Blinded by rage, or maybe I'm just mean.

I recently found this blog entry http://positivelylinda.tumblr.com/post/9296992737/a-reminder and became blinded by rage. It was so ridiculous I felt that I couldn't see straight. I don't believe I have feminist leanings. I'm a pretty moderate chick. But I'm not here to get political or go on a tirade in favor of either "side". I just wanted to share this because it's completely ridiculous. 

If you don't want to read this woman's boring and poorly punctuated blog entry, basically she talks about going to the grocery store with her husband and she can't reach the cream soda. Instead of him just reaching for her, like a logical human being, he tells her to get it herself. She somehow manages to get the soda down by ducking under the soda display and poking her fingers through the metal bars of the shelf. She admits to looking and feeling like a fool, but he's smiling at her and "cheering her on" through the entire process. Actual quote from the blog: When I got them to the front and pulled my head out from the bottom shelf, his face was lit up with a huge smile, and he gave me a big hug, like he’d never been more proud of me. :)

SERIOUSLY?

She didn't finish a marathon. She didn't even finish a game of ping-pong. She got some soda off a shelf. She sounds like a damn puppy who learned to make pee pee outside. I understand that not everyone has lofty goals and aspirations. It's all relative. But come on, getting soda off the shelf does not count as showing your man what you're made of. The last line actually says "Using your brain is hot". Way to set the bar low, lady.

I understand that sometimes life throws things in our path and it takes strength we sometimes didn't even know we had. But that usually does not come in the soda aisle at Safeway. He is not her dad or her teacher. I love learning and growing through my relationships. But not through getting soda off a shelf. This was not a character-building moment. It was grocery shopping. A commenter on the blog said it perfectly: Moral of the story: no one deserves to be patronized. You have sex with this man, right? So then why does he treat you like a child instead of an equal?

Am I right? Was this incident incredibly stupid and condescending? Or am I just bitter and cruel?

Square Peg...Meet Round Hole

I believe I thrive in the midst of awkward.

Not the newly-popular, Buddy Holly glasses-wearing, "ZOMG I'm soooo adorably awkward!!!! Teehee!!!" brand of awkward. What I mean is, I enjoy smoothing things over, acting as a type of social lubricant. I'm like alcohol, but slightly less addictive. Throw me into a work function, a baby shower, garage sales, or anywhere else that people don't quite mesh. This is where I shine. I believe that I facilitate social situations.

It goes without saying that relationships are rife with awkward moments. And as an expert on awkward, I know that sometimes the best tactic is to get out in front of it, address it before it becomes a huge issue. For example: You're on a dinner date and you're conspicuously avoiding alcohol. By all means, tell him honestly why you don't drink. Keep the details edited, but just be honest. So that covers booze, crisis averted! But now you're wondering, what about the rest? In a new relationship, when is the best time to bust out the parade of exes? The quirks? The potential red flags?

We've all got them. I understand, honey. You want Mr New and Exciting to know you are emotionally scarred and your heart is guarded. You will not put up with one-word text messages because Philip never understood your fiery artistic spirit and that's why you started doing yoga. You believe the way to get him to like you is to put it all out there, be up front, bold, uncompromising. If he hears it all now, those things won't scare him off later, right? So put it all out there! Guess what: new guy is now running for the door. Not because you were honest. Because only a lunatic lays out her entire sordid history on the first date. 

As a general rule, keep the cliches in your pocket. If you use phrases like "I have to love myself before I can love anyone else", you don't sound mature and self-aware. You sound like you memorized a Redbook article and are spouting off meaningless buzzwords. I am a firm believer that we can be our own greatest spokesperson, or bring about our own demise. So edit! Don't lie. Edit. As you spend more time with this guy, everything about you that is adorable, valuable and lovable will be revealed. Through time spent together and sharing various experiences, your amazing qualities shine through. Guess what....your fears, doubts and reservations will reveal themselves in the same way. So let it happen naturally. Go slowly. And cautiously. Don't force the awkward to come out because you think you can fix it. You'll probably just end up making it worse. Don't keep forcing that square peg because you think that someday it will magically fit. It won't. 

Friends Again

My parents recently sent me a box of my old things from their garage. I dreaded having to sort through it, I'm a bit of a pack rat and had no idea what the box contained. After a week of staring at the big ugly box in my living room I decided enough was enough. I grabbed a glass of wine for encouragement and peeled off the dusty packing tape. Out poured years' worth of treasured possessions. Among the college photo albums, birthday cards and souvenirs from Disneyland, I found my old journals. I couldn't help myself from rereading every thin, lined sheet of paper. My journals are like a time capsule of various periods of my life. Between the song lyrics and names of guys surrounded by pink hearts, there is one name mentioned over and over: Sophia. I met her in the Student Union of my college when we were both eighteen, but we weren’t really close at first. Then one day out of the blue, she gave me a Dum-Dum lollipop. It was so goofy and generous, I had to laugh. This simple act cemented it: We were friends. Through family struggles, guy drama, marathon shopping trips, broken hearts, stolen silverware, menial jobs and school stress, we were always there for each other. It was an amazing time in my life.

Over time though, the journal entries containing Sophia's name turned bitter. Several misunderstandings gave way to harsh feelings. We became more and more distant, until there was nothing there anymore. Our combined immaturity and passive-aggression brought about the end of three years of great friendship. Eventually we just stopped talking. Our once-solid friendship ended unceremoniously and for no reason.

At first I was angry and therefore could put aside the hurt I felt, but it never went away. As the years slipped by, I thought of her often and felt an ache of regret and embarrassment. I missed being her friend and yet I was too scared to take the first step. Then I received a Facebook message.

She wrote me a short, polite message asking how I was doing, what was new and the usual smalltalk. It was as sweet and unexpected as the dum-dum lollipop all those years ago. I admit I had my reservations about speaking with her again. Was she still bitter about everything that happened? Would she be the type to hold a grudge? I would totally understand if she was. I took a lot of the blame for what happened: my selfishness and lazy behavior was part of the reason our friendship became dysfunctional. But I figured I didn't have anything to lose so I wrote and equally short and polite response. I let myself be cautiously optimistic about repairing our friendship.

Eventually, the messages became longer and filled with more emotion. We hashed out everything that happened and realized we both just had some growing up to do. It hurt me to relive the past, especially when I realized she got married and graduated college in the time we weren't speaking. I felt horrible that I missed sharing those moments with her. We apologized repeatedly, and then she gave me an incredible gift: She proclaimed that it was time to let go of everything that happened and start fresh. I was flooded with relief. I had never felt more confident that someone I really cared about had made their way back into my life. The complete acceptance and forgiveness I felt from and for Sophia was incredible. We met a week later for dinner and ended up talking for hours.

Sophia taught me what it is to truly forgive another person. She continues to teach me things, and I'm constantly reminded how lucky I am to have her in my life. She is one of the most gracious and thoughtful people I’ve ever met. She’s determined, knows how to have fun and genuinely loves her friends.

How Windshield Wiper Blades Changed The Way I Think About Love.

Being an expressive, heart-on-my-sleeve person since birth, I simply do not understand tough love. I demand coddling. You tread gently around me, or I will cut you. Kidding! I'll probably just cry and write a poem. But in any case, I am a sensitive creature.

Therefore, how ridiculous is it that I would be my father's daughter. My dad has two settings: Neutral and angry. Its an on and off switch. Not to say he doesn't love me, he says he loves me and has provided for me as a father should. He just doesn't understand me or I him. He would make what he called the "practical" choice where I was a more emotional decision maker.

The year I was seventeen, I thought he needed some help picking out my mother's birthday gift. I suggested he get her a diamond necklace. I found a beautiful one at Macy's I knew she'd love. He gave me a blank stare and went to Kragen Auto Parts instead. What did Mom unwrap on her birthday? New windshield wiper blades and a gift certificate for an oil change. I was less than impressed. Dad's reason for getting the gift? He wants Mom to be safe, so her car must be kept in good condition. I rolled my eyes and thought I'd never be caught dead married to a man like that.

Dad also did not sugarcoat. When I wanted to try out for my high school's dance team? All Dad had to say was, "Go try out, I can't stop you. But you got thick legs. Those girls who dance at football games? Skinny legs. Just keep that in mind. They might only pick girls who got skinny legs." When I signed up for a charity relay race with my friends? Dad was again the first one to speak up: "You haven't trained. You'll just drag the team down. Maybe you can help them collect money or something, but girl, you are not a runner." Dear old dad.

But the moment between Dad and I that was the most significant wasn't about dancing or running. I was twenty years old, and my first real boyfriend and I had just broken up after three years together. I was crushed. I took two days off work to cry and listen to The Smiths. My mother brought me tea and told me I was beautiful. My father said nothing, at first.

After several months I still hadn't healed but had became an expert about faking it. In front of my parents I portrayed myself as strong, confident and totally over the loser. My close friends knew I was still drunk-dialing him and having meaningless one night stands in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in my heart.

One Sunday over lunch with my family, my aunt asked how my love life was. Momentarily I considered smiling and cheerfully confirming everything was good, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I surrendered. I was exhausted and hungover and sick of lying. So I told my parents and aunt and uncle that I was still really sad about the breakup and I didn't think I'd ever meet another guy to make me feel the way he did. I didn't go into further detail but by this time everyone knew I was in despair. I choked back tears and took a sip of water.
My Dad spoke first: "Why would you get so bent out of shape over a guy who obviously doesn't want anything to do with you?" Before anyone could say another word, I got up from the table and went to my room.

Dad and I didn't talk about his harsh observation ever again. My mom made a kind of half-assed "you know how your father is" kind of apology and we basically left it at that. I didn't think about it again until five or six years later when I again found myself on the bad side of a breakup. And oddly enough, my father's words gave me some comfort. It was like I could hear him saying that this guy obviously isn't it for me, so its time to move on.

This lesson wasn't delivered to me in the most graceful fashion, it had to come slowly. Like anything really worth learning it was challenging and a little painful at first. But finally, I understood and appreciated my father. Tough love is still love and as demonstrated by his relationship with my mother, sometimes his practicality is the most romantic thing a man has to offer.

Relationship purgatory

"So, you get it right? Huh babe? He didn't even have a limp. And the cop didn't get it til it was too late! Classic."

Classic my ass, she thinks to herself. I get it OK? I've been watching the same movie as you. In fact, I've seen The Usual Suspects like five times. Did I ask you what just happened? No, I didn't so I don't need your retarded Cliffs Notes version to sum it up for me. You dick. Don't explain the entire plot like I'm an idiot. Is it because I'm a woman? Do I have the glassy-eyed expression of someone who just wasted the last two hours of her life on something too sophisticated and nuanced for her? This movie is like fifteen years old. I know what the fuck happened to Verbal, OK? Also, stop using the word "classic". That's such a tired, overworked adjective. In the case of The Usual Suspects it happens to be true. But stop telling me that everything you happen to like is fucking classic: In-N-Out Burger's Animal Style fries are not Classic. Your smelly basketball shoes making me gag is not hilariously Classic. Overdrawing your bank account is not Classic. I'm usually a pretty forgiving, level-headed chick but this explaining the plot of the movie crap and overuse of cliches makes me want to bury you. With my hands.

As usual, she doesn't say any of this out loud. She instead keeps her composure by taking a huge gulp of wine. "Yeah, I know. I've seen this movie a couple times." He smiles sweetly, satisfied that he's helped her navigate the complicated film and gets up to turn off the DVD player. She shifts uncomfortably on the couch, simultaneously plotting her escape and hating herself for being such a bitch.  
It's not really the movie that's bothering me. Its the fact that I don't want to see him anymore for no good reason. I can't figure out why, he just irritates the living shit out of me.   

This, my friends is relationship purgatory. When you're sitting there with him, thinking that it's not so bad...yet it's also not so good. You might try to convince yourselves that its OK, its worth sticking it out for the sake of getting to know each other better or because you think you have no reason to break up. You search for reasons to stay, and while you may find them, you're still convinced it might be time to leave. You think perhaps you'll stick around, things might get more exciting! Maybe someday you'll find his nasty ass Jordans endearing! 

I say no way. Sticking around because there's no reason not to is not a reason to stay together. Every relationship experiences phases that are dull and that's totally natural. If you're in an otherwise satisfying relationship, a neutral phase is like a tunnel you'll eventually emerge from. You can deal with it for awhile, work on it and move on. You and your significant other might even be stronger for enduring it.

However, if the relationship is new and its already just treading water, this is not a good sign. If you find yourself getting annoyed easily and looking for an escape it might be time to bow out gracefully and guilt-free. Yes, this is not the time for feeling bad for him. Don't let the relationship spectators (your gym friend,  coworker friend, manicurist, whomever) tell you that you were wrong to leave. We all have spectators ready and willing to comment on what happened on why. In this case, go with your gut. Only you can decide when its time to end it. Would you really want him to stay with you if his feelings were only lukewarm? To pretend and put up a front for you until you're drinking coffee and you see "Kobayashi Porcelain Company" on the bottom of the cup and you get the fax that puts it all together but it's too late and-Oh, sorry. I forget I don't write about movies. 

All I'm trying to say is that having no reason to break up is no reason to stay together. Also, Bryan Singer is a genius.


     

Don't Over

I have an acquaintance, let's call her Molly. I'm pretty sure Molly's only flaw is that she's constantly trying to convince the world she has no flaws. You know this girl. This girl never has a hair out of place, never spills on her shirt. She's just always there, perfection never wavering. Unwilling to step outside the neat little comfort zone of equally perfect friends and manageable situations she's built for herself.

In short, Molly is kind of dull. Or maybe I just don't know her well enough to see the "real" her. Either way, Molly was married in an elaborate ceremony this summer. She booked the uber-exclusive venue, hired waiters that could pass as models, the works. From what I've heard from the guests Molly managed to pull off a wedding that was swanky and sophisticated, yet still felt fun and full of love. She looked classically beautiful in her designer dress (which I happen to know cost more than I paid in rent last year). Her groom filled out his tux perfectly. They both shed a few attractive tears at appropriate points in the ceremony.

Even the guests got the memo that this wedding was not to be trifled with. There was no drunk cousin making an embarrassing speech and no friend of the groom's parents sneaking a crystal champagne flute into her purse. In short, all other weddings will pale in comparison to this bridal-magazine-perfect wedding. If you were planning on getting hitched any time soon, you might as well call it off because Molly's wedding will taunt the shit out of your low budget mess of a wedding until it's an insecure wreck, lying in the fetal position and crying its eyes out in the middle of David's Bridal surrounded by dye-to-match shoes. The message I hope you're getting here is that unless you are Kate Middleton, your wedding will be tacky as hell compared to Molly's.

And what's the icing on three-tiered cake? She's going on the perfect honeymoon: two weeks in some island paradise. I don't know exactly which island paradise, because I believe she's so perfect she would just so happen to have a relative in the island development industry (that's a real job, right?) who is delighted to have a private island built just for the happy couple to celebrate their honeymoon. This island is so exclusive its not even named yet. 

However, I was intrigued while chatting with Molly today and she mentioned a "do-over" ceremony. What is that, you ask? Well get this: while on her honeymoon, Miss Perfect Wedding All Time Champion wants ANOTHER ceremony. Being the mouthy broad concerned friend that I am, I piped up and asked; "Why in God's name would you think you need another wedding? Your first one was freakishly perfect. I heard an orchid didn't even wilt all day."

Molly nodded in agreement. "It was beautiful. But, like, I had bridesmaid drama and my Dad was freaking out about the amount of money we spent. And, well I just want one day to say my vows completely sincerely without worrying about other stuff. Just he and I, on the beach. It sounds so romantic!"  

My bullshit meter must have been beeping pretty loudly because Molly looked at me, wounded. Her halfhearted explanation just wasn't ringing true with me and she knew it.

"You think it's stupid, don't you?"

No shit, I think. But what I say out loud is: "Well, maybe not stupid just...um, I don't know. I'm not in the bridal mindset, so maybe I just don't see what you mean by a 'do-over'." We left it at that, and are still pleasant acquaintances. However, the idea of this do-over wedding is still odd to me. 

I know for a fact that Molly planned every intricate detail of her wedding down to the toenail polish the flower girl wore (I believe it was a lovely shade of pink called "Micromanager Molly"). If at any time she wanted a beach wedding it could have been made possible. Hypothetically, if you were desperate for a beach wedding but it was too cold or too expensive or otherwise too impossible, do a vow renewal in 5 years or something. Believe me when I say the ocean is not what this is about. This is simply buyer's remorse.

A year ago when she started planning, Molly thought wanted the lush garden wedding at the country club, surrounded by 200 guests and written up in her hometown newspaper. All of this she got, and then some. But now the shiny new bride feeling has worn off and the wedding didn't fulfill her wildest fantasies. So what's a girl to do? If you're Molly, you up and decide that you wants the intimate, wind-swept tropical ceremony. And damned if you don't get what you decide you want.

I get it, honey. You paid a lot of money for something and were disappointed at the outcome. It can happen to anyone who's made a major purchase. You sit behind the wheel of your brand-new Mustang and fell all smug until you see the latest Camaro drive by. Then you're cursing and comparing and feeling really stupid. But do we all run off to the car dealer and trade in the Pony? Usually not. We're stuck with a loan and whatever we have to drive. Weddings, I'm told, function a bit differently. If you have the money, the time and a willing groom, you can have multiple kinds of weddings. It's like keeping the Ford but still getting the Chevy. 

If that's all it boils down to, fine. Throw another party. Who am I to judge? But what still bothers me about the whole situation is Molly trying to convince me (or maybe herself?) that the first one was somehow not good enough and she was unable to say her vows "completely sincerely". If she didn't really mean her vows on her wedding day due to family and bridesmaid drama, why say them at all? As I mentioned before, I know I'm not a bride but come on. You're committing to this man for the rest of your life. I would hope that all other distractions would just fade into white noise during the most important moment, on one of the most important days of your life. But no, Molly couldn't stop thinking about centerpieces or some crap. That to me is very sad. For the groom I mean. Will he always come second to calla lilies and tea lights?

I have been a first girlfriend. I want to be a last girlfriend. Also, I want more butternut squash risotto.

"No matter how cool you think she is, some guy somewhere is sick of her shit."
-graffiti seen outside a bar, Sacramento CA.

Through my adventures in dating, I've "trained" many a man in the ways of wooing a woman. Or in some cases, I've tried my best but to no avail. I can't count the number of times I've had to tell a guy that watching him play Call Of Duty for four hours does not count as a date only to receive a blank stare in return. 

I've sent them back out in the world, and some of them have gone on to be wonderful boyfriends/husbands/cell mates. So where is my return on investment, so to speak? For all these years of dating what do I have to show for it? Besides having this blog and wonderfully supportive readers. You people rock and I would never minimize your positive impact on my life. However, I would still appreciate a functional relationship.  

I am really not trying to come across as Bitter Betty, the scowling sister of Downer Debbie. I just get this way when I encounter certain exes. A wound I thought was healed  gets torn back open and my emotions are reduced to jagged edges and spurting blood. It's sad to admit, but it happens. I'd like to think I'm mature and can leave the past in the past but that's not always the case.

Like last weekend when I saw my ex-boyfriend T at a restaurant. I looked cute and felt that I could take on the world that night, but a glimpse of his profile and that crooked smile left me breathless. The hostess sat them in another section of the restaurant but I could still see him through a row of potted plants. I saw her too. The little brunette in the plaid hat. I saw the way she smiled up at him when he took her coat. I saw him hold her hand under the table and the attentive way he listened as she spoke. It was flawless, any girl would've felt proud to be on that date. Of course it made me nauseous and I ordered another glass of wine.  Where was this when we were together? I pouted into my risotto. Then I got angry as I realized that he NEVER took me to the kind of place that served butternut squash risotto when we were together. Not even once! I'm pissed. I look back over to their booth, shooting daggers with my eyes. Now he and Miss Plaid Hat are feeding each other rosemary focaccia bread drizzled with olive oil. Perfect. Check please.  

That night at home, my rage-and-pinot noir fog lifted I began to think about why seeing T with that girl bothered me so much. It wasn't the fact that he was dating; I was dating other guys too. It was the way he was dating. In the 15 minutes of spying on him and Plaid Hat I saw more affection, more flirtation and more rosemary focaccia bread than I got in our entire relationship. There are several explainations for this, I reasoned with myself. He's older now than when we dated, so maybe he's more mature. Or maybe he's just so enamored by the little brunette in the plaid hat that he can't imagine treating her any differently.

Or maybe it's simply a case of the new catch-all excuse: He just wasn't that into me. I can deal with that, bruised ego aside. When it comes to T, we just weren't right for each other. He got sick of my shit, so to speak. Everyone is someone's ex, so I decided not to judge them too harshly.

A small, hopeful part of me still likes to think that maybe he's being so good to her because I taught him something in our time together. If I can't be a last girlfriend, hopefully I've left some good in his heart to pass onto his next girlfriend. And if that's the case, Plaid Hat owes me a thank-you card.   

Sometimes it is me, but not this time. It's you.

Of all the dating cliches, the nice guy myth is one that irks me most.

No, I don't mean that they don't exist. I don't believe that. Saying nice guys don't exist is a tired-ass complaint of women who have been on too many bad dates and/or made too many bad decisions. Sorry, ladies but you're just on a bad guy streak. Or, maybe you have some other dysfunctional dating pattern you need to examine. That's not what irks me today.

Today, it's the old adage that "nice guys finish last" or that girls always dump the nice guy. Why do we think this? Why do so many guys have themselves convinced that they're nice guys who were blind sided by a break up for no good reason? Are women really only attracted to assholes and leave the good guys in the gutter?
I disagree with that. I have 3 reasons why supposedly "good guys" get dumped.

THE FENCESITTER:

The first reason is that he's not that nice, but isn't that mean. He's so here-then-gone, I call him Fencesitter. He's just average but has been rewarded for his adequacy so often he doesn't feel the need to exert any effort. He doesn’t necessarily do things like kick puppies but he might eat the last marshmallow without offering it to you first. This a very serious offence in my mind, because marshmallows are little puffs of sticky perfection coated in powdered happiness. If he takes the last bit of sugary gladness without asking me first, we are fighting. This is not negotiable! Moving on…

Fencesitter is like the C-student in dating school. Average. Middle of the pack. He probably could be an A student but just doesn’t put out the extra effort. When he and his girl break up, for any reason, his friends will tell him that it must be her fault. She’s evil and crazy for breaking up with him. How could she leave someone who’s “such a nice guy”? Well I ask, how the hell would they know? These chatty friends and relatives weren’t in the relationship. They weren’t subjected to a marshmallowless existence. However, Fencesitter has heard this tired “you’re so nice” line enough times to think his behavior is grand. He can keep doing as he’s doing. Reinforcing his behavior validates him, and before you know it he looks in the mirror and sees prince charming on a white horse. All we see is a jackass in a white Honda who makes you pay for dinner on your own birthday.

ONE NOTE:

The next reason girls don't stay with otherwise nice guys is because maybe that's all he has to offer. Let’s call him One Note because that’s all he plays. He’s not interesting; he’s not witty or exciting. The niceness is all he’s known for. And while that accounts for a lot, it doesn’t lend itself to fun dates or stimulating conversation. Come on guys, bring something to the table! I for one need someone to challenge me, make me want to know more, experience more and do more with life. Of course, he should be pleasant while we do these things, but he better bring me more than one note when I plan on delivering a face-melting guitar riff, so to speak.

One Note guy can be easily identified by his inability to ask follow-up questions to things you say and general discomfort when you stray from his chosen topic. For example:



One Note: I really like potatoes. They are a vital part of the ecosystem in farming communities around the world.


You: Oh yeah, me too. I used to visit my grandpa’s potato farm in Jamaica when I was a kid. Have you ever traveled to the islands?


One Note: *cough and uncomfortable silence*.


See? Not mean, and not lazy, just…blank. If you have nothing to offer, I don’t have anything to give. Check please.

DOUGH BOY:

The last guy isn’t that nice. OK, maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to decide yet. You just need to blow him off and fast. His niceness hasn't really registered on your radar but that's not something you want to tell him so you throw out some platitude such as, “you’re nice and all, but I just don’t see this working out”. Let’s call this guy Dough Boy. I’ve made pie from scratch before, and that dough shit is tricky to handle. You’ve got to be gentle. You've got to work it just enough or else it's useless. With guys, that caution oftentimes translates into telling him how nice he is, even if you have absolutely nothing to back up that statement. If we're being honest with ourselves, doesn't it seem like we're mostly doing this for OUR benefit, not theirs? We want to make sure we come off like an angel, even while dumping him. That's not fair to anyone involved. Ladies, he’s not made of uncooked pie crust. You don’t have to baby him. Don’t just run around, throwing empty compliments. It makes you look shallow and insincere. Be respectful and polite, but not dishonest.

A food-as-love analogy. Plus diarrhea. You're welcome!

I don't know why I can't stop thinking about him, we've been broken up over two years. Its not like I think about him every day. But the days I do let my mind wander back to thoughts of him are random, unpredictable and hard to stop. Much like diarrhea. The really sick thing is I know we're better apart than we were together, I know we were incompatible, and it's time to move along. However, I haven't found anything that compares to what we had. Sad but true.

Even though we were all wrong for each other, and ended in the most anticlimactic way possible, I still pine for what I had. Not necessarily in a "he's the one that got away" sense but...OK, food analogy time: Let's say I had a piece of cake. Cake was pretty good, based on what I'd experienced so far. I spent a long time enjoying the cake, getting to know its intricacies and then one day the cake was gone. I wasn't quite sure how to feel about it at first. I missed the cake but had a feeling something wasn't right with this particular cake. Then someone explains, that wasn't real cake. You had imitation, cheap cake masquerading as real cake. Sorry about that! I promise, one day you'll have REAL cake and you'll know it's the real thing and it will last forever. It will be bottomless cake and it will taste like cake's supposed to and not give you diabetes and you'll know why no other cake will do!

I'm still sitting at the table, holding my fork, waiting and ready for the real cake...

West

When I looked at you
all I saw was forever,
and all you saw was next week.

In the end though,
it was two years of selling myself short and keeping the peace.



I deserve more

than everything I thought you were
My mistake-

I aimed for what was in reach
Not what I desired.
I told you how much it meant to me
But you didn't want to be reminded.

So now we stand apart,
and for all the empty words
There's finally a glimmer of truth.