The months passed by and I felt fairly content with my realization/decision.
If I had to be friends with Il Postino, then so be it; I mourned my loss and decided to move on with my life. One cannot pine away for a man one cannot have–it just doesn’t make any sense. (Well, I suppose technically you can pine away for a man you cannot have, but I chose to be smarter than that.) I made a few very sad attempts at having one hundred lovers…NONE of which panned out.
Do you have any idea just how hard it actually is to accomplish a lofty task like having one hundred lovers? It’s a LOT harder than you would think.
Especially when you REFUSE to engage in online dating and you rely on your witty charm and beauty to float you through the trainwreck that is dating.
Umm…there are a LOT of turds in the dating bowl, so-to-speak, and I’m pretty sure I sifted through more turds than in a three-week overdue litter box.
This is exactly why I ended up abandoning my mission.
I’m entirely too picky to realistically think that I could possibly ever even find twenty lovers over the span of my lifetime, let alone one hundred.
You see, the problem with ME having a hundred lovers is as follows:
1.) I fucking hate most people, and 2.) I have high standards for anyone I would deem worthy of actually being my “lover.”
Number one is pretty self-explanatory: I hate human beings. Period.
Overall, I find them to be petty and stupid. I don’t understand a race of creatures willing to go crazy over a football game for example, or watch ‘reality television’ (hey, I don’t know if you know this, but that shit is soooooo obviously NOT REALITY). I don’t get why bands like Nickleback and Creed still continue to exist. (Oh, yeah. Some people like that shit. And by shit, I mean ‘shit’ in its literal definition–as in excrement; feces.) I don’t understand why people subscribe to organized religion and then follow it to the point of self-destruction and/or the hatred of others. I don’t understand why people don’t/can’t/won’t exercise common courtesy and politeness toward others.
In short, I am an observer. And from what I have observed of human beings from the time I was a child until this very day, I can only conclude that society is rapidly plummeting deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of ignorance and blatant stupidity. I weep for the future of this planet, especially since medical science is now so far advanced that ‘natural selection’ is practically extinct.
Number two is closely related to number one, in fact, number two is really just the fairly rudimentary system I unconsciously put in place to sort out the douchebags from the quality guys. (Here’s a helpful hint: quality men are far and few between. Ladies, if you find yourself with a quality man, hold on to him as long as you can and then some. They are truly a dying breed.)
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been the girl who said shit like: “My husband will be over 6′ tall, with blue eyes, blond hair–NOT BALDING–, six-pack abs and lot and LOTS of money.” (Although I do tend to find myself attracted to men with dark hair.)
In fact, outside of being so dead-set on Il Postino, I guess I’ve just kind of dated and found out very quickly what I do and do not like in a partner. I’ve never really thought myself to have a “type.”
Here are some highlights from my (very short-lived) “Hundred Lovers Project”:
–The over-zealous Christian who chose to remain a virgin well into his late 20’s, which, was the last time I had any contact with him. The likelihood that he is now a 30-something virgin is quite high…unless he actually got married to someone who would put up with his strange self-flagellating relationship with Christianity/God. (“My body is not mine to give to you sexually. My body belongs to God.” Um, really?? Really.)
Although, he seemed to believe that *ahem* other methods of sexual pleasure were not exempt like intercourse was (ever see that episode of Family Guy where they kids abstain from vaginal intercourse in favor for ‘doing it in the ear’? Uhh, yeeeeeah.), and I seemed to believe he had some seriously fucked-up belief structures. Also, it was a long-distance relationship which eventually gave way to him suddenly and inexplicably cutting off all contact with me in favor of some hussy named “Libby.”
He contacted me via email about one month after cutting off all contact with me to say he was sorry and he wanted to ‘be friends.’ I told him to shove his friendship and his Christianity up his ass.
(Oh, and those penis photos you sent to me, Captain Abstinence? Don’t be surprised if they wreck your life one day. Have fun worrying about that incessantly, dickwad. Oh, and good luck explaining that to your future children. ALSO?? Why in hell’s name do men EVER think it is okay to send photos of their penis? So. Classless.)
–There was the drumming genius who played with several bands (as a ‘hired gun’) and also toured with a Canadian heavy metal group. I met him one night at a concert I attended with a few friends, and even though his intellect level was obviously waaay below mine, I decided was just drunk enough to give him a chance.
He and I saw one another for a long enough period of time that I became fairly attached to him, yet, a relationship never came to fruition. This was not due to my lack of trying to make it happen. At one point, I asked him a question that I didn’t think I should have to ask a man in his late 20’s: “Um. Uhh…am I your…girlfriend?”
His awkward silence and hesitation was all I needed to know that I needed to get him the fuck out of my apartment and my life. We did not see one another for probably 8 months after that and then, one day, he came back to me out of the blue. I had been hopeful that he had ‘manned up,’ so-to-speak, and realized what a catch I was.
Instead, he was looking for a regular ‘booty-call’ (I hate that phrase. In fact, I hate the word “booty.”)–though he never said it in those exact words. (And he didn’t have to. The implication that he would only contact me when he was looking for fun had become quite obvious. Eff that ess.) He continued to attempt to contact me even as recently as two years ago. Imagine my delight upon receiving a text from him that said: “Hey what r u doing for Thxgvg,” and I was able to reply: “Hey. I am going to my boyfriend‘s parents’ house. With my BOYFRIEND.”
I was happy he messaged me, actually. Not only was I able to block his number from my phone, but I was also able to let him know that this girl is not anyone’s fuck puppet.
–There was the radiology student from New Hampshire. I met him at a Modeselektor show that I attended with my (then recently) ex-boyfriend and his female co-worker. Modeselektor is a German electronic group, whom I saw at the Paradise Rock Club. Because I am part German, and took German courses in college, I decided I would shout at the band in their native tongue.
Radiology Boy approached me from the crowd, yelling toward me over the music: “YOU SPEAK GERMAN?!!!”
To which I replied: “EINE KLEINE!!!”
He practically begged me to take a photo with him as my ex-boyfriend was clicking off shots of the show left and right. I granted his request and we exchanged email addresses as I promised to send him the photo.
This entire exchange seemed to burn my ex’s ass, so I hammed it up as best I could juuuuust to piss him off a little more. By the end of the evening, my ex was making multiple attempts at shaming me for “just picking up some guy at a concert,” when I turned to him and asked, “What’s the matter? Jealous, asshole? Hey, how’s your 26-year old girlfriend that you met at work???” (Y’know–the 26 year-old girlfriend you had been banging behind my back when you and I were still together?? I wonder, have you tried to strangle her yet?)
Radiology Boy emailed me the very next day and eventually through a few email exchanges he asked me out on a date of sorts. He was of French heritage, was a huge fan of the band KISS, liked to travel and had a great sense of adventure.
I liked him okay as a friend. But I did not like him as a relationship interest, serious or otherwise. At times, I found him to be very sweet, but mostly I found him to be annoying and abrasive. His breath was horrible, which I could never figure out because he had great oral hygiene (unless he ate shit, like actual feces–now THAT would have explained a LOT)—flossed and brushed three times a day.
But, I digress.
Eventually, after quite some time of playing companion to one another, he wanted me to be his girlfriend.
As you can imagine, this put me in quite a pickle. I liked him enough to hang out with him but I didn’t really think he would fare well as my boyfriend (read: I was pretty sure he would annoy me to the point of murdering him). He could be sweet. He could be wicked annoying. He could be kind. He liked to spoil me with presents and adventures. He could ALSO be WICKED ANNOYING.
I didn’t want to be lonely. I didn’t want to be alone.
Eventually, I caved and took on the official title of “girlfriend.”
This did not last long.
After one of my best friends died from breast cancer, I also had a sort-of family emergency of my own. Apparently Radiology Boy felt more comfortable sending me a self-help book from Amazon than he did actually listening to my concerns over this particular matter.
I became incensed upon the receipt of a self-help manual via Amazon dot com, and promptly dumped him via email.
It was a clean break. I probably owed the kid a better explanation than the bullshit one I had given him, but really–how does one tactfully say: “I don’t wish to see you any longer. You have managed to piss me off further than you previously have. Also? Your breath and your personality both stink.”
Does one do that with flowers? A pallet of Listerine? Skywriting?
By this point, I had grown tired of trying to find a hundred lovers. It was more trouble that what it was worth, truly. My sanity was cracking.
As I watched what seemed to be EVERYONE I KNEW getting engaged, getting married, having children, I found myself becoming embittered. Envious.
I wanted those things, too! (Well, at least the having a significant other and getting married part. Not the children part…just…NO. Thank you.)
I began to wonder just what in the fuck it was/is about me that made me different from everyone else. How come all of these undesirable mouth-breathing fools have someone to go home to and I have NO ONE?
I began to wonder if the majority of people just end up settling for someone.
I kind of believe that a lot of people do.
I found myself thinking “Yeah…I guess I could see myself married to this guy/that guy.”
And then? I would find myself swearing at Il Postino under my breath. (“WHY did you get married? WHYYY??”)
I continued to see Il Postino postally.
We would chat and cut up, sometimes taking longer than postally necessary.
One day, Il Postino told me his band was going to be playing their first show since getting back together. I could tell he was excited about it. I made a mental note of the date and location of the show so that I could look it up online.
I was sooooooo gonna go to that show.
And I did.