Even Bach Had His Mondays - Part 1
For those who may not know, my actual life is that of a classical musician. One of my professors in grad school used to say when things went awry that "even Bach had his Mondays". That was his way of saying that even people who are considered masters of their art form have off days and don't produce their best work.
It's been about 3 months since I last blogged, and in that time there have been quite a few Mondays. "Larry" and I decided to be FWB, and that has had more ups and down than a rollercoaster. Granted, a lot of ups. Fundamentally, he is a good guy who doesn't know what the heck he wants out of life and is staring down the barrel of the shotgun known as turning 50. And if we're going to be perfectly honest, he's also a functional alcoholic.
Last night I was asked what exactly I meant by that, a "functional alcoholic". I am not opposed to unwinding in the evening with a cocktail or two, or the occasional beer. Sometimes, I overindulge. Larry goes through at least a six-pack of a beer that is 9% ABV every night. On his days off, he'll do that and a decent amount of Irish whiskey. His free time is spent in varying stages of inebriation. He's had to schedule his day off with minimal warning because he was still drunk from the night before. Where he works, the boss will sometimes break out the booze at 3:00. In the shop. On work hours.
"Larry" knows he has a problem. He knows his insomnia would improve if he cut back on the booze. He knows other things in his life, like his depression would also improve. But, he continues to self-medicate, and by his own admission, slowly kill himself with booze and cigarettes. As someone who cares for him a great deal because he is my friend, it is hard to watch. Conversations with him sometimes turn macabre as he continually ponders his upcoming birthday, and he's told me more than once he never expected to live to see 50.
He's become a real barrel of sunshine. So while we still text regularly, we've seen each other less and less frequently. And there's the other elephant in the room, too: the "benefits". Alcohol impedes a man's ability to achieve an erection. It doesn't matter how willing the heart and brain are, or how great the stimuli, the nether regions just won't respond. Since he has this thing about taking prescription medication, he's tried resorting to liquor store "dick pills". Literally. Herbal concoctions that are supposed to help you get hard. They haven't really helped. I know well that a man's sexual prowess is a factor in his self-esteem, and he is increasingly unable to perform.
All that aside, we had always said that because it was a FWB there would be no hard feelings if one or the other continued to date. The line gets drawn when one of us enters a sexual relationship with another person. So a couple weeks ago, there was a day where I didn't hear from him. This happens occasionally so I didn't freak or anything about it. But it was almost 48 hours total before I did hear from him, and because of what I've already said I was legitimally concerned for his health and safety. The conversation that ensued had quite a bit of snark from him. He was pretty snide in several of his texts, and I was having flashbacks to our favorite friend, D. He confessed the reason he didn't reply to me on that one day was because he was on a date with another woman.
Okay, no biggie.
He then said he knew already it wouldn't work with her because... and he proceeded to list off things about her that could be said about me. And that wasn't the start -- or the end -- of the snark. Really, it was a lovely conversation.
So I did what I would do in such situations: I went back out on Tinder. Yay!
Now for me, the timing was admittedly not the best. I was preparing a major concert and would be traveling soon. I really needed to be focusing on that, and not swiping through 100+ likes everyday. Some familiar faces and names popped up, guys who I had chatted with before and things never went anywhere. It was kind of like walking into a bar where I knew lots of the regulars. There was the usual guys looking for sex without strings attached, looking to cheat on wives or girlfriends (or maybe husbands and boyfriends, you never know), the sketchy profiles without pictures or ones with hints, sometimes not too subtle, of BDSM and other kinks. There were the lonely guys, just hoping that some woman will be willing to take a chance on them. And there are the normal guys, too.
I don't think I'm all that, and somehow I rack up a lot of likes. And even though I don't think I'm all that, I'm quite picky. At 43, soon to be 44, I know what I want, and I'm not sorry if it isn't you. I'm not interested in renewing my cougar card. I like my men educated and capable of writing complete sentences with proper grammar. "Bad boys" are intriguing, but even though the odds of me introducing anyone to my parents is between slim and none if you don't come across as someone who I'd take home to them I'm not going to go for you. Roughly 5% of the guys who "like" me will I also swipe right on, and then from there even fewer actually message. I'm okay with this, really.
One of the guys who liked me this go-around we'll call NDD: Newly Divorced Dad. We started talking, went to texting, and then... you'll have to go to part 2 to find out what happened next.
It's been about 3 months since I last blogged, and in that time there have been quite a few Mondays. "Larry" and I decided to be FWB, and that has had more ups and down than a rollercoaster. Granted, a lot of ups. Fundamentally, he is a good guy who doesn't know what the heck he wants out of life and is staring down the barrel of the shotgun known as turning 50. And if we're going to be perfectly honest, he's also a functional alcoholic.
Last night I was asked what exactly I meant by that, a "functional alcoholic". I am not opposed to unwinding in the evening with a cocktail or two, or the occasional beer. Sometimes, I overindulge. Larry goes through at least a six-pack of a beer that is 9% ABV every night. On his days off, he'll do that and a decent amount of Irish whiskey. His free time is spent in varying stages of inebriation. He's had to schedule his day off with minimal warning because he was still drunk from the night before. Where he works, the boss will sometimes break out the booze at 3:00. In the shop. On work hours.
"Larry" knows he has a problem. He knows his insomnia would improve if he cut back on the booze. He knows other things in his life, like his depression would also improve. But, he continues to self-medicate, and by his own admission, slowly kill himself with booze and cigarettes. As someone who cares for him a great deal because he is my friend, it is hard to watch. Conversations with him sometimes turn macabre as he continually ponders his upcoming birthday, and he's told me more than once he never expected to live to see 50.
He's become a real barrel of sunshine. So while we still text regularly, we've seen each other less and less frequently. And there's the other elephant in the room, too: the "benefits". Alcohol impedes a man's ability to achieve an erection. It doesn't matter how willing the heart and brain are, or how great the stimuli, the nether regions just won't respond. Since he has this thing about taking prescription medication, he's tried resorting to liquor store "dick pills". Literally. Herbal concoctions that are supposed to help you get hard. They haven't really helped. I know well that a man's sexual prowess is a factor in his self-esteem, and he is increasingly unable to perform.
All that aside, we had always said that because it was a FWB there would be no hard feelings if one or the other continued to date. The line gets drawn when one of us enters a sexual relationship with another person. So a couple weeks ago, there was a day where I didn't hear from him. This happens occasionally so I didn't freak or anything about it. But it was almost 48 hours total before I did hear from him, and because of what I've already said I was legitimally concerned for his health and safety. The conversation that ensued had quite a bit of snark from him. He was pretty snide in several of his texts, and I was having flashbacks to our favorite friend, D. He confessed the reason he didn't reply to me on that one day was because he was on a date with another woman.
Okay, no biggie.
He then said he knew already it wouldn't work with her because... and he proceeded to list off things about her that could be said about me. And that wasn't the start -- or the end -- of the snark. Really, it was a lovely conversation.
So I did what I would do in such situations: I went back out on Tinder. Yay!
Now for me, the timing was admittedly not the best. I was preparing a major concert and would be traveling soon. I really needed to be focusing on that, and not swiping through 100+ likes everyday. Some familiar faces and names popped up, guys who I had chatted with before and things never went anywhere. It was kind of like walking into a bar where I knew lots of the regulars. There was the usual guys looking for sex without strings attached, looking to cheat on wives or girlfriends (or maybe husbands and boyfriends, you never know), the sketchy profiles without pictures or ones with hints, sometimes not too subtle, of BDSM and other kinks. There were the lonely guys, just hoping that some woman will be willing to take a chance on them. And there are the normal guys, too.
I don't think I'm all that, and somehow I rack up a lot of likes. And even though I don't think I'm all that, I'm quite picky. At 43, soon to be 44, I know what I want, and I'm not sorry if it isn't you. I'm not interested in renewing my cougar card. I like my men educated and capable of writing complete sentences with proper grammar. "Bad boys" are intriguing, but even though the odds of me introducing anyone to my parents is between slim and none if you don't come across as someone who I'd take home to them I'm not going to go for you. Roughly 5% of the guys who "like" me will I also swipe right on, and then from there even fewer actually message. I'm okay with this, really.
One of the guys who liked me this go-around we'll call NDD: Newly Divorced Dad. We started talking, went to texting, and then... you'll have to go to part 2 to find out what happened next.
Comments
Post a Comment
We are all adults here. Comments are welcome, but they are also moderated because there has been a marked increase in spam, trolling, and generally snarky and nasty comments being submitted. Different opinions are welcome when expressed maturely; rude comments and links will not be published.