The FB Dance

It's been a year since I dated anyone. Sure, I've been on dates, but intimacy (or even a second date, for that matter) hasn't hit my radar in 12 calendar months. So, well-meaning friends have stepped up to help with the suggestion that I take on an FB (some have even volunteered themselves). I've thought about it, of course; a year of celibacy will make one think about a lot of things. My issue, though, is that setting up an FB is about the same amount of work as setting up a person to date, so if I'm going through that dating ritual, why would I limit myself?

If I meet someone out in the world with the intention of becoming FBs, I still need time to "rev up." In other words, I'm not planning to jump into the sack with anyone right away. We still have to get to know each other and develop some kind of connection before the clothes come off. And then there's the whole rigamarole after we're naked: What do you like? What do I like? How do we fit together? It's exhausting just thinking about it!

What I would rather have is, as I'm calling it, a lease with an option to buy. There are no guarantees in life, and I can't know now where things will end up next week or next year, but why not keep that door open?

For me, there are only two ways an FB situation can work:

1. If one or both of us is married.
2. If we dated in the past and we're recycling. 

I've had FBs in both of those situations, and I'll be honest with you: the first doesn't feel all that good. Although I've never cheated on a partner, if he is, I don't feel good about that either. I have, however, recycled people from time to time, and that's pretty awesome. Even after years of not seeing an ex, when I visited the area where he lived, we were able to easily fall into old patterns—if only for the weekend. There were no expectations and no awkwardness because, although we cared for each other, there was no deep emotion to mess up the purely physical component.

In our casual, disposable society, few people seem willing to latch on for an adventure together, but they're more than willing to roll in the hay a bit. It's frustrating, and it's keeping me from enjoying the ups and downs a relationship can offer.

Shiny New Objects

What is the lure of having something new? I just bought new Wonder Woman Converse over the weekend, and wearing them for the first time today was a bit of a high. When I got my new iPhone, I was so proud and casually showed it off to anyone who was looking. But why is this? Why is it that we never seem to be happy enough with what we have and are always looking for something new?

The same could be said for relationships. I have friends who've been married nearly 20 years, and while I—as a single person—was lamenting the dating game, they were pointing out that that knowing someone that well has its disadvantages as well. If you're staying committed, you certainly won't experience a new person again. Is that why people cheat?

There's definitely something to be said about having something new. We get to have different experiences, check out all the bells and whistles, and see how things work. In a new relationship, we aren't yet at the point of taking each other for granted, and we spend a lot of time just being together. In this disposable society, when we own something that's not working, we usually don't get it fixed; we buy something new. And technology just feeds that need for shiny new objects by coming out with upgrades regularly. The question is: What is this obsession with the latest and greatest doing for our relationships?