the nightmare before halloween

Last week I wrote about the friend zone, that tricky little no-man’s land where people who are deemed unfit to date , but cool enough to keep around, are sent by those who will not date them.  For those in the friend zone who still have feelings for the one who cast them aside, there is one situation that is feared above all others  – meeting your former flame’s new significant other.  Those in the friend zone like to think that, were they ever to find themselves in this situation, they would handle it with grace and aplomb, proving that they are the bigger person.  However, more likely, you wind up  standing on a street corner, cigarette in hand, realizing your life has become a Taylor Swift song as you scream to your friend on the other end of the line, “This is my nightmare!”  before confessing everything to your former flame.

I should know, because that is what happened to me Friday night.  Ever since the night more than 7 months ago when this guy told me that, while he wasn’t interested in dating me anymore, he hoped we could still be friends, I have tried steadfastly and sincerely to convince myself that I was perfectly fine with the arrangement.  I talked to him and hung out with him, traded dating war stories with him, and thought that, even if things hadn’t worked out exactly the way I wanted them to, on some level, they were working.  I had gotten a new friend out of the deal, and new friends aren’t easy to come by either these days.  I even knew about the new girl, and could deal with that – or so I thought.  Turns out I could only deal with her so long as I was only hearing about her secondhand, and not sitting face-to-face at a bar with her.

Suddenly the lid that I had kept so neatly screwed on all the emotions bottled up inside me popped, and everything came pouring out.  While I luckily kept it together long enough to not make a scene in the bar, I did wind up confessing my feelings the next day.  He had no idea any of this was going on, either because I’m a better actress than I think I am, or because he’s not  particularly perceptive (most likely a combination of both.)  At any rate, a sort of stalemate has been called while I try to figure out what the hell to do with my life.

The fact is, though, that in this situation, there is no perfect solution.  I could gather up what’s left of my dignity, and walk away, but then I lose a friend (and whatever I think of this guy in a romantic sense, I do believe that he is a good, true friend).  I could put my big-girl panties on and deal with it, continuing to be a good friend to him while I wait for the time when my feelings finally cool to a reasonable temperature, not matter how difficult it is.  I could pray for the day when he looks at me and sees someone who could be more than a friend, although I think it would be in vain, not because I don’t believe in prayer, but because I don’t believe people change.  No matter what the movies and storybooks and Taylor Swift tells us, once someone puts you in the friend zone, you stay there.  It’s like the Indian caste system; you can’t move up, only down.

There are those who may say that I put myself in this position; that I should have told this guy “Peace out” when I had the chance, rather than hanging on to the promise of what might have been.  However, I honestly thought I had moved on.  There are those who may say that I shouldn’t have let him know he got to me; that, when placed in the friend zone, it’s better to bear one’s inner turmoil with a dignified and aloof fashion.  Unfortunately, I like to bear my inner turmoil in a spectacularly open, dramatic, undignified, messy fashion.

At this point, what’s done is done, and there’s little use in looking at what happened and wishing I had done things differently.  Like all of those friends before me who have found themselves in this position, I can only look ahead, and choose the course of action that is best for me – whatever that may be.

 

the friend zone

I had fully intended today to write my thoughts on “Company,” the musical I saw at Kutztown University Saturday night, and how it was the story of my life and therefore nearly brought me to tears; however, yesterday some of my loyal readers (a.k.a. friends) bombarded me with a bevy of blog topics.  Since I am apparently the voice for hundreds (ok, a few) repressed, pissed-off women (and occasionally men) out there, I figured I could put  “Company” on the back burner for another day or two, and talk about somebody other than myself for a change (although I will wind up talking about myself, I’m sure.)

Anyway, today, for your consideration, we have the following statement from the one and only Jess Lembo: “Male best friends are a mindfuck.”  And how.  Jess told me this during a Facebook Chat conversation, and she went on to explain the impetus for this revelation.  Her best male friend, who is currently living in Virgina, came up to visit Jess in PA last weekend.  The two of them were roommates when they were in college, and were very close friends, and even crossed the threshhold into a physical relationship, but while they talked about taking their relationship to the next level, it never happened.  It was partly due to the fact that he was moving to another state, Jess said, but there were other reasons too – mostly, she said, fear (on his part) of “what would happen if things didn’t work out between us.”  Of course, as she told me, that didn’t stop him from putting the moves on her while he was visiting this weekend, or from clinging to her side the whole time he was visiting.  Hence, the mindfuck.

“I feel like I’m his safety net,” Jess said.

Indeed, the friend zone is a tangled web to be caught in, one that will fuck with your head until you want to cry or scream or punch someone in the nuts.  A few weeks ago I wrote a post in response to a YourTango article about how women often place men in a “friend zone,” casting them as undateable for some elusive reason.  I suppose today’s post would be a response to my own previous post, from the female’s perspective, because guess what, fellas – bitch all you want, but chicks get put into the friend zone just as much as you do.

Nearly every girl I know, myself included, has at one point or another, unsuspectingly, inexplicably been shunted into that relationship Siberia, branded undateable, but still cool/smart/funny/nice enough to be friends with (and try to sleep with, of course.  Doesn’t the whole idea of being just friends mean that you DON’T want to sleep with us?  I’m confused.).  I’m honestly not sure why it happens; guys like to give a lot of cock-and-bull reasons (including my favorite, the guy who told my friend Julie that they could never date because she had hooked up with one of his friends a few years ago, before Julie and this guy even knew each other.) but I think there are really two root causes for this behavior: fear and the idea that the grass is always greener.

The thing is, the older I get, the more of life and men I see, the more I realize that men are big fucking cowards.  No offense, guys, and I’m sorry to blow your cover (thin though it may be), but you’re all kind of pussies.  In my experience, any time anything remotely unpleasant, hurtful, difficult, harsh, etc. is broached, especially when it comes to relationships, it’s because a woman steps up and does it.  I’m not saying I like things this way, or that they have to be this way, but in my experience, and that of my female friends, that’s just the way it is.  So, when it comes to taking the plunge from friends to lovers (in the emotional sense, not the fucking sense, because we all know men have no problem with that), I believe fear holds a lot of men back.  Fear of losing a friend if things don’t work out (which is valid, don’t get me wrong) and maybe fear of what will happen if things do work out.  Another interesting thing I’ve noticed along the way is that many of the women who get relegated to the friend zone are very strong, independent women – women who are caring and loving and would make excellent girlfriends or wives, but who aren’t going to take any bullshit from the men in their lives.  And I think sometimes it’s a lot easier for men to keep those girls as friends, to give them a mental (or physical) punch in the gut when they need it, but seek out a weaker, more coddling, less outspoken female as their relationship counterpart.  Anyway, it’s a theory.

As for the other theory, about the grass being greener on the other side – we all know men like bigger, better, faster, stronger.  Why wouldn’t that apply to women as well?  No matter if a guy has a “friend” who is a near-perfect match; his masculine vanity is telling him he can do better.  There’s a certain degree of masochism to it, as well, I think.  All my compatriots in the friend zone have seen their guys go through bad date after bad date, bad girlfriend after bad girlfriend, and the only explanation can be that they like to torture themselves in this manner, because if they really wanted a good, devoted woman, they already have a willing party.  (Of course, there’s a certain level of masochism required on the part of the friend, as well, to lend a willing ear to all of this drama.)

The biggest mindfuck of all, however, is knowing that, despite how much we may curse being put in the friend zone, we’re all guilty of doing it to other people.  We are.  Don’t try to deny it – I’ve done it, you’ve done it, we’ve all done it. It’s a vicious circle, a cat-and-mouse game men and women play.  I can’t say I know why (I have a feeling if I could explain it, I wouldn’t be working 9-to-5 as a secretary getting paid peanuts), nor does it make it any less frustrating for anyone involved.  The best you can do, I think, is chalk it up to another broken link in the disconnect between men and women – and try not to punch people in the nuts out of pent-up frustration.