Lo internet I have been working. And working and working and working. And all this working has caused eye strain so severe that when I get home I have to lay ice packs on my eyes and lay on the couch while my cat impatiently jumps on me and wonders why I am so damned boring. I can't look at my phone. I can't read tweets. I can barely do any regular work but I've been itching to post so I'm banging this out after icing my eyes, kindly excuse grammar and spelling atrocities.
Online dating is a total, freaking, disaster of a joke. Sure, I have picked up more anecdotes and bad date tales to add to my already looooooong list but that isn't really a perk. I had enough bad date stories already, I certainly didn't need more.
I can tell myself that it is just a law of averages thing, the more duds I meet in person the closer I get to meeting one that I don't want to get away from five minutes in, but I don't think that is the case. I think I'm just meeting a ton of (coincidentally super short) losers with severe personality disorders, ex wives that they hate, lisp problems, delusions of grandeur, and the inability to show interest in anything but themselves. It is bad people. Take how bad you think internet dating is and multiply it exponentially until you reach infinity: voila! Internet dating.
I'm pretty sure, at 30, that this is it. There is no one out there.
Certainly not within 200 miles of me. Certainly not on the internet.
I don't know why the cutoff is 30. I thought that since the median age for marriage in the United States and the rest of the world has risen during my lifetime that being 30 and single wouldn't be a pariah inducing state. I thought that being 30 and single meant that you took time to get an education, settled into a career, traveled, figured yourself out, became a better person, maybe got your heart broken, determined your values and decided to share your life with someone as a fully actualized person unlike being a dumb 22 year old with stars in your eyes and no idea what a real partnership takes. This is not the case. 30 means you are stupid, broken, over the hill (if you are a woman), damaged, weird, and bad genetic material. Over 30 is like the broken bits at the bottom of a stale bag of chips. You can't get a full chip, you can't even get half a chip, the only stuff left is defective.
At 30, with a career, and an education, my options are bitter 38 year old divorced men who charmingly refer to their ex-wives as "cunt", are shit dads to their kids, and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because I'm blonde and for some reason the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding. At 30 any man below 30 has the mentality and personality of a self obsessed frat boy with no ambition other than how good they look shirtless and no desire to do anything but fool around and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because...I'm blonde and the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding.
This all sounds bitter and damnit, it is. The bitterness that the dozens upon dozes assholes I've met for drinks and coffee and dinner all carried with them has worn off on me. I want to punch every guy I see now. I want to punch them for the shitty husbands they were, for the shitty husbands they will be, for the ridiculously awful fathers they are, for the self absorbed asshole fathers they will be, for every woman they treated like shit, for every parent/friend/family member they are a waste of space to, and for every damned retarded thought they have about how intellgent or laid back or fun loving they are. Punch punch punch. BAH.
The crap bit is that I really wasn't so beat down after my last breakup. It was bad, very bad, but it strengthened my resolve that there was somebody out there for me and that I would absolutely not settle and every heartbreak really is okay, because it is part of life and I would make it through to a better day. Ya. Well. I have to adjust all that because at 30? I don't have time to foolishly think there is someone out there for me. There isn't. It is like hoping to win the lottery: very, very few people do. I want kids. I want family. I need to stop being retarded and thinking I'll find someone to do that with because I will wake up at 45 with no family, bitter and alone, and that isn't the way to approach life. I have to get serious about saving money and coming up with a timeline for being stable, buying a house, and adoption, alone. Because at the end of the day this is 30. 30 is not 20. Time actually is ticking away. 30 will just as easily be 40, 40 will just as easily be 50. Dating will be no easier then, it will probably be much worse. I can and will have my kids alone. And FUCK this internet dating bullshit, I AM DONE. Forever.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Hissy Fit; and also, the longest run on sentence EVER
Today my therapist told me it was okay to go home and have a temper tantrum.
Things have been building for awhile and though I am an adult, and have been one for over a decade now, sometimes tiny voices in side me scream "NO I don't wanna!" or "You can't make me!" or "sddlfkjiajefhdskjvdlkj!".
I tried when I got home, I really did.
I got into comfy clothes. I lay in bed. I punched pillows. I tried to think of all the crap that is causing me anxiety and woe that is getting me down. It didn't help. The tears or anger didn't come. My brain just kept talking me off the ledge, being kind and compassionate and perhaps even reasonable, but that isn't, for once, what I need right now.
I need to have a full fledged temper tantrum.
I need to throw myself on the floor of Walmart and pound my limbs and scream and knock over displays and have someone, anyone, patiently wait while I self destruct then calmly tell me to get up and get in the car and we are going home now. Because ultimately, this needed tantrum isn't about how much my job is killing me right now or how I haven't slept in over three months due to my new kitten or how much I freaking hate the crap condo I quickly moved into when my last one was destroyed or how said condo has gross old carpet, non working appliances, the worst fucking downstairs neighbor EVER, constantly reeks like a goddamn casino because the three units that surround it are filled with smokers, the floor plan is retarded, the rent is too high and I never feel safe in the crap condo. The temper tantrum isn't about how much my friends are wearing on me right now with petty things and stupid demands and making poor choices and thinking I am going to step in and save them, it isn't about my poor health and my failing liver and my odd metabolic disorder or the fact that I have gained so much weight from said health issues that I am actually uncomfortably in pain from both the health issues and now all the added weight. The hissy fit isn't about how difficult it is to work with doctors and how I have to be my own advocate and how I did mountains of research because they weren't paying attention and how I had to demand the right treatment and seek out doctor after doctor; it isn't about my crap family or their drama and how much they try to drag me in and drag me down; it isn't about financial issues continually cropping up that keep me semi-trapped in a crap condo barely ahead of my bills; it isn't even about the awful devastating breakup I got to live through the last year, or how much I abhor online dating and how demoralizing it is to meet random losers for drinks and how fucked up people are to each other in the world and online.
The tantrum ultimately is about the fact that I am LONELY, bored, unfulfilled, missing authentic human connection and exhausted by being the only person responsible for me all the time, always.
The tantrum I need to have is because I have no one, not a soul, to take care of me when the day is done. My parents failed spectacularly in this fashion and my whole life I have cared for myself, my siblings, my friends, my family, my ex, the exes before my ex, my coworkers, everyone. For a brief time I thought I had someone to care about me, my (asshole, shithead, selfish son of a bitch) ex, and the relief and joy that came with that was every good and calm and wonderful thing in the world all wrapped up in one wonderful warm summer breeze. Even if ultimately it was an illusion, it was the first and only time I have ever felt safe, secure, and loved in my life. And having had that, only to not have it, well. The reason I need to have a tantrum is precisely the reason I can't get the tantrum to trigger: I need someone to witness my tantrum but there is no one there.
Recursive tantrum logic: because I have no one to witness me having a tantrum I need to have a tantrum. Adulthood always has exciting new ways to F with me.
Don't get me wrong: I have friends. I have a great therapist. I am not a shut in. I have a job to go to, health insurance, all my teeth, a car that starts everyday, and a roof over my head (a roof I need to move away from but one step at a time people) and ultimately I'm still luckier that probably 98% of the world's population; good lord I have clean drinking water and I'm allowed to live my life as a female in public without being stoned. However, at the end of the day I am bored, alone, overworked, and missing authentic, deep human connection.
So I need to have a tantrum damnit. A giant meltdown screaming hissy fit of a tantrum. I need/want to have it be about ME ME ME and how MY needs aren't met and how the burden of supporting oneself totally alone is, in fact, a total bitch at times and that half the shit in my life isn't FAIR (life isn't fair, but you aren't allowed to argue the nature of my tantrum, it is mine! MINE!) and that I am TIRED of being freaking alone and that my reward for doing the right thing to protect myself and get out of a bad relationship has been precisely nothing and that I'm afraid there really is no one out there and I am pissed off as hell that I even have to TRY because why oh why oh why hissy bitch whine moan isn't anything ever easy? WHINE BITCH BITCH AUGH temper tantrum break things scream sob throw stuff meltdown.
I need an emotional release I can't get, and I don't know how.
Things have been building for awhile and though I am an adult, and have been one for over a decade now, sometimes tiny voices in side me scream "NO I don't wanna!" or "You can't make me!" or "sddlfkjiajefhdskjvdlkj!".
I tried when I got home, I really did.
I got into comfy clothes. I lay in bed. I punched pillows. I tried to think of all the crap that is causing me anxiety and woe that is getting me down. It didn't help. The tears or anger didn't come. My brain just kept talking me off the ledge, being kind and compassionate and perhaps even reasonable, but that isn't, for once, what I need right now.
I need to have a full fledged temper tantrum.
I need to throw myself on the floor of Walmart and pound my limbs and scream and knock over displays and have someone, anyone, patiently wait while I self destruct then calmly tell me to get up and get in the car and we are going home now. Because ultimately, this needed tantrum isn't about how much my job is killing me right now or how I haven't slept in over three months due to my new kitten or how much I freaking hate the crap condo I quickly moved into when my last one was destroyed or how said condo has gross old carpet, non working appliances, the worst fucking downstairs neighbor EVER, constantly reeks like a goddamn casino because the three units that surround it are filled with smokers, the floor plan is retarded, the rent is too high and I never feel safe in the crap condo. The temper tantrum isn't about how much my friends are wearing on me right now with petty things and stupid demands and making poor choices and thinking I am going to step in and save them, it isn't about my poor health and my failing liver and my odd metabolic disorder or the fact that I have gained so much weight from said health issues that I am actually uncomfortably in pain from both the health issues and now all the added weight. The hissy fit isn't about how difficult it is to work with doctors and how I have to be my own advocate and how I did mountains of research because they weren't paying attention and how I had to demand the right treatment and seek out doctor after doctor; it isn't about my crap family or their drama and how much they try to drag me in and drag me down; it isn't about financial issues continually cropping up that keep me semi-trapped in a crap condo barely ahead of my bills; it isn't even about the awful devastating breakup I got to live through the last year, or how much I abhor online dating and how demoralizing it is to meet random losers for drinks and how fucked up people are to each other in the world and online.
The tantrum ultimately is about the fact that I am LONELY, bored, unfulfilled, missing authentic human connection and exhausted by being the only person responsible for me all the time, always.
The tantrum I need to have is because I have no one, not a soul, to take care of me when the day is done. My parents failed spectacularly in this fashion and my whole life I have cared for myself, my siblings, my friends, my family, my ex, the exes before my ex, my coworkers, everyone. For a brief time I thought I had someone to care about me, my (asshole, shithead, selfish son of a bitch) ex, and the relief and joy that came with that was every good and calm and wonderful thing in the world all wrapped up in one wonderful warm summer breeze. Even if ultimately it was an illusion, it was the first and only time I have ever felt safe, secure, and loved in my life. And having had that, only to not have it, well. The reason I need to have a tantrum is precisely the reason I can't get the tantrum to trigger: I need someone to witness my tantrum but there is no one there.
Recursive tantrum logic: because I have no one to witness me having a tantrum I need to have a tantrum. Adulthood always has exciting new ways to F with me.
Don't get me wrong: I have friends. I have a great therapist. I am not a shut in. I have a job to go to, health insurance, all my teeth, a car that starts everyday, and a roof over my head (a roof I need to move away from but one step at a time people) and ultimately I'm still luckier that probably 98% of the world's population; good lord I have clean drinking water and I'm allowed to live my life as a female in public without being stoned. However, at the end of the day I am bored, alone, overworked, and missing authentic, deep human connection.
So I need to have a tantrum damnit. A giant meltdown screaming hissy fit of a tantrum. I need/want to have it be about ME ME ME and how MY needs aren't met and how the burden of supporting oneself totally alone is, in fact, a total bitch at times and that half the shit in my life isn't FAIR (life isn't fair, but you aren't allowed to argue the nature of my tantrum, it is mine! MINE!) and that I am TIRED of being freaking alone and that my reward for doing the right thing to protect myself and get out of a bad relationship has been precisely nothing and that I'm afraid there really is no one out there and I am pissed off as hell that I even have to TRY because why oh why oh why hissy bitch whine moan isn't anything ever easy? WHINE BITCH BITCH AUGH temper tantrum break things scream sob throw stuff meltdown.
I need an emotional release I can't get, and I don't know how.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Check out the twitter feed to the right
...but DON'T follow me, I will quickly annoy you by posting 100 times in one day and then nothing for months. Don't say you weren't warned, I don't want your wrath.
That said, I'm writing this post like a series of tweets.
Discovered that red wine really jazzes up when rum or vodka is added.
Red wine is so much better with vodka or rum added that in fact I suggest you skip the red wine bit altogether.
Red wine + rum or vodka - red wine = less carbs!
I got a cat.
She is almost six months old.
I love her dearly except from 3AM to 6AM.
I fantasize about boarding my cat overnight at the vet or sneaking out to my car to sleep when I am particularly delirious from sleep deprivation.
I adopted my cat in January. I haven't had real sleep since then.
Pet insurance is awesome, in particular when the kitten you adopt is straight from kitten death row and requires THOUSANDS of dollars in vet bills.
On the bright side my cat's energy at night is a sign that she is going to be healthy someday, on the downside I still have to express the pus out of her eyes and give her eye drops.
For two solid months my free time consisted of enticing a small skeletal swath of fur to eat special food mixed with prebiotics, probiotics, antibiotics, bovine colostrum, fiber supplement and exhaustion.
My cat no longer feels like an achingly sad pile of bones barely covered with ratty, oddly discolored fur. Now she is a slightly more filled out pile of ratty, oddly discolored fur.
My cat is the cutest cat that has perhaps ever lived.
Beauty can be in the eye of the beholder.
After I dumped my jackass ex, over a year ago now, it was oh so very, very sad to have no one to say "I love you" to anymore. Now I say "I love you" at least twice a day, to my cat. It really does make a difference, and I really do love her.
Thank God for small favors and tiny kittens; covered from head to toe in their own sick, behind two inches of plexiglass in a tiny cage, desperately underweight and ill, too pathetic and feeble for anyone else to take, that need me even more than I need them, that I get to love and help to thrive.
Thank God I got to her in time.
Thank God she lived.
Thank God (my cat agrees) for Zyrtec D and allergy treatments covered by my insurance that help me cope with my cat's ratty, oddly colored fur.
Thank God I survived 2011 mostly intact; 2012 is a year of rebuilding and growth and perspective.
Love to all of you.
Edited To Add: My cat chirps. Chirps! She doesn't meow, she chirps. The vet and I and all my friends find this to be the most darling thing EVER. Fin.
That said, I'm writing this post like a series of tweets.
Discovered that red wine really jazzes up when rum or vodka is added.
Red wine is so much better with vodka or rum added that in fact I suggest you skip the red wine bit altogether.
Red wine + rum or vodka - red wine = less carbs!
I got a cat.
She is almost six months old.
I love her dearly except from 3AM to 6AM.
I fantasize about boarding my cat overnight at the vet or sneaking out to my car to sleep when I am particularly delirious from sleep deprivation.
I adopted my cat in January. I haven't had real sleep since then.
Pet insurance is awesome, in particular when the kitten you adopt is straight from kitten death row and requires THOUSANDS of dollars in vet bills.
On the bright side my cat's energy at night is a sign that she is going to be healthy someday, on the downside I still have to express the pus out of her eyes and give her eye drops.
For two solid months my free time consisted of enticing a small skeletal swath of fur to eat special food mixed with prebiotics, probiotics, antibiotics, bovine colostrum, fiber supplement and exhaustion.
My cat no longer feels like an achingly sad pile of bones barely covered with ratty, oddly discolored fur. Now she is a slightly more filled out pile of ratty, oddly discolored fur.
My cat is the cutest cat that has perhaps ever lived.
Beauty can be in the eye of the beholder.
After I dumped my jackass ex, over a year ago now, it was oh so very, very sad to have no one to say "I love you" to anymore. Now I say "I love you" at least twice a day, to my cat. It really does make a difference, and I really do love her.
Thank God for small favors and tiny kittens; covered from head to toe in their own sick, behind two inches of plexiglass in a tiny cage, desperately underweight and ill, too pathetic and feeble for anyone else to take, that need me even more than I need them, that I get to love and help to thrive.
Thank God I got to her in time.
Thank God she lived.
Thank God (my cat agrees) for Zyrtec D and allergy treatments covered by my insurance that help me cope with my cat's ratty, oddly colored fur.
Thank God I survived 2011 mostly intact; 2012 is a year of rebuilding and growth and perspective.
Love to all of you.
Edited To Add: My cat chirps. Chirps! She doesn't meow, she chirps. The vet and I and all my friends find this to be the most darling thing EVER. Fin.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
I'm going to develop a permanent tick
Things were looking up: I figured out a relatively inexpensive trip to take for my impending doom of a birthday (I'm essentially flat broke), my job isn't killing me, my health hasn't totally failed, and each day is another day further from the breakup which makes each day a lovely little gift that heals wounds, albeit SLOOOOOOWLY. I finally take a deep breath, re-assess, figure I have a grasp on things and all is going to be okay and find out today that my younger sister who is a single mother is near financial ruin and needs money support. My parents don't have money. At all. So...now I have to figure out how to support her as best I can and also somehow my parents eventually when the day comes? Sooner than later maybe if my dad loses his job? I know have have clean running water to drink and shoes to walk in so I have no right to complain and this is first world stuff but I have to vent: DEAR SWEET JEBUS UNIVERSE WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LET UP ALREADY?
I'm going to curl into a ball now and sob for awhile, then pick myself up, and deal with this one day at a time. I can't do anything else. This when I'm going to be taking yet another pay cut very soon.
/twitch
I'm going to curl into a ball now and sob for awhile, then pick myself up, and deal with this one day at a time. I can't do anything else. This when I'm going to be taking yet another pay cut very soon.
/twitch
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
44 days until three oh
tick tick tick.
Any fun suggestions for something to do? Something that doesn't require a passport, mine expired and I won't have enough time to renew...
Any fun suggestions for something to do? Something that doesn't require a passport, mine expired and I won't have enough time to renew...
Sunday, July 24, 2011
THE FRIVOLOUS SHOPPING MUST STOP, but first I ramble about internet innoventions
The internets keeps moving forward without me and I'm having none of it. I'm sitting on my porch (this blog) with a cup of tea under a caftan and yelling at you damn kids with your facebooks and widgets and RSS feeders to get off my lawn! I noticed today that there is some kind of "Followers" feature in blogger. I don't know what this is or how it works and I do not care to find out. I did look at my "Followers" and they all appear to be spam bots so I promptly blocked them, or rather, blocked about three then got tired and said F it. I drink decaf tea damnit.
Sometimes I wonder if I should join facebook and then I laugh and laugh and laugh. No one I know says that it actually enhances their social life. I don't need a place where I have to visit walls and tend to imaginary sheep or fight off mobsters and real ex boyfriends, that sounds absolutely awful. Still, I would like more ways to connect with people, but I like REAL connections, where I know the person actually exists and isn't just commenting on my most recent wall update or whatever so I'll go over to their wall and we'll all just have a big self congratulatory cluster F over how great we are. Ya. No.
As a matter of fact, Teresa Strasser, a writer I love whose blog you should visit and book you should read, has this great article on Social Networking which sums up what I've suspected all along.
The purpose of today's post was to tell you that I'VE LOST MY DAMN MIND and since the destruction of my worldy possessions this last March and starting a new more professional job I have gone on a shopping spree of epic proportions that I certainly cannot afford. There is no question that I needed new clothes, I just didn't need a purple satin wrap dress. Or the 7 dresses I just ordered online. One new pair of cute shoes would have sufficed, not THIRTEEN. I. Have. Lost. My. Damn. Mind. I need help. This has to stop. Having been poor my entire twenties I literally went years without buying clothes. I was well into my professional career, out of college, still squeezing into stuff I got when I was 16 at clothestime (shirts/blazers fit. Pants not so much. I had three total pair of professional pants that I found for under ten bucks each at Old Navy that I had to ask my Mom to buy for me because I can't stress this enough: NO MONEY. NONE. Name brand Top Ramen was a luxury).
Now, having a tiny bit of income, which actually should be going into an IRA and not into my closet, I can't control my new found obsessive shopping. I don't know if it is in response to having lived a famine for so many years or partially a salve for the breakup wound or what, but I have piles of new clothes and MORE COMING. I can't stop it. It's really bad. And the icing on the cake is that I found myself genuinely contemplating spending FIFTY DOLLARS on NAIL POLISH. Nail Polish. You heard me. And we aren't talking eighty bottles here either, we're talking like five bottles of name brand polish. My car isn't paid off. I owe 25K in student loans. I don't have a retirement account. I don't own my own home, I have no assets, my monthly medical expenses match my rent and I'm not Daddy Warbucks rolling in the dough and yet my brain says nail polish is a good idea. AUGH. HELP ME PEOPLE, you're my only hope.
Sometimes I wonder if I should join facebook and then I laugh and laugh and laugh. No one I know says that it actually enhances their social life. I don't need a place where I have to visit walls and tend to imaginary sheep or fight off mobsters and real ex boyfriends, that sounds absolutely awful. Still, I would like more ways to connect with people, but I like REAL connections, where I know the person actually exists and isn't just commenting on my most recent wall update or whatever so I'll go over to their wall and we'll all just have a big self congratulatory cluster F over how great we are. Ya. No.
As a matter of fact, Teresa Strasser, a writer I love whose blog you should visit and book you should read, has this great article on Social Networking which sums up what I've suspected all along.
The purpose of today's post was to tell you that I'VE LOST MY DAMN MIND and since the destruction of my worldy possessions this last March and starting a new more professional job I have gone on a shopping spree of epic proportions that I certainly cannot afford. There is no question that I needed new clothes, I just didn't need a purple satin wrap dress. Or the 7 dresses I just ordered online. One new pair of cute shoes would have sufficed, not THIRTEEN. I. Have. Lost. My. Damn. Mind. I need help. This has to stop. Having been poor my entire twenties I literally went years without buying clothes. I was well into my professional career, out of college, still squeezing into stuff I got when I was 16 at clothestime (shirts/blazers fit. Pants not so much. I had three total pair of professional pants that I found for under ten bucks each at Old Navy that I had to ask my Mom to buy for me because I can't stress this enough: NO MONEY. NONE. Name brand Top Ramen was a luxury).
Now, having a tiny bit of income, which actually should be going into an IRA and not into my closet, I can't control my new found obsessive shopping. I don't know if it is in response to having lived a famine for so many years or partially a salve for the breakup wound or what, but I have piles of new clothes and MORE COMING. I can't stop it. It's really bad. And the icing on the cake is that I found myself genuinely contemplating spending FIFTY DOLLARS on NAIL POLISH. Nail Polish. You heard me. And we aren't talking eighty bottles here either, we're talking like five bottles of name brand polish. My car isn't paid off. I owe 25K in student loans. I don't have a retirement account. I don't own my own home, I have no assets, my monthly medical expenses match my rent and I'm not Daddy Warbucks rolling in the dough and yet my brain says nail polish is a good idea. AUGH. HELP ME PEOPLE, you're my only hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
