I'm not gonna lie. Right now, That Girl is pissed the fuck off. And I'm going to apologize for the my language ahead of time but I just can't it anymore.
This past weekend was absolutely amazing. Friday night was spent with a couple of friends, getting skunk faced drunk, dancing my ass off and forgetting all of the stress of my life lately. It was carefree and that's the way I like it. I like throwing caution to the wind, saying FUCK IT ALL, and just letting go of life for a few hours! I had more fun than I had had in a long time and I feel like I really deserved it. I mean, for dog's sake, I ate a gas station hot dog at 3:30am, made a few jokes with the cops sitting in the gas station as they watched me blister my hand with scalding hot nacho cheese (gastro-intestinal karma) and stayed up until 6:30 a.m. having a really nice conversation. It was one of those unforgettable nights that you wish could happen every Friday and Saturday night. I fell asleep face to face with someone who I never expected to be my Big Spoon. In fact, I extended an open invitation for him to be the Big Spoon in my utinsel drawer any day. So innocent; so warm.
Saturday I was awoken from a nap by a text message from Guitar Hero. He asked what I was doing. I responded that I was preparing to take a shower. He responded with "Want some company?" I laughed to myself and politely told him no. We chatted some more. He was flirty. It was fun and refreshing. We had plans that night. Dinner, go watch his set (his band was playing a local show) and see where the night takes us. He invited me back to hang out and get drunk with him and his friends. I was still pretty wiped out from the night before but was enjoying myself so much that I decided that I might want to do that. I ended up making the right decision and staying home after the show. Sunday morning I awoke to a couple of missed texts from Guitar Hero.
Text 1: "I should have stayed with you but I'm scared to."
Text 2: "Wait... did you just make me go on a date? I don't do those."
I was confused and yet I found myself smiling. I thought it was cute that he admitted to being scared but I didn't know what he was scared of; I suppose I was a little scared of what his response would be. So I did what anybody without a filter between their brain and their mouth would do. I asked him.
His response was not surprising but frustrating. He was scared that I wanted more than he was wanting to give me. He was afraid that he was going to lead me on because he just wanted to be friends. Apparently, when I do something nice like buy a pizza to split with a friend, enjoy some good conversation and witty banter and buy the first round of drinks... it means I want to date you and sleep with you.
I was and am offended and appalled. This is not the first time that this has happened. In fact, it happened again today with someone that I would have never expected it from. All I did was make a little innuendo and apparently that means that I am wanting love, marriage, baby carriage and a partridge in a fucking pear tree.
Let me just explain something to all the men of the world. There is nothing that you all do better than assume. And you continue to do it wrong over and over again. Now is the time for you to stop what you are doing and pay more attention with your eyes, your ears and you hearts. Quit listening with your dicks because you are really fucking things up for yourself. You see sometimes being That Girl can get really lonely. Sometimes That Girl just needs to feel like there's the possibility of something more out there. She doesn't want it. She doesn't want more, but she needs to know that it is possible.
Virginia Satir, a family therapist, developed the idea of 4 hugs a day. "We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth." At this point, That Girl would settle for a hug a month. I got to be the Little Spoon to two different Big Spoons in the last week and let me just tell you how different my disposition was. A little touch can make us feel complete and there's nothing wrong with that.
But there is something wrong with people constantly assuming that they know what I need and what I want without even asking me. Quit flattering yourselves boys. Most of you are not worthy of That Girl and all she has to offer. None of you have ever taken the time to stop and notice what That Girl has to offer. You've all just looked at her and made up your mind without asking what's on hers. But it's time that stops. Maybe it's time that That Girl just quits trying to be a good person, a nice person, a friend to anybody with a penis.
Just remember: That Girl doesn't have a filter between her brain and her mouth. If she wants something, she's going to tell you.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Sweet, sweet, candy cane flavored revenge...
I can't believe that it's been so long since I've written! I can't even begin to catch you up on the last few months. For the most part, they were uneventful with splashes of excitement here and there. Before I move into 2011, let me tell you about my last encounter with Big Mac as I promised that I would fill you in on running into him. Let me set the scene for you: Santa themed pub crawl, about 6 hours in, 3 sheets to the wind, dancing, singing, and having a great time with friends new and old. At about the third bar that we went to, I was sitting with Sweet K at the bar. We had been joined by Guitar Hero as I will call him and his trusty sidekick. Sweet K begged me to tell Guitar Hero the story of my awful date with Big Mac. Not only was he shocked and appalled, he was laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all! Who knew that later that evening, we'd run into Big Mac.
As I said, we were about 6 hours into the pub crawl and I want you to understand that this was for charity. We were boozing for a good cause. As part of the cause, we were given little trinkets to give out to bar going patrons not part of the crawl in hopes of getting them to participate next year. As we were preparing to crawl to the next establishment, I had one final candy cane left and noticed a couple sitting in a booth in the corner. They were cozy, cuddled up quite close to each other. I was obnoxiously drunk. I'm not gonna lie. I was loud and having a fantastic time! I wanted them to join the fun!
As I approached the table, I slammed the candy cane (which had spent most of the evening tucked into my partially exposed breasts) down in front of them and gave a quick spiel about how we were drinking for poor kids or something along those lines. The woman looked at me a little bewildered. She looked to be about 40. She had this bad perm that definitely belonged in 1989 and was frighteningly forgettable. It was only a few seconds before her date turned to look at me. All of a sudden, as he was turning his head in what appeared to be slow motion, or maybe I was drunk, I noticed those dog awful earrings that I mentioned in the previous post. I stood there for half a second as he looked at me and said, "Oh my god." "Oh shit." I replied. Then I turned to his date and told her to be prepared to split the bill because his ass wasn't paying for hers. I turned around and walked away. Big Mac's mouth was still hanging open as I exited the bar.
Guitar Hero was right behind me and so was Sweet K. As we walked outside into the cold night air, Guitar Hero asked me what the previous scene was all about. I explained that the story I had told him earlier, the horrifying scene full of disrespect and a total lack of human decency, Big Mac was the starring role and that was him. He laughed when he realized what I had just done and then proceeded to kiss me and tell me it was Big Mac's loss.
On a different note, the last few months have been quite tumultuous. There are less than a handful of people in my life who have been so privy to the 8th circle of my personal hell. You see, That Girl, made a big mistake and hurt someone very near and dear to where her heart is supposed to be. Her actions spoke louder than words and while she may have ignored the tyrant in her life for awhile, she's come face to face with a monster that she can't seem to defeat: her conscience. That Girl is taking some time to reconnect to who she knows she is, somewhere deep down. You see, That Girl, has had some very adult realizations brought to light lately that have been all but welcomed into her world. That Girl fucking hates growing up.
I realize that this blog post just took a very serious turn, but have no fear. Just give That Girl a little bit of time as she learns and tries to forgive herself for what she's done and she'll be more than happy to return to the land of the living. She's been working out physically and mentally in hopes of reinventing herself just a bit. Oh, and her ass is shrinking quite nicely.
That Girl promises to write more often. That Girl didn't realize how much she had been missed until she was getting her hair done last week (step 1 of reinvention... it's kind of like self-mutilation on way healthier). You see, while the multitude of colors were being painted into her hair, the wonderful hair artist she goes to said, "My husband told me to tell you to write another blog!". Thanks for the support everybody. Just remember to do something that you shouldn't every single day.
As I said, we were about 6 hours into the pub crawl and I want you to understand that this was for charity. We were boozing for a good cause. As part of the cause, we were given little trinkets to give out to bar going patrons not part of the crawl in hopes of getting them to participate next year. As we were preparing to crawl to the next establishment, I had one final candy cane left and noticed a couple sitting in a booth in the corner. They were cozy, cuddled up quite close to each other. I was obnoxiously drunk. I'm not gonna lie. I was loud and having a fantastic time! I wanted them to join the fun!
As I approached the table, I slammed the candy cane (which had spent most of the evening tucked into my partially exposed breasts) down in front of them and gave a quick spiel about how we were drinking for poor kids or something along those lines. The woman looked at me a little bewildered. She looked to be about 40. She had this bad perm that definitely belonged in 1989 and was frighteningly forgettable. It was only a few seconds before her date turned to look at me. All of a sudden, as he was turning his head in what appeared to be slow motion, or maybe I was drunk, I noticed those dog awful earrings that I mentioned in the previous post. I stood there for half a second as he looked at me and said, "Oh my god." "Oh shit." I replied. Then I turned to his date and told her to be prepared to split the bill because his ass wasn't paying for hers. I turned around and walked away. Big Mac's mouth was still hanging open as I exited the bar.
Guitar Hero was right behind me and so was Sweet K. As we walked outside into the cold night air, Guitar Hero asked me what the previous scene was all about. I explained that the story I had told him earlier, the horrifying scene full of disrespect and a total lack of human decency, Big Mac was the starring role and that was him. He laughed when he realized what I had just done and then proceeded to kiss me and tell me it was Big Mac's loss.
On a different note, the last few months have been quite tumultuous. There are less than a handful of people in my life who have been so privy to the 8th circle of my personal hell. You see, That Girl, made a big mistake and hurt someone very near and dear to where her heart is supposed to be. Her actions spoke louder than words and while she may have ignored the tyrant in her life for awhile, she's come face to face with a monster that she can't seem to defeat: her conscience. That Girl is taking some time to reconnect to who she knows she is, somewhere deep down. You see, That Girl, has had some very adult realizations brought to light lately that have been all but welcomed into her world. That Girl fucking hates growing up.
I realize that this blog post just took a very serious turn, but have no fear. Just give That Girl a little bit of time as she learns and tries to forgive herself for what she's done and she'll be more than happy to return to the land of the living. She's been working out physically and mentally in hopes of reinventing herself just a bit. Oh, and her ass is shrinking quite nicely.
That Girl promises to write more often. That Girl didn't realize how much she had been missed until she was getting her hair done last week (step 1 of reinvention... it's kind of like self-mutilation on way healthier). You see, while the multitude of colors were being painted into her hair, the wonderful hair artist she goes to said, "My husband told me to tell you to write another blog!". Thanks for the support everybody. Just remember to do something that you shouldn't every single day.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Let them eat cake!
That Girl has been pretty quiet lately... biting her tongue and such. It's really more that I've been over-stressed, over-worked and underwhelmed. As I enter the last Monday of my 29th year of life, I've been quite reflective this weekend. In an effort to regain some sense of control over my life, I spent my whole weekend cleaning, organizing and trying to mentally purge some of the negativity that has been all consuming lately. Sometimes you just get those feelings that you can't shake, but I did get a sense of relief while separating my shirts and pants and hanging them all appropriately. I nearly had a moment like in the movie Running with Scissors where the two kids stood on the kitchen table with brooms destroying the ceiling tiles with all of their pent up angst. When asked why they did it, they simply replied "We needed high ceilings." I need more than high ceilings... I already have those.
I've received several text messages asking me about my upcoming birthday. In just over 3 days, I'll be 30. Truth be told, 30 is an age I never though I'd see. After all, at the ripe age of 13, I had an incredibly vivid dream in which I died at the age of 27. I had awoken with such a sense of peace as opposed to fear and panic, that I took it as truth. It's made the last 3 years almost surreal as I never expected to wake up during them but wasn't disappointed when I did.
Birthdays were never a big deal in our house as a kid. I can remember being little and having a Halloween themed costume party in the old stone basement at my parents old Victorian. As I got older, my birthdays lost their magic. I can remember my mother practically begging girls to show up for a sleepover here and there. It's hard to have friends when your the fat girl. Kids are just fucking cruel. As I became a young teenager, the birthday parties had all but ceased and seemed to even go unnoticed by my own family except for the occasional gift. The best birthday I ever had included lunch at McDonald's (we never ate fast food), several present for me to open, all wrapped elegantly and a chocolate cake. I somehow felt like this birthday was more out of pity as I was turning 16 and spent the entire afternoon at the hospital getting a CAT scan to see if I had a brain tumor. It wasn't a tumor, just a terrible migraine. Other than that, we never really celebrated birthdays. My older brother always got a homemade lemon cake from my mom... his favorite. My younger brother always got some weird St. Nicholas' day tradition of putting his shoes outside the bedroom door. When he awoke, he always had a few more goodies than the rest of us.
I always wanted a surprise party with all of my friends. I wanted a group of people to think about my birthday before I did. I wanted some handsome beau to send me a beautiful bouquet of flowers to my work with a simple note saying nothing more than "You are beautiful." with only his first name attached to the card, inciting a few whispers from coworkers. I wanted my family to throw me a dinner where they use the China and my siblings come because they want to be there, not because they are begged by my mother. I wanted a day to celebrate me. But who doesn't... right?
So far, I've had a wonderful lunch with my oldest friend who still manages to put up with my ass after all these years. She gave me a card with strict instructions not to open it until Wednesday, so far so good. Looking back on the last year, there's been a lot of changes and a lot of time lost. Looking back on the last 10 years, all I can say is... wow. I have grown so much, learned so much, made so many wonderful mistakes. I have been pushed, pulled, dragged and beaten. I have experienced love and hate and lust and rage, sometimes all at the same time. I have built up walls and broken them down and built them back up again.
I have tried new things... like online dating. Just a word of wise to the single 30 something men out there. If you are trying to impress somebody, do not, I repeat, DO NOT take professional photos with your cats. That's right, I said cats, plural, as in more than one. And even more importantly, DO NOT spoon your cat and pay someone to photograph it in hopes that it will find you a mate. It won't. My guess is, that's the only pussy that guy is ever gonna get.
I didn't make my weight loss goals, but I'm still thinner than I was at 17. I'm looking pretty good for my age... I think. Others may disagree... Skippy for example... well, he skipped out. No surprise there. I told you last time, I knew it was over but there was a part of me that still wanted to hope that he was gonna be different than all the others. I'm not gonna lie, I started to put another layer on the the ol' wall. There's a sense of loneliness that's been all encompassing lately. This city can get really fucking big sometimes.
I'm not really a futurist and maybe that's why it is so hard for me to deal with turning 30. I find it hard to believe that I have survived 30 years, let alone that I may live another 30. I am both terrified and excited to see what the future holds but I still want the flowers and a fucking chocolate cake. Is that too much to ask?
I've received several text messages asking me about my upcoming birthday. In just over 3 days, I'll be 30. Truth be told, 30 is an age I never though I'd see. After all, at the ripe age of 13, I had an incredibly vivid dream in which I died at the age of 27. I had awoken with such a sense of peace as opposed to fear and panic, that I took it as truth. It's made the last 3 years almost surreal as I never expected to wake up during them but wasn't disappointed when I did.
Birthdays were never a big deal in our house as a kid. I can remember being little and having a Halloween themed costume party in the old stone basement at my parents old Victorian. As I got older, my birthdays lost their magic. I can remember my mother practically begging girls to show up for a sleepover here and there. It's hard to have friends when your the fat girl. Kids are just fucking cruel. As I became a young teenager, the birthday parties had all but ceased and seemed to even go unnoticed by my own family except for the occasional gift. The best birthday I ever had included lunch at McDonald's (we never ate fast food), several present for me to open, all wrapped elegantly and a chocolate cake. I somehow felt like this birthday was more out of pity as I was turning 16 and spent the entire afternoon at the hospital getting a CAT scan to see if I had a brain tumor. It wasn't a tumor, just a terrible migraine. Other than that, we never really celebrated birthdays. My older brother always got a homemade lemon cake from my mom... his favorite. My younger brother always got some weird St. Nicholas' day tradition of putting his shoes outside the bedroom door. When he awoke, he always had a few more goodies than the rest of us.
I always wanted a surprise party with all of my friends. I wanted a group of people to think about my birthday before I did. I wanted some handsome beau to send me a beautiful bouquet of flowers to my work with a simple note saying nothing more than "You are beautiful." with only his first name attached to the card, inciting a few whispers from coworkers. I wanted my family to throw me a dinner where they use the China and my siblings come because they want to be there, not because they are begged by my mother. I wanted a day to celebrate me. But who doesn't... right?
So far, I've had a wonderful lunch with my oldest friend who still manages to put up with my ass after all these years. She gave me a card with strict instructions not to open it until Wednesday, so far so good. Looking back on the last year, there's been a lot of changes and a lot of time lost. Looking back on the last 10 years, all I can say is... wow. I have grown so much, learned so much, made so many wonderful mistakes. I have been pushed, pulled, dragged and beaten. I have experienced love and hate and lust and rage, sometimes all at the same time. I have built up walls and broken them down and built them back up again.
I have tried new things... like online dating. Just a word of wise to the single 30 something men out there. If you are trying to impress somebody, do not, I repeat, DO NOT take professional photos with your cats. That's right, I said cats, plural, as in more than one. And even more importantly, DO NOT spoon your cat and pay someone to photograph it in hopes that it will find you a mate. It won't. My guess is, that's the only pussy that guy is ever gonna get.
I didn't make my weight loss goals, but I'm still thinner than I was at 17. I'm looking pretty good for my age... I think. Others may disagree... Skippy for example... well, he skipped out. No surprise there. I told you last time, I knew it was over but there was a part of me that still wanted to hope that he was gonna be different than all the others. I'm not gonna lie, I started to put another layer on the the ol' wall. There's a sense of loneliness that's been all encompassing lately. This city can get really fucking big sometimes.
I'm not really a futurist and maybe that's why it is so hard for me to deal with turning 30. I find it hard to believe that I have survived 30 years, let alone that I may live another 30. I am both terrified and excited to see what the future holds but I still want the flowers and a fucking chocolate cake. Is that too much to ask?
Monday, September 20, 2010
Walk of shame? More like a limp actually...
So That Girl has been working so much (as usual) that she was having a hard time relaxing. I had already planned a 4 day weekend to go back to the small town that I lived for so long... good friends and always a good time ensues when I'm there. As I've said before, life is just easier there. It's as if all of the expectations go away as soon as I pull into that town. I had a feeling it was going to be a good weekend but I had no idea what would happen. As usual, I shouldn't have done some of what I did, but I did anyway!
Skippy texted me on Tuesday night but I didn't hear it and didn't text him back until much later. I hadn't really heard from him since our sunrise makeout session the last time I had been there. I shot him a text the next night and asked what his plans were for the weekend.
"Well, I was hoping to run into those BLE's"
"BLE's?"
"Best lips ever. You were blessed."
I giggled, blushed and thank dog he couldn't see me. I enjoyed kissing him. Alot. I'm not gonna lie... we've got chemistry.
Friday was full of binge drinking wheat beer for 10 hours and ending up in the ex's bed. Now, this happens on occasion that I end up in his bed. He's not a bad guy now that we've learned how to be friends and nothing ever happens. I show up, drop my pants, crawl into bed and get one of the best nights sleep ever. Eventually, he will roll over and spoon me and I sleep like a fucking baby. Maybe it's just that it's comfortable. I don't really know, but we both agree, it's nice. And there's no awkwardness the next morning. Generally, as I was this weekend, I'm greeted with "Good morning baby. There's ibuprophen on the dresser. I gotta start locking my door at night so these crazy crackhead women quit wandering into my room." followed by a smack in the face with his pillow.
Saturday I awoke, rested but with a killer hangover... mainly just a headache. Nobody and I mean NOBODY in their right mind should ever drink wheat beer for 10 hours. Holy Hangovers, Batman. My head was fucking killing me. I smelled like a god damn brewery and I was exhausted. Oh, and I still hadn't seen Skippy. He was being good Friday night and we were going to meet up on Saturday.
After a nap, a shower, some terribly delicious diner breakfast food... I was ready for round 2. Skinny jeans, check. Hot shirt, check. Killer heels, check. Perfect lipstick for my lips... check, check, check.
Skippy showed up in new jeans, a new shirt and new shoes. I totally thought it was adorable and so I called him out on buying a new outfit to impress a pretty girl. I was greeted with an awkward half hug as if he was trying to hide his excitement just a little. You see, he'd already been texting KimKim, my chinese friend, to see if I was with her and to see where we were heading. He pounded a few drinks as he didn't get to the bar until later. Between Skippy and Nasty Nate, I was getting compliments all night long. I was apparently beautiful that night and I'll be honest, I felt it.
As the drinks flowed, Skippy and I moved closer to eachother physically. He asked what I was doing for the night and I told him that I didn't have any plans... I didn't have a car (had left it at a friends and rode with KimKim) and that I didn't really know where I was sleeping. "You're sleeping with me," he said. "Do you want to stay with me?" he asked almost realizing that he had nearly demanded it.
"Yeah, I'll stay with you." I was blushing. I was half excited, half anxious. I was gonna make out with a hot boy again.
Sitting on his couch, he grabbed me by the chin and pulled me into him. He's delicious and oh so smooth with his moves. At one point, he turned his head right as I went to bite his cheek just a little. I ended up with a mouthful of his hair. We both laughed. "My hair? really? Well that's a first." he said.
"That has got to be the most retarded thing I've ever done," I said, picking hair out of my mouth. I'm such a dumbass sometimes but we'll just blame it on the alcohol.
Kissing Skippy is like... tasting ice cream for the first time. It's a surprise birthday party with all of your closest friends. It's one of the best feelings ever. It is sooo... entrancing. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and my toes were a curlin'. It was sweet and a nice mix of animalism and gentleness. I'll leave the details to your imagination but I walked out an earring short and limping due to a broken toe. Turns out, I'm much more flexible than you'd believe. I'd always wanted to have a night of decent sex to Bob Marley and The Wailers album "Legend". Mission accomplished.
He texted me the next day after he'd taken me back to my car, where we made out some more. He was having Sunday Funday and I was going to go back over after I finished my obligations for the day... pre-planned visits and such. I never made it back over but did spend a portion of the evening texting him back discussing our previous evening. He had fun. I had fun. He apologized for breaking my toe. He found my earring in the couch. He'll be up here for a visit in a couple of weeks. We may get together then.
I'm not gonna lie... I know it's all over. I know that this little fling is done. That's how my cookie always crumbles but damn... what a good fucking cookie.
Skippy texted me on Tuesday night but I didn't hear it and didn't text him back until much later. I hadn't really heard from him since our sunrise makeout session the last time I had been there. I shot him a text the next night and asked what his plans were for the weekend.
"Well, I was hoping to run into those BLE's"
"BLE's?"
"Best lips ever. You were blessed."
I giggled, blushed and thank dog he couldn't see me. I enjoyed kissing him. Alot. I'm not gonna lie... we've got chemistry.
Friday was full of binge drinking wheat beer for 10 hours and ending up in the ex's bed. Now, this happens on occasion that I end up in his bed. He's not a bad guy now that we've learned how to be friends and nothing ever happens. I show up, drop my pants, crawl into bed and get one of the best nights sleep ever. Eventually, he will roll over and spoon me and I sleep like a fucking baby. Maybe it's just that it's comfortable. I don't really know, but we both agree, it's nice. And there's no awkwardness the next morning. Generally, as I was this weekend, I'm greeted with "Good morning baby. There's ibuprophen on the dresser. I gotta start locking my door at night so these crazy crackhead women quit wandering into my room." followed by a smack in the face with his pillow.
Saturday I awoke, rested but with a killer hangover... mainly just a headache. Nobody and I mean NOBODY in their right mind should ever drink wheat beer for 10 hours. Holy Hangovers, Batman. My head was fucking killing me. I smelled like a god damn brewery and I was exhausted. Oh, and I still hadn't seen Skippy. He was being good Friday night and we were going to meet up on Saturday.
After a nap, a shower, some terribly delicious diner breakfast food... I was ready for round 2. Skinny jeans, check. Hot shirt, check. Killer heels, check. Perfect lipstick for my lips... check, check, check.
Skippy showed up in new jeans, a new shirt and new shoes. I totally thought it was adorable and so I called him out on buying a new outfit to impress a pretty girl. I was greeted with an awkward half hug as if he was trying to hide his excitement just a little. You see, he'd already been texting KimKim, my chinese friend, to see if I was with her and to see where we were heading. He pounded a few drinks as he didn't get to the bar until later. Between Skippy and Nasty Nate, I was getting compliments all night long. I was apparently beautiful that night and I'll be honest, I felt it.
As the drinks flowed, Skippy and I moved closer to eachother physically. He asked what I was doing for the night and I told him that I didn't have any plans... I didn't have a car (had left it at a friends and rode with KimKim) and that I didn't really know where I was sleeping. "You're sleeping with me," he said. "Do you want to stay with me?" he asked almost realizing that he had nearly demanded it.
"Yeah, I'll stay with you." I was blushing. I was half excited, half anxious. I was gonna make out with a hot boy again.
Sitting on his couch, he grabbed me by the chin and pulled me into him. He's delicious and oh so smooth with his moves. At one point, he turned his head right as I went to bite his cheek just a little. I ended up with a mouthful of his hair. We both laughed. "My hair? really? Well that's a first." he said.
"That has got to be the most retarded thing I've ever done," I said, picking hair out of my mouth. I'm such a dumbass sometimes but we'll just blame it on the alcohol.
Kissing Skippy is like... tasting ice cream for the first time. It's a surprise birthday party with all of your closest friends. It's one of the best feelings ever. It is sooo... entrancing. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and my toes were a curlin'. It was sweet and a nice mix of animalism and gentleness. I'll leave the details to your imagination but I walked out an earring short and limping due to a broken toe. Turns out, I'm much more flexible than you'd believe. I'd always wanted to have a night of decent sex to Bob Marley and The Wailers album "Legend". Mission accomplished.
He texted me the next day after he'd taken me back to my car, where we made out some more. He was having Sunday Funday and I was going to go back over after I finished my obligations for the day... pre-planned visits and such. I never made it back over but did spend a portion of the evening texting him back discussing our previous evening. He had fun. I had fun. He apologized for breaking my toe. He found my earring in the couch. He'll be up here for a visit in a couple of weeks. We may get together then.
I'm not gonna lie... I know it's all over. I know that this little fling is done. That's how my cookie always crumbles but damn... what a good fucking cookie.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Beers, boys and bruised bladders
That Girl has had several busy weeks in a row and finally decided that it was time to take a mini road trip to see friends and remember what it's like to love the shit out of life for a weekend. So, like the ol' Cheers adage goes, I wanted to "go where everybody knows your name". So I did. And it was awesome. You can't plan weekends like this one. I spent part of the day with the ones I love the most, playing with the kids, shopping with my sister and enjoying a bit of normalcy.
Come sundown though, it was time for beers and debauchery. Lots and lots of debauchery. I wanted a night that wouldn't soon be forgotten and that's exactly what I got. Starting at one bar, I was greeted by friends I hadn't seen in months with comments about how good I look. It was a giant step up from a bar with Big Mac. Got my beers and my girls, what more do you need, right?
The night got interesting as we hopped from bar to bar. Finally settling in our favorite watering hole, I find myself sitting next to an old friend from the summer of Special K. You see, that summer was an experiment with ketamine and a wide range of hallucinogenics and coed softball. Dub as I will refer to him, was a much welcome blast from the past! As we reminisced and caught up, Dub, who was double fisting it, knocked me on my ass and took my breath away.
"What are you doing these days, Dub?"
"I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow," he said.
"Really? Wow. That's too bad."
"You should have sex with me. I mean, I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow. You could be the last woman I ever have sex with. It's, like, your patriotic duty! It would be un-American of you NOT to have sex with me! Are you an American?!"
I laughed so hard, saluted him, said God Bless America, spread my legs under the booth and said, "Well, in that case, climb on in!" It had to be one of the best pick up lines ever. And it was definitely classic Dub.
As the bar closed, we found ourselves in the parking lot trying to figure out plans for the rest of the evening. Dub invited us back to his friend Skippy's house for more beers. We kindly obliged. As the hours moved on, the moon moved past and the beers dwindled, our laughs became louder, the jokes better and the bond stronger. These are the nights that I miss living in the city. In that small town, there's always a porch to sit on in the dark and watch the stars crawl slowly by as the trains whistle in the distance.
Sitting at Skippy's, I came out of the bathroom to find TJ, another flake from the summer of Special K, sitting in my lawn chair. After hugs and high fives and a few quick quips from the past, we continued our socialization and antics.
"Hey, come here for a second," TJ said, not moving from his lawn chair.
I walked over and bent down next to his chair as he motioned me closer, as if he had a secret to tell.
"Can I just see, like, one of your nipples?" he asked with a straight face, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"No! I am a classy lady!" I quipped.
"I know you are, that's why I asked discreetly and I just meant me, not everybody else." TJ's logic was flawless. He had me there. But Skippy had heard. Skippy announced it, told TJ to leave me alone and we all had a good laugh, a hearty laugh, the kind that makes your cheeks hurt.
TJ's antics, Dub's commentary and the additional beers culminated in even more pick up lines. My heart was truly won over when Skippy asked if he could "bruise my bladder later". I laughed so hard, I nearly peed my pants!
Slowly the crowd faded away. One by one, taxis arrived, couches were found, short drives were made and I found myself sitting on the stoop with Skippy enjoying the last of my now luke warm beer. We talked about music, being middle children, our siblings, and what seems like a million more single sentence conversations. Before I knew it, the sky began to turn a deep turquoise-lavender. A train rolled by a few blocks away blowing it's whistle loud enough to break our speech and stop our lips. It was in that moment that we found ourselves in one of those awkward moments of direct eye contact, the kind where you can feel the kinetic connection, the kind where you feel like your touching but you're not... the kind where your breaths synchronize themselves but your heart beats take on a mind of their own.
Skippy leaned in, gently grabbed my chin, and kissed me. The next moments were lost until the train whistle stopped and was replaced by birds chirping. I opened my eyes and it was light. The sun was coming up. That morning, I laid myself softly down in Skippy's bed. We continued to make out for what seemed like hours. As I traced the tattoo on his right bicep with my finger, I felt a roughness. I could tell it was a scar.
"What story does this tell?" I asked him quietly.
"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.
"I want to know it all." I replied.
"Have you ever heard of the USS Cole?" he said quietly. I could feel his heart racing through his chest as it laid on top of mine.
At 20 years old, Skippy was serving in the US Navy when the ship was bombed. He still has shrapnel in his arm and memories, more like nightmares, burned forever in his brain.
Skippy kissed me again and again. It was that kind of making out that makes your whole body tingle, that removes every stress, every insecurity, and fills every bit of time and space.
Skippy called last night to see if I made it home okay, to see when I was coming back and to tell me that he missed my lips. I know, that this night will never happen again, but the memory of it all is enough to keep me smiling for at least the next few days. Besides, who needs a hamburger when you've got peanut butter? I'll take the Skippy's of the world over the Big Macs any day.
Come sundown though, it was time for beers and debauchery. Lots and lots of debauchery. I wanted a night that wouldn't soon be forgotten and that's exactly what I got. Starting at one bar, I was greeted by friends I hadn't seen in months with comments about how good I look. It was a giant step up from a bar with Big Mac. Got my beers and my girls, what more do you need, right?
The night got interesting as we hopped from bar to bar. Finally settling in our favorite watering hole, I find myself sitting next to an old friend from the summer of Special K. You see, that summer was an experiment with ketamine and a wide range of hallucinogenics and coed softball. Dub as I will refer to him, was a much welcome blast from the past! As we reminisced and caught up, Dub, who was double fisting it, knocked me on my ass and took my breath away.
"What are you doing these days, Dub?"
"I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow," he said.
"Really? Wow. That's too bad."
"You should have sex with me. I mean, I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow. You could be the last woman I ever have sex with. It's, like, your patriotic duty! It would be un-American of you NOT to have sex with me! Are you an American?!"
I laughed so hard, saluted him, said God Bless America, spread my legs under the booth and said, "Well, in that case, climb on in!" It had to be one of the best pick up lines ever. And it was definitely classic Dub.
As the bar closed, we found ourselves in the parking lot trying to figure out plans for the rest of the evening. Dub invited us back to his friend Skippy's house for more beers. We kindly obliged. As the hours moved on, the moon moved past and the beers dwindled, our laughs became louder, the jokes better and the bond stronger. These are the nights that I miss living in the city. In that small town, there's always a porch to sit on in the dark and watch the stars crawl slowly by as the trains whistle in the distance.
Sitting at Skippy's, I came out of the bathroom to find TJ, another flake from the summer of Special K, sitting in my lawn chair. After hugs and high fives and a few quick quips from the past, we continued our socialization and antics.
"Hey, come here for a second," TJ said, not moving from his lawn chair.
I walked over and bent down next to his chair as he motioned me closer, as if he had a secret to tell.
"Can I just see, like, one of your nipples?" he asked with a straight face, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"No! I am a classy lady!" I quipped.
"I know you are, that's why I asked discreetly and I just meant me, not everybody else." TJ's logic was flawless. He had me there. But Skippy had heard. Skippy announced it, told TJ to leave me alone and we all had a good laugh, a hearty laugh, the kind that makes your cheeks hurt.
TJ's antics, Dub's commentary and the additional beers culminated in even more pick up lines. My heart was truly won over when Skippy asked if he could "bruise my bladder later". I laughed so hard, I nearly peed my pants!
Slowly the crowd faded away. One by one, taxis arrived, couches were found, short drives were made and I found myself sitting on the stoop with Skippy enjoying the last of my now luke warm beer. We talked about music, being middle children, our siblings, and what seems like a million more single sentence conversations. Before I knew it, the sky began to turn a deep turquoise-lavender. A train rolled by a few blocks away blowing it's whistle loud enough to break our speech and stop our lips. It was in that moment that we found ourselves in one of those awkward moments of direct eye contact, the kind where you can feel the kinetic connection, the kind where you feel like your touching but you're not... the kind where your breaths synchronize themselves but your heart beats take on a mind of their own.
Skippy leaned in, gently grabbed my chin, and kissed me. The next moments were lost until the train whistle stopped and was replaced by birds chirping. I opened my eyes and it was light. The sun was coming up. That morning, I laid myself softly down in Skippy's bed. We continued to make out for what seemed like hours. As I traced the tattoo on his right bicep with my finger, I felt a roughness. I could tell it was a scar.
"What story does this tell?" I asked him quietly.
"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.
"I want to know it all." I replied.
"Have you ever heard of the USS Cole?" he said quietly. I could feel his heart racing through his chest as it laid on top of mine.
At 20 years old, Skippy was serving in the US Navy when the ship was bombed. He still has shrapnel in his arm and memories, more like nightmares, burned forever in his brain.
Skippy kissed me again and again. It was that kind of making out that makes your whole body tingle, that removes every stress, every insecurity, and fills every bit of time and space.
Skippy called last night to see if I made it home okay, to see when I was coming back and to tell me that he missed my lips. I know, that this night will never happen again, but the memory of it all is enough to keep me smiling for at least the next few days. Besides, who needs a hamburger when you've got peanut butter? I'll take the Skippy's of the world over the Big Macs any day.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Want some fries with that shake?
That Girl had an incredibly surreal experience this past week as she went on her first blind date with someone that she met from the internet. Yes, apparently, wish and you shall receive. As I stated in my last blog posting, I was going to give myself 83 more days to go on a date. Well, only a few days later, I found myself having a drink with the Big Mac. You'll find out why I call him that momentarily.
First, allow me to regress and tell you what had been going on prior to this encounter. See, in the month that I've been on this dating site, I spent a few nights on the phone with W. telling her "bedtime stories" which consisted of me describing the photos of the creepers and crazies and then deciding that a few were cute enough to send a virtual wink to. Okay, I'm not gonna lie... I winked the shit out of the internet that night just to see the responses that I would get. I didn't get much but I did get one... Big Mac.
Big Mac sent me an email that was incredibly well written, formatted properly, and was quite interesting! I might add that this email arrived around the same time that I encountered "Rope Fiend" (see previous posts) so receiving this email left me both skeptical and a little anxious. I responded to his email by answering all of his questions about me and inquiring about the attributes and interests that he had shared with me. After a few emails back and forth, Big Mac asked for my phone number and since technology allows me to block creepers... I said, what the hell and emailed him back with my number. After all, you only live once and lately, I haven't been really living life as much as I've been watching it happen around me.
The night that he called me, I let it go to voice mail. I wanted to see if his voice sounded like Mike Tyson on helium before being caught off guard. His voice was deep, not quite like Marvin Gaye's but soothing. His words were well enunciated, crisp and relaxed all at the same time. I called him back a little while later and we talked for over an hour. We talked about our jobs, touched lightly on past relationships as he openly divulged that he is divorced (married his high school sweetheart and best friend of 20 years... decided they were better friends than lovers... it was really quite a touching story), and joked about politics and current events.
"So what it is that you do?" I asked.
"I'll give you a hint, I work for the world's largest corporation and you drove by 5 of them on the way to work today."
"Walmart?" I asked... slightly hesitant.
"No. You stink at the guessing game."
"I'm brain dead... it's 9:30pm and I've been at work on the phone all day."
"I work for McDonald's."
cricket. cricket. cricket.
"Oh, what do you do there?" I asked forcing a bit of intrigue into my words.
"Drive-thru in the morning and fries in the afternoon."
cricket. cricket. fuck me. cricket.
"I'm kidding!" he said. "I'm in charge of blah blah blah. I have a very important blah blah blah." You can fill in the rest.
I sighed with relief as he spoke about budget projections and all of this other uninteresting business bullshit. But I was still interested... he was interesting.
He asked about my plans for the weekend. I actually had some and they were family obligations so I would feel bad standing them up for a blind date. I was leaving on vacation for a week and he said he'd call when I got back. Oh, and if you didn't figure it out by now asshats, I call him Big Mac because he works at McDonald's.
On countdown day 81, I had a date to meet for drinks at a bar within walking distance to my apartment. I got up early, made sure I looked super cute but not like I was trying. I wore an outfit I've worn before, did my hair the same way I do it all the time and made sure to roll on a little extra deodorant. I made sure I had some cash in my wallet (just in case I needed to take a cab... those heels weren't meant for walking) and headed out to my day. I was running late to the date and texted him as I was leaving work. He said he would get a table.
I'm not going to lie... I was nervous. I haven't had a date like this, with someone I didn't really know, where I hadn't initiated any part of it, since 2001. Seriously.
As I approached the table, I could see he was on his blackberry. He greeted me with... a total stink eye.
"I'll be right with you," he said as he gazed his eyes slowly up and down over me... eyebrows raised, mouth slightly dropped open... as if I had the plague on my face or something.
"It's nice to meet you." I said. He didn't reply.
The next 10 minutes were filled with awkward and mundane conversation regarding my day at work, his day at work. He told me about a project that he had due the next day. I could see through his excuse like Paris Hilton's panties. We had already discussed everything we were talking about... his love of golf, his job, his birthday being right around the corner, his job, his job, oh did I mention we talked about his job?! This was getting painful. The waitress came by to ask about appetizers, he told her we weren't eating. Bitch wanted some bruschetta but apparently, I wasn't hungry.
"So you were at the gym for 2 hours last night?" he asked in utter disbelief.
"Yes, I'm usually at the gym for about an hour and a half 4 days a week," I said.
He looked me up and down, shrugged, huffed and said, "Really." again. Okay, about this time, I wanted to rip the earrings, all 4 of them, out of his ears, but I was really trying to just see what happened. I wasn't going to be rude, it's not fucking classy.
"So you don't eat McDonald's?!" he asked in disbelief again... we've already talked about this. I explained that I try to eat pretty clean, I already have a potty mouth, no need to put a bunch of shit in it. For the next 30 minutes I sat through a sales pitch. 101 reasons why I should eat McDonald's including receiving the profit margins and calorie count of their most popular items.
"Oh, I brought you something," he said as he dug in his pocket. He pulled out 2 cards and handed them to me. I looked at his hands. I always find men's hands to be interesting. You can tell if they are a worker and somehow I think you can see comfort in them. You can see strength. His fingers were short and stubby, his palms ridiculously small. All I could think of was that Burger King commercial and "MY TINY HANDS!" I made sure my mouth was closed and looked up to make sure he hadn't seen my reaction as he handed me what he had pulled from his pocket. I stared in shock at the items in my hands: free coupons for a smoothie and a frappe from none other than McDonald's. fuck me. fuck me. you've got to be fucking kidding me. fuck me.
The waitress came and asked if we would like another round. As much as I was in desperate need of another glass of wine, he again answered for both of us, replying that we are fine and he's going to need to go soon to finish that presentation he has in the morning. Thank dog! I can see the finish line!
The waitress inquired about the check and whether it was together or separate. I can still hear the utterance ringing in my ears like church bell's on a Sunday morning...
"Ummmmm...." he said.
I looked at the waitress who appeared to be in shock and casually replied, "Whatever is easiest for you." She returned with split checks at which I left mine sitting on the table long enough to realize that this asshole was not going to pay for my wine. Just to reiterate... he asked me out and I ended up paying for my own drink. Big Mac is a big douche.
The date began at 6pm and I was home by 7:05pm. I immediately walked to my fridge, pulled out a bottle of wine, popped the cork and opened the cabinet to get a glass. As I was staring at the glass, I realized that I had already pressed the top of the bottle to my lips and proceeded to tip it! That night, I finished the whole bottle, with each sip becoming more appalled at Big Macs behavior. As I slurred myself to sleep that night, I had visions of McChicken's squawking after me.
I woke up in the morning with my eyes nearly swollen shut (it happens with too much wine). Looking at the hot mess of a reflection in the mirror, I told myself that Big Mac could take his free smoothie coupons and suck it.
First, allow me to regress and tell you what had been going on prior to this encounter. See, in the month that I've been on this dating site, I spent a few nights on the phone with W. telling her "bedtime stories" which consisted of me describing the photos of the creepers and crazies and then deciding that a few were cute enough to send a virtual wink to. Okay, I'm not gonna lie... I winked the shit out of the internet that night just to see the responses that I would get. I didn't get much but I did get one... Big Mac.
Big Mac sent me an email that was incredibly well written, formatted properly, and was quite interesting! I might add that this email arrived around the same time that I encountered "Rope Fiend" (see previous posts) so receiving this email left me both skeptical and a little anxious. I responded to his email by answering all of his questions about me and inquiring about the attributes and interests that he had shared with me. After a few emails back and forth, Big Mac asked for my phone number and since technology allows me to block creepers... I said, what the hell and emailed him back with my number. After all, you only live once and lately, I haven't been really living life as much as I've been watching it happen around me.
The night that he called me, I let it go to voice mail. I wanted to see if his voice sounded like Mike Tyson on helium before being caught off guard. His voice was deep, not quite like Marvin Gaye's but soothing. His words were well enunciated, crisp and relaxed all at the same time. I called him back a little while later and we talked for over an hour. We talked about our jobs, touched lightly on past relationships as he openly divulged that he is divorced (married his high school sweetheart and best friend of 20 years... decided they were better friends than lovers... it was really quite a touching story), and joked about politics and current events.
"So what it is that you do?" I asked.
"I'll give you a hint, I work for the world's largest corporation and you drove by 5 of them on the way to work today."
"Walmart?" I asked... slightly hesitant.
"No. You stink at the guessing game."
"I'm brain dead... it's 9:30pm and I've been at work on the phone all day."
"I work for McDonald's."
cricket. cricket. cricket.
"Oh, what do you do there?" I asked forcing a bit of intrigue into my words.
"Drive-thru in the morning and fries in the afternoon."
cricket. cricket. fuck me. cricket.
"I'm kidding!" he said. "I'm in charge of blah blah blah. I have a very important blah blah blah." You can fill in the rest.
I sighed with relief as he spoke about budget projections and all of this other uninteresting business bullshit. But I was still interested... he was interesting.
He asked about my plans for the weekend. I actually had some and they were family obligations so I would feel bad standing them up for a blind date. I was leaving on vacation for a week and he said he'd call when I got back. Oh, and if you didn't figure it out by now asshats, I call him Big Mac because he works at McDonald's.
On countdown day 81, I had a date to meet for drinks at a bar within walking distance to my apartment. I got up early, made sure I looked super cute but not like I was trying. I wore an outfit I've worn before, did my hair the same way I do it all the time and made sure to roll on a little extra deodorant. I made sure I had some cash in my wallet (just in case I needed to take a cab... those heels weren't meant for walking) and headed out to my day. I was running late to the date and texted him as I was leaving work. He said he would get a table.
I'm not going to lie... I was nervous. I haven't had a date like this, with someone I didn't really know, where I hadn't initiated any part of it, since 2001. Seriously.
As I approached the table, I could see he was on his blackberry. He greeted me with... a total stink eye.
"I'll be right with you," he said as he gazed his eyes slowly up and down over me... eyebrows raised, mouth slightly dropped open... as if I had the plague on my face or something.
"It's nice to meet you." I said. He didn't reply.
The next 10 minutes were filled with awkward and mundane conversation regarding my day at work, his day at work. He told me about a project that he had due the next day. I could see through his excuse like Paris Hilton's panties. We had already discussed everything we were talking about... his love of golf, his job, his birthday being right around the corner, his job, his job, oh did I mention we talked about his job?! This was getting painful. The waitress came by to ask about appetizers, he told her we weren't eating. Bitch wanted some bruschetta but apparently, I wasn't hungry.
"So you were at the gym for 2 hours last night?" he asked in utter disbelief.
"Yes, I'm usually at the gym for about an hour and a half 4 days a week," I said.
He looked me up and down, shrugged, huffed and said, "Really." again. Okay, about this time, I wanted to rip the earrings, all 4 of them, out of his ears, but I was really trying to just see what happened. I wasn't going to be rude, it's not fucking classy.
"So you don't eat McDonald's?!" he asked in disbelief again... we've already talked about this. I explained that I try to eat pretty clean, I already have a potty mouth, no need to put a bunch of shit in it. For the next 30 minutes I sat through a sales pitch. 101 reasons why I should eat McDonald's including receiving the profit margins and calorie count of their most popular items.
"Oh, I brought you something," he said as he dug in his pocket. He pulled out 2 cards and handed them to me. I looked at his hands. I always find men's hands to be interesting. You can tell if they are a worker and somehow I think you can see comfort in them. You can see strength. His fingers were short and stubby, his palms ridiculously small. All I could think of was that Burger King commercial and "MY TINY HANDS!" I made sure my mouth was closed and looked up to make sure he hadn't seen my reaction as he handed me what he had pulled from his pocket. I stared in shock at the items in my hands: free coupons for a smoothie and a frappe from none other than McDonald's. fuck me. fuck me. you've got to be fucking kidding me. fuck me.
The waitress came and asked if we would like another round. As much as I was in desperate need of another glass of wine, he again answered for both of us, replying that we are fine and he's going to need to go soon to finish that presentation he has in the morning. Thank dog! I can see the finish line!
The waitress inquired about the check and whether it was together or separate. I can still hear the utterance ringing in my ears like church bell's on a Sunday morning...
"Ummmmm...." he said.
I looked at the waitress who appeared to be in shock and casually replied, "Whatever is easiest for you." She returned with split checks at which I left mine sitting on the table long enough to realize that this asshole was not going to pay for my wine. Just to reiterate... he asked me out and I ended up paying for my own drink. Big Mac is a big douche.
The date began at 6pm and I was home by 7:05pm. I immediately walked to my fridge, pulled out a bottle of wine, popped the cork and opened the cabinet to get a glass. As I was staring at the glass, I realized that I had already pressed the top of the bottle to my lips and proceeded to tip it! That night, I finished the whole bottle, with each sip becoming more appalled at Big Macs behavior. As I slurred myself to sleep that night, I had visions of McChicken's squawking after me.
I woke up in the morning with my eyes nearly swollen shut (it happens with too much wine). Looking at the hot mess of a reflection in the mirror, I told myself that Big Mac could take his free smoothie coupons and suck it.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
83 days.
83 day. 2014 hours. 120,841 minutes. The amount of time until I turn 30. My life will be at least 1/3 of the way over.
I can't even begin to reflect on the last 29 years of my life as it seems as if only the last 5 have meant anything. I've grown so much as a person, changed so much physically, mentally, emotionally... sexually. I keep hearing that 30 is the new 20 and that scares the hell out of me. Pretty sure I should have died during my 20's a few times. And lord knows, I can't party like I used to. I now have to plan two days of recovery for every 1 night of party. My days begin by popping vitamins and mixing protein shakes. My evenings end by applying moisturizer and wrinkle cream. I spent 2 days on the beach... and 2 weeks checking for moles that looked kinda funny.
In the last year, I have had 1 date. Yep, one. And it wasn't even that great of a date. Still trying to shake that bucket of crazy out of my past but he keeps popping up. You may remember A. I'm not even sure that I know how to do this whole "dating" thing. I remember my 8th grade homecoming dance. It was the first time I was going out with a boy but I didn't really think of him as a boy. I had known him since I was 6 years old. We'd been classmates for years. I bought this red glitter shift dress with matching red lipstick. My mom let me wear her gold stud earrings and bought me some pretty black shoes and shiny pantyhose (to suck in all my kid fat and so that I could sound like I was a walking zipper as my pubescent thighs rubbed together with every step that I took). As we were leaving my house that night, I remember my mom looking at me and saying, "Let him hold the door for you." I didn't get it at the time. I didn't get it later than night when he continuously tried to open every door for me but I just kept barging through them like I did every day.
"Let him hold the door for you."
It still didn't really make sense until this year when I realized that I've spent the last 12 years of my life working so hard to do things on my own and my way that I've never let anybody hold the door for me. My mentality has always been that at the end of the day, nobody is looking out for me but me.
83 days.
I'm giving myself 83 days to lose 25 more pounds and to have at least one more date where I let someone hold the door for me. I've been doing this online dating thing for nearly a month now and it's just getting depressing at this point. I've had one nice conversation with one nice guy who asked me to have drinks but hasn't contacted me since. My inbox is filling up with creepers and crazies and nothing promising.
83 days and then what? Just another day I suppose. Or maybe the start of a whole new life. I suppose I'll let the stars decide.
I can't even begin to reflect on the last 29 years of my life as it seems as if only the last 5 have meant anything. I've grown so much as a person, changed so much physically, mentally, emotionally... sexually. I keep hearing that 30 is the new 20 and that scares the hell out of me. Pretty sure I should have died during my 20's a few times. And lord knows, I can't party like I used to. I now have to plan two days of recovery for every 1 night of party. My days begin by popping vitamins and mixing protein shakes. My evenings end by applying moisturizer and wrinkle cream. I spent 2 days on the beach... and 2 weeks checking for moles that looked kinda funny.
In the last year, I have had 1 date. Yep, one. And it wasn't even that great of a date. Still trying to shake that bucket of crazy out of my past but he keeps popping up. You may remember A. I'm not even sure that I know how to do this whole "dating" thing. I remember my 8th grade homecoming dance. It was the first time I was going out with a boy but I didn't really think of him as a boy. I had known him since I was 6 years old. We'd been classmates for years. I bought this red glitter shift dress with matching red lipstick. My mom let me wear her gold stud earrings and bought me some pretty black shoes and shiny pantyhose (to suck in all my kid fat and so that I could sound like I was a walking zipper as my pubescent thighs rubbed together with every step that I took). As we were leaving my house that night, I remember my mom looking at me and saying, "Let him hold the door for you." I didn't get it at the time. I didn't get it later than night when he continuously tried to open every door for me but I just kept barging through them like I did every day.
"Let him hold the door for you."
It still didn't really make sense until this year when I realized that I've spent the last 12 years of my life working so hard to do things on my own and my way that I've never let anybody hold the door for me. My mentality has always been that at the end of the day, nobody is looking out for me but me.
83 days.
I'm giving myself 83 days to lose 25 more pounds and to have at least one more date where I let someone hold the door for me. I've been doing this online dating thing for nearly a month now and it's just getting depressing at this point. I've had one nice conversation with one nice guy who asked me to have drinks but hasn't contacted me since. My inbox is filling up with creepers and crazies and nothing promising.
83 days and then what? Just another day I suppose. Or maybe the start of a whole new life. I suppose I'll let the stars decide.