Men Are Weird
I honestly don't know a single person who would disagree with the title of this post, male and female and non-binary alike. And in the interest of fairness and equality, women are pretty odd, too. But if I ever understand the creature that is the male human, I will write a book and make eleven million dollars and then be shredded on Reddit, Twitter, and a bunch of other sites I rarely go on for "getting it all wrong". Then I'll write a follow-up, make another eleven million dollars, and retire to an island somewhere where my internet will only allow me to watch Netflix and Hulu and YouTube, get on to Facebook, email my literary agent, watch cat videos, and play my games.
Until then, though, we are at the present. It is shortly after 8:00 in the morning. I have mostly finished my cup of coffee, which is why I can put words together into sentences after a night where sleep was at times fleeting. That's what happens when you share your bed with someone who is worse of an insomniac than you are.
*sound of needle scratching across a record*
"Wait, what?" you say.
"You read that right. There was someone else in my bed last night." I reply. And yes, it was the most recent, the one I have taken to calling "Larry" here on this blog.
In our last episode just 4 short days and yet a lifetime ago, I had texted him. I had reached out to let him know I wasn't angry at him and that I was ready to be friends. Friends. And then I sat down and blogged wondering WTF I had just done, whilst admitting I couldn't deny the overwhelming feelings I'd had all day that I needed to do that.
Later that evening, he replied. I got the messages while having friends over for a game night, so I didn't go into great depth with them initially. Yes, messages plural. He was quite grateful I had reached out and was ready to be friends. He'd been beating himself up all week over what had happened, how it was the wrong time, place, way, everything for that to have occurred. He thanked me for "being more mature and showing ... a great deal more compassion" than I had been shown. As I was occupied with alcohol, friends, and hilarity, we exchanged a few light texts and then I focused on those in my house.
Later that evening, I sent an epic long text. I told him to stop beating himself up; we're all human and we all make mistakes. Life goes on, and we move forward from here. I told him we were still friends, he could still come over for a home-cooked meal and a game of Trivial Pursuit. (We are nerds, after all.) Being somewhat inebriated, I told him I might consider lifting my rule on Friends With Benefits, emphasis very much on might. Being close to midnight, I didn't expect a response, but I got one. We cleared more air and said goodnight.
The next day when I got off work I came out to a flat tire. My first instinct was to text him about it, and being frustrated with the situation at hand I did. He responded. We ended up texting back and forth about all sorts of things for hours. The flat tire wasn't the only rough part of my day, and he's a wonderful listener. As the conversation continued, I ended up agreeing to FWB.
He didn't pressure for it, not in the least. He even asked me if I was sure about my decision. I was, and I have no regrets. The next evening, he started the texting. I was at work, but things were slow. I invited him over the next night for a Trivial Pursuit rematch and dinner. Nothing fancy, spaghetti and garlic bread eaten in front of the TV. Vodka for me, beer for him. Good conversation, and then I lost 2-0 in Trivial Pursuit, even though one of those games I scored more points than him. (It's all about the wedges.) Then we headed to the back of the house for more conversation and other adult activities.
Frankly, it isn't about the sex. Here is my theory on why I think this is the right thing for us. When we first started talking and met, we discussed the difference between "flaming out" and "slow burn". We agreed we wanted to be a "slow burn", but we ended up "flaming out" whether we realized it or not. Most people spread out their first few dates over a couple weeks or so. The time in-between is used for occasional conversation, getting to know each other more, etc. There is truth in the adage, "absence makes the heart grow fonder". We didn't give ourselves any of that downtime. We shoved a month's worth of dates into two weeks. Neither of us were really ready and everything was too much. The "flame out" was inevitable, and it just happened in a bad way.
Now, there isn't that pressure. We don't have the expectation of texting all day long. We aren't planning our next "date" while still on one. It's much more laid back and relaxed. We are getting to really know one another as friends without pressuring ourselves to try to make something work. Both of us independently came to the conclusion that we wanted to take a break from the madhouse that is dating. Now we have the opportunity to be vulnerable with each other without the worry that it will be "the end", and I think we both need to be that open for anything to work between us. That's just how we're wired.
It's Thursday morning. We might see each other this weekend, and we might not. And I'm perfectly okay with that, and so is he.
But here's the weird part.
I'm someone who frequently and easily uses terms of endearment for lots of people in my life. "Babe", "baby", "sweetie", "darlin", "hon", etc. roll off my tongue practically bypassing my brain. "Larry" has always been "babe" or "baby". I told him in one of our text conversations that I would do my best to not call him that, and he said if I did he might reply with an "Ahem". I slipped up a couple times last night but caught myself and apologized. He told me "no worries". And all night, he was calling me "baby" and "sweetie".
Like I said, men are weird.
I have zero expectations for this beyond a friendship. He's a personality and perspective I need in my life right now. The sex is a bonus, a mutual recognition of chemistry, but not a necessity. The conversations, which range from the absurd to the sublime, are the necessity we both need. I've gained a friend, and that is what matters the most.
Until then, though, we are at the present. It is shortly after 8:00 in the morning. I have mostly finished my cup of coffee, which is why I can put words together into sentences after a night where sleep was at times fleeting. That's what happens when you share your bed with someone who is worse of an insomniac than you are.
*sound of needle scratching across a record*
"Wait, what?" you say.
"You read that right. There was someone else in my bed last night." I reply. And yes, it was the most recent, the one I have taken to calling "Larry" here on this blog.
In our last episode just 4 short days and yet a lifetime ago, I had texted him. I had reached out to let him know I wasn't angry at him and that I was ready to be friends. Friends. And then I sat down and blogged wondering WTF I had just done, whilst admitting I couldn't deny the overwhelming feelings I'd had all day that I needed to do that.
Later that evening, he replied. I got the messages while having friends over for a game night, so I didn't go into great depth with them initially. Yes, messages plural. He was quite grateful I had reached out and was ready to be friends. He'd been beating himself up all week over what had happened, how it was the wrong time, place, way, everything for that to have occurred. He thanked me for "being more mature and showing ... a great deal more compassion" than I had been shown. As I was occupied with alcohol, friends, and hilarity, we exchanged a few light texts and then I focused on those in my house.
Later that evening, I sent an epic long text. I told him to stop beating himself up; we're all human and we all make mistakes. Life goes on, and we move forward from here. I told him we were still friends, he could still come over for a home-cooked meal and a game of Trivial Pursuit. (We are nerds, after all.) Being somewhat inebriated, I told him I might consider lifting my rule on Friends With Benefits, emphasis very much on might. Being close to midnight, I didn't expect a response, but I got one. We cleared more air and said goodnight.
The next day when I got off work I came out to a flat tire. My first instinct was to text him about it, and being frustrated with the situation at hand I did. He responded. We ended up texting back and forth about all sorts of things for hours. The flat tire wasn't the only rough part of my day, and he's a wonderful listener. As the conversation continued, I ended up agreeing to FWB.
He didn't pressure for it, not in the least. He even asked me if I was sure about my decision. I was, and I have no regrets. The next evening, he started the texting. I was at work, but things were slow. I invited him over the next night for a Trivial Pursuit rematch and dinner. Nothing fancy, spaghetti and garlic bread eaten in front of the TV. Vodka for me, beer for him. Good conversation, and then I lost 2-0 in Trivial Pursuit, even though one of those games I scored more points than him. (It's all about the wedges.) Then we headed to the back of the house for more conversation and other adult activities.
Frankly, it isn't about the sex. Here is my theory on why I think this is the right thing for us. When we first started talking and met, we discussed the difference between "flaming out" and "slow burn". We agreed we wanted to be a "slow burn", but we ended up "flaming out" whether we realized it or not. Most people spread out their first few dates over a couple weeks or so. The time in-between is used for occasional conversation, getting to know each other more, etc. There is truth in the adage, "absence makes the heart grow fonder". We didn't give ourselves any of that downtime. We shoved a month's worth of dates into two weeks. Neither of us were really ready and everything was too much. The "flame out" was inevitable, and it just happened in a bad way.
Now, there isn't that pressure. We don't have the expectation of texting all day long. We aren't planning our next "date" while still on one. It's much more laid back and relaxed. We are getting to really know one another as friends without pressuring ourselves to try to make something work. Both of us independently came to the conclusion that we wanted to take a break from the madhouse that is dating. Now we have the opportunity to be vulnerable with each other without the worry that it will be "the end", and I think we both need to be that open for anything to work between us. That's just how we're wired.
It's Thursday morning. We might see each other this weekend, and we might not. And I'm perfectly okay with that, and so is he.
But here's the weird part.
I'm someone who frequently and easily uses terms of endearment for lots of people in my life. "Babe", "baby", "sweetie", "darlin", "hon", etc. roll off my tongue practically bypassing my brain. "Larry" has always been "babe" or "baby". I told him in one of our text conversations that I would do my best to not call him that, and he said if I did he might reply with an "Ahem". I slipped up a couple times last night but caught myself and apologized. He told me "no worries". And all night, he was calling me "baby" and "sweetie".
Like I said, men are weird.
I have zero expectations for this beyond a friendship. He's a personality and perspective I need in my life right now. The sex is a bonus, a mutual recognition of chemistry, but not a necessity. The conversations, which range from the absurd to the sublime, are the necessity we both need. I've gained a friend, and that is what matters the most.
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