It’s been a few days – apologies for the radio silence. In short, I thought it best to wait for the odd bout of suicidal tendency to abate before I felt objective enough to regale this tale.
So, what happened with AF? Well, I’ll tell you. After days of intermittent, non-committal texts and agonising analysis of the meaning of facebook messages, I decided I needed to strap on a pair and say something. The eternal spiralling around each other was getting us nowhere, so in the end I sent an email. A truly epic email. On Thursday morning.
And so it began.
I shan’t provide you will a full transcript, as that would take days, but essentially the key points of my email were thus:
• I accepted that I had, myself, been a cause of much confusion over the course of our convoluted relationship
• I have reached a mindset where I’m done fucking around and want to get my teeth into something real
• I have a nice time with him, but I’m unsure where I stand, and whether he actually does like me, or if he’s just not that into me but hasn’t got the balls to say (I phrased this as ‘is just too nice to say’)
Lovelies, the response was equally epic, and not exactly filled with hugs and puppies.
The main points:
• He’s been confused by what I wanted in the past (sex) and gives kudos for me basically having more balls than him
• He’s not sure if we have that ‘spark’ that means we can be anything more
• He always has ‘an amazing time’ with me, wait for it… ‘sexually’
• He’s far too into self analysis and referencing previous failed relationships and emotional baggage.
He’s just not that into you Ritz. Suck it up and carry on.
But wait… here’s the kicker… (this came later)
‘I really didn’t want to bring age into the equation but I can’t help but feel I might be really into Ritzi in 5 years (by which time I’ll be 60*)’
This is when I went from cool, calm and collected, to seriously fucked off. I ranted, I raved, I fumed. I referenced my very successful friendships that include quite epic age gaps (Maxie, for example; 43, or The Diva; 52 – with whom the conversation never runs dry) and declared that frankly, I don’t know Ritzi in 5 years, I don’t know if she’ll be more or less grounded than Ritzi right now, but whoever she is, I reckon she’d still be pretty miffed at a dude who refused to accept her for who she was 5 years ago, choosing instead to let her deal with half a decade of shit alone before he showed up in time for the finished product.
He backtracked, he apologised, but it’s there in black and white;
AF is into me enough to sleep with me, quite a bit and in many different positions, but he doesn’t actually want to be with me because I dare to be under the age of 30, and frankly, because he just doesn’t like me enough.
What’s really fecking weird, is that after all this, he didn’t stop texting. In fact, he became more attentive than ever before. ‘How were your OU scores Ritzi?’, ‘What are you up to on the weekend Ritzi?’
On Thursday afternoon he told me to forget our serious conversation for a bit and celebrate my OU grades (which are awesome, by the way). I replied that I didn’t think there was anything more to discuss;
‘I’m awesome, just not awesome enough for you. I get it. Sucking it up and moving on.’
He objected to this. I told him whatever his meaning, it had the same outcome, and I’d rather not dwell on it. I thought that was it and then…
‘How are you Ritzi?’, ‘Are you seeing the girls tomorrow?’, ‘HOW did you end up at the King of Malaysia’s birthday party???’ (more on that later)
I tried to be cool, but it was so fucking confusing I breathed a sigh of relief when he sucked it up and said something.
‘I hope you don’t mind me messaging you. If you’d prefer I don’t, I understand. It just seemed weird when we’ve had so much contact recently.’
Not wanting to break up the honesty theme, I replied that actually, I wasn’t sure if I minded, and that I’d been feeling rather shit after being told I basically wasn’t good enough for him, but that I’d be fine because there is plenty of wine in the world.
Then comes back this ridiculous amount of psycho-analysis crap that you wouldn’t actually believe. He’s all confused, he doesn’t know why he always does this, he’s a failure with women and blah blah blah. Well, I’m sorry to clog up the page, but I will treat you with my final response:
‘That message is so wanky it’s just untrue. Now you’re getting so into your own self-psyche analysis you’re just going to make yourself miserable.
The reason we’re in this situation is both our faults. I got into it because I thought you felt the same way. I thought, here’s this guy who of course I fancy, who’s into me, and whose lifestyle slots into my idea of perfect (ie busy but not too busy, so as not to get pissed at how busy I am, and not to need to demand my attention every spare second I have, but good to be around when we are both actually free) and so I thought to myself, why am I actually NOT into this?
Then, obviously, lots of over thinking and typical womanly ‘building things up into other things they’re not’ later, we’re in this craphole.
You don’t get into this situation if you’re just honest with yourself from the start. If you don’t actually like someone, don’t send them random messages of paisley boots on christmas day. You do that with someone you like, because it’s cute and amusing. If you don’t like them, it’s just a cause for confusion. And I know that this whole set up came up because I’d set the precedent for it, because over the last few years I really haven’t wanted anything more from anyone, so it’s understandable that a guy isn’t going to know where he stands with me if he’s been on the receiving end of all that confusion for 5 odd years or however long it is we’ve actually known each other.
Now we’re on the same page, maybe its best to just go back to what we were before, which is just a person the other person texts when they’re drunk or lonely or been screwed over by someone they do actually like. We know its never going to go anywhere, but 5 years is a long time to just fall out of each other’s lives, even if we haven’t really actually known each other until this horrendous conversation.
Sorry if that’s harsh, but otherwise I just think this bullshit is going to drag on and I just want to stop thinking about it and go and buy some shoes with my paycheque from the Sultanah.’
To which I received the appropriate response at last:
‘I can’t exactly argue with that.
You’re quite smart sometimes’
Yes, I am smart AF. I’m too smart for you, and I’m glad this happened so I could realise it. As Blondie McFab quite rightly said over an epic Sunday roast yesterday (a roast which was altogether more fun and filled with free drinks from hot bartenders than the one I’d shared with AF last weekend) you don’t want to have bigger cojones than your man. That’s just weird.
And so, the epic saga comes to an end. Sorry this is the longest blog post in the known universe but it had to be said, and I feel a heck of a lot better now it’s out of me.
It’s worth noting that yesterday I shopped LOTS, so every cloud…
Thanks everyone for being so awesome and for putting up with me ranting on twitter, rants which may or may not have included me telling people to fuck off, and ignoring anyone who dared to try and lend some sympathy. It takes a brave soul to put their fingers through the wire of the cage when there’s a rabid Cortez going wild inside.
Onward and upward, March is almost done and the sun is shining. Let’s see what else 2012 has in store.
*Note – AF is not 55. I’m not that weird. He’s trying, and failing, to be funny.