Currently Chasing: An End to the Wait

I’m at a loss as to what to write this blog about. I want to write about how wonderful love is. I want to talk about how amazing it is to meet a man who totally sweeps you off your feet within weeks of meeting him. I want to be in love with love.

But hence; every great love story has a whole entire middle section of despair right? Otherwise, what kind of story would it be? And let’s face it, my love stories are usually all despair.

Let’s just start with this …

Once upon a time I met a man. You know that guy right? The one you see right away and you know there is just SOMETHING about him. Now being me I figured that SOMETHING would end up being that he was too freaky, young, nasty, dirty, kinky, old or desperate. There had to be something I would hate right? There is ALWAYS something. In fact, I wanted there to be something. I was begging for there to be something.

You see, I’m getting ready to travel to a land far, far away from my current residence in the land of Mary. And FUCK. Why would I want to fall in love now? I wouldn’t. I don’t. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.

But I did.

I’ve kept our texts since the conception of this, dare I say … relationship? Holy shit. I can barely even type that word without just assuming that all hell is going to break loose and I’m going to have my heart smashed into bits.

But you know what he made me realize? I’ve broken more hearts than I give myself credit for. And I’m just as much to blame for my crappy luck in love as the guys who leave phone messages of them masterbating and send photos of dream catchers hanging from their cocks. (Yes, more than one. Crazy right? They weren’t even Indian.)

So we agreed. Let’s just spend time together and see what happens. That may sound like we didn’t have a plan, but seeing what happens is not the same as not having a plan. So fuck you. However, the last time I just “saw what happened,” I ended up engaged to a beautiful man who I ended up fucking over royally. And I really mean royally because he was a member of the royal Marine Corps. He worked for the queen for fuck’s sake. And I was like. Yeah, whatever, fuck your little British heart. I’m such a creep!

But seeing what would happen seemed hopeful and different this time. And I wanted to … See. What. Would. Happen. And guess what fucking happened? I fell for him. AND I’M PISSED!

Cause today he walked out of my house and said “I’ll see you in a year.” And holy fuck I really hope he means it. But really? Is that possible? Do we have enough foundation to wait a year and build a house? Usually my foundation is fucking sinking sand. I’m toxic! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

I’m not the girl who gets the guy. I’m the girl who starts to get the guy, realizes the guy is a complete fucking freak of nature, and then (thankfully) lives to tell the story.

Hopefully this is the beginning of a different story. Maybe it’s time for me to actually fucking try and succeed at something. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I want that fucking happy ever after. And I won’t stop waiting for him until I get it.

Currently Chasing: My Sanity

I’ve been paying close attention to relationship status lately. Mostly because I never know what the fuck mine is. A friend of mine posted on Facebook that he was in a relationship with his girl, which is fine. But he posted it each night for three consecutive nights. Way to go boy! You post that relationship status, and you remind us good and often that you are still in it.

Just as often I see a status change and it reads: so and so is now…SINGLE, which of course prompts a million comments. "What happened? Are you ok? Fuck that dude he’s an asshole."

My favorite status is the” it’s complicated” status. That seems to be too much information for me. Yeah, I’m in a relationship, but it’s fucked. Usually, "It's complicated" is code for "you wouldn't understand" which itself is code for "you would understand because I'm not really as complex a person as I think I am, but I don't want you judging me."

I tell my sailor friends all the time. If you want to sail a ship that won’t sink, then stay off the relation ship. Cause that thing sinks faster than the Titanic. And trust me, no one is giving you their make-shift, wooden life raft! So you can forget that shit!

My status simply says single. But for those who know me, I need to be committed, both to a man and honestly, an institution.

So I talk to a friend of mine, who up to this point, I thought had it together … this is what I get …

He tells me that he was thinking about getting a divorce from his wife. In the same breath he tells me that he was thinking about going back to his ex girlfriend. In the same breath (possibly his dying one) he tells me that he shouldn’t go back to his ex because she’s some bitch who cheated on him.

So over the weekend he ended up having it out with both of them. He told his wife it wasn’t working and that they weren’t happy. She told him she would change. He asked her what she would change into. And maybe she said a unicorn or some shit. Whatever would make him happy basically …

So he left the house to clear his mind and went, where else…over to the ex’s house. His ex then pleads her case. She said, maybe this is our time now. We can work it out. He said, we broke up because we weren’t happy. She told him she would change. He asked her what she would change into. Because if all she’s going to turn into is a cheating wife, well, that's not worth half of his shit when they eventually divorce. In the end he told his wife they would work it out, and he told his ex they would work it out also.

What should his relationship status be? NFC. (No Fucking Clue.) or BFI (Big Fucking Idiot.) Update that shit STAT!

With all the drama going on in this guy’s life you can see clearly why … I’m falling for him.

Status update: BFI w/ NFC.

It's complicated.

Currently Chasing: A Condom

So the other day my friend goes out to meet up with a group of friends. On the way there she gets a call from another group of friends, so she stops to meet up with them first. As soon as she entered the bar she knew…it was on. There was a guy there that she’d been eyeing up for quite some time, just waiting for the right moment. And this was it.

They chatted, they drank…then they stopped drinking, and continued to chat. And then they left…in a hurry!

He tells her they have to stop at the store first. Apparently he wasn’t prepared for his evening to take this turn. He needed … protection.

So they head into the first grocery store they see and go toward the place where the condoms should be. Nothing. After some heavy investigation they decide to go to a manager and ask where they are. He whispers…aisle 4.

They are puzzled as to why he feels he needed to whisper. Buying a condom is not embarrassing. Having a crab jump into your fruit loops in the morning is embarrassing. Scratching your itchy, burning crotch is embarrassing. And then there’s always the house in Vermont that nobody wants. (HIV)

But whatever, they head toward the aisle and sure enough, there they are. Locked up behind glass.

Seriously? They are locked up? You can get condoms anywhere. You can find them in movie theater vending machines. You can get them at any random 7-11. Hell, I once was so desperate for a condom that I went in to a bar and started just asking people if they had one. After a few minutes someone pointed me toward the bar. The bartender had a whole fucking jar of them!

So anyway, they make their way back to the manager who then hands them the keys and whispers, key 5. Good Lord. They take the key and go to back to the aisle. They stand there for 15 minutes looking at all the boxes. Ever notice the condom aisle is like the fucking gum aisle? All different colors and flavors. Rubbery goodness.

They finally just grab a box…and their off.

Here’s the thing about condoms. Sure they protect against pregnancy. And that seems to be everyone’s only worry. But condoms are actually barriers. It’s like saying, I like you enough to let you penetrate me, but I don’t want the skin of your penis actually coming into contact with me. So please put on this baggie so it’ll be like you were never actually here. Awesome, and very romantic. Wouldn’t it be great if we just kept our medical records with us like the pros I saw in Thailand? They had that shit on the ready. Although most of the time it was just an index card that said, “I’m clean.” BUYER BEWARE.

(And just a side note, one of my friends actually took one of those girls up to his room, but she was so tired and he felt bad, so he just let her sleep for an hour while he beat off to porn. Although I think he still wore a condom.)

Anyway, back to my friend. After 42 minutes of Condom purchasing, they didn’t even end up using one. He ended up ‘arriving’ after only three or four minutes of four-play. And that was that.

However, this story did leave me with a question. Who should be prepared with the condoms? Men or women? Me personally, I feel like condoms are for people with dicks, and therefore should be purchased by people with dicks. I don’t walk around asking men if they have a birth control pill I can take. What do you guys think?

Currently Chasing: The Master of One!

What is this obsession with threesomes? When I was younger I met a guy that I liked a lot. He asked after a month of dating if I’d be interested in a threesome. I said if we do something like that we will never be able to be a couple. It will ruin and change everything. He said he was willing to take the chance.

And that way of thinking has been a theme for most men I date. They meet one of my female friends and right away the jokes begin, which are niether cute nor subtle.

“Have you seen her naked?”

“Have you two kissed?”

“Sure I’ll take the garbage out if you invite so and so over for a sleepover.”

“Game night? How about truth or dare?”

Geezus H? Really?

This is not Facebook people, and you do not get to add a friend!

I’ve seen videos…I’ve read books, I know what happens with these types of scenarios. Someone is always left out. And you know what else…when there are two girls, one of the girls is always just a little bit prettier and/or skinnier than the other girl. What do you think that does for the EGO!?

“Oh look, there is my man cheating on me. Literally fucking cheating right on top of me! That girl is obviously doing a good job of turning him on, only she looks nothing like me. Man, her stomach isn’t sticking out even a little. Dude, her boobs are perfect. Her hair is sticking to her sweaty back. Mine doesn’t do that. FUCK, HE PROBABLY HATES ME.”

And there you go. Unless you want to drive your girl totally bat crazy, leave the threesomes to the pros. Who do you think you are anyway? You last 37 seconds with her, and now you’ve got to split that time between two hotties. Why even embarrass yourself? That’s if you are able to perform at all. There may be some anxiety that comes along with being the star of the show. Who needs that kind of pressure?

I mean, multi-tasking in any other situation seems like a waste of your time. But not in this situation; you are all of a sudden a cross-trained pro! But my friends who’ve tried it never really got what they were hoping out of it.

In fact, it kind of just left the door open for infidelity. If she doesn’t mind me cheating while she’s in the room, then she definitely won’t mind if she’s at work, or downstairs wathing TV, or brushing her teeth. You get my point!…A man’s logic is not logical. And if you think you two can casually hook up with someone once or twice and then never do it again…well I have something to show you, It’s my shocked face … Whaaat?!! Because even if he’s not saying it, he’s thinking about it with every single introduction to a new friend.

Wouldn't you rather be a master of one than simply a jack … ASS!?

Currently Chasing: A Choice, not just an Option

In San Diego I met a man. A funny, smart, athletic, witty, alcoholic, immature man. He was kind of short and so drunk that he couldn’t stop smelling my hair, so I did what anyone would do. I slept with his tall, good looking friend. However, I found out too late that his friend was married, and all of a sudden short didn’t seem so bad. This guy made me laugh. I mean really laugh. He was drunk most of the time we were together, but nevertheless he was real and I fell in love.

After only a few months and a complete whirl-wind relationship, I moved across the country. We kept in touch, flew to visit each other and web-cammed each other whenever we could. We realized early on that it wasn’t the ideal relationship, but it didn’t stop us from giving it a try. In fact, we never actually broke up. But then again, we were never actually going out either. Eventually life got in the way and he met a girl and I met a guy and that was that. But we would still see each other now and then, and every time we did, emotions would come rushing back. The thing is, this girl that likes him…she’s been a real trooper. She would even drop him off at my house when I’d come to visit, knowing darn well what was about to happen. She didn’t care. She loved him despite his inability to be faithful. Although I’ve known him longer, she has loved him harder. She deserves him. She actually deserves better than him.

So when he texted me today to tell me he was near my neck of the woods, I froze. Part of me wanted to tell him to fly here immediately and do what he always does. Make me feel like the only one. But the other part of me couldn’t let go of the fact that I’m not the only one. I’m not even sure I’m THE one anymore.

You see, the man I’ve been off and on seeing for years is a lot like San Diego boy. He loves me, sure, but not enough to make sure I know I’m the only one. He treats me like San Diego boy treats his Lolita. Like I am expendable. And being a choice isn’t the same as being an option. And I didn’t want to be an option for San Diego boy anymore. In fact, It made me realize that I was tired of being an option for Maryland boy as well. I mean, after four years if you aren’t sure you want me, then you are sure you don’t want me. And you don’t get to just have me because you don’t want to see me with someone else. And if you’re on and off with someone, then you should just be off. (sound advice from an olive garden waiter in Mississippi.)

So my conversation with San Diego boy went something like this…

Him: So whatcha doing?

Me: Driving to dinner?

Him: What’s on the menu?

Me: Steak.

Him: Am I going to see you while I’m out here?

Me: Probably not, I’ve got a lot going on.

Him: I kinda sensed it was coming so it’s ok. I understand.

Me: I think you know I can’t go down that road again.

Him: I wish I could see you and we can just hang out. You know, as friends.

Me: We’ve never just been friends.

Him: I know, It’s hard. Why is it so hard?

Me: Because you mean too much.

Him: You mean a lot to me too. I want great things for you because I know you deserve them and I want you to be happy because you deserve that too.

Me: And I would be happy with you. But you are happy without me, and it’s hard to deal with actually losing.

Him: I’m sorry sweetie. I do love you.

Me: I know, but it’s not enough. And you are doing to her what Maryland boy does to me. If she’s your girl then stop trying to hurt her.

Him: I know.

Me: I would give my all to Maryland boy and he would parade around like he could do better. She loves you. I love you too. And I’m not going to let you be that guy.

Him: Thanks sweetie. I’m just worried that this is the best I can do.

Me: Then break up with her. You don’t deserve to have someone love you like that if you can’t do the same. If you want others then you don’t want her. Don’t be selfish. Having your cake and eating it too is old. It’s time to be a better man.

Him: yeah, you’re right.

Me: Good. Love u.

Him: Love you too. Thanks for giving it to me straight.

Me: No problem.

Fin.

It prompted one more text from me to Maryland boy.

“I love you, and you either want me or you don’t. But I refuse to go on without knowing. We either are or we aren’t, and that’s it.”

But in truth, this text gives him an option, and I’m not actually sure he has one.

Currently Chasing: The Taste of Thin

I have been working out a lot lately. But it’s not by choice. I paid for some personal training sessions, and now I’ve been so lazy in previous months that out of my 28 sessions, I’ve only used eight. That leaves 20 half-hour sessions, and with only 19 days left to use them, I’ve had to shift myself into overdrive. I’ve even started doing some hour-long sessions. I can feel it all literally killing me.

The problem is, for every bit of working out I’m doing, there is a Twinkie standing by waiting for me to use it as a throat swab. All of the working out I’m doing seems to be for nothing, and it’s pretty damn depressing.

My friend let me borrow the Zone Diet book. It sat in the back of my car for five days. When it did finally make its way into my house I used it as a paperweight. She asked for it back a week or so later. I told her I wrote down all the recipes I wanted. Truth is I actually had to search a bit for the book. It was under a box of Twinkies.

This type of sabotage is normal for me so I don’t know why I even bother still talking about it. When I was pregnant with my daughter I would eat dinner on the way to dinner. When I delivered my daughter I weighed 265 pounds. Yep. That’s right. And no amount of hair dye was covering that up I assure you.

I was approached by a guy who was not afraid to call a baby ugly. And also was not afraid to call a big-boned girl “FAT.”

He got me into shape…(I can’t say back into shape, because there was never really a shape to begin with.) So I’ve been down to that 150 range. I’ve had a glimpse of a petite me. But there’s another petite I prefer; a Bon Appétit.

They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels. But have you ever tasted a taco from Jack in the Box…or cold stone ice cream on a hot day? It’s irresistible. And yeah, I’ll go home, strip down naked, look in the mirror and cry later; turn around, stare at my butt and go into a full on emotional breakdown, but for some reason it still doesn’t stop me from asking for extra bread and a dessert menu.

Because there is shit that tastes as good as thin feels. And today it was 27 skittles.

Currently Chasing: Cows

I shared this story with my students the other day.

There once was a beautiful girl. Only everyone told her she was ugly. And in this place where she lived women weren’t showered with diamonds to prove they were loved, instead, their families were showered with…cows. That’s right. The more cows you pay for your wife, the more popular and beautiful she becomes to other women in the village.

Just like how in this day and age women walk around flashing their wedding ring (the more bling, the more love), women in this village would go around bragging about how many cows were paid for them.

“I’m a five cow wife,” said one woman.

“I’m a seven cow wife!” bragged another.

So this woman walked around getting made fun of every single day.

“You aren’t even worth half a cow,” said one woman.

“You’ll have to give yourself away,” said another.

One day a man came to town and got all the women talking. He was very handsome. He could have his choice of any women in the village. In fact, some of those bitches may have even paid a cow or two for him! He kept seeing a shy woman around the village who wouldn’t make eye contact and who would run away every time he was around. He went to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.

Her father said “you can have her for one cow.”

The man refused. He said he wanted to pay 10 cows for her. Her father was astonished. Why would anyone want to pay 10 cows for his ugly-ass daughter? Only, she wasn’t ugly. She just needed to believe she was pretty. And how could she not be if such a handsome man was willing to pay 10 cows for her!

When word spread all the women were jealous. And she was able to walk around the village with her head held high, for she was a 10-cow wife.

A couple weeks after I told this story to them I was having an off day. They all got together and each drew a cow on a piece of paper. 12 students; 12 cows. They presented it to me. They told me not to be sad because in their opinion I was a 12-cow teacher!

Only guess what. I would of rather have had diamonds. No girl these days wants to be associated with a damn cow, especially not 12 of those fat things. Geezus H! Those students will never learn.

Currently Chasing: The Softer Side

My friend B cracks me up. But also offends me in the same breath. And I love him for it. The thing about it is that underneath all the ball scratching and inappropriate conversation (which defines him) is a fucking cuddly Build-a-Bear; complete with little red heart and cheesy catchphrase.

Today I bring a cookie over to his cube. I ask him if he wants it. Of course he does. It’s a fucking thin mint. Who doesn’t want a thin mint? Then he mentions the thin mint shake at Dairy Queen and how it’s the bomb. A third person chimes in that they may go to DQ after work and get said shake. B tells them it may no longer be available because it’s a seasonal item. I say, “That’s ok; you can probably find something as equally awesome.” And B says, yeah, “Like FAT CHICKS.”

And now you know B.

He is in the process of buying a new truck. What is it about men and commitment? This guy can’t even commit to a vehicle. Seriously, he once went home for lunch and called me asking me for a ride back to work.

“What happened to your car?”

“I sold it,” he said.

“Over lunch?”

“Yep. Everything has its price.”

And every time he gets a new car, it’s a downgrade. And I’m hoping this isn’t a trend he applies to other areas of his life. He’s looking at huge trucks right now.

“Why do you need such a big truck?” I ask.

“Because fat chicks can’t jump,” he responds.

But he’s wrong. I’ve been to some cheer competitions and trust me, fat girls can jump.

My point is, that at the end of the day it’s guys like B who make me glad I’m single. However, he’s also the first person to notice that I haven’t been around lately, that my hair is different and that I don’t seem very chipper. He can notice all that and continuously scratch his balls. The boys got talent.

Currently Chasing: An End to the Impulse

I’m impulsive. I’ve always been that way. The first time someone told me I’d look good as a blonde; I went out that night and had a salon dye my hair. It turned our bright yellow. But that’s what I get for not planning.

My old car had a headlight out. I didn’t want to get it fixed. So one day I just decided to trade it in and get a new car, simple as that. No research, no planning, just drove on the lot and traded vehicles.

Even my marriage was impulsive. Engaged on the 13^th of September and married by the 16^th. Three-day engagement seems pretty standard right?

I look around my house and just know that there are hundreds and hundreds of dollars of impulse lying around. My jewelry box should be called an impulse box. I have pictures that I paid half a thousand dollars to have done that are still sitting, unframed, on some shelf. I have a treasure chest full of adult goodies, and I've never even used that glass one. It scares me! Impulsive! The ironing board must have been an impulse-buy as well because lord knows I’ve never used that thing.

I have an entire storage area just for pampered chef cooking utensils that I’ve never even opened. Oh and my friend has three more of those useless purchases in her car, just waiting to make their way to my storage closet.

I wanted an iphone, and even though I knew it was going to cost me an arm and a leg, I just cut those puppies off and handed them over.

I went to Buffalo, met a group of family members I never knew existed, fell in love with them in half a day, and booked a ticket to go back the following weekend using said Iphone.

Went back to Buffalo to see said family. Had a little bit too much to drink. Thought matching tattoos sounded like a great idea…drove to the parlor thirty minutes before it closed. Let some guy who calls himself baldy tattoo a symbol I can only hope stands for sisters on (wait for it) … the back of my neck! Impulse.

The problem with this is that I don’t know what’s in my life because I actually want it to be (I have a shamrock tattoo on my ankle??) and what is in my life because it satisfied some quick fancy. Most of the things I do on impulse I end up severely regretting. Take my Thrift Savings Plan for example. I had been saving money for about 11 years. Then all of a sudden I impulsively took the money out of the plan. It cost me a good amount just to withdraw the money, but I didn’t care.

Then I took the money and started impulse buying. I bought new furniture (granted I needed that due to the fact that my boyfriend decided to fuck his ex over lunch (impulse much) so we had to get out of each other’s presence pronto). I bought a year subscription to bag, borrow and steal…a purse rental company…can anyone say NEED NOT WANT. I bought my daughter a bunch of random shit that spoiled her and that she ended up losing anyway. I paid the lease up on said car that I impulsively bought earlier in this blog and then drove home with basically the same car except I was paying more for it. (Can we say NO NEGOTIATING SKILLS?!)

I bought I bought…impulse, impulse. And then, tax time came around. And they counted that savings that I withdrew as INCOME. Holy hell. I ended up owing the government money for the first time in my extremely young (and extremely gorgeous) life.

I’m most impulsive about my hair. Hair today, gone tomorrow. Red, blonde, brown. Maybe all three. I’ve been there. Stripes, streaks, perms, straighteners I’ve done it. Spikes, faux hawk, swirlies, I’ve done it. My hair is at the mercy of my impulse. Most of you haven’t seen me recently, but my hair is dark…with highlights and it’s shorter than it’s been since my stint on the softball team.

What I’m saying is for now on, I’m going to think. If I want a new car, I’m going to do some research. If I want to date a boy, I’m going to get to know him. If I’m thinking of taking a vacation, I’m going to plan. If I want to lose my virginity I'm going to spend some time assessing the pros and cons. (shit, may be a little late for that.) Whatever, the problem is, I made this decision to start maturing impulsively. And we all agree that's not a good idea, so I'll rethink it. In the meantime, the AC in my car is broken. One quick trip to Carmax won’t kill me.

Currently Chasing: Sex Experts

So browsing through the bookstore the other day I came across a book. “Sex: How to do everything.” The book was on sale for $15. Now come on. I flipped through the book and knew right away that I could learn more about sex by watching a Madonna video.

The book is written by em and lo. What makes these hims or hers or this him and her experts? The book is also only 84 pages. The positions book is 256 pages, so what were em and lo doing, paraphrasing? Right next to the sex book is a book about threesomes, for couples who want to know more. Shouldn’t this info already be in the sex book? I mean, it claims that it is all encompassing. And if I’m in a couple and I want to know more about threesomes, guess what I’m going to do? Pornhub.com. That’s what. Pictures in a book are nice, but full on instructional videos are better. And free. Not to mention the awkwardness of purchasing these sex books. Especially from the overly friendly staff at the books-a-million by my house. I can already imagine the transaction.

Book’s employee: Hidy Howdy neighbor. Great day for an inspiring read. What can I ring you up for today?

Me: Um, just this sex book and this other book about threesomes. My partner and I are interested in learning more.

Book’s employee: Well there’s not much reading in these books, mostly pictures. Might I suggest a more mature text like possibly a pocket Bible?

Me: No, this is it. This sex book says it’ll teach me how to do everything, so I’ll find Jesus on my own. Thanks.

Book’s employee: Okily dokily, are you a card member?

I mean, they may as well title these sex books, “Please don’t steal me because you’re too embarrassed to buy me.”

And these books all advertise the same thing. A quick and easy orgasm for the woman.

Men, let me clue you in on a little secret, your goal should not be to get us to orgasm as quickly as possible. What is the fun in that? There are plenty of times I’ve reached my happy place on my own in a lot less time than it’ll take you, and trust me, that was the goal. But when I’m with my partner I want him to take his time.

I had a friend of mine tell me a horrifying story about her ex boyfriend. He was great during the day. Taking her out. Buying her things. All the makings of a great boyfriend. But somehow the money he spent on her during the day made him feel like he owned her at night. He was all rough with it and all ‘who’s your daddy?’ about the whole thing. She didn’t mind when he’d grab the back of her head, it was nice. What she minded was the face rape that occurred moments after that. Maybe she came…who could really tell what was a scream of pain and what was a scream of pleasure?

I mean fine, maybe one crazy time, if it’s your birthday. But every night you want to just have tortured angry sex? Get a doll.

All I’m saying is books are for the birds. I can’t cook. I’ve read books on it. Seems simple enough. A dash of this, a bit of that. But you know how it is. They recipe calls for 2 cups of milk and you only have 1 cup. It’ll have to do. And the recipe calls for this spice, but you only have that spice. You put it all together and think…who will notice?

Same with sex books. Maybe you can’t move into that exact position. But maybe if you just put her leg back like this, put her arm right there … Forget all that. Just do what you think will feel good to her. Trust me, she’ll notice.