you.” I knew that on the first date, honestly. Hoping things would change on the second date was mostly wishful thinking on my part. (Even Gideon put his fleece out twice to be sure.) The whole deal about no rollercoasters and severe anxiety and pompous, dilettante lectures on art = just fcuk no. Just no. No, dude, no. Arsey and I are on two different planets. He even sent me some goof-ass message about staying on his bicycle for seven hours last weekend. Can a man have any testicles left after being strapped to a cycle seat for that length of time? I ask because I honestly am not sure . . . I know it sounds weird to say that oddball stuff like mocking my love of Trump and unwillingness to ride rollercoasters with me are deal-breakers but hey. Every person I’ve ever known who has mocked my love of Trump has not lasted in my life very long. Or they have not turned out to be people I could maintain any level of closeness with. See I think he’s so polarizing because people either fall into the camp of “getting” him or not. And if you don’t, you probably hate him. And that’s OK. Because those people can hang out with Arsey Darcy and my friend Paul who has the testosterone level of a small mouse and all have a big wuss party together. Meanwhile, I’ll be doing shit that’s actually, like, FUN. (And I might do those things whilst eating Trump chocolates and drinking Trump water, I just don’t know.) My point really is this: certain birds of a feather flock together. And certain birds not of like feather end up in a vicious cockfight (said in best Ron Burgundy voice). When you have a potent zest for life, being around slack-asses who don’t is unbearable. Maybe that’s the take-away here. I’m sure Arsey will make a perfectly fine, sturdy husband for whichever girl he’s bashert for. If he finds a socially anxious Van Gogh fan who wants to read Nicholas Sparks with him in the eldercare book club, voila! He has hit a home run. That girl is NOT me and never will be. There is something to be said for a curiosity and passion about life itself. My bashert has that. For all his faults and flaws, I think we share a fundamental joie de vivre. That’s pretty special.
