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! 

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. 

Send Help. Distract Me. 

Send Help. Distract Me. 

Patience is, without thought, a counter instinct. Which deems it’s very existence a thousand times more difficult to achieve if you’re not constantly practicing it. Let’s be realistic, who has time to practice patience? Ghandi. That’s it. Because, realistically, that dude didn’t have a job. 

Next time I go to the Department of Motor Vehicles you know my ass isn’t about to let anybody skip me in line. Our time is valuable, our time isn’t guaranteed. By nature, you and I will always want something now, and waiting for it is not instinctual because as luck would naturally have it, waiting could be counter intuitive to gaining what we as a species want if tomorrow never comes. 

                     Me. Hungry. Now
 

Breathing, now that stuff comes naturally. When someone dunks your ass in the pool and expects you not to breathe, that shits hard. Because naturally you want to; and at some point naturally you’re going to. I’m not saying having patience is identical to drowning, but like. It’s damn near close. 

So, I looked up virtues today, cause I wanted to find out what else I wasn’t born with. Get this: 

  • Humility against pride. Check.
  • Kindness against envy. Check please. 
  • Abstinence against gluttony. Check.
  • Chastity against lust. Ch…eck?
  • Liberality against greed. Check.
  • Diligence against sloth. Checkity check. *clicks heels*
  • Patience against anger. Dammit. 

These heavenly virtues are powerful against the seven deadly sins, and I manage to check most of them off quickly and efficiently daily. Until I reach patience. And I’m wondering why I’m even googling virtues, I don’t have time for this! The irony is that it’s the contrary virtue to anger. Which I’ve been carrying the weight of a lot lately. 

It’s such a gift to have the moral integrity to be able to hold out for something you want. Foregoing instant gratification, to me, is like shooting myself in the foot. It’s gonna hurt, but I’m not gonna die. I have never prayed for anything so hard in my life. For the ability to hold out. Even sometimes for a minute. To be able to hold back. Even sometimes just for a day. And the ability to counter balance anger with something, anything; patience. 

The idea of patience in itself makes me angry, go figure. My patience wears about as thin as an Olsen twin and I have nothing to combat my feelings of anger with. So I turned my gaze inward today and tried to find out what was causing my deep deflection of this very simple virtue. Simply put, its a fear of loss. It’s the inability to endure discomfort without complaint. 

I tried to find examples of people who might be role models of practicing god-like amounts of patience in my presence, and honestly, turns out, we’re all fucked
I don’t know who made this a virtue that stood in line with other things like “kindness”. But it’s damn near impossible in this generation to be patient. It’s pretty much cake to be nice. 

In my experience, anybody who says they were “super patient” for a period of time in their life, wasn’t. They just remember it working out and therefore project some admirable quality about being patient when they didn’t even really need to be. Someone who waits for a friend while they go to the bathroom isn’t the mayor of tolerance town. There’s no discomfort without complaint in just living a life that goes smoothly.

Patience is enduring a life of irony. It’s caring about someone when they can’t open up right now. Patience is fighting cancer as it eats away at your last little bit of existence. Patience is pregnancy. Patience is love. Patience is knowing what it’s like to be abandoned but having the faith to wait all over again…

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.

best

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!

 

Guest Blog: Not an Opener

Guest Blog: Not an Opener
  • By Ryan Carr 

Good morning cla-

To Whom It May Concer-

My fellow Americ-

Hi, how are y-

Whatever, I’m not an opener.

 

For the life of me, I cannot start any sort of conversation with an unmarried woman. Ever. When I do try my hand at it, I usually end up coming off like an asshole because the only people that get my sarcastic sense of humor are the ones that have known me forever. I have so much experience with new people thinking I’m a dirtbag, that when I find a woman attractive I tend to over compensate in the other direction. I once thanked a cute sales associate for her help; surprisingly, she didn’t ask me for my number. My sister calls this “007 Flirting”. This is so much of a thing that she even made me business cards that say, “Hi, I’m Ryan Carr and this is me flirting with you.”  

 

Not being an opener kind of rules out online dating, bars, and any other social setting where I don’t have someone to vouch for me. If my sense of humor isn’t getting me in trouble, my interests are. In a conversation on Tinder, I asked a match what her favorite pair of shoes were. On review of this conversation’s abrupt end, I realized how creepy that question was…I just really like shoes.

   

My friends aren’t exactly the best matchmakers either; actually they’re horrible at it. Most of us have known each other for a decade or more, so they all knew me when I was in my early 20’s doing the immature things that guys in that age range do. Knowing me for that period of time has made it difficult to see that since then I’ve learned to respect and value women, and I’ve grown up and become more interested in serious, meaningful relationships. So you can imagine, I’m not the first guy that comes to mind when they are looking for eligible suitors for their female friends.

 
Essentially left to my own devices, I’m an indefinite bachelor, unable to progress past introductions with any prospects due to this one fatal personality flaw.

 

But just incase she’s out there..

 

I’d like to find a woman who is into some of the same things that I am like Star Wars, my family and Xbox (yes, specifically Xbox because being with someone who’s into playstation would be like having the same argument every day with someone who thinks they are always right when in fact, they are not.) Someone that finds it funny when I call something the wrong name purposefully, speaks Pig Latin fluently and isn’t offended by the occasional unconcealed burp. A significant other who enjoys the finer things in life, like my tattoos and obscure movie references. Someone who shows affection the same way I do and curses recreationally. So really, I want to date myself… I just don’t know how to do that.

  
 

So, if this is you, consider this my opener.

 

Lo-

Yours tru-

Sincer-

Cordia-

-Ryan Carr

 

 

P.S. Yeah, not a closer either.

Delete. delete. DELETE.

Delete. delete. DELETE.

This will sound as bad as it feels.

Tonight I deleted all of my dating apps. 

I feel naked, and lost. For too long I’ve become emotionally dependent on the highs and the lows. The highs being so unbelievably high I could barely consider the possibility of accomplishing them through fate alone. And the lows, they were painful. I made them all translucent for the world to read.  Despite how empty my bank accounts were, how lonely my heart felt, I always had the guarantee of a wink, a match or a message to keep my ego fulfilled. 

I trusted these sites with my happiness; each of them running in the background of my insecurities since December of 2014. After a year of not being able to come to terms with answers as to why I couldn’t make a plethora of options become a single priority, I give up. 

The only thing keeping me from feeling absolutely helpless is knowing that I’ve grown into a woman who can do this on her own. (And also into a woman who can just as easily re-download them again) 

But I won’t. I give up on the unnatural availability to have any man I may never meet. I give up on the feeling I get when I mirror the possibility that you’re practicing the same inappropriate dating tactics as I. I give up on people forgetting that pictures are of people and people have feelings. I am giving up on fake and crossing my fingers for real

Real isn’t going to present itself to me in social media form. It won’t make me feel insecure, because our faces won’t be plastered for the world to know we’re “looking”. It won’t make me feel rushed, or unappreciated. I won’t be a number, or a profile, I’ll be a once in a lifetime silhouette to an unsuspecting gaze. 

Aside from a one handed push up, this will be the hardest thing I’ve tackled in 2015. Essentially, I’ve had men at my fingertips every god damn day for the entirety of the year. Going from 80 to 0 is like braking on ice…scary and full of  “oh shit what have I done’s”. Time to be at one with my loneliness and take to a good book instead of perusing for my next tear jerker. Emphasis on jerk. Since those are the only assholes who make profiles these days anyway. 

*I bet some of you are wondering how I will maintain a dating blog without any site references. The truth is I’ll probably revisit them in the new year. But this is a break I so desperately need going into 2016. Feel free to guest blog in my dating absence and prompt me with any non-dating related topics that are also part of life’s little lessons. 

R.A.P.E.

R.A.P.E.

You’re two hours deep into a Cheesecake Factory appetizer rendezvous when the booth gets silent with a pause. You’ve rearranged your straw wrapper into shreds of confetti. You’ve reached your allotted two drink maximum, but continue to discuss every fun drink name on the specialty menu. You’ve been to the bathroom twice. He’s certain you for sure have the stomach flu. That, or the sweat on your brow is just your body’s way of begging you to not bring up any of those topics that always get you in trouble.  Let’s be real, awkward silence’s are about as much fun as rape. I know, I know…that’s  quite the comparison, but the irony is in the acronym.

R-eligion

A-bortion

P-olitics

E-x’s

I’ve been on a few dates where I hit all of these straight out of the gate. Spoiler alert: it’s hard to split a check with a hot headed republican who’s busy pulling up photos of his 2014 Christian summer camp fling. I never like to say never, but never has not making this a never, ever helped me not hate the person in front of me. Even when they agree with my political rant, or religious affiliation, we always get to that one topic that makes me want to pull their genitals through a meat tenderizer.

I read the bible once. Solid read. But this isn’t a book club, and I’m not prepared to discuss the testament I prefer with someone who probably takes the whole thing a lot more seriously than me. I’m struggling to ‘love thy neighbor’ when my neighbor, Pastor Tinder wants to know what church our child will be baptized in before I’ve even found out his astrological sign. Side note: I put the whore in horoscopes. I care more about if you are a Scorpio than a Buddhist.  For myself, religion is a spiritual experience that I practice in private and not on your pedestal of judgment.

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The only way to make the conversation more awkward than the silence it sits in is to bring up killing something. Avoiding extremes at all costs will keep things light which is exactly what a recent date didn’t do when he asked what I would do if  he accidentally got me pregnant. Way to back me into the pro-abortion corner with one swift push moron. First of all, who said I’m letting you get close enough to scramble these eggs? Secondly, everyone knows men have no say in anything involving our bodies so needing to know my view on this is basically like holding a gun to my faux-pregnant stomach and asking if you’re allowed to pull the trigger. Neither of our opinions on abortion are relevant for a first date.

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My views of the world are confusing enough without having to defend them in a partisan political rant of epic proportions. Hearing an opposing perspective is enlightening when you know the person weighing in on the issues, but when a stranger rolls his or her eyes at the party you’ve chosen, well…go fuck yourself.  Hell hath no fury like a woman critiqued. I’ll inquire about your political convictions when I love you enough to tell you you’re wrong. Or maybe you’re totally right. But either way, lets not hold hands at the voting polls just yet. The only thing I’m holding is faith that our values will guide us to each other despite our political foundation.

politics

Men, your last girlfriend is not a representation of your penis size. Whipping out the busty waitress you snapchatted for a month does not impress me. In fact avoiding your ex partner like the plague is something you might want to do not only in life, but in all first date discussions. I had a guy flat out tell me he cheated on his last girlfriend before my water even got a lemon. Cool, so much to look forward to! I get it, it’s tough to not want to establish some sort of “lesson learned” to a potential partner, but your mistakes are your mistakes to grow from, not re narrate like a bad romance novel. If you need to rehash unresolved emotions, seek therapy not Plenty of Fish.

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Dating etiquette is subjective. I’ve tested a fart joke on a man in a tie before, and things went really well for the reminder of the evening. I’d say most topics are pretty safe if you just gauge your audience, but the reality of it is, some things you can’t unhear and just like that, all of your potential is snuffed to smoke. Harness your impulses and stick to things like travel, movies, and where you see yourself in five years. Spill your guts when you can trust them with life’s really big confessions.

 

 

 

Guest Blog: She Wants to see the Social D..

Guest Blog: She Wants to see the Social D..

By Billy Bautista

We now live in an age where communication is as instant as sexual gratification. Emojis alone are statistically responsible for half of the online hookups that transpire everyday. A combination of social media evolving into the robust intertwined network of both third cousins and the waitress you tongued from IHOP has put us all in a habit of relying on our smartphones to connect us to anything and anyone quickly. Be it answers to trivia, directions to a motel 6 in Fresno, or what kind of meat selection do I have within a five mile radius, Tinder? Swipe. 2015 means access. To information. To profiles. 

Welcome to Instagram. It’s your phone. Showing you hundreds of thousands of strangers that you might never meet. Or can you? Since this is an exposé write up of sorts, I don’t mind sharing data for the common good. I’ve dated a dozen or so women from Instagram..in 2015.. This month…
 
Therein lies the problem. Like anything fed without regard or limits, ease of access allows us to be spoiled. I consider myself a gentleman and raised accordingly. Growing up with both catholic and Spanish roots albeit in an Asian island means being infused with every flavor of expectation a man should have when it comes to traditional courting. And while I’m not out to trade a flock of sheep for a lady’s hand in marriage, I can at least say that my mother raised a nice boy and my father raised a good man. Integrate that with a visual output – a channel where your audience gets a constant view of your assets, your gentleman traits, and alluring photos of a fast paced life in far off places, Instagram suddenly becomes a version of eBay for the dating community where likes and comments become bids for tonight’s man of the hour. 
The same goes for women. In a visual world, our eyes speak our minds and translate our appetites. So is it obvious why hot girls on Instagram have a shit ton of followers?! There is no room for judgment though. Even your average television viewer is guilty of the same habits. We watch what we want. We eat what we want. We date who we want. We do what we want. We are the world’s bastion for selfless pursuits and excess everything. We are the pillars of lust and trendsetters in desire. We are sexy pizza eaters with flawless selfies…at the right angle. We are our car, our tragic hairstyles, our job, our entourage, or whatever aspect of our lives we choose to glorify on the internet. If your dating life can be googled with a single hashtag, maybe it’s time to retreat to the Midwest and just get back to girls that want you because you’re a good Cali dude. Ahem *self advice*

It’s a plethora of things. Excuses that is. For why my dating life can be considered both a seriously grand success and epic fail. My standards are somewhat flawed but I’m also super jaded. I know by the first date if I hate someone. The irony of that is you can’t really know love till you know hate (more on that later, young padawans). My profession allows for too much travel and being constantly surrounded by beautiful women. I’m lucky. But dating is hard. Like I said, it goes both ways. I never know who to trust. Who wants to date me and why. That’s just the frosting layer of my issues cake. Ladies have it harder I think. Kind of a cruel cycle if you ask me. Guys will go to what they’re attracted to. Most ladies usually meet creepers both on and offline as their creeper agendas are usually penis to vag related. It’s a sick game really. But this is who we are and what we’ve become. Like my status. Poke my face. Sext me. Facetime me naked. Wash, rinse, repeat. Might as well be good at it. Which reminds me, I totally DM’d this chick a selfie and an eggplant emoji. Looks like another night of #billyproblems #netflixandchill #datenight #TARYNDOWNMYBALLS