Don’t speak to soon!

“Don’t speak to soon, Man.” Those are the words Tripps, my Texan Longhorn buddy, threw at me today. He uttered this warning following a flighty moment where I expressed that as much as I wasn’t searching for a relationship, Samantha was so cool, I’d be open to the idea. I was crystal clear that I was not about to get ahead of myself. Seriously, I wasn’t ahead of myself at all.

The last few nights were magic. I’d go out and party with friends and there would be a warm, sweet text saying, “Hey what are you up to?” followed by, “Well, come over and crash here when you’re done.” No pressure. I’d go over and it was sweet comfort and pure passion. Sometimes she’d have her friends over, but I was immediately made to feel at home. A couple of times I came by and I was greeted by her and her girlfriends who wanted to give me their seal of approval. Usually these are moments that get under my skin. I really don’t want to be put under any microscopes, nor do I do that to anyone else using my friends. I can honestly say, they were just cool and easy going. I’m sure the weed they smoked helped, but I let that slide.

The passion was great, the “mornings after” were sweet. They involved coffee and conversation, lying around in bed and the kind of cuddling that felt relationship-y. Yes, I said it. What? Fine. I’m a cheeseball! Deal with it! It felt good. There are different types of guys in this world. Big Boy’s last relationship incinerated in the inferno of blazing fights his crazy woman would start. However it also bares mentioning, that Big Boy, by his own admission, can come home, open a book, and shut everyone and everything out for the rest of the night. Every woman has the right to a reasonable amount of attention. Please underline the word “reasonable” as aforementioned. I theorize all women are a little psycho and crazy in their own way, but shutting someone out who loves you is bound to set loose the hounds of hell. Then you have The Kid. I like the cuddling and sappy stuff, as long as it doesn’t totally kill my manhood. I’m not trying to get whipped here.

Samantha and I hung out last night. It started out well enough. Dinner and drinks, her treat. Can’t complain on that one! From there she wanted to head out to a party one of her girlfriends was having. Sounded like good times. Why not? Sure!

Racing down the freeway together, I neglected the low drone of orchestral strings playing the theme from Jaws in the background. We should all have such a soundtrack, and take heed as it warns us of the impending doom. This is when the barrage of questions started rolling in, and me without my bulletproof vest.

“What do your parents do? Where do they live? What were you like as a kid? Where did you grow up? Do you have brothers and sisters?” This is when I considered jumping out of the car and doing a tuck & roll. Unfortunately it dawned on me that it was my car that we were driving in, I was going 60 mph, and I might die getting splattered on the LA freeway. Meanwhile the theme to “Jaws” played louder and louder, nearly drowning her out in the distance.

I tried the diplomatic tact, doing my best to wiggle myself out of this. Still, no dice! Finally I was left with saying, “Listen, I’m not great with talking about myself. Tell me more about you. You’re far more interesting.” Perhaps it was my delivery. Cheesy, I know. Hey, I tried. She wasn’t buying it. She wanted the goods and she wanted it now. My female friends have always warned that if sleep with a girl too soon and she feels like she has showed you her soul. At the same time, a girl’s femme friends will be harassing her, “Is he into you? Are you guys a couple now? Is he sleeping with anyone else? Have you been to his place yet? What do his parents do? Does he have brothers and sisters? How much do you know about this guy?” You can see the trickle down effect, where the pressure and harassment gets to her, culminating in the torture I was about to endure.

Understand this is dating in 2009. It’s also dating in L.A. Everyone’s a flake, and everyone is out to selfishly fulfill their own needs first. In our case, we were both in moment of need and had out fun, and now we found we might like each other. I’ve gotten “sprung” before. That mistake that occurs when you have a few good dates, maybe sleep with a person, and realize you might like them and want something more. Maybe a relationship, perhaps? Dare I say it? Nonetheless, if you get excited and move too fast you scare people off. Especially in a city as jaded as LA. Move to slow, you lose the person for seeming disinterested. You begin to fear making any moves at all. Slowly, the realization dawns that the entire game is a losing proposition, kind of like playing a real life version of Tic Tac Toe. No one really wins.

Dating in 2009 defies description. Hell, you can’t even call it “dating”. I’m serious! Define yourself as dating and you might hear back, “Hey! Slow down! We are just “seeing” each other.” “Seeing” can also be replaced by “Talking”, “Hanging Out”, “Sleeping with”, “Partying with” and a host of others that are so ill defined, and written with such vagueness, a lawyer surely had to have designed the entire dating process. Any way you put it, I wasn’t ready to tell my whole life’s story to this girl. I barely came to the realization earlier in the day that I might possibly like her for anything beyond filling the role of “fun girl with whom I have an attraction”. Only a few hours earlier had I decided I wanted to remotely pursue things much further than they had gone. It had only been a few days.

This is when she upped the ante. Cue the “emotional terrorism” tactics. Emotional Terrorism, it is what it sounds like. Remember all those crazy terrorists that you see on CNN? They wear masks, and threaten to destroy you if you don’t believe what they say. They live off of threats. They take hostages and ramble on about their fanatical beliefs, 99% of which don’t make sense to sane human beings. There is no low to which they won’t sink. Well it’s not much different, except it happens in your ordinary dating life, and CNN isn’t there.

You’ve had it done to you. Trust me, you have! You’ve had your relationship taken hostage, where your significant other figuratively holds a gun to the relationship’s head and says, “Do as I say or the relationship dies!” You’ve seen the random crying, screaming fits. You’ve heard the nonsensical ramblings, followed by the best moments of your life being hijacked by these Emotional Terrorists.
My choices were clear. I could go to this party with a psychopath ready to explode at me in front of a bunch of random people I didn’t know. Been there, done that! Or I could take it here and now, like a man. I choose the latter. I see it coming. She starts by leaning against the window, staring off blankly, and then pouting. I try some defensive maneuvers. I turn up some dance music, and say, “Hey, c’mon. Let’s have fun tonight. It’s so beautiful out. I bet this party is going to be great!” You know the routine. No luck. Remember the mantra, “You can’t negotiate with terrorists”, especially emotional terrorists.

Now cue the crying, then followed by the screaming. Some mumbojumbo about “her needs”, “love”, “loss of identity”. Loss of identity? WTF? Now comes the classic, “Pull over the car and let me out now!”

Eddie Murphy has a great bit about the 1950s versus dating today. He said in the 1950’s a girl would scream, “Pull over, let me out!” to which the cheesy 50s guy would respond, “Now, now! We’ll have none of that!” as he drives her home. Eddie says, “This is 1987! Now the dude just pulls over and says, ‘Well, get the fuck out!’” 1987 was 22 years ago. In 2009, things haven’t changed.

I tried diplomacy again. Of course, this is diplomacy with an Emotional Terrorist. I remind her that we are in a rough part of Downtown. I tell her, I’d rather drive her home. She won’t relent. I remind her that if she really wants me to drop her off I will because she is free to go at any time. Hey, this is 2009, whatever a woman says goes! She now pulls the silent treatment. I start pulling off the freeway into Downtown saying, “Okay, the silent treatment. Well, I’d rather not drop you off in Downtown, but I will do as you ask.” Boom! The crying tantrum begins again. Something about me being unreasonable and not doing her “her way”. At this point I think I have officially been taken hostage, in my own car!

She tells me she doesn’t want to go. I say that’s fine, I can take her home. The tantrum erupts again. Ladies and Gentleman, I am not thick in the skull. I get it. She wants to break me. She wants me to admit I was wrong, tell her I am sorry, console her, and eventually have her night with me and go to this party or what not. This was going to end one of two ways – 1) I break down, apologize for nothing I did wrong while being yelled and screamed at, and do everything her way, when I’ve only known her 5 days. 2) I stand my ground and realize I barely know this girl and it’s not worth it. Any suggestion that I am ending the evening or dropping her off at home results in horrible outbursts. I get her game. Do you really think I want to hang out with a girl who is pulling this shit? In the first 5 days? C’mon now!

I have been through so much emotional terrorism that I should be assigned to one of those crack Special Forces Anti-Terror Units. I could sense the “perfect storm” about to unleash, and all I could do is brace myself.

The argument continues a while longer, wherein I finally turn to her and tell her out and out, “You are an emotional terrorist! I don’t even know what we are arguing about or how we got to this point. Actually, it’s not even an argument. She cries and screams something nonsensical, and I try decipher her code, while I drive confused, trying not to crash.

But tears? Really? Screaming? Do you really think I want to continue this evening like this?” Now I’ve done it! The yelling gets worse. I’ve only known this girl 5 days! Holy Shit! I am having flash forwards of the horrors of how a relationship with her would turn out. There was no negotiating with an Emotional Terrorist. Everything starts with screaming and crying, and only spirals downward from there. I value peace of mind. This moment definitely shows me there is no peace to be had here.

When we finally get to Beverly Hills, I pull over by a restaurant and let her out. The area looks safe, and I am good for a getaway. She gets out of the car, ready to have the last word. I refuse to give it to her. I pull the door shut and pull away. She wanted out, she was granted her screaming, psycho wish…lol. Hey, I tried really hard to talk her out of it. It was her way or the highway. As much as I would have liked her to destroy my ego and pride while she screamed and cried and played the victim, and I was reluctantly cast as the heavy, I had to decline the opportunity. Thanks anyway!

Thus ended my wonderful night.

Lesson learned: Never speak to soon! Lest the whole thing blow up in your face. Oh, and, you can’t negotiate with emotional terrorists.