You know when you want something. Lust after it. Crave it. Fantasize about how amazing it will be. How those little butterflies can be found aflutter in your stomach every time you think about it. Palms sweating glee and you can almost taste it. You know that feeling?
Only what if life got in the way. And when it actually happens. Or is it about to happen. The butterflies which had stood on guard. Waiting. WAITING. waiting. Finally gave up. And now instead of excitement. You only feel irritation. Irritated because it’s not exactly what you wanted. Irritated that it seems your theory (that you had, in fact, stirred up those butterflies all on your own) seems quite likely to be true. Irritated that not only do you feel you have to but pissed that you’re even considering cleaning your apartment for a boy that’s not. Butterflies. For a boy that’s. What. For what? A booty call? A one-off?
I’m not a phone talker. I’d much prefer to just wait to hang out in person. But when we talked. It was magic. At least for me. And I think for him too. At the beginning. After our first conversation he already thought I was a genius. But more than the ego boost of him thinking I was quite intelligent. Was the fact that he wanted to hear about it. My papers. My essays. My words. Written academically. He wanted to hear about it talk about it know about it. My face was flushed with lust. Even now. Months and months later. He asks. About school. About my grades. How did you do?
I always see an ending. With Trucker Joe, even if it had survived past the summer it would never have made it past Christmas. With all the other “somethings” I always felt a sort of 3 month max. kind of just looming in the distance. Not negative or positive. Just obvious. But with him it seemed. A little different. I actually. Er. Um. Kind of liked him. And maybe it was all just chemistry and pheromones and the way I amped it up by fantasizing about it on cold nights of studying and stress. But the truth is. I once sat in a restaurant. And held a friends hand. In the cutest way. Just to show her how I felt about him. Which in and of itself (revealing mushy feelings to a third party) was pretty apocalyptic. But it was true. At the time.
I’m the queen of booty calls. Okay well sort of. But I’m definitely the queen of being able to separate sex from feelings when the case benefits from it. But there I was a couple months ago. Asking TheHel a question that I’ve never asked before. Because I’ve never had a doubt. Do you think I could handle it, with him, just a booty call? And her answer. Point blank. No. Real talk, she didn’t even fucking hesitate. It was that clear. Whether the feelings were real or fabricated. They were present. And I liked him. Wanted to hold hands kind of liked him. Gross.
And it wasn’t all perfect and swoony because after all he wasn’t able to give me what I wanted. And so when dating didn’t work. To the contrary advice of TheHel, we attempted a booty call. And maybe it was life. First he was busy. Than I was busy. Or maybe there just wasn’t enough interest. It’s hard to tell when the boy isn’t a sex-crazed 19 year old willing to sell his best friend into domestic slavery for the sake of a good bang. But either way it didn’t happen. And yet. We never lost touch. Kept in contact. Sporadic certainly. A lengthy text conversation every 2-3 weeks. And I’m not retarded. I know the lack of phone calling speaks volumes. But in my defense I’m used to being able to portion out the emotions and just ya know…put them over there. For the sake of a purpose.
Detour. Unfortunately I have to write this blog post out of order (because I need advice now!) and I don’t have time to write all the details of the past weeks but just know that there are no other boys. Right now. In the last few months. Besides him. That have given me butterflies. And turns out. Sex. Not as mind-blowing (for me) without the butterflies.
6 weeks till school/exams are over. He tries to hangout. There’s flirting. Sexy innuendo. I have butterflies. I would if I could. But I can’t. School trumps boys. No question.
5 weeks till done. He tries to hangout. Flirting. Innuendo. Butterflies. Can’t. School.
4 weeks till done. I’m back on PlentyOfFish in preparation of pending freedom. I notice his profile is gone. Recently. Not that I occasional check to see. Whaaatt!?!?! Shut up I’m human. lol. And he was right. I’m a smart cookie. He’s dating someone. I don’t know really why I assume this rather than he’s taking a break from dating or something. But I do. And then we’re texting. I ask if he’s met any cute girls lately? He says yeah…asks about me. I congratulate him That’s awesome 🙂 and tell him no but I just put up a POF profile again. He responds I’m sure you’ll get tons of hits 🙂 and I smirk to myself. Damn straight. Though of quality…and I can hear myself sigh lol. You’re too smart for most guys he quips the sexy is obvious. And I feel a bit swoony. Because I know he believes it. Though I wonder if he includes himself in the “most guys” category? I ask about the new girl (I assume we’re going to be buddies…one of the many options on the table for awhile now). He says She’s pretty cool, maybe too sweet, but we are both making efforts. And I think to myself. I bet they`re a perfect match. Or at least a lot better of one than we are. Good for him. And I actually mean it. Only. While I`m trying to be buddies. The conversation keeps taking a turn (driven by him) to sexy and flirting and whatnot. At first I feel guilty. I don’t DO interference. If you’ve got a girl. I don’t run temptation. That being said. Is it even my responsibility. I mean 100% yes if he’s married. 85% yes if they’re committed. But a dude who just started dating a chick? Not sure. He still wants to see my new apartment. I bet his does. I suggest we go play pool somewhere or something lol. But either way. Right now I’m studying. School. First. Boys. Second. Or Eighth.
3 weeks till done. He texts. I don’t partake in the flirting. I have no time. School is burying me. I text back. No time for hanging out/flirting I’ll text when school is over. He responds. Ok.
And then I’m done. And almost a week goes by. I think about texting. Like I said I would. But I pause. Because it suddenly feels like we had an expiry date. The butterflies took off. They just got tired of waiting. For him. For me. For life. But I’m an optimist. And a single girl who hasn’t had the kind of hot sex I’ve wanted as of late. And I’ve got an apartment all to myself. For only 4 more days. Sure I’ll have one again in September. But that’s 4 fucking months. Privacy is a bitch, no? I digress. So although the butterflies have faded, their memory is still impressed into my body. And so I text. I’m done. I survived. He asks about my grades. I ask about his work. We talk about school. And hockey. It feels like we’re talking about the weather. But the truth is every time we do text. There’s always a bit of a butterfly resurrection. It might not be butterfly Armageddon but there’s a definite resurgence. He asks how long do you have your place till? I tell him Friday. But I’m mostly all moved out. Just have to clean it. And then I ask Do you still want to hang out or was my prime real-estate the real draw ;)?
And to be clear I don’t think I’m totally retarded in thinking he wants to be buddies. Who flirt. Because a. He’s said so before. b. he’s now dating someone (and however, committed or not they are, it’s enough that he took down his profile). c. Apparently some of you folk out there in the real world think men and women can be just friends. However, that is until this last bit of conversation. Because no joke he seems really disappointed I won’t have my own place. Which I would understand more if he didn’t have one either, but he’s a grown man with his own place. So it’s not like there wouldn’t be a place to bone?
Detour. In writing this last bit I figured out a bit more about his disappointment. He once told me that after our first date, he was kind of bragging about how I was only 29 to his friends, being just on the verge of 40 himself. Which btw I was hugely flattered by. Say what you what about superficiality but who doesn’t love being a hot young thing. Just Sayin’. And since my apartment is in a dorm after all. I’m guessing someone has a little fantasy about banging some hot young co-ed. It all becomes a little clearer.
His response to the text about real-estate? LOL. Yeah [I still want to hang out] that would be nice. But having your own place was hot 🙂
2. I agree.
3. Okay no way to rationalize now. He does not want to be buddies who flirt.
Haha. Part of me feels my ego just took a hit…but the other part completely agrees…having my own place is hot…guess I’ll just have to be extra adorable to make up for it 😉. And here is where I should quite possibly have stopped typing. But I didn’t. Because I’m a flirty bitch who’s got all kinds of pent up energy from months of studying and sex that wasn’t-hair-pulling-body-slamming-tell-your-friends-too-much-information-later-while-you-regale-them-with-hot-stories-to-vicariously-live-through-your-SLUTmazing-ways type sex. And ya know. I’m feeling a bit butterfly-ey. Technically I have it [the apartment] till Friday 😉 Just Sayin’. And thus he responds I could come by Thursday before or after my meetings in Vancouver. Just Sayin’. I ask something about whether or not it’ll dampen the hotness by the fact that none of my stuff is there anymore? And then I ask what time his meetings are.
11am and 1pm. Butterflys stop moving. What is it with dudes and daytime. Daytime is NOT sexy.
I respond. lol definitely after :). And thus the conversation ends. Butterflies are at a minimum at this point. But still ya know…present. Albeit laying dormant. But still.
Detour. Here’s a random aside for you to ponder. A thought just occurred to me. He wouldn’t know that since my apartment was technically part of UBC residence, the bed comes with etc. Aka that it’s still there. What does he think…doing it on the floor? lol not that I’m opposed to that. But just saying.
So this kind of brings us to now. Like right now. 2pm on Wednesday April 27, 2011. And tomorrow is D-Day. Or not. We’ll see. Because the truth is. Right now. With him. I’m being a fickle bitch. All term I would’ve been gung ho to get it on with him. Monday I was all butterflies. Little fewer with the talk of hanging out in the daytime. And then last night I texted him. How are you doing??? I can barely breathe lol (for those not local or…not being local is the only excuse for not knowing…but last night was Game 7 of the Canucks vs. Blackhawks round one – Stanley Cup – Game) and so yeah that’s how the text makes sense. But that being said. no response. Now sure I’ll admit maybe he was too into the game to answer a text even on a commercial break. Plus maybe he was…er…with someone. But this morning rolls around and no response. Which for him is actually a little bit unusual. And thus. All butterflies disappear.
And now I’ve just got dread. And irritation. And I keep flip flopping between what to do. Options:
1. Forget about it. If he texts tomorrow…ignore it. And honestly never talk to him again. He doesn’t like me. And since he can’t give me exactly what I want in a booty call…is there really any point? No. Drop him. Leave him. Ignore him. Become a lesbian. Whatever.
2. Text something. (for this option I’d really need some advice). Text something that gets you out of this predicament but keeps future sexy predicaments a possibility. For reference, I’m not sure what that text would say…so advice would be mucho requireo. That’s right. I make Spanish words by adding an O.
3. Text him something about just being friends. Real talk. He’s got a girl. It makes me feel weird. Or at the very least it’s a good guise to get out of this situation and possibly become friends. Is that even possible? Do I even want to?
4. Hurry the fuck out to UBC, clean my damn apartment, go to ball practice at 6pm, come back to suburbs to sleep. And tomorrow morning/afternoonish head get dolled up…go out to UBC. Throw some sheets on the bed. Hang out with him. Bang his brains out. Have disappointing sex? Have amazing sex? Have super awkward situation? Have amazing story to tell? You’ll never know unless you do it.
5. Don’t bother cleaning apartment. Go to practice. Go out to UBC tomorrow. Fuck in the filth. THIS IS A JOKE….all my OCD and need to be smokin’ hot when hanging out with boys I do smokin’ hot things with would totally prevent this from even being a possibility. Do you know me at all?!?!? lol
6. Some option I haven’t considered.
So there you have it. Fuck. I rarely ask. So you know that means I’m seriously torn about what to do. Help me!!!!!!! lol. Seriously. And be quick about it lol.
Oh and BTW. I’m talking about The Nick Name. Oh shut up lol you saw this coming.
Vancouver Dating Blog: Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time
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