>I just came back from the gym, mm i feel soo relaxed right now. I want >a guy to just hang out and lay back with.
>I am sick of flings. I am sick of getting my heart broken. My >ex-boyfriend was a douche and I just want to meet nice guy. I'm >crossing my fingers that this new experience will work out.
>I am loving person and just want to meet 'Mr. Right' if there is such a >thing.
My mother used to say that there was nothing wrong with being bored, unless you make a habit of it. But if the empty bottles laying around our house were any indication, I believe she meant that there's nothing wrong with doing alot of anything, as long as you don't admit you've made a habit of it. First steps are tricky like that. You see them in the daylight and negotiate them fine, but in the dark you wind up missing them and breaking your neck. Except instead of a neckbrace, you get lots of wood coins, or chips, or whatever they call them. (Well in Mom's case, she got the brace as well. Wheelchair too. Which in turn negated any need for stairs in the first place. I didn't mind, though. Ranches are easier to maintain. And let's face it, she wasn't gonna be cleaning the gutters. Not with those withered, useless hands.)
Listen to me, I've probably turned you off already. Let me just say that you shouldn't worry--I'm not a mama's boy, and I'm not into the Oedipal thing. And even if I was, I don't know where my dad is and I don't have a shovel, so I'd more or less be fucked from the word go. In more ways than one. No, it's just that knowing that little bit of my history will save me some explanation later, should we decide to meet. (fingers crossed) I hope we do. You seem interesting.
Like how you described your ex. How you called him a douche, like he wasn't worthy of the extra three letters that are normally tagged onto the end of that particular insult. That's a kind of coldness I can get behind. (Again with the necrophilia allusions. Good thing my innate fear of Germans keeps me from buying into Freud's nazi bullshit.) I dig your vibe, is what I'm saying, and I think you and I would be good together, in the kind of tragic way that might make a good short story. I'm probably not Mr. Right, but from what I hear, that guy's pretty fucking boring.
Who the hell knows what they want, anyway.
- Mr. Suitable
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About
You wake up one day, and you decide that you're bored, lonely, hopeful enough to wade through the personals in your favorite online classifieds. Some of what you read intrigues you. Some of it makes you sick. Some of it makes you itchy in ways that you don't quite understand.
So you reply. But instead of the using the same mindless generic language, the emoticons and the ellipses, you try to be honest. You tell your story without glossing over, without hiding behind euphemisms and colorless adjectives. Instead of a laid-back, confident SWM, you're a commitaphobic, doubt-riddled trainwreck. Instead of a spotaneous, affectionate DF, you're an insecure manic depressive.
And when it's all over--when you're on the screen and out of your head--you feel better. You feel worse. You feel human.
You do it again.
So you reply. But instead of the using the same mindless generic language, the emoticons and the ellipses, you try to be honest. You tell your story without glossing over, without hiding behind euphemisms and colorless adjectives. Instead of a laid-back, confident SWM, you're a commitaphobic, doubt-riddled trainwreck. Instead of a spotaneous, affectionate DF, you're an insecure manic depressive.
And when it's all over--when you're on the screen and out of your head--you feel better. You feel worse. You feel human.
You do it again.
A Word About Anyonymity
All the personals are real, pulled from the internet. Out of respect for privacy, all names and identifying characteristics, when applicable, are removed.
The responses are fictionalized.
The responses are fictionalized.
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