Alone and barely breathing...

Saturday night, I hit my favorite club.

Before that, though, I was doing my usual: hanging with a friend and marathoning whatever TV show we had decided on (this time it was "Father Ted", which is an excellent BBC comedy). We made pizzas, me working my mad stylings on some ground turkey for his sausage needs.

Which sounded really gay. Yes, I know. I bring the funk.

Pizza was a success, wonderfully good.

And afterwards, I stepped into his bathroom to play what I call "Pretty, Pretty Princess". This is the fifteen minutes to an hour+ girls spend in the restroom getting "done up" for the evening. He lives significantly closer to the club I chose than I do, so I talked him into it. Which, admittedly, was pretty easy.

We've been platonic friends for over a year now, spending time together about once every week or two. He hosted me weekly during my ten month couch-surfing expedition, and it has been perfectly without any push or tension towards more than what we have.

Doing my part, I've kept it at jeans and t-shirt level, no make-up, hair usually pulled back.

So I go into his bathroom in casual gear, plain-faced, then come out in a mini-dress, sexy hair, and club make-up.

And he was perfectly cool with it.

Drove over to the club, chatted with the valet, backed myself into my usual spot. My club friend from the previous Friday was already in his usual spot next to mine, a song I love blasting from his stereo- on the mix CD he made for me.

Walked past the door guy with a smile and a wave, my club friend guest-listed me at the inside door.

And then I hit the floor.

Glorious. It was such a perfect night for dancing, the floor was recently cleaned which made every move smooth and perfect. Friends I had texted earlier in the week to harass them out started arriving, quick reunions then back to the music.

Unfortunately, one of those friends, someone I've been quite happily platonic with for about four years now, had suddenly determined I was now desirable. Too-close hugs, roaming eyes, extended touching, excessive (for him) complimenting.

Awkwardness, on my part, ensued. Untangled limbs, edging away. It was managed, as much as it could be.

Another friend brought her date from a previous club.

I had told her to bring him, as we had been discussing dance styles over time within a particular club circuit, and how one could track the music, club, and what time the person entered the scene based on how they danced. He is a dancer, salsa, swing, ballroom. Actually straight, suprisingly, and not feminine at all.

What was even more surprising, occurred at the end of the evening when he hugged me goodbye, pulling me against his hard body by wrapping one arm around my waist and yanking, almost like he was in the middle of a tango. I began to suspect that my friend wasn't his date, but their body language from earlier illustrated private physical intimacy, so I dismissed my suspicion.

And dismissed the idea that him touching me all night, bumping into me, leaning into me, brushing shoulders, was not because of trying to be heard over loud music, but him maintaining physical contact out of interest.

This all happened, of course, after I told her to give him my number so I could text him when I went out clubbing. He wants to learn how to dance the style I do, and there's not a lot of people better to learn from, I will admit.

So he texted me today, to find out if I would take him shopping, get him the right wardrobe for the clubs.

I couldn't... I just kept thinking back to what GV8 told me once, that he wasn't going to give me the play book to figuring him out, that if we fit together, we'd do so naturally, without me shaping to fit him.

I've been using that more often lately. I'm usually so straightforward with my communication, but it really is frustrating to constantly have to be feeding the men around me the tools they need to, essentially, manage my attraction for them.

I want them to be able to do it on their own, from their own observation of me and their own intelligence, like GV8 did.

I'm not talking about not sharing my emotions, making a man figure out what I'm mad about and how to scramble about and fix it, but simply how to gain my attention in the first place.

So I kept texting light and minimal on my end, watching to see what he would do.

Here's our text message series from this afternoon. My notes are in bold, so you all can enjoy(?) how my brain works.

H: "It's ******. ******'s friend. I got your number from her. I'm think of going shopping for some newer stuff to wear to the clubs. Wanna help out?
At this point, I still thought he was seeing my friend. Not very observant of me.

V: Sure!

H: sweet cause I have no idea where to go. we used to look down on ********, but I'm not sure if it's still like that.
Wait, wait, why are we suddenly dropping our punctuation and capitalization at the beginning of sentences? Please tell me this isn't going to be another guy who doesn't pick up on my near perfect texts and can't conform to my texts in a sort of mimic like body language. At least I don't have to worry about him being interested in me, since he's seeing my friend.

H: do you live locally?
Ah, yeah. There went the caps.

V: ***********

H: o ok that's not bad. I'm right next to ******. where's a good place to shop?
And he's lost his "h" in "oh". That's going to drive me insane if he keeps it up (there is a non-anal reason for this).

V: There's some places in Hollywood, one in OC, another in HB.

H: I'm too familiar with hollywood's shops but I remember the ***** in HB. whatever outfits I end up with need to be sexy :)
You need to be sexy???? What guy says that? What do I even say to that? And the emoticon?

V: Sexy is relative to what type of girl you want to attract.

H: I trust your judgement :)
Uh... wait. Is he inferring that the type of girl he wants to attract is my kind? (reluctant understanding begins to dawn)

H: but preferably the fun ones

V: I dunno. Not a lot of girls like fun these days.
Must... insert... teasing. Must... hope... he... picks... up... on... this... and turns this conversation into something that isn't so boringly generic.

H: their loss i guess cause I like to have fun and in as many ways as I can find :)
...I suddenly hate my life. I like having fun and doing fun things and I love to laugh omg. Puppies are cute. And did he just toss in an innuendo at the end of that?

Which continued into a boring bit about money to spend and clothes he needed to get, which shifted into a logistics of our relative locations and where we needed to shop, which, of course, shifted into what he does for a living, and how he met my friend. I assumed it was because they work in the same field, but he said...

H: I met her when I was riding my harley with some friends which happened to live next door to her. she came out riding with us after that and we became friends
Huh. Math. She lives on the beach. Her neighbors to the south are hot beach guys, loaded, lazy, and doing lines of coke way too often. Did he just raise his status?

V: Ah, sweet.
I have no comment.

H: yeah, she's a good friend :) never short on cool things to check out. like clubs with cute girls :)
Fuck. Friend. Fuck. Lame line about cute kids in clubs, directed at me. Fuck.

V: Yeah, I really don't spend enough time with her.
Um, let's focus on... not me.

H: what clubs are you going to hit this week/weekend?

V: None, too busy. I'll be at ***** next weekend, though.

H: I might be riding to yuma for a kids charity this weekend. what else do you do for fun?
Well, now we've established he's a "good guy", he "likes kids", and he's "adventurous". With one activity. If only I liked good guys. Or other people's kids. What's with the generic question?

Insert discussion about hobbies here. One of my favorite activities that came up was, of course, driving.

H: ever ridden on a motorcycle?
Oh, I know where this is going.

H: I know some kick ass places up and down the coast. I've seen every mile of coastline from san diego to the middle of oregon.
Which is pretty cool.

V: Lucky. I'd love to have the time and money to do that.
Generic comment is generic.

H: well when you have time I'll take you to a spot I like. get to go check out the tide pools

H: we can ride the bike if the weather is nice enough. I'll have to see if I have a helmet that fits you.
Called it. Clinging to his back as his powerful metal steed propels us up the coast for a romantic beach trip, complete with tide pools while he establishes his rebellious masculinity with his control of his motorcycle.

Trail off into reminders, once he asked, that I was already busy this weekend.

I haven't re-read the above, but I likely sound like a stuck-up bitch. My mental tone isn't as derisive as it sounds, really. Just... kinda bored, kinda leaning back, looking at my phone going off, groaning slightly as I feel vaguely like an idiot for dismissing him and not guarding against him like I normally would if I hadn't thought he was with my friend.

It made me feel... just, myeh. Isolated. That feeling has passed, mostly. But when I finally ended the conversation with this guy, I was frustrated and feeling so socially abnormal.

I want to say I'm not supposed to think like this, that I'm not supposed to be analyzing the behaviors of the men around me and breaking them down into little parts (most of which I did not include in the above, as that would take too long and I'm a major over analyzer).

Having this guy do this... I felt so out of sync with my age group, so alien. I'm passing as standardly attractive now, and that means socially standard men, which means I'm left feeling like an oddball when "normal" guys hit on me.

So I texted Roman to get on IM so I could bask in the glory of his equally abnormal masculinity. Get back to baseline of talking with someone whose company and banter I enjoy. Even though, as I was bitching about my feelings of isolation brought on by the text conversation above, he totally smacked me down in his own way.

Which is what he does.

But at the same time, I'm left feeling like people expect me to be grateful for male attention. That I should be just happy as a clam. However happy that is.

I can't make myself feel glad of this. Reminds me of when I was younger, forced into going to church with my family, going to a youth group that was part of the church, staring sullenly at my peers while they pray and sing, while the youth leader would tell me the way I should be, what I should believe, and how happy I should feel that God loves me.

In a room full of people, people willing to listen and discuss, but none of them willing to understand or accept, viewing me through the light they choose, not caring that the light doesn't fit me. I'm not who they so desperately want me to be, if only to stay within what they deem okay.

I'm supposed to be some sort of male-interest Buddha, able to easily deflect desire, able to handle situations that arise, however uncomfortable they may be, constantly forgiving of transgressions and totally understanding of fumbles.

But I'm not. I'm a just girl, and experience has given me certain expectations. I bring certain qualities, good and bad, to my partners, just as they bring good and bad qualities to me. I will get frustrated, I will feel put out when yet another man steps outside of behavior I am comfortable with.

And I will feel lonely when I come back to my apartment and realize that I've opened up to so many people, but never enough. That I'm always guarding myself.

A bit of an emo post tonight. I'm much too tired to attempt to think.

C is already passed out beside me, tangled up in my blankets. It's probably time I joined her.