The rest of my existence is in similar disarray. Despite the fact that I have a vibrant life in many ways -- ie, I enjoy working with disenfranchised men in north city, I enjoy founding after school programs for my students and learning how to play the drums, I like hanging out with friends and pretending I'm adept at smoking cigars, etc, etc -- I am woefully behind in others.
Case in point: I am living in a one-bedroom apartment with a cat about a decade after this ceased to be socially acceptable. I do not own a home. I am not married. I have no children or golden retrievers. I spend Friday nights drinking whiskey and watching Sherlock. I am simultaneously Behind In Life and also way too far ahead -- surely it's only a matter of time before I move up to a garret and start writing poetry that I hide under my floorboards for future generations to find.
Sometimes I find myself thinking, "If the average person starts dating at 16, and I didn't start until 24, that means I'm 8 years behind everyone else. That means if the average person buys a home at 33, I won't own my own home till I'm 45. That's depressing." I have those thoughts a lot. I try to speed the process up at times, like making my realtor/Dad show me five million homes in one month, or going out on dozens of dates in a short time span. But that doesn't really work either. Observe...
At our last Cigar & Scotch Night, I had just come from a first date. It ranks right up there amongst my most memorable dates. The guy had red hair and freckles, which I'm not going to lie, is kind of enticing to me. Anyway, as I told my C&SN friends, this guy asked me to have a beer, and I checked with Stratski, who, as you may recall is my Dating Mentor (although the effectiveness of this working relationship has been questioned many times). Stratski said sure, why not. It's broad daylight, what could go wrong?
Oh, Stratski. We teach irony for a living. Have you learned nothing?
In the space of an hour or so, this guy, whom we'll call Jerry, boggled my mind. Over a couple of pumpkin ales, he burst into tears and told me his dad had shot himself when he was in 7th grade. I didn't know what to say to that. What do you say when someone drops that bomb on you on a first date? Especially while crying??
Then he told me he thought he might be bi-polar. I was like, "Man... that's intense. You maybe should get that checked out."
"No, I don't want to know. I'd rather just not know."
"Dude, you're a surgeon. Don't you think it's irresponsible to just live in denial if you have a real medical problem?"
It went on like this, with him saying that he'd just started some really good medication that he knew would start working in about month. I made a mental note to check on him in a month. But then Jerry happened to mention that his mental condition was probably biological, and his dad is really volatile.
"Hold up. I thought you said your dad committed suicide when you were 13?"
"Oh, no, he shot himself, but he lived."
DUDE, WTF!?!?!?! You don't start crying in your beer on a first date when your dad is still freaking ALIVE!!!
The date went on and on like that. I finally told him he seemed like a great guy but like he had some things he needed to work on personally before becoming involved with someone else.
At Cigar & Scotch Night, J-Mo said, "E-train, you CANNOT go out with this guy again. You CANnot! He is a TRAINWRECK!!"
"But he has red hair," I counter-argued.
"Are you insane," J-Mo reasonably asked.
But a month later, true to form, I texted Jerry to make sure he was okay: "Hey, Jerry. I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you are doing all right."
Jerry's response was brilliant: Who is this? Oh!! Is this the most mature 19-year-old ever!?!?!Me: No never mind
Only after many more wheedling texts during which time it became apparent that I had opened a Pandora's Box, did I say: This is Elle. You asked me to have a beer with you, but then you started crying, called me a bitch, told me you were afraid you were bi-polar, and then burst into tears again. I just wanted to make sure that you are okay because you told me you'd started medicine but it would take about a month to kick in, that is all.
Now, a normal, red-blooded American male would have been affronted by that text (I think). Not Jerry. He called me. He informed me that he DID start taking that medicine, but that it inhibited orgasms in him so he had quit it. I eschewed hearing about the 19-year-old and got off the phone quickly after ascertaining he was alive and had taken up woodworking.
Now maybe normally, people are supposed to know to avoid this kind of train wreck when they are, like, 25. But I'm behind the curve, you see, and it affected me. Seeing someone cry and talk about the meaninglessness and loneliness of their life got to me.
And that is why I may never own a house...
3 comments:
THANK YOU FOR SHARING.
if you're 8 years behind the curve that means you will own a house at 41 not 45. So you still have 5 years to pick out the perfect one :-)
also...remember how you used to teach me a new word every day to expand my vocabulary?
After reading the last sentence of this blog I described my experience to Google and I learned the word non-sequitur. It's a good one. This is supposed to be encouraging because it means that the statement "I may never own a house" is totally illogical and most likely false. You can do it.
God. I'm even bad at math :-(
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