I know its terrible date Tuesday; the thing is I am being a ball
of suck today. I don’t think I can find it in me to talk about more failed dates,
as hilarious as some of them are. Dating is draining, feelings are draining, and
unreciprocated feelings are just fucking exhausting.
I gave a big fuck you
to Melvin last night after his vagina grew to an astonishing new size. He isn’t
aware, it’s not like I started growing balls just because the man I was...I don’t
even know what with...has a big sneaper, so I just deleted all forms of
communication that I could possibly reach him with. It’s not like I could
really tell him
“hey you know what...you are more of an emotional
rollercoaster ride than my mother going through fucking menopause and if I
stick around any longer I am going to throw...no hurl, myself off this mother
fucking ride and pray for the sweet release of death to find me quickly as I
plummet to my emotional death because I am starting to lose my mind trying to
figure you out!”
Ya, see I can’t say that. I’d like to...but I can’t, so I won’t.
Because in my head I am secretly wishing
for my 80’s love story ending...yes...I am still praying that one day someone
will show up at my window with a boom box, blasting Simple Minds, Don’t You
Forget About Me, wait for me to walk out my door and tell me that they were an
idiot and give me some romantic lines about how awesome I am. But that isn’t
going to happen, it never happens in real life. In real life I hang out with a
melodramatic, self centered, over sized child who probably won’t even notice I
stopped talking to him. In real life things are complicated. In real life...this just isn't working and in real life I realistically have many more years of
heartbreak and dating disappointments to go through, and probably a nasty
divorce leaving me as a single mother. That’s real life, not some 80’s movie I’ve
made up in my head.
So instead of saying all that and getting my hopes up, I
just cut off communication, I know he isn’t going to put the effort into
talking to me, unless you know he wants something or someone to feel bad for
him and now I can’t reach out to him. I figured after weeks of being dicked
around I had had enough, I’d put myself out there way to far, way too many
times to get back extremely little. So that’s the end of that. I’m going to
allow myself one night to wallow in self pitty while Abby and I skype and talk
about our failed love interest, probably turn on my 80’s playlist and get the
hell over him and this fantasy dating world I constantly live in.
Dating isn’t made up of magical moments where you walk into
a room and he sees you across the room and walks over to you and sweeps you off
your feet. We don’t get some modern day love affair where you meet at a party
and fall asleep together on a roof top after talking all night. Dating isn’t about
the guy you’ve lusted over for years suddenly realizing that he loves you too
and you ride off into the sunset together. No fuck that. Now dating is drunken one night stands, Facebook and text messages, dirty pubs and on-line applications. Where is the romance? Where is the passion? Where the fuck is my 80's love story! Not in Melvin...I can tell you that much. Probably not in any one else, I am destined to be alone because my ridiculously high standards of romance. Great thank you Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, and Say Anything, for giving me unrealistic standards for love.
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