How much latitude does hotness buy you?
Yes, that’s a photo of Johnny Depp, but no, this blog isn’t about him. God, a girl slips once and suddenly I’m a celebrity whore. How’d that happen? I only include this image of Johnny to illustrate a point: that we often forgive too much in the name of hotness.
Right now I know a girl who’s dating a very hot guy. He’s in his early 20s, an aspiring actor in Los Angeles who doesn’t look unlike the man pictured above. The only thing is, when I first met this man I learned he was a pot dealer and was being kicked out of his apartment. But alas, everyone has apartment troubles from time to time, as my friend reminded me and really who hasn’t smoked a little pot? And besides, wasn’t he painfully hot?
I shrugged. I could see her point, but then two weeks later while commenting on the difficulty of finding a quality man she joked, “At least he doesn’t sell coke.”
Say what?
Yes, you guessed it. My friend’s Johnny Depp lookalike was selling more than just weed. But alas, my friend dropped her ethics and argued that the sex was too good to simply abandon said boy for his housing problems and coke dealing tendencies despite the fact that he’s never bought her dinner.
That part didn’t bother me the most. It’s what came next: He thinks bread rises because yeast naturally occurs in the air. Yes, according to this boy, every time we breathe, we’re inhaling yeast, (which would explain my yeast allergy). I began to argue with him that yeast must be added separately, but he stood by his conviction with such fervor that I backed down, not having the energy to fight him.
After he left I argued to my friend, “If that’s true, how do you explain crackers or cookies?” She laughed and admitted there were some flaws in his logic; otherwise all baked goods would inexplicably rise. And despite this all, she’s still dating him.
Me, I don’t get it at all. I’m not one of those girls who can keep sleeping with a drug dealer who doesn’t understand yeast to satisfy my sexual needs. In fact, for a bisexual I cope pretty well with my sexual needs on my own without breaking down and grabbing any old Johnny Depp lookalike coke dealer I can find to bake my bread with the contaminants in the air.
Nope, I add the much needed ingredients myself. Sometimes there’s nothing more trustworthy than your own hand.
Forgive and forget?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
