best of craigslist > washington, DC > Who is the patron saint of absurdity?
Originally Posted: 2004-02-22 4:01pm

Who is the patron saint of absurdity?

I would like to know, because even tho I've never been the praying type ('cept for a few times to the ol' porcelain goddess) I think I need a few brownie points with whoever's in charge.

Here's my tale of woe. 108 days ago "Mr. T" broke up with me (a good friend started calling him that because "she pitied the fool who broke my heart." bless her.) Sensible, cautious me was absolutely friggin' mad for this guy--everything about him, from his little german intellectual glasses, to his wide ranging mind, rapier wit, to the way he noticed all the little things about me, stuff I didn't know anyone noticed. Everything was perfect, or so I thought, and by the end of 4 months I was already naming our children. Then, he went away for a few days (to a friend's wedding, I couldn't go) and when he returned everything was different. I could tell simply by the change in his voice when he called me, even before he said 'we need to talk.' Short story even shorter: He broke up with me, giving me no other reason than "I'm not ready for a relationship this serious" and its not you its me blah blah blah. I never knew why, and he wouldn't give me any reason that made sense, and I was too proud to beg (or stalk). Even though I wanted to.

I spent the next 3 months licking my wounds, lonely, angry, and celibate. Well, almost celibate but that's another story*. Finally, last week, I decided fuck it, I'm not sitting home alone any more. I'm gonna meet someone dammit! Maybe it was the spring air, maybe it was my long lost libido rearing its head (or something) but I got all sauced up and put an ad online, on CL of all places. {I thought of match.com but was turned off by all the folks "looking for partners in crime." Um, I know a parole officer who might be able to hook you up.)

So anyway,put this ad online. Check obssessively for the next 20 mintues. No responses. Continue to drink, go out with friends, and write the whole thing off. But the next day, its like a blowout sale at Man-o-rama, I mean my inbox is positively pullulating with suitors, and I start to feel my spirits rise. Fuck you, Mr. T!, look how many great guys there are out there! Ready for relationships! I'm beautiful! I'm smart! I'm fun! I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more!

So I read through a couple of them--get to one and am immediately taken by it. This guy has a way with words, he picks up on all the allusions and references in my ad, and nary a spelling mistake. He's smart, ambitious, age appropriate, cultured, and tired of 'superficial relationships'....I'm starting to feel very good about this one...and then I get to the bottom of the letter, where his picture is attached.

HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL ITS MR. T.

Fuck me, I give up. So, dear Patron saint of Absurdity, what do I have to do to get you on my good side? I'll do anything, I'll make a shrine of single socks and tupperware, I'll cover my body with glitter and chant Kipling, I'll forgo carbohydrates and flagellate myself with a telephone cord, I'll do whatever it takes, just please..no more....


*the almost celibate story is another moment of low comedy in my absurd life. I was out with friends drinking Hurricanes of all things, and before I know it, some French dude is talking to me. While his opening lines were cheesier than a Wisconsin tailgate--"you are so beautiful yet so alone"--in my hurricaned state I felt that this man had looked deep into my soul. . That's why I ignored the other warning signs, like him telling me his favorite car was a chevy camaro, which I chalked up to cute cultural differences and a sweet, naive love of America, and not the clear evidence of a dorkiness that transcended national boundaries. It was not until clothes were coming off and he showed me his snake tattoos and I began to notice that his hair was verging on mulletude that I began to have doubts. But by then, the plot had been set into motion and, like a character in some dark Jacobean tragedy, I could do nothing but act out my assigned role in the terrible, inevitable denouement.


post id: 24915979

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