This is the online photo of another swimsuit I bought, and I texted a friend a photo of how it looked on me…
Me: “I’m sending this back. I don’t even know why I bought it. I’m gonna be standup paddleboarding and shit — I need something sportier. But damn, I look CUTE.”
Friend: “You look great and you should keep it and wear that shit every time you go near water.”
Here’s to friends who are more supportive than bathing suits. 🍸
Friend: “Do you ever buy new skincare and get super excited to try it, because just maybe it will fix your skin and all your problems?
“I went to Sephora today.”
Me: “Pretty much every time. I’m actually excited FOR you.”
Friend: “I got a sample of this and I’m very excited to try it. [preview ink]”
Me: “Holy shit, I didn’t even click it yet, but fucking TIGER GRASS. NICE.”
‘What IS it?’
‘Fuck if I know, put it on my FACE.’”
Friend: “EXACTLY. It’s the grass of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight…”
Me: “‘It’s only $18! I need it!’
‘Our skin doesn’t even GET red.’
‘SILENCE! I need it!’”
Post-therapy text to friends:
“BTW, I just got out of therapy and you wanna hear some horseshit? Not only does she want me to be happy and well adjusted, turns out she can’t just ask me a couple questions and fix 40 years of shit in 45 minutes. It’s, like…long-term work? That *I* have to figure out with her help? This is just like all this alleged ‘exercise’ people want me to be doing. UGH.”
P.S. It’s a joke, I knew what I was getting into. But it IS also bullshit that I drew the short straw in the brain department.
In 2013 after my breakup, I had a Year of Poor Life Choices. I dated before I was ready, tried to get over my ex, tried to get over the OTHER guy I’d developed a crush on. It turned into a few “relationships” that crashed and burned fairly spectacularly.
One was a friend of my sister’s, and I’m not proud of this, but I ghosted on him. We went on three dates before I realized we had NOTHING in common*, and I TRIED to be an adult and tell him I wasn’t ready to be dating. He asked if we could be friends and I said “sure,” because that’s what you SAY, but you both know you’re not going to be friends — or at least *I* knew.
Eventually I blocked his number and deleted him from Facebook because I am a coward. That was probably the summer of 2014.
THIS MORNING I got a Facebook message from him: “Hey Smug, tour name popped up on my phone so figured I’d say hi….Helloooo. How’s life treating you?”
It’s probably true he saw my name somehow since we still have mutual Facebook friends. But, like… Is there a Clinger beyond Stage 5?**
* When I say “nothing in common,” I mean I went to his Facebook page and he’s now an “all lives matter,” flag-fapping Trumpublican, and I am…NOT those things.
** I feel bad, he’s a “nice guy,” but…no. You are a reminder of a terrible time in my life. That’s not your fault, but it does mean you can’t exist in my world.
Text to friends, based entirely in fact and science:
“They put me on the pill and said I could start it whenever, so I did, but I think my body was already preparing its regular PMS festivities, and when I added bonus hormones I fucked up its groove, because now I hate goddamn everything except you guys and Egg McMuffins.”
The Cute Dog Guy from OkCupid DID in fact send me a series of adorable dog (not dong) pics, AND a video of a dog frolicking on the banks of a lake.
So of course I reported back to my Friends Focus Group…
Texting a friend about therapy:
Me: “We ended up talking about why I don’t consider myself ‘beautiful.’ She showed me a fucking Dove commercial. I’m never going back. (Kidding.)”
Friend: “No one should be forced to watch a Dove commercial.”
And by the way? I don’t consider myself beautiful, and I don’t see a problem with that, so fuck right off, Dove. But I am a middle-age American woman who mostly thinks I’m cute, sometimes pretty, so I do think I’m a goddamn miracle.
Besides, “beautiful” doesn’t even crack the top 100 on my list of issues. When I think about my last pseudo-breakup, my appearance isn’t what keeps my brain spiraling. He once got hard while we were taking a walk because I made a JOKE about wearing high heels during sex — it’s easy enough to believe he found me attractive. So can we focus on this weird haze I get into where I think I’m not smart or interesting enough to keep a dude around AFTER we have sex, even as a friend? That seems to be the dominating self-esteem weirdness here.
On Thursday, the guy I’d been dating texted to ask if I had time to hang out this weekend. I said I did, but we didn’t make actual plans, and I haven’t heard from him yet.
So I think he was right in saying “we want different things.” I want to be ACTUAL friends with benefits, not the “beck and call girl” of a dude who forgets about me until his dick gets bored.
At least this means we don’t have to get together to discuss the terms of our fuck-buddy-ship — we’re Facebook friends and that’s it. No travel, no feelings, no shaving!
I’m not actually too hurt by this. It’s nice to be sure of something I’d mostly already decided.
I should’ve moved faster with the two OkCupid guys I’ve been messaging with, so when Dude I’d Been Dating got back from vacation and texted to see if I can hang out this weekend, my response could’ve been, “Oh! You’re still here? Sorry, no, I have two dates this weekend.”
Kidding. Mostly. It’ll be good to have that talk. Fine. FINE!
I also think we should have sex one more time BEFORE we talk, because I have a vivid masturbation fantasy that takes place on his couch and I’d like to see how that pans out in reality, but we’ll see what happens.
Update on Dude I’d Been Dating: He texted me Sunday to give me back his phone number, and has texted here and there since with everyday minutia, stuff so mundane I feel like he’s just worried I’ll be mad if he doesn’t say SOMETHING.
He re-added me on Facebook (he’s on my “family” filter now, though, so all he sees are sunset photos and dog videos), but not on Instagram, and we were never connected on Twitter.
So I guess we’re friends, with nudity TBD, but I think I’m OK with friends, at least for now. I’m glad we’re talking because that means he didn’t just fuck me and bail. But now I know he can and will just shut down on me, and maybe he’s only talking to me because sex is possible, so I need to get those thoughts in order.
We don’t have plans to see each other, and I’m damn sure not bringing it up, so it won’t be a real issue until he does. (He’s away on a family trip right now.)
In the meantime, I have TWO OkCupid Potentials to write back, so “I’m not waitin’, because I’m no waiter, so when I blow up, don’t try to kick it to me later.”
(^ I…I am so sorry, you guys…)
Smug Singleton 