If you've never had a day where you look in the mirror and think, "GodDAMN, I look good," I highly recommend it.
Spring and summer clothes and weather really are my wheelhouse. I'll also be buying more of this new makeup (aptly made by Tarte) and thanking the gods of hair for blessing my rolled-outta-bed coif today.
Sometimes a plan just comes together, and today it did, in the form of my unplanned FINE ass.
"Give it up, boys and girls. Admit it. I look GOOD!" (Don't judge me, Bette is my jam.)
P.S. I went to therapy tonight, and one of the first things she said to me, unprompted, was, "You look wonderful!" So there you go, y'all -- my cuteness is verified by a licensed professional. (My brain went full Cady-Heron-in-the-black-dress: "I KNOW, right?!")
P.P.S. Tonight's agenda: Therapy, takeout food, and Scandal. So basically a therapeutic three-fer.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_Sb7PpLoS0]
Me: "I think I've set a new record for getting interested in, then totally over, an OkCupid guy. This last one took, like, three days."
Friend: "Are you serious?"
Me: "I'm probably exaggerating, I guess it couldn't have been THREE days... *looking at email* Holy shit, it WAS -- we started OKC messaging Friday, emailing Saturday, phone call Sunday night, and I woke up yesterday thinking, 'Yeah, I think I'm done.'"
This is why my therapist loves me.
I'm going with a basic list for last night's date recap (Waffles Guy, date 2), because no storytelling would be better than just throwing it all out there:
1. He really likes Triumph the Insult Comic. He was surprised I didn't, because it's "such similar humor to George Carlin's."
THAT is when I should've left. BUT...
2. He ordered Bud Light Lime. On purpose. And paid for it. With money.
3. He mocked Rhonda Rousey for saying she was depressed after a loss, because "she just didn't get her way," and "male fighters would never say something like that -- they'd say, 'OK, I'll get back to the gym, work harder.'"
So... You can't be depressed but ALSO plan to improve? But "that's not what a champion says."
He actually seemed pretty dismissive about mental health issues in general, which is odd because he works in a facility that treats addicts and people with psych issues. But fuck you, dude -- I'm only moderately crazy ("dysthymic," I believe is the word), and therapy and meds have helped me a lot. And I know at least two people who'd probably be dead if they hadn't sought help.
4. There's "gentleman," which I enjoy, and then there's repeatedly insisting I put your coat over my shoulders even when I've said I'm not cold. Dude, it's 65 degrees out, and I am a grown-ass woman who can determine when she needs a coat.
5. Related: While walking, he told me he was switching sides with me on the sidewalk so I wasn't walking closest to the street.
I forgot that was a THING.
I don't usually get feminist-tweaked until you start treating me like a child, and then suddenly you're staring down the barrel of 40 years of family issues. I know when I need a coat, and it's our second date, so... you're gonna, what, get hit by an out-of-control car so I don't? Way to volunteer as Tribute.
6. Discussing movies:
Him: "I never saw Lord of the Rings. Is that the one with the kid with the glasses?"
Me: *blink*"...No. That's Harry Potter."
Him:"Oh, right! I've never seen those movies, either."
I don't care if he didn't see them. But how the actual balls do you confuse the two?
7. He said Breaking Bad was "just OK," and that Better Call Saul is better. I hope someone gives you Stevia. (Kidding.)
8. Audible eater. (Of FOOD, shut up.)
9. While not as disgusting or graphic as I would've thought, hearing how diverticulitis presents in an adult male is still pretty boring.
10. When I asked if he was a Trump voter: "There are two things I don't talk about in public: religion and politics. One I know far too much about, one I know nothing about. I won't tell you which is which, but I will say I went to Catholic school for 12 years."
Wow. I am in awe of the enigma of you.
I realize some of this is just me being an asshole. But... I mean, the valid points are REALLY valid. (It also hit a lot of my big-issue nerves, but that's ME, not him, so I'll get into that later.)
P.S. I let him kiss me because I was still curious after he didn't on the first date, and I'll give him credit: Solid kiss, one hand around my waist, one hand in my hair. Good work, sir. A little too much moaning for me personally, but overall, good for you.
Talking to a friend...
Me: "I'm thinking about hooking up with an 'open marriage' guy from OkCupid."
Friend: "You could try it. I mean...you're already IN therapy."
There's immense appeal in a guy who'll come with me to a movie, come with me in the bedroom, then get the hell out. When I try to date proper, I attract Clingers, get anxious, and make terrible choices. That shouldn't be an issue with one who's already housebroken.
But I also know myself, and I may be too insecure to come second...literally or otherwise. If Dude satisfies my needs too well, I may catch feels, and if I fall for him, I'm SOL. The wife's gonna stay the wife -- I'd just be Slutty McSidepiece. I do not do well as Slutty McSidepiece.
I wonder if I'd rather fend off Clingers and hold out for a person with whom feels are at least an option, even if we never get there.
Then again... I don't HAVE to date the guy long. Maybe I NEED a naked friend to fuck some clarity into me without all the relationship crap.
Also, if you consider where I am mentally, I might as well be in an open marriage, too. I have one guy I'd drop anything and anyone to help and/or be with, so as far as my heart and brain are concerned, I also have a "primary partner." Then I still have the second guy in the back of my head, just for bonus emotional fuckery, so I have even worse trust issues than before. I can't handle a real relationship, are you crazy?
Plus, if the guy turns out to be boring, I can just say I can't handle playing second fiddle. (And that may actually turn out to be true.)
I can spot a Clinger at 50 paces now, anyway -- "Oh, you're doing THAT? Yeah, I've done that. I INVENTED that. Don't even." So far I've encountered three on OkCupid, and I've dodged them all without ever meeting them.
I'm a Recovering Clinger, and I approved this message.
P.S. I actually ran this by the therapist and she says I'm in the clear as long as I'm safe. She told me it was good for me to explore options, to be aware of those emotional attachments I still have, to be conscious of what I need, and possibly work out a way to GET it without pressuring myself about being in a "proper" relationship. I think this is a good intermittent step, and she seems to agree.
P.P.S. Dude is ADORABLE and I want to make all the sex with him.
Seems fitting for Groundhog Day, but with advance apologies to the few readers who emailed me to say I shouldn't waste anymore time in this place...
This is the point in the That Guy cycle when I'm worried we're not actually done -- that I'll let my guard down and then he'll pop up somewhere. It's been a discernible pattern, so much that I'm in a mental fighting stance every time I check any element of my digital existence.
I don't think it's going to happen this time. We weren't exactly kind to each other. And he wasn't trying to resurrect our friendship, which it turns out we never HAD. He was just finally confirming he'd been using my body and affection to make himself feel better, and that I was inadequate in both capacities. (Still a great feeling if you ever get the chance.)
Logistically, I don't see how he COULD pop up. He can still see this page because it's public (everybody wave!). I'm not changing that to avoid one person. (Unless it's, like, Dexter.) But I don't think he's going to "like" anything after I gave him a bunch of shit about liking posts about my body or masturbation.
I think I've taken every other precaution, but I'm still a little on edge. When I stopped speaking to him last New Year's, I don't think a month passed thereafter where he didn't remind me he was checking on me -- a text, blog like, Facebook friend request (to my professional account), a LinkedIn profile view. But I probably said enough that he'll avoid setting off that particular powder keg again.
And we'll just save it for therapy that I still miss him. (Shut UP, I don't KNOW. He told me I "claim dysfunction and use it to explain away being wrong," so...yeah, dibs on that. I was crazy, I thought we were friends -- I was wrong. I'm basically Clarissa right now.)
Oddly, I think I'll relax about all this around Valentine's Day, since that'll be about 6 weeks. I'll aim to spend that day finally unclenched, hopefully in more ways than one, with a movie, a glass of wine, my bombass lasagna, and an obscene quantity of really good chocolate. Ideally with a man under me as well, but I think it'll be a decent day either way. Me and my Valentine "Serenity" -- in all the ways. Shiny.
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.
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.)
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.)
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.
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.
Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. I am, like, 150 times stronger than this.
This happened the last time I tried online dating, too: After the initial ego boost, once I actually read what people are saying and how stupid most of it is, my brain has this tiny seizure, like, "What the fuck am I even doing? I belong with my Ex. This is absurd, he is my Person, and I'm never finding anyone better. I am going to die alone, or worse, under some 24-year-old townie-fuck douchebag with a naked-except-a-hand-over-his-junk mirror selfie** as his profile pic.
So. There you go, Therapist. Take my money, let's work this one out.
Kidding. I don't really need her for this one. I just have to keep reminding myself I don't have to answer anyone I don't want to, or do anything I don't want to. They can't come GET me, they live in the computer.
Onward. (Or if you prefer, "Excelsior.")
** Yep, that's a thing. I'd been on the site for 24 hours and saw three of these tykes, along with several merely-shirtless mirror selfies. Don't get it twisted, I'm not mad at it -- those guys SHOULD be shirtless at all times. But they're looking for "DTF" girl. (I mean, I AM, but...not like that. I'm a lady, motherfucker. I'll see you naked when I am jolly good and ready...which, in the grand scheme, really doesn't take that long. If you can't wait 'til the second or third date, you're more than welcome to go fuck yourself. But although I'm not always the most confident in my sexual prowess, I can pretty much guarantee I'm more fun than fucking yourself.)
Email to Friend: "The therapist asked me to write about my accomplishments this year, and goals for the upcoming year and beyond. I've been struggling with it because I genuinely can't think of much. (I assume 'Keep breathing' and 'Stay employed' are implied. Maybe 'Don't sleep with anyone dumber than me?')
"But I'm finishing Judy Greer's book, and coincidentally she's talking about how she has an always-evolving list of goals, what's important to her, etc., that she reads and revises as needed.
"And then Kelly Sue DeConnick sent this text yesterday to the Bitches Get Shit Done list, so it's pretty much law now, right? List ahoy, Little Shark!" 
Friend: "I can think of at least three things you should be proud of yourself for, but I'm not telling you because you have to look back and be proud of yourself. You have to look in the mirror and see the good."
Me: "THREE?! Shit. I'm pretty rad. (I think I had two. Will continue considering.)"
Today I saw my psychiatrist (ie, my Drug Czar, not Talky Therapist -- it takes a village, y'all). And she thinks I should start dating again, before I "get used to being alone."
Um... How 'bout "Shut up and give me my drugs?" You're not the boss of me. Talky Therapist is. (Though, um, Talky Therapist also thinks I should.)
You're shrinks. Shouldn't I be OK being alone? Shouldn't I be happy with myself before I bring in a Crazy copilot? Did you HEAR me tell you about the last times I tried dating?
"Well, you can just date casually. You don't have to sleep with them."
Well, no, I don't HAVE to. But if history is any indication, I WILL. If I kiss (and I really NEED to kiss), I will tease, and then the man will end up touching the "on" switch on my neck, then I will lose my tenuous-at-best "lady" decorum, and then suddenly we're post-coital, and he wants me to spend Christmas with him or leave a toothbrush at his place, and then I'm hyperventilating and doing The Fadeaway because I am a big fat coward.
I don't feel like dating right now. I'm not cute in the winter, all shrouded in big bulky sweaters and corduroy pants. (Though, it's supposed to be fucking 74 degrees in Philadelphia on Thursday, so I guess that's not a valid defense right now.) But generally, sundresses are more my wheelhouse.
And by the way? I LIKE being alone. I'm pretty rad. That's how I'll know when I'm ready to deal with a relationship -- if I wouldn't rather be alone than with the guy. This almost never happens. Normally it's "UGH, I have to...TALK to someone? And...shave things? This will not stand!"
*sigh*
On one hand, I don't think it's fair to potential dates that I would be comparing them at least a little to these previous relationships. But Talky Therapist tells me that's actually a good thing, because I know what I want and what I don't. Also, I do understand it's not doing me any good to sit and wallow about any man who, perhaps over-simplistically, doesn't want to be with me. So maybe it wouldn't hurt to go check out OkCupid again. (I'm not going to meet anyone in a bar, that's not my scene. I wanna get with a dude who steps to me in a Barnes & Noble -- instead of sending me a drink from across a bar, he can send his favorite book and preferably a scone.)
If nothing else, attempting to date will give me good stories here. So here's to 2016 being the year I finally get some. (And blah blah blah, true love, soulmates, rainbows -- FINE. If I happen to find that while rubbing up against people, then yay for me.)
This was in the most recent list of search terms people have used to get to my WordPress page:
Holy shit, you guys -- WHAT am I writing? I know it's my id and all, and I certainly have my moments, but it's USUALLY not "devastating Christmas depression fuck you."
Seriously: Therapy. It's great. Mood drugs, too. Maybe also have some cake? Cake fixes a lot of things. Search for cake.
Sometimes I'm recapping therapy in my private journal and I find myself amusing, so I'm posting this excerpt:
"The therapist asked what I'd want from my next relationship, and I told her, 'I don't think I'm ready to be a Girlfriend. That would have to be an incredibly slow progression, like I almost feel bad for the guy and the baby steps he'd have to take to get me there. I should have a sign that says, 'Commitment issues may be closer than they appear. (You'll get laid, though, don't worry.)'
"I mentioned the guy I'd been 'dating' who brought pancakes to my door uninvited and unannounced the morning after we'd, um...'dated.' He texted me from outside my door to announce his presence. So I took the pancakes -- I'm crazy, not stupid -- but didn't let him in because I was SO caught off-guard by him being there. It got a little Sheldon, like: "You're in my house. People can't be in my house," even though he'd just been there IN MY BED the night before.
"So I guess I'll let you fuck me but pancakes are too intimate?
"So I told the therapist I want, 'Someone who'll have sex with me, but only with me (because diseases, and what if the other women are better in bed than I am?). And they snuggle me for 5-10 minutes after sex and then get the hell out. And they're not my boyfriend, but we go on dates, and also, they should be at least smart enough to know, like, how Velcro works.'"
"I do not find this at ALL unfair or unreasonable. (Except the Velcro. Come the hell on.)"
Just in case it seems like I let one measly "relationshit" with some boy land me in a therapist's office, that was only my "just the tip"ping point.
It was like a Jay-Z situation -- I already had 99 problems, and then added a bitch.
Therapist assures me she can change my thinking of myself as "Slutty von Slutwhore."
[challengey face] You go ahead, dearie. It's so much a part of my lexicon that my phone knows the word "Slutwhore," so let me know how that works out for you.
Unless you're gonna, like, "Eternal Sunshine" me? Yes. I would like my mind to be spotless, please.
"Well, it sounds like you didn't feel slutty until [Thing] happened."
Um, yeah, in which "Thing" = "I started being slutty." Christ, I pay you for this?
Seriously, though, I'm glad she's planning to help me get past this, because I could REALLY stand to get laid without torturing myself after. It's quite a lot of tension at this point -- I almost feel bad for the unfortunate soul who has to be under me when I get unleashed. I might need backup dick.
N.B. Some of this has dissipated just with the passage of time. I know I wasn't "slutty" -- I made a few bad choices and fell for one wrong person who, intentionally or not, made me feel that way. But I learned from all of it, including the very valuable lesson that sometimes I NEED to get laid.
Besides, "slutty" is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone who beholds me doesn't see it. (And if you do, fuck you, go away.)
A few things I'm thankful for this year, in no particular order:
1. All y'alls. (Or, in the words of my native people, "all-uh-yas.")
2. Kids who aren't mine.
3. Shonda Rhimes and Jenny Lawson.
4. Miranda Lambert and Anna Nalick.
5. "Silver Linings Playbook."
6. Therapy and progress therein.
7. Prescription drugs.
8. My friends -- "Boyz II Men, ABC, BBD, the East Coast fam-i-ly." (Yep. Said it. Deal with it.)
9. Four straight days with no alarm clock.
10. Gravy.
There are more, but those are my favorites. Enjoy your day, guys. Gravy be with you. (And also alcohol, because let's be honest...)
