People love drama. And rightfully so. Without drama, the world around us is woefully uninteresting. It’s why Grey’s Anatomy is still on the air, why people thirst for Kristin Hannah novels, why when you start hearing about someone else’s problems, you eat it up. I like to think it is because we are prone to empathy and catharsis and not just nosey. Regardless, drama plays a big role in society. Drama exists so girls everywhere can get a nice rise out of rolling their eyes and loudly sighing, “Ugh, I hate drama!” Thus creating drama from their hatred thereof.
I can’t speak for everyone, but in my experience, when it comes to relationship drama, most of the time the men are the main culprits. Here is why: women love when the relationship enters the boring phase. It means they don’t always have to pluck their eyebrows and can eat ice cream right out of the carton and scratch themselves wherever they may itch. When the relationship enters the boring phase, it means you are comfortable, and perhaps going somewhere. Some men can’t handle that kind of predictability. It feels too relationship-y for them. They want the woman who starts yelling at them for a mundane reason and then sobbing from her anger and then proceeds to rip off all of her clothes and take it out on them sexually because she can’t handle her own emotions.
Whenever you hear a guy say, “Dude, she’s crazy,” know that it is the equivalent to our, “Ugh, I hate drama.”
And if you’re wondering why you don’t always have the best of luck with relationships, consider the possibility that you’re just not a psycho. And wait it out for the guy who watches you eat the ice cream with awe and sheer admiration.
I dated a guy awhile ago who was all about the drama. This was a challenge for me because I am not good at creating drama. I approach dramatic or sensitive topics with either humor or general political incorrectness because I am perpetually uncomfortable. But this guy had a very low tolerance for just plain old chilling. Something exciting always needed to be happening, and it was up to me to make it happen.
I couldn’t be confrontational because there was absolutely nothing to be confrontational about. We were usually just watching TV in his basement. What was I supposed to do? Yell about how I didn’t want to watch Entourage and could we please put on TV Land instead?! Flip the table over out of my sheer hatred for Adrian Grenier? It all seemed so pointless.
So, partially as a writing exercise and partially because my relationship depended on it, I started to make up really dark stories about my past.
It was innocent at first. I would talk about being made fun of at school, about always feeling “different” and ostracized for it. Ya know, all that Degrassi crap. He would stare at me with really intense eyes as I would try to get some waterworks going and then we would make out a lot. I liked the making out part. The making out part was the goal. Always.
But it wasn’t enough. I could feel him getting bored with me. I needed an Oscar-worthy twist. I needed to blow minds! I fished for more material. Was I struggling with my sexuality? Nah, not really. Did I have a drug problem? Can’t say that I did. I obviously wasn’t in poverty nor did I have a child. Let me tell you, it is very hard to make up an oppressive story about yourself when you’re a straight, white female from the suburbs.
As I struggled with my search for answers, I reached over to the table and took a sip of his beer.
“I think you have a drinking problem,” he said with narrow, almost expectant eyes.
It is always nice to receive a bit of direction.
This remained a topic of conversation on his part for weeks. He made up elaborate stories about me getting violently drunk and not remembering and would send me information about various programs and self-help books. He would tell the waitstaff at restaurants that he wasn’t going to have a drink because I was overcoming alcoholism. The whole thing was out of control. At this point in my life, you could tally the number of alcoholic beverages I’d had on two hands. Maybe two-and-a-half. But I’m really awkward and he was really cute and I liked making out with him so how in the heck was I supposed to explain that I didn’t actually have a drinking problem?
One night, when I was forced to sit through another episode of Entourage, his father came downstairs for a beer. He had apparently forgotten that I was a recovering alcoholic and offered me one. I shook my head nonchalantly because I, too, forgot that I was a recovering alcoholic. And my boyfriend took that to mean that I was cured.
He wasn’t happy for me. He did not jump for joy. He was immediately bored with me again. He removed his arm from around my shoulders and sighed. “I think you should go.”
“But, I…I,” My lip started quivering from all the pressure, and I’m pretty sure he took it to mean I was going to start crying, so I went with it.
“They used to laugh at me!” Was all I could get out. It was small, but he leaned in closer to me.
I just started shaking my head because I had no idea who.
“Who used to laugh at you?!?!” He took my face in his hands and waited intently.
And then we made out some more.
That relationship did not last long. My shortest one to date. You can guess why. That dude was crazy!
This is actually a pretty extreme example. It is not normally this intense or exhausting to date anyone.Most people have to use the time at the beginning of a relationship to make themselves seem slightly less crazy. I have to wonder if I’m the only person in history who made myself seem batshit insane just to get a guy. Anyway, I’ve certainly learned my lesson, and can proudly say I am 6 years sober of drama queens.
PS: I’m on Twitter! Follow me @AwkwardPrufrock for as much awkward as one can achieve in 140 characters or less.