Another Sunday afternoon has come, and will quickly go, like they always do. I love Sundays. I would go as far as to say Sunday is my favorite day of the whole week. It's the one day of the week I forgive myself for having no motivation to do anything. And sometimes, most times, I surprise myself and do more than anticipated. I guess that's the advantage of setting the bar nice and low, the littlest things can be seen as the biggest victories.
So I finally got around to the dishes, which is my biggest failure are a single home-dweller. I can justify NOT doing dishes like you couldn't believe. For starters, I have so many dishes that I never actually have to do them. In fact, I could throw away every plate I own once it's used and still not have to worry about dishes for easily a month. I know this because I have strongly considered it while glaring back at the odoriferous pile staring up from the sink. But they are done now, which inspired me to sweep the kitchen floor and wipe down the coffee table. I even fluffed the throw pillows on the couch.
At the end of the day, I feel better when I clean. But cleaning brings to light a lot of things my distracted by tv and filth mind doesn't normally see. I am made to recognize a lot of my young adult habits. Ones that, I believe, didn't really start to exist until I was finally on my own again. I am without roommate, without boyfriend, without live-in family. I am officially alone. And with the exception of the time I am at work, I have developed some very interesting habits. Maybe they have always been there, lurking under the surface, and now that I am spending more time getting to know myself they are shining through.
1. Sometimes when I am washing a dish, or silverware, I will convince myself that that spot there isn't just a piece of stubborn debris that can't be easily removed, but better yet a stain that probably won't come off ever. This is just shear laziness.
2. I sleep on my couch 90% of the time. Why wouldn't I? That's the room with the tv and a table located closely to the pile of pillows and old worn down comforter. Not only is it comfortable, but it's closer to the kitchen. I'll worry about crawling back into bed when I have I someone who can't comfortable fit on the couch with me.
3. Pretzels dipped in melted chocolate chips is the easiest, and most delicious dessert ever. A touch of peanut butter is the perfect addition for those classier nights in.
4. Every night can be a night in! As long as there is no one around to make you feel guilty about being anti-social, being alone is the best! I've already made my distaste for pants very apparent. But why spend money at a bar when I can go on, not wearing pants, and spend time with the DVR, which for the record, knows me better than any ex-boyfriend ever has.
5. TMZ is the trashiest most amazing show on television. I wish they had a 24 hour station. I vote we replace C-SPAN with TMZ. Does anyone even watch C-SPAN?
6. Sometimes I use the pizza driver as a delivery man for pop. And cold pizza breakfast for the next 5 days.
7. The 20s are for having fun. But the real fun is defining your own idea of fun. I don't need a man, or to be rich for that matter. Things are never super easy, but there are rewards for living the modest life I do.
And on that note, I am going to finish cleaning. I am having close friends over tonight for turkey burgers, beers, and to watch the VMAs. Because that's my new idea of great night.
8.20.2011
I've Got You On My Lips
I’m calling ‘slut’ on myself. And it’s not that I feel bad about it, or regret my more recent decisions. But I have always been one to call a spade a spade, and this spade has been a little slutty.
I am putting my romantic money where my mouth is these days and spending less time searching for my one true love, and just enjoying the things in my life that are actually working. It has made my relationships with men way more fun because there isn’t that immediate pressure from me with ‘will we won’t we be together forever’ right from the get-go. So I’ve continued chatting up new guys on the same old dating site I have used for years, and have enjoyed interactions with old friends and new acquaintances. Now, clearly I am not sleeping with all of these people. Not only would that be disgusting, but who has that kind of time? But I will never deny the fact that kissing boys is amongst my most favoritest hobbies.
I had gone on a date Thursday night. And I discovered very quickly into the date that this guy was a little boring. In his defense, he was fascinating in text-form. But his personality did not translate from my phone screen to my couch. Conversation was lacking, I spent more time asking him questions I didn’t really care to know the answers to for the sake of filling the silences. Once I realized that wasn’t working anymore (his mouth was moving-and I was grocery shopping in my head) I gave him the “you can kiss me now"eyes and was relieved that his kissing ability was far better than his communication.
There were no butterflies, my heart wasn’t set a flutter at the touch of his lips on mine. But it was hot. And my eyes were closed, so for those 30 minutes of heavy petting, he may as well have been Jude Law. Same thing went for the party I was at last night. I had spent time working the room and deciding which company was worth keeping once the tapped PBR took its full affect on me. In sizing up my options, I realized I was thinking less about whose jokes would be funniest, or could potentially play human ponytail if the crap beer and I didn’t get along, and more about who would be the most fun to make out with in a dark corner once everyone was nice and blitzed. I narrowed down my options, and tested my few theories. My few. That means there was more than one guy in more than one dark corner.
This is why I am calling 'slut' on myself. There is no reason I should have had more than one guys mouth on mine over the past two days. On the other hand, it should be recognized that I’ve still got it. And it’s harmless, in the grand scheme of things. I guess I want to be the first to call myself out on this behavior. It is more likely than not that I will continue to be mouth-slutty for a while. Which I am perfectly content with, mouth-slutty is cleaner and safer than vajayjay-slutty. And it does feel good to know, that after all the broken hearts and romantic indecision, the boys still want to kiss me.
8.10.2011
...'Cause Love's Given Up On Me
Brace yourselves, this is going to come as a shock to all of you, but in today's blog I am going to bitch and moan about romantic relationships. I know this is a stretch from my normal blog topics, but try and adjust accordingly. What I will continue to do, though, is use the best grammar possible because at the end of the day capitalizing the letter "I" is important. So is knowing this difference between a period and an ellipsis...just saying.
As I am sure I have made perfectly clear time and time again, I am not very happy with how my most recent relationship ended. As more time passes I am making every effort to let go of the hurt and disappointment that came from that particular breakup. But the further I step away from my frustration with the Charlie debacle (that reference is for you, Zach) the more frustrated I become with all my past relationships as a whole. I don't want to be so bitter and cynical at the age of 24, but a combination of bad boyfriends and too many broken hearts to count, I am wondering if my blind optimism in finding a "soul mate" has left me very misguided about relationships.
The hardest part of letting go of my Charlie feelings is that I was truly convinced for a very long time, still kind of am, that he was one of the good ones. One of the guys who knew better than to breakup with someone on Easter through a text message. Up until just yesterday I still found myself defending him as a good person to everyone that would feed me the generic "you can do better - he doesn't deserve you" comfort words. No. Not my Charlie - he's one of the good ones. I don't know if I believed this because he had truly convinced me that he was, or if I had settled him into my head as "the one" enough to put him up on a pedestal so high above everyone else. Either way in slowly accepting that he is not what I once believed him to be, I am questioning my own ability to know the good from the bad. Or in the very least the ability to become aware of it sooner that 8 months later when my heart is in too many pieces to count and I feel like I've been tricked into loving a person I should've never fallen for in the first place.
I don't want to give up on love. I have a poster of Ewan McGregor kissing Nicole Kidman from 'Moulin Rouge' hung above my bed. And every night before I tuck myself in, I wonder how much longer I will have to wait to have my love song compilation dance on top of the moon swinging from star to star. I want nothing more from life than my own Patrick Dempsey who makes my heart melt over and over again, and is unwavering in his love for me. But with my track record of 10+ years of dating, I'm starting to believe I am standing in the way of that happening for myself in expecting it to happen at all.
It would be nice, for once, to fall for someone but remain holding the cards. To be the one that says "hey, you aren't so awesome, I am going to pack up my bags and peace out before this turns into something that will make me lose sleep and cry every night for 3 months." But I so desperately want to fall in love, that I am constantly making excuses for every douche bag that comes along and gives me even the smallest amount of attention. Maybe my snap judgements will be wrong. Maybe he won't use me and then turn around and tumble about how having sex with me was like "raping himself". Probably not though.
I can't figure out whether or not I need to raise my expectations for men to ensure I don't constantly end up broken-hearted over guys not deserving of my time. Or if I need to lower my expectations for love, so I don't fall helplessly over and over again just for that one chance at finding something real and true that will be everything I dream it to be and last forever. All I do know, is that I am exhausted from all of it. I am tired of fighting for and with love. So the poster may have to come off the wall, and I might have to remove the Celine Dion discography from my ipod for a while. Because no matter what the reason, I am most certainly doing it wrong.
As I am sure I have made perfectly clear time and time again, I am not very happy with how my most recent relationship ended. As more time passes I am making every effort to let go of the hurt and disappointment that came from that particular breakup. But the further I step away from my frustration with the Charlie debacle (that reference is for you, Zach) the more frustrated I become with all my past relationships as a whole. I don't want to be so bitter and cynical at the age of 24, but a combination of bad boyfriends and too many broken hearts to count, I am wondering if my blind optimism in finding a "soul mate" has left me very misguided about relationships.
The hardest part of letting go of my Charlie feelings is that I was truly convinced for a very long time, still kind of am, that he was one of the good ones. One of the guys who knew better than to breakup with someone on Easter through a text message. Up until just yesterday I still found myself defending him as a good person to everyone that would feed me the generic "you can do better - he doesn't deserve you" comfort words. No. Not my Charlie - he's one of the good ones. I don't know if I believed this because he had truly convinced me that he was, or if I had settled him into my head as "the one" enough to put him up on a pedestal so high above everyone else. Either way in slowly accepting that he is not what I once believed him to be, I am questioning my own ability to know the good from the bad. Or in the very least the ability to become aware of it sooner that 8 months later when my heart is in too many pieces to count and I feel like I've been tricked into loving a person I should've never fallen for in the first place.
I don't want to give up on love. I have a poster of Ewan McGregor kissing Nicole Kidman from 'Moulin Rouge' hung above my bed. And every night before I tuck myself in, I wonder how much longer I will have to wait to have my love song compilation dance on top of the moon swinging from star to star. I want nothing more from life than my own Patrick Dempsey who makes my heart melt over and over again, and is unwavering in his love for me. But with my track record of 10+ years of dating, I'm starting to believe I am standing in the way of that happening for myself in expecting it to happen at all.
It would be nice, for once, to fall for someone but remain holding the cards. To be the one that says "hey, you aren't so awesome, I am going to pack up my bags and peace out before this turns into something that will make me lose sleep and cry every night for 3 months." But I so desperately want to fall in love, that I am constantly making excuses for every douche bag that comes along and gives me even the smallest amount of attention. Maybe my snap judgements will be wrong. Maybe he won't use me and then turn around and tumble about how having sex with me was like "raping himself". Probably not though.
I can't figure out whether or not I need to raise my expectations for men to ensure I don't constantly end up broken-hearted over guys not deserving of my time. Or if I need to lower my expectations for love, so I don't fall helplessly over and over again just for that one chance at finding something real and true that will be everything I dream it to be and last forever. All I do know, is that I am exhausted from all of it. I am tired of fighting for and with love. So the poster may have to come off the wall, and I might have to remove the Celine Dion discography from my ipod for a while. Because no matter what the reason, I am most certainly doing it wrong.
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