I'm supposed to be reading Ted Kennedy's memoirs. It's about as appealing as watching paint dry. At least if I were staring blankly at a freshly painted wall, there's a chance I could induce a trance or get high on residual fumes. The book is horrifically boring because his speech writer must have edited out all the good bits that might intrigue a human being.
So, what compels us to read? I don't care right now because I have the urge to purge all my mixed up melodrama. If that's one of the reasons you read, to immerse yourself in someone else's convoluted headspace, be my guest. Now then, onto the topic at hand which is my version of an update on the process of getting to know a few eligible bachelors.
I could describe my impressions, concerns, and responses to these men and in fact, have done that very thing in emails to my friends, but what I can't say is how they make me feel. I can describe them analytically, but not emotionally. Through some freakish twist, men are getting to know the part of me that isn't available because I'm afraid to let them get to know the part of me that is available.
In giving myself permission to do what I want, what I want has gotten confused. I was going for casual sex which I blended into a short-term dating option as I've never done the whole love 'em and leave 'em thing before. I reasoned it was a way of getting sex without guilt since some tenuous emotional connection would be there as part of an affair. My form of compromise with myself seems to be turning into something half-assed, indeed.
There's an air of permissiveness about me. I'm going with the flow by not attending to feelings of discomfort. Both of the guys (bachelor number three dropped off the face of the earth, which is fine by me as he is regularly substituted by other guys who contact me on a seemingly neverending rotational basis of 'new person checking me out' and staying within my peripheral vision) are ramping up the intimacy, possibly higher than I can handle.
One of them likes to call me on a nightly basis, except when I'm busy or working. Daily communication seems to be his goal. At first, the attention was flattering. More recently, it's starting to tip the scales into discomforting. Even though he knows I'm getting to know other people (or possibly because he knows I'm getting to know other people) he seems to want to insert himself into my routine. It was nice to feel needed but he likes me more than I like him (Can you say, highschool revisited?) and it's wearing thin.
I'm being honest with this man about my mediocre feelings but something isn't getting through. I soften things a bit, in good intention as not to hurt him unduly, but I'm starting to feel like niceness is weakness because being 'nice' is not getting the point across. He does make verbal retreats when I castigate him for going over the line in his effusive nonsense (no, not the same as castrate...want that part to be in working order, tyvm). All the same, I'm continually resetting the balance because he keeps tipping over the scales in favour of wanting a relationship (which he doesn't outright request but makes comments about a future together which I'd initially dismissed as white noise but is now a droning buzz that overwhelms the senses).
I have an open nature but some part of me is screaming to shut the door. Wham, bam, thank you man! Of course, since he's ingratiated himself into my life, I feel an obligation to 'explain' why I'm backing away (slowly, keep head down, make soothing noises, don't agitate the horny animal) all the while hoping I don't have to. Some lunatic fringe inside me keeps thinking he might spontaneously 'get it' and see I'm giving off signals like no tomorrow to slow down the emotional congress. Man, I hate this shit. This awkward awareness is what tempts you to not answer the phone when you see his name, to log off when he visits your profile, and to generally avoid the unpleasant reaction you get when you draw a line in the sand.
The other guy isn't a whole lot different, but seems to read me a little better. He's got an edge over his linguistically challenged counterpart, The Endearing Immigrant. In other words, he knows full well he's testing the limits of our interaction. We've had a couple of friendly disagreements. It's obvious he's experienced this push-pull before. Not that he seems to give much of a crap about my vacillation as he's got his own agenda, but we know we're at odds and talk about it.
In terms of his advances in the emotional arena, he calls it 'flirting' or 'caring' depending on his mood, and I stick it to him no matter what he calls it. He respects that our lives are separate entities and asks ahead as to when is a good time to call and doesn't contact me in the interim, except that one time and he got blasted for it so that sorted it out. In all fairness, the other guy does this too, but I didn't take him to task when he called me 'just because'. In some screwed up way, liking him more is translating to treating him worse since he's not getting the critical feedback to make course corrections. Has my moral core been overtaken by lust?
The second bachelor brought to my attention in our discussion of what-the-fuck-is-going-on that I have to be clear about what I want in short-term dating. So I put it back to him, "Am I being clear about what I want?" to which he replied "Yes, but." Oh that's just fucking great. I'm clear but something remains ambiguous. I'm an excellent communicator, what the hell is going on?! Is he an alien who can read through my tinfoil hat or what?
I pressed on because I wanted to deal with whatever emotional obstruction was getting in the way of making my motives transparent. So I asked him, "What the hell are you talking about?" He said the BUT was I'm undecided regarding potential for long-term relationship. He's right. As I said to him, IF there were *something special* THEN I'd be amenable to the extended version or relationship. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Nod your head, but of course!
Unfortunately, my vague hypothesis led me to pursue questionable logic. The combination of The Hippie in me who makes concessions to protect my partner's feelings and The Narcissist who takes what it can get in lieu of unresolved tension are bad elements in a chemistry experiment waiting to blow up in my face. Wait a sec, this feels awfully familiar...LOL. It seems that even as I avoid a LTR, the issues that plagued me then, plague me still. Falsifiable conclusion: deliver me a boy toy without complication!!
So, where does that leave me? Am I supposed to adopt a nihilistic attitude to reign in people's feelings and keep mine in check? Nah. I just need to put it all on the table. If I give guys the benefit of the doubt then it's time to take off the velvet gloves. Let's see if they can handle the truth or if they freak out like Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men". My misled attempts to cushion the blow makes my fuckedupness the culprit in not clearly demarcating emotional boundaries. The mad scientist needs to go back to the lab.
Showing posts with label intimacy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label intimacy. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A Memorial Service for The Virgin
I'm going to skip over most of the interactions I had with The Virgin to get to the nitty gritty. Where was I....Oh yea...We had these great messages going back and forth and then he started to push for more. More than chatting. More than friends. More. I put the brakes on as per the perfunctory rigamorole of the usual 'oh gee' hemming and hawing in full awarenss of not being ready but not being prudent enough to act any differently.
Then I caved. The Virgin, despite his lack of experience, seemed to be in tune with moi in emotional and intellectual spheres. The only one left to discover was what happens behind closed doors. With a Virgin. Shoulda thought that through a bit more. Everything But seemed like a good idea at the time. *Shakes head*
We started making times to see each other. We got together about a half dozen times IRL. I noticed that the more real interaction we had, the less virtual messages I got. Strange, that. I also noticed that he was witholding emotionally by answering questions with questions and other clever tricks that don't go unnoticed. So I considered initiating those dreaded Talks about what was going on in his headspace. Then I thought, screw it, silence works better. If you want to solve a problem, don't talk about it. No, I'm serious.
If the guy's got a volcano in his tummy, my advice is let him stew in his own juices. So, at that time, I happened to go away on a family trip (perhaps the universe was conspiring against us working out which is fine as I could add another loss to the jar of losses I keep by my bedside for late night existential angst). While I was gone, I didn't bother to contact him. If he couldn't spit it out, I wasn't going to do the work for him. Everyone resents it when their partner starts to offload their problems as if they were incapable of articulating their needs or carrying their emotional baggage. I'm no exception.
It turns out, being my own self-help assignment has the fringe benefit of projecting my problems onto other people. In the absence of communication, I realized he wasn't able to swim in the deep end of the pool. The Virgin was treading water. I figured he got a taste of some real feelings developing and pulled a bottling up routine. If he wanted to keep it to himself, he was welcome to it. I figured I was doing him a favour, "Be cruel to be kind."
Predictably, he noticed I wasn't around and started asking after me. I gave serious consideration to leading a conversation about emotional intimacy. Then realized what I'd known all along that I just didn't have it in me to give. Now was as good a time as any to pull the plug. How screwed up would that be? Me, the self-admitted emotionally unavailable partner taking the helm to discuss the other person's fears and boundaries and all that stuff. Not. Gonna. Happen. My exit strategy was a neat convergence of a hard truth and a soft lie, namely that I wasn't ready for what I wanted.
Let's all say 3 Hail Mary's. Let's mourn another soul lost among the Titanic burden of guilt I carry for guys who fell for me. The tempestous sea overwhelmed the self-assured ship of fools. On that note, "A ship in port is safe but that's not what it's built for." If you were hoping the next voyage aboard the Love Boat was smooth sailing, let's just say the next character I encountered was The Manwhore.
Then I caved. The Virgin, despite his lack of experience, seemed to be in tune with moi in emotional and intellectual spheres. The only one left to discover was what happens behind closed doors. With a Virgin. Shoulda thought that through a bit more. Everything But seemed like a good idea at the time. *Shakes head*
We started making times to see each other. We got together about a half dozen times IRL. I noticed that the more real interaction we had, the less virtual messages I got. Strange, that. I also noticed that he was witholding emotionally by answering questions with questions and other clever tricks that don't go unnoticed. So I considered initiating those dreaded Talks about what was going on in his headspace. Then I thought, screw it, silence works better. If you want to solve a problem, don't talk about it. No, I'm serious.
If the guy's got a volcano in his tummy, my advice is let him stew in his own juices. So, at that time, I happened to go away on a family trip (perhaps the universe was conspiring against us working out which is fine as I could add another loss to the jar of losses I keep by my bedside for late night existential angst). While I was gone, I didn't bother to contact him. If he couldn't spit it out, I wasn't going to do the work for him. Everyone resents it when their partner starts to offload their problems as if they were incapable of articulating their needs or carrying their emotional baggage. I'm no exception.
It turns out, being my own self-help assignment has the fringe benefit of projecting my problems onto other people. In the absence of communication, I realized he wasn't able to swim in the deep end of the pool. The Virgin was treading water. I figured he got a taste of some real feelings developing and pulled a bottling up routine. If he wanted to keep it to himself, he was welcome to it. I figured I was doing him a favour, "Be cruel to be kind."
Predictably, he noticed I wasn't around and started asking after me. I gave serious consideration to leading a conversation about emotional intimacy. Then realized what I'd known all along that I just didn't have it in me to give. Now was as good a time as any to pull the plug. How screwed up would that be? Me, the self-admitted emotionally unavailable partner taking the helm to discuss the other person's fears and boundaries and all that stuff. Not. Gonna. Happen. My exit strategy was a neat convergence of a hard truth and a soft lie, namely that I wasn't ready for what I wanted.
Let's all say 3 Hail Mary's. Let's mourn another soul lost among the Titanic burden of guilt I carry for guys who fell for me. The tempestous sea overwhelmed the self-assured ship of fools. On that note, "A ship in port is safe but that's not what it's built for." If you were hoping the next voyage aboard the Love Boat was smooth sailing, let's just say the next character I encountered was The Manwhore.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Blah blah blah sex
In my first post I said I'd transfer journal entries from the dating site (oh no wait a sec...the social network...there, it makes me sound less dysfunctional if I cast myself as a neutral version of an attention whore, no?) I'm currently using to provide fodder for your perusal. Then I realized I don't need to regurgitate the same old stuff, I can share other reflections about the experience as a whole.
There is ample unresolved angst around the concept of intimacy in the labyrinthine maze of my mind and heart to provide plenty of reading material for some time to come. You see, I'd rather have a sexorcism where I get rid of *other* crap currently taking up space in my grey matter and pumping through my black veins than revisit the stuff I already know. Yes, I'm selfish. I'm a writer. Go figure.
You didn't think this literary relationship was all about you, did you? Oh come on now, get real. Seriously people, it takes me plus my imaginary audience to make this happen. I write to placate my inner demons and you read for whatever reasons you read. Why question it so long as it works? You like me. If you don't, go malign someone else for their moral depravity. Go on now, find yourself a better blog. Okay then, if you're still reading, buckle up baby cos it goes downhill from here.
Alrighty then, my point, and I do have one, is that I'm not dating yet using a dating site and I have very, very good reasons for this. No, I'm not going to tell you what they are right now. We have to build a little trust, honeychile. I'm deep and complicated and have no idea what I'm talking about. It takes me a while to properly wrap myself up in just the right excuses for inaction. At least I'm self-aware. That's GOT to count for something, right? I know that I'm confused. Yay for me!
Confused about what exactly? Now we're inching closer to the topic. The reason I'm not throwing myself at anyone in cyberspace is that I'm trying to figure out in my hamster ball head conditions for intimacy that work for me. Does that sound like bullshit? At this point, it's rather convoluted, so I know it comes off a bit...er, okay maybe a lot...like a bunch of horseshit. Pick any kind of shit, and that's it. What can I say? It's not done percolating in my brain.
So my half-baked theory of what I want is 'The Triumverate.' There are three conditions I think should be in place before I get to know someone IN THAT WAY. Did I mention I was immature? Perhaps it goes without saying vis a vis my highschoolish awkwardness towards the act of sex. Anyway, at this point in time, and subject to change without notice and to be further ensconced in legalese should the need arise, what I want in place before I get romantically involved with anyone is emotional safety, intellectual versatility, and physical attraction. It's my holy trinity. As in, holy shit, wouldn't it be great if we could get all three things happening at once?
These three intangible forms of connection do require another person, a man, in order to happen. Oh, and for me to get my shit together. But that's besides the point at this juncture. Instead, let's look at why those particular things are important to me. Remember, it's mostly about me. Just reminding you in case you forgot and accidentally started liking me too much. I'm glad we cleared that up. Still there? Anyone?
Emotional Safety. It means...uh...not exactly that I require constant reassurance as a function of my own neurosis...but something like that. No, no, no. That simply won't do. Let me try again. Emotional safety would be present as a quality of someone who could balance honesty with caring. So, let's say this guy comes along (this reminds me of that annoying math question about trains moving in different directions at the same time and their likely point of intersection based on present location, speed, and intended trajectory) and I desperately want to have sex with him, the first consideration would be, does he have the right stuff? [EDIT: My second question would be why do I revert to 80s song lyrics to express myself?] Basically, is he the kind of person who is capable of providing some form of aftercare in the event I experience a complete meltdown just because I can?
Why would I freak out? Oh jayzus, there's a can of worms we really don't need to explore right now, suffice to say, it could happen. Some kind of break with reality would be the untimely byproduct of not being ready for what I want. I like sex. I want sex. It doesn't mean I'm in a good headspace for it. Sure, sure, I assume custodial responsibility for my feelings, but y'know, since there would be another person in a sexual interaction, gee whiz wouldn't it be nice if they were emotionally available to the extent that they could be a good listener or a half-decent fake listener? In case of emergency or in the event that real feelings develop, it'd be most helpful if a guy could gently scrape off the barnacle which had unwittingly attached itself to him in a nondickish way.
Intellectual versatility is another biggie for me. I am [insert any and all applicable euphemisms along the lines of multifaceted]. I'm like a zombie lover. All I want is braaiiiiiins. I need someone who is smart. I want someone who has a sense of humour and isn't afraid to use it. I'm fairly comfortable with feelings of boredom but why the hell would I do that to myself? I'm choosy about with whom I want to spend my time, energy, and body and definitely enjoy a guy who can match wits with me. Not to be confused with blokes who describe themselves as 'sarcastic'. So many men on the site claim this adjective for themselves like it was a good thing. If I get the slightest whiff of veiled embitterment, oh hell no...that's going nowhere fast.
To me, someone who can flex the muscle between his ears is by definition smart and playful. This would be a guy who'd generally have an optimistic perspective and ...oh hold on...is this stretching the concept of intellectual versatility into a laundry list of desired qualities? Nah. I think all of the above characteristics would be present in a person who has a plastic cerebrum: smart and responsive. A good mind is hard to find but I must have it!
Finally, physical attraction has got to be there. It comes in last place because without the other two features, the elusive 'spark' just wouldn't exist for me. Someone can be hot, hot, hot and I would be sooo not, not, not interested if they were simply a retarded horny monkey. I have nothing against retarded horny monkeys. I grew up watching Animal Planet, afterall. It's just not the right fit for me.
The inevitable question is, what's my physical type? Well, somewhere in the bowels of my journal on my non-dating profile I provide an outline. Hey, I know I said I wasn't dating so there's no reason for me to put my list out there but consistency is not a human trait. Ideally, this fantasy lover would be someone who is taller than I am (starting at about 5'10 is nice), bigger than I am (average to muscular build so that I feel relatively small and dainty LMAO), and has shorter hair than I do (a typical short haircut to crewcut). As you may appreciate, as a fellow human being familiar with the vagaries of lust, this is by no means an exclusive list of must-haves and it's almost redundant to articulate them, but there you go.
Maybe this tirade about the triad is simply pointing out the obvious, which I'm really good at, but all of those items are absolutely required to get the juices flowing, so-to-speak. In review, I want a guy who is not an emotional dullard and could experience the full range of human emotions as well as handle my particular brand of amenable neuroticism, a guy who is so bright it hurts my eyes and makes me laugh in sheer joy of having found an intellectual playmate, and a guy who looks good to me, homina homina. No, this is not a threesome: it's one man with all that going on for him. You heard me right. I hereby petition the universe to send me this awesome representative of the male species.
In closing, I shall borrow from the wicked wit of Sir William Churchill, "I am ready to meet my Maker, but whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." Boy, it sure would give me mental orgasms to encounter such a creature as I have described but whether he'd come out of the experience relatively unscathed is another matter altogether. It's a good thing I'm a benevolent egotist.
That's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for the next chapter from your favourite female chauvinist [given the liberal sprinkling of sexist generalizations in describing this ideal it's only right to give some appearance of attempting to exonerate myself as a preemptive reaction to possible stoning].
There is ample unresolved angst around the concept of intimacy in the labyrinthine maze of my mind and heart to provide plenty of reading material for some time to come. You see, I'd rather have a sexorcism where I get rid of *other* crap currently taking up space in my grey matter and pumping through my black veins than revisit the stuff I already know. Yes, I'm selfish. I'm a writer. Go figure.
You didn't think this literary relationship was all about you, did you? Oh come on now, get real. Seriously people, it takes me plus my imaginary audience to make this happen. I write to placate my inner demons and you read for whatever reasons you read. Why question it so long as it works? You like me. If you don't, go malign someone else for their moral depravity. Go on now, find yourself a better blog. Okay then, if you're still reading, buckle up baby cos it goes downhill from here.
Alrighty then, my point, and I do have one, is that I'm not dating yet using a dating site and I have very, very good reasons for this. No, I'm not going to tell you what they are right now. We have to build a little trust, honeychile. I'm deep and complicated and have no idea what I'm talking about. It takes me a while to properly wrap myself up in just the right excuses for inaction. At least I'm self-aware. That's GOT to count for something, right? I know that I'm confused. Yay for me!
Confused about what exactly? Now we're inching closer to the topic. The reason I'm not throwing myself at anyone in cyberspace is that I'm trying to figure out in my hamster ball head conditions for intimacy that work for me. Does that sound like bullshit? At this point, it's rather convoluted, so I know it comes off a bit...er, okay maybe a lot...like a bunch of horseshit. Pick any kind of shit, and that's it. What can I say? It's not done percolating in my brain.
So my half-baked theory of what I want is 'The Triumverate.' There are three conditions I think should be in place before I get to know someone IN THAT WAY. Did I mention I was immature? Perhaps it goes without saying vis a vis my highschoolish awkwardness towards the act of sex. Anyway, at this point in time, and subject to change without notice and to be further ensconced in legalese should the need arise, what I want in place before I get romantically involved with anyone is emotional safety, intellectual versatility, and physical attraction. It's my holy trinity. As in, holy shit, wouldn't it be great if we could get all three things happening at once?
These three intangible forms of connection do require another person, a man, in order to happen. Oh, and for me to get my shit together. But that's besides the point at this juncture. Instead, let's look at why those particular things are important to me. Remember, it's mostly about me. Just reminding you in case you forgot and accidentally started liking me too much. I'm glad we cleared that up. Still there? Anyone?
Emotional Safety. It means...uh...not exactly that I require constant reassurance as a function of my own neurosis...but something like that. No, no, no. That simply won't do. Let me try again. Emotional safety would be present as a quality of someone who could balance honesty with caring. So, let's say this guy comes along (this reminds me of that annoying math question about trains moving in different directions at the same time and their likely point of intersection based on present location, speed, and intended trajectory) and I desperately want to have sex with him, the first consideration would be, does he have the right stuff? [EDIT: My second question would be why do I revert to 80s song lyrics to express myself?] Basically, is he the kind of person who is capable of providing some form of aftercare in the event I experience a complete meltdown just because I can?
Why would I freak out? Oh jayzus, there's a can of worms we really don't need to explore right now, suffice to say, it could happen. Some kind of break with reality would be the untimely byproduct of not being ready for what I want. I like sex. I want sex. It doesn't mean I'm in a good headspace for it. Sure, sure, I assume custodial responsibility for my feelings, but y'know, since there would be another person in a sexual interaction, gee whiz wouldn't it be nice if they were emotionally available to the extent that they could be a good listener or a half-decent fake listener? In case of emergency or in the event that real feelings develop, it'd be most helpful if a guy could gently scrape off the barnacle which had unwittingly attached itself to him in a nondickish way.
Intellectual versatility is another biggie for me. I am [insert any and all applicable euphemisms along the lines of multifaceted]. I'm like a zombie lover. All I want is braaiiiiiins. I need someone who is smart. I want someone who has a sense of humour and isn't afraid to use it. I'm fairly comfortable with feelings of boredom but why the hell would I do that to myself? I'm choosy about with whom I want to spend my time, energy, and body and definitely enjoy a guy who can match wits with me. Not to be confused with blokes who describe themselves as 'sarcastic'. So many men on the site claim this adjective for themselves like it was a good thing. If I get the slightest whiff of veiled embitterment, oh hell no...that's going nowhere fast.
To me, someone who can flex the muscle between his ears is by definition smart and playful. This would be a guy who'd generally have an optimistic perspective and ...oh hold on...is this stretching the concept of intellectual versatility into a laundry list of desired qualities? Nah. I think all of the above characteristics would be present in a person who has a plastic cerebrum: smart and responsive. A good mind is hard to find but I must have it!
Finally, physical attraction has got to be there. It comes in last place because without the other two features, the elusive 'spark' just wouldn't exist for me. Someone can be hot, hot, hot and I would be sooo not, not, not interested if they were simply a retarded horny monkey. I have nothing against retarded horny monkeys. I grew up watching Animal Planet, afterall. It's just not the right fit for me.
The inevitable question is, what's my physical type? Well, somewhere in the bowels of my journal on my non-dating profile I provide an outline. Hey, I know I said I wasn't dating so there's no reason for me to put my list out there but consistency is not a human trait. Ideally, this fantasy lover would be someone who is taller than I am (starting at about 5'10 is nice), bigger than I am (average to muscular build so that I feel relatively small and dainty LMAO), and has shorter hair than I do (a typical short haircut to crewcut). As you may appreciate, as a fellow human being familiar with the vagaries of lust, this is by no means an exclusive list of must-haves and it's almost redundant to articulate them, but there you go.
Maybe this tirade about the triad is simply pointing out the obvious, which I'm really good at, but all of those items are absolutely required to get the juices flowing, so-to-speak. In review, I want a guy who is not an emotional dullard and could experience the full range of human emotions as well as handle my particular brand of amenable neuroticism, a guy who is so bright it hurts my eyes and makes me laugh in sheer joy of having found an intellectual playmate, and a guy who looks good to me, homina homina. No, this is not a threesome: it's one man with all that going on for him. You heard me right. I hereby petition the universe to send me this awesome representative of the male species.
In closing, I shall borrow from the wicked wit of Sir William Churchill, "I am ready to meet my Maker, but whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." Boy, it sure would give me mental orgasms to encounter such a creature as I have described but whether he'd come out of the experience relatively unscathed is another matter altogether. It's a good thing I'm a benevolent egotist.
That's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for the next chapter from your favourite female chauvinist [given the liberal sprinkling of sexist generalizations in describing this ideal it's only right to give some appearance of attempting to exonerate myself as a preemptive reaction to possible stoning].
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