Casual sex makes my foot fall asleep.

Ahhh the fuck buddy. I’m not sure why I onomatopoeia-sighed just then. Like the overused and almost consistently ill-fated pop culture term is an any way relieving. Because it’s not. I’m speaking on experience both personal and vicarious. Too many times we go into a relationship hoping to keep it casual and friendly as it indefinitely and inevitably always seems to turn into a big, sloppy, mascara-running-down-your-cheeks, walk-of-shame-mess. Or a publicly addressed resignation. Or a political impeachment.

Either way, it’s bad no matter who’s involved. Those strings? Or there lack of, do really become attached. So much so that you’re actually tangled in them and cutting off blood supply to important parts of your body. Sort of like that tingling feeling you get back in your foot after you sat on it for too long. It’s kind of your foot's way of saying: What the fuck, asshole? Thanks for just now realizing that I’ve been underneath your worthless, fat ass for so long. Too bad complaining was the only way to get you the fuck off me and let me BREATHE.

Not that that has some double meaning, or anything.

But it’s the tingling sensation equivalent to the bad conversation where both of you pretend you didn’t know what was going on, and try to leave it as casually as you started. And only when you get the feeling back do you say: What the fuck happened? Why was in that position for that long? Which is exactly the irony of it all. You go in not wanting to get hurt, you go out a little numb and gimpy.

And now we watch the term go from literal descriptor to ironic double entendre:

Before: “Fuck buddy!” After: “Fuck, buddy.”

The latter is usually followed by a few solid condolences and binge drinking. The important thing is to just make sure the double vodka tonic haze isn’t the condition you meet the next potential “blank” buddy. Because no matter what word you put in front of it, a buddy is still just a buddy. No matter how long you sit on him.