Sunday, January 27, 2013

But I Don't Love You

Today was a very bad day and I won't go into the reasons why. Wait a minute I will go into the reasons why because basically I'll be making fun of myself when I explain why, and that's the way I roll.

I had a super amazing fun time with friends and Prince Hairy at the bar last night, and then I went home alone in a cab, and to my credit I did not fall down. But, I over imbibed (as my douche-y ex husband calls it) and I did stupid things - like cry in front of people. I'm sure no one really paid attention to the girl sitting alone at 1:55a crying in her glass of vodka. Oh that's not true one random guy did, just to ask me if I wanted to go home with him.

So. why the tears? Maybe whoever reads this could provide me feedback.

A man, we shall call him, ummm, MM (for mister moneybags) has somehow entered my world and has turned it upside down. He likes me. We are 'casual' but he is increasingly more and more affectionate in words and in person, and it's becoming an issue. Why is that an issue? Because in my world I only enter into relationships that are sure to fail, are virtually impossible, and/or the person is a complete and total loser. In this case, he's the right age, the right marital status, he's fairly attractive and funny, very intelligent, and he's MM. Not that I give a shit, but if I were to tell my Mother all about MM she'd say YAY he's MM. I say, sadly, that part about him makes me dislike him.

So. Why is being affectionate an issue?
1. He shows up where I drink, and when I drink I like to talk to people. Men, Women, Children, Myself. And for that I need discretion and privacy.
2. I like him. Affection encourages me, and makes me scared.
3. He says all these great things, and then he adds the caveat "But I Don't Love You"

That was the tipping point. I said ... Listen. I don't love you, I don't believe in that fairy tale bullshit and I'll probably never be in love ever again. (I loved a few people, I still love one person, but that's different. HE is grandfathered in)" BUT Why the caveat "But I Don't Love You"  I'll liken the logic to this ...

Oh my God, the steak at Drovers was earth shatteringly (a word?) delicious. But I Don't Love It
Holy Crap, Les Miserables was outstanding and it was so amazing I peed myself. But I Don't Love It
My Word, you just did blankity blank so well that I had a BIG O so big the state of Nebraska heard me screaming, But I Don't Love It

Do you catch my drift? It's like this ...
(Insert my name here), You are devastatingly beautiful. But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), You are one of the most amazing women that I've ever met But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), I can't believe how much I am drawn to you But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), You make my pupils turn into hearts like the cartoons But I Don't Love You

AND with all this affection he adds, I don't want to send you the wrong message, so I'm being totally forthright. I don't love you and I never will and this will never amount to anything. By the way, (insert my name here) did I tell you how enthralling it is when you chew your food?

And I keep saying, MM, stop saying that because I DO NOT LOVE YOU. I didn't say I did, I didn't ask you if you did, and I don't care. It doesn't matter. Then eventually last night, with the help of alcohol, Prince Hairy fun, and realizing what a complete douche he was I said, go to hell and don't ever contact me again I hate you, and for how intelligent you are, you are a very stupid man - and I added I'm not a whore and I'm not here for your amusement.

With that being said, he liked it. Men like when you are a bitch. That's the end of the story. Either that or he's just as bat shit crazy as I am. Even if he was as crazy as I am, I DON'T LOVE HIM

Batshit Crazy

I’ve been examining myself as of late, OK honestly I’ve been examining, over analyzing, criticizing and beating myself up for my entire adult life. OK since this blog is about honesty let’s be honest. I’ve been doing it … well since the beginnings of consciousness I’m sure.

I would bet any amount of money that when I was a baby I degraded myself for how fat my behind looked in the diaper. For how quickly I spoke, versus my sister. For how long it took me to crawl (I never did I rolled … similar to my adult life) and all kinds of inconsequential things like that over which I had no control. I know I was never fussy or a loud crier, probably because I didn’t want to be imperfect in any way..

I still to this day beat myself up over childhood issues such as … when I peed my pants in grade school because I was too embarrassed to get up in class and go to the bathroom, or worse yet even ASK the teacher if I could go!

I recall experiences with boys in grade school in which I’m sure if I were to have reacted differently, spoke differently or dressed differently, did my hair differently, I would surely have been popular.

I remember in grade school despising myself because I still had training wheels, and we went biking with the family and everyone probably thought I was mentally retarded. Or what about the time in Jr High when the horse, whom I adored and had known for approximately 48 hours me and 100 other girl scouts who probably drove the horse to insanity, decided he didn’t want me on his back anymore and tried scraping me off with the help of a tree. Scarred me forever. How could the animal I loved so much be so mean. Surely it was my fault.

What about all the horrible memories I dredge up, even to this day, about being ugly, flat chested, unpopular, not studious, etc. etc. etc. If only I had tried harder, been better and more determined and popular my life would be so much different right now. To this day, day in and day out, I’m still the ugly under performing duckling that I was in adolescence and it drives me to insanity. 

What do I mean by insanity? By that I mean … walking into a public place assured in my mind that I am an ugly hog. Working day in and day out thinking that one day people are going to figure out that I’m really a moron who needs not only a brain but therapy. Going to the store and thinking people are staring at me because I’m so hideous and horrible, like a car accident, that they can’t look away. There are brief moments that I think it may be because I have a good hair day, but those moments are fleeting.
It’s time to call a therapist.