If you’ve never had your brain telling you you’re an undateable garbage monster on the SAME day you realize the last person you dated is now in a seemingly happy relationship and that you haven’t had ONE date since you broke up three YEARS ago…I highly, HIGHLY recommend it.
Bright side: I honestly didn’t realize it was him. I think I forgot what he looked like?
So clearly a very serious “relationship.”
This is kind of a lot for a Saturday morning, but I need it out of MY head, so I’ll just vomit it along to you fine people!
I’m going to talk to my therapist about this on Monday, and I’m really not looking forward to it, because I don’t even know where to start in figuring it out.
I don’t know why I can’t just TALK to guys on dating apps. Every time I try to, I freeze up, get anxious, and run away. And I don’t know if it’s because I don’t actually want to date, or that I think I’d feel overwhelmed if I added that to my life (which often already overwhelms me — thanks, Anxiety!), or if I’m scared to…get hurt? To have something actually work out?
I’ve tried thinking about it and I got nothin’. Maybe I just believe I’ll meet someone in person like I always have — online dating has never gotten me anyone worthwhile, so maybe I’m convinced it’s not worth it. I don’t go out a TON, but I go out more than I used to, so it’s not like online is the only way I’m going to meet men.
Do I just really not want to shave my legs more often?
My guess is that it’s all of the above. But if I really don’t want to or don’t think it’s worth it, then I should just delete the accounts and stop wasting everyone’s time.
Ugh. Therapy is gonna suuuuuck. She’s going to make me…feel feelings. And ahhh, fuck, I BET she asks about my dad. 🤢
All my shit is so textbook that they can’t even PUT it in textbooks because it’s too easy. You could tell a toddler my business and they’d be like, “Well, yeah, obviously…”
It seems silly to be single with no kids and only one job and say, “I don’t have the time or energy to deal with starting a relationship.” But I’ve just gotten home at 7 p.m. after an unexpectedly late evening at work, which isn’t unusual. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, and the only thing I want in me is tater tots and a glass of wine. And then I want to go to sleep like the fat, tranquilized bear that I am.
I’m having one of those weeks where I can’t understand how anyone has time to do anything, ever. You people are fucking wizards, I swear.
Y’all. Y’aaaaaalllll…
I hadn’t planned to post again, but I went back to Match after the last post, aaand… I don’t goddamn remember the clever blog pseudonym I gave this dude while we were dating, but we dated, and it didn’t end well, and since that end (which was…2014? 15?*), he has:
1. Left a Christmas gift on my doorstep while I wasn’t home. It was maybe June and I’d told him repeatedly since Christmas that I didn’t feel right accepting the gift, because HI. BREAKUP.
2. Texted and Facebook messaged just to say hey. (I ignored him every time.)
3. Made me realize I have, like, six boundaries and, in the month we dated, he’d disrespected them all.
Oh, and I later realized he’s kind of a racist. Not, like, a Klan racist — he wasn’t motivated enough to attend meetings — but one of those hometownie racists that only tells the racist jokes to white people because he thinks the white people are with him.
So. Obviously when I went back to Match, GUESS WHO HAD LIKED MY PROFILE.
What, from the bottom of my heart, THE FUCK?
I’m gonna go throw my phone in a river.
* EDIT: I just went back in WordPress and found out it was actually 2013. Jesus Christ.
There’s something so gross about dating profiles in which men say they want to spoil their girlfriends. Or even better, “spoil my lady.” 🤢
Fuck you, dude, I can spoil my damn self. I need YOU to go down on me and do the dishes.
I love being alone in bed so much that I’m not sure adding another person could possibly improve the experience. This is a tad worrisome, ‘cause, ya know, dying alone, but I’m in bed, so…eh. Blankets will fix it.
Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING
I get a lot of (good-natured) ribbing for liking country music, but I don’t know how I could possibly NOT adore these lyrics paired with three sassy ladies, rollicking GUI-tars, and some motherfucking fiddles.
(Pistol Annies, “Got My Name Changed Back.” Catchy as fuck.)
Guy I Dated for a Minute and I have mutual Facebook friends, but aren’t friends ourselves. I last saw him at a holiday party last year. We were friendly but didn’t talk much, and haven’t communicated since. Today he “liked” two of my comments — about a local bagel shop — on a friend’s post.
What in the schmeared fuck am I supposed to do with that? Stop being weird! I’m finally OK about you using me for sex and then ghosting on me because I am bad in bed or somehow otherwise boring or underwhelming… OH WAIT. See that? No, I’m not — I had just successfully buried it like a proper Irish girl should. Could you just stop being weird, then?
(Logically I know that’s not what he meant to do, and he’s probably at least half decent because my friends aren’t friends with assholes, and he just tweaked something in my pre-existing condition, and I’m glad I’m in therapy.)
Smug Singleton 