Halloween

Happy Halloween, Merry Samhain, and Happy Celtic New Year!

A friend of mine had a Halloween party this past Friday night.  It's a tradition for her and her hubby to throw this party, complete with an ice luge for shots (I want to be her when I grow up - she's so cool).  The last couple years I wasn't able to go, but this year, finally, I made it!

Besides the drinking, Rock Band, boob flashing, and crazy costumes, one more interesting thing happened. I met a guy.

He's different from the type of guy I usually date (meaning he's employed, he's smart, and he's kind), but we have a lot in common and we spent a good amount of time talking  Friday.  But, because this is my love life we're talking about here, of course there's a catch.

He didn't ask for my number.

As I said, we talked during the party a few times.  At the end of the night, it was me, him, the hostess and her hubby left.  The hostess went to bed, and her hubby told us we were welcome to hang out at their house as long as we wanted.  He graciously informed us of a couch that opens to a bed in the basement in case we wanted some privacy, as well as let us know we were welcome to watch tv, or put on a movie or some porn.  Yep, he said porn.  Love that guy, lol.

So, me and the cutie went into the living room and sat there talking for a while.  We held hands.  He had his arm around me.  I had my head on his lap, and he was stroking my back.  It was very innocent, but very sweet.  After a couple hours we fell asleep like that, and I woke up with my head still on his lap in the morning.

When we left, he gave me one of those really long hugs that's more like someone holding you than hugging you.  We both did the procrastination thing, where we said "Well, I should go..." a couple times without actually going.  Told him I was really glad I had met him; he said "Me, too."  And then we left, in separate directions.

I was doing the procrastinating thing because I was waiting for him to ask for my number, or at least say "I'll friend you on Facebook," but nope.  Nothing. Nada.  A big fat zilch.

I'll admit it; I'm confused.  I really don't know why he didn't ask for my number, at least as a new friend.  I'm disappointed, too.  I like him.

The part that's killing me though is that normally, I would have said something about us hanging out, or getting his number, but I decided to not be the aggressive one this time, and let the guy do the "guy" thing.  And then he didn't.

What the hell?

Confessions

I never thought I'd be the type of person who used sex as a way to feel important or special or loved.  Used to roll my eyes and talk down about women who did that.  Never thought I'd be that "pathetic".  Apparently, I am.

The hard thing now is not to do it anymore. Just because I know it's not good doesn't mean I'm not going to want to do it.  It's like a really destructive bad habit. I know why I do it; it's because my self-esteem is shit.  I know all that when I repeat that bad habit, I feel like shit.  So I go and do it again, with someone new.  It's a nasty cycle.

Do I feel like all I have to offer someone is sex?  Absolutely not.  Do I feel like I have zero good qualities and I have to make up for it by being easy?  No way.  So why this lack of self-esteem?

I think a lot of it is just from the shit I've been through with guys in the last 2 years.  I mean, yeah, I've had some awesome dates and met some great guys, but in between them there has been a lot of getting my hopes up and having them squashed.  A lot of feeling like I'm just not good enough.

Good enough for what?  Well, that's the zillion dollar question.  Because I'm not really sure anymore.  Feeling not good enough has been a recurring theme in my life, going back to my childhood.  I was bullied and picked on, alienated and teased, and left out.  It didn't help than my grade school was 1 class with 20 kids and we spent K-6th grade together.  Once you were label "uncool" you were fucked.

In Jr. High I felt the same way.  Less because I was getting bullied (although there are a few girls from Jr. High that I plan of beating the living fuck out of if I ever run into them), and more because I just didn't fit in.  I was fat; I was awkward; I had three-inch thick over-sized glasses; I listened to heavy metal like my older sister instead of Paula Abdul, Madonna, and Michael Jackson.   By the time I was in high school, I'd gotten used to putting my head down and hoping I could make it from one class to the next without running into someone who wanted to loudly inform me I was a fattie (as if I could ever forget).

College would have been great - if I hadn't gone to a private, preppy, small college where you were an outcast if you didn't go to the bars on the weekends, have an unlimited amount of spending money from Mommy and Daddy, and parade around in the latest Gap clothes every day.  I didn't fit it, and by then it had gotten stuck in my head that it was because I wasn't good enough, thin enough, normal enough, fill-in-the-blank enough.

I thought that damn though was dead and buried, but it turns out I hadn't actually killed the monster, just sedated it for a while.  And apparently all it took to wake the beast was a couple years of bad relationships and asshole guys.

So now I'm single, pushing 34 years old, and feeling like I'm not enough.  Feeling like I don't have enough good things about me to keep a guy interested past the first few dates.  Feeling like sleeping with a guy before there is an emotional connection is the only way I'm going to keep that guy interested long enough to form that emotional connection.  But fuck, we all know it doesn't work that way.  All I've managed to do is make myself feel worse and let a couple guys use me for sex.

Fuuuuck, that was a hard thing to write, hard to admit, but it's true.  I say some guys are dickheads because they used me for sex.  But the truth is, they pretty much had my permission to use me.  I was offering it up, and all they did was accept it.  Can I really blame them? 

Well, yeah, I can, but only to a certain extent.  The rest is my fault, and something I have to change about myself.  I have to kill that self-esteem monster once and for all.  And this time I'm going to behead that motherfucker.

William Gibson

My therapist says I have low self-esteem, and that by continuing to try and and make guys like me through sex, all I'm doing is setting myself up for disappointment, more hurt, and ore negative feelings about myself.  But I wonder, could it be that I really AM awesome and that all the guys I've met are assholes? 

Internet Guy

My BFF Amy found this at The White Sade and I had to share:

The man of my dreams. <3

 

I died when I saw this.  I was very tempted to find a way to contact this guy.  I mean, not only is he 100% real (which is a huge plus since we all know what an embarresment it is to be caught making out with a life-size Ken doll, not to mention the unsatisfactory fact that he's missing his love stick), but he has a big TV (because you know what they say about a man with a big TV, don't you? Oh, er, me neither.), knows 15 of the 24 major guitar chords (that's more than half, bitches!), and he'll totally enjoy my favorite past-time: having a man eat tacko's off my big boobs while I watch cartoons!  I mean, he really is perfect for me.

So if anybody out there knows who this guy is, please, please, give me his number.  Because while some women dream of marrying a US President, all I want is a man who's touched one...twice!


PS You can find the original post from Sade here.

Clinger Update

Cpl. Maxwell Klinger from M*A*S*H

So I got the chance to meet my Stage 4 Clinger, and I'm very happy to report he's not creepy or stalker-y or anything clinger-y at all. He's not even Klinger-y! Double bonus!

In fact, he's just a sweet guy.  He missed me in the way Misty suggested in the comments - he missed talking to me. Everyone together now: *awww* 

We had a great time together, and have been texting every day since then.  He texts every day just to say hi, and we've been talking a couple times a day.  We're planning to get together again soon, and as corny as it sounds, when he said this morning that he missed me, I didn't heebie-geebie-creebie out because I kind of miss him, too.  I miss him in the way that I had an awesome time with him, and I can't wait to see him again, and it's been 3 damn days already, and I'm probably the most impatient person you'll ever meet.  I want to see him again, and I don't want to wait, but I have to, such is life, blah blah blah. 

So yeah, I kinda miss him, too.  And if that makes me the heebie-geebie-creebie inducer, well then, hand me a pair of night vision goggles cuz I'm gonna embrace it!

I have been noun'd!

I have always wanted my name to become a noun in relation to me and my awesomeness.  You know what I mean, like "She's gave me The Haylah," (The Haylah being a kick-assey and un-fucking-believable sex move or a tough-ass-bitch take-no-shit move).  And today, my dream came true.  Today I was noun'd.

Woke up to a text from a guy friend (Mr. Tongue) that I've hooked up with in the past.  We're not dating, we've never dated, but we have had some great sex.

Mr. T: Hope I didn't wake you. BTW could really use some haylah
            right about now.
Me: You did, but that's OK, needed to get up anyhow. BTW what does
        "need some haylah" mean?
Mr. T: Well, sorry it was morning and things are usually filled with
            blood... haha in other words I needed some haylah.
            Some sweet tasting haylah.
Me: lmao Nice. I've always wanted to get to a point where my name
        was synonymous with sex!
Mr. T: Well if any name would be synonymous..your's would be it!
           haha Psst.....wanna haylah? haha I can picture it now! xerox
           is synonymous for copies. haylah is sex.

It's a proud day for me. And I'm sure Mom and Dad would be bursting with pride if I shared this news with them. In fact, maybe I should take out an announcement in the local paper. Ooh, better still, anyone got the number for Webster's?

Do Not Disturb

I went away with my BFF Amy over Columbus Day weekend.  We stayed at a chain hotel called La Quinta, which was really nice and really cheap (and even cheaper if you have a Sam's Club membership).  Free Wi-Fi, indoor pool and hot tub, free breakfast spread, and the best Do Not Disturb signs I have ever seen in my life:

 

 

 

 

 

Do Not Disturb, No Molesting!

Now, I took 7 years of French in Jr High and High School, and I grew up and now live in areas that are predominantly Portuguese, so I never learned Spanish.  So when I first saw this, my twisted mind read

Do Not Disturb

I'm Being Molested

(and I like it!)

Then I realized it said 

Do Not Disturb

Do Not Molest Me*

and as a friend of mine said, "Well, that's no fun."

I almost brought it home with me, I mean, it was too damn funny not to have.  But seeing as how it sat in the key-card lock on the door, and didn't actually hang on the doorknob, and I didn't currently have a key-card lock on any of my doors at home, I figured I'd leave it behind for the next occupant to enjoy as much as I had.  (Although I did price out installing a key-card lock on my apartment door before I left the hotel, and, much to my disappointment, found that while they only cost about $100, my landlord was going to charge me an extra $1,000 for ruining the original-to-the-house antique door.  Not quite worth it to me.) 

*Yes, I am aware that No Moleste is Spanish for Do Not Disturb.  But thanks for telling me anyways, in case I really was that dumb. ;)

Innuendo

You cannot take me anywhere.  Case in point:

Went to the grocery store this afternoon.  When I was checking out, the cashier was a very cute guy named Andrew who I had seen and talked with a little before.  He was helping me bag my groceries, and he asked is he could put my eggs in a separate bag.

My reply: You can do anything you like with my eggs.

As soon as I said it, I realized what it sounded like.  The woman behind me started laughing and I paused.  Andrew blushed, and put his head down on the counter, laughing.   Then  I had to swipe my card three times because both him and I were so flustered that we kept hitting the wrong button when trying to chose what type of card it was.  

I swear, if I had been trying to flirt with him, I wouldn't have ever thought to say that.  Ahhh, at least I'm amusing.

Stage 4 Clinger

A few days ago a guy emailed me through my online profile and we began chatting.  Seems nice, he's cute, so far so good.  We haven't met yet, and we haven't had any really long phone conversations.  we've talked enough to decide we want to meet, which we are planning on doing this upcoming week.

Today, when he was at work, I got a text from him that gave me a hint of the heebie-geebies.  It was along the lines of Things are slow here.  Ok, not heebie-geebie-ish on it's own.  It was the last sentence that did it: Miss you.

Sweet? Yes.

Flattering?  You betcha.

Premature Affectuation?  YES!

When I read that the little man in my head pulled the alarm and suddenly the red lights were flashing, the sirens were blaring, and that always-calm British computer voice was repeating 

Attention! 

Stage 4 Clinger!  

Repeat: We have a Stage 4 Clinger!

I mean, what exactly does he miss about me?  My texts?  My stuffy nose voice on the phone (damn seasonal allergies)?  Or does he just like the idea of missing me?  You know, like when people are in love with the idea of being in love but not so much in love with the person they are in love with the idea of being in love with.  Shut up, it did too make sense.

I love to tease my Mom and my sister because both my father and my brother-in-law said "I love you" on the second date, and both my Mom and my sister kind of rolled their eyes and laughed nervously at them.  But they both ended up marrying them, too.  Could this be karmic retribution?  Or is my love life just this much of a joke to the gods?

Whatever it is, I'd love to believe there is something magickal about me that this guy honestly does miss after barely knowing me.  I might even let myself pretend it's true, at least, until the heebie-geebies attack again.

My point is, that while I'm searching for someone to miss me when we're not together, it makes me nervous and gives me a heebie-geebie attack when that happens before we've even met.

Shamed

I know, I know, I know.

It's been almost a month since I posted.

I am shamed.

I will be back soon, my bitches!