rackers co

We’ve all been guilty of it, even victims of it… we’ve all been there.

Falling in love with the idea of someone. Not the actual someone.

You meet this brand new person, like they popped out of nowhere, almost always at the ‘right’ time in your life. What even constitutes the ‘right’ time? How can someone whose been single for 20+ years’ ‘right time’ compare to someone whose been single for two seconds’ ‘right time’? Can anyone answer this question for me??? How many ‘right times’ does someone get in their life? Anyway…

They charm you, they’re fun, they make you feel things you’d forgotten you’d feel, or didn’t think you’d feel for someone else, or had never felt before.

You find yourself constantly checking your phone to see if you have a notification for a message, a snapchat, a ‘DM’ (Is that a thing? Am I getting old??). If they’ve checked your hilariously funny snapchat story that really isn’t actually that funny to anyone but you; annoying yourself in wondering if they’ll like your new instagram post, your facebook status (or your most recent blog post, lel).

It’s new, it’s exciting, and you can’t wait to see where it goes – and then it doesn’t.

It just doesn’t go.

You’re different people, it wasn’t actually the right time, you’re better off as friends, you discover that little things about them actually irk the shit out of you. Reasons.

You’re just simply… not made for each other.

But then your mind does this weird little trick, where you forget that you didn’t really like them all that much. Your mind says ‘let’s forget about all the things that were telling me that they were not for me!’ ‘Noooo remember all those good times!’ ‘What do you meeeean they hurt your feelings?’

I’ve been a victim of it. And I’ve been guilty of it.

There are those that you feel like you should like, because they like you. The ones you feel guilty for not feeling enough for, so you force your little mind to like them just enough to keep it going. You like the idea of them. You like how polite they are, how much they tolerate your siblings, how much your mum adores them.

And then when you’re the victim. You wish they’d want you back. You literally want the idea of them. And you pine for too fucking long about it. You wear rose-coloured glasses, so all the red flags just look like flags.

***STORY TIME***
I could write a book about unsuitable suitors I have chased after.

I had a tinder bae.
We started talking, and hit it off straight away. He was from another country. He was here for a while. The banter was unreal and he was really fucking good looking.

Anticipated messages from him, back and forth, all throughout the day. I’d forgotten what it was like to get excited about reading someone’s name on your phone. 

We went on a date. (Can you call it a date if it’s drinks at 9pm? Is that a glorified booty call?) Banter was still good, but not as good as had been. I excused this, because naturally no one’s banter is as good as it is through messages (except mine), due to the whole not-having-20-mins-to-think-of-response.
He was actually an asshole. With some serious mummy issues. And he hated women.

And I still wanted a second date.

Because he was good looking and made me laugh, you know, when he wasn’t being a prick.

It dwindled out. And, because I’m being perfectly honest here, he did the dwindling. And I wondered what was wrong with me… Like some serious what the fucks going on at this point, right? Who EVEN wants to spend more time with someone who was OPENLY hating on women?! WHERE’S YOUR GRL PWR RACKERS?!

Cue like a week later when I met another really cute dude @ Coogee Pav and completely moved on from my very brief – but obviously (not) really real feelings – love affair with tinder bae.

*Coogee Pav bae completely different story for a completely different time* **Contact rackersindacity@gmail.com if you want some serious laughs**

Complete loss of feminism/self-love/self-respect aside, I was overtaken by the idea of a good looking guy, who was from another country [aka no commitment] [aka knows no one I know], with B+ bantz, taking a liking to me. Some serious rose-coloured glasses up in here. Sipping on rosé. Because nothing else could explain my utter loss of brain cells than saying I was drunk the whole time.

We’ve all been guilty of it.
We’ve all been victims of it.

A tell-tale sign you actually like the person, and not the idea of them: I don’t know because I’m obviously a really bad judge of character/don’t know if feelings are real/if I’m just lonely. So don’t ask me. Just try to figure it out yourself before you’re knee deep in the wrong dude.

Take it from me, a veteran singleton: it’s better to be single and playin tha field, than taken and forcin feels just to have someone.