My So Called Love Life: Warpath

I ran into this guy I used to date three years ago. In the course of less than five minutes, he managed to piss me off and make me want to pick up my book bag and brain him with it. This is not one of those entries where I feel sorry for myself. This is one of those entries where I want to kick my OWN ass for being stupid. I feel compelled to get this off my chest. I think just about everyone has experienced it and, if you haven’t, consider yourself blessed. *Warning, there is some foul language in this and it matches my foul mood*

I hate it when you spend time cultivating a relationship, going through all the motions, putting up with the other person’s craziness, letting them work out their angst and issues out on you because you can SEE the potential in them and you just KNOW that they will be a FABULOUS husband or wife once they get their issues resolved. You get them to that perfect place and then you break up over some trivial bullshit that could have held off for a minute and then that fool goes out and marries the FIRST FUCKING SKANK they date after you. What. The. Hell. Is. Up. With. That?

You put in the man hours. You did all the heavy lifting. You got them to where they cared about personal hygiene and their appearance. You got them to get that perfect haircut after months/years of looking like a chia head. You got them to stop wearing scroungy jeans and ratty t-shirts and into the button down with the nice slacks. You got them out of the flip flops they wore all through college and into the Cole Haans. You got them off their butt and into the gym. You taught them that it is unacceptable for a man to drink wine coolers, that really *good* wine cannot be bought by the box or the jug, that Boone’s Farm is unacceptable after you turn 21 and can legally purchase your own booze, and that Coors Lite is NOT real beer.

You got them to release the controller, to step away from the PS3, and to socialize with normal, real life people and not just the characters in WoW or Madden. You taught them that magazines do not really count as deep reading, that there is more to debate about than Star Trek vs. Star Gate, and that there is more to life than Halo and Grand Theft Auto (Okay, not much, but some).

It sucks hairy, stinky BALLS that you put in the man hours and someone else gets to reap the rewards. It’s like making it into the Playboy Mansion and there being no bunnies, like going to a shoe sale and every pair that you like is not available in your size. It’ like watching the person in line in front of you buy the last concert ticket to the greatest reunion tour EVER or going to the beach and it rain the whole time. It’s like taking a fat kid to a buffet and showing them all the wonderful, savory dishes that are available and then handing them the frozen dinner from Weight Watchers. It’s. Just. WRONG!!!!!

Moral of today’s lesson, kiddies: Don’t upgrade him/her until AFTER he/she marries you. No use letting someone else runaway with your masterpiece.

State of the Union: Pissed off
Listening to: Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana

Edited: August 27th, 2008

My So Called Love Life: Say Goodbye

So, instead of getting some much needed beauty rest, I’m up thinking about his pseudo-ultimatum. He didn’t come out and say that I need to choose or else we’re through, but the intention was there. The pseudo-threat was there. So, since I can’t sleep at night anyway, I pulled out my old journals and read about us. I started at the beginning, when I still wrote on paper and worked my way up to today.

That boy has put me through some changes. He also made me realize that I am a reactionary type person when it comes to relationships. I cut my hair every time a serious relationship ends. No, I don’t Britney myself, but I get a haircut every time. I can also tell if I really loved the person or not by my eating patterns. If I loved the person, then my eating slows down exponentially. If they didn’t matter, it’s Blue Bell and McDonald’s all the way. I also tend to have a backup boy waiting in the wings. I didn’t realize that, either. It’s not like I acted on any feelings of lustiness while I had a boyfriend, but, after a suitable mourning period, I started working on my next broken heart, just like the country song says.

I can see what my life would be like with him in it. I can see how we would be. That’s what scares me, because we’ve done this dance before. I know that it will end badly, I will be devastated, and I will stick around far longer than I should because I absolutely adore his kid. He has tried to change his ways, I have to credit him for that, but how long is it until the real him comes out. He’s like a kid in the candy store when it comes to women; he wants to taste test all the flavors. I can’t go through that crap again.

I know what I should do. I know I should end this sick little cycle. For a while, I thought I had, but I got my heart stomped on by another and then I was back on the ride again. He is the one person that I find hard to tell off. I can tell anyone else to piss up a rope, but him, damn. I wish he wasn’t so damned attractive. He should be fat and ugly. He should have a pot belly and ruddy skin and dress like a bum. He should have messed up teeth and greasy hair. He shouldn’t know me so well. He shouldn’t know all my secrets. He shouldn’t know what to do and say to rip me to shreds.

I’m going to tell him today. This is not going to go well at all………

State of the Union: Trembly
Listening to: Nothing

Edited: August 23rd, 2008

My So Called Love Life: Manly Wish List

Meals with my friend’s mom, who’s a pyschoanalist, are always insightful. Her three daughters are all married off and, as most mothers are wont to do, she wants to see me happily married off as well. She reminds me of Mrs. Bennett sometimes, only with more sense and an Irish accent. She said that she was thinking about me. (It always worries me when people with psych degrees say that) According to her, I look pretty darned good on paper, so it’s been “niggling” her why I am unattatched, so she’s decided to “take me up.” Analysis ain’t cheap, so it’s always nice to get it for free without paperwork and copays.

I have, according to her, all the desirable qualities that any man would want in a wife. She starts listing things and my chest puffs up a little because it’s nice to hear your virtues extolled every once in a while and not a litany of faults and complaints. My problem, according to her, is that I choose emotionally stunted fuckwits. It’s a nasty little pattern I have and it’s something I’ve been trying to break.

She told me that I am an extremely determined, goal oriented person and I should attack this like a problem, because problem solving is one of my special talents. She told me to make a list (how, how, how did she know that I am a list person?) of all the desirable traits that I want in a life partner. Then, once I narrowed it down to what I wanted, I needed to go into “Dynamo Girl Mode” and go get it. So, my Manly Wish List. Hmmm. Let’s see. What do I want?

* I want someone that’s smart. Stupid people annoy me to no end.
* I want someone that’s funny, that likes to laugh, and can laugh at themself.
* I want someone that is honest and caring.
* I want someone that would make a good father. (Not necessarily that I want to have children, but if it happened, I would want to be with someone that would be good in that role)
* I want someone that reads books. Only another compulsive reader can understand my compulsion to troll every book shop in the area and my ability to be reading at least three books at once.
* I want someone that likes to eat. I love to cook and I love to experiment, but it sucks cooking for one.
* I want someone that likes to dance, or doesn’t mind if I go out and dance with someone else(as long as it’s understood that I won’t whore around.)
* I want someone that has the same wanderlust that I have and loves to travel.
* I want someone that can be happy going out and partying and equally happy staying at home and vegging out on the sofa.
* I want someone that’s dominant without being domineering, that can let me be me, but reign me in when I go into one of my tangents
* I want someone that is open to compromise
* I want someone that won’t lie to me, won’t cheat on me, won’t deliberately manipulate me to get their own way and that won’t hit me.
* I want someone with their own source of income. I don’t mind paying for things, but I don’t want to be the person paying for things every single time we go somewhere or want to do something.
*I want someone that understands me, where I come from, and why I’m all messed up and likes me anyway

So, there. That’s my Manly Wish List. I culled it over and really thought about it. Maybe I’m asking for too much, but, they’re the same traits that I possess, so I guess maybe I ask too much of myself, but whatever. If you run across this man, send him my way. And, if he has a diesel truck, no felony convictions, no prison stays, not actively on probation, no pending cases, is not opposed to country music or reggaeton, doesn’t have an inferiority complexes, is viking in the sack, loves football, doesn’t have 12 kids by 12 different women, can tolerate my MTV/VH1/ Soapnet compulsion, and likes to ride horses, that’ll just be the cherry on my sundae.

State of the Union: Wishful
Listening to: Firecracker by Josh Turner

Edited: August 18th, 2008

My So Called Love Life: Thanksgiving Day Curse

I really do have the Thanksgiving Day Curse. It started with my first serious boyfriend when I was eighteen. That clown broke up with me three days before Thanksgiving, completely obliterating that holiday for me. I wept into the turkey and didn’t have the heart to finish my pie. Yeah, it was that serious.

Then there was the buffoon that I dated when I was 22. He picked a fight with me that way he didn’t have to buy me a birthday present and then he flat out broke up with me two days before Thanksgiving when I wouldn’t ditch my family to go skiing with him in Aspen.

Since then, I’ve noticed a pattern emerging. They’ll wait until after my birthday (only a deaf, dumb, and blind idiot would miss one of my parties) and a week, sometimes two before Thanksgiving and break up with me. That’s what Bobo did last year. Then, like a fool, I gave up snorkeling in the Bahamas for New Years because everyone else deserted him and I didn’t want him to be alone. Yeah, I’m that dumb.

I have carefully avoided any romantic entanglements since then and worked on me. I spent a lot of time with myself, trying to figure out what makes me happy. I had to get used to being alone and figuring out if I even like myself. I am happy to declare that I do. I am one of the coolest chicks I know, which is a relief because I know some pretty amazing chicks.

This year, I will snowboard. I will eat Pumpkin Roll. I will not weep in the turkey and I will finish my pie, and yours, too. I will watch football and decorate trees and focus on the people that I love and that love me. I was sad for a minute, thinking about how I won’t have a boyfriend for Christmas or New Years. Then I cheered up because I realized that, even though I don’t have a boyfriend, I also don’t have experience the Thanksgiving Day Curse and get broken up with before Turkey Day, either.

And there’s my silver lining.

State of the Union: Thankful
Listening To: Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

Edited: August 4th, 2008

My So Called Love Life: Back in the Saddle Part II

Okay, so my dating hiatus was supposed to end on the 15th at midnight and I was supposed to go on some big slutty rampage of wanton lewdness. Yeah…. it didn’t happen. I went to the bar, got my buzz on and flirted like mad, but no orgies, no one night stands, no making out. I’m kinda sad about it. Why? Because there’s this guy…..

I don’t know what it is about him. I think it’s his accent. He’s from Central America and he has the sexiest accent EVER. I go into convulsions of lust whenever he talks to me in Spanish. It’s too much. He’s soooo not like me. He’s shy, he thinks before he speaks, and he’s nice, three things that just don’t seem to come to mind when describing myself. He is taking up entirely too much space, rent free, in my head. I don’t even know why I like him. I think it’s because of how he looks at me. He looks at me like I am perfection personified. He makes me not want to be a bad girl anymore.

I’m not sure if this is a good thing. I’ll get back to you on that once I make an informed decision. All I can say is Viva Nicaragua!

Edited: July 21st, 2008

My So Called Love Life: Back in the Saddle

My self esteem has taken some serious hits this past year. I feel like Rocky taking a beating from Clubber Lang. My rotten ex said some mean things to me when I chose to be with someone other than him and he crowed (actually crowed !) with delight when that person f—ed me over and broke up with me before Thanksgiving. I do so hate the phrase “I told you so,” and whoever made it up should be shot. It left me kind of bitter and man hating for a minute there. It also made me question what the heck was I doing and why was I in angst over a moron who couldn’t appreciate the wonder that is me.

I took a dating hiatus in February so I could get myself together. I don’t like to speak badly of people that I used to date and love, but, if a person that doesn’t have a pot to piss in breaks up with you, it speaks volumes, and it would be in your best interest to take heed and listen. During this hiatus, I spent a lot of time by myself, getting to know myself. I’ve spent so much time fixing other people’s problems that I have neglected myself.

It’ll be five months since I went on a dating hiatus on July 14th. Five…long…months. It’s amazing what you can do when there are no men around. I got serious about my belly dancing and actually learned how to dance and play my finger cymbals at the same time, something I have struggled for months with. I started going to the gym on a semi-regular basis. I made my first dress by hand. I actually cleaned out all my closets. I painted my walls. I put together the bookshelves I bought last year. I finished my friend’s wedding scrapbook. I bought every single item on my must-have list. I read more, introspected more, prayed more and just became more comfortable with being alone, not having to fix anyone’s problems and not having to deal with any drama.

The ex and I had a good conversation last night and we ironed out our differences. I understand that he was hurt, but I raked him over the coals for the things we said and he apologized and that is something he *never* does. We went back to being us, Bert and Ernie, and I’m liking it. Who knows? I might even get to the point where I can actually be in the same room with my other waffle half and not have hurt feelings.

I’m sending out an all points bulletin. My dating hiatus ends at midnight July 15th. All the men had better hide. I will be on the prowl and someone is bound to get hurt. Dee Dee Dynamite is back, she’s better, and she’s out for blood, conveniently in time for Cancún.

I don’t happen to see a correlation at all……:p

Edited: July 21st, 2008

My So Called Love Life: How To Be Insensitive

I shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t matter. I should be able to dump him into the butthole file and toss him out like yesterday’s rubbish. Lord knows every single one of my friends has given me multiple reasons why I shouldn’t care if the earth swallowed him up whole. Every time I see him, I’m reminded that I wasn’t good enough for him. I, the person that looked after him, took care of him, made sure he had a ride and was never without food. I,the person that held his hand when he was sad, bolstered him up when his spirits sagged, encouraged him, nurtured him, never gave up on him, despite all logic, all reason. I was there for him in ways that no one else was. I gave everything and expected nothing.

My mother told me he was using me, my brother, all of my friends. Everyone told me to dump him and find someone else. Someone that took pride in themselves and their circumstances. Someone who wasn’t content to barely get by. Someone who had ambitions and dreams and actually worked to achieve them instead of listing them on paper, or in a computer, or spoke them aloud.

I’m no quitter. I’m like a mighty warrior princess, the first to lead the charge and the last one to retreat. It’s hard for me to give up. It’s hard for me to walk away. It’s hard for me to admit that I was wrong and that all the qualities I thought he possessed were fictitious or conjured up in my mind to make him the man of my dreams.

I read my old journal from last year. It’s odd to see how happy I was then, how naive, how oblivious. I saw what I wanted to see and blocked out what I didn’t. He was the first thing that made sense after my year of chaos and upheaval, but he didn’t make sense, not really. The kind, decent, caring, deep person I thought he was was just that, a thought, an image I made in my mind.

I need lessons in how not to feel.

Edited: July 21st, 2008

My So Called Love Life: No More Waffles

If you look up “insanity” in the dictionary, you’ll see my picture. For the past three years, I’ve been waffling back and forth between two different guys. One would piss me off or make me sad, and I’d go to the other one for comfort. Then that one would piss me off and then I’d go back to the other. Over and over again. The waffle effect.

I finally made a conscious decision on Valentine’s Day to let one of them go. The relationship wasn’t heading anywhere and he wasn’t the person that I thought he was. It was kind of weird, like you were watching your life playing out in a dream and you were completely powerless and then, one day, you woke up. I just woke up one day and said that I didn’t want that half of the waffle in my life anymore.

Tonight, I saw the other half of my waffle. He looked as handsome as he always did, he had the same winsome air and innate charm that he always possessed. But, tonight, I think the scales fell from my eyes and I saw what life would be like with him. A long succession of painful rows, tear shedding, heartfelt vows to never see him again, and then him working his way into my good graces again.

I realized, when I saw him chatting up another girl to make me jealous, that I didn’t really care, not the way I should. I should have been furious, and overcome with jealousy, but instead, I just felt weary. I looked at him and realized that I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him and, cheesy and cliché as that sounds, it was the truth.

One little gem that I would always tell my friends when they came to me for advise is that, “even a fool gets tired of being a fool and that, one day, said fool will realize that there is an entirely different way to live.” I’m tired of both of them and I just want to be free. I don’t want to talk to either one of them, or see either one of them, wonder what they’re doing or who they are with. I just want to be free to move on and meet someone who can accept me for who I am, scars, baggage, and all. I want to meet a normal person with normal problems that wants to do normal things and have a normal life. I used to think, “What’s so great about normal?”

Now I realize that normal is just what I need.

Edited: July 20th, 2008