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.
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.
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.)
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.