Post(s) tagged with "dating"
Lucy Rockwell: Stark Raving Single.
I have about five quadrillion friends getting married in the coming year. My fridge is plastered with invitations and save-the-dates (which my cousin refers to as “STDs,” a euphemism I find inappropriate, being a sex writer…). I’m 27 and stark raving single, and nowhere near the possibility of getting married, which is totally OK with me. My life is great, I’m doing the things I want to do and living the way I want to live. But I’m not gonna lie: with my friends and peers getting hitched all around me, it’s hard not to think and talk about marriage semi-constantly.
One such conversation happened with my roommate, April, last night. We were discussing people who get engaged after dating their significant other for only a few months, and whether it’s possible to be that sure of your relationship that soon. My relationships have either been long and committed, spanning several years, or short and sweet, with a low degree of commitment (at least in my mind). But I think any type of relationship evolves and changes enormously as the months and years go by. You learn new things about each other constantly, gradually revealing your habits and your histories. Thinking back, it amazes me how different each year of my LTRs was. Deciding to get married within the first year of any relationship is not something I can fathom.
It’s a well known, physiological fact that the first year with a new partner is the peaches and cream. That twitterpated feeling where you just LOVE a person, and have not yet discovered their faults, is a once in a lifetime event. The real test comes later, when the dark and dirty secrets of your partner begin to surface. The question becomes not ‘can you love them?’ but ‘can the love stay when the challenges begin?’
I haven’t let myself get deep into a relationship for nearly 3 years. There are several reasons for this: my last long-ass relationship was really long, it started when I was young and naïve, and I wanted to experience being a young adult while leaving my options open. Sometimes I’ve been lonely, sometimes I’ve dated for awhile, and sometimes I just reveled in being single and how uncomplicated it makes my life. I have lots of friends to see, places to be, and artsy stuff to work on, and I really don’t have time for a boyfriend. So right now, I’m not even looking for a dude.
But sometimes I wonder if I actually have a fear of commitment. Cliché, yes. But I think it may be true. My parents had a messy and traumatizing divorce when I was around 10. Although our family relationships are patched up now, this major event during my childhood has helped to form my beliefs about love and relationships. I am super cautious of getting in too deep, too fast. I don’t want to let myself fall for someone, only to be burned. My parents got married super young, which later proved to be not the best decision for them. Thus, one of the major reasons that Will and I broke up 3 years ago was because I didn’t want to be stuck in a relationship without experiencing other things while we were still young.
So, yeah, deciding to marry someone will take a long time for me. Many people see marriage as the ultimate declaration of love for their partner: “We love each other, and to prove how much we love each other, we’re going to try to stick it out forever!” I say, why rush into that commitment when you don’t know if it can last? Sure, I want to get married some day. I have those girly fantasies of the dress and the flowers and the whole big party. But when I get married, I want it to be after 4 or 5 years of being with my loved one. I want our declaration to be something like: “We tried it, we liked it, now we’re ready to say that we can do this for a long, long time!”
No, I’m not jealous of all my marrying friends. I’m supportive, but I’m dubious. I’m certainly not going to voice my doubts directly to them, because I love them and I want them to be happy. I like weddings, and I’m stoked to help plan the events and stock my closet with bridesmaid dresses. I just don’t think I can declare my long-term love intentions without a lot of practice.
Not to mention that I don’t believe in monogamy, but that’s a subject for another day…
Xoxo, Lucy
My Eyes Are Up Here!
I had this funny little reverse-objectification moment the other day that I thought I’d share with you. Remember Kevin? The guy who cured my hiccups at the work holiday party, with whom I went home? Well, since the first few awkward weeks after that one night stand, Kevin and I have finally gotten comfortable around each other at work. This is very good, because he now works much more often, and he’s in closer proximity to me. We see each other constantly, but we’re totally at a place where we can talk and work and even joke around with out any sort of awkwardness, FINALLY.
And let me just say that all the weirdness was coming from his side, believe me. I was all about being friendly, but the dude couldn’t even make eye contact with me for months. It got to the point where I couldn’t imagine that we’d actually hooked up.
Anyway, Kevin and I were chatting in the hallway the other day about something work-related, and pretty serious. While he talked, I zoned about a bit (hey, it happens), and I noticed the buttons on his shirt. These buttons each had three holes in them. OK, I know that doesn’t sound like such a big deal, but think about it. Better yet, look at the buttons on all the shirts in your closet. Two or four holes per button, am I right?? Kevin’s buttons were a total anomaly!
So I realized that Kevin was sort of waiting for me to respond to something he said, and instead I responded, “What’s with your buttons?? They all have three holes!”
He stared at me for a moment, then gestured up toward his face, “Eyes up here while I’m talking to you, Lucy! Eyes up here!”
It was hilarious. I felt like a bit of a jerk when I thought about all the times I’d seethed when I tried to have a conversation with a guy whose eyes were glued to my chest. And here I was doing the same thing to poor Kevin. Needless to say, we both cracked the fuck up. I’m happy to say that my ill-advised one night stand has turned into a bit of a friendship. And sometimes, that’s all you can really ask for.
Xoxo, Lucy
Cupid Draw Back Your Bow
I have embarked on a new dating adventure. It is called online dating. I know what you’re thinking: “Dang, Lucy. Welcome to the club.” Yes, it took me a long time to jump on the internet dating train, but I’m happy to say that now that train has sailed!
How have I met guys in the past, you ask? Well, generally drunkenly. Not proud of it, but since my last big relationship, my recent dating method has gone like this: get drunk, go to a party, dance around, make out with a guy, bring him home/go home with him/fuck him on a couch at the location of the party. After that, we either date for a while until I decide that I’m not diggin’ it, or we just never hook up again. This scenario could be extended to concerts, art openings, camping trips, etc. In my defense, my liaisons are usually with acquaintances or friends-of-friends. “Wow, good for you, Lucy, you fucking ho-bag,” you think. Yes, it’s true, so I am attempting to restructure my dating methods by meeting guys online and going on good ol’ traditional dates, and I plan to NEVER go home with a guy on ANY first date, no matter how much I like him.
So, I’m on OKCupid (and, no you won’t be able to find my profile, so don’t try). Before this, I was dubious when both of my single roomies, April and Jonathan, made their Cupid profiles. For some reason I thought that using on online dating site was a last resort, and if I had to sign up, it would mean that I had failed somehow. But then I talked to Rod out in Cali, and he told me that all our cool, intelligent, sexy dude friends out there are on OKCupid, and they are going on dates constantly. Rod assured me that there is no stigma attached to this site, and that it really is the way to go for young hipstery types. I realize now that my previous view on it was perhaps uneducated and stubbornly assholish, and I may now have changed my tune.
After a few weeks of creating and recreating my profile, searching for guys based on more and more stringent criteria, and chatting with some of them, I have now been on 3 dates. If nothing else, I see this whole experiment as excellent blog fodder, and I feel like I owe it to my readers to discuss sex, dating, and relationships from many aspects, so here’s the lowdown…
My date with Bachelor #1 may have been planned a little too early. I had yet to learn that a) pictures can lie, and b) messaging back and forth a few times can reveal dealbreakers. I was excited to try it out, so basically I agreed to meet up with the first guy who chatted with me about comic books and was under 40. We met for drinks, and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that a second date was not in the cards. Shallow it may sound, but hell. Physical attraction fucking matters, and that’s just the way it is. Trust me, I’ve tried to date guys that I wasn’t that into physically, because they were “nice, sweet, smart, cool, blah blah.” But at the end of the day, if you have to avert your eyes and imagine Fabio when you’re in bed with the guy, you might as well break it off. Yes, I said Fabio. Some of you whippersnappers may need to google him.
So, Bachelor #1 wasn’t pleasing to my eye, unfortunately. But what was I gonna do, run away? No, I decided to go on with the date for practice. We had a few beers and chatted. Frankly, the convo was not flowing either. Every time a small silence came up, dude would blurt out, “So you can ask me anything! Really!” And I’d be like, “OK… do you have any… pets?” Come on, guy! All conversations have pauses, even those with people you know well. But the pauses don’t have to be awkward; I like to use a conversational lull to collect my thoughts, space out, reflect. I don’t think that the world is ending if people stop talking for 30 seconds. But, apparently Bachelor #1 did, and by forcing small-talk made it all the more awkward. I don’t recommend his method of conversating.
I decided to end the date after 3 beers and head home. I was perfectly happy to take the train, but Bachelor #1 tried to convince me to share a cab with him. I thought this was more likely to lead to my unwanted going-home-with-date scenario, so I refused. He ended up taking the train with me, and as we got closer to my stop, it seems he got a little more desperate. He put his arm around me and kind of rubbed the back of my neck, but in a kind of weird, uncomfortable way. Then he tried to entice me to come home with him by saying, “I have lots of stuff we could watch!” Ooh, how exciting; give me a break. A little more awkward conversation, then he kissed me on the lips, I got up, and I got off at my stop with no further ado.
Bachelor #1 sucked. But he did teach me one valuable thing: don’t put in your profile that you like sex. It will attract pervs. He actually blatantly said this to me during the last few awful moments on the train. Basically, he explained that if guys write that they like sex on their dating profile, girls will think it’s creepy. If girls do that, guys will think it’s hot. I had written that “I like good sex” in my original profile (what, it’s true), and realized then that it was a mistake. Dude then proceeded to explain that he liked me cause I was cute and smart, and he also thought (due to the sex comment) that I was “pervy, just like him.”
Ugh, gross. I just hate that word pervy. It’s just not one of my approved terms for myself and what I like to do. I’ve always associated bad, gross things with the word “pervert,” and I shudder when people describe themselves as pervs. Kinky? Great. Sex geek? Fine. Sensual? Lovely. Pervy? Ew, no.
I edited my profile after that, and sex is not explicitly mentioned in my self-summary. But adventurousness is, so interpret that as you will. Got 2 more dates to discuss; stay tuned for Bachelors #2 & #3.
Xoxo, Lucy
Take Off Your Pants
Things aren’t going too well with my current fling. Let’s call him “Austin.” I am dating him because… well mostly because my friends are so damn enthusiastic about it. He’s a friend of a friend, one of those guys you meet at a bunch of parties and get-togethers, but don’t see much at the more intimate gatherings. In any case, he came home with me on Halloween and we have been seeing each other sporadically since then.
Austin is quite funny, which is probably his #1 quality (as my homies keep saying “You’re dating Austin? That’s great! He’s so funny!”). Turns out he’s also smart and artistic, reads books, writes screenplays, paints, draws. All these things are big sellers for me. But then we get in bed.
The first few times we slept together, I was smashed out of my mind, and I believe he was as well. Who knows what happens at these times. I was, gratefully, lucid enough to produce condoms from the under-the-bed box. The rest was… well, pretty forgettable. I woke with pounding headaches and nausea, he left early with promises to call me soon. And he did call, which was nice. We had dates, attended parties together. All our friends cooed about how adorable it all was.
So the other night we hung out totally sober. As bedtime approached, I was mentally admitting to myself that the sex with Austin was so utterly unspectacular that I didn’t know if I even wanted to go there sober. I hadn’t even shaved my legs. We got in my bed (actually, I’ve never been to his apartment. He said his roommate is “really weird.” Austin didn’t want to tell me what was weird about him, just in case I ever came over. Perhaps this should have been a dealbreaker in and of itself.) in all of our clothes. We chatted for a while. We cuddled.
I like chatting in bed, I like cuddling. But I like sex more, the kind where you can’t wait to get home and get naked. The kind where you reach for each other in the middle of the night, and you set your alarm early so your have a little more time for lovin’ before work. Austin does not seem to want any of this. This doesn’t really offend me; I don’t think it’s conscious on his part, and I don’t think he finds me unattractive or anything. But I realized that I didn’t really want to have sex with him that night. What’s the point if it’s unenthusiastic? For Austin, sex seems to be an afterthought. And I was feeling like a PB&J might actually be more enjoyable.
Then came a telling line from Austin: (big yawn) “Well, I’m pretty tired. You tired?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” I assume this means he doesn’t want to have sex. I am somewhat appalled to realize that I am relieved by this. I am still wearing all my clothes. “I’m gonna take off my bra and pants though.”
I take them off and I am wearing only my undies. They’re cute and lacey, Austin doesn’t notice them. He is still wearing all his clothes.
“Are you sleeping in your jeans?” I ask.
He awkwardly tells me that he always sleeps in pj pants. I am silent, thinking about how he’s definitely slept naked in my bed before, or just in boxers. Things sure are different sober. He seems to take this silence as me thinking he’s weird, which, frankly, I am.
“I’ll take them off, though.” He takes off his pants and we chat more, eventually falling asleep without even kissing.
In the morning, Austin is wearing his jeans again. He tells me he couldn’t sleep, and put them back on in the middle of the night.
He kisses me good bye, and we plan to talk when I get back to town after New Years. And I am beginning to plan my escape from this relationship…
Life. Love. Lust.
I'm Lucy. I live in Chicago and I like to talk about sex. Give me a topic: I'm happy to answer any questions about love, sex, and relationships. Email me at LucyRockwell@gmail.com Follow @LucyRockwell
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