Fuck You.

Hopefully, for my own sanity’s sake, I’ll be completely over and done with these hate-filled, ridiculous blog posts some day.

But today is not one of those days.

For those that know me in real life, you are [probably] well aware that I put up with absolutely zero bullshit. Don’t even try – you will not succeed. I think that comes from all the years that I was a pushover to men. If someone liked me, paid me the slightest bit of attention, I was all mush and a fucking doormat. When my ex and I broke up, I sacked up [to use a masculine term] and started with a no-nonsense approach to men*.

When it comes to guys I encounter in my life now, do one thing wrong and you’re out. I don’t have time for your excuses, your bullshit, whatever it is. Just don’t even try to fuck with me. I’m not having it.

It’s just weird that, a year and a half after our break-up, my ex is still giving me bullshit. Sort of indirectly. But I’d really like him to disappear – poof – into the wind, never to be heard from again. Alas…this won’t happen**.

So, with no-bullshit attitude I have, even the smallest things just set me off. Hey, maybe it’s the hormones*** – but who really knows. Either way, he pissed me off tonight…and didn’t even have to try very hard.

I was reading the Facebook wall of a mutual friend of ours, and I saw the ex had recently posted something. But I couldn’t click on his name, and couldn’t see his picture – though I could still see his name and what he wrote. I know he had de-friended me back in the spring [which was really a blessing, actually], but this now meant he had blocked me. There is no way for me to search for him, message him, see our mutual friends – nothing. Not that I want to, but seriously – what was the point of him blocking me? Had I done anything wrong to him? Had I emailed or otherwise contacted him or his fiancee at any point since he told me he was engaged in January? No, I had not. I left him completely alone. HE is the one who wanted to be friends, and keep in touch, and all that bullshit. I have a feeling, though, that he got the hint that I didn’t feel the same say when he possibly read the Facebook event I made celebrating the year anniversary of me getting rid of “the douchebag toolbag ex who none of my friends and family liked anyway.” It was shortly after this event was published that I noticed we were no longer “friends.” 

Whatever. Just…fuck you, dude. FUCK YOU. I’m trying to move on with my life and not be so mad at the way you basically lead me on to think you really loved me, just to get me to move to Boston, pay half the bills, cook and clean, have sex once a week [at most - you know, whenever you wanted to], and betray me the way you did. And YOU have the gall to block ME! I’d block you back, but I don’t give a SHIT what you think about me. Hell, I’d let you see my whole fucking profile, just to make sure you know how much happier I am and how much better my life is without you.

But I’m pretty sure you already know.

One more thing: I pray to God that you won’t be moving to DC next year after you graduate, because that is my plan. If I see you around Capitol Hill, I may not be able to keep my right hook from connecting with your face. Just a heads up.

 

FOOTNOTES:
* And dating – which may be why I’m still single, almost a year and a half later. Regardless.

** …yet. He does have a serious blood disease where he basically has no immune system. So, should the apocalypse come, he’d be one of the first to die…ooh, is that too cruel?

*** I am about 5 days out from my period – and I do have a history of depression, which I believe exacerbates my PMS to a point just shy of homicidal rage towards men.

Purge.

Confession:

Sometimes I read your blog. It’s not bookmarked in my web browser or anything, so I have to Google it. But I know the right words to enter that will lead me to your beloved site that you are oh-so proud of having.

I roll my eyes when I read those phrases that I’m sure you felt so proud of writing. Or when you use words like “interstitial” or “in medio.” I gag when I read your mention of your “fiancee.” I cringe when you talk about “kissing her longingly.” For many reasons. 

Mostly because you are a disgusting human being and you make me sick. And I feel bad for that poor girl, who is obviously under some kind of spell of yours, or is drugged daily. She could do so much better than you.

I’m glad it’s not be being mentioned in your blog anymore. I’m glad to be rid of you. Well, physically, anyway. The thoughts linger sometimes. Like now. And I Google you to find out what sort of sickening things you’re up to. And I am reminded over and over again how much better off I am. 

It’s like syrup of ipecac, really. Thoughts of you. And there are some nights when I just need to fucking purge. 

Maybe the more I do it, the less traces of you will still be with me. 

Well…one can only hope.

The Last Sunday of April

It’s a gorgeous day outside. Over 80 and sunny. Supposed to thunderstorm later, but that’s a hazard of springtime and I won’t let it get me down. My new spring dress hangs ready in the closet for dinner tonight – a second date with a charming Welshman I met a week ago. We met at at Sox game. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that again [date customers] but he was lovely and sweet, so I said, ‘What the hell.’ Our first date was at a bar I always wanted to try – the Beantown Pub, downtown off Tremont Street. It was awesome. Six hours of chatting, laughing, stories. We have apparently both had problems dating recently – he said Boston girls suck, I said Boston guys suck. We’re perfect for each other. He’s texted me every day since. I don’t want to jinx it…but he is just so sweet and adorable, I could really see letting  myself  liking him a lot. At present, he has pretty much my full attention. Other quick facts: he’s 32, lives in Cambridge, and works for a consulting firm. But he doesn’t like to talk about work – instead, he likes to as me questions about myself. I think he might be an alien or some kind of hologram. If the CraigsList killer hadn’t been caught yet, I would worry about this one – he seems too good so far. But I like it. So long as things don’t fall apart tonight, he’ll be taking me to the Celtics Eastern Conference play-off game on Tuesday. The Celtics are currently up 2-1 over the Bulls. Hopefully they win tonight, and then again Tuesday – making for a spectacular evening at the Garden. Then barring any other disasters or me turning into a psycho bitch [which I am trying hard not to be], he has roof deck tickets to a Sox game the first week of May. It’ll be my first game attending as a fan. I’m very excited.

I’m also excited about this possibility…that maybe there are nice guys out there…and maybe I have found one, who seems genuinely interested…in me. Bizarre.

Other news:
- The semester is wrapping up. Cue massive amounts of stress. It’s cool, though – I have a to-do list that I have created, and am working on checking the boxes. I got one massive, stress-inducing thing out of the way already: “check.” Only four thousand left…
- Human resources decided not to process my paperwork creating the position for me that I’ve held since September, so I didn’t get a much-needed paycheck last week. My work-study money ran out, so my boss set it up so I could be paid from her grant. But nooo…HR had to FUCK SHIT UP and NOT do the paperwork that was submitted twice – the first time being back in December. So I’m broke until they can get me an advance paycheck – the same kind of advance I’ve had to get three times this year because they “forgot” to put in my hours. Ah, well. Who needs money? Not me!!
- My cat has dandruff.
- I finally put sheets on my bed. I’ve been sheetless for over a week. 
- Apropos the last item: I am a lazy bastard.
- I’m going to go do some work so I can enjoy dinner later. Twelve-page paper about the adverse developmental effects of IVF and assisted reproduction…here I come!

Two or three months later.

I started this a while back – it’s about damn time to finish and post it already. Let’s go.

——————————————————————————————————-

It has happened…five times, I think.

I dated a lot last summer. And into the fall some, too. But nothing stuck into the winter…except all this snow and ice that currently has my car baracaded into my street parking spot here in Boston.

It’s the typical situation: girl meets boy. Boy somehow convinces girl that he is not a douchebag. Girl is skeptical, but believes him. Girl and boy hang out and have a good time. Boy then either douches out, disappears – or, more typically, both.

Then, two or three months later, the boy will text girl. He will say, “Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while, what’s going on?”

Girl is always:
1) Shocked
2) Irritated a bit, at the lengthy delay in attempts at contact
3) Curious…at why now, two or three months later, is this boy texting?

[PS--In case you're lost already...the "girl" is me.]

The first time this happened was with R, a guy I dated a few months just after the Ex and I broke up. We met opening day at Fenway [for those who aren't in the know, that's early April]. He was really cool, we went out several times over about two months, but one day he just didn’t return my text and I never heard from him again.

Until about two or three months later.

I had just gotten home from a date with the guy who  asked me out through my blog [yeah, note to self: don't do that again]. Then I got the text from a number I had deleted [because if you ignore me, you're going to get deleted]. We texted a little bit that night, and he expressed interest in “going bowling and making out” again sometime. I blew it off, having just come back from a really great first date with another guy who would ultimately only make it to be a tiny footnote in my life, a mere mention in order to fully mention another, more important story.

Then in November, I got a text from a guy I slept with over the summer [I have written about this story before - the hot bartender]. Very strange text exchange. He also texted me a “Happy Thanksgiving.” Still no response on my end. 

In early December, I got a text from a guy D who I met at a Sox game in September. He and his roommate took me out to lunch, and tried to persuade me [jokingly?] to have a threesome with them. I hadn’t heard from D in…two or three months. He was just “checking in.”

A few weeks after that, I got a text from a guy I dated in October. It had been about two months since I had heard from him. We ended up texting for a few weeks, and even went out [and hooked up], but then things faded out again.

If this pattern sticks, I’m thinking he will text me around opening day – April 6th. That will make it…about two or three months.

I really don’t get it. Why, if I obviously wasn’t interesting enough two or three months ago, am I suddenly worth checking in on? 

I’m so over it all.

Poem #1

Yesterday I was thinking about how I acted when my ex and I broke up, and I got mad at myself for being so outwardly distraught. I thought, ‘I wish I could take back those things I said and did from that night.’ And then from that thought, a poem emerged. Here it is, in blank verse [15 unrhymed lines of iambic pentameter].

Untitled. 10-23-08

I wish I could take back behaviors from

that night when we broke up. While you, in bed,

just resting, sleeping, dreaming, I, in stealth,

was checking emails, conversations with

a certain girl you met the prior week.

I savored every morsel, all the talk,

the witty banters, questions of your self

and us and did you really love me? Then

my heart was beating, pounding, racing, so

I woke you, asked you, what the fuck is this?

You said, It’s over. No discussion could

undo this pain you caused, betrayal I felt.

The crying, screaming, sobbing, rolling on

the floor, so unattractive, pitiful.

I’d take it back, but now it’s just too late.

Bad Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been all committed to myself, and it’s great. I’m running, and pretending to study, and doing my own thing. Awesome.

And then…I start thinking about…someone…someone I probably shouldn’t. It’s pointless, as he isn’t available, so we’re just friends. Plus, the nature of our interaction is…complicated. But there’s definitely something there. He said it, I said it. It’s pretty annoying, actually. And there’s nothing I can do.

But I keep…thinking…

And I wish I could stop it.

We’re friends. Friends. Yeah. Friends is good.

On This Side Of The Wall

The wall is still very much in progress. Thanks for asking.

So I’ll give a brief news update of what’s going on on this side of the wall [copying the news headline format frequently used by my friend C]:

• Human male stupidity/douchebaggery has caused me to cease dating altogether. I have even married myself. Sort of. I wear a band of Italian silver, purchased, I believe, when I was 16 and visiting Italy for the first time. I found it in my jewelry box, and since it is much less ostentatious than my huge 4-carat aquamarine birthstone ring I was wearing, decided to put it on and not take it off for a while. It is a constant reminder of my commitment to myself, and warning not to get suckered into falling for bullshit again. As dorky as that seems. But who the fuck are you to judge? Hmm?? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
• The weekend in Vermont with The Wife [AKA my very best good friend Sarah, with whom I spend many nights at bars, drinking, and getting hit on by old, divorcing men]. Though the trees were a little past peak, it was absolutely gorgeous, and she and I made plans to host a ski party weekend sometime in January. Ideally, it would be Sarah, me, and eight to ten extremely hot guys, of whom we could have our pick. I, of course, would have at least three. At once. This weekend, her grandparents were there, and so was my mom. So it was a nice, family fun weekend. However, January, I’m hoping, will be nothing short of a drunken debacle of orgy proportions. With no grandparents. Though Sarah’s grandma is a little saucy…I think she might dig it.
• I’m training for a 5K — the Jolly Jaunt to benefit the Special Olympics. The race is December 6. It’s given me a renewed appreciation for treadmills, knee braces and my sadly underused Nikes. I ran 1.25 miles today. Last week I only ran 1 mile. So already an improvement! My friend C from school and I are training together. We leg-pressed, calf-raised, crunched, hip-adducted and abducted ourselves silly this afternoon. And it felt great. My training regiment says to take tomorrow off, or just walk or cross-train. Maybe I’ll go for a bike ride after school. Or maybe I’ll pop some Tylenol and beg my roommate for a back massage. A swim would be nice, but I am not getting my jiggly, white ass into a bathing suit any time soon.
• This Boston weather has necessitated the busting out of my fantastic space heater, and my electric blanket. I am so looking forward to a toasty warm bed tonight. Yep. Just me and the cat. All alone. No, no, I’m fine about it, really! It’s great. More room to…you know…lie there. Allll those covers to myself…yeah.
• PS–I’m so not bitter about it all. I might look bitter, but it’s just the words that are appearing that way. I’m good. I’m great, even. So there.
• Thinking about all this dating bullshit, I recently realized that I am unsure if anyone can love me as much as I love myself. I am fucking awesome and I know it, and anyone who disagrees is not someone I need to spend too much time with. Coincidentally, a parting jab at my ex in the form of a MySpace/Facebook blog was this final line: “I hope someday you can find someone who loves you as much as you love you.” Seems strangely reminiscent of what I’ve been thinking lately about myself…
• Either way, I’m still a fucking catch. Once you look past the bits of neuroticism and ignore the self-confidence that borders on self-centeredness…
• My cat has been really precious all day. She’s curled up right beside me right now, and has followed me all over the house. It’s a nice change from her usual sassy demeanor of biting me.
• Oh God…now I’m turning into a crazy cat lady. Well, maybe I’ll be fine as long as I don’t start knitting sweaters with embroidered cats and shit.
• Note to self: cancel tomorrow’s cat-embroidered sweater knitting lesson.
• Oh, I almost forgot [and this is probably the best news as of late]: I’m going to the World Series this weekend. Eat your heart out, baseball fans. Sox or no Sox [and unfortunately, in this case, it's the latter], I’m going to see two of the big games — Phillies vs. Tampa Bay Fucking Rays. GO PHILLIES!! Send that shitty expansion team back to where they belong. Although I can’t hate too much — Tampa Bay does farm from the good ol’ Durham Bulls, the Triple-A team from my hometown. Sad the Sox didn’t make it, but if they always won, it wouldn’t be fun anymore, right? Right?? Sigh.
• And…that’s all I got.

The Wall

Famous Walls in History [as adapted from Wikipedia's list]:

The Great Wall of China [the longest man-made structure]
Jericho Walls
Hadrian’s Wall
Western Wall in Jerusalem [Wailing Wall]
Berlin Wall
The Green Monster at Fenway Park [the best wall EVER]
The Wall, the album by Pink Floyd

I’m taking a cue from these landmarks, loading up a dump truck full of bricks and mortar, and will be spending an as of yet undetermined time period seriously under construction…

Rewind.

I change my mind.

Fuck being confused. Fuck waiting around.

I do know what I want. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But if meet a guy and I like hanging out with him, and I know he likes hanging out with me, why should I just wait for him to contact me? In my job, it works better if I tell the people what I’m doing, and don’t ask them if I can and wait for them to say yes.

I’m going to try this now. I will say “Hi, I want to see you, so we’re hanging out [day] & [time].” Then if they say no, well, that’s fine. But at least I was direct. Then they know I am a direct, take-charge kind of woman. And since when is that a bad thing?

And then, if they know I am take-charge in my regular life…they’ll see the fuzzy pink handcuffs hanging on the back of my door and realize I’m take-charge in the bedroom. And I know for damn sure guys don’t think that is a bad thing.

I confused directness with putting in all the effort [like with relationships]. But it’s dating, not anything serious. I’m not saying “We’re going to be boyfriend/girlfriend!” I’m just saying “You’re cool and I want to see you” and working that out, which isn’t difficult. It’s just taking charge of another aspect of my life.

Why hadn’t I figured this out before??

Twenty-Five and Jaded.

Twenty-five and jaded. Yep, that’s me. The more I think about the status of my life and relationships, the more and more pessimistic I get. So maybe it’s best not to think about it, since it is apparently the thinking that makes it worse…but I’m too introspective to avoid thinking. And apparently not busy enough, if I have all this time to just sit around and ruminate. I should pick up a third job. That would be far more helpful than this brooding bullshit.

Anyway, It’s been over 7 months since The Ex and I broke up, and I have never been happier with that decision. But being back on the “market” [which is a horrible term -- but makes sense in our shallow, capitalist society], it is becoming increasingly clear to me that dating sucks.

It was fun at first. The attention always is. Meeting new guys, making out, having fun. The summer is perfect for that. Something about autumn, however, makes me want to cuddle by a fireplace with hot cocoa and a nice guy.

Scenario checklist:
- Current season: autumn. Yesss. On top of that, it’s October, which is my second favorite month [only after March, because it contains my birthday]. There’s leaves changing colors. There’s crisp autumn air. There’s pumpkins and mums abounding, which is so quintessential New England. Love it.
- Fireplace: nope, but I do have a quasi-hearth area in my living room, well-stocked with candles. Light them all, and presto! Insta-fireplace. So romantic.
- Hot cocoa: duh. Always on hand. And I can make that shit from scratch, too. I’m legit.
- Nice guy: hmm. I’ll get back to you on that. [I think, perhaps, it's possible that nice guys exist, but I don't have any myself...]

I shouldn’t be so “blah” about all this. Honestly, I am doing whatever I want to do, whenever I want to do it. And it’s great. But I think my jadedness speaks to a bigger issue women my age are dealing with: the fact that guys don’t try anymore. They don’t, because they don’t have to. Women do all the work. We initiate communication, we set the dates, we call the shots. So the guys don’t even have to do anything. If we like a guy, we’ll call them. We’ve completely taken out the element of making them “work” for it. And it fucking blows. I’ve met dozens of guys in the past six months, yet have only gone out with three more than once; of those three, only one I went out with more than twice [and out of nowhere, he just stopped all communication in June, then randomly texted me a few weeks ago asking to "go bowling and make out" again soon. Umm...really?] And it’s not for my lack trying or being a fucking catch — because I am. I’m smart, witty, intelligent, and have pretty eyes. And I can cook. Why aren’t guys knocking down my door?

So I start thinking about this, and then this ridiculous bitchy streak comes out and I want to say to any and every guy I will potentially meet in the future, “Sorry, I just don’t think you have what it takes to date me.” Then I would see what they say and do in response. Would they immediately turn and run? Would they take it as a challenge? Would they step up and actually…[gasp]…try to put in some effort with an awesome girl who they’d be lucky to spend time with??

I’m not even looking for a serious boyfriend. I really just want a nice guy to drink cocoa with beside a potential fire hazard. Is that so much to ask?

I’m just starting to wonder if, in order to get this, I’m going to have to:
- drastically lower my standards [not my favorite idea]
- start online dating [again...]
- stand on a street corner advertising my goods [this could also help solve the current money woes]
- move [because apparently Boston guys suck]
- change the qualifiers from “nice guy” to “nice girl” and start batting for the other team [I do know lots of awesome single ladies]
- be really, really patient. Like, really fucking patient. Like English Patient patient.

Whatever. I’m just so…done.

[And how many times have I said that? Anyone counting?]

Maybe I just want someone to say, “Miss M, you’re great and you have nothing to worry about! Keep doing your own thing! [Insert various other compliments here]!”

But there we go with the whole external validation thing. I should just validate myself.

Hmm…[Rereading what I just wrote, and trying to believe it]…Maybe I just did.