watch the blog

My friend told me that he texted a girl he slept with (a mere three months ago) asking if she wanted to hang out again (three months later; great guy) and she responded saying she had a boyfriend and they were very happy together.

“A boyfriend.”

“Happy together.”

I’m sorry?
She found a person to wife her up.
With whom she is HAPPY.
In three months.

…

Did I miss a class or something?

Earlier, while I was waiting on line at Equinox for a kale, lettuce and spinach juice (Important: I’m on a diet because I’m going to LA in two weeks), I turned to my left and saw some dude giving another dude a really long hug. They were hugging for between 45 seconds and a minute… which is a really long time for anyone to be doing anything, let alone hugging, let alone two grown men hugging.

I was minding my own business (crying a little bit because of something that I just don’t even have the time to get into right now) when all of a sudden - inexplicably audible through my headphones that were blasting some lewd rap song - I hear, “excuse me.”

I sort of recognized that it was one half of the hugging dude duo, so I ignored it (Not that I really would have acknowledged any person otherwise. Though, I will say that, in hindsight, I give him a lot of props for not touching my body to get my attention… which seems to be the go to move for a lot of people interested in talking to me. (That may or may not have something to do with the fact that the last time i wore a shirt that covered my abdomen was like, idk, when i was wearing onesies out of necessity and not “fashion”))

He repeated himself and I thought for a second how difficult it would be for me to pretend like I hadn’t heard him, when I had heard him (TWICE!) and he was standing inches away from me, because I can’t control myself. I immediately became so self conscious and all I could think about was what a normal person who actually hadn’t heard someone say something would do in this situation (which, FYI, is nothing. Or, continue breathing) and I was drawing a complete blank, so I just turned around and was like:

me: …heeeey
him: hi. you have such beautiful eyes. they’re… amazing. like when i walked in i was like… wow.
me: that’s really nice. thanks a lot. 

Then he thanked me… for receiving his compliment…

him: thanks for accepting my compliment so nicely… people in new york are always like [makes some ridiculous face that i wouldn’t entirely equate with the human race, let alone people from new york city] and it’s nice when someone is just like… that

WHAT. EVER. DUDE.

So, I’m not really sure even what that means since I don’t get the whole “eye” / “beautiful eyes” thing. I don’t even know what my dad or my ex boyfriends’ eye colors are. But, ok; Thanks. And, usually I don’t accept compliments, I outwardly and aggressively refute them or demand that they be taken back, so I guess he was right to thank me.

Let’s also not forget, though, that I was crying. My eyes were wet with little pathetic tears. I was standing at a juice bar at a fucking gym I don’t even go to, waiting to get a drink made entirely of vegetables… and I was crying. I was crying. And this guy was telling me that my tear soaked eyes were beautiful, that my little almond shaped tear portals were amazing and that I was so nice to meekly thank him for his kind words.

So, okay. There we were: just two people, one sad crying girl and one possibly gay, sad crying girl fetishist having a chat in a gym in the west village.

He asked me if I had just taken a class because, I mean… what else was there to say?
I told him I hadn’t. Then! in a truly frightening manner, we both asked at the same exact time if this was where the other worked out.

For some reason he ignored me (though I’m sure it is, which is awful for my life and necessary avoidance tactics) so I answered - in a predictably, grossly oversharing manner - by telling him that no that was not where I worked out and that I don’t work out and that I was just there to get juice and were they cultivating a garden to pick lettuce and kale from because it was taking so long (and, god, so much more. like, a lot more).

Then he asked if I was busy or late or in a hurry or something and I said yes and he said he was about to go to a yoga class… which I am going to refrain from mocking (though I do strongly disagree with men doing yoga earnestly) in favor of putting this out there: DA FUQ ARE YOU DOING GOING TO YOGA ON A THURSDAY AT TWELVE O CLOCK, BABE? 

He was making me so uncomfortable. He was standing so close to me and I was ordering this stupid juice and he was waiting for his dumb yoga class and I was a little bit late for work and all I wanted to do was continue crying in a less well lit, less populated location AND HE WAS RUINING IT.

Then he asked if he could take me out for coffee.
I do not drink coffee.
I do not like coffee.
The last time I drank coffee was a few months ago to “get high” (no joke) and before then it was four years ago on a job interview.

“YEAH SURE,” I said, knowing all of this information. “SURE!”

Typically I operate under the same conditions as a vending machine: a quarter for a candy / a compliment for a phone number, but he seemed pretty pleased with this and himself. Though, quite frankly, if this person had asked me for my social security number I would have given it to him. I would have given him ANYTHING to leave me alone. I felt so wholly uncomfortable and reasonably disgusted about the yoga thing, yet there I was like HEY HEY! anything else I can help you with?? 

So, he has my number now. He said he was going to call me. And then I noticed my drink had been sitting on the counter for the entire time we were talking.

And my eyes are pretty regular now that they’re not drenched in sad.

(i’m not saying I’m “me.”)

“in a way
props” 

Last night I went out to dinner with my friend and in yet another glaring demonstration of how little he knows me, he had a friend of his (who he thought I would like/who he thought would like me?) come meet us.

The first thing this person did when he arrived was to spill that entire carafe of water all over my body. The WHOLE carafe. All of it. When it was full. Impromptu baptism! I will say that I actually thought that was hilarious and I didn’t even get up because I didn’t care and I was laughing so hard.

The fact that this person knocked half a gallon of water onto my lap was the BEST thing that happened to me last night.

Then there were the requisite jokes about being “wet,” which he, obviously, exhausted much too quickly with his overeagerness. I mean, I was literally wading in a puddle of tap water. Yes, funny guy with the jokes, I am wet. I’m drenched. Because you dipped me in a lake.

When things settled down, I was all on board with this guy. He was really good looking - which I’m not super into - but he was also really tall and therefore physically capable of picking me up, which I am very into and is essentially the only thing that matters to me. (Actually, I should clarify. He was beyond good looking, so much so, in fact, that when he knocked that water over I was like Oh maybe we’re at a photo shoot (???) and I should just sit here laughing and pretending like this is funny. Not really, but he looked like a model or a mannequin. Or Adonis…)

Then my food came (don’t have a pic, I’m not a douche bag) and from the mouth of this person - after he interrupted some interminable story he was telling about how he had lost his coat? or found a coat? or made a coat? - comes, “Oh, you’re on a pretty high carb diet?”

TALK ABOUT THE UPPER HAND. He had the upper hand from jump street. He floated into this restaurant, doused me with water and (in)directly called me fat all within eight minutes of meeting me.

The fact that I did not burst into tears as soon as the word “diet” landed is a testament to… how much I wanted to vomit because of how fat I felt. COOL UPBRINGING, ASSHOLE. Honestly. Fuck. I ordered risotto, not the unlimited breadstick and pasta special at Olive Garden (side note: can someone take me to Olive Garden? I’ll pay. LOL OBVIOUSLY). 

So, I ate maybe a third of it because I honestly felt sick to my stomach because of his comment and also because I knew he’d say something if I finished it. 

Well, he still had something to say. And it was this: 

I love a girl who doesn’t finish her food. That makes you so much more attractive.

You know when a guy knows he’s really good looking and feels like he can just say whatever the fuck he wants because of it?
Well, I didn’t. Until last night.

Also, at some (very random) point, he asked me if I knew who Ataturk was? SMH.

And, I sometimes pretend not to know things to let people feel cool and interesting about dropping some knowledge on me. But I was doing it here because I legitimately wanted to see how much one person could look down on another. 

So I said, “No.”
No. No, I don’t know who the “Father of Modern Turkey” / first president of Turkey is… Never heard of him. What are you saying, “a Turk?” Yeah. No… tell me all about it at this casual dinner we are having on a Saturday night that you are so recklessly determined to ruin, you fucking pedant.

Then of course he asked me where I went to college and when I said Columbia and when he picked his jaw up from off the floor and popped his eyes back in their sockets, he asked if I was serious.

“Really?” he asked.
“No, I’m lying.” I said.
“Columbia State?” he said.
“YUP. Columbia State. In Florida. Mmhm.” I said.

And that was that. 

Later he asked me what type of guys I was into and it became clear to me that my friend had given each of us very different expectations of this evening: I, on one hand, was under the impression that I was going to meet a cool person of the opposite sex who I might like and who might like me. I’m guessing this wasn’t presented to our guest in the same way. In other words: this person probably didn’t even know I was going to be there.

I told him I like “tall, old guys” and those were my only requirements but they were non negotiable and he tried to engage me in some sort of cursory conversation about this but he was also involved in a seemingly arduous text conversation with someone he was actually interested in, so I just stopped talking after I mumbled “aaand no one is listening to me,” because I am petulant and need a lot of attention.

Anyway, besides me blatantly requesting that people treat me poorly, I have no idea why people treat me poorly. But, I should probably stop being so picky because people aren’t knocking down my door tryna get at this, so that all being said…

I’m incredibly insecure and love being treated poorly. I thought that was so fun. If ur rding, plz call me. xxxxoxxox

friend: i’m going to go home and watch football.
me: ugh. i hate a guy who likes a sport
friend: whaddayou want them to like?
me: um… ME!

i just want to say I’ve never, like… what do you call that? The dancing you do at a club? I’m not joking or trying to be funny. Like, when you grind… That. I’ve never ever ever done that in my entire life.

And then this weekend, my cousin kept telling me to do it with the guy I was with (/whatever) and I was like “no no I can’t. I can’t do that… plus i don’t think he wants me to do it.” I was literally WHISPERING that in a club to my cousin who was trying to force my body into the body of this person. Whispering…. in a club. 

Whispering and shaking my head. In a club. Yelling in a whisper. On the dance floor of a night club. In Miami. In a dress that might as well have been shrink wrap it was that tight and so short the fact that I’m not pregnant from this action is honestly astounding.

Anyway, I’ve never seen a jaw drop so dramatically. My cousin was like “…..????!!!!???? UMMMMMMM… yeah, he wants you to do that.”

And I was like, “I don’t know howww… I’ve never done it before. What do I dooooo??” and Mary Jane, my cousin, was like “Just like, you know… like move your hips.” And I sort of did a shimmy to test it out and got discouraged because it just seemed like so much effort and my heart was beating so fast and so was my brain trying to figure out how to make these movements happen, so I reiterated that I wasn’t sure he would be into it.

But she seemed pretty convinced about it being a good idea… so I did it. I backed it up. And, idk, I don’t think it would have mattered either way. But, for the record, no one was mad at it.

On the car ride back yesterday, I was trying to talk about the events that occurred and I again stated that I didn’t think he was into it and that I felt really forward (and awkward, OBVIOUSLY) about it and she said the above: “he wasn’t standing behind you for no reason. he wanted you to back that fat thing into him.”

So, well, I did. I’m not sure if it was sexy (oh god, kill me if i ever descibe anything i do as sexy. i couldn’t be less sexy if i tried) or what, and I’ll probably never do it again, but I wanted everyone to be aware of the effort that went into gyrating this weekend… 

about how this one time, I ran into a guy who I met while on my “date” with this guy (the 44 year old guy who rejected me) and he was with Matt Dillon and Brett Ratner and the guy introduced me to his two friends and explained that we met “while [I] was on a date with [44 yr old/his friend].”

And then Brett Ratner said, “I never thought I’d be jealous of [44 yr old, who also happens to be someone all three of them know, in addition to being a person people know, just in general].”

Did I ever tell you that?

Oh, because it happened on Saturday. In Miami. Around art. And it completely validated my entire existence. And, no, I do not know why. (Well, maybe because the idea of someone alluding to a slight, possible, tiny interest in sleeping with me or being attracted to me physically is all that means anything to me these days. I LOVE MYSELF!)

Also, here’s the last picture I have of me dressed as a prostitute. Except, in this one I’m dressed as a prostitute just off her shift, heading to a Denny’s! 

I don’t usually write earnest things here because I have very little faith that people won’t be horribly mean to me if I share some feelings… especially given the fact that nastiness has already appeared and everything I post here is a fucking joke (and, also, because I’m occasionally horribly mean to people, so … you know, ya give, ya get).

But, like … OK. I don’t mean to be dramatic, but my life is in disrepair.

No. No. I know all I do (here) is make fun of how pathetic I am because I don’t have a boyfriend or how I’m mad des for someone to love me and these are both true and valid HUGE parts of my life, but in addition to being fodder for mah blahg life, it’s also a real part of my real life that is a little serious and a little sad.

In the fourteen months I’ve been single, I haven’t met one person I’ve had more than a fleeting interest in. And then a few weeks ago, I met this cool person I actually liked and wanted to hang out with on a sort of regular basis - and for the first time I have nothing bad to say about this person and I’m not going to put him on blast for some inane, unintentionally awkward or rude or embarrassing thing he did! (mainly because there’s really nothing to report, but even if there were… I wouldn’t air it out here, because he isn’t an asshole. And because I’m growing up (2011)).

Anyway, so yes. I met this person. I liked this person. And we hung out a bunch and then we hung out and then that was it.

And for the millionth time: I GET IT. Errbody tryna get they dick sucked..  I understand that. Hooking up… people are into that. That is great. That is an excellent thing for people to be into. And I also understand you have to hang out with someone a few times to test them out, see what’s good, figure out if you like them or not. And then you either do or don’t: people like each other, people don’t like each other. People think they like each other and then realize they don’t. These are *actual* normal things that happen in real life. You can feel sad about it all you want, but it’s cool. You’re going to like someone who doesn’t like you and people are going to like you and you’re not going to like them back…

But like, if you’ve been hanging out with someone and you realize you don’t like them… have some fucking tact.

Be a decent human being about it. If you don’t like them, can you not just tell that person that you don’t like them, that you don’t feel like things are going to go anywhere, that they repulse you, that they’re boring, that they’re not pretty enough? Could you do literally anything else except ignore them?

It hurts when someone doesn’t like you, of course it does. If you’re normal and not completely full of yourself, you feel like shit, you feel disgusting or ugly or stupid or fat or whatever else you can feel (or, if you’re me, an exhaustive combination of all negative feelings!!!). But you can also just go on with your life after you look at the situation rationally and realize that you and the other person are both adults who happen to not be attracted or interested in each other in a romantic way and that you obviously don’t want to hang out with someone who doesn’t want to hang out with you.

But when someone just ceases communication, that is the bullshit. Even when it’s someone you didn’t like or particularly care about - like the 44 year old dude (yes, this entire year has been an endless cycle of people being vaguely interested in fucking me and then ignoring me after they get bored… of trying to persuade me into having sex with them)-  because it’s callous and hurtful and they’re already going to feel bad about not being attractive or interesting to you, so why not give them a break and lay it out?

In the specific situation I’m referring to I (obviously) liked this person more than a normal person in the same situation would like the same person because when I like someone, I like them a lot; I like them with everything in me, because there’s no other way for me to like someone and that’s important to me.

But you know what else? I DON’T FUCKING HANG OUT WITH SOMEONE IF I DON’T LIKE THEM. AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY EVERYONE DOESN’T OPERATE THIS WAY.

and i want to cry about it forever.

Wrote this while laying awake in bed next to that person, following this interaction:

[me getting under sheets]
him: oh, are you staying over?
me: … um. oh. fuck… um. yeah? i don’t know. yeah? i guess. i mean… should i not? um. wait. i can go… oh god. i can go…
him: no. you can stay. i feel bad that i didn’t ask you if you wanted to stay over.

Well… I have very little experience with guys and hooking up, but here’s something I’m certain of:

He didn’t feel bad that he hadn’t asked me to stay over.

I have to kill myself now. 

You know how there’s that moment where it comes out that Patrick Wilson is a huge douche bag creep because… he googled all the stuff Ellen Page said she was into and pretended he was into it, too?

I know there are other plot points, like the fact that he may or may not have killed someone, and that he’s a hebephile, but that aside…

Isn’t that what people do?

I feel like that’s a totally normal thing to do. I know I don’t have a great understanding of what is and what isn’t normal, but I thought about it for a while, and I think this is “normal” in the same way that showing up somewhere you know someone you like is going to be and pretending like it’s an accident… other normal things are normal.

Dating or hanging out with someone you like is about TRICKING them into liking you by making them think you’re fun and cool… and what better way to do that than to covertly find out what they’re into and pretend to be into it, as well??

That’s why the internet is so great. Everything is there for you - everything about the person you wanna get physical with is completely laid out for you. You don’t even need to have a conversation or ask them any questions. You can just get straight to the tricking… bringing up things they “like” (on facebook): music, books, movies, places they’ve been that you know about because of their albums, stuff they think is cool or funny because of their twitter feed… everything. All of it.

If I started hanging out with someone and he was like, “You know what I love? First and foremost, chicks who are insane… and (physically) picking them up. And after that? I love going for drives, laying in bed, laughing at everything, and ignoring you!” I’d be like “WOW I’M REALLY INTO TRYING TO FORCE MYSELF INTO YOUR LIFE BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND.”

Maybe not those exact words, but I sure as shit wouldn’t freak out because someone was down enough to stalk me online…

Patrick Wilson’s character was a fucking trailblazer in the internet stalking game… An inspiration!

So, that.

That person called me on the phone this afternoon.

Listen. IDGAF if I’m the only chiq who feels this way but, IT IS NOT OKAY TO CALL SOMEONE YOU DON’T KNOW ME ON THE PHONE. See:

I’m not easily offended, but this is something that offends me. Deeply.

Look, I obviously don’t want you to hear my terrible, shrill voice before you’ve fallen in love with me and there’s nothing that can shake ya… but you know what else? I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR WEIRD FUCKING VOICE, EITHER.

The telephone is so subtly, underhandedly aggressive. We’re texting; we have a strictly textual relationship (or, usually, we have NO relationship at all!!); please don’t bring the phone into this. What would make you think it would be okay to speak with me on the phone? What would we talk about? What could there possibly be to discuss that cannot be handled via text? What do you want??

The last time I had a conversation on the phone, this happened (I literally cannot believe I have more things to say about this person. I am infinitely sorry):

*
He calls me and when I pick up I am CRACKING UP.  Completely just LOLing all over the place. Naturally, I had to explain why I was laughing, which I did like this: “I’m so sorry. This is so weird. I never talk on the phone. I’m so sorry. This is so awkward. I feel awkward. I’m sorry. It’s me. This is me.”

He was as understanding as one could be and then said “No, you’re right. It’s old fashioned.”

And I started to get nervous and feel weird because he is twice my age so I said “no, it’s not. it’s totally normal. it’s a totally normal thing to do. it’s me. like, i think people talk on the phone all the time and it’s not a problem. it’s just for me. it’s weird for… me. normal people do this all the time.”

And then he said, “no, I think you’re right. I think a lot more people are comunicating by text and email these days.” - UM. LOL He said that. Just like that. Like, he *thinks*. Like it was 1999 or something and he was onto something… he’s got a finger on the pulse of the youth and they’re “communcating by text and email a lot more these days”…

And, because I could NOT FUCKIN’ DROP IT, I continued, “Yeah. But no. People still talk on the phone. This is a personal problem. I am making this weird.” And then we had a fight about which of us was right about whether talking on the phone was awkward or not… ugh.

Then, “Ok. Cool. Two normal people having a totally normal conversation. On the phone. Normal,” came out of my mouth… which I guess is normal.

Stating that things are “normal” is normal. If you’re wondering.

Then we talked about more stuff, I think. (I don’t remember anything i said that wasn’t me hurling insults at my personality and life.)

Then when we were about to hang up, I apologized again for being SO. FUCKING. WEIRD. And promised I wasn’t like this in person (EVEN THOUGH I AM!!!!! BUT, FUCKING WORSE). and we hung up. And i vomited over everything.
*

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… if you want me to give you a blowjob, call me on the phone. 

Kidding, kidding. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Or why it took me so long to say nothing. Or why it takes me so long to do the simplest things…

LIKE PUT ON MY STRAIGHT JACKET.

(But do not dial my number. Really. It’s inappropriate and offensive.)