Get it While You Can

“I said hold on to somebody when you get a little lonely, dear, Hey hey, hold on to that man’s heart, Yeah, get it, want it, hold it, need it, Get it, want it, need it, hold it, Get it while you can, yeah, Honey get it while you can, baby, yeah, Hey hey, get it while you can!” Janis Joplin

Sometimes I can be the biggest fool. My lack of sound judgment in certain matters is legendary, most noticeably when it comes to cupid’s arrow (note that I said Cupid and not Eros, most people get that wrong). That prickly dart is a slippery little sucker that attached to your skin like the piercing mouthparts of a mosquito. Desire is the bag full of candy on Halloween: one or two pieces has little effect, but the constant seal breaking, finger licking of melted gooey chocolate, and evidence hiding of the mounds of wrappers left in your wake; leaves you with nothing but a perpetual tummy ache and the consequence of expensive gym memberships.

Case in point, the ever-present Peanut ButterM&M with whom I communicate through IM everyday. Honestly, I’m a fool to even continue with this sham dalliance. It’s a waste of good quips and flux flirtation. He lives a 1114 miles away, he’s 7-8 years older, and he may or may not be married (clearly can’t know because he constantly tells me about dates). But that attention is addictive.

I’m the new shiny toy. The intellectual aphrodisiac in preparation for a live partner near you… I know all about buying flowers for the girl you’re seeing, the great ways to get over a broken heart/ failed relationship,  the right way to transition into the next taxi at the station. The maid of honor, but never the bride herself.

As much as I’d like to think that I have the mental perseverance for a fling or intrigue, the thought leaves me void. The chicanery demands required in that type of relationship is a happy hour without the quaff… pointless.

But why do I continue to do this?!? I’m like Julie Roberts (especially with the red hair) in Runaway Bride. Mirroring Maggie, I reinvent myself to become the ideal for the person I’m interested in. I drown in the delights of his nature as the water erodes the unique traits of my charm. *FAIL* (hand motion included).

I vow time and time again that I won’t do this. But do we remember Pete? The guitar teacher? The one to whom I spoke in a British accent for 2 months while I took lessons, until he thoroughly disappointed me (and yelled at me). I can’t even remember the countless throngs of male patrons to L’s house of removable masks. “Everybody wears the mask but how long will it last” The Fugees.

It’s great to have great accountability partners who call me on my idiosyncracies. I can’t say that I will stop, because clearly I haven’t yet. But call me out, tell me to stop, present the truth in a loving manner… I may continue down my path of destruction but eventually I’ll move on to another hobby. I want someone to say to me “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird” The Notebook.

P.S. I can completely understand how women can be the other “woman”… that attention is enslaving. No judgment… but let’s vow to try harder, ok?


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