Ha-LAY-lujah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ladies, why can't I stop thinking about sex?

It's never been this bad before, and I'm pretty sure it's seriously clouding my judgement.

Smart people who study this kind of stuff state that women hit their sexual peak at or around the age of 30, and WHOA BUDDY are they right! I finally understand what it must feel like to be a 16-year-old boy.

I don't want this feeling to ever go away...

Now, you'd think with my exuding this intense sexual energy that I'd have men falling over themselves trying to get some of this.  I mean, I am a total hottie and all.  But the city of Portland is a strange, strange beast.  In reality, I feel that my confidence and powerful sexuality is quite frankly scaring the piss out of these poor little city boys.  Maybe I should work on toning it down a bit.

Nah.

For, I have some exiting news.  DRUM ROLL PLEASE...

THIS GIRL FINALLY GOT LAID!!!!!!!!!!!!

And it wasn't half bad, either.

I know, I know, I know.  You all are screaming, "DETAILS!  I WANT DETAILS!"

I love you ladies.

Ole Blue Eyes, we'll call him.

Ahhhhhhhh, Ole Blue Eyes.  I could have gazed into those blue eyes for eternity.

Dammit.  Why can't I just always have what I want all the time, exactly when I want it?

So, I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but I met the guy at karaoke.  Again.  This one, however, I do not regret.  Even a little bit...

Scenario.  Friend in town, and we're just coming off of an auh-MAZ-ing trip to the coast and back through wine country.  God I love this state.  And I'm sure at this point you all know what, in my mind, is the perfect way to cap off the night.  Yup.  Karaoke!!!!!!!  


I saw him at the bar and I lost my breathe.  Tall, slender with broad shoulders, beard, cap, rolled up jeans, scarf tucked into a zip up hoodie.  And the biggest, bluest, most sparkling eyes I have ever seen.  Oh, ladies!  Those eyes!  They say the eyes are a portal into the soul, and I saw some major possibilities in those eyes.  


After briefly making eye contact I, of course, blush beet red, and practically run back to my seat in the other room. I whisper excitedly to my friend, "CUTE GUYS AT THE BAR!!!!"  Within minutes, those "Cute Guys at the bar" became the "Cute Guys sitting in front of us", then the "Cute Guys asking us to borrow a pen", then the "Cute Guys sitting with us", then the "Cute Guys getting drunk and dancing all night with us."


Hells yeah.


My friend, who had spent the entire week coaching me on confidence, whispers in my ear, "You should invite them back to the apartment."  And so I do.  Old Blue Eyes' friend declines, but Ole Blue Eyes says yes.

Yessssssssssss.....

He comes back, we crack beers, listen to music, and talk.  He's from Nebraska via Eugene (ah!  A recovering hippy!), he's 25 (I'm going to ignore that part...), he's a musician (of course he is), he's here in Portland to work on a musical project with his friend (my heart is melting), and his eyes are as blue as a summer sky (you will notice a certain theme starting here).  I'm sorry, what was I talking about?  My brain just went numb...


Eyes...So...Blue...Can't...Focus...


Whew.  Sorry.  I'm back.


So he leaves that night, and insists that I take his number and call him, not the other way around.  OK, sir.  I will do whatever you ask, just promise me I can gaze into those eyes again. 

I'm getting pretty good at this part.  I waited 3 days and then called, and my message was much less dorky than most of the others.

But alas.  Nothing.

Until 2 weeks later when I'd completely forgotten that I'd even called him in the first place.

"Hey there!  Sorry it took me so long to call you back, I've actually been killer sick and I'm just starting to feel better, so I thought I'd call to see if you wanted to go out for lunch tomorrow."

Wait.  Are your eyes still that crystal shade of blue?  Then yes, hell yes.

So we meet for lunch.  And to be completely honest, ladies, I didn't have all that good of a time.  The conversation was awkward and felt forced.  Despite that, we still ended up hanging out for over 3 hours, wandering around after lunch and just talking and talking about nothing in particular.  Hugs goodbye, and I think, "Well, that's that.  Painful, but good to know right off the bat that this just isn't meant to be."

Except that a second date happened that following Sunday evening.  I'm not even really sure how, but I found myself having one of the best dates I've had in a long time with the guy that I'd just had the most awkward date with in a long time.  I was like a rock star.  Mojo was on the loose, big time.  I was funny, witty, and totally kicked his ass at darts.  By the end of the night, we were playing footsie under the table at the bar, and both couldn't wait to get back to my place.

Now now, don't everybody get all excited.  Didn't happen that night.  But we did keep seeing each other.  And what I started noticing was that he seemed to take a lot of pleasure in doing whatever I asked or needed him to do.  I got a flat tire, and he carted me around the city getting it fixed.  He actually picked up tabs when we would go out for drinks or dinner.  He took me to and picked me up from the airport when I traveled.  He made me delicious meals.  When I got stressed out from working too much, he took me out of town to hike in a remote part of Oregon.

Oh yeah, and the sex was FANTASTIC.  Eventually.  Took a while to get comfortable with each other.  I got this definite sense of shyness mixed with a little insecurity and inexperience from him at first and I had to learn to be much more assertive and in control.  But once we got there, ladies, man oh man.  Let's just say that lots of good sex does wonders for this girl.  I was less stressed, more productive, and overall, just happier.  If I were I doctor I would prescribe a daily regimen getting laid to every woman out there!  


The one possible side effect of having lots of really good sex, however, is that sometimes it can be distracting in the sense of maybe you might not notice a slight change of behavior from your partner.  For example, like maybe after a month or so, Ole Blue Eyes started dropping off the face of the earth for 4-6 days at a time, and he started turning down opportunities to hang out.  There became this air of reluctance about him.  I totally didn't see it coming...


Ah, shit ladies, let's face it.  I totally saw it coming, and just chose not to do anything about it cause I didn't want to give up the good sex.  Simple as that.  


The following an example of an average week of rest of our relationship:


Day 1:  Man!  We had such a good time last night!  Let's grab coffee or lunch, then go our separate ways for the day!


Day 2:  Nothing.


Day 3:  Nothing.


Day 4:  Nothing.


Day 5:  Nothing.


Day 6 (in my head, of course):  GOD DAMMIT!!  THAT'S IT!  I'm done!  This is SO FREAKIN disrespectful.  I'm calling him right now and calling it off!!!!!!!!!!
 - (in the form of a call or text) "Hey!  I think we need to talk.  Wanna get together tomorrow for coffee or something?"

Day 7:  Aww, this is so nice.  We're here having coffee and talking and you're so sweet, and MY GOD, your eyes are so blue, and... umm... where am i?... huh?...
Oh.  What was is that I wanted to talk about, you say?  I completely forget.  Must not have been that important.  So, wanna go back to my place and watch a movie?

Sigh.

Until one day we were driving in his car, and he looked at me and said, "So..."

And I smiled uncomfortably and said, "So..."

And the talk finally happened.  We held hands.  We both talked about how unready we were for a relationship, and at first I thought I was lying to him to make him feel better about calling it off.  But as the conversation progressed, I realized that I was being honest.  I'm not ready either.  Weird.  


We both had different reasons.  He needed to go out and experience more of life, and I had to face some difficult questions I'd been ignoring about life.  Sometimes the right thing to do isn't the easiest thing to do.  Sometimes it hurts your insides a little...

So, ladies, I think I will digress here a bit.  I'm gonna get slightly existential on your asses.  It bothers me more and more everyday that there are 80some emotions and feelings for which we ascribe one word.  That word, of course, being the word "Love".

Love is supposed to feel good.  Great even.  It's supposed to bring on senses of giddiness.  It's supposed to make your chest feel full instead of empty.

But I will say that despite the fact that letting him go hurt my insides a little, I was displaying my love for him.  And possibly even more important, I was displaying my love for myself.  Wow.  I know, right?  Totally nuts.

So, goodbye, Ole Blue Eyes.  Till we meet again.

Blah.  I think I'm done with boys for a while.

Hee hee.  Yeah right...










  

Not a D-Bag? I Beg to Differ... Wuss Vs Wuss Part 2

So at the end of my last blog, I believe I was contemplating at what point I might actually come across something that could be considered a good lay...

The answer is, sadly, not any time soon, it seems.

I should be sure to put emphasis on the "good" part of the lay.

Ladies, up until recently, I didn't realize that there was something called a "bad" lay. I mean, I've had a fair amount of partners, and they've all been different. I've been with "very little" and with "very big", and I found that I prefer right in the middle. I've been with "very aggressive" and "very passive", and found again that I prefer right in the middle. But even the most extreme end of the spectrum didn't leave me totally unsatisfied. You know?

Maybe I've just been lucky so far, but I've never been with a guy who had no idea how to use his junk. I guess it had to happen eventually.

So, anyways, where was I?

Ah yes, I got through Alan's rather thick skull that I wasn't interested in dating him, and exchanged numbers with Jeb.

The following Tuesday, I met up with some friends for Happy Hour, and was feeling on the fence about whether or not I would be attending Jeb's karaoke night again this week. I mean, really? Just show up? That would mean being brave and putting myself out there. If I go, then that would show Jeb that I'm interested in him. ACK!! I can't do that! Oh, here comes that damn insecurity again.

Just when I've about talked myself into a dripping puddle of self hatred, I get a text from Jeb.

"Might you be coming to karaoke tonight?"

Yessss! Good boy.

So I did just that, and had a grand ole time. After my friends left, Jeb and I continued to drink and talk and sing, and the next thing I know we're walking together back to my place.

Wait a sec... MY PLACE??? Shut the front door!!!! I've never had a boy back to my own place before. Let me tell you somethin ladies, this is one of the major perks of living alone. No roomies to wake up, no one to answer to. If I want to have some random boy back to my place, then no one has to be the wiser.

We'd just curled up on the couch together to watch some Daily Show, and, by the way, I was more than content to sit there and cuddle, when he reached over and kissed me. Alright then! Bring it on buddy! I'm more than happy not wasting time with formalities...

SO...

Could it be? Might it be? Is it possible that Miss MA finally landed a decent lay?

Ahem... how do I word this properly?

How bout this? NOPE.

Do you ladies want the gory details? I mean, does anyone REALLY want the gory details?

Of course you do, you twisted, sick, beautiful individuals!

OK, I'll keep this small and quick.

Small. And quick...

Smallest, quickest, ever. In fact.

Oh dear, I really am going to hell ladies. I hope you'd all like to join me...

Now, even just having said that, you all know that I'm not an entirely evil person. I can actually be very nurturing, caring, and kind. I didn't kick him out of my bed. I didn't even stop returning his phone calls. In fact, I decided I liked this guy well enough that I would actually let this continue with the hopes that our bedroom frolicking would improve with time.

I know. I'm totally insane.

Because, of course things started to get weird after that. Any ego, but particularly a man's ego, is so unbelievably fragile. I think, as unsatisfied as I was that night in bed, he was equally unsatisfied, and embarrassed. Now factor in a little immaturity, and WHAM! Here comes the bad behavior.

Over the next few weeks, I spent my energy trying to connect with him on a personal and emotional level, showing him that I was someone he could confide in, even trust.

He, on the other hand, spent his energy over the next few weeks trying to show me in no uncertain terms that he was cool. Possibly even too cool for me.

You remember that day in either middle school or high school when that boy broke your heart because he pretended not to know you or made fun of you in front of his friends? It's happened to all of us in one way or another.

Let me try to paint this picture properly.

I say, "Are you coming to karaoke tonight? It's my friend's birthday!"

He says, "I'm going to be there, but I'll be hanging out with my brother, just so you know."

I think, "Um, OK. But certainly this guy is capable of not only hanging out with his brother, but also showing me the basic respect that one shows someone that they've (sort of) slept with." Right?

Wrong.

Ignored. Straight up. And when I decided that I'd had enough and wanted to leave, he shook my hand goodbye.

He shook my goddamn hand, ladies.

So my seriously steaming, slightly intoxicated self decides to text him with "WTF?"

Not my most shining moment, but honestly, I really wanted to know, "WTF?" Wouldn't you?

Well, he seemed to think that was funny, because he answered with a stream of text abbreviations such as, "WTF, LOL, LMAO, BRB" and the likes.

Asshole.

I didn't even warrant that with a response. What a douche bag.

So, at any rate, I woke up the next morning with perhaps the most whiny wussy voicemail I'd ever heard on my phone. Goes something like this. (In a high pitched, douche-baggy voice): "Um, Mary Anne, I think you might be mad at me, and I'm sorry, but I said I was going to hang out with my brother...yadda yadda yadda."

Ah, if only I had just let it go there. But you all know me too well. I have to thoroughly torture myself by dragging it out unnaturally long before I can walk away.

The major hang up I was having was due to karaoke. As I mentioned previously, I would prefer that karaoke be a sexy man so that I may marry it. So, understandably I think, I didn't want to stop going. It was the most perfect karaoke I've ever been to. It was on my night off, 4 blocks from my house, they had all sorts of obscure, hipster-ish songs, AND auto-tune. I mean, seriously top notch. I figured if I could smooth things over, maybe Jeb and I could be friends and I wouldn't have to miss out on my true love.

I'm actually kind of proud of myself for this next move, because it's a fairly mature way to approach an awkward situation. I waited for about a week, then picked up the phone and called him. When he (of course) didn't answer, I left a message saying something to the extent of, "Hey Jeb. I feel like things got pretty weird there, and I'm really sorry for that. I think you're really cool, and I would be really bummed if we ended on that note. So, if you want, give me a call. I'd love to get together and grab a cup of coffee or lunch or something! Hope you're having a great day!"

About an hour later, I receive a text from him saying, "I'm at work right now, but I got your message and I totally agree! Let's definitely get together soon!"

Hells yeah. That just bordered on the most normal interaction I've yet had with a man. Halle-freakin-lujah!

Oh geez. So here we head to the grand finale of douche-bag-dom.

Over the next couple weeks, Jeb and I exchange a couple texts, but I'm still feeling kind of weird about going up to karaoke. Then my good friend came into town to visit, and I thought, why not? I want to show her what I love about this city so much. So, after a really awesome live music experience, I suggest that we finish off the evening at karaoke.

We walk in, I see Jeb, we say hi and hug, I put in a song, I grab a drink, we sit down.

And then it happened. Jeb is up on stage finishing a song, and I hear Jeb's brother over the mic giggle like a stupid girl, "Good job, Jeb. WTF? LOL. LMAO. BRB. OMG."

OH SNAP. I quite nearly shot my drink out of my nose. You have to be freakin kidding me. Did I really just hear what I think I heard?

This is actually somewhat hard to relive, ladies. Humiliation is not a pleasant sensation. I felt the blood rush straight to my face, and my throat tightened as I chugged the rest of my drink, and looked over at my friend. "We need to go...now."

I was torn between two extremely strong urges. I equal parts wanted to disappear as quickly as possible and jump up on stage, grab the mic and scream, "Oh yeah? Well, Jeb has a reeeeeeealy small penis, and he's just insecure because he can't perform and I know it!!!!!!!!"

I did the former. Probably a good move. Maybe I should reevaluate the whole karaoke thing. It's seeming to cause some serious judgement errors on my part.

Over the next couple weeks, I agonized over the experience, analyzing and analyzing with friends what had actually occurred. Some said I was being paranoid, others agreed that I had been dissed on a major level. The following is what I decided to take away from the situation:

1. Karaoke may not be the best place to meet a man.

2. I should not text while drunk. Ever.

3. People can be really, really mean. Especially when their ego is at stake. This was the hardest lesson for me to learn. I don't like to think that people are capable of intentionally, purposefully hurting or humiliating someone else. But I feel that this is a naive part of me that is slowly dissipating as I age. A youthful ideal that, as it goes, will allow me to be a bit more protective of myself, if not a bit bitter as well.

So, with that last realization in mind, I'm not going to talk about Jeb's tiny, semi-functioning penis anymore. I mean, my ego is obviously intact enough that I don't need to stoop to that level to feel better about myself. Just because he has incredibly major, huge performance problems doesn't mean that I should go around broadcasting it to the entire world. So, I'm done. No more. I promise.

Hee hee.

In conclusion, in the epic contest between who is wussier, I'm afraid I can't commit to an answer. People are strange, and consistently do very strange things. Ultimately, I think we all just want to be loved, and some, if not all of us aren't quite sure how to go about getting there.

From here, I'm going to be more selective, more protective, and more loving of myself.

Certainly, no more D-bags.

Sigh.

Wuss vs. Wuss. Which one is Wussier? Part 1

Alright, back to the juicy stuff. Mmmmm, boys.

I've decided to lump the two most recent lame excuses for men together in an effort to compare and contrast. The first, I was just not that into. The second was just not that into me. Both are wusses in their own right.

There are two major themes for this blog. Karaoke and Performance Issues. Yes, those kinds of performance issues. Ohhh, this is gonna be good.

Now you all know of my undying love for karaoke. If it were a hot-bodied male, I would marry it and make babies. But since that is not the case, my next best option would be to meet a hot-bodied male who likes to sing karaoke. This is proving to be a lot more difficult than anticipated.

Guy #1. We'll call him Alan, for conversation's sake. Alan and I met at... wait for it...

Karaoke. Friend of a friend who turned out to be friends with many of my friends. Nice guy. Likes to sing karaoke. Likes to dance. Quite good at it actually. A real estate agent. Owns a house. Sounds good so far, right? Waiting for that catch, aren't you?

Well, here it is. Not hot-bodied. Maybe to some girls, but not this girl. Try as I might, I could not find myself even remotely physically attracted to this guy. But it doesn't mean that we can't hang out, right? Be friends? Maybe if we hang out long enough, I'll become attracted to him. It's happened before. Sometimes it just takes time.

There were two immediate problems with this scenario. One is that I'm simply not in the mood to wait around to be attracted to someone at this juncture. I need fireworks, and quickly. I'm not looking for Mr. Right. I'm looking for Mr. Right Now. The other is that Mr. Alan was also not in the mood to wait around for me to be attracted to him. Mr. Alan was sweet on me, and fast. I tried to slow it down, but it was like trying to politely ask a bull to stop barreling towards a red cape.

This is where Guy #2 comes in. Let's call him Jebadiah. Or Jeb for short.

The second time Alan and I hang out was again at a karaoke night with a big group of friends. He starts buying my beers. Uh oh. He's hovering big time. Uh oh. That's when I see Jeb up on stage. Cute. Reminds me of a fling I had years ago. Mustache. Interesting. Sings a really old song that I used to love! So at the next opportunity I ask him about the song and thank him for singing it. A little conversation ensues, and the next thing I know, there's Alan, hovering again. This is going to be a problem.

As I've become a big advocate of not drinking and driving, my friends had graciously offered me their couch to sleep on. So after karaoke, the ever popular after hours party ensued, which to my pleasant surprise included a visit to the neighbors' hot tub. Even though I'm moderately intoxicated, I still have the presence of mind to sit on the opposite side of the hot tub from Alan and avoid eye contact. He'll have to be leaving soon, right?

Not so much... He's staying too. Dammit. Well, that's fine, but he can sleep on the other couch. I dunno ladies, if you were hanging out with a guy you were really into, and he made you sleep on the other couch, wouldn't that give you the impression that he's just not interested? I thought my actions that night (you know, like flirting with other guys, sitting as far away from him as possible, not sharing a couch) had made it clear that I wanted to be friends, and no more. Le sigh.

So, back to Jeb. While I'm wasting my strength trying to hold back the bull, I happen upon my mustached cutie again. This time at a Haiti benefit at one of my favorite clubs in the city. I work up the nerve to talk to him again. Aren't you ladies proud of me? And it worked out to my benefit, because I found out that his brother runs a karaoke night right by my new apartment! Jeb says, "You should come this Tuesday, I'll be there!" Well, my friend, that is a distinct possibility.

In the meantime, I must fend off the other dude, again. And this time, I wasn't so successful. I'm at a friend's awesome birthday party, and Alan comes up to me and says, "Hey! A bunch of us are going over to this other guy's house because he has a karaoke system. Wanna come?" I have a split second to decide, and I decide yes. Bad decision.

Because by "A bunch of us" Alan actually meant he and I and one other couple that I didn't know. And we had to ride with this other couple about 15 mins away from the party to get to a house full of more people that I didn't know. And when I decided that I didn't want to stay there any longer, we had to get a cab back, just the two of us.

The rest of the night I blame on his desperation and my inability to tell people things they don't want to hear.

I wanted to spend the night on one friend's couch. She had left the door unlocked for me. Somehow I ended up at another friend's house on a different couch with Alan. So I say, "Look Alan, I just got out of a relationship with someone you know, and I'm not really interested in dating anyone right now." His response?

"Well, will you at least kiss me?"

Huh? Had I been any less intoxicated, I would have pushed him off the couch and run like hell. What a stupid, desperate thing to say. How lame is this guy?

Maybe I should quit drinking. Seriously. Because my intoxicated self did not run like hell. My intoxicated self thought, "Why not? Maybe I'll like it."

Eww. Not. So. Much.

Have you ladies ever kissed someone that you're not attracted to? If not, I'll try to adequately explain. Eww. Yuck. Not a pleasant experience. Kind of gives you a not-so-fresh feeling in your gut. Kind of makes you wish you were so drunk that you don't even remember it.

So when I woke up 5 hours later on the same couch as Alan, I tried ever so gently to sneak out of there as fast as possible without waking him.

"Hey! Do you mind if I catch a ride home with you?"

DOH! Dammit.

So, of course. I give the guy a ride home. I make sure not to commit to any future hangings out. He says "give me a call", and I say "ok" without making eye contact. He kisses my neck and hugs me. I do what I have to do not to vomit.

This is where I start to feel like an asshole. I going to have to tell him that I'm not interested. And this time, he's going to have to listen.

But in typical MA style, I avoid him for a week first. And in atypical MA style, I went to a karaoke bar by myself. And who was there? Yup, you guessed it. My cutie Jeb. At first I thought he might not remember me, but after about 20 minutes of sitting there acting like I was nothing but comfortable sitting alone in a bar I'd never been to before, he came over.

"Hey there! Weren't you at Holocene the other night?"

Yes, yes. That was me. What a sweetie he turned out to be! He sat with me the rest of the night and shot the shit. And then we exchanged phone numbers. Ka-CHING!!!!

So more on that later. For now I have to tell you how, as carefully as possible, I sent Alan packing. I have paraphrased for space purposes.

Him: Wanna go to a Blazer's game?

Me: No thanks. I have to work.

Him: This Blazer's game is awesome! Hope you're having a good night at work!

Me: Nothing.

Him: So what are your plans this week?

Me: Nothing.

Him: I'd really like to take you out sometime. Do you have any lunch plans on Friday?

Me: Nothing.

Him (via Facebook): So I hope I didn't come on too strong, but I really like you and I think we should date. I'd really like to take you out sometime... yadda yadda yadda.

Me (via Facebook): I will once again tell you as I told you last time we hung out that I just got out of a relationship with someone you know and I'm not interested in dating anyone right now. I hope you can understand. Can we be friends?

Him (via Facebook): I can understand. But I will be honest and say that I'm disappointed. I have far too many female friends for a straight guy in this city. Whine whine, cry cry, sniff sniff, foot stomp.

Me (via scream to the cosmos): Well, please sir. DON'T DO ME ANY FUCKING FAVORS!!!!!! I'm sure I'll manage without you. Jesus.

I don't want to talk to this guy anymore.

Side note. Come to find out after this is all over that the last time Alan was in a long term relationship, he wouldn't have sex. Dated a girl for over six months, and no sex. Major performance anxiety. Ack!

Whew. Dodged a bullet with that one.

So speaking of sex, when is this girl gonna get a proper lay?

Enough with the Hombres Already!!!!

And by "Hombre", I mean "Little, Emotionally Incompetent, Wussy Boys".

I feel that it's appropriate to devote this particular blog to celebrating the 6 month anniversary of my being single. It's been a wild ride so far.

First I'm gonna toot my own horn for a bit, then I'll get to the stupid boys.

It's hard for me to go back to those first few weeks after the break up. I was so unbelievably lost and scared. I literally couldn't handle the idea of being alone. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, could barely work. I had no idea who I was without the Ex. I couldn't comprehend that I would be able to find happiness in solitude. It just didn't seem possible to me. I mean, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I was severely overweight, out of shape, insecure, and scared of my own shadow. How could I be alone to face someone that I didn't like anymore?

Can you believe that I was that girl half a year ago? It's kind of amazing that I've been able to accomplish such a transformation in such short time. I love myself now. I know that sounds kind of pompous, but it's true. I will always remember vividly the day I realized that. I was doing yoga with a good sweet friend of mine, and while we were laying in corpse pose, she said "Envision the parts of your body that are sore or tight, and send your breathe to each part. Say to yourself, 'I love you belly', or 'I love you ankle', or 'I love you arm'." I totally balked. Huh? What on earth is this girl talking about?!? I don't love my body, I hate it. It's fat and ugly. And then it kind of hit me like a brick over the head.

That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. How can I not love my body? It's my body. Without it I wouldn't exist. It does all sorts of wonderful things for me like moving me around, letting me scratch my itches, metabolizing all sorts of nasty gross things like saturated fats and alcohol, and letting me kiss, and hug, and make love. If anything, I should be disappointed with myself for being so mean to my body. Doesn't it deserve to be treated as well as I treat every one else around me?

So that was the beginning of my new relationship with good ole me. I've envisioned this person that I want to be, and I'm becoming her. I have my own apartment. Which means I live alone. ALONE. And I don't mind it, not one bit! I can spread out in my bed. I can leave the lights on. I can watch whatever dumb TV show I want. I can keep it clean or leave it dirty, whatever I feel like (although I'm finding more and more that I prefer it clean. Thought you might like to hear that, Kristen). I can play music as loud as I want. I can sing as loud as I want. I can come home after work and drink sleepy tea instead of alcohol to fall asleep. Sometimes it sucks, but sometimes it doesn't. And isn't that kind of how life works?

I'm continuing to practice yoga, and nothing has helped me heal more. I set my intention at the beginning of each class to focus on 5 words: "Peace, Clarity, Understanding, Acceptance, and Forgiveness". I'm able to twist and stretch my body more and more with every class, and I'm building strength in both my flesh and my soul.

I decided I want to be a biker. I want to ride my bike more often than I drive. I'm doing just that. I bought my first road bike today. It's a thing of beauty. I'm riding an 18 mile ride on Sunday. I have muscles developing in places I didn't know I had muscles. I've lost 30 pounds and 2 pant sizes. HOLY MOTHER!!!! I mean, really? I honestly had no idea I was capable of making myself happy, ladies. I've still got a long way to go, but I'm going there just the same. Kicking and screaming sometimes, of course.

So you will all hold me to it, I'm going to tell you what I want to accomplish next.

Drum roll please...

I want to make music. Some kind of music, and I don't really know or care which kind. Just as long as it's something better than karaoke. I know I can do this. It's a very foreign feeling to know I can do it. I can sing. I can play instruments. The only person holding me back from doing this is myself. And another thing I know for sure is that I can't wait around for some dumb boy to make music with. They are typically incredibly unreliable, and well, they just pretty much smell funny. In fact, that may be what I write about in my first song. It'll be titled Funny Smelling Boys, and it will not be nice...

Ha. Bet you can't wait to hear that one.

The other thing I want to accomplish this year is joining a Dragon Boat Racing Team. Totally random. But I really want to learn how to row. I just think it's really cool, and my arms will get completely ripped. Hell yeah!

So, at any rate, I'm putting these intentions formally out to the world, because that is usually how things come to be.

I hope you don't mind, ladies, that I took a break from talking about the stupid boys to share these things with you. I felt like you should hear them because every person reading this blog is an irreplaceable piece of the MA puzzle. It's a difficult burden to bear to like someone who doesn't like herself, so thank you. I get it now. I'm awesome.

El Hombre Con el Nombre Gracioso: Part 2

Ahem... One second here ladies while I stretch and pump myself up. This one's gonna take some serious finger flexing.

So I last left you with the ominous "I decided to like him" regret. Le sigh.

I should know better by now.

For you all might be aware of a phenomenon called "You never get what you want until you don't want it anymore." This phenomenon typically occurs with humans of the single variety when they are attempting to find a mate but really aren't in enough of a stable emotional state to handle one. More often than not, the single, emotionally unstable human will gravitate towards other humans that are just not that interested in him/her and will run like hell from a human who shows sincere interest. If science knows what's good for it, there will be lots of studies done on this phenomenon, for a solution will prevent a lot of hurt feelings and broken hearts.

But I don't want to place blame for this situation on that phenomenon. Because then that would mean it's not Hans's fault, it's mine. And we all know, I am completely faultless.

No ladies, I'm going to blame this situation on something called "Texting", another phenomenon that needs serious research. It used to be a simple concept. In lieu of calling someone, you can simply use the keypad of your phone to "type" a message which you can then send to the person you'd normally call. This tool is actually quite useful for common information exchanges, such as "What time should I come to the party?" or "My dog just pooped all over my rug, can I borrow yours?"

Unfortunately, there are some who have begun to expand the use of texting to things that in my humble opinion are simply inappropriate. The most inappropriate is the use of texting by some humans (mostly men) to be total and complete wusses.

I know it is human (mostly male) nature to be as lazy as possible, but whoever made the realization that one could text to form a relationship with someone rather than actually talk to them needs to be executed by firing squad. It should be considered an act of treason punishable by death. You think I'm joking.

For now, men don't have to be men. Now they can be big fat fucking wussies. I'm a bit bitter about this, can you tell?

Ok, so where were we? Oh yes, we exchanged phone numbers and Hans said he would call. Awesome. Except he didn't call. He texted. Arg.

Same day, in fact. Checking in on how I was feeling. Awww, that's nice. I said I was fine, how was he feeling? I received back a one sentence, no punctuation text that basically said, "I'm fine Didn't drink that much Just a little tired"

To which I said, "Well, thanks for staying up with me! (emoticon winky face) I had a lot of fun. I'd love to hang out again sometime soon!"

I'm sorry ladies, but is that an inappropriate thing to say? Because I got absolutely no response back from him. For almost 2 weeks.

Forgive me Hans, but I do believe that you initiated contact, fucker. I wasn't going to call or text anything at all. I put the ball in your court, and you bounced it back, man. I thought we were gonna get into a nice game of ping pong, but you took the ball and ran off with it!

What a child.

So I convince myself that I should be brave and put my money where my mouth is. I waited till the Saturday after Christmas, almost a week, and called him. With my phone. A real call, not a wussy text. To ask him if he'd like to go for a hike. Crazy, huh? I can't believe it myself. I'm such a Trail-blazer! Of course he didn't answer, and I left a dorky message.

And you know what ladies? I felt tons better. Sure my feelings were a little hurt, as no one likes to realize that "he's just not that into you", but I stuck by my beliefs. I did something brave, and now I can move on to the next guy. Screw Hans.

Except for the fact that a week later, I get another goddamn shit piss muther fucking TEXT!!!!

Ahem... excuse the outburst. I sincerely apologize for the profanity. This guy just gets me a little riled. Why did I have to decide to like him? It's seriously clouding my judgement here.

This one says something to the extent of:

"Hey! Sorry I've been a flake. Holidays were crazy with family. How've you been getting on?"

Now, please correct me if I'm wrong, but a text like that might just possibly mean that he really wants to know how I'm getting on. Right? Here comes Hans, running back waving the ping pong ball singing, "Ha ha! I tricked you! Just kidding, I really do want to play!" Well, dummy me, I didn't put the paddle down and walk away. It turned out to be a very one-sided game. Hans sucks at ping pong.

So, I give what I consider to be a normal response to such a text. I say, "I've been doing well! Busy! So glad the holidays are over!" For a couple rounds of texts, things are actually feeling kind of normal. I say one thing, and he says another. That is normal, right ladies?

Then all of a sudden the conversation becomes one sided again, and I know I don't have to tell you whose side. DAMMIT!!!!! He tricked me again! There he goes again, running off laughing like a maniac waving the ping pong ball! That's IT!!!!! Enough already. I am done.

Ha ha. If only. I no sooner wash my hands of the situation than here he comes waltzing into a party I was attending. "Oh hey there! How's it going?" - just like everything was totally normal. And I don't know, maybe in his twisted form of reality, this type of interaction is normal, but that's not how I roll ladies. Just can't do it.

Except for he's so damn cute. Especially now that the left half of his face isn't beaten all to hell. Ok, well...maybe I'll chat with him and who knows? Maybe he's just socially retarded and I can teach him things. The next thing I know, we're drunk again, and having a dance party again, and I'm sitting next to him, and we're talking and flirting, and then.....he's gone.

Wait. Wha? Who? Huh? Yup. Gone. Like a bat out of hell. Wow. Ouch. Well, that's that.

Except for his explanation the next morning. In the form of a text, of course. "I'm sorry I left so quickly last night. I got the spins, and if I had stayed any longer I might not have made it home at all. I sincerely hope you didn't think it was because of you."

UGH!!!!! Nope. Done. Done. Done. Done and DONE!!!!!!! Game over. Ping pong paddle down. Walk away.

Now why did that have to be so difficult? My oh my the silly things we let ourselves do. I have so much learning to do ladies!

El Hombre Con el Nombre Gracioso: Part 1

This one's getting long, so I'm breaking it down into 2 parts. Enjoy!

Oh Hans, Hans, Hans...

I really didn't want to write this blog. I kept waiting to start it, hoping you would do something to redeem yourself. Then I could write a nice blog about you. But such is not the case I'm afraid. Prepare yourself for my wrath.

Ladies, may the Gods of Karma forgive me for this one as well.

The dreaded holidays were approaching, and I was doing my absolute best to ignore this fact. It hit me really hard when I was volunteering at my normal gig called Coffee and Conversation. It's held at an apartment building in the city that houses a lot of people in pretty dire circumstances. Be it addiction, mental illness, chronic homelessness, or severe depression, these guys don't have a lot of positive things going on in their lives. So my job is to come in once a week to talk, listen, and feed. The week before Christmas we threw them a party with muffins and cookies and hot cider and Christmas movies... and it just simply broke my heart.

These poor people have no one, nothing. The highlight of their holidays is strangers bringing them food. They will go to bed alone on Christmas Eve, and wake up on Christmas Day the same way.

Oh snap.

Take the knife, stick it in and twist hard. That's me this year.

"Ouch" doesn't even begin to describe it. I couldn't breathe. The tears came, and I couldn't stop them. I had to get outta there.

I hadn't made a single plan for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day in my effort to ignore their existence completely. After spending some time (foolishly) trying to convince myself that none of my amazing friends were going to have time for a charity case like me, plans started popping up left and right, including a "progressive holiday party" thrown by a group of people I call The Law School Kids.

Oh how I love parties. Especially parties thrown by The Law School Kids. They just really know how to throw a good party. And it's one of the only groups of friends that I have that are a good mix of singles and couples. Only two problems:

1. The Ex will also be attending this party, and

2. I was feeling extremely fat and unattractive at that precise moment.

Ugh.

So, ladies, what's the best remedy for such negative feelings? A dress, of course!!!!! I woke up the morning of the party, and I don't know what came over me, but I went straight from bed to the closet and pulled out a dress that I hadn't been able to wear in years. Kristen, you know this dress, you bought it for me because you wanted me to have it so bad. I looked at it with desperation, for I was taking a bit of a risk here. If the dress didn't fit I would feel even worse. But I had to try.

Ok, not to toot my own horn here, but DAAAAMMMMMNNN!!! I look good. In fact, I'm kind of a hottie. I had to stand there for quite a while in order to wrap my head around this sensation. The dress doesn't just fit, it looks good. It hugs in all the right places, and with a pair of heels my legs look actually kind of sexy. I'd forgotten what it felt like to look at myself in the mirror and like what I see. Holy god, it feels amazing.

Bring on the paarrrttaaayyyy!!!!!!

But first, shopping! I must accessorize!

It's amazing what a little bit of confidence will do. I walked into that party feeling like a million bucks. I received many compliments from my awesome friends. The Ex arrived with a panic-stricken look on his face, which returned every time I said a word to him. I'm just speculating here, but perhaps he was for the first time seeing what he's missing?

I flirted. A lot. It felt awesome.

We drank. We ate. We sang Christmas Carols (against my better judgement) as we walked from house to house. And then, at the last house, we danced. And we didn't just dance, we had a genuine 80's dance party with lots of Madonna and bike lights for strobes. It was simply lovely. Of the two boys who's house it was, one was particularly interesting to me. His name was (for this blog's purpose) Hans, and he was quite attractive despite having gone over his bike's handle bars landing him with a black eye and swollen cheek.

As per my tendency, I was quite tipsy by this point, so things are slightly fuzzy. But I'll jot down to the best of my ability the rest of the nights events:

Everybody left but me. I don't really remember this part, but I know it happened, cause I looked around at one point and everyone was gone but Hans, his roommate Francis, and me.

My shoes came off. I'm not sure if this happened before or after everyone left. Bear with me here, I was drunky-girl!

I sat on the couch with the boys, and I'm sure we talked about something ridiculous.

I got a foot massage. From Hans. Ladies. A muther effing FOOT massage. And not just one foot. Both feet. Why? Because they were cold, and he wanted to warm them up. He massaged both of my feet till they warmed up. Do you have any idea how long that takes?!?!?!? I'm still reeling just thinking about it. To a girl in my line of business, a foot massage is as good if not better than sex. Just sayin.

So where was I? Sorry got a little sidetracked there (Whew! Breathe, MA.) Oh yeah. So next thing I know, we're in Hans's room, sitting on his bed, and analyzing a really cool piece of art he created. Not only is this guy a law student, he's also an artist. Good God. Shoot me now.

I'm sure you ladies can all guess where we ended up next. I won't go into the nitty gritty. I will simply say that it was oh so nice, if not a little frustrating as I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to actually sleep with the guy. Me and my damn morals! So we alternated the rest of the night between talking, groping and sleeping, though we got very little of the latter. I can't tell you how unbelievable it felt just to be touched again, kissed again, to have a body pressed against mine again.

I don't have any regrets about that night. The only regret I have is a decision I made the next morning. I decided that I really liked this guy. We exchanged numbers, and he said he'd call soon. I smiled, said that would be really nice, and walked away.

Hans, I'm going to choose to believe that you had the best intentions, but we need to talk...

El Hombre Con La Mujer Fea

This one is really short ladies. But I felt this guy deserved honorable mention.

Dear Johnny,

Why did you have to be so cute with your little red faux-hawk and glasses? I have such a weakness for dorky guys like you. You like D and D and Magic, and you're old enough to be unashamed of it. You attend Burning Man every year, and you work at a bank. You just seem like a seriously interesting person. I want to flirt with you in a bad way, but we're kind of in a fundraising meeting right now, huh? So, I'll have to wait until Iron Bartender.

So then Iron Bartender comes around, and what do you do? You come waltzing in, hand in hand with a... how do I put this nicely enough that it won't come to bite me in the karmic ass?

Dude, she looks about ten years older than you, and she's wearing a rather unflattering top that places her somewhere in a Beaverton Target, and I'm pretty sure that blonde is fake.

Le sigh. Karma come get me, there was just no nice way to say that.

I mean, it's not like I'm Jungle Barbie over here, but I feel like I'm at least closer in age to you, and I dunno, cuter? A little?

But now, instead of being able to flirt with you, I must focus on the fact that the only other guy I feel comfortable talking to here is my stupid Ex, who came by himself. I equal parts want to kiss him and punch him in his manhood. And now I have to face him, converse with him, and be polite while my body turns a strange mixture of hot and cold, which makes me kind of want to puke... or get really drunk. I choose to do the latter, of course.

So, Johnny, I'm going to blame you for my misfortune, because I don't feel like blaming myself, and you had a choice... you could have left her at home.

Sincerely,

The angry, newly-single, bitter bitch,

MA

Whew!! Man, can I spew some venom or what? I'm almost ashamed to relay how much better I feel having gotten it out...

Actually, no shame here...not even a little bit.

Kisses!