Putting the "act" in "disappearing act"

Snag in one of my new life goals: Turns out you can't block a phone number or email address unless you have an existing text or an email from the person you're blocking.

It's been maybe 6 months since I apparently VERY thoroughly deleted all that in an attempt at mental feng shui.

It's also been about 6 months since this was even an issue, so I probably don't NEED to do it. I was just going for a Rachel-Green-style "And THAT, my friend, is what they call CLOSURE." (I realize that's a bad metaphor; that turned out a lot differently than this is likely going to.)

And there was comfort in the idea, because there wouldn't be anymore worrying about letting my guard down when checking texts or emails -- let's be honest, stupidly half-hoping I'd ever be worth more than a drunk-texted apology at 3 a.m.

I'd have disappeared, so my brain could be all, "WHAT?! Come at me, bro!" [/Jersey]

Alternately: "Nyah, nyah, you can't get me!" [/inner child]

Theory: abbreviated words = abbreviated sex.

Aw, you guys!

I got a message from this guy on OkCupid asking, "u dtf?"

So, listen, it's been fun and all, but I probably can't write this blog anymore now that I've found the love of my life. I should really go start shopping for my wedding dress. 

#MyLobster

I just mentioned the other day that all those shirtless dudes were looking for "DTF" girl. And I totally AM "DTF" -- I will bang you like a gavel, that's just not how you get me to do it. You can't get in my pants with abbreviations; it feels like you're not motivated enough to fuck me to completion. 

All about that baseline

I don't remember where I heard that the way you bring in a new year sets the tone for the entire year. And I know, the way some people celebrate New Year's, that would be ridiculous: "I want to spend 2016 drunk and freezing my balls off in Times Square, wearing a stupid corporate-branded hat and squished against a bajillion other people!"**

Still, if that idea is even a little true, I'm kind of OK with spending this year employed (two jobs, even), well rested, well sheltered and warm, reasonably attractive, and having a group of bad-ass, supportive people who love me.

See also: coffee, bourbon, hugs from friends' kids, lipstick, and cookies. 

Sure, there are elements of my life I'm trying to change. But if the above is my baseline, I'm not mad at it.

Happy official new year, you guys. I'm glad y'all are here. 

** From a less snarky perspective, "I want to spend 2016 having memorable, once-in-a-lifetime adventures in exciting places with people I love" isn't such a terrible plan. 

Those hats are still the worst, though.

NYE Cheers!

I'm thinking about where I was last New Year's Eve, mentally and physically, and... son of a bitch, that IS real, tangible progress. I suddenly have a li'l extra swagger this evening -- 2016 is gonna be the year of Dat Ass. 

Happy almost new year, my lovelies. My bourbon cider and I salute you. Have fun, be safe, and thank you for reading my silliness this year. 

Cheers and hugs,
Smug

Letting sleeping assholes lie.

This is probably a story that would've been more useful before Christmas, but maybe we can all carry the concept into the new year...

One of the best things my ex ever did for me was help me realize I shouldn't let it bother me when assholes behave like assholes.

Years ago, my aunt said something REALLY hurtful to me on Facebook. I was at work, and had to leave my office and call my ex to cry about it in the parking lot. (I rarely cry. It's one of many unhealthy points of pride. But she'd hit a nerve.)

And my ex said, "I don't understand why you're upset."

"Because she's horrible. Who would say that?"

"Well...an asshole would say that. You think she's a dick, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Do you value her opinion? Do you want your life to be like hers?"

"No. She's awful."

"So why are you upset about what an awful person thinks? She's an asshole. Why are you letting an asshole make you cry?"

"...Well, shit...You are absolutely...goddamn right..."

I was fine for years after that, but recently had a wonky emotional time in which I was letting her get to me again. It helps so much to keep that conversation in mind -- how obvious it seemed, what a glorious turning point it was for me to finally see it, and also to know other people see it, too. It helped a LOT this past Christmas.

You go ahead and make your snide little comments, dearie. I don't know what made you such a miserable jag, what made you so unhappy with your life, but you're damn sure in no position to judge mine.

Namaste. Bitch.

Cheers to a year.

I know it's Wednesday, but I'll have more pressing things to think about tomorrow. So here's a little pseudo-#TBT to celebrate me accomplishing a goal I set LAST New Year's. It's one I never thought I'd be strong enough to accomplish: taking the space I needed, identifying unhealthy (read: masochistic) behavior, and realizing that even in a friendship, I'm worthy of effort, especially in a friendship that would've required effort to survive.

Since I've been forced to think about my "accomplishments" over this past year, let's hear it for progress. And in the new year, let it continue, along with my other accomplishments/goals.

Let's do this, Year.

Online dating may cause tiny brain seizures.

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.)