A question I have asked myself many times before.
So Julian made a discovery : the Cranberry Canada Dry I drank a liter of last night was not Diet, it was the regular sugary shit.
I clearly was not paying attention when I grabbed it off the shelf.
And by all logic, that should have damned near killed me. But here I am, alive and not in the ER or nothin’, and what’s more, I didn’t even have any symptoms.
Part of that can be explained by the fact that I mixed it with some red Gatorade Zero so it was not at full strength.
But that’s like saying, “I think what kept me from getting hurt when that Mack truck ran me over was my parka. ”
I mean, yeah, that probably helped a little, but you still should be dead.
But it seems to me that the panic attack I am having right now is hurting me more than half a liter of sugar water did.
This makes no sense.
Though I have a theory. Maybe I walk around with such a sky high blood glucose level normally that more makes little difference.
Either way, it’s rated “Still way too much!!!!”
That’s probably too good to me true though. Wishful thinking, in a sense.
Thanks to Julian’s alertness, I am at least spared from drinking the other half of that bottle of death.
I mean, sugar water is what they give you if they have to raise your blood sugar really fast because you’re on the verge of hypoglycemic shock.
Which I… was not.
It’s a date
Oh well, what the hell, I am going to try online dating again.
Gonna sign back up with OKCupid. I thought I already had an account but apparently expired because the password no longer works.
Oh well. Just means I’ve got to answer a fuckton of questions again.
As patient readers know, I have not had good experiences with online dating. I rarely find a profile that stirs my interest at all – all these dudes seem so bland and dull.
Whereas my own profile never gets any interest because I fill it with so much verve and personality that it freaks people out.
Either that or they hate fat dudes. Probably a little of both.
Personals style sites are worse. So many dudes thinking with their dicks and talking about what they are “into” and I seriously don’t fucking care.
What I want to know is if you test positive for a brain and a personality.
I will admit that a big part of the problem is me. I am extremely fussy about with whom I associate. The fraction of humanity with whom I am compatible is depressingly small.
Part of the price paid for this sky-high IQ of mine. I wish I had the social and emotional agility to get along with anyone regardless of their level of smarts, but the truth is that while I don’t consider dumber people lesser than me in a moral sense, the bitter truth is that I can only truly connect with those who can “get” me.
And for me, there is no affection without connection.
Everyone else is free to enjoy the ambiance and free food but they’re not getting into the club. Sorry.
More after the break.
The Second Date
Yup, More on dating and me.
I haven’t done it much. Been on maybe a half dozen dates in my life. Eight tops.
It’s a very tough thing when you are Avoidant like me. Facing strangers in any form is rough for me…. but a single stranger? One on one? One who is going to be evaluating me and judging me and deciding if I am good enough for them?
In a word : yikes.
The only worse situation for the likes of me is a job interview. Which it resembles
But the thing is, I know I can do it. I know as a solid fact that I can be very charming, lovable, engaging, witty, and fun.
After all, I do it all the time as Fruvous.
In fact, you could say I have been using being Fruvous to hone my wit and charm and appeal and all that for almost 25 years now.
So in a way I have developed social skills.
But only for a very specific environment. After all, I’m a hothouse flower, remember? I’m not exactly rugged and well adapted to many climates.
I do modestly well in one very specific microclimate and wither and die anywhere else.
Anyhow, back to dating.
Because I do much better online than in real life, online dating seems ideal for me.
Or at least, the least horrible option till my psychic matchmaking service takes off.
We guarantee that we will travel the astral realm and find the spirit most compatible to yours before uniting you in cosmic bliss or your money back.
Honestly, I really need a man. And not just for sex, otherwise I would “cruise” or use a hookup app or whatever.
I have absolutely no interest in “hooking up”, thank you. Not judging anyone else but personally the idea disgusts me.
I fuck people. Not parts.
What I want is a husband. I ache to settle down and make a home with the man I love. Create a safe space for us freaky people and fill it with good people and create our own little Tales of the City situation.
But more homey.
I’m not looking for the high life. Life in the fast line seems like a nightmare to me. I don’t give a fuck about glamour, status. fame, or luxury.
Well okay. Maybe luxury. But the real kind, as judged by me, not this bullshit “luxury” which is about what using the product says about YOU.
Yeah, fuck that. It either gives me the happy sensations or it doesn’t.
But otherwise, all I truly want is domestic bliss.
A house, pets, comfy furniture, a lovely yard, maybe a garden (mostly veggies but with flowers for borders), good HVAC, fun home entertainment stuff, oh, and of course, the best, most comfortable, and coziest goddamned bed we can afford.
With bedding so soft you could spread it on toast.
Look, I don’t judge YOUR fantasies.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.