Or: Confidence in Dating

I met a girl at a house-colding party. She was one of those types of women who commanded your attention with side-glances and unpointed smiles. Her dark and shining hair hit me like a cop’s Maglite, and I made that immediate assumption that too many men make, that too many good-enough,worthy, worthwhile and goorthyile men make – she’s way out of my league.  Unattainable, unapproachable, unwooable by a simple Chamillionaire (er, Vonnegut?) line. She’s a Mecca kind of girl.

Before I go on, let me mention quickly that this particular girl, who we can call Kent, looked like Marissa Tomei. And I mean Tomei from My Cousin Vinny. I bet some of you are thinking loudly ‘well what’s so great about that?’ and to that I answer: go think somewhere else.

Needless to say, I was smitten. I was smitten and drunker than a coal-miner. I had a belly full of beer and a head full of whisky and one intention: make this girl laugh. And I did. Many times. She was feeling it, as they say. By the end of the evening, she gave me her number and began contact before she even made it home. I had conquered the unconquerable, at least, in my mind.

After this eventful night we began to hang out more. We enjoyed each other. She didn’t necessarily connect with all the things I felt were important, however. We didn’t read the same books, listen to the same music (in fact, I couldn’t even tolerate most of her taste) or have similar groups of friends. But this didn’t matter to me. I like Pavement, she liked Motley Crue. But you know what? I liked that she liked Crue, even though I only liked them 8 Colts in or when watching my Republican father reminisce about the 80s. And it was fun. And regardless of who you are or aren’t, fun is very important. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. She was fun and beautiful and this was good enough for me.

You’re probably expecting a very large BUT or HOWEVER or BU’ NAWWWW and here it is: Her eyebrows. They weren’t real. They were painted on with, um, I don’t know, whatever girls paint on their face with. Watercolors? Charcoal? Alchemy elixirs? I have no idea. My friends pointed this out to me and we all had a good laugh about it. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She was quite beautiful nonetheless, a working model who looked like Marissa Tomei. Did I mention she looked like Marissa Tomei? From My Cousin Vinny? Go think somewhere else.

This minor detraction from my attraction to her, like they always do, began to grow to major. It’s as if I retained from my youth only parables and lectures from the Church of Seinfeld and nothing else. Every friend had to mention it when I brought her up. It became so synonymous with Kent that when she wasn’t around she wasn’t even Kent, she was Eyebrows. To the point where some people forgot her name and I myself had to moniker her as such to remind people who I was meeting that night.

And it grated. It grated and grated on me. Until there was nothing left.

There is no excusing this. It’s horrible and weak and shallow. And you know what? I slowly stopped talking to her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her flat-matte-brow-accents until it was all I saw. Eventually, we just didn’t know each other anymore. Ceased contact. I felt an emptiness. Nothing too big, we were never really dating even, but an emptiness nonetheless, as if I had misplaced an article I tore out of the paper and planned to keep for later. In that emptiness I found nuggets of hate and remorse and black and blue and black and blue and when does a dealbreaker make you smart and calculating and when does it just make you less?

Get it on like you want. Because who knows when someone you think you aren’t goorthyile enough for will want you as much you want them? Do you know how rare that is? That’s the thing! It’s not that rare! You are good and worthy and worthwhile and sometimes you’re afraid of that and sometimes you’ll be afraid to keep the ones who know this. What is my point? What is the point of all of this?

Don’t be scared. There are so many things to fear: Rejection, love, communism, 2012, 9/11 Two, Andy Rooney, the list goes one. So just stop. Let’s all stop. And tell someone how great they are, even if their eyebrows detract from the rest of their image.

I mean, fuck, Marissa Tomei, you know?

• Kiss & Tell