My brain is broken.

Yesterday my friends told me they ran into Guy I Dated For a Minute, and now for some reason it’s all I can think about.

I THINK it’s partly because my doctors are screwing with the drugs I take, so I hadn’t been in the greatest mental place, anyway, but it’s sort of spiraled into a fun rehash of the “not enoughs” — pretty, smart, cool, good in bed… All the things you think you can suck at, I’ve been telling myself I suck at. Like… this dude doesn’t even want to be FRIENDS with me. What the fuck is that? Am I THAT boring? I even offered him friends with benefits and…still no? So I’m not good enough in bed to fuck a third time?

And by the way? The sex was…serviceable. It was good, but not great. It got the job done. And the dude’s nice and all, but I think I mostly saw friendship there. I have no idea why this is bothering me so much NOW. We’ve been not dating longer than we WERE dating, and it HADN’T been bothering me before. I think I’m finally getting that we’re not going to even be friends, and so I just feel gross and used and stupid. Again. (I teared up while writing that, so it’s possible I nailed it.)

The “stupid” is big because I’m attracted to people smarter than I am, in relationships and friendships, and it goddamn blows to not even be friends-worthy.

*shaking head*

UGHHHHHH. Bitch, stop being a bitch, bitch!

(Here’s hoping putting this in writing is therapeutic, because my actual therapist is on vacation this week.)

Always happy to avoid conversation

On Thursday, the guy I’d been dating texted to ask if I had time to hang out this weekend. I said I did, but we didn’t make actual plans, and I haven’t heard from him yet.

So I think he was right in saying “we want different things.” I want to be ACTUAL friends with benefits, not the “beck and call girl” of a dude who forgets about me until his dick gets bored.

At least this means we don’t have to get together to discuss the terms of our fuck-buddy-ship — we’re Facebook friends and that’s it. No travel, no feelings, no shaving!

I’m not actually too hurt by this. It’s nice to be sure of something I’d mostly already decided.

“You got a WHAT? How long ya had that problem?”

Update on Dude I’d Been Dating: He texted me Sunday to give me back his phone number, and has texted here and there since with everyday minutia, stuff so mundane I feel like he’s just worried I’ll be mad if he doesn’t say SOMETHING.

He re-added me on Facebook (he’s on my “family” filter now, though, so all he sees are sunset photos and dog videos), but not on Instagram, and we were never connected on Twitter.

So I guess we’re friends, with nudity TBD, but I think I’m OK with friends, at least for now. I’m glad we’re talking because that means he didn’t just fuck me and bail. But now I know he can and will just shut down on me, and maybe he’s only talking to me because sex is possible, so I need to get those thoughts in order.

We don’t have plans to see each other, and I’m damn sure not bringing it up, so it won’t be a real issue until he does. (He’s away on a family trip right now.)

In the meantime, I have TWO OkCupid Potentials to write back, so “I’m not waitin’, because I’m no waiter, so when I blow up, don’t try to kick it to me later.”

(^ I…I am so sorry, you guys…)

This could be the beginning of a beautiful fuck-friendship.

This amuses me more than it should…

Dude wrote me back within 24 hours this time, accepting my offer of “naked or otherwise” friendship, because duh. (“We’ll have to have a discussion next time we hang out.” Mm hmm, ‘kay…)

But because I’d deleted him from Facebook, my phone displayed his message once, then sent it to some “other messages” Facebook purgatory that, as far as I know, I can only access on a computer, and…fuck it, I’ve had a long week, and starting up a laptop AND a browser feels like a lot of effort for a dude tryna tell me I’m clingy.

Talk Monday, shitheel.

^^^ This should all end well, right…?

Maybe I can downgrade to a Stage 4 Clinger…

Therapist: “So, this thing where you’re calling yourself stupid, and clingy, and crazy — where’s that coming from?”

Me: “I don’t know, I feel like I was pressuring him. He has anxiety and depression, too, and I know how that feels, to have someone demanding your time, another THING you have to keep up with. Honestly, I’m kinda psyched to have Sundays to myself again, so I get where he’s coming from.”

Therapist: “OK, I get that. But from everything you’ve told me — and obviously I’m your Person, so I’m biased — this sounds like it’s him, not you. Basically the only thing you asked him for was more sex. Maybe you could’ve been more direct about saying it, but that doesn’t make it clingy, or crazy, or stupid. Putting aside the sexual component, if you had a friend and communication with them dropped off like it did here, would you be concerned and check in with them?”

Me: “Yes.”

Therapist: “That’s not crazy. It’s caring about a human being.”

I LOVE paying people to tell me I’m right.

She told me it was fine to send him an email I’ve written offering a friendship, but the longer I don’t hear from him after the last message I sent, the less interest I have in that idea. I’m not that bad at taking a hint.

Tell me what I want, what I really, really want…

My OkCupid profile says I’m “essentially looking for friends with benefits, but actual FRIENDS, with potential for something more if it eventually evolves.”

Today I get this first message: “Hey Smug..I tried fwb,..it doesn’t work. There’s always problems with feelings..someone always loses control.”

That’s the whole message.

Um…OK. See, what you wanted to say there, quietly and only to yourself, was: “This woman wants different things than I do. I will proceed calmly to the next profile.”

Not, “This woman is wrong. I must tell her why she is wrong, and that will be ALL I write, because SHE HAS TO KNOW SHE’S WRONG!”

What’s your endgame here, sir? What am I supposed to say?

“OMG, you’re right, Internet Stranger Who Clearly Has No Issues At All! I never thought of that! Tell me, Marlon Rando, what do YOU think I should want instead? Eagerly awaiting your wisdom, Smug.”

I need men for many things.* Explaining my needs to me is not one of them.
*Their hands. Mouths. Voices. Arms. Teeth. Body weight on me. Hips and the ability to thrust them…
Wait, sorry, what was I saying?

The MySpace Matchmaker

Around 6 years ago I introduced my Male BFF to one of my Female BFFs via the final flickering embers of MySpace. I thought they’d get along well and HAD to meet, even if only to screw each other senseless and call it a day. When your prudish friend tells you, “OMG, you two need to fuck,” I think you HAVE to. That’s a thing, right?

And fuck they did! But as I’d hoped, they also liked each other.

So last night I had the privilege of being among the friends and family invited to be there when he proposed to her on the beach, under a starry sky and accompanied by the sound of the waves rolling in nearby.

She accepted. I did good, you guys.

And because all roads lead to Friends — “I just thought you guys were doing it, I didn’t know you were in love!” ❤️

Now, moving on to what’s really important: Which of the groomsmen am I going to bang in the coat room at their reception? Instead of a finder’s FEE for my matchmaking, I should get a finder’s fuck, no?

Sorry, Irish. Shit’s getting real later.

I definitely shouldn’t be as proud as I am of my ability to choke down sudden-onset Feels and get on with my workday, but my GOD, this time was impressive.

I deserve some sort of Irish medal.

But…tonight is pretty much earmarked entirely for a date with Fiona Apple, bourbon, and an Ugly Cry.

And hey, happy bonus of the nausea: my lunch is still sitting untouched on my desk. They’re diet feelings this time! Feelings Lite! 100-Calorie Feelings!

Ahem. There’s a line from “Friends” where Chandler introduces himself by saying, “I’m Chandler, I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

P.S. I’ll be fine. Don’t call any hotlines.

The limit DOES exist.

I realize I’m ageist, but I think there’s an age limit for using the term “friends with benefits.” I haven’t pinpointed the specifics, but I think it’s before age 50.

I’m 40 and only say it jokingly. I also hate it, because at least half the people offering it want ONLY the benefits, but think they’ll have better luck with the LADIES if they dress it up with a cute little bow.

Theory: You can’t say “FWB” once you’re getting mail from the AARP. That’s…the rules of abbreviations.

Also, I don’t know if anyone said that phrase before Alanis Morissette, but that’s not what she meant, shitheel.

This reflection brought to you by a 54-year-old man on OkCupid, username “Just_Discreet_FWB,” sending me three messages in less than 24 hours, either not remembering or not caring that he’s messaged me twice before. I am clearly memorable. Either that or he’s just old and can’t keep track.

P.S. I’m not hating on 54. I’d get on 54. But THIS 54-year-old has the ick on him.

Star-Kris-Krossed Love

Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves. Have a splendid and safe day.

I’ll be spending mine orally fixated on a trough of manicotti, and later making sweet, sweet love to an irresponsible number of Godiva salted caramels. (Candy-based promiscuity is the best promiscuity.)

See also: watching Friends with Benefits again, because Justin Timberlake singing Kris Kross is EVERYONE’s Valentine.

Love and many kisses,
Smug