When last we met I told you about “onion guy” he swayed me with his little cooking tidbits and affections, vague discussions of love and then total disappearance, then reappearance, then disappearance. This technique, according to psychologists, seals love and psychosis all in one sweep. How charming.
So, dear blog, I am not doing so well. “You’re doing alright, I’m not feeling so good myself” could be the anthem of anyone in free fall heartache after yet another fail that leaves me–and maybe you–wondering how we keep getting it wrong. Just how many times can one dust oneself off? I am wondering and calculating the math, is there a specific number of times?
Ladies–if we could be real for a moment and dive into a massive generalization–guys know how to do the full force rejection. The kind that has passive, detached voice, slightly cocked head and an expression of surprise that your being dumped is even a thing, at all. They seem to act as if it has no meaning and should be no problem. Like they’ve ordered tacos and you brought burritos.
I don’t know how they do it, but they’ve mastered this. I think there is some sort of man school that has seven day intensives on rejecting with full force and least investment. Maybe it’s called,” Ripping off the bandage quickly with def com 5, black ops efficiency”.
They have this other trick in the playbook called “ghosting” or “fading back” which means disappearing. No call, no text, no personal messaging, no e-mail. Poof they vanish. Sadly this normally does not happen when they are seeking your acquaintance but after they have become all too well acquainted. It’s an ugly reality. What’s crazy is that this is still happening. Now?
(Guys: feel free to chime in here and break it down for me. I am myopic, I can only see my own hurt so if I’ve got it wrong, please explain. Maybe my faith in man being kind could be restored.)
But in this moment as a modern woman I am left asking if my mother’s admonitions about buying the cow when you can get the milk for free is actually, pitifully accurate? Are we really living in the kind of world where women must play coy and hard to get, must make the man give chase and hide their intentions and manipulate the situation in order to have a relationship? Am I really supposed to be blushing under a fan or dashing home in my penny loafers? How? No, really I don’t know how.
That whole thing escaped me. I was busy reading “Call of the Wild” in my homemade tree fort and floating leaf boats down the stream. Where and when was I supposed to pick this up? Do I have to rent movies from the fifties to sort this out? Oy vey–I’m at a loss.
I may just have to say I’m out. I cannot do it. I cannot play princess in a castle who needs rescuing nor can I play prey animal to be hunted or the queen who is disinterested because I am so prized. It’s all a boring load of cow dung. If I can’t just be a person living a life who would like another nice person living a life to hang out with and see what happens, then maybe, to hell with it. If this is true I’m pissed.
Maybe it’s some whole other thing I don’t know–see how this insecurity spins along taking a small event and turning it into an hysterical phobic situation?
I can occupy my time just fine. I have no trouble being out and about and seeing movies on my own or bellying up to a bar for a glass of wine. I’m not intimidated. I can bring home the tofu on my own and my doors tend to open themselves these days. It seems like it would be nice to have someone to love. But that could be off too. Should I sink into monk status, “Om” or become a hermit, “You come in here, you’ll get a buckshot to the seat. Now bug off!”
I don’t know.
Here a desperate last ditch: if ,and that’s an IF as in never, I took out ad ad it would say this,
“Person seeking person to speak with, enjoy good conversation which goes back and forth equally and does not consume the entire conversation with either person’s prowess . Seeking person who can enjoy a show, a glass of wine and maybe a good hike now and then. Someone to do fun things with but not someone to fix me, change me, dominate me or manipulate me. I also won’t do those things to you nor will I dress you or make you shop with me or have lunch with my girlfriends–cause some shit is sacred. Someone who has no need to show my picture to his friends–preferred.”
Is that crazy needy? Too much? Is it weird to think a person one loves could be a friend, like other friends who enjoy hanging out, calling, talking about life’s various spikes and crashes? Is that what counts as high maintenance these days?
This Angry Onion thing did really well. Thank you. I picked up some new friends and followers and I’d like to keep it going. Maybe you can steer me off the rocks–the people in my constellation aren’t sure what to tell me (or they’re afraid) so hit me with your reality.
I am still also seeking my first brave soul willing to trivialize their misery into a blog so we can share. It somehow feels better to stand naked with all this than trying to cover it up. I’d just as well be shameless than shamed–any day.