Hypocritically Spontaneous

Sep 5, 2013 by

          Friends, I’ve been preaching girlfriend material all summer. I’ve presented myself appropriately while out, I’ve kept my communication with guys PG, and I’ve sealed my legs shut (not that I’ve ever really had a problem doing so). Contrarily, last night, I did not act like girlfriend material. My clothes were haphazardly tossed aside. My legs were widely spread. My rules were temporarily nonexistent.



Three Days Earlier

          “Do you think it’s bad if I have more peanut butter?” I asked Olivia.

          “No. Why would it be bad?” she responded curiously.

          “I had a pretty big scoop, and I’m trying to eat it sparingly, but I texted [the guy from Niagara] today, and the content was far from girlfriend material,” I said, justifying my higher than normal peanut butter consumption.

          “Oh, girl,” she started in a serious tone, “you should eat the whole damn jar.”




          I’ve been in desperate need of both spontaneity and boy-boredom relief. On Sunday, I decided that it was time to break the dating monotony. Since the guy from Niagara is the last guy that I’ve acted impulsively with, I knew that he was a promising resource. I reached for my phone, making my intentions clear without being explicit, purposely inserting the word “spontaneous” into my text, as if that automatically ensured it.

          When I clicked send, regret immediately set in. I felt as though I had erased months of progress toward being girlfriend material. (Note: The introspective question, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” should be used wisely. Yes, it was my answer to this question that ultimately led to that text.) It’s no wonder I’m single, I thought. I was presenting myself as someone who should be. I might as well have texted every guy in existence, “I don’t deserve a boyfriend.” I was settling for less than what I wanted with someone that I had lost interest in months ago. Cell phones should have an instant recall button for that moment you’re watching a text go through and you can’t do anything to stop it. Recall would have been a lot more effective than yelling, “No, no, no, no, no! What the fuck is happening?” before I saw that taunting, “Message sent,” appear across the screen. Do you know what “message sent” is code for? “Congratulations, dumbass!”

          The resultant guilt was instant. That text did not reflect the image I had spent this summer carefully cultivating. It projected the exact opposite. Frustrated with myself, I headed downtown, leaving my phone at home. Obviously, my cooch and my cell needed some space. The prior was using the latter against my best interests. In light of my cognitive dissonance, when he responded, I planned to tell him to please disregard my previous text. I was actually going to use the words, “please disregard.”

          Yeah, right. I got an equally flirtatious text back that played on exactly what I had been craving, making spontaneity the theme of our insinuative exchange. You try disregarding that. My head reverted right back to the mindset that prompted my text in the first place: fuck being girlfriend material. I was taking my life back to Happiness Tip #1; I was letting myself go. However, I needed some ground rules. (I know; I’m oh-so-good at letting go.)  I knew what seeing this guy would entail, and I had to be sure that I was emotionally mature enough to handle it. I reflected on the circumstances:

          Considering that we never reconnected after our last encounter four years prior, I didn’t expect to hear from him after Niagara. I knew when I chose to stay behind with him in that club that I was opting for impulsiveness with the understanding that this guy owed me nothing: no text, no call, no follow-up. I didn’t care. The Happiness Experiment was just getting exciting. Although no one knew about it at the time, it was already the premise behind my decisions. Drunk as shit, I was still thinking clearly enough to remind myself to stop feeling guilty and do what I wanted to do. I parted from my lovingly protective friends, and spent the night with a guy I barely knew. Let’s just say it was fun.

          To my surprise, the next day, I got a text. (To which I stupidly responded flirtatiously. I now know better. Flirtatious texts are absolutely not girlfriend material. That is, until I am someone’s girlfriend, at which point I get to be as flirtatious as I’d like.) For the next few days, I received a text here or there. Within less than a week, they stopped. I was confused. In retrospect, I don’t know what I could have possibly been confused about: guy sees girl and girl is easy, so guy isn’t interested – at least, not interested in what she’s interested in. Simple.

          I’m not going to lie to spare my pride. Had the guy from Niagara wanted to date me, I definitely would have dated him. I would have wanted to see if he was boyfriend material. I was intrigued. What girl wouldn’t be? I bumped into a guy I hadn’t seen in four years in a city that neither of us lives in, in a club when I don’t even club, on a night that I almost skipped out on. The factors that made us almost unknowingly miss each other created an allure. Regardless, no matter how cute the girl-randomly-reencounters-guy story could have been, it wasn’t going to be my story. Guys get shit on by some girls simply for having different interests. I was not going to be one of those girls. I quickly became disinterested as well. After all, in the grand scheme of my life, he was only one night. The summer came and went, turning him into a distant memory. He became no more than a marker for the last time that I presented myself foolishly to a guy.

          Now, just over four months later, I’ve come a long way from the stupid chick who thought the guy she wrapped her legs around could have been equally intrigued by a chance meeting. Since then, I’ve become more realistic with regard to guys. I’ve developed more confidence. I’ve determined what I want. Yet, unexpectedly, on Sunday, my mind wandered back to him. My recently persistent urges to do something spontaneous led me there. I wanted a hot night, but I wanted it without any rekindled interest attached. This guy is not my guy. Before I could have my fun, I needed to make that clear. It was necessary to get a few things straight. My internal lecture began:

This would not be a date.

          I refused to define whatever this was with a label.

He and I would be on level playing field.

          I’m competitive. I don’t like to feel like a guy is winning me. Let’s be honest, prior to seeing this guy yesterday, I had already decided that it was allowable for me to have sex with him. If I wanted to while I was with him, I had my own permission. Yeah, he’d win, but I’d win too.

I would still be girlfriend material.

          Until recently, I thought that fucking a guy who’s not your boyfriend and getting a boyfriend were mutually exclusive. Now, I’m of the opinion that they’re only mutually exclusive if the guy that you’re casually having sex with and the guy that you want a relationship with are the same guy. This was not the case. Therefore, this would not mean that I’m not girlfriend material in general. It would just mean that I wouldn’t be girlfriend material from his perspective. I was fine with that. I wasn’t looking for this guy to be my boyfriend, so having sex with him or not having sex with him would have absolutely no impact on my relationship status. He was my loophole. I gave myself the go ahead to do what I wanted.

Casual sex would not lead to a relationship.

          This was to be engraved in the forefront of my mind. Love with a Chance of Drowning is nothing but a beautiful exception to the rule. (I should have just walked over to Chapters on Sunday to read this book. That story has the potential to give me a better high than sex. My need for spontaneity would have been virtually fulfilled. – Whatevs, I got some real life spontaneity instead.) I was not to buy into that. I was to separate sex and my boyfriend search. Although I probably couldn’t have done this a few months ago, I felt that I was emotionally mature enough to successfully do this now.

          While with him last night, I was certain of that maturity when I told him about The Happiness Experiment, placing a mental divider between him and the guys I categorize as boyfriend material. I do not tell guys that I’m interested in dating about The Happiness Experiment. I want them to get to know me in person rather than through my blog. The Happiness Experiment would give guys an unfair advantage of having access to all of my recent history. Not cool. On the contrary, I shamelessly tell acquaintances, friends, and the entire online world about The Happiness Experiment. Telling him secured his spot somewhere in between these social categories, keeping him off of my currently blank list of potential Prince Charmings. (Dear Prince Charming, you are really fucking good at hide and seek.)

          P.S. He thought it was hot that I had started a blog. He found it ambitious. This makes me feel more relaxed about the moment when I have to tell my future Prince Charming about it, followed by the FYI that I’ve likely already blogged about him and will continue to do so.




          Still unsure of whether or not seeing this guy was in favour of The Happiness Experiment, I initiated plans. My friggin’ happiness experiment catch 22s haunt my decisions. I originally reasoned that this was against The Happiness Experiment, because I was setting my standards aside. However, it could be acceptable, because I was doing what I wanted to do, which has always been the main purpose of The Happiness Experiment. In its most basic form, The Happiness Experiment started as a mantra to use when I felt guilty. Therefore, I decided that this was more for it than against it, though I switched sides on the internal debate many times. I was absolutely repeating “happiness experiment” in my head while with him. He echoed my thoughts whenever I was hesitant, making me laugh because I knew a guy would use this on me one day. Of course, he would be that guy. We always play off each other well.

          We walked by the water before sitting under a tree with a bottle of wine; which, I must admit, impressed me. I like simple but different. Surprisingly, we talked for a while without even a kiss. It was nice. It’s been five years since the summer that I met this guy, and I can finally say that I know a little bit about him. During the few times that we’ve seen each other in that time span, I’ve always felt comfortable around him (he’s respectful and his annoyingly cute charm gets me every goddamn time), but I had never had a real conversation with him. I have to say, though he’s not in the boyfriend running, he exceeded my expectations for a casual sex candidate from the moment he suggested the walk and wine. Yes, I even have standards for this, and I’d say that I’m doing a pretty damn good job of surpassing them. He’s easy to hangout with. Aside from the hand holding, kissing, and etcetera, I felt like I was chilling with one of my guy friends, catching up with someone I already knew. Now, if only I could go from DTAF (Down To Almost Fuck) to DTF him. (There were technical difficulties. I’d like to sarcastically thank my recent conservative behaviour for turning something pleasurable into something too painful to execute, figuratively turning me back into a virgin and completely killing my game. Evidently, being girlfriend material has literally prevented me from being screwed over. #sexuallyfrustrated)

          In these types of situations, the guy tends to get a bad reputation for being an inconsiderate asshole, while the girl is a slut. I don’t play into such stigmas. Neither assumption could be further from the truth. For the record, based on the little time I’ve spent with him, this guy seems pretty cool. Meanwhile, I am far from slutty (although, my friends can attest to the fact that, at points of extreme dry spells, I’ve not-so-jokingly wished aloud that I was). Furthermore, I am not some poor girl being used, and he is not some douche taking advantage of me. We were mutually interested in the same thing, so we went for it. There is nothing wrong with having a little fun in between the bore that is dating.

Happiness Tip: Find your loophole.

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