Unapologetic Female

 

In high school I had a close male friend tell me that maybe one of my problems with boys was that I was too outspoken, too loud. He said that boys didn’t like it, it wasn’t very attractive. And then he finished with a “but you do you, I’ll love you either way” kind of speech so as to not totally offend me… we were friends after all, and I truly think he was just trying to help.

This stuck in my head…well clearly, until forever because I still remember it. It wasn’t the last time I’d ever hear that sentiment.

I remember trying to be quiet and small for about a week until I couldn’t take it anymore and all of my bottled up feelings overspilled in what was likely one of my first feminist rants. I was never good at pretending to be anyone but myself.

 

I remember wanting to be on the football team in high school. I had a strong left kick and wanted to be the kicker. I wanted to make history. I wanted to do something important. But then I thought about what it would be like to be on the team with the same guys that I had crushes on. Many of my guy friends told me they wouldn’t go easy on me and they’d treat me like a dude if I wanted to act like one. I decided it wasn’t very ladylike of me and I’d never get a date to Prom. You should know that I don’t talk to any of these guys anymore, and I ended up dating a 22 year old my senior year and didn’t even go to Prom, anyway. What a waste of a left kick.

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I’m not quiet and reserved, dainty, and I don’t know how to contour. I have an opinion and you probably don’t like it. I speak my mind and care less about privacy, hence this damn blog. It took me a long time to come into my own, and learn that I can lift weights and wear lipstick, that if I want to get my nails done doesn’t mean I’m worried about breaking a nail–even though that definitely hurts like a bitch. In my teenage years, I struggled with wanting to be taken seriously and also wanting to be seen as a female, one that boys wanted to ask out. I think it’s still a struggle for some women- wanting to be respected and heard, but not wanting to come off as too much- too passionate, too overbearing. Today, I don’t worry so much about it. Through many, many experiences, I’ve learned that staying quiet never works for long anyway. I’d rather tell someone to fuck off and risk that they might not like me than waste energy on tip toeing around their fragile ego.

 

I once had a guy ask me to send him nudes. I’ve been asked this a million times and it doesn’t offend me in the slightest. But I wasn’t into this guy and he was annoying me. So I said “No.” He responded by telling me he was “going to pass” and I was so confused. Pass on what I asked? He said, “on hooking up” and I just laughed. Oh ok buddy. Laugh out loud.

I should also mention that I don’t find any women that are quiet, dainty, or reserved to be any less of a woman than those that want to march with vagina signs and shout at the top of their lungs. We are all women, with different personalities, different paths, and a different set of values.

My path as a woman has been somewhat confusing. I grew up with divorced parents; a strong, independent and fiercely feminist mother who mowed her own lawn and asked for power tools for Christmas and a conservative LDS father and siblings with traditional family roles. To sum it up, I grew up believing that I could do anything that I wanted, but in 8th grade when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up all I could think of that I truly wanted to be was a mother. I wanted a husband and the white picket fence, and I wanted a man to hold the door open for me and fix the fence… but I wanted to make history, and I wanted the pant suit and the power heels and to forge my own path but I didn’t quite know how to have it all. This was confusing to say the least, and so I’ve had to find my own path, one that fit for me. I tried on a lot of shoes, and eventually realized that I might have to have these shoes custom fit just for me. I couldn’t bear to walk in shoes that were uncomfortable, just for the sake of appearance. I’ve never been that kind of woman.

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I remember one of my friends dressed in a pink sweater saying she wanted to be the first female president, and I admired her for knowing what she wanted and for not giving a shit that being president had always been a man’s job. I always knew she could be if she wanted to be. She always wore pink and reminded me of Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. You should know she’s very successful and doing just as great as I always imagined her to.

It took me awhile but later in life, I realized that I can have a husband that holds the door and can fix the fence, but I can also be the woman that can do it all on her own if she wants. I can go to work and pay my own bills and I can come home and make crafts with my kids. I can be a good mother and not have to change all the diapers, and I can pump a bottle of breastmilk so my husband can feed the baby when he gets home and I can take a nap. And I can find happiness in all of this, without guilt or fear that anyone might think I’m any less of a woman, or too much of one.

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In my 29 years of life, I’ve been accused of being too outspoken, too opinionated, too sexual– “like a dude when it comes to sex”; I’ve been dumbed down for being a stay at home mother, I’ve been questioned about my need for a man, my abilities to manage my life without a man doubted; I’ve been told not to lift heavy so I don’t get bulky,  I’ve been told my thighs were too big, but not to lose my ass because it’s my best quality; I’ve been harassed for choosing to leave a relationship I was no longer happy in and questioned for staying in one that was believed I should have left, I’ve been villified for choosing to maintain a pregnancy in which the man has deserted, ridiculed and mocked for claiming to be independent while recieving child support, and even for choosing to work two jobs.

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And all I have to say is I’m not sorry. I don’t apologize for being me. I don’t apologize for always going after what I want. I’m not sorry if standing up for myself makes you uncomfortable, or if that makes me a bitch, or even a feminazi. I don’t apologize for loving my body in all of it’s forms, or for showing it off. I don’t apologize for making mistakes, or trying something on for size. I’m not sorry for changing my mind, or deciding that something no longer serves me or makes me feel good. I’m not sorry I didn’t text you back because I wasn’t interested, and I’m definitely not sorry for having a healthy sex life. I don’t apologize for making a choice about my own body or my life. I don’t apologize for being a mother that enjoys her space and independence. I don’t apologize that I want to be in a happy, fullfilling healthy relationship even if that means raising children in two households. I don’t apologize for demanding that a man be responsible for his actions, or that he share parental duties.

I’m not sorry I don’t fit in the little box society wants me to fit in. I’m not that kind of woman.

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What I’ve learned in life is that you can’t please everyone. You will be judged anyway so you might as well make a choice that will make you happy. If you want to strut on your way home from a one night stand, or send nudes you’re proud of… go for it. If you want to march and chant and strike, then do it. If these things makes you feel uncomfortable, then don’t do it. Don’t ever sacrifice your values or what makes you feel good for the sake of anyone else. If a man asks you to send nudes and you don’t want to, tell him no. If you want to sleep with him on the first date, then do it. If you earned that raise, then ask for it.  If you want to work construction, go put on a hard hat. If you want to keep your baby, then keep it. It’s your life, make the choice that works for you and don’t ever apologize for it.

Happy Women’s Day 🙂

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3/4 cup o’ sugar + 2 large eggs + 1/2 cup of butter…

Have you ever been approached by a small child who asks you somewhat rude and invasive questions because he doesn’t know any better, because… well he’s a small child. My kid is that kid. “Are you an elf?” …No… “Why are your ears sticking out then?”

He’s 5 so nobody really gets that mad. You ignore him and I quickly tell him to shut up and get him the hell away from you as fast as possible.

Today Ryan and I are walking to a few doctors appointments, one being my “baby appointment”… Despite having already gone through the whole new baby thing with his Dad just less than a year ago, he’s still very excited and asks me every question under the sun. Things like “is the baby going to come out today?” (Every.single.morning.) and “how does the baby come out” “are you going to get married” … Etc.

Today he asks me again just exactly how the baby got in my tummy. I said to him “Remember? Just like how (baby brother from Dad) was made… It’s kind of like making cookies. A bunch of ingredients get put together and then they go into the oven and cook for awhile. My tummy is the oven right now until the baby is ready to come out.” So of course, being the child that he is… So nosey and inquisitive… He asks me “What KIND of ingredients?” Lord help me.

I sigh because the question annoys me and we’re walking at an incline now so I need to catch my breath. I thought for a minute how I was going to go the next 6 1/2 months avoiding this question with him. I told him, “Well buddy, it’s not really relevant to your life right now, so you don’t need to know.” The thought of the uknown intrigued him far more than the reality of the answer would have, and although I realized this, I still felt like he was just too young to explain this to. He begged me to tell him anyway “Please, I really really want to know.” and so I finally told him without a high pitch in my voice (which is 100 percent indicator that I’m done answering questions and this is my final answer):

“When it becomes relevant to your life, I promise I will tell you. But for now, it’s just not something you need to know”

… He seemed to take this for a final answer and he had found a new walking stick anyway so he soon forgot about it.

Soloing


I told you all I would blog about my adventure as it was happening but I lied. Once my adventure began unfolding I was either too consumed or my head hit that pillow and I couldn’t even fathom writing a word before drifting off to sleep.

I decided early this year that I was going to check some things off my bucketlist, per usual.  My bucketlist is never ending, informal and made up in my head, and mostly daydreamy pictures on my Pinterest board that I want to see in real life. So if I die, direct my children to my Pinterest board and instruct them to follow my lead on all of the best places with the best views and the greatest adventure because I’ve been working on that Pinterest board for years and it’s good stuff. Ok? Please and thank you.

One of the things I wanted to do was see Big Sur. I’m a sucker for good views and the color teal. I heard the water was teal and the beaches were purple. Guess what? They are. A million photos could never do it justice.


When I heard my niece was getting married in Santa Barbara, I was thrilled. What better excuse to travel the Coast? This little lady made me an Auntie for the first time and I surely did not want to miss her special day. I racked my brain with people that would want to come with me, and if I would take the kids or not. I didn’t know anyone that could take the time off of work and/or their personal obligations. I have had this phrase playing in the back of my head for some years, and it always rears its head when I’m faced with a decision of wanting to do something but having nobody available to do it with.

“I was never going to go if I waited for someone to come with me”

Why would I pass up on a dream of mine because my friends agendas didn’t match mine?


I don’t fly well because of childhood ear issues so that was out of the question. Roadtrips are my jam anyway. Why would I take I-5 when I could take Highway 1 just as easily, pitch a tent for a night to enjoy the views rather than driving by in a whirlwind– having it be a view, rather than an experience.

I have always been a bit of a social butterfly loner. I love the chaos of lots of people, the parties, the city, the bustle, the busy. And then I want to go home and crawl into my bed to retreat into a book or music. I could be alone for days. As a teenager, I became very good at being alone, my mother always marveling at how independent I was, when really I just felt like I didn’t have a choice. Nobody was around to do things for me, so I just did them myself. As a young adult, I got my own apartment and lived on my own. As a wife and young mother I learned the value of being alone. My “friends” fell off the face of the earth and my husband worked 12 hours shifts and slept a lot, but it was okay. I needed that alone time. I needed to process and restore. It’s what writing has always done for me- given me time to reflect, digest, and express without actually having to talk to anyone.

People often see “alone” and intertwine it with “lonely”. You see someone eating dinner by themselves and you assume they have nobody to eat with, or staying home alone at night must mean you don’t have anyone to go out with or join you in. A few years ago, I was craving something particular and nobody was available to get lunch with me so I just said fuck it and went by myself. Let me tell you, it was awkward and fantastic. At first, I debated if I should pretend that I was meeting someone and then they never showed up but then decided that that was even more pathetic than just wanting to eat a meal. I kept looking around to see who was looking at me. And then I realized that nobody was, and I enjoyed my meal.


My trip went a lot like that, the enjoyment part. If I could relive that trip everyday, I would. I saw Big Sur, Los Angeles, Santa Barabara, Yosemite, and San Francisco all in 7 days. I ate lunch on a cliff overlooking the ocean, I slept on natures floor, pitched my own tent, made my own meal via headlamp, drove 13 hours straight with the same CD, stayed in 3 different hostels in 3 different cities, went hiking alone, ate ice cream on the Pier, danced with total strangers at a gay bar, buried my toes in purple sand, stopped 171 times to enjoy the view on my way down the 101- afraid to miss a single moment. And I did this all alone.

One thing that did not happen on my trip: I didn’t find myself. The chaos in my head calmed for a few days, but it didn’t go away. I didn’t have a huge epiphany about how to solve all my problems, or figure out how to fall asleep at night without wondering if my kids are going to be okay.

But I did learn the truth in the saying, “wherever you go, there you are”


I had a few good cries. I got more drunk than I intended. I called my friends, I facetimed my kids, I saw my family one day, and I met up with a long distance flame. Hell, I even went to my first strip club. And I extended my trip one day for selfish reasons and because I ran out of money and had to wait on a check to clear. And I laughed about it because here I was having this great adventure, in a different state, and I was still just “me”… Per usual.

You can’t run away from yourself, and you can’t hide who you are. And that’s all I learned.


Oh, and that one trip per year (minimum) is necessary. Because like, experience. And these views.

The Grass Is Greener Where You Water It

When I was a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) people would say bizarre things to me, like how much they wished they had the luxury of staying home with their kids… as if reheating your coffee in the microwave at 2pm whilst still in your pj’s that you have probably been wearing for two days was somehow glamorous. Sure, I didnt have to go anywhere, but I still had things I had to do. My husband got to skip off to work with his shiny little lunch that I packed with not so much love and a whole lot of jealousy to go interact with adults and tell offensive jokes during lunch, while I stayed home and dealt with teething and tantrums and several walls that I stared endlessly and ate lunch with a kid who threw his food at me, and then on the floor.

I’m convinced this is why people always pop out babies like Pringles. Because the wives are actually bored and we’re convinced that another will make it all the more lovely and entertaining. Sure, there will now be two or three tiny dictators, but think of the matching outfits and mostly, they will have a playmate for life. Which means we can have some time to sit down and knock out some of that tedious To Do List, like “Return to Amazon”…. shit, that was a year ago. Except none of this is true. More kids equal more work. The minute you sit down, all hell will break lose or somebody decides that they’re thirsty.

As a SAHM, I took care of the house because my husband worked. I also took care of him because it felt fair. I let him sleep, I made his lunch, I reminded him repetetively of the things he did have to do, like bring home his tupperware. I did laundry for four, I cooked for four, I did dishes and housework for four. I picked up toys endlessly thrown onto the ground. I did the planning of all the boring things like calling Comcast to argue about a bill for 3 hours, figure out which preschool was best, read about development and scoured the internet to identify that rash. I unintentionlly memorized all the words to Thomas the Train and Little Einstein’s. My husband worked long hours and was the sole provider for our family, so it only seemed fair to endure a little boredom and get a head start on senility for the coveted housewife life.

I wandered through that house wondering what I was missing. Read blog after blog of these women that led fabulous lives and had cute Starbucks dates with their girlfriends while their children sat quietly next to them and I wondered what I was doing wrong? I tried to go inside a Starbucks once with my kids to meet a friends for coffee and I almost had to buy the entire wall of mugs. My pictures always came out a little smudgy, my kid’s nose was always drippy, it had been years since I had been able to afford an entire wardrobe from Nordstrom’s, and my messy bun never looked that cute, ever.

One day I woke up and I just didn’t want it. I realized it just wasn’t for me. I had had other plans for my life and this was never part of my vision. I had seen myself in a business suit in New York writing reviews for Fashion Week or participating in a big fancy important advertising launch. I had even seen myself in a tiny apartment with nothing but a typewriter and a mattress writing away at my first novel. But I had never seen myself pre-25, married with two kids, hanging out at home all day with a baby on my hip doing arts and crafts to pass the time.

Fast forward two years and all my dreams came true. While I was still in Washington and my vision had changed from business suit to scrubs, I definitely had a busy life and I had not only one, but two jobs. There was no more husband and no more boredom, but there were still two tiny tyrants demanding assistance with their every need and want. Here I was in a tiny apartment with barely more than my computer, a bookshelf, and a couple mattresses and as I laid down at night with two tiny bodies cuddled up next to me, I found myself dreaming of another life… one with a slower pace. I pictured myself in a cute little house with a handsome husband, and the luxury of not having to work. I would drive carpool and make cute crafts with my kids after school. I dreamt of soccer practices and family vacations, barbeques in the backyard and family dinners… I fell asleep dreaming of my old life.

Funny, huh? Or not so funny, sad.

Took me awhile to see what was really important to me, but once I realized the grass is greener where you water it, I began to water my grass.

Today, my life is weird. I’m a student, a SAHM and a single Mom. Some days I find myself bored and others I crawl into bed at 9. Some weekends- while the kids are away- I stay in my sweatpants and tuck myself in at 9pm and others I revert to my younger, unattached self and go out and stay up late participating in shenanigans that cannot be talked about on the internet. I talked my ex into helping me coach T-Ball, my kids are in swim lessons, and between my own school work, a bit of therapy, and housework… I have found a way to stay busy at what feels like a “healthy pace” for me. I’ve also learned to take time for myself and do what I feel like I need to do to stay sane throughout. I used to feel like I was taking one for the team by suffering in silence and just trucking through the misery I was experiencing, but with that came my massive quarter life crisis where I couldn’t handle it anymore and turned everyone’s lives upside down.

So with that being said, I decided that after three years… I’m taking a kid-free vacation. Actually, it’s mostly a people-free vacation as well. My niece is getting married down in Santa Barbara, and as I didn’t want to miss it…I used this opportunity to take a trip I’ve been wanting to take for some time. I’ve been dreaming of Big Sur and Yosemite for a few years now, and I’ve also been dreaming of some long desired alone time.

If you ever feel like you’re “just a mom”, try to go out of town for seven days.

After careful planning, I can only hope that these days will go by smoothly for my kids and friends and family (and T-Ball team) that will be helping fill my role…and I can only hope that they don’t call me that much 😛

I had originally planned to take this time to fly solo and cut myself off from the world for a few days but in light of recent events in the area, I had a change of heart. Because I am flying solo for the majority of this trip, I decided it best for me to keep several people informed of my whereabouts and maybe, to not talk to handsome strangers. I will be attempting to blog in places where I have service, and plan to share my adventure mostly that way.

Thank you to all that are so generously helping this trip happen- from babysitting, lending gear, dog sitting, being the best neighbor ever, etc. I love and appreciate you all!

 

Here’s to new adventures, solitude, and hella trees.

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The girl that always said yes.

First of all, THANK YOU to all the guys that have harassed bombarded me over the past couple years days. You are all the inspiration for this post. I have some things I have to get off my chest now. In my shiny new blog.

I thought we’d start off with some boundaries.

Yes, I’m an open person. I invite you all to read what I choose to put out in the world. I invite you all to discuss things with me. I love discussions. I love hearing what other people have to say, their personal experiences, etc. That’s why I blog. To talk. To get things off my chest in hopes that maybe someone else out there gets something from it, or that maybe I do.

I have always been the girl that says yes. Yes, I’ll go on a date with you even though I don’t want to. Yes, I’ll pick you up even though it’s totally out of my way. Yes, I can lend you money even though you haven’t paid me back from the last time. Yes, yes, yes. Mostly because I never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. And that has landed me in some very uncomfortable, undesirable, and very unsafe places. Now I say yes to what I want to do, and NO to what I don’t want to. Yes, sometimes it’s uncomfortable. No, you can’t change my mind.

Yes means yes, and no means no. No match, not interested, no date.

I’m about to break it down for you.

Yes, I have a blog and yes its public and I write about dating and my personal life. That’s my choice.That is NOT an open invitation to harass me.

YES I AM DATING. No, that does not mean I want to date anyone and/or everyone.

Let me help you guys out.

When you use a dating site, the beauty of the app is that it does all the guesswork for you. It tells you before you even have to wonder whether the person is even remotely interested in you. It says “YES! It’s a match” You matched with a total stranger based off totally shallow superficial traits. Good for you. You don’t have to wonder if selfie queen likes you back because they already said they did. At least, your appearance anyway.

But unlike messaging someone you’ve matched with, it is creepy to seek someone out that has not matched with you. If you see someone on a dating site, and there is no match it means they didn’t swipe right. They didn’t say YES. If it’s a site like OKCupid and no swiping/matching is involved, and you message them and they don’t respond… the last thing you should do is go find them on social media. Because now you’ve lost before you’ve even begun. This is desperate. Laws of attraction people. C’mon. This isn’t kindergarten. That is creepy. Nobody wants to date a creep.

Sometimes I take breaks from dating.  Sometimes I date the same guy for a few weeks while I feel things out, and I delete the apps on my phone. Sometimes I delete the apps because I need more room to take all my billion photos each day. Sometimes I’m just not interested in dating at the moment.  If I’m not responding to you, it’s because I’m either busy or I don’t want to talk to you. I could just flat out not be attracted to you or you’ve sent me several messages and now I’m REALLY not interested. Sometimes, I’m just hung up on some other guy. Sometimes your Instagram pictures are weird. You take too many selfies. You don’t have any pictures with trees. Or you post too many pictures with girls. Or it’s clear your baby mama and you have some drama. Hell, if you have a Chihuahua… that’s reason enough for me because I don’t like little dogs. Whatever it is, it’s my reason for deciding that I’m not interested.

Me ignoring you is not ghosting you. It’s me, being not interested in responding to you. That’s a sign! You should read it! No response is the only response you need!

Let me tell you about a guy that I turned down, that won.

I matched with this guy on Tinder awhile ago, like a year or two. We talked for a bit but I wasn’t super feelin it. He was polite and the conversation was good but for some reason I just wasn’t sure about dating him. This had nothing to do with him. It was because I was using Tinder as a distraction from my on again/ off again boyfriend. And things were about to come back on. Against my better judgement, I went on the date anyway. I had a good time and he was polite, great conversationalist, had his life together, etc… but I still wasn’t super feelin it. I was highly distracted by my sometimes ex-boyfriend. Tinder guy was a total gentleman, sent me flowers at work, and asked me on another date. I was flattered, and felt bad for not being that interested. I did go out with him again, but again was not feeling itand ultimately felt bad. I eventually told him that something was missing, but that I thought he was a nice guy and really, really appreciated the flowers.  He took it in stride and thanked me for being honest. That was it. He didn’t message me obsessively or stalk me on facebook or social media. And you know what? After I realized that things still sucked with my on again/ off again boyfriend, I felt like a fool. So I reached out to him, and I asked him out. He turned me down.

I have always felt like I missed out on a really nice guy (and some Seahawks tickets) because my head was stuck up my ass. Who knows- maybe- probably I would have gone out with him again only to realize I still wasn’t that interested. But the fact is that as soon as I told him how I felt, that was all he needed. He was confident and secure enough to know that he wanted to be with someone that was super into him, and that was attractive.

The moral is, there are signs and you should read them. I don’t enjoy being a bitch, and I don’t enjoy being harassed. If you ask me out and I say no, then I mean no. No means no. Trying to convince me, or getting mad, trying to manipulate me into feeling guilty- whatever desperate tactic you’re using is actually just pissing me off enough to write a blog about it. Who knows, maybe you just really wanted to end up one of the guys I blog about.

But there’s one common denominator in all of the guys I blog about– none of them are in my life anymore.

 

It’s not “ghosting”- you’re just an asshole

My least favorite thing as of today is the term “ghosting” and the fact that it’s even a thing. Before I go off on my rant: “ghosting” technically means when you are dating someone and they just disappear. Never return a phone call. or a string of text messages. Vanish.

Otherwise known as being a coward. A colossal asshole. How can we even put a label on this behavior and act like it’s a “thing”?  It’s NOT A THING. You don’t have to act calm, cool and collected about it and you don’t have to pretend you’re not hurt or insanely pissed. I’m sure I’ve done my fair share of unanswered text messages or unreturned phone calls when someone is being annoying or I’ve made it clear I’m not interested in furthering a relationship but actual ghosting is a whole nother thing. Let me explain:

When you go on a date with someone and you enjoy their company, the polite thing to do is to thank them for the date and let them know you had a good time. You don’t have to go overboard and gush about how awesome they are, and you certainly don’t have to text them first thing in the morning. I’m not into the ‘playing hard to get’ thing and besides, ignoring someone is not playing hard to get, it’s just being an asshole. Text or call them when it’s convenient and within a reasonable amount of time.

First of all- some random guy off of Tinder or Bumble, or whatever dating app I’m currently using took a chance and met a stranger in a bar or a restaurant etc completely unaware that she’s a total crazy person and is going to go home and blog about him. Ha, just kidding. I don’t let them figure that out right away. Anyway, he didn’t stand you up, and he paid for your meal. If he stood you up or didn’t pay for your meal, then by all means- ghost away. This goes both ways. Just because a man paid, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t thank me for my time. Time is money, and when you’re a mom and have kids…chances are, I’m paying someone either in money or in favors (not sexual, you perverts) to watch my kids so I could go out with you.

So here’s what I do, and feel free to give me your imput because clearly I’m doing something wrong. If I had a great time and I’m really into them, I shoot them a text anywhere from almost right away to 48 hours, depending on the date and the vibe I’m getting. “Hey, thanks for the date- had a great time. Would love to see you again.” or something like that. That let’s them know I’m a polite person even though I say fuck a lot, and I enjoyed their company and they can ask me on another date if they want.

If I’m not interested, and they send me a message that implies that they are, I typically don’t totally rip their heart out right away. I wait for them to message me and then I wait several hours (this is passive aggressive behavior- letting someone down “easy” before the big blow) before responding saying something like, “Yeah, had a good time. Thanks for taking me out.” If they ask me on a second date, and I’m not interested I tell them. I don’t lead them on and go on another date just because it’s easier than saying no, and I certainly don’t ignore them. I say “I think you’re a great guy (or something to ease the blow), had a good time on our date- but I’m not interested in another. Thanks for the offer though!” THIS IS POLITE, YOU GUYS.  You SHOULD thank men for spending their money on you, and you SHOULD tell them what’s up.

Dating is hard. It fucking sucks. For everyone involved. We, as women, have to shower and shave and put makeup on and damage the ever living fuck out of our hair with a curling iron and then try to balance in heels after we’ve consumed a beverage that diIMG_5002rectly effects the cerebellum which CONTROLS YOUR BALANCE. And men have to get the courage to actually ask us out (unless you’re like me and do it for them -I have been known to ask guys out), hopefully spray on some cologne and brush their teeth, and then they have to pay for the whole thing whether we liked them or not.

Yes, I’m a firm believer in the old fashioned ways of men paying on a first date (unless, I asked them out, in which case I offer to pay).

So this is where I seem to have problems in the dating field. I can tell based off one date whether I like someone or not. I don’t play games- I don’t wait around for a man to text me, and I don’t wait around if he says he’s busy. I do try to date one person at a time, but if I’m not getting a vibe that says he’s super interested, then I move on to the next. However, despite how fucking polite I am, in the past year I have been “ghosted” twice.  You know, where I’ve been chatting with somone, going on dates, and then they disappear out of thin air. And it has left me in literal “What the fucking fuck just happened” confusion.

So the first one left me mind blown. I didn’t care about the actual relationship- if he had dumped me like a normal human, I would have took it with stride, thrown up some deuces and never would have thought of him again. But he didn’t. We had been dating for 6 weeks, and every day in those 6 weeks counted because we spent every single one of them together. I met his mother, his sister, his son, his niece, his aunts, family friends, etc. He met my ex, my mother, and my kids. Aside from my husband, nobody had ever made it this far. One day everything was great. We woke up together, and I was feeling a little swoon worthy over him. Fast forward 6 hours and I got one of the last text messages ever from him, “Bye”.  Attempted to call him, see him, and message him over the next 3 days in order to have a formal, mature, adult break up. I got nothing. After I decided fuck it- I sent him a stream of what I really thought text messages, and finally got one of those lame “you’re a great person, I’m not ready, blah blah blah” text messages that meant nothing at that time because I had to go full blown crazy person to recieve that message. WAS THAT SO HARD TO SAY 3 DAYS AGO? No. It wasn’t.

It was hurtful and cowardly that the behavior he displayed read to me that I wasn’t worth the conversation. I am confident and secure enough to know that’s not true, but when you treat someone like that, that IS what you’re saying to them: that they don’t matter. To me, it said “Your kids don’t matter to me” and that was one of the most hurful things about that. My kids asked for weeks where he was and why we weren’t going to his house. Lucky for me, I’ve become a professional at answering my kids intuitive questions about adult affairs. I simply said “Mommy and ___ aren’t going to be friends anymore because he hurt my feelings and didn’t apologize so we’re not going to his house anymore” and when Ryan said, “Well, I can still go to his house. You can just drop me off” I told him we take sides in this family and I gave birth to him so his loyalty lies with me. He’s never asked about him again.

If we continue using the word “ghosting” as if it’s a thing, our attitudes towards that behavior change. We gradually begin to accept it as a part of dating. THIS IS NOT DATING! This is being an incredible fucking asshole. This is actually insane. I know I joke a lot and I’m flippant about pretty serious things because they make me uncomfortable but I’m completely serious when I say this kind of behavior indicates something very seriously wrong with someone..but yet I hear about it all the time. Have we become that socially immature that we can’t have adult conversations? Is the casualty of swiping making the physical being sitting across the table seem less real?  Guys, we are not our online avatars. We are real people with real feelings. Do people understand this, or am I the crazy one? Have we not matured past the 14 year old boy in an AIM chat room harassing a girl he has a crush on bIMG_5933ecause he doesn’t know how to just say “I LIKE YOU”. You can only hide behind your screens for so long. Eventually you have to learn how to have a real conversation with a real, physical being. If you’re too cowardly to have an adult conversation, then you shouldn’t be dating. I refuse to accept this kind of behavior and I hope all of my friends- women and men, do too. I promise you I am not afraid or embarassed about getting the answers I deserve. If I give you my time or my energy and especially if I let you into my life and heart (blech) then I deserve to be dumped properly.

And for the record, I am the 14 year old girl who printed off those AIM conversations and handed them out like birthday invitations to everyone, including the principal.

 

Shiny New Blog

IMG_0222First things first- I have been blogging since 2004, when “blogging” first became a thing. I used to use my Xanga to blog about my daily activities and passive aggressively talk shit about people and post little “tinypic” images to convey my emotions instead of just being a normal person and bottling it all up and then playing it totally cool. I’m not gonna lie, some things haven’t changed. Before blogging was around, we had things called Diaries. With keys. Paper & pen. I started that when I learned how to write my name. I started off by writing how annoying my brother was and what me and my friends were going to do that weekend and how boys were so confusing and should I date Joey or David? Again, things haven’t really changed in that department.

I started my “Thompson Family” blog back in 2009 when my HUSBAND (Yes, husband) and I first got engaged and found out we were expecting a screaming, crying, time consuming little ball of terror and love, otherwise known as a baby. I documented really random, boring things like how many times me and Tristan watched Barney and when we bought a vacuum. Really, I can’t believe anyone ever read that shit. I was a miserable Stuck At Home Mom. One can only watch Disney Jr for so long until they start to lose their minds. Blogging gave me something to do, as I was frequently counting down the hours of the day until I would go to bed alone, only to wake up and do it all over again. Amidst that misery, we were actually really in love with this little screaming bundle and we decided that this was so fun and our baby was so perfect we should do it all over again as soon as possibly possible.. And so we did and then 16 months after we had our first little ball of rage and love, we had another. And he was even more full of rage. Seriously, he had an ear infection and wouldn’t stop crying and I had no idea what was wrong with my baby.

So anyway, things sucked. You can find the whole story somewhere on here and trust me, it’s worth the read– but for now, I’ll summarize with the facts. Shit didn’t work out.

I’m a single Mom now, and I do whatever I want all day every day and it’s awesome. I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. I have my own car, my own cell phone, my own apartment, my own bed. There’s no hair left in the sink after somone shaves and doesn’t clean up after themselves, and I rarely roll over and wake up to morning breath. There are only two times in which I resent being a single mother and that’s when the trash needs to be taken out and it’s raining  and after a big trip to Costco and it’s raining. Other than that, being a single mom is pretty kickass, and I have a great time doing it.

So I left my husband 2 years, 9 months, and 19 days ago… BUT WHO’S COUNTING. Oh right, me. We’re still married, and well things get even weirder because he’s expecting a new baby in a few weeks. Weird. Awkward.

Since that day that I left my husband, not only has my life taken on a completely different form and meaning, so did my blog. I started to use it as an outlet. I had bottled up so many emotions and secrets, and was struggling with a lot of things and the only way I knew how to get them out was the way I’ve been doing it all my life, which was through writing. So I did that, and it’s been a weird experience because my readers have literally multipled by the thousands. Like by 45,000 or so. Beause of that and with the hopes that someday in the next 365 days I will actually be a legally single woman, I decided I wanted to start fresh. I wanted a new blog with new direction.  I didn’t want my blog to be based on the “Thompson Family” because that family changed. We’re still the “Thompson Family” but we’re more than that now. We’re not just a picture on a holiday card full of cheesy smiles when really everything is falling apart at home. I’m a sucker for the Holiday cards so the cheesy smiles aren’t going anywhere but now we’re also a real family, inside and out– we have real struggles and we have real triumphs and we have real bad knock knock jokes. That’s the family I want to display. The one that is honest and tells the truth even when it hurts. So sometimes my blogs are like super emotional and weird and sometimes they’re inappropriate and snarky and sometimes I just want to brag about how cute my kids are and I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s my blog and I do what I want