I feel your pain on the exhaustion dude. I was actually so tired on Sunday night that I cried. I literally got into bed and cried for no reason other than that I was tired, like a bitchy 5 year old. Actually now that I think about it, bitchy 5 year old is a petty good way to describe my overall demeanor these days, but that’s a topic for another day…
So I know we’ve talked about this before, and after years of denial I’ve slowly settled into the fact that I have a “type,” but sometimes it still surprises me just how consistent I can be, even if it isn’t to my advantage.
Apart from the obvious fact that I’m into preppy guys (hence my attendance at Elon and love for men in khakis), I recently shared with you my realization that every guy I’ve ever been into has been a pot head. To make my point, let me take you on a little journey through time.
The First Date:
Who remembers extremely awkward thumb-rubbing movie first date guy? I do, unfortunately. As if that whole situation wasn’t disappointing enough, he was a pothead. Beyond that, one time he was on Oxy and wrote me a song via Facebook Messenger. Oh, the romance. I’m sure my interest in the weed-inclined male population started before this poor kid, but we’ll use him as a marker for my “type-conception” because it’s appropriately cliche to say that my having a type started with a first date.
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Next came a high school crush. He didn’t pay any attention to me really, so it doesn’t exactly count, but my freshman self was appalled at his pot-headed personality. I actually vividly remember saying to my mother that I didn’t want to have a crush on him anymore because he smoked. My oh my, how time changes things.
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Then there was that interlude where I don’t think the guy I liked was a pot head. I say I liked him, but we never actually went out. Unless you count making out in a basement a date, which would mean I’ve dated way more men than I’m willing to admit. Anyways, getting side-tracked…Now that I think about it he probably (and when I say probably I mean almost definitely) smoked pot. Another one bites the dust.
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On to my end-of-high-school half-way hookup. I say halfway because we went on one date and made out like twice. Maybe three times, I’m not sure, I was drinking a lot at that time. Anyways, we actually stopped talking because he got grounded for none other than…pot. He was actually the nicest out of the bunch up until that point, but I hear through the grape vine that I dodged a bullet. So TY to Mary Jane for helping me out that one time, too bad it doesn’t make up for all the fucked up shit you’ve done, bitch.
I think we all know who comes next in my dating timeline (I use the term dating very, very loosely up until this point in time. I just think my mother would be disappointed if I referred to it as my hookup timeline considering I was in high school). Don’t get me wrong, there was a lot of random kissing and such in between (and sometimes in conjunction with) the boys (not men) mentioned above, but to be frank I don’t know enough about any of them to know if they were engaged to Mary Jane. I barely know some of their names honestly. Okay okay, I keep getting sidetracked.
Back to my timeline, we all know who comes next — two years of next. If my good friend Mary wasn’t getting on my nerves before then, she sure pissed me off real quick in this relationship. The kid may as well have been cheating me with pot…I mean, I’d say that about 75% of our arguments were somehow about weed, but I’d be lying because I actually think 99% of them were about it. It agitated me SO MUCH that he was always high, and it didn’t help that his habit often resulted in A LOT of public embarrassment and made my needy ass feel super neglected. Long story short, Me > Mary.
Alas, apparently I have yet to learn my lesson. With another crush comes another weed-smoker. I won’t get too involved into this one — shit makes me feel like I’m in the damn witness protection program. At least he wouldn’t come to my family home stoned…at least I don’t think so…
I guess being into preppy smokers isn’t the worst thing in the world. I mean, I could be into like grungy coke-addicts. It also doesn’t help that the majority of the 20-something single male population smokes pot, but maybe that’s just my bias opinion because, duh. It just really fascinates me that this whole pot-head persona is such a constant in my life.
I know you’re on the same page with your certain “type”. I won’t blow up your spot on the interwebs, but it’s disturbingly consistent how we seek out people who are A. Like people we’ve dated in the past and B. Have qualities that are irksome (I really like the word irk and its variations).
I pray I grow out of this type, or that the type grows out of the weed.
Wish me luck.