I'll be upfront here that I'm not looking for "the One" or a soulmate, because that probably doesn't exist. But let me tell you a little bit about myself, and what I'm looking for.
I'm 25, in shape, good-looking, and a riot to be around. My mom tells me I'm a catch, then tells me all about "that very nice girl" from synagogue who's got early balding. Which brings me to my problem: I attract only the most psychotic women on earth. Most people in my situation would give up altogether, become celibate, or marry the very nice bald girl from synagogue.
But I'm going for gold here. I figure I'll double down on what I know and look for simply the craziest, most hopeless, brain-made-of-meth-and-fire-and-tofu girl I can find. At this point, my heart has been broken, shred, spat on, shat on, curb-stomped and incinerated -- the ashes being sent to various urinals, dumps and pharmaceutical factories around the world. I've given up hope anyway, so why not go big?
The person I'm looking for needs to be a 100-year nutjob. A basketcase worthy of a write-up in "Nature," with psychiatric conditions previously unconsidered. Compulsive Homicidal Disorder, Lacrimal Acidosis, Pre-, Post-, Peri-, AND Non-Menopausal Shrieking Syndrome. Everything. Vegans are a plus.
I want to make it clear: I want all of your tendencies known up front. I don't want to have to wait six months before I really realize how many animals you've killed. Or how low the threshold is for you to kick me in the nuts. Or your thoughts on "negroes" and "fairies." I need you to need *constant* compliments reassuring you about your ass/hair/makeup/tits/shoes and purses -- all from day one.
Have you ever punched a guy in the face for making a sex joke about cream cheese? Great.
Have you ever thrown your plate at a guy because he overcooked your steak? Awesome.
Have you ever thrown your plate at a guy because he undercooked your steak on the second try? Fantastic.
Have you ever kicked a guy in the face because he wouldn't go down on you when you had a full-blown yeast infection? Solid.
Have you ever broken up with a guy every single time you got drunk, then didn't remember it in the morning any of those times because you can't drink without getting blackout? Wonderful.
Have you ever waited 7 months to tell a guy that you actually first met the night you got out of the hospital after your most recent suicide attempt and that you were about to try again in a few hours? Stupendous.
Have you ever left a 4 minute voicemail the morning after your first date with a guy asking to see him the next day -- no wait, never see him again -- no wait, I'm sorry, I'm just confused right now -- no wait, let's meet tonight -- no wait, I don't want to seem like a slut -- no wait, you haven't responded to any of my texts this morning, are you ignoring me? -- no wait, I don't need a man like you in my life -- no wait, let's get breakfast? Super.
For no good reason, have you ever bleached all of a guy's clothes? Thrown a brick through his window? Left steak knives plunged into raw meat at the doorstep of all three of a guy's exes? Wünderbar.
HAVE YOU PULLED A LOADED GUN ON A GUY? WELL, MARRY ME RIGHT NOW.
Like I said, I'm not willing to compromise. Give me the best you've got, world. I'm probably not ready but, fuck it, who even cares anymore.
I'm 25, in shape, good-looking, and a riot to be around. My mom tells me I'm a catch, then tells me all about "that very nice girl" from synagogue who's got early balding. Which brings me to my problem: I attract only the most psychotic women on earth. Most people in my situation would give up altogether, become celibate, or marry the very nice bald girl from synagogue.
But I'm going for gold here. I figure I'll double down on what I know and look for simply the craziest, most hopeless, brain-made-of-meth-and-fire-and-tofu girl I can find. At this point, my heart has been broken, shred, spat on, shat on, curb-stomped and incinerated -- the ashes being sent to various urinals, dumps and pharmaceutical factories around the world. I've given up hope anyway, so why not go big?
The person I'm looking for needs to be a 100-year nutjob. A basketcase worthy of a write-up in "Nature," with psychiatric conditions previously unconsidered. Compulsive Homicidal Disorder, Lacrimal Acidosis, Pre-, Post-, Peri-, AND Non-Menopausal Shrieking Syndrome. Everything. Vegans are a plus.
I want to make it clear: I want all of your tendencies known up front. I don't want to have to wait six months before I really realize how many animals you've killed. Or how low the threshold is for you to kick me in the nuts. Or your thoughts on "negroes" and "fairies." I need you to need *constant* compliments reassuring you about your ass/hair/makeup/tits/shoes and purses -- all from day one.
Have you ever punched a guy in the face for making a sex joke about cream cheese? Great.
Have you ever thrown your plate at a guy because he overcooked your steak? Awesome.
Have you ever thrown your plate at a guy because he undercooked your steak on the second try? Fantastic.
Have you ever kicked a guy in the face because he wouldn't go down on you when you had a full-blown yeast infection? Solid.
Have you ever broken up with a guy every single time you got drunk, then didn't remember it in the morning any of those times because you can't drink without getting blackout? Wonderful.
Have you ever waited 7 months to tell a guy that you actually first met the night you got out of the hospital after your most recent suicide attempt and that you were about to try again in a few hours? Stupendous.
Have you ever left a 4 minute voicemail the morning after your first date with a guy asking to see him the next day -- no wait, never see him again -- no wait, I'm sorry, I'm just confused right now -- no wait, let's meet tonight -- no wait, I don't want to seem like a slut -- no wait, you haven't responded to any of my texts this morning, are you ignoring me? -- no wait, I don't need a man like you in my life -- no wait, let's get breakfast? Super.
For no good reason, have you ever bleached all of a guy's clothes? Thrown a brick through his window? Left steak knives plunged into raw meat at the doorstep of all three of a guy's exes? Wünderbar.
HAVE YOU PULLED A LOADED GUN ON A GUY? WELL, MARRY ME RIGHT NOW.
Like I said, I'm not willing to compromise. Give me the best you've got, world. I'm probably not ready but, fuck it, who even cares anymore.