There's absolutely a fine line between friends you can count on and those that enable bad habits. Whether it's a mother in denial that her teenage daughter has a substance abuse problem, a girlfriend refusing to see that her guy is a workaholic, or the coworker thinking that her peer showing up with vomit on their designer pants more than once just means he's a partier, we've all tip-toed along that line. It can be due to naivete, denial, lack of interest, ignorance - maybe a combination of everything.
In my depression escaped only by high-fat foods and Netflix, I've started to consider that maybe my recluse state is something to be concerned about. I was particularly upset last night after being blown off by a friend. Instead of taking my fabulous newly cut and colored hair out to a loft party, I laid in my bed and watched more Sex and the City in boy shorts and a supersoft Victoria's Secret tshirt with my phone on silent so I'm not interrupted from Samantha talking about "funky tasting spunk." A friend of mine that completely identifies with my "hermit-age," as he refers to it, consoled me about my newly open Saturday night. The night was ruined, as was my hair from taking a nap, and we decided to just meet for Chicago's best cinnamon rolls the next morning.
Following mimosas at my apartment this morning, we headed around the corner and discussed the pleasant "spring-like weather," which in Chicago means 20 degrees and sunny. As we strolled to Ann Sather, I was mauled by a rabid pigeon, dripped on by ice-cold water from a building, and almost sipped coffee from a disgusting mug. It was explained to him that this is precisely why I have been refusing to leave the comfort of my cozy apartment. Why leave when I have the essentials? Netflix, booze, and snacks. I walk one block toward the Lake to catch the 146 bus only to be dropped off directly across the street from work. I have a Walgreens a couple buildings down that contains endless bottles of whiskey, gummy worms, and household cleaning products. Finally, I use a grocery delivery service and have befriended the Slavic man to the point that he puts my fresh fruit, Nutella and mixers in their rightful homes. Yes, I'm truly taking advantage in the city where I have endless options to meet new people, find new hobbies and be independent. The Summer of Yes version of me would be quite pissed.
So, while at brunch, we discussed our mutual hermitage. The feeling that I can't leave my house without something bad happening such as a bird attack like Tippi Hedren in a Hitchcock movie, is not normal for a relatively sane twentysomething. I don't suffer from agoraphobia or any other debilitating psychological disorder. What I do suffer from is adorable, enabling, gay minions. You know those darling little minions from Despicable Me? They are Gru's best friends, closest confidants, and he trusts them to watch his daughters - that's quite the relationship! I have a few gay friends that I tell everything to, spend all my time with and absolutely adore. They have been here through my bad dates, accidental lunch dates, frustrating days at work spent in my unofficial office/fitting room/crying chamber, and offer to take me out after my plans are cancelled. What I'm trying to say is that these boys are the best!! What they aren't the best at is giving me the big slap in the face that I've needed lately.
I didn't realize it until today when my brunch date pointed out that I have, "gay minions that enable these bad decisions." For example, I was in a bad mood on Valentine's Day. How original, a single girl that's bitchy on Valentine's Day. Not because I'm single but because I've spent the last fifteen Valentine's Days with one of the only people I allow myself to completely love: Peggy. Since I was 11, I've attempted to make dinner of some kind (boxed Pasta Roni in middle school which evolved to coconut shrimp curry over the years, thank you!), watched a movie and played games with my mom. Sometimes girlfriends would join us, gay friends came over and watched Lifetime movies one year, and last year my ex joined us. This year was empty without my mom.
K&K were well aware of my generally shitty attitude, lack of clothes and newfound desire to stay in. Instead of saying "smell ya later betch," and take their handsome butts to Boystown, they showed up at my apartment with booze, creepy wide-eyed stuffed animals named Smitten and Charming (so cute), and a Seamless order for Pad Thai. Side note: grocery/restaurant delivery service is probably the single best thing about living in a city. Anyway, it was for this reason that I've realized that I have some well-meaning enablers on my hand. No, I don't want them to stop drinking with me - I need someone to join me for extra dirty martinis after work. I don't want to put an end to my Netflix movie nights where we watch Disney movies together. And I most certainly WILL NOT cease my relationship with Grub Hub and Seamless delivery services. Rather, I will get my fatass out of my memory foam bed, crawl out from under the flannel sheets and down duvet, and get my fresh blonde locks ready for a night being complimented by gay men that are prettier than I with some of my favorite men.
After about a week of depression only satiated by binge-watching Sex and the City, champagne and chocolate cookie dough frozen yogurt, I need to get my shit straight. Let me start off by saying that I'm only writing on this topic because it's a major source of insecurities, frustration and internal nagging at the back of my mind. I want to understand two things: why I give off the vibe that I'm "that girl," to chase when one is already in a committed relationship and why is it okay for men to approach me as friends when they only have one goal?
So, the first issue that's been consuming my brain is why I'm perceived to be "the other woman." I've accepted two invitations to lunch recently, only to find that it's been an attack lunch date that has made me very uncomfortable. Side note: if you want to go on a REAL date, don't ask me to fucking lunch. Cocktails or dinner, please, lunch is for friends. Then this sweet guy that I've seen as a buddy confesses that the woman in his life, whether it's a girlfriend, wife, whatever, isn't working out and then, again in my innocent and friendly mindset, I console him. As a psych-nerd, I am 100% a problem-solver. I ask questions about why it isn't working, suggest ways to improve the situation, and the next thing I know the handsome man I view as only a friend is paying for my meal, helping me into my coat and, to my dismay, trying to hold my hand or even worse, kiss me!!!
I left both of these pseudo-dates completely puzzled. Explain this to me, someone, please. Am I giving off the "mistress," vibe with my lesbian-chic side braid, Hunter rain boots covered in snow-salt, and open confessions that the only relationship that I'm in is with that of my maintenance man that fixes my haunted window shade? The hard part is, I see these men as friends so I've confided in them. They know that I'm sick of feeling alone in this big city and, until recently, I've been assembling complicated furniture with kitchen shears and a giant jar of almond butter. These guys know the genuine version of me and not the wall that I put up to guys that I date, which also means they know my weaknesses, secrets and fears. Are they using this against me? What they don't know though, is how much it hurts to feel reduced to a distraction from the nagging women in their lives. What I think is a great co-ed friendship is actually a fantasy to get them through the rough patch in their relationship. And that feeling sucks. Never good enough for the relationship but definitely good enough to be sought out for the glamorous role of the "other woman." Oh wait.
Secondly, I thought my dating life would be far more interesting in Chicago than what it has been. Yes, being overwhelmed with work, sick with the rotating cold/stomach-flu mixture for about a month, and generally crabby, has more than likely put a damper on my romantic adventures. That said, the vast majority of men that have asked me out have, in fact, not asked me out. It's either been to a sneak-attack lunch date of a partnered up peer, or a guy just wanting to hang out as friends. I'm new in town and perhaps my "small-town," friendliness is interpreted as flirty. Let me just clear one thing up: if I'm flirting with you, you will know it!! Okay, that said, I love people. New friends make me happy and meeting anyone is intriguing to me.
Anyway, back to me being outgoing and friendly. Apparently this is frequently misconceived as my "game." For example, I talk about my mom constantly. Peggy is my best friend and to say I was thrilled that she would be visiting is a very significant understatement. Anyone that talks to me more than once has heard about my mom's drunken antics and our obscene conversations about every topic from our sexy dentist, the not-so-sexy but very creepy guy that delivers my groceries, and my brother's newfound single life. So, naturally, when she was visiting Chicago, I invited a couple "new friends," to join us at a chain bar known for dueling pianos. I showed them the video of her kissing some twenty-something random guy on the cheek and rubbing his abs at bar in Kansas City and the guys I invited were instantly in. A couple nights later was my mom's time to shine and my time to fire up the video setting on my iPhone for blackmail. Since I'm new, I'm simply excited to know anyone and I was thrilled to have a couple acquaintances join us at the bar. However, my joy quickly sizzled and found it's self in the shot that I was throwing back. I overheard one of the guys say to the other, "Why are you even here? You have a girlfriend. I don't, she is mine." Yes, I am adorable and sometimes very charming but I'm not a fucking puppy that you call dibs on at the pound. Guess what, boys? I am only interested in both of you as friends. The guy that attempted to call shot-gun on my vageen is clearly out of the picture, needless to say.
It truly hurts that I accept offers to hitch a ride from an old friend and when I ask about his newborn, he leans in for a kiss. I've been told that someone and his long-time girlfriend broke things off weeks prior so I agree to go on a date only to find out the next day at work that he and the woman just planned a vacation together. Another guy told me that he's not interested in me (which was great because the feeling was very mutual), to have him drunk text me for the next three weeks about "hanging out," at 1am. We all know the only thing hanging would be panties from the bed post, hard pass. I guess what I'm trying to determine is why I'm not good enough to be asked on a real date, by an actually available man. Don't hide behind a friendship and trick me and definitely don't be in a relationship while trying to cultivate a relationship with me. So, needless to say, the Chicago dating scene has left me severely underwhelmed. At least there's a hometown man that sent me a hammer to replace the almond butter jar I had been using as a hammer and he's, to my knowledge, available, thoughtful and definitely not in the friend zone.
