I'm failing at this whole contributing member to society thing...yet again

In less than a month I will 24 years old, which is only two years away from my scary age of 26, 26 absolutely terrifies me, I don’t know why but on my 26^th birthday you will find me curled up in the fetal position with wine, crying, I can almost guarantee it. So when you are almost 24 and you spend your Friday night, in bed, living in your parents basement, listening to Bon Iver instead of getting up and going on a date you start to really think to yourself “what am I doing with my life.” When you spend your Saturday night at a nightclub where the average age of every one in attendance is 17, girls scream “OH MY GAAWWDD I LOVE THIS SONG!” and “DO YOU LIKE TOTALLY THINK I’LL NEED ID,, you think “wow...this is what I am doing with my life, fuck.” Then when you spend your Sunday night at Melvin’s house drinking beer and hanging out you think “well...can’t get much worse can it?” And that is my weekend. In a nut shell...and then I reached a new low this morning when my gas light came on and I put ten dollars worth of gas in my tank and I paid with Loonies. Not even strippers who get paid in loonies have so little dignity that they pay in Loonies. But I feel zero shame, because you know where my money went? Boonstock tickets and a bridesmaid dress for Jenna’s wedding. Totally worth it. So when you see me pushing my car home because I have ran out of Loonies and can no longer fill my gas tank this week, know that it is totally worth it.

I could tell you about Melvin...or I could tell you about my new pretend boyfriend

I could tell you how last week I hung out with Melvin and I went all swoony again and how all week he’s been all sweet which made me swoon even more and caused me to dance around in glee all week. Then I could tell you how last night some whore faced, mini skirt wearing on a Wednesday wing night, skanky mcskankerson was flirting with him (and he flirted back) and when I was leaving she was all like “baby come back inside” even though he had just asked me to stay and so I just looked at him, made sure that I gave my best “are you fucking joking me face” and said “you better go back inside...baby” and walked away because I’ll be damned if I am going inside now that some twat face just said that to you. So I walked away...crying ...and smoking...because those two things go hand in hand...than proceeded to deleted his number yet again...and by three o’clock today I was kicking myself for having a moment of sanity and deleting his number. But really, if I think about it anymore I’ll get all crazy ghetto on him and that would just end in me in some form of straight jacket. And for all that is good in the world please let me never see skanky mcskankerson again because even before she did that I wanted to go over to her and comment on just how horrible she dressed herself. Seriously, do people not look in the mirror before they leave their house to go out into public. She looked like a low grade stripper for the Special Olympics.

 So, now that I totally haven’t said anything about Melvin,  I’m going to tell you about how I was totally just cocked block at work.

There are few to no perks at my job, really, I am underpaid, put up with bullshit, pmsing boy drama all day and I am forced to listen to Taylor Swift a million times a day, seriously, I can sing you every word to that 22 song...and this is coming from a girl who spent a solid month listening to nothing but sad Taylor Swift songs. I can’t handle another Taylor Swift song, ever.  But about 3 months ago I found a silver lining. That silver lining you ask? Hottie Mchotterson with the prettiest eyes that comes in occasionally to pick up parts for the company he works for. For 3 months I have swooned over this man’s beautiful smile and perfect white teeth and his brown eyes and his perfectly sculpted ass and biceps. Really, you need to check out this man’s tush and than holla at me so we can talk about how good it is.  He is beautiful. I don’t see a ring and it makes me working here almost bearable.  So I say to one of the boys in the back who always deals with him to casually bring up my charming personality and big boobs...not a hard task? No, it is not. You talk me up, mention I am single and pass him my business card (ya, I have business cards, I am a big deal around here) and then we fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. That simple. Does that stupid ass muncher do that? No. He talks about the part, the hockey game from the other night and lets the guy leave! He didn’t even get any information about his personal life, like where I could casually run into him, how am I suppose to live happily ever after now?! I won’t. And I completely blame the guy I work with for being a horrible wing man.

The week that lead to me sitting in a parking lot looking like a crack head...part three

Part one is here part two is here

Part 3 – The Melvinator (kind of sounds like a bad ass super villain that destroys the hearts of girls everywhere, well really just mine, because normal people would not be attracted to this hot mess of a man)

It started Saturday, when I invited him out...again...and he declined...again, well first he said maybe, and then he said no, so it was really just more disappointing. Whatever, I am used to it at this point; I carry on and have an awesome Saturday night. But when I don’t hear from him Sunday, I feel a little sad, when I don’t hear from him by Tuesday, I am really sad, by Wednesday I am in breakdown mode, by Thursday I’ve concluded that I will be single forever, why? Because if I remotely have feelings for another male I act a damn fool and scare them away.

What is my solution, I text him, because he totally wants to hear from me right? No he doesn’t, but I do it anyways. I ask him if he wants to hang out Friday night, nope he doesn’t (we really aren’t that shocked are we?), he might possibly have plans, might possibly have plans, the possibility of plans is more attractive than making definite plans with me, or even coordinate another time to hang out, because throwing me a god damn bone (figuratively speaking you perv) would just be too much to ask for at this point.  Nah, he leaves it at that, and so do I. I can’t physically put myself out there anymore, I am standing so far out there by myself yet again it’s almost shocking that I can be in this same situation. But I can be.

You know that game Waka-mole? Melvin is the person playing the game and I am the little mole that pops out of the whole, but he’s really good at the game so he knocks me back into the whole multiple times and I just keep popping back up. Really, he is taking home the big teddy bear. That is my life analogy, Waka-mole. Let that just sink in for a minute...

 

Yep...

 

Sinking in?

 

Goooooooooooodddd....

So there’s that. This happened right before I was leaving work, so I just got rid of the Aussie who cushions my blows from Melvin, I am stressed over the toothless wonder, who has made it his own personal mission to treat me like shit and has now involved my boss instead of talking to me like an adult, and Melvin has made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk to me...

And because I have the best skin on the plant I have now fully broken out in a stress rash, and because I was dropped on my head as a child I thought that lotion would make it better, but I am allergic to some lotions, so without thinking I put lotion that I am allergic to all over my god forsaken body. GO LIFE!

I get into my car, I pull away from work and I commence into full mental breakdown mode, but I have Jenna’s baby shower on Sunday  so I have to go to the mall so I can get stuff to make a cup cake stand  for the 30 cup cakes and 30 cake pops Dana and I have made, so I am sitting in the parking lot at the mall crying and itching myself because of my stress rash and rash from being allergic to lotions, I look like a crack head. Maybe not a, I ask for change on a street corner crack head, but a upper middle class, white girl, crack head, think Lindsay Lohan, but in a Grand Am not a Escalade or Mercedes, and not as skinny. Why life? Why did I have to be a female, why do females have to have so many fucking feelings, why, why why. Why couldn’t I have been a male, why do I have the stupid ability to care the most for people who don’t care about me, it’s a lovely personality quality.

I get the cup cake stand and I drive to Kermit’s house, well our old house. Judge away my  friends, I walk in and he has wine sitting there for me, well a whole bottle of wine. So I drink and he talks and tells me it will be okay and he makes me feel better, which only throws me more into a downward spiral because how can the man I spent months crying over seem to be the only person who makes me feel better? I guess I’m happy that we can still be friends, that instead of rolling his eyes at my stupidity he listens and comforts me, he seems to get my crazy, and I’m glad that after all the bullshit we went through to this point we are still friends, then there was the silver lining, some glimmer of hope in my tragic white girl problems, he has started internet dating, he has been talking to a girl for a week! You guys must be confused because this is my silver lining, but I truly just want him to happy, I want him to find someone who makes him happy, but if she happens to be ugly than bless her heart. And she was. Well, she wasn’t horrible, but I was writing home about her either. Go ahead; tell me I am a bad person, tell me that I am going to the deepest part of hell for finding happiness in the fact that my ex’s new love interest is not as pretty as I am, go ahead tell me I am shallow and for saying that I will never find love again. I don’t care, it made me happy, and I feel a small sense of victory here. So I left his house and I feel better, I have a grip on my emotions, and maybe realize this is why I was medicated for so long.

Bitches be cray

I had a four hour Skype date with Abby on Tuesday night, she is obsessing over a man who is just as confusing as Melvin, so needless to say we spent a good four hours trying to decode each other love interest. There may have been some other things brought up, like wine and chocolate but for the most part, it was four hours of obsessing over every single detail of our love interests. What this text message meant, what he meant when he did this or that, and why oh why do we allow ourselves to become so wrapped up in one person. I know it’s because of girl logic, but I left the conversation with one thing in mind, how can two fairly smart and educated women spend four fucking hours talking about guys, letting them control most of our though process throughout the day and all of our thought process at night. How is that normal? How is that healthy? How can we not want to talk about anything else? Seriously, it makes my day when I see a window to talk about Melvin, when I am able to spill the whole situation onto someone in hopes that maybe they have more of an idea what is going on. It took everything I had to not unleash the whole story on a poor cashier at the grocery store when she asked me how I was. In my head I wanted to say,

How am I?! OBVIOUSLY I am not okay, obviously I am confused about this guy and I just don’t know why he hasn’t texted me today because I really want to text him but I deleted his number because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me, but I like him, but he might like me, but he used this emoticon so I’m not really sure what that means, do you think that emoticon means he doesn’t like me or he does? What about when he said this...that has to mean he wants to hang out with me right?!”

I  didn’t say that, I held it in, I wanted too, she was the one who asked how my day was...maybe she shouldn’t do that if she doesn’t want to know how my day is actually going. How ‘bout them apples grocery store lady!

I hope someone else has had a moment like that, where you just want to unleash on a random person. I know Abby isn’t any better than me though, she is obsessing just as much as I am, maybe even worse because at least I get drunk and spill my guts, yay me for having zero filter when I drink, Abby  keeps it in. But at one point in our conversation she said

“ya, but he used a period, he NEVER uses periods so now I just don’t even know what to say back!”

I envy anyone who didn’t have the dating pressures that text messages puts on us. When things are done over face to face contact you have the ability to forget things, to not go back and re-read conversations and you know the tone of the voice and not have to worry about a period. A fucking period. Who obsesses over that?  Women do.

Men don’t sit around talking with their friends asking if it’s okay to text them, analyzing what you should say, writing a text, deleting it, re-writing it and then pressing send and going into full on panic because it’s been 30 seconds and he hasn’t responded, heaven help you if an hour or two goes by and he hasn’t responded, at that point you are sitting on your cold bathroom floor, hyperventilating, gripping your phone for dear life, rocking back and forth, while singing the sun will come out tomorrow. Men send a text and get on with their lives, they don’t write or re-write and they definitely don’t have panic attacks if they don’t get a text back.

They probably don’t feel the same kind of excitement that we do when we receive a text. Oh my poor family and friends, Melvin text me last night, first, without me texting him, I was almost asleep in my bed at 9:30 at night when the ding went off, I check my phone, success! I jump out of bed and start doing the fucking Macarena, which would be normal behaviour for me usually, but I was in underwear and a tank top, probably not a sight my 15 year old brothers friends who were sleeping over wanted to see. Didn’t stop me, I was jumping around and singing and then realized I had to reply, so I wrote and re-wrote then wrote again, I settled with “hey I’m good how are you.” I thought that was a good response, right? Trust me the first drafts where a little rough, at first I thought of writing “I’m just swell” then I was going to say “good, you?” but I settled with “hey I’m good how are you.”

Men don’t do these kinds of things, the most would be a smile at their phone, women go bat shit cray. Also men don’t sit around analyzing if they slept with you too soon, if you should have done something different, worn a different top, if you have to much cleavage or not enough, men don’t try on 50 outfits for a date (which is just crazy). Men will pick a pair of pants off the floor and a shirt and go, they will send the first text they write and they won’t give it another thought, they won’t spend hours going over every detail of the time you’ve spent together, they just act how they want. It’s infuriating knowing that we spend so much time worrying and obsessing and analyzing and they don’t have to feel that panic we do. The only time they feel panic is when they think they are about to get some and it’s still on the fence because she could put her pants back on and go home or she could fully take them off. That’s the panic we women have to deal with all the time when we have these God awful feelings for a person.

Don't You Forget About Me..Or Do, I Don't Really Care

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.

A Successful Weekend

So what happens when you have a date with your father to go see a hockey game and you run into people from high school and decide to go to the dirty with every one after? Success. That is what happens.

Jeff and I went to a hockey game Friday night, it’s nice to know your date for Friday night is your father, it makes you feel special. Anyways, I ran into Mike and a bunch of people from high school and an old family friend, we took our night to the dirty, obviously my suggestion and the amount of class that is produced at this pub is outrageous, really, you will never find a classier establishment. Jeff, being the classy man he is ran into another friend upon arrival (he has classy friends) and I was sitting at a table alone, drinking my drink, watching this man hug this girl and he won’t stop looking at me, like this man isn’t even blinking, and I know he was looking at me because the only other person in our area was a 300 pound man who looked like he hadn’t showered in ages. I think to myself...oh great, here we go. I was right. He walked over to me and asked me to join him and his blonde “friend” for a drink, I turned around to look at her and she waved and winked. Now the last time someone attempted to pick me up for a 3 sum I was 19 and was so drunk I couldn’t have even told you my name, I was neither of those things, so I politely declined and stated I was just here with my father. He walked away. That lasted all of 5 minutes, he came back...this man obviously didn’t get my subtle rejection, so I said, listen, I am here with my father, that man right there, who is big, bald and a little scary, I’m good, have a good night. He leaves...my dad comes back and his friend shows up. We are sitting there discussing the hockey game when the girl comes over. GIRLFRIEND ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I introduce her to MY FATHER and his friend. Still not picking up the hint that I do not want to talk to her, or him, and I especially don’t want to talk to either of them (and by talk I mean fuck). She starts telling me how she just got off work and he is drunk and if I could help her “tag team” (her words not mine) him for the night and she would buy my drinks. As tempting as a gansta in a sideways baseball cap is, I declined. Most fathers would have stepped in, right? Mine thought it was hilarious. Like absolutely fucking hilarious. Great.

After a few drinks I decide to text Melvin, good idea right? Well actually, it was! TAKE THAT! A bad choice that turned out good! Take that! He called he was on his way home from work and said he would meet me for a drink...until I said I was with my dad and a bunch of my friends...I’m not sure if it was the fact that he would have had to sit there in between me and Dana or sit there between m, Dana and my dad, but he didn’t come for a drink...but he did throw the idea out that if I wanted to come over once I was done that would be okay. I was drinking with my father, one can’t exactly be like “oh hey dad, I was just booty called...gotta go love you!” So what did I do...I put on my thinking cap! Dana was going to get donairs so I caught a ride with her to go get some meaty goodness smothered in sweet sauce (don’t be gross, I’m still talking about donairs). I strolled into his house at 2 in the morning two donairs in hand; if that isn’t the best booty call in the world I don’t know what is. Except I was drunk and we all know I make the best choice after a couple of drinks, so I figure it’s a good idea to get answers to all my questions, questions like, why oh why would you kiss me when you knew how complicated it was...his answer...you are too beautiful, I had to. Good answer, a little bit of a cop out...but I like being showered in compliments so I’ll take it. Then I explained that I was scared that he wanted to keep us a secret and I confused to what this actually was...my brain just couldn’t tell me mouth to shut up, I kept talking and talking, which is probably exactly what he wanted at 3 in the morning. But he answered them, for the most part, he has a knack for dodging serious questions and topics...but I feel better about whatever the hell the last month has been.

We finally ended up in his bedroom when my phone starts ringing. Now last Sunday when I was having a drink with Mike, we discussed answering your phone in the middle of hooking up. He said he had done it before and I was absolutely shocked! WHO DOES THAT!? I mean, I make questionable life choices but that one, that’s an interesting choice and I’m surprised he didn’t get slapped across the face. But that’s probably why we are best friends. We do awesome things when we drink. We always make responsibly, educated choices and seep awesome.  But he told me that if he ever called me in the middle of.... that I was to answer his phone call. So what does that mother fucker do to me...he calls me. I hear his ring tone; I panic in my head...dear Jesus do I answer? Can I really do that? No, ignore it...but he will be some kind of mad if I don’t. I know he will call me back and he will scream “Handerson, answer my fucking phone call you whore bag!” So I make a panic decision, which are never my best decisions, but it’s really a tossup because I am pretty sure Mike had left with this amazing girls (really, she is my new drinking partner! She is hilarious) a couple hours before so now I am worried something happened to him! I say just hold on and answer the phone, that’s right folks. I answered my phone. I did it. HA! Mike goes where are you...I say I’m at Melvin’s what do you want...he just wanted to chat, at 3 in the morning. Splendid, let’s chat Mike, it couldn’t wait till the morning? Melvin is slowly getting more annoyed, I get off the phone do some serious damage control and resume. He’s not happy but I wouldn’t be either, I mean it probably doesn’t look very good that I am getting a phone call at 3 in the morning from another guy, what can I say? I make good choices.

I left in the morning feeling a little better about this situation. I still don’t exactly get what I think is going to happen or what this is but this whole not panic go with the flow thing is still kind of working. So that’s my successful weekend. I seriously hope yours was less eventful.

Conversation between my heart and my head & why I will be single forever

I give up on dating, men, and sex. I am going to become a nun, if they’ll take me...they probably won’t. They’ll take one look at my Facebook page and know that I am on the fast track to hell. Heaven help me if they take a look at the list of men I’ve slept with that sits on Dana’s fridge...they would drown me in holy water and that probably still wouldn’t save me from my sins.

Abby called me last night while I was wallowing in self pity. We talked about how useless we both are when it comes to dating, how pathetic it is to let one guy dictate so many of your feelings and how it is even more pathetic  when you are sure they don’t care. I am talking about Skippers brother...who’ve I’ve named Melvin. I pretty sure he just not that into me...but regardless...well I’ll let you read what went on in my head

Conversation between my head and my heart:

Heart: LETS TEXT MELVIN, I want to hang out with him! He’s probably sitting at home missing how awesome you are...

Head: You are an idiot heart, you are breaking the rules of your FWB (friends with benefits) relationship with Melvin, further more he isn’t at home waiting for you to text him, don’t be stupid. Put down your phone. He doesn’t like us.

Heart:...really...what is one simple text message going to do? It will be fine

Head: WHAT IS IT GOING TO DO!? THROW AWAY OUR DIGNITY! We’ve been over this if he wants to talk to us he would talk to us

Heart: Not true...maybe he just got so excited thinking about us he had a heart attack...you better text him to make sure he’s okay.

Head: Seriously heart...could you be any more stupid

Heart: That is completely logical, we are awesome. It’s a known fact that people have been known to have heart attacks from too much awesomeness exposure.

Head: Well we are awesome...

Heart: Yes...so just text him something


Head: YA! DO IT WE ARE AWESOME!

*sends text about need to find a midget friend to do funny things with?!?!?!*

Head: We are not awesome...we are idiots. We should have stopped when we still had dignity left.

Heart: ...maybe just sometimes we are awesome?

Head: No...no we aren’t...we are going to die alone with nothing but our tap shoes and once we reach a certain age we won’t be able to tap dance around the house anymore! ALL THE JOY HAS BEEN SUCKED OUT OF OUR LIFE!

Heart: ...ya okay. You’re right. But I think we are awesome brain...you know what would cheer us up?

Head: A bullet to the heart so I don’t get talked into stupid shit?

Heart: NO! We are going to turn on Tommy Tutone listen to that Jenny song and dance...that always makes you feel better

Head: I just don’t know if - *867-5309* YOU ARE RIGHT HEART THIS DOES MAKE ME FEEL BETTER


And I wonder why he doesn’t like me... I’d like to say that I made that up...but that is really how my night went...what can I say something about Tommy just really gets me going.