As you read this, I insist that you put Frank Ocean's "Thinking About You" on blast. If I am to expose myself in this manner I'd prefer to share my experience in its fullness, and for my sorrow to to resonate throughout your spirit in the hope of arousing empathy.
Though most of my posts come from personal experiences, this particular entry hits extremely close to home, and is inspired by a recent occurrence in my life. I've learned a great deal, and I feel compelled to share my thoughts and possibly shed some light to women on how to handle the situation even better than I did.
This is the second, and I assure you, the last time I'll place myself in this situation. It happened for the first time back in 2006 with Whites and it presents itself as an issue to most girls at some point in their lives. [Except, of course, those of you who are extraordinarily attractive. Bitches.] We get what we presume to be an indication of interest from some guy that we've already targeted. We get our hopes up, and at some point or another, our hopes and desires come to an ear splitting shatter. Some of us remain in denial, others of us bow our heads in embarrassment, and move forward with our pathetic lives.
Everyone likes having a crush. The butterflies fluttering in the pastures of your stomach as you reminisce on the electrifying eye contact; the tingle of your nostrils as your olfactory recollects that distinct fragrance; the flirtatious conversation and smiles of delight every time he crosses your mind. All of that bullshit. It's all very enchanting. I'm not a romance novelist, but I'm quite sure you can relate to one or more of those feelings.
Everything is going great. You start mentally planning how you're going to lure him into your loins, the possibility of yourself and him in the distant future, how drunk with happiness you'll be when your future selves are curled up on his California King [in his Park Avenue loft, no less], snickering at the witty humor of Frasier.
Then he drops the colossal pile of figurative shit right on your head. Not intentionally, of course, but inadvertently so, as he absentmindedly ignores texts, Facebook comments, tweets and any other desperate ploy to get his attention. You come to the realization that he really, truly, is not in the least bit into you, and could ACTUALLY give two shits about you. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what went wrong, what could have gone awry.
Did he lose interest? Was he even initially interested? Your self esteem takes a plunge. You question your intelligence, your life, your existence.
Though most of my posts come from personal experiences, this particular entry hits extremely close to home, and is inspired by a recent occurrence in my life. I've learned a great deal, and I feel compelled to share my thoughts and possibly shed some light to women on how to handle the situation even better than I did.
This is the second, and I assure you, the last time I'll place myself in this situation. It happened for the first time back in 2006 with Whites and it presents itself as an issue to most girls at some point in their lives. [Except, of course, those of you who are extraordinarily attractive. Bitches.] We get what we presume to be an indication of interest from some guy that we've already targeted. We get our hopes up, and at some point or another, our hopes and desires come to an ear splitting shatter. Some of us remain in denial, others of us bow our heads in embarrassment, and move forward with our pathetic lives.
Everyone likes having a crush. The butterflies fluttering in the pastures of your stomach as you reminisce on the electrifying eye contact; the tingle of your nostrils as your olfactory recollects that distinct fragrance; the flirtatious conversation and smiles of delight every time he crosses your mind. All of that bullshit. It's all very enchanting. I'm not a romance novelist, but I'm quite sure you can relate to one or more of those feelings.
Everything is going great. You start mentally planning how you're going to lure him into your loins, the possibility of yourself and him in the distant future, how drunk with happiness you'll be when your future selves are curled up on his California King [in his Park Avenue loft, no less], snickering at the witty humor of Frasier.
Then he drops the colossal pile of figurative shit right on your head. Not intentionally, of course, but inadvertently so, as he absentmindedly ignores texts, Facebook comments, tweets and any other desperate ploy to get his attention. You come to the realization that he really, truly, is not in the least bit into you, and could ACTUALLY give two shits about you. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what went wrong, what could have gone awry.
Did he lose interest? Was he even initially interested? Your self esteem takes a plunge. You question your intelligence, your life, your existence.
It's a tough pill to swallow. Trust me, my throat is still raw with pain as I type. However, let's analyze this from the perspective of the recipient of our affection.
If we're honest with ourselves, as women, we have a tendency to perceive an inch as a mile. Fitzwilliam Darcy said it best "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, love to matrimony, in a moment." Someone can show the slightest bit of attention and we perceive it as some cunning, subtle hint of his undying love. Our cluelessly overzealous friends, friends who truly have our best interest at heart feed the seed that is a morsel of admiration, water and nurture it until it roots itself deep within our mind.
Eventually, an idea flourishes and runs amok through your subconscious, convincing you that this man is head over heels in love. The slightest attention is taken, not with the grain of salt it ought to be taken with, but as a monumental event, we cue the fireworks in our mind and stand in wonder.
Now, imagine the startling realization one day that this was all in your head and that you're no more to this man than a follower on twitter, a status in a newsfeed. The walls of your prissy little world come
tumbling down.
The above was obviously not the case with me, that shit is simply preposterous. It took one time for me to misunderstand someones feelings on a similar scale when I was 14 to never let it happen again. I keep it realistic. I'm a very perceptive person. There is not a doubt in my mind that Whites was interested in me back in 2006. At some point, however, for whatever reason, he lost interest. Perhaps one of the reasons sited in a recent post, Close Encounters of the Fat Kind. As a naive 17 year old, fresh out of boarding school, I was crushed. For the next 8 months I obsessed about my every flaw, physical and otherwise. [I even vaguely recall him commenting on the hardness of the palm of my hands once, and have since developed a debilitating habit of not being able to function after washing my hands without applying copious amounts of lotion. Before and after I touch anyone, shake any hands, I also check the softness of the palm of my hands. I find myself clasping them so that the light perspiration will keep them moist and soft.]
I know for a fact that this was also the case recently. There's no shadow of a doubt that my most recent conquest was indeed somewhat interested, at the very least. For whatever reason, however, my life was played. [Womp womp woooooomp]. It's not a nice feeling, but before we absolve ourselves of all blame for our predicaments and start cursing these men and their families to 15 years of acute diarrhea, let us be honest with ourselves and ensure that it wasn't our actions that sent them, arms flailing, running as far away from us as possible.
Where I went wrong:
Many females these days speak of being independent, having their own car, clothes, house, shoes and other material objects. More significant than this though, is the mindset we put ourselves in, not needing a man for any reason; this new age feminism suggests equality in all respects. My bitch Robby refers to said women as "21s Century Bitches". Here's where conflict arises, when do you demand traditional roles, and when do you insist on resuming the role of "equality"?
I fall into this category. I have a crippling complex that urges me to try to have the upper hand in any relationship, sometimes emasculating the guy in question. In the same breath, however, I expect to be treated with 18th century chivalry. [The menacing concern of who texts who, etc]
Ladies, we cannot do this. We're either 21st Century Bitches or we're not. I am a 21st Century Bitch, and it was preposterous of me not to send a simple text message saying "Hey, we still on for later?", just because I thought it was his job to do all the work. Because of my hard headedness, I spent Friday evening watching the Golf Channel and lashing out on the Twitters in frustration.
Anyhoo, I digress.
Yet and still, bitches lives stay getting played. We must prepare ourselves for this to happen because it truly is a cold and cruel world. I try to encourage women not to Show their Asses after having dealt with trauma from a man. Below are a few things on my list of what showing one's ass entails.
What to DO and NOT DO after getting your life played
DO NOT
Incessantly text - it may seem innocent, but bright flashing lights will appear in the subconscious of the man that reads, in all caps, "STALKER BITCH". Seeing that us larger women have somehow gained a reputation of being prone to this activity, it would behoove us to avoid any behavior that would exacerbate this situation altogether .
Seek Attention in Public Places - Ladies, this rambunctious, look-at-me-I'm-having-fun behavior isn't cute. If you're naturally a loud ass bitch like myself, you're excused. You shamelessly expose yourself in a futile attempt to have him internally writhe in jealousy and pain. Endless onlookers shake their heads and furrow their brows in disdain at your efforts, knowing that you're achieving only the opposite of what you hope to be the outcome. He looks on sending a mental prayer of thanks to his Lord and Personal Saviour that he dodged the bullet that is an obnoxious, immature, twit; i.e. you.
Argue - I cannot reiterate this enough. Do not argue with a man who has been firm in his resolve. Do not try to persuade him to change whatever decision he has made, in the long run you will absolutely regret it. Do not insult him and engage in pointless verbal conflict.
Cry - Please, have some pride. Don't give any man the satisfaction of knowing that he has enough of a stronghold over your emotional stability as to bring you to tears. Depending on how much of a bitch ass this man is, [Max], it may have the effect of making a temporary change to the man's decision, but that eventually goes out the door. Don't guilt anyone into making a decision that benefits you. It's selfish and almost always goes sour.
Get super friendly with the guy's friends [read: Hoe the fuck out] - It seems like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect you'll realize that you've only depicted yourself as a cheap and classless harlot. Hindsight is 20/20, but I'm giving you some foresight, accept it.
DO:
Keep your composure - even if you didn't have any before, you had better muster some up from the deepest realms of your innermost femininity. After having your life played, hold your head high, scoff at the Motherfucker, and walk away as if nothing he had to say was in the least bit consequential to your life.
Appear Indifferent - It's hard to tell someone to be indifferent when they truly care about an issue. My solution is to fake it 'til you make it. If you put forth the facade of indifference for a long enough time, it will probably start to become authentic. Maybe? I don't know, it works for me. It can take time, depending on the person, but.... it happens.
Lastly, a note to you Men:
Be better communicators, seriously.
I hope this was helpful to you guys out there. I guess I'll start taking my own advice and get my shit together.
Until next time,
EFB
