“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
It’s been a busy week here in Amanda-land. For the first part, I had some family come in from out of town and not only did we celebrate my youngest sister’s graduation but my older sisters and I also did some research on my mom (it was hella depressing).
I got to spend time with my niece and nephew; I don’t see them that often and usually the boy-child wants nothing to do with me, but this trip he thought I was pretty great, which was… pretty great. Mostly my responsibilities included taking selfies with both of them, letting them play games on my phone, and holding his feet when he decided he wanted to do 100 situps (he got to 80).
I saw my mom for first time in a couple weeks. She was actually in good spirits, disappointed that I had no money or cigarettes to give her, but accepted the nicotine gum I had in my purse (I stopped smoking almost 4 years ago, but when I’m having a particularly murderous-feeling day, it’s a good thing to have on hand).
The latter half of the week was spent mostly with the newly-minted boyfriend (it’s not Facebook official, which maybe means it’s not really official official, but… fuck you and your theories, social media!). Wednesday night we had this TOTALLY CUTE date on which we went to Grant Park and had a picnic and listened to classical music (WHO AM I BECOMING?!). I made us take a picture (4 times, because I didn’t like any of the previous), and posted it – it got 50 something likes, which basically means we are popular and my self-esteem grew 3 sizes that day.
The first half of Friday night was spent with one of my best friends, in which we mostly talked about men and the effect they seem to have on our lives. I think women go berserk when any Y chromosome is involved, much to our chagrins. It’s like, “Oh, hey. I’m just a female, doin’ my thing, la la la…” followed closely by, “PLEASE GIVE ME ALL THE ATTENTION BUT ALSO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE BECAUSE I WANT YOU BUT I DON’T WANT YOU.”
… What can I say? It’s a cruel, nonsensical world out there full of men and women who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.
After I left her, I went way the fuck up to Rogers Park (so much Red Line travel for this kid, I swear!) and met some of his friends who seemed to be in the middle of a gaming party. I drank beer and ate doritos and enjoyed a little Rock Band (I played guitar, sang, and muddled my way through the drums, but it was not pretty). It was my kind of evening.
Saturday, we went to Ann Sathers (DIABETIC COMA CINNAMON ROLLS) because he’d never been, and though I checked in on the Facebook I:
1) did not tag him (I’m going for a 50/50 ratio).
2) left my phone in my purse the entire time and attempted to have a real conversation with eye contact and everything. (Not gonna lie, this is the only thing so far that this man has seriously asked of me, and I do it but it kills me. He knows it, too; he’s all, “Hm. I wonder how many likes you’re getting. Do you think anyone’s commented?”)
(And for those of you who are like, “Is she… is she obsessed with her phone and all the social media everywhere?” The answers are kinda, mostly Facebook and some Twitter, Instagram scares me, I Snapchat with my mom and sister and my brother blocked me I think… do I have to continue? I think it’s a social-media-ed world, and [though unfortunate and we’re all robots] it’s weird to communicate verbally, haha lol haha again.)
And then we went to see Jurassic World (he was tagged in that status), in which I was so terrified that I think I may have physically harmed the boy with all my “I AM SCARED” clutches (but Chris Pratt, though? Hot). You’d think, at 30, that I’d be like, “Movies aren’t real, asshat,” but it is not so. All movies ARE real, dinosaurs may just be chillin’ til they get the signal and eat us all, and I will never, ever be like, “Oh, you’re watching a scary movie? Well, let me just join you and be well-adjusted afterwards.”
It was raining when we left the theater; we walked back to his place, and I got the sense that he wanted me to leave so that he could play video games in peace and instead I was just like, “Dude. Play your video games. It’s okay. I promise.”
And he was just… dumbfounded. He gave me a terrified look that said, “Woman, I grow weary of you. Please go now so that I can play my games,” and then said, “No, it’s rude. If you’re here I have to entertain you.”
The concept kind of amused me, but I wanted to wait out the rain anyway, so I assured him he did not have to entertain me in any way, that he could play to his heart’s content, that I would be absolutely fine. In truth, I didn’t want to go home and be alone and think of dinosaurs and how people crunched and blood spatter. So it was better to be alone together than alone separately. I texted people, I read for a bit, I fell asleep, I woke up and ordered Chinese, and at some point he stopped playing video games and we watched half of Monsters, Inc. because I’d never seen it (in an earlier conversation, we’d discussed pet names and he said, “Googlybear” which basically set off a chain reaction of giggles from me).
I fell asleep again, and woke up at 7 when he got up and started playing video games again (I guess once I gave him the green light to play whether I was there or not it was all systems go?) and I… did more passing out. This is what happens when two introverts enter into a relationship and are overstimulated by the social interactions of being with other people and each other constantly: one slays dragons and the other sleeps for days.
I know I’m giving a real glamorous picture of a relationship in its infancy. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also want occasional fanciness and flowers and surprises, but I don’t especially need it to feel whole. I’d more like to know what it’s like when all of those things aren’t around, because it’s more real. Don’t present yourself as you’d think I’d like you to be; that’s unsustainable, despite the best of intentions – and if it really works between the two of you, you become better people naturally, because you desire to. How do you handle someone else when it’s just the two of you, in the same space? Can you do your own thing, or are you begging to be paid attention to?
I found out last night that we’d probably do just fine.
Or we’re fucking boring already.
But we’re so cute! People on Facebook said so!
Have a good night, friends. Be kind to yourselves.