Self-Sabotage

Sometimes I think I'm a bad person. Not someone who breaks laws or commits acts of violence. But a bad person nonetheless. I've committed several acts of self-sabotage over the years and my most recent one is killing me. If you've read my previous post you're familiar with Grey Shirt and Murse. Murse is a near perfect man. He's a single - as in the mother is not around at all - father raising 3 kids and working four 12's a week. And I slept with Grey Shirt!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?! And it wasn't even good. I guess that's what I get for being a bad person. Bad sex. A friend of mine told me that this is a pattern. That I find someone that I like and then I sleep with someone else. That would explain a lot. Like why I've never been married or had an actual long-term, serious, committed, loving, caring relationship. That and I have bad taste in men...I tend to date narcissists and commitment-phobes. Sigh.

Six months of Sin

So where have I been, you ask? Busy falling in love, getting my heart crushed, and then realizing that he was a manipulative, narcissistic asshole who had been continually putting me down and had me convinced I was seriously fucked up. But that put me into hard core rebound mode where I found myself, became even more liberated, and enjoyed the once off-limits 20-something guys. It all started with the Lethal Weapon – one of the most beautiful men I’d ever met who gave me my sexy back. And roaring back like the tornado that took Dorothy’s house to Oz. But in a ridiculously over-the-top good kind of way. 

I gave myself a makeover from the inside out and rediscovered the world. My social life exploded amidst salacious affairs and new friendships. I learned to say FUCK YOU!!! to the horrible ex who refused to leave me alone. And I felt good about it. I was rejecting the mediocre life that I had settled into with the man that was not deserving of me. I focused on having fun, reconnecting with friends, and reestablishing the goals I had for myself that I had been told were stupid, pointless, and not what I should be trying to do.

And then there was Grey Shirt, Big Watch. A hot, sexy, smart, 24 year old guy. There was something so good, yet oh-so-bad about sleeping with someone 10 years younger than me. But I liked it. A lot. Too much. I couldn’t say no and I wouldn’t say no. I should have been distracted by MMA Guy – the older, muscular, and damn hot ex-MMA fighter and current military lawyer. But there was something about Grey Shirt. Something I couldn’t walk away from. His perfect body, maybe? His attentiveness? Or perhaps the scandalous nature of it all. Whatever it was he still pops back into my bed on occasion. And I still won’t say no.

But here I am now…with the Murse. He’s a hot man nurse. That’s right ladies. And goddam does he look good in his scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck! I met this guy after a night out with a girlfriend and did everything in my power to get away. I told him I didn’t like him, refused to kiss him even after he begged, and then spent hours sitting with him and talking. Kissing. And watching the sun rise. Lord, does he make me have some of the most incredible orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. Doesn’t hurt that he has a lethal weapon of his own. There’s something different about this one, though. He says things that make me blush. He wants to spend the night together so that he can hold me while we sleep. Hopefully he’ll be around for the long haul. Murse is definitely a keeper.

So that’s how I spent the last little while. It was tremendously brutal at times, but I’ve also had some of the best moments these last few months. And while I’m sorry I ever met that douche of an ex he did help me get over and move beyond Mr. Big. And for that I am grateful. 

Awesomeness of the Carpenter Style

So today I met the awesome and cool Mary Chapin Carpenter.  I saw her name and said to my boss, "Her name is Mary Chapin Carpenter?"  She looked at me and said, "Yes."  I looked at her quizzically and with a whisper said, "THE Mary Chapin Carpenter??" She again replied, "Yes."  My response, "Wow."  What a dork.  But then, I met Mary Chapin today and you didn't!  Hahaha, suckers!!!!  I was slightly giddy and maybe a bit of a dork, but then again, I met Mary Chapin Carpenter!  Suuuh-weeeeet!!!

Ok, that's enough.  I'm going to sit here and bask in the glory of my day while I sip on some coffee and make an attempt at productivity.

And Life Continues….

So the Worst Week Ever has finally come to a close and I spent all of yesterday being a lazy bum and giving my little ol’ brain a minute (or 1440 minutes) to relax and think about nothing more than if I really want to buy that blouse, those jeans, that sweater and a new pair of boots even though I need none of them.  I’m rationalizing these needless expenditures on making it through the Worst Week Ever without losing every bit of sanity I have or killing someone.  That and I have a new found love for sweaters.  They may not be the most flattering of the clothing world, but they do keep me warm and cozy during the dreadful months of fall and winter.  I’ve really got to move somewhere warmer….

During the Worst Week Ever, I came to the same realizations about myself and Big that I always come to.  That he’s a waste of my time, no matter how much I love him.  Problem is, I've been there done that countless times over the last four years.  Bigger problem – he always realizes when I've come to this train of thought and makes everything good again.  He'll soon start acting the way I've always wanted him to act, being attentive like I wish he would be, and saying the things I've longed to hear.  Even bigger problem – it’s always a temporary fix but I fall for it every time.  I’m not sure which is worse…my weaknesses or his manipulations.  Either way, it makes me want to pull my hair out while I scream.  My conclusion – I will start dating other people.  Even though this is something that I've been attempting for a while, I have historically sabotaged any potential relationship I've run across.  The more promising ones I completely ignore or blow off and then, upon realizing my stupidity, try to draw them back in but it’s always a little too late.  Since I’m in a teeny little town with a small dating pool of eligible bachelors that meet the standards I have set for myself, I decided to do Match.  But…the dating pool on the outskirts of my teeny little town consists of fat rednecks that make minimum wage and drive a 1980’s model pickup truck that probably doesn't pass inspection and would likely take me on a date to the Waffle House.  Great.  Do you see my dilemma??  I think I'm ready to move back to the land of hot men with real lives – even if it is in the midst of the chaos and never-ending traffic that I despise and ran screaming from just a couple months ago.  Living here serves a purpose…I keep telling myself that.  Maybe one day I'll believe it.

My week did end on a bright note….I got a call from my greatest friend and we chatted and bitched and made plans to get together soon.  And even better than that I made my last car payment!  Here's to outright ownership and a nice monthly raise!  Life is good after all.  And now I'll be going back to debating whether or not to spend $500 on a new fall wardrobe that will satisfy me emotionally and keep me warmer than I would otherwise be.

Welcome to the Land of Grown Ups – No, You Aren’t That Cool Anymore

So…this past Tuesday night I decided that I was going to go out for a drink after class with my only in-town friend.  Drinks.  On a Tuesday.  Class until 10.  Work at 8 the next morning.  I don't think it went too well.

After two huge glasses of straight vodka laced with ruffies my face was on the floor and my eyes were crossed and I didn’t know my ass from my head.  I’m sure I acted and said a whole lot of ridiculousness.  Fortunately, I had someone there to make sure I stayed within the limits of humanity.  Another fortunately…I don’t remember half of the night.  

I imagine it went something like this.....

I called out “sick” from work yesterday and here I am two days later…the lining of my stomach is gone, my liver is dead, and my head still hasn’t stopped pounding.  I’ve eaten the greatest hangover food ever – a 7 layer bean burrito and chicken quesadilla, a burger with everything on it, Chinese food…I’m well on my way to becoming a fat chick with a drinking problem.  But I did get to experience what I would have been like in college.  All in one night.  It sucked as much as a French whore does.  I’m glad that I’m 32 now.  I’m glad that I don’t go out and get blindingly drunk anymore.  I’m glad that missing memories are less a thing induced by alcohol and more a thing of too much on my plate.  I’m glad I’m not that cool anymore.  Or maybe I’m too cool for that.  Either way, I’m glad to be me here today.  Except for the whole feeling like shit part.  

Lesson learned?  Next time I go out on a Tuesday night I’ll have one cocktail.  One little cocktail, no ruffies.

Did I Just Tweet or Have I Tooted?

I'm officially on Twitter and sent my first Tweet this morning!  I know, I know...it's a great day in the life of me. Hold the applause, please.  Until this blog of mine started up I didn't really understand the point of Twitter.  Well I do now.  To get MORE ATTENTION!!!  (This is where I pretend I have a swarm of followers anxiously awaiting my every word.)  But I still don't understand the verbage going on here.  I mean, what the fuck is the # and how do I know when and how to use it and what everything stands for? And I know the site is Twitter, when I actively post I Tweet, but when I've posted in the past have I...Twated?  Tweeted?  Twitted?  Or did I Toot?  I guess it doesn't matter much and I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough.  Even if no one out there cares that I just woke up or that I went to Target and bought the cutest dress ever for a mere 10 bucks, it's all worth it for that cute little bird.

Driving for Sex, Kittens and Essays

I'm supposed to be doing homework....instead I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop, a kitten, the TV on and I'm blogging.  Very constructive.  I'm not sure who is more at fault here.  The ridiculously adorable kitten who makes every attempt to create a bed out of my keyboard or Facebook?  Wait...it's me?  Damn!

I'm writing an essay on an Orson Welles film.  Incredibly, I found an old Vanity Fair article that says everything that I want to say!  I wish I could just copy and paste and pass it off as my own creative genius.  Unfortunately, there are words I've never heard and my professor already thinks I'm a bum.  Great.  I'm grown and have a career and still my professor makes me feel like the dumb girl who sits in the back of the classroom averting my eyes in hopes that my name won't be called to answer the question I didn't understand in the first place.  So as I attempt to translate this fancy Vanity Fair lingo into something that sounds more me and less like plagarism, I get distracted by something sparkly and end up watching Private Practice while I eat chocolate peanut butter ice cream.  I'm well on my way to great things....

I got a new kitten the other day.  I'm wondering if my biological clock had something to do with this - I don't want any more of those little people we call babies, but my body hasn't quite gotten the message yet.  I mean, what other reason would I have for getting a 1 pound little fluff ball that I carry around everywhere I go because I'm afraid my other cat will eat her if I blink for too long?  Did I honestly think that I had time to take care of a 6 week old kitten when I'm working, going to school and taking care of a newly teen-aged boy who thinks that bedtime is an option and video games are the only way of life?  I don't think so...but that doesn't mean that I'm not completely distracted by the extreme cuteness that's so cute it makes me want to throw up.  Please don't let me turn into the crazy cat lady.  I swear...two cats is the max for me.  I won't get any more!!

Question - how far is too far to drive for sex?  Is two hours a bit extreme?  Well, my Mr. Big is now two hours away from me because I made the oh-so-brilliant decision to move to a land that reeked of mystery and intrigue, but really just smells like stale beer and hangovers. Why did I think that college boys would be a good time?  They're broke, still get acne, and don't know how to brush their hair and put on decent clothes before hitting on a girl that is way out of their league.  Going to a bar here is like daycare gone bad....and not only is it a stabbing  reminder that I am not that young anymore, but it's a slap in the face when I remember that they're just a few years older than my son.  I can't do the big dirty with someone who is that close to being young enough to be my son.  And when in the hell did bangable guys get to be young enough to be my son??  I am not that old, thank you!  I'm barely in my 30's after all.  So here I am in a city full of hot young things that I can't touch because my legs refuse to uncross when in their presence and that forces me to do what I swore I wouldn't...I'm driving two hours so that I can get some.  That's right...I'm going on a long distance booty call.  Don't judge.  At least the sex is good and makes me walk funny after he twists me up like I'm a friggin pretzel.  Being bent up like a crazy, distorted pretzel can be painful...sometimes I pretend that I can still breathe while my body bends in places it shouldn't.  I suppose things could be worse.....

The kitten has fallen asleep and my essay isn't going to write itself...I guess that means it's time for me to go.