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Photo by Olivia Bauso on Unsplash

I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start at the end. The Buddhist and I are no longer speaking, I’m dating the Dancer, Girl Eyes wants to hook up, Beefcake wants me too, A-name gave me an anti-drugs speech, The Therapist offered me mushrooms, and the Filipino explained his mysterious absence. Oh, and I am making plans to enter a business arrangement with a local mom who is opening an art supply store. Yay!

Right. So. A lot has transpired in the past few weeks. After the playdate with The Therapist’s little girl, I was feeling… honestly I’m not sure what I was feeling. But Dancer and I had a date scheduled for that Sunday. He subsequently got tickets to a comedy show on Friday, so we bumped our date up a couple days. He took me to dinner and the show (which was great) and then we went back to his place. We’d had a fabulous evening. We laughed, we held hands, we danced in the kitchen. Then we started making out on his couch, and I was so unbelievably turned on, but also thought I really ought to be getting home. I said so twice. But then I thought… do I? Do I really need to get home? And I took my dress off.

It was so worth it.

The Dancer is a stout, hairy, 5’7, 190lb powerhouse. He’s like a sexy Hobbit. He was nervous that first time, but it was still good. When Sunday came around he was AWESOME. Honestly I don’t even remember what we did that day except stay naked. The dude is a human jackhammer. And he’s LOUD. I have never had sex with a man who is so vocal. At first I was surprised. I had a really hard time not giggling while I was going down on him and he was moaning and yelling out. But I have to say, it makes you feel like the a fucking rockstar when the thing you’re doing makes a man lose his mind. He also said he hadn’t had sex seven times in one day since he was a teenager.

The next weekend my youngest was staying at her dad’s place the night before Easter, so I stayed at the Dancer’s. I never slept very well beside The Buddhist. I never slept at ALL beside Girl Eyes. But I curled up against that hairy hobbit man and was out like a light. Even with his cpap machine on. He came over the next day to help look for lost Easter eggs. I hid 260 in the yard (because I’m extra) and we had nine unaccounted for. What he actually did was spend the whole afternoon playing with my four year old. He thought she was the cutest thing, and she absolutely adored him. In the morning she asked when he was coming back. A few days later she made him a picture and asked to call him on the phone to tell him about it.

At some point he went with us to the zoo and met my parents. Was that Friday? I don’t even remember. I also didn’t remember to tell him that my parents were going to be meeting us there to watch the Easter bunny drop 2,000 eggs from a helicopter. Everything felt so easy and natural that it didn’t really cross my mind. When they called to see where we were, I was like oh… yeah. But he was totally cool with it. He spent the whole time telling dad jokes and randomly singing lyrics that popped into his head. My eldest said, “Why do you have a song for everything everyone says?” I said, “Why doesn’t everyone else?” I like the fact that he’s a walking jukebox. And corny. He’s a silly human being, and I’m totally into it.

By this point he had already made a point of telling me that he had deleted all his dating apps and stopped communicating with other women. I felt obligated to do the same. So when Girl Eyes tried to make plans to get together, I said no. When Beefcake asked if I’d like to come to his place for dinner and have each other for dessert, I had to pass. When A-name asked me on an actual date, I declined.

I swear, these men must be getting spring fever.

Then came the third weekend. Dancer came to my place on Friday. We hung out, had dinner, played a board game, and had a quickie in the downstairs bathroom. We also had a sock wrestling tournament thanks to a video I saw on TikTok. We each had on one sock and whoever got it off the other first, won. That would be me. He is very strong, but I am flexible. I just pretzeled my way around his legs and he was down for the count in two minutes flat. I can put my leg over my head, but he can’t even touch his toes. The man didn’t stand a chance.

On Saturday Dancer was supposed to work, but elected to take the day off. I had a lot to do around the yard since the weather was beautiful, so I did not drive out early to meet him. Priority Number One was the chicken coop. Dancer did not offer to come help. The Buddhist was busy working on his car. My eldest stayed in the house despite my requests for assistance. I tried to get stuff done on my own, but I needed someone to hold the ladder at the very least. It’s on a steep slope and I’d really rather not fall to my death. Since I couldn’t accomplish anything there, I set about working in the garden, putting plants in dirt, and raking up ten million leaves.

After I had a massive pile, I pulled the hose up the hill and set them on fire. Eventually my 13 year old came out to roast marshmallows. She also raked up some leaves, finally, but only so she could get a better fire to roast with. We managed to clear about a quarter of my property before a storm rolled in. Perfect timing. I got myself cleaned up and headed to Dancer’s place. But my feelings were hurt. My Acts of Service cup had not been filled. And when I told him I hadn’t gotten work done on the coop because I needed a second person, he basically said, “Sucks to be you.”

Saturday night was a wild ride. We went out to Olive Garden, where I stuffed myself silly, and then went back to his place. He tried to get frisky but I told him I needed some digestion time first, so we put on Cocaine Bear. He got his vape and asked if I’d mind. I said no, and asked if I could try too. The movie is great. It’s touted as a horror/action film, but it was SO FUNNY. As it happened with the Buddhist, the vape did nothing for me. Dancer said I must have a naturally high tolerance, so after several failed attempts, he preheated the coil and told me to breathe in longer.

Y’all. I was high as FUCK. It didn’t fully kick in until the movie was mostly over. Next thing I know I can’t keep my eyes open, but I really wanted to because every time I closed them I started dreaming while I was awake. Everything looked like cartoons. I started making out with Dancer and suddenly he felt like nothing but a giant mouth, and I thought, “Oh my god, why is his tongue so big?” and started giggling uncontrollably. After I got control we had sex on the couch, but I kept forgetting where I was. Then I got the giggles again. He was funny. The toilet was funny. Water was funny.

We sat back on the couch and started talking. He started getting deep. He told me how he was in the hospital in an induced coma years ago and he nearly died. He told me about the mirage of emotion that can be created by a dance, and how he was initially afraid I wasn’t really attracted to him, but to the mirage. He told me about his guilt, and the fact that he had sex with another woman the same day I’d been over watching Phantom of the Opera.

At this point I pulled out my phone and began taking notes. I had no idea if I would remember all these things given my state of inebriation (which I did not like at ALL) and they seemed important. The whole time he was talking, I kept forgetting who was speaking, and forcing myself to open my eyes and look at him so I could concentrate. We were alone. Who else would be speaking?! Being completely unable to control my thoughts was unsettling. Every time I closed my eyes, I portaled to another world where things were dark but I could see the cartoon image of everything he said happening before me. Or maybe something Disney related. It was freaky, man.

I told him some stories too, but I don’t remember which ones. I just know it was hard to concentrate on listening while my inside voice was talking so loudly, and difficult to use my outside voice while my inside voice was monologuing on an unrelated topic. I wanted to tell him I was hurt. That I missed the Buddhist. That I need someone who will fulfill my needs and make me feel loved. I wanted to say that when he failed to offer help, something had broken in that moment. I suddenly didn’t feel those big feelings I’d been overwhelmed with on the previous weekend. I wanted to say that I regret booking a cabin with him in June, because I didn’t think we’d still be together by then.

But I maintained that control. I told myself to listen intently to what he said without interrupting. I told myself to offer empathy and reassurance, and react appropriately. I reminded myself that dating is allowed to just be fun, and it would probably be better if he didn’t see my children again. And I refrained from bringing up my pain. It was not relevant at that time, and I’d be better off waiting until I was of clearer mind to speak on it.

I told myself all of these things LOUDLY in my mind, and I listened.

Later on, when I was feeling slightly less loopy, I did bring it up in a way. We had just had sex again, and I was lying with my head on his ankle, feeling empty inside. My inside voice told me that I had the choice to complain, and ruin the moment, or to simply ask for help. I chose the latter. I asked if he would help me with my coop, and he said yes.

This might seem strange to people who do not operate from an Acts of Service place within their love language, so let me try to explain. Imagine if you were in a relationship and your partner went about life as though you were their roommate, and only showed you affection when you said, “I’d like some affection, please.” Imagine only feeling loved when you asked them to love you. Do you think it would feel empty? Shallow? Fake? Is it really love and affection if it isn’t given freely and with joy? Could you live off of reluctant love?

This is going to be a problem. But we knew that from the start. We discussed it when I told him I didn’t realize how much importance I placed on a man’s ability to be handy. It makes me feel supported. Cared for. As though I’m not doing life alone. Dancer acknowledged these things and said he would offer what he could.

But he didn’t.

By Sunday night, after I was home, I had worked out all these feelings. So I texted him. I’ve decided to stick with my decision to validate myself by treating my feelings as though they matter. I explained my position and he apologized, promising to help whenever I asked, even if he wouldn’t enjoy it. But that doesn’t solve the issue. I don’t want to ask for what I need and have him begrudgingly agree. I want him to offer it. He said he understood.

In the midst of this conversation, I got a text from the Buddhist. He was angry that I had texted him after midnight to say I was high as fuck and couldn’t tell dream from reality and I kept forgetting Dancer was the one talking even though we were alone. The Buddhist had been the first person I thought of given the fact that he’s the only person I ever tried pot with, and we were completely unsuccessful. And if we are being honest, I’m still a little bit in love with him. I may as well admit it.

Or maybe I just like the attention. Maybe I’m enjoying the adoration of all these men just a little too much, and I’m trying to keep him on the hook for my own selfish reasons.

Maybe it’s both.

Whatever the reason, I had texted him. And he did not appreciate it. He said there needed to be some added distance between us, it’s not okay to text him at 2am that I’m alone with my boyfriend smoking pot, he wants mutual respect, and IF we remain friends we need some distance.

Capital IF.

I cried. It felt like breaking up all over again. I miss him so much, and he really doesn’t deserve it. He made me feel inferior. Dirty. Cluttered. Lazy. Selfish. Loud. Uncouth. He told me over and over how backward us country folk are, and how I should be doing things differently. I couldn’t have any opinion different from his without him taking it as a personal attack. He bonded with my eldest, but said my youngest was too much. Yes, he spoiled me with money and gifts and help around the house, but we also fought every weekend. About nothing.

I have to remind myself of these things every so often. Negative reappraisal. Otherwise I’ll never get over him.

But he was right. I should not have texted him. I’ve been hanging on to the threads of a bad relationship in the guise of friendship. Mentioning my boyfriend was insensitive.

Is he my boyfriend though? I don’t think so. Not yet. He has only referred to me as the girl he’s dating.

Anyway, I told the Buddhist he was right, I was wrong, and I think it would be best if we had more space. I said I was going to block him for awhile, and I hoped he’d have a good summer and take a vacation, rather than staying stuck in this little piece of the world. Suddenly he changed his tune. He wanted to talk on the phone. He didn’t want to upset me. We should be able to discuss it like adults. If I could wait a few weeks he would still come help with the chicken coop.

I said, “No. You are right. We need added distance, if we remain friends. Goodnight.” And I blocked him.

It hurt. But it was the right thing to do. I don’t think he’s a bad guy, but demanding space and then telling me to talk to him like an adult is manipulative. It’s like he’s made of two different people. Even as I read back over it I think, “What? He’d never do that.” But he did. Just like that night at Red Lobster, I met his inner bad guy.

Dancer tried to call me after all this. He wanted to talk about things. I did not. I couldn’t take any more emotional turmoil at that moment. So I went to bed.

We chatted on the phone today. It was a little more awkward than usual. He said he was going to come see me on Friday and then meet up with me Saturday night at the medieval fantasy gala. We have costumes prepared, and they’re going to teach us sword fighting.

But I don’t want him to come over Friday. This has been a lot, very quickly. Too much. I want to run away screaming. I have too many men digitally surrounding me. Turns out A-name has been on parole since 2019 for drinking and driving. He lectured me on the dangers of smoking pot. The Therapist, however, asked if I’d like to try shrooms with him. Maybe I will. And today the Filipino, who asked for forgiveness a couple months ago, finally told me why he disappeared. He had blocked me. He didn’t respond to my texts about my grandmother dying or searching for his obituary because he never saw them. He thought he might want to date, but he wasn’t sure, and he was feeling overwhelmed by his children and parents and various women, so he blocked a bunch of us for several months and pretended we didn’t exist.

I’m still mad about it, but I kinda get it. We all know I’d been crushing on him. I didn’t want to, but I was. Thank god I didn’t follow through. He most certainly would have crushed me like a bug. I’m not sure I’ll ever be in love with Dancer, but I think it’s safe to say I’d have fallen head over heels for the Filipino if the physical chemistry had turned out right. Either way it ended the same. He blocked me and I cried.

Although, honestly, it never would have happened. He’d have just stood me up as per usual.

This has been a lot. If you’ve made it this far, I applaud you. I’m exhausted. Oh, and I let Dancer know how I was feeling tonight. The whole run-for-the-hills thing. He agreed that we have moved rather quickly and he’s also feeling kinda freaked out about it. I suggested we take a step back, slow things down, assuage my inner commitment-phobe, and only see each other on Saturday. He said it was no problem, and thanked me for communicating. He really is a good dude. I’m glad I met him.

Until we meet again,

The Silly Girl