(F**k a) Silver Lining (Part Three)

As I watched the man that I thought was the love of my life walk into his house with another woman, about a million thoughts ran through my mind. He’s cheating on me? No, he can’t be. He wouldn’t do that. There has to be another explanation. No, you fucking dummy, he’s a fucking lying, cheating, asshole, and you should probably go in there and murder them both. Honest to god, I don’t condone murder for any reason, but it wasn’t until this night where I truly understood how murders of passion happen. Because the sudden white hot rage I felt was astounding.

I fumbled for my phone for a minute, my hands shaking so bad I could barely unlock the damn thing, and I went into my text message conversation with him and told him to get his fucking ass outside immediately. A minute later, he appeared, and I wasted no time unleashing holy hell on him. I can’t for the life of me remember much about what I said, just a lot of “How could you do this to me?” and “Why?” and “Who is she?” and “How long has this been going on.” To which he gave me absolutely nothing but “3 weeks”. I kept trying to get answers from him, and he just sat there, stone faced, saying nothing, not looking guilty or sorry or anything. He looked almost mad that I was yelling at him. He told me we’d talk about it later. And like an idiot, stunned at the absolute lack of fucks given that I was upset, I accepted that, and somehow (and I’ll never know how) drove myself home.

One of the few nice things about living with someone is that when shit hits the fan you don’t have to deal with the misery alone. When I got home, my step sister was asleep on the couch, and she woke when I came in the door. And I told her everything. Told her what happened, and she also was in total disbelief. She had gotten to know Henry over the last few months too. She was blown away that he could ever do that. We talked for awhile, then I talked with my parents, and texted some of my closest people. And somehow I remained fairly calm. I hadn’t cried much, not really. I cried more during the first 10 minutes of Up! than I did in those first few hours after all this happened that night. It was so weird. For any of you who have seen The Holiday with Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet, I cried like Cameron Diaz does in the scene where she’s trying to force it. “Just one tear.” She says, but all it is is an act, not actual crying. That was me. I was making the motions, and almost hyperventilating, but no fluid was coming from my face. So bizarre.

I went down to my room, and was sitting on my bed, reeling. I kept replaying everything. I went back into our text conversation and read back to see what I had missed. And in doing so, in sitting at home and stewing for a while, I started to get angry. Livid in fact. Ok, so that motherfucker gets caught cheating, and I’m sent away as if I’m the asshole, while he still gets to go ahead and fuck that woman anyways because now the pesky girlfriend is gone?!? No. Fucking. Way.

I got back into my car and drove back over to his house. And I was pumped up. No more Miss Nice Guy. No more of this bullshit that I’m overreacting. No more letting this fucking asshole get away with doing this shit and not having any real consequences. I stormed up to his front door, and started to wail on it. The lights were still on, so I knew they were in there, her car was still parked across the street. It took a few minutes but he finally opened the door (I’m assuming it took him so long, cause he had to put his fucking pants back on) and boy, did he not look impressed that I was there. He had that mad, stonewall look on his dumb face again. And I just let. Him. Have. It. I can’t remember all of what I said, (again, I think I partially blacked out) but the gist of it was that he was a garbage human, and that if either him or her thought that they could make anything work knowing that this is how they started that they were living in a god damned fantasy world. (And believe me when I tell you that I told him this at a volume where not only did she FOR SURE hear this, but that I’m sure half the neighbourhood heard as well.) I told him how awful it was to make me feel like I wasn’t enough, when he had been cheating on me for weeks! And still he stood there, not saying anything, his stupid face not changing.

The only time I saw him soften, and make a look like I had maybe finally struck a nerve was when I brought up his kids. When I asked him if she would be as good to his kids and love them like I did. If she would play XBox with his son, and Shopkins with his daughter. He didn’t respond, but his face changed, it was slight, but a little bit like he got hit with something, like he finally registered what I was saying, which means maybe there was a human buried in there somewhere after all.

And then, just as quickly as that jolt on his face was, it was gone, the angry, stonewall was back and he told me to leave. He even threatened to call the cops on me if I didn’t. Yup. That’s the piece of shit I was in love with. He does all that to me, and when I justifiably get pissed, he threatens me. So I yelled at him a little more, called him garbage a few more times, and then when I felt like I had said all I needed to, I left.

I got back home, and the second I was back in the comfort of my home, the dam broke, and the tears came. I’ve cried less at funerals. I have been hurt before, sure. I’ve shed many tears over the years for many guys. When Kevin and I broke up, that was hard, but this, what Henry did to me was like nothing else. At least Kevin was man enough to tell me he was unhappy. He told me why. He sat and cried with me, and held me, and apologized profusely for hurting me so much, and all he did was fall out of love with me. Holy fuck if only I would have been given even half of that kind of treatment from Henry I would have been lucky.

I barely slept that night of course, and I spent a good chunk of the night back and forth between texting with my night owl friends who were still awake, and bursting into hysterics where I could barely breathe.

Unsurprisingly I immediately heard from Erik, who had seen my post on Facebook (yeah, I let my dirty laundry out on Facebook. I’m not proud about it, and have since deleted the post, but yeah, I turned 17 again for a minute there in my rage, turns out my Hulk is a petty teen girl with an active social media following. You go girl!) but he offered me some comfort when I needed it the most, and I always will appreciate him for that very reason. He started dating someone in September, which is a damn shame, because in that moment I would have given anything to get a hug from him, but that ship has sailed. (And they are still together, FYI)

The next day I still wanted answers, but unfortunately Henry didn’t want to give me any. I was trying to meet with him, to calmly talk, I just needed some closure. I needed to know why. But that day would never come. He kept bailing saying that he wasn’t feeling well. Ya, no shit, your guilt is chewing up your insides, congratulations, you aren’t a complete fucking monster after all! But after a couple days of still trying to arrange a time to meet with no luck, I said enough. I knew in my heart that he was never going to meet with me. He was never going to face what he did. I left his things that were left at my place on his front step, sent a nice long message getting my final feelings off my chest via voice note, and that was it. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since. And the worst part of all of this? Not once, not that night, not by text message, not once has he said he was sorry.

It’s been just over 4 months since that night happened. And every once in awhile I still have flashbacks to that night, to seeing them walk together into his house. My mind plays even worse tricks on me when I imagine what else they are doing that night, and it still makes me physically ill. I hate that I can’t just erase the memory of not only that night, but of all of it. I know that you can learn something from every experience, but honest to god, if I could time travel back to my birthday last year, and not even meet him, I would. I would undo it all. Because I have no idea what in our relationship was ever real. Cause I have a feeling that he had been seeing her for way longer than 3 weeks. And I also have a feeling that they worked together. And even looking back to the beginning of our relationship I question if he had been seeing someone else when we met. Was that why I didn’t see him very often at the beginning? Was he maybe not as separated from his wife as he led me to believe? Was I the other woman when we got together? I had so many questions, none of which I’ll ever have the answers to, so I’d rather just undo it all. Take all the good, I don’t care as long as all the bad goes with it.

4 months and I’m still healing. I started dating fairly soon after, and have met quite a few new guys. Of course, I’m still single, so obviously none that have become anything. But apart of me is even more closed off now. I don’t really know if I want to let someone in again. How do I move on? How do I open myself up and trust someone with my whole heart? How do I trust another man ever again? And how long do I have to wait for my heart to fucking heal?

Thanks for sticking with me through this clusterfuck of events. I’m sure there is more for me to work out, I now have even more trust issues and less motivation to put myself in the position to get hurt again. So perhaps there will be another post sooner than later, I don’t know. It’s astounding to me that anyone still reads these. But I’m glad you do. And I’m glad that I was finally able to tell that story, as difficult as it was. Maybe I can find some closure on my own.

Olivia

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(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

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

Basket Case

Well hello long lost blueberries.  It’s been far too long.  I had good reason for it though.  I went a little nuts.  Well, not actually, but it sure felt like I did.  In reality, what I was really busy with was various work things, and my new boyfriend.  If you follow me on Twitter you already knew this information about the new boyfriend (if you don’t follow me on the Twitter machine how in the fucking hell did you find me here?!?) If you somehow don’t follow me, I have some interesting news for you: I have a new boyfriend.  And not an imaginary one, nor am I jumping the gun and assuming a relationship exists with someone who doesn’t feel the same.  We both know and agree that we are in a relationship with one another. However if you follow me on Twitter, you’d also know that even though I’m back in a relationship, it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m any more confident in this one than I was in the last one.  In fact, in the 7 months that I have been single, I seem to have forgotten all that I once knew about the whole being someone’s girlfriend thing.

But before I get into the whole “I suck at dating thing” I will tell you about the guy first.  His name is Mark.  He’s 34, will be 35 later this year.  He’s a flight attendant who flies all over Canada, and to the States on occasion. He is cute as hell, he makes me laugh, he says what he thinks, he’s a total goof ball, and he’s a complete sweet heart.  He wants to get married and have kids.  In essence, he’s pretty much everything I am looking for.  We met at the end of April, and right away I liked him.  After our second date I knew I wanted to be his girlfriend.  And that was before we had even kissed. It didn’t take him long to get to that same conclusion too.  About 2 days after our second date, I got a text from him asking me if I’d be his girlfriend.  Now, I know that you judgmental fuckers out there are probably thinking, “What the hell? He asked via text?!” to which I will tell you that he was out of the country at the time, and couldn’t wait to see me in person to ask me.  If you ask me that is cute as hell.

I, of course said yes.  I liked the guy, and who the hell was I to turn down an offer like that from a good guy I actually liked?  However, because I’m still me, panic immediately set in.  It was too fast.  We didn’t really know each other.  I jumped into things just as fast with Kevin and look where that got me. And I hadn’t even kissed him yet, let alone anything else. What if we didn’t have any sexual chemistry?  In a matter of 5 minutes, I went from being downright giddy that I had gotten myself an awesome new boyfriend, to being a panicked mess, wondering if I had made a huge mistake. But then I saw him later that week, and remembered why I said yes to dating him in the first place. Never mind the fact that the kisses turned out to be pretty damn good and I had nothing to worry about in the sexual chemistry department.  We have sexual chemistry in spades.  And it was so nice to wake up next to him.  I forgot how much I missed that part of it.

I wish I could say that all that was the end of the freak out, but what I didn’t realize at the time was that it was actually only the beginning of the freaking out.  Why you ask?  Well, because of his job.  Now, as I mentioned earlier, he is a flight attendant.  This means that he flies all over the place for his work.  He technically lives in Lakeview, and has lived there his whole life, but the airport that he is based out of is in another city, about 750ish kilometers away in another province.  Because of this, he doesn’t get back to Lakeview very often. In the 6 weeks or so since our first date, I have seen him a whopping 4 times.  Remind you guys of anyone?  Cause I know it sure reminds me of someone.  Someone by the name of Kevin.  Thus, the panic attacks.

Of all the things that have been super hard about coming to terms with my break up with Kevin, the hardest is remembering that what happened with him will not be what happens with every man, and that I need to drop what is left of that baggage if I ever want things to work out with someone else. Sure, this situation may be eerily similar to the situation with Kevin, but it isn’t the same. They are two very different men.  I’m just having a harder time with it because these first few weeks with Mark have been a lot like the last few weeks with Kevin were.  That is an awfully dreadful situation to start a relationship in, and the root of that problem is that I hadn’t come to terms with the issues left behind from Kevin.  Fucking figures that I’d be single for 7 months without actually dealing with the baggage I had.  Leave it to me to bring all that shit into this new relationship, using it as a reason to maybe not be with Mark.

Luckily, I didn’t jump the gun on anything.  After talking things out with Lucy and Annie (thanks ladies BTW) and escaping the city for a weekend to my brother’s cabin at the lake to snuggle my niece, chat the days away with my sister-in-law and get my drink and hot tubbing on, I came to the conclusion that I can’t end the relationship just because it feels so similar to life with Kevin. Ending a new relationship because of what happened in the old one is bat shit crazy. Mark and I are going to have a different relationship one way or another, because Mark is a much different man. And yes, I’m still me, but my relationship with Kevin, and the breakup of that relationship changed me in a way I can’t really explain.  For better or for worse I am different now, so I need to give this thing between Mark and me its due, even if it turns out in the long run to be doomed.   And who knows, maybe in the long run we’ll not only be able to survive a long distance relationship, but will be that rare instance where it’s been built on it.

I guess only time will tell.  In the meantime, I’m sure you guys will get some interesting tweets and posts out of me while I continue to lose my shit and find my way.

Consider yourselves warned.

Olivia

 

 

Drop in the Ocean

I think I’m dating wrong.  I have been in the dating sea for years, a good decade or so, and have yet to find the elusive ship of relations.  (FYI, this post might be full of bad nautical puns – you’ve been warned) I have just been floating along on my life raft of loneliness, sometimes getting nibbles of whatever I can get my hands on to give me sustenance for a little while longer so I don’t have to resort to throwing myself overboard and just calling it quits.  Now, I have been rescued before.  The S.S. Kevin saved me for a while, till there was a mutiny on the ship, and I was forced to walk the plank. Years before that I took a very short trip on the S.S. Dave #4, which sank shortly thereafter (as did the first 3 S.S. Daves; you’d think I would have learnt my lesson and bought a ticket with a different ship name).  But here I still am, floating on my life raft of loneliness, fast approaching my 31st year on this planet, and wondering if I should keep sailing to find that ship of mine, or if I should just come to terms with the fact that there may not actually be a ship out there for me, and that I might be better off to find land on my own, and forge a new path by myself.

All of this is just a super long winded way of saying that my love life has become rather stagnant lately.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been chatting with a handful of prospects, and a couple of them have been better than others, but nothing worth really writing about lately.  I met one guy that I liked a little over a month ago but he didn’t feel the same way about me, so that was close to something.  But, as it always is with me, it went nowhere.  There is a new guy I have been hanging out with this past week who I like (the one I’ve tweeted about for the 2 of you who read this and follow me on Twitter) but I’m not really sure if I actually like him.  He’s a great guy, we have a ton in common, but I don’t feel excited or nervous to see him.  I feel like I’m just going through the motions of dating.  Is there actually such a thing as having a spark with someone? I know I’ve had it with guys in the past, but was I just reacting to something else?  Or is the fact that I don’t feel the “spark” or whatever a sign that I’m not really into him, so I probably shouldn’t lead him on?

I think part of the problem with me is that I can’t seem to shake all these other guys, mostly ones from my past, which keeps coming back into my life.  These guys pop out of nowhere, like a popup book from hell just to fuck with my brain and prevent me from making rational, sane decisions.

The first in a 4 part gong show: Erik.  Of course Erik rears his head in a time like this.  I think I mentioned a post or two ago that he was back in the picture, texting and snap chatting me on occasion.  We had even had that random dinner date when I was still seeing Max.  But Erik always has and always will come and go in and out of my life as he pleases.  I know this.  And I let him, against my better judgement.  But I have to admit that I like the attention.  I like hanging out with him once in awhile, because we honestly do have fun together.  And he is good for a quick (albeit not great quality) lay once in awhile too.  So that’s the purpose of Erik.  To use me as much as I use him.

The second part in this gong show is Shamus.  Remember him?  I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t; he disappeared out of my life shortly after I moved from Riverview to Lakeview.  I’ve heard from him maybe three times since I moved and for a moment that first year I was here, I thought maybe we’d get together to hook up, but it never happened.  But all of a sudden, out of the blue about 2 weeks ago or so, I started hearing from him again.  Since then every few days he texts me.  The conversations never last long, but I find it both weird and awesome that he’s contacting me again.  Out of all the guys I dated back in Riverview, he was that one guy that I regretted not sleeping with when I had the chance.  There was so much potential there.  He would be the perfect Random Hook-Up Guy if he lived here.  Oh well.

The third part in the gong show is Married Twatwaffle, previously known as Soccer Boy.  This is a story and a half really, but I will try to make it as short and sweet as possible.  We met, hooked up a couple times, it went nowhere, we moved on.  I met Kevin, and during that time, Soccer Boy got married and got his wife pregnant.  But, that didn’t stop SB from messaging me on Facebook messenger periodically, trying to flirt with me.  Each time I heard from him, I had to tell him that flirting with me was not ok, because I had a boyfriend that I loved, and he was fricken married.  After that I would go another 6 – 10 months without hearing from him.  So it’s no surprise that after Kevin and I broke up, that I started to hear from him again.  At first his messages were friendly (which is why I gave him my cell number so we didn’t have to Facebook message) but then, they continued to get more and more inappropriate. So this is the conversation I eventually had to have with him.

   

  

 

 So needless to say after all that that he is a total dick bag.  I mean really, what does he think would happen if he and his wife split up and I started dating him? Does he think that I’d ever trust him when I know full well how he treated his WIFE?  Fuck that.  I know better.  And I was never interested in him enough even 3 years ago to overlook that glaring evidence of sheer douchebaggery.

The fourth and final part is Scooter.  He and I never did end up meeting, because not long after we started talking I met Kevin, and the rest as they say is history, but we have kept fairly decent contact since.  We followed each other on Twitter, in the meantime, but there was no actual contact during the Kevin of it all.  After Kevin though, our tweets back and forth became fairly regular, and eventually turned into DM chatting which has now evolved into the Snapchat game.  But we still haven’t met.  Partly because I don’t actually think he’s interested in me like that, and also because I’m too much of a chicken shit to actually tell him, “Hey, it’s been 2 fucking years.  It’s time we meet and figure this out one way or another.”  So for now I will just do the snap chat thing and hope that one day one of the two of us grows the balls to suggest meeting.

It looks like I am forever doomed to be floating on the life raft loneliness.  Because if the links to those posts have taught any of us anything, it’s that I haven’t learnt a fucking thing in the last 3 years.

Olivia

 

 

Welcome to the Meat Market

Have you ever felt a bit like a pizza?  Like someone ordered you up, in a certain way, in order to fill one purpose and one purpose only: to satiate a hunger?  If not then you probably are not dating. Lucky you.

Online dating is a bit like ordering a pizza online.  Sure, there are lots of different sites to go to find that pizza you are wanting, and you can try going through the list of qualities you look for in a pizza, and pick out exactly what you want, but you can never be certain that the pizza that knocks on your door will be the one you want to spend your life with.  Or something like that.  Now I’m hungry, and not quite sure what I was getting at here.

Oh yeah, dating.  That’s it.  Lately, I have been the one who has been ordered up it seems by people I would least expect.  I am the pizza.  The problem with being the pizza, is that I can’t control who wants to order me, and what their reasons are for it.  I’m going to get off the pizza thing, because it’s starting to get weird, but what I’m trying to say is that lately, dudes from my past have been coming around, only wanting me to fill their hunger for sex, not their hunger to have a partner for the rest of their lives, and I’m wondering why the fuck that is.

Kevin, who I talked a bit about last week, is one of them.  I can never tell if he just misses me as a person, or as his partner, or just misses having a girlfriend in general, or if he misses me because he is horny, and I’m no longer there to satisfy that need for him anymore.  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the latter, just because when he contacts me, he doesn’t tell me about how he misses me as a person.  Ever.  He tells me how he misses having someone in the house, or someone to spend time with all the time, and of course, he misses the sex.  But he has never said that he misses my laugh, or that he misses the conversations we had, that he misses my sense of humor, or the person I was when I was with him.  But he misses having sex with me.  That seems to be the only thing he misses about me. Or at least, it’s the only thing he misses about me that he has verbalized the most frequently anyways.

This past week I got another blast from the past in a big way. Friend Zone, who after a bit of thought I have decided to rename him Marty, because over the last few weeks I have grown increasingly frustrated with the concept of the dreaded friend zone, and the negative connotations it has against women, but that topic could (and probably will) be its own post down the road. Anyways, Marty for those who don’t remember was a guy I had met online almost 4 years ago when I still lived in Riverview, we went out a couple of times, and while he was an amazing guy, despite my best efforts to force myself to like him, I did not.  The shitty thing was that he really liked me, so I inevitably had to hurt him by placing him as gently as I could into the friend zone.  I also made the horrendous mistake of drunkenly sleeping with him on one of my last nights before moving to Lakeview.  Since I moved here we have seen each other a couple of times shortly after I moved, but I haven’t heard from him since before I met Kevin. Of course now that Kevin is out of the picture, all these guys are coming back out of the woodworks for me.

So I heard from Marty a couple of weeks ago, just to chat, and see how things were going.  It was all very normal, it was all very civil, and most importantly, it was all G rated.  Then I heard from him again this past weekend.  And it quickly turned from just regular chatting, to him talking about wanting to have sex with me real quick.  This is how the conversation went:

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I felt like I was trying my best to not encourage him, while still remaining civil.

 

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Trying even harder to let him know I wasn’t interested in talking about this, without being a bitch.

 

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But then, he said that he wanted me to know I’m still desired.  And a part of me wanted to snap.  I mean, yes, thanks.  But I know I am desired.  I know that guys want to fuck me; I know that guys want to date me.  I’m not alone because nobody wants me; I am currently alone because the right person isn’t here to want me yet.  Since I broke up with Kevin there have been a couple guys that I could have dated just for the sake of not being single anymore.  But I have never been, nor will I ever be that kind of girl.  So I sent this message, and left that be that.

I don’t know guys, I’m not sure what else to do.  I don’t know how long I can do this for.  There isn’t even much more to say really.  I’m just so discouraged by everything.  And the worst part is, I don’t even have pizza here right now to cheer me up.

Olivia

Another One Bites the Dust

“Knowing my luck in this department, I will be all kinds of alone again by Valentine’s Day.”

 

I am such a wise woman.  Or maybe I’m a psychic and I don’t even know it.  Or maybe I’m a pessimistic asshole who will always give herself depressing self-fulfilling prophecies.  Or maybe, just maybe, I know myself and the state of my dating life too well.

In any case, the truth of the matter is that Max and I are done.  We didn’t really have much to begin with, but he served a purpose.  At the very least he served as a good distraction, a reason to get dolled up, my ass off the couch, and out the door.  At the very most he was a reminder to me that Kevin is not the only guy out there who will ever be interested in me.  At the heart of it, Max was exactly what I needed him to be in the moment: a rebound.

Of course, that didn’t save me from being hurt just a little bit when a couple of weeks ago he had “the talk” with me.  He finally brought it up, which in a lot of ways was a relief, although I knew immediately that I was ultimately not going to be so thrilled with the outcome of the discussion.  He told me that he did really like me, that I was really awesome, and that he really liked how calm and non-crazy I seemed to be about everything (proof that he never read this blog).  He said he thinks I am a super cool girl, and that we have amazing chemistry, both sexually and otherwise.  However, with all the awesome that he thinks I am (which I am fucking awesome) he said that he doesn’t often think about me when we aren’t together, that he isn’t ever dying to see me, and at the end of the day, he doesn’t think that we should be in a relationship together (womp, womp).  So, there in his house, we sat on his couch, and agreed that for now we keep things as is.  Status quo and whatnot.  Which in the moment, there on his couch, I was fine with.

After all, I still was messed up over Kevin, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Erik, and I was still talking to a few other guys online.  Was I really in the position to get back into a relationship with someone?  No.  I didn’t think so.  So I did what any girl in my position would do.  I agreed to continue with this same dating scenario, had great sex with him, then went on my merry way.

But when I left his house, I felt different.  I didn’t have the euphoria that I usually felt when leaving his place after one of our dates.  I felt, I don’t know, empty I guess.  I felt like while he said he wanted nothing to change, I felt as if everything had.  He had essentially just friends with benefits zoned me.  Another guy that I liked had told me to my face that he didn’t like me enough to be my boyfriend.  I think I would have cried in the moment had I really realized what had happened.  In the moment I think my brain was instinctively protecting my already broken heart, kindly shutting off that part of my brain that would register what was actually happening.

After that I tried to be ok with the status quo.  But after that night, I barely heard from Max, and within a week, I hadn’t heard from him at all.  This radio silence meant one of three things: 1) He was dead.  2) He was in a coma.  Or the most likely one, 3) Having “the talk” and telling me that he liked me but doesn’t want to be my boyfriend and then ghosting the fuck out on me was his way of letting me down as gently as he could, while trying not to come off as an asshole.

Guys, let me tell you something: IT’S OKAY TO LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE FROM TIME TO TIME.  You fuckers telling us some bullshit about how you still want to spend time with us and then ghosting out on us doesn’t make you any less of an asshole. In fact, we think you are even bigger assholes, and we also think you are fucking cowards for not telling us the truth.   If Max would have just told me that he didn’t want to hang out anymore, would that have sucked? Yes.  But would I at least respect him a little more for telling me the truth, not leaving me wonder what the fuck happened, because he decided to have a pair of fucking balls? Absolutely.

So, I did the only thing I could.  I sent him a simple text saying that I have a feeling he isn’t interested anymore, so I’m giving him his space.  I told him that if he ever wanted to see me or talk to me again, that he knew where to find me, and I told him to take care.  That was a week ago, and I haven’t heard a single peep since.  Oh well.  C’est la vie I guess.  I wasn’t expecting him to be the one, I just liked him.  But looking back he served his purpose.  He helped me see the light after the darkness with Kevin, and for that I will always be thankful.

I was not however thankful for the absolute fuck show that last Wednesday turned into.  After I sent that message to Max, I got a text from Kevin.  Kevin it seems has a delightful knack of contacting me when I least expect it, and knocking me on my fucking ass.  By this time it was already 9pm, and to be honest, I had been an emotional basket case the whole day, because of the stuff with Max.  So when Kevin messaged me, at first just to chat, but then soon turned into him telling me he misses me, and wanted to see me, I was past the point of basket case.  At that point I was fucked right up.  Against my better judgment, I agreed to see him.  He came to pick me up and we went for a drive to talk.  This talk ended up just making me more confused.  Kevin cares for me, and some days he wants me back, other days he thinks that us being apart is the right thing.  And here I am in the middle of it all, not knowing what the fuck to think, how to feel, what to do. It’s been a week since that happened, and I still don’t know.

All I know is that I have to keep going.  I have to keep living any way I can, I have to keep dating, I have to keep kissing all these fucking frogs, hoping to find my prince.

I just wish it wasn’t such an incredible fuck show to find him.

Olivia