You Always Remember Your Worst

I consider myself an equal opportunity dater: non-discriminatory and always up for a new challenge. That’s not to say this hasn’t gotten me in trouble. Among those ranks, friends, can be filed a character I shall refer to from here on out as The Comedian.

Initially, this adventure was appealing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which were my love for funny men and an awkward crush I may have on Jerry Seinfeld. Who doesn’t enjoy laughing? What could be better than someone who’s a walking source of amusement? And what a conversation piece, right?

This was a fantastic idea in theory. I met the comedian at a comedy show, naturally, where all these people hang out if you’re in the market, and our first date was the following day. And so, he became a promising prospect.

Amusing was a great adjective for this guy. He dressed like a little kid whose parents gave him the go-ahead to pick out his own clothes for the first time. He didn’t have a real job but went to a good school, didn’t have gigs but called himself a comedian… the paradox kept me intrigued. But the conversation started to get a bit exhausting. You can only spend so much time judging whether a bit is funny or not, if you get what I mean. A great deterrent to this, in my mind, was to hook up.

And this is where the joke ends.

As with any new person, I wasn’t necessarily expecting fireworks, but at least a decent time with someone I was into. And I kept telling myself that… until the most awkward encounter of my life. I can’t even articulate it, but think the exact opposite of fireworks.

I preface this by saying that there was no indication this would happen, but… there was just no chemistry. None. It didn’t matter how well we had initially gotten along or how mutual the attraction was, at this point I was uncomfortable, beyond not into it, and then on top of all this, it happened. People make faces when they reach the…er…happy ending, and I’m sure I’m included in this group, but this was not the right face for the moment in question.

Imagine the expression of a man about to sob. But there are no tears… so he’s just choking back a sob. (Editor’s Note: Oh. The. Horror.)

I had happened into a crier, and not just a crier, but one who was supposed to be funny. And I had no idea what to do, because I myself am not a crier. Whiner, yes. Crier, no.

And so The Comedian scarred me for life.

I was completely mortified, because surely, this had to be my fault, right? But it wasn’t normal, it couldn’t be. I racked my brain and could not find any previous experiences matching this – no complaints, nothing. There was no question that this was the worst experience that I’m guessing either of us had had. And so, the fling ended, and I began a celibacy streak that I was quite convinced would never end.

No matter how many guy friends reassured me that his was not normal behavior, I was still convinced that the disaster was all because of me. I took my hiatus-from-dating time to reprioritize my life, start thinking just a little more seriously about school, surround myself with friends who were fantastically supportive and tried not to laugh when this story was recounted, and work through the self-esteem issues to just be happier with me on my own. If I was going to be single forever anyway, it made sense to learn to like myself a little more and stop taking the blame for an incident that clearly took two people.

That being said, I got my closure and reaquainted myself with the dating scene (though still a bit fearful of my bedroom abilities). But my mistake was believing that after deleting his number, he would just disappear without any repercussions. Ever the idealist, I accepted the fact that I would probably become an anonymous girl in one of his bits on stage, and was okay with that. Until, you know, it happened. And I wasn’t so anonymous…

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