Wrong Side of Thirty

Oprah: “Aaaaaaand here we are with another episode of our talk show “Where Is This Relationship Going”. In today’s episode we have Boo and Kiran discussing their relationship.”

Boo: “Well, Kiran, it’s been eight months now.”

Kiran (in Andy-from-Little Britain-voice): “Yeah I know.”

Boo: “So, where would you like this relationship to end up eventually?”

Kiran: “Oh look! A birdy!”

Boo: “Answer my question please. What would you like? Would you like to marry me eventually or what?”

Kiran: “Aren’t those sandwiches delicious?”

Boo: “…”

Kiran: “Well, honestly I have no clue. I don’t really think about that. I enjoy every day and night we spend together, but I don’t have a plan along the lines of ‘omg let’s get married immediately because I’m getting older’ or anything.”

Boo: “I see.” [ponders] “But you were different at the start.”

Kiran: “Yeah, I was insecure and in love and unsure what you wanted. Now I am still in love, but not insecure, and I think we’re on the same page.”

Boo: “Yeah.”

Kiran: “So what do you think about this?”

Boo: “Well, I, yeah, kind of, yeah, the same really.”

Kiran: (under his breath) “Oh yeah, that sounds believable, and I am sure you would have said the same had I not said what I did.”

Oprah: “Thank you guests, that was a lovely edition of ‘Where Is This Relationship Going’. We will be back with Judy and Michael from Alaska after those ads.”

*

I have no clue.

I continue having no clue.

We haven’t had a fight in… weeks. In four weeks or so. Getting close to five. Thing is, that is largely because I refuse to stay over before a workday, so we mostly see each other on the weekends. And then, I spend my Wednesday off doing weekendy things, like cleaning, shopping, etc.

I still have no clue whether I want to be with him long term. He’s a lovely guy to spend weekends with, definitely. Sex continues to be amazing. (Plus, perhaps thanks to us not seeing each other very often, the average is still approximately twice a day.) He’s fun, cute, smart, exciting, naughty, a bit weird, gorgeous, etc. etc. But somehow since that breakup that started this blog in April I can’t get over the thought that it is all temporary.

I used to think about my exes — short or long term in, mostly, negative terms. You know the deal: “Bastard, he ruined my life, I hate him, hope he dies” etc. etc. There is one that I would still like to see get hurt, because he is the only one that hurt me — not because I was in any way wrong, just because he… I don’t know. Was a player? Because he believed himself so attractive he could just lie to me and betray me and I wouldn’t mind? Still even he deserves a positive note. (Especially after the dream I had about him! See previous post for details. Mmmmm.)

Nowadays I think of my exes as ex-periences. Ones that taught me things. In, more or less, chronological order:

* that the fact someone loves you doesn’t make them suitable for you;
* that the fact you love someone doesn’t make you suitable for them;
* that the fact you are young and beautiful can be a disadvantage;
* that little wounded animals have a tendency to bite you in the ass once they recover;
* that if someone promises to change for you once, twice, three times but never does, the chance that after the fourth or eleventh promise it will happen is pretty slim;
* that some people are better friends than boyfriends;
* that some people are so scared of intimacy that after an evening of pretty amazing sex they prefer to lose their garments forever than to meet up with you for 10 seconds to pick them up;
* that sexual abuse doesn’t only happen to other people;
* that when your gut feeling tells you “THIS IS WRONG” you shouldn’t tell it to shut up because the guy is soooooooo hot;
* that big hands = big gloves, and, disturbingly, nothing else
* that a person can be amazingly smart and elegant, but still take a dump in your presence with toilet door open third time you see each other;
* that sometimes people who advertise for sex in a way that you would normally consider rather vulgar (think penis close-ups), can, actually, be great in bed and just what you needed;
* that the ones that look the most innocent are the most perverted (this isn’t a major discovery, but it’s different when you actually find out in person);
* that you can find love without actually looking, when you least expect it.

You can almost determine my Carla Bruni index from this list.

And then there is Boo.

Boo is like a spiral through knowledge and experiences I have never had. Some of them bad. Most of them good or amazing. He teaches me things on more or less daily basis and (apart from hot, hot sex) this is probably the most amazing thing about him.

He is teaching me so much. How to cook. How to bike. How to enjoy nature. He took me to a nude beach, showed me how to open a wine bottle (let’s say I am not the most sophisticated wine opener on Earth, but apparently you can do to at so much nicer without any additional work), how to enjoy a fruit cocktail in the morning, how to make a really delicious chicken soup, upgrade your bathroom deco without working too hard, arrange my own furniture, expand my own music taste (which I always considered pretty wide, but he has lots of records by people I never heard of — and now love). We both learned new experiences that we never had before with anyone else; such as sitting at the riverside at 1am on a Saturday, smoking a joint, looking into people’s windows and talking about life, things and stuff. (This is such a teenage thing, but I never did it before.) Or like going for an all-day bike ride for no other reason than the weather being gorgeous. Or like having sex in front of the fireplace, which is such a cliche thing, but one that I always wanted to try… and wasn’t disappointed. He gave me a movie I would never watch without his recommendation, a book I would never read, a t-shirt I would never buy (and look amazing in)… but most importantly, he widened my world of experiences big and small far beyond what I would have ever achieved on my own.

I can only hope he gets 50% back of what I get from this relationship. It’s true — none of us believe this is a happily ever after (to the point where we can’t seem to plan a holiday because none of us believes we will actually go there together). But while it lasts… it’s worth the work we have to put into it.

I have had the MOST AMAZING DREAM EVER. People can now stop dreaming, for the goal of dreaming the most amazing dream ever has been achieved, and I won.

In my dream Boo, who lived in a giant house largely made of glass, was having a party which I was attending, and BM somehow arrived at the door and asked me to go out with him, which I did. He took me to his house which was a tiny bit further and where he lived with two female housemates (one of which was mostly preoccupied with a giant pool table — is there a significance to dreaming about giant pool tables?). Then he kissed me, and the kiss was mindblowingly good. (He was a good kisser, yes.) And then he said he never stopped thinking of me, and that he loved me and wanted me to come back.

I gently caressed his head and explained, that it was very lovely of him and that I thought of him a lot too, sometimes even fondly, but that I had a new boyfriend now, namely Boo.

We talked more. He tried to convince me, we kissed a bit more and hugged and got all tearful (which strikes me as a thing unlikely to happen to BM, but it’s my dream and he’ll cry if I want to). And then I repeated that I had a boyfriend and that I loved him very much and that I’m not interested — and can he drive me back.

BM did drive me back. On the way I kept on thinking I’m going to get a bollocking from Boo for leaving his party without saying a word and disappearing for hours. But that didn’t happen, Boo was very nice and we cleaned up the glass house together. And then I woke up refreshed and relaxed.

In all seriousness, I rarely dream and when I do it’s mostly reality with a silly twist (“Let’s go shopping, buy bread, milk and five guinea pigs”), so this was the most unexpected. Also, it’s a funny thing to get the closure you longed for in a dream.

On Tuesday last week Boo and me had an emergency meeting and an emergency conversation. It took place because he was pissed off with me being pissed off with the Snoozefest. He didn’t say sorry. Neither did I. He told me his point of view. I told him mine. Neither of us was very convinced.

We talked a bit longer and realised that we can never live together, because we would kill each other. We can’t really be a couple, because we don’t communicate too well and we fight about stupid things. (But then, pointed Boo, we don’t fight about IMPORTANT things.) We really, really don’t fit each other; moreover, said Boo and I said I thought the same, we don’t really fulfill each other’s “boyfriend requirements”.

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“Do we have to do anything?”

“Well, it kind of seems like there should be a conclusion.”

I thought about it before even arriving chez Boo’s and got to the conclusion before we talked about it: we should break up. We really shouldn’t be together. We shouldn’t separate though, we should stay friends, because we still love each other. But then, we are also extremely attracted physically to each other, so perhaps we should be friends who have sex with each other. But then, I don’t want anybody else to touch mah Boo, so perhaps we should be friends who have sex with each other exclusively… and then I realised I turned into Monica from “Friends”.

“I don’t have any.”

“Neither do I.”

And then we kissed.

The weekend with Boo was awesome.

(Garfield Minus Garfield)

Sometimes I irritate myself.

Boo has a habit I don’t like. Every morning he sets the timer for, say, 7am. Then hits snooze. Then does it again. And again. And again. That’s how he likes it. He eventually gets up at, say, 7:45.

My own habit is to set the timer for 7:45 and wake up at 7:45. If I am reeeeeeally tired, I hit snooze once. And if I have him sleeping next to me and he doesn’t need to get up at the same time I do, I will switch off the alarm the moment I hear the first bleep to let him sleep.

Yesterday I asked him if it would be okay if we negotiated the snoozefest (SEE WHAT I DID THERE) and reduced it to, say, hitting it only twice. That way I would lose 20 minutes of sleep rather than 45. After joking that “after six months of relationship Kiran becomes demanding and shows his real face” Boo said yes. I was rather happy about it, because I am seeing a concert tonight and I wanted to be as rested as possible.

We went to bed around 1. Couldn’t sleep for a while, haunted by mosquitos. Then we finally fell asleep around 2. And the alarm went off at 7.

And at 7:09. And at 7:18. And at 7:27. And at 7:36.

At 7:36, when Boo didn’t get out of bed, I did. And I wasn’t very happy. My own alarm was set to 7:55.

I ended up getting to work earlier than expected. And I am half-asleep at the desk right now. The concert in the evening seems almost a chore rather than a very exciting event I’ve been waiting for. And I have loads of passive-aggressive thoughts along the lines of “I’m never staying over again if I am working the next day” or “how about being busy on the weekend”. And I definitely wouldn’t say yes if he asked me an important question today.

Did he ask it on Saturday? No. Did we have a great weekend, apart from this morning? Yes. Am I queasy with anger? Yes. Is it worth it? No.

That’s why I irritate myself. I wish I could either let go or just let it wait until we have a chance to talk again. Instead I sit here, angry and sleepy, my stomach upset, thinking that relationships don’t work for me. Even I can see how stupid it is to think ill about relationships because my boyfriend hit snooze four times in the morning. There are really worse sins, and it shouldn’t cancel the truly lovely weekend we spent together.

Yawn.

Fisher posits that each of us gets dosed in the womb with different levels of hormones that impel us toward one of four basic personality types:

The Explorer—the libidinous, creative adventurer who acts “on the spur of the moment.” Operative neurochemical: dopamine.

The Builder—the much calmer person who has “traditional values.” The Builder also “would rather have loyal friends than interesting friends,” enjoys routines, and places a high priority on taking care of his or her possessions. Operative neurotransmitter: serotonin.

The Director—the “analytical and logical” thinker who enjoys a good argument. The Director wants to discover all the features of his or her new camera or computer. Operative hormone: testosterone.

The Negotiator—the touchy-feely communicator who imagines “both wonderful and horrible things happening” to him- or herself. Operative hormone: estrogen, then oxytocin.

Long quote that explains what I mean by the title.

We have gone long past the time when a person with more than 1 partner in their life was sent to a psychiatric ward for evaluation of what is wrong with their mind. Nevertheless, you don’t see a lot of blockbuster movies about “libidinous, creative adventurers”. It is not an open marriage that is pressed into our heads as the ultimate goal to reach via the mediums of church, state, television and magazines. Which kind of seems to suggest Explorers are screwed in more than one way.

On the other hand, the authoress of the article I am quoting from, Sandra Tsing Loh, seems to be determined to prove that marriage was a failure because she is divorcing after 20 years. Honestly? Is that so? 20 years with one person is not enough and a FAIL?

I am torn apart with my own thoughts. Boo seems to be on the verge of announcing/asking me something – he’s been there for the last week or so now. Once he ALMOST got there and backtracked. Now I am invited to dinner on Saturday. By a person that doesn’t like going to restaurants because he loves to cook and doesn’t like groups of people. (This is by no means a derogatory remark, the only reason I go to restaurants is to eat food I wouldn’t know how to cook myself. My idea of a proper romantic date is more along the lines of sitting by the fireplace at an Irish pub with a pint of Guinness.) Maybe we’ll just eat and go back home. But I can think of two questions that he could possibly ask, and I can’t say I know what to answer.

Perhaps I am just making things up and he hasn’t got any ideas along these lines. Thing is, I am definitely not going to suggest either of those things (unless I am very drunk, which isn’t likely to happen soon seeing as I laid off drinking almost completely, one glass of wine or one beer is the limit at the moment). And when I look at the four options that are available in the quoted article, I’m afraid the one that describes me is the Explorer.

As the authoress expands on the idea:

While Explorers tend to be attracted to Explorers, and Builders tend to be attracted to Builders, Directors are attracted to Negotiators, and vice versa.

Exclaims Ellen, slapping the book: “This is why my marriage has been dead for 15 years. I’m an Explorer married to a Builder!” (Ron literally is a builder—like Ian, he crafts wonderful shelves and also, of course, cooks.) But what can Ellen do? Explorer-Explorer tends to be one of the most unstable combinations, whereas Fisher suspects “most of the world’s fifty-year marriages are made by Builders who marry other Builders.”

[...] Some of us stay married because … what else is there? A lonely apartment and a hot plate?

[...] As Fisher suggests, rekindling the romance is, for many of us, biologically unnatural, particularly after the kids come. (Says another friend of mine, about his wife of 23 years: “My heart doesn’t lift when she walks in the room. It sinks, slightly.”) If high-revving women are sexually frustrated, let them have some sort of French arrangement where they have two men, the postfeminist model dad building shelves, cooking bouillabaise, and ignoring them in the home, and the occasional fun-loving boyfriend the kids never see. Alternately, if both spouses find life already rather exhausting, never mind chasing around for sex. Long-married husbands and wives should pleasantly agree to be friends, to set the bedroom aglow at night by the mute opening of separate laptops and just be done with it. More than anything, aside from providing insulation from the world at large, that kind of arrangement could be the perfect way to be left alone.

I know I am overthinking things, but one thing I am quite sure of – I like being on my own from time to time. Like, every other day or so. I like being able to do what I want, when I want, with whom I want, without being asked where I am going, why, what time I am going to come back, etc. I like sitting in front of my computer all evening browsing stupid websites. I like having half an hour of dancing to Janet Jackson because I felt like it. I like listening to music I chose, and some of the music I like is simply not compatible with Boo’s taste. (Did I mention Janet Jackson yet? Well then try Sepultura, Slayer, Ne-Yo, Missy Elliott and Mike Oldfield, too.) Do I like that better than spending the night with Boo? Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t.

This doesn’t really bring me any closer to finding a good answer to the two questions he might possibly ask me. Maybe because as much as I would like to say yes, I know I will have to say no.

But then, he probably won’t ask me any of those questions. Naaaah. Totally impossible.

And you probably have no clue what I am going on about anyway. Well, at least the blog got updated.

I kind of went on a date last night.

Let me explain what I mean. I met up with Ellis, the gorgeous actor/model I mentioned around December. We stayed in touch ever since then and chatted on MSN very often. He’s got a boyfriend and knows I have one. That’s about the only thing that made this feel as if it wasn’t a date.

Ellis loves to touch. He fiddled with my hair, grabbed my hands repeatedly, pulled my nose jokingly. Our legs touched more than once. We arm-wrestled, laughing out loudly, until I remarked “okay, this is enough, now everybody thinks we are on a date”. We were sitting in full light at the biggest cafeteria in town, by the window (so we were seen from both inside and outside). We were not hiding. That would have made it wrong. Hiding. If we were sitting at a dark cafe in the farthest, candle-lit corner. Then it would be wrong. Right?

We kissed on the bridge before going home. When I say we kissed, I mean we pecked each other’s cheeks. Nothing wrong has happened. Nothing forbidden. Not a single thing. I can have friends, right? It’s okay to be two friends who are attracted to each other and sometimes touch each other in a non-sexual way, right? And that are going to the gym together next week, right?

Thing is, Boo and me haven’t ever been to a date like this. Not once. When I met him, we weren’t officially dating, he invited me to dinner at his place, I brought a DVD. That was all. At the second occasion — again, him cooking, me providing entertainment — I kissed him. Half a year later we sleep together, make love together, go out together, spend weekends together, work out together, borrow each other’s clothes, hang on the phone for half an hour if we aren’t spending the evening together, watch DVDs together, get stoned together, listen to the music together, travel together, plan holidays together… But we aren’t seen at the biggest cafe in town, holding hands and laughing with each other in that semi-embarrassed way two people do when they don’t know each other very well yet.

If you can make sense of the mess in my head you’re better than I am, obviously.

Boo has offered to marry me today.

He wasn’t serious. The offer was based on the fact that I sadly admitted liking a song he tortured me with for the last two weeks. Thing is, I know him by now that he likes to say certain things jokingly at first, to test my reaction, and then repeat them again in a more serious way. As for whether this is such case, I do not know (not until I hear about it again), but it made me think: do I want to get married?

I’ve had proposals before, sure. My friend Rude tends to say “maaaarryyyyyy meeeeeeeeee!!!!!!” when other people say “hi”. I also talked to a girlfriend of mine once about getting married when we’re both old and wrinkly. But Boo, actually, is a divorcee. Gay marriage has been legal in the Netherlands for quite a while.

Story developing…

Boo yesterday: “You are the complete opposite of what I imagined I wanted from life, and you make me happier than I imagined possible.”

*

I used to make long lists of things I wanted my men to be, and then I would get what I asked for, with a bonus I didn’t ask for, like alcoholism, wanting an open relationship or being a religious Muslim. So I expanded the lists and expanded until it got past one A4 page and then I crossed it all out and wrote: “I want someone who will make me happy.”

And, for most time, Boo does. True, we have our fights, true, it is rocky and on-off and whatever else, but when it’s on, it’s amazing. Like for the last month. It couldn’t be much better. And there is no “but” this time.

Happy end? I don’t think so. In a way I am ready for a breakup any moment. But after the breakup that started this blog I know whatever happens, I will survive it — and you wouldn’t believe how self-assured that makes me feel. Suddenly I need no more assurances. I’m very secure about myself — as opposed to ourselves. But I don’t need anything anymore. I’m good. Actually? I’m amazing. That’s what we strong, independent women are like (apart from the moments we’re having nervous breakdowns due to family problems and work overload).