My dating life changed drastically after I decided at the start of the year that I was going to be “cute and freaking awesome.” I made a promise to myself to wash my hair daily, which brought on a tidal wave of flirtations and brief affairs that usually only happen to hot people. These days I just sashay into every fucking disco in town and shout, “HEYYYY BABE, WHO WANTS TO MAKE OUT?!” (JK, I have a boyfriend now so I can’t say that to people.)
I'm usually attracted to the mysterious one. Or the risky one. Or the one already in a relationship – or open marriage. Basically, the unavailable one that seems only the slightest bit interested in me, most of the time in spite of my inkling that it’s never going to happen. But that’s what makes it all the more enthralling, because I love the chase as much as the challenge. I’m dead set on analyzing their quirks and digging a tunnel to their hearts. And boy do I get a kick out of persuading minds and winning hearts.
I fell for Guillaume the same way I fall for most things. Not at all and then fully and quickly. It wasn’t that we didn’t hit it off right from the get-go. His offbeat sincerity and disarming smile stirred feelings in me the first time we met for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. I checked to see if he and I had a special connection that was greater than the wifi in the café we were in. We did. It only takes a second to check; half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m already done.
The thing about Guillaume was that he did not belong to the category of unavailable people. Not once did he leave me hanging onto vague implications or wondering what his text messages meant. He carried himself in a way that left little to no room for uncertainties or questions. So I knew very well that if I wanted it, I could have it. Ironically, the simplicity of this perplexed me the most. But what's most interesting for me is that I fell for him after I had first fallen for myself, something I had never bothered to do before.
In the shower that Saturday night, I thought about his ears: darling little shells. “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you've always got,” the hot water whispered as it rained from above me. I wasn’t aware my showerhead was into Henry Ford, but I appreciated the wisdom it sprinkled upon me. To prevent razor-burn, I shave my legs in the direction of hair growth. “Fuck it,” I thought as I glided the blade from my ankles to my knees and up my thighs.
I was halfway through a bowl of warm oatmeal the next morning when Guillaume invited me over for a swim. “Fuck it,” I thought as I slurped the rest of it up, while a dilemma over which bathing suit would most flatter my pear-shaped body began brewing in my head.
I clung onto him the way koala bears cling onto eucalyptus trees as we waddled our way around the children armed with Super Soakers and goofy goggles in the pool. We found a spot. I kept my arms around him and he looked at me and I looked at him and he looked at me and even though I was well aware that emotional attachment is the precursor to pain, it didn’t matter because I could already feel myself rising up to the challenge of heartache.
I know now what an untrustworthy companion my heart can be after it has repeatedly given itself away without first consulting reality or prudence. The most terrifying thing, I think, about falling so fast is getting there before the other person does, with nothing to do but wait. And hope that they join me on the other side. Soon.
We all know we can only casually date a person for so long. There comes a point where we have to either make it exclusive or get rid of them entirely. In my experience, the two-month mark is usually when my assumptions begin gnawing at me. Sometimes, especially when I’m pre-menstrual, that cut-off point is 13 days. I can't explain why it is so important to my self-destructing uterus whether I will be transitioning into spring with this person, but it is.
Come-a-period-time, I feel very lethargic and sore-titted and crave crisps and chocolates and constantly have the urge to poop. I also get the general sense that I’m kinda annoyed about something, and won’t feel better until I’ve picked a fight. Some mild discomfort and cramping seem like perfectly useful alert systems, but my entire existence, feelings, worldview, and movie selection are usually derailed during this time. Dudes luv me.
I worked out the math (13 days + “Where is this going?”) and concluded that we should stop seeing each other. I’m not light. I’ve never been light. And I think sometimes it freaks people out that there’s this intensity coming at them. Taken aback by my findings when I revealed them to him, Guillaume joked about having a threesome, asked if he should introduce himself to my family as the father or the boyfriend, reassured me that Aunt Flo would be here tomorrow and then told me to go to bed.
He seemed like a chugger.
So that's how I fell – not at all and then fully and quickly – into my fifth official relationship, my first one as a somewhat mature adult who is semi-capable of expressing herself appropriately. I know this news comes as a small betrayal, especially after I’d just written several words advocating safe, consensual promiscuity as a lifestyle and way to navigate our sexuality and desires. But it feels like this could be the one, until – oops! – it’s not.
I'm usually attracted to the mysterious one. Or the risky one. Or the one already in a relationship – or open marriage. Basically, the unavailable one that seems only the slightest bit interested in me, most of the time in spite of my inkling that it’s never going to happen. But that’s what makes it all the more enthralling, because I love the chase as much as the challenge. I’m dead set on analyzing their quirks and digging a tunnel to their hearts. And boy do I get a kick out of persuading minds and winning hearts.
I fell for Guillaume the same way I fall for most things. Not at all and then fully and quickly. It wasn’t that we didn’t hit it off right from the get-go. His offbeat sincerity and disarming smile stirred feelings in me the first time we met for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. I checked to see if he and I had a special connection that was greater than the wifi in the café we were in. We did. It only takes a second to check; half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m already done.
The thing about Guillaume was that he did not belong to the category of unavailable people. Not once did he leave me hanging onto vague implications or wondering what his text messages meant. He carried himself in a way that left little to no room for uncertainties or questions. So I knew very well that if I wanted it, I could have it. Ironically, the simplicity of this perplexed me the most. But what's most interesting for me is that I fell for him after I had first fallen for myself, something I had never bothered to do before.
In the shower that Saturday night, I thought about his ears: darling little shells. “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you've always got,” the hot water whispered as it rained from above me. I wasn’t aware my showerhead was into Henry Ford, but I appreciated the wisdom it sprinkled upon me. To prevent razor-burn, I shave my legs in the direction of hair growth. “Fuck it,” I thought as I glided the blade from my ankles to my knees and up my thighs.
I was halfway through a bowl of warm oatmeal the next morning when Guillaume invited me over for a swim. “Fuck it,” I thought as I slurped the rest of it up, while a dilemma over which bathing suit would most flatter my pear-shaped body began brewing in my head.
I clung onto him the way koala bears cling onto eucalyptus trees as we waddled our way around the children armed with Super Soakers and goofy goggles in the pool. We found a spot. I kept my arms around him and he looked at me and I looked at him and he looked at me and even though I was well aware that emotional attachment is the precursor to pain, it didn’t matter because I could already feel myself rising up to the challenge of heartache.
I know now what an untrustworthy companion my heart can be after it has repeatedly given itself away without first consulting reality or prudence. The most terrifying thing, I think, about falling so fast is getting there before the other person does, with nothing to do but wait. And hope that they join me on the other side. Soon.
We all know we can only casually date a person for so long. There comes a point where we have to either make it exclusive or get rid of them entirely. In my experience, the two-month mark is usually when my assumptions begin gnawing at me. Sometimes, especially when I’m pre-menstrual, that cut-off point is 13 days. I can't explain why it is so important to my self-destructing uterus whether I will be transitioning into spring with this person, but it is.
Come-a-period-time, I feel very lethargic and sore-titted and crave crisps and chocolates and constantly have the urge to poop. I also get the general sense that I’m kinda annoyed about something, and won’t feel better until I’ve picked a fight. Some mild discomfort and cramping seem like perfectly useful alert systems, but my entire existence, feelings, worldview, and movie selection are usually derailed during this time. Dudes luv me.
I worked out the math (13 days + “Where is this going?”) and concluded that we should stop seeing each other. I’m not light. I’ve never been light. And I think sometimes it freaks people out that there’s this intensity coming at them. Taken aback by my findings when I revealed them to him, Guillaume joked about having a threesome, asked if he should introduce himself to my family as the father or the boyfriend, reassured me that Aunt Flo would be here tomorrow and then told me to go to bed.
He seemed like a chugger.
So that's how I fell – not at all and then fully and quickly – into my fifth official relationship, my first one as a somewhat mature adult who is semi-capable of expressing herself appropriately. I know this news comes as a small betrayal, especially after I’d just written several words advocating safe, consensual promiscuity as a lifestyle and way to navigate our sexuality and desires. But it feels like this could be the one, until – oops! – it’s not.
