He asked me out and said it’d be the best night of my life.
“Are you dating any other people besides me?” He asked, on our first date.
“Yeah, you know, I’m getting out there,” I said.
“Are you having sex with them?”
“No,” I assured him, thinking he’d be delighted.
“None of them?!” He was aghast.
“You’re not even giving them hand jobs!?” He exploded.
“Well, you know, I’m just sort of in the getting to know them phase.” I explained.
“Soooo…These guys are spending their hard-earned money on you and you’re not even giving them a hand jobs?!” He was practically shouting. “You don’t think that’s just a little cunty?”
I laughed but he wasn’t laughing.
“What? Does the word cunt make you uncomfortable?! People like you fascinate me. How could you give a word such power?! It’s a little, tiny word. You’re what’s wrong with America!”
He seemed to take it deeply personally that I wasn’t out hand-jobbing it up on every corner.
“You’re so guarded!” he concluded.
On our second date, he told me his dad was verbally abusive and would make everyone uncomfortable so he felt completely at ease in uncomfortable situations. He sort of took pride in it. He told me about the time that he insulted a girl so badly she started crying on a night out with mutual friends. He said this unapologetically, just as if he was telling me he had played hockey in high school. He also told me all about the girl who’d broken his heart when she cheated on him and that being around pretty girls actually made him feel like he was being punched in his stomach.
“So that’s what all this is about,” I thought, “He thinks I’m pretty!”
One after the other, the dark secrets tumbled out of his mouth like crippled little acrobats from the Darkness Olympics.
Truth be told, if hanging around and being called a cunt could fix what had been broken by his angry dad, the girl who’d cheated on him, and the pretty girls punching his stomach with their beauty, I probably would’ve kept doing it. But I guess being called a cunt can really only sustain a relationship for so long.
Around this time he started sending me mixed signals by getting a girlfriend. “Two can play that game!” I thought, and I got to know his girlfriend as well. (She was pretty terrific.) I hope he found all the hand jobs he was looking for… and to this day, I still never ever have sex on the first date unless I am raped.
When a guy calls you a cunt and/ or cunty on a first date do you:
a) Tell him that no amount of hand jobs will fill his pain hole.
b) Tell him that the only hand job he’ll be getting that night is from himself.
c) Focus on the fact that he’s wearing a suit and have another vodka.
d) Go out with him again and try not to be such a cunt this time.
Spending the weekend in beautiful Ojai reminded me how grateful I am that the pioneers discovered California. It’s mind blowing when you think of it. They could’ve easily stopped at Kansas after months of only seeing flat land and unbearable humidity. They could’ve decided that the rest of the country would just be more of the same. They could’ve stopped at the Colorado mountains, as their associates dropped off right and left from random plagues and canteen contamination, and everyone surely would’ve understood. But no, they forged onward. They had an instinct that something amazing was ahead and they were right.
They were about to be rewarded by finding California with its perfect weather, soothing oceans, and delicious taco stands. How did they know to keep on? It’s astounding. They must’ve been guided by voices, a calling, just like all of us who are heading toward a dream. So when it seems impossible and your friends are dying, when your musket has lost its luster and your knickers are soiled, when your covered wagon has a broken wheel and smells like syphilis, just remember: keep going. On the other side of your seemingly endless Kansas is your California.