Tag: OkCupid

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A perfect one night stand (Part 1)

What can be a better conclusion to a day than watching a philosopher’s debate between a man in a suit and the dude? It was like watching an ancient match between Socrates, the happy and chaotic old entertainer, and the sophist-icated prophet of the truth of our time.

“Hi.”, the message arrived on okcupid. It is strange that a woman would write to me first; however it’s a refreshing change. Can’t waste time: “Hi. Are you watching Peterson vs zizek too? Or enjoying Friday night with some alcohol like a normal person?”, — or both like ultimate person! Since her profile was fairly empty, you have to start somewhere and hope it sparks an interest. “Hiya”. Well, I have to google that. It does sound like Hi, but maybe it’s one of those abbreviations that spring up all the time on the internet and are harder to follow than Žižek’s thoughts. Well, it just means Hi. “You sound like bot”, I ponder loudly. Probably she’s just one of the more quirky people, which usually turn out to be the really interesting ones. She: “Have any plans this wknd?” I know what wknd means! “I am free today and Sunday. You?” “I really want to grab some beers!” At this point one is allowed to get excited. I love beer! “Sure. But will take me an hour to get downtown.” (Toronto is quite spread out). “I am down for anything.. I haven’t had drinks in so long”. Woman that wants to get drunk. Why not. “Sure. Let’s grab a beer. Where do u wanna meet?”. Meanwhile Žižek is subtly suggesting one should read more than a 171 year old pamphlet to understand Marx.

“I’m not using this very much now a days. Are you on discord?” Well, her thoughts really jump around. So I suggest: “I don’t have discord. Telegram/whatsapp/signal?” “It’s chating app. I’m on it all the time.. You should download it. It is easier for me to chat hehe.” What? Yeah, I know it’s a chatting app, what else would you suggest? I google it just in case. The anxious feeling of anticipation is slowly taking hold and making me impatient. I might actually have a date. I might meet somebody on the same day! I am going on an adventure, to quote The Hobbit. “Ok I can do that”, I respond and download the app. “please add me. user name is “ bookworm#8105”. i am going to jump off this app now.” Seems to be a chatting app tailored to gamers. Meanwhile on the debate: a breakthrough. To achieve the most happiness you had to be living in Czechoslovakia in the 80s.

“Hello :)”, she restarted the conversation. “Hi. Beer?”, I feel like I am starting to repeat myself. “Hello love.” At least she is original. The only thing I have to hear now is Žižek’s toilet joke that seems to be omnipresent in his speeches. He delivers. “What do you wanna do?”, I persist, “Are you also a gamer?”, I try to expand this conversation that seems to be going nowhere. “so happy you added me ;)” What? “You are talking strange.” In the meantime, as a true Stalinist, Žižek asked Peterson for names. Who are those so called cultural Marxists, the Trotskyists of our day?

“can I be completely up front with you?”, “yes, go ahead.” “I recently split from a relationship.. I am just looking to hookup”, Jackpot. “Ok, I am leaving Toronto in one month, so I can’t offer you more than hook up. Do u wanna meet?” (I was bold in my mind.) “I like it a little rough.. you into this kinda thing?” At this point everything stopped, my mind went full blank and I utter the only answer there can be: “yes”. “What do you wanna do to me?” I took a breather, concentrated and wrote: “The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.” (Here is a quote from Tolkien, because what i actually wrote, stays with me.) “Mmm sounds great.” Oh yeah. “So will you tell me where I have to come?” In his final thought Slavoj asks for more thinking.

“im on this dating site rn loking for a potential 3 some.. you ever had one before? 2 girls that is ;P” I had to lie here, to established my higher position in lobster society (here is a Peterson reference, so you don’t say I’m biased towards Žižek). “Once”. “i haven’t yet, but I am so interested.. you wanna help pick the girl?” “Good luck if you manage to do it today:) idk how I can help. Try tinder?” she sends me a link: “http://myp…dNb — here’s an invite. setup profile and add me. k?” Sure I can do that. Seems fairly simple. Looks standard, a fill-in form. Nickname, password, mail… well let me use a secondary mail, you can never be too careful. I also don’t wanna receive a bunch of spam. Click next. Last page, I guess. Enter your credit card data.

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Why poopy?

The question that is ricocheting in my brains causing me the sorrow I can only compare, being from a village in Slovenia, to the screaming plea of a homestead animal about to die and the inevitability of the animal’s destiny. I had, and I have no answer to this excruciating plea. I can only tell a story which starts with the reveal that I am the poopy.

How can a word for excrements be the most loving nickname of my life? As anybody in a relationship would know, love is not all roses it is also farts. Literally. My liking of beer and apparent intolerance of some of its ingredients makes for an unpleasant combination that produces the smells rarely described in Romantic era sonnets. Thus the nickname was born, however the story starts where all things begin in 21st century: on the Internet.

There was a woman on OkCupid that seemed to be into climbing, which for me was basically the only opener I had (now I have upgraded to also talk about socialism), so I commented on her picture. A month later I got an answer and after about 6 months of online chatter I was walking through the arrivals door in Lisbon airport deliberating what to do if she ghosts me (also I believed there is a 50% chance she is a bot). As a precaution I told my family and friends I am visiting a “friend”. A ruse I successfully employed many times before. Imaginary friends are quite useful when used properly. Well it turned out she is real. She was waiting with a tiny sign that said: 1st international Eastern European climbers’ summit. Next night she asked if we can be together forever. Since I am an atheist and don’t believe in an afterlife I could only promise until death do us part. Three months later I moved to Lisbon to be with her.

Years ago I had recurring dreams that I am in a bed with a woman (I was single – go figure), but just before I would hug her I woke up and realize that I am lying alone in the bed. Now I woke up because she was trying to snuggle with me (well sometimes she was rocking me in the middle of the night and asking: “Are you awake?”).

I never lived with anybody before and neither had she. The non-monogamous nature of our relationship meant there was a lot of adapting. I had to embrace a new paradigm of relationships and she had to renounce some of her absolute freedom. It was a lot of conversation about our feelings and expectations, some tears, and a pinch of despair. Our divergent views slowly, experience by experience, became more and more symbiotic. My calm nature grounded her explosiveness (An example: Once, we were climbing, I commented that she should try harder. She immediately started yelling at me and proceeded to throw both of her climbing shoes towards me. She was in the middle of a climb), which in turn filled me with excitement and desire for new things. We grew closer and closer together, while trying not to impair each other’s uniqueness and freedom. Life was beautiful and for the first time in my life I felt like I found a person that loves me as much as I loved her. The infinitive cuddles, sexual explorations (50 shades of gray style. I presume. Didn’t read the book), shibari, climbing, caring for a rescued cat.

But sadly living in Lisbon was slowly draining my savings, unable to find a job, not in small part due to not putting enough effort into finding one, I had to do something. Even before I visited her for the first time, more than a year ago, I planned to go to Canada. I had nothing to do in my life at that point and decided why not. Two months before I moved to Lisbon I had been given an IEC visa. The visa required me to enter Canada within a year of receiving it. That day came, and I went. For a year. The only image on my mind when I walked through departure gates in Lisbon airport was her sad face looking into my eyes wondering why I left her behind, asking me: Why poopy?