I’ve Got Big Balls – Polyamory Favors The Bold
In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m kind of a ball busting bitch. On purpose. It’s an integral part of the vetting process, with which I weed out the lame and the halt — or as pertains to socializing with strangers on the internet: the douchebags and the freaks. As a very, VERY strong woman, the only men who can handle me are men at least as strong as I am who know what they want and go the fuck after it when they want it.
Enter Greek A. Expressed interest, kept in touch. Thus, got a number. Again: kept in touch, partly through text but also asked to call, then asked for and got a date. And did that for a week straight. Thus: got three dates and now gets goodnight texts from me, as well as a somewhat more personal connection that is none of your beeswax.
In short: he made up his mind he was going to get to know me, made an effort to do so, and followed the fuck through. This is what I call being a grown-up, sometimes also know as being the proverbial “Real Man.” The only guys who’ve gotten anywhere with me (including The Man who was just as direct, if not more so) were the ones who had the balls to hang in there, make their presence known and get in the ring with me until we either knock each other out or declare a draw.
Making connections on the internet is tenuous at the best of times. Due to the volume of choice social networking and dating sites give, most of us have the attention span of a gnat, me included. Anyone with the slightest personality and good looks is getting bombarded by the rest of the internet. The contenders are many and it requires specific effort to make one’s case as to why anyone should bother with you at all, let alone go through the anxiety triggers of an actual meet, let alone the time and expense of dates.
Those who did not make this effort due to flakiness or laziness: Beardy S and French guy M. Both went for second dates, expressed definite interest, spoke of getting together again for a 3rd…..and crapped out. I played cool. I was cute and fun. I was flirty without being skanky and hadn’t given out a thing yet, insofar as make-out funtime. As I am a grown up and fairly assertive woman, I did my part to initiate contact from time to time and get my own interest out there AND jacked the cleavage to the max, on purpose and everything. Signs were clear on my end, as far as I’m aware.
In short: the only thing left for me to do with either was clout them with a baseball bat or chase, which I don’t fucking do. Screw that — if after a 2nd date with a chick who then initiates contact with “Hey, it was great to see you the other night, had fun winky-face nudge-nudge” isn’t telling you she’d like her bell rung at some point, then you don’t deserve a crack at the bell. Flat out: baby, I’m right here.
Both have drifted off into the ether and good riddance. Three dates with Greek A last week, my own homelife with Joe, and a lunch date tomorrow with Italian A, and probably some more Greek says a full week to me. Italian A has had his own flaky moments over the last few weeks (and seems to expect me to be the one to initiate reminders if we make plans…until today. Good boy.) but he has hung in there and has earned at least a meet.
The Greek’s been told of the Italian. The Italian will be told of the Greek tomorrow. Joe of course, gets told everything there is to tell, within our privacy boundary. And as always: we’ll see how it goes. Work’s ramping up for me, I’ve been fairly scatterbrained and need to work on focus again, and I’ve also fallen into this WEIRD long-distance friendship that makes absolutely no sense….but feels pretty good. Since I can’t even decide how to think of it yet, I’m not going to try to talk about it. But in short, things are hectic as always, and again (as always) mostly in a good way.
Life is complicated enough without people who can’t decide whether to get out there and socialize or not. Being a shitballs crazy Twitterer (thus inherently anti-Facebook. Because fuck Facebook), I’d suggest these fuckers take themselves back there, check “It’s Complicated” in their relationship options, and hope someone over there gives a rat’s ass.
None of this needs to be complicated. In discussing with Joe, deciding to go polyamorus, aside from a few basic guidelines we agreed on, we keep things simple. Because they can be. In discussing with Greek guy A how things work with me and answering his questions, he too saw that aside from the relative strangeness of polyamory (due mainly to its rarity as a social norm), dating doesn’t have to be. The only time things get complicated is when we allow them to be. And if you want to fucking see someone, you find a way to see them. Again: I’m right fucking here.
Finis. Facile. Easy like Sunday morning, baby. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired. Things have gone so easily lately that I’ve been short on sleep. None of your beeswax as to why. But perhaps my smile will say it all.