And I Lie Well...Hallelu

Lying. We all do it. Little ones. Big ones. Malicious ones. Kind ones. It's just a part of human interaction. When we're kids, it's black and white, but as you get older, it becomes a grey area.


Generally the rule is the worst kind of lying is the kind we do to ourselves. Because on some level, you know you're lying to yourself and on another level, you just reject that, rationalize it.


But personally, I think the worst kind of lying is the kind where you ask a question, asking for honesty while deep down you wish that the other person will lie through their teeth and eyes and other body parts. You typically ask this question when you know that truthfully, the other person does not have the answer you want. So of course you proceed to ask the question, assuring the other person, I won't get mad! or I just want you to be completely honest...Like I said though, we all secretly want that person to lie. In no place is this more common than romantic relationships or sexual relationships. And in no place is this more deadly.

I once asked a boyfriend about the cuteness of a girl. Now, this girl was gorgeous and she was a dancer. So...yeah. Obviously I knew she was attractive. She just so happened to be quite smitten with my boyfriend. She'd flirt with him in front of me and he would flirt back. Of course I was uneasy and jealous. She stood as this symbol of perfection I knew I would never be and my boyfriend had an obvious interest in her perfection. I tried my hardest to ignore the nagging "HE WANTS HER, NOT YOU" voice in my head, but it just refused to shut up. This led to me one day asking my boyfriend, "So, Perfect Species of Female sure does like to flirt with you. Are you attracted to her? Honestly, I won't get mad if you say yes."

Now, I knew his honest answer would be yes. And I knew I was going to be pissed if he was actually honest. Deep down I just wanted him to deny her attractive factor and tell me how he didn't even notice her, I was the apple of his eye. Which I realize makes me sound super insecure. Because it is. But Pikachu bless his little heart for not caring about my feelings or insecurities because he decided to answer honestly. He told me how yes, she did flirt with him a lot and she was really pretty, but he had me, so yeah. Which loosely translated in my mind as "yeah, there's this better thing I could have and do want, but I've already got this old thing here." My feelings were hurt. But as much as I wanted to get pissed at him for his sensitive, caring answer, I couldn't. I was the one who asked for the truth when all I really wanted was a lie.

Lesson learned you would think. But of course, no.

Enter fuck buddy. I was texting him while I was out with some friends. He knew one of my friends, so I told him she said hey. He told me to say hey back for him. (I know, you don't need the boring word for word, but just hold your horses) So I did. Then he decides to tell me how cute she is. (!) I agree because she is. Then he says something about how she's cool, too. (!!). Which again, I agree because she is. So, at this point, I have to push it. I had to ask the question. Again, I knew his honest answer was going to hurt, but that didn't stop me. I asked him honestly, who would he rather fuck, me or her? My emotions are not involved with this guy as in, I'm not attached to him on a emotional level. but I would like to think you would be attracted to the girl you're fucking. Or at least be smart enough to lie to the girl you are fucking. That's all I wanted. For him to lie. Of course he didn't. He told me her, because she's honestly the type of girl he would date. I couldn't get pissed. I set myself up for that. I knew deep down what he would honestly reply.

Obviously this is a sad pattern. Even sadder because I am basically begging men to lie to me so I can have some sort of validation that I am pretty or wanted. The saddest because I let men like that in my life. Sadderest because I will take even a lie that I am pretty or wanted for an answer from a complete asshole.

I wish I could say I am a totally confident woman, sure of herself and her body. But I'm not. I won't apologize for my body, but of course I doubt it. And it frustrates me beyond all hell that I feel the need for men to give me that confidence or assurance. That I can't rely on myself for that strength. It never helps that I tend to believe that being attractive means you're wanted and being wanted is what gets you in a relationship. And as I am currently standing alone like the cheese that the Farmer in the Dell always picks last, it stands to reason (in my head) that I am not wanted and therefore not attractive.

And all of that is lame sandwich to think. But think it I do. The older I get the easier it is to dismiss that desperate need to be wanted or looking for acceptance outside myself. As a woman of 24 I am more okay with being unattached to a male and less obsessed with the thought of coupling. I do grow tired of watching the Farmer in the Dell picking his wife, his dog, then all his barnyard animals before he gets to me. Being that damned cheese gives you a complex. Gives you a lot of time to ask...when will I be picked?

But next week I will start my new line of posts of my adventures in being active. Doing the picking instead of waiting to be picked.

And you'll come back next week to read it. Because I'm a great blogger, right? You can be completely honest, I won't get mad, I promise...

Memory Lane

(Note: Last week there was a new post "The Lady of Babylon." It shows up under September 1)

(Note 2: This is a pretty Emo post. You've been warned)

Memories are seriously bittersweet. Those damn misty water colored memories that light the corners of my mind. Because for the most part, I wish those corners of my mind were left in the dark. Unlike the almighty Babs, I really find it unhealthy to only remember those great, good times, completely missing the not so great times that stood to show that the relationship was doomed. I don't care to look back fondly on the smiles we gave each other. Or the time we were out on the ocean in our boat and Robert Redford was lovingly embracing me or when the dashing Robert was helping me unpack my books at our beach house in California. Well, those aren't my memories exactly. But I have ones to parallel those.

Here are some of my favorite water colored memories with my lesser versions of Hubbel.

Boy and I went to the Mizzou versus KU basketball game with our friends. There is nothing like Jayhawk basketball in Allen Fieldhouse to get your adrenaline going. It was a spectacular game, and we won of course. During the game we would hold hands briefly and lovey gushy stuff like that. I had curled my hair that night and put some Crimson and Blue ribbon in my hair where I pulled it half way up. At one point he touched my hair and looked me straight in the eye and told me he really liked my hair like that. It's hard to explain that look he gave me. He had amazingly blue eyes that drove me wild, made me catch my breath every single time. But from that look he gave me, I just knew that after this game, we were going home and celebrating in bed. Which is what we did. We were all going to go over to a friend's place to hang out after the game, but we made a pit stop at my place to work off some of that pent up adrenaline from the game. I randomly think of this memory from time to time, it always sticks out in my mind. I don't think I ever felt more carnally wanted and loved at the same time. Which sounds odd, I know.

I was laying in bed one morning with a boy. I had just woke up and I was obviously looking my best with messy bed hair and other attractive morning after attributes. Plus, there's the whole I haven't brushed my teeth and it feels like someone has walked all over my tongue with dirty socks. Now that I've set the romantic picture...boy pulled me to him in all my disgustingness and gave me a good morning kiss and then we just cuddled. We didn't talk, just cuddled in bed. I felt so comfortable and secure. It was one of those moments when things just feel right.

Okay, so this is all more painful to recall and explain than I thought it would be. We'll just leave it at those two examples for now.

I know there might be one day when I'm as mature and wise as Babs and I really will be able to look back on my romantic memories without so much bitterness involved.

But right now in my life, after the whole Jablonski escapade, my ex drama and all the other men strewn throughout this blog, it hurts to think of those fleeting moments of complete bliss because I feel they were just that, fleeting moments that I fucked up. It's not so much the boys I'm fixated on. It's those feelings of security and being wanted and loved. I am so afraid that I will never find that again. That there is no man out there who can honestly love me. Because I'm big boned or lousy or just not good enough.

Which I know we all feel at times and I am just being a huge Debbie Downer. I guess I just start to see an expiration date on myself when I watch all my best friends getting married or in serious relationships. Or even my enemies being blissfully happy with a romantic partner. You just start to panic, desperately trying to recapture those memories that cloud your mind with if onlys and what ifs. Those memories turn into ghosts of the past that haunt you every day and invade your dreams every night. Taunting you with "you'll never find that again" and making your blood run cold.

I think that may be why I was so willing to give Jablonski a chance. Well, I know that's why. My prospects are so low that when a man shows any sort of interest in me, I'll jump at the chance to find that emotional high again. I'll put up blinders, ignoring the warning signs and all the facts that stand to show me that this is a horrible idea. I easily dismiss the abuse I get in the pursuit of that drug love and acceptance.

I am a junkie. And I might as well face it, I'm addicted to love.

Is this real Life?

Have you ever had one of those moments where you're convinced you're in a book or a movie? More specifically a Lifetime Movie? You just stop and think, this must be a dream. This never happens in real life. Until you realize, oh wait, this is really happening.

That was my Sunday night. I think I could write at least ten posts regarding this specific event in my life, but for your sake I will keep it to this one.

Remember how I said, Jablonski...done? I lied. Like a pathetic girl looking for attention and acceptance from a male, I decided to give him another chance and hang out with him this weekend. I knew we would never work out. I knew the chances of anything good coming of this were slim to none. Yet, there I was agreeing to hang out with him on the phone, setting myself up for disaster because he was a boy who thought I was pretty. And we all know that's all that matters.

What makes this even more pathetic is how I spent my Saturday night and Sunday night with Jablonski. Saturday night should definitely have been enough for me to say, later gator. Saturday night he decided to tell me I was big boned and I should go to the gym, that everything in high school was my fault because he doesn't chase girls, they chase him, that I'm boring, that I'm too shy for him, yet he still loves me and wants to marry me. Oh, and he left me for part of the night to talk to an old flame from high school just to make me jealous. You think this would be enough. After being treated like that, any self respecting lady would say fuck off douche. But self respecting I am obviously not because the next night I hung out with him again. And oh boy.

We ended up going parking. I was excited because here I was, finally looking to seal the deal with my crush to end all crushes. This is what happened though, and why I thought this would be a satisfying, special experience is beyond me.

I start losing clothes and he starts grabbing my fat commenting on how I should go to the gym, I push it aside. He says my pants have too high of a waist, they're old man jeans, I push it aside. I get down to my underwear, boy shorts, and he laughs and says they look like granny panties, I push it aside. He comments on how I'm too big to do stuff in the car with him, I push it aside. I start to kiss him and what not, and he laughs at me, I push it aside. We kind of start having sex, but it isn't really working out. So we stop. He asks me how many times I've had sex. I tell him enough to know how it goes. He comments that obviously that's not true because I'm too tight and pretty lousy, I push it aside. But then he says something that broke my heart and I didn't push aside.

I previously told him about my ex boyfriend who hurt my feelings when I decided to have sex with him and then he cried. Told him that in confidence. So of course he'd shatter that confidence and simultaneously make me lose faith in all male kind. He honestly told me after telling me I'm lousy, "Well, you made your ex-boyfriend cry when you had sex with him, right? No wonder he left you."

I'm not going to lie. Word vomit has never hurt me worse than that. Every time I think of this comment I cringe and tear up. As I've shared before, I've had some pretty horrendous things said to me. They hurt, but I could always look back soon after and laugh. This, this is different. I've never had someone so blatantly use words to hurt me.

I can imagine why he said this. Yet, I don't want to make excuses for him because it makes me feel like I deserved to be treated that way. Which I do feel like I did. Like I was asking for it. I knew that I shouldn't be with him or that it would never work out with him. That didn't stop me from entering into that situation, making it out to be something it wasn't. I have to stop and wonder if I am so desperate for attention/acceptance from a man that I would allow myself to be this girl. Am I that delusional? That sad?

Yes. I was. Because he said that and I didn't make a move. Just said, I'm done and laughed. He called the next day to hang out, I said no. He didn't understand why I didn't want to hang out. Then he said he just wouldn't call me again to which I replied, okay then. I know I said it before, but this was the last chapter. I tried it out, and no.

I am not desperate enough to be with someone like that. I do have enough self esteem to realize this is not an ideal situation/relationship.

Because I have to believe that there is a man somewhere who will not call me fat or relate my clothing to old people clothes. There just has to be a man who, as corny as it sounds, likes me for me, big bones and all.

The Lady of Babylon

I'm not carrying a golden cup full of abominations or my fornications. Nor do I have WHORE OF BABYLON written across my forehead (sweet new tat idea). I do tend to wear purple a lot, though. And I suppose you could say I'm beautiful, until you left up my skirt and find scales and ickyness (thank you, Edmund Spenser, for that image).

I guess what I'm trying to say is lately, I've felt like that fine trollop of Biblical proportion. Which is to say that I feel like a (and I hate this word) slut.

But why? I'm not out sleeping with a million boys or girls or both at the same time or a gaggle of people at one time or any other combination of people to do the dirty with. I've only actually had sex with 2 and a half people. (I'm using parentheticals a lot tonight, but yes, 1/2 a person). And one of those whole people was my serious boyfriend. The 1/2 person was someone I thought would respect me, but didn't which is one reason why he's 1/2 a person. The other whole person is a friend with benefits. I haven't even kissed over 15 people. I've only had like 5 male appendages in/around my mouth. So statistically speaking, I'm not a whore. And I think I need a least a gillion more to compete on the Whore of Babylon level of game.

So again, I ask, why in the world do I sometimes feel like such a girl of substandard morals?

Without going off on a Feminist tirade, I think the answer is simple. I am a single lady, which society still abhors with disdain and distrust. But on top of this, I am a single lady that enjoys the company of men outside of a relationship. I am a direct threat to that myth that a woman of my age must be tied to a man. Or society has a nice little succinct word for that...slut.

To keep me believing in this myth, I feel society has personally taken it upon itself to have people, like my mother and friends, comment on the inappropriate nature of my single status and loose morals. "Men won't respect you if you just sleep with them." "Aren't you just lonely?" "Wouldn't you like someone to have to rely on, to be there for you?" "Well, I just wish you were as happy as I am with (enter man name)." "I honestly don't understand how you can just sleep with someone without loving them." Each comment, although coming from a place of love, I'm sure, works to make me feel bad about experiencing life the way I want.

And let us not forgot that bitch, popular culture. Popular culture mainly serves to entertain me. Yet it also serves to remind me every minute of every day how ALONE I am. How WRONG I am. How much I need Brinks Security to protect me. Maybelline to make men just think, maybe I'm born, or maybe it's just a beauty product I am using because if I don't, I'll be ugly and no man will ever love me and no woman will ever care to call me a friend. Hot clothes because, honestly, how can I ever be successful just wearing sweats?

No wonder I feel like a slut most of the time.

Here's a nice dose of rationality, though.

We all hear why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. One of a mom's favorite quotes. One of society's favorite quotes. I know this is technically a rhetorical question. Let's answer it though. First, why in the world would I make someone buy me to get sex. I think that's called prostitution. I am not a possession to be bought just so you can sex me up. I am not on the market, trying to sell myself to the highest bidder, making advertisements that my milk is the sweetest. Or that I'm the fattest cow, so after you're done milking me for all I'm worth, you can just kill me. Get a new cow, and then feast on my carcass that you so easily cast aside after you got that oh so expensive milk to make your bone grow. Second, comparing women to cows? Really? Third, and last, I'll answer the question despite my problems with purchasing someone and being compared to a barnyard animal. You buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, because you've had the chance to taste the milk, compare it to other cows' milk. You become a smart, educated consumer. You know what you like and how you like it. This cow has the best tasting milk to you, so you buy it because you love it. It's the same reason I would buy a cow when I can get the milk for free; I know what I purchasing.

Now, I have a friend with benefits. We get along fine. He's fun to hang out with, but I can't see myself dating him. Our relationship is based solely on the fact that we fuck. No strings attached. I enjoy our relationship immensely. It's a safe place to explore my sexuality, see what I like, what I don't like. My confidence has been building. I'm not as shy and I just feel good about myself. He never makes fun of me. He wants me. Even if it's just sexually or because I'm just a hole to stick his dick in, I don't mind. He just enjoys what we do together, and boy, do I enjoy it, too.

I know I should just feel slutty and guilty per the request of society. Sometimes I feel myself feeling that way. But honestly, for the most part, I just feel satisfied and confident. I am experiencing life. I'm not sitting at home with my five cats, knitting up a storm and remembering those old days of yore when I had a boyfriend. Dorothy felt the same way. Humans, male or female, are not alive to sit at home and just watch life. We're alive to go out and experience life, sexually and beyond.

So, if being single and having a friend with benefits makes me the Whore of Babylon, then so be it. I will proudly wear my purple and keep posting on here, my own golden cup of abominations and fornications.