Season Four, Episode Eight: 14/29 Struggles

So I am still talking to said guy, who still does not have a nom de plume.  I really need to give him one.  The fact that I am talking to him still is actually kind of a miracle–not a walking-on-water-in-the-middle-of-a-crazy-storm kind of miracle, but more like a I-ate-like-crap-all-week-and-ran-once-and-somehow-didn’t-gain-weight kind of miracle–simply because I am not good at this.  At what, you may ask?  Talking?  Well…no.  I am rather good at talking.  I am not good at talking to guys that I like.  Or know how to successfully flirt.  Or nab a guy…see how I used the word nab?  I make it sound like I am a police officer who successfully caught a bank robber.  I should twirl my mustache too, while I’m at it.

*twirls mustache*

When I'm not busy nabbing guys, I like to tie young maidens to train tracks.  I'm very early 20th century mustache twirler.

When I’m not busy nabbing guys, I like to tie young maidens to train tracks. I’m very early 20th century mustache twirler.

Ugh.

But anyway, I am still talking to him.  He is still pretty damn hot and funny and delish…and I haven’t done anything too crazy to make him think maybe he shouldn’t continue to talk to me.  So…miracle.  I actually think that he finds me hilarious, which is a win.  When in doubt, let my sense of humor cancel out my awkwardness like FOX cancelled American Idol (too soon?).  I’ve gotten pretty close a few times to doing something completely batshit but I somehow talked myself out of it.  Google is a life saver.  My search engine is full of random keywords that make me sound like a fourteen year old girl.  Who knew that there were so many articles out there in the Interwebs dedicated to making loons like me feel less cray?

Because there is a lot of stuff on the Interwebs to make me feel less cray.

Because there is a lot of stuff on the Interwebs to make me feel less cray.

There is one thing that baffles me(that is a lie…there are a lot of things in the dating world that baffle me, but for sake of keeping this post short, we will pretend that there is only one), and I suppose it baffles me only because I like him, and that is texting.  Why the hell go days without texting someone (me) back?  Especially if you like me/want to get in my pants/potentially more?  I stress about that and I have successfully stopped myself from texting him stuff like “why you no text me back” and flat out asking him if he secretly hates me.  Because I am pretty sure he doesn’t hate me.  He used to text me a lot when we first started talking and it’s trickled down and I’m sure it’s no cause for concern since he is still wonderful in person.  I feel like I have gone back in a time machine and it’s 1999 and I am 14 and I have bad hair and questionable fashion sense and I am all a-giggle and a-fumble over a guy in my class.  I tell myself that I sometimes don’t hear from my best friend for days, and I have known her since I was 7.  I can go days without texting other friends/hearing from other friends, so why do I get all panicky cliffhanger soap star when Unnamed Hot Guy decides to not text me?  The only answer I can think of is because I am secretly still 14 on the inside when it comes to men.

This girl is apparently stressed because she has multiple phones/crucial conversations/potential drug deals all going on at once?

This girl is apparently stressed because she has multiple texts/crucial conversations/potential drug deals all going on at once?

29 Year Old Me is trying to play it cool and act completely indifferent.  14 Year Old Me has a mini heart attack when we sit next to each other and our legs touch the entire time.  29 Year Old Me smiles at him when I see him and act like I’m completely chill.  14 Year Old Me freaks the fuck out quietly when someone tells us what a cute couple we make (29 Year Old Me simply smiles because I don’t want to look like I am so into him–being chill is my constant M.O.) and he says he agrees.  14 Year Old Me doesn’t know how to be cool and calm and so 29 Year Old Me is constantly fighting an internal battle with her so that she doesn’t do anything stupid to mess up whatever will happen.  29 Year Old Me isn’t in a rush to get hurt again any time soon.  14 Year Old Me worries that he doesn’t like me.

14 Year Old Me is obviously Angelina because Sun-In.

14 Year Old Me is obviously Angelina because bad bangs and Sun-In.

Well, 14 Year Old Me, put down the Sun-In (seriously, put it down…your hair is orange) and stop panicking and analyzing every damn thing that goes on.  If something comes out of this, awesome.  If something doesn’t come out of this, guess what?  Life goes on.  You still have wine and Netflix and comfy sweatpants and chocolate covered Oreos–he’s the one who will be missing out, not you.  Just smile and be nice to him if it doesn’t go the way you planned.  You’re an adult, and you’re supposed to be calm on the outside and 14 on the inside.  Enjoy talking to him, because it’s fun to talk to guys.  Just stop using Sun-In.  Please.

Let's be completely honest...your hair never once actually looked like this.

Let’s be completely honest…your hair never once actually looked like this.

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Season Four, Episode Seven: Panic In Real Time

So I have been talking to a boy–wait, yes, I know that is rather exciting and all that, we will go into that later–that I like for almost the past two months and things have been flirty with a sprinkling of sexy…with the occasional stumble into awkwardness (I would be the one doing the stumbling, of course).  But it has been good.  He’s hot and funny and into me and so hot, but mixed signals abound (because they seem like they always do–yet another post to unravel that mystery) and it doesn’t help that I have this weird combination of distrust and fear and impatience when it comes to all this boy meets girl shit.

Anyway, I texted said guy (I have not come up with a nom de plume for him yet) this afternoon, a breezy and flirty text that was not replied to at all for hours.  I got irritated and decided against my better judgement to compose another text about five hours later to send him regarding the first text.  This is the panic that ensued, captured in live time in a Facebook Messenger conversation with one of my best friends:

Me (7:02 pm):  So…there’s that moment when you’re trying to come up with a text and it’s what you are thinking but not wanting to send…AND THEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY HIT SEND.

(7:02 pm):

So.  Much.  Panic.

Michelle (7:04 pm):  Oh no!!!!

Me (7:05 pm):  Oh no indeed!!!

(7:06 pm):  And you want to text back immediately bc you are embarrassed and mortified but you decide that entertaining an embarrassed apology or explanation would make you look crazy.

(7:06 pm):  And if said recipient of text had responded hours earlier, I wouldn’t have accidentally sent a rough draft text.

(7:08 pm):  So now I sit here feeling like an idiot and not replying bc I’m going to act like “yup, I sent that”.

(7:08 pm):

I'm with you there, Ron.

Michelle (7:08 pm):  Oh man.  That is sucky.

(I’m guessing my panic is amusing because I’m sure it’s not really a big deal but it so is.)

Me (7:09 pm):  And the silence.

(7:09 pm):  It makes things worse bc I want to fall into a vicious cycle of word vomit to try to explain my way out of the text but that will only back me further into the corner like a lioness.

(I am pretty bummed that I could not find a witty GIF of a lioness backed into a corner.)

Michelle (7:10 pm):  Yeahhhh don’t do that then you’re just gonna look like you’re talking to yourself.

Me (7:11 pm):  Right.  I don’t want to look crazy.

(7:11 pm):  And I’m like “this is why I’m alone, I’m crazy”.

 

So he still hasn’t replied and he probably thinks I’m insane.  Hopefully he finds my crazy endearing.  Ugh.  I’m seriously going to die an old spinster woman who can’t knit or embroider and who is allergic to cats.

At least I’ll always have you, Netflix.  You get me.

You always know me better than everyone else.

You always know me better than everyone else.

Season Three, Episode Seven: Tinderless Nights (TSCBL#1)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish as a single lady. A badass single lady.

But nowhere near as badass as this.

But nowhere near as badass as this.

But anyway, the first thing I decided to tackle (mainly because it seemed quite possibly the easiest thing to get accomplished) was #4 on the list.

4. Be moderately successful or even slightly successful at this online dating stuff.

Exactly.

Exactly.

Anyway, I have always felt that online dating (such as Match and eHarmony and Plenty of Fish) is for life losers. I personally do not think that I am a life loser, but hell, those people in those commercials look so happy and what the hell, I should get to be happy. Right? Right.

So I decided to try this online dating shit back in November because I obviously suck something terrible at the normal route of dating. I made a profile on Match and on eHarmony, and I learned something about myself right off the bat.

I am incredibly shallow. Yes, my last boyfriend was overweight, but he carried it well and had a good looking face. That offset the chubbiness. But you can’t have a jacked up face or be plain or be fat or awkward looking or any/all of that in various possible combinations/at the same time. I can’t be having any of that. I mean, I think I’m pretty.

That face.

That face.

I totally deserve a hot guy who is almost as awesome as me. And that man has to exist somewhere in the annals of online dating.

Or so I thought.

Well…optimistically talked myself into thinking. Because I am a bit of a realist and I think that online dating is just strange. But whatever. My friends told me that it’s not weird anymore and that people do it because they have hectic schedules and life is all digital and interconnected in the fucking global village and all that technobabble. I decided to keep an open mind and try to talk to some guys who seemed cute. So I tried the free shit first, but you can’t read messages or look at people’s pictures when it’s free, and as I brought up in the previous paragraphs, I am pretty fucking shallow. So I paid the stupid but cheapest possible fee that I could. Match offers a month to month option for like $36 (or something–I don’t feel like looking it up) and that’s kind of less desperate feeling than eHarmony, who only lets you get a full year for different payment options. That made me feel lame in all sorts of ways. Paying to look at people who probably either felt as awkward and lame as I did or were actually excited and optimistic about online dating because they had exhausted every other possible option. Ugh.

I should have listened to you, Lemon.

I should have listened to you, Lemon.

But I kept an open mind. Even through all the weird messages from the socially awkward creeper sorts who looked like they were socially awkward creepers in high school and the weird guys who “liked” my pictures and the icebreaker things that consist of random questions and stuff. I was kind of desperate to find someone wonderful to get my mind off my ex, who I still missed terribly. So I kept an open mind and told myself that I would find someone. Someone worthwhile. Someone hot and funny and not a weird creeper.

I kept up with this for two months. (I stopped the first time in December because it was a complete failure in my opinion. I started up again in January because I thought it was maybe worth another try.)

And then I found this guy on Match who was possibly the Holy Grail of online dating. He was hot. He was funny. He didn’t seem like a weirdo creeper. So I messaged him and we talked and then he said something that struck me as somewhat odd, but it was a legit question: Did I want something serious or just something casual? I chose to say that I wasn’t sure and that you couldn’t really know what you wanted until you met that person and could gauge the potential chemistry. Boom. Solid answer. Get me ready for The Bachelor now.

Actually...no.  Fuck that shit.  That's like every single shitty dating site wrapped into one douchebag guy.  No grazie.

Actually…no. Fuck that shit. That’s like every single shitty dating site wrapped into one douchebag guy. No grazie.

He was all like “yeah that’s right, you can’t know until you meet someone” and I was like hmm…maybe this guy is legit? So I traded numbers with him and we texted and then…I get this little textular bomb: I’m just looking for a hookup.

Of course he was. Because of course. That would have tied in nicely with The Single Chick Bucket List #3: Have a random hookup/one night stand. But for some reason, that felt wrong. I didn’t want a stupid hookup situation. I very politely told him that I was past that phase of my life (because I am) and I wished him the best and that was that. I deleted his number and I stopped talking to him. I’m sure I could have kept slogging through the endless profiles and photos until I found “The One”, but shit. It’s not worth it. I don’t have the time for that and I couldn’t shake the inherent feeling that I have that it’s not really for me. It’s not. I hate dating, but I think I hate online dating even more.

So I deactivated my Match profile and cancelled my membership. I took that as a sign. I also took it as a sign that The Guy had the same name as my ex but spelled differently and he turned out to be a cretin. Shocker. I can’t delete my eHarmony one until November, so I just don’t go on it and I have all the emails from Match and eHarmony directed into my trash. I guess I will suffer through the stupid traditional way of dating…but not right now. This online dating thing reminded me that maybe I’m not ready to jump into the pool of quicksand that is dating and relationships and heartbreak. I have way too much going on for a boyfriend. I have a list of life things to get through and a dad who is super sick with cancer and a wonderfully fabulous nine year old and a brand new shift at work and a fledgling social life and I just don’t want that boyfriend aspect. I still somewhat want that boyfriend aspect with my ex, who has pretty much become less than a stranger to me and as sad and as pathetic as that seems…it’s true. And it’s not fair to anyone for me to pursue a relationship when I’m still kind of broken up over him. I will have my Netflix and my son and my family and friends and that’s fine for now.

I would much rather watch Mad Men in my sweats than deal with the awkwardness of pimping myself out per se to awkward men online. And I had to pay for it!!!

I would much rather watch Mad Men in my sweats than deal with the awkwardness of pimping myself out per se to awkward men online.
And I had to pay for it!!!

So…

4. Be moderately successful or even slightly successful at this online dating stuff.

 

Season Three, Episode Five: The Single Chick Bucket List

So I got dumped.  And fell into a depressive rut.

It’s kind of weird and liberating to see that typed out.  Kind of painful too.  But anyway, I was dumped by someone who I thought loved me and it made me fall right on my face…and then I decided that I would much rather wallow with my face stuck in the rug of despair than to get up and face the world like the cruel bitch that she totally is.  I spent all my time outside of work sleeping to avoid the sharp ache in my chest and lost weight grieving for the relationship that was no more.  I was a sad and emotionally lost mess of a person for a while.

I was a sad, depressive mess.  I wasn't even witty or funny like I usually am.

I was a sad, depressive mess. I wasn’t even witty or funny like I usually am.

Time heals wounds slowly, and even though I’m still kind of sad and still really hurt, life goes on.  I have some amazing friends, and they helped me tremendously.  I figure I am one awesome, badass chick and if my ex-boyfriend couldn’t see that and had to go back to his ex, then…that’s his loss.  I’m still beautiful and smart and funny.  It still sucks for me, though.  I’m trying to keep my head above water, and I am getting there, one day at a time.  It’s even harder because I have to see him every day, but when life throws you lemons you mix those bitches with vodka and simple syrup and make grownup lemonade.  And then proceed to drink a lot of it.

Screw you, shitty life lemons.

Screw you, shitty life lemons.

But anyway, I was inspired one night while on the dice table (the most random shit comes to me while I’m dealing) to make a list of shit that I can do now that I am single.  Sure, I could have done it while I was in a relationship, but it wouldn’t help me heal and feel better about myself–nay, it would have just become more memories for me to cry over at 5 am.  So I have jotted down little things in a numbered list (I don’t usually make lists, but when I do, they are either bulleted or numbered) in the Notes app on my handy dandy iPhone.  I plan to knock these babies out as an awesomely single lady and make some amazing memories sans dude that I can look back on when I’m an old lady with no regrets.

Get it, girls.

Get it, girls.

I call it…The Single Chick Bucket List.  I plan to blog about each one as I go, and hopefully I can add to the list as I go and cross off as many things as I can.

1.  Go to NYC alone.

I went to New York in 2012 with my ex, and I would really like to create some new memories of my own.  Plus, I had always dreamed of moving there after high school, but life kind of got in the way.  I would like to spend a few days there alone just to indulge in my Girls-meets-Sex and the City fantasy.

2.  Learn to drive and then get my license.

Little factoid about me:  I don’t know how to drive.  My parents sold their car before I started Kindergarten and they never bought a new one.  I’m a boss at public transportation, but I have only driven a car two or three times, and I was kind of horrible at it.

3.  Have a random hookup/one night stand.

This one makes me nervous.  I keep reading that one night stands are the best way to get your mind off a breakup, and that girls should be able to have meaningless and empty sex just like guys can without feeling guilty.  This one is a huge step out of my comfort zone, but I missed out on dorm life and parties and I hear that these things went down like whatever in college.  And my ex is obviously having sex, so why shouldn’t I?

4.  Be moderately successful or even slightly successful at this online dating stuff.

Ugh, yes I am attempting this shit again.  If other people can have success with this crap, I should too.  I still feel like it’s for life losers, so even if I have just a decent or funny story to come out of Match.com I feel like it won’t be a complete waste of time.

5.  Take sexy photos at a professional photography studio.

So since February 2012, I lost roughly around 40 pounds.  I went from 162 to about 124.  I am at my post baby weight circa 2005.  I have always wanted to go get those sexy little pinup boudoir shots done, but I always felt chunky and not sexy enough naked to be immortalized on film.  I still catch myself stopping and staring at myself in the mirror when I get dressed because I can’t believe how amazing I look now that I lost all that weight.  I feel like now I can get those pictures done and feel proud of myself.

6.  Get my passport.

I have always had wanderlust, and I want to do something about it.  I want to travel the world and see all kinds of wonderful things.  I plan on getting my son his passport too in a few years and we can travel together.

7.  Write a novel.

I always start, but I never finish.

8.  Record a song in a studio.

I’m a phenomenal singer and I never did anything with it.  I would love to record an EP just to have so I can say that I sang in an actual recording studio.

9.  Go to Alaska/London/Ireland.

I would love to do all three, but I will definitely settle for Alaska.

10.  Learn French or Italian.

I want to feel worldly.  Spanish doesn’t make me feel worldly…it makes me feel like I had to learn it to graduate from high school.

11.  Go back to college.

I want to get my bachelor’s, even if it takes longer than four years.

12.  Be brave.

I’m non-confrontational, and I don’t like to stir up drama.  I need to learn to find my voice and use it more often.

13.  Learn how to finally play the guitar.

I have owned a guitar for years and never figured out how to play it.  I want to sign up for lessons and be able to be that angsty-yet-cute musician girl at the coffee shop by my house.

14.  Run a 5K.

I hate running.  I’m clumsy and uncoordinated and I feel like I should attempt to run a 5K just so I can say that I can.  Plus maybe I might turn out to get better at it and actually enjoy it.

So that is the list for now.  I’m sure I will add to it, and hopefully I will achieve success to most of the things I have typed out.  I feel like this is a great confidence booster for me and will help me to discover more of myself as a person.  And maybe someone who went through a terrible breakup or some other horrible life experience will read this post or one of the others where I accomplish these things and be inspired to do something great too.

That would be wonderful.

Season Three, Episode Three: That Goddamn Metaphorical Horse

So I’m going to take a moment to state the obvious.

Why thank you, Captain.

Why thank you, Captain.

Breaking up sucks.  A lot.

I mean…there’s a lot of shit that happens in a relationship that is pretty wonderful.  You become best friends with your partner.  You guys have cute moments together.  You can do stupid stuff around them and know that they don’t find you weird because they think you are pretty.  And hey, that’s nice.  There’s a certain amount of comfort in a relationship.  You know their quirks and even though you think it’s weird that they turn the water off when they brush their teeth and that they like to wear Crocs with socks, you don’t judge them because they could easily judge you pretty hardcore for snorting when you laugh really hard and that squirrels freak you out more than the average person.  You don’t feel the need to wear pants or mascara when you are with them.  You’re comfortable.  And that’s nice.

It’s nice.

But then you break up, and…it’s not nice.  It’s pretty fucking horrendous.  You go from loving that person and wanting to spend every moment with them to hating their guts and hoping they fall off a cliff, Mayan sacrifice style.  One person generally doesn’t really care about the way things ended, and the other person finds themselves underneath a desk, crying and drinking from a bottle of merlot.

crying under desk

And then comes the whole grieving and healing process, which inevitably leads to the moving on part.  One of you typically moves on faster than the other, spurring the other one (who hates relationships and love and dating in general at the moment because their heart has been ripped out and soaked in cheap wine) to jump on the metaphorical horse.

Fuck.  That.  Horse.

I don’t particularly like horses anyway.  I rode one once at Girl Scout camp, and I was not a fan of the experience.  They are okay if I don’t have to climb up on one and ride it.  But anyway…jumping on the metaphorical horse.  It sucks.  That person feels like they have to half ass their attempt just enough so that people don’t think that they are crazy and just enough to convince themselves that they aren’t going to grow old alone and die without anyone finding their body for weeks.  So you kind of dip your foot in the shallow end of the kiddie pool.  Kind of like how I wanted said horse to be a Shetland pony and was promptly told that no, the metaphorical horse of dating is a noble steed.  (I can’t exactly jump up on a noble steed seeing as I’m only 5’1″.  Maybe I can climb up if someone puts a step stool next to it.)  You do what you have to do to shut people up.  And hey, maybe you make it just weird enough so that they will quit bugging you to start dating.

Because you aren’t ready and you want to stay under that desk and cry a little bit longer, damn it.

So I tried, just to shut everyone up.  I started actually doing my makeup when I went to work and smiled, because nothing makes you look like you are back on the market like eyeliner and a smile.  Jesus.  I tilted my head and laughed at the appropriate moments in conversations with attractive men.  But I’m not particularly feeling it.  So I have my moments of angst circa 1997 Dawson’s Creek and pout and feel sad because damn it, I’m sad.  I’m allowed to be sad.  But society wants me to get over it and there are more fish in the sea and you’re gonna make it after all because that’s life.  I made an eHarmony profile.  I feel embarrassed.  Maybe there isn’t a social stigma attached to online dating, but I still feel like it’s for the weird lame people who can’t carry on a face to face conversation with a person.

I hate it.  I suck at dating to begin with, I hate the whole process and feel incredibly awkward–I would much rather just bypass that shit and go right to being in a relationship, but it doesn’t work that way.  I discovered that I am too shallow for online dating.  I want a man with a pretty face.  I met a guy and it seemed okay, we talked on the site’s messenger thing, but he suddenly stopped talking and I am past that point in my life where I am going to try to pursue a guy who will not initiate conversation.  I’m 28.  I’m too old for that shit.  So I brushed it off and had a moment of oh my god I’m going to die alone and the mailman will find my body.  I went out for my birthday.  Seized the night and all that glamorous glitter.  I posted a picture of myself from my soiree on eHarmony just because I wanted to see if there are any hot guys on there, and the non-initiater of conversations looked at my picture (because their news feed is kind of on the creepy stalker side and shows you whenever they go to your page).  I don’t blame him.  I looked good.  Much like Ron Burgundy in a suit.

I was rocking that dress :)

I was rocking that dress 🙂

So I was like well okay, maybe I’ll give this guy another go.  We started chatting it up again and exchanged numbers and started texting.  It was all good for a few days until he did the same thing as before.  I refuse to chase another man.  Nope.  So I have decided that I am going to be single and wallow until I’m damn good and ready.  Screw you society and your norms.  I will eat Reese’s cups and read Girls in White Dresses over and over until I’ve had enough of witty chick lit and peanut butter paired with milk chocolate.  Judge away.  I don’t care.

And as for that stupid horse?  I think I’ll walk.

Season Three, Episode Two: Auld Lang Syne

I have been trying to figure out for weeks a suitable post to tie up all the frayed and broken ends of 2013 and usher in 2014, but I have had the worst case of writer’s block.

I blame it on 2013 itself.

It was, for the most part, a terrible year. My boyfriend finally moved here, which I thought would be awesome and fantastic, something I wanted for an entire year…but we broke up. He’s currently working things out with his ex-wife, and I’m still nursing a broken heart and how I must be Good Luck Chuck for divorced guys (this is the second time this has happened to me…the first was with my son’s dad). I’ve been having a hard time healing. I’m not going to go into it.

My son had a rough year too. We discovered he has ADHD and quite possibly dyslexia. Add that to the stress of the previous paragraph…and I think I’m struggling with a touch of depression. I won’t go into specifics, but yeah…I think I have depression. Just a little.

Hence the writer’s block. But I came upon this Tweet from Khloé Kardashian, not particularly known as being a wellspring of philosophical knowledge, and it was perfect.

20140102-235607.jpg

I know that based on the hashtags, she was referring to fitness, but to me…it sums up everything. 2013 was garbage. I’m a vastly different person than I was in 2012. Broken. Cried out. Still in love with someone who doesn’t want me…Still reeling from losing someone who was my best friend and the love of my life. But 2014 shows I’m a slightly different person than 2013 left me. Am I still ravaged? Definitely. But I’m hopeful. My heart will heal eventually, even though I don’t want it to. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I have to. I have to swallow the pain and unanswered questions and bury the love that I have because it’s over. Unfortunately. And I’m sure I’ll go through this all over again. And again. And each time it will hurt just as bad as the last because life doesn’t get easier…you just get stronger. And I guess that’s life.

So fuck you, 2013.

2014…please just be better.