Indulge me another dating ramble?

I know I've been rambling and ranting non-stop about not wanting to date man-children. These ramble-rants were brought on in the immediate sense by some guy asking me out sloppily, and my thinking, if he's sloppy at this stage, I can only imagine what his stable state would bring. And although I told you, in one of those posts, that my deep-seated dread of the man-child is as much based on observing those around me, I realized in my last relationship that it could happen to me, too. But also that the man-child factor both was and was not the problem.


Let's start with was: I do think that no matter how much you love and care about someone, value their redeeming qualities, etc., having to be your SO's personal assistant will get old, fast (just like being his maid will get old, fast). Unless you relish that role, and/or unless it fits well into your natural division of labor. Even then, though--say the SO is the sole or overwhelmingly primary breadwinner and works twice as many hours, so it makes sense for you to take on personal assistant duties--you still need him to meet you half-way. Being a man-child isn't just about creating more work for your partner; it's also about being so disorganized, uncommunicative, etc. that that work becomes overwhelming. All this to say, you can deem this person worth the extra work, but still get fed up because the work multiplies or becomes more grueling. And maybe you'd abide that by nature of the work itself, but you have a hard time abiding it just because the person is being a baby or a dick.

I've dated one or two of those guys--those for which just the logistical bullshit became too much to take. But I wouldn't know if it was really "just" that, because the human factors alone would have killed the relationships anyway; the logistical bullshit just accelerated their demise. And I'm contrasting these two factors because--am I straw-manning here--the dating coaches or even some friends of mine might say, "who cares about whether he can [have an intelligent conversation about x], what will matter is whether he'll be able dot i's and cross t's." And what I'm saying is, yes and no.

I was at the ballet last night, and as always, Septime Webre came onstage to introduce the show. No, this isn't about liking ballet (but Mr. Webre reminded me of the last show I talk about below, even though it is not his and I don't know his immigration story; but by association, I remembered it, and it reminded me of everything I'm about to write).

F. didn't like ballet; I didn't care. He did like theater; I kind of cared. It was the reactions to specific shows--not the liking or disliking of them, but the other reactions--that foreshadowed the demise of our relationship. My friends used to roll their eyes at me because I talked about the difference between men who read fiction and those who don't; I could tell the difference, and preferred the former. There was something dry about the latter (I dated them anyway, and they proved me right every time).

F. and I went to see a slow, flawed production of Hedda Gabler, which neither of us enjoyed. But I got it and he didn't--i.e., it was obvious to me why it was a classic, and he just couldn't understand it (mind you, I understand why Madame Bovary is a classic, and even many of my friends do not, but I had to read it for at least three different French classes and by then I had no choice but to appreciate it). But do you see what I'm saying: I didn't need him to like it; I needed him to be open to the fact that it was reflective of sociopolitical context. He just couldn't. I shrugged it off; it wasn't important.

Months later, he and I went to see "New Jerusalem: The Interrogation of Baruch de Spinoza." It wasn't amazing, and it dragged. I didn't need him to like it (I'm not sure I did). But I thought it was interesting and that it brought up very interesting issues (that could have been better worked out in a shorter, tighter play). That I brought up for discussion over dinner following the show. And his reaction--"I don't believe in god so there's nothing to talk about"--was so dispiriting to me that I wondered at that moment whether I could keep seeing him, but I said "that would be a silly reason to not keep dating someone." You can not believe in god and still find the way people historically thought about god, reality, being, etc. fascinating. The way people made sense of the world before science was really there, in the way it is now, to inform their sense of it. How can you not find that fascinating? But he didn't.

Months after that, just before we broke up, I'd gone to see Be Careful! The Sharks Will Eat You!, which was beautiful, inspiring, and heart-wrenching. I described it to friends--in his presence--and shared some of the most mind-blowing parts of the story. And his level of 'meh, who the f* cares'--not about the show, but about this amazing human story--exposed the chasm between our souls. I don't have to keep reassuring you that I don't need everyone to like the same shows or movies or books, but sometimes, someone's reaction to something speaks volumes about who they are. And at that moment--even though it was frustration over the logistical bullshit that got us there faster--I just knew that this wasn't someone I could be with.