Daily Archives: June 9, 2010

Saturday night. Technically Sunday morning. Mischief arrives around 1 a.m.

I know, you’re confused. Last week, my writers were a little vague with her backstory when it looked like she was being written out of the series. However, she just renegotiated her option, and it looks like she’s gotten bumped from “recurring” to “series regular,” so we’ve put together a special teaser prologue for this episode to bring everyone up to speed.

When we first met, it was with the clear and expressed understanding that we were just marking time.

  • Allison – Mischief – has a biological imperative and wants spawn; I think kids are a virus you have to buy shoes for and have a 15-year-old vasectomy.
  • She wants the ceremony; I think marriage is for suckers.
  • She’s 26; I’m… old…
  • She’s a serial monogamist; I’m a serial…

Um, let’s not put that in writing, shall we?

Serious dating was off the table as a complete non-starter. But we encountered a problem: we hit it off. We really get along, and very quickly, we found ourselves carefully talking around the obvious, significant connection we both felt. Because we can’t date. We’re both rational people, and I’m even a rational adult.

And yet. I mean, this is a girl who, when we were discussing sex, said to me “Basically, anything that might happen during your average violent rape is good.” Be still my beating heart.

Things like that are why I named her Mischief. Being a blogger and child of the internet, she has more pseudonyms than rednecks have teeth, but I needed an appellation of my own, and I realized that this smart, snarky, dirty 26-year-old was trouble. Would BE trouble.

Then we reached the end of the first act, where all of our conflict occurs.

Mischief writes an anonymous blog. I found it right after our first date (after 27 tedious seconds of searching), but I don’t read it out of respect. I’m chewing through the archives from before we met, but I don’t read the current posts so she can write with impunity. Which must be nice.

And the blog isn’t Goth-Biscuit.com so don’t bother. I digress.

A large part of her blog is devoted to her on-again, off-again relationship with (we’ll call him) Gríos, a balding, dominant douchebag man in his 40s with a shady past who has business in aspects of the sex industry.

Stop it. It’s not that funny.

All seriousness aside, the similarities between Gríos & I are purely superficial. The more I find out about him, the more certain I become that we are not of a kind. While we seem to know many of the same people (and, in fact, I’m sure looking at his photo that I know Gríos from somewhere, but cannot conjure it) he is not of my tribe.

For the better part of a year, through three break-ups, Allison was crazy about the guy. Obsessed. From early days, she was convinced that he was The One, her Personal Jesus. Except. Gríos has a vasectomy, refuses to get married, and won’t conscion monogamy.

No, really, knock it off. We don’t even look alike. You’re just embarrassing yourself, now.

Those sticking points turned into the eventual wedge that drove Mischief to break it off once and for all. If the relationship wasn’t going anywhere, she needed to move on.

That was a couple months ago. Since then she’s had virtually no contact with Gríos. Until the last week of May when he surfaced. Proposing marriage. In the comments section of her blog.

Let’s break this down. For a year, a man my age dicks around with a girl in her 20s who’s got scars all over her heart like seeds on a strawberry, in what sounds to me like a vastly one-sided relationship. When she gets fed up with the imbalance, he breaks it off, knowing she’ll come back, anxious to take whatever emotional table-scraps he’s willing to give.

A year later, she’s grown stronger. She’s had it, and she walks away. Instead of letting go, he tracks down her blog, and when it looks like she might be getting over it and moving on, he returns from the dead! Deus ex fucking machina! Behold! My name is Legion, look upon me and despair!

Okay, melodramatic, but Jesus. I spoke to Mischief a few times over that weekend as she was away in San Francisco. Gríos was pushing her hard. “Let’s do it right now. Meet me in Vegas tomorrow morning.” Left-field as it all was, part of me knew she was going to go for it.

I did my due diligence. Told her I thought it was nuts, and why. Why the rush? What’s changed? Why now? I told her there was no way a man Gríos’ age didn’t understand the emotional turmoil he was putting her through. I didn’t understand why a lover would do that.

I figured, assuming Gríos didn’t just discover something terminal, he was acting as a classic sociopath, making a movie in his head of how it “should be.” I told Allison I didn’t believe he saw her as a real person, just an abstract notion, an idealized “thing” to own, an objet d’vivre.

I recognize the sociopath in Gríos because I have a lot of sociopathic tendencies myself, and in most cases, it takes one to know one.

Okay, I’m really not going to tell you again. The smirk is unbecoming. Chill.

Naturally, Allison defended him. I didn’t understand his thinking, and it’s possible that I didn’t. But I’ve learned something in life: If you have a significant other you constantly have to defend to others using the “s/he’s not really like that” defense, guess what? The one who’s mistaken is almost always you.

The engagement lasted a week.

…to be continued

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