Redheads Are The Love Child Of A Volcano And A Tornado

Truth. Sadly, I can’t even begin to refute that. John DeVore knows it’s true. He wrote it.

Another instance of girls being likened to extreme weather and natural disasters:

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.
– John Green, Alaska Young

Mary says I quote things too much in my entries. My brain is actually just a disaster web of everything I’ve ever read or listened to. The excessive quoting can’t be helped. Just like the disaster web can never be untangled and organized.

This post is about redheads, dating, relationships, and John DeVore. Every time I see a new post of his on The Frisky, I stop whatever I’m doing and read it. And generally, I smile the whole way through because they’re hilarious. Yes, I read the Frisky. I’m a girl. If you think it’s an exaggeration that we all sit around and discuss what we read there that day, you’re wrong. (See also: The Gloss and Jezebel)

Here’s the most recent post which spawned this entry. Because I’m a narcissist and because that sentence activated my “oh my God, they’re on to us” sensors, I had to see if he ever wrote anything else about our kind. Easily enough, I found another whole post about it.

After mentioning our “combustible temperaments,” he does throw out this disclaimer:

Every single she-ruby I’ve ever attempted to date has failed to acknowledge my existence, taken a flamethrower to my heart, or disappeared in the morning like a cinnamon mist.

I don’t know, bro. You’re not the only one we’ve ruined.

Of course, there was no third day of hot jungle love, nor any subsequent day thereafter, because she informed me with the emotional detachment of a Vulcan that she was “just exploring” her options.

Eff. Every instance of me being a horrible person comes flooding back. I want to say that I don’t do things like that intentionally and that I’m just naive. No, not true. I think on some level I know what I’m doing and just don’t care. Heartless. I will try to be better. Maybe it’s not a redhead thing. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that I exhibit all evil redhead qualities. Or this could be an instance of the “You’re so vain, I bet you think this blog post is about you, don’t you?” thing. Narcissists make everything personal.

I don’t know if the “redhead personality” is really a bad thing. To call them evil redhead qualities is perhaps too harsh. I see the feistiness as a triumph of spirit.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And eat men like air.
– Sylvia Plath, Lady Lazarus

Another thing that stuck out in my mind as a rude awakening in terms of my flaws and those of girls in general was this quote from the How We Say “I Love You” (Without Actually Saying, “I Love You”) post.

4. We Swallow Our Fear And Absorb Your Monthly Freak-Outs Like Understanding Man-Sponges
We don’t know why or what we did, but we’re sorry. How about a back massage while you vent about your evil walrus-shaped boss who hates you, that celebrity with the eating disorder who makes you hate yourself, OR your best friend whom you hate because she brags about her perfect, rich boyfriend with the loft and quaff whom everyone knows is in the closet but it doesn’t really matter. Did we mention we’re sorry? And please notice the furrowed brow, pursed lips, and soothing head nod – we’re concentrating on your every word. Seriously, we are. Even if we’re not, appreciate what isn’t being said. Exactly – we’re saying nothing. Let it all out and just know that if anyone were to really threaten you, like a mastodon or terrorists, we’d go all Die Hard on them. But until such a moment, we listen, and do nothing but listen, because we love you.

Humorous. Eye opening. Sweet.

To all the guys of the world, thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for being sponges that absorb all our bullshit. Some of you are assholes (well, a lot of you are assholes) but we’re assholes too. The love and dating game is really just an arduous operation in finding the specific type of asshole that you can tolerate/adore and who can tolerate/adore your asshole-ness as well.

Goodness. Such negative views of life and the world.

John DeVore has a slightly more positive “you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find the prince” outlook.

The big story of success, in sales or in love, is actually many smaller stories of failures.

Pretty profound. I still haven’t figured out if I’m failing or they’re failing. Maybe I’m failing when they’re not and vice versa. Maybe we’re making each other fail like two reactive elements. Stable on our own but God help us when we get together. Maybe dates and relationships are various shades of those concepts/states at different times.

Here’s what I learned, and it applies to dating. Love is an opportunity. Cold selling anything means you have to have an appetite for rejection. A hunger to fail. A salesman gets rejected 80 percent of the time, but he makes his living from the 20 percent of the time he succeeds.

Every time I was rebuffed by a woman in furs or a man who really didn’t like comedy, I got closer to making a sale. Love is an opportunity and the more you put yourself out there, the luckier you get.

It’s an opportunity and also kind of a chore where hard work and experience pays off? Insight noted.

Marco was talking about this virus concept the other day related to another aspect of dating. It’s been his observation that when people aren’t quite over their ex or previous fling, they have this virus that they got from said person. And when they start dating someone else, they pass it on to this new fling/person so when that lovehate affair ends, the new fling/person stays hung up on the person he/she got it from and then and passes it along to their new fling/person who stays hung up on that person and the cycle continues. My contribution to this theory is that it spreads until we’re all infected and dying.

Marco’s principle is a biblical truth supported by empirical science. (Hypotheses like that are hard to come by.)

That being said, I guess some of us are lucky enough to find the one asshole out there who gives us an immune system boost to fight off the nefarious decay and has the very specific antibody to our very specific disease and we live happily ever after slowly healing with time. I think people from older generations stay together until they die because the virus wasn’t as widespread back then so they never got it. But now we all have it. It’s like HPV. Every time I go to the gynecologist for my yearly checkup, they tell me that if you’ve slept with two people, you probably have it.

With love or infatuation, if you’ve been scorned or rejected twice, you probably have the trojan horse or brain parasite of heartbreak. Tricks you into thinking all is well and you just need to find someone else until you get close enough to them to pass it on. Then it strikes and takes no prisoners. Doomed to destroy each other.

Anyway, play them off, keyboard cat. And by keyboard cat, I mean Weezer.

Any day now, you’ll call me up on the phone
Say you love me more than you ever did before

It’s all that I can do right now
To make it up to you somehow
And meet you on the other side of home

Take no prisoners here in this knock down drag out war
That we’re waging on each other forever more

Theme song of lingering post-breakup nonsense emotions.

These blogs are getting out of hand.

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One response to “Redheads Are The Love Child Of A Volcano And A Tornado

  1. Pingback: Drunk Texting With Liz: Militant Feminism Edition | In Between A Rock And The Back Wall

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