Everything is fuckupable (Or Dating with Anxiety: Part 3)

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I used to have some pretty naive and idealistic views about love. I can admit this.

Not sure where they came from, because I didn’t really see any examples of these ideals growing up except maybe in Hallmark movies. Most of the relationships I witnessed in person were filled with arguments and frustrations and a lot of strife intermixed with some joy and minimal romance.

And yet, I held onto the belief that my ‘one’ would one day show up and see past my awkwardness and horrific fashion sense and see the beauty underneath. He’d be perfect for me. And he’d love me as if I were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. His fire for me would never go out. We’d be kind and gentle and oh-so-perfect for each other. Always. Effortlessly.

I also, for a short, but very painful time, believed that if it was right … if it was love, real deep magic love … that you couldn’t fuck it up. The love would be too powerful and would overcome all obstacles, no matter how many mistakes you made.

What. Tha. Fuck. Whyyyy did I think this?

Ahhh yes, now I remember where these ridiculous beliefs came from. The church. True love waits. When God writes your love story. Blech.

Oh, how woefully, wonderfully wrong I was.

I mean, seriously. How naively hopeful and blissfully ignorant could I have been about love?

Of course you can fuck it up. Everything — every SINGLE thing — is fuckupable. And that includes love.

But that’s honestly a good thing.

Continue reading “Everything is fuckupable (Or Dating with Anxiety: Part 3)”

Faking it

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I heard my upstairs neighbor faking it recently.

Well, not my upstairs neighbor exactly, but the girl he brought home.

How could I hear? Well I live on the bottom floor of a old four-plex in east Dallas. The walls are thin. But this was the only the first time in nearly a year that I’ve heard the raucous cries of a woman having sex. And I’m fairly sure the gentleman above has taken home quite a few lady friends.

How do I know she was faking? Well to be fair, I suppose I don’t know for sure. But as a woman who’s faked before (um, haven’t we all?), I feel quite sure she was faking something … maybe not the orgasm, but certainly how excited she was. Let’s just say the vocals were quite animated … like cartoon-level animated.

Why all the hullabaloo?

Maybe she’s a girl hoping that with her vocal acrobatics that she could convince the man she’s with that she’s this enthusiastic during sex, always, and therefore he should keep seeing her? Maybe she’s trying to convince herself of how good the sex is? Hell, maybe the sex really IS cartoon-voice-animated good? If so, lucky girl.

Or maybe she learned to over-exaggerate during sex a long time ago and now it’s so ingrained her that it’s just an auto response?

Whatever her reason, I (and my three glasses of wine) had a grand ole time listening.

And it got me to thinking … how much are we willing to ‘fake’ in life in order to get what we think we want? Especially with regards to relationships and dating but also our personal lives in general?

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How to be happy single

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I have been single now for the past 4 years. During that time, I’ve had a handful of really short-lived things and one devastating little affair, but for the most part I’ve been alone and single for 4 long years.

And for the first time, maybe EVER, I am finally happy that this is true. Like … happy happy. Like my life is so full, my-cup-runneth-over type happy. Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but seriously I am truly, finally enjoying my singledom. And no, not in this I’m-single-so-I’m-on-the-prowl-dating-all-the-hot-men kind of way. But in the I’m-single-and-I’m-really-happy-alone-binge-watching-old-shows-and-reading-good-books kind of way.

I’m just … happy. Going out, staying in, whatever. There are the occasional bumps, because life is bumpy, but none of them have to do with me being single really. So here are my full-proof steps for getting to a place where you’re absurdly happy being single.

(Note: Ok so these aren’t full-proof, that’s an overstatement. And absurdly is a bit of an exaggeration too. These are basically ‘My unproven steps to getting to a place of general happiness most of the time being single’. Yeah. That’s more accurate.)

 

Step 1: Have your heart broken twice, preferably by the same man.

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It doesn’t actually have to be twice, sometimes one will suffice. But get your heart good and broken. Like good and BROKEN. The more devastating the better. I mean, stop you in your tracks, staring-at-his-picture-and-his-love-notes-for-hours kind of broken. Tears, wailing, binge eating. The works. Sweat pants, no showers, serious weight gain. Like I said, the messier the better. Oh and if you can add in getting banned from his bar, then you’re well on your way to true happiness, my friend.

(Note:  A devastating breakup is not mandatory. Neither is a bar banning. If not applicable, please proceed to step 2.)

Continue reading “How to be happy single”

Whip it good: All about that time I was a dom

An older friend once told me that during the course of a lifetime, most people end up leading at least 5 very different lives.

He mentioned this while we were sitting at a karaoke bar after having already danced earlier that night. It was one of those fun, spontaneous evenings where we just bar hopped and met up with various friends at random places, dancing and singing and laughing and sharing stories.

I was relaying to him how it seemed crazy to me how radically different my life was from just a few short years ago, when I was married with a house and a yard and I never sang or danced or went out ever. It was so different in fact that I often wondered … who am I? Am I the same person? And of course, the answer to that question was both yes and no.

I used to really worry that something was wrong with me to have had such a change in direction in my 30s. So I found his advice to be quite comforting. And also very, very true. I was indeed living a very different life, hopefully one of many still to come.

His words came to mind again recently while I was cleaning out the trunk of my car and ran across a very long, very serious leather whip and a smaller riding crop. And I remembered, ahhhhh yes … I was a dom once.

Talk about a different life, eh?

Continue reading “Whip it good: All about that time I was a dom”

March is for ‘Moving Forward’: Or how I learned to let go in my way

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I’ve always struggled with letting go. It’s a really strange and difficult concept for me. I think partly because it seems like … so sad in a way to me. Rose should’ve NEVER let go of Jack, just saying.

My struggle with this concept of letting go (which incidentally means I also struggle with acceptance, but that’s another post for another day) keeps me holding on to the past well past it’s expiration date. This makes it really hard to live in the present. I end up spending the bulk of my time either reliving the past or trying to envision a brighter future versus just being right where I am in that exact moment. My friends have all noticed this, counselors too. The advice? Let go. Let go of the past. Stay in the present.

But … how?

Seriously.

No one really has an answer for that. It’s unique to everyone I suppose.

Letting go of the emotions attached to a previous experience is especially difficult for me as I am a deeply feeling personality type. This means when I do relive the past, I relive every emotion associated with an experience. If it’s a pleasant one, then that’s great! If it’s a painful one (which, let’s be honest … the painful ones are the ones most people struggle to let go of), I am basically recreating the exact same awful emotions I felt the first time. It’s a cycle of repeated suffering and torture and it’s mostly self-inflicted.

There’s the ick part. The good part is I may have found a way to stop the cycle.

Continue reading “March is for ‘Moving Forward’: Or how I learned to let go in my way”

The Big D: Dating (Part 2) – Cheers to all the ones who weren’t ‘the one’

 

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I had kind of an a-ha moment the other day.

It came after a friend asked me if I’d ever been to Uchi, this really amazing sushi restaurant. I was like, yes, I had a really great date there and the food was to die for. Then in the same day the same friend asked me if I had ever been to Meddlesome Moth and I was like, yeah, another great date, different guy. Then it hit me … a lot of the really amazing experiences I’ve had in my life have come while dating different men at different times … and I’m starting to think that’s not a bad thing.

I’ve said it before in my posts, but I have quite literally dated almost all of Dallas. It might seem like an exaggeration but I’m not so sure it is. One of the purposes of this project for me, though, is to write it all down, every good memory, every bad one. Part of that is so that I can unburden myself, put the bad parts and the baggage into words and set it free. Another reason is I want to remember the good, in detail, because this checkered past is a beautiful mess that deserves to be remembered.

When I look back at my record, sometimes I can get really discouraged. So many dates, so few true connections and even fewer have turned into anything more than a 2-3 date situation.

However, like I said, I recently had an a-ha moment.

What if all the guys I’ve dated who weren’t ‘it’, who didn’t last, who got off on the wrong foot, who had terrible timing, who for whatever reason just didn’t work out … what if they weren’t failures.

What if they were all meant to give me a unique experience that was completely necessary and special, but also singular and temporary.

So with that, I want to pay homage to the men in my single, dating experience that gave great ‘date’. The men that came in, even if just briefly, and through contact with them I learned something else about me. I grew a little bit stronger, a little more self aware and whole lot ballsier. They may have been short-lived, but man were they fun while they lasted.

Continue reading “The Big D: Dating (Part 2) – Cheers to all the ones who weren’t ‘the one’”

Single and the Sickness: Or how I’m learning to ‘adult’ my way

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The movie ‘How to be Single’ starring Dakota Johnson and Rebel Wilson was sadly pretty forgettable … with the exception of one incredibly relatable part. The scene where Dakota Johnson is trying to get dolled up for a girls night and is literally throwing her shoulder out of socket to zip up her sexy dress. A small moment, but so so relatable.

Later that evening she returns home drunk and exhausted and attempts to again twist her arm all sorts of ways to unzip the dress. She eventually gives up and falls asleep fully clothed. Again, super relatable.

I have been this girl. (Although when this has happened to me at the end of the night, I am usually eating a donut and/or slice of pizza and wake up to crumbs/sauce all over my ‘sexy’ outfit.)

Much like Dakota’s character in the movie, I had also chosen to end a long term relationship to finally experience what it is to TRULY be single (well, that and the fact that he was kind of a jerk). And I too had taken for granted how nice it is to have someone to reach your unreachable parts. Of all the things in a relationship I miss, I’d actually forgotten this little thing until recently.

Continue reading “Single and the Sickness: Or how I’m learning to ‘adult’ my way”

Mobs, Magic and Bruno Mars

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I really really really reeeeeaaaalllly want to be in a flash mob.

This revelation came to me the other day while I was at the gym and the Bruno Mars song “Marry You” came on. I hadn’t heard it in a really long time. (Awkward fact: one of the last times I heard it was the night of my surprise bachelorette party.)

That song … well, it’s cheesy but there’s something glittery and giddy and hopelessly romantic about it. It’s about being in the moment. And trusting your gut and heart while simultaneously rebelling against traditional wisdom. It seems magical and wonderful and beautiful to me.

After I heard that song in the gym, I couldn’t get it out of my head. So later I went and tried to look up the music video. I came across one that claimed to be the ‘official music video’ though that seems doubtful. However, in it, there’s a flash mob that performs in the middle of what looks to be a crowded square. At the end of the song/dance one of the dancers proposes to his girlfriend and swoon. How incredibly, dramatically, stupidly romantic.

It was while watching the video and listening to that song that I had a sobering moment. For some reason, I couldn’t feel all the giddy feelings that song used to elicit. I heard the words, even sang them and they made me feel happy on a surface level, but deep down I couldn’t believe them.

I couldn’t swallow the romance. The hope, the fairytale belief … it was gone.

I felt like warning the girl (both the real one in the video and the figurative one the song is written for), ‘hey, it’s likely it’s not going to work out so DON’T go all in’. And it made me sad. Where has my belief gone? Where has my hopelessly romantic heart hidden itself?

I’ve never wanted to be the wounded, guarded girl who is too bruised to believe in fairytales. And it hurt me to realize that somewhere in these last four years and all the heartache it contained, I have become this woman.

Or … have I?

Continue reading “Mobs, Magic and Bruno Mars”

The year of the B

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2017 was a total bitch.

(And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.)

For me, this year was particularly brutal. And littered with other B words as well. Breakups. Bar bannings. Bed-Bugs. Black eyes. Bail bonds.

Like I said …. brutal.

I follow numerology (lightly) and 2017 was a 9 year for me.  It’s the final year of a 9 year cycle and it’s theme is about endings and closings and ridding yourself of anything that might hinder the next 9 year cycle.  It can be easy, if you’re willing to let things go and accept the lessons you’ve been given over the past 9 years.

Or it can be difficult, if you’re like me and stubborn AF.

I stupidly chose the latter, refusing to let go and fighting these lessons and this year with a vengeance. And the 9 year fought back. Hard.

Continue reading “The year of the B”

In Praise of Promiscuity (Part 1): The fuck-it list

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I was 21 before I learned to masturbate.

Up till then I hid my naked body from myself most of the time. I didn’t really even look at it when showering. 

Weird? Yes. But I was raised Southern Baptist and sexual sin was considered the greatest. Honestly, I think I was afraid of my body and what was ‘down there’. In addition, I’d taken the true love waits pledge and seriously believed I would wait to even KISS a guy until my wedding day.

My body scared me, boys scared me, all the sexual TERMS scared me. Blow job. Doggy style. Eating … I mean, what?? I had to often pretend like I knew what my friends were discussing, then run home and ask my mom which was even more embarrassing and terrifying. 

When I started to explore myself sexually, I had no clue what I was doing. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to figure ‘it’ out but from all the conversations I’d had with friends about it, it seemed like it was something I was gonna have to do eventually and I was pretty sick of being alone. I kind of felt like my V-card was becoming a burden. I thought if I figured out how to, you know, pleasure myself I’d have a higher chance of actually losing my virginity.

Continue reading “In Praise of Promiscuity (Part 1): The fuck-it list”