Not happy. Not nice, not fun.
I'm in a terrible, awful, hateful mood. There is black tar churning in my heart; I want to punch cute puppies and slap sweet kittens. I'm full of a rage I can hardly explain. Well, yes I can. I'm just in a super jealous mood. When I get jealous, I get angry at myself for being jealous in the first place, then my anger just multiplies by twenty thousandfold.
It's just so hard. It really is. This is the part where I whine. When literally everyone around you is in a relationship/engaged/getting married/having babies and it's ALL!OVER!FACEBOOK! it's kind of an unintended slap in the face. It's like a neon Vegas-style sign that says "SINGLE" and marching band playing "The Lonesome Loser" are following you around constantly. And then, having people in your life that you have "feelings" (that's a subjective term) for doesn't help. And the turd on top of the shit cake is SOMEONE moving 4,000 miles away and not bothering to stop and say goodbye AS I WAS PROMISED.
Anyways, like I've said before, six days a week, it's NBD. I honestly don't care about being single, I can handle it. I actually prefer it, I get to set my own schedule and don't have to worry about pandering to anyone but me. But every once in awhile, it's like, "when is it going to be my turn?" "what am I doing wrong?" "what's wrong with me?" I hate that, that kind of stuff creeps into my brain, but I just can't help it sometimes. When everyone around me is picking out reception favors and doing wedding registries and planning a life with someone else, I can't even get some dude to come boink me for an hour before he takes a road trip.
I've developed this protective shell around me, this coating, borne from the years of aggravation of being let down by my own poor judgment in men. But I don't want to be that way, I really, really don't. I don't want to be that bitch who hates everything with a penis and a pulse just because a few fuck buddies in college [shockingly] didn't want a relationship after the sloppy, drunken sex was over with. It's not my fault but it kind of is. I just didn't know any better. I do now, and it's like, ok, I'm enlightened, let's move with a purpose. Let's get this show on the road. No more false starts.
Admittedly, I don't have the greatest relationship with God/religion. Or do I? I kind of phone it in. I'm not really sure if church attendance counts towards your personal salvation record, but if it does, I am fucked. Anyways, I suppose even if I am just doing the bare-minimum to scrape by, that still counts, right? I'm no Tim Tebow, but I'm not exactly Heidi Fleiss, either. But my point is that I do believe everything happens for a reason. I do believe "He" (or whatever, whomever) brings things/people into our lives purely for the purpose of teaching us a lesson sometimes. But it's just so fucking frustrating. Why dangle someone in front of me I can't have? I'd rather never have met them at all. It just hurts so much. Trick D, Aqua Eyes, and now (our newest addition) Arms. I will concede that loving/caring/crushing and never having any of them has made me a tougher person and made me realize when something is too good to be true. But right now? Honestly, fuck that. Right now, I just care about me and my feelings in the here and now. I don't care about a lesson I'm gonna learn in five years or whatever. Right now I just want to curl up in a ball in my fuzzy PJs and go to sleep and not think about all the men in my life I can't have.
It's like, first I get introduced [into my life] a guy who I trusted with all of my everything, every infinitesimal particle inside of me wholly and unequivocally 10000000% trusted him. I felt so safe with him; like he would never, ever let anything happen to me, he would protect me and keep me safe. I could be myself around him, because he knew that one deep, dark secret of mine, the terrible secret that if told, would explain so much of my behavior and life. He knew that and he didn't run away, he didn't cower away from it, judge me or make me feel like a bad person for it. Not all of the diamonds and riches and Ugg boots and Vera Bradley in the world would have been a comparable gift to that one little shred of acceptance. That would have been all I ever needed. If given the chance, I could have loved him right. I could have made him happy. He made me feel better in those five minutes in that dirty, dingy office when I was a sobbing mess than I have been in many years. But.....didn't happen.
Then, I meet someone who I had known before, but was still a new face. Someone that I was instantly attracted to, and frightened of that attraction. I hadn't felt that way about anyone in a long time (well, with the obvious exception of ERL and his god-like penis of perfection) and it terrified me. It's been a long time since I wanted to shove someone into the walk-in and rip their pants off. But it was more than just that. It was someone I actually, genuinely enjoyed being around. Someone I could talk to and engage in conversation with. Someone whom I feel, would be a great PIC to get into wacky hijinks and crazy-ass shenanigans with. But at the same time, it was someone I'm still scared would judge me if he knew my dirty little secrets. He is otherwise spoken for, so I really try and avoid any further attachment. So....not going to happen, ever.
And then there's Arms. The newest member of the clan. He's been there for a while, I've just never seen him in this way. Plus, he's had a girlfriend. And I had.....other extenuating circumstances that prevented me from seeing clearly this attraction. But my god, I think honestly he's one of the very, very, very few men who actually looks at me straight in the eye and listens (novel concept, I know) when I speak. And not just hears me, really listens. And wait for it....puts on sunglasses....*comes through on his promises*. Holy shit, it's like finding a water buffalo crossbred with a unicorn! A man who listens, comes through on his word, AND smells nice????? THERE MUST BE A CATCH!!!! Oh wait, there is. I fucked his cousin for a solid six months of my life when I used to be crazy, and he had a front row seat to the batshit insane show that was my life/relationship. OOPS! Ticket, stamped. I'll be making my exit now. And.....never gonna happen, unless Tim Tebow-levels of miracles happen and he somehow A) sees around all of that and B) is even attracted to me despite A). Factor in C) I need to lose 100 lbs and D) I somehow become less of a spaz, and we might be facing marginally poorer odds than the '80 USA Olympic hockey team faced against the USSR. It's like Serendipity [with a colossally hotter John Cusack-figure and if Kate Beckinsdale's character were to be played by Lisa Lampinelli using a Midwestern accent], only with fewer silly, romantic coincidences and even fewer leather jackets. Yep...never gonna happen. It's all over when you start making 2001 romcom/ questionable John Cusack career choice references.
But I guess my point is that bridal magazines should be illegal. You should have to show the engagement ring, like showing your ID to buy alcohol. Sale of bridal magazines to non-engaged women should be punishable by having them do community service at David's Bridal. You see, reading bridal magazines makes you see gorgeous, unaffordable dresses that inevitably cause you to go to said unaffordable dress makers' website and look at more unaffordable dresses for hours on end. Then finally when your eyeballs start to bleed sequins and duchess satin, you realize that you don't need a wedding dress because for a wedding dress, you need a fiance, and you don't even have a boyfriend, and then suddenly I realize why Pillsbury has longevity.
So, to all of the fat, single bitches like me who like to have big dreams and a bigger ass- this year is our year. No more moping about being fat and single. We're going to calmly put the Oreo down so no one gets hurt, sloooowly step onto the treadmill and everything's going to be fine. Know how I know that? Because size won't matter to the right person, but you'll want to look like a million bucks for them anyways. That's doing it for yourself.
2012, look out for some HAWT bitches in the coming months. We may still be single, but we'll feel good about ourselves and look good on the inside, as well. Looking good is feeling good. We'll not stand for fish already taken/rotten fish. We will wait for someone to catch us. And by god, we will invent a healthy Oreo. That may not be a goal accomplished in 2012, but it's on the list.
Holy shit, that was just the longest, angriest New Years' resolution to lose weight, ever.
