At a recent friends birthday party, I happened upon his attractive friend. There was instant chemistry, mainly assisted by a roaring fire and copious amounts of alcohol. After a good half an hour flirt, he asked me to the bar. My rubber arm didn’t require much twisting.
Once there however, the night went from normal to strange very quickly: Alice fell down the rabbit hole. He offered me a sample of the illicit drugs he’d been toting around. Now I’m no angel but I also don’t accept MDMA caps from someone who is essentially a complete stranger. However I decided to run with it and let him pour it in my glass of chardie: which I promptly proceeded to pour down the sink of the nearest women’s bathroom without taking a sip.
I’ve since learnt that being high and pretending to be high are two completely different kettle of fish. I don’t think I’ll be winning an Oscar for portrayal of a drug addict anytime soon. I had no idea how someone on caps is supposed to act but I obviously wasn’t doing it. Within a few hours I was blatantly boozed while my tall, handsome drug-dealing pash was clearly off chops.
The birthday party moved back to an apartment in the inner city and before long I was kissing the mysterious stranger. Kissing, and yawning. It was, after all, almost 3 in the morning and I’m not known for my stamina. My wannabe lover enquired as to whether the effects had ‘worn off’, having no idea that they’d never kicked in! He was still clearly relishing the effects of the chemical reactions while I was on my way to the Land of Nod. Not ideal. After a couple of minutes he promptly stood up off the couch and declared that he was leaving to go back out. I had no issues with that, clearly myself wanting to make a dash for the door and my bed some few blocks away. Preferably alone. He walked to the door of the apartment before turning and somewhat dramatically returning to my side where he ever so politely enquired:
Did you want to have sex?
Not your normal invitation. I think he was just trying his luck, of which he didn’t have much. Needless to say he didn’t get lucky that night but I did have a giggle the next morning relaying his proposition to my girlfriends.
That was until I got a text at 8 am asking if I’d care to drop round to his place.
He might have been ridiculous, but least he was a gentleman.
Just before the luxurious summer holiday break, I introduced a friend to work colleague. It went swimmingly at first. Neither of them was taking it too seriously – he was “company” for her.
There were a few road blocks along the way (including, I kid you not, sitting not 50 m from him on a popular Sydney beach while he was on a semi-naked date, only days after being with my friend). Overall, however they remained in “contact” on a regular basis, and I was happy observer and occasional third wheel.
Until it wasn’t. There was no amonosity, it just fizzled. However, now I’m faced with the dilemma: do I have to discard my friendship with the colleague for the sake of my friend.
To answer this age old dilemma, encountered by wing woman everywhere, I asked a panel of my own thoughts. Being a Taurean, this undoubtedly meant a large variety of response ranging from “mates over (their) dates” to “sure, but only professionally, friendship has to go” and everything in between.
The outcome? I have no friggin idea. I see my colleague on a daily basis: we exercise at lunch together. That inevitably leads to conversation about our personal lives. I know a little more than I care to about his personal life including his dating habits. Of which there are many. Similarily, my friend confides in me about men in her orbit.
I’ve worked out the perfect solution. Plead the Fifth Amendment. I say nothing to either about either so neither get updates. Easy.
Silence really is golden, after all.
Apologies for the hiatus. I was, you see, temporarily not single. For someone who writes a blog about the hilariousness, awkwardness and otherwise fabulousness that it is to be solo, suddenly getting a boyfriend puts a little spanner in the works.
It was the age old story: boy knows girls for 10 years. Both become single. Boy asks girl out and, despite having him firmly in the friend zone for a decade, girl agrees to be in a relationship. Almost instantaneously. A week before he leaves for three months abroad.
So, maybe not the ideal start to a relationship. I really should have cottoned on to our incompatibility after realising that there was a reason he had been friend zoned since first year of university. But, I yielded to his requests to “go steady”. I’m not proud of it but I liked the attention; it was nice to be wanted. It was nicer to be talked about by our mutual friends: our union caused quite the stir.
After a few months talking on the phone, receiving extravagant posies of flowers and French champagne on Valentines Day, I flew interstate to meet him. It was a bizarre 5 day reunion. I was almost sick on the plane ride over. We’d decided to wait to get jiggy until we met again, all very romantic. Turns out, if you haven’t wanted to sleep with someone in 10 years of knowing them, there’s probably a reason. We had less chemistry than oil and water. It just didn’t work, at all. While I’m the first to concede that sex isn’t the be all and end all in a relationship (I should know, my first boyfriend is gay) it isn’t great when you aren’t wanting to rip each others clothes off within the first 4 months.
The decision was made for me. After we returned home and settled into normality with my new man home, I realised how much physical compatibility was critical to a relationship. Within 11 days I was having the chat and ending it. I cried for about an hour, then hardened up. I haven’t come this far to be with someone who the thought of being intimate with excited me as much as having to pumice my feet.
Lesson learned: once in the friend zone, it’s just not worth letting them cross over into lovers.
Alone again, naturally.