Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent and completely freaky. This is Jackie's story of the very illusive, but nonetheless frightening "Hot Freak"...
I met my hot freak at the rooftop party of a mutual friend. I noticed him immediately, because it was a relatively small party (literally and figuratively) and he stood head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. 6’4”, short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, with the body type of a male model (read: a bit skinny, but cut), and very well dressed. By all standard accounts, he was legitimately hot, but in a mysterious I want to seem hot AND smart way. i.e. He kind of stood off to the side the majority of the night, chatted it up with everyone at the party, but wouldn’t participate in our normal classy drinking festivities.
By the end of the night, we had spend the better part of two hours talking, either by ourselves or in a group. Lots of flirting veiled by verbal sparring. I thought he would ask for my number or try to kiss me, but instead he left the party without making a move. A few days later he contacted me on Facebook (file under you are lame). We sent a few messages back and forth and ultimately picked a night a couple of weeks after the party to get drinks.
We met at Astor Place and walked to a little hole-in-the-wall mixology bar that he knew well. As we’re chatting on our walk over, everything seemed normal. He’s a wannabe actor (not my thing), but he asked me a lot of questions about my job, was engaging and polite…the whole deal. So far, so good...
When we sit down, he pulls a couple of small leather-bound notebooks out of his way-too-tight pants and puts them on the table. Perhaps he pulled them out because he physically could not sit down with them in his pocket since his pants were so tight, but I think he clearly took them out and put them on the table because he wanted me to ask about them… So, I did. And the response I got definitely upped the freak ante.
When he opened the notebooks, I could immediately tell that is wasn’t written in English. The letters or characters looked very similar to the Cyrillic alphabet...maybe he was bilingual? Hmm..that would be pretty hot! But no no, these notebooks weren’t written in Russian or some other generally accepted and used language…
He had MADE UP HIS OWN LANGUAGE and had tons of notebooks FILLED with it, written in teeny tiny serial killer sized print...
He then spent the next hour and a half of the date talking about his “writing” and his "language". Not only had he created this written language (complete with new forms of punctuation obviously), but all of his writing was around creating a new life philosophy (wow).
I forget the specifics, but this philosophy was built around a cosmic connection that links all humans. Honestly, it sounded like he had taken the cliff notes from his modern philosophy 101 class at NYU and mashed them all together into a single, yet totally conflicting life theory and called it his own. Who even has time to write stuff like this? Who MAKES UP A LANGUAGE IN THEIR SPARE TIME? He may have been hot, but his social skills and general hobbies were borderline serial killer/skitzo.
Note to all the single men out there.. making up a language and showing it on a first date is not going to get you laid and is just plain weird...this is why you are single (and a bit creepy).
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