I’m Still Alive…

…mostly.

In my absence of posting, I’ve had a child hospitalized. Twice. I’ve had my job close and my funds depleted. I’ve had the engine blow out in my car. I’ve had my landlord decide after 5&1/2 years to sell his house and give us thirty days notice to vacate the premises. That’s by February 29th. I still have not located a new home with thirteen days to go. I’ve had people show me that I’m only allowed to be the silly, funny, strong one and hear nothing but crickets from them the very first time I ask for help. And I’ve found out who my circle of true friends are because they’ve closed ranks and kept me from completely going insane. Just partially insane. Well, perhaps three quarters insane.

I’ve remembered what it is to be truly terrified. But mostly, I remembered what it’s like to feel like a failure because I have held absolutely nothing together, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It hurt me so badly to start a fundraiser to ask for a little hand up since I’ve fallen so hard. But it hurt more when I discovered ninety percent of the people I know won’t even acknowledge me when I’m not posting something funny or irreverent.

I’m going to get strong again. And then I’ll be back to posting my sarcastic and silly posts. In the meantime, I’m going to finish my breakdown and cry a lot and wonder why my strength hasn’t been good enough.

 

 

Should I Stay, Or Should I go?

James, the cute boy who owns a vape lounge, invited me back over last night to his bachelor pad which he has already talked about being his own private sanctum that he doesn’t like invaded. By the way, he’s going to be known in this blog as the Vaping Viking from this point forward since his Nordic features are all I can really focus on.

He told me to wear my pajamas, so I did.

We watched the A-Team…

That’s the best picture I could get because by the time I took it, well…Ugh, I’m jumping ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning.

I came over. I parked in an unfamiliar area. I walked over to his house where he was waiting outside to meet me. We headed upstairs where he had A-Team queued up. I knew as we were snuggling up that it didn’t matter that I specifically put on my ugly panties reserved for the times I’m trying to ensure no one in the world will be getting my pants off…I had probably made a bad choice in coming to his house knowing full well it wasn’t just to watch tv. I haven’t had sex in nine months. I think he’s sexy as all get out with his Nordic features and flowing, long hair…like Fabio with a better nose.

So we were giggling and talking and his hand was suddenly on my leg. He was watching my reactions, and I was becoming more flustered because he was watching me so closely with an open intensity. We continued talking, he discovered I’m ticklish, I discovered he’s just as ticklish,and we were tickling and laughing and wrestling around quite a bit, and before I knew it, I was tucked so closely into him that I couldn’t really tell where he ended and I began.

Then he was kissing me. I must admit, that was one amazing kiss. And it was followed by another, and another, and another, and hands were all over the place and clothes were kinda being tossed wherever all willy nilly, and then I remembered that I couldn’t have sex yet, so I stopped him.

“Wait! We can’t have sex tonight!”

He pulled back and looked slightly disappointed but recovered quickly like a gentleman. He was okay with it and didn’t try to push me further!

“I mean, it isn’t you, and it isn’t me. It’s my vagina. You can’t put your penis inside it because it’s already full of tampon!”

Then he’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and then there’s kissing and touching and a reminder that you can do a whole lot of stuff without actual penetration. And so we did. A lot. Several times. For hours.

Then he asked me to spend the night. Just. Like. That. And I did.

He doesn’t bring girls home. He hasn’t had sex in two years out of pure choice because he had other focuses and girls in York County are…well…not really all they’re cracked up to be…and so I know he’s not this horn-dog that was simply trying to boink me and send me home. Because while we had fun, we didn’t boink. He brought me into his home and played and teased and joked and kissed me like he wanted to devour every ounce of my being. Then he wanted me beside him all night.

This morning, he made coffee, and I fell back asleep, and then I woke up as he was just about to leave for a meeting. I grabbed my shoes and threw them on real quick, and he walked me down the street to my car. I was half asleep and a little miffed that he didn’t wake me up in time to have more coffee and get my bearings. It didn’t dawn on me until my drive home that he hadn’t planned on me leaving yet. He had his meeting and was coming right back home where he had hoped I would still be. I verified through a text. I was the girl who runs out first thing in the morning. He’s the guy that wanted me to stay.

When we got to my car, he pulled this off the windshield:

I had to pretty much grab it out of his hand…he was insisting on paying it for me. And yes, those are Hello Kitty pajamas. Don’t judge me.

He opened my car door, hugged me close, handed me a vaping juice he had mixed just for me before leaving his shop yesterday. He closed the door behind me, and he watched me drive away. And we’ve been texting all morning since I got home.

I don’t spend the night. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent the night beside someone. I don’t know what I was thinking or why I wanted to sleep beside him and wake up more than once to find him also awake and covering me back up under the blankets that I kept kicking off. I don’t know why it was so nice or why I wasn’t scared. I’m always scared when it becomes that intimate. And let’s face it, there’s not much else that’s more intimate than sleeping in the arms of someone…fully trusting that while unconscious, they won’t murder you. Or worse…look at the messages and pictures in your phone…

I know it isn’t forever with the Vaping Viking. He’s selling his shop and leaving PA within the year. And I don’t have those “OMGAWDS” kind of feelings, either. I mostly just have the “I like him enough, and I like how I don’t feel pressured, and he’s pretty, and I forgot what it was like to sleep in the arms of another all night…to have someone make me coffee and walk me to my car and kiss me like he has waited his whole life to kiss someone like that” kind of feelings. I don’t know if that’s wrong, either…to be so intimate when it’s such an indefinite thing. Or is this really embracing the moment and one of those living for now come-what-may experiences that I sought after to begin with?

I asked myself if I should stay or go, and I stayed. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be doing it again…

Say Cheese!!!

Psssst. Hey boys. Psssst….hey! Yeah, you! Did you know your profile picture on a dating site says a lot about you? Do you know most the pictures on certain sites are absolutely terrifying? I’m not talking about the blah ones like in front seats of cars or from an angle down near your waist looking up that is possibly the single most unflattering angle in the entire plethora of angles and perplexes me ever so much that there are so many of you that utilize said angle. I’m specifically talking about how scary some of you look. There’s murder in your eyes, I can see it.

You’re growling when you pop up in my inbox. I automatically make your scary eyes go away.

*Shivers*

Let’s also take into account that the average woman on a dating site gets dozens upon dozens of messages per day. She has options. If you look pissed when she sees you, it’s human nature to walk away as quickly as possible.

So let’s go over things not to do when choosing the picture you want to wow a female with.

1) Stop scowling! I’m serious. Don’t choose pictures that look like you’re a giant, mean, poopie-head who probably pushes little old ladies down for fun on Tuesdays.

2) Out of focus pictures won’t make me click to see more. This is the picture that is the FIRST IMPRESSION we have of you. Could you at least TRY to impress?

3) Stop taking topless photos in the bathroom mirror. Stop it. Stop it now!

4) Pictures while in the driver’s seat….really? Why? Don’t you know one person who could snap a picture of you somewhere other than in your car?

4B) Also…stop taking pictures of your car. I don’t give a flying fuck how much you spent on your rims. I really, truly don’t.

5) Close ups that reveal every pore on your face aren’t that grand, either. Back up. A little more. Okay, just a little bit more. There, now you may take the picture.

6) Oh, awesome. You go to the gym. Then you flex while still in the gym and take a picture. Every single one of your pictures is of you. Flexing. In a gym. How original.

7) Are you really posing with a gun? Sweet Mary Mother of God…NEXT!

8) Stop posting pictures of you with your children. On a dating site. For the love of all that’s holy, why would you post pictures of your innocent children on a website for perfect strangers, some who are undoubtedly unbalanced, to see???? Why would you DO that???

Here are a few collages I made of actual profile pictures that have popped up in my inbox today. I did not include the ones that have children or guns because I will not perpetuate the inappropriate decision to use them to get dates, nor did I include the ones with firearms because I don’t want to get killed if they see this and stuff.



Don’t make Hulk angry! You won’t like Hulk when he’s angry!

Now…to end on a positive note, here are pictures that have ended up in my inbox full of quirkiness and smiling faces and artsy poses and the overall feeling that they’re nice and fun and worth a second look. DO try and emulate these photos, boys. THESE photos get your foot in the door for a girl to at least look at your pictures and read your self-promotional write-up. More on how you should present yourself in your “About” section later. Yup yup yup!!!

Fun, fun, fun!!!! Sign me up!!!

(I have dinner plans with one of these guys this week. I’ll let you try and guess which one)

In conclusion, seriously, exert some actual effort and stop being scary. And trim your nose hairs. That’s totes important, too. Just sayin’.

Someone Has Been Writing Articles About Me Again

I needed to read this today, my friends. Because this was written to speak to my heart directly and to rekindle something inside me that has been dormant for a good while now. This right here is everything I needed to remember.

To my sweet wild woman, I know why it hasn’t worked out with anyone else—you don’t need a man, but a goddamn warrior.

You are the strength of Turkish coffee at sunrise darlin’ and don’t try to pretend that you’re not.

You are one of the wild ones, and no matter how you tried to hide that fact, you can’t be anything other than what you are—and that’s okay. You are just as you are supposed to be, magnificently wild in all of your chaotic beauty.

I know you’ve had your heart broken and I know that you don’t understand why it always seems to never work out, but I’ve finally figured it out:

You don’t need a man, you need a goddamn warrior.

It doesn’t matter if this warrior drives a Jeep or a shiny sports car, and it won’t matter if he wears silk or cotton—it will not even matter if he works in a high-rise, or on the night shift.

What is going to matter is that when it comes to taking bets on your heart, he is going to be high stakes—all the way.

This warrior of yours will crave your strength, and your intensity. He’s going to look at you and not see something to tame, but something to just fuckin’ admire. This warrior of yours won’t be someone that you can manipulate or play with as you have in the past, so honey, don’t even try—and trust me, you’re going to love him even more because of it.

Because you aren’t just a woman, you’re a goddamn goddess.

Your fierceness is going to bring him to his knees every single time he looks into your gorgeous eyes, but the difference is, unlike the others, he isn’t going to be scared off. No, this time, you will have finally met your match—because a simple man for you just won’t do.

You need someone to match the fire in your eyes with his own. Not only that, my little wild thing, but this warrior of yours is going to want to encourage the flames instead of trying to douse them with his own insecurities.

Because for you, a warrior is the only man who will ever live in the wild with you.

He may not have to slay any dragons to earn your love, but he would still walk through fire if it meant seeing that amazing smile that you hold in reserve for only him.

This is the thing, free spirit, this warrior you seek….he’s seeking you too.

For he’s had failed relationships that have left him wondering if maybe he was meant to be alone for the rest of his journey—and you’re going to change all of that for him. You both have been travelling along on your separate journeys and have been doing an okay job at it, but that about to change too.

Because baby, when you and this warrior of yours meet and collide—it’s going to be a love set on fire.

Don’t try to run this time—I know your heart has been broken before, and that you’re not used to things working out, but this time it’s different. Give yourself time to see that.

This warrior of yours needs to see that it’s possible for someone to see all of his wild, and still be there when he craves his freedom and ventures off into this world for a bit. You won’t always need to follow him, just as he won’t always follow you. Let yourself stay wild, even when all you want to do is curl up in that spot along his side and forget the rest of the world exists.

Let yourself still wander naked under the full moon, and drink moonshine with the stars. Let yourself feel the pull of the wind on your heart, and the sun toward a new journey. Because this warrior is going to love you because of your wild—and he’ll want you to keep it.

You’ll be in this together now, this amazing, crazy, chaotic, wonderfully heartbreaking life—because it takes a warrior to love a goddess. And it takes a goddess to show a warrior what real love is.

So pack up your insecurities and your ideas about picket fences, because that was never you anyway. You were born knowing that you were destined for more, and now is the time for you to see what all those dreams look like.

There is no stopping a love like this, so promise me you’ll hold out just a little bit longer.

Have a little bit of hope, and always give love just one more try, because I promise you my sweet wild woman—the love that you seek is seeking you as well.

Original Post:Elephant Journal

Fools Never Learn

I am about to go all white-girl up in here. I just can’t even.

Here’s tonight’s top write-off:

That “lol” really sold your apology, buddy.

And here’s part of my profile…read the middle paragraph which is always, always, ALWAYS overlooked:

I know I keep doubting it’s out there, but the bottom line is, I know what I want, and I know what I’m worth, and I know what I shall damn well have. It would be so lovely to encounter someone of the male species that’s not just a gaping vagina pretending to actually own a scrotum. There has to be real men out there. There just has to! Where the hell are all the men that act with decency, honesty, integrity, and respect? Why do so many men think that dating sites are the internet equivalent to a bar, and if I’m there, I must want to be treated like I’m there to get laid?

I know what I bring to the table, so please believe me when I say I am not afraid to eat alone. But for the love of all that’s holy, I’d like to find just one man out there who can prove me wrong when I begin to think I will forever be single with ridiculously high standards. Since when is wanting respect and dignity and a certain level of decorum considered having too high of standards? When will men figure out you can’t have my inner whore until you completely satiate my outer lady?

I guess I’m just gonna have to school some boneheads. Sad thing is, they’ll just move on to the next girl and try the same shit, cuz lawd knows, fools never learn.

But In The Meantime…

I’m determined to find him…that mythological god of yumminess that captures me hook, line, and sinker. He’ll have dimples if I’m lucky. He’ll laugh easily and turn me into a big puddle of mush every time he looks at me.

But in the meantime…

I hate men. All of you. Sorry, I’m a little miffed at the moment You’re assholes who make life so fucking difficult. I can’t just be a girl. I can’t just say no. I can’t just BE without you being a complete and utter douche canoe who won’t accept what I’m throwing down.

No, I don’t want to get your number, and NO, I don’t wanna give you mine…

And for those who are missing the subtlety, let me break it on down for you. He has been trying to get my number from me on more than one occasion in the past week and a half that I’ve been on POF. Today he decided to step it up a notch, and I quit responding when we got to the last message because THIS is what he did wrong.

Like many before him, he feels I am moving too slowly. He feels I am not giving indication that I am into him. He feels that I am being coy because he has no idea what it is like for a woman to feel like it takes more than a few bland, perfunctory messages on a dating site to feel like she’s connecting to someone. His last message was like the ones before him who felt that if I’m not diving in head first, then I am a game playing chick who can’t make up my mind. No, he didn’t say that, per say. He did, however, point out that he has no idea how many men I’m talking to, but he always lets women know if he’s interested.

Fucking fuckhead fucktard, I am talking to you. I am giving you a chance to get to know me. I am not ignoring you, I am responding. So, duh, why do you think I am NOT into you? I wouldn’t respond to you at allllllll if I were not at least giving you a chance to wow me.

Like this guy…

It took him a hot minute, but he finally got it.

It’s so icky…all of it. But how else will a single mom who works and goes to school full time and doesn’t go out every night of the week ever hope to find someone to mesh with if I’m not throwing out my fishing line and seeing what I can reel in?

I don’t HAVE to have someone. Obviously, I am still breathing and functioning without a partner. But I want to know if it’s out there. I want to have someone in my life who accentuates my daily living…someone to tell all my funny stories to at the end of the day and to snuggle with after a nightmare and to capture the spiders that get into my house or dispose of the dead creatures my cat brings to me. I want someone to look at me like I am everything right in the world. I want someone to vent to when I can’t solve a math equation and to laugh with while watching a stupid movie and to dry the dishes when I wash them and to tell me my ass looks great in those new jeans I just spent too much for. I want to hold hands and stand too close and have all the flutteryflies that make me know I’m alive.

What I don’t want is someone to try to change me or how I react or how slowly I move. I want someone who gets that I need reassurances and to feel safe before I take that next leap. I need someone to be there to catch me because I’m getting all bruised up making these jumps all alone.

I don’t know if it exists. I don’t know if I’m meant to be someone’s everything. I don’t know if I’m gonna wow him indefinitely…I do at first, but then they get close enough and realize I’m NOT what they want…they had it all wrong.

Then some of them stalk the fuck out of me, and that’s only romantic if you’re a poorly written character in a book that portrays BDSM like a Lifetime movie of the week…not to name names…I’m looking at you, Christian Grey *cough cough*.

So fishing it is…and I’m throwing most of them back…and yet, I still keep trying. I’m either really dedicated and determined, or I’ve lost my ever lovin’ mind. You decide.

Don Quixotic Dreams

Ah, Don Quixote, that madman of Spanish literature who fought windmills as if they were dragons and called prostitutes ladies…he who was on a crusade to revive chivalry after being driven mad by books full of romance. How terribly wonderful one would think…a man who decides to embody the bravery, chivalry, and romance of leading men of prose.

But he did nothing but wreak havoc wherever he traveled. He turned the countryside on its head.

And here I am…trying to slay the dragons. I have this image in my mind of what love is…what romance is…what qualities are lacking in those who pursue me. I could blame romance in novels or on TV or in the cinema for my visions of what I need and want, but honestly, I think my mission in the world of love was formed by craving what I have never truly had, and my windmill is nothing more than my past and my nonacceptance of that.

I want what I’ve never found, so what makes me think it even exists?

What drives me in matters of the heart, perhaps, is the longing I’ve held since early childhood. That need to be loved and accepted in the midst of growing up in an incredibly dysfunctional household where children only spoke when spoken to and didn’t truly matter and had to stay in their beds when they had nightmares and were punished tremendously when they had done something wrong. Making mistakes wasn’t just part of life, it was a fatal flaw. And I was never aware of what it felt like to be looked upon with love and admiration. I was forever trying to be perfect so I wouldn’t be punished. I was forever trying to earn love.

That led to being a young girl who was book smart and proficient in many things, but naive and gullible and hopeful when caution should have been used. That led to a girl who had her heart easily manipulated when the one thing she craved most was dangled in front of her. Because it wasn’t. It has never been offered. In just shy of forty years, it’s always been that mirage just out of reach…so close, so close, so close…but never within grasp.

Here I am, still chasing those windmills. Still coming ever so close to that perfect reverie, those effervescent quixotic bubbles that pop right as I reach up and touch them with hopeful fingers quivering in anticipation of having all that I’ve dared to dream for.

Is it there? Does it exist? Is there such a thing as someone who offers without expectations of changing me, molding me into something new and foreign? Is there the possibility that I won’t be too little or too much? I’m always too little or too much…never just right.

I don’t know. I suppose I’ll only know for sure if I find it, and until I find it, I’ll continue to battle my windmills and wreak havoc on the countryside and ignore the ending of The Man of La Mancha. I could dare to dream impossible dreams and fight the impossible foe.

I could ignore that in the end, Don Quixote was only deemed sane when he realized how damaging his quest had been, accepted that chivalry and romance were the root of that, and rewrote his will to say that his niece would inherit nothing if she married a man who read books of chivalry. The story was bleak…he had changed nothing positively in the world around him and only made things worse. The hero was only a hero when he lost his illusions of romance.

I could refuse to become sane. I could.

I could, I could, I could…

This is my quest,
to follow that star.
No matter how hopeless.
No matter how far…

How Shallow Is Too Shallow?

His name is Melvin. How can I date someone named Melvin?

“Hi! So nice to meet you! And this is my boyfriend, Melvin!”

It’s time to admit that I’m apparently shallow. He’s cute, but his name is Melvin. He’s smart, but his name is Melvin. He’s highly attentive and complimentary, but his name is Melvin.

Did you know Melvin is also a type of wedgie? A front wedgie. A painful wedgie. It’s true..I found it online.

See??? Totally legit.

I might as well introduce him as “Melvin, my super uncomfortable camel-toe.”

Therefore, it’s time to evaluate how shallow is too shallow. I feel incredibly badly about myself that I’m writing someone off who shows great potential simply because his name is synonymous with a wedgie and possibly an animated alien from the sixties. There wasn’t a cartoon with an alien named Melvin, but there should have been.

I need to feel attracted on a physical level. I need to feel emotionally and spiritually bonded. I need to feel intellectually stimulated. And I need him to be patient, kind, warm, interesting, independent, non-clingy, supportive, kind of nerdy, and totally into me.

And I need him to not be named Melvin.

While I’m at it, let’s just cross off Bruce, Bruno, Harold, Peter, Dick, (and any other phallic sounding names) Edward, Gordon, and Herbert.

Ladies and Gentleman, I do believe I’ve made it even more difficult to find someone.

Join me…I brought cupcakes!

She Deserves It

Once upon a time, my friends teased me. I was the freakshow, you see. I was the girl who always found a reason to walk away from suitors pursuing me because there was some fatal flaw I just couldn’t accept. My friends considered me the girl with the commitment issues of a boy, and I truly began believing that. I thought for sure there was something wrong with me because my standards were considered ridiculously high.

Then today I read a blog by Elizabeth which you can read here: What I’m Waiting For, and I highly recommend you do. The girl touches on some thought provoking stuff. This blog reminded me that it’s okay to be “picky” because it’s okay to demand our worth. It’s okay to recognize what we bring to the table and demand that we aren’t dining alone.

So one day a knight on a unicorn came riding in and did all the right things and said all the right words, and I was smitten. Just. Like. That. And it proved that I am not a commitment-phobe. I am merely a girl who has standards that truly CAN be met, just not by every Tom, Dick, And Harry that comes along. Isn’t that the way it is supposed to be?

Once he left for new adventures as knights often do, I began to question my standards all over again. Perhaps, I’m too old to believe in Fairytales. Perhaps, I have ridiculous standards as they’ve all said time and time again, and I need to lower those to have any possible chance of finding someone before my crazy cat lady starter kit arrives.

So I began my serial dating adventure. I lowered my standards ON PURPOSE so I could actually go out on dates and not become jaded and to keep my wounds from festering. Why the hell would I do that??

I’ve been handing out coupons for the sake of having someone to spend time with on a Saturday night.

I’ve had a lot of misadventures in serial dating. I’ve almost scrapped dating altogether because of the things I’ve encountered. But I allowed those things to happen because I placed myself on the bargain rack. I am not a clearance item. I am a full-priced, behind the glass, highly valued item. And it’s time I begin acting like it. My serial dating adventures are over. My ad was deleted once again by another Nancy-boy who felt the need to mess with me in some way, and I let it go. I didn’t upload it again in defiance. The universe is speaking to me through these little pansy asses, and it’s time I listen.

I. AM. WORTH. IT. PERIOD.

I am intelligent and devoted, caring and warm, loyal and devoted, cute and bubbly, well dressed and attentive to keeping myself up, forgiving and kind. And there’s more. I have great hair, great eyes, great bewbs. I have a tremendous sense of humor and don’t find myself rattled often. I have a perverse sense of humor and laugh often. I’m logical, and analytical, and capable of not clinging. I am independent and strong. I am the LeeAnnimal. The LeeAnnimal goes rawwwwr!

It’s time to demand again. It’s time to believe in myself again. More importantly, it’s time to believe in others again and give chances.

So The Experiment is over. I am no longer settling for what that brings me. I am ready to continue in a more mature, self sufficient way that leaves me open for someone to come out of left field and leave me gobsmacked. Could I be hurt again? Yes, I probably will be at some point. Could I have a damn difficult time locating someone who just gets me on all levels? Hell, yes, I will. It’s not a simple thing to find those who mesh in every way possible. But it’s possible. I think. And if it’s not, that doesn’t mean I need to settle just to have a night out. I am capable of providing for myself, therefore, I don’t need to worry about who will be sitting across from me at dinner.

It feels really fantabulous to be back. Watch out boys, she knows what she wants. And more importantly…she knows she deserves it.