Summertime Sadness: A Reflection on My Dating Life

So..
hellonurse
This is sorta awkward guys. I know it’s been a while. I know you may be coping with some abandonment issues. I know I am grossly overestimating how much people actually like this blog. But, explanations will be given anyways.It’s summer everyone! It means festivals, friends, beach, outside, ice cream, copious thigh sweat, and ant infestations.

I’m not even going to pretend to care what you foolish mortals have done with your spare time, but I have been up to quite a bit.

For one: IT’s Summer! I’ve been enjoying the pleasant weather. And by that I mean “FUCKING CONSTANT BARRAGE OF RAIN” Seriously though. It’s excessive. We now have 20,000 lakes. In times like these I still try to keep a positive outlook on the situation.
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Besides, we all know if it was over 75 degrees, my summer would pretty much wind up like this:
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But yes, outdoors. I have committed numerous outdoor acts in the recent months.

I went camping! It was wonderful and only had a max of three parasitic organisms draining me of my life-force. No, I was not attacked by ticks or mosquitos draining me of my blood. The parasites in question were my lovely  nieces* and the aforementioned life-force happens to be 4g service on my cell phone. So, like the terrible people we all were, we spent each night binge-watching Adventure Time rather than ‘becoming one with nature’ or some sentimental crap like that.

*I seriously never would insult my nieces on a public platform. Any seemingly negative qualities I may attribute to them are only ones I myself would be equally guilty of. I most likely taught them terrible things :-).

There was still plenty of fun to be had outdoors. We went kite flying! Which, apparently becomes hard as Satanic Hell when you pass the age of 18.

This is what happens when you Google: 'Kite Fail' btw. (Accurate Depiction)

This is what happens when you Google: ‘Kite Fail’ btw.
(Accurate Depiction)

If camping will always be like that wonderful weekend, then count me in for more!

Hmm. What else was done in the dreadful outdoors? Ah yes, training for my first 5K. It is coming along quite fast (in one week) and have recently discovered shocking new developments that have led me to drastically change my preparations.

All that time. Spent in outdoor Tiki Bars.... spent for naught.

All that time. Spent in outdoor Tiki Bars…. spent for naught.

 

I also have been driving profusely to visit friends and family, setting stuff on fire, and some other outdoorsy stuff. If you really wanna know what I all did outside, just check out my Instagram. As a true Millennial, I can’t possibly let my mediocre adventures go undocumented.

Okay. Let’s see. Now for indoor activities…

oh yeah, of course.

I watched ALL episodes of Orange Is The New Black in one sitting. I’m not even regretting it. I’m not even sorry. That show just has some sort of effect on me.

Okay no, not THAT effect. C'mon guys. That's what Fan-Fic is for...

Okay no, not THAT effect.
C’mon guys. That’s what Fan-Fic is for…

But no. Somehow I made it through ALL THE EPISODES. And wound up in a mind-blown haze of wonder and bewilderment.

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I WOKE UP LIKE DIS

Did I realize the abject horror one person [Vee] could unleash upon the inmates?
Absolutely not.

Did I realize that the superb writing would shake my own self-filled backstories to the core and change how I perceived seemingly harmless characters [Morello]?
No way!

Did I really think I could possibly find new character favorites [POUSSEY!!] in the midsts of one of the strongest ensembles on television?
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So yeah. Season 2 was pure brilliance. Moving on.

So guys, the real reason I’ve taken to slacker-status on my blogging is because I’ve made another venture out in the realm of dating. I take breaks from dating because 1. I am too freaking awkward 2. It gets physically and mentally exhausting trying to switch that off to impress someone. 3. I usually have to drain that preciously finite energy from other sources, ie: the delightfully cliche pun-making, gif-herding, and meta self-depreciation that comprises this ‘blog’.

But yes. I am ready again. Let us hope this attempt is much different than other times. Well, actually it is. Way different. But I maybe will extrapolate on that all one fine day.

Anyways. Explanations, yeah? You see, normally when I get back on a dating kick, I now result to a no-shame beeline for online dating. Getting to type a fully contrived persona before meeting someone? My confidence exudes as follows:

It's going dowwwn.  I'm yelling "TINDERRRRR!!"""

It’s going dowwwn.
I’m yelling “TINDERRRRR!!”

 

However, since this dating venture is super drastically different in ways unknown to some and possibly obvious to others, I did not make a beeline to such methods.

Somehow, miraculously, I have still met a few people. Some have been a tad underwhelming and have clearly NOT read the guidelines I listed in a potential mate.
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Some of these potential people have been quite wonderful. But then I screw it up. Before you try to accept my pity-party invitation, please know that the statement is scathingly true. I am awkward as shit and it seriously gets in the way.

Seriously, let me paint you a picture of some of my bloopers that send the others running.

– Discussing the fact that I came up with my own ‘sexy’ choreography to the Disney song, ‘Be Prepared’ (Scar’s song).

In my defense… How could you NOT?

– Explaining the Socialist implications of how game boosts are given in Mario Kart.

– Revealing that my love of pickles has conditioned me in a Pavlovian (yes I actually said Pavlovian) way to legitimately begin drooling when I see a pickle jar.

-Making creepily early references to any sort of romantic connection on a public blog.

Now, there are plenty more dumb errors I have made. It has led to some people understandably exiting the situation. It has also left some remaining stragglers.

Just in time for stage 2!

Now, sensibly, if someone puts up with those initial ridiculous shenanigans, I would realize they are actually sorta interested and you know, chill?

Absolutely freaking NOT.

Absolutely freaking NOT.

You see, now is the time that I hold unnaturally deep conversations with people. Just words. All the time.

It begins innocently. It really does. You see guys, I cannot just have a purely physical connection with someone. They need them a purdy brain before they can be ready for this Jelly. It can still wind up being a somewhat ‘casual’ relationship thing with that person.

It just unfortunately seems like I am trying to ‘wife the shit outta them’ (actual statement I’ve heard). That is not the case, however.

I have decided that it breaks down to this: You know how some people can casually throw around their kitty?

Or some wait until marriage. Whatever you do is fine! As long as you do you!

Or some wait until marriage. Whatever you do is fine! As long as you do you!

Well I can respect and understand those women who just wanna casually throw around their kitty as long they’re safe, consenting, happy, etc, awesome! But I am just NOT one of those girls.

Instead of casually throwing my kitty, I casually throw around my soul and personality. I get a real joy out of making a connection with someone. It fulfills me just like that. It doesn’t always need to escalate. It doesn’t need to evolve into a lofty-label. It doesn’t mean I am planning the names of our unborn.

It simply means this: I am connecting with you on a deeper level than the general public, and I am enjoying the CURRENT MOMENT of it all. The ONLY implication this will give of future events is of potential kitty-throwing.

TL;DR: I’m not trying to be a wife here. I’m just a weirdo that still needs an emotional connection even in more casual relationships.

If you fools seriously thought I explained this to my dates and cleared the confusion, GTFO. You have clearly not grasped my eloquent depiction of my inherent ability NOT to simplify things.

Instead of keeping it simple and open, I just babbled. More. And more. And more. And when confronted with my completely unsexy tendency to babble, I simply began backpedalling. Instead of the proper route which is: ‘Chill the Fuck out’ I just kept up with the word vomit. Eventually all my words became a revolting clusterfuck.

So much so, I’ve taken to calling the whole phenomenon RAT KINGDon’t know what that is? Well, Google it. I’ll wait here.. because it’s absolutely disgusting. Which is precisely how I feel about my antics when I screw things up like this.

So naturally, I have had the inevitable “We should just be friends” statement thrown my way. It sucks. But I get it. I really need to do an overhaul here.

I have a lesson throughout all of this, folks. Stop overthinking. Stop trying to rationalize and talk your way through things that really SHOULDN’T be rationalized. Just do. Just be. Just live. You’re going to get a lot more respect and happiness that way. If not from others, then definitely from yourself.

 

You Mad, Bro?

Hello, my wonderful fruit snacks!

Bet you weren’t expecting a post so soon, were you?

If you should know one thing, its that I do not go by any sort of standards on this thing. These posts are totally rando and you can never expect when they may just pop up.
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I am writing today to address an issue that has plagued me for a long time.

My tendency to rage.

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(not that kind of rage)

More along the lines of this.
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I have since evolved from my school age tendencies to bite others and smack a classmate’s applesauce on the floor and learned to control my emotions.

But guys, there are some days that almost drive me back into those dark times. If it was not an immediately fireable offense, I know for a fact I would throw my supervisor’s applesauce on the floor and scream “That’s for pushing me down the wet slide and telling Billy I peed my pants!!!

I seriously had the type of day today that would have landed that story into the embarrassing reality of a police report.
What about my life could be that bad to send me in such fits of rage?

Well, nothing life-alteringly terrible. All in all, I have a life better than most. And most of these things that settle inside me are a whole lotta FWP’s… but they still are the epitome of TEH SUCK.

Let me express myself about some of these triggers I face in my life (before bad things happen). In THINGS THAT MAKE ME RAGE

First and foremost, I just want to express a common source of rage: video games. Although, I have not played some of these in a while, you can hopefully understand what the general tone will be for the remainder of the post.

-Cause of Rage:
Kingdom Hearts Bonus Villains

 

 

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Big Ben? More like Big PAIN-IN-THE-EVERLOVING-ASS

 

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Even though you aren’t required to defeat neither Sephiroth or the Big Ben Phantom in order to complete the story, that just makes the frustration all too real. It’s as if they know I can’t beat them, so they sit in their hidey-holes, knowing I cannot revel in my game victory until I smite them upon the grounds of Hollow Bastion.

•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
Stagecoach racing in Red Dead Redemption.

I love this game, I really do. It captures the Old West in a really cool way. Also, the action controls are very authentic.

That’s the problem. Steering a stagecoach and trying to turn a team of horses around is hard as shit. While you’re stuck trying to deal with this realistic problem, you usually get murdered by a band of smelly outlaws, or mauled my a passerby cougar. The Old West is hard.

•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
A certain beloved show (c’mon you guys should know this by now) changing up a bunch of stuff from a certain even more beloved book series. (In case you’re confused… Game of Thrones, #getOnMyLevel).

• Level of Rage

NIGHT'S KING?!?! That was meant for book 6 or later! Now it's ALL ruined!!

NIGHT’S KING?!?!
That was meant for book 6 or later!
Now it’s ALL ruined!!

 

The rage of a show/movie completely effing up its book counterpart is a rage I have endured many a time, yet each stray step away from the books is just as painful as ever.
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– Cause of Rage:
Shows getting rid of enjoyable characters.

Mad Men, which is but a mere shadow of its former self, has not shown one of my favorite side characters in a while.
Miss Trudy Campbell, the person who put all of her hopes and dreams into the hands of this skeeze:
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Only to have him inevitably ruin her beautiful life!
Once the imminent demise of their doomed marriage came to pass, I was certain they’d have all sorts of plot concepts for the newly freed Trudy, and what did they deliver? Zilch.

• Level of Rage:
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FYI, Pete-MOFO-Campbell, if you happen to be reading this, hope you thought it was worth it to cheat on this:

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So THAT’S what she’s been up to.
You do you, girl!

 

Another show to commit this terrible crime is Glee.

A show which has massively decreased in a quality that wasn’t all that high in the first place, is rumored to have canned its arguably best character (sorry Rachel). Santana Lopez was/is the only reason I have stuck with this sinking ship, and now it is my time to escape.

•Level of Rage:

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-Cause of Rage:
Shows turning into horrible awful train wrecks you cannot peel your eyes away from, and remain watching them out of a sick, masochistic, duty to pop-culture.

…there are too many shows that fit this category.

• Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
Nefarious pickle jars… or other hard-to-access vittles.

CHIP RAAAAGE!!

CHIP RAAAAGE!!

Yes, it took me a week to open a damn jar of pickles. Go ahead, laugh. See where it gets you.
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•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
Derpy, yet maddeningly persistent cowlick on the back of my head.
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The devious bastard seems to sprout at very inopportune moments, and no amount of coaxing will tame the wild menace.
Special thanks to all of you people who repeatedly inform me when this occurs…
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(as if I didn’t already know!)

•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
“Happy” By Pharell Williams.

I don’t need to post a video. I don’t want to post a video. This song makes me feel many things, but ‘happy’ is not one of them.

•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
The Chicago Blackhawks.
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Ever the hurdle the Minnesota Wild just. can’t. seem. to. overcome. We are still not out of the running for this year’s playoffs yet, but so far the outlook seems to be repeating its drear history.

Seriously Chicago, can’t you just give us this win? We are the State of Hockey. If anyone deserves the Stanley Cup, it’s us.

•Level of Rage

HAAAAAAWKS!!!

HAAAAAAWKS!!!

 

-Cause of Rage:
Getting shamed for enjoying red meat.
Carmella being coy with steak bone in mouth
Or Hipsters shaming me in general.

Look, I get it. I really do. But popular stuff is sometimes popular for a reason.

And. You. Can. Not. Keep. Me. From. Red. Meat.

Sure as shit, I will sniff out the blood of thine bovine enemies.

Sure as shit, I will sniff out the blood of thine bovine enemies.

 

•Level of Rage:

And don't try to pass off any of that 'Blood Orange' meat off on me. So pretentious.

And don’t try to pass off any of that ‘Blood Orange’ meat off on me.
So pretentious.

 

– Cause of Rage:
When people ask if I’m seeing ‘anyone special’.
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I know the oodles and oodles of caring (read: nosy) people out there are trying to help, but this question infuriates me, no matter how often it rears its head. The frequency definitely adds to the frustration because I am running out of ways to avoid the inquiry.

Hey! Look over there! Beautiful flowers!!

Hey! Look over there!
Beautiful flowers!!

 

•Level of Rage:
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-Cause of Rage:
Similar people trying to fix me up with someone.

This mainly happens at work. Just when I think I’ve dodged the previous question, they get the notion that I need further assistance in the matter and suggest some ‘swell fellows’.
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Not to sound like a jerk, but some of these menu recommendations have to be seen to be believed.

Actually, most are perfectly non-mutant looking humans, they’re just not my type. Which makes it difficult to decline these offers in a nice way.

• Level of Awkward:
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•Level of Rage:
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But while that (and many more personal things) all boils within me, I still manage to find relief by swaying to Enya music, cracking open a cold bottle of Leine’s, and writing a narcissistic vent-blog about it!

Cheers, Muchachos!

Cheers, Muchachos!

 

Face, meet Palm.

Today I would like to discuss an extremely common phenomena… or phenomenon? mena? menon…. Mahna Mahna.

(click it. you know you want to)

Anyways.. yeah lemme tell you the thing.

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by Regina George ever had embarrassing moments as a young person. Okay, good. Now for all you asshats who did not raise your hand, please leave the figurative room immediately, and set up an appointment with the nearest Proctologist to find your head.

We’ve all been there right? Embarrassing crushes? Terrible poems you wrote as a teen? Various stages of self-urination? Friends, I’ve done it all. And in some sick, twisted desire to place another lock on my self-inflicted chastity belt, I am going to divulge some of the more embarrassing things I have done as a wee bairn.

I suppose I am going full-out with my self-depreciating aspect of my sense of humor in order to confront my faults/issues once and for all. Let this stand for a lesson that you all need to learn to laugh at yourselves, so that no one can use your personal humiliation to overpower you.

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Easy for Tyrion to say, he never posted dirty Harry Potter FanFiction on his MySpace account.

But even if you don’t walk away learning that ever important lesson in life, I can assure you that you will most likely feel less embarrassed about your own life after reading some of my gems, and will most likely get a good laugh at my expense. Go ahead, laugh away, I find it quite hilarious too.

Without further ado, here is
Emily’s Unorganized List of Mortifying Shit She’s Done.

1. I once wet my pants at school in first grade. (haha, like that was the only time). My solution to this was to pour more water on them until they were totally soaked. I then played it off like I fell into a puddle. On a non-rainy day. Before we even had recess that day. 


2. I brought a real goose foot to show and tell in the second grade.My mom’s boyfriend was plucking/skinning/Jeffrey Dahmer-ing his hunted geese, and I was so excited about the feathers and various leavings, that I just HAD to bring in those treasures to show the class. I then proceeded to put some feathers and a dismembered goose foot into a ziploc bag, and take it to show and tell. Surprisingly, I was not sent away to the asylum I clearly needed.

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3. I had a crush on a guy, and later found out he was my second cousin. But it was okay, because you have your cousin, then your first cousin, then your second cousin and he was like a totally good kisser (kidding).
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(call me)

4. I sang a solo at Bible Camp for ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD REASON. In front of the entire mess hall. It was, “When You Say Nothing At All.” I remember announcing it as my ‘love song to God.’
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5. Frequently and incorrectly used the term ‘Hanky Panky’ in elementary school. I always thought it was just some old timey way of saying ‘hang-out’. By the time I reached 6th grade, I had done the Hanky-Panky with some guys and many, many girls. I was a regular Lothario.
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6. In 6th grade, I wrote a love note to my crush, asking him out. When that crashed an burned into a horrible rejective disaster, I stayed in the bathroom for 3 hours. The principal had to come in and scold me before I would come out. That’s how you know it was true love.

7. I frequently flipped classmates the bird in Kindergarten. My siblings taught me how and I didn’t realize it was bad until I got into a LOT of trouble by the teacher.
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Or maybe I learned it elsewhere, I’m not sure.

8. I bit someone at school and left a scar. I was forever known for biting that kid. It was sort of hard to make friends after that.
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(He knowth the feelth. It thuckth.)

9. I got the lead in the school play, and fell off the stage. I was also quite famous for that.

10. I wrote a personal ‘essay’? on what I thought sex was, when I was around 10. It was found, but I don’t remember by who. I have since repressed that memory in a deep, dark place.
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11. In high school, I came up with a self-appointed nickname, and constantly used it on myself. It wasn’t even that creative: Em-Dawg. I put it as my yearbook nickname, I have it on clothing, I also made my own logo (a dog shaped like an ‘M’) and made my own ‘gang symbol’.
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12. I called people ‘chodes’ in junior high. I did not know the true nature of the word. I thought it was synonymous with ‘putz’.
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(and for those of you innocents out there: chode means stubby phallus)

13. In 3rd grade, I wore a Bacardi hat to school on Beach Dress-up Day. In my defense, I did not know what Bacardi was, and it was bright pink, and it had a palm tree and a parrot on it, AND my teachers never forced me to take it off. Am I really to blame here?

14. I catfished myself. Yes, it’s true. In a fit of total ‘forever alone’ness, I made up a boyfriend in junior high. It started off small, but it quickly snowballed into a borderline-sociopathic web of lies and mistaken identities that would take years to get over.
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Hey, don’t judge me! You people all thought it was a wonderfully fun thing when Olive Penderghast did it.
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Girl, I feel you.

15. I used to think I was am hot shit. Oh you silly, stupid girl, you. You should never become too pompous in your abilities because if there’s one thing I’ve consistently learned is that, “No matter how good you are at something, there is always someone better.”
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Now I’m not saying, “Don’t be proud of your abilities.” You need to accept and be proud of your skills. Going to your full potential with positive activities that you are passionate about will almost undoubtedly make the world a better place.

Just don’t turn into a big cocky jerk with it. If it has been a while since life has knocked you on your infinitesimal ass, make sure you serve yourself some humble pie before someone else does. It will almost always go a little smoother if you do it yourself.
Well, check back in about a week or so, and see if this humblebrag extravaganza was a miraculous fail. If I seemed to fall off the face of the blogospere, it will mean that I have trusted this delicate information with the wrong people.

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Or it will simply mean that I do not care how much I will be teased for the things on this list, and am most likely taking another blog-siesta.
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Dates are good for self-esteem… and bowels.

Ladies and Gentlemen…..   MY TRIUMPHANT RETURN!!    *cue music*

Or… to keep up with the times…

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Bet you thought you thought you’d seen the last of me.

Yeah, I took an unexpected party (Baggins style, yo) and by party I mean fiesta, and by fiesta I mean siesta. I realize two months of slacking may seem excessive to you, but think about the bears! …tangent aside, I do realize I missed important things to write about (Christmas, the much needed farewell to 2013, and uhhhh… that, over there) and I still refuse to write about them. So farewell to Christmas (seriously people… take your decorations down already!) and fare-freaking-well to 2013. It’s been a delight. (By delight I mean tremendous disappointment, mental anguish, and soul-numbing mush-bucket.)

Anyways, on to the blog. The topic this week shall go big and bold as I start this new year. I am going to discuss relationships/men/dating etc. Will this be a hot mess of written bashing to all the men who have wronged me in my life? Well, it may very well be a hot mess, but I will keep the bashing to a minimal/anecdotal caliber. Quite frankly, there have been so many more life changes that deserve my attention and emotions so much more.

So my point is, I’m ok, I’m over all of it, I’m a completely sane person who is soooo much better without another person to validate my existence, blabbity blabbity blah.
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Who knows, maybe I may get a lyrical tattoo reaffirming me to stand my ground, live and let die, eat more cheese, you know.. the usual tropes. That’ll teach them.

Anyways after the breakup, I spent my days (read:months) wallowing in self pity and remorse.

An average weekend mapped out as follows.

– 18 hours of alternating between My Little Pony and Breaking Bad marathon sessions.
– 2 hours of obligatory familial interaction to avoid snap judgements of deteriorating mental state.
– 10 hours of in-depth social media stalking.
url– 12 minutes spent for meal production. (Includes microwaving tacquitos, easy-mac, and entire cans of corn (when feeling healthy.))
– 20 minutes of precariously balancing soda cans, Ben and Jerry’s containers, personal pizza boxes, fruit snack wrappers, and yogurt cups (when feeling healthy) into a small trash can in a feat of engineering prowess rarely seen outside of a Jenga game.
– Remaining time spent in a hazy mixture of watching Beaches, The Notebook, Pocahontas, and Forrest Gump with intense nap sessions that result in dreams so vivid it tends to blur reality.

Eventually I got out of those self-destructive patterns and got into new, seemingly more healthy ones, like searching for the special someone that would fill the emotional void in my life.

At first I would attempt to go out in real life to attempt to meet some dates. But being from rural America, this pretty much leaves a bar as your only option. While some guys seemed nice, quite a few were brashly open about their less-than honorable intentions.

It would usually play out like this:

Just.
Like.
This.

Don’t get me wrong. I love myself a man with a giant, meaty, throbbing… vocabulary just fine, but that doesn’t mean you go whipping it out at the first gal who bats an eyelash at you. (Actually, yes, double entendre aside, whip out the vocabulary immediately.)

I realized that the rural bar scene wasn’t my thing and moved on to bigger and …. (I realize ‘better’ should go there, but it just doesn’t feel right) things: Online Dating.

Now this brought on a whole bucket of awkward.
PUBLISHED by catsmob.comBut so was my single life.

First, upon creating my profile, I was met with an eclectic barrage of messages from members who had viewed my profile. At first, my full inbox excited me and made me feel better about myself.
easyA
But upon further investigation, I realized that my inbox was just a cesspool of deviants ranging from:

1. The boring men who lacked in basic conversation skills.
-“hey”

2. The 40+ year olds who had a disturbingly ‘youthful’ side.
-“hey u r beautiful. i would love to show a pretty girl like u how much ive learned over the years. if u like older men i can make u feel realy good.”

3. The geeky men with lush neckbeards who actually read my profile.
They saw how ‘nerdy‘ I am, and wrote something heartfelt as follows:

..except in their mind the conversation would go along the lines of:
“You complete.. my Aggro deck.” (click for translation)
“You had me at ‘Thanos could totally pwn Galactus with the Infinity Gauntlet’.”

*please note that I am not a nerd-hater and I’m sure these men were very nice people, I just realized that there were many things about them that I probably couldn’t relate to.

4. The dude-bros that probably should be in a relationship with themselves.
-“Hey ur hot. Wanna meet up sometime? I like going to the gym a lot so I do look as good as my picture. I hope you do 2. I hate when girls don’t look as good as their pic.”

Once I recognized the true terror of the culture I had immersed myself in, I acted accordingly.
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To be honest, it didn’t play out that way (it was sure close.)

I met (read: anonymously clicked on profiles) a variety of men who seemed to share a lot of interests. But I realized that to move past the messaging stage into actually physically meeting these people (who may or may not be completely shady) created too much anxiety for me, and too much effort to overcome that anxiety and actually ‘make it happen’. So my online-dating days ended with a quiet fizzle. (Much like how my sabbatical from the blogosphere occured).
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So now I’m just in a place where my desire to go out and actively find a person to date consistently loses to my newly found self-esteem and faith in the fact that the ‘right person’ will come along.
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Feel free to check back in a few weeks to see if my old friend, desperation, comes roarin’ on back to kick that healthy mentality in the metaphorical balls.

Until next time people!