Better Than

Here’s the thing:

I am much better than alcohol. I know I am.

I’m brilliant, fun, and witty. I’m sexy. I’m intriguing. I have depth. I’m warm and sweet. I’m feisty. I’m thoughtful. I’m independent and stubborn.

But I’m not as convenient as alcohol. I require effort.


Against all sanity, I engaged in a sort of post-mortem with him over the course of hours last night. He was, of course, drinking throughout it.

During this post-mortem, I told him a lot about myself. Stuff that, in all honesty, he did not deserve to know after having told me he’d rather drink than spend time with me. He had not earned it. Part of me figured, why not? My nerves about wanting to not lose him or alienate him were gone because I had already lost him. Another part of me – a small part – was trying to show him I am so much better than alcohol.

I know how foolish that is. It isn’t about me at all. I know, I know, I know. But I laid it all out there anyway.

At one point, he told me he liked me. That he’d sleep with me. But that he wasn’t as ready for a relationship as he thought he was.

I asked him what he thought a relationship entailed. He said commitment. When asked to elaborate, he said “a ball and chain.”

Wow. How fucked up is that?

I explained that I had no desire to be anyone’s ball and chain. A relationship, to me, at the beginning is just about exclusivity – not seeking out anyone else to date or fuck. The other things were already there: communication and seeing each other (granted, I was making the majority of overtures of the latter). I don’t really have the desire to be tied at the hip to another person or integrate him into my life so completely, at least not at the beginning.

But the seeing each other is work. More work than he was willing to do. And my proposing to hang out with him at a tailgate or while watching a game at a bar was perceived as “keeping tabs,” not just wanting to spend time together. I guess he wouldn’t have been able to relax. That’s not a part of his life he would have wanted to share and, apparently, that is a substantial part of his life.

I get being hesitant to open your life to someone. I treasure my independence. It is incredibly fucking hard to think of sharing my living space with someone else. But when I think about stuff that is a part of my life that another person might not be into – comic conventions, craft shows, political rallies – I’d still like to think I’d offer to let them come with me. That I would want to spend time with them and that they’d want to spend time with me, even at something they weren’t really into. If they wanted to go with me, I wouldn’t have seen it as keeping tabs or a ball and chain.

He wasn’t that into me. I see that now. He was tepid and wishy washy. He showed zero interest in things I was into. He never wanted to come see me.

He told me today that he was glad that I shared as much of myself as I did with him last night, because he doesn’t think it would have worked out anyway. I can understand that. The dude thought telling me that tattoos were a turn on was risqué, and I disclosed to him last night that I had had a friend with benefits — we were on different levels.

That being said, fuck him for implying that learning more about me made him realize we wouldn’t have worked out in the long run. As if my sharing more of myself cemented his belief that he chose right in choosing alcohol over me. I don’t even know what it is that confirmed that for him. 


I’m a bit curious, but I have to realize that a) it doesn’t matter in the slightest and b) learning it would only make me more paranoid about what another man would think. 

The man already told me he would rather drink alone than spend time with me – a living, breathing, awesome person. 

How dare he. 

Sigh. 

It’s just so incredibly difficult to find a guy who likes me, who is intelligent and attractive, and communicates, and has a motherfucking career. I rationalized around that baby steps stuff, but ultimately, it comes down to him not being interested in me. Me not being worth it to him. Him wanting the convenience of alcohol or whatever.

I am much better than alcohol. And one day, I’ll find a man who wouldn’t fathom, when given the choice, of wanting to get drunk than spend time with me.


I think I’m starting to see a pattern among the men I believe I have potential with that ultimately fall apart:

They don’t want to put in the effort. They want convenience.

With L, he wanted a doll he could pick up and set back on the shelf when he wanted.

With Mitt, he wanted a girl who he could see all the time who, of course, he found attractive. I think he also wanted someone without a career who was flexible enough to bend around his career.

With Steve, I don’t know. “Everything was there, but it didn’t make a tetris” for him. I know I wasn’t convenient for him either. He was more concerned about picking up his sunglasses than meeting me for a meal.

With him, I asked him if it was really alcohol or was it lack of attraction or both. He said it was 85% alcohol, and while he was attracted to me, maybe since he kept drinking and, at times ending up at strip clubs, it wasn’t as strong of an attraction as he thought. Fuck that.

I deserve so much better than that.