There can only be one..

I was reading in the paper about open relationships and started wondering about love and monogamy. Yeah, right, I know.

It I think about romantic love, my thoughts immediately go to Married Friend #1 and her husband. I have never seen a couple like them. They are truly perfect. They fancy each other's pants off all the time, have fun together, can't be apart for more than 12 hours, and, yet, they have their own lives, friends, interests. I saw them a few months back and this vision plunged me into major self-questioning.
So, this is my dilemma today: is love 100% all-encompassing, can't-live-without-you, can't-fancy-anybody-else, or does it allow room for other feelings? To be brutal, is love incompatible with anything else but monogamy?

I know what Married Friend #1 would say, but I am also aware of how lucky she is for having found her soul mate.
Less clear would be Best Friend's response, although I cannot imagine her condoning Young Werther's affairs..
I also know what The Man's point of view (and how it evolved through time).

How do I view it?
I have never judged and never asked to be judged. And yet, I am torn.
Science tells us that we cannot be in love for a very long time (our brains are not designed to sustain the hormones for more than a couple of years), that we were not originally meant to live for 80-90 years (and therefore 50-60 years with the same person) and genetic diversity (ie, cheating) is good for the survival of the species.
However.. however, something inside me tells me that love does not allow for shortcuts. Love means daily joy and happiness, commitment and promises, complete trust and.. well jumping with your eyes closed, hoping that you are not going to get too hurt when you land.

Maybe, maybe, it is just a matter of time. And by that I mean that relationships have an expiry date. Some are packed with top-notch preservatives and last a lifetime. Some have a shelf-life of a couple of years. Maybe, we should stop saying 'forever' and just take it as it comes. I just don't know how easy it is to smell the rot. To stop scraping the mould off, ditch the whole thing and start fresh. Does that mean that we should not make plans, buy houses, have children? No, not if it feels right. If it feels right at that very moment. If, as a couple and an individual, you have no choice. And then again, jump and hope.

Enough. Pass the bucket.

Is life unfair?

How would you explain to a child in front of a big, tall Christmas tree in a shopping mall that all those presents underneath it are not for them? That Santa Clause has different plans, and that they have to wait and be patient in order to receive the presents they asked for.

Today Male Friend #1 reminded me that life isn't always fair.
Is it really the case? Or maybe we are so busy looking at the Christmas tree we forget what it was that we wanted in the first place.
Regardless of what we are being sold, we can't have it all. So, we have to prioritize. Most importantly, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And if you keep losing, instead of crying your days away, there are a few options you may want to consider:
- you are picking all the wrong battles
- you are not fighting with the right gear
- you are spread on too many fronts.

I do not know if life is unfair.
I do know that you need a damn' good marketing plan to get through it!

Skinny legs

Last night I went to a gig where the audience were unexpectedly young. Very young. Painfully young. But what caught my attention was that all the guys looked the same. Seriously, they were all skinny, generally not too tall, with either a beard or glasses, or both. Several wore checked shirts (yes, really), all sported drainpipes and the same indie-but-also-preppy intellectual look.. My fault for liking an 80s-inspired disco band, I suppose.

But, overall, it made me smile. A lot. For two reasons.
One, it reminded me of my own late teens-early 20s, of all the boys I liked or went out with who looked exactly like that.
Two, it reminded me of my eternal dilemma between skinny guys and broad-shouldered men.
I am boring in the way that I have a type. Actually two types, very different types, at either end of the spectrum, Ryan Adams vs Johnny Wilkinson. But more of that another time.

Actually, it also reminded me of English Rose, who likes 'pretty boys'. She would have had a field day!
Tomorrow is just a song away, song away, song away..

Let's get physical

Having survived the girly day I had yesterday (and in case you are wondering, the post has mysteriously disappeared), I am back to my normal self. Even better, my handy self.
I am spending the rest of the week building furniture. Well, I am mainly helping out the carpenter, unloading crates, cleaning wood, carrying pieces of wardrobes around, drilling doors in place. I have already managed to hurt my knuckles and my back is not exactly in top form, but I am in a fantastic mood and having a lot of fun! And at night I am sleeping like a baby.
It is amazing how a smart-ass brainy city EI like me can benefit from some good old physical activity. More so, proper handy work with a purpose: to build something with your own tiny fingers. Just concentrating on the job (mainly to avoid chopping one's extremities off) and letting everything else slip by.

This much I have learned today: every now and again, get over yourself, and do something useful. Everything will slot into prospective.

A possible solution?

I have been thinking about this for a while now, and somehow I thought it made sense.
In this complicated world, where divorce is so common and the average marriage doesn't seem to last that long, isn't friendship a better deal?
Especially if you live somewhere where same-sex marriages are legally recognized, why not tie the knot with your closest friend?

I have indeed discussed this with Best Friend, and I couldn't see a fault in my argument.
We love and trust each other unconditionally. We just need a quick look in the eyes to know exactly what is on our mind. We can spend days on the sofa reading books and listening to music without feeling the need to interrupt with inane questions. On the other hand, we can talk for nights and never feel tired (well, almost). We share numerous interests, have a similar taste in pretty much everything, we have a lot of fun together.

If we were to get married, we could build a home together, stable financial assets, car, pets, records to share. Easy. No danger of splitting up. We would clearly have an open bedroom policy, that is to say we would have separate bedrooms and separate sex lives (we both like men too much to do otherwise). No jealousy, no problem.

I thought I had it in the bag. Until she pointed out that a typical week together involves hundreds of cigarettes, thousands units of alcohol and millions calories. As she summarized it, we would shortly be two fat alcoholics with pulmonary emphysema.

So, back to square one. Damn!

Of ducks and swans

British researchers have recently discovered that, despite common knowledge, swans do not mate for life. Returning from their migration, a couple paired up with different partners, and, as civilised modern people do, ended up living on other sides of the same lake. It doesn't end here. A study from the University of Melbourne, Australia, has demonstrated that infidelity is rife among black swans, with one in six cygnets raised by a pair being illegitimate.
Ducks, on the other hand, pair up about now (end of February/beginning of March), and, quite openly, their bond lasts a year only. New year, new friends.

Now, from some bizarre reasons that I am not going to indulge you in, I am actually quite experienced in both swans and ducks. In one of my past lives, I inherited a pair of black swans, swimming happily in the pond at the back of my house, which they shared with countless wild ducks.

Probably because they didn't have much choice (their wings had been clipped), the cob and pen, George and Georgina, were inseparable. A symbol of domestic bliss, they used to build a nest every year (the poor things never managed to have any offspring), shared the food I gave them, with George the gentleman keeping away the ducks so that Georgina could eat in peace, and often enough started that bizarre neck-entwining dance that ended up with... well, sex. Unfortunately one day the pen died in mysterious circumstances.. And that's when I had my suspicions, which are now corroborated by science. George never looked as happy as during his time as a bachelor. He was the king of the water. Finally first to reach the corn, finally the only one I stopped to talk to, finally undisturbed when sleeping on the grass. It was heaven.. until a fox had the best (and most) of him.

At the same time, the yearly duck encounters were incredibly sweet. Those eight months together were short, but intense. During the spring, they were at it all the time, keeping me awake night after night. And they went on and on until the cutest ducklings appeared in the summer.

So, where on earth am I going with this ornithological digression?
Realization number four.
Life is too short for sticking to the rules. Do whatever works for you, whatever makes you happy. Life-long partnership, yearly mating, once in a lifetime, unconditional love, sex, no sex.. anything goes, as long as it is in your nature.
And don't believe in what you see. There is usually a lot more behind domestic bliss..

Some questions should never be asked

Realization number three.
Sometimes you are much better off keeping your mouth shut.
Thinking, overthinking, rationalizing, deconstructing, investigating.. is it really a good plan when dealing with relationships?

I have made this mistake several times. Specifically, I asked men about 'the rules of engagement'. Most importantly, I asked way too early. And always got the same horrified reaction.
One guy had such a terrified look (as if a train was just about to hit him), I can still remember it to this day. He muttered that he was too drunk to answer and couldn't possibly get off the taxi any faster.
Another one completely misunderstood the question and started talking about holding hands in public, sharing toothbrushes (eeww) and who should take out the trash.
I finally realized how much men hate this issue when discussing it with Male Friend #1. Even if it wasn't directed to him, he clearly showed a lot of discomfort at the idea of a fellow male being questioned on the spot. And right out wondered if I had lost my mind.

What is so taboo about 'the rules of engagement'? Isn't it fair to try and find out where you are in a relationship? If it is moving forward or not? If they see you as a friend or a foe? Or is it just admitting that you are totally clueless, and therefore need a road map to sanity? Is it some kind of female overcommunication instinct?

This much I have learned today.
Some answers are just too uncomfortable for the questioner and the questioned. If in doubt, just leave it, it is a lot safer.

A story - realization number two

Recently Single Friend #1 went to a fairly posh soiree. She was feeling quite confident, relaxed and pretty hot. While there, she received the attentions of not one, but three men. One younger than her, one the same age, one older (yeah, the Goldilocks of dating..).

The young guy flirted with her by text all night long.
The older man was kind and gentleman-y and kept buying her drinks.
Her contemporary engaged her in a deep and entertaining conversation.
Plenty of choice, uh?
Well, to her surprise she ended up home on her own. Not even a lift back or a goodnight kiss. Nothing.
They all declared their everlasting friendship, but nothing more.

The following day, she was in tears. 'What is wrong with me?' - she kept asking - How could this happen? If another guy tells me how wonderful I am and how happy I should be.. with somebody else, I am going to punch him in the face!'
Given my obvious shortcomings in the advice department, all I could do was to keep refilling her wine glass and light cigarettes.
But Married Friend #1, a wise and wonderful creature, came up with some interesting theories. 'These guys take themselves out of the picture before the game even starts - she confidently stated - They know they don't measure up and therefore leave the arena to avoid making mistakes and being ditched.'

No way, we both thought. No offence, but can men really be this thoughtful?
So I started asking more about the guys in question. And suddenly, it all became very clear.
Of the three, one was married, one was engaged and one lived in another country.
What Single Friend #1 couldn't see, blinded by some soap opera kind of romantic ideal, was that they all had the 'unavailable' sign up.
Realization number two.
Relationships are a two-way road. No matter how much you want it to happen, you want it to work, you want it to last, it takes two to tango.
Fighting against windmills is time-consuming, incredibly emotional and most of the time not worth the effort. Championing impossible challenges, even if you do try very hard, is a recipe for disaster. Wouldn't it be better to pick up the signs, evaluate the pros and cons and then act accordingly, before it is too late?

What have we learned today?

Now that we have done the destruction, let's do some reconstruction.

Realization number one.
Most of my relationships fail because I am a psycho.

Let's elaborate.

Men find me attractive, funny, intelligent, intriguing. They enjoy my company and look at me with a mixture of lust, friendship and amazement.
The first steps of approach are usually very easy.

These are the possible subsequent options.
Either I remain well-wedged in my 'mate' role, or somebody makes a move and the ball gets rolling (so to speak).
If this embryo of a relationship does go forward, in the first weeks something scary happens. I turn into a crazy monster. Needy, doubtful, teary, jealous and a right out pain in the butt.
Shock and awe! 'Where is the cool, funny woman I met? - they say - Where is the sexpot I was promised?'
Buried under my total incapacity to hold a relationship. Hidden away, locked up in a cupboard, hankie scrunched in her mouth, tied to a chair by psycho me.

The Man mastered the perfect glazed-over look every time I started going off the wall. He just sat there (or stood there) staring at me, thinking about football and waiting for the storm to pass. Of course, this used to make me go even crazier. Give me a reaction! But, bless him, what could he do? In most cases, deep down the outburst was completely unrelated to his actions. My butt looked gigantic in the leather pants I so desperately wanted to buy. The Boss ignored my brilliant ideas and then recycled them as his. I yet again failed to quit smoking. And instead of tackling any of these issues I just lashed out at him for leaving a teabag on the counter top.

Sounds familiar?

How bad can I be, I hear you ask

Bad, pretty pretty bad.
Don't believe me? Let me provide you with appropriate examples. Actually, I will start from the objects rather than the subject.
These are some of the 'nice' things men have said to me:
You are as cute as Professor Hargendau (a 60-year old German oncologist!!!)
I respect you, like I respect Erik (a 50-year old Swiss statistician!!!)
You remind me of my mother (thank God I have never met the lady, so I have no idea of what she looks like.. I can still hope)
Oh look at you, it is like in a film, when the hero has a flashback of his dead girlfriend (yes, he compared me to a dead woman..)
You are surreal (apparently in a good way..)
..and the best one.. you are like a brother to me (what can I say??)

Sure, the easy way out would be to say that men are a bunch of idiots and I am just very unlucky.
I tried to convince myself of that for a few years. But now.. now I know that it is not them.
It is me.
I am rubbish at this.

The emotionally incompetent - Let's get started

On a day like today, when supermarkets sell heart-patterned vegetable bags (true, I have seen it with my own eyes), it is only fair to ask yourself.. what the hell is this all about?

If you feel slightly doubtful on how to navigate the high seas of modern day romance, or if you are just curious to hear how some of us try and deal with these complex shenanigans, come and join the circle, hang around, speak up or just eavesdrop, if so you fancy.

I will start.

Hi, I am Ms EI and I am emotionally challenged.

Yep, another neurotic woman talking about her feelings.
Except.. except.. first of all, you cannot be sure I am a woman - there could be a big hairy trucker behind this computer screen.
Second, I have seen the light.
Yes, I have, my friends. I have seen the light. And what I saw can be disclosed to women, men, anybody who happens to share the same inadequacies in the heart department.
I am totally f-up. I have no idea on how to handle relationships. No clue about love, lust and all that jazz.
Seriously. I know nothing. Nothing.
And that's the light I have seen. I finally, deeply acknowledge the fact that I am totally clueless. And man, does it feel good.
I am sure most of you have had the odd bad days, when everything appeared to go pear-shaped, when your man/woman seemed to have had enough of you, when you had enough of them.
Those days when relationships look like the stupidest thing ever devised by human beings.
However, I dare you not only to admit of being incapable, but to live by it.
To stop advising your friends. To stop trying to convince this handsome sexy man/woman that you are the man/woman of their life. To stop dreaming idiotic romantic happy endings. To stop watching idiotic romantic movies. To stop fantasizing about a reality that does not belong to you. To stop checking your emails every 15 minutes; your phone; his/her Facebook status.

If you are an alcoholic, you quit drinking, full stop. If you are a loveholic, you should do the same.
Stop, now. Right now.

Can you do it?
Give it a shot.

Ooohh, how does it feel?