Once, I walked in on her alphabetizing her nail polish (by color) only to return two fucking hours later to find her doing the same thing (this time by brand). She does yoga every day and is in extraordinary shape, but she will eat four fucking sleeves of saltines in a sitting. The next day she would be wracked with guilt and bemoan her lack of impulse control.
I had to listen and nod sympathetically, or I was accused of being insensitive and unattracted to her.
Chunky ice cream is her favorite, generally Rocky Road-type ice creams.
Anyways, as someone with misophonia [a condition in which negative emotions are triggered by specific sounds], it's my worst nightmare is trying to watch Netflix next to someone methodically suckling something.
Sometimes it’s just a phase, but certain people are simply capital-S “Stoners.” At one point, I was guilty myself.
Years ago, I spent a lovely, stoned Sunday in the park with a lover.
Across the grass, we could see a group of hippies doing a stoner dance, of sorts.
You know what I’m talking about: white people wearing sarongs and moving their arms like snakes while attempting to gyrate their hips to the sounds of some god-forsaken jam band.
It can be no fun to date someone who unironically wants to dance in public to a jam band, or whose bed sheets are covered in resin.
(Note: I was younger then, and had eaten a couple pot cookies earlier in the day).
I brazenly started walking across the park to join them in dance because that obviously was the correct decision.
I'm an alcoholic and had no problem having booze in the house, what gives?
She listened to the Grateful Dead un-ironically too, which is fucking unforgivable. We got along well and had a lot of fun together, but he drank a lot and smoked a lot of weed, which was a turnoff for me. We're chilling at his place, and he tells me that he's going sober for a while.