in which i reflect on my new year's resolution to stop dating stoners

I realized the other day that I have a post started and saved here in the old dashboard titled, "resolutions for 2010." I never got very far on it, since there's only one sentence in the post: "1. Stop dating stoners."

But frankly, if I accomplish but one thing in my life this year and it was that very thing, I'd be decently satisfied with that.

And here comes the segue train into the station -- look who's driving! It's Mr. Barely Legal!

I was talking to someone the other day about Mr. Barely Legal and I believe the exact terminology I used was that we'd seen each other for a hot, hot second. And since it was long about Tuesday through Monday, I think that's the only way to really capture it. Less than one week. SIX DAYS. And yet, y'all, I think I scarred him for life. That may also be because I am some sort of succubus, but we'll get to that later. Let's poke fun at him first, and then I'll disclose more of my crazy.

Mr. Barely Legal had this habit of trying to drop some knowledge on me. He wanted to share interesting stuff he knew, and don't we all? Only problem was most of the stuff he "knew" was either a.) not true, b.) ridiculous or c.) just plain made up. Allow me to share my favorite.

We're in the car, Mr. BL, me and the mutual friend who introduced us, on the very night we met. I'm driving, and we're heading back to my place after making a Starbucks run. We were probably talking about swear words, as I am wont to do, and the word cunt naturally flew from my mouth, as it is wont to do. And he says to me, "Do you know where the word cunt comes from?"

And y'all, I'd just met the kid. I had no judgment of his intelligence at this stage in the game. And I'm thinking to myself, why, no! I don't know where that word, oh favoritest of swear words, comes from. How wrong of me! Why not let him enlighten me with a story that I may share in the future at dinner parties and bat mitzvahs?

So I say, "No, I don't. Where?"

And he says, "It's short for a word for the vagina."

And I'm thinking, what!? A word for the vagina that I don't know? Me, of all people, to not know of a word for the vagina? (Although last night at a Vagina Monologues meeting I did learn of the term "pocketbook," which I will now be using excessively. Prepare yourselves.)

"Yeah," he says. "It's short for cuntilingus."

I snorted a little bit. I know I did y'all, I know I did. I said, "Cuntilingus, huh?"

"Yeah," he said. "Cuntilingus."

I said, "Actually? The word is cunnilingus. And actually? It's not so much a word for the vagina as something you do to the vagina. You know? Like fellatio, that fancy word for a blow job?"

"Oh."

And that was just the beginning. Just a few minutes later he wanted to tell me that Steely Dan should really get more credit because it's just the one guy. Really? You're going to try to drop knowledge about vaginas AND music on ME? This is unwise, son. I said, try again. Two guys. But thanks for playing. Cuntilingus.

So on Monday night of our six-day affair, when I talk to our mutual friend on the phone and he tells me that Mr. Barely Legal has told him, and I quote, "I worship at the temple of Elizabeth," I probably shouldn't have been shocked. I shouldn't have been shocked that he also told him we were pretty much headed toward a relationship. Because this was not a highly perceptive person I was dealing with. I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was.

I wish I could tell you that this was it, that after I found out he worshiped at my temple, I cut things off. I wish I could sell myself to you as someone with that level of sanity. But I just don't have it. So instead, the next time I got drunk and was looking for ways to entertain myself, I texted him. And did I just do that the one night? Noooooope. In fact, I decided it would be prudent to text him while drunk IN LONDON. And he certainly wasn't the only person who apparently needed to know my every thought during that trip, but I have my own idiocy to thank for my AT&T bill. He can't be held responsible for wanting to be at my temple.

So all this texting, of course, eventually resulted in several back to back phone calls, all of which I ignored, this past weekend. These were accompanied by one very, very sad voice mail that actually made me think maybe we were entering serious problem territory. It was long, and full of pauses, and drawn out and emotional and all I could think, like the time my Colombian lover told me he still wanted to be friends, was WHEN did we establish this deep emotional bond and by GOD, where was I when it happened!?

Luckily, it's Friday and the last I heard from him was Sunday night -- two back-to-back ignored calls and a few texts. Maybe, just maybe, that will be the last I'll have heard from Mr. Barely Legal. And hopefully I can make good on my single solitary New Year's resolution: God dammit. Stop. Dating. Stoners.

You can help hold me accountable, right? Aww, thanks y'all.


cheers,
elizabeth