Monday, February 25, 2013
If Your Nose Hurts, It's Because I Broke It
I received a text from my dear friend Kit the other night informing me that she was watching Mike make out with a girl we know, and all I could think to respond with was, "Oooookay."
Good for him, I thought, because she's cute. I kind of feel bad for her, though. She probably spent her weekend feeling hopeful, which is the worst state of mind to be in when it comes to Mike. He inspires a lot of hope with no follow-through. He says really nice things and then realizes what effect they are having and changes them into really mean things. I surprised myself because at another point in my life, I might have thought, "What a slut. Hope he likes herpes," but my first thought was more along the lines of, "Oh, poor her. Hope she likes getting jerked around."
Still, part of me kind of hoped that maybe she was going to be the one to jerk him around. Each girl I hear about him fucking around with as he Big Daddy Roths it through the female populace, I hold a little burning hope that maybe he'll be the one to get his sternum caved in this time. This is the reason why I know that whatever I felt for Mike, it wasn't even close to love. When I love someone, really love them, the way I, for example, loved Gino, I want them to be happy even if it means getting the hell away from me. I don't want Mike to be happy. I want him to be miserable. I want him to be stomach full of stinging nettles miserable. I want him to suffer. I have a lot of mean thoughts.
I don't think I even liked him that much. That's why I'm still thinking about it, still trying to figure out what the hell happened there. I went from really liking him to really hating him so quickly, my timeline is fucked up. I think what I really liked was being able to have sex that didn't make me sad, and that's it. My problem is, I still do not know how to separate sex and those pesky emotions that cooler people can ignore. Sex was how Gino and I said a lot of things. It was how we said, "I love you" and also, "I hate you." It gets especially confusing when the hate-sex feels just as good as love-sex. Love can hurt, and hate can feel good- like the adrenaline rush from a punch to the jaw.
I was so busy riding that high I got from the validation, the way he made the first move, that I never even stopped to think about it. It was the flattery of it that fucked with my head, made me think I had emotional attachments growing when really, all I had was a physical itch being scratched. I don't know how to tell the difference, it turns out, between, "I really like you," and ,"I really like the way your tongue feels in my pussy".
Mike happened because I let him, and also because he was there. I am getting closer to being honest with myself and admitting that I just wanted to have sex, and I might have ended up having sex with just about anyone at that point. I kept pushing it with him for longer than I should have because it was easier than finding someone new to think about. It's similar to why I kept insisting my marriage was stable even long after it was clear to everyone that it was crumbling. It was easier to just deny what was obvious and keep going.
Gino said something interesting the other night about this, though, when I referred to my laziness with men. "I don't think you're lazy," he said, "You're just impatient."
Holy shit, I thought, Gino really does know me better than just about anyone, even if he spent that whole nugget of wisdom eye-fucking another woman's cleavage. I wanted to think I could keep it casual, just enjoy myself with Mike and have fun, but I was always several steps ahead. I knew what we were doing, but I was so determined to make it into something else. I was full of hope, even if I didn't like him all that much. I just wanted to be loved again after being run over so harshly by Gino telling me he didn't love me anymore. I was willing to settle for someone, anyone, who would pay attention to me, and I refused to believe that someone could say something and not mean it. It says something about me, I guess, that I made a slight fool of myself just because for once, I met a guy who put so much effort into getting me to come. I really liked the orgasms, not the person, and I didn't figure it out until it was over. At least I did figure it out. Maybe a little late, but eventually.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Galentine's Day
I'm not as cynical about Valentine's Day as I used to be. Maybe I'm just picking my battles a little more carefully, or maybe I'm just getting to that age where I'd rather take a nap than stew about how IN LOOOOVE everyone is. I'm single. The pressure I used to apply to my ex-husband is off. I can just relax instead of waiting for him to not live up to what he is "supposed" to do for me. It's, frankly, a relief. Plus, I was too excited about Galentine's Day to even think about Valentine's Day. Galentine's rules, and Valentines can suck it.
Galentine's Day was perfect, of course. It was the perfect group lady-date. You can't really go wrong with the group of girls (and one dude) who were there, especially when your group activity is eating waffles and drinking Bud Light. The other thing that made it great was that it was a pretty even split between single people and people who are in a relationship. This is just more proof that Hollywood always gets it wrong when they portray what it is like to be single in this day and age. In the rom-com version of my life, I would have spent my first Valentine's Day post-separation crying, maybe looking through my wedding album and chugging white wine like a doctor is on his way to saw my legs off. Instead, I spent the 13th pounding waffles and beer (which is, real talk, an underrated combination) and the 14th going to see The Silver Linings Playbook. The only time I cried was during the movie, and I blame Robert DeNiro for that. This Valentine's season left me feeling more loved and cared about than the past five have. Who gives a shit, right? I love movies and I love my girlfriends. If this stupid holiday is about love, then I spent the night before with a bunch of people I love and the evening of doing what I love. I crushed Valentine's Day.
I spent the morning of Valentine's Day, ironically, texting with Gino. He posted something that confused me on Facebook, I asked him what his post meant, and then started texting me from his brand-new Android phone either because he misses me a little or because he has no one else to text. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.
After he explained what he meant (and I explained to him what Instagram is, a.k.a. the Magical Place Where Happiness Lives) we both suggested that we should hang out soon. We went back and forth on when and where and what we could do together, and I got a little jolt of deja-vu. It felt like, even though it definitely isn't, we were setting up a date. Here I am, finally feeling comfortably blase about Valentine's Day, and I'm setting up a pseudo-date with my ex.
We met for a beer that quickly turned into him updating me on the girls he is attempting to date. One is a single mom who seems kind of out of his league, if I'm honest, and the other is a girl I think might be a little too young for him. Still, I reserved my opinion and told him to go for it with either of them because, despite the little cramp I get in my gut over it, I really just want him to find someone. More than that, I want him to find someone who is better for him than I was. I was a good wife, but not what he needs. I let him get away with so much, let him coast because I didn't want to be hard on him. That's how I know how much I love him, still, even when I want to strangle him because he is barely paying attention to what I am talking about because he is so distracted by the huge set of jugs standing to my right. I kind of love him for that, too. He can do whatever he wants now, after all, and so can I.
Galentine's Day was perfect, of course. It was the perfect group lady-date. You can't really go wrong with the group of girls (and one dude) who were there, especially when your group activity is eating waffles and drinking Bud Light. The other thing that made it great was that it was a pretty even split between single people and people who are in a relationship. This is just more proof that Hollywood always gets it wrong when they portray what it is like to be single in this day and age. In the rom-com version of my life, I would have spent my first Valentine's Day post-separation crying, maybe looking through my wedding album and chugging white wine like a doctor is on his way to saw my legs off. Instead, I spent the 13th pounding waffles and beer (which is, real talk, an underrated combination) and the 14th going to see The Silver Linings Playbook. The only time I cried was during the movie, and I blame Robert DeNiro for that. This Valentine's season left me feeling more loved and cared about than the past five have. Who gives a shit, right? I love movies and I love my girlfriends. If this stupid holiday is about love, then I spent the night before with a bunch of people I love and the evening of doing what I love. I crushed Valentine's Day.
I spent the morning of Valentine's Day, ironically, texting with Gino. He posted something that confused me on Facebook, I asked him what his post meant, and then started texting me from his brand-new Android phone either because he misses me a little or because he has no one else to text. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.
After he explained what he meant (and I explained to him what Instagram is, a.k.a. the Magical Place Where Happiness Lives) we both suggested that we should hang out soon. We went back and forth on when and where and what we could do together, and I got a little jolt of deja-vu. It felt like, even though it definitely isn't, we were setting up a date. Here I am, finally feeling comfortably blase about Valentine's Day, and I'm setting up a pseudo-date with my ex.
We met for a beer that quickly turned into him updating me on the girls he is attempting to date. One is a single mom who seems kind of out of his league, if I'm honest, and the other is a girl I think might be a little too young for him. Still, I reserved my opinion and told him to go for it with either of them because, despite the little cramp I get in my gut over it, I really just want him to find someone. More than that, I want him to find someone who is better for him than I was. I was a good wife, but not what he needs. I let him get away with so much, let him coast because I didn't want to be hard on him. That's how I know how much I love him, still, even when I want to strangle him because he is barely paying attention to what I am talking about because he is so distracted by the huge set of jugs standing to my right. I kind of love him for that, too. He can do whatever he wants now, after all, and so can I.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Lady Dates
I've been busy this week with planning some "lady dates", which are much more fun and less fraught with anxiety than actual dates where I might have a good time and/or sex. For a lady date, I still put just as much effort into the fun part, getting dressed up and making sure I smell nice, but I don't have to deal with
the part that bums me the fuck out, i.e. when the guy is going to start talking about his ex or try to choke me. Or both.
I met up with my good friend, Libby, this week since she was visiting from Albuquerque. I wanted to see her, but felt a bit conflicted about it, since my sister told me that she and Libby had recently had a fight and weren't friends anymore. I find myself in this position often, having to choose between being loyal to my sister and doing what I actually want to do. It kept me from seeing the not so subtle, ham-fisted flirting Mike was throwing at me (which actually might have been a good thing, come to think of it) because Sarah forbid me from hooking up with him. I've lost other friends because of one thing out another that Sarah did. To be fair, a friend who can't separate me from my sisters actions is not one I really needed, but it still stings. All I need to remember to get over my guilt, of course, is that Sarah has done worse. She went behind my back to a former friend, a person I refuse to associate with to this day because he is a garbage person who told everyone I was in rehab for an imaginary drug addiction when I was actually in a psych ward for behavioral issues. Sarah and I ended up at the same party as this bitch, and Sarah cornered me and told me that I needed to get over it and be friends with him again, because I was "being immature". Yeah, I needed to be friends with him because Sarah probably needed something from him. Sometimes, that's how she operates. I love her, but I don't always trust her.
Regardless of my misgivings, I enjoyed spending time catching up with Libby. We had some wine and I did ask her what the fight with Sarah was about. Her version of events was, of course, totally different from Sarah's. Not really a shocker, because I'm used to that. I heard Libby out and then just had a fun time, caught her up on what I've been doing and felt happy at the end of the evening that I had gone on my lady date with her.
I started trying to interest my friends into the ultimate lady date- Galentine's Day. I stole the idea from Parks and Recreation, but who cares? It's a great idea. Valentines is a shitty holiday. If you're single, it makes you feel, somehow, even more single. If you're in a relationship, even if it is with someone you really love, often you either fail them or they fail you. Or, you try to surprise them with flowers and discover that your wife is allergic to baby's breath. That happened to me one of the only times Gino made an effort.
Last Valentines was the worst. I had to bully Gino into taking me out for a hot chocolate and a fucking macaron at Chocolate Springs, and he was sulky and bored. He was even more sulky when I brought up the fact that we never talked about the future any more, and that I wanted to talk about moving out of his parent's house, and maybe starting a family soon. It was a conversation about a future conversation I was hoping to have, but it was still too much for him. I always wondered why it was so hard to get him to do something nice for me. It didn't come naturally to him, especially last Valentine's Day, when he had already stopped loving me that way.
Focusing on lady dates feels like the best thing for me. I need my friendships more than ever, because I can feel myself turning, little by little, into a spiteful bitch. I don't like it. I saw that Mike put a poem by Charles Bukowski on his Facebook page, and I grumbled about it all night. I mean, Charles Bukowski? What the ass? That's like when Gino quotes Albert Einstein- it's absurd. I'm not even sure what bothered me about out so much. Maybe it was the fact that he even put a whole verse of any poem on his page, as if he is so emotional and deep, he has to borrow the words, but maybe it was the poem he chose, as if he knows what it feels like to have a bluebird in your heart. To have a bluebird in your heart, first you need to have a heart, you fuck stick, I wanted to say. I didn't say it, because it's not my place to say what someone can quote on Facebook, nor is it really my place to call him a fuck stick. I'll leave that to others. But I still think he's a fuck stick.
the part that bums me the fuck out, i.e. when the guy is going to start talking about his ex or try to choke me. Or both.
I met up with my good friend, Libby, this week since she was visiting from Albuquerque. I wanted to see her, but felt a bit conflicted about it, since my sister told me that she and Libby had recently had a fight and weren't friends anymore. I find myself in this position often, having to choose between being loyal to my sister and doing what I actually want to do. It kept me from seeing the not so subtle, ham-fisted flirting Mike was throwing at me (which actually might have been a good thing, come to think of it) because Sarah forbid me from hooking up with him. I've lost other friends because of one thing out another that Sarah did. To be fair, a friend who can't separate me from my sisters actions is not one I really needed, but it still stings. All I need to remember to get over my guilt, of course, is that Sarah has done worse. She went behind my back to a former friend, a person I refuse to associate with to this day because he is a garbage person who told everyone I was in rehab for an imaginary drug addiction when I was actually in a psych ward for behavioral issues. Sarah and I ended up at the same party as this bitch, and Sarah cornered me and told me that I needed to get over it and be friends with him again, because I was "being immature". Yeah, I needed to be friends with him because Sarah probably needed something from him. Sometimes, that's how she operates. I love her, but I don't always trust her.
Regardless of my misgivings, I enjoyed spending time catching up with Libby. We had some wine and I did ask her what the fight with Sarah was about. Her version of events was, of course, totally different from Sarah's. Not really a shocker, because I'm used to that. I heard Libby out and then just had a fun time, caught her up on what I've been doing and felt happy at the end of the evening that I had gone on my lady date with her.
I started trying to interest my friends into the ultimate lady date- Galentine's Day. I stole the idea from Parks and Recreation, but who cares? It's a great idea. Valentines is a shitty holiday. If you're single, it makes you feel, somehow, even more single. If you're in a relationship, even if it is with someone you really love, often you either fail them or they fail you. Or, you try to surprise them with flowers and discover that your wife is allergic to baby's breath. That happened to me one of the only times Gino made an effort.
Last Valentines was the worst. I had to bully Gino into taking me out for a hot chocolate and a fucking macaron at Chocolate Springs, and he was sulky and bored. He was even more sulky when I brought up the fact that we never talked about the future any more, and that I wanted to talk about moving out of his parent's house, and maybe starting a family soon. It was a conversation about a future conversation I was hoping to have, but it was still too much for him. I always wondered why it was so hard to get him to do something nice for me. It didn't come naturally to him, especially last Valentine's Day, when he had already stopped loving me that way.
Focusing on lady dates feels like the best thing for me. I need my friendships more than ever, because I can feel myself turning, little by little, into a spiteful bitch. I don't like it. I saw that Mike put a poem by Charles Bukowski on his Facebook page, and I grumbled about it all night. I mean, Charles Bukowski? What the ass? That's like when Gino quotes Albert Einstein- it's absurd. I'm not even sure what bothered me about out so much. Maybe it was the fact that he even put a whole verse of any poem on his page, as if he is so emotional and deep, he has to borrow the words, but maybe it was the poem he chose, as if he knows what it feels like to have a bluebird in your heart. To have a bluebird in your heart, first you need to have a heart, you fuck stick, I wanted to say. I didn't say it, because it's not my place to say what someone can quote on Facebook, nor is it really my place to call him a fuck stick. I'll leave that to others. But I still think he's a fuck stick.
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