an emily blunt rant
whine about the dating scene - I avoid it.
most of my romantic faux pas can be directly linked to my morbidly
shy flirtation techniques. Sure, I can babble on endlessly in
a group of many on several subjects and keep up with a multitude
of topics by pivoting between the dialogs. But, God forbid a
man I actually find attractive jumps into the pot. Then I become
a mute bimbo, or worse, a silly girly girl. I morph like a creature
from Dr. Moreau's infamous lab, frothy and frilly
a pretty site. Now I leave at the first sign of interest in
a bloke - exit stage left. It's
easier and I've come to live with it. There's nothing I can
do, this phenomenon is out of my control actually. Why? Simple,
because it's just the pesky gypsy curse place
upon my grandmother's head decades ago that to this day my female
family members must endure.
you say. Bruhaha. It's true....one day in a land far
far away, this fancy footed fair faced grandmother pissed off
some gypsy witch while out gallivanting off the Alps of Switzerland.
She fell for, and married, the witch's beloved Johan. Oops.
The result was a verbal exchange (and cat fight) they're still
retelling in folklore fables amongst the local villagers. I'm
convinced that head gypsy witch (looking like the warty one
in The Werewolf in my thoughts) brewed up a big old vat
of hate gruel for the women of my family - and placed a curse
of 1000 dysfunctional relationships upon us.
I am positive
this curse was placed and continues to haunt us. It is just
not natural the things we women folk go through. Cop out? I
think not. I'm a chickbabe and perpetually single. Is it bad
hygiene? Or perhaps a bad personality? Nope, I have one and
I bath. Nope....it's the curse for sure. Oh, negative Nelly
read on, hear my tale, and see if you don't buy into the curse
theory by the end too.
as a bug, yet vivacious outwardly, "phenomenon" has
haunted me since childhood - before I even knew what a silly
boy was. The curse first reared its evil head one innocent day
when a budding crush, a boy named Kenny, and I were playing
on the jungle gym. When Kenny made the mistake of sneaking a
kiss, I promptly slipped off the bars - bang - down I went smashing
to the ground. Two teeth gone and about eight gallons of blood
gushed from my skull. So much for subtle reciprocation huh?
you think maybe it's some weird psychological handicap buried
in the catacombs of my subconscious that releases an endorphin
of memory that men equal extreme pain and dental work?
you go thinking I'm the oldest virgin in the USA
not. I am oddly normal in matters of the boudoir. I mean considering
how hard it is for me to flirt and find a mock-breeding partner.
I've been married twice. Get a grip, it happens. The first time
I was tricked. I was drunk on tequila and great open
skies. It was my first time on the stuff, worm and all. Next
thing I knew, I was head first in a tacky south Texan hotel
toilet, with the 'Wedding March' repeating over and over in
my aching head. In my defense, I'll say I did obviously know
the guy - and for a long time. He just moved in when I was unable
to be logical after getting me liquored me up real good, and
found some backwoods Duke of Hazzardish Justice to quickly get
me to scratch a legal form before the blurring buzz wore off.
I thought it was a joke. It wasn't. It lasted six or eight months.
My mother eventually kind of traded a 1963 Thunderbird for me,
provided he'd "go away"...
you think that relationship added to my already deep-rooted
fear of flirtation and gave me the odd gag-reflex I get when
I see a bottle of cheap tequila?
gets better. The next husband, as a pre-husband, approached
me at a bar I was perusing on a birthday outing. He spit out
about thirteen well timed and hilariously delivered pick-up
lines like "What sign are you?" "Come here often?"
and " Like Sulphur on cardboard we have a match".
He was retro-punky, tall, cute, smart, and had big brown eyes
one could get lost in
first time I took a man's number and didn't immediately dump
it. I never called though.
So how did
we end up married? I brought the encounter up at lunch about
a week later and a gal pal yelled at me about soul mates, serendipity,
and the rest of the make-believe crap one sees blazon across
the screens usually starring Meg Ryan. She grabbed his number
from my pocket book and called him on the spot, and pretending
she was me, made a date for that Friday.
I had dinner
with him, we fell madly in love and we were wed six months later.
That union lasted five years. I'd still be there if it weren't
for one pesky snafu. He had a drug problem which, turns out,
gave him the personality I fell in love with. When he cleaned
up I was left with a sanitized barren shell of a guy that spoke
once or twice a week - if he was feeling spunky. I was going
to slip into madness if I stayed to be sure. I could almost
hear the old gypsy laughing from the beyond....curse her!
again, and afraid of bars, tequila shots and jungle gym's I
remain alone and happy. I'm like a sexual camel. And, It's not
like I don't have a zillion times infinity squared offers to
get down-get funky on a weekly basis, but I also happen to be
very, very picky and find one in a billion actually attractive.
My taste is quirky and often considered
my prince will come. He's apparently fallen off his stead, been
jumped, beaten, and left in a coma somewhere along the road
yeah that's it.