In November, I started dating this guy. He was very sweet, and super, super weird. I was initially really into it. Plus, he was a really talented artist. Like, bizarre horrific but beautiful stuff.

We both had huge fears about getting involved with someone. He had been in a 13 year (!) relationship, and we shared frequent panic attacks. One time, I had a panic attack on his couch and he very kindly just rubbed my back while I cried. Any guy who rubs my back through a panic attack is usually a keeper.

I read his writing, which was just ok, but really creative. His creativity just really appealed to me. Ever since crazy David, who was brilliant and creative and also a little self-absorbed, I’ve had a soft spot for the bizarre creative types. So I was pretty intrigued.

And then lots of little things about him started to irritate me. He never brought enough money wherever we went, and just assumed that I would cover the rest of the bill – whether it was buying his groceries, or our meals, or whatever. He also didn’t have a job. I tried to help – I mean, sometimes we all need someone else to get the ball rolling. I offered to send out a few resumes and walked door to door with him a few places to apply. But then he did not continue it at all. He decided that it was impossible to get a job – although all he had tried was responding to very few artist-related positions on Craigslist. He didn’t try to get in touch with any contacts, from school or other jobs. He refused to take an internship to get to know people. He refused to just hoof it on the streets to try to pick something up. He was interested in art therapy, and other art-related stuff, but refused to go to grad school to be qualified for it. He was interested in graphic design, but didn’t know how to use the Adobe suite. And wouldn’t learn. Basically, he was a total loser. He lived by himself, and refused to move in with a roommate to save money. Every possible solution to his problems was not an option. I wanted to kill him.

As if the lack of any drive wasn’t enough, he also ALWAYS had to be right. The most obnoxious was that I told him that the 5 train went to Flatbush Ave/Brooklyn College. He DID NOT BELIEVE ME until I showed him on the map. Like, come on, dude. Give me some credit. This is the most basic thing ever. I do know some shit. You don’t know everything.

Also, he really liked garlic. Too much garlic. Unsophisticated palate. Ain’t got no time for that shit.

Finally, he came to a party with me at a friend’s apartment. He was sulky because he didn’t know anyone, and just…super weird. I realized that his “endearing” quirks were actually just fucking irritating. And that I couldn’t be with someone who refused to hustle or live in the real world (which involves compromises).

Oh, and he was thirty-two years old.

So I ended things, after about four or five weeks. Ain’t got no time for no scrubs.

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