By the Author
(a story that could be true)
Ive never been a big fan of letting people watch me eat but often times it’s unavoidable. I find myself in one of these situations right now. A second date with a girl I have no intention of actually seeing again. On my way to pick her up, I started to break down just how much time I spend doing things I feel obligated to do based on made up rules that I have set for myself without actually consulting myself. Which means they aren’t really rules at all only mild suggestions.
People don’t watch themselves eat and I feel this is a problem. This is something we do countless times in our lives and it would be logical to gain some sort of idea of how we carry ourselves during this act. The girl sitting across from me could benefit from this. The manner in which she eats is one of the many reasons she will never be my girlfriend but she will never know this. She eats like a dog who learned how to use a fork but didn’t unlearn how to eat like a dog.
If I were to hold up a mirror right now, she’d see the manner in which she slides food into her small mouth instead of just taking a bite. Then she’d see the rather infantile way she holds her fork coupled with the fact that she lowers her head to meet said fork instead of doing the exact opposite which, I assume, is why she hunches a little bit when she walks.
Which is another reason she will never be my girlfriend.
The dinner is mostly silent and this is making me uncomfortable but I’m torn. On the one hand, I could maintain this silence and guarantee that she will never want to see me again (hopefully), or I can spark up some sort of conversation but I run the risk of her assuming that I’m actually interested in speaking to her. But I suppose I did that already by inviting her here in the first place.
Fact is, I’m not really sure what to say to her. Every man has that moment where we realize that we’ve run out of our stock date banter. I have a particular type of date banter. The trick is to create a bunch of theories and talk with your hands a lot. Dramatic pauses are also key. I’d like to think that my rant regarding the importance of Saved by the Bell to my generation got me into her bed last week but I’m not 100% sure. But with her I haven’t run out of banter, I just don’t want to waste it on her. She doesn’t quite deserve to hear my thoughts on Owen Wilson.
Ten seconds later I cave… kind of.
“So how’s the food?” I ask.
She looks up rather curiously as if I she just realized I was there. “It’s great actually. You’re a pretty good cook.”
“Yea I have my moments.”
No I don’t.
“I cant wait to see what you choose next we see each other,” she winks.
But we won’t.
Her pushiness and presumptuous nature add yet another reason.
But in that moment I remember how cute her voice is and why I somewhat enjoyed her company last week. In that moment all of my micro reasons for kind of hating her melted away. But it didn’t last very long as my mind likes to ruminate on things that it really shouldn’t–like the way she insists on holding that fork. After this thought crossed my mind, I let out an involuntary “yelch!” and shook my head in disgust as I often do. I don’t have much control over my actions when I’m stuck in my own head. This is a constant issue.
Her reaction is a little strange. She giggles a little and says “That bad huh?”. This bugs me because up until this point I figured I was doing a pretty good job of hiding my feelings.
“So what’s wrong?” she asks filled with enough awareness to turn me on a little.
I look at my glass and realized I was drunk enough to be painfully dishonest.
I then look down dramatically, shift my eyes side to side a few times and look back up and sigh. In movies this means the character has actually been thinking about what they are about to say.
“Well here’s the thing. We had sex last week. So I feel that I already know everything there is to know about you.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
I’m growing nervous because she just asked me to explain my bullshit which I am NOT very good at.
“To me, having sex on the first date is like telling someone your life story. Yea we’re having a good time and yea we’re engaging in meaningful conversation but where’s the mystery? What do I have to look forward to for the next date?”
I’m making this up as I go along.
She stares at me blankly “You’re kidding right?”
“I hope so.”
“So why did you invite me here?”
“Because we had sex last week. Felt like I kind of had to. Didn’t want to come off as an asshole and never speak to you again.”
I’m no longer making any sense.
“You dont see the irony in that statement?”
“I think I’m subconsciously choosing to ignore it… is all.”
At this point I think she finally realizes that being here is a sad waste of her time and she starts gathering her things. For a moment I think about being a good host and showing her to the door but I just sit there instead. No reason to make this moment more awkward than it already is. I only glance at her here and there confirming that she’s actually still in my house. She moves rather silently which reminds me I need to put ninja pro on my default class once she departs.
“You know, your theory on Saved by the Bell being detrimental to your generation was actually quite good,” she said as she left. “Just wanted to tell you that.”
This hurt. Because of this, I’ll spend the next few days contemplating whether or not I should call her until I inevitably drunk text her from Max Fish next week. This is my life.
Me and my fucking rules.
esterday (or today… depending on when I post this) Ricky Martin “came out”. The world at large spoke in one voice. Together as one we said: “NOOOOOOOO SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.” Now I get it. I get that someone coming out is the same as someone admitting that they cheated on their significant other. It’s more about the individual getting it off their chest and less about revealing it to those around them… I guess.
ut as the person being told, you can’t help but feel that it’s about you and naturally feel a little insulted that the person assumed you didn’t already deduce this. And it’s difficult to not feel this way unfortunately. I remember a few years ago when I heard someone at school had came out. My response was: “What do you mean “came out”? He came out to me the first time I heard him say the word ’stuff’.” 
here are too many ego’s at work when it comes to the big “reveal”. Fox news right now just told me that Ricky Martin has a big secret he wants me to know. This is inaccurate. Ricky Martin doesn’t want me to know anything. He doesn’t care that I know. If my singular one on one experience with said situation is any indication, Ricky Martin just wants to be able to make out with dudes in public because of the simple fact that it would make his life that much easier. 
little while ago, a friend of mine sat me down and started the conversation with a *sigh*. I already knew where this was going. He was either going to tell me he had finally killed his shit girlfriend or that he was gay and I was really REALLY hoping he killed her. But that’s another story all together. So he told me and I explained to him that I already knew and was basically waiting for him to tell me. This was a huge weight lifted off of both of our shoulders.
