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What’s app with that?

7 Nov

Oh, 3D.  It’s been almost 10 years since we met, and 9 years (ish) since we last knocked boots.  I haven’t seen him since I was still in my 30’s (which feels like a hundred years ago).  I moved out of state, out of the country, then back home.  He moved away to be closer to his family.  I have grown into who I am meant to be.*  He has a new career and looks after horses or something like that.  I don’t know.

Anyway, it’s clear that I left quite an impression on him.  Vangelina Jolie rocked his world. How do I know?  Because after all these years he keeps reaching out.  Emails, text messages, and most recently, What’s App.  Oh, he’s special. Most of the time I don’t bother responding.  Sometimes in a moment of weakness I engage and then regret it a few minutes later.  Kind of like when I decided to sleep with him on the sly and then ended up feeling like absolute shit [you can read about that here].  Okay, maybe not quite that bad.

It’s been about a year since the last time I responded to his message.  Instead, I save what he sends to me so I can share the messages with my friends and we can giggle about his horse teeth and how much he loved turkey subs.

Please note the string of random messages.  Like the random request to see if I’d like to “communicate”.  By “communicate” pretty sure he’s asking if I want him to touch my cervix with his peen.  No.  On both counts.  Oh, or maybe you like the most recent dream he had about me?

Some of my friends have asked me why I don’t block him and wish him good riddance.  Well, fine readers, if I did, then I’d miss out on the gems that he sends and the opportunity to use his messages as conversation starters when I’m out drinking with my girlfriends.  And maybe, just maybe a little bit, the slightest bit, maybe not so slight, it feels good to still be wanted.  After years of being single, it’s nice to know that there’s someone out there who still thinks of me.  It’s not someone I want to be with, but at least I know that I mean something to someone in “that” way.

 

*HAHA!  JK. I’m still an asshole and hate being an adult.  LOLS (and you have to say “lols” not “el oh el”)

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Maybe she’s just not into you

4 Aug

It’s an age old story.

Boy meets girl.  Boy falls in love with girl.  Girl isn’t all that interested.  Girl wants to have a baby and gets artificially inseminated.  Boy decides he wants to raise child as his own.  Girl says no.  Boy says he loves girl.  Girl tells him they’re just friends.  Boy wants the kid to call him daddy.  Girl decides to move to Chicago to get away from boy and start a new life.  Boy decides he wants to quit his job and move to Chicago to be with his “new family.”  Girl tells him under no circumstances will they ever be a family because she doesn’t like him that way.  Boy decides she doesn’t know what she’s talking about and begins updating his resume.

What could possibly go wrong?

Dragging out the inevitable

24 Jun

So guess freaking what?  GUESS WHAT?  You know how I told you about the douche bag that my girlfriend was dating?  Yeah, well, here’s an update…

So I caught up with her today for the first time in about a week.  I was SURE that after the big fucking fight they had last week that she would have told him to pack up his shit and get the fuck out.  Nay.  She did not.

Instead?

Instead she told him that she would lose some weight so that he could want to be with her.

The things we do for relationships.  Why do we turn in our self worth, our pride, our self respect for someone who doesn’t deserve it?  What makes us think that it’s better to be less of who we are to please someone who doesn’t want what we have to offer?

I feel like we’re sold a false bill of goods.  We’re led to believe that being with someone – anyone – is better than being alone.  And in some warped way we begin to believe that we need to alter who we are, give up a bit of ourselves, comprise things that we believe, just so that we don’t end up alone.  That it’s better to be with someone who we aren’t and be with someone, than to be who we are and be alone.

You know what I have to say about that?  I say fuck that shit.

We should be reminding people that someone should love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be.  Compromise?  Sure.  Yes, do it.  But don’t compromise who you are – don’t ever do that.

Not ever.

You are better off on your own as your best self than with someone who doesn’t like who you truly are.

Let the church bells ring

7 Jun

The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing through the open windows, I can hear the church bells ringing, the neighbors’ kids yelling “and you wonder why you don’t have friends!”, then a quick “SLAP” as the older brother hits his sister, and finally a very whiny, “MOM!!” as she runs off to tattle on him.  Summer is here, friends.  It’s warm enough for short sleeves – but not so hot that you immediately start sweating off all your make-up and begin cursing the world.  It’s the perfect day for sitting outside, enjoying some sangria with friends, and watching cute dudes roll by.  Or perhaps you’re enjoying that umbrella drink on the beach while you pretend you don’t hate your body and wonder if every person who walks past you is trying to count the dimples on your thighs.

Glorious.

Gorgeous.

I know you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with this perfect Sunday weather.  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been sitting at my dining room table ALL day doing one of two things: studying for a test I will no doubt FAIL on Tuesday, and getting sucked into the void of Pinterest as I think through how to decorate my new pad.

I’ll finally have the kitchen I’ve always wanted, complete with a wine fridge.  WINE FRIDGE! Yes.  It’s happening.  It. Is. Happening!

Moving sucks balls though.  It sucks.  I’m somewhat tempted to just set my current place on fire and start over in the new place.  That way I don’t have to worry about what to take with me.  And I’ll finally stop stressing out about what the hell I’m going to do with this antique marble top dresser I’ve had since I was 15.  I no want it.  I NO WANT IT!!  It’s too nice to throw away, and too heavy to put in my car and take somewhere.

Antique dealer?  Craigslist?  Me not know. Perhaps Craigslist is a good idea.

Or perhaps it’s not.  Perhaps I’ll end up on an episode of Dateline after my dead body is found in the flooded basement.  It could happen.  And with my luck it won’t even be Josh Mankiewitz or Keith Morrison telling my story.  Instead it’ll be that one blond woman who’s face looks like it’s fucking frozen, Andrea Canning.  Maybe I’ll just pass on Craigslist because I will haunt a bitch if my story gets told by her.

Perhaps the time has finally come to get up from the table, wash my face, brush the rats’ nest that is my hair, and venture outside to enjoy the beautiful day.

Right after I finish picking out the new area rug for my new bedroom…

Mending a Broken Heart

27 May

I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips.  Life is hard.  Relationships are HARD.  Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you.  Ugh, I freaking swear.  How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??

So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??

Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook.  And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response.  And did he?  No, he did not.  And did he read it?  Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it.  WTF?  I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously?  This is bad, right?  This means we’re breaking up, right?

Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old.  I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor).  But, no!  I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.

This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING.  He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers.  He was, however, playing the LONG game.  Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit).  And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.

Fuck his ball.

And fuck his court.

But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob.  That could happen, right?  Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone?  He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.

And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.

*Or 41, whatever.

The Beauty of Language

4 Aug

It’s said that Eskimos have many words for snow, but only one for love.  That’s a bunch of bullshit, but it’s kind of a nice way to start off this post.

Being fluent in more than one language is a bonus.  Not only can I talk badly behind someone’s back without him knowing what I’m saying, BUT I know curse words in multiple languages.  Being able to call someone a slut in English and Spanish can be extremely useful because sometimes “slut” just isn’t enough.  A “slutty puta,” on the other hand, can perfectly describe someone who’s a touch more than slutty.

There are some occasions when an English word doesn’t quite capture the moment.  Today, for example, I’m suffering from extreme laziness.  Kind of like Lazy Jane in Shel Silverstein’s poem – that’s what I feel like.

In Spanish we have a word for extreme laziness, “hueva”.  It’s a noun as in “tengo mucha hueva,” which roughly translates into “I have very much extreme laziness.”  You can call someone a “heuvon” or “huevona,” which is relatively derogatory and probably comparable to “lazy bastard.”  There’s never been an English word that describes this state of laziness in just the right way.  It’s that feeling where you have shit to do, but the only energy you can muster up is related to lifting the remote to change the channel – or it may not even be that much.

Take now, for instance, I should be at the grocery store.  Actually, I should have gone to the grocery store several hours ago, instead I’ve napped on the couch, played on the inter webs, and watched stupid movies.  All of this under the guise that I’m saving myself money by not going today, and why do today what I can put off until tomorrow.

It’s a beautiful day, and I should take advantage of the glorious weather.  I’ve even found a way around that – I’m currently situated on the couch so I can look out the front window and feel the breeze.  It’s perfect.

I know what you’re thinking:

But, Catherinette, if you were really in that state of extreme laziness you wouldn’t be writing a blog post.

Ha!  You are so wrong.  You see, dear friend, this is just another excuse to keep me home.  Can’t write a blog post AND go to the grocery store at the same time.

Damn it.  I’m hungry.  Wonder if there’s a clean spoon and any peanut butter left…

 

What I’ve Learned in 2013

4 Jan

This year I’ve learned that my life is incredibly boring.

Here we are in the first Friday of the New Year and I have ZERO plans.  Nothing.  Zip.  Zilch.  Had a half day today, as I do every Friday, and I came home to clean the house and watch “Drugged” on National Geographic.  Oh, and I also played with the new Black & Decker drill that I have.  You know, tons of excitement for a Friday afternoon.  Currently I’m extremely busy sitting on my bed, in my work clothes, pinning Weight Watchers recipes to Pinterest, and listening to Ke$sha squawk about how we should make the most like we’re going to die young.  I’m so busy.  Maybe later I’ll head back downstairs to start clearing out all the episodes of “Dateline Mysteries” from my DVR.

The rest of my weekend is shaping up to look exactly the same. The only plans I have are for a manicure and lunch on Saturday. [insert boring music here] Looks like it’s going to be just me, my sweatpants, and the remote control.

Christ almighty!  When did my life become so damn boring!!

I have great friends here who I enjoy spending time with, but most of them are married and have other things to do.  It’s times like these that I miss living in Baltimore.  Back there I have a slew of people I could call at the last minute and talk into meeting me at just about any bar downtown.

Alas, what’s a girl to do?