I used to work at a bookstore. It was a fun job, but I worked for a bunch of assholes and it was just a situation where a few bad apples spoiled the whole bunch. Morale was pretty low, but we all became very good friends bonding over the ill feelings that we all harbored toward our boss. I tend reveal quite a bit of angst and sarcasm when I am unhappy, it's a character flaw, but I have some redeeming qualities. This story will reveal none of those qualities.
Anyway, one of the sections that I maintained was philosophy. In my opinion philosophy enthusiasts tend to be a bit on the pretentious side, so I got my kicks off of mispronouncing philosophers names. Plah-to, Days-Cartys, Nightschi, David Hummy,
One day, some dude came up to me wanting small talk. He asked me what books I recommended and I just replied, "Sow-Crates is always good.".
"Yeah, I mean, all we are is dust in the wind, right?". Oh my god, did this guy just reference Bill & Ted? YES. He totally had my attention, so I stopped what I was doing and looked at this man. Holy fucking hell, he is beautiful. He's got this long, dark, wavy, incredibly sexy hair. Big hazel eyes. White teeth. Charming smile framed by a flattering amount of facial scruff. Full lips. At least 6'2'' with broad shoulders. Manly hands. Really cool clothes. I totally wanted to do him, he was my type, okay? Actually no, he wasn't just "my type". He is probably every ladies' type. I mean, that face is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen outside of a movie screen. It is very important that you remember how much emphasis I put on how god damned beautiful this mother fucker is.
So we talk. I comment on the collection of books he is carrying and based off of that I guess his major in college, which is anthropology in the sub-dicipline of Linguistics. My accuracy charmed him and so I mentioned that I too am an anthropology major and that my area of focus was archaeology. We're hitting it off, this is how I remember the rest of our conversation:
"Books! Books, books, books books! Books? Books. Books??"
"Yep. Books, books, books, books!"
It was great. He was so pretty. Too pretty for me. The conversation dwindled down and I proceeded to do my job, but this time I feel like I was behaving like Cinderella in that Disney movie where she's washing the floor singing Sing Sweet Nightingale.
Three hours pass and this guy is back. His name is Nick and he forgot to give me his phone number. I didn't know what to do! I just swooned and made a weird noise that sounded like "mmmbbehhh-HEHHHH". What can I say? I'm an awkward kid.
So, yeah.
The next day at work, I wasn't feeling so well. I was on register duty, and when I pulled out the til the area around me suddenly felt like it was 3 times as big and I had the sensation of the type of dizziness you get when you spin around in circles quickly. I tried to grab ahold of the counter, but my perception was all kinds of out of whack and I couldn't get ahold of it and I was grabbing around like a drowning badger and I just looked like an asshole and I felt like shit so I went home.
The dizziness persisted for several hours, so I went to the E.R. where I was diagnosed with "unspecified vertigo" and was sent home with nausea medicine. I went to my G.P. the next day and he gave me a tilt table test and basically said to me, "mother fucker, you got vertigo.". I was referred to an otolaryngologist to get my ears looked at. I was informed that a calcium deposit had solidified in my inner ear and the vertigo is a result from my equilibrium being thrown way, way out of line. I mean, what the fuck? There is a rock inside of my head and the only thing to get rid of it is steroids and time. I had to wait for the thing to liquify. Gross.
I had near constant vertigo for three weeks. THREE WEEKS. For three weeks of my life, I was literally Lucille II from Arrested Development. But, all the meanwhile I am texting Nick, talking to Nick on the phone, hitting Nick up on Facebook. All that jazz. After three weeks, I thought I felt better and it was time to go out on a date with Nick.
We go out to this hip restaurant and eat cool vegan food because we're both into that shit. We're talking and the conversation is focussed on music, film, art, books and drugs. I really, really like this guy. I mean, I am dead set that I want to be this dude's girlfriend. That is rare and unique because at this point I am freshly out of an extremely toxic relationship that probably ruined me for every gentleman from there on after (oh and btw, at this point in my life, I'm not "out' of that relationship, it turned out just to be a "break". More stories to come from that situation later.).
Dinner is over. Nick wants to show me the music that he makes, so I follow him to his car. We make out. It was great. It was fantastic. He is the most beautiful person I ever have and ever will get the pleasure to kiss. He wants to know if I would like to come to his house and watch a movie. Yeah, buddy. You want me to come to your house and "watch" a "movie". Sure. Well, actually yes. I would like very much to see whatever movie you feel like watching and/or have sex with you if that is really just a euphemism. You are witty, beautiful, smart, charming and I will go wherever you take me tonight.
I follow his car to his apartment. On the way over I started to feel a little bit dizzy, but I'm fine.
This dude. Has beautiful. Beautiful. Living quarters. It's all decorated, but in a rustic and manly sort of way. I myself am quite into decorating my apartment, so creepy thoughts pop in my head like how cute all of our shit would be together in one apartment and that I should stick around this dude for like 6 years so maybe that can happen. This sounds creepy, but I have a serious fear of commitment and vulnerability so this is actually a huge step for me.
He's got this beautiful Peruvian rug that he got when he was in Peru (of coarse). I'm sitting in this really cool Frank Lloyd Wright knock-off chair. He's sitting on the floor, leaning on my knee and we're talking. He said something that made me laugh, because he's cute and funny and smart and charming. I threw up. Mid-laugh, I projectile vomited on his face. I mean, I stared in to the look of disgust. I made eye contact with the face of sheer terror as I threw up on it. He screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?" and ran to the bathroom. I did not know what to do. I was too afraid to even process what emotion I should feel. I just left. I mean, I booked it. I ran out of there leaving him to clean up the mess on his beautiful rug.
I hated myself for a really long time after that.
He called me the next day to see when we could hang out again. I just. I can't. I really like this guy, but I cannot deal with the guilt and shame of what I did that night. I do not want to deal with the embarrassment of throwing up on a nice man's face.
This motherfucker came to my work twice and both times I hid.
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