“Oh, inside angel, always upset
Keeps on forgettin' that we ever met
Can I bring you out in the light
My curiosity's got me tonight
Keeps on forgettin' that we ever met
Can I bring you out in the light
My curiosity's got me tonight
She's a lot like you
The dangerous type
Oh, she's a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight”
The dangerous type
Oh, she's a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight”
~ The Cars, “Dangerous
Type”
In the past few months I’ve rejoined the dating world…and, truth be told, it hasn’t been fun. Nowhere near as fun as you imagine in those anger fueled fantasies during times of wedded strife. So, here’s a savvy tip from your ol’ Uncle Jer: try really, really hard to “love the one you’re with” as the old Stephen Stills song advises and stay the hell out of the sad, middle aged dating scene.
I honestly don’t remember women
being so cautious and guarded during my last dating go ‘round almost 15 years
ago. I know things have changed in 15 years, but they haven’t changed that
much, have they?
Yup. This about sums it up. |
It really and truly seemed to me
that a good many ladies were just going through the motions – just dating
because they had nothing better to do and think they should be dating. There was just too much passionless disinterest
staring across at me from a good many café tables not to start wondering what
the in the holy hell was going on here.
I’m entirely open to the fact
that this general, feminine malaise could have been my fault. After all, it had
been 15 years since my last date. My looks have changed, sure, but I wouldn’t
consider myself an ugly old man at 44 by any means. Maybe I was doing something
wrong? Maybe I was sending out some desperate asshole vibe or something? I’m
not egotistical enough to think that I’m some sort of perfectly mannered
Adonis, but I have no issues expressing myself and many people do find me witty
and engaging, which can win the day in many dating/social situations.
So, I was at a loss and about to put
things on pause for a while when about a month ago I met someone. Someone I
could certainly see rebuilding my life with. There’s just one problem…
…she has no freak in her. Just trust me on this, she doesn’t. No, I’m not going
into details because I’m not that kind of guy.
You just knew a picture of this super-freaky mofo was going to show up here, didn't you? |
Most rational people would say
that’s a damn good thing. But, no, not me. Older doesn’t necessarily equal
wiser it seems. Jer likes the freak…and the freak likes Jer.
But the freak is dangerous. The freak
will swallow your soul and gleefully ask for seconds while you wretchedly sob
in the corner, looking for the shredded pieces of your life to cobble back
together.
I know this danger full well
because I’ve danced with the freak
several times in my life…and you pay the fucking price when you boogie with the
freak. My three longest relationships
have all been with women who definitely had something of this freak in them. None of those
relationships ended well. Gee, what a shock, right?
These unsettling thoughts have
been rattling around my brain since this new woman left my bed late Sunday
morning. I knew when I awoke that something was missing…it was my old friend
the freak, of course. I know this
unfulfilled feeling all too well because I have experienced it previously. It’s
been some time, but I remember it well. In the mid to late 90’s I cast aside
two fantastic girls (who both really seemed to dig me) because, well, try as
though I may I just wasn’t that into them.
They lacked the freak and the freak in me knew it. End of story. Goodnight, ladies…don’t let the
door hit you in the ass on the way out.
The pained expression on the girl's face here just says, "Yep, I'm totally doing this..." |
There must be some sort of
harmonic resonance between freaks, like humpback whales silently singing to one
another, because when two like-minded freaks get together they can be scarily inseparable,
and that co-dependence is typically the downfall of them both. They’ll
destroy each other in the process of singing the freaky ballad that only their
counterpart hears.
As I stated previously, I am 44-years-old.
I want, no, I NEED a nice, normal relationship with a nice, normal woman. It
seems I could have that here if I could get out of my own goddamn way and close
off my ears to the siren’s song…
…but the call of the freak is hard to deny. I can hear it now, faintly...off in distance...and it's not coming from where I need it to be.
God help me it isn't.
Dude. Give it more time. Let the poor woman at least get comfortable before you show her the Red Room of Pain.
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