Kill Your Darlings

Last night I had the most horrible nightmare and I'm going to tell you what it was. Before you roll your eyes and stop reading because NO ONE CARES ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE'S DREAMS, I preface that I'll keep it quick.I had a dream that a guy that I rejected on Ok Cupid was a fucking psycho and tried to exact his revenge by shooting me. My dream self hadn't even gone out with this guy. I hadn't even officially turned him down. I merely decided that I wasn't interested. So his reaction was to bring a gun into the house/college campus/store/wherever my dream self was. I'm assuming that his intention was to murder me, but things got a little murky after that.That's what I get for watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special before bed.I deactivated my account about a month ago during my writing workshop for school. It didn't hurt that I was also only interested in Quantum Physics. However, I'm no longer as busy and the account is back! It's now tinged with fear, but I shall persevere. Plus things didn't work out with Quantum Physics and I needed to distract myself.

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It's too bad because I really liked him. I don't mean "really" in the sense that I super liked him a whole bunch. I mean it in the sense that my feelings were genuine. Why him out of all the guys I've met over the past few months? He possessed most of the qualities I had on my check list, but that wasn't it. Those things don't magically make two people compatible, you know?It was that look. The look that two people share when something is there between them. It's that something that can't really be explained unless you're a complete stick in the mud and use science. It's a question on their part and an acknowledgment on yours. It's a secret that you create without a word. It's the seed of something bigger. It can create an entire world that belongs to just the two of you.The first time it happened was at the end of our coffee date, after he finally shut his mouth about science long enough for me to tell him I needed to move my car. With him feeling sheepish for blabbing about physics and space for like an hour and me feeling like an airhead for having nothing to contribute, we caught each other's eyes and that was that.It happened a few more times, enough for me to believe he did like me. I hope he did, if only to confirm that the wires connecting my instinct, logic, and feelings haven't gotten so completely fucked up that I can't tell at all anymore.That look isn't enough to build an entire relationship on, though. It's sort of embarrassing that I had to actually experience the extent of that truth to learn it, but I did. While Quantum Physics and I turned out to be skilled at making eye contact, we weren't quite able to build that "special world." Apparently he was too busy to say hi to me once in a while. Like that is legitimately what he told me. He was too busy. No buddy, you are not too busy. You are not so busy that you can't spare 30 seconds to text me in the morning with a simple "Have a good day." I don't think that even requires 30 seconds. More like 10. Or 5.

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He was busy, I'll give him that, but not including me in that busy schedule was his choice. If we wanted to, he could have. It's that simple. I don't know what his reasons were for not. I don't know if he was even aware of what he was doing. But he certainly didn't have any business dating if he didn't have time for it. I mean hello.When I first noticed he was less than attentive, I was tempted to ignore it. I tried convincing myself that I was the problem and needed to calm down. I wanted too much from him. He said he was busy, didn't he? I told myself that he'd get to me when he had time.

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Of course that attitude didn't last long because I wasn't being unreasonable. Wanting a guy you're seeing to SAY HELLO once in a while is not unreasonable. Having expectations and feelings is not unreasonable. Since I'm impatient and like to say what's on my mind, I took a chance and did something crazy. I told him what I was thinking. I told him that a little more acknowledgment of my existence would be nice. And he said he'd work on it. GREAT.Well he didn't. I brought it up again a couple weeks later. He was sort of a dick about it. So that was that.I mean really, if things started to become difficult that early on, it was not going to work. Either he was going to have to compromise or I would, and it kind of felt like we were both putting that effort in (at least I was and I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, even though he definitely wasn't) and it still didn't work.One month in and it was already stressing me out. No thanks. That is definitely not the sort of relationship I want to be in. Just imagine how difficult it would be in a year or ten, let alone a lifetime. He was busy and I was undervalued. I was not clingy or needy. I was perfectly reasonable.I've been that "crazy" girl before (as inappropriate as I find the term). The one who nags because she's undervalued. The one who hears all the excuses from him and even makes them for him. The one who stays in a relationship because she's too insecure to leave, who is convinced it will get better.It was definitely the same sort of situation. Thanks but no thanks.

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The Limit Does Not Exist

I finally had my second date with Quantum Physics the other night.  As usual, I use the term date loosely.  All that I'll say on the subject is that I'm glad I decided to shave my legs.We had a good time.  I don't like him as much as I thought, but I'm fine with that.  Except not really.  If I made life that simple for myself I wouldn't be a writer.  So here's the deal.  I like my life the way it is.  Unfortunately, I also like him and I want him around.  That means my life will have to change.  Possibly for the better, but still.  I like my life.  I don't want it to change.  It's not even like I want a relationship with him, because I don't like him that much (yet??) but I also don't want our good time to be one time.Great.This is the the exact same position so many of my friends have found themselves in at one point or another.  Thinking about the insightful piles of crap I've spouted in the past, I'm just amazed that none of them ever strangled me for being so level-headed and obvious.I mean it was probably because I live too far for it to be feasible, but you know.I clearly had no idea what I was talking about.  Why did they ever talk to me in the first place?  Why do I have any friends at all?  Considering what shitty advice I give, I clearly don't deserve them.  I hate myself on their behalves.  Me and my stupid logical dating wisdom.Just talk to him blah blah blah communication is important blah blah blah.  Shut up self, you don't know anything.  OF COURSE you should talk to the other person and be open about your feelings.  Literally everyone knows this.BUT WHO THE HELL ACTUALLY DOES IT?

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I sure know what my younger self would have done.  Panic over my feelings.  Assume that since he didn't reply to a text right away, that he's not interested in me.  Send another text to "force" him to reply.  Panic that I'm being too over eager.  Overcompensate by sending another text because THAT will DEFINITELY make things better.  Then finally get my shit together, wait, get a reply, and repeat until I have proven that I am definitely not someone that he wants to associate with further.So I'm not doing that this time.There's a reason why I've more or less sworn off guys since January.  I may know what not to do, but that doesn't mean I know what the right thing to do is.  I mean I DO know, of course.  But I also know it's not as easy as the generic Magic 8 Ball advice I always spout.All I want to do is ask him what he thinks of the new Star Wars movie trailer but since I had the last word when we were texting last night, I can't.  If I were dispelling some of my usual sage advice to a friend in the same situation, I'd say rules are for fools and do what you want.

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Oh yeah?  How's that working out for ya now Zo?  Huh?


Would You Rather

I thought that unwanted makeout sessions were awkward.Well, they are, but I've found a situation that gives that one a run for its money.The scene:  Your date went well, but in a friendly way.  You think it's possible that there could be more, possibly worth pursing on a second date, but not well enough to already know that you want to make future plans.  You think about the end of the night kiss, of course, because despite my mother's surprise, kissing on the first date is fairly commonplace.You know, of course, that just by questioning whether you want to kiss this guy means that you don't and that you shouldn't.  But if he goes in for it you'll be okay, you guess.  And, well, given your brief but varied dating history, that chances are that he will go in for the kiss, because of course.AND THEN HE DOESN'T AND IT GETS WEIRD.You both know what's supposed to happen.  But it's not happening.  And neither of you know what to do, because you both know that you both know what's supposed to happen, which means that despite knowing, neither of you have done what you're supposed to do.  Knowing what you both know, you CAN'T kiss now, because you'd know that you only did it because you were supposed to, despite possibly actually wanting to.Instead, you verbally, though indirectly, acknowledge what didn't happen and what was possibly supposed to happen.  You say maybe next time and then run away.  Because you are you, and in this case you is actually me.  In case you didn't get that.  I am not a cool person, despite what my leather jacket collection would have you believe.awkward kristen stewart gif

So tell me. Would you rather:

be part of the most awkward first kiss ever


the aforementioned catastrophe?

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Thus With A Kiss I Die. Again. And Again.

And we're kissing now.  Okay.  Guess he missed the point of my pointed awkward hug, huh?  At least he's not terri- that hand better not move any further.  Smart boy.  Oh aaand he's pulling me closer.  And there's the tongue.  We could not have read this night more differently.Ok bye."I'll definitely be seeing you again," he said.OH WILL YOU NOW?

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This was the guy who rode horses.  The equestrian from Pasadena.  Taking a page from Rory Gilmore's book, I created a mental pro/con list.  I had a good enough time.  I didn't go in expecting much.  He made several stupid/douchey comments throughout our conversation which I overlooked in favor of not killing myself, but when we parted ways I began to notice just how much of a jackass he really was.

Oh, your parents are both from Missouri, which means you're not the stereotypical L.A. douche?

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Yeah, it turned out to really just be a con list.

I went out with a guy who grew up in Portland.  Maine.  Oh, he also grew up in fucking France I guess.  When did we go out?  Wednesday I think?  What's today?  Saturday.  God this is exhausting.Yeah, turns out that agreeing to go out with someone just because they're from Maine is not a good idea.  I mean I was also impressed that he was finishing writing a book and had just graduated from Cambridge.  I was like ooh, he's fancy and smart and TALL.No.Despite not actually being British, he represented the stuffy stereotype like he was getting paid for it.  I think that part of the problem was that he was old.  30 I think.  Which isn't even old unless you're a pseudo-Brit.Apparently I'm mature for my age, at least in some regard.  Like, middle-aged Uber drivers are my favorite because we have the best conversations about life.  One guy even gave me his card to keep in touch.  He was partly impressed by me because I was so coherent for being so drunk.A true sign of intelligence.All of the friends that I've made since college have been older than me, at least by a year, but most of them by several.  I tried dating a guy who was younger than me once and it was terrible.  Boys tend to mature more slowly than girls, so even a guy who's mature for his young age is still behind me.I'm so not interested in waiting around for anyone to catch up.

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No.You'd think that an old, basically British guy would be a good fit, right?  Or something like that I guess.  But no, of course not.  Because it turns out a 30 year old British dude is the equivalent of a normal 60 year old man.Poor Kate Middleton.He didn't really want to tell me about Medieval History, the subject he likes enough to write a fucking book about, and I was over here like if someone can make me interested in Quantum fucking Physics, you can make me interested in this.  And then he was scared to give me his opinion on how Gilmore Girls is misogynistic.I can't date a stuffy old man who isn't proud of what he does and doesn't stand up for his opinions.  The end.

Ah, and then there was last night's guy.  I don't even know what to call him because there's nothing significant about him, except that I liked him.  It was the most generic date ever, which actually worked quite well.  I guess certain dates become go-tos for a reason.  A movie followed by drinks?  Bingo.We went to see the newest Hunger Games movie and it was good, but not gonna lie, I spent the entire movie thinking about the dog I played with beforehand.

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That dog.  The Turner and Hooch dog.  I love dogs.  A lot.  Especially mastiffs.  Especially Dogues de Bordeaux.

Is that where the goes?  Is it Dogue de Bordeauxes?  I'm pretty sure it's the same rule that applies to passers-by but who am I to say?

These are the important questions.

So, um, yeah.  My obsession with that dog didn't scare him away, so that scored him like a million points.  Umm what else is there to say?  Good dates are particularly uninteresting.  Oh, but I do have a word problem for you guys.

Zoe and Brian go out on a date.  If Brian had two beers, Zoe had one, and they both had a good time, how awkward will their first kiss be?


No actually it was adorable aw yay.

Pretty Girls Make Graves

I'm relieved to report that Horrible Kissing Guy did not contact me again after our encounter.  I'm curious why he attempted to eat my face if he wasn't really into it, but maybe that's just some sort of goodbye ritual that I don't know about.  I'm not very familiar with the ways of dwarves, after all.I have to say, I'm glad that we were on the same page. I mean of course I am.  That makes life so much easier.  But I'm glad for a reason that is maybe a little less obvious.  All things considered, the date went well.  We made each other laugh.  I actually made him laugh way more than he made me, but who's counting?  The conversation was consistent.  I wasn't tempted to go to the bathroom and escape through the window.  It wouldn't have been unreasonable for either of us to request a second one.Despite all of this, somehow, neither of us were interested.  Just because I didn't feel a spark didn't guarantee that he was in the same boat, though. I can only imagine how often this is the case.  It's impossible to tell how someone else is feeling.  Sharing a decent date only makes the impossible even more difficult.What if I had been interested?  If this situation presented itself a year ago, I would be wondering why he never texted me.  After a few days of waiting, I would have texted him.  I would have told him how much fun it had been.  I would have said we should definitely do it again.  I'd try to resist the urge to text him again and again.

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I'd fail miserably at resisting that urge.I'd probably bug him for another date.  I'd want to see him again.  I'd suggest something maybe a little more interactive so we'd have more to talk about - or an excuse to talk less.  I'd create situations that would make the relationship more likely to succeed.  I'd ignore the fact that it clearly wasn't.I'm glad to report that's no longer the case.  Er, well, I think, anyway.  I haven't met anyone whom I like enough to test that theory and honestly, I don't know if I really want to.  I've gotten comfortable with my current life.  I've built a solid foundation.  I don't need anything else and I don't really want much more, either.  At least not when it comes to a relationship.  That concept is so foreign to me now.  It seems like it would be a major deviation from what I currently have, and I like what I have.  I don't think I'd want to change it.Unfortunately for me, I've made it my mission to understand the dating world.  I prefer to be actively uncomfortable trying new things rather than stuck in the old.  I'm not dating because I need or even want to be in a relationship.  I'm dating because for some reason, I've decided I want to write about it.  I can't write about a topic I know nothing about, and since I've never really done much dating, I have to put myself out there.I started with that app called Coffee Meets Bagel.  It was fine for a time but became unsatisfactory when I had momentarily convinced myself I was interested in seriously dating someone.  I moved my way up to Hinge, another dating app that is apparently similar to Tinder (which I will never, ever try), but again, found it unsatisfactory.  I mean WHAT is the point of getting matched with someone if you're not actually interested in talking to them?Fun side fact:  The hot roommate of the guy I had been dating, No Real Feelings Guy, came up on that app yesterday.  I swiped yes.  In order to get matched, he has to do the same.  Updates to follow.


Now I'm on OkCupid.  I don't know how it happened.  It's all a blur.  It was really fun for the first few hours.  Like crazy fun.  If you ever need a quick confidence boost, online dating is really the way to go.It quickly became less fun.  Way less fun.  Now it feels like work.  Every time I get a new message, I'm momentarily excited, for like half a second, if that.  Then I'm filled with dread  There are so many people.  SO MANY PEOPLE.  And plenty of them seem really nice and actually read my profile and make a point to ask questions and create a conversation.  And so many of them I'm just not interested in.  Because I'm being shallow.  I don't even care anymore.  I want to be considerate and give everyone a chance but it's just not going to happen.  Once upon a time I thought that I didn't have a type, but I do.  I have lots of types, actually.  But I'm not attracted to everyone, and if I'm not attracted to a guy, it's not going to happen.  I feel bad about it every time and occasionally will even reply with a rejection, but still.It's difficult to not give everyone a chance.  I don't want to be that superficial person who puts so much stock in personal appearance.  I don't want to be unreasonably picky, despite knowing there's nothing wrong with having high standards.  I think that physical attraction is an important part of dating someone.   I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that thinking, either.I mean it's not like I see a guy I'm not attracted to and immediately assume he's awful  has no value to the world.  Come on.  Further, I know there's a chance I could become attracted to someone based on the way that that they carry themselves, but in this case, that's an unrealistic expectation.  I'm not going to plan a date with someone with the hopes that I'll find them attractive once I get to know them.  I simply don't have the time.  Plus there are so many other guys out there, it's really not necessary.  I used to have that "make it work" mindset, which, need I remind you, did not work so well.The great thing about online dating is that it gives you an idea of just how many people out there you're compatible with.  I know that it still has a stigma, but so far I've found it incredibly helpful for that one specific reason.  Having an online dating profile makes it painfully obvious that there's absolutely no reason to settle for less.  No, most of these interactions won't progress beyond chatting through the app on my phone.  But these guys are nice.  They're attractive.  They're interesting and they're interested.I actually have a date later today.  With a ridiculously adorable Israeli.  At the most awkward time ever.  Late afternoon, early evening.  It's too late for coffee if I want to sleep tonight, but too early for dinner or drinks.Oh who am I kidding?  I plan my life around food and it's not like I haven't had a beer at a far more unreasonable hour.The worst part is that I'm actually really excited.

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Thus With A Kiss I Die

I'm over this whole dating thing.  I gave it a shot.  It was kind of fun.  Kind of.  By "kind of" I mean people paid for my food.  And drinks.  And I like free things.But it's just so inconsistent!  Like, you meet someone, you hit it off, and you decide to arrange a meeting in a slightly romantic setting to see if the two of you share some romantic element or something.  And you're sitting there wondering if this is just the first of many first dates or if this will actually turn into something.  Or maybe there will be a few more dates before it turns into nothing.  And you wonder how many times you'll have to go through this weirdness before you find someone who you actually like enough to love.  But the problem is that they have to be on the same level of liking, which is not as easy as it sounds.Then the guy who has caused you to wonder all of these things is short, and not like kind of short.  Like my height short.  But you reason that you can work with that, because you're trying not to be such a shallow asshole with unreasonably high standards.  And you get along with this guy pretty well, all things considered.  Well enough that you wonder if there will be a second date, but not well enough for you to really want a second date.Then he's walking you back to your car because the date went well enough that you want to spend a little extra time together but didn't actually plan anything to do and you're not in an area that you really want to spend time walking around and the whole time you're wondering what's going to happen with that end of the date kiss because it went well but not really THAT well.And then he kisses you AND IT'S HORRIBLE.

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I don't understand how a person can be 26 and still bad at kissing.  I just don't.NOT TO MENTION the guy who dumped me just a week ago decided to TEXT ME last night before this date.How do they always know?  THEY ALWAYS KNOW.  You start moving on and their Spidey sense starts tingling and they think "hey, Zoe has a date tonight.  I should probably text her before it.  That'll really fuck with her."There must be an app for that, one that only guys know about.  The government is probably involved.He asked about my Halloween costume.  I mean it wasn't a totally stupid question; he was genuinely curious.  But he didn't have to ask.  His life would not be lacking had he not.  But he did.  Being the really nice person that I am, I told him and, being confused about what the fuck was going on, asked about his.Then he wanted to know what I've been up to.  As if my life is so exciting that I would have breaking news in the week since we last talked.  I considered sending something like  "well, I haven't slit my wrists since you dumped me, in case you were worried about that," but I felt that may be a bit too sarcastic for the situation at hand, the situation being he wants to be friends.

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I mean that's what I assume anyway.  I, however, am not so sure I want to be part of a Kumbaya singalong session with him just yet.Or ever.Sure, I dated him for a reason, and logically that means we would make good friends as well.  I wouldn't date someone that I couldn't also be friends with.  That doesn't seem very sensible.  But that doesn't mean I want to be friends with him now that the whole romance part didn't work out.  I already have friends.  I'm not so sure his friendship would provide me with anything I don't already have.Then again, maybe he doesn't want to be friends.  Maybe he's realized that he made a huge mistake and wants me back.  Let's be real, THAT'S what I really want to hear.  Not because I want him back, but because of course he made a mistake and of course he wants me back.  Because I'm great.Yeah, that's not the reason.  I decided to continue being nice and pursue the conversation.  He just curious about what I've been up to.  I was so tempted to be all bitchy and snarky and tell him GUESS WHAT, when you decide to end things with another person that means you don't get to know what's going on in their life!  So next time curiosity takes hold, get a good death grip around its neck and choke it back.  Kill it with fire if you must.Just leave me alone.But I didn't.  Because I'm not really bitter.  He was being nice and I wanted to be nice back.  See, I'm capable of not being a total rage monster when a break up occurs.  You have to be quite the special piece of shit to induce that sort of passion.  For once, all parties involved were decent human beings.  And not gonna lie, even though there wasn't this huge "I want you back" reveal, he was curious about my life.  And that's some sort of satisfaction.  I may not be dateable, but I'm still awesome.  He was pretty okay, too. I think it's worth at least attempting to be friends.Plus he has a really cute roommate who is totally my type.

michelle tanner you've got to be kidding full house

Not that it matters, because I'm never dating again.

The Camera Flashes Make It Look Like A Dream

LA and I have a weird relationship. Well no, to say that we have a relationship would imply that LA cares about me. LA does not care about me. It doesn’t care about anyone. It is a desert and a horrible place to live. It is unbearably hot in the summer and somehow even worse in the fall, particularly in the Valley, yet somehow people still choose to live there.*

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It is incredibly dirty. Like people always say how gross and dirty New York is but I cannot believe that it is dirtier than LA. I just can’t. It’s possible that the dirtiness is an illusion caused by the literal dirt that is everywhere, but that’s because it never rains here. Ever.Just like in Hell.Living in LA has actually given me conflicting feelings about grass. Seriously. Grass. Because if you have grass, I judge you for wasting water on something as insignificant as a lawn. Yet I just can’t blame you for wanting just the tiniest sliver of emerald green happiness. Yes, it will only be a tiny sliver, because even the lawns in Beverly Hills are ridiculously small. You know how much money my parents’ house and land would be worth in LA? Do you? A lot. Do you know how much it’s worth in Maine?Not nearly as much as it’s worth in LA.

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Yet somehow, I find myself really liking it here.  I've found good people to have life convos with and who like to do fun things.  Did you know there's a lot of fun to be had in LA? Because I didn't.  I mean logically yes, of course, but now that I'm here I 'm like hey now, slow down with all these Fun Town shenanigans.  I've never been exactly hard to please when it comes to outings.  Give me a dive bar to drink at, a mountain to hike, or a beach to bum around, and I'm good to go.  A great thing about this place is that is has all that stuff and then some.  Like a lot of then some.  Outdoor movies, epic dance parties, sample sales, comedy shows, and getting to say you had your first kiss on the corner of Melrose in front of a comic book shop.

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I’m leaving out something obvious though. The celebrities. They’re everywhere. From hiking the same trails at Runyon to being buried in the cemetery that you’re going to see an outdoor movie screening at.Everywhere.Out of all the people that I know in this city, one girl has dated a guy from Pretty Little Liars, I went to the same concert as yet another guy from Pretty Little Liars, and the guy I’m dating met one of the main actresses from, you guessed it, Pretty Little Liars.And those are just the people we’ve met from one show.Coming from New England this felt like a really big deal until I realized that it just isn't.  They all have to live somewhere, right?  I finally stopped being surprised when I saw Chloe Moretz walking down a random ass street in my old neighborhood months ago.  I blatantly stared and then called a bunch of people. Don’t get me wrong, as common as it is, it’s still exciting. I would be lying if I said otherwise.  Like more recently, I got to chat with one of the actresses from Veronica Mars.  I love that show.  A lot.  Like it gives me hardcore fangirl feelings.You know what we talked about?  Athlete’s foot.  For about 20 minutes.

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I mean aside from Stephen King and I guess Glenn Close, Maine has nothing going for it when it comes to celebrities. Stephen King is a big deal, but I grew up in the same town that he lives in. The appeal regarding his status is lost on me. That’s the thing about celebrities. They really are just people. For most of them, fame is just an unfortunate side effect of their actual jobs.Honestly, the whole fascination with them is pretty strange.  People's lives are used as entertainment.  Where they go and what they wear are current events.  The part that gets me the most is that none of it is even real.  Actors "date" to create press for movies.  Tabloids spin stories that aren't true.  People become icons become idols.Us common folk think that celebrities are commodities to be stared at, whispered about, and taken pictures with.  Like what is really the point of a picture?  To prove that you spotted a famous person out in the wild?  They're not animals.  They don't stop existing when the show is over and the movie ends.   I’m not a religious person but there’s probably some pretty sound logic behind not worshiping false idols, you know?  These are human beings, not to be idolized, but to be respected.  Not because they have familiar faces, but because of the work that they do.  At the end of the day, they're just people doing their jobs, just like you.With hackers leaking nude photos of female celebrities left and right, our culture's obsession has reached an all-time high.  Even worse still are those who are victim blaming, saying celebrities don't have a right to privacy because of their status.  Like seriously?  Fame is such a weird thing.  We think that because we recognize a person's face from a movie or a billboard, we have a right to know what their life is.  Some say that they chose this life, knowing what it would be like and maybe they did, but that's not an excuse to act like they're exhibits that exist solely for our pleasure.So I get it.  I do.  We all have those people whose work we're actually really big fans of and would freak the fuck out over if we got to meet them.  You want to take a picture with this person to remember that magical moment forever?  Why the fuck not.  But if you're a show off who wants to feel impressive because you got to meet someone with a recognizable face, then you can get the fuck out.Stephen King is just a guy who writes books. Glenn Close is just a lady who throws epic Halloween parties. Some of them are great and some of them are the worst. Most will have a conversation with you and be really nice about it, no matter how horrible you are, and none of them are going to actually befriend you, no matter how nice you are. Let’s be real here. You’re probably the kind of person who makes a big deal about befriending someone famous, which means you are not the kind of person someone famous would actually befriend.

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Except me. I am definitely going to become friends with Kiernan Shipka.  She will be my personal stylist and life guru. I know some people probably think that’s weird because she’s like 10 years younger than me, and to those people I say, just be glad Suri Cruise lives all the way in New York, ok?Regardless, getting to meet someone famous is momentarily pretty awesome. The kind of awesome that maybe you will take a picture of and that you tell all your close friends about immediately.  It's the kind of awesome they will be immensely jealous of for about two seconds and then promptly forget, because beyond that, no one actually cares.Just like LA.

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*The Valley is a safe haven for white people who are not so comfortable with the not-so-minor minorities that exist in this city.  Because oh yeah, living here has placed me right in the reality that is how white washed and racist the media is and just how biased the rest of the country is, too.


Compromise: Lowering My Standards So You Can Meet Them

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Karma.  What goes around comes around.  Summer and winter, fire and water.  Yin and yang.Blah and blah and blah some more.In the past, I have not had particularly high standards for the guys that I have dated.  I had this idea of what I wanted but I pursued it with people who I wasn't right for and who weren't right for me.  This may sound like a fairly typical thing for people to do, but I go about it a bit differently.  These people who aren't suited for me are, in my opinion, pretty obviously so.  If I were a sane human being, these are things I would have noticed (and done something about) after a month or two.Ah, but I am me, and thus... well... you know.I like to give people chances to prove themselves, chances far beyond what's reasonable.  I'm great at overlooking the negative in favor of the positive.  Sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't.  It's when the negative shouldn't be overlooked that I get myself in trouble.  I haven't been great at distinguishing what's an acceptable flaw and what isn't.We all have them.  Flaws, I mean.  If this is something you have not yet realized...

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I recently went on a few dates with one guy.  By the third date there were little things that were already starting to drive me crazy.  I could already see our future together and in consisted of me being constantly annoyed by him.  My first reaction was to try to see past it and to focus on all the things I liked about this guy.  We had a lot in common and conversed pretty easily.Yeah well, those are the worst.  Reasons.  Ever.  Do you know how many people are out there who I could say the same about?  You probably don't and it's because THERE ARE SO MANY.  That's like, the most basic criteria for a relationship ever.Ever.I really do not have to give every single person I meet a chance.  There are SO many potential suitors out there.  Why in the world would I settle just because we like the same books?  Like seriously.  Having things in common is definitely a plus but is NOT the be all, end all of a relationship.  Not by far.And there I was, considering trying to change who I am in order to accommodate this guy who was more or less still a stranger, who had given me absolutely no reason to do so.  Like what is that?  Why in the world would I do that?Given my history, this isn't surprising in the slightest, but if I don't learn from my history then I am doomed to repeat it and that is something I don't particularly want to do at all, thanks.

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I mean it's really not difficult for my standards to be higher than they previously were, but apparently I am now too picky, according to Carey.  And she hears about every god damn detail of my meager dating life, soo...I really don't think that's true, but even if it is, it's still better than my former approach, so I don't really mind.  I'm not aggressively pursuing anything serious right now anyway, so why would I bother with guys who I'm not attracted to or don't really interest me?  Why should I waste my time on date after date, hoping that things will improve, when I wasn't that interested in the first place?After several failed attempts in the whole boyfriend department, I've learned what definitely doesn't work for me and I've learned to respect certain aspects of myself that just aren't going to change.  Unfortunately, those are aspects that I don't exactly like, but try as I might, I'm unable to change, and I think that's ok.  There was a time when I felt like I needed to improve everything about myself, and while I'm all for acknowledging weaknesses and addressing them, not everything that's "wrong" is a weakness.So I'm easily irritated.  It's probably just a reflection of the sort of mood I'm in, and if I'm in a mood, the best thing for me to do is just be by myself.  I like being alone, so this really isn't a problem.  So if I need to be alone, I just go be alone.I'm sensing a theme here, actually, with this whole "alone" thing.  I just don't have time for any of you plebeians.  I can't be bothered.It's possible that I've used this one before, but come on.Eh, really though.  My time is valuable.  It's valuable to me.  I see nothing productive coming from investing much of it to giving everyone I meet two or three or ten chances.  I already tried that.  It didn't work too well.  If it were my dream to befriend every living human on this planet, then I would be all about that. As it is, I find most people to be terrible and I don’t really want to meet them at all.  Maybe that's horrible and self-absorbed of me.  I don't care.  I'm trying something new.  I've gone from one end of the spectrum to the very other and it's actually working out pretty well so far.Go fucking figure.So rather than changing these parts of myself, these parts that cause me some problems, I'm just learning how to live with them in a constructive way.  Because when I'm annoyed and need to be alone, I usually end up writing.  Sounds like a win-win all around.

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Super.I've kind of got an idea of who I am and what I want.  I expect a lot from myself and as such, I hold other people to the same standard.  I want to surround myself with exceptional people and won't settle for anything less.  So haters to the left, k?

Wanna Take A Nap On My Shoulder?

First things first, if you are not privy to the inside joke that is the title of this post, I'm sorry.  It's a good one.Anyway.I’m trying online dating. I feel like this is necessary because I’ve started writing about dating and at this point in our technological lives it’s kind of a must. Not a must like everyone has to do it, a must like if I’m like dating and experiencing it and writing about it, online dating is totally part of “it.”I’m using one app and one app only: Coffee Meets Bagel. I may be trying this but I am putting in MINIMAL effort.

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So far it hasn't been so bad, but "so far" consists of less than a week and no actual, real live dates.I am in no hurry to date every guy in LA or really anyone for that matter. It just doesn’t jive with the groove I have going, you know? At this point I’m simply not interested in pursuing the type of relationships that I’ve had before. Oh, you know, the unhealthy co-dependent sort.  The ones that smother like flannel sheets in July.  They didn’t suit me to begin with and they most definitely do not suit me now.As for flannel sheets in July, those don't suit anyone, ever.Ever.So I mean, like, if you want to hang out once or twice a week and have all those relationship-y benefits, that's cool.  I've finally come to the conclusion that that's what a healthy relationship actually is, at least for me.  Ish.  Like let's not be in contact 24/7 and do every single thing together.  I don't want people to assume that if I'm going to be somewhere that I'll be bringing this other person with me.  Like an extra fucking limb or something.  No.  Those limbs always end up being diseased and need to be cut off and it just does not end well.  All the little addendums that you're born with like arms and a head and stuff are the only ones you're meant to have.*  The rest is separate, dammit.Whatever happens, happens. I have far more pressing things to concern myself with. Like how short this post is.

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* Weird-ass extenuating circumstances aside.  Like Siamese twins.  I'm not a doctor or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen.

You Have Only Your Emotions To Sell

I realize it’s a strange thing now, to write as openly as I used to. I’d gotten so good at it, too.I was leaving everything that I was writing about behind. It’s easy to write about those things when you’re opening up a completely new chapter, free of such toxicity.I caught up to the “now” some time ago in my writing and it looks like I’m not so good at acknowledging things AS they happen.  I personally think that is a bit of a problem. I’m aware of so many things yet somehow I still miss so much. About my own life, no less. What is that? Am I so focused on being self-aware that I've become completely self-absorbed instead? Am I just completely missing it? Have I crossed that line? I really hope not, but god I think I’m getting close to it.

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What am I even talking about? Ugh. Can we just not?So there are these new people who I know and who I LIKE reading this thing. Actual strangers are also reading it. People subscribe. Like what is that? Who are you people? “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member” is basically my motto. I’m not thrilled to be living my life by the words of a guy who was called Groucho but we all have our crosses to bear.   Seriously, guys. Go away. It’s not you, it’s me. You’re better off without me.I’m just kidding though, please keep reading and tell all your friends.I’ve had a request for more bitchy posts, and god while I do love me a good rant about shitty people, I’ve made a real solid effort to avoid the type. And I’d say I’m doing a pretty bang up job of that lately. I really don’t have much to bitch about. That’s good, right?So what DO I have to talk about? How great my exceedingly mundane life is? I’m not that kind of pretender, ok? I’m not sure if I’m detestably modest or just really that mediocre, but either way, it’s just not happening.  No toxic people. No particular grievances. No feminist rants. I guess that just leaves room to focus on the good things that I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

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No, no, that’s clearly not going to work. I can’t write happy. No one wants to read about that. Happy people are the worst. Like who are you, without your self-doubt and mediocre job and shitty, overpriced loft? NOT SOMEONE I CARE ABOUT. We already use Facebook to pretend that our lives are perfect. That’s not the point of this.

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Happy is not a constant thing.  It comes and goes.  As far as I can tell, much of life is spent simply content.  It's ok if things aren't fantastic, as long as they aren't bad.  But hard times are had.  It happens to everyone.  Happiness isn't some state of being that once reached you can never leave.I mean that's what prison actually is, so you just think about that ok?I still remember the best thing that happened since starting this blog. A month or so into it, a guy I (barely) knew through a (barely) mutual friend sent me a message telling me that my writing helped him deal with a some difficult stuff in his own life.  And that just made my fucking day. I didn’t really know what the point of all this was when I started writing it. I just knew I had a story I wanted to tell. I didn’t have to make it up. There were characters, twists, drama, romance, love, lust, and more. It was a soap opera. It was just too easy.But then people actually started telling me how much they enjoyed it. That they could relate. That it made them feel less alone. It’s nice to have that reassurance, for them as well as for me. Writing personal stuff is not easy. That reassurance is a two way street.Life is hard and it doesn’t really get easier. In time we learn, which helps us make better decisions, but those choices just keep coming. It’s the journey to happy that’s interesting and it’s really never ending. It’s the road less traveled that people want to hear about. I’m still figuring stuff out, just like you are. I’m just a voice telling you that you aren’t alone. 

Why Are You So Obsessed With Me?

Let's just say that hypothetically one has a date tonight.  Hypothetically one does not remember what their date looks like.  This hypothetical date cannot be located on Facebook, despite one's elite stalking skills.

Hypothetically, what does one do?


I mean I know it will be fine.  Somehow we'll manage to find each other.  And I'm sure it's going to be a lot of fun because I really enjoy arranging set times to engage in direct eye contact for hours in a row while making conversation with a complete stranger.

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Oh wait.

I'm a bit particular, to say the least.  If my immense propensity for fangirling doesn't scare people away, my "Ask Me About My Feminism" tee shirt will.

I actually don't own one of those shirts, but I should.  Do those exist?  It would surely cut in half the amount of time I have to bother talking to unworthy people.  Will someone buy it for me?  I already spent my next couple of month's shopping money on the dress that got me into this mess in the first place.


Yes.  That is a dress.  Covered in puppies.  And some flowers.  But mostly puppies.  


This dress is the reason why I have not one but TWO dates this week.  With two different guys.  Who are actually real.  I'm pretty sure.  Come to think of it, the one I'm seeing tonight can't be located on Facebook (hypothetical situation was not hypothetical, in case you didn't catch that) so he might actually be a figment of my imagination.

I'm not discounting that possibility, k?

So there I was, having a conversation about feminism with one guy (I shit you not) and I was about to leave, so he asked for my number.  And I was like "you were just enjoying a conversation with me about something that sends most guys running" so I was like YOU BETCHA PAL.

Then I literally turned around and another guy asked for my number.

I don't mean to brag or anything, except just kidding I really do, because WHAT.

I am generally an enjoyable person but I am really not so enjoyable that I can't even turn around without someone asking for my number.  What you might be thinking if you are you and are definitely thinking if you are my parents is "no, I'm sure he asked you out because of your glowing personality."  I mean yes, that is an obviously logical conclusion to come to, but no.  In this case it was definitely the dress.  Definitely.  If the multiple compliments by tonight's suitor directed specifically toward my dress are any indication, credit goes to the puppies.

Ok, ok, puppies may have multiple meanings in that context.  FINE.

It may also have something to do with the cake that I shared with him, euphemism not included.  What a bonding experience that was!

Really though, puppies.  That was the point, after all.  Literally literally.  One does not just buy a boob-baring dress covered in dogs and flowers without wanting attention.  "I'll get so many compliments" was part of my actual thought process when deciding whether or not to buy.  Anything beyond that is a happy accident.  Happy?  Potentially disastrous.  We'll see.

The moral of the story is this: If I buy expensive things, they will earn their keep by getting me free dinners and if I really play my cards right, some nice jewelry too.

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You Know I'm All About That Bass

I've recently become completely obsessed with this song and you should be too.


The song has a rad 1960s sound mixed with modern pop which is pretty tough to come by these days.*  That combined with tea party pastels, sugary sweet outfits, and synchronized dancing make the song and the video both hits.

As much as I'm absolutely head over heels in love, I'm also a bit bothered.  The point of the song is body positivity.  It encourages girls to love their curves and not worry about looking like photoshopped models that they see in magazines.  That's all fantastic, of course.

However, a few of the lyrics are quite problematic.

I'm bringing booty back
Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that

tina fey mean girls sluts whores gif

Same goes for bitches.  Same goes for name calling in general.  Has everyone forgotten that THIS WAS THE WHOLE POINT OF THE MOVIE?  Did people not even realize this to begin with?  Am I missing something?  ARE YOU?

I'm all for body positivity.  Like hello. Duh.  But it is SO UNNECESSARY to insult one body type in order to elevate another.  Skinny girls are not better than fat girls and vice versa.  Fat girls don't like it when people make them feel bad about the way that they look, right?  Well skinny girls don't like it either.  Just because thinner girls have the body type that is idealized by society does not mean it's ok to insult them over it.  What is so hard about this concept to understand?

The entire point is to not judge someone by their weight.

We are all insecure.  We all have that little voice telling us we should weigh less or more or have bigger boobs or smaller calves.  Body positivity is supposed to make girls feel good about our bodies exactly the way that they are because there will never not be someone telling you that you need to change.  The important thing is knowing that that isn't true.

The other line that bothered me a bit that doesn't matter nearly as much was 

Yeah my mama she told me don't worry about your size
She said boys like a little more booty to hold at night

leslie knope this is a trap gif

Girl, don't even worry about looking a certain way so that guys like you.  This is not a thing that matters.  Just worry about liking yourself.  Yes, some guys like a little more booty, but others also like those "skinny bitches."  The whole point of the song is not letting others tell you how you should look, right?  Sure, it's comforting to know that there's a guy out there for all of us, regardless of body type, I guess... but that really shouldn't matter when a girl is learning to love herself.  It's basically saying that you should be ok with yourself because a man WILL love you even if you're fat!

liz lemon blah gif

Alrighty, now that I've cleared that up, I will continue jamming out to this song all summer long because it has a totally bitchin' beat, it does have a generally positive message, and I do what I want.


*The Pipettes do have a fantastic album released in 2006 with a similar sound, though unfortunately that changed drastically in their second album with all of the original members leaving.

I Don't Fucking Care If You Like It

There’s something that happened a couple of months ago that was like SERIOUSLY ANNOYING when it happened. Like offensively annoying. I did my best to brush it off, because in the end it was not a big deal in itself, but I just can’t, because the fact that it still bothers me IS a problem.

Let me tell you a story.

I’ve told basically everyone I know because it was just so ridiculously mind-boggling and irritating when it happened that I just couldn’t shut up. I’m sure plenty of my friends know the kind of obnoxious I am talking about. Because I am SO EASILY offended by people BEING ASSHOLES and I really do just love to be a COMPLETE drama queen, I tend to get this way a lot.

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Ok. So.

One day I was at the gym. Just stretching. In the corner. By myself. Because I did not want to talk to anyone.  Or really be near anyone for that matter.

While I was stretching alone in my corner, this random fucking dude I have seen MANY TIMES and have smiled at MANY TIMES because I am trying to be a FRIENDLIER PERSON decided to have a conversation with me.

Hi, so, in case you weren’t aware, when someone has headphones in, THEY DO NOT WANT TO TALK.  Especially if they are in a random fucking corner BY THEMSELVES.  Especially if they are me.

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Gym is sacred alone time. People are in the zone. People are focused ON THEMSELVES.  Gym time is when everyone who wants to get left alone GETS LEFT ALONE.

In case you are not getting this, I go to the gym to be a-fucking-lone.

If you want to take selfies and take up space on the ab mats just chatting and get in the way of the elliptical but not actually use it, GO TO PLANET FITNESS.

So this random dude decided to talk to me. This guy cleans the machines and shit. That’s fine. This isn’t going to be a rich bitch complaining how a pleb deemed to talk to her, by the way. Ok?

janice dickinson stop talking antm gif

We were chatting, and I was annoyed, but hey, whatever, I’m being a nicer person. It was kind of tough, because English was his second language, but I took five years of Spanish so I’m PRETTY accomplished, right? And we kind of forged through. He gave me advice about working out, which was not super well-received by me, because I actually DO know what I’m doing when I care enough to try.

MAYBE if he KNEW me he would KNOW that BUT HE DIDN’T.

See, I’m confused as to why this man, this complete stranger, found it appropriate to give advice to a girl like twenty years younger than him.  It's really not the fact that he was so much older, though that did make me a bit uncomfortable, not gonna lie.  The problem was that he decided that he was in the position to offer any advice.  The assumption that I wanted his opinion on my life.

Like I don't even want my own friends' opinions on my life at every single moment.  I most certainly do not want unwarranted advice FROM A STRANGER.

Um, it also makes me feel very icky that he had noticed me to the extent that he actually had any advice in the first place.  Like how intently had he been watching me?  Did he have my entire routine down?  HE seemed to think so, so... I mean I know that's a little unfair of me.  He could just be observant. I’m there a lot, he’s there a lot, no big deal.  But still.  I don't notice anyone else to the extent that I feel confident sticking my nose in their business.

Then again, as I explained above, I pretty much keep to myself at all times at the gym, just like EVERYONE ELSE.

The fact that this entire interaction made me uncomfortable is actually something that bothered me in itself, because I should NOT have to feel uncomfortable when a strange man is talking to me.  Particularly because despite my annoyance, he was PERFECTLY friendly and nice.

However, because of the culture that we live in, where women have to deal with violent situations with men REGULARLY, a culture where these interactions have been normalized, I, along with most women that I know, view anyone who is nothing but nice as a potential threat.

This "bitchy behavior" that many women immediately adopt when a stranger tries to talk to us is nothing more than wanting to be left alone because WE ARE UNCOMFORTABLE.

So please, if you're a guy and something like that happens to you, keep that in mind.  Chances are, we're not trying to be mean.  We have learned to be wary and we're protecting ourselves.

Moving on.

The conversation was seriously dragging on,  like legit five minutes at least, which was five minutes too long.  There didn't seem to be any end in sight, so I was working on ending it… then he fucking said it.  The thing that has continued to bother me for MONTHS after it happened.

“You’re a little fat. You should slim down.”

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To clarify, I’m paraphrasing. I don’t remember his exact words because I got this kind of sort of enraged buzzing, mind numbing ringing in my head.

It was probably shock, come to think of it, because WHO THE FUCK TELLS A STRANGER THEY’RE FAT?

And yes, before you point out that I’m paraphrasing, he DID use the world fat and he DID suggest that I need to slim down.  What the fucking fuck?

I immediately justified it though. English wasn’t his first language, maybe he didn’t mean for it to sound as INCREDIBLY FUCKING INSULTING as it came off.

Yeah, that logic doesn’t work for me. Because here’s the thing, friends.

Who the fuck is he to comment on what I should or should not look like in the first place? I don’t care who you are. I don't care if you’re a man or a woman, if you’re my friend or a stranger. The only person whose opinion I care about when it comes to how I look is my fucking own.

If the way my body looks offends you, go cry in a fucking corner, dickweed. I will wear what I want to wear. I will cover every inch of my skin if I want. I will walk around in my underwear. You can say I’m oppressed or say I’m a slut. No matter what I do, someone will have something to say, and it will be just another thing I don’t fucking care about.

I will do my hair however I want and change the color every six months. I’ll wear a lot of makeup or none at all, depending on my mood.

I will weigh however fucking much I want to weigh, and it’s none of your god damn business. My body looks the way that it looks because that is LITERALLY THE WAY IT IS SHAPED. No matter how much weight I lose, I will not look like everyone’s definition of perfect BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL DIFFERENT.

I will always have boobs that get in the way ALL THE TIME as well as conveniently wide child-bearing hips, not to mention my freakish calves that just won't quit, all courtesy of my mom's Italian heritage.

They’re not going to change. And I don’t really want them to, thanks.

I mean yes, I do hate my calves with everything that I am, but whatever. They’re just calves. There’s nothing I can do, so I’m just toning them in the hopes that one day my search for knee high boots will not end in tears.

I LIKE going to the gym. I like working my core ‘til it hurts. I like running ‘til I’m not-so-gently reminded that the LA smog makes my nose as useless as Kim Kardashian. I like hopping on the elliptical and sweating like a swamp monster.

I don’t like working my arms.

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I don’t do it to change the way my body looks. I don’t do it to try to adhere to some standard. I do it because it makes me feel healthier. It’s a good challenge. There are endorphins involved. And oh my god, being toned is THE BEST reward ever. Toned abs, toned ass, toned legs? Yes please. Toned arms are probably great too.  I'm not perfect ok?

I do not work out because I think I'm too fat and even if I did, guess what?  It's still none of your fucking business, assface.  To quote Amy Poehler, godliest goddess of gods, "I don't fucking care if you like it."

So you can put a fucking cork it. 


Let's Not and Say We Did

Whom do I speak to about getting my grown up license revoked?  It's urgent.  I don't mind changing the name of this blog to something more fitting if that's what it takes.

Maybe "I tried being a grown up but it wasn't really fun so I stopped and I think that's ok."

I decided to go to grad school, which is really exciting, assuming any place will have me, and I've been working on that application for the past couple of weeks.  The slow turtle wins the long race, Chinese proverbs and all that.

Ok but I'm also trying to deal with registering my car in California and the estimated cost alone makes me want to cry an entire ocean.

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Shut up Dawson, you don't know real pain.

That's really the least of it though.  Do you know how much goes into registering a non-resident vehicle?  One that isn't actually even in your name?  DO YOU?  I don't know how to do this shit!  Who do they think I am?  I've already ascertained that I am NOT Oprah and I do NOT have magic powers.

I don't want to be independent.  I don't want to be self-sufficient.  I want to be rich and pay people to do things for me.

Do you know what a lien satisfied form is?  Of course you don't, because WHY WOULD YOU?  You're probably also happy and sitting on your couch eating potato chips and laughing.  I know what it is though, because everything is awful.

Ok but even scarier, like way, way scarier, is this Vehicle Transfer and Reassignment form.  The words "power of attorney" are involved and just so happen to be words that until just now I didn't know I never wanted to be relevant to my life.  Ever.

Apparently I may not need to disclose my odometer rating.  I'm sorry, what?  No actually, I'm not sorry, because seriously, what the fuck does that even mean?  I'm sure I could look it up and it would be easy to figure out, but I'm also supposed to know if I need to disclose it?  Why can't they just TELL ME.

And I literally need to DECLARE how much my car weighs.  It's called "Declaration of Gross Vehicle Weight."  Gross?  You're telling me.  More like hideously disgusting.

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That's how it works, right?  I just yell it and it's done?  

I'm going to go live in the Russian wilderness now.  I think that's the most logical response to this situation.  It honestly sounds far easier and way more fun.

I'll try to keep up this blog while I'm gone.  If I don't, well, then I'm probably dead.  Or maybe have joined a Russian gang.  

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Both of which are more appealing than this nonsense.

Fuck You Very Very Much

What I should really be doing right now is a blog post (or 10) for work since I was MIA for 3 weeks, but I actually already did write one post and it got deleted TWICE so I'm kind of over that for the time being.

Instead I should be working on my grad school application (because yeah, that's happening) or at least looking into getting my car registered here and a new California driver's license... but that just sounds like too much work.

Plus I really just want to rant about both of my ex boyfriends.

Ok well, to classify this as a rant would imply that I actually care, which I must, since I'm thinking about it, but it doesn't really feel like I do.  It must just be the coffee that I've been chugging since I slept through my alarm this morning which I have literally never, ever done in my entire life.

Who cares?  No one except the caffeine circulating through my bloodstream, I'm sure.

Wait, does caffeine actually circulate?  Is that how it works?  How DOES it work?  These are the important questions, people.

Anyway, my ex-boyfriend Ryan, the one who just seemed SO GREAT in previous installments of this blog, couldn't hack it in Los Angeles (like why did he even move here in the first place? To follow me? How sad) and moved ALL THE WAY back to Maine.  After like 6 months.  When I kicked him out, I was expecting him to like stay with a friend or live on the street.

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6 months.  That doesn't even count as trying.

And you know, I wasn't even planning on writing about him, despite him being an absolute pile of steaming crap, if the past 6 months of radio silence regarding him has been any indication.

But then I discovered that back in Maine, he's been hanging out with my complete jackass of an ex ex boyfriend, Josh.  Who, make no mistake, I did try to get together with while I was back in Maine.  Not like TOGETHER together.  Just catch up with.  Why?  Oh who fucking knows.  I mean I had lunch with his mom.  Seeing him didn't seem like the most unreasonable thing in the world.

But yeah.  Shitbag and Jackass have found their way back to each other once again, which I guess isn't really surprising but IS kind of annoying.  Then again, who else is even going to hang out with them?  Browzilla hates everyone in Jackass's life, so it's not like he has any options.  Browzilla is his current girlfriend, by the way.

It's just kind of sad, you know, since Josh the Jackass COULD do so much better but just chooses not to.  Like in girlfriends and friends and just life in general.  Ryan, the pile of crappiest shit ever, couldn't do better (as evidenced by me dumping him like the pile of poop he is), so he's really just taking what he can get.

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Which is actually hilarious to me.  Since he had nothing but bad things to say about Jackass AND Browzilla when we were together.

BTW, that nickname comes from the way she just draw those fuckers right on her face with like a Sharpie or something.  Get it together girl.  Seriously.

She's actually never done anything to directly TO me to warrant me being such a bitch, but who doesn't care?  Oh right, that would be me.  If everything I've heard is any indication, she deserves it, which doesn't really make it ok or anything, I know.  But again, I actually don't care. 

Not that she even reads this blog.  And if she does...

Hi sweetie.

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So yeah, Ryan is back in Maine being a loser while I'm still in LA being generally awesome, despite him owing me about $2,000, $700 of which he actually STOLE from me (while we were still dating, no less) and trying to hide a camera to film me naked when I'd gotten out of the shower one day.

Right, remember a few paragraphs above, when I said I kicked him out?  That's why.

I mean Josh was a total dick, don't get me wrong, but there's seriously no comparison.  And I wasn't going to write about it!  Why?  Because I'm such a great person?  Because I didn't want to embarrass him?  No.  Because I actually had faith that despite sucking so much, he actually wasn't THAT horrible.  And honestly, he pretty much stopped existing to me after that little pervert incident.  I mean the guy wears Terry Richardson glasses (WHICH I BOUGHT FOR HIM).  I should have known.

OHWOW & HTC Celebrate The Release Of "TERRYWOOD" With Terry Richardson

Ok so they don't actually look like Terry Richardson's but they are equally as creep-tastic.  Fitting, since HE IS A CREEP.

Then again, he shouldn't have been such a craptastic little asstard in the first place.  That's probably difficult though when that's just the kind of person you are.

So yes.  It appears that he is happy, which does not make me happy.  It's only vaguely annoying, but I also feel that way about the fact that he exists in general, so whatever.  And it's not like he could really truly be happy since he just sucks too much for that ever to be a reality.

However, since as far as I'm aware, he never faced any repercussions for being a massive wad of dicks, aside from failing abysmally at his one single attempt to do something even marginally great with his life (dating me), I figured it was time to write this scathing review of his being.

But now I've gotten to the end of my coffee, which now kind of tastes like how nail polish remover smells, and I am, once again, over it.

Well, until the end of August, which is the more than generous deadline I gave him to pay me back the money that he owes me.  If not... well, let's just say he was stupid enough to forge my name on one of my own checks when he stole $700 and charging him with fraud will be all too easy.

I think it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway.

Don't fuck with me.  

One Less Problem Without Ya

These past few months are the first time I've been really, truly single in four years.  No casual relationships, no dating, no potential boyfriends, nothing.  I've gone out with my friends and I've met guys.  I've gotten their numbers and exchanged texts and even gone out a time or two.


 It's all just a fucking game though.  I know that I've kind of addressed this before, and how ludicrous I think the whole thing is and how adamant I am about not playing. This game that I'm talking about is the kind where a guy sleeps with a girl and doesn't call her back.  He strings her along just because he can.  He makes plans occasionally, just enough to keep her on the hook.The power play.It's a game that far too many people in my generation seem to play, for reasons I just can't understand.  Ok well I do, but that's really just regarding people with kind of low self-esteem or self-worth, who feel like attention from someone else will validate their own existence.And thaaaat is just sad.  Which I am allowed to say because for a little while I was totally that girl.


It was hard to see the bigger picture when I was totally invested different romantic scenarios, as un-romantic as many of them were.  Just the possibility of attention was enough.  My masochistic streak runs deep.  But it wasn't so hard to get some clarity when I listened to my friends vent their confusion and annoyance about similar situations.  I found myself frustrated that they weren't treating themselves with more respect.  These girls are my friends for a reason; they're fantastic.  So why weren't they pursuing men who held them in the same regard that I did?

And ok, honestly, listening to them complain about guys who were clearly just not that into them was super annoying.  As much as I want to think that I finally learned to treat myself with more respect and have higher standards, I think it was really that I realized that if they were annoying me that much with their stupid guy troubles, I was undoubtedly annoying them with mine, too.


So I stopped complaining.  The less I talked about everything that was stressing me out, the less I thought about it. The less I thought about it, the less stressed I was.  Crazy, right?  I mean there are only so many times I can think the same annoying thoughts over and over.Then one night very recently, sitting on the bathroom floor with Kari (yeah, I'm still spelling her name like that), it all clicked.Yes.  The bathroom floor.  That's not the first time we've had some intense life talks with her sitting in an empty tub, me sitting on the floor, and it's why we clearly need our own TV show.  I can tell you with absolute certainty, the bathroom floor possesses some mysterious and magical quality that grant you access to insights you otherwise would have never realized.


Anyway.Everyone is playing some sort of game when it comes to dating.  It's human interaction in its most basic form: looking for a suitable mate.  I mean it's obviously a lot more (or less??) than that, but instinctually, that's where we're at.  Each person plays according to who they are and what they want.  We're all just looking for someone whose game matches our own.This game is supposed to be played for keeps, but too many people my age are just playing just for funsies (as if it's even fun) and are real assholes about it in the process.  Plenty of people do it in the name of experience.  If that truly works for them, then great, but I just can't imagine that this whole petal plucking, "he loves me, he loves me not" game that girls get caught up in is particularly educational.  It took me several serious boyfriends to learn what I did and didn't want, not to mention how much commitment relationships really require.So whatever.  I'm done being a pawn in someone else's game.  I have my own to play.  I'm not interested in a power struggle.  I don't have to pretend that I don't care because I really just don't.  If he's actually interested, that will drive him crazy, and not gonna lie, I kind of love that.   If he really wants to get to know me, he'll put in the effort.  If he really cares, he'll show me.  I'm not going to waste my time with someone who doesn't know what he wants, who doesn't know what he's doing, especially when it comes to women.


Like come on.And if he doesn't measure up, he'll miss me when I'm not there anymore.  He'll regret treating me as a convenience rather than a priority.  If a guy isn't man enough to realize what he has when it's right in front of him, I'm sure not going to wait around for him to figure it out.I have things to do.  I have a very long life ahead of me, barring a zombie apocalypse or freak accident.  Really though, I don't even know what's going to happen in five minutes, let alone five years.  But that's beside the point.  No, actually, that makes my point even better.  I can't spend however much time I have left angsting over some guy who may or not be worth it.  Angst is for high school, which I left behind a long time ago.  Thank god.If I meet someone who puts in the effort, I'll see where it goes.  If he compliments me and challenges me, I think we can figure something out.  If he proves that he's in it for the long haul, then hell yeah he can ride shotgun.  I'd like a partner in crime.I really can't bother with anything less. 

To Live Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

I've lived in LA for 8 months now and I think that's pretty cool. Not because it's any sort of landmark or anniversary or anything, but because I made a very life altering decision and have thus far been pretty successful.  I'm particularly proud because I decided to leave right when I'd really gotten my shit together back in Maine.  I was quite content.  No better time to leave when you've grown roots, right?I had a pretty nice job, playing with dogs all day, and was writing constantly.  I was going out a lot, though not nearly to the same extent I had just a few months before.  Yeah...  I mean.... yeah.  That's not to be repeated.  I had successfully managed to make a solid group of new friends in addition to my closest old ones.   I was pretty popular, if I do say so myself.shay mitchell being adorable gifThen I was like "kay, peace out y'all, moving to Cali where I don't know anyone and am going to have to start all over.  See ya never."BTW, by never I mean the beginning of July, because that's when I'll be back, if ever so briefly.  Hide yo wives, hide yo kids.  Shit's gonna be cray.Ripping up those roots and moving was difficult.  I'm not even going to pretend it wasn't. Like it was really, really difficult.  I knew Portland life would only make me happy for a limited amount of time though, and it was already coming to an end.  So sure, it was hard, but it was so good.  Removing myself from everything that I knew was an enormous zap of life.  It put everything into perspective.I needed that change to learn what I really wanted... and what I didn't want.  It was a very good decision paired with a very bad one.  I can't say I regret my mistakes, so that's good.  I've certainly learned from them.  It's too bad I have to make certain mistakes at all, but hey.  That's just me.  I've always been selfish, particularly so with this move.  It was bad but also good.The thing about that selfishness is that I was learning my worth.  I don't always need to put others' happiness before my own, particularly not for the sake of convenience.  I don't always have to make it work.  Once upon a time I would have felt bad about hurting someone else in order to not hurt myself.  Buuut yeah.  That's kind of dumb.  I'm sure not going to feel bad about doing what's best for myself.Regardless, that decision was hard.  Of course it was.  The decision I'm referring to is the removal of a once important person from my life.  It became much less difficult when that person proved just how right that decision was.  It was still hard though.  Apparently I can't re-iterate that enough.  That's just life I guess.  We're all just specks of dust in the vastness of this universe.  Our universe could just be a speck of dust among infinite other universes.  It's all endless.  Difficult choices must be made.  Stuff happens.  We have people we don't want to deal with, second chances to give, third chances to resist, heartbreaks to be had, on and on and on.  And that's all before the first cup of coffee.No matter how difficult the decision, it must be made.  Life must be lived.  Whether it's the right choice or the wrong one, something has to happen.  Life isn't stagnant, regardless of how involved you choose to be.  It will move on and leave you behind.That situation was unfortunate and the choice laid out for me quite inconvenient.  But I didn't want to get left behind.  I couldn't continue down a road that was making me miserable.  I had things in my life that I needed to focus on, things that I found far more important.  Things that I needed to pursue so that I could be happy.Cutting off a limb is tough, even if it's totally diseased and you know it's going to infect your entire life and eventually kill you.  Like hey, I've had that leg for a pretty long time and it has some sentimental value.  That leg and I had some good times together.  And the doctor is over there like "shut up please, otherwise YOU WILL DIE" and finally you're just like ok well I guess I don't want that to happen.So you cut it off and it's not so great at first but then you're like whatever, I'm alive, might as well make the best of it.  So you do and it all works out.I've made new friends.  I'm even closer with the ones I left on the other side of the country.  I like the way that my life is going.  I'm happy.felicia day guild yay gifThat was the point, after all.

You Guys Need Anything? Some Snacks? A Condom?

We live in a really fantastic, empowering time for women, particularly for my generation.  The feminist movement has been helmed by some truly stand out people, both presently as well as in the past, and the reins are in the process of being handed over.  Not just to a select few.  To all of us.  We live in a time where social media is the epitome of communication.  Anyone can be heard, and we all have a voice.

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This admittedly proves at times to be a double-edged sword, but that's another conversation for potentially another time.Lately, though, I've noticed how confusing this empowering time can be.  Women are learning to own their sexuality and bodies, and at the same time this sexual enlightenment is taken advantage of both by shameless men and the media.  It's clearly a long, hard battle we're fighting.For the record, before everyone goes all rage monster on me, I'm not referring to all men as shameless.  I'm referring only to those who actually possess that quality.  I like to call them "assholes."Anyway.In this specific instance, I'm talking about the confusing nature of hook-up culture that's predominant in college, as well as, as far as I can tell, our early 20s.  Until recently, I'd seen it as a pretty black and white affair.  While guys are lauded for their "sexual conquests," a woman is looked down on for the exact same actions.  Very much so.  Both by guys, who are the ones actually having sex with her (SERIOUSLY), and her female peers as well.  And I just find that completely horrendous and awful.  This attitude is better known as "slut shaming."  Good times all around.Side note: I can't even handle the thought of how women who casually and regularly hook up with other women are viewed.  I'm sure that's yet another topic that would require great depth andt I'm not even gonna touch right now.Lately, though, there has been a very strong movement against this kind of attitude toward girls and women who live this lifestyle.  Whether or not you agree with having a lot of casual sex, one thing is certain: if society is totally fine with men living this lifestyle, then women should be allowed to as well.

daily grace oh snap gif

Onwards to my actual point.  I was reading an article the other day (oh Elite Daily, the feelings you make me have) and it bothered me a bit, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was.  To put it very simply, the article was written by a college-aged girl who described how participating in hook up culture makes her feel less human.Wait, never mind, I totally know what bothers me about that.  So.  Yeah.  Do I really need to say more?  It's kind of alarming, right?I happened to read this article right around the same time that I was discussing sex positivity and negativity with some friends.  One friend mentioned how one of HER friends had said she couldn't imagine hooking up with a guy without being drunk first.And I'm all over here like "no no no no no no no no no no stop it no no no."  Then a lot more "nos" ensued.  Because no.  No no no.  It's actually happening again right now.  Because that's how difficult for me to function when I think about girls having that type of attitude toward sex.selena gomez wizards don't gifNo.In this falsely dichotomous situation, where one is either sex positive or sex negative, I would consider myself positive, whole-heartedly.   I am all for people having sex and enjoying it.  One partner, multiple partners, whatevs, it's all cool.  As long as it's safe sex, yo.But oh my god.  Do not have sex if you do not want to.  Do not repress your sex negative impulses in favor of being sex positive just to participate in this hook-up culture that is rampant.  Sex can be really, really great.  It can also be kind of mediocre.  And it can just be bad.  You can have bad sex with someone you usually have great sex with.  You can have great sex with a one night stand.  Lots of possibilities all around.However.I kind of imagine that the sex you're having will NOT reach its potential Alexander the Great level of greatness if you're so not into it that you need to be drunk in the first place.  A drunk, sex negative attitude masquerading as a sex positive, verbalized "yes" is still an internalized "no."  And that. Is. No. Good.(If you're not totally sure what I'm talking about when I refer to "sex positive" and "sex negative," click on each term to read a little more, because if I were to explain each concept, that would make this post unbearably long.)Until recently, I was under the impression that this whole hook-up culture that people have cultivated was more like the hippie days of yore, where peeps where sexually free and just enjoyed being with other people.  I mean sure, I could actually be totally wrong about what went on in those days of yore.  I actually probably am, but whatever, for the sake of this post, I'm right.  I really thought that girls were all like "yeah, sex, I really like it, and I'm cool with creating this connection with a stranger for a single night and enjoying myself and then moving on with my life afterwards."Yeah, that's totally not what it is at all.  Like, at ALL.  It would seem that the general attitude regarding this hook-up culture is more like "I'm expected to have sex and be cool with it, but since I'm not actually, I'm going to get drunk enough that I think I am, then I'll feel horrible and/or weird about it the next day, and then ignore those feelings because I'm supposed to find sex empowering and there's something wrong with me if I don't."

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Let me get one thing straight right now.IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX, DO. NOT. DO. IT.It does not make you a prude.  It does not mean you are scared or ashamed or anything else.  Not wanting to have sex is not bad.  It's as simple as that.While I would consider myself sex positive, I would only identify as such in that I don't think people, particularly women, but men as well, should be criticized for wanting to have sex and for enjoying it.  I do not think anyone should feel shame or be shamed for those things.  BUT I also respect those who are not comfortable with sex, who want to wait until marriage, who, regardless of the circumstances, just aren't into it.  THAT'S TOTALLY COOL.  Nobody, NOBODY, should feel like they must have sex to, I don't even know what.  To fit in?  (Sexual innuendo/pun not intended, but pretty spot on if I do say so myself).There's an obvious disconnect between sex positive and negative attitudes, and it's vital to understand that.  It seems like the real problem with hook-up culture is that much of the meaning and understanding of the sex positive movement has actually gotten lost.  Yes, it's about being empowered, and yes, it's about sex.  But where that empowerment comes from is not the act of sex itself.  Having sex is not empowering.  Not in this case, anyway.  This empowerment comes from the ability to CHOOSE whether you want to have sex.  It's about embracing yourself as a sexual creature rather than suppressing it.  It's the acceptance that women can be just as sexual as the stereotypical male.Which leads me to my last point...  A quote from the piece that inspired this post in the first place.

"I wish I were more like a man in terms of sexuality."

I. Hate. This.  I just hate it.  It exemplifies perfectly what the problem is when it comes to the double standard of sex.  Believe it or not, there actually ARE men out there who don't sleep around, who don't like having casual sex, who prefer to form a personal connection with a woman first.  And you know what?  I'm sure that plenty, if not all, of the people reading this are rolling their eyes and disagreeing with that sentiment because they find it so ludicrous.  But it isn't.  It is not WOMANLY of someone to prefer to get to know another person before having sex with them.  It is simply human.  By creating gender norms and identifying something as masculine or feminine, we are feeding into this gender binary that does not exist naturally.  It is the expectation of gender performance that creates these issues in the first place.The desire to have sex is not a masculine thing.  Attaching emotions and feelings to the act of sex is not a feminine thing.  Further, there's nothing actually wrong with either of those things in the first place.  Specifically, there's also nothing wrong with experiencing sex an emotional act and channeling actual feelings into it.  Because guess what?  If you're having emotionless sex, I bet it sucks, and I bet you're unhappy.  Emotion is kind of vital part of good sex.  Generally and problematically, men believe they should suppress it.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, women are led to believe they feel too much.  Then there are those who try to suppress those feelings.  Maybe they're successful.  Maybe they aren't.  And hey, same goes for guys, probably.  Maybe.  I don't know.  I mean, there's just so much to this, a single blog post can't possible cover it adequately, so I'm really going to stop trying.  If people actually have questions or discussion points, I'll totally talk more in the comments.So stop it.  Just.  Stop.  Do not identify actions or emotions as masculine or feminine.  They are neither.  They are human.  We are all human and should be treated equally.  That is the point of all of this.  If you're comfortable having sex with another person, then go for it.  If you aren't, then that's cool, too.  Neither is inherently right or wrong.  It is not black and white.  Do not abide by what is currently fashionable by your peers when it comes to you emotional health.  Just. Don't.make good choices pitch perfect gifK love you bye.

Today Was A Good Day

Today I made a salad myself and I even ate it.  Further, I actually really enjoyed it.  Then, on top of that, I bought a step ladder.  With my own money.  To better clean my apartment.I'm going to consider today's foray into adulthood a success.  I believe the term the youths use is "adulting."schmidt new girl youths gifI mean, I also ended up lugging said step ladder around Target for a good 10 minutes while I searched for the cotton balls, but nobody's perfect. 

Dat Dating Game, Yo

Uh, so, being single, if only for a month, has made me painfully aware that I’ve never actually had to go through the dating process aaand I don’t really know how.  My first 20 years were basically boyfriend-less, and after that they were just all lined up and waiting.  I would say they were literally lined up but I don’t want to be one of those people.  That's just literally how close it is to being true.I’ve actually never had to deal with meeting someone at a bar through a drunken first encounter, following that up with hesitant, flirty texts, then meeting for “casual-drinks-because-we-have-to-keep-lines-blurred-and-all-that.”WAIT JUST KIDDING THAT’S NOT TRUE.  The texting part isn't.  That’s always there, and I’ve always been terrible at it.  But the thing is that no matter what, I always knew the recipient was interested.  I mean come on, it’s me.Just kidding.But really.lily kane fabulous gifIt didn’t matter how pushy or forward or needy I was, because I actually already knew the guy, and he was already interested.  My own obvious interest was just a bonus.  Because yeah, once again, I’m great.  Or really at the very least the guy knew (THOUGHT) he was going to get laid.  Come on, now.  Come on.Turns out strangers do notttt feel the same way as other guys I’ve had text relationships with.  So yeah, good times all around.Just to be clear, I’m definitely not actually dating right now.  Not even kind of.  These are just observations and realizations I’ve had over the past few weeks during my severely limited though marginally improved interactions with human beings/potential friends.america's next top model antm awkward gifAnd that is my life.I mean, I’ve heard about all of this.  The dating games.  The whole, aloof, not really THAT interested, kind of busy, “I’ll see you when I see you” type of attitude that people try to have BUT DON’T REALLY HAVE.  Ugh, I can’t even.  I’ve always had friends who were (and are currently) dealing with dating hardships.  Honestly, I’d always thought they were exaggerating.Nope.How hard could it be?  You like someone, you make a point to talk to them and to make plans.  If they’re interested, it’s obvious.Nope.Right, so I was just talking to a friend about how she likes a guy, and there’s a good chance she won’t be seeing him again after this week.  Obvious solution is to get his number.  I don’t think it’s a big deal; go up to him, say “hey we should hang out sometime.  What’s your number?”  Boom, simple, done, no big deal.Nope.APPARENTLY PEOPLE DON’T DO THAT.  I literally have no clue how else to go about it.  But apparently THAT IS NOT THE RIGHT WAY.I knew that we never really leave the high school-type social scenarios, but have we actually regressed to middle school notes and middle-man friends?do you like me noteI'm just guessing, though I'm pretty sure, that the scenario is resolved by the guy asking for a girl's number first.  You know, laws of antiquated sexism in full effect and all that.  So I guess that's problem number one: done.  Awesome.  High five.  Get it, girl.Nope.It really only leads to the way more stress-inducing difficulties of what to actually say to this guy.  I mean, I really don’t find this to be a big deal.  First of all, if he asked you for your number, that’s a good sign, right?Nope.Apparently exchanging numbers does not actually have any substantial significance.  It only leads to yet another game, this time waiting to see if he’s going to text or call.  In my humble opinion, if you have his number, you better just shut the fuck up and text him.  We have fingers to dial and brains to put those fingers to use.  Just do it.And then flirt.  Obviously.  At this point, if you don’t know how to do that, then that’s not my problem.  Get your life together.So ok, cool, you guys have established that you want to talk to each other.  Then comes the most hilarious, Mean Girls-esque part that I absolutely love.  Relaying every single detail to your friends and asking for their approval and advice before saying it.gretchen wieners you wouldn't buy a skirtOh believe me, I'm guilty of it too, the whole "he said this, so I said this, so he said that, actually, let me just send you a screencap of the convo."  And my friends will give me what is probably good advice, and then I ignore it and do whatever I want, anyway.those rules aren't real mean girls gifAnd that's what is and will forever be my problem.  There are rules to this game, and I really just don’t care.  I’m pushy.  If I like you, you’re going to fucking know it.  And I’m going to be paranoid that you find me annoying and needy.  But I'm going to continue anyway.  Because if you don’t like me, unless you ignore me or flat out tell me, I will not take the hint.  I am CHOOSING not to take the hint.  Because you are an asshole if you'd rather lead me on that be straight with me.(This “you” is no one in particular.  Just all the “yous” of my potential dating world.)The way I see it is this: I might like you, you might like me.  So let’s just tell each other that and make it a point to see each other again soon.  Then if we decide we actually do like each other, great.  If not, make that clear then we shall continue on our merry way.  Separately.  Except when we awkwardly run into each other through mutual friends.  Then have kind of awkward “eh, why not?” sex.  Except not really, because I don’t do that.Nope.But here I am, realizing this attitude I have might not actually benefit me.  Because these games are played for a reason, and apparently you freak guys out when you're just fucking honest.  Except I don't want to bother with someone I have to play games with.  Except apparently everyone does it.  And that is just the worst justification for doing anything, ever.  I learned that in D.A.R.E.Yeah, and we all know how effective that program was.Getting involved in this whole dating scene, especially in L.A., is just grossly unappealing.  So I think I’m just going to revert back to my high school dreams of becoming a lesbian.  Or a nun.  Or asexual.  None of which seem particularly appealing or easy, but all more so than trying to date men.The end.  Forever.lafayette ciao bitches gif