We all have the ability to have a dumb conversation. We all say the wrong thing from time to time, we all misunderstand things.
Then there are people who seem purposefully obtuse.
Like a guy I used to know, whom I fortunately don't know anymore, and whom we'll call "BSJ" here. We had some doozy conversations, but this was my favorite:
Sally: I just applied for a job that requires you to speak a European language.
BSJ: You don't speak a European language.
Sally: Okay, we'll just ignore the fact that English is a European language for now, because I speak some Spanish as well.
BSJ: Spanish isn't a European language.
Sally: What?
BSJ: They don't speak Spanish in Europe.
Sally: What do they speak in Spain, then?
BSJ: . . . Well, where do they speak Mexican?
Sally: Mexican isn't a language.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Insane or evil? I'm both!
I used to write a series of columns for my friend Skylar's website; the series was called "Hey, Free Dinner!" and it was about my trials and tribulations in the world of dating.
One thing I wrote about was the after-breakup explanation. When things don't work out with men, women often say things like "It just didn't work out" or "We're not right for one another," instead of telling the truth: "He's a cheap jackass" or "I think he's probably a serial killer" or "He smells like cauliflower." We don't say these things because we're often brought up to be nice, and kind, and to say good things about people. We're supposed to be sweet, and nurturing, and we're taught that we should never hurt anyone's feelings.
Men, on the other hand, are frequently told to say whatever they want, because they're probably right. So men, when asked why things didn't work out, often go with one of two routes:
"She's insane."
"She's a bitch."
I won't go into the insane discussion here, but I realized a long time ago, while single and dating, how men sometimes get to the "She's a bitch" decision.
And yes, before I go on, there are some really, truly horrible women out there. Women I wouldn't date, because they're just mean, nasty people who are unpleasant to be around. And when a guy says that about a woman I know to be a pretty crappy human being, I can only agree. Yes, she is awful. You are right. No, I don't like her either.
But sometimes, when I read emails like the one currently circulating from the insane investment banker to the woman with whom he had one date, I am reminded of the article I wrote a while ago, and how I came to understand how men can decide that perfectly nice, pleasant women are evil harpyshrews.
Because it happened to me at least a couple times.
Sometimes, a guy would ask me out, and we would go out on a date, and I just wouldn't want it to go further. Sometimes I'd get a good friend, sometimes I'd find a guy to fix up with another friend, and sometimes I had no interest in ever seeing him again.
But because I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I'd try the demure route. And our conversation would go something like this . . .
Guy: Hey, would you want to go out again?
Me: It's really nice of you to ask, and I really appreciate it, but I just see you as a friend.
G: Well, we had a good time, right?
M: Absolutely. You're a really nice guy. I just don't see this going anywhere.
G: Why not?
M: I think we want different things.
G: We could try going out again to see if it works.
M: Yeah . . . but I just think we're better off as friends.
G: Why?
M: I think you're a really nice guy, I just don't think we're supposed to be in a relationship.
G: Well, if I'm so nice, why don't you want to be in a relationship with me?
M: I just think we want different things. You're a great guy. I just don't see this working out.
G: I don't see what you're talking about. I don't know why you won't go out with me again.
M: I just think you're looking for someone else.
G: How do you know I'm not looking for you?
M: I don't, but I just don't think we're right for each other.
G: Well, why not?
M: . . . I just think we'd be better off as friends. I think you'd be a great boyfriend for someone, just not me.
G: I just wish you'd tell me why you don't want this to go further. I don't think you've thought this through.
M: Okay, look. I don't find you physically attractive. You smell weird, you have bad teeth, and your hair is awful. Your choice in clothing is reprehensible. You made fun of my accent, you made fun of my hometown, and you told me my career is pointless. You talked incessantly about how much money you made, and told me how much everything you're wearing costs, but then wanted us to go Dutch. You're not very bright, your opinions verge on the insane, you made fun of things I believe, and you mispronounced or misused at least 25 words in this conversation. I don't want to be around you, much less date you.
G: God, you are such a bitch.
M: Yeah, I get that a lot.
One thing I wrote about was the after-breakup explanation. When things don't work out with men, women often say things like "It just didn't work out" or "We're not right for one another," instead of telling the truth: "He's a cheap jackass" or "I think he's probably a serial killer" or "He smells like cauliflower." We don't say these things because we're often brought up to be nice, and kind, and to say good things about people. We're supposed to be sweet, and nurturing, and we're taught that we should never hurt anyone's feelings.
Men, on the other hand, are frequently told to say whatever they want, because they're probably right. So men, when asked why things didn't work out, often go with one of two routes:
"She's insane."
"She's a bitch."
I won't go into the insane discussion here, but I realized a long time ago, while single and dating, how men sometimes get to the "She's a bitch" decision.
And yes, before I go on, there are some really, truly horrible women out there. Women I wouldn't date, because they're just mean, nasty people who are unpleasant to be around. And when a guy says that about a woman I know to be a pretty crappy human being, I can only agree. Yes, she is awful. You are right. No, I don't like her either.
But sometimes, when I read emails like the one currently circulating from the insane investment banker to the woman with whom he had one date, I am reminded of the article I wrote a while ago, and how I came to understand how men can decide that perfectly nice, pleasant women are evil harpyshrews.
Because it happened to me at least a couple times.
Sometimes, a guy would ask me out, and we would go out on a date, and I just wouldn't want it to go further. Sometimes I'd get a good friend, sometimes I'd find a guy to fix up with another friend, and sometimes I had no interest in ever seeing him again.
But because I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I'd try the demure route. And our conversation would go something like this . . .
Guy: Hey, would you want to go out again?
Me: It's really nice of you to ask, and I really appreciate it, but I just see you as a friend.
G: Well, we had a good time, right?
M: Absolutely. You're a really nice guy. I just don't see this going anywhere.
G: Why not?
M: I think we want different things.
G: We could try going out again to see if it works.
M: Yeah . . . but I just think we're better off as friends.
G: Why?
M: I think you're a really nice guy, I just don't think we're supposed to be in a relationship.
G: Well, if I'm so nice, why don't you want to be in a relationship with me?
M: I just think we want different things. You're a great guy. I just don't see this working out.
G: I don't see what you're talking about. I don't know why you won't go out with me again.
M: I just think you're looking for someone else.
G: How do you know I'm not looking for you?
M: I don't, but I just don't think we're right for each other.
G: Well, why not?
M: . . . I just think we'd be better off as friends. I think you'd be a great boyfriend for someone, just not me.
G: I just wish you'd tell me why you don't want this to go further. I don't think you've thought this through.
M: Okay, look. I don't find you physically attractive. You smell weird, you have bad teeth, and your hair is awful. Your choice in clothing is reprehensible. You made fun of my accent, you made fun of my hometown, and you told me my career is pointless. You talked incessantly about how much money you made, and told me how much everything you're wearing costs, but then wanted us to go Dutch. You're not very bright, your opinions verge on the insane, you made fun of things I believe, and you mispronounced or misused at least 25 words in this conversation. I don't want to be around you, much less date you.
G: God, you are such a bitch.
M: Yeah, I get that a lot.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Everyone is one day closer to death now
My husband put together a wonderful birthday for me. He sent me irises at work, with a quote from my favorite poem in the card.
Curtis: It's amazing how hard it is to find something nice, or happy, or romantic in The Wasteland.
Me: Yeah.
Then he took me to dinner at what is currently one of my most favorite of foods: Ethiopian.
Curtis: This lamb is great.
Sally: Everything's better with a spongy eating blanket.
Curtis: Mmmm, flappy.
Then we went for drinks, in near hurricane conditions, at a bar I've decided I just don't like. It was open-mike night, and one of the performers launched this conversation:
Curtis: Wow. This guy is terrible.
Sally: I'm going to make up a backstory for him. He was the preeminent composer of theme songs for television shows in the 80s, until his unfortunate PCP addiction stopped him in his tracks. Now he's here, in Arlington, trying to put his life back together, and bringing us the musical stylings of his heyday.
Curtis: Yeah, you can actually hear the theme from Greatest American Hero right there.
Sally: I don't know, I got more Growing Pains. Oooh, wouldn't it be great if Kirk Cameron came here now and told us how we were going to hell? That would be awesome.
He also bought me a gift, which I told Tracy about.
Sally: I just opened my gift from Curtis!
Tracy: It's not your birthday. Your birthday is tomorrow.
Sally: I know. But he wanted me to open it tonight.
Tracy: Well, what is it?
Sally: Knives! He gave me a new set of knives.
Tracy: I don't know that that's the best idea ever.
Sally: Because of my homicidal tendencies?
Tracy: No, I just think of knives as a more Valentine's Day gift.
And, finally, he's putting together a party for me right now.
Sally: What do we need to do to get ready?
Curtis: Nothing. I have it planned.
Sally: Well, I was thinking that we needed to get some ice, and make sure we have forks, and I need to clean the bathroom, and--
Curtis: Are you reading this from a spreadsheet?
Sally: No. Okay, yes.
Curtis: Stop it. Stop it right now.
Sally: It's really hard for me to relinquish control of a party.
Curtis: I have The Napkin. I'll get it out. Don't force my hand.
(The Napkin refers to a pact I made with him a few weeks ago. It says "Sally gives up control of her party to Curtis, and she will not discuss it with him at all, other than in positive ways, such as 'I'm so excited about the party' and 'You did such a good job on the party.'")
Curtis: It's amazing how hard it is to find something nice, or happy, or romantic in The Wasteland.
Me: Yeah.
Then he took me to dinner at what is currently one of my most favorite of foods: Ethiopian.
Curtis: This lamb is great.
Sally: Everything's better with a spongy eating blanket.
Curtis: Mmmm, flappy.
Then we went for drinks, in near hurricane conditions, at a bar I've decided I just don't like. It was open-mike night, and one of the performers launched this conversation:
Curtis: Wow. This guy is terrible.
Sally: I'm going to make up a backstory for him. He was the preeminent composer of theme songs for television shows in the 80s, until his unfortunate PCP addiction stopped him in his tracks. Now he's here, in Arlington, trying to put his life back together, and bringing us the musical stylings of his heyday.
Curtis: Yeah, you can actually hear the theme from Greatest American Hero right there.
Sally: I don't know, I got more Growing Pains. Oooh, wouldn't it be great if Kirk Cameron came here now and told us how we were going to hell? That would be awesome.
He also bought me a gift, which I told Tracy about.
Sally: I just opened my gift from Curtis!
Tracy: It's not your birthday. Your birthday is tomorrow.
Sally: I know. But he wanted me to open it tonight.
Tracy: Well, what is it?
Sally: Knives! He gave me a new set of knives.
Tracy: I don't know that that's the best idea ever.
Sally: Because of my homicidal tendencies?
Tracy: No, I just think of knives as a more Valentine's Day gift.
And, finally, he's putting together a party for me right now.
Sally: What do we need to do to get ready?
Curtis: Nothing. I have it planned.
Sally: Well, I was thinking that we needed to get some ice, and make sure we have forks, and I need to clean the bathroom, and--
Curtis: Are you reading this from a spreadsheet?
Sally: No. Okay, yes.
Curtis: Stop it. Stop it right now.
Sally: It's really hard for me to relinquish control of a party.
Curtis: I have The Napkin. I'll get it out. Don't force my hand.
(The Napkin refers to a pact I made with him a few weeks ago. It says "Sally gives up control of her party to Curtis, and she will not discuss it with him at all, other than in positive ways, such as 'I'm so excited about the party' and 'You did such a good job on the party.'")
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Tradition is alive and well at the Boovans house.
On the subject of holidays . . .
Curtis: Now that we have the tree up, why don't we watch a good old-fashioned Christmas movie to put us in the spirit?
Sally: Okay, what?
Curtis: Human Centipede 2.
Curtis: Now that we have the tree up, why don't we watch a good old-fashioned Christmas movie to put us in the spirit?
Sally: Okay, what?
Curtis: Human Centipede 2.
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