Paging Stuart Smalley

This post started one way, but took a wrong exit to a place in my head I visit sometimes. It usually passes within a day, and then I'm back to at least a marginally normal self-image.

I went on vacation in part to get some perspective, maybe achieve sudden clarity via Southwest Airlines party mix.

I did, but not as much as I'd like.

But I did realize I can't meet this guy I'd been talking to on OkCupid. We'd talked about meeting once I got back, but I realized I'm not feeling a connection, at least not yet. I have pretty good instincts for that, though, so possibly not ever. (This has also happened with two other OKC people.)

I feel bad, but even though That Guy felt nothing for me except my clitoris, that whole debacle helped me remember how I feel when *I* feel a spark with someone, even if it's not mutual. My ex, too -- I felt that in my gut and in my butt, and I'm not feeling it for these OKC people. Whatever the issues, my interactions with That Guy and my ex set a standard for what I need to feel and how I need to be treated.

I know I have to move on eventually. I just don't think I'll be able to, or should, until I feel something more compelling -- I don't need to be in love, I just need to feel a chemistry.

I wondered if I should meet that OKC guy just to interact with a man in a potentially romantic capacity, the way I used to go on job interviews for practice. But I don't want to make anyone my practice. Having BEEN used fairly recently, I can't do it to someone else. (Though I hear it's effective.)

I may still be too damaged for this. I can't tell if I'm really not ready, or just scared.

I already wasn't feeling the best about myself when my ex and I broke up. I asked him why he was even with me, what I'd contributed to our relationship, and why he'd want to have children with me. He explained the kid thing, but wouldn't tell me why he'd been with me. He said I should know. I still don't. I believed he loved me. I believe he still does. I just don't know why. (The best I can come up with is that I let him have his own space and his own time, and never made him watch "The Notebook.")

Following that, That Guy made me feel smart, sexy, and funny...buuut then told me he never really thought any of that. Well, I guess the "sexy" part was true -- as indicators go, his constant erection in my presence was probably a good one. 

When I thought he cared about me, I spent time with him thinking, "Pfft...I'm amazing." He said my confidence showed, that I owned my business in the bedroom, that I was funny and a good writer -- he was one of the reasons I kept writing this blog. And then he was like, "Ha ha, just kidding, you're none of those things."

So I'm not enough to keep one man if I don't want to have a baby, and not enough to keep the other guy because...I guess maybe I'm NOT the person he made me feel like I was.

Plus there have also been professional aspects where I wasn't good enough to do one job or another, and a general feeling with my family that I'm just not worth being heard.

So... I don't know what I'm doing now. I know it's called SELF-esteem, but mine's been knocked around a lot the past few years. I don't know if I've ever considered how deep-seated all this is, and I see the therapist partly because I don't know how to fix it myself. I have friends who, if they're reading it, would punch me in the neck for thinking any of this. I don't ALWAYS feel this way, but when I do, people can tell me whatever good things they want, I just can't see it for myself.

Ahem... Why, what do YOU think about on vacation?

P.S. Next post, I promise, back to OkCupid snark, Valentine's rage, masturbation, and the feminism of bath sponges.

Hunting the rare and elusive uniporn

Holy shit, you guys. I think I've found some sort of porn holy grail.

Lots of kissing; equal and enthusiastic oral for both parties; no spitting; normal-shaped woman with the cutest tummy curve and a great ass; reasonably attractive man with a big yet non-threatening dick; enough talking/sounds to convey appreciation and a good time being had by all, but no obviously fake, exaggerated noises or commentary; perfect line walked between request and command from both participants; dude moaning a bit in her ear and grabbing her ass, hips, shoulders, neck, and hair; believable-enough orgasms (multiple!) for the lady; and his first move was to bend her over.

And I am just enough of a narcissist to be really into the fact that the woman moves and sounds like I do. 

It's like a unicorn of porn -- it's a uniporn.

Ahem... Um... So... I have to go, uhhhh... take care of a few things... It's pretty important...

(Hey, you fix bad days your way, I fix them mine.)

Which chakra is my vagina?

Interesting choice, yoga studio gift shop.

Though I suppose a well-oiled lady garden is one way to achieve zen.  

Escape: Plane and Simple

I'm pretty excited to be taking a vacation that requires a plane, and leaving all my bullshit behind -- if only for a week, and if only metaphorically, since my bullshit lives in my brain and actually travels quite well. I checked, though, and there's no fee for emotional baggage on domestic flights. Score! 

It'll still be good to get away, particularly to get away to anywhere warmer than here.

So I'll see y'all soon, assuming more pleasurable climes don't claim me as their own. 

See also: fuck you, winter.

I'm probably not the only crazy person on OkCupid.

Oh, OK. So I can be messaging back and forth with a perfectly nice guy from OkCupid, and inadvertently say something that reminds me of my ex, then of That Guy, then back to my ex, and now I'm crying?

Sure, yeah -- I am absolutely ready to be dating, even casually. It will not end badly at all. 

I understand this is how I move on, and I'm sure a time will come when it doesn't feel like cheating, but...not so far. 

I could blame PMS, but I think I might just be ready to embrace my obvious destiny to die sexless and alone.

We'll just add this to the therapy list. That woman is earning her money.

I do not like "Wham bam, thank you, ma'am." I do not like it, Sam, damn.

OkCupid emails you a little preview whenever you get a new message.

Aaand sometimes that preview is all you need...  

There's two fucking feet of snow on the ground, shitheel. I'm not going outside for anyone's dick. 

To his credit, his VERY first message said, "Hi I am sam how are you doing​," so he was totes chivalrous about it. The hotel thing came two minutes later. As I suspect he would.

(Also..."I am Sam?" Nope. Nooope. I didn't even change his name like I usually do because it was just too good.)

Fat-phobic or fat fetishist?

I woke up to a photo-less OkCupid guy's FIRST message to me: 

"Hey...Would you be willing to gain a little weight to please your man if you were in a committed relationship?
-- Steve"

Well, Steve. First off, thanks for the flashback to that "Family Guy" episode where Peter stuffs cake down Lois's gullet because he decides "fat sex is the hottest sex."

But also, my OKC profile includes photos of my already-weighing-quite-enough body, because men love asking if "curvy" is code for "obese," so I like to just get my mere "overweight" out there up-front.

So I can't decide if Steve wants me bigger than I am because he wants more to love? Or maybe he wants me to say obesity is disgusting and that I am a superior, health-minded individual who would never fall prey to The Fats?

I have so many questions, Steve.

It's not TECHNICALLY masturbation...

It's freezing in my office today, and my hands are particularly cold. So I've been sitting with my left hand between my thighs while my right hand works the mouse (not a euphemism).

But I AM also bopping along to shitty pop music. With my hand between my legs.

I am a professional.

Also, though...I'm not gonna lie, it doesn't feel BAD. But it's really just to warm my hands.

Mostly.

Like 80%.

My memory is just fine, Facebook. THANKS.

You know those Facebook Memories where it shows you what you were doing on this day however many years ago?

The one I just saw might as well have said, "Ha ha, remember that time you were about to fuck up your whole life? MAN! Good times," and then punched me in the stomach.

Eat a dick, Facebook.

All things considered, my life has turned out pretty well, but damn -- between careers and homes and relationships and assholes, that was a lot of progress to process before I even finished my coffee. This probably explains why I'm so hesitant to change very much in those realms right now.

Unless Robert Downey Jr. calls. Then all bets are off. And so are my panties. (Joking. I would never have on underwear if I were anywhere NEAR Robert Downey Jr. I would always wear dresses and trampy nightgowns and go commando, so he could have a 24/7 all-access pass.)

Oh. Well, OK, then, Cupid...

I debated posting this because I wouldn't want people posting verbatim bits of MY OkCupid profile online, so I try to take that into account. I don't know if I'm successful in walking the line between harmless mocking and being a giant, judgy bitch, but I try.

HOWEVER. 

THIS is not judging. THIS is documenting an impressively bold and insulting leap in logic in a guy's self-summary: So, wait, just because I don't want to spend my life with you and your shitty kid, I must only be looking for some serious deep dicking?

I mean, yeah, dick would be good. Dick would be amazing, actually. Mmm, dick... AHEM... Sorry, what? OH, right -- indignance. Goddammit, dick isn't ALL I'm looking for!

You know what, though? I wish him the best of luck finding a nice, proper lady who wants to be a stepmom in a long-term relationship with a man who casually implies women are whores.

"Hi! My name is [huh?], my name is [what?]..."

My username on OkCupid is SmugWrites, but with my actual name.

The first line of my profile is, "Hi, I'm Smug." (Actual name.)

So obviously I get a message this morning: "Hi I'm ben,what's your name?"

Half an hour later, Ben sends a follow-up: "?" (Yep. Just the question mark.)

I reported this to a teacher friend who summed it up nicely: "Ben doesn't read for comprehension."

ESPMS

I'm pretty sure I've prayed more to get my period this week, so it's over before my vacation, than I have any time I've had a pregnancy scare. 

*staring at vagina*

Bitch, let's GOOOOO...

I bet Kate Middleton does the same thing.

I have reached peak white trash. No, literally -- I overslept, so my "shower" consisted of five baby wipes, dry shampoo, and a metric shit-ton of powder.

(Oh, please. Like I have a threshold for "oversharing.")

#ClassyAsFuck

Empowerless

Therapist said I seem "empowered."

I fired her.

She also tells me we'll have to work on me saying things like, "'Crazy slut' is on my resumé."

Jeez, *I* thought it was funny. Don't I pay you to laugh at my jokes and say I'm a special snowflake? I AM NOT FEELING SUPPORTED!

(I know, I KNOW.)

Say Yes to the Press

I've had an unusual number of blog views on the Shonda Rhimes book review I wrote back in November.

Since New Year's, 23 people have seen it. Only 13 saw it when I first posted it.

What the hell? I was pleased with the post, so I don't mind, I'm just befuddled.

Also, at least one person found it by searching for "veal practice rhimes," which made me happy in my lazy places.

“Did I tell you what veal practice is?” asks Rhimes. “Oh! Veal practice involved me lying very still on the sofa trying as hard as I could to mimic the life of a veal. While eating veal. I wish I were kidding. It. Was. Magic.”

Advantage: Breasts

Because computer dudes are that brand of sexy-hot-smart that makes my software tingle, I'm really not trying to generalize, so...#NotAllNerds.

But it's always amazing to me what I can get accomplished in my IT department with a tight sweater and a smile. They even let me eat their candy. (Not a euphemism.)

Let the record show I'd get naked with at least one of them, so I'm not JUST using my feminine wiles to get tech support. It's just a happy bonus.

My family shuns my food baby.

I spent the day with extended family, which first means I can't handle anymore noise and am incapacitated in silence on the couch. But it also means I spent the day being lauded for being "so petite!" and looking "so cute in skinny jeans!" Because apparently that's an achievement. "I could never wear those, I'd look like a beached whale!"

Oh, it's TOTES easy, you guys. All you have to do is upend your entire adult life: lose two consecutive jobs; get your heart broken twice (once in love, once in friendship); move apartments twice; doubt your overall worth; get fat; see therapists you can't really afford; get prescribed drugs that make you lose your previously voracious appetite; get thin because you're eating half as much; and constantly worry that even this tiny rug of vague stability you've managed to weave for yo' damn self is going to be pulled out from under you.

In the words of Elle Woods: "What, like it's hard?"

I don't know why I waste my time on my silly blog when I could clearly be writing the next big self-help book. 

I was also told how "natural" I looked holding Baby Cousin, and got the "Maybe you'll change your mind someday, you never know." Um, well, first, I'm 40 and single, so time's a wastin', and second, I was sure enough to end a decade-long relationship over the matter, which you're aware of, so I think I'm set. Thanks for the reminder, though. And also you're a dick.

Besides, in our family, being skinny vs. breeding seems very much an either/or situation. I'm gonna need you to prioritize your pressure. If I'm understanding correctly, being fat is acceptable as long my fat is the result of creating a person? But it's not cool if it's just a food baby?

He made me an offer I could absolutely, 100% refuse.

SO.

I just got an OkCupid intro message...from a 6'3", "overweight" (his word choice) "Happily Married" man, with a single Photoshopped profile photo that obscures his face and shows none of his body, asking if I'd be into some "non-committal intamcy" (his spelling error).

This is his entire self-summary: "Happily Married, I just enjoy more, like any man."

Hmmm... You know, enticing as you've made all this, I'm probably set for a lifetime on playing second fiddle. I'm aiming to be Hef's main Bunny now.

I do appreciate the offer to fuck me and then go away -- sometimes I think that's all I need. But I'm a LADY, dicknuts. You have to come correct (heh) and supply me at least a few real photos of what I'd be working with before I'd even BEGIN to consider this. If I can't see your face, how am I supposed to know if I want to sit on it?

Honestly. Whatever happened to chivalry?

Also..."non-committal intimacy?" You are a grody bastard whose wife won't bang him anymore, possibly because you're on a dating site hustlin' for some strange. Own it.

NB: If that's what you've agreed to in your marriage, you go ahead and get yours. I've actually briefly considered similar offers from other, more forthright men. This dude just had a bit of the sketch on him.

Also, nothing wrong with "overweight." Half that weight is probably just his giant balls.

All the right junk (yours) in all the right places (mine)

OK, FINE, OkCupid! Jeez, I stand corrected: In the past hour, you've brought me two cute, seemingly literate men who have liked my profile and sent first messages.

And when I say "cute," I mean "cute" in the way of, um...stirrings. 

Not "You're cute and maybe we'll get to know each other and you'll get cuter." It's a, "Hey. You're hot and formed sentences, one of which said I'm funny. Come remedy this situation that seems to be developing in my pants."

Ahem. "I'll be in my bunk."

In which my appearance is validated by the denizens of OkCupid

Email from OkCupid, subject: “Smug, You are Hot!”

“Hey Smug, We just detected that you’re now among the most attractive people on OkCupid. We learned this from clicks to your profile and reactions to you in Quickmatch. Did you get a new haircut or something? Well, it’s working! To celebrate, we’ve adjusted your OkCupid experience: You’ll see more attractive people in your results. You’ll also appear more often to other attractive people. Sign in to see your newly-shuffled matches. Have fun, and don’t let this go to your head.”

A few things...

1. Pfft. Duh. I'm adorable.
2. Also, they send that to everyone.
3. And if they DON'T send it to everyone, why the HELL were you not showing me attractive people before? Did I really have to gather a certain number of profile “likes” before you declassified me as an Ugly? So now, what, you’ll skip the white supremacists offering me anal and start sending me...cuter white supremacists offering me anal?
4. There’s been no change whatsoever in my matches. Some attractive to me, some not so attractive to me, and that’s…sort of how life works.

Family ties that bind...oppressively.

It's adorable how I thought I could exist in my family and get away with saving some cash by getting LESS therapy. But at least they gave me some money for Christmas, so they're inadvertently footing the bill. 

Are you serious? We're adults. Someone in the family just DIED -- they are now an EX-parrot. Maybe get some perspective? When YOU die, are you gonna be like, "Heh... Yeah, I was a complete DICK to my niece in 2016, remember? Deleted her from Facebook for some BULLshit -- I showed HER. LIFE? HA! NAILED IT. Go 'head, Jesus, take the wheel!"

I'm pretty close to telling everyone to go fuck themselves. I've already said, "I want nothing to do with this." Do you know how much you have to fuck up before *I* won't talk to you? You have to, like... kill a Muppet. 

Time to invoke The Asshole Inference: "I don't know. I don't wanna know. I'm out." *hand gesture*

(Actually, I think writing this and seeing Token was probably all the therapy I needed. And also bearing in mind that running away to CA and never coming back is always an option.)

Three-fer: Admittedly snap judgments of an OkCupid guy

I'd been talking to this guy on OkCupid, and should've known he was a douche when his intro message boasted that his profile was "well-crafted." Um, yeah, his profile says he's looking to meet the "girls of my dreams." I asked about it, and he said it was originally a typo, but he decided to leave it. OK, whatever. I'm not looking to be the girl of anyone's dreams right now, anyway -- let's roll those dice.

We're chatting, maybe 10 messages back and forth total, and he asks if there's anything I want him to know about me. I write three arbitrary things right before I go to sleep, including: "I firmly believe all CVS drive-thrus should also serve fries." (Come the hell on, that'd be great.)

This morning I wake up to two messages. In them are three questions, which I will answer for you guys, but got him immediately deleted and blocked. I almost replied, "Yeah, we're done here," but decided against it. In hindsight, I wish I'd sent the message to smarter friends who could've written back and made him cry.

So here are the offending questions. (And hey, this is just my offense. If you're intrigued, comment or send a message -- I'll tell you his username and you can grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.)

1. "Do you go to CVS or McDonald's often enough that that's an issue?"
Uhh... yeah. I go to CVS once a month. CVS provides the lovely drugs that keep me:
A) a functional human;
B) focused;
C) not riddled with heinous allergies; and
D) most relevant to you, NOT PREGNANT.

Also, McDonald's fries aren't my favorite, but once a month, at a particular time, I will cut you for Wendy's fries and a Frosty, or an anytime Egg McMuffin, a societal evolution I regard as the Lord personally answering my lifelong prayer. If my occasional fast food habit is an issue, this isn't going to work. If you offer me fucking kale during my period, you WILL get murdered with a stick.

2. "Why do guys send dick pics to women? I have to assume it's appealing to some women, but I don't get it. I'd love to see photos of your boobs, ass, and curves, but I really don't want to see a photo of anyone's vagina."
AHEM. Well, first of all, my vagina is a goddamn work of art. (Kidding. I haven't looked at the area in years beyond lawn maintenance. It could be the Batcave for all I know.) Vagina pics aren't my thing, but I know some people who dig them. And if a guy I liked asked for one, and had previously earned access to the region, I would accommodate. I'd probably put makeup on it first, and obsess about its best side, but I'd do it.

But also... I enjoy dick pics, with an important caveat: I have to AGREE to them. I don't just want to see rogue dick, all superfluous and out of its natural habitat. However, I will happily behold the penis of a literate man who's said nice things to me and had dinner with me and maybe we've made out a little. I'd rather see it in person and THEN a photo, but in a proper setting, I don't mind seeing the dick that awaits me, and how I'm affecting it.

Plus, not all men do that, and it's -- if I may -- a dick move to generalize.

3. "Why do women have photos in their profiles where they're standing next to other women? Often women who are better looking??? It doesn't make sense!"
Well. To start, your triple question marks are an assault against God and humanity.

And again, not all women. For a split second I thought he was talking about me, but I don't do that because my friends are, in fact, cuter than I am. Plus I'd feel weird putting photos of them on a dating site. My photos are of ME: "This is my face, this is my [clothed] body. Can you deal with my Worf wrinkle and my extra 20 lbs? Excellent. Proceed."

Also, I've seen plenty of men do that, too, and I hate it. Not because the other men are better looking (though I've definitely wondered, "Who's your friend?"), but because I don't want to scroll through a bunch of photos trying to ascertain which guy is you. Your main pic, at least, should be just you.

In addition, "better looking" is relative. Maybe the person looking at that photo thinks the friend is a total bridge troll, and the man/woman in the OKC profile is his/her ideal.

And, again, just as a blanket "fuck you," I can't abide generalizing women OR men. I can generalize YOU, though. And you're a jag.

Walking around naked. Like ya do.

The other day, my amazing friend* ran a body confidence class at the sex shoppe (yep, shoppe). For "homework," she assigned us to go home and spend an hour naked, checking out our bodies, noting the good, disregarding the bad, and just getting comfortable seeing them.

So I just emailed her and said, "Just letting you know I'm walking around naked. Carry on."

Not gonna lie, I'm NOTICING the bad. ("Really? Those are my boobs? Huh...") But overall, I'm kind of adorable.

Also, the heat in my house is up to like 80 degrees because brrrrr.

Also, I may have strange friendships. But they're the best.

* FYI, the friend is the lovely and talented Yvette St. James, and you should follow her on Twitter and attend all her classes because they're super fun and informative.

Weight Loss, Crypt Keeper, Trainwreck, Lipstick, and "La-di-da"

A while back I asked y'all to come kick me if I didn't lose some weight, because my clothes didn't fit anymore and I hate shopping.

Turns out all I needed was a (prescription) drug that fucks up my appetite and makes me so thirsty I drink tons of water and always feel full, plus family, friend, and boy issues. I'm running on bananas, almonds, and kettle chips because that's all my body is accepting.

I feel like hell, I get wobbly, and my face looks like The Crypt Keeper, but I lost 5 lbs in one spectacular shitshow of a week.

I spent most of the past 2 days in bed (took a sick day yesterday), but eventually getting up, cleaning my house, then cleaning ME. It's remarkable how an irresponsibly hot shower and clean sheets can improve your outlook. (Plus watching "Trainwreck" again.)

I am going to be fine.

We're good, now, right, Brain? My family is still fucked, but you'll let me pine for just the ONE guy (the one who's actually worth even a passing thought)? And my friends are OK? And we'll be more mindful of eating at least enough that standing isn't so challenging and daylight doesn't hurt our eyes?

Right, then. Onward. Lipstick. Sushi. Power song!

New Year, resolution

I guess once you've told someone, "You're a coward, a liar, and an asshole, and I'm sorry I ever met you"...That's probably closure, right? 

I couldn't even cry, I was just so tired. I sent the email and then sat there like, "Huh. OK, so that's that, then." (I mean, I'm not thrilled, but...)

He responded implying I'm being petty, like, "I'll refrain from name calling, but that's wonderful, thanks" was part of it.

Umm...you're welcome. And I dare you to call me any name I haven't already called myself. 

Crazy slut? Pfft. I have that shit engraved in one of those nameplate necklaces. It's on my resumé.

Clingy, desperate? I'll own that. It wasn't my finest behavior, but I learned from it.

Resentful? Bitter? Probably. But part of re-gutting myself was to get past this permanently. Plus it's been so long that it's hard to really resent some...ghost of a person you never really knew, who exists only in some hazy online ether now. It'd be like hating that money-grubbing Nigerian prince.

During our...whatever, I asked numerous times if he had the same feelings for me. I probably would've been able to infer he didn't if he and I had a standard romantic relationship. But we'd started as friends and always agreed we wanted to stay friends. So my brain went blurry, because a friend would never knowingly let things happen the way they did -- they would've leveled with me. (I've done it before. It sucked, but the friendship survived.) 

But I had to give up knowing; it was hurting me too much. So I went about assuming it was over, accepting that, and letting him be.

But then his blog likes, Facebook friend request, and LinkedIn profile checkup started grating on me, like, "OK, what are you doing?" Then came his invitation to discuss things he'd seen me writing about him here. So we discussed -- argued, really, via email. But I got my answer: He never felt the same way, and finally told me directly.

SO. Not the answer I wanted, but an answer, one I knew was possible. It's what I'd guessed, but was never 100% sure. I always told him I'd feel better if he just said it (he never would, either out of kindness or desire to keep me hooked), and I do feel better. Part of my mental reaction was, "THANK YOU. Christ, was that so hard?!" But it would've been easier, and we'd still be friends, if he'd said it sooner. 

I can't know how the discussion affected him (I'd guess just relief I finally stopped talking). I'm...partly bummed I was so spectacularly wrong about truly knowing him, and honestly, that I'll never get to have sex with him. (Don't judge me -- I REALLY wanted to. It would've been great, to the point that I probably still would if he tried, which is pretty fucked up so I'm happy it's not an option.) But I'm also relieved I have my answer, and that I got to say what I needed to. (Sad truth? I still don't entirely believe him. But I'll get there.)

It sucks we imploded a friendship, because I really valued him that way more than romantically, but he acknowledged the friendship wasn't much reciprocated, either. And the longer I was left wondering, realizing I'd started being hurt by our conversations more than I was enjoying them, that I'd ended up feeling dirty and used, and that he didn't miss me even as a friend, the easier it was to let go of that as well. 

Clinger karma

I feel bad getting over a guy I haven't met just by reading his texts, but... You gave such good OkCupid messages -- how do you text like an asshole?

WORDS. JESUS.

Crap... I'm Mr. Heckles, aren't I?

I told him politely that text-speak makes me twitchy, which is IN my OkC profile. He said that's how he texts because he doesn't have a smartphone, and, "i hate texting all together but im paying my dues until we can meet."

Yeah, I'm out. I'd told him I was trying to relax after this week sucked the life out of me, but for every text I sent, he sent three. The last time it was five. 

Listen, the rule about buttsex also applies to you being in my ass with poorly punctuated texts.

He asked if text speak bugged me THAT much. It does. But combined with you sending five texts with no response, and referring to getting to know each other a BIT via messaging so I'd feel safe meeting in person as "paying my dues?" Oh, sorry I won't just meet a strange man from the Internet who can't leave me alone for a day. 

I've behaved this way, I know, so this is karmic payback. I was clingy with That Guy; I knew it at the time and have considered in hindsight how irritating it must have been. But since then it's also happened to me with guys I've dated/talked to online, and now I'm a reformed Clinger. It's the WORST, and I'm no longer tolerant or indulgent of it. I admit I can be obsessive, but I work very hard not to burden others with it. (You people notwithstanding. You subscribe, that's on you.)

The Smug Hunter's Field Guide

See, the deal with my particular self-hatred is, I have BEEN clingy (more on this later), and I talk too much, and these are things I've hated about myself. So as my potential suitor, YOU can't be clingy and talk too much, because I will hate it even more in you.

I am attracted to guys who are...not unavailable, per se (though I've clearly been there). But definitely less emotive than I am.

I'm like a skittish baby deer, and if I feel like you're coming on too strong, I'm taking my fluffy ass back into the wild. None of my meat for you.

...OK, wait, I lost control of the deer metaphor.

Don't be clingy, is my point. Once you've pushed me to thinking "OMG, PLEASE STOP TALKING," we're probably done.

Interjecting for...um...an in-her-jection.

I know I'm supposed to be taking the weekend off, but I didn't think anyone would mind if I hopped on to say, "Jewelry that can make me come. The sex store gets me."  

Wow, I'm even the wrong kind of asshole.

I emailed him back, because I am an idiot. He'd clarified some things, so I wanted to do the same.

Aaand it turned out exactly as I thought it would.

One day I will learn to listen to my friends and just be an asshole when the situation calls for it, which is what I think he wanted -- for me to keep quiet and stay away.

But there it is. "The cold never bothered me, anyway."

P.S. Fun fact: Gmail's "block" feature is apparently about as useless as Facebook's. Technology can kiss my dick.

P.P.S. Sorry, I'll take the weekend off and stop buzzkilling your news feeds.

Kelly Bundy, Kimmy Schmidt, and the "Grey's Anatomy" method of avoidance.

Wow. WordPress readers really love my anxiety, don't they?

More years ago than I care to consider, there was a show called Married with Children that probably wouldn't make it in today's infinitely-more-PC TV landscape. I remember people being offended by it at the time, but it was the late '80s/early '90s and most people didn't give a fuck.

So there was the dumb blonde bimbo daughter, Kelly (Christina Applegate). She's more appealing than her sports-fan father, so she goes on a sports trivia show in his place. But she knows nothing about sports, so he fills her brain with trivia before the show, and for every sports fact she absorbs, a bit of basic life knowledge leaves her brain, rendering her dumbstruck (seen here) when asked to recall everyday knowledge. 

That's where I am right now. For every bit of bullshit my brain has encountered this week, I've lost knowledge and patience. This morning I stood in the shower with conditioner on my hair, and for just a second completely blanked on what the next step was. And I just snapped at my brother because he's being a fucking asshole. (Though I do kind of love it when I finally give up on trying to be polite and just say what I'm thinking.)

Family issues, friend concerns, medication that's ruining my appetite and dehydrating me, not sleeping, and additional things with That Guy, all in those 3 days of spiked blog stats... I'm out. I spent my workday NOT FUCKING WORKING, but rather ensnared in a texting clusterfuck with aforementioned brother.

Also, I know my friends love me and will listen to me, but I'm sick of being the Needy Friend -- they've heard a LOT this week, I sent a goddamn list. (Subject line: "No advice needed; just FYI, everything is fucked.") I've talked to friends, a therapist, my personal journal, and you people. I am tired of thinking and talking about my fucking feelings. I'm not even upset, per se -- I just want to go home and sit there for a week or so and not talk to anyone or think about anything. Maybe just spend the whole week re-watching all of Grey's Anatomy in my pajamas.

So yeah. I'm currently at a Bundy Brain grade 4. I'm gonna pull a reverse Kimmy Schmidt and put my ass into the doomsday bunker.

Straight pimpin'

I've posted this before, but it's been a while, and new people are here (!!!). So here's a list of all the platforms this blog lives on, in case you want to follow something different.

• Facebook
• WordPress (There's a "follow" button on the bottom right of the page, and I THINK that means you get each post emailed to you. You lucky duck!) 
• Twitter (It auto-tweets links to WordPress.)
• Instagram
• Tumblr (Auto-posts from WordPress.)
• Aaand in case you’re old-school, LIVEJOURNAL: (That’s right. Because I CARE. Though it seems LJ skipped a whole month of posts, but hopefully I just fixed that.)

Brevity + alcohol = soulmates of wit.

Current mood: Vodka. 

#DrunkSingleton

Stacy's mom totally DID have it goin' on.

In less obsessive news...

Intro message from a guy on OkCupid: "Hey honey are u into young guys"

OK, first off, that sounds a little statutory.

Next, dude is 30, so I'm half tempted to write him back and say, "I'm totally into young guys, but yesterday a 20-year-old said he would be down for one-night-only sex -- so it'd be like a concert...of dick. So if I were to go with Mrs. Robinson kink, it'd be with him. At least he used punctuation, and at least I'd LITERALLY be old enough to be his mother, so we could have the full experience. It'd be downright Oedipal." 

Further, in the words of the immortal Melanie Carmichael/Smooter, "Don't you 'honey' me, honey."

And finally...30 isn't that young. I mean, it's too young for ME, but it's 10 years, fuckface. I've dated 10 years older, it was fine. I'm not Stifler's mom, man. Slow your roll.

The Curious Incident of my Ability to Obsess

I promise I have other topics for later today, but in the meantime I'll need one of you to come tie my hands together so I don't end up responding to That Guy's email to ask if he wrote me solely because he saw the "closure" post the other day.*

It's TOO big a coincidence to be anything else.

And with that, fuck this. I have awesome to be. (Let's see if that posturing is effective.)

*If you need to make the hand tying kinky, though, I can probably work with that. 

EDIT: Crisis averted! Never underestimate the healing powers of red lipstick, great hair, coffee, and music. (Bruno Mars, "Uptown Funk" and The Band Perry, "Done," if you wondered.)

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing.

The other day I wrote about That Guy, how I can't block his email address without an existing email, but I'd deleted all his emails, emptied the trash, and sent in a sweeper in case there were any stragglers.

So obviously today I get an email from him saying he'd been going through some books and found two I'd loaned him a million years ago, wanting to make arrangements to return them. (By mail or go-between. Not by seeing me in person. Don't be absurd -- you save "in person" for people you give a fuck about, right?)

So he either saw the post, because he follows this page on Tumblr, or he just happened to have emailed me. I really don't know which.

Also, if he saw it, part of the post was: "There was comfort in the idea of closure, because there'd be no more worrying about letting my guard down when checking email — let’s be honest, stupidly half-hoping I’d ever be worth more than a drunk-texted apology at 3 a.m."

So...if we're going to assume he's seen it, the underlying message of that email is that I'm NOT worth more than that.

So I guess it's a good thing I'm heading to therapy in a half hour, yeah? 

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. I am, like, 150 times stronger than this.

All his sex toys are Fisher Price

I have to post this screenshot of my OkCupid messages because I feel like you wouldn't believe me otherwise.  

I cropped his name and all identifying info, but I will say he's 20 and lives near my office, so if I ever want to feel like I'm fucking the youth out of someone on my lunch hour, this intrepid young lad is at the ready. Sold, Toddler. Let's do this.

Hm. It'd be great if youth were an STD, like if I let this kid do things to me and suddenly I had tons more energy and drank hard lemonade and all my laugh lines were gone. Get on that, science. (Except the hard lemonade. Gross.)

I also love how this proposition is supposed to improve my mood, like, "Wow, that was a shitty day at work and those shoes made my feet hurt and I'm really not looking forward to that family gathering this weekend... But a Cub Scout wants to bang me, so wheeeeee!"

I'd never pay that much for an orgasm

One of my other goals this year is "Get my money right," because I'm SUPER tired of being broke, so I'm trying to trim expenses where I can.

I'm on the Sephora site getting my face wash (which is pricey, but pleases me daily, and lasts forever, and gets supplemented with cheaper products, and it is my FACE, and I'm aging fairly well, so don't judge me, whippersnappers)...*deep breath* Ahem.

So I was also going to buy my blush, because it's running out, too.
Um, yeah, NARS Orgasm blush is 30 goddamn dollars. Nooope. I could swear last time I bought it, it was $22 -- still not cheap, but not $30.

Christ, I'll just give myself an actual orgasm every day before work. Or, you know...I could go get some $3 blush at Target. Whichever...

P.S. With my purchase, I got a bunch of fancy samples, so now I also have new moisturizer and lipstick, so I don't have to buy those, so really, this purchase is a budget win. [/rationalization]

I'm only human, people

Oh. Well, hell, OkCupid guy... If you're gonna be cute, nerdy, tall, AND writing me a coherent intro message telling me I'm funny? I really see no way out of writing you back. 

I'm telling everyone "friends first," because first off, if he's just trying to get his dick wet, he won't write back, and also, I am petrified of actually dating, but I feel OK about slowly getting to know someone and seeing what happens. (And if it happens that he's nice and likes cake and we end up naked after a few dates, I feel OK with that as well.)

Like an ADULT. No, really.

A friend pointed out that I'm kind of shitty to myself when it comes to my ability to be an adult: "You are constantly talking about being incapable, an unfit adult, generally sucking at everything, along with other negative talk about yourself."

Hm. That's because I genuinely do FEEL incompetent probably half of the time, like I can't even believe I'm allowed to drive and make life choices. But I think the difference is, unlike everyone else, I say it out loud. And probably too often. 

A Facebook friend who doesn't know me very well went so far as to imply it was my "thing," and a coworker sent me a JPG of an "adulting honorable mention" ribbon that said "I put on pants today."

I really don't want ineptitude to be my "thing." Especially at work.

We'll add that to the list of goals to work on with the therapist, because I'm really not sure how to go about fixing it. (Other than to just shut the fuck up, which I guess is probably the best option.) But I can't get butthurt when people treat me like an incompetent asshole if I continue to act like one.

But ssshhhh... I'm totally going to go eat Froot Loops in my blanket fort. And the pants will be gone as soon as I walk in the door.

Cupid throws a curveball

I got an introductory message from an ostensibly grownup man on OkCupid. 

It seems as if he knows how to use words, he doesn't look like a murderer or Warrant, and he didn't offer me anal (at least not immediately).

I don't understand...Can the site even work that way?

I should call the police, right?

(By the way, I have no idea what to say. Are you shitting me? It's bad enough I have no game in person. Am I seriously a writer who can't respond to some random dude on a dating site?!)