Silence

Silence

I pushed send despite the guilt I’d feel by allowing you the ability to ignore me, again. I needed you to recount with me the emotions that were attached to memories that only you and I will ever carry. Even if you read it and reminisced without reaching out, reminders are my favorite gifts and it had been a while since I’d given you one. As a matter of fact,  I remember it, it was Easter. I knew the first holiday I’d spend with you I’d want to shower you with a basket of goodies; shower you with my love; shower with you. You laughed at the candy, the lottery scratchers, the flavored lube. You laughed at our minimal interaction that felt like lifetime feats. But we laughed together as the sun brushed the stars and the nights fell hard on days that only half of us knew would come to an end.

You know that feeling you get when you think you’ve forgotten something half way to your destination? That deep pitted punch in the gut that sends you over the edge with thoughts about if you should keep going or stop and turn around? 9:58 am hit me like a ton of bricks. I hadn’t seen that picture come up on my phone in over 60 days. Days that I literally pretended you were dead because it was easier to accept that you had no control over this pain than being the provider of such malice. I remember the night you took that photo. It was the first time it’d really felt like I’d be able to stare into someone’s eyes forever. You said you hated the way you looked, so I made it the photo I saw of you every day. A reminder to us both that it didn’t ever matter what you thought.

I had a hundred thousand things to ask you since the day you vanished. But all I could muster up the ability to verbalize were questions my heart screamed over my head. I wanted you to know that I was happy, that the fact that you were gone was a blow to my ego not a deferent to my well-being. I’ve told bigger lies, but they never gave me this much lack of contentment. What I should have said was that driving down I-70 and passing Hanging Lake brought me to tears. Because I held your hand at the bottom of that hike and you told me you didn’t think anybody else in this world would ever get you quite like me. I took a picture of the sky, because I wanted to capture exactly what I was looking at as I felt the most intense connection of my entire existence. It’s like that curve in the road is my forever home. 76 miles of Siri into the mountains. Spurts of service. A moment I’ll never be able to recreate. Fuck I hate memories. Nothing in life should ever feel this damn good and so terrible at the same time. Except maybe, a deep tissue massage.

It didn’t matter how many unfinished conversations we had. I was never getting closure, and that was my closure. And then two months later,I got it. And I didn’t know what to do with it. I felt like a twelve year old boy finding his boner for the first time. Just fumbling with excitement and finding out it would be a forever lingering gift of both pain and pleasure. Getting no message was all the message I needed, and then you called me to tell me everything I fucking expected. Down to the fact that they only reason you were with her was because she was more convenient and that moments with her were empty in comparison to what we experienced. I wanted to tell you Karma was a bigger bitch than I could ever be, but all I could think was “I wish you were here”.

For the record, you didn’t break my heart. Truth be told, you broke my soul. I won’t romanticize the way you made me feel too much, because it was more than that. It was like reaching into a bag of my wildest dreams and having them read to me by the wind.  When you left it felt like death. But the kind of death where you’re forced to keep living. And you’re forced to keep guessing. About what went wrong and if you’re ever going to find it again. You told me I’d find it in someone, that I was crazy to think that you were my last chance, but what do you know…you’re always running.

I know this feels like your last change at control, and you win. But you reopened wounds that were not yours to create in the first place. I handed you the greatest parts of me and asked for you to nurture them in time. Instead you brought them to the darkest places and left them there, abandoned and unattended. And when I found my light again, you reappeared to remind me that you were the best I may have ever had, and I still couldn’t have you. Nana nana fucking boo boo. I hope that in the silent parts of the Kingdom of “blockville” you find a way to justify the resurface. Because if I didn’t have the ability to ever keep you in the first place, it was certainly not me who made you reemerge.

I accept the apology I never got. In the absence of your words, lies all of my answers. My mother always told me that to heal a wound, you’ve got to stop touching it. I can’t stop touching it. {That’s what he said} You were and still are the type of drug I’d sell my right arm for a hit on my left. I used to think I’d never hear from you again, and then I did. Which makes me think I’d be naïve to assume you’re gone forever…

 

Broken Girls Finish Last 

Broken Girls Finish Last 

I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face. My nose is running like it wants that summer body, and I can’t control the overwhelming amount of sadness that’s come over me. I let a good one go. Again

He will never know. Cause I sent him the kind of text that sums up all my fears into one giant excuse that I executed so eloquently his only option was to wish me the best. My exit strategies are meticulous, calculated, profound. They are quick; and they are painless. What isn’t painless is realizing I kicked another genuinely good guy to the curb and all I have left are men who would rather spend their entire life alone then entertain the thought of discussing a serious relationship. 

He was the kind of man that when I was laying in bed Wikipedia-ing my symptoms, you know, finding out my chest cold was predominantly the onset of a malignant lung cancer, was texting me to see when I’d stop being stubborn enough to let him come take care of me. Well the answer is never. Cause never in my life have I ever let someone love me more than I love them. And rarely will you find me being taken care of amidst a life I’m capable of fending for myself in, despite the level of interest. 

I’m going to beat myself up about this until someone gives me an answer. [feel free to text me and not rip me apart in a public forum] Because out of all the articles on love, life and the pursuit of happiness, I’m stumped. Why am I SO un-attracted to the men who are interested in me whole heartedly? And why is it that I seemingly yearn for the idiots who won’t give me the time of day? Most people would say, by nature we want what we can’t have. Well, I say, I’m a fucking adult and I’m not stupid enough to chase something so unattainable and put myself through that kind of bullshit. Is it fate? Is it a higher power leading me to what I’m supposed to have instead of what I think I need? And if that’s the case why can’t I find any physical attraction to the men who care about me on a deeper level? Wouldn’t that be what I “need” and not what I “want”? Tell me, why am I so awe struck by ignorance and neglect?

I’m broken. I’m a legit bag of fail, folks. It’s not even in my control anymore. I cannot, within reason, force myself to have feelings for someone if they aren’t there. And they are only not there for the guys who want me. The only people who deserve it, are the ones who treat me well, and those guys are, for some ungodly reason, ew. Who turns me on hotter than a street lamp at midnight? Assholes. And those are the guys that I give my all to. My all for like 2-4 months and then they disappear, cheat, lie or decide they like men. Ok so, nobody’s turned gay on me, yet…but the day is young. 

I’ve heard that deep down, for some, a part of us feels unworthy of love; and that may attribute to continued rejection of potential matches. The irony is that I’m not insecure about my value. Ask anyone I know and they will reiterate that I hold myself to an uncanny level. I’m smart, I’m witty, I’m loving, sensitive, blunt, I take care of my body, I am independent financially, I am introspective, I’m a giver. I’ve got an attitude that needs to be adjusted sometimes, but that’s a drop in the ocean. The point is, it’s not that.{ So what else? }

Is it my ego? Could it be that I think I can always do better? Nah. If I made a list of my ex’s, their job titles, personality traits and the reason we broke up you’d all agree I could do better. Bartender, hated going outside, lied about being a heroin addict. Boom. Clearly I’m capable of settling. So it’s not that…

Maybe I’m bored with nice? Nice doesn’t make me break a sweat. It’s the vanilla to my rocky road with extra whip. Nice guys finish last, that’s a real thing. So, with that said, fingers crossed there are bad boys with nice tendencies who I can chase for a hot second that will ultimately fall deeply in love with me. I’m dreaming aren’t I? 

You know what’s pure bliss? Being alone. I’m exhausted on dating, and this is when you’re supposed to stop. When it becomes a chore and nothing feels “right”. Even when he’s standing at your door with flowers, telling you you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, and you’re in the bathroom texting the guy who’s completely ignored you all week.

The truth is, I let fate throw me rando’s, and they just don’t do it for me, which is why I shop online for my build-a-babe. But these guys have other options and I just can’t keep up. The nice guys zero in on me and I completely forget how to, be. Then the player who has every intention of breaking my heart sweet talks me into a head-over-heels situation and I’m, smitten
Vicious cycle. Rinse, repeat. 

Come Home

Come Home

A dear friend of mine, who remains to be unnamed, wrote a letter to his ex-girlfriend in hopes that the raw pen-to-paper confession would heal a few wounds. He asked for my opinion, and I asked if I could post, because as a fellow advocate of untamed hearts, I fell into a similar passion for his desires on the outskirts of his plea and I needed to share.  Not a lot of people know what it’s like to bare their soul. We sure do. 

It’s Monday night, June 13th, 2016 – 10:03 PM. A little while ago, I sent my goodnight text, saying I’ll see you Wednesday night for dinner. As I’m lying here in bed, I’m trying to figure out what we are going to talk about and why we’re even meeting. What’s the point, right? More or less, I guess I just wanted to see you again.

I can’t tell you how many nights I’d wake up, check my phone, and pray that I had a message from you saying, “Come home.” No apology needed. No explanation. I was cool with just the two words. I was waiting for you to save me. I messaged you drunk last week because I miss you, I think that’s a given. Drunken minds are sober thoughts, right? I was out with friends, having a blast and I still enjoy doing that. I hit the level of drunk where all I wanted to do was come home to you. It didn’t matter how much fun I was having on my own or how much personal growth I was achieving. I wanted to do those things with you, together. I called you years ago on St. Patrick’s Day to save me, remember? That’s where I was the other night. Well, I am writing this one sober.

I’m not the dull, careless, boring, and sensitive person you made me out to be. I’m tough at work. Fearless, selfless, compassionate, and strong. Admired, honored, recognized, and a true mentor. (I know you’re saying, “Really?! You grandiose prick!”) Yeah, me. There are plenty of accolades and accommodations to show for it. I’m damn proud of my career and I should be. I thrive when supported by those around me. In writing this, however, I realize I just jumped to conclusions about the way you expressed yourself. I didn’t listen to you when you repeatedly said that was just your personality. Those who knew you understood it. I should have just been that warrior for you, instead of work- but with passion and love. It’s so much easier to decipher after the fact, isn’t it?

Nine years ago, while studying theology and ancient cultures, I learned about the dualities in nature. I became spiritual. I lost it when I had to grow up and be an adult. That man disappeared entirely. The curiosity was gone and life was full speed ahead. Relationships came and went, some good and some bad. Many hopes of a future and many three-word sentences exchanged. Plenty of confusion. There wasn’t anyone like you, kiss your ass, I know. I’ve been in healthier relationships and I know you have too. It doesn’t make any sense to me either. There’s just something different about you. 

Years later, and like the true dick that nature is, when timing couldn’t be worse, this perfect girl comes along. She has tattoos. A full sleeve, a back piece, she’s spiritual… Or something, I don’t even know. She might not either. She was mysterious, cryptic. Her smile could light a room and you could feel her love just by looking in her eyes- I mean really looking in her eyes. She was confident and stood affirm in her beliefs about the world. Adoring, and perhaps the hardest word to use, innocent. It’s a hard word to say because there’s some heavy guilt behind that exploitation of trust. That part is never going to go away. That’s the flower in my sleeve, I’ve told you that before. I fell damn hard for you. I’m convinced you will never truly understand that and I wish I could just sink into myself and let it out. That was a long time ago and that person is still inside me. I am truly sorry for the past. You must be tired of hearing it by now.

As soon as I had fallen for you, and it was quick, I peered through the peephole, opened the door, and let The Other in…

Life is crazy-beautiful, isn’t it? We spend decades trying to find ourselves. We build and shape some incredible memories. The kind you can only dream up in your head after watching a sappy love movie. Onesies and s’mores by the fire. Raw love. Remove the ambivalence from a stupid boy’s mind. Remember the feeling? Raw love, to the core. Innocence. Bliss, even. The kind that makes you post hearts around your photos. The kind that he’s not afraid to post, too. The kind that makes him cry when he’s alone every now and then, because he misses it. The kind he held onto for a long time. That makes him text you drunk at two in the morning. That despite failed attempts, still makes him believe it exists, because it did once even if it was short. The kind of love he knew he needed, but had to let go. The kind that is right, but he’s so fucked up he thinks there has to be something wrong with it. Like the perfect balance found in nature, a duality must also exist in love. We must go through hardships and we must succumb, even be enslaved by The Other. We don’t know why we bind the chains, but hey, life is crazy-beautiful. 

The Other arrives late at night, pounding on the grand door of your own happiness. The Other will always manifest itself and you cannot hide. It could be anything: love, a big decision, a career move, a fear, whatever. 

You’re frightened by the thunderous knock and peer through the peephole. It’s just a shadow, but still, curiosity haunts us all. We always want more, don’t we? More adventure, more danger, we’re never simply satisfied. Blame Eve, I guess. That bitch fucked it up. We will say, “Don’t answer the door!,” “Go away!,” “Leave me alone!.” But The Other already knows… We are going to let it in. The Other will stand outside and wait, like a predator stalking its prey in the night. The Other is patient will always accommodate your agenda. The Other is going to light your soul on fire, but just for a moment. The Other is a reaper, and your time will surely toll. 

You continue living your life, ignoring the ghost outside. The Other is there but you’re searching for answers. An insatiable need for love maybe, like a true hopeless romantic. You’re digging a well. Your well is different from mine, and mine yours. I’ll never understand yours and you will never understand mine. That’s okay.

Sometimes in searching for the thirst of life’s water, you dig the well dry. You become a desolate product of your own search and you stop digging. Each day you visit your well, peering over the edge, waiting for it to fill. It never does. When it rains, you dance, you celebrate, and you truly feel alive. Those sparks of life that promise spring and new love, they feel damn good! And just as soon as the rain fills the well, the earth strips it away. We continue to peer down the well and wait for the water to return. Oh how we forget nature’s duality. The Other, the Reaper. It’s time. 

You’re swept off the ground with one blow of his scythe. Heel over head you tumble into the well, slamming hard on the floor below. You’ll wake up some time later, make no mistake, but you won’t remember how you got there. 

After you endure the pain of the fall, you sit there at the bottom of the well, knees to your chest. You’re left with nothing but to find a quiet place in your own head. Down in the well, looking up you see a ring of light. Dim, and clouded by it’s own surrounding brilliance above. Unattainable. All sounds muffled against the damp earth. Sitting at the bottom, submerged in that last puddle, after the big breakdown, you discover something. You take that one breath, time stops. You find solace, you become grounded. You feel the air pierce your nostrils and slide deep into your soul. That first breath…

In…

out…

In…

out…

Your breath is deafening and your heart roars like a quiet storm in the distance. You feel your pulse in your veins and you realize you’re alone, but you are okay. You are alone and you are safe. The Other is gone, for now.

For the first time you appreciate the mud between your toes, the moisture in the air, in your breath. You appreciate the warmth from the light above and even the loneliness feels good now. You are doing just fine, but you can’t help but wonder about life outside of your well. 

You hear a sound from above, you look up, and your vision blurred from falling debris. A rope falls over the edge of the well and you call out, but no one answers. You’ve got a way out, but you pause. You reserve a few moments for yourself before grasping the rope to climb out. You know part of you will miss the well and the lessons learned while alone. You shout out again, “Hello!?” 

You hear a faint voice, a whisper, “Come home.” You climb out of the well and you remember life before The Other. A fresh start in a familiar place, another adventure. Life is crazy-beautiful, isn’t it?

You met me tonight, maybe because you got tired of sitting down there too, I don’t know… but we met. The rope was thrown down the well and here we are. I don’t know what happens next, I really don’t. I won’t make a move, I’m sure you won’t either. Somehow though, I know you understand what I’ve written here and I hope it resonates with you. 

The Other was outside and we were inside. We took our turns looking through the peephole on opposite work shifts, never wondering if maybe we were going through the same things separately. We knew The Other was there and we were curious. We focused on the pinhole of light outside, completely missing the light of our home inside. We both opened that door, we both fell in the well, and we’re both wondering why the fuck the rope came down and let us back up. And we’re both wondering, whose voice is calling for us… 

“Come home.”

What’s His Role Again? 

What’s His Role Again? 

I’ve been in a phrase-phase lately with my opinions on relationships. Everyone just wants an answer. An answer to what they’re supposed to do to make tolerating another human being for the rest of their lives a hell of a lot easier. The truth is, the more I speak in motivational Pinterest quotes the more I feel like these theories came from our society as a whole and not just my bias opinion on partnership. 

“Nothing worth having comes easy” 

“Life is too short to hide your feelings” 

“Go where you are celebrated-not         tolerated” 

“Unless it’s mad, passionate, or extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. 

As far as advice goes “happy wife; happy life” is the most simple and accurate of an allegation as they come. I get that it’s inherently sexist, but frankly I’m done being censored for the millennial’s of my generation who clap for things like divorce. I’d say happy husband, happy… Well, nothing rhymes with husband. Happy spouse, happy house? There. Responsibility for all. The pitfall in said trope is the definition of what makes for both the first part and the latter to be true. Don’t get me wrong, I KNOW it takes two to tango. But what’s a good man’s world without a woman by his side? I guess the same as a good woman’s world without a man by her side. 

For fear of sounding pretentious, I don’t want to say I know exactly what it is, I as a woman, am responsible for when entering a relationship. But, I’m so close to being the spokesperson for a model housewife–it’s scary. In essence, everything I do for my partner is exactly what my partner should do for me. Because, after all, we are a team and our love should be parallel.

So with that said, what exactly does a “happy-enough-wife-for-a-happy-enough-life” entail? What are the man’s roles in a relationship?  

Gentlemen, have you ever walked into a new job without knowing your job description? No. Cause that would be silly to be clocking in and wondering if you are the president of the company or if you are scrubbing toilets. In order to excel, you need to outline your duties and achieve your goals. Same goes for a relationship.

  1. Be a support system. The song wasn’t lying, we’re absolutely holding out for hero. Life is draining. It’s difficult. Frankly it’s down right unfair. If, in these moments of utter weakness, you are able to provide us with a glimpse of positivity even when the easiest route isn’t so, you’ve done your job. Encourage us without babying us. Be the backbone that bends, but refuses to break. Never let us be disrespected by others and certainly never let us disrespect ourselves. 
  2. Provide. Gender roles in previous generations have geared the nature of men to provide to be mostly of monetary value. Previous to that; shelter. These days, swapping stigmas in such a way that allows your partner a “day off” from their gender role is endearing. Men should take on chores just the same as woman should bring home income. If we feel the need to work and provide, then men should make a meal, take out the trash, clean the house just the same as a woman does. It’s not about “who should do what”, it’s about mutually contributing in your relationship.
  3. Stay a prize. Someone once told me that if a man stays his wife’s boyfriend, she won’t go looking for another. Makes sense. A good rule of thumb for life in general is to never let yourself go. Never is life so certain that you won’t need to be your best to gain continued desire from your partner. There are many reasons why people stop focusing on their appearance, none of which should be “we’ve been together long enough”. Always maintain control of your own life so that guilt or blame can not be placed on your spouse. Attraction is essential for healthy longevity. 
  4. Make decisions. The only reason people don’t make decisions is for fear of making a mistake. A man must stay confident in his jurisdiction throughout a relationship as options arise. We, as women, look to a man to provide resolution. I realize I have unlimited personal freedom, but as my partner having the manly decision making of a spouse is a role I feel needs to be filled. 
  5. Love unconditionally. This is the show, not tell segment of a man’s role. The most important thing a woman can do for your relationship is to love herself completely; and without hesitation. The most important thing a man can do for his relationship is behave in a manner that is indicative of his affection for her without conditions. The way he reacts, speaks and touches his partner should always be in a way that shows her his love no matter what she does or doesn’t do. Loving her for who she is, always; despite differences. 

It’s 2016, traditional roles are blurred, but the essentials are still intact. Sure, women aren’t just baby factories and laundry machines but then again men are no longer barbaric hunters who’s only job is to keep women and their offspring from perishing. No set of rules…err…roles will ever be suitable for every household or relationship. But guidelines help keep the idea of a woman’s needs less of a daunting task and, well…lets just say “manageable”. Good luck! 

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride 

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride 

Good thing, I say. Anniversaries are for the birds.

                              [Or blogs.]

As a matter of fact next week is my one year anniversary of Taryndownwalls. And I didn’t even buy it flowers, or blow it unenthusiastically. (Sorry, mom *earmuffs*) Well, I mean, I guess I have blown it quite periodically. But not in the hey, it’s your birthday and it’s either this, Applebee’s, or anal type way. More-so in the, getting to the good part and losing interest. Or the making it to almost a status change and then finding out he’s already in a long term relationship with someone else, the entire time

I’ll be honest, I wanted to, at this point have someone more solid to write about. A muse, not a punching bag (for all of you egotistical morons who fear a relationship with a blogger) We all feared i’d be in this forever loop of petty patterns that kept me single forever. Because, let’s face it, I write for readers who crave my failures. After all, what kind of read would it be if I was winning? This is real life, and I’m not Charlie sheen, so, I did the best I could and 365 days later my status hasn’t changed. Not even once. 

I dated some pretty filthy liars, a handful of cowards, a couple desperate dummies, a few really REALLY solid losers, and someone who I legit thought was my soulmate. 

I went to the zoo, baseball games, hiked to peaks of mountains, drove to new states, road four wheelers, tailgated, saw movies, ice skated, crashed comedy shows, played sports, hopped on the back of motorcycles, went to concerts, tried new breweries, shot guns. I did everything there is to do, short of Netflix and chill. 

I met mothers, brothers, sisters and friends even, the ex-girl kind. I juggled feelings, introduced my puppies, held hands, locked lips and shed some tears. 

And tonight, I sleep alone. Single. 

My god was it a year. The kind you only dream of having with the same person over and over when you find them. Looking back, I saw a little of what I wanted in everybody, and now I know the everything I want in somebody. No pressure, non existent boyfriend. I’ll let you in on a little secret…on my deal benders

You can’t already have a girlfriend, or be fresh out of a relationship. This is hard to even write because I feel like I shouldn’t even have to request this. Online ventures are just band -aids. Selfish ones. The kind you use to stop the bleeding and then you put your hand back in that fire once you’re skins done being charred. I’m sorry, but you’re not ready. I’m ready. Rebound elsewhere. 

You can’t be a homebody. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good nap. But, we can nap after we hike, explore, adventure, ect. Grab your adventure cape, I need enthusiasm and creativity in continued daily activities or else…id rather just avoid the headache of trying to get two people, one who hates travel, to agree on leaving the house. 

You are well spoken. I am fueled by other people’s ability to make me go “wow, I’m not even mad, I’m impressed.” Battle of wits is hands down the sexiest thing a partner has to offer me. I am highly stimulated by verbiage, so dull conversation is an automatic withdrawal. 

You have to like animals. I don’t think anybody should trust people who don’t. With that said, I have two dogs. Who are pure entertainment. And if you aren’t enthused or accommodating, we don’t want that kind of negativity in our lives. 

You have to put in the effort. This is important to our generations show of interest. With as many options as we have these days, putting in the effort is the ONLY sure fire way to show someone you care. Talk all day, everyday, call me between dates, text me while you’re out with her. There are plenty of ways to entertain multiple options at once, and I’m not stupid, I’ve done it. I need someone who is willing to zone in, to be fully engulfed in everything we as a couple might achieve. 

I used to have desires. Then I threaded them through potential suitors and I found at the end of that needle, pure necessities. I, as open minded as I continue to vow to be do not have deal breakers. But I’m human, and I have needs. I think somewhere along the way I let those go by the wayside. I let my infatuation turn to lust and it blinded me completely. 

Next week is my anniversary. Not my wedding one. Or even the Facebook kind. But I still get to celebrate an achievement; a job well done. Meeting and greeting, and putting myself out there 100% for others’ pure entertainment and my, well, solitary growth. 

This week I celebrate the men who refused to claim me, it’s because of you I got to meet the next. And I celebrate the select few who opened up my heart to the possibility of something incredibly real. I’m sorry I couldn’t date you all, my morals have me restricted to just one, but I thank each and every one of you for the laughs, the insight, and most importantly allowing me to: 
TEAR- down-those-WALLS.

Make Dating Great Again: 15 Things I Do Differently 

 

1. I don’t wait a day to text back. If I wanted to play games, id charge my iPhone. If you think I want my dating life to be parallel to a candy crush saga, you can Swedish-fish your way into another pond. I keep my read receipts on because I’m not a tool pouch of mind fuckery. If you text me, I’ll most likely respond in under an hour. If that makes me “too accessible” then call me crotchless panties cause I’m down for immediate gratification like the rest of the people who try desperately to pretend like they’re not.

gun emoji

2. I pay my own way. Chilvary isn’t dead, but it’s safe to say it’s severely injured. Like, let’s revisit the will, injured. Feminists rally in the streets of our nations largest cities to preach that men and women be paid equally, so why would I twiddle my thumbs when the check comes? I have my own job, my own apartment, my own bank account. I think I can pay for my own salad.

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3. I have a routine. It’s penetrable, but it’s solid. Some women don’t know what they’re doing from Monday to Sunday, but I’ve got the kind of life I often wonder if I need to introduce anything else into. Wake up. Walk dogs. Head to work. Walk dogs. Sleep. Walk dogs. Repeat. Am I a dog lady? Oh god.

sigh

4. I’m particular about my appearance. No vain. No gain. I once had a man tell me that he could tell what a woman’s vagina looked like just by the way she kept her nails manicured. Ever notice how mean men can get about women’s appendages? I’ve got to be ruthless about my feminine features, cause a lot of you pre-pedi, flip flop wearing trolls aren’t.

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5. I read books. The kinds about the five love languages, or how to be the kind of bitch he doesn’t want to poison. I think it’s important to gather a large set of opinions when adulting. I don’t just watch the real housewives of the richest cities and expect to gain self help from the knowledge of celebrities. I actually read about what to do when I’m definitely NOT doing it. I internalize, I learn, I grow, I see if they made a movie out of it first so I can fall asleep during it…

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6. I say what I want. It’s still up for debate how scary this tactic is, but at the end of the day I’ve weighed my pro’s to my cons and frankly I don’t want to be with a spineless coward who fears my desires. If your lips are on the menu, and I’m hungry, I’ll tell you I want to make out free of concern. I spend enough time reading the minds of the rest of the world’s chicken-hearted population. If I like you, you’re gonna know it.

like you

7. I cuss. A lot. Profanity is like bacon bits, sprinkle that shit everywhere. If your story doesn’t have a fuck in it, rethink your objective in telling it. We as a species crave excitement and your basic bitch tendencies might score you a dinner space with the parentals, but he’s never gonna write about you in a song. Jussayin.

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8. I taught myself how to massage. There is nothing in this world you can’t learn on YouTube. Remember that the next time you need to blow up a plane. Too soon? Real talk though, there isn’t a person on this planet who isn’t decompressed by their trigger points. I educated myself on said parts of the body to be able to offer a quick relaxation tool for anybody who I deem worthy. Take that you boring back scratchers of the world!

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9. I won’t ever hold it against you. Not talking about my body, promise. It’s funny how many people assume that truths are more painful than the unknown. It’s probably the greatest misconception of our time, and it stems from insecurities. Or maybe it’s all the processed cheese? Unlike most women, if you communicate your disinterest in a kind and effective manner, I’m not the type to ever hold a grudge. How’s that for a swift dating arrangement? You don’t like me? Say it. Cool, next.

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10. I don’t wait. You’d be lucky to ever see me catch an elevator let alone stand in line for a man. Timing is literally everything. So even when it looks like I’m anxiously awaiting this seemingly fairytale romance, I’m just staying open to possibilities, not postponing my own existence. I know my worth and it keeps me ambitious and passionate, but certainly never with delay.

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11. I trust my decisions. Never in my life have I been more sure of anything than my own intuition. My choices are always a combination of knowing what I should do, and wanting to do the complete opposite. Either way, I’m confident in my ability to cope should things go awry. Which is why, whatever I do, I do it with everything.

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12. I’m not hell bent on a wedding day. If I had to choose between black and white let’s just say I have more outfits for funerals than matrimonial ceremonies. I don’t understand the hype of a big Pinterest celebration. Money that’s better spent on traveling, or, I dunno…buying a home to have a roof over our head. I just don’t foresee the “best day of my life” also being the “biggest waste of money”. Call me crazy.

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13. I don’t Netflix and chill. With the utmost respect to the 36 shows I’ve started and couldn’t find time to continue, never will I ever succumb either of us to a night in, no dialogue. I realize there will be a time and place for this once dating has become a past time and we’re just spending everyday asking each other what the other person wants for dinner until one of us dies.

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14. I care. All the fucks ungiven in the world have seemingly found a place in my heart. I hate when the women I’m around postpone their feelings because they’re not brave enough to try again. Even amongst some of the most awful arrangements Im adamant about showing people what it’s worth to be a nice a human.

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15. I write a blog. I couldn’t get any more transparent if I was a brand new wine glass. Meaning, everything you’ve ever needed to know is handed to you on a silver plater of over 60 self proclaimed articles on lessons I’ve learned. Some may feel this to be a negative connotation to a newly developing relationship; a cheat sheet if you will. Tbh, you’re welcome. Nobody’s ever looked at a cheat sheet and been like “you know what, I really wanna fail this on my own”.

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This isn’t a pep rally, or a presidential debate. It’s not a lecture hall for the blindly broken. This is me standing in front of all of you date-haters and reminding you that we can make dating great again. I’m not saying any or all combinations of my tactics above would create a sense of tolerance for today’s Tinderellas, but it is my hope that something might change so that relationships won’t be so cumbersome and intolerable. Seeking a partner can be an emotional slog. You know it, I know it. Looking to escape the confines of the dreaded dating disasters of the world? Text back, pay your own way, have a routine, stay pretty, read, say what you want, cuss a lot, learn how to massage, don’t hold grudges, never wait, trust your decisions, spend your money wisely, be fun, care, but for christ’s sake…don’t write a blog, this shit is a headache.

The end. 

The end. 

I was one step closer to closure, film without any exposure. 

Dark rooms, fade and zoom

Tell me you didn’t mean to expose her

Just ripped me apart like a poster. Broken soldier, you couldn’t even hold her. Used your past over and over. For excuses, about abuse which, weren’t the cause of any other bruises. Just when you felt useless, you could use it, to get back to a place more lucid. 

Tell me, why’d you even call last week? Talking your fancy tongue and cheek? Fuck I feel like Ive never felt this weak. Gave into apologies like a god damn sneak peak, of your mid week, just get up-disappear-losing streak. 

Divorce, check. One less thing, found me a man who never wore his ring. If I was pong you were ping, bouncing off each other through this spring time fling. But you kept me on that string, just long enough to help you heal the sting. From another woman’s game, thrown in the race without any shame. 

No disclaimer, for not claiming her, the truth wasn’t the same with her. Lie to stay with her and bathe in her, love for love, desire for life, wanting anything besides your wife since she hated you, berated you, told you you’d always feel the weight, you lose. 

But wait, your loss was losing me. Because I was a future that woulda set you free. To be that man you want people to see, fought for the country now building tracks to flee, to the next town of people who don’t know your past, journey’s end when they burn out fast. Trains wreck, like people do, but I dug deep like those tracks you add to. I crossed my heart, and hoped you died, can’t accept that this was all a lie. 

Empty space, no embrace, throw me to the wolves just in case, there was anything left of my desire to stay, to watch you disappoint, to watch you pay for something I would have helped you through, but cowards do what cowards do, making decisions for both them and you. 

Level up. 

Level up. 

Excuses are like assholes, every one I meet lately is one. That’s not the saying, but my heart is bitter and I don’t give a fuck. For what it’s worth, at least I get to start over. Not the kind of starting over that happens when some shitwad steps on your sand castle, but like…the kind where you know that everything happens for a reason and the person who couldn’t figure out their life is probably gonna be alone forever. While you’re lucky enough to be capable of finding the 2.0 version of what you thought was the one, but also unlucky enough to have to be doing this for the 57th time.

Ive been frantically trying to retrace my steps today, back to the purest form of my heart. Because lately I’ve been feeling like this might be the type of situation that breaks me. ME. BREAKS, Me. The woman who’s been writing for a year about not giving up on something I truly want. Today I actually found myself thinking…what if it’s just not for me? What if my purpose is to just write about the impossible feat of having someone love me in return? For the first time in my life I had feelings that felt so right that there was absolutely no way this couldn’t go in my favor. At least that’s how it played out in my head. I’ve been dealing with boring, narcissistic, incapable of holding a conversation idiots and then the universe was like here you go, this is what you need. Just kidding, go fuck yourself. 

My happy endings these days are just a series of being able to move on in a timely manner so that I can do it all again. Cutting my recovery time in thirds and being able to close up heartbreak hotel quick enough to look like it doesn’t almost kill me, every god damn time. The truth is life isn’t over until someone changes my Facebook page to that creepy obituary one that people who never spent a moment of their lives caring about me post about how funny I used to be. [I can’t untag myself when I’m dead, so be kind people.] With that said, I keep truckin. 

Truckin on into work where I can make money to be able to travel and forget about him. Truckin on into the gym so that I can keep a physique that compares to my personality. Truckin on over to tinder, cause I get lonely at night and something is better than nothing. Even if something is a 35 year old aspiring rap artist who talks in emojis and owns stock in low cost hair gel. Ugh.

It’s just getting old, you know, like me. Having to start over when you have exactly what you were looking for and that person just wasn’t on the page you needed them to be on. Maybe there’s someone out there right now wondering what it would be like to know someone like me. Or maybe while everyone else has a king to their queen, I’m just a forever pawn on this chess board of life. 

This morning I woke up and I felt like I didn’t want to feel like this anymore, so I’m trying to do just that. End the confusion, block out the pain. But I can’t help but wonder what the point of all of this was. The only logical explanation is that since nothing could be worse, it’s a stepping stone to something better.

It only takes one person to alter your thinking; color your perspectives, to force you to reevaluate what you think you know. And it only takes one moment for you to ask the toughest question: Do you know who you are, and are you capable of starting over?  

If nothing else comes of this, I have gained a new found appreciation for turning my gaze inward and an ever exhausting but truly capable mind set of continued and passionate stamina. If I fall twenty more times, I’ll get up twenty one and someday someone’s not going to be able to walk away from this kind of hopeless romance. 

Cheers to the people who try their hardest to be good enough for everyone, we are the ones who walk alone. We are the ones who will find eachother one day. 

Road Trips Over Rings 

Road Trips Over Rings 

I read somewhere in a book buried in my hallway closet that if you’re brave enough to love someone you’re brave enough to lose them. I highlighted it cause it felt incredibly definitive in its meaning and I like statements that are absolute. But then I lost the book, and I couldn’t find the quote, and I kept thinking, what if I’m not brave enough for the in-between? What if I can’t read what they advised me to do after? After you love someone. Or after you lose them. Or your mind. Whichever came first. 

Lately, it’s been a lot of all or nothing’s. My least favorite place to be. I used to cringe at the thought of living in limbo and then when I realized that living in limbo meant never having to lose anything completely, I didn’t hate it so much. There is peace in the unknown. Which is why so many people claim that ignorance is bliss. God was it bliss. 

There’s still a peace within me currently that I can’t explain. It makes about as much sense to me as it does the people who think they know what I should be feeling. Pain. This is the calm before the storm. Never have I known a calm before the calm, so I’m geared up for some pretty tough weather ahead. With that said, if I can hang back, in my tornado shelter and fight off insecurities and abandonment, maybe I’ll open up those doors again someday to sunnier skies. Or maybe I’ll open them up to a fucked up town of mangled homes and lifeless corpses. 

That’s the thing, I don’t know. If this shit storm is a category one, or a category five, or if it’s not even going to strike my path. But, I have to be prepared. For the good and the bad. And just like he told me not to, I wait. 

Because no sane human being just doesn’t take shelter and stands on the porch staring the storm in the face. And they certainly don’t run from it. And they certainly don’t stop waiting. This is their home. This is my heart. 

The bravery is in the steps it takes to wait it out, while things you can’t see are taking its course outside of your control. You wait, and you wait, and then it’s over and you make due with what comes out on the other side. Be it wind blown daisies watered heavily but unharmed, or a car turned sideways in your swimming pool. You’re alive, cause you waited. You’re the same because you caught shelter. And you’re there minutes, months, years later with a new perspective on the things in front of you. 

I’ve met a lot of cowards in my lifetime. Not one of them is the girl I face every morning in my bathroom mirror. I am brave because I know there is something to be said about never fearing anything that’s even slightly attainable. Because fear sucks the life out of us every second of every day as it is. It keeps us from thriving just enough to not be able to find true love. Or to keep that fire lit long enough to never experience loss. 

I want to die quickly and similarly in each other’s hearts on our death beds, not on the beds of our dying hope decades prior. Or on the porch of a home amidst a tornado that I refused to seek shelter from because I failed to wait. Or because I waited too long. I want to lose you to the heavens above or the sea below, not to the idea that you aren’t good enough, or ready. I stay faithful to my hearts desire while we stumble over the difficulty of unplanned time. And I stay brave enough to learn to love you, even while I’m braving losing you…

6 Reasons They Might Be The One

6 Reasons They Might Be The One

You know what they say, when you know you know. For the more oblivious suitor in all of us, below is a list I’ve comprised of no-brainer reasons that might indicate he or she is the one.

1. It doesn’t matter that you fight, it’s how you fight. Drunk parking lot brawls followed by verbal altercations were the highlight of my high school relationships and about as productive as the four day lemonade cleanse. If you find yourself less defensive with a partner and more open to coming out of an argument smarter and not just ‘right’ then there’s a good chance you will both fight fair in the future. A constructive dispute turned into a valuable lesson is a real testament to your respect towards one another and ability to power through conflict resolution. If you guys are good at the bad, the good will be even better.

NOTEBOOK3

2. I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. Bucket lists are for celebrities and retiree’s. Or so everyone assumes. If they allow you to write one, and join you in your admiration for the seemingly impossible, there’s no stopping a duo with a true passion for adventure. Anybody who coddles your sense of thrill is worth far more than just a one and done. Keep this type of person around forever. Take chances with each other when you’re young so that you can tell those epic stories when you’re old.

ALADDIN

3. Get luckier than a box of charms. Every time you look at them it’s like getting the high score at ski ball and having the ticket machine malfunction to the point of endless rolls of winnings, and then when you go to cash-in, the person at the redemption counter is your friend from middle school and he needs to get rid of the rest of the cotton candy in the back. That’s what standing in front of them on your shittiest day should feel like. It feels like the sugar rush after a girl scout cookie binge. Or like sliding into a brand new pair of jeans. If winning their love makes you feel incredibly grateful, don’t stop til you get enough.

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4. Embrace irony at every cross road. Maybe you guys have the same infrequently viewed youtube video in your list of favorites. Or maybe you say the same thing at the same time. A lot. Jinx. You owe them a coke. Or maybe, you owe them your future. Once is coincidence, twice is strange but more than that is totally fate. When you find yourself wondering if there is a possibility that you two knew each other in a different lifetime, maybe it’s smart to think about spending this one together as well.

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5. Love me, lights out. Physically and emotionally we all have good days and bad. Sometimes those days are pieces of good decades counted in bad years. Or better mornings with significantly horrible nights. The fact of the matter is that life is a series of peaks and lull’s and the person who stays steady in their interest through every bump and curve is the only face you need to see at the end of that roller coaster. If you can look at your partner with the same adoration when they’re sick as you do when they’re glowing, you may have found yourself a keeper. Truthfully, if your worst still brings me to my knees, sign me up immediately.

NOTEBOOK2

6. Do what it takes, not what’s convenient. If the person in front of you is committed they will find ways, not excuses. This is the defining moment for ‘the one’. Because I feel that ultimately we may meet a couple of ‘the one’s’ in our lifetime, I put a lot of emphasis on dedication to a relationship in order to pin point longevity. You’re either in it together, or not at all. When they choose you everyday, you choose everyday with them. A person who is meant to be in your life will never let your connection slip through their fingers, no matter the extenuating circumstances or daunting obstacles.

NOTEBOOK

 

When the above is true of anybody’s existence, the universe has handed you what maybe you didn’t even know you needed. The one. Don’t waste anymore time trying to figure out why it’s happening, just embrace the signs and jump right in.

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It Is What It Is 

It Is What It Is 

I just realized something. I say just, like that’s foreign. But, honestly I’m always absorbent of my surroundings and lately I haven’t been able to grasp the “fuck-it-mentality”. I say it, he says it, but do we even mean it when it slips? 

I can sympathize with the desire for complete acceptance, but I loathe the idling of the mind as a survival tactic. If you’re going to give up on getting the answer you truly need because life has indian- given the fuck out of easy understanding then you don’t deserve a solution to life’s seemingly never ending problems. Or, so I feel. 

It’s a cold dead place at the peak of release. Because after total void comes the decline. The more numb you are to the pain, the more excruciating it will be on the other side of senselessness. To say your life is a series of events that you have zero control over is to give up responsibility for all aspects of your being.

 I could find a whole lot of happiness in not paying my bills, because “it is what it is”, but some day, it’s all gonna catch up to me. And you know what it is now? It’s a problem made bigger by my inability to face it. By having disinterest in answering the tough questions I’ve essentially molded the outcome of tomorrow into something that [isn’t what it was]. Go figure. 

It’s kind of shocking how many people preach this zen way of progression lately. Like, life’s just gonna happen and the only way to cope with the negativity is to not even learn from it, just accept that shit is shit and it can never be anything else. How would a seed feel about that type of theory? It’s just a seed. It’ll never be a flower. It’ll never grow. Because it is what it is, and nothing more. It is what it is, a seed. 

Right? Wrong. You are way too smart to be that effing stupid. This is not how we were meant to live. Man was created to be inquisitive and perseverant. We are knowledgable and in the instances that we are not, we seek a higher level of intelligence. We should never be THIS accepting of an incomprehensible fate. 

It’s easy to blame the sun for its burns, my true goal in life is to thank it for its warmth. If it burned me, it’s not because it’s a sun and that’s what it does. It burned me because I didn’t take the proper precautions to shield myself  from its unpleasant potential. How can we be so naive as to own fault in something as unimportant as a sunburn, but draw no attention to the reasons behind a failed relationship? I don’t need to know why the sun was so hot, because it’s always gonna be a sun and it’s always gonna be a trillion degrees. You though? You can be a different you, and me a better me. 

That’s why it isn’t always what it is. Sometimes it is what it’s going to be once you cope with the fact that life isn’t just a crapshoot. My version of scrabble always includes an off-the-rule-book option to throw all over your letters back in the box and pick a handful of new ones. God I hate being fucking stuck. And I hate that people think they have to be because that’s what the boardgame says. Or what the cliche quote on his forearm says. Or what I’ve been saying every time life doesn’t make a lick of sense and my scrabble tiles are all vowels. 

Shake the bag. 

Redraw.

Write a better life. 

The Flaws in our Logic 

The Flaws in our Logic 

The world will never devote itself to making you happy. It owes us nothing, cause frankly it was totally here first. It’s selfish and it’s cumbersome. It’s overcrowded with people who’s thoughts are not yours. There are bad losers and there are better losers, but one thing we all know for certain, none of us are going to survive. Ashes in an urn, bones in the ground, our destiny is all the same. The key is to remain emphatically undiminished while we circumvent the chaos and remind ourselves that there is passion in the search. There is beauty in the disaster.  

What I know of myself is my second biggest fear in life, the power to ask. What I try to remember is that it’s  silly to be afraid of not getting what you want, because you already aren’t. By not asking. Burn every single bridge in the selfishness of reason, fuck it…you’re not going back that way anyway. 

I hated my job of 8 years, so I quit it. The state I was born in made me restless, so I ditched it. He often times forgot to show me that he loved me, so I left him. Nothing in life is concrete if it doesn’t make you risk your entire story for the sake of its existence. Nobody is stuck in the confines of their own losses. They are only trapped in the exhaustion of their own mind. Repeatedly reminding themselves that progress is just another stepping stone to eminent failure. Buried in their own insecurities, gasping for someone else’s air. 

This is when I ask you to ask.

More questions, for help, to be educated, to find answers. I love being presented with a problem and asking “well what did they say when you asked?” “Uh, I dunno. I didn’t”. Those are the people who deserve nothing. Because without even the smallest risk, all you are asking for is to lose all potential for reward. 

I hate saying it, but I like [no]. It’s definitive and its responsive. Obviously I prefer the word [yes], but either way I’m not in limbo with my thoughts having either. What you want and what you get are only powered by making the world around you aware of your desires. Ultimately the source of all knowledge is in continuously bending other people’s truths. Pushing the limitations of their words; of their love. By asking questions and challenging logic nobody is set in their path from beginning to end.

Everytime I’m brought to a place of frustration by argument I know in the end I’ll have exactly what I needed; understanding. That’s not with everybody though, only the select few who require the same amount of knowledge to properly function. Some people are happy with mediocre, with being naive to the world. I’m privy to my need for more than basic human understanding. I don’t want to know that my seeds didn’t grow, I want to know why they didn’t and what I need to help them do so in the future. 
Be brave in your acquisitions. Be humble in your requirements. But never forget to stop asking for what you want. Think you can have it, and you will. What would you ask for if you knew the answer would be yes? 

Everything…”

Butterfly Effect.

Butterfly Effect.

My dashboard clock on my four door sedan is unusually tiny. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how much I liked it hidden behind the steering wheel, away from life’s uncanny ability to send a paralyzing fear down my spine with just the change of a minute. Like toilet paper, or a breath, the moment you run out of something with no preparation is the moment your world seeks desperately for understanding. Time often makes a mockery of my calculated plans, for it see’s exactly what I want and reminds me often that destiny is not, and will never be under my control.

I bet she never really wanted a second dog. But, as life would have it, he’s there and he’s always hungry. His shelter name was Bruce Wayne, so in an essence to keep with the theme she named him “Batman”. Since his arrival he’s had a penchant for gnawing on her work shoes. Not the whole pair, just one…deeming them unwearable. So, she threw on a pair that was questionable to walk in, but at least aesthetically appealing until she could get to the mall. The barely worn pumps beneath her feet caught the gas as she rear ended a fellow traffic goer coming off of the freeway exit. Of course the tail end of the pile up was not the kind of pedestrian that takes your plate numbers and insurance and lets you off easy. He called the police and they showed up at the site of the accident. As the officer inspected the scene for damages, he finds her suspended license on record due to a series of poor decisions on her drive home from Mexico this past summer. Mandatory court appearance and nothing less. Five weeks later, she sluggishly opened the doors to the Starbucks across from the courtroom. After all, her girlfriend’s birthday was the night before and she was running on three hours of sleep. As she grabbed for a coffee stirrer, he reaches for the same straw and they touch for the first time, but as fate would have it, not the last. Thank you Batman.

Life is essentially just a string of trivial events that subsequently lead us to the end of our minutes. What most of us fail to absorb is every minute for what each is worth and how important they are to the final objective. If there was any reluctance in purchasing a shoe-hungry black lab days before the freeway accident, maybe she would have been wearing the proper shoes to brake. And what if her license was never suspended because she never went to Mexico because of weather? She wouldn’t be at the Starbucks across from the courtroom. And what if her best friends birthday wasn’t the night before? Maybe she wouldn’t have been tired enough to need a coffee. Which means,  she wouldn’t be grabbing for the same straw he was. And she may never have gotten the opportunity to know him.

You see, every single thing you do matters. If it’s said that the flutter of a butterfly’s tiny wing can essentially cause a typhoon half way across the globe, then every thought you have, every move you make, ultimately creates your destiny. Small, seemingly insignificant facts unlived are capable of changing the entire outcome of your story. And nobody stops to think that in knowing that, life is a thousand times easier to understand because there is literally no sense in trying to understand it. If you sneeze today, and wear blue tomorrow you may have just missed your chance at having a child. That’s life.

Our lives are defined by opportunity, even the one’s we miss. And I’ll be the first to admit, I miss a lot of them. I think about that when I find myself indifferent about timing. Despite infinite potential, he tells me he’s just passing through. That this state is just a stop and I’m just a quick connection in an over populated terminal. Even if the possibility has it’s limits of justification, I know what it’s like to lose a moment out of fear that any amount of time with him, wouldn’t be long enough. Like when I’m late for something and I’m staring at the clock, worried about the time, wasting my time on looking at the time as it literally slips away. Losing it all in my own anxiety. That’s what falling for him feels like.

Everything difficult seems impossible until it’s actually done. When you look back and you see the series of events that led you to knowing better; living better, you’ll realize that no action, be it great or small is useless. A mere second can change your life forever. Don’t ever doubt that. Time is our greatest enemy, but the miniscule minutes that count down pivotal moments are our most sought after gifts.

 

Leap Year

Leap Year

Don’t wait for me.

Trust me, I wont.

I woke up to an orange and pink sunrise. It reminded me of the drinks I used to order back home on the beach if I was looking to get black out drunk and sleep in my car. The colors of the Colorado sky took me from a nostalgic feeling of utter depression to a moment of complete clarity. I went to bed painfully and emotionally exhausted. More confused than ever before. But, as luck would have it, I woke up to try another day, another beautiful way.

It’s February 29th. Every four years we are granted with an extra day. How are you making use of these additional hours? Today is a day I wasn’t promised last year, and I almost utilized it’s existence this round to sulk. I can’t blame myself though, I’m pretty bummed that my life is becoming the definition of insanity. A repetition of the same scenarios that I can’t resolve so I essentially just absorb them and repeat the cycle, ultimately expecting different results each time. I know for a fact that when he says ‘it isn’t you’, that there’s no way it’s not. But, what if it isn’t me? Who’s gonna fix this?

I live in a city of quitters. Denver is where people go when life gets too hard. We are a melting pot of broken; a dumping ground for disconnect. I however, can’t get on board with the constant reminders that nobody is capable of anything remotely difficult. Like, following their dreams. Or living financially independent. Or my recent favorite, knowing what you want and not back pedaling when you find it. I’m not stupid. I know I can’t really fix anybody, but at this rate it feels like we all have our insecurities and I’ve just gotta swing for the fences when I get thrown a semi-decent ball.  That’s absurd right? Keep your standards high and your heels higher? Well, I’m tall. And tired. Just throw me something I won’t strike out on.

I used to think emotionally unavailable men was an Orange County thing, part of the reason I left. And then I blamed it on my generation. Now I don’t know who to pass the torch to anymore. Everyone I meet in life is so god damned misinformed on how to treat others, or how to treat themselves that I feel like I was basically born to babysit. So, listen up kids…this is how it’s gonna work:

You meet. You have similar interests. You find each other attractive. You treasure the ease of your togetherness. You steadily move in a direction that would benefit you both mutually. You choose monogamy. You bask in some happiness. You travel a lot. You make memories. You start a life together. You raise a family. You die complete. The end.

Note that there are no asterisks in the above situation. There’s no “we went to bed angry and woke up stuck”. Or, “but after the family was raised he cheated on me profusely because he hated the way I needed him to love me”. Or ” and then he stopped talking to me because he was too scared to feel”. Dating is not for the weak of heart, but it’s the only fucking tunnel to love we have. So, prior to giving up at every bump in the road, maybe hold on to the idea that the easiest things in life are usually the least fulfilling. By nature, nobody will ever fall in love at first sight. And if you did, good for you, but it’s probably because you had a baby and you were forced into some sort of bond that was theoretically impossible to break. Or maybe you’re in that one percentile of people who didn’t ever have to deal with the pain of heartbreak because they fell in love with their boyfriend from third grade and married him in college. If only we could all be so lucky.

Speaking of luck, I’m pretty lucky that I got an extra day this month. To rearrange my thoughts on paper before March came marching down the calendar. I’m also pretty lucky that most men’s response to me is “you’re amazing I’m just not ready” instead of “you’re kind of a bitch and you smell weird”. I think I’m a catch. I exude confidence and intelligence. I provide men with space, but also adoration. I’d like to think that my biggest challenge is being totally prepared unlike the rest of the population. But where do I go from here? Quit my job, roll a fatty and question all of my feelings? I’d so regretfully be willing to bet that might score me the relationship I’ve been looking for.

Shoo fly, don’t bother me.

Shoo fly, don’t bother me.

I’ll never understand revenge. I think about it. I’ve committed it. I’ve regretted it.

I’ve literally witnessed people sell their souls for a feel-good moment of karma, and you know who always wins? The asshole. Want to know why? Cause honey badgers don’t give a fuck. Like this. Tell me, what part of the brain is so incapable of forgiveness that it short circuits and violently unleashes a wrath of insanity upon unsuspecting patrons? Is it the synapse between needing to level the playing field and being socially inept?  Or is it at the base of the cerebral cortex where your insecurities run wild?

head explodes

I get it. Misery loves company. But, you know who loves company more? Happy people. Go do that. We’ve gotta stop stomping our immature feet with anger about situations we can’t control. Nobody in their right mind gives a shit about our sadness. The people we want to care are probably the same people who got us there. Your best bet is getting out of it with integrity intact and dodging any opportunities that might bring you back. Like, I dunno…finding yourself outside of their house, next to their car, with a carton of eggs, a packet of bologna and a face mask. (I’ve only been on the receiving end of a bologna paint peel once, and let me tell you, there’s no type of revenge quite like turning a brand new car into a twister mat). Anyways, don’t do that. None of that. Problem solved.

egging.gif

Comfort is arguably the true culprit. And it always brings us back to a place where we’re making the same mistakes but expecting different results; the true definition of insanity. I watch grown men and women fall back into routines that are literal set ups for retaliation. You know why? Because you can’t bring someone down, until you’ve brought them back up.  I can smell the premeditation as they strive for the upper hand. And when they fail, all they have left is revenge.

You can’t leave me, I have to leave you.

My heart hurts, I want yours to, too.

I have nothing, so you aren’t allowed to have anything.

It’s not always tit for tat in the game of love. You win some, you lose some. And at the end of the day, do what’s right and let the rest go peacefully. The biggest struggle this dating scene has ever presented me was coming to terms with unforeseen closure and not wanting to MURDER every person who selfishly didn’t give that to me. Those unanswered questions always brought me to a place of hatred, and where there was anger, there were words. When those words didn’t cut deep enough, there were actions. And so on. Revenge left me nowhere but at the crossroads of guilt and regret. When I didn’t get a response, not even a blink out of the administrator of my pain, I was farther behind on the journey to forgiveness than I’d ever thought possible. And he was light years ahead, dismissing of my mere existence. Had I chosen acceptance, I’d have chosen a much quicker road to satisfaction. But, as you all know acceptance is a tough pill to swallow. And frankly, I’m all out of water.

This Side of Rejection

This Side of Rejection

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

~ Maya Angelou

       Most of the shadows of my internal darkness are caused by blocking out my own sunshine. Its hard to admit it guys, but I have a dirty habit of settling. There he is, my future, waiting patiently in the fields of utter perfection, and I’m over here on the corner of “Just” and “Love me” finding ways to justify the negativity in my life. My track record of men I’ve spent longer than a week tolerating screams something is sadly missing. It’s come to the point where it’s almost impossible not to feel hopelessly devoted at the mere mention of long term interest. Genuine needs fall by the wayside in the beginning and I find myself forgetting what’s truly important in a partner. Until compatibility comes knocking and I’m standing at the door with more questions than answers.

News Flash: there is more to a relationship than just being in love. There’s security and there’s pride. There are similar interests and way more moments of happiness than those troubling instances of doubt. But sometimes, when he’s holding your hand and telling you how beautiful your unmade face is, the sensitivity overshadows all of the concerns, and you’re whisked away to a land of make-believe. And it’s in those moments folks, that futures go to die.

My two week love affair is obsolete.  Happy birthday to me, right? I have a request for a last minute present and it goes as follows:  I want his heart to heal quicker than it took me to break it. (Which was a two minute convo via text, cause I was admitably too exhausted from overthinking the break up to make the phone call) Mark my words, the pain of my own punishment is far worse than dealing with any outsider’s rejection. Mostly, because I know that good people deserve answers (despite wanting to hear them)and at the end of the day I was never one to leave a story untold. He’s not going to thank me for breaking his heart, but I hope sooner rather than later he realizes that painful losses are often times the most sought after lessons.

For a while I was happy to know that someone out there wanted to get to know me as much as I want to get to know them, even if I already knew it was for nothing. I guess you could say I gave it the “good ol’ college try”. It took me years to learn, but there are significant similarities that need to be aligned to foresee a stable future with someone, and I know my place in each of them so well that it’s absurd to most that I’m able to make decisions so quickly. Obvious incompatibilities are a dead give away in the game of love. And yet, we dance around them like children hoping to be swept away by instant gratification.  I’m rambling, again. I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want to defend my decision. Not for him, and especially not for myself. Because it’s my decision and there’s no explanation to how my soul chooses to find it’s mate. I am plain and simple on a journey directed by pure intentions with the same goal as every one around me, to love and to be loved in return.

Needless to say, this round was mine for the loss. I kind of set myself up for failure because I took his adoration for me and I used it to fuel the parts of him I wasn’t ready to accept. Plain and simple, he wasn’t a match. Not his fault, and not mine. If you had asked me a decade ago, I would have dated his face off, because hellllo…lust. At twenty two years-young I’d allow three months of euphoria to be followed up by eight months of irritation and a month of recovery. That’s a whole year wasted on ignoring life’s red flags. But, at the end of the day it still pains me to say goodbye to a person who would have done just about anything to make me happy. Something that honestly was never his job in the first place. You have to wonder if this will be the last time you’ll get an opportunity, if the grass is really any greener on the other side? If it’s not any greener,than I’m honestly still content knowing that I didn’t settle for doubt. I am committed to the desire to find someone to fit into a life I’ve created for myself and I won’t take any less as an option. If it takes me an entire lifetime to find what I’m looking for then I’ll see you on the other side, the other side of rejection.

 

Fasting

Fasting

Numbers don’t lie. Your age, your weight, the number of sexual partners you’ve encountered; concrete evidence of experience. Be it days, or dinners or the need for instant gratification, with every addition to the count how happy are you?

Abstinence. I thought it was that green liquor that made you hallucinate fairies. Turns out, our generation barely knows the definition because we live in fear of what it might say for our character. To most, there are two reasons why a person might not engage in sexual intercourse. The involuntary repercussions of either being unattractive…or a loser. I get it, people don’t always get it because they can’t always get it…but what if the people with the brains and the beauty held out for something a little more meaningful than a night under the sheets with someone they barely have anything in common with? What if  just a few more people with the actual option practiced restraint from indulging in promiscuity? Mind. Blown.

I met a gentleman who’s purity was not evident. He looked like the kind of guy who broke hearts and etched notches on his bed post often. But, after making him feel comfortable enough to admit to a stranger of his venture from social norms he confessed that sex was not on his agenda, not now…and frankly maybe not ever. After the initial shock of rejection (internalized that little mystery right quick) I realized this wasn’t something he decided within the first half hour of knowing me. It had nothing to do with me, nor would it ever.  It was a journey that most of us scared adults would never bring to fruition and he was living it everyday. I had a million questions. Why now? Why not ten years ago? When does it end? What makes for an exception? How bad do your balls hurt? He answered everything with an honest and open heart, reminding me that he, like most people, doesn’t need physical intimacy to develop a deep and everlasting connection.

*insert line about testing the car before you drive it off the lot* *insert eye roll* *insert vomit* *insert hanging self* Every time I think about holding off, about retracting the gift of my body for the pure ecstasy of a strangers validation I hear the men in my life reminding me that they would never put a ring on a finger that hasn’t felt the warmth of their irresponsible shaft. This personal decision is tough enough without the added concern that I won’t find a single man forgiving of my decision.  As if my ratio of eligible suitors wasn’t at an all time low, now I want to find someone who understands core values and doesn’t laugh in my face when I tell him I won’t blow him in the parking lot. Here we go.

Sex. I understand the want, but lately I’ve been questioning the need. It’s a fine line, the one between keeping someone with potential from fleeing and giving some asshat off the street a quick orgasm.  I think it’s time to start leaving people better than we find them and psychologically there’s nothing at the bottom of an empty one night stand besides guilt and regret. There in lies the power to wait. The power to give less, but essentially hand our generation so much more. You don’t have to be the one to say no, but somebody has to. If I don’t, then she won’t, and then he won’t see the need for it either. And then we all just fuck each other into some std ridden empty abyss of lost souls and angry lovers.

That’s why this year, I choose abstinence. Not due to religious affiliation. Or health concerns. Certainly not because it’s trendy, or helpful. I am a product of everything I internalize and self love is not felt in my moments of sexual desperation. I hate everything about the moment I wake up next to someone who hasn’t even asked me my last name. Sex is easy. Intercourse is fun. Diving into someone’s fears, dreams and aspirations before I get to that part is difficult and scary. But in the end it will only intensify my admiration for the person who was meant to have me for the rest of our lives. They say, do things in full or not at all, but I am conscious of the difficulty of the task at hand and am not afraid to do it partially.  Because I have freely chosen to take on what I think only statistically 3 percent of our world’s population is successful at, I’ll accept a low grade on this project just as long as I learn how to “fast” appropriately. #joinme

Sidepiece Situations

Sidepiece Situations

I gave him a ringtone that was loud and obnoxious because if he ever called it would be in the middle of the night and only in an emergency. After all, he was a father now. I hadn’t thought about him in weeks; our small talk was always smaller talk than I could entertain purposefully. But I shot him a text before bed requesting some much needed attention amidst my dating failures.  The ellipses floated there with no response. He wanted to, he just couldn’t. The routine was pretty predictable. If it was any consolation I always knew he would call once he was out of the state on business. When he was finally away from her, and her insanely life draining insecurities.

“Kiss me, k-k-kiss me, infect me with your love and fill me with your poison, hate me ha-ha-hate me wanna be you victim, ready for abduc-” blared from under my pillow. His contact photo always brought me back to a younger love.

Before the beard. Before the bullshit. Before the baby.

I sent it to voicemail. Just text me dude, it’s 3 am and I’m only one level of consciousness away from a coma. Declining him was easy, because my needs were met by the serenity of my pillow. Plus, I knew we’d chat in a better mindset, after the sun had risen. Or so I had thought. With my wishes far from being respected, Katy Perry’s encore of E.T. jolted me awake.

“It’s late, Chad. What’s up?”

“Listen you stupid bitch, stop contacting my boyfriend, he wants nothing to do with you, you fucking stalker. If you text him again I will call the police.”

“I’m sorry? *giggle* Who is this?”

It clicked. She sounded young. And ugly. Not that you can tell a persons physical appearance by their tone, but the way she breathed into the call sent me a visual of a putred exterior. I hung up. Mouth hanging open in shock. Did my ex’s current girlfriend just call me a stalker? Did this pubescent psychopath just accuse me of harassing her family? You send a couple of friendly texts and the wrath of Satan is spawned. Holy ball and chain, batman.

She called again. I picked up in anticipation for the ability to unleash.

“*expletives and mumbling about me ‘getting my own family’ quickly drowned by a whole bunch of tears and the suggestion for me to kill myself*”

That’s cute. I remember my first boyfriend.

I had to hang up again. I felt horrible laughing at her while she formulated mindless threats in a senseless rage. I wondered at what age a woman can be certain some twenty-something isn’t going to call her from [not-her-phone] to bitch about a whole slew of made up scenarios in her tiny fucked up head. The answer is: never. Side note, we aren’t even in the same state, and I wouldn’t sleep with your boyfriend again if he paid me in gold. So, why don’t you calm your tits, and take up your concerns with the person who lied to you and not a stranger in a call log? I’ve never even met you before, which means there’s zero chance in hell I’ve made any promises to you I haven’t kept.

It took everything in me to not find a way to peel the wool from her childish eyes. Let’s not forget who ruined his and I’s relationship just over a year ago. You, bitch. You pissed on a stick while I went ring shopping. Remember playing that little game of entrapment the second you found out our love was greater than yours?  If ever there was a more grandiose display of Karma, it was now. Your “family” has been and will always be just a sad little fairytale involving an unwanted baby and a father who spends most of his nights asking if I still love him. He will block me to appease you for now, but I’ll catch him in my email inbox in the next forty eight. Because when you bring nothing but drama to the table, don’t be surprised when everybody gets up and leaves.

deuces

 

This feeling. 

This feeling. 

Not everything lasts forever. 

Your favorite movie. The rain shower passing your thirsty lawn. Hitting your funny bone. Being out of breath. The moment somebody gets you

Sometimes people come into our lives to remind us that we as humans were meant for extremes. To be extremely satisfied, or absolutely devastated. Either way, the moment is ours for the feeling.  

Admit it. You like the way bad feels as long as it’s tickling the numbness of your every day life. Ask the heroin addicts. The sex feigns. The abused children. It may not be right, but wrong is attentive and prosperous. It gives life meaning because it urges us to be engulfed in an emotion. And when we know pain, we immediately understand pleasure. 

Love hard, or never at all. Nobody I know said that, so I can’t quote them, but I live by it like its some god damn art piece on my Pinterest wall. Some people are going to keep you on track and others will unsuspectingly throw you completely off course. But they arrived, and they were there, and they made you feel. How crazy would we be to not give it every ounce of our being in return? I cant seem to underestimate the power of giving love it’s full potential. No matter what round I’m in. 

There’s something to be said about tragedy, be it big or small. I don’t know that I’d know love if I hadn’t ever lost it. And I wouldn’t understand utter despair until I’d fallen hopelessly in an unconditional intimacy. 

I want to be inspired to expand. To be challenged to revisit any reasons I’m not able to do so over the course of my days here on earth. I want to go to terrible places. And find myself in moments where the rest of the world doesn’t have the strength to break in. I never want to lose the gift of feeling, let it drain me of my happiness and ache down to my core.  All of this with someone I connect with on the same level, someone who is as sure of the ups as we’ve found ourselves down. 

The irony is that I’ve had him. And I’ve lost it. And I’ve refound him again. And I can’t seem to escape what the universe thinks I deserve. It drives me wild with anticipation and carries me to new depths of passion. I let it have its way with me, because my darkest hours are filled with unforgettable enlightenment. In those brightly lit moments of self awareness I see him and I’ve fallen in love with the sight of his perfect fucking soul. 

But nothing lasts forever. Or so it seems. Not even him, in my wildest dreams. 

Shaken not Stirred

Shaken not Stirred

I live off of sunshine and coffee, they fuel my soul. When people see me with a venti-soy-caramel-macchiato extra foam glistening in the early morning rays,  I know what they’re thinking: “Her? She’s a basic white bitch”.  I loathe the idea that my drink of choice is an ode to the person I am within; that my menu order is essentially a Hello: My name is *judgment passed*. That was, until I realized that almost every drink you order says a lot about who you are as a person. Spoiler alert: It’s nothing good.

Morning pick me ups aside, when you sit down with someone for small talk and they order the following at a bar, we are all most likely thinking the same thing:

Jack&Ginger.

He didn’t graduate college. He likes cosmetically enhanced women in crop tops and cowboy boots.  Every time you see him around town he has his arm around a new girl. That’s because his relationship with his mom is sour. The whiskey-coke has a dirty mouth and even dirtier secrets. Like that he cries into a photo album of his first love to the soundtrack of Dirty Dancing on Sunday evenings. After football of course.

She always buys her Coachella tickets a year in advance. She hates the way her face looks without make up and refuses to quit her job at the hair salon even though she has a degree in psychology. The whiskey-coke female doesn’t take shit from anyone which is why she’s written a few acoustic songs about how uncomfortable it is to sleep in the drunk tank. She pretends to like being single, but constantly scopes the bar for a man. Preferably one named Jack, Jim or Jose.

Grey Goose&Sprite.

He has an iTunes playlist littered with rap albums that nobody can tolerate unless they are loose on the goose. His car looks expensive, and it probably is. It’s just not paid off. Phantom…Chrysler, same thing.  The vodka drinker is into men’s health and dancing with ‘gun hands’. He shows off his abs every twelve minutes  as a ‘drunk joke’ that gets older than the women he keeps trying to pick up with his empty frosted bottle at the VIP table of a dead bar.

She knows exactly what glass is hers because her lipstick is brighter than her personality. The vodka woman sports the little black dress equipped with daddy issues. She loves to dance, hates to go to the bathroom without a flock of her friends and will be ‘whore’izontal by midnight with little effort on anybody else’s part. She often forgets that just because ‘it’s clear’ doesn’t mean she’s in it.

Jager-bomb.

He will inevitably get kicked out of the bar for punching someone in the face. The thrill of his youth is as strong as the smell of licorice on his breath. This guy is usually all muscle, no penis. Doesn’t come in with any friends, leaves with even less.

She will open mouth kiss someone twice her age, and he’s gonna like it because jager bombs ironically also resemble the smell of Bengay. First she bitches about why they don’t have the fancy chill-and-pour then she realizes that it’s gonna get warm anyway while she’s busy in the bathroom throwing up what drunk-her thinks is the contents of her bleeding stomach.

PBR.

He is ready to party. This fool fucking loves America. If you need a lighter, ask the chimney of friends he rolled in with. Nobody smokes more cigarettes than this can crushing son of a bitch. Also, backyard bonfires where he tries to serenade you with Bruce Springsteen songs are in your future. Ask him what flavor of top ramen is his favorite, it’s all he’s ever been able to afford his whole life.

She likes to skinny dip. Probably can’t find her phone. And won’t have much to offer when the conversation turns political. She will pretend to like guns, but when you ask her what her favorite is she just starts rambling off numbers too high to be a caliber but close enough to be considered her IQ. 

Rum&Coke.

He dabbles in steroids. Couldn’t decide between this drink and an Appletini. Since his skinny jeans are feeling a little snug he went with the diet coke and captain. He’s not afraid to brawl because his ray bans are fake. No loss to him. But he will spend twice as much time as normal looking at himself in the mirror if you fuck with his ‘money-maker’.

She travels a lot. Mostly because nobody can stand her being in the same place for a long period of time. If society found it socially acceptable to grocery shop in her bathing suit, she would. The Rum and coke girl doesn’t like to live in the shadows.  Give this bitch a coconut and an umbrella and she could take over the world.

Iced Tea-No Ice.

Him or Her are part of the program. This is 2015, nobody drinks iced tea on a date unless they are two sheets to the wind already and want to try urinating without your assistance. The no ice thing is a bit rebellious. They don’t have time to be face fucked by an unbroken glacier while they throw back their caffeinated sobriety award.  They strive to be efficient because a group of people told them they were not productive members of society for long enough. Also, they won’t sleep with you. No matter how cute you looked eating those nachos.

Your favorite drink says a lot about you. There’s no denying that our go-to cocktail often times represents our personality traits. I’m not saying revamp your order for the sake of judgment, but remember that you only get one chance to make a first impression. No beautiful woman ever starts the story of how she met her husband with “I saw him a the end of the bar, drinking a Dirty L.A. Water waiting for his Screwdriver”. That’s life. Cheers!