“Do you remember me as devout? How I prayed for your calls”
– Tegan and Sara –
Unrequited feelings are annoying as fuck. I understand that chemistry cannot be brute-forced, and there are many reasons for the absence of mutual attraction. Personally, the hardest pill to swallow in a relationship for me is knowing that the other person still has some baggage from their previous relationship. They might have some unresolved feelings or a deep emotional trauma caused by their abusive ex, or whatever it is that makes them hold back. The bottom line is that it’s unfair for you to be the only person fighting for the survival of your relationship. However, I also understand that sometimes, we can’t resist the urge to mate because we simply hate feeling alone. Some of us would rather withstand the abuse than being tormented by our unwanted thoughts when we’re alone. It’s a lose-lose situation. This is why I recommend y’all to simply marry your dildo. Although it might not fill the void in your heart, at least it will fill the void in your other hole.
A couple weeks had passed after that fateful 4 AM slumber party, and I kept seeing my blue-eyed beau on the grid flaunting his exquisite face. Although we had exchanged numbers, he had not texted me or attempted to get another taste of my Good Good. I was obviously disheartened by his lack of enthusiasm. With the absence of initiatives from him, I couldn’t help but over-analyze our previous session. Was my performance really that bad? Was he not into the chic hobo look I wore that night? Did I overdo my kegel exercises until my rectal muscles became severely tight? Was he faking his excitement when he boinked me? In hindsight, I should have known that he’s not worth the infinite amount of time and energy I spent thinking about his whereabouts. But damn, the dick was too bomb for me to give him up so quickly. I was acutely dicknotized.
On a Wednesday morning, I was feeling defeated due to the lack of a high-caliber penis in my day-to-day life. And you know what they say: desperate times call for desperate measures. So I texted my fellow 4 AM hookup fanatic with an inquiring mind and a parched bum, hoping he could clear his schedule for me. He responded with this:
“I’m going to downtown LA later to the Tegan and Sara concert. I’m a big fan of them!”
I was considered by many as a relatively cool bitch who had a wide variety of likes in music. However, at that time, I hadn’t heard much of Tegan and Sara. I was only familiar with their most famous song, “Closer” (not to be confused with that offensively overplayed song by The Chainsmokers). Frankly, I enjoyed the record, but I didn’t have a deep connection with their entire repertoire to justify spending over $50 to see their live performance. I was also concerned that if I came into the concert as an ingenuine Tegan and Sara superfan, I would:
- Lose my credibility as a self-proclaimed music lover
- Spend all night fake lip-syncing to songs I didn’t know
- Compensate for my lack of appreciation for Tegan and Sara with an excessive amount of alcohol
However, I have always enjoyed discovering new music. And for me, live performance is my preferred way to get to know new artists (yeah, I know I sound pretentious as fuck. Sue me!), so I thought it was a good idea to join him. Also, I have always been that bitch who judges someone based on their music taste as it truly reflects one’s personality. This Tegan and Sara concert was the perfect opportunity to learn more about my blue-eyed lover, what he’s about, and his intention with me.
Most importantly, I am a huge proponent of creating loving memories on the dance floor. Imagine holding your loved one while dancing to the intricate melody of an acoustic guitar and Oliver Sim’s soothing baritone voice. If that visual I just gave you didn’t tear at your heartstrings, you might need a heart transplant because you’re a cold-hearted bitch who knows nothing about romance! In conclusion, after intense deliberations, I decided that the $50 was worth the price of fond memories and an exquisite penis. I aggressively invited myself to join him, and because my blue-eyed lover didn’t have a better plan, yours truly managed to score himself a date. Cha-ching, motherfuckers!
We decided it’s easier to drive to the concert hall together because it helped to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and facilitate our emergency make-out sessions. I offered to become the designated driver for the night as I assumed I had a higher alcohol tolerance. Besides, I was the bitch who insisted on coming with him, so I thought it’s the least I could do to mask my extremely apparent thirst. Before my fellow concert goer entered my car, I strategically played Tegan and Sara’s “Walking with a Ghost.” It was partly to impress him and partly to support my award-winning acting performance as a Tegan and Sara devotee. You can call me a con artist and I won’t be mad about it. Eat your heart out, Kellyanne Conway!
On our way to the concert, he surprisingly confessed to me that he used to listen to Tegan and Sara during his road trips with his previous lover. I thought, “Oh Lord, give me the strength I need to go through this shit.” This was why he wanted to go alone. This was why he was thrilled to obtain a driver who’s willing to drive him to the concert, in case he chose to drink his emotions away. While my blue-eyed lover wanted to reminisce about the summer with his ex, I selfishly wanted to hold his disco stick tight with my rectal muscles. However, he was already in my car, and there was no way I would drop him off at the corner of Sunset Boulevard because I didn’t have time for his soppy bullshit. Besides, it was too late to ask for a refund, so basically, I was paying $50 for the possibility to see him turned into a complete mess. Who’s playing who now?
We arrived at The Hollywood Palladium, an Art Deco style venue that was more spacious than I anticipated. I thought it was going to be one of those more intimate concerts with less than 1,000 people. But I guess I completely underestimated the marketability of Tegan and Sara; they clearly had a substantial, loyal fan base to fill out the theater with ease. I quickly reminded myself, however, that I did not come there for an art field trip. It was time to work, and my primary mission was to obtain the penis attached to the man standing next to me.
First things first, we went straight to the bar area because the two romantic leads in this chapter were literally and figuratively thirsty. The blue-eyed Tegan and Sara aficionado and I each ordered a Blue Moon; everything seemed to be going as smoothly as my butt hole on a good day. I suggested to move to the dance floor area when I saw the concert was about to begin, and he enthusiastically followed my lead. However, it was slightly demoralizing when he didn’t make any romantic gesture like holding my hand or hugging me from behind. Instead, we were awkwardly standing next to each other while holding our beers in our hands tightly. We looked like two high school kids who were coerced by societal pressure into taking each other to prom. It was no bueno.
The concert started with “Drove Me Wild.” And befittingly, Tegan and Sara drove the other concert-goers and me wild as fuck. I was blown away by Tegan and Sara’s magnetizing performance, even though I only knew one of their songs beforehand. They were engaging the audience like they were everyone’s best friends for years.
But guess who was not engaging with me that night?
My blue-eyed lover.
He was completely fixated on his dreadful world of reminiscence. I assumed his previous relationship did not end well, and the concert was a catalyst for his downward spiral of self-blame. While I was serving fierce fake lip-sync moments, I could see the constant sorrow in his eyes. Most of our conversations revolved around how every song reminded him of his ex. While he didn’t talk about his ex, my blue-eyed downer often made a trip to the bar to get more alcoholic beverages. The cocktails were clearly his vain attempt to appear more cheerful and less melancholic, and they got progressively stronger as the night went on. Meanwhile, there I was… an untouched, fake Tegan and Sara fan standing alone on the dance floor, trying my best to enjoy my own company. The whole situation was pretty fucked, y’all.
The cherry on top of this whole mess was him bursting into tears during one of the sad songs.
I took it as THE cue for us to exit the building.
He apologized for his not-so-classy behavior during our trip back to his place. I didn’t know what to think about his apologies, but I knew I wanted this shit to be over with. I pulled over at his house, attempted my best to ensure he’s well enough to walk to his house, and drove myself back home. You might ask, “but hey, don’t you feel responsible for making sure he’s in a safe space before leaving him alone?” First of all, he’s a grown adult, so it wasn’t my responsibility to tuck him in bed and read him a bedtime story. Secondly, it was his own choice to down that much alcohol without knowing his own limit. I was aware that he just underwent a rough time, and I truly felt sympathetic toward his situation. But hey, for someone who had only met him twice, I think I had done the best I could do.
Do you think this would be the end of my story with the blue-eyed mess? Of course not! Don’t ever underestimate my poor decision-making skills!
To be continued…