Diane would sometimes come into Heroland with me and whenever she did, Paul would pull me aside with that childlike smile of his and whisper “is her favorite bird the SWALLOW?” or “Does she like PEARL NECKLACES?”. He was like a 40-year-old teenager himself. There was no subject off limits to Paul, and I loved those conversations which always ended in near tears from laughter.
We all want to act like we don’t need or want anybody. Everyone on dating apps is quick to point out how ‘independent’ they are, and it’s great to be independent; to not need anything from anyone or want to give anything in return…but isn’t also great to be needed and have desire for someone else?
One day, we were talking about safe words and the validity of using ‘funny’ ones. Would the word ‘pickle’ be a viable safe word, or would it pull one or both of us out of the moment completely? But wasn’t that the point of a safe word? As we continued, Gloria opened up about a kink she hadn’t yet disclosed, and which I was unfamiliar. I knew she was into pain, but this was a specific type of pain...
The fallacy of composition is a logical error, a mistaken belief that what's good for one person, will still be good when others do the same thing. That's what internet dating is, because EVERYONE thinks that they're being great by saying things like "I'm kind and I like to travel", but, and I'm sorry to say this, SSSSSSNNNNOOORRE.
I tried to lean in to kiss her neck at one point during missionary and she said “My husband doesn’t like me kissing.” I stopped mid pump and said “He’s not like, under the bed or some shit, is he?”; that got an eye roll, which really wasn’t an answer. I’m pretty sure her husband was under the bed.
I’ve dated some very beautiful women, and in a lot of cases, I end up having to drag one word answers out of them like the worlds most put upon talk show host trying to interview Robert DeNiro. Me: “So, you met Michelle Obama, that must have been fascinating! Were you nervous?” You: “Lil bit, lil bit.”
Matt and I realized we'd been played by Ken. Apparently NOT everyone in California was as nice as they seemed. He was a pussy recruiter, sent out by DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON, to find blondes (anecdotally the hair color of the woman he MURDERED).
Just watching OTHER people seemingly having such a great summer with their significant others, is really pissing me off. I don’t know WHY, I mean, I should say “AH SULUTE! Good for that couple! They found or maintained love in the time of Covid!” but it would be disingenuous if I said that because fuck all of you happy lovestruck sons-a-bitches. Where’s MY ‘love’? Where’s MY holding hands and smiling lovingly at one another on a sunny walk through the park? Where’s MY laughing over wine or craft beer at a nice restaurant? Why is finding a woman who doesn’t make me want to staple bagels to my face, seem like such an impossibility?
The Friend Zone (Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to a man seeking love. It is a dimension as easy to fall into, as it is impossible to crawl out of. It is the middle ground between fear and joy, between desperation and devotion, and it... Continue Reading →