Sometimes you wake up on a Monday and try to kick the damned dog that keeps trying to sleep in your bed that you hate and smells like garbage. And then you realize that it’s not a dog, it’s a human. And… why is there sand everywhere? Is that a broken glass? Oh my god, and then you discover that it’s your ex-boyfriend’s ex-roommate in bed next to you and he’s only in his super tight, kind of shiny boxer briefs…. And you can’t do anything so you just lay back down and pray that if you go back to sleep you’ll wake up and he won’t be there anymore. And if you’re really lucky, that wound on your arm will heal and your hangover will disappear.
But, it doesn’t. And it’s Monday. Which means that you have to figure out how to be a grown up, get your shit together and brush your hair and get to work.
That was my morning. It’s been a long time since I’ve been that girl, piecing together my life from the far corner of my bed praying that I made it home with my credit card, ID and phone. And… ugh. He’s still there… Was he always so cute though? Wait, when did he get all those tattoos? Am I… no… Wait, am I attracted to this guy? What the hell happened?
Evidently, we spent the evening in very deep, very emotional conversations planning our long distance relationship, since he’s in the army and lives across the country. I don’t even have opinions aside from being baffled and still being annoyed that there is sand everywhere. And, I’m not sure… but I have a crush on him?
36 hours of drinking. Straight booze. And really pathetically adorable drunk people confessing their love. The holidays, it would seem, are bad for my liver.
Aaand, I’m never telling another guy I date that I have a blog and I use it to talk shit on men. Good plan.
Sooo…. There’s starting to be a troubling trend in my life.
I realize that you didn’t ask what this revelation was, and I bet you don’t really care, because I wouldn’t care since this is a very blatantly selfish post. But- I’m going to tell you anyway becuase I want to hash this out with myself and see where my mind takes me. I will also probably delete this post in 3 days becuase I promised all 4 of my readers (hi mom!) that I would stop being melodramatic and introspective because self-searching isn’t funny. It’s sad.
Anyway. I haven’t been emotionally interested in anyone new for a year. I understand this sounds like absolutely nothing and you’re probably sitting there like, “ummmm, you’re a douchebag. Stop thinking so much, you’re obviously not good at it.” But let me explain before you get all judgey and mean.
I dated muscles for a while, then Mr. Pretty, then the Libra. They overlapped one another and came back around and did start-stop things, all since 2009. Nobody new. I’m scared of new people. No, I’m terrified of new people.
And it’s unfortunate because I don’t really want to be single. I’ve lived that phase out and I’ve had fun and gone crazy and been selfish without thinking about how other people felt. I’ve used that phrase, “I’m only going to be young once.” I’m still young, but that phrase makes a lot less sense tonight than it did when I threw it around as an excuse.
Mr. Pretty and I were volatile (I know, I know… stop talking about it right?), but I thought it was just going to be a really good story one day. Ironically enough, it’s a shitty story and it makes me sound like a moron. Or Taylor Swift minus the fame. Same thing I suppose. And I was so wounded by it that I only dated people I was positive were safe. Muscles loved me, and still does. When the Libra and I dated the first time around, he was smitten and I was too busy feeling bad about myself to realize that it had potential.
So when I finally got over Mr. Pretty and finally saw that relationship for all of its awfulness, I didn’t think much about the fact that I kind of pranced around with Muscles again. When Muscles annoyed me to the point of outbursts, I didn’t think much about the fact that I went bee-lining for the Libra. What I didn’t think about was that, hey! maybe the the Libra isn’t smitten with me anymore. What a thought, right?
Well the Libra is not smitten. He’s actually on the rebound. And he’s actually still recovering from that. And for those reasons and some others I won’t bother to write about here, we parted ways. He and I doing so isn’t the point of this though… it’s just… WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING?
My relationships all have a similar trajectory, which is alarming. Want to know what it is? Of course you don’t! That’s why I’m going to tell you anyway.
We meet. He’s all about it and I’m sort of “eehhhh” about it. Then we stop talking because I behave like a 16 year old then I’m all, “wait! I’m totally sprung on you. We’d have hot babies. Wanna get married?” And then he goes, “Not really...” and I respond with “Seriously, I’m totally the right girl for you… WHY CAN’T YOU JUST GROW UP AND SEE HOW AWESOME I AM?!” and then, after staring at my cell phone for 76 hours straight begging for the LED light to blink or debating whether or not my phone is even working, I give an ultimatum because I’m delerious from no sleep and he’s like, “I’d really rather not.” And then I say, “Okay.” The end.
People always say that admitting you have a problem is the first step. So world, please consider this my first step. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t like me. Honestly, I’d prefer someone who thought I was nice. Or funny. Or both, whatever. I’m just worried that I kind of forgot how. My need to be in control of people superceded my ability to recognize when people weren’t right for me. Can I unlearn that? Is that like teaching a child how to un-walk? Or is it like actually breaking an addiction?
This sucks. I couldn’t get a cool addiction that would land me on A&E. I’m stuck with this bullshit cliche tendency that makes me more Dear Abby and less reality television.
*Also, I am concerned that the Libra is reading this (in which case Heyyyyy… this is awkward…) Because if I were him and I told someone that I just “couldn’t” God knows I would totally hit up their blog and be like this bitch is totally talking shit. But I’m not. Because I’m a grown up.*
Maybe it’s me being emotional because I’m on my period. Maybe it was the ice cream. Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s the suspiciously long recovery from the 4th of July spent exactly how the founding fathers would have wanted— with shots of Jameson in dimly lit bars…. But Jebus I’m freaking out about being a cat lady.
Have you ever seen Say Anything with John Cusak? It’s absolutely everything you could ever want in a cheesy 80’s chick flick. Before we got all 500 Days of Summer/maybe happy endings are all bullshit, the 80’s fucking nailed the idea of work hard enough and you get the girl/guy. Our generation, once again everybody- say it with me, SUCKS.
So long story short, John Cusack is kind of a weird creepy dude who falls for quintessential overachieving ASB girl that nobody in real life would actually befriend, she falls for him (thereby significantly lowering her standards and probably setting herself up for a lifetime of mediocrity and frustration), then her dad is a money launderer (?) and she breaks up with poor John because… I don’t know… she thinks that having a boyfriend is related to her father being a criminal?
Anyway, guess what John does. GUESS! He stands outside her window at dawn (or dusk… lighting is pretty shitty in the 80’s, not sure), and holds what appears to be a 45 pound boombox over his head playing Phil Collins into her bedroom window. I about cried. Okay, I teared up.
And then I did what every girl does when we watch these movies…. I thought to myself, “Hold on… how come nobody ever did this for ME?” Okay, I admit I’m not even sure that grand gestures really exist or if Hollywood invented them just to make sure that all men will never measure up, but still… The grandest gesture I’ve ever experienced was a picture in High School from my boyfriend where he wrote I<3 U in the sand at the beach in Diet Coke…
Which, looking back is actually pretty sweet, but something a homeless person probably could have managed with a stolen camera.
What I’m trying to say is Say Anything is my dream movie. It was everything you ever wanted in a cheesy romance: weirdly intense face grabbing while kissing outside, rambling speeches about completely unrestrained mushiness, and of course, a grand gesture from a guy to a girl who probably doesn’t really deserve it anyway.
I’m not saying I deserve it. I’m not saying I even kind of deserve someone irritating my neighbors just to press me (sigh), but it’d be pretty spectacular. Should a romantic comedy ever be written about my life it will be some joke of a girl who offends everybody, manages to mess everything up (in a completely NOT adorable, endearing way), gets her period in the guy she likes’ bed (TWICE!– sorry, Libra) and then ends up with the guy she hated but she’s so worn down by scaring everyone away that she just gives up since she doesn’t want to be a cat lady. And that’s not romantic at all. It’s scary, actually.
God… my romantic movie sounds a little bit like that awful 80’s movie Carrie. That’s encouraging.
Living with D and her mom has had some interesting effects in my life. Namely, I drink much less and watch way more awful prime-time television. In fact, I spent an hour of my life watching The Bachelorette (and basically breaking every promise I’ve ever made about never watching such shit TV), and yelling at the screen… or the moron gracing it. Seriously, this show is an absolute disaster and their consistent use of grammar as some weird, shallow metaphor was enough to make me repeatedly slap myself in the forehead. I may have brain damage. Bad reality television gave me brain damage. I always said that shit was dangerous. PROOF!
Anyway, in my own life, I like to think I am far wiser than this dentist-turned-reality-hooker-slash-romantic-retard woman… but we have no evidence of such superiority so I don’t really know. I’m still whatevering with the Libra. I say whatevering because
I’m trying to be normal and patient and not scare him away I know better than to force some sort of weird name on it just so it makes more sense when I talk about him to my friends, who absolutely love the guy… which is a first.*
My girlfriends hate the guys I date. And the guys I date never take much of an interest in them which normally is not only irritating but offensive… especially since I take such great pride in friends liking me. I’m a nice girl, I will buy you a drink and chat you up about your weird job or ugly shoes. It’s part of the role. But the guys I date just tell me my friends are “scary” or “party too hard.” The Libra has been a long time favorite with them- a fact that make him all the more appealing.
There’s a theory about this, one that I heard recently and completely buy into… It says that your friends’ opinions of a significant other are more important generally than your family’s. This is due to the sheer fact that you choose your friends as some sort of reflection of yourself and your beliefs. Your family, God bless ’em, you just sort of got put with. What my family would think of him, who knows. That’s a bridge I’ll cross when (if) I get there, but my friends being such big fans is reassuring… Given my history of “I think this might be a bad choice but I’ll test it out and figure it out the hard way,” my friends remind me that I’m making a smart (ish?) decision here. I’m not blindly throwing myself into the wind, I’m not trying to force life or change someone. I’m accepting it, rolling with it, crossing my fingers with the confidence that I know what I want and for the most part- who he is.
I’m growing up. Impressed? You should be.
In unrelated news, a woman in Sacramento MICROWAVED HER BABY GIRL. Like she was popcorn. The baby, obviously, died. The simple existence of such fucking crazies makes me question my desire to reproduce. Hell, even marry. You never fucking know. Like, did that baby’s daddy recognize that homegirl was literally out of her tree? She cooked a child. And then lied. And then the cops found the pacifier in the microwave and questioned her and she spewed some bullshit about being a schizo.
The world is scary place. It’s a good thing I’ve got good friends.
*Disclaimer: The Libra knows about this blog. Whether or not he dislikes himself enough to spend time reading it, I don’t know… But it’s one of those “welcome to my crazy brain” situations. We’re trying to tone down the crazy*
Almost a year ago I went to go see Camille the fortune teller. Over a year ago, I cursed Camille for being an idiot and taking my money and sort of creeping me out. I may (emphasis on MAY) owe that weird clarvoyant an apology.
She babbled on about a lot of things, most interestingly, about D getting pregnant. But she said I’d have a boyfriend… and I really wanted one at the time, I wanted to fall into something new and see where it would take me. What I didn’t count on happening was the opportunity to actually have that, and when it presented itself, I freaked out and hid in the corner from it.
I’m not saying she was right… I’m saying that maybe she just had a really awful sense of timing. Literally hours after I left her creepy voodoo room, I hung out with a guy I liked. I followed up liking him with acting like a weirdo, and then we went our separate ways. Remember him? The Libra? I think he’s… back? Well, he isn’t really back on his own terms, I sort of drug him kicking and screaming but evidently I’m rather convincing when I’m bitchy. But we aren’t ruling him out.
Homeboy is getting out of a relationship. I think he thinks I’m a complete wackjob. I know he thinks I’m bizarre and mean. And… I think he likes me? I don’t know. I’m confused. But I’m interested in him because I have awful timing and I can’t do anything unless it’s good and difficult.
We spent the weekend together- and it was good to see him have fun and interact with my friends. I forgot how much dating was like a series of increasingly intense interviews. Or maybe I never dated someone who I found intimidating on some level or another. But if we are predicating this on any of my other relationships- I would be smart to disregard everything I know. It’s nice though, and I’m enjoying it while trying to seem relatively normal (which, let’s be frank, easier said than done).
It’s been three weeks since we’ve kind of been talking and doing that, I-think-we-should-hang-out-but-I’m-too-sober-to-be-upfront-about-it thing and it’s going well so I just kind of roll with it. (By roll with it I mean try my damnedest not to be anal-retentive and keep everything under my control). I clearly need help. So what do you do when you have a problem? Google it!
This is what MSN tells you to do if you like someone (I am NOT making this up):
- Be touchy but not too touchy. Touch his arm lightly and briefly, but never go below the belt (although she OKs playing footsie). And yeah, I know some of you are squeamish about contact, but it’s so effective! What does that even mean?! I don’t like to be touched when I’m sober and if I’m drinking I want to be taken everywhere via a piggy back ride. They should be more specific.
- Let him to do the bend and snap. If you make eye contact with a cute guy in Starbucks and you need an excuse to talk, drop a pen on the way to the bathroom. In the olden days, women dropped hankies. I’m confused. Again. Is this a Legally Blonde reference?
- Pump him up. Compliment him, let him talk, make him feel like he’s calling the shots, and laugh at his jokes. But… what if the jokes aren’t that funny?
- Keep a full schedule. You’ll be more interesting if you’re busy with different activities. Also, you won’t be totally available for him. Ladies, we could stand to be a little more elusive and mysterious. Tell him I’m busy when I’m really just watching Friends reruns and drinking wine by myself.
- Get a signature scent. The sense of smell aids in sexual attraction. Whatever perfume you wear, he’ll associate it with you! Bonus: if your perfume rubs off on his pillow or towel, it will further remind him of you. Is this creepy to anyone else? Don’t cats pee on stuff with the same territory-claiming intentions?
This list was ridiculous, and I genuinely hope women out there aren’t following this kind of misguided wisdom in their own lives, although I’m sure there are some stupid enough to try. Oh well. I’ll keep you all posted on any big happenings, like if I start my period in his bed again… (yeah, I blogged about that last year. That was really special).
Sorry if you read this whole thing. I’m very tired, but I needed to post something- anything, and now we have a jumping off point for whatever the future holds. Welcome back, Libra!
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.
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.
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.
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!