Both the roomie and I have had our share of awkward dates, atrocious men, and possibly the worst of all: feelings. We were discussing our recent prospects this afternoon and how it is more of a ticking time bomb to see when the bad will come out.
Will it be on the first date, which would be nice so there's no further investment, or will they reel you in first, adding insult to injury? Sometimes you can pull the loose screws out like a magnet within minutes of meeting awkwardly at the coffee shop. But you can't always be so lucky. It could be two years into a relationship that you assume is heading toward engagement when you panic and think, what in the fuck am I doing?
So here we are, talking about our upcoming plans with these guys. Will it work out with the 30 year old that talks about his god-daughter? I hope so because a guy that adores children and pampers his little princess is an automatic winner, especially since my roomie is constantly obsessing about turkey-basting me so he can have a little diva of his own. I love hear about his dates and the guys that he's talking to. Within minutes of showing me their text messages or discussing where they went on their date, I know if there will be another second one. I can tell just because I know my gay husband and what he's looking for as well as what he deserves, but I can also by his tone of voice, what he discloses to me and what he wore on the date. He should be in a relationship with no one less than incredible, as he's the greatest guy I've met. A catty bitch from time to time, but that's why we adore one another.
Same story with many of my girlfriends. Cherry has had many less than amazing men treat her terribly and I usually tell her my thoughts on these guys. She's the most romantic, loving and optimistic woman I know and I'm still waiting for her to gallop off into the sunset with the Prince Charming she belongs with, not some douche that looks okay in white and can ride a horse. When my sister Jose was in high school, I would point out that the guy she was going out with that seemed "weird," which is the way a twelve year old says, "he looks like a fucking deadbeat," in case you were unaware of that. I've told my friends, "no, just no," as well as, "absolutely fucking not," when needed. I'm also quick to determine whether this is just a fling or if it's something serious and list the pros and cons of each and if the guy adds up.
So here's the mystery: why am I completely incapable of doing this for myself? Do I love my friends in such an unconditional way that I haven't quite learned to feel for myself? If I were my therapist, I would say absolutely (and send a $225 bill with it). In the mean time, I would say it's because I like to see the best in the people that I'm interested in. That quality might be what draws some men in, but it's also what makes me such an idiot. The frustrating part is I don't think my expectations are unrealistic, I'm not desperately searching for something right now and I think I'm pretty damn amazing. I'm just not going to waste my time with some douche who:
a) is an untitled brat that uses his parents money for everything and can't appreciate that I'm a hard working, ambitious badass.
b) is also career driven but only thinks of himself, his work, and his friends while expecting me to drop everything for him.
c) is only looking for a hook up (sorry, you're with the wrong girl), but then gets upset when I indicate that I'm going out with friends, meeting people and I'm not available. This one may or may not include a minor freak out when I stop talking to him all together.
d) of course the friend, coworker, man-in-a-relationship, that has no reason all together to try to court me anyway.
I'm not actively searching for Mr. Right at this time, but I also don't want Mr. Dumbass either. This is why I'm satisfied with my extremely attractive tribe of well-dressed and hilarious homos until we all find our mister.
An art that seems to have faded away with long division (thank god), hand-written letters and using paper maps that are a bitch to fold back together, is offering a genuine and appropriate apology.
First of all, I'm certainly at fault on missing the apology cue on numerous very important occasions. Recently the love of my life and I were both overworked, ridiculously stressed, not to mention going through a drought. He's the homosexual gay version of me, complete with feisty big hair, a sassy attitude, and an insatiable appetite for wine. Needless to say, a few days of not accidentally downing an entire bottle of wine turned into a week. That week of not falling asleep on the grandpa chair he was reupholstering while I had a narcoleptic fit on the couch with my favorite fluffy grey blanket of his turned into too many weeks. Then it hit me: I've been a snotty bitch. I was upset and hurt that he had broken plans with me, not asked what happened to the guy I had been hanging out with (answer: absolutely nothing), but then I realized that I hadn't been making fun of his gap-toothed, bitch of a boss via text with him, teasing him for his busy week of back to back dates, or inviting him over to laugh at my pathetic excuse for an apartment. I could have focused on the ways that I was disappointed and hurt because of him, but instead I decided to not be a selfish bitch and admitted to myself that I was in the wrong.
I did what any well spoken, eloquent lady would do: I sent a Facebook message at 6AM. I went to sleep thinking about how upset I was with myself for letting this incredible guy, amazing friend and hilarious bitch drift away. I woke up telling myself that I wouldn't go through the day without making things right. I sent a fairly long message to him with the main theme being, "I'm sorry for being a cunty brat the last couple of months. I love you, I miss you. Can we hang out soon and make fun of random things?" And what do you know? Life is good again. He was over a couple of nights ago eating our JK Date Night Pizza and attempting to hang my curtains. He left weighing three pounds heavier with a bandaid on his hand.
On the flip side, I've been in need of the "I suck, I'm sorry," message from a few people recently. Part of the reason my long-lost-homo and I are such a great duo is because, as sassy as we may be, we have huge hearts. Just as he helped me with job hunting, offering a place to live for a couple months, and mostly just supporting me emotionally, I have done the same for others. When I care about someone, I truly care for them unconditionally. And that exactly why it upsets me to feel taken for granted and used. As if being a selfish jerk while you're in town to supposedly visit me and bring me out of the depression I've been in isn't bad enough, a lingering apology drags the hurt on and on. I've had friends completely forget about me now that I'm a whopping eight hours away, insinuate that I've "lucked into everything," since I've moved here (it's called months of hard work and patience, assholes), and jump to point out all the mistakes that I've made. Are these the people I want in my life moving forward? Actually no. I guess I should continue to rid my life of the negative and keep a positive mind.
Of course sometimes you just need to let things slide and I absolutely feel that I am a very understanding person. I know my friends, every detail to what's going on at work, that their love-life is imploding in front of them, that their grampy is having health issues, and I respect that they aren't the finest version of themselves at all times. That said, if you blatantly use me, avoid the truth, blow me off, or insult me, you've probably crossed the line. I'm a fairly laid back girl and I do make the most awful jokes so it takes a lot to even SEE the line that one shouldn't touch. All I'm saying is, if you're sick, worried about someone you love, or pissed at your psychotic boss just preface your bitchiness with a text. "Hey, Idaho is being a raging mircomanager this week and I'm on the man-period from hell," will say everything. Or send a Facebook message with the link to the upcoming event you're prepping for and tell me you can't wait to hang out once all is complete. Life isn't hard, people.
Are Facebook messages and texts the apology of our time? Probably. Honestly, I don't care how the point gets across as long as it's genuine. Send a damn smoke signal, carrier pigeon or take me to DOC for a glass of wine but mean exactly what you say and all will be forgiven. I think that every one of us has hurt someone, done something stupid and massively fucked up on a semi-regular basis that it shouldn't be unheard of to take the time to acknowledge that something was dumb, unintentional and let's move onto catching up on the crazies we saw on the CTA this week.
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.
Cherry and I were discussing the fear we feel when a new prospect enters the picture. Words like "respect," "romantic," and "thoughtful," were being said, at which point I had to pull out my Webster's to determine the meaning of such words in this context. No, this isn't a "chivalry is so dead," rant. I've had the pleasure of meeting the great gentlemen that are blessed to be with both of my sisters and a few of my girlfriends. Rather, this is a "why am I such an idiot?" rant.
Why is that typically normal gestures end up being red-flags to me? Negative, degrading thoughts are at the very least crossing my mind, but more than likely being discussed with my mom or a girlfriend. Oh my gosh, he said I'm beautiful and was genuine about it? What the fuck is wrong with him? Oh, a good morning text, REALLY? Did his parents beat him senseless as a child? He's asking my girlfriend about me, not to find out if I'll put out but to see if I'm like a good person. He's clearly a devil! Holy balls, he didn't even TRY to have sex with me....does he have a small penis? Does he even have a penis? What's he trying to get out of this?
I'm not sure who reads these posts aside from my mom (because she's obviously forced to do so), so it's hard to determine the general reaction to these thoughts. Because most of my friends are girls or gays, they can relate. What I can't get over is, why is it accepted as "normal," for people to feel this way? I'm not going to bitch about the nightmare that is my dating and relationship history. Wah wah, poor me. All I'm saying is that the aftermath of a bad breakup, toxic relationship, or sketchy dates should be recognized as potentially damaging to our well-being.
Because we're both psychology-nerds, my evening was spent texting Cherry, trying to think of a catchy name for this type of dating related PTSD. What I admire in her though, is something I completely lack. No matter how many times she's been hurt, Cherry always goes into a date, a Tinder swipe, a night out in River North with an open and optimistic mind. Cherry is just one of too many amazing friends that I've seen truly suffer due to the actions of a terrible person. Let me be completely clear: I've been on both sides of this before, both the heart-broken mess that drops to a weight below one hundred pounds due to depression as well as the selfish and hurtful person that makes stupid mistakes that continue to haunt my brain from time to time. Neither position is one that I ever want to find myself in, nor those that I care about.
So I guess the question is, what can I do about it? Do I continue on this neurotic path? I can keep my fingers crossed that the DSM-IV includes a diagnosis of Dating Douches Syndrome with the treatment recommendations being new stilettos, drinks with girlfriends and dancing at a gay club. I'm certainly aware that thinking every man that is somewhat respectful toward me wants to cut me up into fifteen mason jars and store me on a shelf in the basement doesn't typically cross one's mind in a time of gratitude. Rather than butterflies the minute I (gasp!) agree to go on a date, I feel as though that I'm sealing my fate to be turned into a skinsuit. Instead, I think I need a very intense reality check and maybe, just maaaaaybe, next time I'll opt for the giddies instead of the crazies and see how it goes.
