Boys again. (braindump)

January 24, 2009 at 10:29 pm | Posted in dating, relationships | Leave a comment
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On November 30 I had my first date with a 22-year-old math/CS senior at Berkeley. Monday will be, I expect, the last time that I see him; he’ll be crossing the bridge into San Francisco from Oakland to meet me, for the first time in the almost two months we’ll be dating, so that he can drop off my space heater. Woo.

Not that we’ve actually had the breakup talk. No. While he likes to advertise himself as valuing communication very highly in a relationship, I’ve gathered that his ideal communication style involves his partner being able to read his mind so that he never actually has to say what he thinks or feels. (God I fucking love Scorpio men. What the hell was I thinking?) So the fact that I’ve indicated that I want my space heater back, while expressing no interest in actually spending time with him, seems to be enough “communication” for him about the status of our relationship.

The thing that has infuriated me about him — the same thing I initially found really compelling, naturally — has been his apparent apathy toward me. While there’s something to be said (by assholes, to aspiring assholes) for “playing it cool,” this, I think, has been extreme. And because I experienced my father as indifferent, emotionally unavailable, and unable to express any kind of love or affection toward me, of course I jumped at the chance to get romantically involved with someone who bore all these qualities. In fact, my first thought when we started dating was, “Oh, I bet he just has to warm up to me, and then he’ll totally drop his guard and be this great, affectionate, concerned, loving boyfriend.” Again… was I fucking high or something?

So anyway, the fact that he is letting things go at this — not expressing any disappointment, sadness, or really any emotion at all, not even confusion! — without any discussion is making me even crazier. While I can’t tell whether his indifference is genuine or feigned for the sake of protecting himself, his lack of reaction to this gesture of closure is making me think he really doesn’t give a shit at all. And that feels just plain crappy to me. I mean, I liked this guy a lot (or thought I did). What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel nothing for me whatsoever? And if he does feel nothing, why has he continued to string me along and see me for two months? What the fuck?

I don’t even think I want to know the answers at this point. I think it would be too devastating to find out for 100% certain that he really just didn’t care, and didn’t like me all that much, or whatever. I don’t need this kind of bullshit. The real question is why I let things get this far in the first place.

Happily, I seem to have found the answer in the form of a book called Getting the Love You Want, by the psychotherapist Harville Hendrix and his wife, Helen Marie Hunt. A little introduction to Hendrix’s theory of romantic relationships, and why we tend to fall for the people who are best equipped to hurt and disappoint us, is available online. I strongly recommend the book for anyone who has noticed their destructive relationship patterns or is in a particularly painful (but not abusive — that’s a whole other can of worms) committed relationship.

So that’s been distracting, but I look forward to having that ugliness out of my life in a couple of days. Meanwhile I am still dating Luke and Seth, and still questioning what it is I’m trying to get out of those relationships, and what’s reasonable to ask for and expect, given that I’m pretty much dead set on getting the fuck out of this city by the end of the summer.

MFA programs have already begun notifying admitted students, which has created a new kind of stress in my life, exacerbated by my helplessness in the process at this point. The best I can hope for is to find some healthy obsession to dive into for the next two months while I wait for programs to call (or not call). It would be nice if I could actually start writing again…

Don’t you trust me?

October 4, 2008 at 4:17 pm | Posted in relationships | Leave a comment
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My updates are lagging, I know. The crunch of MFA application time is hitting me hard; my first deadline (for Irvine; fat chance!) is December 1, and my next ones are Cornell and U-Iowa on December 15. My writing samples are basically nonexistent. So you see, I have reason to be freaking out. (You can’t fucking put together a writing sample overnight, OK?)

Of course, dear readers, that excuse doesn’t mollify you in your unending quest for boredom-allieviating Internet drivel, does it?

So here are a few morsels for you to devour and shit out undigested.

Last weekend I attended SF’s Folsom Street Fair for all of 15 minutes before being irritated, then overwhelmed, by the impassable horde, and finally whisked away by Seth to a party, at which i was presumably his “date.” At said party, for which I was lamentably underdressed (not wanting to embarrass myself in my Hot Topic faux-leather), I had the dubious pleasure of watching Seth make out with pretty much every girl there. One of them in particular I found excruciatingly undeserving of my presence, so when he invited her to dinner with some small subgroup of the partygoers (myself included) I half-feigned sickness (in truth I was pretty sick of the whole scene, including him, by that point) and retreated to the safety of my sister’s company. Jesus christ. No more poly parties for me, ever, especially in the company of that attention whore Seth. It is starting to squick me out how many people he is actually more or less “actively” sexually involved with. Fortunately, telling myself that I have more urgent matters to worry about has successfully quelled my anxiety. It’s becoming painfully clear that I really don’t have time to maintain a relationship more serious than the one I have with Seth, so I should stop complaining about having the opportunity to get laid once a week or so.

On another, completely unrelated, note, please do yourself, as a reflective, authenticity-seeking human being, a favor and read this.

I’ll try to update once a week, but I probably won’t get into full swing again until 2009.

Varieties of escapism

August 14, 2008 at 1:15 am | Posted in online dating, sex | Leave a comment
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Today my body feels like a brittle rubber band. I need to do yoga and get about sixteen massages. When is that going to happen? I have no fucking clue. I’ve been sitting in front of my computer for days now… maybe weeks… who’s counting? I guess it’s been about 10 days. Everyday, I give myself some new project that will consume my thoughts and my activities for the entire sixteen hours that I’m awake. Yesterday it was researching MFA programs, moving toward finalizing my application list. (I’m down to about 20 schools; need to get it down to 12 without completely destroying my chances of being accepted anywhere. And no, I have no idea where the money for application fees will come from.) Today I told myself I would research alternative plans in case I don’t get accepted anywhere. Of course, the problem is that my technique has proven a little too effective: I rarely manage to do anything outside the realm of my one project. It’s all I can do to force out a blog post at the end of the night.

But today at 3:45pm my flow was interrupted. I received a call letting me know that I didn’t receive the job I had been hoping desperately for since last week. DAMN IT. I am hopelessly broke and without prospects. I can’t believe this job market. I’ve never been interviewed and rejected so many times in a short period. On top of the recent breakup, my self-esteem is taking a beating. God, I hate applying for jobs that I don’t even really want. It looks like it might be fruitless, the way the economy is right now. Maybe the only way I could get a job right now is by actually being perfect for it, in terms of both my skill set and my interests. That’s a slightly more encouraging way of thinking about it, though it still doesn’t take care of how I’ll be paying my bills next month.

In response to this latest defeat, I got the crazy idea of reentering academia ahead of schedule and living off of student loans. (This was after I fought off the urge to start drinking in the middle of the afternoon.) After all, that very well might be what I’m doing a year from now. Why not get started early? I’m already registered at the local community college, so I filled out a FAFSA and will wait for that to go through. This might mark a new level of financial desperation in my life. But despite the indignity of my situation, I feel somewhat relieved. Being a student is safe, it’s comfortable, and it’s fascinating! I’ve been getting all excited about the classes I could take in the coming year: literature, philosophy, critical theory, women’s studies, french, art, psychology, sociology, linguistics… so many things I missed out on as an undergrad. Man oh man. I’m drooling just thinking about it.

My other major distraction of the day was getting an OkCupid message from a cute guy I’d given a high attractiveness rating last week, who then messaged me on Thursday. Unfortunately for me, he somehow managed to stumble into a relationship over the weekend, but he was kind enough to email me to let me know this and to ask if we could be “friends.” I still firmly believe that it’s not possible for men and women to just be friends (unless the man is gay, and even then it’s not guaranteed… I should know), but instead of calling him out on this – “If by a ‘friend’ you mean someone you’d like to stay in touch with in case you become single again in the near future, then OK!” – i just made him confirm that was what he really wanted, as opposed to just being polite.

So we started chatting online while looking at each other’s profiles. He began taking some of the tests I had listed – tests determining how dominant/submissive you are, how kinky, etc. Tests I took because of the recent ex, Poly Dude, as he will henceforth be known. Well, it turns out this hot little piece of meat I was talking to was a moderately dominant, highly kinky individual, which I wouldn’t have guessed by looking at his pictures. So we started talking about what kinds of things we liked in bed… and it turned out we had a lot of complementary preferences. And of course talking about them only got us both excited, and well, one thing led to another, etc. A few hours later we became abruptly awkward as we said good night and logged off of our chat clients. But man, those few hours I just glossed over were fucking hot. I hadn’t had cybersex since high school, or even phone sex really. I get too self-conscious and I think it’s ridiculous: why not just skip the talking and get to the real stuff? But this time I was completely consumed by the fantasy and it was, well, fantastic.

As you know, I have lately lamented the problem of finding a sexually compatible partner given my newly discovered bedroom interests, so this development was surprising and encouraging. The funny thing is that I doubt I would have been as frank with him as quickly as I was if there had been a chance that we would start dating in the near future. That’s not to say I would have been dishonest, but somehow I would have felt like there was more to protect. Now, because he is “seeing someone,” the chances that we’ll meet are low unless they break up soon (or unless our hot little session tonight gets him rethinking his choices – but I’m not getting my hopes up. Really). And even if we were to meet, it would likely be solely because of our apparent sexual compatibility… which is always a great way for me to pretend that I can successfully avoid investing any emotion into the situation. Anyway, I can’t say I think it’s going anywhere, though I do believe there’s a good chance we will hook up at some point.

Meanwhile I can’t tell whether the guys down here in the bay area are really more attractive than they are in Portland, or the greater numbers simply mean more hotties, or I’m just getting increasingly desperate and therefore lowering my standards. But I’ve been getting messages from a number of guys I wouldn’t mind fucking. I think I’m still rebounding pretty hard (oh yeah, it’s only been 9 days… right), and the recent blows to my ego aren’t helping matters. Good thing I went off the pill. That should force me to keep my panties on for at least another couple of weeks.

Something that makes you say “yes, yes!!”

August 6, 2008 at 2:39 pm | Posted in writing | Leave a comment
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I was at a coffee shop today with my friend Lana (not her real name). We make writing dates and she chooses places within walking distance from her house, because she knows all the cafes with free wi-fi and her neighborhood is slammin’. It happened that today’s destination featured some installation art: one-page written pieces by an assorted collection of individuals, Lana being one of them. During one of my frequent breaks I wandered over to read hers.

Standing there, with my knees buckled into the faux leather couch against the wall, my back hunched unattractively to bring my eyes a little closer to her piece, glue-sticked to a sheet of cardstock, I smiled and felt small emptinesses crumbling within me, caving in from the joyful pressure of sincere recognition. I came back to our laptop-clad table grinning. “I liked your piece,” I said sheepishly.

“But what is it? It’s nothing,” she complained. “It’s not a story.”

“It doesn’t matter!” I knew my stumbling praise was ineffectual. We’re both planning on applying to MFA programs in the fall. Requirements: a written portfolio, anywhere between 20 to 40 pages long, depending on the school. They want to see promise; they want to see structure. Short stories or, less attractively, a chapter of a novel. So where does this beautiful, curious creature fit into that framework? Right now, maybe it doesn’t. But it’s perfect exactly the way it is.

This gives me hope for my writing. Maybe the stunning, jagged beauty of life doesn’t need to be captured in some conventional form in order to be successful as art – as something that moves you. Can I be okay with that? Similarly, could it be that I might be seen as complete, whole, without polishing my jagged edges or fitting myself into a role, a standard, a predetermined form?

I want to show this piece to everyone. This, I think, is what real art is. This is what I want my writing to be. The inarticulate soul finds resonance in a worldly something, hears its own song being sung. And it’s goddamn beautiful.

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