Playing “The Game”

5 Nov

by Stacie Smack

I play in a league for one of these “social sports”, as most 20-something years old do while living in DC (I am now quite familiar with the #newfridays… OOOF). After three of my bosses informed me that their daughters met their husbands while participating in these leagues, I figured I had absolutely nothing to lose and at least one of my future five divorces to gain.

The first Thursday, I surveyed the landscape and identified the individuals with potential (i.e. who was single and taller than me), it’s the time to make friends. The second Thursday was for establishing casual friendships and assessing the right personalities (i.e. who’s going to buy more pitchers of beer when we are running low) – you want to maintain a general flirty attitude.

I went in for the kill on the third week – seduction mode is fully loaded. Three whiskey shots and two games of slap cup in, I got Bob* to trap me in conversation for the rest of the night, and to passionately kiss me good night (+ a phone number + a facebook friend request). Like all budding romances, it happened at a “sign of the whale”-esque bar in DC. I consciously declined his request to “walk me home”.

We proceeded to text fairly regularly about nonsense, with no indications or suggestions of hanging out. Presumably, there is no need to force a date, when the two involved parties are guaranteed to see each other in less than a week.

Regularly, this is not how Stacie operates. If you’re going to text me, we are going to go out on a date and talk in person, but it was a busy week and my schedule would not have allowed it. However, this meant that for 7 days, we texted a few times a day, creating this weird familiarity between us that is not guaranteed to translate in person.

When I was relaying this story to some fellow #SRDC ladies, it inevitably came out like this: “yeah, we made out last week and we’ve been texting {giggle, giggle, grin, giggle}”.

HAVE BEEN TEXTING.

WTF does that mean???? Excuse me while I go vomit, disgusted by my own self. It’s not like we’ve gotten to know each other better, or we’ve talked about any relevant things!

That one sentence manages to perfectly encapsulate so much of the stupid game that we love to play. Chit-chatty texting is disconnected enough to come across as casual, but persistent and prevalent enough to keep the hope alive that it “could become something” or whatever. It keeps you hooked and excited and attached to your smartphone and googly-eyed, but you know deep inside that at any point the texts can stop and you’ll be left response-less for no rhyme or reason.

So Thursday rolled around, and Bob was there. And I was there. And my entire office was there (since they are my team). How are we supposed to approach each other? Do we acknowledge the 7 days of talking? Or do we pretend that “we just drunkenly made out”? I kind of just ran away. It was obviously the mature, and sensible thing to do.

At the bar, we both made clear efforts to “talk” to each other (read: it’s so loud that I have to wrap my arm around you and whisper in your ear so that we can talk). Bada bing bada boom, and it’s 7:30am and he’s in my bed and I have to go to work and we’re both still a little drunk.

I am not a sleepover kind of girl. There is enough cynicism and pessimism in my life to create the expectation that most guys leave at 6am and never call you (me) back, or do but only when they are horny again. So this was uncharted territory. I had to shower, pick out an outfit, blow dry my hair, and put on my make up ALL in his presence. It felt invasive. And it felt like it was too soon. Is that an irrational feeling?

We walked part of the way to work together, NOT holding hands, as that would definitely send me running for the hills. And then came the good bye. OH GOD. I like to think that I am really good at Men. But, he went in for a kiss at 8:45am on Friday before my morning coffee on a block of town where the chances of running into a co-worker are 73.8% so I swiftly (and oh, so skillfully) maneuvered the kiss into a hug that lasted too long and a  “thank you for… whatever”. 

WHO SAYS THAT? Apparently me.

Really what I wanted to say was “thanks for the three orgasms last night, let’s do that again soon”.

Now, I’m sitting at work stalking him on facebook and wondering why he hasn’t texted me. I hate being that girl. I hate the fact that I’m thinking if he’s thinking of me. I hate the fact that I won’t text him until he does. I hate that I’m excited about the possibility of seeing him this weekend. So what happens next? Do I wait until it’s 1am and see if he wants to meet up? Do we do this again next week? Do I want it to happen again before then? So many uncertainties. And so much energy spent on something that could still amount to nothing.

*His name is not Bob – but this is supposed to be anonymous and I’m just that creative.

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One Response to “Playing “The Game””

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. In Which I Try “Being Exclusive” ????? | STOP REQUESTED - December 3, 2013

    […] taken on a lover. HA. That is to mean, I’m kind of “seeing” someone, maybe. Despite my questionable performance, he decided to stick around, and a month later, I haven’t slept with anyone else. For all those […]

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