A Matter of Attraction

Getting what you want... just not when you want it.

Among my circle of girlfriends it is generally accepted that the best way to get a boyfriend is to get a boyfriend, or in other words the only way to get sex is to have sex. Now I don’t know about you but as much as I’ve witnessed, experienced and ranted about this odd version of ‘how things work – dating wise’ this concept has never ceased to amaze and frustrate me.


On one hand I understand the logic: One cannot just sit around and wait for everything you want to literally fall into your lap. You meet people you can date by meeting people in general. You find yourself in a relationship by putting yourself out there, not by hiding in the background wondering why nobody is asking you for dinner, coffee or even if you need a hand with your laundry. But at the same time why is it when and ONLY when you find a significant other that you actually like do options all around you open up that were closed or unavailable or invisible when you were single? I mean, what shift in personality, actions, emotions or thoughts triggers such an influx of suitable candidates in a dating game only after you’ve stepped off the field?

I am talking, of course, about Paris. Now before I go into detail I must state that as a lover of science I know that I cannot base any theory of mine, no matter how outlandish or silly, on one case and one case alone. Ever since Vegas and I reunited I have somehow found myself the object of affection of known-platonic friends, new co-workers and randoms on the bus/street/gym. It's really as if the idea of a taken woman is the most intriguing, desirable, obsessive idea to some men – so much that given the opportunity he’d cross the line from platonic friend to homewrecker in an instant if there was the slightest chance that you’d discover you felt the same way. Text messages, phone calls, being extra helpful. Even when they know you have a boyfriend. Seriously - What is it about having a relationship that attracts more potential suitors for, well, a relationship?

Or in Paris’ case, the potential for a hint of truth; or clarity in his case. It all started with a quick hello-how-are-you phone call that after a mentioning of me running off with a man and how it would affect Paris’ plan, the conversation turned into an on slot of emotional confessions from a shade of grey did-I-or-didn’t-I man that I must admit I was not prepared for. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think he was prepared for it either. Paris is typically a smooth-talking man who is cleaver with his words. He gives you enough to make you curious but too little to solidify anything. But this morning he was going on about revelations and a deeper understanding... Oh and my personal favourite, how he’s changed.

In those ways he had changed – The entire conversation felt like he wanted to say something to me, something of obvious importance but for one reason or another the words were not flowing from his mouth in its’ usually symphony of grey, but more of a sharp staccato of black and white. It intrigued me enough to stay on the line without saying much, but at the same time not enough to probe and prod for a deeper understanding.

Why? Well because I am of the belief that people don’t really change – they evolve. Perhaps Paris had a revelation or two, or his radar went off that I was now off the market, that made him realize that ‘hey maybe this girl isn’t so bad’. He said so himself that when we first connected in November of 2005 he wasn’t prepared for the striking similarities and easy comfort that he and I possessed so effortlessly. It shook him and caught him off-guard, as it did me. He also said that he knows he affects me (duh) and that different emotions come up (shit) and neither of us know how to respond (fair). And then he brought up this that he wanted to discuss it at a later time.

The issue is, and this goes with all other platonic men who have decided to enter a race that has already been won, is that their time to discuss anything further with me with the hopes that further discussion will lead to further action has come and gone. Chris’ theory is similar to mine in that when a guy finds out that his attractive girl friend he’s flirted with on and off but never pulled the trigger now has a boyfriend, it is a rude awakening to some men’s (and women’s) innate laziness when it comes to opportunity. I know that a significant number of people do not realize what they have until it’s gone, and as Chris put it so eloquently, it’s like leaving something for later because you know it’ll always be there. But Paris and all others should know that when it comes to people, he or she may not always be where you left them last.

Liquid Courage/Fluidic Stupidity

The cause of, but not always the solution to…

Cranberry vodka’s are dangerous. Very dangerous. Don’t let the eye-pleasing red colour and smooth-but-sweet taste fool you; it is very dangerous. Unfortunately, cranberry vodka was my choice of drink for the previous posts holiday party with Paris… and apparently my drink was not the only thing that was smooth-but-sweet and red by the end of the evening. Or should I say the end of last week?

Homer Simpson said it best when he proclaimed “TO alcohol! The cause of… and solution to, all of life’s problems”. Except the whole solution to bit… haven’t quite figured that one out yet. At the current moment this is purely speculation on my part, but when Paris spoke to me today he mentioned that at the holiday party of horrors, I, who under normal (read: sober) conditions am calm and cool and collected, but most importantly guarded… let slip that he in fact broke my heart… and that he knew that it wasn’t a light hearted joke ( at the time I had tried to explain it away in my complete and utter shock and awe at myself for being so careless) as I followed it up with something witty and then promptly disappeared.

As you would expect, upon hearing what I had said in my inebriated and apparently courageous state I was mortified. Absolutely mortified. I mean, how could I have been so … open? So vulnerable? So emotionally slutty? Granted Paris has always had the innate ability to draw my secrets out of me with a look, a smile or simply just his presence but STILL… my GOD!

So what did I do? I couldn’t run away simply because we are in 2 different cities… which at this moment is working to my incredible advantage. My lame attempts to joke or explain it away over the phone were failing, partially because he knows me so well and partially… well, because I had nothing! No, I did what I always do in these types of awkward situations where I find myself unbelievably embarrassed; I said I had to go and stopped talking to him. And that was about a week ago. Luckily I was hospitalized for a brief period of time so I have the perfect excuse as to why I have been avoiding him… Well, and everyone else really.

But back to my point: I am partly mortified with my statement of ill-reprise of our are-we-are-we-not…-seriously conundrum of a year ago (never-you-mind what Blogger tells you; I had to re-post) because it is simply not true. Paris did not break my heart; he confused the hell out of me and made my heart ache… but not break. Only one man has broken my heart... no, wait, 2. 1 was my uncle who passed away not long ago… and the other is Vegas. I didn’t want to give Paris the impression that I categorized him on that level, where the emotional pain actually manifested itself into a physical and palpable form to the point of exhaustion. It hurt with Paris… but not that badly.

The other half of mortification comes from … well, my inability to speak the words I’ve written here about Paris to Paris without liquid courage, which we all know that in the best of times, it turns into fluidic stupidity. I don’t even know where, when or how I am going to explain myself out of this catastrophe… or even if I should. Maybe something’s are better left unsaid, or in this case, unexplained.

I just wish he wasn't so wonderful about it...

in solemn stillness

to hear the angels sing...

Six hours after I had left my apartment, and after a harrowing rush through the airport and the check-in line at the hotel I was there. My prep-time had been significantly reduced, from 3 hours to less than 1, so with half-curled hair, rushed on make up and not-so-sticky sticky-boobs my girl friends and I trekked down to the basement and arrived for the party. I was greeted by familiar 'voices' and old friends and got lost in the conversations that arise when old friends, new friends and alcohol are mixed in an energetic and friendly atmosphere. Slowly but surely the entrance area filled with commotion, so much that I didn't even realize that Paris had arrived, slipped in under my radar and I can only assume was instantly swamped with admirers and colleagues.

I was surrounded by my girlfriends, but from the corner of my eye I saw him across the room... or maybe he saw me. Our eyes met for a second... and the next 15 minutes were spent with a glance here, there and everywhere, and before words were spoken a smile. I required a bit of liquid courage and Paris by himself... not only to speak to him in person, the first time in months, but hopefully to put me in the right state of consciousness to not get sucked back into the two years of never being different between us. I had determined to not let myself fall back into fog that was Paris... Another man in my life who left me asking 'what becomes of us?', hoping that this time, next time, some time... it will be different.

And it wasn't. Different, that is. Paris was, is and ever shall be himself. Calm and popular, effortlessly cool and magnetic. I got maybe 20, no, 30 minutes of sporadic conversation before being stolen away, or have him stolen from me... and I could tell and so could he just by being around each other that we no longer shared the same connection and understanding that came so naturally that we once had.

But oh how I missed him! The looks, the smiles, the piercing eye contact, the warm hugs, that kiss... friend kisses on the hand and the back of my head as he put me in a loving headlock... and just his presence was both nerve wracking and familiar at the same time. I'd see him steal glances of me from the shadows all throughout the evening as my girlfriends and I stole the spotlight. And yet... he never went out of his way to find me; I had to go to him. I mean, to his credit he did go out of his way after I had gotten his attention to be sure we could speak in relative privacy, but otherwise... it's been two years of never being different. And I guess it never will.

We spoke a few times more before he vanished for the night. I was informed, by someone else, that he was hosting a small after-party in this suite but as I arrived in my red dress and silver shoes my knocks on his door were met with silence, and I ended my evening the same way I started it; alone.

And now I am back in Ottawa... and although I know that he and I will speak again, I can't say the same about seeing him again. Paris' lame quasi-attempts to come to my city have thus far been few and far between... in fact, the only time I've seen him this year is when I made the effort to go. I doubt that I will attend another function like this, where he and I will meet in person, and as I turned to walk away I left any desire to return to see him on the threshold of his unanswered door. Again, we never said goodbye.

I think Paris had done all that he was supposed to do in my life; and now that he has, it is time to move on. Our connection was intense as it was brief; similar and uncanny like an uncharted island. However you can only stay on one island for so long before you get restless, needing to spread your proverbial wings and explore. But the most important component for me to move on, really and truly move on from him, is the fact that I finally realize that Paris, and any other man can not start or continue to drag me along pretending to want me when really, he doesn't. Paris' greatest lesson to me, is that I need someone who wants me just as much as I want them. And for that lesson I will forever be grateful to Paris... but nothing more.

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear...

A glorious song of old...

Tonight I am going out for an evening of dinner, drinks and dancing... Very Old New York, seeing how it's a kind of reunion of sorts with people I haven't seen or spoken to in person for a very long time. There are old friends who have moved away, new friends I've kept in contact with.... and there are friends that are a bit more, shall we say, complicated?

I'm talking about Paris. I haven't seen him since June or really spoken to him since my decision to, well, stop talking to him. And since then we've spoke here and there, but nothing like we used to. Long conversations throughout the day, playful flirting and mis-spoken sentences have dissipated to 'good mornings' and 'have a great weekend'... you know, things you'd say to an acquaintance. I admit I miss the friendship we used to have, but I don't miss the mind-fucks I'd find myself in, unable and unwilling to move away from what was obviously destructive to my head.

To recap: Paris and I have had this quasi-but-not-really relationship for about a year now; we clicked instantaneously but only after he had left the city for another. I thought we clicked one way, he thought another, I put myself out there, he returned an ambiguous answer and actions that followed until recently this year. My summary does no justice but for the sake of my returning readers I must continue.

This evening, at a formal function (to which I am wearing a low cut halter v neck fire engine red Grecian style dress with fabulous silver shoes) with hundreds of people, friends and strangers... I'll see him again. This week he kept asking me if I was excited to go, excited to see people; which I am. I'm excited to finally meet the face behind the message, or the person behind the voice, or even more, the fuckwit behind all those rude comments. But I can't help but wonder what my reaction will be when I see Paris again. 5 months is a long time; in 180 days anything and everything can happen... and pretty much did.

When you make a decision to cut destructive personnel out of your life, whether it be because of embarrassment, bad chemistry or simple annoyance (I refer to people who bring the worst in you out for reasons you can't explain) you don't really plan on a reunion anytime soon. The risk of being pulled back into the fire is omnipresent, especially if there is music and wine where you and your excommunicated meet again. But at the same time I refuse to NOT live my life, especially when the party, drinks, food and lodging is on someone else's credit card.

So what's my plan? Look hot - act cool. Enjoy the evening with familiar friends and make some new ones; eat, drink and be merry... and be sure to return to my room the same way I plan on leaving it; solo.

The Feral Factor

I have decided, among other things, that the outside world and its population of twenty-something men think me and most of my girl friends as some sort of Amizonian-type women. Seriously: most of the guys I've dated thus far have treated, or revered me I should say, as they would a wild animal, and although yes I am "wild" in the sense that I am unpredictable, spontaneous and can change my mind in the blink of my DiorShow covered eye-lashes... I wouldn't go as far as classifying me or better yet responding to me like a tiger in a cage.

Here me out here: it is an accepted concept that men aren't too sure how to act around women... anybody watch 'Everybody Loves Raymond' or 'The King of Queens' or any other crappy sitcom of that sort? Don't get me wrong here, it's the same with women... sometimes I am unsure about how to act around men and quite often manage to come off as either Carrie the Ice Queen or Carrie the Moron. So, as a twenty-something female, and more importantly a twenty-something female in a science field, I find myself categorizing the behaviour that I have experienced with the men I have dated... in the sense that it was either completely clueless or completely bogus. He either had no idea how to behave or act around me, or he had a twisted idea of how to treat me.

Granted nobody comes with an instruction booklet, but it has come to my attention that the twenty something men I've managed to find myself in a relationship with either have no idea or a freak show idea as to how to treat a Manolo-lite such as myself. So instead of observing how good men treat their women (and ladies you too... observing good women treating their men) he acts in 2 different ways: he is either too shy or too nervous to make a move on a "wild" and undomestic goddess, or he's too confident and thinks he knows exactly how to treat a "wild" and undomestic goddess.

Both of these traits make up what I like to call the Feral Factor.

A new breed of woman creates a new breed of man, and vise versa... which in turn creates a new set of behaviours. These behaviours can be seen in both men and women, and I've seen them in action. So far I have experienced 2 Feral Factors and both have successfully prevented or ended a relationship... factors I wish to share with you today.

Feral Factor 1 = The Avoidance tactic. From far away he learns and observes, keeping his distance physically, mentally and emotionally, all the while getting close enough and far enough to want more. In other words, these men successfully become intimate with women either physically, mentally or emotionally.. or all 3 if he is really good, without actually becoming intimate; he observes but never really enters your world. He lures you in with charm and ease... but never cares to remove the bars that prevents you from truly becoming one.

Feral Factor 2 = The trap and tame. Not only does this guy let you into his world, also luring you with charm and ease, but he slowly and deliberately begins to take over yours and eventually makes it his own. Domestication soon follows, along with a sense of learned helplessness, where what's yours is his and what used to be yours isn't really necessary in this new world he created with reminants of you in it.

Obviously Feral Factor 2 relates to my exs who couldn't take NO for an answer... at least not from me. Thats when you rely on the service of your local police force, as they are there to serve and protect. Remember gentlemen and ladies, stalking is illegal. Any man or any woman who believes that Feral Factor 2 is a correct or good way to treat a significant other is wrong: a relationship is not a commit or be committed situation. Each person is "wild" in the sense that they are free; free to chose, free to stay and most importantly free to leave.

No, it is not Feral Factor 2 that really bothers me to the core... it is Feral Factor 1. The intimaybe... When I wrote this I was still conversing with Paris; and that day he threw me off completely with his observations. He had managed to learn and observe my behaviour and even called me on some actions I subconsciously do... and I was blown away. I remember mention it to him, how I was shocked and awed of his indepth knowledge of me, almost intimate... yet we had never exchanged anything above a gaze or a hug. His response? "What... that someone listens to you and pays attention to you?" Apparently I am a person he likes and sticks in his mind... to him my smile "will light up the sky" and that objects "pale in comparison" to me... but I'm still not enough for him to cross the fence and join me in my world, or let me loose into his.

It is because of these factors, among other things, that each relationship ended or each relationship failed to begin. The underlying uncertainty of oneself and of others drove each person to act and react the way they did; and although I am not excusing their behaviour and any other persons similar behaviour... now I can sort of understand why this happens so that next time, maybe it won't happen again. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

La Belle et Le Dumb Ass

I’m so over, I need a new word for over.

I’ve decided to add, amongst other things, another mantra to my ever-expanding set of dating standards; one of my very close friends, lets call her “Mackenzie” came up with our first and very useful manta of “Wow me or else I haven’t much use for you” has proven very effective in my not-so-effective search for a good date. However I realize that manta number one, although broad and umbrella-like, does not expand to those men in my life who have managed to wow me but at the same time have left me hanging. I'm talking about those men who play these games of red-light ~ green-light with me until… well until I’m just about ready to turn around leave the playing field altogether. Maybe those in science, or those who have read and remembered Angels & Demons by Dan Brown will know exactly what I am talking about, but for those of you who do not, I introduce Carrie’s 2nd dating mantra for the Manolo-lite: “Substantiate or Suffocate”.

Substantiate or Suffocate, Publish or Perish, or more specifically in this situation, Prove it or Lose it. Like with any good research and in the end good dating involves a little bit of research in the field about a person(s) you are interested in, either you prove your theory or get out of the lab. This theory I speak of could be one of two things: either we are good together or we are not. Don’t get me wrong here; we could be good together as friends, but not on the dating scene. Either way once you’ve managed to extract the information you need to draw your conclusions, publish or share your thoughts and either move in or move on. The absolute worst thing you can do to a potential lover is keep them on the line by dragging out your “experiment” for any reason whatsoever. I don’t care if you are curious to see how intimate you can become without actually becoming intimate, or if you can get that guy or girl in bed without having to call them your boy/girl friend, or even call them at all. There are plenty of guys and girls out there who are looking for that, but for those of us who are legitimately looking for someone to love and be loved by, leave us the hell alone.

I mean, it is one thing to keep your distance at the beginning of a relationship, when at first you are unsure of the other persons motive, but that stage usually lasts oh … 3, 4 months? I mean, if you are sleeping with them or suggesting sleeping together then already you are way beyond the point of understandable distance. If you know what you want, or what you don’t want, then say something. Substantiate your need and share it with those implicated, otherwise you’ll end up suffocating not only yourself but the person you’ve involved in this twisted little game.

But the game can be hard to quit, especially when it is orchestrated by someone you want. Even intelligent women can fall into this trap of ambiguity, believing that something, no matter what it is, is better than nothing. Sure it sucks to be alone and life really is much better with someone you have “something” with, but when that “something” begins to stifle your confidence, your style, and your life? I find it hard to believe that something that is supposed to be an incredible experience can in the end leave you in a bind. Is this "something" really better than nothing? I guess I am about to find out.

I stopped talking to Paris. Well, not really, but we no longer speak the way we used to. I am very good at speaking from a soap box from behind my computer screen, spilling my idyllic opinions, but really my words don’t count for half as much as my actions. It is one thing for me to type out my beliefs, especially one as important as this, but it is another to act on it. So I’ve stopped speaking to Paris… and trust me, it is so hard.

It is not as simple as me not liking him anymore. Oh no. He is still the coolest of cats, the hippest of men in my life, and the embodiment of unrequited awareness to the point that if I continue down this path of ambivalence with him I think I actually might choke on the words that go unsaid. I may stumble over my words when I am tired, overworked and underplayed, but I can no longer allow something as natural as my emotions trip me up and distract me from my existence.

It seems to me, and I may be wrong that the modern man either wishes to dominate the person he is with or be dominated by them. I know plenty of girls, myself included, that inadvertently found themselves in a dominating relationship. These changes occur slowly, almost unnoticeable until it is too late. Some, like me, fight back while others allow it to eventually take over. If these women are happy this way then so be it; happiness is subjective. However, being dominated 100% of the time is simply not my bag, baby. Nor is being the dominant one in a relationship. I do not wish to control my significant other, what’s the point? I can hardly control myself, especially now that surprise sidewalk sales are popping up along these crowded streets. Nor do I find it empowering or liberating to be in command of all the aspects of a relationship, oh no. That is way too much work for anyone to take on, let alone a modern Manolo-lite such as myself. I have enough trouble being in command of my laundry.

However, and there is always a however, I can’t help but wish that there was a slightly more mature way of dealing with a toxic researcher. I understand completely that my not speaking to Paris is completely immature and juvenile, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? The hardest part is… well, Paris knows me too well and sensed that something was up or “off” about me the second the phrase “Substantiate or Suffocate” rang in my head. He knows that something is up and has even asked me about it… but I know that if I even hint at beginning a conversation it will not end the way I want it to. I know how that looks, like I want to control the situation and him instead of having it the other way around. Trust me, this is not the case. I simply want control back over myself, and that cannot be too much to ask. Except… I think he is on to me. He (after initiating a conversation and failing to get what was “up” with me out of me) no longer says good-bye or anything civil… he didn’t even end the conversation, he just let it fade away.

Why is it that when I finally catch on to the games people play and using this knowledge to impede its proceeding, does another game begin? It is so easy to say, and in a sense it is true, that this entire thing is his fault, but in the end, it’s still my problem. I’m sure he cares about me… but that’s not enough. I’m still suffocating and what I need right now he can’t give me: a breath of fresh air.

Pulling the Trigger

If you had what you wanted in your sight would you pull the trigger, or would you hesitate?

To that question I would like to think, as most of you would as well, that if I had what I have wanted for a while, whether it be an object, an idea, or a person, I would not hesitate to act in order to get what I wanted. Granted, getting a person is different as you have a whole other set of feelings and emotions, not to mention baggage to deal with, but you get my drift. It seems so mind-blowingly obvious that yes, of course I would act! Why wouldn't I? However I know a lot of people, myself included, that have stalled in the face of obvious victory... To which I wonder this: why do we fail to act when what we want is within our reach?

This notion seems black and white: act and you shall receive, yet really when all things are equal, getting what we want is a shade of grey. Why do we hesitate, and we all have, knowing that in a moment our "prey", be it a crush, a purse, or a promotion, can slip away? I know the story, I've heard the cliches: your co-worker next to you, or your fellow student, did not get that promotion/9.0 GPA by sitting on her ass. *Insert famous person here* did not get *whatever made them famous* without action on his/her part. And I didn't get that last pair of mint green pointy toed sling back BCBGs for 40$ by waiting for them to literally come to me. So why the hesitation on some things? Why do we stop and think about items we want the most, only to see someone else grab the prize?

A Manolo-lite, or anyone really, cannot wait around forever. Not for a job, not for that Nine West shoe in your size at a sale, and most certainly not for a significant other you would describe as a "catch". You cannot describe someone or something as a "catch" unless you have caught them. And that involves pulling the trigger.

It's one thing to know what you want to do, or who you want to be with. That's great, I mean, you're almost there. But almost doesn't count. The fact that you are acting, that you are actually doing something is commendable. I know a lot of people who are either stuck in or cemented to a state of mediocrity who refuse to act unless their life depended on it. But herein lies the rub: your life DOES depend on it. Who else is going to live out your life? Granted your actions however small they are get you moving, but not everything or everyone will meet you half way. And any previous actions mean nothing if you cannot seal the deal; the problem with hesitation is that opportunities do not wait, and neither do I.

Hunting for what you want, working towards it, whatever, requires patience, perseverance, and passion. I'm not talking about an instant gratification, but a slow burning desire for something or someone that you've had in your vision. Maybe it's that degree you're studying for, or for that promotion at work you're applying to, or that special someone you've flirted with for months but can't seem to cross that threshold of friendship into intimacy. You figure, "well nothing is going to happen anyway" so you do nothing... Therefore nothing happens because you're not pulling the trigger... You're not even giving yourself a chance to.

I understand that pulling the trigger is easier said than done; that it is embarrassing, nerve-wracking, and sometimes just plain crazy. However, and there is always a however, the victory at the end when you finally get your hands on what you want, is insurmountable. The pleasure is indescribable. I know this because I have experienced both: the pleasure of achieving my goals, and the pain of knowing what I could have had, what I could have done, or who I could have done, had I simply pulled the trigger. And let me tell you, the latter hurts a hell of a lot more than any action I have taken to achieve my goals.

So ladies (and gents), if there is something in your life that you really want, and I mean really want, go ahead and pull the trigger (figuratively, of course). Apply for that job or that program. Buy those ridiculous cheap shoes. Ask that girl/guy out. And even if it's not meant to be, it's a lot easier to move on knowing the truth rather than living on misguided thoughts of maybe's and whatifs.

Ambivalence

One thing that I have noticed about Paris, and all other men I subsequently have a train wreck of a non-relationship with, is that they are all really ambivalent. For those of us who are unfamiliar with that term (I was until Monday evening), ambivalent is characterized by a mixture of opposite feelings or attitudes; or uncertain or unable to decide about what course to follow. I say this because of certain … actions, as I have come to accept that words are simply a vibration riding on a mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen; that have pulled me in one direction or the other and of course, have left me totally confused. Why is it that some men or at least the men I attract/am attracted to thrive on presenting me with mixed signals? Is this all some part of a big twisted power pulling game? Because let me tell you, starting a relationship with some sort of competition only leads to failure, you know why? In any kind of competition, there is usually someone who loses, who is defeated. Seriously guys, games are for children, and unless you are in to that, (which if you are then stay the hell away from me), hear this: if you are looking for an adult relationship, or a relationship with adult perks, then quit the mind games. You’re making me wonder if guys at any age know whether or not they are coming or going.

I once thought, and I guess for the most part still do think, that dating is all about finding a person you mesh with; someone who as completely them self you click with. You get along with, you compliment. I get that some guys are looking for a challenge, and that some of them are looking for an easy lay. Fine, whatever. So, if the majority of guys know what they want, whatever it is they want, then why bother with the mind games? Why the cluster-fuck of push-and-pull statements and actions that make us believe one thing one day and another the next, or even worse, only act part-way on one belief and part-way on another.

I know what you are thinking: “He’s just not that into me”. Oh, if it were that simple; I’d be a lot happier if Paris and all the other men had said to me “yes, I am just not that into you”, or more realistically just said “yes/yeah/grunt” to my exit strategy I present. Paris didn’t, even when promised that nothing would change and I was true to my word. I would also be happy if not for the fact that every time I manage to convince myself that Paris is “just not that into me”, he does something that makes me believe, and everyone else who hears what he does, that he is clearly and painfully in to me. I don’t care what Greg says, when a conversation includes topics more appropriate for the bedroom and not the boardroom, as I was at work when this happened and I was lead to believe that so was he, chances are the guy likes me.

However, and there is always a however, lately Paris has cooled off; we still speak, but not as frequently and not as freely, well at least not today. I could come up with excuse after excuse as to why this is happening; oh he’s probably busy; oh he’s taking his time in responding; oh he’s stepped out of his office; oh he’s away from his phone… but I know that in the end they’re all bullshit. So are all the other excuses I’ve made for the men in my life who are too good to be true and too ambivalent to be a real contender.

Now it would be unfair of me to simply blame those ambivalent, ambiguous men I clearly adore and adhere to. I would be lying if I didn’t say that as a twenty-something girl, I have been and usually am of two minds. There are some days where the loneliness is palpable, and if I have to do one more stupid errand by myself I think I will explode; and yet there are other days where I am reminded how great it is to be single and how much I hated being chained to my boyfriend, and how much I value my independence and free will. My ambivalence gets to me and subsequently to all the men I am currently quasi-seeing. Sometimes I want them to call me and take me out, but there have been other times when I simply forget to return their phone calls. I am not confused on purpose; trust me, I hate being confused. And I hate mind games too… which is why I can honestly say that I haven’t lead on any of the men I’ve had dates with, or at least I don’t think I have.

I guess ambivalence is a two way street; clearly I am projecting the fact that I am ambivalent when it comes to relationships, is that why I seem to attract men who are ambivalent as well? Like attracts like, so I guess the key to finding someone who knows what they want is to know what you want.

My Exquisite Pain

Since when did an oxy-moron like this make so much sense?

I have decided that I am one of those people that like pain. No, enjoys pain; THIRIVES on pain, because seriously, any sane person who does not enjoy pain would not torture herself the way I do. Let me explain. As I have said before; communication is key, a powerful key that can either make or break a relationship. In most cases communication is a great thing, except when it is used to the advantage of one person over the other. I mean, there is one thing with using or withholding communication to keep me interested in you; it is another thing completely to use it to keep me hanging. Paris does this to me, although I don’t think he means to, and if he does then my god… how I hate it and love it.

We’ve always been on the boarder line of friendship-and more, and in the half hour we had together he managed to send me a barrage of mixed signals, ones that say “we’re just friends” to “I want to be more”… a casual “we wouldn’t be a good pair” is counteracted with a literal pick-me-up-hug, face in my neck and hair, and a pause with each other, distanced but close… I don’t know. He says one thing and does another… and I don’t know what to believe.

The problem is this: I didn’t do anything about it and I still don’t do anything about it. It’s not that I am not woman enough to tell a guy how I feel; I already did. And I got burned… well, not burned, but I didn’t get the answer I was hoping for or better yet expecting based on the signals we were sending each other since… well since we met each other. Once I’m rejected, with guys or with anyone in general, it doesn’t matter if it was done as nicely as possible and with good and valid reasons. The fact remains that I am twice as shy when it comes to exposing myself again in such a vulnerable fashion, especially for someone as independent as I am.

Half of the time we are fabulous friends; we get along swimmingly, have great casual conversations, and overall friendly fun. The other half… let’s just say I do NOT talk with any other guy like that unless I was interested in more; learning more, being more, getting more… you catch my drift. The topics are deeper, the conversations longer, thoughts provoked, ideas exchanged… not to mention the fact that he’d do me good, just based on how well he can stimulate my mind.

I hadn’t seen him in a long time and according to a platonic guy friend of mine, there isn’t a guy in the world who would meet anyone for half a hour unless they liked me. Fair enough; I know he likes me. Liking someone is crucial for any relationship above a casual acquaintance. But the touching, hugging, hair-playing, pausing, overall closeness mixed into the friend-only bits of conversation? I don’t know.

And not knowing is driving me insane.

Paris has it easy; he KNOWS how I feel; I was woman enough to put it out there, and yet here I am, at the mercy of a man, wondering how the hell he feels about me, about this, about us… and it is literally making me mad. Bloody hell!

I think… I think, he is giving me enough to keep me close, to keep me wanting, to keep me interested in him. But he is not about to give me exactly what I want, and would prefer to keep me on the line until… until what? Guy friends and girl friends tell me Paris likes me; so what is the hold up?

Greg Behrendt of “He’s Just Not That Into You” fame, wrote that if a guy was truly interested but couldn’t do a relationship for actual reasons, that he would let you know immediately instead of keeping you hanging. Paris let me know immediately when we had the conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness that his issue was his alone; and that if that issue was not present then there would be no problem. SO is that what Greg is talking about? And if so, then why continue the mind games when clearly he knows what I want from him?

Or does he?

It’s not like I have been sitting around waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass. I was semi-seeing The Medic a few months after our conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness occurred, and I even have another date with an Officer McDreamy. I just wish I could stop thinking about Paris when I’m trying to move away. Maybe he’s like me in the sense that we don’t want what we can’t or won’t have in front of our faces, but that doesn’t me that we don’t want them within eyesight. So then why is it that neither of us can truly hang on to the other but at the same time can’t truly let go?

To Want or Be Wanted...

whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...

They say that hope is sweeter than possession. Obviously whoever said that must either enjoy the sensation of pain or they have never really possessed anything worth holding on to. Now I don't know about you, but if I had the choice of either hoping for a pair of Jimmy Choos or possessing a pair of Jimmy Choos well... do I even have to answer that? So why is it when it comes to love, do I and many other women out there keep falling for the men we simply cannot have? And I'm not talking about celebrities here; I'm talking about real people; tangible, palpable people that you interact with on a daily, weekly or monthly basis. Oh sure, you say you're just friends but really... one of you or sometimes even both of you feel that extra little bit. And it's funny how that extra little bit can make things a whole lot more... complicated, that is.

Being on both sides of this predicament is a challenge, but not to up-play la douleur exquise, it's a hell of a lot harder being the want-er rather than the wanted. I know this because I've been both and while being the wanted is a great ego boost, it's not without its moments of awkward and feeling like an unintentional tease which is without a doubt the worst kind of tease there is. Either way, knowing that you are wanted is a power-trip as supposed to being the want-er where every moment spent talking to that person, being in that persons presence, feeling those feelings that you just can't help in the ends up making you feel pretty powerless. Right now I'm in the unique situation that I've found myself being both the want-er and the wanted. And I'll tell you right now; it sucks.

One of my ex's, let's call him "Vegas", has decided recently that he made a mistake when he broke things off... 2 years ago. He's come up with excuse after excuse about ending our relationship, and although I must admit I was heartbroken, it is also in the past. I picked up and moved on... apparently Vegas didn't get that memo. I stay in touch with him for old times sake, but I can't see myself with him again. I love him, but that kind of love is behind me and I have nowhere to go but forward. Vegas... well, despite attending a top-rated post-secondary institute in a challenging yet very rewarding program, cannot look to the future without being reminded of his past. Now, this is all very sad, but I am of the belief that both of us should not be made to suffer for his decision. The phone calls, the concerned looked, the drinks and conversations are all well and nice, but nothing is going to happen. In this case I am not the one that got away; I am the one he let go, therefore only he should live with that.

I don't mean to be an agace. I returned emails and phone calls out of politeness but more so curiosity. I have to admit it is always vindicating when an ex comes crawling back professing their stupidity and regret, but after a while the "I told you so" high fades and reality begins to sink in: that while this person may have toyed and crushed your emotions, that doesn't give you the right to toy with theirs. Unless they deserve it, but most of the time they don't. So how do you stop being wanted? You don't, that is not in your control. As it turns out, it's the want-er who has the power in this relationship.

Not to say that being the want-er is easier. Absolutely not. It is an exquisite pain, seemingly by choice to the outside viewer but really, internally, if I could stop wanting and re-gain my emotional posture, believe me I would, and sometimes I do. Sometimes everything is just fine and your relationship is neutral in a sense that it is so good it's bad. But then that person goes and does something that pulls at your heartstrings, or stirs up the feelings that just won't stay suppressed that I and many other of my girlfriends find ourselves tripping head over feet and landing smack on our ass.

There is this guy who is currently ma douleur exquise... let's call him "Paris", and has been for a long time. Our relationship didn't start that way; in fact it never does, but as hard as I tried I simply could not resist. It started out with the little things. A look here, a joke there... There was always something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on, and once circumstances changed it grew to a conversation here, a similarity there... and then it got even deeper. I've known Paris for a while now, and I don't know what it is about him, but he can literally see right through me. Unless I am actually clear as glass, to which then I reply "oh" but... he can. And it's scary; normally I have to be poked and prodded and BEGGED to talk and give information and whatnot to people I don't really know but with him... I literally have to hold my tongue and not talk to him on the phone because I feel as if I could talk to him forever... and I haven't felt like this about someone in a really long time.

But just like Paris, France; he's not exactly here and I am not exactly there. The worst thing is he straight up told me that if things were different then... well things would be different. The problem is, this happened a while ago. Like a WHILE ago, and I had thought I had moved on.

I mean, it was awkward as hell at first, but I refused to let it affect what was going on, despite everything. I guess it would have helped if he had been an asshole instead of being... himself. But eventually, or so I had believed, I got over it. Hell, I even started seeing other people and yet here I am, trying to run away from someone I'd much rather be as close to as possible and in every possible way.

It's funny how certain people can rope you back in just as you're about to escape. Now I'm not saying that I'd prefer being trapped, oh hell no. It's just... in this case I can't be let go, even when I want to. I know for a fact that he isn't the one; I need someone more my style and someone who will fit into my life rather than become it, or worse even make me change my life to become theirs; but I feel he is one. And I, as I'm sure almost everyone else, don't like knowing that something I want is something I can't have.. let alone having it in front of my face. My rational mind keeps telling me that it is for the best but seriously... it sucks.

So to answer the question, is it better to want or be wanted? No... they both suck.