Tag Archives: awkward

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The Danger Zone aka The Friend Zone

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I’ve been meaning to address this for the longest time but life has gotten in the way of my – The Date Expectations – pursuits.

In the pilot season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, (I know there appears to be a trend on quoting the series in quite a few of my posts) there is an episode where Ross is agonising over his secret love for Rachel, and Joey as a matter of fact informs him that he has sat on it for far too long and now it was nearly impossible to change this friendship to something romantic. His exact words were: Never gonna happen. You and Rachel. Because you waited too long to make your move and now, you’re in the friend zone…. Ross, you’re mayor of the zone.

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And so began the countless memes and popular culture references to this exact situation, where a friendship exists between two people, one of whom has unrequited romantic feelings for the other. Most of us have been there, either on the giving or receiving end of things. Some of you may deny this and conveniently erase this embarrassing memory from your otherwise perfect lives. But let’s not kid ourselves,  you too – Yes, you – have been there.

Just this year alone, I’ve met with friends and friends of friends who have discussed their dating experiences in detail with me, thanks to my pesky, nosy questions that I flagrantly pose at social events. And what was fascinating to me is how quite a few of them at some point in their lives, have had amorous interest in their friends or people in their immediate social circle, but held themselves back from acting on it because they felt like they had waited too long and had  found themselves in a situation where they’d been diabolically friend-zoned to a point of no return.

To write about this seemingly awful idea of the friend zone, you’d think that I have had ample experience in this danger zone but the truth is (and thankfully so), I can only think very few occasions where I’d been undeniably friend zoned. The first and most pivotal time, was in my teenage years where I mustered up the courage to befriend whom I thought was the cutest guy I’d ever met. We’d talk on the phone every night before we went to sleep and hung out every other day after school hours to enjoy 50 cent ice-cream cones from McDonalds’. It was only after 3 months that I found out that I was out of his league because he batted for the other team. He had developed a crush on a boy he had met and decided to tell me about it. I should have known from the way he perfectly styled his hair, the manner in which he wore his pants just a little too snugly and how he strutted down the streets. I should have seen the rainbow flag he was waving loudly and proudly. But when a man buys you ice-cream and your favourite gummi bear candy, and walks down the street with his arm around your shoulder, you get a little punch-drunk and disillusioned. In retrospect, it’s side-splitting and makes for an excellent story to recount at a party. But back when I actually realised we couldn’t be together, it left me dejected and pessimistic temporarily. The wonderful thing about your adolescent years is that most of us don’t remember things for long. You get hurt but you pick yourself up quickly and move on but in your adult years, the pain hits a little harder and you remember every detail the same way an elephant has steel-trap memories.

So to gather some qualitative data, I sent some friends (single and attached) a text message recently asking them to recount a time in their lives where they had either been friend-zoned or had consciously friend-zoned someone, and these are some of the replies I got:

“Being friend-zoned feels like you’re in purgatory. You think you’re fucking close to heaven but actually, you’re knee deep in hell.”

“If I have a feeling that he is pursuing me and I just wanna be friends, I’d make it a point to refer to him as ‘bro’ just to set the record straight without actively addressing the situation.”

“It’s like not getting the job you applied for even though you really wanted it and are definitely qualified for it. And the employer calls you up every day to sing praises about the person they did hire!”

“Coincidentally, I went out yesterday with a friend and got an almost confession. He was complimenting me and then suddenly said ‘I think if I had an ideal type of girlfriend, you come closest out of all the girls I’ve met.’ I sat there stunned and then went ‘haha thanks’. I guess he took my hint and just went on to talk about girls in general or something.”

“You go back and forth on whether you took too long to confess your feelings. You thought you were laying the foundation and making calculated moves but before you know it, she’s in the arms of some other guy, and telling you how she can’t wait for you to meet him.”

and because we all have that one smartass friend:

“Does it count if I haven’t told someone yet? I need to ring up Ryan Gosling tonight. I think it’s time he knew we can only be friends.”

A quick Google search will inform you that there are in fact books on the market that advise readers on how to get out of the friend zone if they’re in it. And for the non-book readers, there are tons of articles and listicles online on the topic. I trawled through the internet to find some answers but as we all know, the internet generally poses more questions than actually giving you any answers.

I’m not sure that we can forever avoid being in the friend zone. It is bound to happen at one or point or another. When you like someone or if you feel like you’re attracted to them, most of us try to get to know someone on a more platonic level to test the waters instead of diving nose deep into a sea of uncertainty. And besides, at risk of sounding naïve, don’t some of the best love stories stem from a solid, natural groundwork of friendship? From the superficial research that I’ve done prior to writing this entry, I realise a lot of self-help books immediately label men/women who try the friendship route as the ‘nice guys’ and how they need to snap out of it. There are so many articles that advise men particularly to stop playing the nice guy and get out there to claim what’s theirs. A little aggressive if you ask me! I mean I see their point. We all want to go out of our way to do nice things for the people we love. This is no different from it. That said, I understand the full value of self-preservation and not devaluing oneself. No one should make all the sacrifices and make unnecessary compromises at the risk of looking like a doormat but you feel what you feel so where do you draw the line?

Yet again, I have only questions and no answers. Dr Helen Fisher might have some insight on this so you could check in with her. But if I had to dole out some advice, it would be this. Firstly, you – yes you – who is harbouring super loveydovey feelings and spending every waking minute imagining who your offspring is going to take after, you or the love of your life who doesn’t know it yet – STAWP! Crack addicts need their crack but crack, I hear tastes a lot better when you’ve had some separation time so do just that. Peel yourself from how you feel and leave some breathing room for the friendship to possibly flourish to a relationship. And you – If you’re in a situation where you know someone has romantic feelings for you and you might feel the same, let them know instead of leashing them along on a wild ride. But if you don’t see the potential for something more, don’t be an asshole and sweep the matter under the rug thinking the matter would resolve itself. Address it! This person, this friend of yours has feelings and emotions just like you do and is capable of heartbreak and anxiety just like you are, so put them out of their misery and let them know you’d like to be friends. It’s not going to be pretty and it will most definitely be awkward for a while, because who wants to hear from the person they might be in love with that they just want to be buddies? – how awful! – but at least you’d have set the record straight from the very beginning and both parties are clear.  And who knows, you might end up being the best of friends and laughing about it at a Christmas party in years to come.

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xo

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Height Fetish

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Contributed by: András Tóth, Hungary

Definition of ‘fetish’: any object or nongenital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.

In the age of super fast and super easy apps for online dating, if you had the chance to describe yourself in a few sentences, how would you? Would you talk about your passions, goals and hopes, or dish out a witty line suggesting there’s more in your brain, maybe even a quote subtly telling us you don’t have original thoughts of your own, or…

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So unfortunate… These women identify with their height…

Yes. Your height. With that you’re basically telling me that after your 20- or 30-something years all you have to show for is your height. Is it an achievement on which you have worked night and day? Many parts of the body can be shaped or reshaped, even if you were unlucky with your DNA… But your height unfortunately isn’t one of these parts, sorry.

Apart from giving the impression of a total lack of remotely any exciting mental abilities, what these people also miss that after you have been matched, he (even after all these years of feminism, most of the time it will still be a he and not a she 😦 ) could base his first question on your introduction. If you provided your height, a possible conversation could look like this:

Nancy (27 173/63), Li (30 170/65):

Li: Hi Nancy! Glad to meet you!
Nancy: Hi Li!
Li: Are you really 173 tall?
Nancy: Yes.
Li: Good.
Nancy: And you are only 170?
Li: Yes.
Nancy: 😦 So sad. Now I will unmatch you.

OK, I know it’s a dealbreaker for some people, but can I ask what function does height in sex have? The answer would be ‘no function’, unless it is a fetish: like the one when you can’t be aroused if your partner doesn’t wear high heels. What’s the difference?

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The first line says in Hungarian: “Don’t try it below 178cm!”

The other thing I cannot understand about height nazis, is that what would happen if their partner would stand on a step below them on the escalator? Instant loss of interest? Or would I get instant respect and arousal if I get a box to stand on? Or can I “hack” your fetish with wearing stilts or an overly large/ high shoe?

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Can you imagine? People wore these in Hungary in the 90s during the techno era.

Yeah, I’m not dumb – I know it’s about what others will think about the relationship if your man is shorter… I’ll tell you what they’d think: “Wow, what can this little guy possibly know about sex?”.

Wouldn’t it be a great indirect compliment? 😉

Personally I have a list that goes before actual parameters: her sexual impact, if we are on the same wavelength relating to humor, intellect, lightness of heart, honesty, dignity, respect, fun, energy…

Let’s perhaps look at a good example, where I can assume that neither she, nor I are interested in each others’ height:

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I will love you if you don’t kill me with your dog! I promise!

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On First Date Etiquette: Kisses, Handshakes or Hugs?

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Let’s face it. First dates are potentially dicey. You’ve brazenly swiped each other and exchanged badinage online, but now the time has come for you to meet for the first time. You might choose to meet at a coffee place, a cocktail bar or even a restaurant, if you bask in high pressure situations.(Seriously. You’ll need at least 90 minutes for dinner and if you’re having a horrid time, there is no escaping!). Now, once that’s decided and as you patiently wait at your meeting spot trying to furiously recall if you’ve put on deodorant, you see your date walking towards you — How do you plan to break the first physical barrier? You have about 10 seconds to decide if 1) you’re going to shake their hand, 2) give them a hug, 3) lean in for a kiss or 4) in true millennial fashion, whip out an unorthodox hello such as a fist bump/ shoulder squeeze or simply stand there like a Botero sculpture.

I’m a fairly confident person but even I do not immediately go in for the sweeping Hollywood embrace. People are cautious and if there is anything I’ve learned over the years as a public relations practitioner, it is to always observe people’s body language, tread lightly and try to take their cue. That said, first impressions are crucial to me so I seize any given opportunity to break the touch barrier because it inevitably sets the tone for the rest of the evening.

The sense of touch is by far the most fascinating and necessary of the sensory system, and my favourite of the five senses because there’s something in us that is well beyond the reach of words or sounds — something that eludes and defies our pursuit to explain it. The sense of touch develops well before all other senses in embryos, and is the primary manner in which infants learn about their environment and bond with other people. Throughout life, we use our sense of touch to learn, protect ourselves, relate to others, and to experience pleasure. Sometimes, when I’m seated on a crowded bus and my shoulders or sides of my thighs brush up against the person seated next to me, (and after I’ve gotten over the initial wave of repulsion from involuntarily touching a complete stranger) there is a certain feeling of comfort that ensues.

So what exactly do I do when I meet a date for the first time? It really depends on what my body tells me to do along with my date’s body language. These days I either go in for a quick peck on the cheek, followed by a hug that neither lingers too long nor ends too quickly, or I do the European thing where I shake their hands and kiss both cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I simply shook my date’s hand on the first meeting. Dates that begin with a cold, prudish handshake in my opinion are doomed from the very beginning. The only exception for this is if you haven’t spent much time chatting with each other before meeting. But if you’re like me who enjoys taking the time to suss out your online matches before agreeing to go out, then there is absolutely no need for a business meeting greeting. And I’ll be honest here — call me a creeper but I am guilty of inching closer just to get a whiff of my date. I do it with discretion of course, no one needs to know I’m on a pheromone prowl — so far, so good. Once the touch barrier is broken for the first time, it depends entirely on the chemistry between my date and I for me to want to touch them again. It is not often that I feel inclined to do so, but if I do find myself wanting to touch their face or their hand or perhaps a gentle stroke of their arm, it’s a good indication that I am comfortable and fond of them, platonically so or otherwise.

That said, in a date setting, no one enjoys a gauche greeting but we’ve all been there. You can have all the confidence in the world, in the vessel that is your body but I’ve stopped counting the number of times I feel some kind of insane storm in my belly as I try to kiss someone’s cheek, mis-aim and plant my lips on their ear instead. There have also been proud moments in my life where my date would place his hand out so I could shake it but instead I go in for a hug resulting in an awkward hand-on-my-boob situation. It ain’t a pretty sight but it happens and there is no back pedalling out of that. And that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, we’re all a curious mixture of strength and fragility, diffidence and bravery. You just wear your best smile, open your heart and go with it while constantly reminding yourself to aim for the cheek and not the fucking ear next time.

How do you prefer to greet your first date?

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“I like the way you say Raspberries”

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The internet dating pool is a playground. You meet all sorts of people. Typically, they’re engineers, bankers, accountants, pilots but every now and then, you speak to someone whose professional choice gets your full and undivided attention. “I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re a mathematician?” Sploosh. “A Human Rights specialist for the United Nations?” *fans self* or most recently, “You’re a chef? You mean a real one?”

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Now if you know me well enough, you’d know that I have a massive weakness for food, nay, a deep and dark love affair with food. I’ve gone out with people who have actually mentioned things like “wow, you really like to eat, don’t you?” or “You talk a lot about food!” Why yes, I do, thank you very much. So imagine my absolute delight when I found out that I was talking to a chef. When you put two people who love food together at a table, some kind of magic happens. Immediately, you are given free rein to go into explicit detail about the creme bulee you once had at a tiny little French restaurant that still haunts you to date. Suddenly, you no longer sound bat shit crazy when you passionately talk about your lobbying for the ban of Vanilla essence and Matcha-based desserts. And just like that, everything’s on the table for discussion.

There are things people don’t tell you about dating a chef. They’re intense, wildly intense. It’s almost a little intimidating. They’re also constantly working – The kitchen is their mother, wife and mistress. They make this crystal clear, from the very beginning so if you date a chef, you find creative ways to fit into the crevices of their busy lives..

When I first started chatting with Mr Chef, I didn’t know what he did for a living. We had a heated discussion on what is the definitive American dessert – Pecan Pie or Carrot Cake. To which I said, I’m not a fan of neither but I can make a delicious pie and cake. He said he could too. But because I’m an arrogant asshole, I said “I’m sure you could but mine probably tastes better.” Of course, once I found out that he was a chef, I pretty much swallowed my words whole and felt a little embarrassed. “If I had known you were a chef, I wouldn’t have made that douchey comment about being a better baker,” I texted, sheepishly. To which he replied with much class, “I’m sure you’re still the better baker.” Sploosh.

I met Mr Chef for dinner a week later. We had been exchanging messages all week on discussion topics ranging from food (big fuckin’ surprise!) to films and Mr Chef’s life in the Big Apple before coming here. It’s very rare that I would agree to a dinner on a first date – feels like too much of a commitment, having to sit through an entire meal with a stranger. What if you’ve realised you’re having a terrible time by the time you’re done with your appetiser. You can’t just feign an emergency and run away. It’s 2015 – People know all the tricks there are in the books! So my strategy is just to go for a drink and see where the evening takes us. However, it seemed only right that two foodies (one professional, one amateur) should bond over a meal. Indian, it was – my choice, of course. I was 5 minutes late, something that always leaves me unnerved on a date. I like being early. Alas, traffic fucked me over. He politely waited outside the restaurant. I gave him a peck on the cheek and led him to what could quite possibly be the best Indian meal of his life. Unlikely. But I enjoy dishing out the hyperboles.

Statistically, it takes 1200 seconds, that’s 20 minutes, to decide if there is chemistry between two people. I might have over-generalised this statement but it is true to me. It takes me all in all 20 minutes to decide if there is a spark. I mean sure, we could all argue that chemistry can be built over time. The question here is, could this time be spent doing something else worthier?

Mr Chef was quick to inform me from the very beginning of the evening: “I just want to say that this is my resting face. It looks like I’m always annoyed or bored but I assure you that it has nothing to do with how I actually feel.” What an unfortunate resting face. I chortled, and we proceeded to commence selecting our food – He sank at ease into his seat and told me he trusted me to make the right selections off the menu. As we perused the menu, I wondered at what point was I going to feel this said chemistry, if at all. I looked up and sneaked a look at his face. Was there a facial feature that gave me the butterflies? Nope. What about his hands? Hmm. How does one find chemistry when it doesn’t want to be found?

We talked about dessert – easily one of my favourite conversation topics – and the varieties that we enjoyed baking and stuffing our faces with. The topic of tarts and pies came up. “I am rather selective when it comes to tarts. Lemon and raspberries are acceptable. I don’t understand the appeal of pumpkin.”

Mr Chef smiled and said, “I like the way you say Raspberries.”

Sixteen minutes in. Damn it. Where are you hiding, Chemistry? Show yourself!

It didn’t make an appearance that evening. We did however, have an enjoyable meal and comfortably discussed many things from useless trivia to David Sedaris to our shared love for Wes Anderson films.This comes easy for extroverts. I think I was hoping for chemistry. Chefs are supposed to be intense, passionate and ooze fiery sex appeal. False advertising, I say. This is what happens when you’ve watched too many episodes of Parts Unknown, lusting after Anthony Bourdain. I have no one to blame but myself.

I paid for dinner, like I usually do when I ask someone out. No big deal. Controversial decision, I hear from the people I speak to regarding bills on the first date. To go Dutch? Should the Guy pay? Should the Girl? This is perhaps best left for another entry. Mr Chef didn’t seem too pleased with the idea of me paying but he didn’t persist. I don’t like the drama. He walked me to the train station and we parted ways with a quick peck on the cheek.

“Shall we see each other again?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something next time round. I have a crazy schedule. I never plan things so you’ll have to let me know.”

At this point I thought, “never plan anything? Well, that’s just lazy.”

I smiled very politely and said “I guess I’ll let you know then.”

Because 20 minutes was all I needed to figure out that there wasn’t going to be a second date. Maybe I’ll need to manage my expectations and find myself a pastry chef next. In the meantime, I suppose binging on re-runs of Parts Unknown and No Reservations, while fantasising about my life with Mr Bourdain will have to suffice. Sploosh.

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#1- Three dates and a reality check

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black-and-white-car-couple-drive-Favim.com-1690014“I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips…” 

Date Expectations welcomes the first contribution on its page. Melissa* dropped us a note to share with us her story:

If anything, I’m guilty of setting my dating expectations too high. I expect butterflies, hours of conversation, the man sending you home; the whole enchiladas. As a (serial) monogamist who hasn’t been single for close to a decade, I had problems admitting that that’s not the game anymore. But I mean, why go out at all otherwise? I was faced with the reality and this was the story.

One fateful night, my girlfriend and I stumbled upon an empty club and decided to download tinder. I swiped right on one guy, who swiped right back at me. We had a good banter. So he asked me out. We went on three dates in total. It was a cold slap of reality check.

I was nervous on the first date. Luckily he played everything by the book. He picked me up, ordered wine, ordered dessert. He had so many brownie points that it pains me to say there wasn’t any chemistry! What’s going on there mother nature! So even after he brought up the stories of his ex, I was adamant to go out with him again. I mean, it has to work, right? He played by the book!

So we went out again, he picked me up after work and we went for dinner and drinks. No wine this time, which worked against my will to make this date a successful one. I was hit by the reality that we shared nothing – absolutely nothing – in common. He tried to ‘fix’ everything I did, which was awful.

I tried at jokes, to humor the sad situation I’m in. Strange twist of event, he was actually charmed by my humour and asked me out again. But this time I knew better to manage his and (more importantly) my expectations – I told him to wait for another two weeks.

“Perfect,” he said, “I’ll be travelling anyway.”

Great. So I didn’t push for it. We didn’t contact each other for two weeks straight and I actually started to forget about him.

Until two weeks later, he texted me, all worked up and upset because I didn’t contact him.

Huh?

This was one of the few ‘huh?’ moments in my life. Whenever two parties have working mobilephones with working 4G connection, a non-contact is a mutually agreed upon condition, no? Well at least that’s what I thought. And I felt bad, so I agreed again when he asked me out the third time.

The last time we met was in a cafe for brunch. Food was paltry bordering superficial, just like our conversations. He was evidently nervous. He had to burn two sticks before coffee. We caught up for an hour before I made up an excuse to leave. During the conversation though, for some unfathomable reason I mentioned I would be somewhere around his house the next day. Logic failed me but we agreed to meet (again!) the next day as as we were leaving. 

Here’s the thing, I refused to let him send me home. I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips and he’s just not someone I’d take roadtrip with.

So he walked me to the bus stop. My bus stopped while we were a few metres short. He then told me, I could run for the bus if I wish.

So I did. I didn’t think too far. We exchanged polite texts afterwards to thank each other for the company. I thought that’s the end of it.

The real cold slap dawned around 5AM the next day when we’re supposed to meet. He texted me that he was drunk. He told me to check with him an hour before we’re supposed to meet if, and I quote, “I’m not dead yet”. I told him to rest and have a good life, basically.

What I failed to understand was that he then told me the blow by blow accounts of what happened that night, with an amazing recollection for someone suffering a deathly hangover. I replied, man this isn’t working.

He told me, he wasn’t sorry.

That’s the end of it. Rather than placing his actions on a petri dish of a psychoanalytical microscope, I accepted the reality that after so long, I’m single again. I’m back in the game and it’s an unfamiliar territory. I accepted that I need to adjust my expectations. But chemistry? I think everyone needs to have chemistry to date. At least enough to last a car ride.

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 *Names have been changed, for obvious reasons, suckers.