Dagnydarling's Blog

It Sounds Like I Date A Lot, Which I Sort of Do, But I Just Have Little Else to Write About…

Posted in Birds & the Bees, Misc. by dagnydarling on May 17, 2011

I blame my lack of control over my life and my inability to “plan ahead” on my hair.  Mostly because I don’t like to wash it, and once I do wash it I am paralyzed by the oh-so-heavy decision, do I curl it or leave it straight?  And, God forbid I manage to decide and opt for a curl, I find myself glaring at my variety of curling irons… What kind of curl do I want?  (Side note: I think they all end up looking the same, but to justify the amount of money spent on my vibrator-look-alike hair tools, I tend to worry anyway).

The reason this matters is because I am meeting up with this guy tonight for what I guess is (don’t judge me!) a… blind date?  And the picture he saw of me has straight hair, so even though I prefer my hair curled, should I just stick with his expectations so I don’t throw him through a loop?  Furthermore (who says furthermore in a blog? That just seemed weird), it’s raining and since it never rains in California, I own precisely zero jackets and one pair of sneakers that are suede anyway so they can’t be relied upon to shelter my feet from puddles.  So I’m in heels.  4.5 inch heels.  In the rain.  Oh God, I’m gonna fall down.  I shouldn’t even go.  What if I sprain an ankle?  The fear/anxiety I have right now is soooo not worth meeting the cute guy my friend has been raving about for months.

Unless… it is.  Which is why I washed/blew dry/straightened my hair today.  Because, women- I know you feel me on this: you never freaking know.

The romantic at heart in me, lives by the “you never know” mantra.  And it is her fault that I even let my friend set me up.  It was her that drug my ass out of bed this morning and it was her that convinced me yes, shaving my legs would probably be a good idea.  Worst case scenario: homeboy tonight is the man of my dreams (doubtful), but since I couldn’t be bothered to brush my hair he was uninterested in the girl who looked like a homeless version of Amy Winehouse.  So I brushed my hair.  Shaved my legs.  And, as mentioned before, it is the rain’s fault that I am wearing heels.

As a final note, I should have written about this yesterday.  Because I don’t really know blind-date etiquette… Do we hug? I generally give a hug/kiss combo when greeting, but that’s way too much, right? Can’t I just give him my resume and pretend like we’ve always known eachother? Is drinking allowed or does that send the she-is-a-lush red flag up?  Clearly, I’m in need of some guidance here.

Then again, as soon as I get really caught up in the “ohmigod, what if…?” thoughts, the normal girl inside me bitch-slaps the romantic girl and says, “fuck that, it’s free food.”  And I breathe easy again.

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Breaking Up (With ME) is Hard To Do… Or So I’ve Heard.

Posted in Birds & the Bees, Letters to Nobody by dagnydarling on March 26, 2011

My Friday night agenda:

  • Laundry.  Lots of it.  Somewhere, a Water Board member (the people I unfortunately hang out with thanks to work) is crying at the amount of H20 being used to wash my panties.
  • Red wine.  More than the water being used in aforementioned laundry.
  • Grey’s Anatomy reruns— I love you, DVR.  Don’t ever leave me.
  • Blogging, evidently.  I can’t help it!  Working, working, and then inevitably I wind up on stupid wordpress.  *shakes head*

So aside from the fact that I lead a boring life (did I mention how thrilled I am at the prospect of a Friday night IN?) I have a serious question to pose to the world:

WHY CAN’T THINGS JUST END?

What happened to clean break ups?  Did they ever exist, or did I just fantisize about them when I was in my early years of college crying over slightly-overweight frat boys?

Let’s review: Prez and I decided that we were too similar- stubborn, politically driven, outspoken and judgmental opinioned.  I was, if possible, out-Republican’d by this guy, who is arguably the smartest person I have ever met.  We regularly debated which city councilman was corrupt, which was legit, and why they were all so god damned creepy.  Awesome, except for the fact that we disagreed about EVERYTHING in that small topic of conversation. (There are approximately 4 Republicans remaining after good ol’ George Dubya, and the President and I took different sides on all of them). 

I saw the inevitable- and I was relieved when the conversation/argument was over.  We were too similar, we were too smart, we both had the tendency to use our intelligence to be cruel to the people we cared the most about.  (It;s a curse.  I shit you not).  And so we said a very diginified “see you around” and parted ways.

And then he texted me.  Everyday afterward.  Numerous times.  About nothing in particular.  I guess we’re… friends?

Except we’re not.  Because once you have that kind of passionate/crazy/choatic thing with someone you don’t regress into a “how was your day” friendship.  I didn’t make up those rules- the laws of physics did.  Or something.  So naturally, I am perplexed. 

I’d love to attribute my exes’ tendency for attrition to my shockingly good looks, or wit, or talent (at?!) but I’m pretty sure that’s not the case.  Deciding that we were better off apart was an obvious, but still hurtful choice.  It was reminiscent, on a very small scale, of previous break ups that ripped my heart in two.  So what is it about me/women/life/whatever that makes men go, “I should text her”?!

I have always had a theory that “everyone comes back.”  Coming back meaning they’ll call, they’ll try to get you in bed again, they’ll tell you they didn’t know what they were thinking, or that they still love you.  But this doesn’t fit because we broke up TWO DAYS AGO.  To this day, I have yet to be proven wrong on this theory— everyone does circle back at least once (I dare you to disagree with me). 

But because we cross paths regularly thanks to work, and I really do think very highly of the guy, I don’t want to tell him to go away.  Does he think we are friends?  We didn’t cover that.  Does he think that’s even possible (if so- he gets downgraded from Smartest Guy Ever).  Naked equals not friends. That’s also a law of physics.  Or something. 

And while I mull this over- I just got a call from a friend (also a blogger: www.woopsimthatgirl.wordpress.com) who is driving her fabulous self a whole TWO HOURS because a post she was writing drove her to drink.  So at the very least, I may not understand men- but I’ve got some great friends.

What did we learn?

  • It’s hard to do 4 loads of laundry in one night without impediments.
  • Men are confusing (HEY, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS!)
  • Blogging will make you an alcoholic.

This was an awful post.  I’m taking a mini vacay with my girlfriends tomorrow though, so that should warrant something worth reading.  You deserve a sticker or some shit if you got this far.  Thanks.

Let Me Use Your Life Experiences For My Own Haphazard Education, Please.

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on March 24, 2011

Sadly, certain parts of yesterday’s post were a little bit premature.  Namely, anything mentioning the President.  We had our second and last argument (“discussion” if we’re using my parents’ verbage), and promptly decided we were no good for eachother.  I have a lot of respect for him, although it was clear that we would murder one another, or probably ruin both of our careers if we continued on.  Plus, there’s a lot that I can’t really write here because he doesn’t deserve to be aired out on my blog.  I’ve learned my lesson there, so we will just wish him the best of luck while he exits the life of [Dagnydarling].

I went to Chipotle today– no, that’s not the whole point of this blog, although it could very well be.  While waiting patiently for my burrito (does anyone know why they use GOLD wrappers now?!), a group of very loud, very annoying, I-don’t-understand/respect-personal-space teenaged boys stood behind me.  And then one of them declared the following:

“I’m going to marry the first girl I fall in love with.”

I promptly fell in love with him before remembering that that is illegal in California and took a step to distance myself from this prebubescent Romeo. 

Homeboy thinks he’s going to marry his first love.  Granted, homeboy is only probably 17 right now… but hey, it could happen.  And I think that’s awesome.  (I also suspect he’ll be divorced shortly after if we’re taking statistics into consideration, but hey.  Po-tay-tow, Po-tah-tow).

So now that I’m rounding out something like True Love #43 (I date a lot), I wonder what my life would have been if I married my first love:  the goobery musician with a big heart- who I last heard is technically homeless that I dated at 17.  At 17, let’s be real, a lot was going wrong with me– I included a picture to prove this point.  So whether it was the blond hair, or bad tan, or cumbersome braces, I was still working into “me.”  As much as I was certain that we would be married though, I am inexplicably grateful that I didn’t marry him.  I would have been miserable.  In the process of being wretched, I am pretty sure I would have destroyed his life, too.  So we count our blessings- even if they were unwanted at the time.

There are nowords for why my hair is so poofy, or why my face is so pale, or why I have what LOOKS like rhinestones on my eyebrows. I'm not sure including this picture was wise. Be gentle.

I’m not a whole hell of a lot closer to marriage today than I was at 17- except that maybe I have an earnest desire to be married and I stopped doing my make-up like a tranny.  But I couldn’t have married the President, although he was what you would have wanted in a husband, and my first love, bless his heart is everything you wouldn’t want. 

There’s no big resolution to this post- except to notify you all that the Prez got impeached sort of early (a little cheesy, I know), and apparently that 17 year old boys are far more romantic than I remember them being.  What I would love Love LOVE, though, is for anyone to tell me about their first love (and then to give them THIS SURVEY).  I’ll settle for just the story about your first love though.

My own experiences are not learning experiences enough, so I’m simply asking to let me keep yours forever buried deep in my subconscious  borrow yours.

(Final thought: What a sweet book that would make… Damn my creative ideas coming so late at night I’m too lazy to do anything about it).

(Final final thought: “so late at night?”  It’s 9:30.  Fuck, I’m old.)

Did We Date? Take My Survey!

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on March 23, 2011

I’ve been a disgracefully absentee blogger of late.  I’m not sure how much better the current situation is- seeing as I’m blogging quite lamely from a Starbucks that I despise (drinking Green Tea— cuz I’m healthy!) and finally getting back into it.  It’s quite possible that the only way for me to be any more cliche would be if I were wearing all baggy clothes and a beret.  But I don’t own a beret, so the sweater and jeans from high school will have to suffice.

Where have I been, you ask?  Jamaica.  Clubbing.  Meeting my future husband.  Rescuing puppies.  Except I haven’t (ever) done any of those things, and instead I regret to inform all 3 of my readers that I was at California Republican Convention (seriously), moving (suck it, Charlie the miracle dog), and fuck only knows where else.  But shit, I’ve been busy.  And now I’m just tired and wondering when I’ll have enough time to wash my hair.

I’m in a Starbucks I hate right now because I have exactly 24 minutes to kill before I go volunteer with the homeless baby that I love more than any pair of my shoes (serious!), and because this is the only place with wi-fi nearby.  And of course, because irony has made me its bitch, I’m sitting in the exact god-damned same seat that I’ve had a converstation in that I would love to forget.  Fabulous.

From this very bench I was told something along the lines of why I was no longer in the relationship that I so desperately tried to be in… to absolutely no avail.  And currently, I’m sort of kind of on the verge of a new relationship, and there hasn’t been a very significant gap between the two events. (Except a girl just walked in with the greatest boots and she’s wearing those tall socks and she has great hair and she’s so cute… ugh. Damn everyone who is better looking than me right now.  That includes you, RuPaul).

Anyway, why am I always striving to be in a relationship?  It’s practically a full-time job, only it costs me money and I can’t argue my way into it.  Trust me, I’ve definitely tried.  I’m a relationship type of girl.  I get off on routine, commitment, facebook’s “in a relationship” status.  If there was an I ❤ monogamy shirt, I’d be sporting it.  My friends, the large majority of them, are either married or absolutely single.  Both are irritatingly ecstatic.  I- on my island of awkward middle-ground, facebook stalking drama- am not.  What gives? (update: adorable girl with great boots has an adorable boyfriend with great hair… I’m going to burn this Starbucks down once I’m done with the internet).

And maybe I could be in a committed relationship right now.  I’m not really good at this stuff, but I’m pretty sure that it’s a possibility with the President (we like him).  But when going through the possiblity of having the “so, like, what are we” conversation, it occurred to me that he might actually say “yes.”  (I realize that I did not exactly pose a yes/no question, but roll with me.  I only have 8 minutes now… it takes time to italicize shit!) And the potential of being in a committed relationship frightened me.  No kidding, a sort of, ummm wtf, kind of feeling washed over me.

My last relationships have not exactly been stellar, or even close to “maybe that was a good idea.”  So instead of feeling like I’ve learned a lot, I’m feeling a little bit like I’m just working with damaged goods when it comes to the girl my future boyfriend is gonna get.  Which makes me sad for him.  Which then makes me sad for me, because really, who thinks that way?!

In order to counteract that lack of knowledge increase from the past 3 breakups then, I came up with a brilliant, albeit awful idea.  How phenomenal would it be to give a survey to your exes?!  You don’t even have to tell me that this is great, because I’m pretty sure (like my ideas about taking on 9,000 volunteer activities, dating people who are awful, and living with Charlie the Miracle Dog) that it is.  Naturally, I got started on some questions for my survey-targets.

1. What was your favorite memory of/with me?

2. Your biggest pet peeve about me?

3. What was the most important thing you learned about women/relationships from me?

4. What did your mom say about me? (I might will regret asking this I’m pretty sure of some of them).

5.  What were your friends opinions of me/us?

6. If you could describe our relationship in one word, what word would it be?

7. What advice do you have for my future boyfriends? (Also will regret most likely)

8. Do you think we should have broken up sooner/later/still be together?

9. Why?

10. What in God’s name convinced you dating me was a good idea in the first place?!

The best part about this idea is that I am totally sober, completely serious and absolutely curious.  If I had the balls (or good relationships with my exes currently) to ask any of them, I would.  Also, I’m delerious from lack of sleep, and may rethink the brilliance of this when I reread it in 4 days.  But honestly, you know that saying “you can bring a horse to water but you can’t get them drunk”— or whatever it is— it absolutely aplies here.  I can go through experience after brutal break up after great first kiss with every guy West of the Mississippi, but until I’m willing to learn from it, I’m just swapping saliva and losing a lot of tears.

Pass it out to your exes before I do, and tell me how it goes.  Thanks for being my test-dummy.

So I Creep, yeahhh… So Do You, Don’t Lie.

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on March 15, 2011

I’m going to do everyone a favor.  I’m going to give you advice that you will either disregard and regret, or you can digest and be 12x (yes, exactly twelve times) happier for knowing.

DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT SNOOP THROUGH YOUR MAN’S SHIT.

Trust me, I’ve done it.  And it takes willpower that even the most celibate of nuns must admire to NOT do it…. But no good comes from invading someone’s privacy, especially if you like this someone.  You know why?

LOOK HARD ENOUGH, OR LONG ENOUGH, AND YOU WILL FIND SOMETHING.

Oh, I’m not saying that you will find something that legitimately means he is cheating or has done anything wrong… but you will find something that your over-imaginative, over-emotional, female brain will immediately register as infidelity, at which point you will go (quite predictably, might I add) bat- shit crazy.

In my days as a snoop, I have found the following:

  • A receipt from a date with a girl he met online with a disgusting little note from her (HER NAME WAS OLGA FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY) on the back.  “She writes like a slut”, I remember thinking to myself.  He was an idiot and left the receipt next to the chapstick I always borrowed.
  • Paperwork from an STD test that had positive results for chlamydia, after I had point-blank asked if he had any STD’s. (Thankfully I never slept with him.  I named him Sparky.  He also lied about having a 6 year old daughter.  Sometimes I think I should be sterilized before I continue to date fucktards like that).
  • Through some very clever snooping, I found out about Mr. Pretty’s attachment to a woman he met on Match.com…. The issue here is that Mr. Pretty’s behavior leads me to believe that he had met (and dated) many an internet-based woman behind my back.  Skeezeball.
  • Emails to/from an ex-girlfriend ABOUT ME.  If you are trying to woo your ex, don’t have conversations revolving around his new girlfriend  who has noticeably less back fat than you.

 

The list goes on, but I realize my successes as an amateur spy are NOT the best way to convince you to respect your significant other’s privacy.

I suppose the reason I find any of this relevant is that things are going really well with the President, and I really like him.  The temptation to rifle through his drawers or peek through his medicine cabinet is ever-present but I have yet to act on it.  I know the power of my imagination and how deep-seated my belief is that all most men are complete dogs.  No excuse, true or not, can overcome my personal issues so it’s best not to engage them so early in a relationship that has shown potential.

In conclusion then, the President would be wise to NOT leave me in his apartment by myself (come on, what did you THINK I’d do?!), or leave his cell phone out while he showers, or hide things in his nightstand (yes, we know that’s where you stash shit last minute, guys).  And I, in turn, will continue to be charming and funny and generous and kind and rub your back and give you massages… and keep my skeletons equally-well hidden from daylight.

*I always thought I’d get better at relationships with age.  Not yet, evidently*

I Propose Returning to the “Do You Like Me”/”Check Box” System.

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on March 1, 2011

If I were to list my hobbies they would be: drinking wine, reading lots of books at one time, good music, blogging, politics, and organizing my closet in times of stress.  But you know what I really love doing?  crushing.  I forgot how much I missed those school-girl-meets-hot-older-guy and then shamelessly draws hearts around his name times.  The harmless “what-ifs” that kind of go drifting through your head when you’re trying to write a press release at work.  That’s a good time, friends.

Did the lack of anger in that first paragraph throw you way off?  Me too.  Just re-read it.  Both shocked and proud of myself. 

He’s a lawyer.  I know.  Awesome.  And he’s kind and funny and so smart that I proof-read my text messages like 4 times before sending… which is actually pretty pathetic.  And bla bla bla we should get married and then he can run for President and I will be First Lady except I won’t be annoying because I don’t care if your kid is fat, so long as they don’t eat my kid.  (On a related note, that would be even MORE fitting becuase if I’m FLOTUS then I don’t ever have to learn to cook because they have got to have like a shit ton of cooks at the White House, right?)

Someone needs to look into that for me, thank you.

Like I said though, harmless.  I have yet to doodle my name + his name = LUV4EVA on my post-its though so at least I’m behaving myself and keeping all most my crazy behind closed doors.  The only (major) downside would be the fact that he has admitted at least three times that he doesn’t date girls in politics.  Sadly, I am both a girl and a girl in politics.  So maybe he missed one of those two facts?  What he obviously misses about me is that I am practically designed for candidate-wifehood.  He wants to run for office.  I like politics and the high-schoolesque games that accompany them.  I am also small and like to dress up and can chat up old people whenever the time calls.  Sometimes I can even keep myself from cursing for a whole 5 minutes straight!  Psht.  Future POTUS doesn’t know what he’s missing.  (ooooh… Good name for him.  President).

Clearly, I am in uncharted waters.  Normally I can just bully boys into dating me until I realize how much I dislike them, or let them abandon me.  This time though… I am afraid I have met someone to0 clever to be bullied.  Which is both intriguing and unnerving.

But if we have learned nothing about me, it is that I tend to take this things to the absolute limit.  So if he ends up liking me back (awwwww) then I will one day be FLOTUS, and none of you can EVER mention this blog.  If he doesn’t, we will commence angry-girl blogging promptly and wage wars on all lawyers and law school students and anything even sort of affiliated with the law.

Good plan.

Things That Are Better… Taken

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on February 24, 2011

I had to write this.  It was unfair not to… Although I highly doubt there will be as many “Yayuh!”‘s to this post as there were to my “Things That Are Better Single” one.  Bloggers tend to not be in relationships- or they do- and don’t read my blog because they feel bad for me I make them jealous.

However, you can never tell me I didn’t explain BOTH sides of the story.  Because I am about to write a list of the best things about… abooouuuttt…. (sorry, almost threw up in my mouth a little bit)… about… beinginarelationship. There.  I said it.

1. Your period.  Congratulations! You’re not pregnant! It’s a relief, and a very heavy, baby-sized weight has been lifted from your shoulders (ovaries?).  Now, on with your life for another 24 days until you start methodically counting the dates on your phone’s calendar again trying to compute if your late.  Mazel Tov!

2. Valentine’s Day.  Birthdays.  Holidays that involve cards.  Now, my mom is good about this, and I am a regular receiver of cards.  But there’s something pretty fantastic about a card filled with sloppy boy writing, brimming with marginally thoughtful things that he probably spent 3 hours avoiding thinking up.  Awwwwww.  “He thinks I’m really Cool!”

3. Getting Waxed.  Unlike me, if you are in a relationship, you spend $50 a month for lovely miss Sameera while chatting about God knows what with the intention of showing off your barbie-look-alike vajayjay.  If you are more in my boat, you visit Sameera monthly out of the sheer fact that you have developed a very painful, very unfeministic habit.  And she’s nice. (Did I just admit to being friends with my waxer?!)

4. Gaining Weight.  Haha! He’s stuck with you anyway.  SUCKER!

5. Birth Control.  You know what they call birth control for celibate/single folk?  Vitamins, because they’re basically the same thing now.  A daily nuisance you take because you hear they help with your skin.

6. Regular sex.  Well, that is, if you’re still having it or still enjoying it at this point.

7.  Movies.  That shit is expensive nowadays, and at least if you’ve got a significant other they’ll pay for you to go see You’re A Pedophile For Loving Justin Beiber So Much  and stuff your face with Raisinettes.  I generally don’t see movies unless I have a boyfriend… Meaning I saw every movie that ever came out in 2007 and 2008… and NOT ONE in 2009.  Which sucks because word on the street is that Paranormal Activity was exactly as abominable as I thought it would be.

8.  Having A Phone.  Because when you have a boyfriend it actually rings and shit.

9.  When People Ask Who You’re Dating ‘These Days.’  By ‘people’ I mean members of your extended family, and by ‘who you’re dating’ I mean who will take you off their hands so they don’t need to take care of you into your 40’s.  Because that’s all my family members are looking for in my boyfriends… PLEASE DON’T MAKE US PAY FOR HER FOREVER.  (My drinking is expensive).

10. Having Trust/Daddy Issues.  Finally, someone to punish for your father’s mistakes!  And for a second there I was worried I’d have to get over them in a healthy manner instead of projecting them onto some poor, unassuming man.  Whew!

Okay, so this quickly turned into Reasons Not To Date ME, but whatever… I was totally kidding.  I mean my phone rings all the time… Swear.

I’m Forming A Committee of People Who Will Make Romantic Choices FOR Me. I Have Fired Myself.

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on February 17, 2011
Remember that one Valentine’s Day where you were going to stay home, drink a glass of wine and catch up on work, then maybe watch a movie and get some desperately needed rest?
No? That’s right!  You got drunk and went to the bars for a completely predictable lonely-hearts club party and got wasted before getting NO sleep and going to work hungover and TORE. UP.  Bravo.

Okay, I didn't cry myself to sleep, or text my exes. Because I deleted their numbers in anticipation of my poor decision making skills.

This is the conversation I had with myself yesterday morning while hazily trying to remember where my keys, lipgloss, and pride were.

Anyway, that was my Valentine’s Day…. And just for good measure, I fell both in and out of love in the course of half an hour and now have a stalker.

I was engrossed in conversation with easily the most attractive guy I’ve seen in a long time and I was silently singing the praises of the Valentine’s Gods for finally cutting me some romantic slack. Yeah, he was totally rocking the grungy, artsy thing but he owned his own company.  Because I had maybe one too many glasses of wine by this point, I just reveled in my good luck, and didn’t consider that a guy like that realistically doesn’t exist.  But no, I was busy being enamored with my good fortune.  It was the best of both worlds.  An artsy capitalist.  A tall artsy capitalist.  A HOT, tall artsy capitalist. 

But… then… under his beanie (yes, beanie), I thought… wait… did I just… is that… do you have GREEN hair? “Yeah, I’m super pissed it was supposed to be blue.”  Oh… Well.  No, that’s not better.

“I write music too, the tattoo on my arm is my own lyrics actually.”

… Because OF COURSE they are.

And after about 45 minutes and 9 red flags later (not even counting the botched Marge Simpson hair), I realized I had not seen him with any friends.  At all.  Fuck.  Did I just give my number to a guy who came to the bars ALONE on VALENTINE’S DAY?

Yes. Yes I did.  And now he won’t stop texting me about how “sad” he is.

And I had hoped to make out with a stranger, but didn’t.  (This was, strangely enough, disputed)   I have some sort of inherent cock-block tendency though that reared its ugly head that evening.  I generally do not do well with the sort of meet-a-stranger-let-em-touch you kind of game.  I’m awkward, and I need to validate every physical encounter I have.  In other words: if I make out with you, I expect us to date.  If you see me naked, we’re practically facebook official.  In essence I was silently screaming in my head “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?” at everyone in the bar that evening.  Well, not everyone.  The guy with green hair already did love me.

…Because OF COURSE I would manage to attract only certifiably insane loners.

It is My Inalienable Right to Wreak Havoc in the Lives of People I Know. Run if You Know What’s Good For You… Like, Now. Go.

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on February 14, 2011

I like to date people who will impress me with their incredible levels of mediocrity.  You don’t?  Well, how mentally/emotionally healthy of you.  Must be lovely.  Enjoy your non-depressing Valentine’s Day, asshole.

If you were betting on how the date went with the 33 year old, and you bet “abysmal”…. Congratulations! You just won yourself a hearty pat on the back.  (I’m broke, what do you want from me?)

Not only does he not understand personal boundaries (stop smelling my hair, please), or the fact that dancing is reserved for places WITH dancing (if you keep grinding on me, I WILL  hipcheck you), or that it is NEVER okay to own white, leather pants (?!) but he continually mentioned how I needed a man to show me things.

Example: Me: “I don’t like seafood.”

Him: “NO seafood?”

Me: “Um.. Yes.  Anything that swims.”

Him: “You just need the right guy to broaden your horizons.”

Example 2: Him “You just need the right guy to break down those walls you have.”

Me: “Please don’ talk about me like I’m an emotionally retarded 15 year old.”

Example 3: Me: “I really like watching soccer, but basketball is sort of lost on me.”

Him: “It’s okay, we’ll fix you.  By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be great… and a Lakers Fan.”

Well hot damn, how did I survive without you?!  I was so irritated halfway through dinner that I had to concoct false stomach pains to convince him to take me home, and had to turn him down at least 4 times for Valentines’s Day.  I am not a human-improvement-project.  And treating me like my flaws are all so easily addressable by some guy with a strong urge to inject words that ARE NOT english into everyday phrases is somewhat insulting.  And I’m sorry, but you are wearing plaid, which is sort of unforgivable as far as I’m concerned.

In the end, it’s not his fault.  Yes, he was awkward and unintentionally insulting and a little overbearing, but it was all caused by his misguided attraction to me.  He didn’t know he didn’t stand a chance.  He couldn’t have known that I’m still nursing a very openly broken heart, and he never stood a chance against the memory of a relationship that I can’t seem to let die.  Granted, ownership of white leather pants is sort of creepy, I may have been a little overzealous in my hatred of that evening.  It was unfair of me to even go, but I can’t avoid real life forever.  Sooner or later, I’ve got to participate in the reality of my life without him there.  I can’t hide behind memories and wishes anymore.  It’s enough to break my heart all over again, and normally even the reminder of all these things is enough to refresh the fractures.

But I went, which means I’m getting closer to moving on.  I let him kiss me, and hold me and touch me and although I felt small and warm in his arms, I felt misunderstood and like some fictional character.  So while I’d love to play the role he’s carved out for me in his mind (she seemed like a lovely girl), it’s not me.  He didn’t leave enough room for the neurotic tendencies that define me, or the fierce, albeit irrational love I have for Twilight or Atlas Shrugged or D.  Three things (mainly D) that you will have to pry from my cold, dead hands.  I’ve got priorities, people.

My afternoon was spent with my Grandma.  A fellow neurotic, deep, introspective woman who has been given more than her fair share of struggles.  My hero, my mentor, my shining light of inspiration when I decide that I’m too crazy for anyone’s good.  There’s a woman with pants that are a little too high, who understands what I say, and even if she doesn’t, lends credence to the bizarre thought process that guided me to my irrational conclusions.  No matter how lonely I get, which oftentimes is very, I’m never too far gone from her love.  So I’m always okay.  I will always be okay.

So yeah, this Valentine’s Day is a little excruciating.  I’m extremely resentful, and confused and emotionally wounded.  I won’t deny any of those things, and I have come to accept the state of my emotional well-being, which is pretty much red-alert.  But for all the versions of “me” that people have come to know (code for: Love or Hate), I’m comfortable with the me that I go to sleep as at night.  I’m okay with the girl who believes in fairy-tales but holds a cynic’s view of life.  I’ve accepted her ability to turn everything into a crass joke, but her unending dedication to saving a world that doesn’t want to be saved.  And there are people, okay, not a lot of people… but people, who know and love me for that very. same.  girl.

So, 33, adios!  I may have been a little premature in my enthusiasm for new romance.  I’m sorry in advance for the awkward we-shouldnt-talk-because-youre-creepy-and-im-not-creepy-enough conversation that is in your very near future.

In closing, I leave this… which is enough to make me cry everytime I hear it.

*Update: A college friend of mine recently sent the following words:  Thanks for keeping up with the blog thing, girl.  Whenever I miss you, I go to your web thingy and I swear I can hear your voice.  It makes it easier to find mine.**

It’s hard sometimes to know what to do with words that make your heart feel big.  I’ll take it!

Introducing: 33 (we may have to come up with a new name for him)

Posted in Birds & the Bees by dagnydarling on February 12, 2011

Going on a date in a few hours.  If I weren’t slightly hung over I would probably be more excited.  Also, I don’t know what I’m going to wear, but he’s really tall so at least that frees up all my shoes as options… Only I don’t have any clean clothes.  So it’s underwear and heels… Wait…. Nevermind.  I think that’s how pornos happen, and I’m too fat to be in any type of pornography.

Anyway, this guy is someone I met through work (the last time I met someone through work I tried to get a restraining order on him after he broke into my Grandmother’s house…. so this is not promising).  After a slew of emails and g-chatting (because I’m employee of the year), we met up on one of those “is this a date or is it just a work meet-up to talk about that legislation I don’t care about?” deals.  And naturally, just to be on the safe side, I showed a little extra cleavage… because if we’re being honest, that’s realllyyyy all I’ve got to work with.

So maybe it was my conversational magic, or the fact that my hair has been working with me lately, or my cleavage is really that impressive, but homeboy seems to be pretty interested.  Which is nice, and tiring.  I’m finding it a little awkward though, because I don’t know how to NOT play some sort of mind-game, and he’s just showing all his cards like it ain’t no thang.  I sound like a nutcase.   

He’s 33.  So we’ll dub him “33.” (Because I’m creative like that).  We made out once and he asked what I was doing on Valentine’s Day, and although the correct answer is nothing, I told him “hanging out with my grandma.”  Which, in my defense, is not technically a lie sinceI really do have a grandmother and I am hanging out with her on Sunday which is just 24 hours prior.  Close enough.  But one make out does NOT a Valentine make, and truth be told, I’d rather get drunk with D and our other friends and make fun of our exes.  Also, slow your roll buddy. 

And to end this awkward blog post, I will add this tip for fellow daters: Always grub before dates 1, 2, or 3.  If he picks a restaurant with food that you hate, or is a douche bag and doesn’t make reservations (thanks for planning, fucktard), which both happen wayyyy to regularly for me, you won’t be unpleasant from hunger pains.  This way when grumpy-crazy you finally shows her colors, he’s good and surprised.

My brilliance strikes again!