"I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency to not only see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential man, rather than with the man himself, and then I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance, I have been a victim of my own optimism."
- Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love
I have been a life-long optimist and damn proud. Not just in matters of the heart but life in general- though this positive outlook hasn’t always brought fireworks to my life, especially my romantic life. I have a tendency to fall hard and fast. And that is precisely what happened with Riley. It was like one day this boy was my fun drunken hookup and the next day, he had become someone I could see myself in a relationship with. There was no gradual transition period over which this transformation occurred. I think the combination of my optimism and my deep inherent inclination to trust people sparked my abrupt change of heart over Riley and his role in my life.
So it all started during winter break 2008. There was beer, there was wine, there was vodka, rum, and gin. And I’m pretty sure I did it all. Needless to say, I was drunk. Too drunk for my own good. My attempt to elaborate on this night that really defined my transition into officially morally sketchy grounds with Riley is going to be a failure as I have critical chunks of my memory from that night missing. Suffice it to say, we ended up back at my apartment and in bed. According to reports from my trusted friends like Bitesized, there was a lot of making out on the dance floor despite several attempts at intervention. Apparently, I am quite a strong-willed drunk.
Over the next year, the hooking up continued most instances when Riley was home from his law school endeavors. While I still believe that casual hooking up doesn’t operate the same way for girls and boys, there were additional forces at play here in my situation with Riley. It wasn’t just hooking up and the subsequent oxytocin that fucked with me. For your information, oxytocin is known as a love hormone because while it evolved to enhance the mother-child connection, it goes beyond it to intensify bonding in intimate relationships. Oxytocin is released to a greater extent in the female brain during physical intimacy that creates a desire for the woman to bond with whomever she is having an intimate relationship with. Basically, this translates into: if you are a chick and you hook up with even the biggest loser in the bar enough times, you’ll form an attachment and it all goes downhill from there. But don’t get me wrong- I am certainly not classifying Riley as “the biggest loser in the bar” ha. My point here is that generally speaking, casual hook-ups do not work out well for us girls and it’s all thanks to the evolutionary forces that made oxytocin such a fucking powerful hormone. Anyway, like I said earlier, I don’t actually think it was just the oxytocin that was responsible for my predicament with Riley. It was part of it for sure but the other part was his incredibly astute ability to say all the right things at all the right times. Riley is of the category of guys I would classify as “charmers”- he’s a talker. He’s the guy who can talk and charm his way into anything and out of any situation. Your grandmother will love him and your friends will be jealous. While I certainly cannot recall all our drunken conversations, I do remember that they were essentially what my friends and I term a two-way “drunken emotional faucet.” It boiled down to him and I expressing our mutual attraction for and liking of each other and the prospects of a real relationship between us. In hindsight, I realize that he was not completely full of shit but mostly. I don’t think he meant to lie to my face. Maybe in the moment, he thought he actually felt those things. Maybe not. I’ll never know. But you know what? I don’t think I fully meant half the things I said to him either. Moral of the story? Alcohol will do wonders! Haha, just kidding. Real moral of the story? Judge guys based on their actions and not their words. Talk is cheap. However, in my naïve optimistic and trusting mind, I believed and ate up everything Riley said to me. I actually believed that he and I could have a real relationship with trust and honesty and without vodka and pinot noir.
The funny thing about reexamining the past is that you always learn something new. I’m finally able to write this last entry about Riley because after my last escapade with him on NYE 2010, I certainly do not find myself in a better place with respect to my mentality on boys and relationships, but I do believe I see things clearer with regards to Riley.
On the eve of 2010, I hadn’t seen Riley since the summer and I thought I had rid my system of him. My life felt under control. My apartment was clean, my mom and I were at peace with each other, I finally managed to schedule this conference call for work that had been the bane of my existence for the past 2 weeks and I had even managed to fit in a 5 mile run that morning. I changed into a cute outfit to ring in the new year and was pysched to booze and schmooze with some of my favorites. Life, around 7 pm on NYE, was pretty damn fabulous. Now, flash forward several hours to New Years morning. I woke up next to him hungover, topless, and missing a few crucial memories from the previous night — namely, how the EFF I managed to break the one and only goddamn resolution I forced myself to make. Despite not remembering how I ended up with only one of my own shoes and one large male white sneaker and one large male loafer (a whole other story), I do remember that Riley and I again had one of those emotional faucets. However, this time the central message revolved around me declaring (perhaps somewhat misleadingly) that I was very clear that he and I would only ever be hook-up buddies and nothing more. That I didn’t even want anything more than that from him. This declaration was triggered by his attempts at proclaiming to me that I hadn’t just been some sexual object he used. In any case, here I am finally having freed myself from that delusional oxytocin-induced romantic attachment I had developed for Riley. Or maybe not? I would like to think that our relationship has returned to phase 1 where he is just a fun drunken hook-up for me.
But I know this is not entirely true. Probably not even mostly true. I think what’s really going on is that for the past few months, I’ve been convincing myself that relationships are the precise opposite of great. Instead, they are emotionally precarious, troublesome and unnecessary. Perhaps I am just clinging onto my independence for fear that I will lose some part of myself in the process of falling for someone else. Maybe I simply don’t know how to respond to someone who might actually exceed the expectations I’ve habitually lowered in light of my failed romantic endeavors. Maybe I’m not willing to run the risk of abandonment. But though I’ve been afraid for weeks to make this concession, I must say: by and large, love is worth it. Love didn’t use to terrify me. In fact, I was (and to some extent, still am) optimistic that love is just around the corner for me. Because unlike learning to swim in the kiddie pool, love is like learning to swim in the ocean. Once you’re far out, there are no lifeguards or railings, and more often than not, your final destination is not forward but back from where you came. For the girl who used to throw herself headfirst into the water without hesitation, it seems like I’ve taken one too many steps away from the sand to remember that the view is worth it, that drowning is more fear than real possibility, that even those who never properly learned how to swim — or who have long forgotten — are capable of staying afloat.
So while I almost drown out there, I believe that my experiences with Riley have made me wiser. While, I am not at all optimistic about him and I developing anything resembling a functional relationship and I’m not sure I would even want to, I am optimistic that he and I will remain friends through the storm and that I will come out of it with my optimism intact.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Dating Masochism, Part I
The first time I ever met Riley was at BEACHWEEK 2008- possibly one of my most fun and definitely one of my most drunken vacation experiences EVER. He and friends of mine are homeboys from way back when and when I first met him, it took me all of three nanoseconds to reduce him to a cultural cliché- I immediately stereotyped him as your typical frat boy who you’d find doing keg stands every Saturday night. But don’t get me wrong, he was fun and charming and wildly inappropriate from the get-go and we loved him for it. And he was probably the only other individual who stood a chance at beating me for Richardface Award ™ (aka- drunk idiot of the night award). While much of beachweek was a blur to me in my drunken intoxicated stupor, nothing happened between us there (at least not that I am currently aware of…right?). I left beachweek with memories of scantily clad dance parties and hungover boating with pictures to prove that have preemptively ruined any political aspirations any of us may have harbored. Although Riley and I parted ways after beachweek as friends who vied to out-do each other in craziness, the next time we encountered each other was somewhat different.
And that next time was just one of those typical Saturday nights for my friends and I. The music was blasting and the rhythm of your heartbeat feels as if the last song played is still running through your veins. I had no clue Riley was even going to be around this night. But when I found him and our other friend loitering aimlessly across the street of my apartment building, a string of excitement tugged at my heart simply because I knew Riley to be someone I could count on to take that 5th lemondrop with me. No questions asked. I knew I was in for a fun night…... I can’t honestly tell you what happened after that last shot that put me over the edge (bitesized…this is where you come in). I do remember in one of my rare moments of clarity after I had un-blacked out for a few seconds, I found myself engaged in a makeout session with this boy at LUCKY BAR (aka- designated bar where all self-respect goes to die). Let me make quick a sidenote here and say that in writing this, I am well aware of the flood of comments this entry will be receiving with a common message along the lines of: “GIRL, you need to put down that shot glass and get yourself into AA ASAP.” In any case, for honesty’s sake, I am going full disclosure and even willing to sacrifice ounces of my dignity. The next thing I know, I open my eyes and everything around me is a little gray and fuzzy. My contacts are suctioned to my eyeballs and my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. And there he is…lying next to me. He wakes up and while I’m sure he was beyond intoxicated last night, I get the impression that he actually remembers most everything unlike yours truly. I make a sad attempt to play off exactly HOW drunk I was last night. It’s not your typical morning after ritual. We hang out and chat and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. He helps me re-construct my apartment after the tornado that are my friends have swept through via pregame. It’s actually fun and most importantly, not awkward in the least bit.
I had a great time with Riley but the possibility of it evolving into anything more never crosses my mind. Soon he takes off for law school and I don’t see much of him. Once again, Riley and I part ways as a pair of crazies who not un-characteristically hooked up with each other one drunk night. The next time I am to see Riley again, he will have entered a relationship that I learn of via the magic of facebook with his college sweetheart. Obviously, I knew that that would mean that him and I would revert back to a platonic pair of crazies vying to out-do each other in craziness. Or so I thought…
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Academic, Part 1
Before I get started: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope the New Year was welcomed with great friends, and maybe a fantastically satisfying kiss.
Where to begin with this particular individual... it's a story now six to seven years in the making (at least on my end), but only recently came to a head. This entry will describe the hopefully not-too-boring history of my crush and relationship with The Academic. There is obviously more to the story, but in order to understand where we are now, you have to understand where we were then... then being 2003-2008. The Academic was my teaching assistant for a political science course I took during my second semester of freshman year. He was a third year law student at the time. I didn't like him. Initially. He was intimidating. He liked to use the socratic method when engaging students (a device I hate to this day, especially as a law student). He seemed slightly cold and aloof. Oh, and there was that one paper of mine that he ripped to shreds. No, I didn't like him at all.
But he was beautiful. Very penetrating eyes. The best damn pair of lips I've ever come across (I have a thing for lips, sorry). Tall with a muscular build. He was hard not to stare at, and after some time, I looked forward to my Friday morning section with him. Eventually, I started to warm up to him. I'm not sure why. Sometime after he tore my paper a part, I felt compelled to do better. I disliked him, but he challenged me - that is something I could only respect. A crush soon followed - one based on admiration, and the fact that dude was just hot. I soon started referring to him as "The Hot T.A.," a moniker I still use when trying to refresh the memory of friends who were around during that time. I never actually thought I'd be with him, but a girl can wish, right? He somehow morphed into that guy - the one I'd be with if I had my pick. The prototype. And that remained true for several years - in spite of my not knowing him.
The semester ended. He graduated. And I was left with this lingering crush well into my junior and senior years. In a very calculated move, I emailed him my junior or senior year (probably senior) seeking help with the job search. "Hi The Academic, I don't know if you remember me..."
We've been in touch since. Not consistently, though. Much of our relationship has been predicated on a teacher/student dynamic, wherein he acted as a mentor of sorts, and I with this lingering crush placed him on a pedestal. With his degrees and accomplishments, I imagined him as this impossibly perfect and unattainable thing (yes, thing). And yes, even with this persona I had imagined for him, my feelings were no less strong (of a different quality than they are today, for sure, but their strength was real). So, when he informed me that he would be leaving for Oxford for a year, and then would head to Harvard the following year, I felt my heart implode and a sting of tears slice my cheeks. Oxford was certainly (too) far, and Cambridge no better, really, given my life in Washington D.C., so why was I crying? Why was I upset? There was nothing in the cards for us. Nothing that even hinted that he was or could ever be more than my former T.A. So, why the fuss? I'm still not quite sure that I know, but thinking I had absolutely nothing to lose, I sent him an overly congratulatory email. One that - if he weren't completely oblivious - would make clear my feelings for him. I let him know how deserving he was. How wonderful he was. How proud of him I was. I even went as far as asking for his address so that I could send him a gift.
If the 25 year old me had any control over that me, I would have slapped the shit out of that girl.
To this day, the thought of that email makes me cringe. The email and his subsequent response, which came a few weeks later (the night before his departure) and didn't address anything I said. It was polite and distant. Enough to make me wish I had never sent the email at all, and enough for me to retreat entirely. That chapter was necessarily closed. I still have the email in my gmail archives, and I can't bring myself to read it. It represents an overly eager child - not someone who was brave enough to lay bare her feelings. It represents an overly admiring child who had placed someone so high on a pedestal that she could no longer see him. Beyond that, it's not something I would do without some suggestion of the other person's feelings. And even if I were to do it without any hints on his part, I would have finessed it. Don't come on too strong. Don't be awkward. Don't be Gigi (from He's Just Not That Into You).
I think many of us have Gigi tendencies, and while I appreciate her openness, I think we should all work to tame the Gigi inside each of us.
The Academic left to do academic things, and I continued about my business as a 20something in Washington D.C. Much of this business will comprise the content of this blog, but that's for later. I hadn't forgotten him or gotten over him, per se, but my feelings for him became dormant. The times I thought of him were random and unpredictable. They occurred when I was both single and in a relationship. I just couldn't seem to shake him. Yes, I'm a romantic but I have some sense - this wasn't someone I expected to ever be with, so these thoughts became a nuisance. I didn't like feeling like I wasn't in control of my emotions. This would be my Type A personality shining through.
As maddening as my feelings were, something about him made sense. I had no basis for thinking or feeling this. I still can't explain it. It would just have to be something I'd have to accept as an off-shoot of my emotions. He and I resumed contact after a certain point. I had a lot of friends applying to graduate or professional schools, who sought assistance with their personal statements. He seemed like the perfect person to offer legitimately helpful feedback. All the while, we would exchange emails here and there. He always maintained a high level of interest in what I was doing and how I was getting along in DC, constantly asking questions, while also never seeming to answer mine - sufficiently, at least. His emails to me oscillated between maintaining the teacher/student dynamic with a (frustratingly) professorial tone, and adopting the informality of a friend. While I was confused about these inconsistencies, I tried to be as consistent as possible since I wished to escape the formality of the former. He didn't quite know how to treat me, and I wasn't sure how to help him figure it out beyond treating him as I would any other person in my life. Ultimately, it wasn't my issue, and I didn't know why he was having such trouble with it.
In the fall of 2008, I began applying to various law schools, and naturally, I enlisted his help. At this point, crush aside, I decided that this would be the last time we interacted. With his inconsistent attempts to maintain a more formal dynamic between us, I saw no reason why I should continue trying to engage him as a friend (or even a friendly acquaintance). I may be a romantic, but I was no fool - nothing was ever going to happen, and it was about time I let it go. On all fronts. My last meaningful contact with him was to inform him of my first acceptance. He responded in his typical professorial fashion, and with that, I let him go. Or so I thought.
Where to begin with this particular individual... it's a story now six to seven years in the making (at least on my end), but only recently came to a head. This entry will describe the hopefully not-too-boring history of my crush and relationship with The Academic. There is obviously more to the story, but in order to understand where we are now, you have to understand where we were then... then being 2003-2008. The Academic was my teaching assistant for a political science course I took during my second semester of freshman year. He was a third year law student at the time. I didn't like him. Initially. He was intimidating. He liked to use the socratic method when engaging students (a device I hate to this day, especially as a law student). He seemed slightly cold and aloof. Oh, and there was that one paper of mine that he ripped to shreds. No, I didn't like him at all.
But he was beautiful. Very penetrating eyes. The best damn pair of lips I've ever come across (I have a thing for lips, sorry). Tall with a muscular build. He was hard not to stare at, and after some time, I looked forward to my Friday morning section with him. Eventually, I started to warm up to him. I'm not sure why. Sometime after he tore my paper a part, I felt compelled to do better. I disliked him, but he challenged me - that is something I could only respect. A crush soon followed - one based on admiration, and the fact that dude was just hot. I soon started referring to him as "The Hot T.A.," a moniker I still use when trying to refresh the memory of friends who were around during that time. I never actually thought I'd be with him, but a girl can wish, right? He somehow morphed into that guy - the one I'd be with if I had my pick. The prototype. And that remained true for several years - in spite of my not knowing him.
The semester ended. He graduated. And I was left with this lingering crush well into my junior and senior years. In a very calculated move, I emailed him my junior or senior year (probably senior) seeking help with the job search. "Hi The Academic, I don't know if you remember me..."
We've been in touch since. Not consistently, though. Much of our relationship has been predicated on a teacher/student dynamic, wherein he acted as a mentor of sorts, and I with this lingering crush placed him on a pedestal. With his degrees and accomplishments, I imagined him as this impossibly perfect and unattainable thing (yes, thing). And yes, even with this persona I had imagined for him, my feelings were no less strong (of a different quality than they are today, for sure, but their strength was real). So, when he informed me that he would be leaving for Oxford for a year, and then would head to Harvard the following year, I felt my heart implode and a sting of tears slice my cheeks. Oxford was certainly (too) far, and Cambridge no better, really, given my life in Washington D.C., so why was I crying? Why was I upset? There was nothing in the cards for us. Nothing that even hinted that he was or could ever be more than my former T.A. So, why the fuss? I'm still not quite sure that I know, but thinking I had absolutely nothing to lose, I sent him an overly congratulatory email. One that - if he weren't completely oblivious - would make clear my feelings for him. I let him know how deserving he was. How wonderful he was. How proud of him I was. I even went as far as asking for his address so that I could send him a gift.
If the 25 year old me had any control over that me, I would have slapped the shit out of that girl.
To this day, the thought of that email makes me cringe. The email and his subsequent response, which came a few weeks later (the night before his departure) and didn't address anything I said. It was polite and distant. Enough to make me wish I had never sent the email at all, and enough for me to retreat entirely. That chapter was necessarily closed. I still have the email in my gmail archives, and I can't bring myself to read it. It represents an overly eager child - not someone who was brave enough to lay bare her feelings. It represents an overly admiring child who had placed someone so high on a pedestal that she could no longer see him. Beyond that, it's not something I would do without some suggestion of the other person's feelings. And even if I were to do it without any hints on his part, I would have finessed it. Don't come on too strong. Don't be awkward. Don't be Gigi (from He's Just Not That Into You).
I think many of us have Gigi tendencies, and while I appreciate her openness, I think we should all work to tame the Gigi inside each of us.
The Academic left to do academic things, and I continued about my business as a 20something in Washington D.C. Much of this business will comprise the content of this blog, but that's for later. I hadn't forgotten him or gotten over him, per se, but my feelings for him became dormant. The times I thought of him were random and unpredictable. They occurred when I was both single and in a relationship. I just couldn't seem to shake him. Yes, I'm a romantic but I have some sense - this wasn't someone I expected to ever be with, so these thoughts became a nuisance. I didn't like feeling like I wasn't in control of my emotions. This would be my Type A personality shining through.
As maddening as my feelings were, something about him made sense. I had no basis for thinking or feeling this. I still can't explain it. It would just have to be something I'd have to accept as an off-shoot of my emotions. He and I resumed contact after a certain point. I had a lot of friends applying to graduate or professional schools, who sought assistance with their personal statements. He seemed like the perfect person to offer legitimately helpful feedback. All the while, we would exchange emails here and there. He always maintained a high level of interest in what I was doing and how I was getting along in DC, constantly asking questions, while also never seeming to answer mine - sufficiently, at least. His emails to me oscillated between maintaining the teacher/student dynamic with a (frustratingly) professorial tone, and adopting the informality of a friend. While I was confused about these inconsistencies, I tried to be as consistent as possible since I wished to escape the formality of the former. He didn't quite know how to treat me, and I wasn't sure how to help him figure it out beyond treating him as I would any other person in my life. Ultimately, it wasn't my issue, and I didn't know why he was having such trouble with it.
In the fall of 2008, I began applying to various law schools, and naturally, I enlisted his help. At this point, crush aside, I decided that this would be the last time we interacted. With his inconsistent attempts to maintain a more formal dynamic between us, I saw no reason why I should continue trying to engage him as a friend (or even a friendly acquaintance). I may be a romantic, but I was no fool - nothing was ever going to happen, and it was about time I let it go. On all fronts. My last meaningful contact with him was to inform him of my first acceptance. He responded in his typical professorial fashion, and with that, I let him go. Or so I thought.
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