On Being a Gal Who Can't Back Down from the Triple-Dog-Dare

This past Monday, the season finale of How I Met Your Mother aired. While it had about nothing to do with the actual plot, there was one scene I found very telling- when Lily, Marshall, and Robin have a telepathic conversation in the bar about convincing Ted that dyeing his hair blond is a good idea. As Marshall says:

"The best way to get Ted to do something is to tell him he shouldn't do it."

So of course they all tell him it would look bad, which prompts Ted to go ahead and do it. And naturally he looks ridiculous, prompting Marshall to utter the incredible line: "What is Ellen DeGeneres doing in our bedroom?!"

But anyway.

It occurred to me that I resemble that remark, a LOT, especially when it comes to guys. A surefire way to get me to chase after you is to verbally declare the futility of my advances. It's like throwing your glove on the table and challenging me to a sword fight.

Yes, I understand how lame that sounds. Just go with it.

Seriously, this one time, about four years ago, a guy I'd hooked up with previously told me that I probably THOUGHT he was going home with me, but that he wouldn't do so even if I asked. Naturally there was booze involved and he was kidding, but that statement drove tipsy me to grab him by his belt loops and say, "Oh, you THINK so?" Or something to that effect.

Now, I'll tell you a little story that will illustrate my latest foray into doing something just because I was told I couldn't. It's a classic tale, really.

Boy meets girl in graduate school. They discover that they grew up about twenty minutes from one another, and that boy's mother was actually one of girl's teachers in sixth grade (and it goes without saying that she remembers girl as a very sweet child, OF COURSE). They graduate and don't see one another really, except at the occasional work-sponsored boozefest professional conference.

Many moons later, boy and girl run into one another again and it turns out they live and work within blocks of one another. So occasionally they hang out. And of course this one time things get kind of interesting- but are forestalled by the boy's assertion that while girl is attractive and all, he just doesn't see himself being interested in her like that. Ever.

And then there was last week. When things got interesting again. But this time they got REALLY interesting.

And I'll admit it, I knew it probably wasn't the greatest idea I've ever had. But I wanted to be RIGHT, damnit. Because I LOVE BEING RIGHT. Love it. Especially when I get to be right in the, "I told you so. You cannot possibly resist me, buddy," kind of way. Hearing him admit he'd been thinking about this very situation for a while felt all kinds of vindicating.

But the problem is that I didn't just get to be right. I mean, I did for a few days, and then all this other stuff started creeping into my head. Like maybe it wasn't about being right. And maybe it actually was pretty great and fun. And maybe I wish it meant something different than what it actually means.

I'm not sorry for the decision I made...I just wish the consequences weren't so confusing.

Baby Steps

Well T&A guy, who will be now dubbed Mr. Patient, had an interesting conversation last night. There are few things I know for sure, one of them is: Once two people have sex, there is a period of time that is all they talk about/think about: When can we? How can we? How many times can we? I wonder if s/he likes _______?

I happen to think this is normal. Sex brings up all sorts of stuff for people and let's be honest-if you have healthy ideas about sex and/or a healthy relationship with sex, you enjoy it, you want to have it. So, when there is someone you can have it with, all the better! You want to explore and get to know that person on a different level and have a pleasurable experience.

But as has already been established, I am a shade crazy. It actually wasn't that bad this time, I promise. But I did cringe, a bit. Back story: I'm out of town for work, so we've been texting/IMing a lot this week. We were IMing and being flirty (healthy new relationship stuff, right?) and all of a sudden, I got really concerned that we were becoming just "f*** buddies."

Oh dear readers, I'll answer that question in your head: No, he had not done anything to make me think that, other than talk about what he wanted to do the next time we see each other. If there was anything I learned from our last go-round with my particular brand of crazy it's that he is willing to deal with it. So I asked: I'm not trying to have the "talk" but I just want to make sure my head is in the right place. We aren't "just f****ing" are we? He didn't miss a beat: Totally okay to ask that. I didn't think we were, did you?

Good news: Mr. Patient and I have taken a baby step. Bad news: I'm still freakin' crazy!

xxNB

Exploring the "Why"

Since I am occasionally a person who stays in and watches TV and surfs the interwebs in search of all things interesting/amusing, I was intrigued when I came across Newsweek's story about why women have sex. It's actually a review of a new book studying that very question, and it discusses how in the past, it was assumed that women engaged in sex because they desired love and commitment. New research suggests we women do it for revenge, pity (the famous "mercy fuck"), affirmation, and even pain relief. Apparently nine percent of us have even used sex to barter for help around the house.

It got me thinking- have I ever done it for any of those reasons? Why do I usually do it? (Actually, lately I'm really thinking, "Will I ever do it again?" I hate slumps.)

What say you, readers? Have any of those ever been your reasons for sex? Or are you more likely to do it for one of Lily's reasons?

The Story of a Former Wrong Card Addict, Part Two

Enjoy the second half of guest blogger LadyLuck's story! If you missed Part One, you can find it here.

Due to my success in business I decided to once again roll the dice – I quit my fabulous jet-setting job and moved to England to start my own business. Even though the economy was just starting to downturn, commodities and labor were cheap and the British pound was dropping – in theory, it was a great time to start a business in my chosen field. Since High Roller was content to stay in the States, I was on a mission to find a new player – and it didn’t take long.

I stepped out of a plane in London and thought that I was the hottest new game in town. It was there that I met up with a former travel acquaintance - a handsome and subtle stereotypical Englishman whom I’ll call The Royal Flush. Just four days older than me, Royal Flush was my ideal counterpart. In addition to sharing a love for exploring exotic travel locations he was also another jet-setting professional who loved his work. He was single with no children and loved what he did for a living. Like me, he genuinely enjoyed his life. His voice was soft with a devastatingly melodic British accent, and his eyes a stunning and captivating sky blue. I found his humble and somewhat awkwardly shy demeanor completely foreign and utterly intriguing. There was a spaciousness and contentment in him that gave me butterflies. We had a wild and passionate weekend – we explored the city together, walking hand-in-hand through Leicester Square, and had great dinners together, alone and with our mutual friends - followed by amazing, cataclysmic sex. It was one of the most memorable weekends of my life.

True enough, I had won again in regards to finding a new player – the problem was that halfway through the game I decided that I wanted to change the rules. I wanted to up the emotional stakes a bit, get to know him better – and maybe one day play the game of being a real couple. It had been so long since I was in a relationship that I had forgotten what it was like to be out, in public, holding hands with someone that just made me happy - genuinely happy, without all the pretenses. We were on the train, his arms wrapped around me, heading back to Holland Park when seemingly an angel whispered into my heart, “This is why people get together” – and in that moment, my addiction to the High Roller and our loose, high-risk, minimal-gain game had ended. My professional life, my geography and personal life were all changing – and now I wanted more. I didn’t want $200.00 bottles of wine, 5-star hotels or fancy meals – I just wanted to be with Royal Flush. Right next to him, wherever he happened to be. Sadly, by the time I realized this I had already set the stage for a mere casual game of strip poker.

As he got ready to leave the next day, Royal Flush kissed me sweetly and said, “If I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to need rehab,” and shortly thereafter he left. I was beside myself. Did he mean what he said, or did he just have a really good poker face?

I was recounting the story of my folly to a good American male friend, the Joker, a week or so after the Royal Flush had left England and gone back to Asia on business. The Joker suggested that if I really wanted to be with Royal Flush that I needed to show him all of my cards and suggest a new game. I realized that this strategy, while somewhat humiliating, was the only hand I had - and after much angst, I decided to deal. Due to his being in Asia, I wasn’t able to contact him by phone or see him in person so I sent a well-written, well-thought out email lightly suggesting a re-match. Sadly, my email went unanswered. He had simply folded. It seems that in relationships, as in gambling, there are no do-overs.

In the game of love I had lost all my chips. I no longer wanted the cheap slots - I had lost all interest in recreational games and put an end to my relationship with the High Roller. I had come to realize that what I was getting from him wasn’t real, but rather just a load of craps.

Not long after that relationship dissolved, the High Roller’s house of cards also fell - within a year his wife had left him. He lost his Ferrari, his house, tens of thousands of dollars and spent months in a bitter custody battle. While our relationship was never the source of the marriage’s demise, or at least that is what I was told, I imagine it had a severe, indirect impact on it, at best. As for me, the unexpected sharp downturn of the economy was far greater than what I had expected, and I’m still experiencing the distressing turmoil that comes with being an entrepreneur in these rough times. I had to move back to the States and take another short-term job to keep myself and the business afloat until we get back on our feet - and while I am fortunate enough to have great emotional support from my friends and family, and a great set of skills to fall back on, I feel a great hole in the support structure that a relationship partner could provide - and I feel its absence daily. I still think about the Royal Flush, and wonder what kind of cards he could have been holding if I had played differently, but I have had no success in establishing a reconnection.

While it’s easy to blame High Roller for starting this game - as many of my friends did, it was I, ultimately, that decided to play. I still hold myself, not him, accountable for having let other opportunities, be it with the Royal Flush or other similar hands, pass by – and to some degree, the demise of the High Roller’s marriage.

As of now, I am completely single and testing the waters in the new game of partner-seeking. Armed with more knowledge, experience and wisdom from my mistakes, I play far less than I did before and far more strategically - and only when the odds are in my favor. I also have my eyes firmly set on a different type of prize. I’ve studied the rules of the game and am better able to evaluate my hand. I have found that for me, the key to successfully giving up the addiction to wrong cards isn’t to give up the entire game, but rather to get a better understanding of my needs and intentions, and to play responsibly.

Someone must have misplaced his copy of the Fuck Buddy Manual

It's been a stressful week, folks. Busy at work, and to top it off my very awesome Grandma had a heart attack (luckily she is home from the hospital and doing just fine as of this writing). So when I heard I was going to get to see a certain "friend" of mine Wednesday night, I was looking forward to it. I mean, who doesn't look forward to that? Not to mention that while I could have gone to the gym or something to relieve some of my tension, a roll in the hay is clearly more fun than half an hour on the elliptical.

Well, imagine my surprise when my "friend" waited till the ride home to announce that he wouldn't be staying. It seemed his people were expecting him back at a certain hour and the hour was non-negotiable. But I shouldn't be insulted, I was assured.

I only pointed out that he could be back half an hour later and the world wouldn't end once, and then I gave up. Because I wasn't ready to feel like I was begging, for the love of pete. But seriously, last time I checked, the FB contract doesn't include a last-minute bailout. At least, ours didn't.

Oh well. It may be for the best, as I woke up this morning with a fever and a sore throat. So at least he didn't get sick. Silver linings all around!

An End to the Strike?

I almost had myself convinced that I was finally owning my strike. You know, really consciously choosing NOT to even try and meet men, because I needed a break. And really, as boring as the break was in some ways, it has been less stressful just not having to worry about some guy and whether he was going to call.

But then last night when the very nice guy I'd been hanging out with at this concert asked for my number, I caved. Because it was too loud in there to explain how I was on strike, and he would have thought I was crazy. And also because if nothing else, I'll have yet another story.

His codename will be The Minstrel. It's not entirely accurate, but he does play the mandolin.

In other news, I am almost sure I'll be seeing an Old Buddy From The Navy next week. Also known as my favorite mood enhancer. Who needs drugs?