are technically referred to as my people’s Cryptonite! (I know I spelled Cryptonite “incorrectly,” but I’m pretty sure one of these ladies was the death of a pater, padre, or padrino.) Yes, Gunther, you’ve never seen me out with a full-bodied, porn-style chick. THIS IS MY WHOLE POINT! Although I’ve dated a variety of women, I fall into the habit of getting seriously involved with a specific physical type: skinny, pointy faced brunette girls with interesting eyes and enough round parts to pump my mojo. These females inevitably (and often obviously) - no, strike that. Obviously. Always obviously these girls present past histories of physical/emotional abuse and I tend to scoop them up like baby birds and love them and so we do it for awhile but they were never really that into a sexual relationship to start so unless I deliver some ultimate cool act they are never that into it and everything gets pretty boring because I’ve been making love to them for a long ass time without a corresponding complimentary energy issue…from their parts. You know. Vaginas and whatnot. Their brains. I don’t know. I guess you’re right. My brain is probably pretty tied into my nutsack. Uh…chakras and shit? Spinal column?
Have you seen Heat Vision and Jack? It’s fricking amazing. Heard about it fo’ evah but finally sat and watched. What a joyous experience- Jack Black… Owen Wilson… Ron Silver… Marcia Brady… Ben Stiller is married to her, right? That dude always wins.
Back to the important stuff, the girl I picked up on last night…she was sitting next to the roomie, Mr. Kyng, well, next to the girl who he was sitting next to, a comedienne with a show at the Comedy Store Friday the 13th at 8 (good luck, girl). This is all at the Swingers Hollywood counter. I had apple pie. It was passable. We talk with the chicks for about half the meal, an eighth with the cute could-be hapa Zooey Deschanel waitress. Kyng, of course, knows her and pumps her for the name of a drummer to play in Kyng’s buddy’s band. Sitting over a partial plate of pasta (the vegetables alone) with his new beekeeping manual, Kyng chats them easily as I barely get in over his shoulder. Both dress like they went to a classy NYC nightclub in 1984. I decide to ask the girl out, she fits perfectly into my type, and when I tell Kyng he’s enthused “because she doesn’t know how hot she is.” We learn the scoops as they are served about 6 plates of food between them. Steamed vegetables and something, plate of mashed potatoes, fries and a veggie joe maybe. Red Velvet cupcake. Both effort towards burgeoning Entertainment Professional status. They attended a function to promote the girl I’m catching by the eye with the old smirk tractor beam. Yes. Tired moves continue to work. As they leave I stand, grab the girl’s hand, and ask her to coffee. You know, non-committal is classy. She gave me the digits.
So when I googled her later some of those semi-obvious psychologically based gestures…you know, the ones that made her seem like she doesn’t know how hot she is, ie. insecurity. The girl has a history of child abuse that made national news, I guess. Yeah, as a student of humanity I knew already…and ignored it, or worse, was attracted by it. All the subconscious gestures we make are a window into our true psychologies (this is what makes Jack Black so great, even a sort of genius, I mean, he does madly entertaining subconscious gestures). Especially illustrative are gestures we make when we are under some sort of stress, even the minute stress of being ogled. And this girl was too nervous to hold eye contact, and then was taking off and putting on her jacket in this way that more about disrobing for attention, you know? Lack of confidence and desire for attention usually end up in your aforementioned emotional baggage situation. So I called her and asked her on a real date: Italian dinner. Classic Dorkus Malorkus move, right?
I didn’t bring up my research over the meal. My lamb risotto was delightful, and reconfirmed my ability to eat anything on the Summer Pilgrimage after my pescatarian period. Great. She got a salad, and just a caprese salad, which is like nothing, and didn’t finish it. I was encouraged by her size-able meal on the first meeting, and now I’m a little worried. Maybe she doesn’t like things in her mouth, right? Again she was pulling the jacket moves. Though we were sitting by the door, the moves seemed to correspond with certain emotional beats of the conversation. The conversation was interesting, primarily because it traversed a strange range of topics strung together with my tangential attempts to flow around yet through my preoccupations with her personal history. I wanted to gauge how she dealt with her problem without letting her know I knew about it. This was eased by her hobby: MMA kickboxing. It allows for a lot of access to adjacent emotional areas. More history displays…(justifiable?) physical clashes with exs…college drug habits…you know…histories of abuse arc with similar stories in our country. The good thing about this whole business: I matured to the point where hearing these tales depressed my sexual interest while still allowing me to be emotionally available. I’d use to just want to save and love a woman with that past. I guess that’s progress. She almost didn’t tell me about the drug stuff because she didn’t want me to know yet. I never told her about my research. Maybe she figures everybody knows, which is why she puts it on her website bio…weird…
When I recounted this story last night over big glasses of bohemian beer, 160 proof Stroh, and blondes in dirndls, Ladybird (my friend and Lyonson’s special friend) thought it was the universe helping my out, reaffirming what I’m intuiting so I could stay where I need to be: distant. She also said maybe the reason I keep meeting these damaged women is because they do need love and friendship and that I’m good at giving those things, so I should. I restated my point that it may be associated with the physical type, pointy faced brunettes, and that eventuality scared me more than anything, because I hate judging people by their looks even though I do it all the time and think it has some limited validities. Lyonson asked me if I had any women in my life who looked like that who I felt strongly about. I said my mom kind of, but definitely my Aunt Theresa who was more like my Grandmother than any other woman in my life. It’s also a very Italian kind of look, which I guess is the genetic tribalistic instincts. We then got into a convo about how everybody watches porno, crazy since Kyng’s been talking about that all week, and how we should go into the biz. While smoking cigarettes with another friend, he pointed out a curvy blonde who was chatting with a shaved head dude in a fox racing shirt. The friend said she was hot, and I said that’s the kind of girl I like to look at in porn, so why don’t I try giving that type a shot in real life?
And yes, I mean from my goo factory. I directed my fairer female slaves to collect my man salve during my morning hand shower and perfect it into a cologne. Why do I attract women with the smell of Salvatore Ferragamo when I should use Eau du My Jizz.
Kudos and Salutations,
Senator Dorkus Malorkus of the Peloponnese
PS- If Kyng and I go into the porno business we’ll meet all those porn chicks. That’s opportunity you can take to the sperm bank.