Dagnydarling's Blog

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!

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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!