The City of Brotherly Leave Me the Fuck Alone

I wonder how many men have ever felt the need to re-route their walk home because, while it’s LIKELY the creepy subway dude who’d referred to them as both “honey” AND “baby” had the same simple, innocuous thought they did, and decided to walk the mile back to their mutual neighborhood rather than wait another half hour for the next bus, the fact remains he WAS walking a short distance behind them for a bit, and they can really never be SURE…

Also, what the hell? My therapist ASSURED me my emotional walls were so high that men couldn’t even see me. Aside from that one dude, I’d been walking no more than 5 minutes before two other men felt the need to say “hi” to me.

Um… Did I get hotter? Or, more likely, did my self-esteem dip a little lower today and y’all can just smell it? Jesus Christ, leave me alone.

The rare and elusive Psychoticunt…

Father’s Day is interesting when both you and your sister are mad at your father for being a passive-aggressive dumbass and — let’s be honest — for always choosing his other family over you. Especially when you don’t feel welcome in his home right now, anyway, because his wife is a psychotic cunt. (Psychoticunt?)

What’s good, Hallmark? Where’s my cute, clever card for this?

The therapist said it’s perfectly acceptable for me to just text him, so…score.

Sorry, man, but…ya know — cats, cradle, etc. For once I gotta choose me instead of keeping peace. You’re both already pissy with me — fuck it, I might as well get a relaxing Sunday out of it.

P.S. My therapist didn’t know “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and I’m honestly stunned they don’t teach that shit in therapy school. That and “Daddy Wasn’t There.” Y’all need to re-examine your curriculum. Music education is important.

Bumble Rumble

I spoke to my therapist about my anxiety in talking to men on dating apps, and she said, “Well, if you don’t want to, you don’t want to, and that’s perfectly fine. But all the other things you said might be holding you back, you don’t seem sure you don’t want to. And the only way you’re going to be sure is if you try.”

So I wrote to FIVE entire Bumble guys, including Hot Chef, and of course everyone except Hot Chef wrote me back. *grumble* FINE.

But also, and this is the important part — they wrote me back, and then, after 24 hours of still feeling like I might throw up every time I tried to respond, I DID respond.

Full disclosure: It REALLY helps when it’s early and all you have to do to “respond” is copy/paste what you did over the weekend. But I DID it, is the point. So hopefully I’ll have an answer, an orgasm, or at least some quality first-date stories, soon.

I’ll pass on the cattle appraisal, thanks.

I saw this immediately as an opportunity for creepy strangers to read the shirt, assess my body, and offer me commentary on it. Hard pass.

(Though, my therapist and several friends agree I’ve built up my emotional walls SO high that men can’t even see me to BE creepy, so strange men usually don’t talk to me, which…SCORE!)

See, THIS is why I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

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…”

Time for a new OS

I’ve posted about this before, but what’s SUPER fun about depression is all the ways it looks that I didn’t know about before I saw doctors for it. And apparently in ME, it looks a lot like being an exhausted, lazy asshole. And since I frequently AM an exhausted lazy, asshole, it’s hard to differentiate.

So basically any time I’m tired I get anxious that I’m depressed, and then I can’t sleep, which is just goddamn delightful.

And I’m still not convinced I even HAVE depression. I feel like there’s a diet or a vitamin I haven’t tried yet that would just fix me right up, and my doctors are just throwing pills at me because that’s what doctors do for middle-aged, middle-class white women. Maybe all I need is, like, less gluten and more St. John’s Wort or whatever the shit.

Human brains and bodies are stupid and obsolete. I demand an upgrade.

Feeling your feelings BLOWS.

Post-therapy-by-phone text to friends.

I might leave work early and pick up some more bonus therapy by way whiskey. And fried cheese. That’s probably what she really meant by “journaling.”