I found the boy version.
Dear Muchachitas,
So, as I detailed in Online Dating Disaster Pt. 1, I’ve just recently gone through a flurry of totally ludicrous first dates. So silly, in fact, that I’m left with no choice but to share. The Old Dude was a rabid psycopath, but the Manic Pixie Dream Boy was actually totally kind-hearted (whatever, I’m changing distinguishing characteristics). Does everyone know what the Manic Pixie Dream Girl is? Invented by male screenwriters, she’s an eccentric, childlike, whimsical hipster Tinkerbelle – usually in bangs or retro specs — who bewitches and inspires but has zero traits resembling a grownup female human. She’s Natalie Portman in Garden State, Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Zooey Deschanel in everything.
I found a Manic Pixie Dream Boy, which is sort of a unicorn. On paper, he was so intriguing. A physicist (couldn’t begin to explain his occupation), an artist (small scale thread installations of Bettie Boop and Jessica Rabbit), a rapper (his Youtube video, “Law School Fool” got several hundred views), and a jewelry designer (leather anklets). He sounded BONKERS and looked like Aladdin. Couldn’t wait to meet him.
But we sat down at a tiny, crowded Mexican spot on the Lower East Side, and I was suddenly caught in a crossfire of his thirty-two competing interests:
Dude: Have you heard of [whoever-the-fuck’s] theory of [something-or-other]?
Me: No, but…
Dude: If you walked from here to the wall, you’d hit a halfway point, and then halfway to the end there’s another halfway point, and then…
Me: I don’t get it. Uggh, I feel so dumb!
Dude: Don’t say that! I felt dumb the other day and overcame it with vivre and passion. My friend asked me to give a toast at his wedding, but not a real toast, he wanted me to do my thing.
Me: Your thing?
Dude: YOU ASKED FOR IT!
As I’m thinking, “No, nooo, I so didn’t ask for it,” he launched into a full-on spoken word performance. In the middle of the restaurant. And it was long — like five minutes — and interactive. There was call and response. I participated because, well, I didn’t see any way out of it.
Me: That was impressive!
Dude: Ah whatever. I’m impressed by you! Writers are true artists. Ever tried visual art? I invented something called an “art purge,” where I invite people to my house and pull out the canvas and the watercolors and the chalk and we just let it all out, man, we just CREATE. Let’s do it now!
Swear on everything, he pulled out a piece of paper and Crayolas, and invited two couples sitting next to us to join in on this purge. My soft taco came shortly thereafter, and then I feigned a major deadline. He really was a nice guy, but he never in checked in once to see if his audience was still with him — which is not good during a spoken word performance, or on a first date.
Sigh. Until the next installment.
I was on Day Five of a blowout, so things were sketchy. To freshen up, I massaged Pantene Blowout Extend Dry Shampoo into my roots, and spritzed with the new Narciso Rodriguez For Her Hair Mist (at Sephora). Btw, this is my favorite fragrance, if only because the designer based the ultra-feminine floral-amber on the musk worn by his BFF/muse Carolyn Bessette. So glamorous.
xoxo,
Mme. Trilliams