Why doesn't (s)he call?

I’m the one who doesn’t call.  I’ve spent years hearing complaints about myself in the third person, and so I thought I might take a moment to try to defend myself.  Maybe the other people who don’t call have some of the same excuses, or other perfectly reasonable ones.

First off, it’s not about you.  This applies to a lot of situations, not just about why someone will or will not call.  I’ve heard cogent arguments from teachers that something as personal-seeming as an oral exam has more to do with the examining committee than about you, who studied hard for this thing.  So it surprises me, the extent to which people consent to wasting mental and emotional energy taking a lack of action personally.

Here’s what it is about: me.  I hate the telephone.  Since we’ve gotten away from landlines, the reception has gotten poorer--I find myself missing even more non-verbal cues than on email.  Plus, the socially acceptable spaces for making phone calls have largely disappeared, leaving us to call while we’re walking around and distracted.  Not to mention, I just happen to be a visual/kinesthetic learner rather than auditory, so talking on the phone doesn’t even impart that much information to me.

More importantly, I’m busy.  I’ve got a job I value; a suite of lovers who, low-maintenance as they all are, seem to benefit from being included in my life; and some priorities of my own.  Adding someone new to the list of people who get real-time communication might turn into an obligation rather than a treat.  I don’t call you because I assume you’re busy living your own life.  I sure am!  Who has half an hour of unscheduled time in which they’re not already invested in their own activities and happen to be alone (my most important rule of poly: focus on the person/people in front of you.  That applies to friendships, too)?  I might schedule a phone call if I want to connect with you.  Or write you an email.  Or--if if I don’t want to hear about your life, too--suggest you follow me on some social medium or other.  But I won’t call just because we met and I might want to hang out; there’s an opportunity cost of great things that are already happening in my life.

I’m thinking of this now because I’m specifically choosing not to call someone with whom I had a great first date.  OK, it was great for me; it may not have been for him.  But the truth is, I know people are on their best behavior on dates, and just as I don’t usually discount a mediocre first date, a great one isn’t sufficient information to predict a great relationship.  I might be willing to let this one go.  I’d also be willing to go on a second date if he found me (it sometimes only takes one to negotiate a tango), but scheduling the first one was hard enough, and I don’t see what awesome people or activities I’m willing to give up in order to get more information on this guy.  New acquaintances just don’t pop up into my head that frequently.  There’s certainly no ill will; I rather like this particular guy.  Even for the ones I don’t particularly like, I’m certainly not ignoring them on purpose out of spite. 

I suppose I could call him now, since I’m thinking of it. 

But I’d just rather write my blog.

Why Be Poly (part 2)?

I particularly enjoy being polyamorous when the best spouse ever is away on business  and outsources the onerous job of entertaining me, such that I have weekends like this:

***

The best lover ever (note to other lovers: you are also the best lover ever.  In a different way) came over on an early flight and purposefully built my anticipation by refusing to call me when his flight got in, so I was stuck at the parking lot waiting unnecessarily (OK, that's a lie.  It was a new airport, and I suck at reading signs).  He warned me earlier to have a full gas tank.  He did not warn me to have an overnight bag packed.  That one was a surprise.

After a delightful outdoor lunch in lovely weather (but why did we only get one fork for two meals?!?!?!), we hopped in the car.  He drove, because we knew where we were going, and I did not (here's where another of the best lovers ever comes in: a picture from her that I got the day before finally decided to come up on my phone, and the two occupants of my car enviously admired her spooky Halloween-esque preserved eyeballs).  In an unfortunate combination of traffic and my falling asleep during my navigatory duties (hey-- he got in early!!), we missed the exit for our first stop and went straight to the town where we had dinner reservations.  We were several hours early, so we wandered through a lovely fall festival full of beer and rock bands that featured slightly heavyset blonde lead singers.

The weather was so nice that we allowed ourselves enough distraction to arrive late for dinner, despite an excellent parallel parking job that earned the comment, "you're not from around this town if you park that well, are you?"  Really good food.  Quite good booze.  I was told there was no need to be sober for our next activity, which I had more or less figured out by the giant haunted prison across the street.

Oooh, haunted house season, and in a decrepit prison, no less!  The walls were crumbling.  The make-up was awesome.  The women in front of us couldn't stop screaming, even when they got exchanged for different women.  One room was in 3-D.  Another had moving walls.  There was even a werewolf, probably in homage to the historical Prison Dog (who inspired the only completely cute object in the gift shop).

And that's not all.  After a bit of refreshment (there's still no need to be sober for the rest of the night's activities...), we went to...

...wait for it...

... another haunted house!  But not just any haunted house.  The best haunted house in the country.  #1, according to some survey or other (there are discordant opinions sometimes).

Um... yeah.  The prison was better.  Except for getting poked by a vibrating chainsaw.  Oh, and the giant blood splattered Easter bunny with the axe.

Next day began with brunch and another fall festival, this one featuring chili rather than beer.  A mishap with the GPS sent us to... another fall festival!  This one featured well-preserved classic cars.  Well worth the detour, even if brunch left us too full to try the crab fries.

We eventually made our leisurely way home, stopping at a state park for a fall walk and Tarzan-swing on a particularly sturdy vine.  And we were finally rewarded for all the driving by partaking of the best crab bisque (was that what it was?  I'm sleepy after all that excitement) ever.  Even though I've never seen that one reviewed on line.

There was still no reason to be sober for the night's activities.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

This one applies to monogamists, too (it's amazing how much of poly living applies to monogamy), but it's sometimes fun to have the spouse gone.

As soon as he left, I missed him.  But that didn't stop me from staying up too late, changing some organization to the way I want it, listening to my music (and pretty loudly), eating food that I like, calling people who are more my friends than his, and generally taking care of secondary priorities before they became primary priorities out of the necessity of negligence.  It was all fun.  It always is.

And a lot of the fun was getting him back.  Having had enough of being without the little stuff that reminds me I'm sharing my space (and finding myself acting like him in his absence), and of doing the stuff that makes me me when I'm by myself, getting someone back is like giddily finding someone new, only they already know you.

Too bad I now miss the lover who was here while the spouse was gone.

Got your back

I was at a lover's house screening someone as a possible third.  The potential third was over for dinner, and I knew this guy, but my lover didn't.  The third had two distinct advantages: a self-proclaimed superior talent for box jobs and a Rolodex full of highly satisfied females who might also be willing to act as thirds.

I was rather smitten by the idea of a superior box job, enough so that I'd be willing to overcome my general disdain for casual sex (see Post #5) to do the experiment.  I was smitten enough that I failed to register some odd signs.  A few not-so-subtle jabs at my established partner.  And when my lover started yawning and putting his clothes out for the next day, the Pussy Whisperer didn't get the hint to leave.  He had to be shown the door.

At the debrief, my lover pointed out the signals of narcissism, which usually correlates with a poor choice in lover, and I was flabbergasted to have remembered them all but not taken the signals as the red flags they were presenting.  We jointly opted to forgo the threesome and the potential matchmaking and just enjoy each other's company for the moment.

I'm sharing this particular story because it illustrates a number of things I think about fairly frequently:

(1) Hospitality.  This is a shout out to the way-better-than-average people I date.  In this case, my lover is someone who was willing to entertain--with perfect manners and at home--someone for long after he showed himself to be unsavory.  And my lover managed to keep the upper hand; a temporarily unpleasant situation doesn't need an invitation to be repeated.

(2) If you want to play, don't diss an established partner.  Ever.  You are either going to lose or you'll get with someone who's not worth playing with anyway.

(3) I was extremely glad to have someone whose head wasn't swimming with promises of a life-changing box job watching my back and screening people for/with me.  Two opinions are better than one, especially if they lead to a quick consensus.  Relevant reading for similar situations or any situation when you're evaluating someone alone: The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Beker.  It's less about fear itself and more about learning to listen to the little responses your body gives when you're with someone who's giving you the willies.

That's all for now.  Got a topic or a question?  Let me know at polysaturated at rocketmail dot com.