When your twenty-seven-year-old friend, who just had a baby and doesn’t actually know which guy is the father sits you down and demands that “you know your worth and add tax” it’s important to listen. It’s hard to be a twenty-something, on the later end, who’s romantic line-up consists of one-night stands, two boys from camp, and a six week relationship of smoking weed and sex four times a week. You begin to question if you’ll ever find any type of companionship or someone who just wants to have sex and go on dates. Let’s just be thankful I’m not a virgin, fuck that. I am a cool, down-to-earth twenty-seven-year-old with double D breasts, and an attitude that could bring anyone out of the dark and into the light. I am a fucking catch, and I’m here to tell you that something is wrong in this world and it’s definitely not me.
As a restaurant manager I work with a variety of people, men, women, gays, ballerinas, students, drug dealers, foreigners and more often than not people who are working beneath their pay grade. We all get each other and the camaraderie amongst us is honest. We may work at the same restaurant but we are all extremely different and each have varying needs. What we do have in common is our shared lack of true love and relationship status. Out of the fifteen relatively attractive group of servers I work with, five of them are in committed relationships; that is one-third of our employees. It’s interesting to see these people work hard, talk about feelings and their lives and how so many of us are alone. I’ve read countless articles about our generation having the least amount of sex in sixty years, or why as millennials we’re having a hard time falling in love. How is it that we live in such a time that ghosting is one, a word, and two, something that is done so casually. If you’re not familiar with ghosting, sadly it is something that has become quite the norm amongst the millennial generation; it’s when two people are talking maybe even gone on a few dates, maybe even had sex, when one person disappears. Whether that is by a complete stop in communication, defriending, unmatching, blocking, however they see fit, communication ceases to exist as if their found interest never happened.
The last six weeks of my life have been consumed over lust. I would close my restaurant on any given night and walk the thirty steps next door to where my, lose term, friend inhabited. Each time was basically the same, he would greet me at the door, maybe hug, go upstairs to his beautiful condo, pack a bowl or two, watch an episode of Seinfeld or Curb Your Enthusiasm, maybe catch up on some John Oliver, or play some music, he had great taste in music, and discuss life. It always felt like a mini date, curating topics on how we felt that day, what issues we wanted to delve into, personal or social. It was a gradual reveal of our deepest secrets or emotions. We were real with each other, it was refreshing. Once our lips ran dry of the daily emotions, or we knocked knees or stroked the right shoulder it was a sign to move on to the fun stuff, sex. We’d kiss, maybe start on the couch, maybe stand and make out, moving gradually to the bed or the couch.
Our positions were always changing, it was exciting to say the least. We were good with each other, our rapport was honest, even in bed, and we knew how to give each other exactly what the other wanted. It was wonderful, a breath of fresh air. After we both came…saw, and conquered, sometimes I would crash and sleep over but other times I would pop-up, dress myself, give a kiss goodbye and off I’d go. Everything was working out wonderfully until I asked him out on a date, super casual, he loves music and I love Spanish guitar so I invited him to watch a little flamenco. He couldn’t come, a barrage of excuses came flowing through imessage and I decided I didn’t care, I just wanted to go. As our days turned into weeks, I recognized his inability or more like desire to do anything social with me.
Our conversation grew in the confines of his condo, but when I brought up the idea of leaving, it turned into excuses and a warrant of unnecessary anxiety. I didn’t understand. We were both past the point in our relationship of a booty-call and this couldn’t be defined as a one-night stand; so why couldn’t he move forward with me?
How can we have such great sex and conversation and not leave his condo? It made no sense. I persisted, “why can’t we walk to an ice cream shop, eat the ice cream and then come back and have sex?” It seemed like a fair proposition. I even said the words, “I don’t want you to be my boyfriend, I just want to leave your cave.” He continued the argument… of leaving his apartment… with the notion of maintaining his status of being single. Why did I have to be the one to tell him that you can be single and still date, in fact, that’s like the best way to be single. Who the fuck wants to have an overwhelming amount of one-night stands? I was already giving him exactly what he needed, a limited amount of companionship and a lot of sex. Why couldn’t he compromise? Was he being selfish, was I?
I’m honestly not sure, he told me he didn’t want to be in a relationship… but sorry to break it to you but I was sleeping over, had a toothbrush and was hanging out almost four times a week, even if we weren’t dating we had some type of relationship. Was it a rebound, possibly, but even if it was, why was he incapable of giving me any type of chance? And that’s what this is all about, opportunity.
As any story goes in the era of ghosting, snapchat, texting, and dating apps, it all leads to one thing; he messaged my friend on Tinder. Not only my friend, but a coworker who he probably recognized from my restaurant. Let me tell you, I was not asking for much, I was already probably giving him too much of my time and attention, and in return I asked for a date, or a casual night at a bar listening to music we’d both enjoy. Well then he goes and ruins it all by messaging her.
Funny enough, she didn’t even message him back because she recognized him as the guy I’ve been sleeping with. To make our complicated relationship less complicated I decided to go against all of my sexual needs and desires, my lust and my crush, my time spent and my heart hurting, and to go against all that I have been taught by my millennial confidants, I told him the truth. I knew my worth and was worthy of more than whatever this “relationship” had turned into. Why does the seemingly uncomplicated beginnings always have to turn into complicated? I am not the Carrie Bradshaw or the Lena Dunham, I’m not even the voice of my generation, I am just a normal girl looking for a little more. I couldn’t go on as it was, and there was and rarely is no chance of going backwards.
This story is not only about opportunity and progression of what the heart yearns for, but this is also a story about knowing your limits and being strong enough to stop while your ahead and to value your emotions and needs. I could have continued sneaking into his apartment building late at night and honestly enjoying our time together, but for what? To be used for purposes that would lead nowhere, for getting more attached to something that didn’t exist, and for putting my true efforts into a bottomless pit of lust and deprivation. We are better than that, and I motion to move past the confines of the millennial expectations and be honest with ourselves and our needs; as I say preach.