Wednesday, December 2, 2009

the groundwork.

you know what part of a new relationship i hate the absolute fucking most? the whole "new relationship" part.

i don't know that many people do, but i TOTALLY FUCKING HATE being uncertain and looking like a goddamned idiot. it's why i don't do karaoke. or ice skate. or talk really loud on my cell phone on the train. i just can't fucking do it. so these newborn relationships are so fucking sticky and tricky, veritable mine fields peppered with little "hurt feelings" or "inappropriate comment" bombs. and that's murder on a bitch whose foot takes up permanent residence in her goddamned mouth.

i always seem to sleepwalk through the breathless, heady, flush with desire part and go straight to the awkward i-know-you-but-i-don't-really-know-you-so-can-i-get-away-with-saying-this part. the "i thought i could make that joke and you wouldn't cry" part. the "yes i mean it, but do you really mean it?!" part. ugh, and i'm such a motherfucking asshole. but i'm sensitive, too. it's all just SO confusing. i don't like it. as a matter of fact, i might hate it.

navigating my bitch boat through these choppy new dude waters is just so stinking hard! every time i think i'm rolling smoothly along the tide, a fucking manglacier pops up from out of nowhere and i crash right into it. or i capsize trying to avoid it. here are my problems:

1 i am selfish, and i don't give a fuck about anyone anymore.
sigh. while this isn't really true-true, it's true enough when it comes to dudes. i've been dicked around (and not in the hot way) by enough assholes that by this point my tolerance level is next to nothing. i want what i want when i want it, and if your ass doesn't want to give it to me i will replace you. i refuse to eat even one more spoonful of shit off some goddamned dude. sorry bitches, but you should have met me when i was nineteen and optimistic. because i've waited. and i've been patient. and i've understood. and what the fuck did it get me? cheated on and lied to by some cocksucker who wasn't worth a damn. i am serious as a heart attack. if you aren't fucking nice to me and giving me what i fucking need, you have to GO. out with you.

2 at the moment, i am uninterested in any traditional type of situation.
sorry fellas, but i don't want to give birth to your children. i want to roll them up and toss them in the trash. or wipe them off my ass cheeks. or swallow them. anything but suffer through nine long hot fat months of sweating and vomiting and back pain and eating hot dogs with cream cheese and chocolate sauce or whatever you pigs fill your troughs with when tiny footsteps are on the way. and motherfuck THAT.
my heart doesn't flutter at the thought of a joint checking account, nor do i want to stand in the middle of dominick's for an hour trying to remember which frozen pizza dude likes and whether he's only allergic to shrimp or if ALL seafood is off the list. i will do it if i have to, but it doesn't fulfill my life's purpose to separate some asshole's whites from his colors or rinse the scratchy little beard hairs down the drain because he was in a hurry this morning.
i have said before and i'll say again that the idea of cohabitation is totally boring to me. yawn. i'm not one of those girls who is mentally trying to fit you in between my dresser and the bookcase by the third date. i don't give a shit where you sleep, just as long as it's not my place for more than three nights in a row. yucky poo. out with you!

3 i just wish we could fast forward to our first anniversary alfuckingready.
i hate all this tricky, sticky, nitpicky learning someone new and all his quirks business. i wish we could just eat a couple sandwiches, lie down for a big nap, and wake up in love and totally used to each other's bullshit. i can handle most anything, really, but the figuring out what it is i have to learn to handle is goddamned exhausting.
and it's not just his shit. i am ten types of ridiculous, and i hate having to let teeny little bits of the crazy sneak out at a time so i don't scare some poor gentleman off. it's like trying to fart in church or something. trying to squeeze out silent puffs of odorless gas when all you really want to do is take a huge shit. it makes me tired! plus, i'm terrible at it.

you want to know what new relationship stuff i'm good at? phone sex. and dirty texting all the diusgusting shit i want to do to you. or have done to ME. i'm good at picking the restaurant and fucking you too early in the courtship. i'm good at doing shit in bed you've never done before, and reminding you where you parked immediately after your orgasm and telling you to have a good rest of the night. i'm good at making a dude laugh until he pees, which i might let him do on me if the mood is right.

if you ask me seriously, i will tell you that i've never been in love for real. i thought i was, for sure. and i guess if you expand the definition to include that desperate, pathetic, all-consuming feeling that occurs in your youth when you can't think or breathe or properly function because some bag of shit is being wretched to you and you JUST want him to LIKE you so BADLY, then yes, i have absofuckinglutely been in love. whether or not it was the kind of love worth being in is altogether another story.

i love a lot of people. like real and true love. and it's an emotion that comes readily to me, despite the fact that i'm often a soulless jerk. it really takes very few positive interactions with a person before i'm knee-deep in the warm fuzzies of love. and i'm talking friend-style. and occasionally fuck-style. you know, not romantic, star-gazing, sonnet-penning a-m-o-r-e, but that sweet, endearing lovey friend thing. i fall in love ten times a day with hot dudes on the train and crotchety old ladies ahead of me in the grocery line and teenagers on skateboards in skinny pink jeans. as much as i totally hate people, i sometimes really love them, too.

romantic love has been a little more elusive to me. i have had really intense connections to a handful of dudes, but never on that next-level WE ARE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER shit. at the time i was dating him, i would have said that i was "in love" with spanks, but hindsight has taught me that "love" doesn't really apply to a dude who spends two years lying to you and not ever calling you back. what i was IN was idiotland, after spending some time in delusionalville. fucking dummy. and he would say it all the time! totally casually and comfortably without an aforethought. i grew up on tv shows in which surly male leads never vocally professed their affections, and this burly, brooding, 6'5", 350 lb. monster bandied the words around without hesitation. which, to a young woman, was exhilarating. quel surprise! and he damn-near demanded that i say it in return. i had no problem doing so since he'd said it first, mind you. on and on the lovebirds chirped, until his actions started proving that no matter what he said, love was the furthest thing from what he felt.

so after him i just stopped fucking saying it. it just felt hollow. and easy. it was like the tables had turned. gone were the days of uptight dudes who could only grunt their appreciation for you. these newfangled, next millenium motherfuckers have no trouble with it AT ALL. the trouble is whether or not they really mean it.

i am willing to concede that in the past i have tolerated some less-than-stellar treatment from some WAY less-than-stellar homeboys. but hair model calls me every fucking morning, and i'm sorry if you flower and candy bitches don't think that's awesome, but it totally is. and he says the best things any dude has ever said in the history of ever to me. priceless things. super sweet things. things i want to listen to on a continuous loop throughout my raggedy day. writing this is almost too saccharine for me to bear; all this lovey-dovey makes my fucking teeth hurt.

yuck. anyway. remember how i threatened to get a fancy new phone? well guess what the fuck I did?! i got a fancy new phone! and sprint gave it to me for free in exchange for adding thirty-seven years to my contract, one of my kidneys, and my first born. (suckers!) i can't figure the thing out to save my stupid life, so give me a few days before you start expecting promptly returned phone calls and dirty text messages.

especially if those text messages are asking if i'm taking so long to write back because i'm too busy talking to SOME DUDE. pshaw!