Valentine's Day.
Ah yes.
Lovely.
I'm not supposed to hate on it.
And I've been pretty good about adhering to that resolution.
I know it's technically... 3 days away? But my sister and her friends decided to kick off the celebrations tonight.
I had to take part in tonight's festivities due to the venue... which happened to be my house.
The three lovely ladies decided to have a salmon dinner, followed by chocolatey dessert and some good ol' vino rojo.
I passed on the vino and opted for straight tequila shots... 'cause that's how I do... because nothing bores me quicker than wine.
And well... I more than overdosed on the chocolate desserts.
The chocolate overdosing began once the girls started man-bashing.
After the lovely dinner (which I bowed out of participating in), they each shared their stories of woe... and rather than share my own man-hating stories, I opted for stuffing my face with molten chocolate mini cupcakes.
My husband bores me... but it's like... we have a son... so... we're working on the marriage... even after I told him of my infidelity.
Oh my God... I'm associating with a cheater? I hate myself so hard right now. Cuuuuupcake!
Men are dogs. They just want fucking sluts. I'm sick of being a good girl.
Cuuuuuuuuuuupcaaaaaaaake!
If a dude were here right now... he'd be so fucking dead. FUCK MEN!
Whoa, there ladies... are there... any more cupcakes back there?
As if that wasn't enough, Momma wanted me to take shots with her in her room.
You don't have to ask me twice if tequila's ever involved. I have the esophagus of a 50-year-old mariachi singer... I will down that shit without flinching and I'll match you shot for shot when it comes to that.
So technically I'm buzzing hella hard right now AND I'm chocolate wasted.
However, as trashed as I got, I'm proud of myself for not participating in the man-bashing.
True, guys have cut me deep... and I'm hell of hurting over dudes... but... I can't lie: I love them. They make my world go round. They make me smile. They make me... enjoy my time on Earth, shit, they help me keep my feet ON Earth (as in, like, not get carried away with my lofty dreams... not that they're the reason why I don't commit suicide. No no, not like that. They just help keep me grounded).
And while I HONESTLY feel that I will never find my other half... that my "lobster" has been caught in some fishery... that my Prince Charming was trampled to death by a minotaur...
I can't bring myself to hate on men... at least not while in the presence of a group of girls.
Sure, a lot of male behavior drives me ape-shit, but to go from that to "I'm done associating with guys!" is a bit too drastic. I don't have the heart to rip them to shreds in front of my kind.
Men are funny. They're nice to look at. They have a story.
Does it hurt to know that I can't find one who will like me as much as I like him? Hell yeah. It hurts a lot... like a hot blade slicing longitudinally along my trachea. It has hurt my entire adolescence... and now my supposed "adulthood."
I'm a 26 (almost 27! Christ!) year old virgin... are you fucking kidding me? I feel a pang in my heart each time I see a couple holding hands... as much as I hate to admit it.
I bet that feels nice... to know... what that's like... to have someone hold on to you in public like that.
I continuously tell myself that I'll just settle for someone who likes me more than I like him... but that's impossible. My stupid heart doesn't allow it... because it isn't fair... to anyone.
Not too long ago, one of Kelley's friends said something incredibly sweet about me. It made me blush.
Kelley: To him, you're "the most beautiful girl in the world."
It helps me understand when the shoe's on the other foot... why the dudes I like can't like me in return. It makes me more compassionate, I guess.
It's flattering, and greatly appreciated... but just... not possible to be reciprocated.
You can't ask an olive tree to give you pears.
So, as my turn to "cheer" to "this miserable day" came up, what were my scathing comments? My story of woe? My famous last words?
... 5,600 miles... might as well be on the moon. Non-exisistent. All in here ::taps right temple three times with right index finger::
One... more... cupcake.
And yes, this post took me about two extra hours to post... I had no idea it was this difficult to revise shit while under the influence (I usually just ignore shit and post away with reckless abandon. But not today. Tonight? No, sir. Not today. Tonight?).
Ah yes.
Lovely.
I'm not supposed to hate on it.
And I've been pretty good about adhering to that resolution.
I know it's technically... 3 days away? But my sister and her friends decided to kick off the celebrations tonight.
I had to take part in tonight's festivities due to the venue... which happened to be my house.
The three lovely ladies decided to have a salmon dinner, followed by chocolatey dessert and some good ol' vino rojo.
I passed on the vino and opted for straight tequila shots... 'cause that's how I do... because nothing bores me quicker than wine.
And well... I more than overdosed on the chocolate desserts.
The chocolate overdosing began once the girls started man-bashing.
After the lovely dinner (which I bowed out of participating in), they each shared their stories of woe... and rather than share my own man-hating stories, I opted for stuffing my face with molten chocolate mini cupcakes.
My husband bores me... but it's like... we have a son... so... we're working on the marriage... even after I told him of my infidelity.
Oh my God... I'm associating with a cheater? I hate myself so hard right now. Cuuuuupcake!
Men are dogs. They just want fucking sluts. I'm sick of being a good girl.
Cuuuuuuuuuuupcaaaaaaaake!
If a dude were here right now... he'd be so fucking dead. FUCK MEN!
Whoa, there ladies... are there... any more cupcakes back there?
As if that wasn't enough, Momma wanted me to take shots with her in her room.
You don't have to ask me twice if tequila's ever involved. I have the esophagus of a 50-year-old mariachi singer... I will down that shit without flinching and I'll match you shot for shot when it comes to that.
So technically I'm buzzing hella hard right now AND I'm chocolate wasted.
However, as trashed as I got, I'm proud of myself for not participating in the man-bashing.
True, guys have cut me deep... and I'm hell of hurting over dudes... but... I can't lie: I love them. They make my world go round. They make me smile. They make me... enjoy my time on Earth, shit, they help me keep my feet ON Earth (as in, like, not get carried away with my lofty dreams... not that they're the reason why I don't commit suicide. No no, not like that. They just help keep me grounded).
And while I HONESTLY feel that I will never find my other half... that my "lobster" has been caught in some fishery... that my Prince Charming was trampled to death by a minotaur...
I can't bring myself to hate on men... at least not while in the presence of a group of girls.
Sure, a lot of male behavior drives me ape-shit, but to go from that to "I'm done associating with guys!" is a bit too drastic. I don't have the heart to rip them to shreds in front of my kind.
Men are funny. They're nice to look at. They have a story.
Does it hurt to know that I can't find one who will like me as much as I like him? Hell yeah. It hurts a lot... like a hot blade slicing longitudinally along my trachea. It has hurt my entire adolescence... and now my supposed "adulthood."
I'm a 26 (almost 27! Christ!) year old virgin... are you fucking kidding me? I feel a pang in my heart each time I see a couple holding hands... as much as I hate to admit it.
I bet that feels nice... to know... what that's like... to have someone hold on to you in public like that.
I continuously tell myself that I'll just settle for someone who likes me more than I like him... but that's impossible. My stupid heart doesn't allow it... because it isn't fair... to anyone.
Not too long ago, one of Kelley's friends said something incredibly sweet about me. It made me blush.
Kelley: To him, you're "the most beautiful girl in the world."
It helps me understand when the shoe's on the other foot... why the dudes I like can't like me in return. It makes me more compassionate, I guess.
It's flattering, and greatly appreciated... but just... not possible to be reciprocated.
You can't ask an olive tree to give you pears.
So, as my turn to "cheer" to "this miserable day" came up, what were my scathing comments? My story of woe? My famous last words?
... 5,600 miles... might as well be on the moon. Non-exisistent. All in here ::taps right temple three times with right index finger::
One... more... cupcake.
 |
| One too many fucking cupcakes... |
And yes, this post took me about two extra hours to post... I had no idea it was this difficult to revise shit while under the influence (I usually just ignore shit and post away with reckless abandon. But not today. Tonight? No, sir. Not today. Tonight?).
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