The Doomed Souffle
(bigbro distastefulness level: mild to moderate discomfort expected)

You know how Addison and Callie on Grey's Anatomy last week had that nice moment of commiserating about sleeping with McSteamy, calling it a "hail storm of self-loathing and misery"?

Yeah.

I didn't sleep with the Destroyer or anything close to it, but I was feeling low and down, and so I called him to get a drink. He was about to cook something, so suggested I come over. So I did, drank copious (for me) amounts of beer, and did silly things like lie on one end of the sofa while he took the other end, jump on his bed, and eventually (by invitation!) lie on his much-boasted-about super soft said bed.

Oh, and I also helped him make a goat cheese souffle which turned out terribly.

But that's what this whole thing is: a doomed souffle! It should be light and fluffy and magically delicious, and right before my eyes, it deflated down to half an inch of salty, disgusting mealyness.

Translation: I know I called the Destroyer because I wanted a little boost to my ego, a little sop to my desire to be desired, a nod to my need for validation. And instead of walking away cheered by the interaction, I walked away confused as to what the Destroyer wants from me, what I want from him, and why I ever thought he would be a good person to call while blue. He's a Destroyer! He can't help it, but he engenders jealousy and self-loathing, because while everything he does says, "I like you! I want you!" (see: taking and drinking my beer, changing clothes twice in the bedroom while I'm in the living room, telling me that he's not seeing that girl anymore, inviting me to try out the bed while he's lying on it), he always backs away from actually saying anything that might be perceived as interest. And then you feel really stupid for thinking that there's anything there.

The Destroyer: the ignition to the engine of shame.

Meaning: I deleted him (again) from my phone and call log, and gave the number to Joiner for safekeeping. It's just too dangerous.

In other perplexing news, I got an email from KB, whom I saw in Seoul in July, and I am confused. This is part of what he writes:

Keep thinking back that I wish you had stayed that night we met up in Seoul. I feel bad because I didn't encourage it but I felt it would be like semi cheating on my other 'aquantence'. End of the day we lost touch (read: she slowly started ignoring my calls and texts).

Anyway sorry for not offering you a bed that night. Next time I promise.

So, he's not such a great speller. But notice the content of the excerpt! What happened that night is that he mentioned he'd wound up sleeping with one of his friends and that they were sort of maybe seeing each other. We had a great time together that night, and I was tempted to stay over, especially when he said, "You can stay here if you don't want to get on the subway this late." When I hesitated, weighing the options, he added, "I promise nothing will happen." But I didn't think it wise, so I went home.

So what's the deal about not offering a bed that night? He totally did. And I said no. So... ?

God. It's just too exhausting. I've got to go to bed. My own, lumpy, not-soft-at-all, solitary, and totally not-confused bed.

P.S. A souffle? Really?