The hardest part about internet dating is keeping the names straight and also the part where we all die alone. Sometimes it’s just easier to go out with someone you meet in the real world, which brings me to the subject of Hot Guy.
This guy was as hot as the night is coated in Ambien. I don’t normally go out with hot guys; I go out with creative geniuses. They tend to not be hot but I don’t care because they’re strange and brilliant and powerful and they make creative stuff happen and that’s fucking hot. Also he happened to be about ten years younger than me. (Side note: gals who date younger guys are called cougars but guys who date younger gals are just called…like every guy.) (Can we start a thing called “he-cougars?”)
When he asked me out my friends were like “You should go, he’s so hot!” and I’m like, “I know he is! But what do I have to talk about with a hot guy? Ab work? Cutting out carbs? Plus if he’s in any industry that requires him to have headshots be it actor or real estate agent I’m not going to be ok with that. I have a strictly no headshot policy.” “Well at least have sex with him. Or at the very least make out with him,” they urged.
Turns out we actually had a lot to talk about as he revealed pretty quickly that he had accidentally ended up in a psych ward due to a love related incident. Suddenly my ears were perking up– this guy really seemed to know a thing or two about passion! To boot he was in four 12 step programs and everyone knows while the 12 steps are great, 48 are even better. Plus his hotness was growing on me. And his sweetness! He was so very complimentary about my work and so very charming. (Side note: If you want to win the heart of a workaholic compliment her work.)
So for the date he took me to an arty play at a college. My artist friend once said that great art makes you feel something. I guess this play was great then because it succeeded in making me feel both confusion and boredom. I had no idea what was happening but basically the plot involved naked college students destroying the stage in fits of rage and humping bags of garbage and each other. Around the time a girl was covering a guy’s penis in paper mache it occurred to me that this must’ve been directed by a really horny midlife crisis victim. (Side note: aren’t all horny midlife crisis victims basically just frustrated he-cougs?)
I’m not sure what exactly they were learning at this university or how much they were paying to do it but I’d love to see the play where they try to parlay these skills into employment in the real world. The only thing more alarming than this series of humpings was the length of the play. I mean… three hours long? At this point the only performance I wanted to see was the clock magically contorting into three hours before when I could choose not to watch this play.
Soon after, Hot Guy emailed me a script he was writing and asked if I could give him notes on it. Normally I’d charge a consultant fee for this but I did it for free because let’s face it, it’s fun to help a charming and hot aspiring writer, especially one who could fly off the handle at any moment and end up in a psych ward. He thanked me for the notes and then asked me for some pointers on how to succeed in show business.
That’s when it occurred to me that Hot Guy was totes using me for career help! It all made sense now. He looked at me the way I’d looked at producers, writers, and directors since I’d landed in Hollywood. It was a glazed over euphoria that at times confused ambition with attraction while simultaneously fueling my lifelong fantasy of being in a Woody Allen and Diane Keaton/ John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands muse-style love affair for the ages. Omg, I thought, I’m at the level where someone is using me to advance his career?! This is amazing! I’ve finally made it.
Dysfunctional Date of the week from Adam Scott Franklin, co-producer & director of Romantic Encounters.
@AdamScottFranklin on Instagram: ”My date was driving when she noticed her ex pass by with a girl in his car. She turned around and chased him for miles while crying at me.”
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