Sitting at the most hipster cafe in the city, drinking some over priced foreign Oolong tea with my partner in crime. The art on the wall doesn’t make any sense. The music is a combination of the Pharcyde singing ‘nigga, nigga’ and other songs made of unintelligible sad sounds. Everything here is made of huge slabs of beautiful wood, iron and brick. This place is perfect.
A hipster in his native habitat sits just left of center of the largest wooden slab table in the place. His Mac open next to his mug of french pressed coffee as he is hunched over and sketches his latest drawing. He is wearing a brown trucker hat that matches his massive and warm looking beard. His eyes and nose barely visible. A relaxed plaid flannel contrasts perfectly with his puffy brown dual tone vest circa 1962. Skinny cuffed jeans adorn the red laced lumberjack boots. His look is very carefully put together to appear effortless. A brown bandana hangs from his left rear pocket, his keys from his right rear pocket. He bobs his head to the o.g. hip hop coming out of the old school bulky wall mounted speakers.
The employees are indistinguishable from the regular patrons. Their hair unbrushed, looking like they rode their fixie hastily to work, locks rustled in the wind. Their clothes are too small, too worn and too old looking. Even though I silently type away on my Mac with a scowled look on my face, hands displaying midi rings and smokey grey nails, I feel that my leather jacket is too well fitting for me to actually fit in as a ‘regular’ here.
Here, my partner and crime and I can each do our own thing, busy on the inter web, clicking away. We don’t talk. We sit in close proximity. It’s an easy friendship. There is an unspoken understanding of solitude.
I thrive in solitude. Very quickly I go from being very hot on someone to being very cold. Only those who I really care about are able to withstand my misanthropic swings. Times when I don’t like to be seen or heard from, to see or hear others. In this space of quietness, I center myself and reset my senses. I need this regularly.
I must operate differently from others. Too much social interaction sends me reeling with anxiety. I need regular time outs. I am currently in a time out.
My newest boo has overwhelmed me with his attention. Positive and kind yet it feels forced. He seems a little too desperate to please me. This drives me away, instantly. He is corny, PG, he has been without a romantic partner for too long. His ‘roommates’, twin sister and her husband of 10 years, thrive in their own little corniness. They watch a cappella competitions on youtube for fun. They have bible studies together. This is his daily example of what a lasting, healthy relationship should be. When I extended the offer for him to stay the night, he told me his sister and her husband ‘frowned on that type of thing’. Ok. I’m done! I’ve thrown up my hands.
I can’t use bad language. I can’t make constant crude, inappropriate sexual jokes. I have tried, I have given him joke gold, and his response is always that of confusion, asking me to repeat myself. No, I’m sorry Sir, I do not repeat gold. If you missed it, you will just have to wait for another nugget. But I don’t want to give him anymore nuggets. He can’t appreciate them the way my inner circle does. He doesn’t give me the reaction I want. He bores me. He requires a toned down version of me.
We haven’t had sex. We have ‘gotten close’ but not past first base. Yes, seriously. Heavy petting has been off my menu since high school. We have been dating for a solid month or so, no bites. I roll my eyes at yet another make out session. To me, that is is fat red flag that says tiny peenie. Not that that isn’t impossible to work with, but I need something to fantasize about, and his 6 pack isn’t enough for me.
Sitting in the coffee shop, I get a missed call from Him. I jump at the sight of his missed call and voicemail. I return his call and he doesn’t answer. His usual M.O. I don’t care. I will forever be in love with him. Everything I do and see reminds me of him. Every shower I take, I wish he was there with me, perving on my nakedness, me doing the same. Our bubbles lathering against our smushed bodies. Sigh. I will now be consumed with thoughts of him until he returns my call.