(Thereby providing a solid argument that existence does NOT precede essence; but something tells me that Sartre wasn't too active in the dating scene, so we'll forgive him the oversight.)

"How you doin’, baby? I'm Jean Paul, but you can call me JP, Dark Doctor of luuuuuuuuuuv. Let’s you and me make the most of this moment, baby, because man is nothing but what he makes himself to be, dig? And, baby, this man ain’t nothin’ if he ain’t lovin’. So whaddayasay you and me go back to my Parisian flat and exist? I’d wink at you, baby, but given my unfortunate lazy eye predicament, I’m afraid it would make me look even more creepy. Awwww, yeaahhhh."

Existentialism is SO HOTT, and so is JP's Peter Falk eyeball.

(Actually, that’s kind of mean. Apparently, Sartre was really sensitive about his appearance, and it added to the unhappiness in his childhood, greatly affecting his philosophy.)

No, but anyway.

John gave no indication throughout the entire evening that he was at all enthusiastic about being out with me. He was blasé and distant, refused to laugh at a single thing, had not a glimmer of charm or warmth. I’m not expecting the guy to fall in love with me or anything, but I have to wonder why the hell he asked me out in the first place, if he was going to act like I was giving him a goddamned root canal. He would have been cute, too, had he had any personality whatsoever.

When I’m out with someone for the first time, I give him a lot of leeway, and hope he does the same for me. No one is in his element on a first date, and as someone who was once quite shy and still experiences moments of crippling self-consciousness, I’d never fault someone for not being all bells-and-whistles when they meet me for the first time. But, this guy was so aggressively boring, I was almost impressed.

In the spirit of compassion, I tried to imagine what he was like when he was with his friends, being himself, in his comfort zone. I couldn’t come up with a damn scenario in which he might be interesting or even mildly entertaining.

Once I started pretending John was gay, it was much easier to enjoy myself.

I had already given up on any sort of relationship with John within 10 minutes after our date began, so it’s not like there was any risk involved, nor did I have any inclination to sleep with the guy. Conversation came more fluidly once I started to imagine that John’s similar apparent lack-of-inclination had nothing to do with me. Not to mention, it was just kind of funny.

The only crack in this alternate reality was that John kept staring lustily at my tits. By that time I gave so little of a shit, that I thought, “let him fucking stare” and arched my back a little more. It was kind of fun.

(Just for the record, and so you don’t think I’m some kind of mindfucking cock-tease, we each bought an equal number of rounds at the bar. It wasn't so much a date as it was an evening of two indifferent strangers staring at each other and drinking.)

I think that’s the secret to dating: pretend your counterpart is a homo. You won’t feel the pressing need to impress him/her, and will thereby probably be more successful in doing so, because we humans are stupid that way. It’s a bit like that public-speaking tip, wherein the speaker imagines the entire audience sitting awkwardly in their underwear, so as to feel like he/she has the upper hand.

I’m totally serious. It’s a great last-ditch method of saving an evening, and it’s just funny. Dating, in general, can be so ridiculous. Unless I acknowledge that and have a bit of fun with it, it makes me despair a little, and that’s boring.

If there ain’t no spark, there ain’t no spark. Sartre would disagree, I imagine.

“Aw, baby. Ain’t no such thing as a spark. All you gotta do is start speakin’ the language of luuuuuuvvv, and you be a lover, baby. After all, ‘in love, one and one are one.’”*

Ohhh, JP …

“People who live in society have learned to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. Is that why my flesh is naked? You might say - yes you might say, nature without humanity… Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea.”**

Ohhhh, JP … you dirty, dirty existentialist, you’ve been very, very bad …

“I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my throat, it caresses me- and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me."**

Ohhhh, JP … you with the pretty and the words … you sexy, miserable bastard …

“It would be better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh.”**

Oh, JP, YES! Don’t think, just hold me, you fool! Show me that you French kissers can live up to the hype! Come back to the light, JP!

JP?

“Hell is other people.”**

Well, fuck you, too, Sartre.

Those sweet-talking, dead, French existentialists are so hot and cold. I don’t need this crap. I get enough hot-and-cold from my living dates.

Meeting, Googling, being wooed by, and dumping Jean Paul Sartre, all in one day. I’m spent.

* Don’t know where this one’s from.

** Respectively, from The Nausea, On Existence, On Good Faith and Bad Faith, and No Exit.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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