Tell Me Your Fantasy
I tried to do this thing with The Bartender last night. You know that thing where you tell your partner your secret fantasy, in hopes that they will be understanding and accepting and then DO IT WITH YOU?
It's not that easy to just open up and share very intimate stuff. Stuff you long for. Stuff you need to share with another human being. You risk rejection. You risk being judged. It's risky, damn it
But I'm lonely.
So I decided to tell him my little fantasy and see if he'll do it with me. Cause I'm lonely. and pathetic.
It went something like this:
Penny "Do you know what I secretly long for?"
The Bartender "Huh?"
Penny "Do you want to know the thing that I think about at night, when I'm alone?"
The Bartender "Wait a minute. Are you serious?"
Penny "That thing which most excited me? The thing I day dream about? The thing that sooooooo turns me on?"
The Bartender "(Nothin. He's got nothin.)"
Penny "Here it is. I would like to go to Harvard law school after I graduate. I think it would be fun to just mop the floor with all those stuck up Harvard kids. Dude, that would rock."
The Bartender "That's the most colossal waste of time I've ever heard of."
Alright. I admit that this was a dramatic reenactment based only loosely on true events. But it was based on true events. The reality is much sadder though. Because I do honestly think that would rock. And The Bartender is supposed to say "Yes! Me too!" and then engage in a conversation where we fantasize about beating up Harvard wonks with nothing but our bare intellect. However, he doesn't do this. What he does is explain to me how those kids are really smart and some of them do nothing but study and I'm not likely to be able to do the thing I am saying I'd like to do... In other words he pisses all over my fantasy.
And, Loyal Blog Monkeys, he does this every single time I try to talk about anything. Where has the sweet Bartender gone, you may wonder. I wonder the same thing. I am getting a bit tired of the constant sparring and I'm ready for some shade. (Don't get me started on the origin of shade... Suffice it to say that shade means a spot where I can just be cool and not coated in 6 layers of protective clothing and zinc and emotional SPF 5000.)
So, I inquire: "What the hell is going on with you?"
And the answer came as a bit of a shock. A bit of a slap. A bit of a dash with the old cold water, kids. Seems that I broke his heart. I hurt him. and now he's afraid of me. But not so afraid to stay away entirely but certainly too afraid to be very nice to me again.
Holy Cow and Crap and whatever else suits you.
So I just apologized. I am sorry. I was worried that I was going to be bad for him at the time. And I was right to worry. But is it really all my fault? I was honest with him. Is it my fault that he ignored me and got involved?
No. It's not. IT'S NOT DAMN IT!
But I said so sorry. I never meant to hurt him. I like him. So sorry.
"When do you think I'll get regular girl status again? and we can just act like normal people? Ever?"
and he says he doesn't know. That has to be good enough since I can't make him know, right? By 4:30 this afternoon. I wish it worked like that. But it does not.
So I drove home nearly settled on the idea that I am just going to stop seeing The Bartender. All the sweet endearing parts are absent. I am left with SPF 5000 and a feeling of weariness. Last night we didn't even have dinner. So it's time to just throw in the towel and let it float away. Time to face reality. Time to quit beating myself up.
Then at 12:30 am the phone rings.
He tells me he meant to leave me a voice mail. I ask should I hang up so you can do that? He says no I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and to have a nice night and I'd really like to see you on Thursday. But mostly I miss you. And I'm sorry that things got weird. And I've missed you.
There's the sweet Bartender.
Next time I see him I am gonna tell him my fantasy where I'm the judge and I stand up in court and yell "Rusty, take him away!" Hopefully he'll say "Can I be Rusty?" cause that's what I call FUN.
It's not that easy to just open up and share very intimate stuff. Stuff you long for. Stuff you need to share with another human being. You risk rejection. You risk being judged. It's risky, damn it
But I'm lonely.
So I decided to tell him my little fantasy and see if he'll do it with me. Cause I'm lonely. and pathetic.
It went something like this:
Penny "Do you know what I secretly long for?"
The Bartender "Huh?"
Penny "Do you want to know the thing that I think about at night, when I'm alone?"
The Bartender "Wait a minute. Are you serious?"
Penny "That thing which most excited me? The thing I day dream about? The thing that sooooooo turns me on?"
The Bartender "(Nothin. He's got nothin.)"
Penny "Here it is. I would like to go to Harvard law school after I graduate. I think it would be fun to just mop the floor with all those stuck up Harvard kids. Dude, that would rock."
The Bartender "That's the most colossal waste of time I've ever heard of."
Alright. I admit that this was a dramatic reenactment based only loosely on true events. But it was based on true events. The reality is much sadder though. Because I do honestly think that would rock. And The Bartender is supposed to say "Yes! Me too!" and then engage in a conversation where we fantasize about beating up Harvard wonks with nothing but our bare intellect. However, he doesn't do this. What he does is explain to me how those kids are really smart and some of them do nothing but study and I'm not likely to be able to do the thing I am saying I'd like to do... In other words he pisses all over my fantasy.
And, Loyal Blog Monkeys, he does this every single time I try to talk about anything. Where has the sweet Bartender gone, you may wonder. I wonder the same thing. I am getting a bit tired of the constant sparring and I'm ready for some shade. (Don't get me started on the origin of shade... Suffice it to say that shade means a spot where I can just be cool and not coated in 6 layers of protective clothing and zinc and emotional SPF 5000.)
So, I inquire: "What the hell is going on with you?"
And the answer came as a bit of a shock. A bit of a slap. A bit of a dash with the old cold water, kids. Seems that I broke his heart. I hurt him. and now he's afraid of me. But not so afraid to stay away entirely but certainly too afraid to be very nice to me again.
Holy Cow and Crap and whatever else suits you.
So I just apologized. I am sorry. I was worried that I was going to be bad for him at the time. And I was right to worry. But is it really all my fault? I was honest with him. Is it my fault that he ignored me and got involved?
No. It's not. IT'S NOT DAMN IT!
But I said so sorry. I never meant to hurt him. I like him. So sorry.
"When do you think I'll get regular girl status again? and we can just act like normal people? Ever?"
and he says he doesn't know. That has to be good enough since I can't make him know, right? By 4:30 this afternoon. I wish it worked like that. But it does not.
So I drove home nearly settled on the idea that I am just going to stop seeing The Bartender. All the sweet endearing parts are absent. I am left with SPF 5000 and a feeling of weariness. Last night we didn't even have dinner. So it's time to just throw in the towel and let it float away. Time to face reality. Time to quit beating myself up.
Then at 12:30 am the phone rings.
He tells me he meant to leave me a voice mail. I ask should I hang up so you can do that? He says no I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and to have a nice night and I'd really like to see you on Thursday. But mostly I miss you. And I'm sorry that things got weird. And I've missed you.
There's the sweet Bartender.
Next time I see him I am gonna tell him my fantasy where I'm the judge and I stand up in court and yell "Rusty, take him away!" Hopefully he'll say "Can I be Rusty?" cause that's what I call FUN.
posted by Bad Penny at 1:37 PM
3 Comments:
but Penny, dear, male fantasies and female fantasies are intrinsically different. It's in the DNA.
You are looking for intellectual challenge and the right sense of fun.
To a man that is not a fantasy. That's just a nice to have.
Sorry to pop the bubble. We could beat ourselves up about it or we could just accept the sad reality.
Chairman Dear,
Would it shock if I told you that My Boy and I can go on for hours like that? I've done the Harvard one with him. He understands perfectly. He thinks it rocks, too. So is it really a guy - girl thing? Or is it a perfect-match thing... some where out there is the perfect girl for the Bartender.
She never just waxes poetic about Harvard or about beating the living daylights outta the most irritating girl in school. In other words -- Not me, huh?
Penny
Hi Penny- no it does not shock me that you have this match-thing with your Boy. I do believe that fantasies are a guy-gal separator but that is a generalisation and does not mean that there are not exceptions.
It sounds like you have a soul mate.
I once lived with a girl who was so like me it was uncanny. She was a female me. Or I was a male her. or both. Yin and Yin.
I found it stiffling.
Soul mates are great for life friendships but sucked for me from a relationship perspective.
Shit it was like having sex with a member of the family.
(or how I imagine that to be, never having indulged)
Give me Yin and Yang any day and the fire and passion it generates.
Don't listen to the ramblings of a demented old chinese wannabe, choose your own path.
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