Now, don't get me wrong, I obviously have a thing for crazy guys. Crazy people are often the best lovers full contact contortionists in the world. Sure, sometimes you wake up with your face covered in Saran Wrap while your significant other the person you should have filed a restraining order against pours gasoline over your genitals and starts giving you an intense handjob, but sometimes they order pizza for you and spend six hours bleaching your bathroom; you've got to learn to take the bad with the good.
For example, I have thisfriend former roommate, who, for his anonymity's sake, we will call Crazy Fucken Florencio. When he wasn't drinking all my alcohol, stealing change out of my pants pockets, running up an $800 phone bill to Brazil, and "accidentally" smashing the dining room table in half, he was a fun guy to have around (anyone making a mushroom joke will have their nipples burned off with patchouli scented incense sticks).
On one occasion, one of the ex-girlfriends who hadn't accused him of rape was hanging out at our house, swapping Florencio stories with us. At this point, Florencio's body had yet to be discovered hog tied, naked, and ass-end up a Church basement in Mission Hill.
Ex-girlfriend had mentioned what an amazinglay fuck Florencio was (he certainly didn't do the laying thing). Apparently he had a huge cock, and the stamina of hummingbird on Cocaine and Espresso enhanced Jolt Cola. He was the best she had ever had. So why did they break up?
At three a.m. on some random ass day, ex-girlfriend woke up to find Florencio, wearing nothing but wide eyes and a bandanna over his nose and mouth, with a samurai sword, a REAL fucken samurai sword inches away from her throat. Somehow, she managed to talk him into putting the sword down so they could fuck. Once the sword was down, she kicked him square in the nuts, ran to the bathroom and called 911.
Of course, she STILL hangs out with him, so I don't know what that says about her (except, perhaps that she likes church basements).
File him under The Sort of Crazy I Won't Stick My Dick In. Harvard guy falls in that category, too. After he was done lecturing me on slam poetry (because, you know, I don't know anything about it myself, having only been in the slam poetry scene for seven years now), and trying to impress me by aligning himself with trendy authors who I don't read, he proceeded to have an awkward confrontation with the door man at the venue I frequent.
The doorman accused him of trying to sneak in. Apparently, last week, Harvard had gone in without paying, and the doorman had tracked him down, and he'd paid. This week, Harvard came in and started talking to me at the bar while the doorman was taking someone else's money. When the doorman came over and asked for the money, Harvard explained that didn't plan on staying, that he just wanted to talk to me for a few minutes. The doormen said that was okay, but in the future, he had to pay as soon as he came in. THEN, probably because he noticed that I seemed fairly embarrassed, and had started trying to make eye contact with any of my friends who were busy trying to give me and Mr. Harvard alone time, he changed his tune. He was going to stay, and he had every intention of paying, but the doorman hadn't made it clear that he was the doorman, and...well, Harvard could have made an honest mistake, and thought that, because the doorman had gone around to him and asked him for money the previous week, that the doorman always collected the money that way. BUT, Harvard spent over ten minutes arguing with doorman about how doorman didn't understand where he was coming from, and trying to connect with him on an "I used to have a crappy job too" level. All I could think of was "Shut the fuck up, pay him the five bucks and move on. Or, go home."
I need to find the right balance of crazy in a man. Someone who doesn't feel the need for people to "identify with them". Someone who will wear their idiosynchricities like a bad toupee, who owns more faults than self-help books. Someone who realizes the "You never forget the people you hurt when you're high" ad campaign is funny because the more drugs you do, the more apt you are to forget ever having hurt anyone to begin with. Someone who is crazy for me.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/101139.html
For example, I have this
On one occasion, one of the ex-girlfriends who hadn't accused him of rape was hanging out at our house, swapping Florencio stories with us. At this point, Florencio's body had yet to be discovered hog tied, naked, and ass-end up a Church basement in Mission Hill.
Ex-girlfriend had mentioned what an amazing
At three a.m. on some random ass day, ex-girlfriend woke up to find Florencio, wearing nothing but wide eyes and a bandanna over his nose and mouth, with a samurai sword, a REAL fucken samurai sword inches away from her throat. Somehow, she managed to talk him into putting the sword down so they could fuck. Once the sword was down, she kicked him square in the nuts, ran to the bathroom and called 911.
Of course, she STILL hangs out with him, so I don't know what that says about her (except, perhaps that she likes church basements).
File him under The Sort of Crazy I Won't Stick My Dick In. Harvard guy falls in that category, too. After he was done lecturing me on slam poetry (because, you know, I don't know anything about it myself, having only been in the slam poetry scene for seven years now), and trying to impress me by aligning himself with trendy authors who I don't read, he proceeded to have an awkward confrontation with the door man at the venue I frequent.
The doorman accused him of trying to sneak in. Apparently, last week, Harvard had gone in without paying, and the doorman had tracked him down, and he'd paid. This week, Harvard came in and started talking to me at the bar while the doorman was taking someone else's money. When the doorman came over and asked for the money, Harvard explained that didn't plan on staying, that he just wanted to talk to me for a few minutes. The doormen said that was okay, but in the future, he had to pay as soon as he came in. THEN, probably because he noticed that I seemed fairly embarrassed, and had started trying to make eye contact with any of my friends who were busy trying to give me and Mr. Harvard alone time, he changed his tune. He was going to stay, and he had every intention of paying, but the doorman hadn't made it clear that he was the doorman, and...well, Harvard could have made an honest mistake, and thought that, because the doorman had gone around to him and asked him for money the previous week, that the doorman always collected the money that way. BUT, Harvard spent over ten minutes arguing with doorman about how doorman didn't understand where he was coming from, and trying to connect with him on an "I used to have a crappy job too" level. All I could think of was "Shut the fuck up, pay him the five bucks and move on. Or, go home."
I need to find the right balance of crazy in a man. Someone who doesn't feel the need for people to "identify with them". Someone who will wear their idiosynchricities like a bad toupee, who owns more faults than self-help books. Someone who realizes the "You never forget the people you hurt when you're high" ad campaign is funny because the more drugs you do, the more apt you are to forget ever having hurt anyone to begin with. Someone who is crazy for me.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/101139.html
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