Oh, hey. No, no. It’s really me. What? You don’t recognize me without my Fighting Feminazi cape and thigh-high ass-kickin’ red boots??
I kid, but takin’ a break from the patriarchal, racist asshatery for a tick because, lo and behold, I still have a personal life.
So. Met a dude. Or, rather, decided that I was more into a dude I’ve known for some time now. Let’s call him… Canada. There was some Adult Activities that included my bed and not that many clothes. That was… a week ago Friday. Since then, we’ve basically done nothing other than a brief conversation that established us on the same page – a page titled No Expectations.
Now. Over the weekend, my group of friends had an annual event – which is one of two such annual events where there is a high probability I will actually get shitcanned. Typically, I’m not all that into getting shitcanned. It’s not really my thing. But these events involve drinking for. an. entire. day. so… it happens.
During this day, Canada and I talked a lil bit, but not a whole lot. See, none of our friends even know we’re more than acquaintances and we’re both pretty private people (no, seriously). We’re not really into being all public (or at all public). In addition, No Expectations page = no commandeering of one another’s time anyway. I will say, had anyone been paying much attention, we were clearly comfortable in one another’s personal space when we did exchange pleasantries.
All this was fine. Until yours truly started to, you guessed it, get shitcanned.
Actually, no. That was only half the issue. The other half was Alaska. Or, rather, a dude I shall refer to as Alaska. In the theme of geographically-inspired nicknames.
Alaska was perfectly happy to commandeer as much of my time as he possibly could. And flirt his lil fanny right off.
Now, I thought I was doing ok with the whole balancing world powers at parties thing (US and Canada? get it?). I thought I was handling my shit. I really did. But, you know, I was also getting shitcanned. So there’s that. Apparently, as my one friend who knew what was up and wasn’t shitcanned, can attest – I was not, actually, invisible to Canada when talking to Alaska. And vice versa.
Cue the end of the night, I’m still thinking I did ok. Moreover, I think I’ve been talking to Canada way more than Alaska at this point. At least… that is my recollection… I also have no real designs on Alaska, it’s just Drunk Nikki is a big fat fucking flirt face. SO Canada and I end up making-out… on the well-lit front porch (we are so sneaky!). Then, of course, I get into some ridic conversation with an old friend for what felt like five minutes (but was perhaps a wee bit longer than that) and Canada is now MIA.
Naturally, (because I am now completely shitcanned) I call him. He answers, and says he wasn’t feeling that great and went home. I’m a lil wtf… but ask if he’s feeling better he says yeah and [I also want to get laid so] I say “ok, I can come over…?” To which he replies “sure, but I can’t promise I’ll still be up.“
Ahem. Ahem? Oh, my dear boy, that was probably the last thing to say to Drunk Nikki when she overlooks the fact that you ditched her and is ready to walk her ass to your house. Even if it’s not, really, that far away.
I might have gotten a lil shit-flippy at this point (shitcanned!) and he says he’s just being honest (ok) but Drunk Nikki (yes I will refer to myself in the third person) has already made the unfortunate mental leap to an ex boyfriend to whom she would now, in all likelihood, be married had said ex had a similar sex drive. Which he did not. Hence, not married.
By now, the shitcannery has resulted in the loss of any and all filter between random leaps of the brain and words that come out of my mouth. I may have perhaps quite possibly decided that now would be a great time to explain about said ex and his low sex drive and how I broke up with him because of it (yep! still shitcanned!). No. No that wasn’t the best of ideas. I agree. That was a little less than awesome. But, you know, I made up for it by interrupting myself to yell at a friend for a ride, and made sure to end further dialogue by, but of course, hanging up the phone.
Yes. Well. We did send exactly six texts total on Sunday that basically equated to both of us stating we weren’t “worried”. Which is like saying things are fine. Which I am sure that they are, because this thing is too new for them not to be. BUT.
Now. I am telling you all this for a reason (and not just to talk about something less serious for half a second). I do have a point, I swearz it. And it is this:
I am all about easy things. I am all about No Expectations. I don’t have the time, nor the desire, to date. I do want to have sex. More sex than I am having right now.
And, you know, people argue over whether or not things like this are easier than dating, or even easy at all. Well, let me explain something to you: They can be easy, but they can also be a real pain in the arse unless you have a couple things, and those things are 1) Communication and 2) Honesty. I think a lot of No Strings Things fall apart not because one person (guess which gender we assume that person to be!) gets more emotionally attached, but because there isn’t enough of these two things. There isn’t enough communication and honesty about what is going on and what everyone involved actually wants. Why? Oh, because we’re not supposed to really talk about things in No Strings Land of course! We’re not supposed to care or have any kind of emotions. Because talking and caring are things you only do in relationships. Right???
Hence, I am now sitting here, wondering what Canada is thinking or where this is going, frankly. And we only had sex the one time for crying out loud. I want to have a conversation about all that, and about how yeah, Alaska’s pretty hot (ok leave that part out) but I’d like to see where this goes, Canada. I want to apologize for my behavior with him without you feeling obliged to tell me it doesn’t matter cuz No Expectations. I also want to hear an honest answer to the whole hey-my-ex-didn’t-fuck-me-enough-don’t-wanna-go-through-that-again-and-then-I-hung-up-on-you… thing instead of “hey, no, I’m not worried. It’s cool.” Because it’s kinda not all that cool. And, no, me being drunk is a nice excuse, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I just put a relatively large piece of personal crap into this thing that’s supposed to be easy. I use “relatively” for a reason.
And, yes, I get all that is more than likely unnecessary, and it feels too soon for any of those conversations, and that things are probably fine – because this is too new and undefined for them not to be. But wouldn’t it be nice to have the space for those conversations, if one of us wanted to have them? Wouldn’t it be better if we allowed for things to be talked about and expressed and it was ok to be honest about things like how you’re feeling instead of hiding them simply because this isn’t a serious thing.
Whether or not those conversations are necessary, I want the option for them to occur on the table. I want to be able to have these conversations without someone thinking it means I want to change Canada’s name to Boyfriend. Because I don’t. Because honest conversations don’t have to mean I’m lying about all this and really I want to have your babies pleaseandthankyou. Or that Canada can tell me how I made him uncomfortable or irritated without feeling like I think he’s too emotionally involved already. Moreover, these conversations don’t have to take ten years, either. The more honest we all are the quicker they are over.
We should be able to talk more and listen more and be honest more and be open more in all of our relationships. Relationships that aren’t serious don’t automatically equate to ones that are non-communicative or let’s pretend I don’t feel anything or care. Having honest conversation is not, in of itself, serious – but is, in fact, still critical to healthy relationships, whatever their boundaries, definitions, or lack thereof.
So why have we decided that communication and honesty are always “too serious”… yet also never critical enough?
Of course, another thing that could help? Less whiskey.