Activity Partners

7 Jun

Last week, I went on an anger date with a male nurse.  I had had a lot of after-work commitments that week and really just wanted to go home, eat some salmon, and go to bed.  I was also irritated with a few members of the male sex and didn’t have the “Tao te Ching” with me… so you could go as far as to say I was in a foul mood.  The guy I was going out with, “Paul,” told me the bar we were meeting at was in the West Village, but it was actually in SoHo, which added to my contempt for mankind.  All I could remember about his profile was that he was a male nurse, he was looking for “activity partners”, and under his interests he had listed “the equal sign, fudge, and having fun.”  When I read that, I nearly had an asthma attack because I was laughing so hard.

I got there first and waited for him at the bar.  I always make sure I’m early so my date has to find me, not the other way around because it’s awkward.  It was a weird bar that looked like the dining hall at this nature camp I had to go to every year when I went to private school.  From third through seventh grade, I attended what you might call an “alternative” school, where we didn’t change classes, receive grades, or get homework assignments.  Or maybe we did get homework assignments, and I just didn’t do them.  We had couches instead of desks, played a lot of community building games, jumped around inside parachutes, painted cars, recycled, and made wind chimes.  Attending this school during my formative years may be a prime explanation for a lot of my misplaced wacky creativity.  It is also why I can’t do simple multiplication or pick out Massachusetts on a map, but I can play the Ghanaian xylophone.

Paul arrived and I suggested we move to a table to get away from the people at the bar who were sensually feeding each other chicken fingers.  He was nice but kind of boring, medium height, with dark curly hair and a slight New York accent.  He told me that he still lived in the apartment he was raised in, but with roommates instead of family.  How odd.  His head featured an impressive beard (I guess I’m going through a beard phase) and a keen pair of sharp canines.  When he told me he worked in a mental hospital, I couldn’t help but wonder if any of the psychotic patients ever got paranoid about him being a vampire because of his fangs.  He shared that he had recently gone on a long road trip by himself to many of the southern states.  While in Tennessee, a Christian couple had taken him in and attempted to baptize him in the sweet waters of the Mississippi.

I don’t think I really said much because he had so much to say about himself.  He went to school for art and liked to hang out in museums around Manhattan and sketch for hours.  He also did volunteer work, played some sort of sport, and was in a hip hop/funk band.  What didn’t this guy do?  The whole time we were there, he kept talking about how much he wanted to drink because his week had been so stressful…yet he only clocked in at a dainty 1.5 rum and cokes.  After I nearly passed away from fatigue and boredom, I told him it was time for me to head home.  He walked me to the train and I hugged him goodbye like that cousin you don’t know very well but are related to, so you feel like you have to hug them.

At least now I know that I don’t have borderline personality disorder.  A certified male nurse said so.


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