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.
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!
You may have heard, but Valentine’s Day is sort of coming up. And since I am harboring slight resentment towards people who own penises, I will be spending the holiday with… yep, Charlie the stupid miracle dog. And maybe drinking wine while opening presents that my mom gets me every year since it’s become quite apparent that her daughter is doomed for spinsterhood… oh, your mom doesn’t pretend to be your valentine? Me neither… (hi, mom!)
So, in an attempt to remind those of us who may or may not be planning on throwing a grenade (bomb, not ugly Jersey- girl) through the window of your local romantic eatery that there are some major perks to singledome, I offer you this shabby list:
Things That Are (Slightly) Better While Single:
- Happy Hour. All eight hours of it because you have no other commitments and nobody is blowing up your phone or asking why you are still out drinking with those people you only kind of know.
- Christmas. You just saved yourself a whole lot of money and time by not plotting the perfect gift for a man who will inevitably buy you something in the wrong size, or tickets to something that he really wants to see more than you… or in my case, the dog that you didn’t want and had to give away once you broke up… (poor Penny).
- Vegas. There is absolutely no good that comes from having a significant other while you run around in what is probably a shirt that automatically gets reclassified as a stand-alone dress in Vegas.
- Bars. Because if you’re taken you essentially just got dressed up to look at strangers hotter than your boyfriend that you aren’t allowed to talk to. Lucky. You.
- Lifetime Television. For reasons unbeknownst to me, men can never fully appreciate the joys of movies called She’s Too Young, or Someone Else’s Husband. So good. (Who doesn’t want to watch Tori Spelling’s TV-movie comeback?)
- Free Time. For those of you without boyfriends, it’s the time you spend napping, or shopping, or reading the book you always wanted to read, or brunching with girlfriends. For those of you with boyfriends: it’s the time you spend staring at him watching basketball, or running errands or hanging out with his parents.
- Panties that are not thongs. Sweet hallelujah. Because sometimes you just gotta rock the full-butt undies.
- Holidays that revolve around booze and/or costumes. Actually, any holiday that doesn’t require extensive family time. He’s seen you naked already, dressing up like a slutty beer wench is for the strangers you meet on Halloween, not for him. Let’s get real.
- Shopping. No feeling guilty that maybe you should buy him that shirt he wanted, or him telling you that he really is not a fan of you in blue so then you stay away from the color blue. It’s all about you and your limitless materialism. Get it, girl.
- Sleeping. No snoring. No weird boy smell in your bed. No awkward pillow-sharing. No sleep-talking, mumbling, shouting or punching. No other-people’s alarms going off at the fucking crack of dawn. Just you, sleeping pleasantly by yourself without any interruptions or other nuisances. So good.
Okay, so if you do not dabble in a love of drinking, you probably should think about getting a boyfriend because really, I’m not sure what you do all night/weekend… Lifetime movies aren’t THAT good, and there’s only so much shopping for yourself you can do until your that broke, lonely girl.
There. This was uplifting. You’re welcome, single friends!
I’m a big believer in happily ever after. I subscribed to Disney movies with a fervor that conservatives would envy, and I stand by my arguments of meant to be. Even with a broken heart and a jaded view of life, I am a vehement defender of all things mushy, and none of that makes me sad.
Yesterday, I had one of those days that reminds you to believe in God. I woke up early to great weather and the sun shining through my big window. Sitting outside of the patio of Panera, I read my book by myself and ate a sandwich while (unintentionally) eavesdropping on two people nearby. They weren’t a couple, maybe a brother/sister combo, or long-time male/female friends. When she got up to go to her car, she yelled over at him, “You’re loved.” He looked back and said, “You are too!”
Hearing that exchange made me inexplicably happy. There I was, by myself in the middle of the day, anxiousy awaiting a brazilian wax that was sure to be inexplicably painful and I couldn’t help but feel myself light up behind my massive sunglasses. How awesome was that, I thought to myself. That’s all we ever want to hear… That we’re loved, by anyone in this big, crazy world. And the way they did it, like it was so obvious that the other was loved, adored by another was absolutely refreshing and in a way that I so desperately needed to hear. Whoever they are, wherever they went after their lunch, I owe them both a debt of gratitude… I felt loved by simply being nearby such a nonchalant good-bye. And I ask anyone who reads this to just remind someone they love them today, right now. You never know how much someone you adore needs to hear it, and you never know what sort of blessing you’ll inflict by spreading your message to those fortunate enough to be near to listen in.
I fell in love. I stumbled into what I was certain was meant to be, and I was mistaken. The same man who wondered at my stubborn dedication to fairy-tale futures was the same one to prove himself right. My father was unfaithful. The boss that I swore would change the world couldn’t salvage his own marriage because of his lack of integrity. And the man I prayed for every night turned out to be one of the same crowd. I don’t give up on my hope for love though, or my belief that everyone has a someone out there meant to love them for the absolute wreck we all are. I give up on him. I give up on the person I so sincerely believed him to be… the person he didn’t believe in himself enough to become.
That’s okay. though. We live, we learn, and we go on. I’m no exception to this rule.
I spent the day on the patio of a bar with my best friend. Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching, and I will no doubt spend it working, I have come to term with this. But as we left the bar, I came across an interesting sign…
My roommate and I died laughing… For different reasons. Her Valentine’s Day is going to be Santa Barbara with a guy who would give both legs to see her smile. My valentine’s day will be something more along the lines of the people who will hang out with their pets. Frankly, I’d rather just be alone than hang out with Charlie the Miracle Dog.
But regardless, I found myself smiling. Valentine’s Day is a day to celebrate the people you love, not just the people you love who have the opposite genatalia. And yes, I find it a silly holiday, but the purpose is something inherently endearing to me. It’s a day when the majority of the American population get on my level and succumb to the idea that you can love someone enough to change the world, or at least, your own world.
People leave. They’ll disappoint you, or hurt you, or make you feel like you deserve to be unhappy (which is never true). The trick is to never let them trick you into believing that they are the whole representation of love, because they aren’t- especially if they make you doubt it. I’m a cynic with a seriously soft-heart, and that heart is filled with people I don’t remind often enough that they are more than I could dare to think I deserve.
So, do me a favor: don’t wait until Valentine’s Day or some other cheesy Hallmark-induced holiday to remind the people close to you that they make you smile. Also, please don’t bring your dog to the bar on Valentine’s Day. Softie as I may be, I will ridicule you.
But hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight
So hold on to what you believed in the light
Thanks, Hollywood. If The Bachelor and Rock of Love (full disclosure: I was an avid watcher of RoL) didn’t put the final nails in the coffin of hope-for-emotional-health, you seem to being your damnedest to finish us off.
Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman (why won’t she just go away?!) are in a new movie called No Strings Attached- essentially about two ridiculously good looking, succesful friends who begin to sleep together under the guise of Friends with Benefits, which is just a longer name for a bootycall. I admit, Ashton Kutcher is pretty hot, and I highly doubt my ability to turn him down if he ever prompted me- which I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t, and I don’t know any man who would look at Miss Portman (even if she is knocked up) and say, “I’d really rather not.” But that is not the point of me writing any of this.
The point is that Friends with Benefits (FWB) is buuuuulllshit, and partially responsible for perpetuating this inability we are plagued with regarding commitment. I’m not going to go see that movie… 1: because it is not part of the Twilight Saga. 2: Because I am not donating money to movies that make me angry. And 3: I do not need to watch a predictable chick-flick to remind me that I am romantically doomed.
It’s easy to say that you are just “looking for a good time,” or “expressing yourself,” but in reality, you’re making decisions that are going to cripple you in the future when you actually are faced with someone you genuinely care for. I know of NOBODY who has participated in the booty-call system without one part of the couple becoming attached and consequently let down. Everything in life takes practice, and that includes caring about people and being a good partner. If all you know is sex with no strings attached, you won’t know how to function if you ever get butterflies looking at someone… I digress, though.
Further- isn’t sex better when you, oh, I don’t know, care about the person?? Why volunteer for mediocre sex that you don’t even get free dinner with? It’s demeaning, and it’s dangerous and it’s setting an awful precedent. Most frightening- it’s completely common and acceptable.
Sex is a fundamentally emotional thing. Why that is, I don’t know and I don’t care. But when you strip it down to nothing but penetration and friction, you strip yourself down to just a bunch of bones and nerve-endings in a bag of flesh (wow, I should write erotic stuff). The physical aspect counts, but the romantic connection is the most crucial part of the whole scenario. Our generation, especially the women, have become experts at participating in sex without letting your heart get involved. (This is why D recently told me the way I viewed dating was “ancient.”) And movies like this make it look glamorous, and fun and completely without consequence- which it absolutely isn’t.
I am an active participant in a lot of my generation’s stupid habits. I go to the bars and put myself on the “meat market.” I spend money waxing parts of my body that see the light of day only in the shower. I wear shoes that will give me arthritis, and I spend outrageous amounts of money on them. I put my life on display for strangers on facebook and obligingly stare at my cell-phone for 6 hours a day completely at the mercy of others. I can’t do the bootycall thing, though. I either don’t have the self-confidence to strip for a stranger, or I just have too much dignity to strip for a stranger; it’s all perception I guess.
But I am so fed up with everything on television and online telling me that I’m prude. Trust me, I’m not… but compared to the average 20-something girl in Orange County, I’m beginning to feel like Mother freakin’ Theresa, which is absurd. So we can go ahead and add this new movie to the “list of things I loudly boycott that nobody else understands.” (Also on this list: socks, El Pollo Loco, Hybrid cars, and recycling).
*Additional note: I write things like this and I think maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. I’m really tired, so it’s possible that this didn’t make sense. In essence I’m just sad that all my dreams of fairy-tale futures that Hollywood once made plenty of money perpetuating have eroded into this beast of sexuality without any sensuality. Also- I’m celibate. So maybe I’m just jealous.*
update: just heard that No Strings Attached is the TOP movie in the country. America is actively trying to become less intelligent apparently
Mr. GOP came to visit me…. well, came to do a variety of campaign things in Orange County and consequently got to visit me. A few months back, GOP said he loved me. Well, I’m unsure still if he genuinely does love me, but he most definitely does not love the dog that I live with.
Charlie the Puggle is by all definitions a very odd dog. He’s fat and snores and barks at people, but generally means well and is loved by all visitors to our apartment. (PS- I moved.)
So when GOP showed up at my door and Charlie was clearly not digging him, I was alarmed. Never has a guy been here without Charlie loving up all over them… until he met GOP. And GOP’s response was fairly ridiculous. The dog is fucking 25 pounds, and GOP acted like it was a grimey, dirty stray animal. He shoved the dog off of him a few times and with a disgusted face just said “Ugh, Charlie!”
And then I knew- time to send GOP on his way.
The relationship I have with Charlie is strained. He eats my stuff, pees everywhere and barks. Because of him, my neighbors think myself and my 2 roommates are worthless. But he has very sweet moments and he does mean well, so I forgive him and just tell him how much he sucks. He gets me, and I walk him and feed him. So I get that not everyone will love my four-legged roomie, and I forgive them that. Most of the time, I don’t like him.
Never did I think that Charlie would weasel his way into my love life criteria…. But it’s a list of criteria that admittedly could use some additions, so I’ll take it. And it’s not that they have to immediately bond with him, but for God’s sake, don’t be put off by something that takes up two-square feet of room and just wants to love you. Plus, aren’t all guys dog people? Don’t they inherently dig all dogs except for lame ones that double as accessories for spoiled rich slut bags? Maybe GOP became less of a man in my eyes. Regardless, his stay with me was cut short. I feel fine with this.
But the criteria thing is an interesting idea. It goes hand in hand with all these talks of ‘types’ and what we’re attracted to. I’m attracted to people with issues, and people who like crazies are attracted to me. Why my relationships all end poorly is explained well by that equation, I guess. Unfortunately, it’s been recently revealed to me that my “type” is not quite as specific as I would like it to be. I’ve been surprised numerous times by the men I find myself drawn to. Well, I surprise myself and give my friends plenty of ammo to make fun of me.
And ultimately, none of this matters. I am dating quite a bit, some more worthy than others. But I don’t want a relationship. I’m too tired, too frustrated, too unsure of everything to begin some search for ‘permanent.’ This will fade I’m sure, just like my other phases, but for now… I think I just want to be left alone. Well, except for dumb-ass Charlie.
I went to a psychic yesterday. It needs to be mentioned that I generally don’t buy into this kind of thing, and actually am slightly weirded out by it. Regardless, I found myself sitting with Camille yesterday in a room the size of my closet, watching her flip cards over and more or less tell me what the future holds.
I won’t put it all in here, but I will tell you that she told my best friend that she’d get knocked up in the near future. No mention of husband or significant other, just a baby…. So in comparison, I think my future is looking far brighter than hers.
What Camille did mention was Mr. Pretty. I confess, I have still been speaking with him. Meeting up, talking, kissing once in a while, whatever. But when we met up yesterday for breakfast, I was totally discouraged to see that he’s beginning to change. He says he’s “fan-fucking-tastic” and has never been in a better spot in his life, so that’s great. But it just so happens that this person that I always, stupidly, thought he was deep down isn’t actually there. He’ll continue on his path and growing and changing, but he’ll never be the person that I liked to think he was, or could be. Plus, he’s hitting his dating stride sort of late in the game, and to listen to him talk about it was less than awesome.
Camille told me that God wants him out of my life, but I keep fighting it. I hang on. No shit, huh? But oddly enough, yesterday I had vowed to close that door anyway. Leaving it open just encourages lingering feelings, confusion, and ultimately it will all end with me waging war on my self… because I’m attracted to things/people that are blatantly unhealthy for me. Today I threw away the stuff he wrote me, I deleted his phone number, I need to delete him from facebook. Don’t get me wrong: I am not mad at him. But I know that he and I just don’t work– in fact, I don’t even think I want it to work anymore.
The other, far more interesting, thing Camille said was that I had a boyfriend in my near future. I have mixed feelings about being in another relationship, but if Camille was right, then he sounds like a pretty good fella. Apparently, he’s 6 foot (which I would dig), light hair and light eyes, old school, older than I am but only by a few years, a libra who is great with computers. And here’s where it gets creepy, or where I start to read too much into this whole thing; take your pick…
The guy from last weekend at the bar and I met up last night. Even though the kid texts and doesn’t call and was a little bit of a cheeseball, I figured why not. My girlfriends and I made it to the bar before him because I was worried that I wouldn’t remember what he looked like and didn’t want to get ambushed… And in he walks. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that I didn’t quite remember how attractive he really was, which is always nice. After that weird, obligatory friends-meet-other-friends thing, my best friend starts asking him some bizarre questions…. that I later realize are angled at him being the guy Camille predicted..
The new guy is, in fact, a libra. He is actually 6 foot 2, and is a computer wiz who loves to read and write and graduated from Berkely. He has sandy blond hair and blue eyes and was raised by his single mom and claims to be incredibly “old school.” He’s 29.
So naturally, I made out with him at the end of the night. And naturally, I’m totally creeped out and totally curious to see what, if anything happens here. I think we’ll call him the Libra.
And should any of you want to freak yourself out like this, just let me know and I’ll hook you up with Camille’s number.