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?