Monday, October 13, 2008

the way to my heart is through my therapist

These days, everything is a joke to me. No matter how weird, un-amusing, un-funny, awkward the jokes are, more than likely I have either a) made them, or b) laughed at them. Oh, I'm sorry--we're you being serious about that? Let me just finish laughing...

This has created some awkward moments, in all aspects of my life. However, there are some ground rules as to what taboo topics are fine and which are off limits.

Okay topics:

  • Racism. Don't lie, you think it's hilarious even if you don't mean it.
  • Sexism. Last night I said to my straight-gay boyfriend (SGB) after he told me my makeup gave me the "two black eyes" look--"Nothing no one has already told me twice!"
  • Hipsters. No explanation needed.
  • Frat boys and the sluts who sleep with them.
  • Me. (no, I'm not under the "sluts" category, assholes. But you can joke that I am)

The list can go on and on, but I don't want to paint this picture that I'm some excessively bigoted individual, because I'm not. I just know when to have a sense of humor. But there are very few topics that are totally off-limits to me:

  • Anything about God and Jesus. You can make the joke, but I sure as hell am not going to laugh at it. There is a backstory that I'll spare you of, but just know that it involves a sudden burst of wind knocking over a gigantic branch that landed right where I was standing not 2 seconds before.
  • Anything about the Holocaust. Say what you want about big noses (if all my Jewish exes have, then you can too), but the Holocaust is out.
  • My therapist.


Yes, my therapist. You are not allowed to poke fun, hint at, or even seriously put down my therapist or the decisions I make based on the (expensive) discussions I have had with him. Unfortunately, there was a date who just didn't get that.

Enter: Pink Shirt Guy. I named him that because on our first date, he wore a stripped pink collared shirt and popped it. He might have just been wearing this. I'm all for that kind of thing if it was Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October, go support!), but it was July and that shit just doesn't fly with me.

For our third date (surprised it lasted that long), he took me to a nice restaurant on the Peninsula that served less-than-average "Italian" food. Having just finished a photo shoot for a friend, I was tired as hell and just wanted to go to sleep. It sounds a tad trashy to be complaining about being taken out to a nice dinner, but in all honesty the only reason I accepted was because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Am I bragging? No. It was just clear that we weren't compatible, and he wasn't getting it, and I'm a nice (but stupid) person.

Halfway into the dinner, we started to divulge in the reason why I was trying to push him away--because I just wasn't ready for a relationship. Yes, it wasn't just about incompatibility, but also my heart was broken and the wound was still fresh. How do you explain that to someone you've been on three dates with? First of all, you don't. Second of all, you stop going on dates with him! Learn how to say no! Also, get a therapist (and actually listen to him).

"Look, I really appreciate everything, Pink Shirt Guy, but really, I just don't think I'm ready to go any further with this." (further than what? We made out. Once. Wooooo...)
"Is that what your therapist said?"
"It's something that, through many discussions, I have decided is the best idea for me to do right now."
"Alright, well you know the reason why he told you that right? So he could sleep with you."



"Wait, wait--what did you just say? So he could sleep with me? He has no interest in me! Why am I even explaining this to you!?"

Then I ordered the most expensive dessert out of spite, sat dumbfounded, and he just continued on with his theory about how my therapist wants to sleep with me.

Once we got outside, I fumbled around for my pack of cigarettes, handed him one (he smoked, but never inhaled), and smoked furiously for the next 5 minutes. As he kept inching closer and closer to kiss me, I finally blurted out:

"Stop. Right there. Just, stop. I don't feel like being close to anyone right now. Very...uh...claustrophobic...right now. Yeah."

The next week he tried texting me to come over (he said he was "done with dinners, let's get drunk at my place so I can roofie your drink". Okay, I made that roofie part up, but I'm sure he was going to do it). I told him I was busy and never heard from him again.

Then I fooled around with my therapist.


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