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Pointless Endeavor

Have I ever explained just what an asshole I am? Let me throw out a bunch of complaints that are only sort of connected. What follows is a handful of things that bug me about other poly people. My hate for others let me show you it! No really, I’m just going to spew a lot of bile and contempt here.

Shall I tell you why I hate trying to read polyamory websites and forums? Because of the one-upmanship that invariably goes on. This is one of the reasons I don’t go to cons and hang out with fen anymore either. Unlike religious people though, the one upping isn’t “holier than thou” so much as it is “freakier than thou” although it comes greatly to the same thing. Someone always wants to tell you about how many lovers they have at once, and how thick their Franklin Planner is with dates and notes about who they’re dating and on what days. And it’s all to impress me, trying to look cool, and you can’t impress me by trying to be cool. I’m more impressed by someone who flat out tells me that they screw up sometimes and that they can’t get it right and that they’re worried about making mistakes than I am by someone who tries to tell me that they’ve got their shit ‘2-gether’ and particularly when I see the Franklin planner come out.

My jerkiness has a flavor!

I can’t take the people with the Franklin planners at all. If you can’t work out who you’re going to fuck and when without a planner then I’m afraid you’ve already lost so many cool points that you’ve become chilly and chilly ain’t never been cool. On the same note, if you need a chart or graph to express how you feel about someone, I want to drown you in my pond. I’m not making shit up here for comedic effect, I’ve seen the charts and the lines coded with different colors of highlighter. The Franklin planner has always looked like a shield to me, a prop to show off. I know it has to be a prop because I’ve known people who had 2 planners, one for poly-life, one for normal life. Like they want me to know that they’ve got so much going on in their pants that they need a planner to keep track of how many and how often. That just doesn’t impress me. I think because at my most active, I never needed a piece of paper or a chart or even a roll of yellow and black tape to show what areas are off limits. In fact, even now I can manage to remember everyone without notes.

And I know this one will ruffle some feathers, but words fail to properly describe just how much I hate terms like primary and secondary when you’re talking about people you’re close enough to know what they look like when they wake up in the morning. I really, genuinely hate all that hierarchy shit. You know who my primary is? The person I’m with at that moment. If I’m having sex with someone, they are my primary partner right then. No one else exists in the world, but them. If I’m talking to someone, even someone I’m not intimate with, they become my primary because I focus all my attention on them. I don’t sit around and talk to someone all the while thinking about talking to someone else.

I devote attention to people, I try to remember all the little details. It’s called giving a shit about people and I take it seriously.

Yes, you might claim I tap danced into a mine field, but then everything worth while carries risk. I would like to point out that there is no safety, just different levels of ignorance toward risk. I encourage you to really check up on risk assessments sometime, it’ll have one of two effects, you’ll either sit in your room (not sucking your thumb because you’ll know how many germs that has) being semi-catatonic or you’ll decide that death’s going to get you at some point and you might as well tap dance. What’s the phrase? I’d rather live one day as a lion than a lifetime as a lamb I think. I know some people who would say tiger, and one person who insists that it’s an eagle, but she’s eagle obsessed. And, for all the mines, I’m still here dancing. You’ve just got to know where they’re likely to be buried is all, and pay attention.

What was I talking about? No, before I got on the subject of those fucking Franklin planner people who wanted a prop to go with their sexual extravagance.

Right, right, one-upmanship.

That, my sweet darlings, is a pointless fucking endeavor. Because no matter how freaky you think you get on Saturday night, you don’t get as freaky as some. If you have two lovers, someone else has five. If you’re into being whipped, someone else is into cutting. If you’re into cutting, someone else is into cutting bits of themselves in half and shit. Some people are even into bisecting their naughty bits. And if you’re into that, someone else is into full amputation. AND! If you cut off your thumb, someone else cut off theirs, made a video of them doing it and posted it on the internet.

You can’t win, see? First off, no one can win the one-up game anyway because if you become the top of the heap, someone else will outdo you just so they can be the top for a while before someone shoves them off. Second off, winning at one-upmanship means all you did was prove to me you can be more pathetically needy and hungry for attention than the last needy pathetic attention seeker who I just got away from.

The third is that suddenly inserting examples of what a Freaky Freakerson you are only leaves me with the statement “You’ve been dying to tell me that for hours, haven’t you?” falling from my lips because while I haven’t done everything I’ve done enough things that freaky has become routine. Seriously, you’ve got to go pretty far outside the norm to squick me and you’ve got to fit extraordinarily rigid guidelines to be relevant to my interests and thus excite me. Besides, as many people who know me in person will tell you, I’m so emotionally cold the only thing that excites me is a hammer to the face or a new Scorsese picture. Seriously, the only way I can come is to be hit by a bus.

As a result of the freakish being normal, trying to impress me by throwing off random freak-facts as if you’re being casual about it but really doing it to tell me how cool you are just makes me want to walk away and scream into the empty void that is my faith in humanity. I’m just not impressed by people trying to be cool, or clever, or hip, or hot. This is particularly bad if you’re like me and can often hear the lame and predictable joke three seconds before it’s said (not psychic powers, just very good at reading people and predicting their next move) and really bad if you know me well enough to see my face after they’ve said the predicted joke and know what that dead-eyed look means. I mean, apart from my other dead-eyed looks. Each one is different, collect them all kids!

Shall I tell you what does impress me? Should I go there? I mean do I really want to tell you what the Teacher’s Edition of my mind says in this instance?

Well I won’t suggest honesty, that’s too hard a concept. I don’t mean that cynically, I mean it’s too hard a concept to properly define. How honest is honest? Does a person lay out everything they’ve done in a first encounter? No, obviously not. If you do that you just end up being some kind of damn freak that no one wants to talk to, least of all me. Actually, you become more of an attention seeker than the previous attention seekers I’ve mentioned. In fact, too much honesty is sort of the problem. In many ways, being completely and totally honest is just another fraud, since most people don’t just lay it out like that. There does come a time and a place for résumé swapping, and it should probably be prior to fluid swapping, but I don’t think first encounters are the place. The attention seeking quotient is too high.

No I’d like to hear less honesty and see more. Don’t tell me what a freak you are, don’t even really show me, let me work it out for myself. Any legitimate freakiness will come up in conversation, given my habits it will come up sooner than you think. I have a way of asking hugely inappropriate questions just because people will usually answer things honestly if you blindside them. Then of course I have a memory that remembers things forever. Yeah, I know which of you are into what! You’re mothers would be ashamed.

And while I’ve got you here, and I’m in full bitch and whine mode, Unicorns. No seriously, fuck people for complaining about every aspect of this idea. Fuck people looking for unicorns, fuck people wanting to be unicorns and fuck people who want to complain about the first two right in the ear and scramble their brains.

If you are unaware, and have read this far, a unicorn is defined by the poly community as a young, hot bi-babe who is willing to join a couple as a living Real Doll. She’s just a plaything, not a serious member of the relationship, she goes away when the in-laws come over, she does dishes, and she watches the kids when the married couple goes out. In return she gets to be part of an awesome relationship, get showered with gifts, and not have to worry about… like stuff. That’s the theory anyway. People looking for a hot bi-babe to “save our marriage” or “come join the fun” or whatever phraseology they use are called Unicorn Hunters.

Now here is my problem with people bitching about that. The situation I just described is more or less my first truly poly experience. The Unicorn in question got scared and ran off about the time that we were thinking maybe the whole thing should be taken seriously and not treated as a bed-romp experience. Had we continued the bed-romping and not tried to get serious, who knows what would have happened? My second reason is that for a good long while there I seem to have some magical amulet that attracted girls like this. Maybe my after shave smells like a virgin tied to a tree, I don’t know. I have pretty rigorous standards, mainly avoiding crazy where and when I can, so most of them didn’t even get to the stage of meeting either Syd or Syd and Hol when there were the two of them. Seriously, I’ve turned down more three ways (with totally psycho chicks mind you) than you’ve had hot dinners. This was not hunting, this was wondering when a gryphon going to show up and being slightly worried about what a gryphon would turn out to be.

In fact, I’m fairly certain that I could put out a call for a unicorn and get at least two interested replies. I’m not saying that they would come to anything, but I am sure I would get “I might be interested” from at least two girls and possibly one guy who is trying to take the unicorn metaphor into new and interesting territory while following mythology pretty rigidly. After that, it would simply be a matter of working out airfare. I’m pretty sure my penchant for saying things like “Unicorn wanted for conversion to full grown up human being status in a real live relationship” would probably have some influence, but the point would be I could get at least a couple of girls asking if they could submit applications.

That’s not a subtle way of announcing a casting call by the way. If I announce a casting call I’ll just come out and say it. We’re always putting applications on file though, psychos need not apply.

In closing, I would just like to say that Falco never saw it coming and the world is a darker place without him in it.

October 30, 2008 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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