I, Grover (and the Monster at the End of This Book Theory of Dating)
2004-11-12 @ 11:16 a.m.
I just had a revelation when I was reading Laurenís diary (no link cause sheís in password land) where today she posted her ad at Match.com. for feedback. Sheís a very adventurous lady who actually seeks social activity, even one on one social activity with men that may or may include dinner being purchased and may or may not end in kissing.
I find this very brave. Know why? Because dating is scary. All the relationships Iíve ever been in, didnít really evolve from dating. Even though I asked my first real boyfriend Billy Dankert out on a date, we never actually went out ON a date- the question and response instead was just an assurance that we should hang around each other a lot. And we sure did, and it was fun.
But I will admit that meeting someone via being introduced to their social circle is very wonderful and embracing while it lasts, but ultimately leaves you bitter since even in the best breakup circumstances- when you are friends with a group of people that have been friends since they all grew up together in a small town (like Austin MN) Ėthen no matter how friendly the break up is, when sides are picked (and in small towns, sides are always picked) you side with the home team. The guys who donít are not evolved, and instead are creeps who probably always wanted to get into your pants in spite of their friendship with your ex. (what an aside!)
Itís a history like this that makes me not even think of dating. More than childcare, and thatís a pretty big and aggravating issue too. But today- as I was once again praising Lauren for her brave and beautiful soul, I suddenly flashed an image that seemed to represent me exactly. I felt like loveably, furry,old Grover.
Those of you who are familiar with the above book, might already know what I mean- If you are UNFAMILIAR with The Monster At the End of This Book then here is a nice little nugget of insight into how I felt. And curiously, my revelation was a lot like projectionist Tyler Durden splicing porn into a family film, Grover loomed before me for just a barely recognizable moment, but I was thoroughly and immediately aware of his presence there, and I couldnít ignore the implications.
Although Iím not warning anyone against dating, and I certainly am not even warning myself against it, I would definitely cop to being wary of it, but I apparently find it inevitable. No one I know really dates though- or finds their partner or lover through a dating process, but Iíd also say that no one I know socially is really a grown up either. So maybe the only way to meet a grown up and have a grown up relationshipis by dating. Maybe thatís why I havenít experienced a grown up relationship yet- maybe my subconscious is trying to force me to start dating like I would start a book, and keep turning the pages until I get to the end and find thereís nothing to fear after all.
And thatís nice and quirky and nostalgic in some manner of pre-school teacher meets barstool intellectual (or pre-school intellectual rather) and Iím sure this analysis would go down as world-class winning banter in regards to flirting in a bar, but thatís all it is. All the revelation really just boils down into a nice little conversational concoction to share as an anecdote, or a really clever pickup line. As bait it would be genius, - because if I ever heard a guy utter that theory to me in a confessional tone, I would definitely be thinking about reaching into the prize bag for a blow job token at the very least.
Cause hereís the sad conclusion to the theory-
Iím too tired to turn the pages. Itís too much work. The only way I will ever face The Monster At the End of this Book is if, like Grover, someone else turns the pages for me, against my will. And then, maybe me, and that diligent page turner will ultimately find that The Monster at the End of This Book is only I, loveable furry old Grover and I never had anything to be afraid of after all.
See? Itís nostalgic, chock full of delicious nuts and nougat in the middle, and it ends with a delusion thatís too good to be true and pathetically endearing. Oscar caliber all the way.