Catching Up

Lately, all I want to do is smoke cigarettes and think about writing. I don’t actually write anything down, of course, otherwise this IOU post would not be necessary. In the time since my last post about boners, I’ve been on a blind date and banged my ex a few dozen times. Not a lot of publish worthy text, but I guess that is what blogging is for; to find a home for the misfit essays that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. I think more than a lack of content, though, was a lack of willingness to explore and share my process around my ex.
So, let’s get to it…

-Him

The Perils of Heartache and Magic.

I’m going to be upfront with you.

In the midst of my silly insecurities and disbelief in whatever it is that draws men to me, I am used to being in control.
Not in a hot S&M sort of way.
More in the -I’m emotionally detached and that allows me to make clear and concise choices while dating- way.

I have had a very predictable pattern with men so far, it looks a little something like this:

Guy approaches me. I evaluate if I find him interesting or not. I agree to a date. We go on a date and I ask him very deep questions about his heart and his life. He very clearly seems to ‘rise to the occasion’ and answers them mostly honestly. I listen. He looks into my eyes and tells me I’m beautiful in a way that seems like he’s trying to convince me. I say ‘thank you.’ He seems nervous sometimes even shake-y. I do what I can to calm him down and make myself seem silly so he’s not nervous. He calms down. At the end of the date he kisses me. I kiss back. He asks me if I want to see him again. I say ‘probably.’ He texts or calls me as soon as he gets home. Then texts or calls me everyday forever until I ask him to stop. Guy is confused and angry. I am also confused and angry.

What I figured out is that I was holding everything in while seemingly putting everything out.

I could ask them questions about their heart and soul and answer the same questions easily. I can connect physically without feeling connected emotionally. I can be present with someone while still deciding if I’m interested or not.

I’d assumed the entire time that we were both deciding if we were a good fit for one another. But, I’ve learned that in these circumstances, they weren’t doing that. They were just experiencing things. They were reacting to the way I made them feel when we were together. They were forming their opinion of me based on how they felt about themselves when they were around me.

In the past I’ve seen these guys as overly emotional, quickly attached, and frankly kind of creepy. But, lately I’ve been wondering if they’ve got it figured out in some way. They’re feeling. Like, REALLY feeling. For whatever brief moment they knew what it felt like to love someone and lose them. To them, for that fleeting moment ,we were going to be something magical.

Perhaps they’ll experience a lot more loss in life. A lot more pain and heart ache. But, maybe they’re also going to experience a little more magic?

-Sam

date

Making Visible Changes

I order my coffee and weave quietly between people before sliding into a corner seat at the cafe.  I’m cloaked in headphones and a sweatshirt.  I write; I do a crossword; I am invisible.

This is how I’ve felt since living in Asheville—like a fly on the wall that nobody knows exists.  I love it.  I people watch and invent stories about couples and business people.  I daydream about the cute mysterious girls sitting by themselves.  I fantasize about disappearing at any moment knowing nobody but a few close friends would really notice.  I fantasize about it often; up and leaving; being a ghost.

Now, as I attempt to emerge from my shroud of introversion, I know I have to start making myself visible to the world around me.  I have to awkwardly insert myself into conversations rather than awkwardly insert chips into my mouth in the dark corners of parties.  I have to smile and look at people.  I have to speak coherently.  I’m not always a mumbling weirdo, I’m quite outgoing with my closer friends.  In fact, the contrast between how I act around friends and acquaintances is so obvious that it leads people to think I don’t like them.  Especially girls.  Most especially cute girls.

 Image

So I stick to invisibility in public.  It’s much more relaxing and much less humiliating.  But last week something interesting kept happening: people seemed to recognize me and smile at me and talk to me:  “Oh, I think you used to live with Jacob,” and, “How’s Emily these days?” and, “I’ve seen you around town: I’m Claire.” and, “Aren’t you the guy that comes in with Sam and doesn’t talk to anyone?”

Well shit.  I know it sounds silly, but I was genuinely surprised at these conversations.  Could it be that maybe instead of a fly on the wall, I’m the cute mysterious guy sitting alone who girls are curious about? 

First First Date

For me, learning how to say “yes” to going on dates is also learning how to say “no” to relationships.  That’s never come easy to me.  My very first night at college I met a cute girl.  We stayed up late flirting and drinking whiskey and then she gave me a killer blowjob before bed.  We continued to see each other for the next few weeks but it was clear to me that something was off.  Looking back I probably should have at the very least expressed my concerns and set better boundaries, and in an ideal world I would have dropped out of school and moved at least 100 miles away from her.  But instead I stuck it out for two glorious years and bottled my resentment deep down inside.  Twelve years later, I wish I could say I’ve totally moved passed this tendency, but it’s still a work in progress.

After two months on OK Cupid I finally went on my first date.  It was nice.  The conversation was nice.   She was nice.  She seemed fun and stable and cute and open.

But I didn’t feel anything: no excitement, no curiosity, and no wild impulses to smell her hair or bite her ass.  I’m supposed to feel something, right?  Am I so jaded that I can’t feel anymore?  Am I over love and sex?  Does my 30th birthday mark the end of all things romantic, forever?  Should I except my robotic fate and invest in a pair of Google Glasses?

And then I remembered that it’s ok to go on dates and not fall in love or move in together and pretend you don’t hate each other.  It’s ok to go on dates and not feel anything.  It’s ok, and it’s normal.  And it makes the special feelings you have towards people feel, well… special.

So now I get to actually put this into practice and honestly and compassionately express what I’m feeling.  I get to treat her like an adult who can handle her shit.  I don’t have to tiptoe around like she’s going to morph into a fire breathing dragon as soon I don’t give her what she wants.  And that makes me feel warm and happy…I guess do have some feelings left after all: the robots and Google glasses will have to wait a little longer to absorb me into the techno-sphere.

 

Dragon

 

Jesus was my Boyfriend.

I mentioned in my dating history that I spent my formative years saving myself for Jesus. I had the goal to not date anyone until I knew that person would be my husband, in the meantime, Jesus would be my boyfriend.

As my religious views have developed it’s fascinating to look back on that time. Now that I’ve dated several men, I’m finding myself reflecting on what it felt like to have Jesus as my boyfriend.
I guess like any relationship it had its ups and downs. He always thought he was right and I had a paralyzing need to please him. But, taking it all into consideration, it may not have been so bad after all.

He loved me just as I was.
He thought I was beautiful, he thought I was smart and funny, and for the most part he thought I was a good person. At least when I lived up to the rules he’d laid out for me.

He challenged me to be better.
I was constantly asking him if he approved of my decisions. Although the challenge was accompanied by the occasional guilt trip and feeling that I could never match up, it’s definitely true that I was a ‘better person’ at that point in my life then I probably am now.
(I’m a lot more fun now.)

He gave me my independence.
He never called. Literally never. He never made me feel bad for going out with other guys unless I masturbated to the thought of them later. Then, well, insert guilt trip here.

He was emotionally supportive.
He was cool with me crying, and I cried a lot at that time of my life. Something about believing in a higher power and the thought that someone was always watching you, it makes you have a lot of feelings.

He danced.
Well, I’m not sure if he danced, but, I danced a lot when I was with him. I’d dance alone in my room and with friends.That may be something I do whether or not I’m dating Jesus actually. But, there’s something about dancing naked in the ocean believing that your all-powerful boyfriend was there with you that makes you feel alive.

He was protective.
If anyone ever hurt me, it was generally understood that they would burn in hell forever, so, that’s a perk.

Really, he had it all. Kindness, patience, the ability to smite at a moments notice.
Maybe I should give him a call?
I mean, it’s been a while, but, I’m sure he remembers me…

-her

caveman

DIRTY DANCING: Full Viking

Having the confidence to dance at the club is new for me.  I wrote about my former foibles last week, and now it’s time to press into uncharted territory.  I’ve gotten pretty comfortable dancing by myself and finding my rhythm.  I’m even feeling sexy and attractive half the time.  But I still take on the philosophy of “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” and so I generally dance alone.  The angry lady on the corner told me that 1 in 3 women get sexually assaulted in their lifetime, and I can’t help but assume that the guys I see dancing up on all the girls are responsible for half of them.  And that’s not a demographic I care to lump myself into. Sam is quite aware of my hang-ups with dancing, and she challenged me to not only go out, but to actually dance with a girl.  So, Friday I found myself dancing in a familiar circle with my friends—dancing with everyone and no one at the same time.  Typically I enjoy watching my feet move along the floor, but I made it my goal to dance with my head up and to be open to making eye contact with girls while dancing.  My eyes wandered the room and enjoyed the bouquet of beautiful women I would avoid talking to for the next couple of hours. And then the weirdest thing happened.  I made eye contact with the cute awkward girl with pink hair the next group over.  I felt overwhelmed and looked away, as if I just accidently opened the bathroom door to find it occupied.  Could I dance with her? Am I sure she’s interested? Am I sure I’m interested? Is the floor too slippery? Might she be crazy? Would our children be attractive? Generally, I methodically analyze every potential scenario, humiliation, and possible line of dialogue before making an informed decision whether to proceed…but it was already too late; an invisible force had begun rotating our two dance circles, like gears in a clock, moving us closer and closer. And click, we were dancing. And holy god!  Why the hell have I been denying myself such fun in life?  Our bodies moving as one; her back arching to press her head against my chest; her hand reaching up behind her to touch my face while I slide my hand along her thigh.  And the gyrating! It was all the best parts of dry humping without the rug burn.  And when I found myself gripping her hip with one hand and running my fingers through her hair with the other, while her hands gripped the wall, it dawned on me.  This is better than at least half the sex I’ve had in my life. -Him Dirty Dancing

OK Cupid and First Impressions.

Alright alright, I’m on Ok Cupid. I am. It’s not something I’m particularly ashamed of, but, I don’t advocate it. Well, I did advocate it for a while. I spent my first several months on there convincing friend after friend to join too. I think it’s a fun way to meet new people and gives me lots of great stories to tell. I wanted the same awkward adventures for my friends.

None of them were as enchanted by the process as I obviously am. But, they stay on nonetheless.

After a recent decision to really think about who I go on dates with, I’ve started to realize that people on OK Cupid can be weird. Like, really weird.

I tend to approach people with little to no judgement. I watch them and listen to them and I accept that that’s who they are. (Whether I allow that in my life on a regular basis is a different story.) But, I’m o.k. with them existing as they are in their own space.

Because of that, well, it sometimes takes me a minute to realize things are strange. People may interact with me and another person would slap them in the face or ask them to stop, I just watch it unfold and leave feeling like I probably should have felt uncomfortable. But, the fact of the matter is, I rarely do.

With that in mind, I recently had a nice giggle thinking about the kinds of messages that people send to me as their first message. This is your first chance to make a good impression, the opportunity you have to really hook me in. These are the best that some of these people could come up with.

enjoy.

1. “You look like you have a nice big butt.”

2. “Damn, you got some nice beautiful voluptuous lips. Whore, you make me mad. When can I get a chance to bite on your whorry lips. Don’t F with me!!”

3. “Hey there! So after reading your profile and your answers to the questions, I think we would be a good match. I’m not looking for anything serious. More of a friends with benefits sort of thing. I have experience with things like dominating, restraints, spanking, toys, etc. I would love to explore these things with you if you are interested. Give me a shout back and let’s talk.”

4. “I think I’m in love with you sweety. You’re so passionate about life and I would be blessed to have a woman like you in my life.. I think you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve come across.”

5. “I’m married and looking to have an affair.”

6.”You so fine it blew my mind. Gurl you got that thing you know. I just had to let my feelings show. It took me a long time to make up this rhyme. So hit me up sometime… bacon.”

7. “How are you doing? I’m stopping by to say ‘hi’ and show you some love. I’m not going to say your beautiful because you know you are and I’m sure you hear it enough. I’m not blind though either. I’d love to get to know you better over coffee, lunch, or doing something active. We could at least remain friends for many many years to come. Maybe I’ll hear back from you. Stay safe and sexy.”

8. “I believe that I… am in love.”

I guess you’ve gotta hand it to them for putting it all out there in the beginning. I like to keep my bacon rhymes  and invitations for lasting friendships to myself until at least the third or fourth date.

Do you have any funny first messages? Share ’em in the comments below!

-her

caveman

Dirty Dancing: The Blunder Years

Dirty dancing: it’s like sex without the shame or embarrassment…unless you’re me, then it’s just more of the same. 

Despite being a major dance sensation at weddings when I was five, I lost my confidence to dance when puberty hit.  I would freeze and clam up anytime I was put in a situation where I should dance.  As I watched my peers around me enjoy themselves, my inner dialogue would jump in, building up a wrecking ball of anxiety that would crash down upon the feeble structure of my self-confidence:

  “ What’s the big deal, James? Just dance; everyone else is dancing; just act normal; at least move your feet and smile a little; why are you such a stupid piece of shit? Stop sweating; are you going to let everyone see how pathetic you are, or are you going to flee into the little boy’s room again so you can pretend to poop for the next twenty minutes?

This and other helpful internal coaching rhetoric kept me on the bench through most of my twenties.

I was particularly impacted1 my Junior year.  My friends and I went to an all-city dance with students from three different high schools.  Back that Azz Up2 by Juvenile was rocking, my friends were all being fine motherfuckers, and I was awkwardly standing in no man’s land3.  I was in the deep end and it was either sink or swim.  I spotted the friend of the girl my buddy was grinding on, and with a “My family gave your family a goat and two oxen” level of passion and a “We’re the last two people left on earth” sense of obligation, we danced. 

I was surprised when it didn’t go terribly awry.  She nestled her butt into my crotch and we bent our knees and swayed from side to side.  In between the simultaneous terror and thrill that was brought about by my erection, I almost relaxed enough to enjoy myself.  I was like a kid who was riding his bike for the first time, “Look mom: no hands!…Wait, what am I supposed to be doing with my hands?”  Looking around I remembered that I should place them on her thighs and caress gently clockwise.  The dance concluded and I tucked my boner into my belt and promptly retreated toward the safety of my friends with the relief of knowing that I completed my societal contract without humiliation or public scrutiny. 

I hardly had time to smile at my friends before I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around to meet the glaring gaze of short, angry brunette.  Her arms were crossed and she was not happy with me.  The memory kind of fades out here as I went into shock.  Time stopped; there was a ringing in my ears, and she may or may not have turned into a fire breathing dragon.  I do remember my friend Javier stepping in and defending me, and piecing together that, apparently, my thigh rubbing was a bit too sexual and had offended the innocent4 belle I had danced with.  I felt awful.   With this shame stoking the fire of my neuroses, I retreated to the boy’s room.  I didn’t really dance for the next ten years of my life, especially not with strangers5.  

But fear not: this is also a tale of redemption!  After years of hard work and heavy drinking, I’ve been able to rebuild my confidence and enjoy dancing.  I still dance alone, however, but I’ve heard rumors that you can meet girls by dancing with them; that dancing is some sort of a modern day mating ritual; that girls actually like to dance with cute strangers sometimes; and that if you play your cards just right, their friends won’t spit fire at you when you’re done. 

Sam(aka, Her) has challenged me to not only go out dancing this weekend, but to actually dance  with at least one girl.  The results will be up next Tuesday.

Scarred. The word is scarred.
I’m sure it was the radio edit “Back that Thang Up”, but I’ve since re-mastered the memory with studio version.
No man’s land is defined as the area too far from the wall, the refreshments, or friends for maintaining the appearance of social normalcy.
She didn’t seem so innocent when she was pressing herself into my bulge.
 5 The exception being the time I was black out drunk at a Death Cab for Cutie show and tried to freak dance with a girl all night.  My friends tell me she wasn’t really into it.  I later got a hand job in an ally that was so rough it left scabs.  It was an all-ages show.  I was 25. I’m still crossing my fingers that she was of age.Image

Asperger’s Syndrome and Other Reasons That I’m Single.

Once, we were out at a restaurant and the waiter was paying me extra attention. He leaned in close when he took my order, smiled quite wide when he looked at me, called me ‘sugar’, and even comped my meal. As my friend and I walked out the door she said, “Man, that waiter was really hitting on you.” My response to her was, “What? I thought he thought I had a mental handicap. I thought he thought I had Asperger’s syndrome!”

I know we’ve all wondered if everyone else knew we had Asperger’s and we just weren’t in on the secret. You have all wondered that before right? There’s no way I’m completely alone in this.

I’m just now realizing that I’m probably completely alone in this.

The point of that story is to confess to you that, I have a problem. It’s the problem of being blind. Even worse, it’s the problem of obstructing my own vision. I see a situation that could potentially mean someone is interested in me and I turn it into thinking they believe I have a mental illness or something equally absurd.

Last week, I had to get my car fixed. I walked past the garage and the men all smiled and waved. I returned their gesture. As I enter the lobby, on the right hand side, I see a wall that is made of windows. The window looks into the lobby from the garage. At the window stood every single mechanic from the garage, and inside the lobby stood only me. All 12 of them lined the window and looked in at me. They stared and I smiled and waved. They waved and like a pack of schoolgirls giggled and scattered. I immediately thought about my hands. What was I doing with my hands? Was I doing something weird with them? What were they staring at?

It wasn’t until they gave me $90.00 off of my bill that I even considered the option for more than that. Actually, it wasn’t until I told someone else about them giving me $90.00 off that they pointed out to me otherwise.

I often find myself in relationship dynamics where a guy is a little too pushy for my taste. I thought myself to attract men who had a need for power or dominance over me. They may need a lot more than I’m willing to give or maybe they are just a little too aggressive with my time. What I’m starting to learn is that they’re the only ones clear enough to prove to me that they’re interested. Maybe other men are making moves, I’m just a little too dense to see them.

Maybe I can work on my vision, so the next time a friend drunk kisses me and confesses that he has feelings for me,  I won’t assume he’s gay and forming an elaborate cover up plan. Either that, or I could start a movement to bring back the old way of doing things. If a guy’s interested in me, couldn’t he just hit me over the head and drag me back to his cave for a home cooked meal over a fire? Then perhaps it’ll register to me that maybe, just maybe, he’s possibly making a move.

-her

caveman

Crushed – Part 2

If you missed part 1, I discussed how to cope with a lack of crushes.  And now, it’s soapbox time. 

I’ve been a Cleveland sports fan my whole life so I have a long pedigree of cheering for underdogs.  I believe it to be my civic duty to use my support or displeasure to restore balance to public opinion.   Whether something is over or under rated, I will be there fighting for its just deserts.  For more on this, let’s turn to Limp Bizkit.  In the late 90’s the Limp B-I-Z, K-I-T and their no-holds-barred attitude burst to the forefront of the music world and shat all over it.  Boys aged 13-23 were swept into a rap-rock frenzy and red baseball cap sales reached all time highs.   Their popularity was about the only thing as obnoxious as their music.  I knew they would not stand the test of time and I made it a point to be an outspoken opponent.

But when they finally limped their way into obscurity, I was actually a bit disappointed.  While they clearly didn’t deserve to be respected as musicians, they didn’t deserve to be forgotten either.  Their music was so awesomely bad that it deserves a special place in our cultural consciousness.  And so, I use this blog’s stage (as well as local Karaoke stages) to remind everyone of the hilarious red backwards baseball-cap-shaped smudge on American pop music.

Wow, what were we talking about?  Projecting fantasies on the cute girls around Asheville?  I know this was relevant…Oh yes, I’ll get there eventually…As the Defender of Balance in the Universe, I now fight for the besmirched reputation of Projections.  Projecting is a psychological process in which a person places their internal emotions, ideas, and beliefs onto the outside world.  These are usually things in our unconscious mind that are otherwise unexpressed.  Someone might not trust their partner to be faithful because they themselves struggle with the boundaries of monogamy.  Another might adamantly give advice to you about your life when it’s clear they’re actually talking about their own situation.  That’s projecting.  For more on the topic you can click here, here, or here.

In the world of Psychology “projection” is most often a bad word and is considered something that you should look to eliminate from your life.   When I was in school and listening to people talk about the subject, I often imagined a mustachioed Frenchman in a room trying to solve a psychological mystery.  He strokes his chin methodically saying, “Sounds like the work of the dastardly villain…” he turns and points accusingly, “… Projection” (pronounced ‘pro-jeck-see-on’ in a thick French accent).   Most sources I’ve found actually define projections as the displacement of specifically negative feelings, when positive images are just as easy to project—like an optimist projecting positive images through a rose colored lens onto the people around them.

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Projections do cause their share of problems.  They are powerful and often go unacknowledged, giving rise to cyclical behavior and relationship issues.  I have a pattern of judging my partner for being clingy, when really it’s misplaced frustration toward my own tendency to hold onto what’s comfortable in order to feel safe.  It’s sticky mess of passive aggressive co-dependence, and it’s still a pothole that I have to watch out for.  But projections are not in themselves negative. They can also teach us about our internal world and allow us to navigate it.  You cannot see your own face without something to project it onto and reflect it back to you.

Projections allow us to see and experience new parts of ourselves by bringing them to life in the outside world.  What a beautiful thing.  We can dance with our inner feminine, argue with our inner critic, idolize our inner hero, and do battle with our inner demons.

Not that living in a self important fantasy is the goal in life, but it’s a natural (mostly unavoidable) part of the human experience.  When we can identify our projections we not only learn about ourselves, we see each other and the world in ever increasing clarity.  And while some perfect and fully transcendent person might see everyone and everything exactly as they are in each moment, that just isn’t the reality we live in.  For the 99.9% of us who are still developing and growing, projections provide safety, support, and critical information about who we are and how we relate to the world.  Chastising projections and trying to avoid them completely is like deciding that hammers and blueprints aren’t important for building a home because they’re not seen in a completed house.

So, be humble and know we’re all just trying to figure ourselves out.  Take a second look when a dynamic feels familiar.  Ask what is yours.  And do so with curiosity and compassion.

This rabbit hole could go on for miles, and I’ll do my best to tie it back in.  Crushes can be a great example of positive projections.  My projections in high school of a perfect infallible feminine were highly problematic for me and the women I dated.  While at first living inside the hologram of flawlessness and being showered with love and affection felt nice, I would inevitably discover the dissonance.  The ensuing fallout was muddy and hurtful.

But what was that image I projected if not the girl I was looking at? Maybe it’s an amalgamation of my mother, my first babysitter, princess Leia, and my first grade teacher.  Maybe it’s a cultural archetype imprinted on my brain from too much TV.  I’m not sure exactly where it stems from, but I do know that the image is part of who I am and lives deep in my consciousness.  It feels primal, and it fills me with passion, hope, love, and strength.  I like to think it’s an attempt to get in touch with my own deep and divine feminine self.   I want to know her, I want to make love to her, and I want to bask in the light of her wisdom and grace.

And knowing this image is part of me allows me to stop trying to cast women to fill a pre-written role.  Instead, I can appreciate them for who they are.  No one will ever be that woman, but she’ll always be close by; walking down the street, playing in the park, or sitting twenty feet away while I eat a burrito.

-Him