You Can Call Me Al
I love love, I’m obsessed with it. I’m a relationship person but I’m not a dating person. I hate apps, and I hate small talk, I’m also terrified of being murdered- an unfortunate combination when you’re single, and 27 in New York. Since moving here in May I have gone on zero dates. I’ve had boys ask me out and give me phone numbers but I’ve never gone out with or texted any of them. I had coffee with one boy for half an hour, but I’m not counting that.
Men have an innate ability to make you feel like an absolute bitch if you say no to them or don’t give them what they want. I first realized this when I started boarding school at 15. Puberty hit me like a semi truck when I was 11 years old. I looked nothing like the other girls in my grade- clear-skinned and pretty, with spindly legs and bodies completely absent of curves. Instead I was 5’2” by the time I was in grade five and had breasts and hips. No one at my boarding school saw me through my awkward phase, they only saw me as a pretty girl who liked to party. I’d never gotten much attention from boys until I went to boarding school, and once there attention felt boundless. The first boy who asked me out was Henry, he was pretty cute but not very smart which made conversations boring and strenuous. He had a bad sense of humor and no hobbies which should have been a red flag, but he was nice. The first night we hung out we made out all night in the forest by the rugby pitch, a classic make out spot where I would later get alcohol poisoning with my roommate. When it was almost curfew he tried to convince me to stay out longer and miss my check in time, the consequence for which was a minute of wall sits for every minute late. When I refused to be late out of pure laziness, he begged me to reconsider, complimenting me and kissing me more. He eventually walked me back to my house and I checked in sans wall sits, thank fuck. I was drunk on grapefruit vodka and the dopamine from his kisses. He text me later that night to tell me he was sad I didn’t skip curfew for him. I still remember the way I felt when I read that message, like I was expected to do anything to make him happy. I couldn’t help feeling like I had let him down and did something wrong because I went home on time. I realized then that it didn't matter if I liked a boy or just wanted something physical, boys didn't care about me, they cared that I was doe-eyed and pretty. I am for sure a people pleaser, a result of both of my parents moving to different countries when I was 13. I’ve convinced myself that if I’m perfect and don’t disappoint people, no one will ever leave me. Thank god for therapy. Henry and I only hung out a couple more times, but there were other boys at boarding school. Most of them were nice, all but one of them- my first boyfriend Philip who I’ll always love- left me with the uneasy feeling I first felt with Henry.
After moving to New York in the spring I went back to Canada for a month and a half. It felt a bit like living in limbo, I was there but also knew nothing was permanent. I ended a two year relationship last December, so when I got back to my hometown I was excited to experience being single in my community again. It’s not a small city, but it’s small enough that everyone you know, knows each other. I hung out with a couple guys while home, one more than the other and I still think about him pretty often. He’s beautiful and intoxicating, and only left me with the same empty feeling as Henry once, which seems pretty good considering I get attached easily. It felt like a fun challenge to myself to spend time with someone who’s perfectly my type when I knew I would be leaving just as quickly as he could make me come. I guess I played myself a bit though, I was excited to see him over christmas and I’m constantly fighting with myself to not text him. I’m in grad school and am trying to get a job in an overwhelming job market, the last thing I should be worried about is texting a boy.
My friends encourage me to meet boys and get excited for me anytime an eager prospect pops up on hinge, or makes prolonged eye contact with me on the street. One unfortunate evening in the West Village, I tried to break out of my shell and sarcastically told one of the many boring, and basic bros that I liked his blue collar shirt, “a unique sartorial choice that really reflected his personality.” He then told me my accent was weird and we got into a fight about where Chad Kroeger of Nickelback is from.
Sometimes I feel super keen to date but also I really want to do well in school, workout, take care of myself and my family, and be happy. Usually boys just want you to look pretty and not do much other than that.
As I’m writing this my best friend's ex-fiance is trying to get her back and she’s writing him beautiful prose as a rejection letter. Love and relationships are insane and I think the insanity is part of why I’m obsessed with them- I’m a masochist and men are fans.
I’d date you natsack
Vancouver? Hanna you dumb fuck.