Eleanor Shellstrop is my new life coach.

Via Ms. Andry’s Bath House on Facebook, my new #goals for the evening

Missing the (Hall)mark

*girl in my office gets Valentine flowers*

 

“Awww, I want flowers…” *pout*

“Do you want to actually DATE a man so he’ll send them to you?”

“Oh. Um…nah, I’m good. I’ll just buy my own flowers and skip that side of bullshit.”

 

Happy Valentine’s Day, my lovelies! 💕

Except…no…

Top 10 least treat-y “treat yo’self”s…

Cupid is a premature ejaculator. Fact.

Hey, Netflix — how’s about you slow your goddamn roll here?

“Why should I change? He’s the one who sucks.”

Valentine’s Day plans: Two job interviews and a therapy session.

*shrug*

Still more enticing than Michael Bolton.

#HustleNotMuscle

Star-Kris-Krossed Love

Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves. Have a splendid and safe day.

I’ll be spending mine orally fixated on a trough of manicotti, and later making sweet, sweet love to an irresponsible number of Godiva salted caramels. (Candy-based promiscuity is the best promiscuity.)

See also: watching Friends with Benefits again, because Justin Timberlake singing Kris Kross is EVERYONE’s Valentine.

Love and many kisses,
Smug  

Neither missing me by my hair nor missing me everywhere…

Seems fitting for Groundhog Day, but with advance apologies to the few readers who emailed me to say I shouldn’t waste anymore time in this place…

This is the point in the That Guy cycle when I’m worried we’re not actually done — that I’ll let my guard down and then he’ll pop up somewhere. It’s been a discernible pattern, so much that I’m in a mental fighting stance every time I check any element of my digital existence.

I don’t think it’s going to happen this time. We weren’t exactly kind to each other. And he wasn’t trying to resurrect our friendship, which it turns out we never HAD. He was just finally confirming he’d been using my body and affection to make himself feel better, and that I was inadequate in both capacities. (Still a great feeling if you ever get the chance.)

Logistically, I don’t see how he COULD pop up. He can still see this page because it’s public (everybody wave!). I’m not changing that to avoid one person. (Unless it’s, like, Dexter.) But I don’t think he’s going to “like” anything after I gave him a bunch of shit about liking posts about my body or masturbation.

I think I’ve taken every other precaution, but I’m still a little on edge. When I stopped speaking to him last New Year’s, I don’t think a month passed thereafter where he didn’t remind me he was checking on me — a text, blog like, Facebook friend request (to my professional account), a LinkedIn profile view. But I probably said enough that he’ll avoid setting off that particular powder keg again.

And we’ll just save it for therapy that I still miss him. (Shut UP, I don’t KNOW. He told me I “claim dysfunction and use it to explain away being wrong,” so…yeah, dibs on that. I was crazy, I thought we were friends — I was wrong. I’m basically Clarissa right now.)

Oddly, I think I’ll relax about all this around Valentine’s Day, since that’ll be about 6 weeks. I’ll aim to spend that day finally unclenched, hopefully in more ways than one, with a movie, a glass of wine, my bombass lasagna, and an obscene quantity of really good chocolate. Ideally with a man under me as well, but I think it’ll be a decent day either way. Me and my Valentine “Serenity” — in all the ways. Shiny.

Floral Sex

A horrible ad has been popping up on my Pandora Radio lately, telling me, “This Valentine’s Day, give your man a not-so-subtle hint: Tell him to order flowers from Such-and-Such Place.”

Tell…TELL HIM?!

Wow, what a spontaneous and romantic gesture that’ll be for me. Should I go select the exact bouquet I want and just send him a link, or does he at least get THAT much credit? Because OMG, men are SO clueless, amirite, ladies?!

I once had an ex tell me I “hint with a hammer,” because I usually just say what I want, but I’ve never pulled THAT shit.

Jesus Christ, if Valentine’s Day is that important to you, your Person should know to get your fucking flowers.

I like Valentine’s Day. When in a relationship, I personally like to spend it at home with a movie, pizza, and nudity, because I’ve generally felt loved every day in my relationships and don’t feel the need to make it such a Thing. (I am also cheap and lazy.) But still, I like love and celebrations thereof. I like flowers and hearts and pink crap and on-sale candy the next day.

But I hate the implication that all women are whoreticulturists and all men are inept.

…It’s possible I have too many feelings about this.

Every Kiss Begins with Cake

Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves. May all your deepest desires be sated. ❤️

Making progress via the voices in my head

Third time’s a charm, I guess.

Internal debate this week:

Heart: “We should send the ex a Valentine’s card.”
Brain: “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Heart: “Why not? We’re friends. I’ve sent one the past 2 years even though we were broken up.”
Brain: “Yeah, about that…”
Heart: “I want him to have a good day. A card will make him smile and let him know I’m thinking of him.”
Brain: “OK, then. Are we sending a card to any other friends just because we care?”
Heart: “…We are not.”
Brain: “Do you really think he’s ever NOT aware that you think about him?”
Heart: “No…”
Brain: “Well, then…”
Heart: “We probably shouldn’t. It’s probably one of the 347 unhealthy habits we’re trying to get past.”
Brain: “Right. Step away from the Hallmark.”

P.S. I’d like to credit The Awkward Yeti for the “Heart vs. Brain” construct. If you don’t know the comic, you should.