Don't text a fuck buddy when you're having a perfectly nice time with someone else you would like to fuck. It is not smart life move. It will make you feel psychotic in the morning.
I need to stop trying to emotionally hedge myself 100% of the time. It is a completely useless opossum tactic that, in the long run, leaves you close to incapable of dealing with anything new or unexpected. It's the shittiest part of delusion town. You're not in the first, nice part actually building and trying to live by a glossy world of your own imagination-- you're in the second trashy, scary delusion part where you're too stunted to be part of the general populous. Then you get cancer and die.
I would like to die in delusion neighborhood number 1 not number 2, (Arcade Fire?) And in order to buy property in number 1 not 2, I need to commit to not just thinking about being a less of a weenies but to actually being less of a weenies. The fact that I skipped getting to know, and forcibly having to live with, diverse groups of people for a while in my early twenties-- in lue of some bizarre racket of a tutelage from an eccentric boss/demi-god/commander-of-a-international-sales-force-- has left me with skills including; talking, bullshitting and a huge propensity to think doing busy work really effectively counts as being useful. Needless to say, actually breeching and then picking up momentum in option number 2 is a strange and horrifying thing. At 25 I already feel like an old sad dog who being force fed new tricks. I like the idea of the tricks when I'm napping but actually doing them is hurting my brain-legs in new and terrifying ways. (That's a lot of "scare" adjectives for one paragraph.)
I am so use to being an afterthought, I am use to being a personal assistant and a mistress and a quick convinient fuck and living off of presumed unspoken assumptions of my worth to people, that I have recently realized that no cell in my body is currently willing to put any foot forward and say, 'hi, I'm here to be valued...outloud, please.' Okay that sounds incredibly dramatic but if you're 25, not god-awful looking, fairly intelligent and already realizing that you might die alone- because you already spend 85% of your time that way on account of bad social integration skills, it's probably a good idea to start some drama otherwise you might just not fucking change. (And based on curent trends, about 50% of the social time has been spent inebriated.)
Last night I drunkenly texted my long-term fuck buddy from a concert I thought he might be at. For years he has been a shoe-in but a completly dismissive dick and I hadn't seen him in about a year? Maybe 7 months. But I did it while seated next to the person I currently have an undying interest in. Why? Because I figured the promise of angry use-me sex would still be better than having to deal with the idea that the person sitting across from me doesn't want to immediately shack up with me. I wanted to have a nice tidy line of back-up maneuvers if a perceived need to save my ego-face was going to happen, good job you egotistic ass-hat, go ahead and punch out opportunity before it's even had a chance to move past the zygot stage. Funniest part is I was sitting across from this person on account of their invite. It wasn't a crazy forward, I am interested in you, come and hang out with me and music and booze because we all know how what usually ends and that's what I'm want out of you, kin dof invite, BUT they did like me enough to extend the invitation and not ask for any money for the ticket. That's at least, I want to be your new friend territory, which in the grand scheme of things might be more way more cool and valuable.
What did happen though was something unpleasant that I wasn't expecting in the form of fuck buddy's text message back. It said something to the extent of, been seeing a girl for a couple months, blah, blah, blah. Actually, there wasn't even the 'blah' parts, just the first part, implying that nothing more had to be said on the topic of him and I. I was off the bench, someone else came along, took my spot and had done a far better job of it...presumably by means of their ass, face, lower more fun inducing IQ and lack of semi-regularly surfacing emotional problems that prompted occasional crying after being shafted by what should honestly only be attached to something in the equine community. So, yeah, no, shitty, not cool. Forget friendship, I internally spiralled into a lightly drunk emergency mental-chaos meeting about the possibility of my night ending with serious feelings of all-round rejection. I sitting next to the first actual person I had any genuine interest in god knows how long so by my scientific analysis if did get metaphorically shafted on the evening it was going to be eight billion times more rough than I though I knew how to plan for. There will be car crying and the phrase, you're getting old, don't fuck this up immediately entered my brain... which is ridiculous for a 25 year old but we'll blame it on female genetics, fuck you chromosomes! I'd totally beat your ass if we weren't mutually independent things.
Funny thing is, it went fine. It went better than fine, there a short walk afte the show to our cars which where parked in the same direction, followed immediately by a lot of sitting on a power box on the side of the street, then taking turns giving money to a homeless guy, then a short trip to his house, then more beer and then popcorn making and talking and more talking and eventually, at like 3am, some solid dry humping and an awkward half-blowjob to cap it all off. There was even pancakes in the morning, pancakes with PopTarts inside them. I don't even like sugar but I ate them anyway.
All these things sound great but here is where I get to the stipulation part which maybe-possibly gives some justification for my infernal emotional closet case behavior. The reason all that happened, presumably, was booze. I was drunk, he was drunk, we was drunk. Would that have happened without the booze, probably not. There was also a marked lack of physical-ness in the morning. I mean we were squashed together in a weird side angle but it was more like leaning on each other than anything else. I did try and throw my arm over him once and it was a little awkard, I quickly retracted and he didn't really do anything. He did tell me I had great skin, (weird, I don't,) so that was a point for the good side, but when I left,-- after forcing waaaaaaay too many, probably too person, jokes through the course of coffee/breakfast making- there was a hug but there was no kiss. And I think I was the one who initiated it. Should there have been a kiss? Actually thinking about it kind of weirds me out, I can't tell if it's normal people behavior or not but so far in my completely fucked up past experiences to kiss someone goodbye right after the first time you've quasi fucked them may be too personal too soon? (I can never live in France.) Am I being psychotically over analytical about this? Maybe.
Okay, doom and gloom paragraph over with, I think I should probably circle back to a slightly more optimistic set of possibility, starting with; who cares?! you liked the guy, he invited you over, you stayed, you win, go home. At the very least you got to know someone you liked a little better, from a penal standpoint, and hopefully they'll stay your friend if not lover, if not love of your life who will be your awesome perfect partner in life forever... okay now you're circling back into crazy town. But I have this idea that it is okay to run the gammot of possibilities through the ol' fucked up nog because, well, I have no idea what I just started. Be it something life changing or absolutely nothing, I, unfortunately or not, lean all the way over to the creative(lunatic) side of the tracks when it comes to how I operate. I make small forays into analytics and calculated productivity but for the most part, I'm just predisposed to make shit up.And in order to make up solutions to things that have not yet happened I have to try on all the variable hats with my head. I can't change that, it's my only god-given skill set, (and clearly God's a dick.) But I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to justify my crazy by illustrating that since obviously not variables are going to work, I can't figure out which on will until I've conceived them all. Or at least tried, all is a little strong, sounds a little... yeah.
This is actually a really painful thing for me to write out. And it's painful for a couple reasons; firstly just for that fact that I'm technically "saying this shit out loud," even if it's to no one. Historically I don't do this, (see paragraph 3,) I don't admit that I am thinking these things about myself and other people. It has not, up until now, been part of the assumed submissive lifestyle I decided to take on in early adulthood. Secondly, there is some run-of-the mill effort pains on top of the rest when it comes to taking the scrambled egg bullshit that sits in my brain all day and having to organize it into a cohesive thesis to figure out what the f**k I'm actually thinking and feeling about these situations. It's easy to sit around and sound byte a perceived understanding of yourself until the icky feelings pertaining to a latest experience go away but it's markedly more difficult to put yourself in time-out and figure out what they actually mean.
Should I be engaging in casual encounters with booze and popcorn and genitals when I'm clearly standing in the midst of the most vulnerable time in my life so far? Probably not. But if I don't that also says something about how big of a roll I am going to let fear play in my future. I might still be messily and awkwardly grappling with issues around finding my interpersonal voice and being less of a low-self esteem door-mat/passive-agressive perfectionist but at least I'm in the ring with them. Maybe my constant fighting against myself is momentum enough to keep going forward.
