The Contender

Well shoot. I may have actually made a good choice, whilst wasted. I’m writing it down because it definitely needs to be noted.

Miss Lovely and I were hanging out together, destroying our livers, when we met two great guys. Mr. NotCalifornia and his Pops. We laughed ourselves sick with them, then went to go somewhere else.

Which is when I realized that the moment of truth was upon me. I don’t go out. I will literally NEVER see him again unless I say something and if he hasn’t asked… do I really have the balls to do it myself?

Of course I did. I was knee deep in Kokanee and a dirty martini or two.

J- Sorry if this is forward,  but it was really nice to meet you and I’d like to see you again. What do you think about that?

Instant grin. Phew. He’s supposed to be playing pool, but stops and pulls his phone out.

C- I’d really like that.

Hey, hey, hey… look who hasn’t lost her touch. I have to say, it feels great to be hunted again. I don’t mind stepping up to the plate to swing the bat and ask for what I want but if you’re forever met with silence you have to love yourself enough to give up. Yes it stings, and hurts like hell, but you’re wasting your time and taking an active role in breaking your own heart. I’m complicit in how bad I’ve been feeling. I went and fell in love with a casual situation because I’m not one to be taken casually, but I also learned a powerful lesson about playing a game that I can’t win. No matter how different you think you are if you’ve shown him he can treat you as an incidental plaything, he’s going to. Even if you’ve been friends for a long time. You teach them how to treat you. I fail at that and am suffering the consequences.

So I texted Mr. NotC this afternoon… and he’s delivering baby farm animals on his farm.

Yeah. You read that right. I immediately sent Miss Lovely a screenshot.

L- We’re inviting ourselves over.

This is a whole new kind of transplant. He grew up in the city and wants to live his days out on a farm. One picture of my garden and he’s lighting my phone up. He sees the value in my character and not just my pretty face. That’s incredibly refreshing when I’m feeling so bad about myself.

Just as I suspected though… you have to leave the comfort of your own house to meet people.

Damn it.

It’s some small consolation that I’m still awfully good at it.

The Worst Hangover, Ever.


Miss Lovely and I have destroyed ourselves.

Both of us were drinking on broken hearts and empty stomachs and dear GOD we knew it was a bad idea. Sometimes you have to flood him out… or at least come home with a phone full of strange boys dying for a date.

For the record, the hangover simply offers hours of empty suffering in which to drown in that same heartache. It doesn’t make it go away and the worst part?

Finding those drunk texts you sent him. They’re never good. Drunk text me is either horny and begging or writing angry novels. She has no chill. By the grace of God, I didn’t send any this weekend.

We closed the bar Friday, and went to brunch to drink mimosas to dull the slight hangovers we had on Saturday morning.

Then closed the bar on Saturday night.

To put it mildly, I can feel every miserable inch of my cold, shaking, sweating body. The industrial surgical bra and elastic seat belt I have to wear strapped around the top of my chest is a whole new level of torture this morning. Sleep would be amazing, but the alcohol has metabolized like crack and I’m awake and listening to the deafening thud of my heart pound, while my brain cries. Miserable wanting Incredicock and feeling like a wet sack of garbage.

Not at all better and in fact… FAR WORSE. He will feel fine today and I will be curled into the fetal position and bargaining with God.

Miss Lovely and I weighed the options of calling Dr. Miles. He’d come with IV’s and banana bags… but I’d probably be molested by him and I just couldn’t do it. It’s nice to have the shoe on the other foot when I’ve been the one begging, but he’s just plain nasty with a penchant for licking assholes. Ya know, I’m not judging, but I’m also not really interested in having my asshole licked. I just want my head to stop pounding and my heart to stop aching for something I can’t have. Having what I want thrown at me is extremely frustrating when it’s coming from the wrong guy.



And so I made my whole body feel like my heart does. Broken.

My eyes feel like they’ve been overinflated and my stomach feels like I’ve been poisoned. There really aren’t words to describe the pounding in my head.

I called my boss last night and gave a full confession that I was in the midst of surviving the worst hangover of my life and would not be worth a damn today. She was excited to hear I had fun and told me to drink lots of water.

I can’t eat or drink a thing… and I would cry but my body is devoid of enough hydration to make tears.

A bubble bath and a glass of Pedialyte on ice. A text to the one I’m suffering over because I’m a glutton for punishment. A day to climb back in bed and let myself really feel the weight of self harm. I’m better than this and I need to gracefully pick myself up, dust myself off and let it go.