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?
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.
My roommate, D, proudly announced to me that our beloved (cough, NOT, cough) President Mr. O is a smoker. She also declared that knowing this, she likes him even more than before… and she liked him A LOT before. Like, annoyingly, a lot.
I already knew he was a smoker. I already judged him for it, so this wasn’t news to me, although I explained to her that I thought it was alarming that our President fell victim to something as obviously stupid as smoking cigarettes… which, on occasion, I also fall victim to. But before you start judging on your stupid high horse- I am not President. I am, therefore, allowed to participate in social smoking and binge drinking and questionable behaviors in bars. Barack Obama, is not. (See the logic there?)
If you do see the logic, congratulations! You are already smarter than D, who told me that she preferred a President who killed himself slowly over a President who hunted innocent animals. “So, not only do you want a President who’s a martyr, but you are hating on George Dubya because he killed animals to eat? You want an anorexic martyr to lead the free world?” At this point I came to terms with the fact that in upcoming elections, I would have to find ways to hold D captive so she couldn’t vote. (Which I’m fairly certain is illegal.. but it’s for everyone’s own good).
I get it, people have vices. I have a lot of them, perhaps more than the average person… but because I’m too frightened by drugs to be a heroin addict, my vices garner little to no attention. I do, however, have an addiction to diet coke. In fact, I am drinking diet coke #5 as I write… and wondering how bad it could possibly be for me.
First of all, it’s diet. So me not getting fat is a huge plus since being fat is maybe my biggest fear. Except that it’s definitely my biggest fear. And there’s only ten ingredients, which I know because I just spilled them all over my lap when I rotated the very full can to count them. Admittedly, I can’t pronounce most of them and I’ve heard from a number of health-conscious (which is code for “annoying”) friends about the dangers of aspartame, but I’m feeling pretty good about this addiction. It even has citric acid, which has to be good… Vitamin C, right? Score.
Evidently though, this aspartame stuff isn’t all that wonderful for you. I just googled it and was so frightened by the initial results that I x’ed out of the window hoping I could pretend like I never saw any of it. But I did. And it said “lupus”. And “multiple sclerosis”. And “epidemic”. All of which sound only slightly less than fabulous.
Among my other vices, I would list wine (and then list it a few more times), laziness, reading bad romance novels, facebook stalking and picking my lips until they start to bleed and make people around me nervous. But as far as I know, facebook stalking won’t ever give you lupus… nor will any of the other listed activities which makes me start to question my love of diet coke. Conversely, diet coke can’t steal hours of my life and my remaining shreds of dignity like alcohol or facebook (or the two combined… eek!) can. This is tough.
In reality, it’s not so tough, because I won’t be giving up any of those things anytime soon. Just like I bet Mr. O won’t be quitting the cigarettes anytime in the near future. (And why would he? He’s a good-looking Marlboro man. See above). I whole-heartedly that I make bad choices on what I would estimate to be an hourly basis. On no level am I saying that I am smarter than Barack Obama (okay, maybe on like, one level). What I am saying is that like Barack, my addiction will probably kill me one day too. The important thing, friends, is that I don’t die fat.
My priorities are a wreck.