My Spotify is overwhelmed with a recent binge of angry, “he’s a fucktard” music, with an occasional throw in of “I don’t need him” music, with sporadic clamors of “Im going to go out and get some because I’m way hot!” music. None of it changes much of anything but it’s good to have variety!
I thought at almost 29 years old, I’d be leaning towards a more mature set of men, of people in general!
But what if the immature one is me?
Eleven am on a Saturday morning I wake up and craft a plan to seduce a boy 7 hours after sleeping with another.
The “another” is The Dancer, and my date with him the night before was magical. If magic is intrigue with myself for why I stayed on the date and then had sex with him. Maybe I was put under a spell, or better yet a curse with fire and a stone and pieces of hair!
I named him The Dancer because we met while dancing at a club, our eyes lock across a crowded room (six feet away) and me leaving the guy I was dancing with to go to him (my friends had been trying to get him away from me anyway). Love and convenience was in the air!
A week from our first “eye lock” (and dance floor make out session) our now first date comes to a blurry end at 4 am as he made a last grab for my breasts before stumbling into a lyft outside my parents house. Modern romance.
Putting clothes back on and room to order, I pass out and wake up that Saturday morning thinking of Boy Next Door and the limited time I have to make something happen with him before he moves out.
I put on three different lotions but not perfume because I want to smell like a fucking garden exploded but not like I expect to see anyone.
My outfit that took me an hour to put together was the perfect blend of “I don’t give a shit” and “Yes, I have always been this sexy.”
I take a seat in a comfy chair, kick my legs out relaxed onto the arm of the other sofa, and lie in wait, looking as casual as one can look when trying way too hard to sleep with someone.
Casual reminder, I have literally just slept with someone.
This all feels minor in comparison to what I did the previous morning.
Boy Next Door was mentioning wanting a party to happen, so I made one up.
Yes I am now the patheticness of Season One Ted Mosby (if you haven’t watched How I Met Your Mother by now, there’s no hope for you) throwing three parties in a row in hopes Robin would show.
I’ve always despised that episode interestingly enough. I always wondered how someone could put their friends through that just for the prospect of someone.
Everything has come full circle and I do understand it now and I did contemplate blackmailing my friends into ditching their other plans to come to this party that doesn’t exist, and yes my end goal for that party was me and Boy Next Doors drunk hook up.
So back to the “casual” allure of me and my three scented lotions, eleven am has turned into midnight ( I did not stay there on the couch waiting for him, I went out and did things OKAY) when finally he comes home.
As he comes towards me my whole body faces him, our eyes meet and we begin to speak as we slowly walk towards each other, and that’s when he says it:
My brothers name.
As he walks on past me towards my brothers room and as I hear the two of them laugh about things unrelated to me, I stomp back into my own room to pout myself to sleep.
Since that anti-climactic Saturday, The Dancer has stopped all contact with and blown off our plans for our second date and Boy Next Door is going forward with all plans to move out and not hook up with me.
In an effort to find out why my life is this way, I decided to ask myself a series of questions as if I were on a game show, about to win a car or a really expensive set of plates, and here’s what I got
Game Show Host: Why did you go out with the Dancer?
Me: It seemed like we clicked, got along, thought the same things were funny
GSH: Did you want to date him?
M: Well uh maybe like if things were-
GSH: Why didn’t you want to date him? Is he not good enough for you?
M: No uh of course not I was just not sure-
GSH: So there is someone else!!!!??
M: Well no err like I mean I’m not dating anyone at all so
GSH: So you’re saying you’re dumping The Dancer for no one, no one at all
M: Uh well technically yes but
GSH: Well maybe if you had acted a little more interested I would have texted
M: Uh wait
GSH: No I mean HE, HE would have texted
GSH: no no
M: fucking seriously
This is about as far as I got. Maybe game shows aren’t the way to self actualize, so I looked at the “G” word,
I felt guilty in my lyft on my way to meet the Dancer for our date. My lyft driver had put on this instrumental music which started to fuck with me, and got me thinking, which is never a good idea before a first date.
I had texted Boy Next Door an hour before getting into this lyft, to let him know:
“everyone is busy so no party tomorrow night ”
Leaving out of course that there had been no party to begin with.
Sitting in this lyft that was now starting in on the rythyms of the flute, I got real sad that he wasn’t even going to text back to say “bummer” or “ok” and that’s when I started thinking about turning back.
I mean maybe this date isn’t such a good idea because I’m clearly too upset over the lack of reply about a party I lied about in the first place?
But I didn’t turn back, I knew Boy Next Door would be out of the house soon and I would be able to focus on the Dancer then. Why should I lose out on such a great guy?
During an Oreo binge last night, I realized something – as we all do because oreos are great carriers of wisdom – maybe the Dancer didn’t end up being a great guy, but maybe also I’m not such a great girl?
I’ve done a fair share of lying and manipulating this week and maybe that’s what I’m attracting….
I am 100% still bitter and jaded and listening to songs about the heart pangs of sleeping with fuck boys, but I do shed some light on my own behavior, my own responsibility, maybe I don’t always get to play the wronged and wounded victim?
Maybe I need to own that I’ve also got a manipulative bitch in me who wants what she wants and is pissed when she doesn’t get it.
Maybe I should also let her have more Oreos? I mean if I’m not going to let her jump people’s bones, I better give her something.
Till next time my friends, don’t fuck with fuck boys but when you do make sure you got your Spotify playlist ready!