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He had a hot tub and the kind of marijuana addiction that made him tack brightly colored carpet samples to a wall because he wanted something “cool” to look at while he was high.
I didn’t mind floating around a little stoned, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to talk about flooring for more than 60 days.
And I jumped into that oddball dating scene headfirst.
I spent a month or two with Derek (names changed throughout), a legitimate maestro who was mostly a bartender owing to the shortage of symphony orchestras in the state.
I didn’t date at all in high school; in my revisionist history I’ve decided this was by choice, but the reality was that a six-foot-tall black girl in a predominantly white town who shaves her head, wears a skirt made out of ties, and uses black eyeliner as lipstick isn’t really racking up the offers.
My lack of a high-school love life and the fact that I never saw any hometown dick makes it easy to go back to visit now, but at the time it made me feel ill-prepared for dating in the real world.
I found out he was cheating on me with a woman who did reiki, and I’ve never felt better about punching a man right in the face.It was isolating at times, and I definitely listened to Grant Lee Buffalo’s “Happiness” on repeat in my driveway one night while crying into a large pizza for one, but when everyone you know lives 3,000 miles away, you can really amp up the dormant part of your hedonistic tendencies.There’s a saying about dating in Alaska: The odds are good, but the goods are odd.In the four years I lived in Anchorage, I dated more than I probably will for the rest of my life.I got asked out a lot — at the grocery store, at the library, hiking the Matanuska Glacier, gliding down the bike trail.