Anyway, my date night came about primarily because Thursday nights is when my four roommates and a few of their friends stay up until 3 AM playing Dungeons and Dragons and drinking beer. On temperate nights they indulge in the separate garage, and on cold nights, REALLY cold nights they play in the living room.
I am glad that they have this hobby and that they enjoy themselves. That said, I do not understand... at all. I had figured that the Tom Hanks made for TV movie had successfully put a nail through the head of the D & D movement back in the day.
I was wrong.
So, rather than hide in my room listening to people yell about arrow hits and chasing errant 20-sided die across the hardwood floor, I have started going out. It’s a good excuse for me to get out of the house, actually, and treat myself to something other than the work/home/nap/surf the net for Ukranian porn cycle that I have fallen into.
So, the D & D is the main reason I have started these auto-dates, but another reason, if I am to be honest, is that, well, I am single, so I am going out with myself in the hopes of getting myself drunk and taking advantage of myself.
I am without morals these days.
But not really. It’s not like I’d throw myself out into the cold, all naked and confused post-orgasm and slide $20 under the door for myself to take a cab home. No, I’d cuddle myself, nuzzle the back of my neck with my nose and I’d spoon me through a cold and anonymous night.
I would cook myself some breakfast and/or a cup of coffee in the morning if I so desired and give a hug and a thanks and depending on how things went say something like,
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” or
“You know, if you get the hankering, I’ll be saving a place in my bed for you tonight as well,” or
“If you leave I will kill myself in a truly horrendous manner,” or
“If I ever see you again I may be tempted to kick you in the neck,” or
“Sorry about last night. The ol’ Brewer’s Droop. You understand, right? It wasn’t you. It was me. It was just that I met you late on in the night and I really had no intention of going home with anyone. No, honestly. Had I even suspected, even for a moment, that something like this was going to happen I would have been drinking orange juice all night.”
Anyway, last night I went to see Stranger than Fiction with Will Farrell and Maggie Gyllenhaal. It was a cute film; tender. A quirky love story. I liked it and it may get added to my list of best love movies of all time (along with Punch Drunk Love, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Lost in Translation).
So, I was sitting there and, this doesn’t happen often, I totally fell for Maggie Gyllenhaal. I thought she was completely adorable in Secretary, but now... I was smitten. Utterly distracted, I couldn’t even keep up the witty banter I was running with me on my date. I dropped the ball.
Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her weird-shaped head... she is totally cute. Stunning. I envy Peter Sarsgaard, and that Deadly Sin will no doubt land me in hell, but is worth it.
As I say, my celebrity crushes are few and far between. My first was during puberty, thereby excusable, and it was on Alyssa Milano. Then, it was Parker Posey, then it was Janeane Garofalo. Now, Maggie Gyllenhaal. Totally doomed attractions, just the kind I like.
As this dawned on me, this love (?) for someone I would never meet, I looked over at myself and realized that I paled in comparison to Mrs. Gyllenhaal, that I could totally do better. Me with my shitty attitude and utter lack of fashion sense. My musical tastes alone were enough of a forewarning that this wasn’t going to work out, but hell, I was lonely and desperate and just grabbed myself one night, hoping for, well, not excellence, but at least a pleasant distraction.
But to no avail. Here I was, on a date with this me that I didn’t loathe, but didn’t really see any type of future with. And yeah, sometimes you just go out, hang out, no expectations for a future. You both are just out for a good time, a break in the lull. But as I was looking at myself, I looked back at myself and I saw the same realization flash across my eyes, and a soft blink, I squeezed my hand, mouthed a “It’s OK,” with a sad/resigned/relived/totally serene and knowing blink and got up from my seat. I swayed a little bit, tipsy from the beer, and made my way out of the row, only stepping squarely on 4 people’s feet, almost falling face first into the aisle. I recovered from my stumble and walked out of the room.
I watched myself stumble with little to no grace out of the room, saddened only the slightest bit, but happy that we simultaneously and telepathically came to the conclusion that this was going no where. A clean and mutual break, I was amazed. How often did those happen? I counted myself lucky for that.
I sat back, beer in hand, and watched the rest of the film, wondering if Dustin Hoffman chewed with his mouth open. Don’t ask why.
Through the lobby, pushing through the glass doors and into a cold and grey night, unforgiving yet full of possibilities. A whole world for me to explore, to learn, to love and to loathe.
This was yet another beginning, one in a long line of them. Not the first, surely not the last. All I could do was stoke the fires of hope and set off down the street, going where the days took me.
2 comments:
"To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance"
Oscar Wilde
I'll have to check that film out since the very very short list you provided of "romantic" films are among the few I like (and I just realized I own all 3 on DVD).
Also, thanks for the zipped mix Pinky, I like it a lot.
you know, it sucks when you're on a date with yourself,and someone else steps in. then you're just another third wheel, outside looking in.
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