Full Moon Blues; Perception vs. Reality
For starters, the nice Jewish girl I though I had met, turned out to be a foul-mouthed vixen of Polish decent. Seeing as how WWII Germany made no differential between the two, I don�t see why I should either. Iran, Iraq; what�s the difference? Her lack of interest in much of anything appears to be a sticking point. However, based on my latest adventure into the wonderful world of seeking out suitable female companionship, I�ll take gross indifference and someone a bit on the boring side over what I was subjected to over the past set of days.
With this in mind�
PERCEPTION:
It brings me great pleasure to bring you, for the first time in my diary, contradicting points of view on how an outing in my social ventures went. For reference purposes; I met the odd herbalist face to face for the first time at the strange dance club I frequent Friday night, talked to her on the phone no more than three times and agreed to meet her for tea on Monday.
In addition to the following blog she posted on the networking site, she sent me an email I promptly erased that was full of words and phrases like, Withdrawn, Jaded, Struck a Nerve, Paranoid, Feeling Vulnerable, Sneering Skeptically, Not Making Eye Contact and The Connection We Share which were descriptions on how she felt I was acting and feeling.
For fairness sake, here is her blog first:
***
�I had tea with a man I thought I liked last night.
It didn't go so well.
Well... things were going along well for a while and then suddenly I looked at this person and realized that he is looking at me with a mixture of disdane and contempt. This guy who was warmly dancing with me on Friday night was sneering at me coldly on Tuesday night.
The fact that he would not make eye contact and really see the intention within me made communication nearly impossible and I found myself desperately and uselessly trying to soothe this man who I had evidently unintentionally alienated.
-I tried taking his hand because he was so suddenly distant but this merely caused him to shrink away further. I am such a warm person that I sometimes forget that other people like a lot of space and I freak them out a little.
I feel sad that there was no connection last night. I guess it is better to find that out now. Besides which -he smokes! YUCK! For some reason I was ignoring my own rules.
Oh well!
I am sure that there have been worse dates in the history of the world. I am pretty certain that this made my top fifteen worst dates list (keeping in mind that my crazy ex-boyfriend of some years back once took me to Il Fornaio and later to a garbage dump where he was dragging me around by my hair with my feet in sandals; toes scraping against the gravel; threatening to kill both of us.)
Oh well! I can't get under it and i can't get around it so I guess I will have to get over it.�
***
REALITY:
This chick scared the bejesus out of me.
After tea we adjourned to her homestead, smoked some funky shit and had a couple of beers and she proceeded to freak the fuck out.
She was pacing nervously, babbling in tangents and was unable to focus on a subject for more than about two minutes. Anytime I would launch into one of my stories, she would curtly interrupt me and either change subjects or start talking about something completely off the mark. When I tried the same with her, she would get very offended and look at me like she was ready to leap on me and rip my eyes and very sweetly tell me to, �excuse me, but shut the fuck up; I�m talking�. At this point things went from a little weird to down right Single White Female.
Almost every subject manner she brought up for discussion was usually pretty controversial shit (religion, politics, etc) that I have no problem flexing my intellect and battering people with my logic and nuggets of wisdom. We disagreed on just about everything, to a degree that would have bread outright hostility had she even attempted to listen to a descending viewpoint, which she of course refused to hear anyone else�s view on anything. When she finally did settle on a subject and focused really hard on it, she proceeded to recant tales of her twisted love life, up to and including one of her first loves she had at age 15. The age 15 story went on for about twenty minutes, before I advised her that the boyfriend I looked like 17 years ago and the silly behavior and fidelity behind hormonal puppy love was inconsequential in grown up life. I went on to state that her long lost love probably wouldn�t remember her, let alone any of the specific details surrounding their interactions; �live in the present and learn from the past, but don�t live there� was my advice to her. When her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched and a look of pure evil emanated from her, I once again found fear creeping into my veins before she changed the subject once again to some completely different subject. At this point I was wishing I had more than just my keys to defend myself with.
But wait, it gets better.
She paraded her three cats into the living room (where they are normally not allowed) one at a time and gave me detailed descriptions on their personality types, quirks and talked to them about the nice man sitting on her couch. She took great offense when I declined to pet or let any of them come near me because of my extreme allergies to cat dander. She dissected this very simple and very straightforward declaration as if I were making it up. After the cats were stashed, she plopped down again and questioned my sexuality; �you like boys don�t you? (negative response from my end) It�s totally ok if you do, I�ve had Ex-boyfriends that were bi-sexual (interrupt her to reaffirm my previous negative response) and I totally don�t mind if you do. I think it�s actually pretty sexy and a turn on for a boy to (interrupt her again to reaffirm my previous negative response, this time inserting expletives to make my point) kiss another boy.� Once she finished rambling and actually looked at me for an answer that I had already given three times, I made it nice and simple for her � �look, I�m not fucking gay�.
She angrily expressed her disbelief at my real age and I damn near whipped out my license to justify myself but remembered this would have my home address on it and instead just chastised her about giving me shit for being straightforward with her. She attempted to give me colored paper with dragon flies on it because I�m a writer and couldn�t fathom that I was not interested in sitting down and writing a letter with her (wtf?) And she bristled like an ex-convict cornered when I truthfully enlightened her that just because I�m a writer, doesn�t mean that I use pen and paper. My hand writing is illegible and my creative slate is a computer screen and not a notebook. And each time I disagreed or spoke the truth, just before she changed subject matter she would cast me the same seething glances before flipping her face back to some semblance of what pass as normalcy if I hadn�t been subjected to her odd outbursts. By the time she started explaining her artwork to me, I was freaked out very badly and even doing my best to remain poker faced, it must have started to show. I suppose jumping and recoiling from her in unadulterated fright when she tried to hold my hand didn�t help my case either.
She started making demands that I look her in the eye when I was starting right at her and that she was �losing me� because I wasn�t paying attention when I was transfixed with a combination of morbid curiosity and unbridled fear and unable to look away even if I tried. Through out the course of the evening I had slowly and in an unthreatening manner, managed to slip my shoes back on, located my various personal positions and reclaim my hoodie. On one of her last trips to the bathroom I almost went out the door or over the balcony just to flee in pure and utter terror. I was afraid I would then have a crazed woman chasing me from her own apartment and let me tell you whose going to look bad on the police report for that one! I opted for bravery and possible personal harm by taking the semi-direct approach and started looking for an out. The final straw came when she suddenly started singing to me while I was pissing, which of course I couldn�t hear because I was�well�pissing. She insisted on resigning these particular songs to me again so I could �understand� where she was coming from.
Oh I understood all right.
After all this twilight zone marathon session I experienced, she calmly reports to her online blog that �things just didn�t work out� instead of �hey look at me, I�m a lunatic and scared a grown man who doesn�t believe in owning firearms into going and pricing and putting a handgun on layaway!� �I�m special in my own twisted, schizophrenic, fucked up little mind!� �Yippy Skippy!�
Right about now, dear reader, sitting on a couch snapping bubble gum and watching crappy movies on cable TV with a nice boring girl is starting to look like my own personal slice of heaven.
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