When I was 7 years old, I sent New Kids on The Block a letter asking them to join me for my birthday, pool party style.
I never heard back.
Later that week, I heard on the news that the band had split up.
Now, twenty years later, those stunning specimen have reunited, and I am still holding on to the hope that they will respond to my birthday invitation. Until then, I will just continue to believe that my letter was lost in the mail, as I will never succumb to the idea that these magical unicorns did not want attend a 7 year ladies birthday bash!
A girl can dream.
(OMG–I still swoon.)
So, I am terrible at all things athletic. Hand-eye coordination is a skill that I do NOT possess. In fact, in college during an Intro to Dance class I took, mostly for an easy A, my instructor told me that I need to learn to be more ‘delicate and graceful’, while prancing around the class, attempting to learn the predesignated moves. No joke, I was simply awful at dance class and all athletics, in general; that was, until last night.
(Side Note: Later, I was so overwhelmed with worry about my lack of grace that I had a conversation with the Intro to Dance instructor and asked her if my grade would suffer because I am not a docile dancer. I was assured that my grade would not be impacted by my utter lack of gentle motions. It was not. My grade was, more or less, a reflection of my ability to not give a fuck about Intro to Dance, at all. However, that is another story entirely.)
Last night, after my Row Sculpt class, the instructor asked me if I rowed while in high school and college. After looking around for a moment, to see who else this man could be speaking to, I realized that the instructor was, in fact, directing his question to me. I quickly responded and told him that I had not rowed in the past. He then told me that I had excellent form and he was surprised that I had not done this type of physical activity previously. Naturally, I was shocked by his observation.
So, I ‘gracefully’ said to him, “Oh, thanks, I think my body has just really responded well to this type of exercise.” I awkwardly giggled and aggressively walked away, stunned with excitement that someone thought that I did an athletic activity correctly. I was now someone who had ‘excellent form’. Instead of being someone who cannot gingerly prance on the dance floor, I am someone who dominates a rower. I am a total bad ass, lean and mean rowing machine. My new found ability to master, at the very least, one physical activity has taught me this:
You just never know when you are going to be one decision away from realizing that you have a mad skill set just waiting to be unleashed. Who knows, maybe you too can become a prodigy rower! Totally kidding, I am not a prodigy rower, but it is really important to try new things and just say YES to new adventures. If I never would have made the choice to get up at 5:30 a.m. to try this new rowing class, I would have never realized that I actually have muscles in my back. I would have never known how much I love group exercise classes. And, most importantly, if I had not said yes to trying something new, regardless of my lack of grace, I would have never known that I had a dormant skill set that makes me feel wildly empowered.
Also, FU Kent State dance instructor, my shit is on point and chalk full of all kinds of fucking grace.
Back in August, I began dating a man who I once drunkenly made out with at a bar. The two of us actually attended the same high school. Never encountering one another whilst in school, our drunken and very sloppy smooch session, in the booth at a local bar, that infamously served underage adults remains a much more exciting tale. Either way, back in August we had our first actual date. The two of us, again, met at a local bar. This time though, we were both of legal drinking age and I am sad to report that we did not share a moment of tender drunken passion in a booth. Either way, the date was fun and we continued a romantic and exciting four month long courtship. That was…until he “ghosted” me.
The term ghosted is described by Wikipedia as follows: “Ghosting is breaking off a relationship (often an intimate relationship) by ceasing all communication and contact with the former partner without any apparent warning or justification, as well as avoiding or ignoring and refusing to respond to the former partner’s attempts to reach out or communicate.” Yes! I was ghosted.
In fact the first time I heard the word ghosted, I literally thought that someone was being visited by a ghost late at night. For real, I envisioned a previous home owner who had once died in a random house coming back and haunting the new resident and saying shit like, “Bitch, get out of my house. BOO!” Then the ghost would laugh maniacally, passing through walls of the house. Meanwhile, the person being haunted would be flailing his/her arms around and screaming in fear. Never in a million years did I imagine that ghosting someone would be an actual act committed by a man or a woman, especially after the age of 30. Of course, I was wrong.
Now, I am not going to sit here and bash the man who did commit the act of ghosting on me. In fact, I fell pretty hard for him, sort of fast too, if I am being honest. And, I am being honest because my motto in life is always: Honesty is the ONLY policy. And if you know me, you know that I do not fall easily for any man. I struggle to trust men. I struggle to accept that any man who has ever used a social media dating app, like Bumble or Tinder, is even looking for love. And, how could I? Every man who I have ever dated, especially in the last month, has told me some version of the following: “I mean, who cares if it does not work with some random girl. There is always someone else in the app waiting for another date. In fact, I am on Tinder and Bumble, just to increase my chances of meeting more women. So, onto the next…” No joke, I have head the same version of thise story, from the last three men who I went on a first date with. Needless to say, I lost interest quickly and second dates did not occur.
*Note: If a man is on more than one social media dating site, just run for your life. This is a man who will always be looking for the next best option and will never be truly satisfied. Run.
Speaking of first dates, I am terrible at all initial encounters with men. I am honestly surprised that I am not being ghosted more often due to my sarcasm and innate awkwardness. With that being said, I was wildly excited that this man who originally ghosted me even wanted a second date, as I was…of course–awkward and sarcastic. Note, the sarcasm is exponentially exacerbated during all first face-to-face interactions with men. Have you ever seen an actual fish out of water, flopping around on dry land? Oh goody, you have seen that? Because that is AN EXACT replica of how I appear while on a first date. Fucking awkward and fucking sarcastic. So, you can imagine how shocked I was when the original ghoster asked to spend another evening with me.
Fast forward four months later and there I was…being GHOSTED. The last words this man said to me were, “You are still full of shit”. He accused me of blocking him on my fucking Instagram. To be clear, I did not block him, as that would be insanely childish and weird, on a level that I would not even touch. Listen, every once in awhile I need a mad break from Facebook, Instagram and all other forms of social media, so I delete the apps. Like, let’s be honest, I do not need to be obsessing over photos of women, who weigh 110 pounds, and then comparing my thick ass thighs and my colossal ass to these pint sized ladies. In 1996, the band Chicago had a song called “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” and in the first verse of the song, the lyrics read:
Everybody needs a little time away
I heard her say
From each other
Even lovers need a holiday
From each other
Like, they get it. Chicago totally gets it. Sometimes, I just need a little time away from feeling like human garbage because Instagram is telling me I need to be a size two. But, to my point, I was ghosted a month ago to date and I am still deeply hurt and confused by this grown ass man’s inability to communicate his feelings to me.
Okay, so here is the lesson we should all take from this story regarding the disgusting act of ghosting: DO NOT DO IT. DO NOT GHOST. BE A DESCENT FUCKING HUMAN.
Unless you are a fucking dead person, coming back to haunt the new tenants of the home you previously owned, cutting off all communication with someone you once cared about is 100% unacceptable. BE AN ADULT! Tell the person who you just spent X amount of time with that you are no longer interested in seeing him/her romantically. Like, how fucking hard is that? Let me rephrase, telling someone that you are no loner interested in him/her is just the descent thing to do. Period. End of story.
So, to all of you men and women who feel that ghosting is an appropriate means to ending a relationship, my hope is that throughout the year of 2018 you receive the haunting of a lifetime. Legit, I hope that a wall in your home turns into a portal from Hell. I hope that demons use it as a passage way through unworldly dimensions. My hope is that these demons freak you the FUCK out. For all of you out there who have committed the heinous act of ghosting, my wish is that your alarm clocks go off at 3:00 a.m., for months on end. The Devil’s Hour is going to be your time to shine asshole!
He is coming to get you and let’s be honest…you probably deserve it!
So, when I arrived home from work last night, I saw something big and white waddling around my backyard. Naturally, I just assumed this white animal was just another stray kitty, that I would happily try to feed and befriend. However, upon further inspection, it was NOT! The mystery animal was, in fact, a possum!
The possum looked a little like this guy.
Like a normal person, I was freaked out and ran away from the fence, pronto. After a few moments, I thought it would be safe to unleash the beast (my dog) into the backyard to do her nightly ‘business’. Again, I was wrong. The backyard was not safe.
The damn possum was still chillen’ in my yard. And, of course, my damn dog discovered this monster, strolling through the bushes. G, my dog, then continued to sniff this animal and followed it throughout the entire backyard, neglecting my screams to return to the house immediately.
So, in an attempt to save G from a lifetime of possum diseases and myself from a veterinary bill that would leave me bankrupt, I decided to enter ‘The Ring of Marsupial’. As I ran across the arena to save G, naturally, I slipped and fell on a pile of soggy dog poop. However, knowing my end goal, SAVE THE DOG (and my pocketbook), I got up and continued onward like a wild banshee.
As I approached the standoff, I witnessed my dog curiously sniffing the hysterically hissing possum. I then grabbed my little baby G by the waist, lifted her like little baby Simba and ran her to safety like a mad woman. After I was able to safely return G to my lion’s den, I realized a few things:
1. I really need to start paying someone to clean up G’s backyard ‘business’.
2. I ain’t afraid of no possums.
3. My dog definitely was nicer to that damn possum than she is to my cats. No joke.
4. Why the hell was there a possum in my backyard?
This is my wild beast G, who was almost viciously attacked by the ferocious possum and she is also the beast who is leaving soggy dumps all over my yard.
It’s 6:47, in the morning, and I’m about to smash leftover pizza and chips. I didn’t even go out last night. This is an entirely sober decision.
I am clearly an adult who is making #smartlifechoices.
So, I definitely think I need a better opening line for when I am soliciting conversations with men on Bumble, which is an online dating site. Clearly, ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ just isn’t doing it, as I have had at least five guys who have deleted and /or not responded to me at all. Hahahha
Anyone got any good opening liners I can steal?
—–>My friend suggested that I use the line, “Hey good looking, what’s cooking?”
I was deleted by the guy within an hour.
Last night I had a dream that all of my teeth fell out of my head, my gums were sliding off, and that I had to carry my teeth around in a newspaper. All the while, some seven year old was chasing me around a parking lot at Sears!
So I am pretty sure that is not normal.
I am pretty confident that my dog is trying to kill me slowly, via sleep deprivation.
If this is her plan, she is succeeding-wildly.
Is anyone else watching AHS, My Roanoke Nightmare?
So far, the thing I am most confused about is how easily the damn wallpaper, which is supposed to be ancient, is peeling off that freaking wall, which is hiding the letters
M U R D E
I’m Pretty sure that this IS the most unrealistic thing that has happened in the entire series.
Apparently, I do an amazing Carlton. If you do not get the reference, we shan’t be friends.
The last thing you didn’t want to know I was thinking, but now you know…
I am currently sitting on my living room floor, pounding a glass of wine, watching ‘P.S. I Love You’ for one reason and one reason only…I needed a really good fucking cry. Like, I am in desperate need of a straight up tear fest. I have been yearning for this moment all day, and I’ll be damned if I don’t produce some salty waterworks for my dog to lick off of my face this evening.
And, folks, we are five minutes into the movie and popcorn sized, salty af, teardrops are dripping away.
I am at that part of my day where I cannot decide which of the following should occur:
A.) Happy Hour, alone?
B.) Shaking my tail feathers at the gym?
C.) Going home to my ‘fat pants’ and sleeping all night.
I am pretty sure this question is in some random Cosmo magazine, which will reveal what kind of an adult I am based on my specific response.
I can assure you that I am the kind of an adult who is going to make the incorrect choice for a Thursday work night.
Let’s be honest, I mean, it is BASICALLY the weekend.