Whore to a Housewife

Baring my soul, here... I have friends that I could talk to about this, I'm sure, but they all have their own problems, so mine just seem trivial. Don't want to be a burden, so...I'm getting it all out of my system, here, before it eats me alive.

I talk a big game when it comes to dating. I'm always saying that I won't sleep with a guy on the first date, and that I want respect, blah blah blah. When it comes right down to it, though, that's a bold-face lie. I don't respect myself and I don't demand respect from men. This week, I've slept with 3 men. In my life, just shy of 30. And you just thought, "Wow, what a slut." Yeah, pretty much how I feel, too. Sex is attention. Unfortunately, it's been so long since I've gotten the "right" kind of attention from men that I'll take what I can get. I don't feel powerful or womanly...I feel dirty and disgusting. I feel like a whore.

I don't know why I felt the need to post this for the world to read...

These guys are great guys, but they'll never want to be with me. Especially now that I've slept with them. Weird how that works... Guys want women to fuck them, but when it comes to bringing someone home to Mommy, they want a virgin...or at least someone who will make them work for sex. That's not me. That's the person I want to be, but I'm just so afraid of being alone that I go along with whatever they want, so they won't leave me. Guess what? They leave me, anyway.

Bah. I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I want to be wanted. I'm so unbelievably lonely and sad. It doesn't help that I'm so painfully shy and unsure of myself that when I do go on dates, I usually blow it. I'm socially awkward... Just like I was in high school. There was a time in my life, recently even, that I felt like I could do anything, talk to anyone, be myself around guys and they'd like me. (This was a time when I *wasn't single*.) That time flew right past me. I'm back to being the weird girl. I say the wrong things. I turn guys off, but not enough that they won't have an orgasm inside me; just enough that they won't call me the next day.

No, I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm just sad. I'm lonely. I feel...incomplete. Fuck if that isn't exactly how I was raised NOT to feel. "Never let a man complete you." Yeah, well, I guess I listened to that advice...I've got no man TO complete me, so I'm incomplete.

Last night, I went over to a man's house. I'm genuinely interested in him, but I doubt that he's going to want anything to do with me, now. We fucked. Yes, I had an orgasm. So did he. Afterwards, the only thing I could think of was how badly I wanted a shower. I wanted to cry. As it was, I did shed a couple tears, while he was out of the room. I stayed for a couple hours and half-ass watched a movie, then got out of there and let him sleep. He invited me to stay, but I couldn't do it. I needed to break down and guys don't like a crying woman. So, I cried on the drive home, and I cried when I got home, and I'm still crying.

I don't know when I changed, but I don't like this side of me. I don't like sleeping with guys to feel wanted and loved, only to end up feeling dirty and used. I don't like not being able to talk to my friends, or cry around them because nobody has seen me cry in years, and they don't know how to act, when I do. I want my best friend back. He'd let me cry. He wouldn't say a word; just hold me. I miss that, so much.

This is the real me. I'm vulnerable and weak. Hell, I can't even hold down a job. I fuck men to make them like me. I feel like I've been left behind. I'm not the tough girl that everyone thinks I am...that's a bullshit facade. That's what they wanted (or needed) to see, so that's what they see.

Yup. So that's that. I'm going to go scrub the whore off my skin and do some crying. Alone.

Embarrassing...?

Just because I feel like, I'm going to post something that will, without a doubt, make somebody squirm.

I'm a 26-year-old woman. I'm healthy. My reproductive system is healthy. Other than a few extra pounds, I have no health complaints. I smoke, and I know I shouldn't. I'm mentally stable, in that I'm not on any type of medication to "balance my mood."

I have a period. Regularly. Every 29 days, Aunt Flo, Mother Nature, the Red Tide, whatever you want to call it (I'm curious for responses, actually...) knocks on my door. For 4 days, the lining of my uterus leaves my body. It's not pretty, but it's *natural*.

I have cramps. I get salt cravings, then sugar cravings, then salt cravings, again. There's an ache, constant, dull and annoying in my lower back. Sometimes, I get diarrhea, sometimes I'm constipated; it varies month-to-month. I put on water-weight, and my jeans don't fit quite right, for those 96-100 hours. I'm a little moody, tho I try not to cry for no reason, or scream at anybody. Women who use their period as an excuse to be a bitch make me sick.

What I want to know is: why is that such a shocking thing? Why can't I talk about my period without somebody getting uncomfortable? Why should something natural, something that every healthy female from the age of 14 (or younger; 10, for me) to 50 (or more) has, or will have to, or has had to deal with, be a taboo subject? Why should I be embarrassed when I buy pads from the store? I'm not embarrassed to buy condoms, and guess where they go...?

Men aren't afraid to talk about their reproductive processes. (In great detail.) Why are we?

2 Days and Counting...

The nerves are settling in... In just over a two days, we are heading out on our road-trip to St Louis to meet the Boondock Saints and other very cool people. I am excited and nervous all at once! I can't wait to get there, but I'm worried that my agoraphobia is going to keep me in the hotel room once I see how many people are going to be there...MEEP! I've been pretty good, recently. Not one panic attack in the last 2 years (claps hands) but I have also avoided overly-crowded places, so...yeah... Getting a little scared.

Ai yai yai

Just a quick little rant:

Patrick, you are a jerk. You talk shit about everybody behind everybody's back. Don't you know by now that we are all in the same group of friends? Haven't you learned that everything you say will eventually be relayed back to the target of your shit-talking?

You're back in jail, now. Big surprise there. Whoever took over your phone seems to think that you hate me, that I'm a "fat, nasty cow" who "fucks everything in sight" and that you "can't stand" my "nasty ass." (Quoting from the texts he/she/it sent me.) Interesting. The last time you talked to me, you said: "You'll always be my girl; I'll always love you, no matter what..." Hmmm...

Now, ordinarily, I would over-analyze and try to get to the bottom of all this, but I put up with your lies and empty promises for 7 years. I don't have to dwell on a damn thing anymore, and I don't plan to. So, here it is: Goodbye! My final goodbye. If I see you on the street, I'm going to pretend I don't know you. I will not answer your texts. Don't bother calling me, I won't answer. Good luck in your life; I hope it treats you better than you treat the people around you.

End rant! :)

To the point...

OK. A lot of my followers/friends have noticed the drama going on around here. Some have decided, "Hey. That's not my business..." (To you: I say, "I love you! I wish there were more like you!" Others, however, have decided to jump in the middle of it. You suck, and I've got a special message for you: "PISS OFF! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU! GET YOUR NOSE OUT OF IT!" Thank you.

A cat fight recently broke out on Twitter. *facepalm* Really? Oh, yes...really! And it gets juicier and juicier as the days go by. It started a week ago (I could be wrong on the dates; I've given up keeping track at this point) with name-calling, then an unnamed celebrity was dragged into it (for no reason, at all...that celebrity has *nothing* to do with this. At. All. K?), then more and more people started attacking each other...and it hasn't stopped. What should have been a, "HEY! WTF?! Why did you say that?" Turned into a knock-down, drag-out, let's-get-everybody-I-know-on-my-side-even-though-this-is-partially-my-fault-too, WORLD WAR FUCKING THREE! Again with the *facepalm*!

This is my note to everybody involved: I don't care. No, really. I don't give a flying fuck, anymore. If you want to drag this out and drag more and more people into it...go for bad, do your thing, but leave me alone! I'm done. As a matter of fact, I've *been* done, but people just don't seem to get it! Your feelings got hurt. So did mine. So did a few others. But, guess what? I'm over it. "Get over it or die pissed off." I chose to get over it. You know what helped me make that decision? Here goes, the big secret to how I can get over things so much quicker than you...it's....THE INTERNET! I use it for entertainment, and when something is no longer entertaining, I quit it...Simple philosophy, I think... So, in closing, I leave you with the following Facebook status:

"In light of recent bullshit, I have decided to say "FUCK OFF!" to the Internet. This shit has gone too far, already, and I will no longer subject myself to middle school rumors and drama. Last I checked, we were all adults, so if you've got a problem with me, or my friends, bring it to our faces. The catty, passive-aggressive attitude will no longer be tolerated, or acknowledged. If you come up to me with "Well, he/she said..." I will unfriend/unfollow you, block you and forget I ever met you. I don't need you in my life to be happy. I CHOOSE to have you in it, and I can CHOOSE to send you packing."

In the trenches

I've been out of commission for a few...years, it feels like, so I'm going to take the time to catch you up on all the insignificance that is my life. Yeah, it's important to me, but may not be to you...I guess I'll let you be the judge. *shrug*

First on the list of importance (I'm not going chronologically, here, FYI) is the fact that I've sworn off men this year. I'm done with the over-bearing assholes who build me up just to destroy me later on. I'm done with the constant questions. I'm done with not being able to make my own decisions, without having to answer to some guy who is, most-likely, only in it for the sex, in the first place. I dealt with a controlling, condescending man for nearly 6 years. I'd leave him, but I always went back, because I was "lonely." Fucking pathetic! He, and others, screwed me over so bad, that I am now a jaded, paranoid mess of a woman. They, however, seem just fine, and take no responsibility for my heartache. It's ridiculous, the kind of pleasure they must get from my pain. Well, hell. No, I can't put it all on them, either. I am, at best, hard to live with; at worst, easy to please. Don't worry, it messes with their heads, too.

You see, from my experience, men have been trained on the ways to handle women for their entire lives, whether through observation, or their own experiences. Then, I come along and blow every preconceived notion they have right out of the water. I don't like the lovey-dovey, mushy crap that most girls fall for. If you profess your love for me the first month (hell, the first six months) that we're together, I'm going to run for the hills, screaming. I don't want to live with you, probably ever. I like my own space. I'm not a recluse, by any definition of the word, but I don't like everybody "all up in my business," either. I like the convenience and ease of a "friend with benefits" type scenario. Don't get me wrong, here, folks. I enjoy affection. I enjoy the idea of a relationship. I'm just not very good at it, it seems.

Or, rather, I'm not good at everybody else's definition of a relationship. I'd be the perfect girl for somebody who travels a lot, actually. Most women want their men close-by so they can keep tabs on them; make sure they aren't cheating, or being otherwise deceitful. I don't. I give everything I have to my men. Every ounce of emotion, good or bad, is thrown at them every minute I am with them. It's draining after a while and I need time to be alone, and recharge. I've screwed up relationships in the past because I wasn't getting that recharge time at home. I was able to find it somewhere else, and we all know how that turns out.

I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. In fact, I'll be the first to point out my flaws; all you have to do is ask the right question. I don't fit in any category, that I'm aware of, anyway. I'm a girlie-tomboy, a self-righteous, self-less, caring, cold-hearted, give-until-I-have-nothing-left, woman. Damn if that doesn't irritate everybody! (Also, I cuss like a sailor and love like a princess.)

That being said, men, as a whole, don't understand how to handle me. I'm thick-skinned, but sensitive; serious, but light-hearted. I'm a fucking paradox within a mystery, within a god-damned bubble. I don't understand me, sometimes, so I get why they are so confused. They probably think I have "daddy issues" and need somebody to take care of me. Wrong! As a matter of fact, that's the exact line that will have me fit-to-be-tied: "I want to take care of you." Fuck you! I've done just fine on my own, so far, I don't need you, so back off that idea, right now. See what I mean? I get riled-up just thinking about somebody telling me that. *calm breath* Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that's right: men and my aversion to relationships.

Let's step off of that for just a minute so I can try to explain myself better, because I'm sure I've been jumping all over the place, and you're probably at least a tiny bit confused. I am serious when I say that I put everything I have into a relationship. I don't believe in fate. I believe that it takes a lot of effort for that fairy-tale romance to blossom, and I'm not about to miss out on that, just because I was too guarded, or because I didn't do everything in my power to make it work.

I've been broken, many times, because of that philosophy, but it hasn't changed the way I am. It's only changed how I choose the men worthy enough of my time. Damn, that sounded conceited in my head, and even more-so when I typed it out. I don't believe that any person, man or woman, should sell themselves short. Ever. You get what you think you deserve, so if you accept whatever that comes along, because it's convenient, you'll get burned. I know what I want in a man. I will also know, within the first two weeks, whether or not the man I'm with will be able to provide that. I don't lead people on, and I don't hold back.

Any clearer? No? Yeah...that's OK. You aren't the only one. I've been asked if I'm bi-polar. Nope. Just thick-headed, like my mother. I like things a certain way, and when somebody comes into my life and tries to change the way I have things, I tend to get defensive. My friends love me, and my enemies loathe me...you can't please everybody, right?

And on that note, you find the reason I've decided to give up men for a year. I'm tired of even trying to please everybody. It's my turn to be pleased, dammit!

But, guys, if you're in the market for a an independent, slightly selfish, kill-em-with-kindness kind of woman, who can cook like you've never dreamed...look no further! I'll be taking applications all year... Haha!

Delicious Pain

I have to get this written down somewhere before the memory fades. This is the *actual* dialogue from my visit to the ER last night. This couldn't have been any better if it had been scripted. Here goes:

*Backstory: Went to the Er at one hospital...waited 2 hours. Said screw it, and went to another one in my hometown, because it's never busy @ 3am. Got sent straight back...you know the drill, right? They check vitals, get a pee sample, etc, etc., ask you if you need anything for the pain, in which my response is "PLEASE! Just not Vicodin. That crap makes me itchy." Then a nurse comes in with a vial and a needle in hand...*

Me: But, I don't like needles (whiny voice, very key to the story)

Nurse: (her name was Saint, btw. too cool.) Then I guess you'll just have to be in pain. (With a smile on her face, in a joking tone.)

Me: Alright, fine. (insert dramatic sigh) I'll take the needle. (looks to Crystal) She drives a hard bargain. (we all chuckle)

(The nurse then explains that the shot is one that goes "in the derriere" because it "has some bite to it" and needs to be injected into a large muscle...and I whine, again. I turn over and she jabs, and I mean baseball swings that bitch, into my right cheek. [note: I *may* be exaggerating for effect. lol] Of course, it hurts and I jump.)

Nurse: Don't move! I'll just have to do it twice, then! (I can hear the playful sarcasm, and at that moment decide, "I like her.")

Me: *scoff* Well, I'm sorry, but when something pokes me in the butt, I tend to want to get out of the way!

(short moment of silence)

Nurse: That's a good idea. (laughs) If you rub it, the muscle will absorb the medicine quicker.

(another pregnant pause, in which I am just *waiting* for Crystal to say something sarcastic.)

Crystal: You want me to come over there and rub your butt. (And there it is! lol)

Nurse to Crystal: If you guys are just friends, you're an aweful good one! (She laughs and walks out of the room)

Yeah, so. There ya have it! I will be playing this dialogue over and over again in my head for a *long* time. We laughed for 20 minutes in the hospital...we laughed about it one the way to breakfast, and we laughed about it during the meal. It was EPIC! XD

Moral of the story? Every time Crystal and I are together, it's nothing if not memorable. LOL!