The Crown Princess of Pareidolia

Alright, now think about this:

A triangle. A dating meme. It’s probably sexist; I don’t know. I can never keep up with that stuff.

And this triangle, at its corners, it says, “Smart,” “Sane,” “Good-looking.” At its center, it says, “You may pick two.”  The implication being, I suppose, that every woman is dumb, ugly, or insane.

Thus my warning about it probably being sexist.

But still, if we can accept, arguendo, our probably sexist triangle as holding some tiny grain of wisdom, a rule of thumb or kernel of truth, then I ask you: Where does that leave me?

Hmm?

It leaves me at a real disadvantage, that’s where.

It leaves me two corners shy of a full triangle.

The Great Grim Reaper Challenge of 2015

I still remember the very moment when I became a Grim Reaper.

It was this past Thursday, November 5, at 8:45 PM, to be maybe more exact than is necessary. I had just run three miles and I was lying in my van in the Rice Stadium parking lot with my legs hanging out the back door, and I was listening to Jenny Hval’s Apocalypse, Girl, which was my favorite album in the whole world back in those days.

And all I wanted to do at that moment was to lie there and chill, listening to Jenny sing about Heaven and about wires and cunts, but my friend, Aesop, was in the front seat, smoking a joint and worrying about my dating life.

“I’m worried about your dating life,” he said.

“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m not.”

I wasn’t.

Skusting.

“Skusting.”

Belloq, who was formerly known as “Indiana Jones”  in these pages, says “skusting”  when what she means is “disgusting.”  I find this to be an endearing quality, even though by now she has used the phrase roughly half a dozen times tonight.

In Belloq’s defense, it is completely appropriate given the circumstances of our date. The food in this restaurant we’re in? It’s disgusting!

It is not as though we were not given fair warning, either. We have eaten here on four of our five dates so far, and each time, found the food even worse than the time before. By now, it has sort of become “our place”  by default, which is unfortunate and does not bode well for the relationship. Meanwhile, defying all odds, the food just keeps on getting worse and worse.

Tonight, we are here later than we normally are. What this means is that the dinner hour chef has already gone home for the night and some third rate apprentice is minding the stove top. Much to the surprise of Belloq and me, the apprentice’s cooking is somehow even worse than the chef’s.

This cooking is not merely awful; it’s an endurance test. It’s the kind of bad that cannot possibly be by accident. I am telling you: This kind of bad has gotta be intentional. 

I’m a Creep

It is beginning to dawn on me that I might be a little bit creepy.

But only a little bit.

Not the “Hey, Maude, let’s go grab some pitchforks and torches and drive this freak out of town on a rail”  kind of creepy. Not even the “I think I’m going to cross the street right here to try and avoid having to talk to this weirdo”  kind of creepy.

Just, you know… a little bit off.

I Have a Date!

I have a date on Friday night. An actual date with a real, live, breathing human being who probably ought to know better.

This Friday, I have my first first date in nearly nine years.

I should end this blog post right here, you know? I am not going to be able to top that intro.