Monday, May 19, 2014

Boy meets girl. Girl breaks up with boy via text.

So, my first text break-up went really well guys. I think I'm definitely growing up. Um… It was I who did the unthinkable and sent the text nail in the coffin. Before you write me off for my bad behavior, please know I tried! I tried, people. Plus I'd a history of bashing this guy over the head with conversations he did not want to have, and I figured why go out like that? I opted to spare the both of us- after two weeks of no date planning, monosyllabic fb chats, and the incredible fiasco I'm calling Sexgate 2014, we clearly were not trying to make a go of it. I mean, isn't talking only for when you're trying to build a relationship? Isn't it basically a favor to the dude to make it easy?

You even get the luxury of time to craft your response, how nice is that! I was accommodating to the very end. Because this boy… I tell you… He made me want to make a nest of my own well conditioned, coconut smelling luxuriant hair for him to rest upon, to feel safe and tucked away from the harsh world. I wanted for my hands to grow giant, to cup them and give him rides to wherever in the world he wanted to go- no questions asked, like the luck dragon in "The Neverending Story". UGH!

Here's the thing about all that liking- it was a tidal wave that I had to lock up tight behind a door that had "SUPER CASUAL! NO PROBLEMO!" caution tape all over it.  Nothing to see here folks! Because yes, much like Britney, oops. I did it again. Same shitty shit that I specialize in- I fell too hard and too fast for that guy who hates to be liked (my emotional catnip), not to even mention loved. I mean, I stormed that walled up castle like it was the crusades.  My penchant for these borderline boys doesn't extend to the severely confident can't-be-tied-down-babe a-hole, nothing so simple as that- I love the guys who hate themselves too much to accept all of my adoration. This particular one slipped under my radar because he was so wry and seemingly participating in the world.

Yes, he was self-effacing, but he laughed at his own jokes. He disagreed well, he knew he was smart. He was so open about his shit that I thought: sure, he hates himself, but he has OBJECTIVITY and even better, ECCENTRICITY. I thought: here it is! The exquisite weirdo I've been waiting for! Our idiosyncrasies and neuroses can COMPLIMENT one another, we can do this, we are well-matched and he's brilliant and hilarious and haunted and I want him. I wanted him in my atmosphere and in my bed. I wanted him with me. In all the daily mundane spaces, and all the social occasions and big moments of my life. You know where he wanted me? He wanted me with him at the fucking gamer store. AND I DID IT.  I came to learn the behavioral norms of a previously unknown subculture- adult gamer men who fought substance addiction!

And still, we couldn't even watch Netflix together in peace. He wanted it high falutin' or sci-fi always. I flushed crimson with shame when my recently viewed selections revealed my frivolity-- "Based on your recent viewing of Katy Perry: All of Me blah blah blah…" I want someone with a love of guilty pleasures! Dude, at least think it's adorable that I satisfy MY guilty pleasures- laugh at me with me! Even when he got his Netflix way (which he always did, except for once when I pushed for Say Anything and he was disgusted every minute), he stood outside of each moment, commenting, making fun of everything. I frustratedly told him once, "you can't make fun of everything, you'll have no ground left to stand on- you've made fun of it all!" He would say "whatever" after approximately 80% of his sentences. I started snapping, "not whatever!" every time. When he preempted me by declaring, "Oops, not whatever!" earnestly after his slips, I swooned so hard my knees felt like they were buckling.

Watching him try was devastating. When he stopped trying, I knew what had to be done.  I know I did the right thing, ok? But I still wish the right thing was anything else. I think that having to make your love for someone small makes you small too. And that's another awful reason I had to just text lop it off. In person I would have orbited him again and turned into a speck, lost my resolve. I couldn't have seen that look that he gives me from across a table, his head tilted, chin tucked just a little, and brows furrowed into a happy grimace.  His grey eyes trying to hold mine, but inevitably searching for the nearest exit sign.

After this one, you guys, I swear I'm not allowed to choose my own dates anymore. I'm handing the reigns over to a hand-selected committee of trusted advisers. A dating cabinet. There will be a secretary of foreign genitalia, a secretary of defense, a whole team who do psychological profiling…  In writing this I've had a revelation: the primary desire is not the boyfriend prize. The point is, I want to be a girlfriend again. I want to love and adore with total abandon, I want to shine a light on someone and bask in the glow. I have to ask myself if I'm willing to have that love light shined back on me in return, or aren't I the biggest part of the problem?

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