(F**k a) Silver Lining (Part Two)

My first clue that all was not as wonderful in my relationship as I thought it was came around Christmas time. For any of you who are newcomers, I have a very large family of step siblings, and every year at Christmas it can be quite the task to see everyone. And that’s when I’m single. When I’ve been in a relationship over the holidays, it has always been tricky to find a balance. And for Christmas 2017, this was even more so going to be the case. My dad and step mom and all my siblings and nieces and nephews had planned to go to a city one province over, about 4 hours away, to go to a hotel and do some skiing, and getting some shopping in over Christmas.

I really wanted to be with my love and his kids for Christmas. They felt like my family by that point too, but the trouble was that the kids had to return to their mom before we would be getting back from our trip. So, after a lot of figuring plans out with my mom’s side of the family, I ended up spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with him and the kids, before heading out of town. I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect. I spent weeks searching for the perfect gifts for his kids, and I even spent a good month knitting him a Doctor Who scarf. (Of course he likes Doctor Who…he’s British) I printed off pictures of him and his kids and framed them, since he kept saying he needed to do that, and never did, and I picked up some of his favourite British cookies to add in as well.

We had a nice supper together, and then I noticed something. He had home baked cookies on his counter top. He wasn’t a baker by any stretch, and they definitely weren’t store bought. I asked him where they were from. He told me that they were from a friend of his, who also has kids, she brought them by. She. She brought them by. The she part hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. But, he didn’t make a deal of it, and it was Christmas, and I thought to myself, “You’re over reacting. He loves you. He is not that kind of guy. He would never cheat on you.” So I ignored my gut, and pressed on, trying to enjoy the rest of the evening as much as I could. But I could feel a slight distance that I hadn’t noticed before.

In the morning, I wanted to wake up next to him, with him wishing me Merry Christmas as soon as we both woke up. I wanted to feel his warmth beside me, and to have him tell me that he loves me. Instead, I woke up as he was getting out of bed, where he went to the living room and I could hear him make a bowl of cereal for himself. I got up, got dressed, and went out to see him, but the warmth wasn’t there. It wasn’t the loving, warm, Christmas morning I was hoping for. And soon it was all about his kids (as it should be) and his parents whom were watching the gift opening over Skype from England. I felt involved, but as an outsider. But I knew that day wasn’t about me, so yet again I thought to myself, “You’re overreacting. He loves you. Today was about the kids. Let them have their day.” And yet again I pressed on.

I pressed on through my time away where his texts were few and far between. I pressed on on New Years Eve when I felt like I had coerced him to go to my dad’s for supper, and then felt stupid when I texted him after he and the kids left my dad’s to see if I could go back to his place for a bit, because he hadn’t invited me over, but his 3 year old daughter did instead. I could feel that something had changed. But every time I acknowledged that something was up, I kept telling myself that I was overreacting. Again. And again. And again.

In the new year we stopped seeing each other all the time, his excuses being that he was busy with work. He got this new promotion in December, so I was ok with not seeing him as much. Because his job was important. Of course his job was important. So little by little distance grew between us. We stopped having sex, we rarely spent the night together, and our evenings were usually cut down to 2 hour chunks before he would leave my place, or I would figure it was time to go home if I wasn’t staying over. I knew the distance wasn’t good, but I just kept convincing myself that we were just going through a rough patch, that things would settle down.

In mid January we hit a point where I thought it was the end, and then another where I thought we would be ok. It was around this point that he decided to go out of town for a night away with “an old buddy” he claimed to have, even though he and I hadn’t spent a full night together in months. That day, I snapped. Our first really big fight, and because I never saw him anymore, it happened over texting. That should have been it. I should have just ended it then. But, of course, I downplayed it, told myself I was being over dramatic, and too overbearing. He loves you, I kept telling myself.

Once in awhile he would do something that would reinforce the idea that he loved me. After that night away, he and I planned a full day together. A full day without work, without the kids, just him and I. And you know what happened that day? My niece was born that day. My beautiful baby niece who I was so excited to meet decided to come a week early, and now I had to choose whether to spend the day travelling to meet her, or to wait a day or two and spend the day with Henry instead. So I chose to meet her, and he came with me. It was the best of both worlds, although I felt guilty that I was changing our plans that day. I felt guilty and a little frustrated that that day of all days would be the day that baby was born. How ludicrous is that?

And the denial and the excuses, and the telling myself I was crazy went on for weeks. Then, 3 days after our mundane Valentine’s Day, everything fell apart.

It was a Monday night (it was a holiday Monday, Family Day if you can handle the irony there) and we had just come back from dropping his kids off with their mom (she lives 2 hours away, so we met at the halfway point for drop offs) On the way back to town, we decided to go somewhere for supper. We went, and it was fine, but he was busy on his phone through a lot of (claiming to be reading stuff about his soccer team) and I was just kinda trying to ignore it as much as I could. After we were done eating, we went back to his place. It was still early, so I followed him up to his door. When we got his his door, there was a heart shaped Valentines streamer on the doorknob to his front door. Weird, I thought, and he looked kind of puzzled by it, but he said that it must belong to the neighbour kid (he lived in a basement suite and the lady upstairs had a kid) and again, I thought nothing of it.

We went inside and sat on the couch for a few minutes watching tv. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was putting his jacket on. He had this weird look on his face. I asked him what was going on, and he told me that he had gotten a text or a call (I don’t remember which he said) from his ex wife and that something had happened with his son. He wasn’t sure what, but he had to leave right away. I hurriedly put my jacket on, and left with him, him not saying so much as a goodbye, and me telling him to let me know what was going on. I got into my car, and watched as he pulled out of the driveway, and drove down the street and out of sight. I sat in my car for a minute feeling like this really was weird. I was also concerned for his son. What could have happened?

I put my own car into drive, and started to head home. I only lived 5 minutes or so from his place, but about half way home my gut was screaming at me that all of this felt weird. That he had been acting strange for weeks now, and that this didn’t feel right. Something didn’t feel right here. So instead of going home, i finally, FINALLY listened to my gut, and I drove around, back towards his house. But this time, I went down the opposite end of the street that I usually came down. And sure enough the first thing I saw when his house came into view was his vehicle parked back in his motherfucking driveway. The second thing I saw was him, across the street from his house, standing next to a car parked in front of the neighbours, with another woman. I drove past them, and parked a couple houses down just in time to see the two of them walk into his house with his arm around her waist, through my rear view mirror…

To be continued my blueberries. This is one of the hardest stories I’ve ever tried to tell, so I need to do it in smaller doses. I’ll be back with the finale soon.

Olivia

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(F**k a) Silver Lining (Part One)

I know, I know. It’s been well over a year. It’s been a long time since I’ve put pen to paper (or thumbs to iPhone screen as it were) but I feel like it’s about time I tell you all (the people who still come here, which by the way, wow! There are a lot of you who still come here from time to time! What link on Google sent you here of all places?!) anyways, where was I, oh yeah, it’s about time I tell you all about the most recent disaster in my love life. I figure it’s as good a time as any really, I’m sick with a stomach bug, so while my body is a total shit show (har dee har har) I should also get out the bug that is rotting the inside of my heart too. Maybe it will be cathartic. Or maybe I’ll just end up crying on the toilet. Who knows, that’s the fun of an adventure! (And to any of you disgusted by my literal shit talk, you know what the bible says, let the first guy who has never had the runs be the first to judge the girl crying on the toilet because of her ring of fire. OKAY, I’M DONE NOW, but y’all gotta admit, some of you out there smiled at that, I know it!)

So the last time you and I were here together I had just gotten back into the same rut as always with Erik. We were seeing each other quite frequently at that point. But I knew that we were never going to be more. And I was the one pulling away. I started to be the one to go, “Well, it’s about time to hit the ol’ dusty trail.” And would be getting dressed and leaving before things could get too 2012 “Olivia falling for Erik” again. Cause I knew this song and dance. I wasn’t going to be the one getting hurt this time. I wasn’t going to let myself fall for him again knowing full well that he was never going to want me. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my feelings or the picture of a potential (albeit completely unattainable) future together stop me from finding someone amazing.

So, last year, on my birthday, May 30th (mark it in your calendars, next year I expect presents damnit!) I signed up (again) on the dating site. And by the end of that night I had started to chat with the man who would (spoiler alert!) eventually shatter my heart and world to a million pieces.

His name was Henry (it wasn’t really, but you know the drill) and he was pretty great. He was a few years older than me, he was smart, funny, had a good job at a bank, he played the guitar, and he was British. He was great, but not perfect. He had been married, and when we met his divorce was only in the works, but not actually final. And, he had two kids. A son (8yrs old) and a daughter (3yrs old). But besides everything, we hit it off, and I figured, what the hell, we could at the very least meet and see where that goes.

A week after my birthday we met at a restaurant here. Nothing fancy, just a nice place where we could chat a bit. Over the week since we had first messaged online, we had continued to text and had even had a 2 hour phone call a few nights before we met. And the more I talked to him, the more I liked him. On the phone that night I told him about my love of chocolate, and he informed me that there is a Cadbury land in England that is reminiscent of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. He also gave me the hot tip that Walmart sells giant ass Cadbury Dairy Milks in the British food isle for only 5 bucks. I was excited about that cause I was (and still am) both cheap and chunky. So imagine my sheer delight when he got out of his vehicle at the restaurant carrying a giant ass Dairy Milk. We hadn’t even known each other for 5 minutes and I knew that I liked this guy.

The date from then on just kept getting better and better. We sat and chatted for 4 and a half hours. We literally closed the place down, and didn’t even realize it. I really liked him. So when there was talk of a second date, then a third, and then we were officially a couple, I was over the fucking moon. It just all seemed to work. We saw each other as much as we could, but he had his kids quite a bit, so at the beginning I didn’t see him as much as I would have liked. But his kids came first, because of course they were, so it was fine.

Finally after about two months of us being together I finally decided it was time to meet the kids. I was just as nervous to meet his kids as I was to meet him for the first time. It was the first time I had ever been dating a single dad, and while I have two wonderful step parents of my own, and I work with children for a living, I really had no idea how I was supposed to be with his kids. I knew that how I was with them, and how they felt about me would be a big deal. We met at a McDonalds for supper. The kids seemed shy at first, but after the chicken nuggets were done, they were able to play in the play place, so I ceased to exist to them after that point. I would have had to be dressed up like Ronald McFucking McDonald to get their attention once the play place became an option.

After that evening I got to spend time with him and his kids way more. His kids seemed to like having me around. His son would show me all the stuff on his Minecraft game, and his daughter would beg me to play Shopkins or Barbies with her. Henry would tell me that they would ask about me when he FaceTimed with them, and when they knew I was with him when they chatted, they wanted to say hi to me too. And I was falling in love. Not just with Henry, but with his family. I felt like they were falling for me too. The way I would sometimes catch Henry just looking at me with this stupid smile on his face, or how his kids faces would light up when they saw me. I could feel like we were falling together. I was dying to tell him, but resisted, I wanted him to say it first, so I waited patiently for him to make the first move. (I know this probably says a lot about who I am as a person, but I don’t care) So you can imagine how thrilled I was when one night after spending the day with him and the kids, as I was on his front step, giving him a goodnight kiss as I was leaving, he whispered in my ear that he loved me.

Things were going great. I was on cloud 9. I started to think of our future together. While I was falling deeper in love with him and his kids, he was trying to speed up his divorce. And the closer he got to that, the more I let myself picture us moving in together, him proposing, the words I would say to his kids on our wedding day, and how the kids would react if they were finding out that they were going to have a little brother or sister. I even pictured life with him as a retired couple. He talked all the time about one day moving back to England, and I could picture us, old, sitting on a porch swing somewhere in England together, bellies full of Cadbury, him playing his guitar for me while I knit something for the grandkids. It was a lovely picture.

However, as you already know from my opening paragraph (and the rest of my blog, let’s be honest) that this story doesn’t have a happy ending. And in order to get to that not so happy ending, I’m unfortunately going to have to leave you all in suspense for a little while. Cause I’m tired. And feeling blah.

Be well for now, my blueberries.

Olivia

Poison

Don’t worry dummy, I’m not going to fall in love with you this time. I think to myself as he rolls off me and far away from me, almost as if the act of our naked bodies touching even the slightest bit after we’re done having sex will be what causes me to fall in love with him again, and not the actual sex itself. He’s very strange that way. He has no problem with us doing it in his jet tub, by candlelight no less, and then hanging out in there for a good hour after, chatting and laughing while we prune. But lord forbid I linger in his bed for half a minute too long after he’s done.

I keep telling myself that this is the last time. This is the last time I’m going to be so available to hang out when he texts me, the last time I come to his house, the last time I’m going give in to the carnal attraction we have for one another.

But when I see his name on my phone something inside me just can’t resist. Every. Single. Time. I have this weird pull to him. I always have. Even though I know that this is for the most part all we’ll ever be – fuck buddies – and it’s really all I want it to be at the moment, the power Erik has over me is sometimes astounding. And no matter how I feel after I see him, I keep coming back for more.

Lately we have slipped back into the routine we had before I moved to Lakeview. I hear from him every week, like clockwork, usually on Saturday to chat. He’s so busy (nothing has changed in that way) that sometimes we just chat for a little bit about what is new and we say that hopefully we will see each other soon and that’s that. But more often than not, especially lately, hearing from him means I’m heading over to his place to go have a bath.

While the bath thing is slightly hilarious, it has changed the dynamic of our relationship. A lot. You wouldn’t think it would, after all it’s just some hot water bubbles in a bath tub. But when we are in there together we talk. Like really talk. Whether it’s politics, religion, sex or Simpsons quotes, nothing is off limits. Our bath chats have even led to a fairly serious chat about his parents, whom he rarely mentions, and after knowing him for 11 years I finally found out how and when they both passed away. It was weird to see him so vulnerable and raw (emotionally of course, we were already naked in a tub, so how much more raw and vulnerable could a person even get?) But he has been more open with me in the last 3 months in that damn tub than he had been all previous 10 years we’ve known each other. Combined. Maybe the candles he lights have a story telling aroma in them, some sort of new age voodoo type deal. Or maybe he’s actually maturing. After all, he also told me he wants to have kids someday.

Possibly my kids in fact. Yes. This conversation actually happened. It was a few months ago, and we were just chatting via text the one night. If you read all my posts you might remember me mentioning he and I having a 4 hour text conversation the one night? Well that’s the night he brought up the kids thing. It started innocently enough with him telling me that he was thinking that he wants kids now, but is scared that at his age, trying to find a partner who wants to have his children, especially since he’s still rather terrible at relationships, will be damn near impossible. I told him I’m in the same boat, I want kids more than anything in the world, but because I am single as fuck, and currently nobody wants to date me, my eggs are going to all die before I get to use any of them. He then said that if it came down to it, and we were both ready to hit the “panic button” so to speak on the kids thing that we should have a kid together.

At first I thought he was joking. It was via text after all, and come on. It’s Erik. Of course this was just a joke. But the conversation evolved into baby names and gender preferences (we both agreed we’d rather have a girl, but would of course be happy with either) and as our conversation continued, it slowly dawned on me that he may not be joking. Eventually, the subject changed, and we were no longer talking babies, and I didn’t really ever get a good idea of whether there was seriousness to the baby thing or not.

I put it out of my mind as best as I could, and had slightly convinced myself despite the evidence that he was just kidding, until about a week later when we hung out. We were in the middle of having sex, (in his bed) and he had said something along the lines of safe sex since he didn’t think we were ready to push the panic button just yet. Holy fucking hell. Could he really be serious?! In the moment, I half laughed, because what else was I supposed to do just then, we were in the middle of having sex? We finished, and that’s when he rolled away from me, as if to put actual distance between us. I honestly wonder what would have happened had we had sex in the tub that night. Perhaps the magic candlelit bubbles would have changed the scenario of that conversation ever so slightly.

He hasn’t brought up the kids thing since, but I have not stopped thinking about it. I have a pros and cons list in my brain, and the pros side is surprisingly (not really all that surprisingly) long. There are so many reasons why having a baby with him would be perfect. He’d be a great dad. He’s a great man. He’d be in the kid’s life, and would provide for it. Erik and I have similar beliefs and values when it comes to politics, religion, and education. He’s educated, and reasonable, which I feel would be super beneficial when I raise my kid based on everything I know from my experience in early childhood education. The only con – and quite frankly it’s a big enough con to outweigh every last pro – is the chance of there at some point being feelings beyond just co-parenting involved. No matter how perfect a co-parenting situation might be with him, all of that is shot to shit the second one of us (probably me, let’s be honest) starts to fall for the other one.

I know I’d get hurt by the situation. I know that no matter how he feels about me, I will never, ever in my life hear him tell me that he’s in love with me. That is just never going to happen. And as much as I am desperate to hit that panic button, and as tempting as it is to hit it immediately, I know that besides a baby that I would for sure love more than anything else in the world, nothing good would come out of that situation.

So, I guess for now, that’s where we are. Yet again in this weird, fucked up limbo where I don’t quite know where I stand with Erik, or how I feel about the situation between us, but sure as shit not stopping myself from seeing him and putting myself into this confusing place. The only difference is that nowadays instead of daydreaming about being with him, I’m daydreaming about what our daughter might be like. She’s got a name and everything. It’s just a shame she will never exist, and after all this buildup, I’m in the same stupid place I have always been in, and will inevitably always be.

Olivia

Just Keep Going On

I’m not entirely sure when exactly my life became the script of a really poorly written sitcom, but here we all are, she writes as she continues to eat the half of a chocolate pie she pulled out of the fridge for breakfast, as she is too damn lazy to make eggs, obviously trying to illustrate the point she was trying to make.

This is where I am at now.  Comical levels of sadness. So comical in fact that I could actually be Sadness if anyone ever did the live action version of Inside Out.  Which is a vast departure from the state I was in the last time I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard as it were) to write my story.  The last time you and I were together, I was sitting on the beach with Chuck, so happy to have a wonderful, beautiful new boyfriend.  I was enjoying our time together, and enjoying having someone in my life that I liked.  Of course, because it’s me, and my life after all is a sitcom, that feeling of joy didn’t last more than a full month after that.  I’m not sure if it was the sleeping with someone else that ruined it for me, the fact that he slept with someone who found out she had Chlamydia, or the fact that he couldn’t figure out why  I didn’t want to stay with him because of those two facts (he had apologized for cheating after all, AND he got me meds to take just in case I had gotten Chlamydia from him, and hey, he at least told me he cheated, he didn’t have to, so isn’t he a great guy, and can’t we just work things out?) and then proceeded to essentially stalk me for the following month till I threatened to go to the cops.  I’m not sure which of those three things really made me not like him.  I mean he’s obviously such a catch, I should have just been thankful that he wanted to be with me.  *eyes roll so far back into my head that I go blind*

After all that I took a little break from dating, haha, just kidding, no I didn’t, I got back onto Plenty of Fish and Tinder almost immediately, and by December, I had started meeting new people.  It was pretty slow going, not much to write about, until I got a message from a ghost named Max.  He sent me this really long message, apologizing for being such an asshole to me, and asked if I’d like to meet him for dinner sometime.  I messaged back laying down the law that if we were going to hang out again it would be on my terms.  So we did, and it was like a year had not passed.  I got the same feeling I had last year when we had spent time together, and it wasn’t actually until we were having sex, that I felt different.  Yes, I slept with him, can we save the judgment (I’m projecting here, I know this, shut up) for later in this post? Cause I’m betting you are gonna need all the judgment you got for later.  Anyways, when we were making the sex it was like my brain woke up and reminded me of how he treated me last year.  I started to give myself shit, like all he has to do is say he’s sorry, pay for your meal and buy you some really fancy expensive yarn (yes, he did that, and it’s beautiful and I can’t decide what I want to make with it) and you are back in his bed, and feeling like absolute garbage? What in the actual fuck is the matter with you?  So needless to say I left his place very unsettled and unsatisfied.  We saw a movie together a week or so later, and then after that you know what happened?  History repeated itself.  I just stopped hearing from him.  Again.  Because if I’ve learned one thing in this life it’s that if you do something you know you shouldn’t be doing, the universe or whatever the fuck will show you exactly why you shouldn’t have done that thing.

Which brings me to right now.  Yes there have been more funny dating stories that I could share, and a few more that are less than hilarious, but since we are talking about letting in blasts from the past when you fucking know better, and since it’s fresh in my brain, we come to last night.  After a few months of less than impressive dating stats, I wrote a big longwinded post on Facebook about the woes of dating, specifically online dating.  I was doing my best to keep things as light and funny as possible, but I obviously came off almost as dark and depressed as I have been lately, because no more than 5 minutes after I hit post, I received a text message from the infamous Erik.  If you don’t know who Erik is, then who even are you, and how did you find this tiny little blog in the most random corner of the internet?  Now, hearing from Erik is nothing new.  In fact, I’ve been hearing from him here and there a lot since Kevin and I split.  We’ve only seen each other in person a few times, but every few weeks I get a text from him, just him saying hello, or telling me something he knows I’d find interesting or funny, like a couple months ago, when a former football player I used to enjoy was working on a production he was involved with.  Our interactions have been very friendly, and while I am always painfully aware of our past whenever I see him or hear from him, overall I think we have made it to this place beyond the awkward where we can maybe actually be friends. With or without the benefits.

Last night he could tell I was down.  And no matter what the motivation to message me was, he was the only person who reached out to ask if I was ok.  He saw through the sarcasm of my post, and could tell that things maybe weren’t as lighthearted and humorous as I was trying to make it seem.  He took what could have been an awful night for me, and made it into a really fun night by doing something not many people in my life can do for me right now – he was just there.  All we did was text, but we chatted about everything from old Simpsons episodes to the thought of having kids one day to him telling me I should audition for a production sometime.  We even cleared the air about what happened between us.  He told me he still feels guilty that he couldn’t give me all the things I wanted with us, and I told him that it’s nothing to feel guilty about, that you can’t force yourself to love someone when you simply don’t.  We talked for almost 4 straight hours, and it was probably the first time since we met over 10 years ago that we actually opened up to each other like that.  Regardless of how I’m feeling today about it (slightly confused, and mad at myself that my heart still skips a tiny bit when I see his name appear on my phone) I’m so glad that it happened.  I’m glad someone, even the most unlikely person was there for me when I just needed to talk to someone.

So judge away.  I know I’m judging me.  And I know I’ll never learn.  But at least with me not learning, it gives me a reason once every 6 months at least to come back and work my shit out here.  Thanks for sticking around a little while longer with me.

Olivia

Tick, Tick, BOOM!

86 days, 13 hours and give or take a handful of minutes. This is how much of my 20’s I have left. I have just over 3 months till my big 30th birthday. I had big plans for this one. I mean, I’ve been known to have big plans for all of my birthdays, but this one I figured had to be the biggest and best.

Tick, tick.

What my plan originally was, was to gather all my close friends (like all 5 or 6 of em) and organize a weekend trip to Vegas. That way I could do a few things at once: I could cross Vegas with my friends off my bucket list because I have never been there before and I would be guaranteed a good time for my birthday, because hello, it’s Vegas! A good time is supposed to be guaranteed! But, Kevin gently made the very valid point that if I have a hard time getting people to come to my birthday when it’s just going for a delicious and reasonably priced meal a few blocks from my house, well then it may be unrealistic to expect anyone to travel to Nevada for a weekend. If I did Vegas, there is a very good possibility that it would be an even bigger let down than last year. And it’s not like I could blame anyone for not being able to (which is just a polite way of saying not wanting to) come. I’m sure any of you in your mid to late 20’s and older can attest to the fact that finding time to set aside for friends and family is sometimes incredibly difficult. Work, dating/significant others and kids seem to be taking up everybody’s time. Most of the time it feels like there just aren’t enough hours in a day to be had. So it’s really no surprise that my birthday celebration wouldn’t be high on anyone’s priority list.

Tick, tick.

This birthday is looming for a few different reasons. I’ve been feeling old for awhile now (working with teenagers at a high school will do that to a person) but with every ache and pain I get, or anytime I play the nostalgia game and realize that I haven’t had a legit telephone land line in well over a decade, or that “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls was released 19 motherfucking years ago (and I vividly remember hearing it on the radio for the first time, and then later trying like nobody’s business to record that song on a mix tape with as little radio DJ talk) it makes me feel really, really old.

Tick, tick.

I’m also panicking because I am not in the place I was hoping to be by the time I turned 30. Sure I have a job I love, I finally have an amazing boyfriend by my side and all that, but there is still a lot I don’t have that I wanted to by the time I turned the big 30. By 30, I was expecting to be a full fledged writer, or a rock star. You know actually getting paid to write, not getting just 3 hits on my blog daily, or being a high profile rock goddess, not just reserving my singing to the shower or the car. I was expecting to be married long ago by now, (to either a regular guy, or one of the Backstreet Boys) not just having celebrated my very first anniversary with my first ever long-term boyfriend at 29. But mostly, I thought by now I would be a mom. Out of all the things I thought I’d have or be by the time I turned 30, this was the big one. And the closer I get to 30, the more disappointed and discouraged I feel, and the more the fears of never getting the chance to have kids scream their way around my brain.

Tick, tick.

It’s hard not to think about. Really hard. These days I literally cannot go 24 hours without seeing a pregnancy announcement or “bump” photos on Facebook (one of the many ways in which Facebook and a lot of people on Facebook fucking suck). Hell, some days, it seems as thought that’s all I see on my Facebook newsfeed. My family is no better; a lot of my cousins and step siblings have been procreating for years now. In fact, a cousin of mine and his wife just announced over the weekend that they are expecting in August, my 25 year old step-sister is due with her first child in 2 months and I am guessing that it won’t be long after my older brother and his fiancée tie the knot in May till they are knocked up too. Even my job is no help. But that’s my fault really, what do I expect when I started to work in a high school in a daycare set up for young moms getting their high school education? Don’t get me wrong, I do love my job, and I find working with teen moms and their babies really rewarding, but I can’t help it that I secretly find myself jealous that these immature, fresh faced 17 year olds get to have these beautiful babies, and I, ragged and old, do not. Granted I wouldn’t have wanted a baby at 17, that would have been a motherfucking nightmare, but still.

Tick, tick.

I want it to be my turn now. I want to have kids before all my eggs dry up and fall out, and I want to have kids before I’m way too old to keep up with them. I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but taking care of children requires an astounding amount of energy. Energy which I am already having trouble mustering some days, and I’m still relatively young. I would like to have kids of my own before I’m old enough to get the senior’s early bird specials. I want to have kids because my biological clock is ticking so goddamn loud that some days it is literally all I can fucking think about, and that makes me absolutely loathe being a woman. Why can’t Mother Nature just send a text once in awhile like, “Hey there. I don’t mean to interrupt what you are doing, I just wanted to let you know that I have this basket of eggs here for you. I’ll wait a while, so no rush, just something to think about. No pressure. K thanks, bye!” That approach, at least for me, would be much more welcome.

Tick, tick.

Instead, I’m over here in a panic, being pulled in a million directions every time Kevin and I get even the slightest bit close to one another. I want kids right now, but not right now. What? Well, Kevin and I aren’t ready for it. We have only been dating for 13 months. I don’t think our relationship is prepared to add a baby to the mix. I still feel like I don’t know if I’m girlfriending properly half the time. I want a baby, but not at the expense of my relationship with Kevin. This is what sucks about waiting so fucking long to find a great guy to date. It’s far too early in our relationship to be even discussing this, but it’s getting a bit too late in my life not to be. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock of course being my vagina, and the hard place being…well…nevermind.

Tick, tick.

So, for now I am just going to have to do my best to silence that annoying clock, and hope that when the time is right for Kevin and me that everything will work itself out. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to my regular, run of the mill life, taking care of other people’s kids and whatnot. Oh, and probably bring Kevin to the hospital, as I am sure he probably had an aneurism while reading this.

Boom.

Olivia

When Life Hands You Lemons, You Say Fuck The Lemons, And Bail

You know what I’ve realized lately?  If you aren’t doing the online dating thing, it’s damn near impossible to meet any fellahs while sitting on the couch in your mom’s basement.  Huh.  Who knew?

That has been part of the reason for the lack of blog these last few weeks.  I’ve barely left the couch to do anything other than work.  Sure, part of me is still wallowing in the pain of being alone and getting turned down by Erik, but mostly, I just don’t feel like doing anything these days.  I had started a couple possible blog entries, but never went through with them because they all seemed like shit when I re read them.

This one is probably going to be shit too, but ah, whatever, if it wasn’t shit, it wouldn’t truly be my blog now would it?

These last few weeks haven’t been totally boring though.  My cousin Lucy bought a condo (at the age of 22, and I’m trying desperately not to be jealous of this, because she’s awesome, and I love her) and she has invited me to move in with her, which I am excited about for a few reasons.  Mostly because we get along great, and she’s fun to be around, so living with her should be good times.  But there is also the fringe benefit that I will no longer be living in my mom’s basement, which will hopefully give me one less thing to get down on myself for.  Which brings me to the topic of this week’s blog.  (I do have actual dating stories to tell, including the one about the guy I hooked up with last weekend, and the guy from my past who contacted me on the dating site even though he has been my “friend” on Facebook for 6 years, but I will save those for later – I’m desperate for material.)

So here’s the situation.  My dad’s side of the family is fricken huge.  During my grandparents’ 20 years of reproduction, they spawned 8 children.  All boys.  Between those 8 sons, came 15 grandkids (myself included). Now out of the 15 of us grandkids only 4 of us are girls. And in my family, this evidently means that if anybody needs to get married and have kids of our own, it will be one of us 4 girls.

What the actual fuck?  I love my family.  We are ridiculously close.  But why is it that out of 15 of us (who by the way, all but 3 are in our 20’s or 30’s), it’s the 4 of us with vaginas who are carrying the burden of keeping the bloodlines going?  I am the oldest of the 4 of us girls, so I seem to be getting the brunt of this.

Which I don’t mind to a point.  Lucy is only 22, she just bought a condo, is settling into a new job position and is going through some relationship woes of her own.  Bridget is going to be 20 in 2 months, and is in her 2nd year of university.  And Ava just turned 16, is still in high school, and is a lesbian.  I am going to be 28 in 3 months, I am completely single, I finished school 5 years ago and have been working in my chosen field for that many years.  Yup, out of the 4 of us, I definitely have every reason to be the first one to get married and have kids.

And I want to.  Oh boy, do I ever want to.  More than I think anybody, especially my family, actually knows.  But what do you do when you aren’t meeting anybody’s expectations (including your own) and there is really not a damn thing you can do about it?

Because as you all know, I’m nowhere close to being married.  I am as far away from the altar as one could possibly be.  The kids thing is a different story, but as Lucy has told our family many times, if either of us gets pregnant at this point it will be an oopsie, and there is no guarantee that the child’s father will be in the picture.  So that is definitely not ideal.

So what do we do in the meantime to fend off people and there dumbass pressures?  Well, we have some ideas.  The first is to throw the blame on our older male cousins and our brothers. This usually doesn’t work because none of our older male cousins and brothers are any closer to marriage, and we are weary of their parenting skills, so that can wait.  The only cousin of ours, who is married, has decided with his wife that they don’t want any children.  So there goes that.

The next idea is to just horrify our parents, uncles and aunts and any other person who thinks it’s their business, when it actuality it is no, to the point they leave us alone.  For example, we tell them that we enjoy having protected sex with total randoms WAY too much. Or that we’d end up dropping a baby on its head, maybe on purpose, so it’s probably better that we don’t have kids.  (I should note here that I work at a daycare, and this would not at all be the case, but you know.  Just a disclaimer in case the internet gets mad for that one, or I one day become famous, or Prime Minister, and this blog gets dug up as my “seedy past”)

The other option that I have been tempted to use is to just work on my straight poker face, and tell everybody who bugs me about that I don’t want to be married or have kids.  Yeah, that’ll learn em.  Straight face lie.  Can’t say the thought hasn’t occurred to me to start telling my mother that every time she brings it up, just to try hurting her like it hurts me to be reminded of all the things I want but don’t have.  What can I say, I’m part evil.

Dear Society and my family:

Get off my ass.  Seriously. What the hell is so great about marriage and kids anyways?  Divorce rates are still super high, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep a marriage working.  And kids?  Well, kids are over rated.  I should know.  I work with a ton of them all day every day.  They are really only cute about 30 percent of the time, the rest of the time they are exhausting and infuriating.  Raising kids in our society in this day and age is also getting harder and harder.  It’s a scary world out there.

And what happens to me if I don’t find my Prince Charming and have my 2.5 children behind a white picket fence?  What then?  It’s bad enough that if in 10 years down the road I find myself still single and childless at almost 40, I will be crushed, literally heartbroken by the life that I’ve wanted since I was a little girl, and never got, but to add everybody else’s disappointment and judgment on top of that would be just too much for me to take.

Because who knows where my life will lead?  I could be engaged and pregnant by the end of this year.  Maybe I’ll never be engaged or pregnant.  I will have to find a way to let go of what could have been, and figure out what else I want out of life.  And why is that so bad?  Things aren’t that bad now.  I’m doing alright.  Well, sorta.

Ok, I’m not doing too great, but whatever, one day, I hope, I’ll be fine.

Olivia