The P word and the D word

And by that, sadly, I don't mean penis and dick. Sorry.

Politics and divorce! What fun! I mean, really, those are everyone's favorite topics at a dinner party, aren't they? Casual banter with a stranger on a bus ride? Holiday topics with family?

Huh. Well. I'm gonna go ahead and write about them anyway. I feel qualified because I both voted and got divorced... one much more recently than the other, of course.

Brain Drugs Rule

The new medication I've been taking for a while now is pretty much amazing. I'm hoping it holds up - in the past I've tried anti-depressants, and they seemed to help for the first month or so, only to give up and become pointless. Much like many of the men I date. *rimshot*

I still have (often very strong) anti-social tendencies for sure (I'm still an introvert at heart, after all), but they seem less frequent. At work I'm definitely friendlier and more willing to engage with coworkers, whereas before I often tried my best to avoid interaction whenever possible. And I recently had a situation very similar to Asshat, with a couple of notable exceptions. First, we were friends for quite a while before anything happened. For a brief moment, I considered him a close friend and confidant. Another exception is that this time, when I realized I was being used and minimized, I called him on his bullshit and walked out. Done, finished, over. No looking back, no blaming myself (even though he tried to blame me), and no agonizing. To be fair to myself, this is definitely not entirely due to chemicals - I'm in a much better and stronger place emotionally than I was 3 years ago.

I was a little sad that I'd once again been used when I thought I was actually someone of worth to this person, and I was angry as all hell for a few days, but then... I was fine. My only real mistake was caring about someone and believing he might mean the things he said to me, and what's the fault in that?

I've been rocking socks at work, although that's led to many late nights at the office lately, but I'm totally okay with that. I no longer feel exhausted from being around people all day and need to scamper home at 5 on the dot just to regain my sanity.

There's still some depression, anxiety, feelings of self-doubt, jealousy. This is not a magical solution that will solve all my problems. It is, however, thus far giving me the energy to deal with those issues when they crop up, and seems to be keeping things from dipping quite so low when they dip.

So yay! I know this isn't a fascinating or funny post, but hey, they can't all be amazing, right? Then you'd hate me for being so incredible! Or something..

On a Lighter Note

IM'ing with my boss..

Peanut: I've seen 2 people at this company with shirts off unintentionally and 1 intentionally
Peanut: I think maybe I've reached my quota
Peanut: wait no
Peanut: 4

boss: ha

Peanut: because old_boss wasn't wearing a shirt when he did the Dirty Dash

boss: do I hear a 6?

Peanut: har har
Peanut: the rest have been fired/quit
Peanut: um
Peanut: okay
Peanut: 5

boss: lol

Peanut: shit
Peanut: 6

...and then I heard my boss laugh from across the room.

Quack Quack, Motherfucker

(title is an homage to The Bloggess)

I've been chatting here and there with my ex-husband a bit more frequently lately, and while it's never anything of any real importance, it's kind of nice. First of all, it's a good feeling to know we've somehow managed to regain a semblance of friendship after everything we went through together. And second, it's a reminder to me that once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (please don't sue me, Mr. Lucas), someone loved me. Someone thought I was worth the risk and the effort and that I had something real and valuable to offer him.

The downside to thinking that is that it's made me think about my current state in life. In the almost-decade since our divorce, I can count on one hand the number of men outside of my family who have said "I love you." Hell, I can count on two fingers - one was ridiculously drunk and possibly concussed at the time, and the other listened to AM talk radio and believed in chem trails (if you don't know what those are, oh please do Google them).

I feel like a duck surrounded by swans* (kind of a reverse Ugly Duckling story). You may think I get treated like a duck because I believe I'm a duck - it's a chicken & egg (okay, duck & egg) question. But I think of myself as a swan most of the time. When I start seeing someone new, I believe I'm a swan. I believe that we're good together, that this could work, that I'm worthwhile to him and he can see that. Even the guys who say they aren't ready for a relationship yada yada yada - stupidly, foolishly, I believe that he will see my worth and somehow, my patience and kindness will gradually heal his broken heart and he will realize that I was so wonderful to him and I am so right for him. FAIRY TALES.

Yeah, yeah, I know it's stupid. I'd tell anyone else to run. But that's how earnestly I start out believing I'm a swan.

On Suicide and Shame

I swear I'm not trying to take the easy way out and just give you guys links to things instead of writing actual content, but I have more links for you. I'm gonna write about 'em, though! So this is like a combination post. Hooray!

First link is this book I'm reading with one of those ridiculously long titles involving a colon that lets you know right up front it's kind of a self-help book: I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't): Making the Journey from "What Will People Think?" to "I Am Enough". There is no way to refer to that book that isn't cumbersome (god I hate that song), but I'm giving it a chance anyway.

Normally, I have zero interest in self-help books. They're usually doofy and written by someone who is just pulling pyscho-pop babble out of their ass to make money off sad people. I used to work at a bookstore, and would just boggle at the nutty titles of these things when straightening that section. Really? Some old frosted-blonde lady with 3-inch French tip fingernails is going to tell me how to land a man? Because we're all the same, you know, we women. And men, of course, are all the same, too. There's a formula to finding love/happiness/transcendence/Waldo. Just, um, don't look at that book right next to this one, which gives you a totally different formula, because THIS IS THE ONE. BUY ME.

This one is by an author recommended by Jenny Lawson, a.k.a. The Bloggess. I'm a huge Bloggess fan because she's a great writer who is open about her struggles with anxiety and depression, and approaches the topics with the best sense of humor. She makes these problems accessible to people who don't suffer, while bringing a sense of community and hope to those who do. It's damn awesome, and her book made me laugh so hard I couldn't eat while reading it, so I should probably go ahead and recommend that, too. She's hugely popular right now for this Traveling Red Dress thing she's started, and she also likes to emphasize the idea "depression lies." If you've never suffered from depression, then A. are you old enough to be reading this blog? and B. you probably don't get it. But if you have, even temporary post-sad-event depression, you probably realize that it's SO TRUE. Depression's an asshole that gets all up in your brain bits and lies to you about who you are and what you're worth.

Just a link

I just feel like this is a really important article for anyone who knows anyone to read, maybe especially if you know someone who has been raped (like, you know, me):

http://www.xojane.com/relationships/what-to-say-if-your-best-friend-tells-you-she-was-raped

My First Suicide (Attempt)

I'm feeling pretty warm and fuzzy right now, and that seems like a good time to write about my suicide attempt, as mentioned at the end of my last entry. That sounds depressing, but considering I'm sitting here alive and well and actually feeling pretty good about myself almost 9 years later, I think it's kind of a funny story. Plus I'm a firm believer in sharing my shit so that other people who have been through similar shit can feel comfortable knowing it's okay. They're not alone, it's not a reason for anyone to think less of them, and in my experience it gives you a feeling of power over whatever plagued you to be able to tell the story and laugh about it.

Back when this all went down, I was on Celexa, an anti-depressant. For those who care about my mental issues/medication progress, I'm just finishing up week 3 of Lamictal, and so far I'm really quite liking it. I have so much fucking energy, and today I found out I'd fucked up pretty huge at work - something that would have sent me into a dark spiral of self-doubt, wondering how I'd make ends meet when I was inevitably fired and forced to work at McDonald's - and I just groaned, grumbled, and went about helping to remedy the problems (at which point I fucked up something else, but okay. it's all good because I have the best boss in the world). I know no medication is going to "fix" me, but goddamn do I feel more capable of working on my issues now.

Feeling capable is not something I felt so much back in January of 2004. Quick recap: unemployed, broke as hell, facing divorce, and boyfriend had moved out while I was at work. Got it? Okay.

A Storied Past

Last week, in a super fun fit of self-pity and frustration, I took down this whole blog like a little bitch. Two people noticed, one of whom was my ex-husband. I promised him that if I started this blog back up again (hi!), I would specifically mention that he is "only gay 2 days out of the year." No, I'm not going to give that any context. Just keeping my promises here, people.

So now I'm back in a better head space and I'm thinking how I missed writing, and sure sometimes I get irritated that the things I have to write about are not necessarily happy things - they are mostly stories about how I was treated poorly, how I made bad decisions, how I did something really fucking stupid - but right now I'm thinking, so what? They're still MY stories.

Part of the reason I killed this thing is that I felt like it was turning into more of a LiveJournal situation, which was not what I wanted. I have a paper journal if I want to whine about my life, and hell, I'm pretty sure I still have my LJ account (which I used from 2001 to about 2008ish), somewhere out there in the never-fully-eraseable Internets. I started trying to think of more stories I can tell, and I thought of one! Hooray!

Sometimes I will casually mention in a conversation "the guy who moved out while I was at work one day." This is a thing that happened. And there you go, there's your story.

Maybe This Time

Despite the fact that I know every time I enter a similar situation, I get a similar outcome, I've realized that I can't seem to stop doing it.

There's a hopeless romantic inside of me, and to be honest I'm pretty sure she was dropped on her head as an imaginary inner voice baby, because bitch just does not learn. I look at a situation and I go, "ohhhh. This is bad news. I should not allow my feelings to enter into this." That stupid thing inside me pipes up, at first sort of quiet but soon more insistent, "but... you know... x, y, and z are different this time... so... maaaaybeeeeee..."

Me: You idiot. A, b, and c are the same. It's going to turn out the same. You know it, I know it, everyone fucking knows it!

Inner Voice Twerp: ...okay, but! Science! In an experiment, if you leave a, b, and c the same but change x, y, and z, you can get totally different results! It's FACT! You can't argue with that. You're logical. You can't refute SCIENCE.

Me: ....harrumph.

IVT: Oh come on. These feelings are good! They're happy! And I could be right this time. Just because I've been wrong ... umm... a lot of times before, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't be right this time! It only takes once!

Me: ...That's... true. Hmm. Well... okay...

IVT: HOORAY!!

And let me tell you, that Pollyanna bitch hasn't been right a single damn time yet, and she is never anywhere to be found when the whole thing falls apart at my feet. I suppose that leads to the question of why I bother listening to her. Why I keep jumping back in and trying over and over. Am I like a Don Quixote, charging windmills, completely foolish but kind of admirably brave? Or is this just flat-out idiocy?

Do I listen to my head, or to my heart?

Right now, there's nothing to listen to either way, so it seems like a good time to muse about it... quick, let's talk while the delusional romantic bitch is sleeping!

Would you change history?

I genuinely, 100%, with no reservations wish that I had never met Cowboy. There is not one single thing I can think of that I took from that relationship that was worth what it felt like having it end. Usually if I think in anger, "I wish I'd never [something]," I then think, oh but then I might not have [something rad] - met someone, moved somewhere, done something awesome, etc. With Cowboy, I have no such "oh but" thoughts. We clearly are not going to be friends, we didn't do anything that I hadn't already done, and I didn't meet anyone worth knowing through him. DELETE. ...if only.

Is there anything in your life that you would erase if you could? Obviously there are ripple effects to consider... would you be the same person? would you be where you are now? would you just make the same mistake again?

Irrational Anger and Texas: Surprisingly Unrelated

I've reached that point post-breakup where I'm angry, but I realize I'm being totally irrational. When I break up with someone and I say I'd like to remain friends, I mean it. If I don't want to remain friends, I don't say that. If I'm the dumper, I leave it up to the dumpee, but I do, after a couple of weeks, let that person know, "Hey. I meant it about being friends. Just let me know when you're ready."

If you don't mean that shit, don't say it. I realize it's irrational of me to be angry right now that I haven't heard from Cowboy at all, despite him being the one who, unprompted, told me that he really wanted us to remain friends, and despite him saying he missed me when I drunk-dialed him a couple of weeks ago. I totally understand that most people don't actually mean those things. They say them out of guilt or in a desperate attempt to soften the blow. I know this. I also know that even if he did mean it at the time, perhaps he's changed his mind. Or perhaps he's thinking he should wait a while longer before contacting me. I KNOW THIS. But I'm still angry.

Again, let me stress that I know I'm being irrational. But not even getting a simple, "how are you?" text makes me feel forgotten, lied to, used. It makes me feel like all the lovely stuff he told me when we were together was a steaming pile of shit and really, he was just using me as fun and games to distract and amuse himself after his breakup. I find that is often my role in the dating world, and despite telling him this up front and expressing my concern that I would be a post-breakup fling, and his assurances that this was not so, that he was over it, that he was super duper into me, et cetera, et cetera, my sweet old et cetera... it was once again my role. Not even attempting to stay in touch just seems to drive that home. That all the things he said during the breakup were just spawned from his guilt over the fact that he had, in fact, only wanted me for fun.

That's where I'm at right now. Not terribly pleasant, but so it goes. It's been almost 3 weeks since my heart and my hope were both once again shattered by some guy who came along and made me believe when I'd given up on believing, and every time, friends, it gets harder to deal with. This guy was particularly convincing, and I do think he's "one of the good guys" and at some point, however brief, he really did care about me. I was ridiculously happy for a minute, so it's taking me longer than I'd like to get past it. GOOD TIMES ALL AROUND, GANG.

But that's sad and mopey and my heart is still disgustingly broken over the whole thing (what the eff, me? get better already!) so let's talk about Texas instead! Because I went there! Hooray!

my love life is a broken record

Peanut: i think she, like everyone else around me, is just kind of tired of the whole thing  
Peanut: being heartbroken is pretty boring to other people :P  
Peanut: "what are you up to?" "crying." "how are you doing today?" "miserable." "do you want to do [insert anything here]?" "no, i hate everything."  

Poco: I don't think it's boring, it's sad  

Peanut: it's a bit monotonous

Poco: I'm sure your friends sympathize  

Peanut: i guess. to most people it's weird that it's hurting me so much since we only dated about 2 1/2 mos  

Poco: connections happen fast sometimes

Peanut: but i just feel so hopeless and worthless and betrayed... it's a culmination of ALL the times this sort of thing has happened to me, and how i'd just given up so it wouldn't happen again, and then i met him and had hope and it got squooshed again so i feel stupid for believing anything  

Poco: :(

Peanut: and how i knew going in that it was a possibility bc i knew about the relationship and the recent breakup  
Peanut: and i did it anyway, thinking maybe this would be the time it would be different  
Peanut: but no  
Peanut: it was the same

Requesting Good JuJu

Once upon a time, what feels like a billion years ago, I was friends with this guy D. He worked with some neat people, and one day he invited me to a Saturday brunch with some of these people. They were lovely, pleasant folks, and I connected with a few of them on Facebook afterward.

One of them I've seen a few times since - he came to my birthday celebration, I went to his, I've done some cat-sitting for him; another I haven't seen at all since our meeting; and the third I believe I saw once more, at some kind of company event of theirs - but I'm not actually sure, because I was ridiculously drunk at this particular event. I'm still embarrassed remembering it.

Then one day earlier this year, the third girl invited pretty much every single person she knew on Facebook to her 30th birthday party. It looked like a pretty fun event and I'd get to dress up all cute. I had nothing else going on that night and I figured I might meet some cute guys, even though as we all probably remember, shortly after this year began I basically gave up on dating because fuck that noise. I just kind of wanted to dress up and go flirting. Off I went, said hello to the birthday girl, and then found myself sitting with another girl about my age and a few guys, making small talk.

After a while, I got bored (small talk and I do not get along) and stood off to the side. The other girl in the group and I began chatting and somehow got on the topic of dating. I, of course, rolled my eyes and grumbled about how dating in this city is REALLY fucking difficult and how I have decided not to do it anymore. She agreed enthusiastically (about the difficult part, not the "fuck this" part), and we bonded. By the end of the night I'd introduced her to a ridiculously tall fellow and I had a somewhat shorter guy talking with me, but we kept reconnecting with one another, and before she left she promised to find me on Facebook. She did, and then I did a very un-me-like thing and sent her a message suggesting we meet for lunch some day during the week. A few lunches and nights out later, I'm happy to say I feel like we're pretty good friends and I'm well on my way to feeling like I can really trust her. She's the one who was with me the night I found the coconut.

Don't Push Your Peener on Me

I'm running into a problem lately.

Here's my thing: when I'm in social situations and I get uncomfortable, I blurt things out, I ramble, I generally get panicky and say stupid things. And when am I uncomfortable in social situations? Almost always. No joke. So then I announce, "Ducks have corkscrew penises!" which inevitably leads to me explaining how barnacles have the largest peens, as far as peen size:body size ratio goes, and this is because hey! Barnacles don't move much! This way the boy barnies can just reach over to a girl barney with their peener and go *waggle waggle* (which is weiner-speak for "Hey baby, come here often? WANT TO?") and then sexing happens with minimal effort on the parts of both barnacles, except the part that is the reaching, searching, traveling peen.

There, see? I talk about stuff like that, because it's funny to me, but really, not terribly appropriate. Especially if I've just met you. "Hi. Nice to meet you. Um. So did you know that ducks are rapists?" This is why I don't get invited back to people's houses very much. Lovely low-key party? Don't invite this girl, unless you get a kick out of seeing all your other guests become wildly uncomfortable.

Where am I going with this? Well, I suppose it results in two problems, actually. One, I don't get invited to things. Which is probably fine, since I panic and feel anxious almost the entire time I'm there, anyway, and wish I'd stayed at home with a book instead. But two, and the one I really want to get into, is that people - and here I mean DUDES - think it's okay to bring up suggestive things to me on a regular basis.

Yeah, okay, I talk about peens. But you know what? Corkscrew duck wangs and blind waggling barnacle beacons are pretty de-sexualized. That is not me saying, "Your turn! Tell me about your personal, private peener now!" And it is certainly not me saying, "Please make eyes at me every time we talk and make sexual comments to make it very clear that you want to be in my pants at some time in the near future."

First of all, does that work? Ever? Just randomly blurting to your female friend something suggestive? Does she ever go, "Oh my god, I didn't know you wanted to bonk me! Let's go!"? (the punctuation in that is weird, and wrong, but I am standing by it, because I'm a rebel.)

Second of all, I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because it happens to me a lot, and it NEVER fails to make me uncomfortable, and I wondered, is sexual harassment just a workplace thing? And I don't think it is.

Sexually suggestive remarks/actions that are unwelcome make me uncomfortable. If I do not respond in kind the first time, don't fucking keep doing it. Also you should probably find a better way to hit on women, because there's a really fucking high chance that it will not work, and now you've made me feel awkward around you forever.

Maybe this isn't true for all women. But the guys that do this to me are guys who know me, and thus should know that if I wanted to have anything at all to do with their nether regions, I would have made that pretty clear right away. And really, I know it's me and I know everyone thinks I'm just this raging boner-loving slut machine who is perfectly happy to jump in the sack with anyone who smiles at me, but NEWSFLASH: that is not me. I enjoy flirting. It's fun, it's light, and it doesn't have to lead anywhere, and I love that. But flirting does not mean telling me I have big boobs, or suggesting that I want to hump [you/him/anyone], or asking about my masturbation habits.

Why don't I just tell these guys to go fuck themselves and leave me out of the whole process and NO, I don't want to hear about it later? Because when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, I feel helpless. Throw me a fucking life preserver, because I'm flailing out here, and I'm not as strong as I pretend to be. This was proven to me in a big, scary way just recently. I'm not sure why, but I can grab some convenient pop psychology to pretend to guess at it and say maybe it's because I was raised with a very strong sense of male authority and female subservience, and no matter how much I may logically disagree with that notion, things sort of get ingrained in you during your formative years and they're difficult to scour off. Plus I always wonder if I'm overreacting, because I do that.

SO. I hope that what you have taken away from this post is that barnacles have ginormously long dongs, and I hope that you're wondering, like me, how the hell the great traveling penis even knows it's reached a lady barnacle. Does a barnacle penis also have eyes so it knows where it's going? What if he bumps it into something that vaguely feels lady-barnacle-like and ends up raping an oyster? I feel like that would just turn out badly for both parties. Or would it turn out great for evolution?

Teaser

Peanut: I drew a bunny on a midget.

Genie: I'm going to need more info

Peanut: nah, I thought I'd just leave it like that.

I brought this on myself

As I mentioned recently, I've reactivated my OKC account. I'm still using it for people watching - not sending messages, not responding to messages. I even changed my profile so that it's completely ridiculous, just to have fun with it. I figured I'd get some really funny guys in with the super creepos that I am now pretty much inviting to my inbox.

Basically I rambled about the game Draw Something and how my friends and I draw penises in almost every round and how I find that completely hilarious. At another point, I talk about pooping. It's just me being as outlandish as I am, and not giving a shit if anyone cares to try to flirt with me because again: no dating for Peanut.

Not surprisingly, I'm getting some interesting messages.

"You're a weirdass motherfucker. Interesting though. Good job ;o"

"What is a Golem penis? This seems like crucial information I should know, as my people did invent the Golem." (oh... um... so I know the character in LotR is spelled "Gollum," but my friend was drawing "Golem" for me and either didn't know the difference or just thought this would be easier to guess/draw, so he drew a penis Gollum. the word was Golem. So on my profile I probably should have spelled it right, but in my defense I filled out the new profile while stoned. Either way. Points to me for confusing someone, I guess.)

Several messages saying how I'm really funny/hilarious and then attempting to join in on the humor by saying something about penises, poop, or boobs, but not actually managing to be funny at all. One guy sent me a long joke about old guys and technology that ended with one of the old dudes walking around with toilet paper hanging out of his ass, so that was at least effort, but mostly just weird because the first 2 old guys had phones embedded in their flesh so, you know... WHAT.

"Your profile cracked me up! Doing stand up yet?" Yep. It's all about peens. And I sit down while I do it. Because I'm pooping.

"Hello Hello Hello Hello Hello!!! .... A lot of people often comment that by just sending that to someone isn't enough to catch attention warranting a response. Obviously my ingenius fix to this is to type it six times instead of once. Hello!"

And then I got 2 in a row asking me if penis size matters. Even stranger: both guys who sent me messages asking that are from Las Vegas, and one of them has now deleted his profile. OKC TROLLS! I have opened my virtual door to them, I suppose.

Desk: Redux. Redexsk?

That's hard to say... redex-sk. But fun!

Right, so. A while back - I think a few months now, but I'm not sure - Desk was back at my office, building more desks with his company. I honestly didn't know they were here and went up to talk to the receptionist about something, and saw him. Almost didn't recognize him because he was wearing a hat and had grown quite the face full of beard, but he waved and smiled sort of shyly at me and it clicked.

The weird part is how long it took me to realize it was the insane amounts of facial hair that made me not recognize him, not the hat. He was very clean-shaven when we dated, and now he was a fuckin' mountain man, but yeah... that ballcap REALLY changes everything.

Later that night, or maybe the next, I was at the grocery store. I was feeling a little... lonely? nostalgic? forgiving? All those things, I suppose. So I sent him a text asking if he'd like to grab a drink sometime and catch up. I honestly didn't have any ulterior motives - as amazing as we were in bed together, I didn't want to go back to that. Especially not with the mountain-man-thing going on. Oh, yeah, and the whole really awful email thing, too.

Anyway, he texted back saying he was pleasantly surprised by my offer, but that he was planning to move to Portland in just a couple of weeks, so was a bit overwhelmed with planning and packing and such. We text-chatted a little back and forth that evening, and that was it.

Until yesterday.

I came home to a coconut

I don't think I wrote about it here, but back in February, I got a delivery of flowers at the office. There was a lovely note attached, reading:

Happy Valentine's Day!
[Peanut], you are a super lovely, super geeky, super sexy and an absolutely bad-ass one-of-a-kind girl!!!
I hope these flowers will bring at least a little of the happiness and sunshine into your day that you brought into my life.
From, Your Secret Admirer

 I'll admit, my first reaction was anger. I'd told my boss the day before that if anyone tried to treat this day as anything other than a regular Tuesday, I was going home. I knew these were pity flowers. Some friend of mine felt bad for poor, single, lonely me on this stupid over-hyped couples-centric day, and thought this would make me feel better. I even accused my boss, because he is regularly trying to bolster my confidence and self-esteem (to no avail, but I guess it's nice he tries). He denied it up, down, and sideways, and finally I was pretty sure I believed him.

My list of suspects was pretty short - I'm not close to many people. And I was totally baffled until I realized I've listed my workplace on Facebook, and anyone with half a brain cell could easily look up the address. I finally had one girl at the top of my suspects list, a girl who is sweet and thoughtful and always trying to cheer people up. Feeling ashamed of my earlier anger, and grateful that anyone cared about me enough to think of trying to cheer me up, I sent her a message saying if it was her, thank you. She neither confirmed nor denied, but I went on with my life thinking I'd figured it out. As another friend said cryptically on Facebook, "the exclamation points give it away."

Then, last Friday, which was Friday the 13th if that matters, I got a coconut.

Who Am I??

Recently, I did pretty much the most un-me-like thing ever.

I met a cute, funny, smart guy... and when he walked me home...

...I did nothing.

I volunteered at a neighborhood beer tasting event, and toward the end of the shift, my friend had to rush off to some other events. That left me to drink at this event alone. There weren't a lot of cider options, what with this being a beer tasting event, so after a couple of visits to each, I felt pretty tipsy and bored. I decided the night was still young, so I wandered over to my usual bar.

Normally, this bar isn't too crowded, but this Saturday night it was pretty packed. So much for my idea of sitting at the bar, chatting with the ladies on shift. Walking up to order, I saw one of the awesome-but-no-spark guys that I'd been on a few dates with earlier this year. He was with a girl, and though we've remained friendly, I just couldn't abide the idea of skulking around the bar alone, looking friendless, while this guy was here on a date.

This part of the story is typical me, so I guess I'm not totally broken. I spotted a couple of attractive guys standing in the corner chatting, and I walked up to them and put my drink on their table. "Hi, my friend left me so I'm drinking alone and there's a guy over there that I used to date so I don't want to look like a loser so will you guys be my friends?"

Guys: *blink blink*

One of them (the one I thought was cuter) said, "Wait... so... you're not dating him anymore, right?"

Me: "Noooo."

Him: *looks around* "There's a table over there. Let's grab it."

For the next couple of hours, these guys totally entertained me. There were bear jokes, Latvian jokes, stories and good times. They were just really great guys. Super nice, friendly, funny, smart. After a while, we all wandered outside. D was driving home, and Josh (the cute one and yes that's his real name) geared up and unlocked his bike. Then he said to me, "you said you live up the hill, right? I'll walk you home."

So he walked his bike and me up the hill. He said he's applying to grad school for English Lit, and I learned that fishermen (yeah, he's one) hate loggers, and just in general it was completely pleasant. I was a bit hoarse from being sick and coughing a lot the previous week, and having to practically yell at the bar for over 2 hours (holy crap that bar is so fucking loud). Add to that, my apartment was messy, he had his bike, and I hadn't shaved my legs or done any landscaping recently, and you've got reasons for even me to not invite a guy up.

There we are, standing at the corner outside my apartment building, laughing about loggers and joking about how scary I am, and I... panicked, I guess. I knew I wasn't inviting him up, but for some reason it didn't enter my fairly drunk and clearly stupid brain to say "hey, let's hang out again!" Nope. I said, "Welp, thanks for letting me hang out with you guys. Ride safe!" and I kind of bapped his bicycle seat with my rolled up volunteer t-shirt. Then I turned and went up the stairs to my apartment.

Ride safe. *bap*

RIDE SAFE.

*bap*

Seriously?? If I had said "That was fun now go away" I couldn't have more clearly given this guy exactly the opposite impression about what I wanted from him. THIS IS SO NOT ME.

I assessed what I knew: Josh. Fisherman. In the off-season, he does... something... at UW. I think. The fact that I can't remember what he does there makes me doubt my memory of that statement at all. I'm 85% sure he works there when he's not in Alaska, though. Doing... you know... something. I know the neighborhood he lives in, and I know he has a bike. None of that is even remotely enough to even find the guy on Facebook.

Oh, and he can lick his own elbow. Go ahead, try it. You know you want to. And I bet you won't even get close. And no, that's still not helpful.

Clearly I'm the victim of a case of body-snatching. That is the only explanation I can come up with for acting this way. You don't even have to know me for very long to know that this is not normal behavior for me! AUGH. 2012, you are just really not being nice to me in the boy department! What have I done? What can I do to appease you, 2012??

By the way... if by some weird chance someone reading this knows or thinks they might know this guy... for the love of [insert something you love the mostest here], DO NOT TELL HIM ABOUT THIS OH GOD I WOULD HATE YOU SO MUCH.

PS thanks to all my friends who have listened to me obsess and indulged me this last week or so about The Fisherman. I promise I'm giving up on ever seeing him again and I will find something new to obsess about any minute... (giving this post the "stalker" label because I might have maybe gone back to the bar a few times hoping he'd be there again, so I was a little bit of a stalker. Then I realized I really don't like drinking that much and I was being dumb, so I stopped. But still. Gotta be honest.)

OKC, I didn't really miss you

I re-activated my OkCupid account the other night out of sheer boredom.

1. I'm well aware I'm in no place mentally or emotionally to be dating
2. I've accepted that I'm not keen on the idea of meeting someone via the interwebz
3. I don't have a number 3 but my list looked sad with only 2

All that safely in my noggin, I realized I missed browsing the site. It's like people-watching from the comfort of my couch! It's just weirdly fascinating and so, here I am again. And just now as I was browsing about, enjoying witty profiles, cringing at sad ones, I got a new message. Eh?

*click*

Do you like to laugh?

You are so good looking that I would let you do anything to me, even make me look ridiculous, just to see you smile.

Have any ideas? lol

Presented to you here without comment. But... you know... heeee. I lied. I can't not comment just a little bit! These guys EXIST. And they're IN MY CITY. And I am thus reminded why it is so much better for me to remain single for the foreseeable future. Thanks, random OKC dude!  (though he is of course totally normal compared to this guy...)

Hello? Is this thing on?

I almost forgot about this thing! I got off track for a minute there, but here I am! I'm back! Exclamations!

2012 has been slow as far as fodder for stories goes. Let's see if I can sum it all up for you!

-Had a few dates with a guy who started out very promising: cute, smart, photographer, my age, GREAT kisser. Lots of fooling around and good times in that arena, but no actual sex - he had some weird hang-ups. He also, as it turned out, was still in love with his ex-girlfriend, and also kind of boring once he gave up drinking. I called it after 5 dates, pointing out that I was not, in fact, who he wanted to be with (that being his ex), and he agreed (he was very open about actively seeking other dates on OKC the whole time we were dating as well). He does get points for brutal honesty throughout the entire dating period. The 5th date was the one on which this happened:

He mentions his ex (certainly not the first time)
Me: "Are you in touch with [ex]?"
Him: "Yeah, that's who I was Skyping with this morning."
Me: "Are you still in love with her?"
Him: *no hesitation* "Yes. I suppose if I were to call it a day with anyone, it'd be her."
Me: "...so... why did you two break up?"
Him: "Because that's a terrifying concept!"

-Had a few really awesome dates with a fantastically funny, sweet, attentive, smart attractive guy, with whom I felt absolutely zero spark. Big ol' sadface there. Super awkward telling him that, too. Recently noticed he's no longer active on OKC, so hopefully that means he found someone. Really PO'd that my brain and my bod didn't agree on that one.

-Had a few pretty great dates with another really funny, sweet, attentive, smart, attractive guy... same story. No spark. *grumble* Really hoping we can stay friends, but leaving that up to him.

-Went on one date with the gayest straight man ever. He skipped. He giggled. He commented on my "lovely" scarf. He did pretty much everything you'd expect your faaabulous flaming gay guy friend to do, except for the part where he kissed me at the end of the night (and the kiss? yeah, that part was SO not gay). Despite the pretty good kissing, I just couldn't deal. When he said he wanted to come over for "a movie and cuddles," I had to end things. Am I a horrible person? Maybe. But I find that when I'm with effeminate men, I act the way I do when I'm with women: butch. I had roommates who called me "boyfriend." If I'm dating a guy, I want to be the girly one.

-Fell madly, wildly in love with a total stranger in Austin, by which I mean I never learned his name but obsessed about him for 3 days and am still kicking myself a little bit for not flirting better when I met him (and then fumbling the whole thing even more when I got a second chance). Yeah, I obsess. WHAT OF IT.

-Oh yeah, and had a new personal low in the sexy times department.

Teen ANGST

I'm pretty sure at this point, I have maybe one or two readers, so I'm going to continue to post for myself all willy-nilly. Today I'm digging through my old poems again, and came across two Firsts:

-First time I admitted to myself that I am bisexual (although it's clear from the poem that I was still resisting a little)
-First time I admitted to myself that I was seriously depressed

I'm posting the second one here; maybe I'll do the other one later.

Background: I've been dealing with depression and serious self-esteem issues for as long as I can remember. I'm not even kidding; I recall being self-conscious and self-loathing as far back as my single-digit years. This poem was written either in late high school or early college... I know because it was put into my college literary-art magazine in 1998, which would have been my freshman year.

I wrote this at home, at my kitchen table. I'd been making macaroni and cheese (shout out to Kraft!), and was sullenly watching the water boil. Back then, I wouldn't so much write poems and they would write themselves in my head, and I would dutifully commit them to paper. My brain doesn't really do that anymore, which is kind of sad.

ANYWAY

here is the depressing suicidal poem that I wrote. I'm not including the title because I "cleverly" titled it my own first name (on the off chance anyone reading this doesn't actually know me, I go by my middle name, so it was a semi-sneaky way of saying HEY THIS IS ABOUT ME OKAY).

the coarse dark waves
forced roughly over her pale smooth skin
filled with treacherous wrath.
They say it's like going to sleep.
she was so tired.
her eyes closed slowly
 redly veiling the inky dark blueness
as it rapidly blackened.
she opened her mouth
breathing in death as easily as life.
it tasted so awful.
her eyes flew open and were immediately violated
    by salty frustration.
before,
 she was making the choice.
now,
 the decision was snatched away
as her mind overturned and she struggled
  to go back.
I want to go back!
and midnight fell firmly about her.

Average Day

Just another regular run-of-the-mill workday conversation for me.

Peanut: been there, done that

T-Pants: if you say so...
T-Pants: :)

Peanut: puh-lease. what haven't I done, T-Pants? what HAVEN'T I done?

T-Pants: hmm
T-Pants: I can't think of anything
T-Pants: just people
T-Pants: and perhaps places

Peanut: haha
Peanut: yep
Peanut: oh and animals
Peanut: I have never done an animal
Peanut: and never will

T-Pants: !

Peanut: because: ew

T-Pants: amen

Peanut: I'm sorry but I must draw the line somewhere
Peanut: and it is at fur

T-Pants: :)

Peanut: actually, having been friends with a polyamorous kinky person who worked at a sex toy shop, I've learned that there is a TON of stuff I haven't done
Peanut: but I am okay with all of that

T-Pants: hahaha

Peanut: I don't know about you but I don't feel any particular drive to try out a butt plug

T-Pants: Some people love em

Peanut: and that is fine for them
Peanut: I don't feel my butt needs plugging though
Peanut: that's along the same lines as how I don't like when the dude sticks his finger up there

T-Pants: yeah
T-Pants: I feel like a girl really has to ask me to do that
T-Pants: Peanut
T-Pants: here I am
T-Pants: trying to program
T-Pants: trying to drag this project across the line
T-Pants: and now I am thinking about butt plugs and sexy times

Peanut: hooray! I have done my job.

Sexual Harassment

Peanut: apparently i got a decent enough grasp on the last thing they threw at me, so today i get something new  
Peanut: and  
Peanut: my trainer is the guy i slept with a year and a half ago  
Peanut: so it's always awkward when we have to work together

Mrs. H: oh boy  
Mrs. H: well  
Mrs. H: good luck with that  

Peanut: and it takes all my self control not to blurt out "hey remember that time you saw my boobs??"  
Peanut: bc i think it would be hilarious
Peanut: but no  
Peanut: must work  
Peanut: and be professionalish 


Mrs. H: Focus on the Robo-bobcats  
Mrs. H: and work  


Peanut: but his reaction would be AMAZING
Peanut: he would collapse into a puddle of awkward embarrassed goooooo  

Mrs. H: haha  
Mrs. H: resist the temptation  

Peanut: and i'd poke him and sing "iiiiii saw you naaaaaaked, iiiiiiiii saw you naaaaaaaaaked"
Peanut: not a good idea?  

Mrs. H: Well, sure it would be hilarious  
Mrs. H: but the harassment suit would be over so fast  
Mrs. H: and you aren't rich - they'd take your cat  

Peanut: we are in the midst of company-wide sexual harassment training  
Peanut: so it's probably poor timing
Peanut: I knew I should've done it when I first got promoted to this team  
Peanut: or!  
Peanut: i could say i did it as a skit
Peanut: What Not To Do  
Peanut: it's part of the training!  
Peanut: 1. don't sleep with coworkers, 2. don't tease them about it later  

Mrs. H: while Goo Boy just lays there in a puddle of awkwardness  

Peanut: he's shy already so it's possible he'd explode outright  
Peanut: and then who would be left to sue me?  

Mrs. H: his family?
Mrs. H: and they would probably get extra  

Peanut: pfft  

Mrs. H: "Embarrassment induced explosion" is likely to get the sympathy of the jury

Kickin it Old School

I have a treat for you! Okay, either a treat or torture, depending on your viewpoint, but either way: yay stuff!

There was a hacking incident at my real website's host, and I had to change my FTP password. When I logged into the FTP to test it, I realized I hadn't looked at this shit in years. Guys! Guys! My old poetry is still on there! That's right, poetry from high school and college. Stuff that was published (in the school literary art magazines BUT STILL).

So what I want to do is share some of those, and tell the stories behind them! Woo! Are you super excited? ARE YOU? Because I can promise you that I was SUUUUUUUUper emo back then. I mean, I still am, but back then I was all HERE IS MY EMOTION ON PAPER FOR ALL TO SEEEEEE and then I would run and hide and act like I didn't have anything to do with it once someone was actually reading it. But man... I felt shit. DEEP.

BAM. Poem number one is a gem that I wrote my senior year of high school, which was published in the college lit-art mag my freshman year (1998, oh god I feel old).

Chin Up, Old Chap!

I just wanted to do a quick post since my last one was so dark and dreary and pathetic and all those other sad adjectives. Work's been rough lately, the weather's been miserable, and little things just really take their toll on me sometimes. Saying I accept I may never have a real relationship again is one thing; really accepting it in both mind and heart is another altogether. Everything combined just led me to a really ridiculously shitty couple of days.

The good news is that the more I accept things, the less miserable I am. At this point, I've accepted my current situation as a fun, casual something-or-other, and I will just have to keep trying to learn more at work so it won't be so difficult. I can't do a damn thing about the weather, sadly, but winter always treats me like its little bitch, so I should be used to it by now!

In other news, can we please talk about pheromones? Do you ever kiss someone because you like being around him/her and you think there should probably be Something there, even though you don't feel any sexual tension when you're hanging out? It's a mad disappointment. Really nice, attractive, hilarious, easy to talk to, easy to be with, great date planner, sweet, attentive, totally into me, smart... but I just didn't feel any need to be touching him. We kissed, and it just felt like lips smooshing lips. I could smell his face and that just made it even weirder. He wasn't a bad kisser, but I may as well have been making out with my own hand for all I felt. Telling someone who is in every other way totally awesome that you simply don't feel a spark is SO. AWKWARD. And trust me, trying to continue dating someone that you've realized you have no interest even kissing, not to mention humping, is awful.

Why doesn't this happen in the movies? In the movies, the first kiss scene almost always cuts to a bed scene, either steamy or post-steamy. No matter the circumstances of the two parties getting together, there's never a weird "Oh. Huh. So turns out there's no spark. Sorry" moment following the first kiss. It's always fireworks and pounding hearts and pulsing sexy parts for both people.

Why do some people make your loins tingle even if you're just thinking about them, even if they're probably wrong for you in most other ways? Why do these mysterious little scientific bits called pheromones have so much power over us? Is that what settling means? Settling for someone who is good in every other way, but just doesn't get your passions roaring? Is it selfish of me to want it all?

Things I'm accepting: it is entirely possible I will not ever be in a real, loving relationship again in my life. This is a truth for a lot of people, and I may be one of them. I realize 32 isn't exactly old maid spinster cutoff age, but I feel like if I just go ahead and accept the possibility this may be my life, it will much easier to deal with getting there. Already it has helped me calm down about my current dating situation, and be okay with a very casual situation that is not likely to lead to anything serious, ever. Why can't I just have some fun and occasional companionship along the way? Even if it does mean sometimes having awkward conversations about missing chemistry... when the chemistry is in my favor, I'm gonna enjoy it. Something inside me decided sometime in the last year that I really wanted a relationship, something real, something lasting, etc etc. But you know what, sometimes you just gotta tell your own self to shut it.

Now go forth, and spend entirely too long thinking about the mechanics of kissing, because holy shit guys that is a REALLY weird thing to be doing with your mouth, especially without any sexy stirrings to go along with it.

A Summary

I keep wanting to post something funny, or meaningful, or at least sort of entertaining, but the only thing rolling around my head is "everything hurts." I want to express myself, put what I'm feeling into words, give this monster a face so I can fight it, but again: all I seem to be able to say is "everything hurts." I'm like a 4 year old unable to stop crying and point out the owies after tumbling ass-over-ears down a rocky hillside for what feels like years. What hurts? Your tummy? Your knee? Your head? Everything. Everything hurts.

Yep, that awful depression from October has swung back by. I don't want to see people, I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to do a damn thing. All my energy is being used up trying to avoid thoughts of ... well, that bad dark stuff that nobody is supposed to talk about but that everyone who has ever suffered from genuine depression is all too familiar with. My only comfort at the moment is that I know I'm strong enough to keep fighting that off until this passes. The downside is that I'm slowly losing the strength to do anything but that.

These snow/ice days keeping me from making it in to the office have been a blessing for me. And now a weekend with no plans looms, and I couldn't be more relieved. Feeling like a total failure at pretty much every single aspect of life is exhausting, and if there's one thing I know I can succeed at, it's wasting a whole lot of time without ever leaving my home. Weekend? Let's succeed at THAT.

Texts From Last Night: My Version

Pretty high, pretty drunk. Decided to text with Hedgehog.

Me: I an clearly not relationship potential & that's not gonna change so I give up  
Me: Am  
Me: I still see typos  

Hedgehog: Of course you see typos. You're you.  

Me: Up  
Me: I give
Me: On things  
Me: It's sprinkling on my phone  

Hedgehog: Booooo. Don't. Giving up is a horrible idea.  

Me: Sprinkle sprinkle  
Me: Giving! Up ¡  

Hedgehog: ???  

Me: $pr1nk73
Me: I want a cheeseburger  

Hedgehog: You are really fucked up, aren't you? :)  

Me: I an walking home & finding it funny  
Me: Am  
Me: And funding my reality funny  
Me: Single forever? That's hilarious!!
Me: Raaaaaaain on my phone? SO FUNNY  

Hedgehog: Hee  
Hedgehog: Yeah, I laugh every day  

Me: The weird SPRINLE
Me: Hsaaaaaa  

Hedgehog: Wow.

Me: Sprinkle!!! Am I sucky? Okay. I meant "right" but that one is toooo funny to fix.
Me: Laughing so hard am cryin fc  

Hedgehog: True. I'm saving all these, so you know.

Me: Weird. Sprinle.  
Me: Heeeeeee

And then I got home and passed out pretty much immediately.

The Maze Theory

Something is bugging me, and I'm bugging my friends. Solution? Blog about it! Get it out of my head and onto the interwebz and hope that lets my brain calm down (being an obsessive type is pretty exhausting) and move on and not fuck me over.

I'm going to paint you a picture. If a picture is worth a thousand words, does that mean it's going to take me a thousand words to describe this? Jeez, I hope not.

Have you seen Labyrinth? If not, you should probably just stop reading right now and go watch it, because WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? If you are old enough to be reading this blog, you are old enough to have Labyrinth be part of your required childhood movie-watching curriculum! I mean, COME ON. You totally get to see David Bowie's junk (through spandex), and it's sort of amazing. Plus there are bits of the movie (not THOSE bits) that are completely terrifying to a young child and they just don't do that to kids anymore (seriously, remember The Dark Crystal? Holy fuck).

Okay, you've seen the movie now? You're ready? The whole premise of the movie - and if you're lazy or stubborn and still haven't seen it, don't worry, I'm pretty sure this is not a spoiler - is that a young girl is trapped in a giant maze. It's been a while, but I remember it being made largely of huge hedges. This is important. This is the picture I want you to have in your head: a massive maze made of huge hedges. (Let's take a second to appreciate that alliteration.)

Vaginal Party Tricks

Aussie: I've seen things Peanut..... in Thailand
Aussie: scary things

Peanut: ooo tell me tell me

Genie: !!!
Genie: what kinds of things

2011: Sex, Dating, and Still Single

Early January is the time when bloggers do their "year in review" sorts of posts. Considering the core nature of my blog, I figured I'd do a sex/dating year in review. ARE YOU SHOCKED?

Let's see... I rang in 2011 at my usual bar, with a guy I barely knew and his cousins. I think one of the cousins was flirting with me a little, and I made a point of tooting my paper horn at midnight so he wouldn't get any kissy-face ideas. It's been a few years now since I've had someone with whom to share that traditional midnight smooch, and the last guy barely counts because it turns out he'd already mentally and emotionally checked out of our relationship by that time.

Somewhere in late-ish January, I went to the opening of a new bar in my 'hood, and made friends with a cutie patootie sitting by me. Once again, I know, you're SHOCKED. He walked me home that night, and we started hanging out. We also texted a little and even talked on the phone (okay, now you might actually be shocked without the sarcasm, because I? I hate talking on the phone). Genie and I called him "Iron Man" because he biked everywhere and played soccer, and had thighs of adamantium (he and I discussed it... they were not thighs of steel, no... they were much cooler). We had loads of fun together and I really liked him and he seemed to quite like me as well... except... he's number 7. He really was a busy dude, what with 2 jobs, soccer, and partial custody of his toddler son, but come ON. Even after he lost one job and stopped playing soccer, still no time? After a while, I got fed up and stopped responding to his late-night texts, which I'd realized were booty calls, and things petered out.

Hee. Peter.

We've IM'ed a few times since then as friends, but have not seen each other since before my vacation in March. Iron Man is an okay guy, just young and confused and all wrong for me.