Reader Submitted
May 14, 2008
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SUBMITTED BY DEDE: I have a problem. Maybe it’s more of a disorder. Occasionally I suffer from something I refer to as the “blind crush,” which basically means that I can develop a strong affinity to a person’s form of expression and perhaps confuse it with the actual person. For example: after I read Dry I developed a heart, pounding, infatuation with the author, Austen Burroughs. The same happened while listening to “Runner” by Dustin O’Halloran — and about every few years I blind crush on Ian Curtis. My friends think this trait of mine is incredibly endearing (especially since most of the men I end up obsessing on turn out to be gay or dead).

My last blind crush was on the “Italian,” a photographer that I thought was interesting but had absolutely NO intention of “dating.” Until he forwarded to me his blog. ZOMG! I was a smitten kitten.

Our first date was filled with two classic icebreakers: cheap beer and making out. He earned big points for not chugging down booze like a frat boy and for telling me how adorable he thought I was. A second and third date followed, but there was no fourth. Why? Well, just because someone is capable of creating things you find beauty in, that doesn’t mean he will take the time to find the beauty in you. Lesson learned.

Aside from making out, our interactions were awkward at best. I would turn into a blubbering chatterbox as he appeared distant, distracted and very aloof. Despite my attempts, he was impossible to engage in conversation. The guy even came to my home without commenting once on anything in my apartment. Not a book, photo or piece of art ever caught his eye. Well… he did notice I had two printers.

Realizing that I was sailing a sinking ship, I did what any girl would do. I pelted the Italian with impulsive emails (cause he never picked up the phone) in a last ditch effort to establish a connection. After he blew off our 4th day date in order to “do his laundry,” I knew it was game over.

Now I’m back searching for that perfectly imperfect someone, a guy who will at least attempt to ask me a few questions about my retro kitchen clock collection. From here on out when I get hit with a blind crush I will proceed with extreme caution. Unless it’s on Ian Curtis.

[Photo by kevinsteele]