Archive for the ‘Relationships’ Category

So, I realized today (quite unexpectedly, surprisingly) that The Dude and I have known one another for a full year, as of today.

Many things are the same, and yet there are many more things that are radically different – in part because of the relationship then break-up, but in part just because the passage of time renders change.

I am feeling nostalgic and wistful: I’ll never feel with him the anticipation that I felt then.  I’ll never be able to be excited about him again the way that I was then.

I am also feeling glad: I know him now.  I like the him that I know and I wouldn’t trade that for the anticipation and the excitement.

We aren’t together.  We may never be.  Then if felt meant; now it feels precarious.  But he’s in my life a year later.  Nothing I ever expected when we met.  Indeed, I was incredibly cynical about love and about the possibility of anybody ever sticking around, then.  He’s stuck.  Like gum on my shoe!  Ha!

But he’s apparently stuck.  For good or for bad.

And last year I willfully excluded the possibility of bad.  Now?  Let’s just say that the bad is a real possibility to me, and that makes me sad.

Whatever.  The Man-Kitty is intermittently snoring and meowing in his sleep next to me, and that is so adorable that I can’t continue feeling sorry for myself on this here blog.

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So I’ve been wicked busy, both personally and professionally, which accounts for my radio silence.  Inasmuch as it’s true that I would characterize myself as an extravert, even we people who get energy from other people reach a certain maximum after which we need to crawl into a cave and recharge.  This weekend was meant to be about that hermit-like recharging for me, and for the most part, it did work out that way.

Professional busy-ness is about what you’d expect for this time of the semester.  Meeting with students, responding carefully to student assignments, advising students, colleague-related interactions, meetings, and so forth.  I’m fairly caught up, or at least not drowning, so things are going ok.  But I need for the next couple of weeks to go quickly before I’ll truly be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, semester-wise.

Personal busy-ness in the past week to ten days has been… verging on the bizarre.  Where do I even begin?  Well, I guess I’ll say first that in terms of friend stuff everything is normal and fun and good, and all is well with my many, many friends, and that last weekend I’d gone away with my aunt and mom, so things are great on the family front, too.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, however, that when one’s general social life is in such good shape, when one is feeling content and fairly happy with what’s going on personally with family and friends, that GUYS swarm around one to throw everything into a nutso tailspin.  It’s like they get some sort of alert on their phones or something, “Hey, everything’s grand with Dr. Crazy, and she’s really busy but holding steady, so perhaps it’s time for you to make a dramatic appearance!”

To be fair, not all of the appearances have been that dramatic, but still.

Suffice it to say:

  • I heard from High School Crush, with whom I had one horrible pseudo-date in like 2010, and with whom I’ve not talked in a couple of years, though we do play Words with Friends, from totally out of the blue via a Facebook message. (I responded, and he didn’t reply, for he is a weirdo.)
  • First Love has been leaving phone messages worried that I’m “mad” at him (which, I have no reason to be mad at him!  I’m just busy!).
  • Fake Boyfriend has been calling me all the time, rocking it out like it’s 2007 when we actually were in a fake relationship.  (As I said to Medusa, it’s like when one door closes, another one opens, and what lies behind it is an ex who, phoenix-like, rises out of the ash of what you had believed was a totally dead relationship.)
  • A guy I went out with in August and then blew off with the start of the academic year reappeared, and while it was fine, it did remind me of why I blew him off.

And then, The Dude.

Because apparently all of the above needed some sort of Crescendo of Craziness.  Now, The Dude and I have been in contact over the three or four months that we’ve been broken up, but we’ve only hung out once, and he’s kind of been being a douche-nozzle for the past 6 weeks or so.  I’d kind of figured that he was seeing somebody else, but since he didn’t TELL me that, I was actually feeling hurt and like he didn’t want to be my friend.  Also I was feeling crazy for spending excessive analytical time thinking about whether he was seeing somebody, especially since I’ve gone on dates and fraternized with guys who aren’t him, so why did I care?

Well.  So the short version is as follows: He called me up last night, we talked for a couple of hours, he had been seeing somebody but thought it would “hurt” me to tell me, but now he wanted to tell me since it was over, and I was all, “you didn’t care about hurting me!  You just didn’t want to deal with how I’d react!  And I knew anyway, but you not being honest made me feel like crap, so you were hurting me anyway!” and then I stopped that line of conversation because honestly I don’t care that he went out with somebody else as he was totally within his rights to do so and I really don’t want to know any more about that than I now know, though I did lecture him about the particular category of lying that is the “Lie of Omission” about which he seemingly had never heard, being raised by wolves or something.

But so anyway, that was like only 10 minutes of the conversation, which when I stopped that topic, then took a VERY SHARP LEFT TURN in which 1) he asserted his continuous in-love feelings for me, which involve having dreams about me as well as thinking about me constantly, whether we talk or not, like every single day, which has apparently been a hardship for him, and 2) I said maybe it would be easier for him if we just stopped talking altogether, and 3) he replied that no, what really should happen is that we should be together for the rest of our lives, because he realizes all the things he did wrong and I am his One True Love and blah blah blah things about my perfectness for him and that he can’t live without me, whatever.  I was so caught off guard by all of the Passionate Emotions and Intimacy that I actually responded to his declarations as if they weren’t Totally. Fucking. Crazy.  Like, I entertained what he was suggesting.  We then got off the phone and I went to bed.

I then jolted awake at 6:30 AM in full-on panic mode, and I sent him a series of texts (they were numbered) in which the gist was, “we need a two-month trial period to figure our shit out if we are going to do this, and we don’t even know if we really want to be together because we haven’t even hung out, and I don’t trust you and I’m scared to death of trying with you again and you pulling the same commitmentphobic bullshit.”  Only (slightly) nicer than that.  Then, having articulated my panic feelings, I felt soothed, and I went back to sleep.  We talked this morning, and it was fine, and he said he’s going to get together with me this week (interesting, in that when we were going out he refused to come over during the week).

Here’s the thing.  We are in love.  Still.  Perhaps more now than we were 3 months ago.  That is true.  And yes, it is like a crazy once-in-a-lifetime sort of a deal.

I’m just not so sure that this matters, or matters enough.  And I’m not willing to just pick up where we left off (and, to be fair, nor is he, actually, which is the ONE reason I’m actually entertaining giving this a shot).  And I’m very suspicious about whether this is happening now 1) just because I really was feeling like I’d “moved on” and had given up hope and 2) because we’re coming up on what would have been the year-mark of our relationship, so maybe there is just some sort of calendar-mojo monkeying with our senses?

It’s exceptionally strange thinking about starting a relationship with a person with whom you’ve already been in a relationship.  I mean, I know it happens.  Hell, I have two different aunts – one on my dad’s side and one on my mom’s – who got divorced and then REMARRIED their ex-husbands.  But what’s strange about it is that I know exactly what’s wrong with him.  I’m not all hopped up on the anticipation and excitement and the feelings of newness.  I know what I’d be getting myself into.  That changes the dynamic considerably.  And, frankly, both of us have all our cards on the table now, in a way that you just don’t when you first get involved with somebody.  Breaking up puts the “warts and all” out front and center.  In other words, I don’t know if I actually want to be with him.  I might not.  I certainly don’t want to be with him if he’s not all in.  And I can’t be with him if I’m not all in, and I don’t know if I can be or want to be.  And, honestly, I don’t really know that he wants to be with the me that I am “warts and all,” though he claims having seen this side of me is what makes him confident that we could work.  Whatever.  In the words of Hamlet, “words, words, words.”

So, we’ll see what happens.  Regardless of all of his Declarations, what really matters is what he does.  And regardless of my declarations (for I did make some), what matters is what I do.

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So The Dude just called and asked me if I’m available on Friday night.  I’m not.  I’ve got a date with The Electrician.  A date I’m excited about. If I weren’t excited about it, I wouldn’t have immediately said I wasn’t available on Friday night when The Dude asked me.

My initial response was “I have plans.”  He then responded, “A date?”  And I was like, “yeah.”  (Because I’m not a liar, whatever else I might be.) He then went into the anxious voice that guys go into when they are trying to play it cool, where it’s like their testicles are in their throat: “Well, I hope he’s a good guy, and I hope you have fun!” and I replied, “Look, if you want to date me, then you have to date me.  Otherwise, I’ve got to go on dates with other people,” and then he was all, “Oh no!  I was asking you out as a friend!” And then the conversation ended.

What’s sick is that I wish I could actually go out with The Dude.  But you know?  I can’t.  For obvious reasons.  Whatever.  Friday with The Electrician will be grand.  Or at least it will be a good story.


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Is 39 the New 24?

So, as you all know, I’ve been back at it with the dating.  Let’s note: I’ve periodically invested some energy in the dating over the past 10 years, with limited successes.  Now, I could chalk that up to my lack of commitment to doing it like a job (as I have done), or I could chalk that up to the fact that dating is not as easy in one’s 30s as in one’s 20s (as I’ve also done).  Seriously: the last time I was really a total dating machine I was 24.  And it was easy because I went to bars all the time, and I was in grad school and had comparatively few responsibilities.  And I was the skinniest I’ve ever been in my life, and my hair was fabulous (though, to be fair, my hair is sort of that hair now, only with excellent color).

But this go-around with the dating is going shockingly well, in terms of levels of interest.  Apparently, I am a delight.  This is super strange to me.  I’m 39 now.  That is shockingly close to 40.  And while I think I look just fine, I’m no spring chicken, and I’m no supermodel.  And I don’t have long, flowing hair, and I totally say that the things I like to do in my spare time are to knit and to cook, which aren’t exactly “hot” pastimes.

I mean, I know I’m delightful, but wasn’t I equally or even more delightful at 32?  Or 36?  Apparently not.

And I’m not doing anything differently than I was doing it in the months leading up to meeting The Dude.  For serious: I just slapped my old profile up on the Dating Site when I went back to it last month.  I didn’t revise what I had to say about myself, nor did I change up the pictures.  And I haven’t been investing any significant energy in contacting people or in responding to them.  And I remain choosey: I’ve totally just deleted interested dudes because something in their profile didn’t seem to fit with what I’m looking for, or because I thought they were totally disgusting looking, or because they were old, or whatever.  I’m certainly not more open-minded than I was a year ago, and I’m certainly not giving any old loser a chance.

And yet… the levels of interest are shockingly high.  (And, strangely, shockingly high with guys who are 3-5 years younger than I am, or who are just about my age.) I went out already with that one guy whom I will never see again (just not a match, which I kind of knew from the get-go, but I needed to get back on the horse), and I’ve got two dates lined up with suitors who might actually have some potential.  And another guy is waiting in the wings whom I’ve not yet bothered to really consider because just TWO guys are a LOT, I feel.  What. The. Hell.  Oh, and The Dude continues to profess his undying and yet totally stupid and unavailable love.

One theory I have about my new-found popularity with the opposite sex is analogous to how things work in real estate.  You know how a house is on the market for like 2 years straight and so nobody wants to see it because something must be wrong if it hasn’t sold yet?  I think that maybe the same thing might apply to online dating profiles.  In taking myself down during the 8 months I was with The Dude, and then “re-listing” myself at the right moment, perhaps I’ve changed how desirable I am, even though nothing about me has changed.  Perhaps I’ve changed my fortune to being a “hot new listing,” or something.

But that doesn’t explain the fact that I am now seemingly desirable to guys who are either the same age or younger than I am.  When I was in my early 30s, it seemed that all the guys from 30-45 were interested in trying to date 25-year-olds.  But I turn 39, and suddenly I’m like the coolest girl on the block?  And one of my good friends, APS, is herself 32, and she’s totally like, “all the guys want to date 25-year-olds!”  Well, it might seem that way, but apparently they also really want to date 39-year-olds.  Or at least 39-year-old me.  Bizarre.

Whatever.  The whole thing is mystifying.  Apparently I’m having some sort of dating renaissance.  It’s like I’m a girl of 24, except with a tenured faculty position and a mortgage and two cats and a serious knitting habit, who has written a book.  Oh, but actually, I do have something in common with 24-year-old me: I don’t actually care about having a boyfriend, because I think I’m great as I am.  So perhaps the secret to my success is that I’m totally cool with me on my own?  Huh.

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I know, I know, none of my bloggy peeps are wicked stepmothers, but imagine that you are.  Like you are a truly evil and malevolent force, and you made it your job to be awful to your husband’s child from his previous marriage for approximately 24 years, starting when she was just 11 years old.  Let’s just say.

And let’s say that your Final Wicked Act toward your stepdaughter was to fail to invite said stepdaughter to her own father’s funeral.  Oh, I was invited (kind of) to the calling hours (as no one else from his family, including my grandmother, was) but yeah, I found out that there was an actual service from his hospice person… who was invited and just assumed that I was… at the calling hours.

Do you really think that your stepdaughter wants to hear from you on her birthday? Like, “Hey, you know what would be great?  If I heard from a person who treated me like shit for most of my life!  What a way to celebrate turning 39!”

Last year she mailed a card.  I threw it away unopened.  This year she sent me a Facebook message, which I’ve still not been able to bring myself to read, let alone to respond to.

Let’s note: I don’t wish this woman any harm.  She cared for my father through his final (horrible) illness, and I do believe that she has done her best to be a good mother to my half-brothers.  I appreciate those things, and respect them.  And I recognize that her Wicked Ways had as much to do with my dad as they had to do with any innate evil in her dark, black soul.  And, to be fair, there were times that she did try to develop some sort of positive relations between us, only after everything else they always seemed to be manipulations and ultimately never to have very much to do with my happiness but rather with the image she wanted to have of herself as not a terrible person and of her “family” as not fucked up. And I’m a grown-up, and I do get that people are flawed, and in another time and place, and with somebody who wasn’t me, she might have been just fine.  I’m not nursing some grudge against this woman, wishing her bad tidings.

I just am not interested in cultivating any sort of relationship with her. I prefer to think of her as a person I knew once and to whom I have nothing much to say.  If I ever saw her again, I would be willing to say hello and make small talk.  But only for about five minutes.

A big clue to my feelings might be the fact that I have had absolutely no contact with her since March of 2009.  And I honestly feel quite put upon that she keeps trying to initiate contact with me – ON MY MOTHERFUCKING BIRTHDAY! – putting me in a position where I feel like I’m “supposed” to respond to her – either by being kind OR by telling her to go to hell.  I don’t think I owe this woman the courtesy of any response.  I think, frankly, that she should just accept that I am not a person in her life.  It’s really just that simple.

Except, of course, if it were that simple I’d have deleted the message as soon as I received it, and I wouldn’t have it hanging out in my inbox, and I wouldn’t be wondering whether I should read it.

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So The Dude came over tonight for dinner.  Yes, I invited him.  No, there was no hanky panky, and yes, we are still firmly broken up.

I made dinner.

The Menu:

Caesar salad (with Ann Burrell’s eggless dressing, which is, in a word, superb).

Beef braised in red wine.

Risotto with Crimini Mushrooms (basically the recipe from How to Cook Everything, though frankly I don’t even really consult a recipe for risotto anymore, and I used beef stock and red wine rather than chicken stock and white wine, blah blah blah.)

Crusty bread and butter.

[I had bought gelato for dessert but we ate too much dinner to eat dessert.]

Now, you might be asking yourself, why is Dr. Crazy preparing a gourmet fucking meal for her ex-boyfriend?  Is she mentally ill?  Well, don’t think I didn’t think that myself, especially in the hour before he arrived (when it was too late to back out).  Part of it was that I wanted to use my knew Fancy Pot (the Le Creuset Dutch Oven) to make something delightful.  Part of it is that we haven’t seen one another since the Fourth of July… and I just wanted to see him.  Yeah, we’ve been texting… but texting isn’t hanging out.

You also might be asking yourself why The Dude would drive 40 minutes to have dinner with a “friend.”  Don’t think I didn’t ask myself that question either. (By the way, I asked him that question, too.  Basically, his answer is that he might be mentally ill.)

But so anyway, it was weird for about 30 seconds when he showed up, and then it was grand.  Was there a “vibe” between us, a “spark”?  Yes, but neither of us acted on it, although we both acknowledged it.  And we also had a good talk about how things ended with us and why, and it was, frankly, a relief to have that talk and not fucked up or angry or emotional or anything unpleasant.  This is gross, but it was like I finally got to talk to my best friend about what’s been going on with me.  I think he felt the same way.  And also that good talk only lasted like 20 minutes of the three hours we were together, and that was grand, too.

Now, I did come away from this evening with some insights. 

The first insight is this: The Dude wants to be in a relationship with me without the pressure of being in a “relationship.”  From the moment of his arrival until dinner was served (so, say, 30 minutes) here is a recap: 1) “I feel so relaxed now that I’m here!  I haven’t felt so relaxed in a month” (which, let’s note, we’ve been broken up a month). 2) “If you’re not dating anybody then you need to go to the Over the Rhine show with me in December.” 3) “You know, I would still like to hang out with CC and G with you (these are my friends who are getting married this weekend).  Like in the fall they can come over and we can watch football! And maybe I’ll make a new dip! ” (Dips are The Dude’s one culinary thing.)  At this point I could remain silent no longer, and I was like, “Ok, so you are totally at peace the moment you are in my presence, you are making plans with me for four months from now, and you want to do couples socializing with my friends  What exactly do you think a relationship is?  Because what you’re describing?  That’s a relationship!  You’re crazy!”  And later, I astutely noted: “Dude, you still think that we are together, but now you don’t have the pressure of having to see me!  Like, you still think you are my boyfriend!” and he responded, “Well, kind of….” to which I said, “Well, that’s a raw deal for me because I still have to be a girlfriend but I don’t get to have sex.  Lame.”  He was silent.

The second insight is this: He really is trying to figure shit in his life out that has nothing at all to do with me.  And I actually respect him for not making that shit about me.  Like, he’s not doing the “I’m so noble that I won’t be with you” thing, but he really is trying to figure his shit out.  I’ve been there, and I understand why you can’t (and shouldn’t be) be committed to another person when you’re doing that.

The third insight is that I think I really did need to see him and to explain my perspective on the end of our relationship, because he hadn’t understood how I’d been chafing at feeling “trapped” with him in May and June, and he hadn’t really understood the role that that played in the breakup.  So that’s good that he now gets that I instigated a lot of what he did.

The fourth insight is that neither one of us really understands why we broke up because 1) we are happy when we are together and 2) we get along really fucking well.

But so the night ended, and we hugged and kissed each other on the cheek, And we are totally broken up, even though we’re in love and we like each other better than we like any other people.  And I’m still pursuing dating, and he’s still trying to figure his shit out, which he may never be able to do.

So, yeah, it’s stupid.  But here are my ultimate thoughts: 1) It’s good that we are not together right now.  He really does need to figure his shit out, and I really need not to be tied to a person who doesn’t know what he wants. 2) It was SOOOO good to see him!  Honestly, this was the best I’ve felt since we ended it.  He may be fucked up and confused, but he remains my favorite person in the whole world, and I like to spend time with him. 3) Who knows what the future holds, but where we are right now we have the potential to transition into a really grand friendship or to find our ways back to one another.  And I like that there is potential in either one of those directions.

Now, I might be a dumbass, and he might be emotionally retarded, and what we’re doing might end in a veil of tears.  But he matters enough to me to take that risk, I guess.  I’d rather take that risk and lose than not take that risk and shut down the possibility.

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I appear to have a date tomorrow.

I know, right?

As far as I can tell, I have just about nothing in common with him.  Indeed, this appears to be the sort of date two people go on just on the basis of physical appearance and flirtation. Well, and from my side of it, on the basis of attentiveness as well, because I do like it when they pay attention to me, and he has been exceptionally attentive.

So I don’t think that this guy is going to turn out to be my next great love or something (though, of course, one never does know, but really, I’m not a betting woman and I’d bet money that this particular date is not heading to serious relationship territory), but I do think it’s possible that we will have some casual fun and good times.  And it’s keeping my mind off of The Dude (with whom of course I am still in love) and all of the other things that are stressing me out.

And let’s note that this date would never have come into being had my mother not left early.  So perhaps the universe is actually working in my favor right now, but its ways are mysterious and confusing 🙂


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Let me go on the record and declare the Summer of 2013 as the Most Fucked Up Summer Since 1999.  I noted this a week or two ago in a conversation with Medusa (who weathered the Summer of 1999 with me), and she responded, “What?  Were we dealing with lunatics with God complexes and cowards with anxiety disorders in 1999?”  In fact, yes we were.  But that is neither here nor there.  The point is, I haven’t felt so at loose ends and so colossally fucked up since that summer, lo, 14 years ago.  And let’s note that the fucked-up-ness of that summer pushed me into a terrible 3-year-long live-in relationship with a guy who was So Fucking Wrong For Me, just because I was in such need for stability.

So what is wrong, as this summer of 2013 draws to a close?

I’m heartbroken, my book project is stalled,  I am not speaking to one of my “best” friends, A., the bookstore lost (or just failed to place?) the book orders that I went out of my way to give them IN APRIL for my fall courses and didn’t alert me to the problem until this week, I got my first speeding ticket in my life (after 22 years of driving, and speeding, so probably I was due, and I most certainly deserved it), and I’m about to turn 39 (which isn’t a surprise or anything, and isn’t exactly bad in itself, but with all of the other things that are WRONG, let’s just say that I’m feeling like perhaps I am DOOMED to have a fucked up life, and I will never get my shit together, and I will never find a way to be satisfied and happy).  Oh, and my person who cuts my hair overwaxed my eyebrows so they are way too thin and seem like they would be appropriate to 1999, and I have a balance on my credit card for the first time since I dug myself out of credit card debt (and yet, I keep spending), and I fell off the wagon on diet and exercise and so have gained back the weight I lost on WW a couple of years ago, all of my friends who were supposed to visit me this summer bailed, and I am sure there is more, but frankly, I can’t be bothered to list anymore because it’s all just too depressing.

In an attempt to present a silver lining to you, I will note that my hair is looking great these days, for it has finally grown into a passable bob after a year and a half of growing it out from the VERY short pixie cut, and my living room is no longer the dirty-looking green-cream-color-that-makes-everybody-look-bad that it has been since I moved in, and I finally got a bench for a blank space of wall, and in a month I will have a new sectional-sofa to replace my actually dirty and worn out sofa that I’ve had for 9 years, and I did the Great Book Migration so my downstairs is no longer the Sad Place of too many disorganized books.  And yes, I have good friends, and I will be an auntie to HS BFF’s coming baby.  But you know what?  Other than the friends and tiny human news, all of this is kind of superficial shit, whereas much of the bad shit is actually bad.

At any rate, to get to the title of this post.  My mom came this weekend, and she helped me paint the living room.  I am entirely grateful for her help with that, and I’m grateful for the fact that she helped me mop my floors, and I’m grateful just for the time I got to spend with her.  And for the fact that she bought me the bench. But.

From just about the moment that she showed up, it was an exercise in her pointing out my flaws.  Let me give you an overview: my clothes aren’t flattering or age-appropriate, I have a zit on my face, my eyebrows look weird, I’m a terrible housekeeper (although my house is just about in the same state as hers is), why isn’t my book written?, I love my cats too much and I will never have a relationship because of my cat-love, I shouldn’t be in contact with The Dude but I also shouldn’t be fraternizing with online dating people who are “weird”, the mop that she made me buy three years ago, because the mop I had was BAD, is BAD, I am a terrible hostess (even though she refused to allow me to plan fun things for us to do), I make her do stuff for me (which I don’t) and then I want her to get out “as soon as the work is done” (which isn’t true), when I tell her that I want us to just spend time together, she says what she wants to do is to reorganize my whole house in the way that she wants to do it, and when I express an opinion I am ungrateful, even though I thanked her profusely for everything she did, and even thought it is MY FUCKING HOUSE and my opinion is what matters!

The bad news is that after three days of this, I finally had a major meltdown (precipitated by the MOP) in which I cried and yelled at her, and she decided to leave early.  The good news, I suppose, is that at least she is no longer badgering me and making me feel like shit.  Though, of course, I totally feel like shit because she left.  Which she knew I would.  Because I told her it made me feel bad.  Additionally, she was all, “I’m just not going to come visit you anymore.”  Which, what the fuck?  I want her to come visit.  I don’t want her to show up and treat me like shit!  The point isn’t that she can’t visit!  The point is that I am an adult and that I expect her to treat me with just a tiny teensy bit of respect!  And to stop fucking pointing out every fucking thing that is wrong with me and my life!

We have been having a version of this fight since I was about 14 years old.  I’m tired of it.  And, frankly, the only reprieve I’ve had from this fight was when I lived with that terrible boyfriend from 2000-2003 (one of the few bright spots in that relationship, honestly).  It’s like because I am not partnered or a mother I don’t get to be a grown-up for her.  And it’s fucking bullshit.

Look, I know I’m not perfect, and I know that my house could be cleaner and I could weigh less and my yard could be more pristine and my book could be written and my life could be less fucked up.  But, that’s just it: I know all of that.  I really don’t need her to point it out.  I need her to fucking accept me as I am and stop trying to fucking fix me.  Because the fact of the matter is, I am pretty sure I’m never going to measure up to her ideal of what I should be.  And part of the reason I’m sure of that is because I never have.

And so, I am about 16 years old right now, emotionally.  And I hate my mom (even though of course I love her), and my life fucking sucks (not only because I think so but because she has asserted that it does).

Note to all y’all bloggy readers who are mothers of daughters: when they get to be 38-going on 39-years old?  And when they tell you to stop riding them like they are fucking teenagers?  Listen before they burst into tears.  Listen before it becomes a big THING.  Because you know what?  They will be grown ass women then, and this sort of drama sucks balls.  And your daughters really want to spend time with you.  They just hate it when you act like motherfucking assholes.

In other silver lining on the big dark angry cloud news, the Man-Kitty snores beside me looking very kittenish.  Which, of course, means I love him so much that I will die alone.


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Oh, the Irony

Tonight I decided that it was time for me to get myself back on the horse and to reactivate my Match account.  For those of you unfamiliar with the singular humiliations of online dating, one of the “services” that this particular company provides is it identifies people as your “matches of the day” – and, to top it off, it highlights one particular profile as one person they think will be Just Perfect for You!

Guess who my Extra Special Match of the Day was?

No, really, guess. I’ll give you a second.

The Motherfucking Dude.  I shit you not.  Let me give you a moment to process that, because it certainly took me a moment to process that.

Apparently, we are a Match Made in Heaven, according to whatever algorithms predict such things, except for the tiny problem that he isn’t interested in dating anybody in the whole wide world, let alone me.

Given the current state of things with him, what with us pleasantly texting on a daily basis, I told him that the universe mocked me with his profile, and I asked him directly whether he is, in fact, looking to date people-who-are-not-me, and he said he isn’t looking to date anyone, and I do believe him.  The Dude is many fucked up things, but I don’t think he’s a liar.  Also, he doesn’t appear to have logged in to his account any time recently, so that corroborates his story.

Now, obviously because of the circumstances, this means I did make him aware that I am putting myself back out there, in however limited a way.  And I made it clear that my doing so doesn’t mean my feelings for him have changed at this point, but it does mean that I accept that he is in whatever paralysis state he is in, and I need to get on with my dumb life in the meantime.  Because he might be permanently paralyzed.  And I’m not paralyzed.  So.

At any rate, I am happy that all my cards are on the table, even if the universe is mocking my attempts to get on with it.


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Emotional Problems

So, after 36 hours of hell, which began with a vet appointment and continued with leaving the Man-Kitty at the vet (and which leaving prompted a strike against both eating and drinking and FUCK YOU if you think that I will pee for you) and then bringing him home and locking him in the bathroom and being like, um, you need to provide me with a urine sample, and he was all, um, FUCK YOU until he couldn’t hold it for any longer and then he finally relented, it turns out, he has nothing physically wrong with him.  We had a big long talk about the cat who cried “I’m going to pee on the kitty cushion in the window,” but he doesn’t care.  Because I’m supposed to read his mind and stuff.  Because it’s not his fault if I’m not a cat.  That said, he has been delightful since returning home, so maybe torturing him for days sent him a message about how he should behave?  WHO KNOWS.

It’s worth noting that the Mom of Crazy was all: “You do realize that he is just like every guy you date.”  To which I responded, “what, because they pee inappropriately?” and she was all, “I don’t know about that, but I do know that they aren’t good with change and they act out inappropriately in ways that make you unhappy.”

Throughout this (non)ordeal, I will say that The Dude was very supportive.  And this encouraged me to offer a proposal for being together (to which he has not responded as of yet) that actually expresses what I want.  As of today, he is Mr. I Shall Text You about the Weather as a Pretext.

That’s all good.  I feel good that I really articulated what I’d want, and I don’t actually need a response in any time-frame to that.  I just felt like I needed to actually articulate what I want since I’d not done so to that point.  And what’s the difference these days?  It’s not like I have the power to make things MORE fucked up.  So at least I have been honest, and if he doesn’t respond or responds negatively, well, then, I know he’s not for me.  But I had to take my shot before I put myself back out on the market.  Because I’m pretty sure that neither he nor I can come back from that, in terms of us.

So yes, the Man-Kitty is a neurotic freak, and so, too, are the men whom I choose.  Now, you might say that I am the common denominator here.  Don’t think I haven’t thought it.  But whatever.  The Man-Kitty is not dying of some terrible urinary disease, and I am not dying of some terrible relationship.  Both of these things are good news, at least in the present time.

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