Mourning The Loss Of Possibility

Funny enough, after having a conversation yesterday where I mention that most dating bloggers are f’n crazy. I then proceed along my day only proving that statement true for myself.

1. I call some strange dude that I’ve never met. I know. I know.

2. I head out to get groceries and stalk the pool on the way to and from my car looking for Mr. Hot German.

3. I break down in tears over someone I’m not dating, whom I’ve never met, and proceed to want to get obliterated with alcohol because of it.

1 & 2 are normal crazy for me. 3… well I’m gunna blame hormones, but really its more involved than that.. which honestly does make me crazy.

See, I have loved this guy for a long time. We’ve slowly been getting to know each other. When we first met, he wanted nothing to do with a relationship and I did.

He’s honestly the only person since my divorce that I haven’t “broken out into hives” at the thought of getting into a relationship. Partly because we seem to understand each other, and partly I suppose because we’re miles apart and it seems more like a fantasy than real reality.

We’ve talked while we dated other people. He’s asked my advice several times when courting a new girl, but its never been anything serious.

Then last night, he asked my advice on proposing to her. This girl he’s been dating for a little while.

See when someone I care for, asks me for advice, I auto-pilot to give them the best advice I know, without any reguard for myself. It is how I am. I could be selfish and help him destroy his relationship, but I couldn’t face myself in the mirror let alone face him. Because honestly, I sincerely just want him to be happy, even more than the desire to be the one that makes him happy.

I’d been as clear as I could be about my feelings without actually sending him naked pictures labeled “Do Me” or sending him some silly love note. I’m also not keen, since my ex, to be the one making the overtures. I really want a guy who wants me enough, not to let me go.

It doesn’t much matter anyway. He’s head over heels. A goner. I’m sure I can hope that she’ll say no, but I know she won’t. He’s that great of a catch.

So last night, I drank up while crying into my wine. Maybe I’ll find one of my own, someday.


My Silly Little Girl Love

I’m in love. Swooning Love. I’ve been here for a while.

It’s not real love. Ok, it might be a start at real love.. you know.. “The first time I saw him, I knew….” blah blah blah.. But basically this is mostly of my own imagination.

To be honest, the first time I saw him reading me.. I swooned. I mean really.. what is a guy like that doing reading a girl like me?

But its not all romantic dreamy.. He has his flaws. Flaws that only make him more human and lovable. His flaws are like scar wounds. Things that show where he’s been and how he’s pulled through. Things that show he knows that balance between work and play, reponsibility and irresponsibility, love and.. war.

There is nothing I’ve learned of him so far that hasn’t endeared me to him.

I mostly admire him from afar. I read him. I’ve looked at his pictures. I’ve heard his voice.

I see his IP showing that he’s read me, and I smile. It brightens my day. He comments on something I posted, and my heart does a little flitter.

But when I think about possibly meeting him.. and all the things that a real relationship entails, I start to panic at all the things that threaten to shatter this happy silly girl love.

He’s a dream of a reality that I’m not ready to experience. So I’ve not pushed things or tried to make things more than the ethereal dream they are right now. I’m not ready for this dream to end, or for reality to come crashing in.

Its my silly little girl fantasy. My hope in a box.

For now its enough, this little love from afar, flirting play we’re in. Maybe someday, I’ll be brave enough for more.

Weight Wait!

For women there is no bigger issue out there.. nothing quite so sensitive.. nothing… well.. quite so able to get our hackles up or make us smile than our weight.

Just try it.. For those of you brave enough.. Try telling a woman.. any woman.. that she looks like she put on weight. There is no good way to phrase it. You mention this, and if you survive the incident, trust me you’ll be on her “shit list” for the rest of the day.. if not the rest of your life.

The only exception to this might be a woman who is actually pregnant.. but even then.. your chances of a pleasant outcome are miniscule at best.

However, if you really want to make a woman’s day.. Tell her she looks a little thinner (genuinely, if the last time you saw her was a size 2 and now she’s a size 20, telling her she’s thinner might get you a beat down) will always bring a spring to her step.

Men aren’t immune to this either.. but for them its usually less severe and does depend on what you say. You tell a man he’s fat, it’ll hurt. You make it sound like he’s bulked up.. its a whole different story. You tell a man he’s thinner, its a 50-50 shot as some men are trying to bulk up and will get pissed, others might actually be trying to lose weight and be happy. You tell a man he’s looking like he’s been working out (even if he never does), or that you like his muscles.. you’re golden.

But I digress..

Yesterday I joined @SingleTiffany in a poll based on weight.  Most men got it close to right.. aka avoided the topic completely because they knew when they were “outmatched” by the question… a few men got it right.. and some men got it really wrong.

Its been my experience that men do not understand scales and women.  They understand thin and fat. They understand big and small. They grasp well the concepts of what is attractive to them and what is not.

They do not understand the visual reprensentation of 120 pounds vs 160 pounds unless its of the same quantifiable thing… such as 120 pounds of apples vs 160 pounds of apples.  However, a 120 pound woman can look roughly the same proportions as a 160 pound woman.. or not.  You put two 160 pound women side by side.. one might have a pot belly and the other might be toned and bikini perfect.

If it wasn’t well publicized no man would know Marilyn Monroe was a size 16 vs whatever popular size 2 model pinup we have today.  Let alone their actual weights.

Sure sure if you line up girls next to each other, a guy is going to be able to tell you which girl is bigger. Their eyes do work after all.  But unless their a professional scale judge, they’re not going to be able to tell you their weight.

This doesn’t mean that guys don’t have ideas about scale weights. They do.  Some guys insist that a girl must weight under 150lbs, but often they don’t understand what that weight means.  I know this because I’ve dated them. The men who believe in random numbers.

In my beginning years of college is when I ran into most of these Random Weight Number dudes, and since have found all men to fall prey to this in varying degrees.

At the time, I was a very fit, muscular, flat stomached, ample breasted girl. 5’7 and 180 lbs.  In person, I had to peel the men off me.. almost literally. I was stalked. I was clung to..

It was insane.

Yet, when these guys asked my weight, I would tell them.. well after the appropriate “No no.. a girl never says her weight”.. and they’d all suddenly look at me different after my confession and back away. Most never really talked to me again as if I’d lied to them the entire time of our “courtship” so to speak.

I nearly got arrested once as well due to my weight.  Because I’m semi-vain, I never put my real weight on my drivers license. Instead I always subtracted about 20 lbs, as thats what most people guessed that I weighted.

I had gained a few pounds during college, so when I renewed my drivers license I put an increased yet false weight on it.  But closer to my actual weight than I usually did before.. 190.

Then I lost a little weight and was actually at or something close to 190.

I was driving through a badly marked school zone going way too fast, like anyone does who doesn’t know its a school zone.  Red lights flash, and I get pulled over.

He of course asks for my DL and insurance, and I present it. He then looks at my DL then at me… back at the DL.. then back at me.

“Miss… is this you?” Acting like he’s about to make me step out of the car. Hand on gun.

“Yes..” I say looking alarmed and puzzled.

“It could be you.. maybe.. but.. have you lost weight?” His hand is still on his gun, and he’s still examining my DL.

“Yeah a little.”

“You mean a lot.” His tone was anything but friendly.

“Wha… Why? Is there a problem?”

He then makes me verify for him everything on my DL. He examines my insurance card to make sure the address matches my DL.

“You need to go get a new DL. I’m writing you a warning. Get it changed. There is no way you’re 190 pounds.”

He then proceeds to give me a lecture on how important DL descriptions are to prove identity.  Which honestly made me laugh because he wanted me to lie on my DL that I was significantly thinner than I am.

As such, I’m never telling anyone I’m sexually interested in my actual weight. Ever Again.

I did tell my ex my weight once.. (we’d bought a new scale and were trying it out) He pretended to be unaffected, but managed to ask me for several months.. if I really needed that slice of pizza or shouldn’t we just skip that cake.. and started talking about “wouldn’t it be fun to go to the gym”.

Never again.

I’m A Hottie

I went out the other night to a networking event.. and there were several friends there of Hock and I.

Hock was not there.

I honestly didn’t think I’d bad mouth Hock. It wasn’t part of my plan. I honestly thought I’d stop at “We had a falling out.” or some other vague-ity… but people would ask if I was going to ____ event or “Hey you going to Hock’s party next week?” And the story of Hock & my official falling out.. just came flowing out of my mouth.

I ran into one of Hock’s friends that I’d met during the game.. and she was shocked at his behavior with me.

“That is so unlike him”

I told her I thought it was out of character as well, but its what happened and I just can’t overlook it. She agree and was adequately appalled at him on my behalf.

Then I ran into a mutual friend who had seen Hock and I making out that first night. She came over to chide me about it. Jokingly. She admitted that her and her husband had been married so long she was jealous of our hot make-out session. She went on to tell me what a cute couple we were, and the story of me and Hock came out like verbal vomit.

She interjected: “When I asked him about your make-out scene, he replied ‘oh the hottie’ so it wasn’t because he thinks you’re ugly.”

I guess I can take some comfort in that. Right?

I did get to see a couple of my crushes.. The married hottie.. *sigh* and the single one.

I’d not seen Pierce (the single one) in months. We’ve never said a whole lot to each other, but he’s always been friendly and somewhat flirtatious.. I think?  We’re both very shy neurotic semi-social-geeky people that well.. I honestly can’t tell if he’s flirting or if he’s just being friendly. .. However I’m just going to assume that he wants me.. and he wants me bad. 🙂

We saw each other across a very crowded room. I was making my rounds looking for familiar faces and possibly new people to meet, when I saw him. He saw me and his face changed into recognition and smiles. (I’m pretty sure mine also changed in the same way. I was overjoyed to see him.)

I made my way over.

He enveloped me in a hug and I melted. Neurosis knows neurosis. I’m comfortable with him.

Well comfortable except for the whole not knowing if we’re just friends.. or maybe? or who knows?

We said our hellos and talked about the past few months. What we’d each been doing, what’s new, what’s not, and so on.

I nervously thought he was trying to get away at one point. He moved closer to me, almost like he was trying to get past me… and I backed away to let him through. I realized my error when he then backed away to his original position.  I still don’t know what he was trying to do, but I was much too nervous to ask.

The conversation came to its natural end, and I couldn’t find anything even remotely interesting to prolong it.  Plus it was muggy and hot where we were, so I used the moment to excuse myself for cooler spaces.

That was the last I saw him that evening.

Guilty & Ready For My Beating

We all like to judge. We judge ourselves. We judge others. We even sometimes enlist other people to judge us.. because we obviously don’t get enough judgement throughout our day.. or we hope the verdict will be different.

We tie ourselves into knots, and we enlist the help of others in this as well.

No where is this more prevalent than in dating. We are constantly bombarded with “do this” and “don’t do that” .. that by the time we actually manage to find someone to accompany us, we’ve got ourselves convinced that we are other than we are.

Some of us convince ourselves we’re more of a catch than we are. Our perfect maintenance. Our perfect manners. Our perfect set of rules and regulations.

Others of us convince ourselves that we’re not a catch at all. We have too much hair or not enough, imperfect teeth, undesirable bodies, horrid careers.. and so on. We convince ourselves that we aren’t social adept enough or interesting enough. We chide ourselves as losers for not being able to follow simple “rules” of dating.

Whats even worse than this.. is that we ask others to bolster these opinions. We specifically choose to go to people who we know (darn good and well) will give us the praise or tongue-lashing that we feel we deserve.

This post by Moxieinthecity has been bugging me for days, and I’ve come to the conclusion of why.. or conclusions maybe?

To start.. I’ll be honest. My first reaction to Moxie’s post was offense. I felt judged, because like the poster.. I’ve had sex on the first date. I like sex. I give in occasionally to the moment.. sometimes encouraged by TOM (hormones are evil) and alcohol (decreases my inhibitions, aka makes me horny). I don’t necessarily think this is something that should be held against me.. though I fully understand that often it is.. and I sometimes worry about men’s intentions after the fact.  Are they going to call? If they call are they only calling for a bootycall?

But thats not why it stuck with me. I fully grasp that by sleeping with said person I’ve made my choice to take a huge risk that he won’t want to see me again. (In my past, I did this often out of self-sabotage. I figured he’d leave once he got sex, might as well make it sooner than later.)

Why it stuck with me was this… I related to.. and felt sorry for.. the girl.

I felt sorry for her because she was so full of self-doubt that it was hampering her ability to just enjoy her choices. Instead of embracing her choice to have sex, she was beating herself up, and judging herself for it.  Running doomsday scenarios of why he was calling rather than finding out for herself.

Secondly, I felt sorry for her.. because not only was she judging herself.. she actively sought out Moxie to help tongue-lash her… and Moxie did.

Moxie let her have it in ways that .. well.. make me want to find the OP and give her a hug.

You didn’t really accept the consequences. If you had, you’d never have sent him that text. Now, had you sent him a text one night when you were feeling frisky and wanted to grab some wine and a shag?

To me this says… if you have sex on the first date, don’t bother trying to be anything to him other than a bootycall. Which is wrong.. so wrong.. Sure sure.. sex on the first date does decrease the chances in most men’s minds that you’ll ever be more than casual.. but not all men.  If he really likes you, sex on the first date isn’t going to matter (trust me I’ve got a couple marriage proposals to prove it).

Sending a “thank you” text the next day.. is good etiquette. Just is. Always.

I just wish we could stop beating each other up. Stop beating ourselves up, for things that come naturally and are consensual. Whether we like it or not, we have to deal with the consequences.. and when it comes to sex.. those consequences aren’t always what we expected. Sometimes they’re good, and sometimes they’re disaster.. but they’re always unpredictable.

Enjoy your life.. Take each day as it comes.

The Worst Playboy

aka.. if he shows you who you are to him, believe him…

Like every woman out there, I’ve fallen prey to players.  Those smooth talking silver tongued lads who you want to believe because it feels good or its a happier picture. The guys who can cancel or make plans last minute and convince you that its for legitimate reasons. They convince you that you are in fact the most important and beautiful person in the world, and if they could they’d be with you 24/7.  And we believe it, because we want to.

I’ve been there. Done that. And sometimes willingly got the t-shirt. (Don’t judge me. Sometimes good sex and a guy who makes you feel like a million bucks is pretty darn awesome, even if you know he’s lying)

And (as the Texans say it..) “Bless his little heart” Hock is trying to be one of these guys. I’ll give him some props for effort, but he’s got a whole lot to learn. Aka he’s a massive idiot.

1. If you’re trying to be a playa, make sure your “excuses” can’t be easily disproven by your Twitter or Facebook updates, especially if said media is one of the ways you two communicate.

2. If you don’t want to burn bridges, never leave a girl waiting without any kind of word. Always keep her informed on your availability even if it changes last minute. Real playas don’t want to put the effort into making up for things later and understand the longer you let a girl fester, the less likely you’ll talk your way back into her pants. The less misunderstandings, the better your chances of getting laid.

And as such, Hock is no more. I’m actually thinking he may get physically hurt next I see him, but that will probably pass. In the meantime, let me tell you the story of how Hock went from sexy to deserving a ball-kicking (or more).

As you all know, Hock and I went to a hockey game and “made up” after his 3 am booty-texting faux-pas (which btw girls any time a guy does this to you, save yourself some time and just write him off completely).  I hadn’t forgiven him completely but was willing to give him a second chance.

So anyway, I’d seen on Twitter that he was getting some friends together for a UFC watching party, and I had other plans with Getty to cheer her up after a horrid week. Getty wanted to get drunk and I promised to be her designated driver.  Being the great friend that I am, I used my media savvy to invite others to our party. I also sent Hock a special invite letting him know that when the UFC thing was over if he was bored he was welcome to join us.

Around midnight, Hock texted me and asked if we were still out. I said we were. He said he was on his way. Getty and I were about 15 minutes from leaving and picking another locale so I stalled so we could wait for Hock. Courtesy.

45 minutes go by. I text Hock.

“How close are ya?”

H – “I was actually there for about 10 mins looking around. Sorry I missed you.”

(Oh bullshit asshole)

M – “Why didn’t you txt me?”

(Seriously if you’re looking for someone at a place, and can’t find them, you call or text them to see where they are, especially if they knew you were coming.)

H – “Sorry I thought you were out. I went ahead and started getting home. I gotta get the house prepped for my mom coming tomorrow.”

(BULLSHIT.. but whatever)

M – “Well the place here is pretty empty and we were waiting. You should have courtesy txtd me. Have fun prepping”

So I’m ticked, and I’m “done” with him after this alone. Not going to badmouth him or beat him up.. he’s just obviously a jerkoff and not worth my effort.

Then Getty and I go to another spot and I see my Twitter.  Hock is not home. Not even close. He’s actually still out drinking with the same people that he watched the UFC. They’re tweeting about how much fun they’re having with him.. he’s tweeting about how much fun he’s having with them.

Now I’m really done. Obviously the “message” I got by his 3 am booty-text was the right one and I shouldn’t have questioned it. However, this last infraction earns him “ball-kicking” status.

For starters, using your mother as an excuse to ease over a “sex partner” so you can work on getting laid by someone else, on the night before Mother’s Day.. you should be roasted in hell.

Second, he lied with every sentence. He wasn’t on his way EVER (no one would go across town to where I was, only to go back to where he was. He never left.). Meaning he never arrived to even be looking for me, and he never went home to prepare for his mother’s visit. He probably lied about his mother visiting as well.

Had he said other plans came up, I could have at least understood and probably would have rolled with it (he did say he was just out for fun at the start).. Instead he tried to keep me on the bench by lying a mega asinine lie. What a freaking moron.

Oh and if anyone in Austin wants his number to go kick his ass, I’ll happily give it.

I do walk away from this learning something though.

1. Sports aren’t bad. Its all about the company.

2. Not everyone deserves a second chance.

PS girls.. do take away from this one thing.. No matter how slick and sweet he talks, if he walks like an ass, you can be sure he is one.

Not Your BootyCall

Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m a mental case, saying I want one thing and in reality wanting something else… or if the standards I have for what I want are just wrong or unreasonable. Or?

Hock texted me at 3am.  I knew he’d been out all night drinking and having fun because we follow each other on Twitter and thus I see his Foursquare posts. That he was out all night, I didn’t care really and it mattered not. It was merely just twitterfeed.

But am I out of my mind to be “offended” or otherwise upset for him texting me at 3am wondering what I’m doing so he can ask me to get together to screw around?

I am highly sensitive to feeling like someone’s last choice or “well if there’s nothing else, she’ll do”.. and I do not bear it well. Which is exactly how I perceive a 3 am bootycall text.

At first, I thought he was drunk and was merely going to tell him to go get some sleep. If he was drunk, I could forgive it or at least give him some leeway. But he assured me he was sober and driving home past my place.

Trying to get a booty call from me at 3am.. Never going to happen.

I told him I wasn’t the “booty call kind of girl”.

He apologized. We texted a bit more, but now I’m even more not sure if I should go to that party he invited me to..

Do I go and make nice and be “friends” and forgive him?  Or do I stay home, and let things fade completely?

I was up most of the night (insomnia not related to this) and pondered this because well it really upset me. I really didn’t expect him to think that that kind of behavior was acceptable. The more I thought about it the more upset and pissed off I got.

No one calls or texts someone they barely know at 3 am for any reason other than a major emergency and they can’t get a hold of anyone else.

Had we had a long history of bootycall behavior in which him calling me last minute for sex was known to be ok, I could have bore it better. But we don’t. We actually never discussed bootycalls at all, and were only together once. Not wanting a serious relationship does not indicate that courtesy and respect goes out the window, or at least it shouldn’t.

Had he called me or texted me earlier in the evening and set up a “sex date”, I’d have been more willing to say yes or at least considered it without being this offended/upset. But, no no, he texts me as he’s driving home at 3 am hoping that I’m awake and horny.

Right or wrong, his actions indicate to me that he doesn’t really respect me as a person and I feel cheap.

As angry at him that I am, I’m equally angry with myself..  justly or unjustly I blame myself.

It’s little events like this that make me never want to open my legs again.

Just A Good Long Cry

I’d been getting worried about myself the last week or month really. I began wondering if I was turning into some kind of sociopath or something as I couldn’t seem to access my emotions.  I wanted to cry sometimes but couldn’t. Things that should have had me rolling on the floor would merely make me smile or just not phase me at all.

I’d been thinking about the ex often. Not in a romantic way, but more so in an angry wishing him harm kind of way. I found myself containing volumes of anger and bitterness, and I didn’t like it one bit but also felt powerless to do anything about it.

To be honest what really scared me the most was that night with Hock. He’d be sweet and thoughtful.. giving actually.. and instead of triggering the same in me, I found myself getting angry. It was sweet stuff that threatened to melt my heart, and I resisted it. I didn’t want to feel anything, and I found myself angry at Hock for making me even try to feel anything.

All this last week, the slightest kind thing on TV or clip forwarded to me from Youtube, and I’d get choked up.

Then last night’s Glee. The dam burst and I cried like a baby through the entire show. At first, it was the small little touching moments of the show that got my tears flowing, but somewhere in the middle I just broke down and cried, a hard uncontrollable sob-fest.

I think its the first real big cry I’ve had since we’d started the whole divorce process (well once I knew it was really divorce), let alone the first big cry since the divorce.

All that anger, resentment, stress, fear, etc… finally bubbled back to the surface and let itself out.

After the show was over, I cried a little more then dried my tears. I felt better. I felt human.

It really was a good long cry, and something I truly needed.


Saturday night I went out. I was going to a final goodbye party for a friend of mine leaving town in a week.

I arrived and we chatted a bit, then everyone else came. Behn is a popular guy, and I knew there would be tons of people there. Behn is one of those guys who has never met a stranger, and its one of the reasons I love him. (Platonic love you pervs)

But Behn has his faults, and I wondered how many of his friends would share those. It seemed most of the men shared them.

Behn is superficial. He will only date smoking hot women. Seriously. The perfect woman could walk up to him, but if she’s not smoking hot.. she will be automatically put in the friend-zone. Its just how he is, and he’s not mean about it, and doesn’t judge you as less than him or otherwise hold his nose up. He just won’t see you as a viable mate.

He’s also driven, and will only date a woman that can keep up with him in that ambition. She must be the best at what she does. Its how he is.

Since I am.. well.. not smoking most days.. and relatively career-less at this point.. (Behn honestly could care less, he’s known me long enough to cherish our friendship for what it is, and since he’s not planning on dating me.. well I could be a homeless hooker and it’d make no difference) I was a little worried about his friends and having something to talk about.

Everyone who showed up ended up being part of Behn’s work colleagues. High powered executive MBA people. Most of them were married.. to.. similarly high powered executive wives.

They all seemed to talk about work stuff or trips they’d taken together or otherwise chummy things… which I knew nothing about.  A few of them were single, and we chatted.

But… me being so nervous and out of my element.. answered their questions as if I was on crack or a huge loser.

“What do you do?”

Instead of saying that I’m currently working in Social Media or Marketing.. no no.. I fumble around and say I do “Nothing” and that “I’m looking into going back to school” or even worse that I used to “work in sales, but I loathed it”.  (most of the people there were ex-sales people, who worked their way to executive because they love sales and are good at it… its like walking up to a group of doctors and saying you’re switching careers because doctoring sucks.)

If you can’t tell, I was a HUGE hit at the party.  I stayed around for 3 drinks, then congratulated Behn on his job and said goodnight.

Instead of going home, I decided to walk by Mac’s work to see if he was there. I didn’t see him, so I went to my favorite pub… by myself.. bellied up to the bar, and said “Surprise me”.

There was a guy seated next to me. He was average looking but thin and adequately built. Attractive but nothing worth noting.  However, whenever I’d even start to look his way, he’d look away from me or otherwise try to ensure that we did not make eye contact so he’d not have to talk to me.

This pissed me off.

However, I turned to the otherside of me and found a long haired old man losing his teeth smiling big at me.  I took a page from “average guy” and didn’t make eye contact.

So I guess I gotta forgive average dude.

Anyway, I sat there in a bar.. all by myself.. drinking beers.  After my second, I came to the conclusion that I am depressed.

I am depressed, stressed out, and feeling a little hopeless. (these past few weeks have not been the best)

After my third beer, I was .. for lack of a better word.. in a self-harming mood. Luckily, I don’t have the balls to go up to random guys and ask them to take me on the spot.

I also blame Fred for part of that mood. Damn bastard was sending me sexy dirty texts all night. Tease.

So I went home and did a lot of thinking.

I don’t want to accept me as I am now. But this denial and self-loathing has to stop.

What is that serenity prayer thing?

“To know what I can change and accept that which I can’t” or something like that.

There are some things.. that I really hope that I can change, but for my own peace of mind.. I have to accept or go on as if they’re never going to change. Fighting with the unchangeable is .. well stupid, and since its always bound to fail.. depressing.

Accepting this.. will help me move on and build a life that I can do… rather than hoping in one that may never be.

I’ve also let myself go. I’ve got reasons and excuses, but I really have let myself go. I don’t like what I’m seeing the mirror.

This isn’t the me that I wanted to be. Ever.

Now to become the person that I can be. That I’ll be proud to be.

Insecurities And White Coats

First, I’d like to thank everyone for their helpful advice about Mac and for not outright calling me psychotic. 🙂

I’m not going to write off Mac yet, but I’m still leery.

Partly I’m leery because my alarm bells are going off, which I’m not usually that far off the mark… Ignoring alarm bells is what got me into the marriage from hell, so I’m cautious.

As I got to thinking about it yesterday, after viewing things from other’s perspectives and going back and reading our text history… My alarm bells were set off by two things.

1. His leaving in the middle of conversations and not bothering to text me back a response in any kind of timely fashion. (Change in pattern)

2. We had been playing a subtle cat/mouse game where anytime the conversation got near anything obviously sexual, one of us would steer the conversation away from it. Usually him. It had made me feel safe, and that he wanted to get to know me. Then last week he changed that game by conversing obviously sexual every time we talked. (Change in pattern)

I was told that I’m “over-thinking and overreacting” and I may be. I probably am.

I want to trust Mac. I do. I should just relax and enjoy  the ride, but I’m terrified I’m going to get obliterated.

Partly, I’m insecure because I really like him which ups the stakes.

Partly, I’m insecure because I have no idea wtf he’s doing with me. My own insecurities.

On a scale of hotness, Mac is about 8-9.  If he was a little taller (he’s maybe 5’10 optimistically) he’d be a 10. He’s physically fit, muscular without being body builder yucky, smart, driven, well-traveled, funny, and communicative for a man. He honestly could have any woman he wanted… or at least most women.

I on the other hand, am an acquired taste. Back in my “youth”, I used to be able to get guys to approach me from across the bar.. any guy I wanted. I was also quite a bit skinnier then.  For someone my size, I’m smoking hot.  But thats for someone my size, and with my clothes on.  Clothes off.. is a whole different story.

My friends say I’m too harsh on myself and that I’m gorgeous. They’re my friends they’re supposed to say that. But if anyone knew my actual weight, they’d suddenly “understand”.  I look about 50-75 pounds less than I actually weigh.

I think I’m honest about my “hotness” level.. and would place myself on the hotness scale as about a 6.  For some with skinny-girl-fetish, I’d be a 3-4. For people with a fat-girl-fetish, I’d be about a 8-9.

I just don’t see Mac as having a fat girl fetish.  So I don’t understand what in the world he’s doing with me.

This reminds me a lot of an ex-boyfriend. One of those that “got away” per se. His name was Charlie. (seriously thats his real name – If you know Charlie, please let me know where he is, I’d love to see him again)

Charlie was drop dead gorgeous. He was constantly hit on by every hot girl in town, and could get laid anywhere anytime by almost any girl.  Suave, charming, sexy… He actually bared a resemblance to the “Marlboro Man” with his chiseled features, dark hair, and heart-stopping blue eyes.

And he wanted me.

Back then, I was much “lighter” and pretty sexy, even though he was obviously way hotter than me. (Seriously, the girls were like “Wtf is he doing with her?”)  He and I got along famously personality wise and just being around Charlie was enough to make me smile.

It was actually during my “Waiting til Marriage” virginity phase, so he wasn’t with me to get laid… though we spent most nights together. He actually promised me that he’d never try to have sex with me. He was dead serious and kept his word. (He actually said that when I did have sex I would want it all the time.. he wasn’t far off.) I felt truly safe with him.

He was a functional alcoholic, though I didn’t know it until we’d been together for two months. He’d said something along the lines of being accused of always drinking.

I replied with, “What? I’ve never seen you drunk.”

He replied “Honey, you’ve never seen me sober”

To be honest, while I knew alcoholism is bad, I didn’t care. I loved him, and would have stood by him through anything.

A month or so later he took a job out of state and we broke up. Sadly, one of my best and most healthy relationships ever was with an alcoholic. He always made me feel beautiful and safe and wanted.

While we were together, he gave me one of his jackets. It smelled like him and so I never washed it for years until the smell of him finally left it. I still have it.

I never did understand why Charlie was with me, and if things work out with Mac, I’m fairly sure I’ll never understand why he’s with me either.

But I suppose I should just chill and let the ride take me.. Wherever it leads.

Previous Older Entries