Overtext

I miss dating like it was when I was in junior high. No caller ID, no Facebook, no cell phones. It really was a blissful time to grow up and learn how to fall in love.

Your heart raced every time the phone rang and you answered with every cell in your body on edge, praying to every saint you could remember, that it was your crush.

When it actually was?

Nirvana.

These days you can see every damn detail of his life before you even say hello. You know what he drives, the food he eats and I’d be willing to bet, a few of his exes; thanks to laziness on his part in deleting old uploads. You see his kids before your first date.

Hell, if you’ve exchanged numbers with him, I’d be willing to bet you’ve seen his dick, too. Guys are quick to offer them up these days.

There are no secrets anymore. It’s all out there from the second he says hi.

I’m going to be a real bitch for a second. I fucking loathe the amount of time this shit takes. I don’t mind a date once a week. I can deal with that. Texting all day? NO. It is slightly moderately disturbing how much a pilot can text. 101 text messages. I just counted, twice. 7 pictures. I can handle about five a day, ten at the most and only if inspired.

I just don’t care that much, and I don’t care AT ALL what someone is eating. This is the longest fucking date, ever…

I’m sure he’s really nice… but he’s gone down that awkward path of being sexual before we met. It’s an unpleasant side effect of this endless texting. A false sense of intimacy with a stranger, who is absolutely not ready for it. I was silent.

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#ghosted

Why are they all SO crazy? This is the crazy shit that makes me want to bleach a few Perfect memories out of my head because trying to replace him is torture. They’re either completely unattractive or they’re raging douche bags. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground and it is so pathetic that I don’t think I can do it.

I went to bed annoyed and frustrated. Mad at myself for picking a fight with my dick on call. Tossing and turning until I got up and slipped quietly into my workout gear. I put my headphones on, climbed onto the elliptical machine and ran in the dark to the songs that are torturing me. Shaking my head to stop the thoughts about him. Missing someone can be the greatest form of torture. I can’t get away from my own thoughts and he’s too far away.

I know I could text him and he’d respond. I could ask him about his week. He would tell me. I could ask about his day. What he had for dinner. What game he’s watching. These are all available details. They’re also none of what I want to hear. For a while, it was enough and I was thrilled just to hear my phone announce that it was holding a message from the man I want most.

It wasn’t enough for very long and I had to force myself to delete him out of my phone to save myself. Biting back L-bombs and choking on tears because old habits die hard and I knew myself enough to know I could not leave him in reach.

It helped to touch someone else but I can’t help but miss him and my heart just doesn’t shift gears. It’s great to shake off the painful edge with someone that you aren’t invested in, dedicated purely to please you but if I thought it was going to fix everything, I was mistaken. I love a pretty Band-aid as much as the next girl but it can’t fix a lot if the damage is internal.

Sound asleep, I hear the sound I wait for. Fuck. I stared at the ceiling until I couldn’t help myself.

Tired and mad enough at the state of affairs, I said plenty.

IMG_8476He apologized, because he’s perfect and that’s what men do. I’m stuck on the fact that the beard is gone and all I want to do is climb into his lap and kiss his silky face.

God damn it. Now my mind is racing.

He’s gone silent since I told him to stop making platonic small-talk with me. Not exactly what I meant but I have to admit to myself that I’m getting far too much satisfaction from conversations more tame than I have with my mother and siblings.

I don’t want to talk about the damn weather with him. I want to talk about when he’s coming home to chase me around the kitchen. I miss the whisk that’s been banished since he was here this summer and the thought of him holding my spatula, gives me goosebumps.

One Perfect sentence and I’m back on the elliptical machine, running the agony off. Thankful that he’s finally helping my ass look good instead of just breaking my heart.

 

Over My Head

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I’m trying to paddle my way out of the heartache that results from me loving too deeply, too freely and with no regard to the warning signs. I’m ok. I’m sad, frustrated and a little disillusioned. I’m faithful that a few bad apples can’t ruin my belief that it’s still a lovely orchard.

I don’t hurt people and I think that is the ultimate realization I walk away with. My love doesn’t hurt. I don’t make promises I can’t keep and I don’t take being entrusted with someone’s heart, lightly. I’m a safe place to be and I pride myself on being impeccable with my word. It matters to me that I’m a blessing in the lives of the people who make mine happy.

I cannot rage against a man for not respecting me, because ultimately, I feel sorry for him. I’ve put in the time it takes to be an immeasurable blessing in a deserving mans life and I’m worth the same. It’s all in what you expect and what you demand. I’ve learned some hard lessons this summer. Just because he’s your close friend, doesn’t mean he wont fuck & run.

Savage.

I did not see that coming. Clearly I need to date outside of the pool of friends I thought I could prematurely trust.

Maybe trusting less is the lesson, but that’s just not me. I go all in and clean up the aftermath if necessary. If he’s a jerk? That’s on him. I don’t regret either difficult situation. I’m responsible for my choices and the consequences that inevitably follow. Defined by my behavior, not his.

Stranger dates only, from here on out. No habla friend zone. My heart can’t take losing a friend AND my sex life again, simultaneously.

I’m turning the page and have a hot chocolate date set up with a divinely well-spoken pilot. A really good man, making an amazing effort to be respectfully interesting. He’s hot on my tail, pursuing me relentlessly and has impeccable spelling. He wears a tie every day and that’s more motivation than I can shake a stick at. We all have our weaknesses and this is my #1, so when he sent me a picture from his closet this morning and let me pick? I’m awake. He’s on his way out the door to fly to Mexico (swoon) and I’m falling back to sleep when I hear my phone chirp at me again. It’s a picture of him sitting in the cockpit, wearing the tie I chose.

This hot chocolate date just got a lot hotter.

I arm them right away with my favorite vices and sit back to see how well they listen and how motivated they are. Likewise, I make a mental checklist of casually mentioned favorites. I remember how spicy he likes his food, what kind of beer he drinks, his favorite places and colors. I’m no longer that desperate doormat girlfriend with an undying need to please, but if he pays attention and makes an effort to impress me?          I will not be outdone.

Another picture comes chirping in. It’s him with full lights in the cockpit before takeoff, and my phone rings.

AM- Good morning, beautiful girl. Have a nice day & I’ll text you when I land.

Well played, Air Man.

A phoned in “good morning, beautiful” from the damn cockpit of an international flight. Proving my point in the most delicious way. A motivated man moves mountains to put a smile on your face and this man is taking no prisoners.

I’m even considering taking him out in public to my favorite restaurant so Miss Fancy can give him the once over and cast her vote.

This could be serious. This might be a boyfriend.

But first?

Hot chocolate. ♥

The devastating effects of shitty men.

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You didn’t really think I was going to blame the ladyfolk entirely, did you?

I’m equal opportunity when I feel like throwing verbal hammers. I took up for the gentlemen who’ve suffered at the hands of a shitty woman, and now I’m coming for rest of y’all. You are a bad bunch and you are creating your own hell.

I do believe you are worse than the worst women. I have dated some legendary bad men and a few crazy women. Nothing is worse than the uncertainty and self doubt a bad man can foster.

Men lacking integrity seem to be the fastest growing population. Do you remember the last time a man opened a door for you? I do. I remember the last 5 times. Four of those rare gems were over the age of 70 and I had a baby with the fifth. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a protective man with old school manners. Men just aren’t men like they used to be. My grandfather always walked closest to the street and kept my grandmother tucked safely beside him. He thanked Heavenly Father for her with every meal and we grew up knowing that his love for her was the kind that lit the stars. That kind of expression makes a family. Outside of the nursing home, I think that sort of magic has died.

Men who lie make you question every single thing you hear, forever. Even from the men who want to do better. Even when we know it’s insane. We never completely recover after a betrayal from the man we dreamed up baby names with. Our hearts heal, but we always worry about giving 100% again without a hell of a lot of reassurance. The first sign of dishonesty has us retreating into our shell like a terrified hermit crab. Lying men create lifelong holes in our armor.

My dial-a-dick satisfies my greatest weaknesses while teaching me some powerful lessons with the training wheels our friendship provides. In ways I didn’t know were possible, he manages to make me feel incredible and insignificant at the same time. I may as well have a number tattooed on my wrist. A lesson I needed to learn about casual sex. This is about supply and demand. Men can do that and women need to understand that men are completely capable of using their dick as frequently as a hammer, and with whomever is in current need of nailing.  I only know a few men who don’t share their tools.

Men who hit it and quit it. The ghost we all love to hate. That guy who blew you up until you literally blew him, and now doesn’t respond to a thing. You’ve told him it kills you. He continues to ghost you. You’ve used your big girl words, peacefully. Still silence. You’re left feeling like a cheap vessel within which he felt like venturing, and now he can’t even bother to send an emoji. You got played, girlfriend… and shame on you guys who do this. It changes the rules for us and that’s some grade A bullshit. We don’t get to fuck you when we want. We have to play hard to get and leave you hanging. We know the rules. We aren’t allowed to be excited and we aren’t allowed to ask for it. We have to ghost you first, if we ever want this to go in our favor. Games, gentlemen… you are the reason they exist.

Men who cheat leave a path of wreckage that takes years to clean up. We either turn the tables and make the rest of the innocent men unfortunate enough to cross our path, suffer…. or we are whiny and insecure every time you’re a second late. I had a boyfriend who was so painfully unfaithful that I was afraid to open the phone book in our hotel room after finding phone numbers he’d hidden in a travel planner on a romantic weekend away. I still avoid his phone calls and I still hate that he was able to change how I react in every relationship, since. Late? Why? Phone on silent? Why? Taking a call outside, privately? Why? People who aren’t hiding something don’t sneak around and once you’ve found yourself talking yourself out of listening to your inner voice… you can’t ever ignore that bitch again. We don’t want to be crazy. You created this when you made us feel bad for being right about your shady ass behavior. Crazy bitches are all a result of an unfaithful man making them feel bad for being right.

I love men. Love them. I love silky soft clean shaven man face and five o’clock shadow that leaves my skin tingling. I love tall men and short ones. I love good cologne and DIE for a dirty, hard-working man who smells like a long days work. I crave a man in a necktie and am equally as turned on by a man in a hard hat and coveralls. Bald men make my blood simmer and aggressive men make me forget my morals. I love them, one and all….

But.

I’m a mean little hornet when I need to be, because some of y’all fucking suck.

That guy talking to multiple women at the same time…. or worse… fucking them all? Yeah you deserve the hammer I’m throwing in your direction. You’re damaging people to get your dick wet. Knock it the fuck off. Give a shit about your soul, have a little integrity and bag that dipstick up.

That guy with the faulty phone. Yeah, right. In the age of $800 phones, yours works. Answer the lady or use your big boy words and tell her you’re not interested. Leading someone on to let them twist in the wind is a bitch move and… well… stop being a bitch.

That guy who blames women for it all. Umm… no. I don’t hold anyone responsible for my epic bad experiences because I was the only one there. You can’t make your future pay for the bad choices you made in the past. Let it go. It’s holding you back and it’s stealing any chance you have at happiness. Worse? You’re hurting innocent people who haven’t done anything but want you. Get the fuck over yourself, c’est la vie. Baggage gets heavy and you can’t be holding me if you’re carrying your ex.

That guy who yells at women needs the rest of you bad boys to get his shit together. Real men treasure the opportunity to be in control of a woman’s body and if you’re abusing that privilege or worse… hurting her? You need a solid ass beating and a month in the clink. I have zero patience for men who put their hands on women.

It’s a wonder anyone finds love anymore in this big ol genital cesspool.

 

 

Reality Check

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My phone has a life of its own. Tinder is a whole new experience for me and I am quite popular, it seems. It’s less than exciting, but whatever works.

A booty call incinerates me from the ground up, but it’s difficult to walk around smoldering all the time. Don’t judge…I’m coping and it’s working. It’s been invaluable in helping me melt myself back together. I got my heart broken falling in love with Mr. Perfection, again.

Old habits die hard, my friends and I am a huge glutton for punishment when it comes to he who wields the whisk.

Being stupid in love with someone you know is not in love with you, is an act of insanity. I knew he was coming to visit this summer and I promised myself I would close my eyes and head back out to the garden to pull weeds. It was hell the last time I’d seen him and we were finally friends again so a huge part of me wanted to avoid him, altogether.

The same way I don’t casually smoke anymore… I wanted to abstain from my love affair with Perfection.

I just couldn’t.

Miss Lovely and Mrs. Gorgeous talked me into going to a show where he’d be. I tried to decline. I really did. I had long talks with myself about the state of my heart where he was concerned. The juice was not worth the squeeze, and I knew it. That didn’t stop me either. Five years had left me vulnerable and he’d been the center of my fantasies for a very long time. Both intentionally and otherwise.

I wanted to see him. I didn’t care about the cost and I knew it would be steep. I put the right panties on that evening, knowing he’d be the one taking them off. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

Just seeing him gives me butterflies and makes my mouth dry. I knew I should leave as soon as he said hello and touched my hand. I smiled at him and his cologne hit me as he moved close to hug me. I held my breath. It didn’t help. I hate beards and he is looking quite Amish… but the truth about women is that we hold no standards or restrictions for the men we love most. He could look like he’s part of the Duck Dynasty family and I would still adore him. He’s my Perfection. All my filters are disabled and I’m throwing every single standard and rule I have, out the window.

I knew I was welcoming suffering when I felt him grab my fingertips and pull me over to take a shot with the rest of them. The lines were getting blurry and he was morphing into the version of him that I love most. Unfortunately, that guy only shows up when he’s drunk.

P- You look really good. I’ve missed you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch.

J- I’m sorry you’re going to wind up in my bed tonight.

It’s different when you are emotionally intimate with someone and he’s been there for me as a friend through some of the most horrible times. He is my walking-talking-dream guy when he’s 6 inches away, but he’s a few thousand miles away and he quickly becomes my football pal and the reason I cry over mimosas with my best friend, Miss Fancy.

Back in the friend zone… bleeding from the heart and drowning in regret. He’s gone in the wind from the moment his flight takes off.

I’m ashamed of myself for immediately throwing all my lessons out the window and forgetting that the past repeats itself if you forget the lessons you were supposed to learn the first time.

I will love again, I can still be and feel sexy and someday, hopefully in the not too distant future, I’ll stop thinking about him every time a sad song comes on. I deleted him out of my phone, off the iPad and just away.

I gave his text tone to the man who curls my toes and I set myself free from waiting. It’s the only grown thing to do because happiness begets happiness, and he only makes my heart ache. In a perfect world, it’d be completely different, but here we are and here it is.

It’s finally behind me and I can look at my bed again without feeling hollow. Say what you will, but I do believe the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else and a friend did for me what I could not do for myself. He erased the touch that was haunting me by blowing my mind, kissed me blind so I could forget and reminded me that I want far more than to be a vacation highlight.

Sometimes it’s heartache that heals the most.

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Candace, Queen of the magical granola.

You GUYS.

You’re all so nice and I get the sweetest emails. ♥ I try to keep up on correspondence but I kind of suck at it. The nicest lady asked if she could send me a present and it came on the hardest of days. I was mystified opening it because I haven’t done any shopping in ages.

I have to preface this by saying that I am a HUGE granola snob. I make my own because I don’t like anybody else’s as much….

and Candace’s granola kicks my granola’s boring ass.

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Beyond that, Candace saved my whole heart on the saddest of days when I lost someone incredibly special to me. I accidentally deleted the Facebook page for this blog, so I can’t thank her directly. I hope she sees this, because WOW. You all need some.

You can get some too, at http://www.colleycreek.com

Candace,

I love you, sweet friend. This was an unbelievable surprise and my  heart is full of gratitude for your generosity ♥ Thank you, thank you, thank you!

xoxo J

The high cost of shitty women

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Yeah you, bitches; I’m coming for you today.

We love to sit around with our girlfriends and cackle about the depressing state of the common single man these days, but do we ever ask ourselves how they got that way? Do we ever take responsibility? I’m no saint and I’ve committed my fair share of transgressions. I always apologized and I’m on pretty good terms with most of my exes but I’m sure I left a few dents along my selfish way.

I’ve never outdone the douchebags I’ve loved so I took myself out of the pool for 5 years.

I’m now swimming in men who’ve been lied to, cheated on, let down and disrespected. It’s a murky puddle of brokenhearted good guys,gone wrong. Shitty, irresponsible women are absolutely the reason this pond is so stagnant and full of bottom-feeders.

That guy you strung along because you were lonely? Yeah he’s torturing the woman who loves him, now. Good job, asshole.

That man you cheated on? Yeah he’s bleeding internally and denying himself basic happiness while juggling women. You’re a real cunt.

That guy you nickled and dimed to death because you like to be “spoiled”? Yeah he only goes dutch now and he’s never going to find love again. You’re a fucking dick for leaving this guy with a quirk weird enough that it’s cockblocking him years later.

That guy you ghosted? Yeah he’s ghosting me now and I’d like to kick you squarely in the vagina. Would it have KILLED you to send him a damn text? No.

That guy you lied to has a repertoire to rival the best con men, now. You armed him with all the tools to mislead the masses and now he’s breaking hearts and promises at breakneck speed. The karmafairy will even this one out and I don’t envy you the bad man you’re going to end up with as a result.

It’s easy to get caught up in your own feelings but when you damage a person for life and future relationships, you fucking suck.

We are not innocent in the state of the menfolk these days. I was talking to my favorite lesbian last night and told her I was just going to start dating women exclusively and she laughed at me.

T- Oh babydoll, you’d find the same things in different packaging.

We are just as bad and in some cases, even worse. We made these bad men and as single women, now we get to try to rectify another woman’s bullshit behavior or clear-cut through the scar tissue she left behind.

Sigh.

We aren’t all bad and neither are they, but we do have to take responsibility for the few we contributed to the murky depths of the swamp.

Go tend your garden.

Are you sitting down?

If you aren’t, I’ll give you a minute to find a cozy seat.

Yeah? Ready?

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Go tend your garden.

Unrealistic woman.

Indeed. Ha ha ha ha haaaa ha ah ahahhaha ahahah .

I want to fly to Florida to see my favorite lady and have this tattooed on. I have been in tears laughing since I got his text.

Then an even better idea hit me.

 

Go Tend Your Garden

Because I don’t get offended anymore, I just have to seek the humor in it. Dating is absolute misery and if I had my way, I wouldn’t do it… but I had to go and open goddamn Pandora’s box… and now I want a boyfriend.

Being high on great sex does terrible things to your brain. I realize I’m not making choices with a clear head, but here I am… evolving nonetheless.

I don’t want dial a dick, as it turns out. After 5 years of celibacy, it has been spectacular to get laid again, soundly- and I hail the blessed Incredicock, but it’s fall, y’all. Time for dinner, a movie and some sort of consistent sex life.

#sorrynotsorry

Because that fantasy of him, a plate of perfect bacon, a bucket of ice cold beer and hours of uninterrupted… … … football?

Well that shit can’t happen if you don’t stop seeking love in the wrong place, and you know when you are. I had to admit it and I hate it, but it is what it is.

He’s just not that into me, and it took my entire, torturous thirties to learn to recognize when that is the case. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, it just makes it blow up beyond the point of no return. We all know. Better to face it with the grace of a woman and not the grief of a child. It was fun, now it’s not, the end. Huge bummer? Yep, now turn the page.

You can’t win if you don’t play and if you don’t get out there and dent yourself a little, you’ll never learn what you really want and what really makes you happy. You have to invest yourself, even if you walk away with a few scars as a result.

I go all in. I don’t leave any feelings out and I am not afraid of much. I’m happy alone, but it turns out that I miss intimacy and I’m not cut out for being treated like an automated vagina.

I’m just not that girl. I make marshmallows & shit. I can hold my own in a room full of amazing women and I’ve fought hard for that realization.

I tried. Damn it. It was amazing and I have no regrets.

Well maybe one. It has been a while since I tended my garden.