"The Cobbler"
One magical night, while my friends and I were hanging at one of the bars we never leave, I accidentally smashed a door into a very hot guy's face. He laughed, and walked away uninjured. Later (when I was not sober), he approached me and said "hey, didn't you open a door into my face before?" and I was all "yes. that was me." We started talking, and he seemed a little anxious, but I figured that was because he was wearing those little athletic shorts that they have at American Apparel (he was playing kickball before) and he was kind of embarrassed that he didn't have time to change before coming out with his friends. I found out later, I was wrong, but we'll get into that.
So anyway, after watching him roll about 40 cigarettes, he finally asked if we could "hang out sometime." The next time we hung out, I was sober, and realized that NO, he's weird and anxious all the time. Also he mentioned that he had to drop his shoes off at the "cobbler" so that they could get fixed. Of course I laughed, thinking it was a joke. No. No, friends. Not a joke.
Before I go on, I should emphasize that this guy was unusually good looking.
I had been dating him for two weeks, and I knew something was really off about this guy. He was awkward in social situations, and didn't seem to understand how to navigate them, or pick up on social cues (ie: interrupting conversations even when they looked intense or private to a more perceptive outside viewer). He was excessively formal in his speech (the use of the word "cobbler" was not the only strangely formal and outdated word he frequently used), and in what he wore (he wore a tuxedo to this "kickball formal" we went to). His affect and speech were pretty flat, and he had a hard time understanding when other people had bigger reactions to emotional stimuli, and that other people had a seemingly larger range of emotions than he had. However, he was so sweet, and (again) really really hot. So I decided to just keep trying until I couldn't take it anymore.
He as convinced he had A.D.D. and a learning disability (the history of the learning disability changed every time he talked about it), but I really didn't have a doubt in my mind that his family doctor was wrong, and that he had Asperger's disorder (so he was wasting money and time on ritalin and therapy for anxiety). I thought, well maybe its just like really mild Asperger's, so clearly were not like, getting married, because he annoys the fuck out of me, but eh..hes really cute...
One time in our brief time dating, we were on the train going out, and he was telling me all about his rituals on the train. I decided that I couldn't fucking take it anymore, and took out a Sudoku puzzle so he would be distracted by an activity instead of talking. He said "remind me of the rules again? I haven't played in a while." If you have ever understood the rules to Sudoku, they're not that fucking hard, so you wouldn't just forget. Like, you don't forget Snood, or fucking Mine Sweeper, you're just all "oh right, right" once you start playing again. So he was obviously lying. I delicately explained the rules, "I mean, you already know this, but its one through nine..."
He freaked out and kept writing numbers in the margins, and totally had a melt down when he couldn't figure the puzzle out. Eventually I said, "hey can I finish it?" just to put him out of his misery, and he ACTUALLY said "Oh, sure. I wasn't even really paying attention to this anyway." Right. That's why there's sweaty palm marks all over it.
He slept over that night, and had to get up early for a job (getting paid to do some film crew stuff for a day), so he asked me to set an alarm, which I did. He slept through the alarm, and when he woke up, and realized that he was late (and fired), he started SCREAMING at me, and tearing my bedroom apart looking for his phone (pillows, books, etc everywhere). "WHY DIDN'T YOU SET THE ALARM? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?" I was actually pretty calm while it was happening, because I was thinking "oh cool, now I have a reason to break up with you."
He tore my room apart, and finally found his phone in his bag. He talked to the guy who had gotten him the job for that day, and had gotten fired from that particular shoot, but was told that he would get more jobs in the future. So all in all it probably wasn't worth completely freaking me out and disrespecting me and my house. I told him to get his stuff and leave. He ran out to my front porch shirtless and started wailing (like a little kid or an animal) and hitting the brick wall. Hearing the sound, I rushed out to find him screaming, and my landlords (who live below me) outside in their pajamas looking on, very concerned. I told him to go inside and wait for me (he ran inside like a scared animal), and I reassured my landlords who asked if they should call the police. I told them no, and they told me to call them if I needed anything.
I came into my apartment to this guy still freaking out, but also helping himself to the Snapple in my fridge. I then had to de-escalate the person who had just wrecked my house, scared the shit out of me and my landlords, and essentially made me feel unsafe in my own home.
I broke up with him on the phone. He didn't really seem to understand why I wanted to stop seeing him, and explained that we just needed "another week." We got around to talking about his diagnosis, and as bad as I felt, I told him that he probably has Asperger's and that stimulant medication might not be the answer. He took that opinion very graciously (I really didn't tell him to make him feel bad), actually he took it as a compliment (I think he said something like "there are many brilliant and beautiful people on the spectrum").
I know. I know. I know. But he was so pretty. And I just wanted to touch it. He actually came to one of my shows recently, and he was still totally weird, and bad at picking up on social cues, but the guy I'm seeing now (who I really like, and so far it seems to be working out pretty well!!) even said: "yeah. he's so weird. but, to be fair he is a good looking guy." But (sigh) I guess the moral of the story is probably like "break up with someone when you start really hating them, or you'll feel guilty because they have a pervasive developmental disorder, and have to wait until they tear your room apart" or something.
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