And Delusional

Did I talk to you about the guy I thought I was dating earlier this year? I'm pretty sure I have 7 rough drafts making fun of the situation that I stopped because I just became that whiny girl that was trying to be cool and funny about how I got my first dick pic.  And it basically ended with an, "Awww!" and "That girl should get a tele-novella".  The problem isn't that I don't enjoy laughing at myself.  I do it all the time.  It was just one of those stories that I couldn't just tell without playing the victim. And I hate victim stories (good luck with the next two Hunger Games movies - bitch gets real annoying, real fast). Sorry for the spoilers.  Ha! No, I'm not.  And that comes to my post tonight.  I don't know what the fuck crawled into my deep, black, rich coffee this winter (what can I say, I like my coffee like I like my men...unsoiled).  I think I was feeling the pressures of being in my thirties and enjoying the fuck out of life.  I need to settle down, right? So I go and start sexting a 23 year old.  Perfectly legitimate response.  Only he has his life together more than I do. He had an awesome job, owns his own house, and is nice to his family.  Except I was being used (I know right!?! A chubby girl first).  Which would have been cool, except this dummy always made me feel like Pretty Woman but without Richard Gere.  No girl wants to deal with Stucky, dumb ass! After making all of the dumb girl mistakes of not hanging out or meeting new people because I was in an "it's complicated" situation (hello, red flag!) for way longer than I would like to admit, I cut off ties with this selfish bozoo. I spent several days listening to Bruno Mars "If I Was Your Man" on repeat.  I think in some f-ed up way I just wanted someone in my past to feel this way about me.  I mean after years of crazy self esteem issues, I finally am in a place where I love myself.  I'm kind of a bad ass. But then the more I think about me and my past, I have no regrets. And I don't want to be some one's regret.  I want them to have learned something from having me in their life.  I don't want to be a constant torment.  And I want to release those that have crossed my path.  It just wasn't meant to be at the time.  And life is full of crazy curve balls.  Who knows who might just get thrown back into your batters box.  What I take from the song now is treat people well.  I'm enjoying this beautiful life.  And I would like to someday say I actually let down all of my ridiculously placed walls and just loved.  Even the stupid painful moments.  Because it's all crazy and it should be fun.  No regrets.

But a great song:
http://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

And Phallic

Dating.  Daunting at best. It has never been my strong suit. I'd never really considered being independent as a bad thing until a few years ago and I heard some psycho-babble describing personality types.  There were the usual suspects - co-dependent, sadist, masochist, controlling, and needy (shudder) - and then they described the "independent to a fault".  And I realized I had a problem.  You know I am carrying 72 bags of groceries and someone politely asks if I need help, my first response is "No! I don't need help, I need more arms!".  Okay, not that bad, but I have trouble letting people in.  If someone gets remotely close, I brick up the walls. My personal goal over the last three years has to been actually try dating.  Not bar hook-ups or one night stands (I might have minored in those in college), but hey let's go out and get to know each other type dates.  I have no practice in this area of my life at all.  I'm great at making new friends or talking to the strangest people I can find, but dating - no bueno.  I think the small talk awkwardness is just a little too much to bear.  At my age, it's a little embarrassing to try to navigate.  Throw in our technological world where everyone communicates through text, email, Facebook, etc., and I am an outright disaster. Throw in my fucked up sense of humor that does not translate via text unless you know me and we have a recipe for a reality show. Add in the craziest part of modern dating: The Dick Pic.  And while I find it insanely funny, I don't get it. What are you supposed to do with a picture of a penis besides laugh hysterically?  This may be why I am what is called "Super Single" and I need to learn a useful spinster skill (besides drinking) like knitting, cat sitting, knitting for cats, knitting for cat sitters, or karate.  They say the world is a crazy place. I'm not sure "they" have ever been on the World Wide Web...