Copy Cat

I was going to write this long post about a life stealer. A doppelganger. A copy cat. But that would be a waste of time because I'm sure it's all coincidence and if it isn't, wow.

Instead I'll just write that after 1 year of not being able to listen to Everytime We Touch, I can now not only listen to the whole song, but dance to it around my apartment and belt it out like it's no one's business.

I'm looking to date.

I'm back in the town I love surrounded by amazing friends.

I've started a new job which will let me explore what I want to do with my life.

I'm optimistic and happy.

I'm young and beautiful.

I'm me, and no matter how many little pieces you take away from my life, that doesn't change.

To end, here's a quote Franklin Pierce Adams had about Dorothy Parker. I feel it's applicable to this post. “The only limited-edition girl I know, by which I mean there is nobody like her, nor ever was.”

A Young Woman of My Age

Moving back home has been nice for the most part. No rent, home made dinners, no utility bills and I enjoy being closer to my family. But of course there are the drawbacks, too. Little independence, living in Norwich, Kansas, lacking any semblance of a social life, no friends and frequent questioning.

Yet, the most frustrating part of moving back home is the community and the values and standards embraced by the community I grew up in. The musty, somewhat archaic mores that sent me looking for some fresh air once I graduated high school. To me, the woman in the kitchen, man marries woman and has family, God fearing whiteness was too much. Something I couldn't endorse. Not to say everyone in my town thinks this way, but it is the predominate majority.

For me, getting an education was essential. Ever since grade school I knew I was going to college, moving away from Norwich. I wanted to see the world beyond the wheatfields. I saw no reason why I couldn't do what boys did, play what they played. If told I couldn't do something I always asked why not. As I grew older I was the minority voice; Pro-Choice, Feminist, Liberal, Agnostic. I was told I was going to hell, compared to Hitler, deemed Femi-Nazi, etc. So, yes. I wanted out.

And coming back has pushed me back into the expected. Here is the most common conversation had with members of my community:
Them: Chelsea! How are you?
Me: I am doing well. You?
Them: Fine. (insert information about rest of family here, most likely a classmate who is now engaged, pregnant or married)
Me: I am glad to hear everyone is doing well.
Them. Yes.....So, I heard you graduated college.
Me: I did.
Them: That's nice. So, do you have a boyfriend or are you engaged?
Me: Um....no. I am single.
Them: You didn't meet anyone at college?
Me: Well, yes...but....
Them: Then why don't you have a boyfriend?

See, college was not a place for me to get some learning. It was a place for me to get a man. My time and the thousands of dollars of debt I am now in would have been better spent on snaring me a nice man. They are not interested so much in what I majored in or the fact that I graduated with honors. Oh, no. They are only interested to know why I am single. I am not a successful member of this community unless I have a ring on my finger or a bun in the oven.

But, my favorite part of this conversation is always the last question. What is the correct response to an obtrusive, rude question like that? The following is a list I have compiled to answer such a question.
1) I am a lesbian. (Which upon hearing the citizen would immediately call other citizens while cleaning the shit from their pants, yet sharing that they are not that surprised to hear it)
2) Because I am a fat, ugly girl. If only I could be desirable. I am only worth something, after all, if a man wants me.
3) I am deciding to do as Hamlet says and get myself to a Nunnery and give my life go God.
4) As you know, fair citizen, I am a hateful, bra burning Femi-Nazi and no man could ever love me because I castrate him with my overt masculinity and need to be superior.
5) Because I spent more time focusing on my studies and working. It is not something I am really looking for right now.

Sadly I always respond with #5, although I do believe #1-4 would make the person I am talking to more comfortable. They could understand those answers a little better. But me not wanting a serious relationship or marriage at my age??? Unheard of.

Don't believe me? Well, of the eight girls in my class, I am the only one not in a serious relationship, married or pregnant. A good amount of the boys are also married and/or have children.

For them and others like them in my town, that might be their dream or what they want. Power to them. I just know at 23, I still want to be selfish. I want to travel more. Figure out myself some more. Be independent. I do hope to one day marry, find a partner to grow and mature with, it is just not something I actively pursue. It will happen when it happens.

Yet, while I let it happen, the town tries to set me up on blind dates or scour the countryside for a suitable suitor.

Pickachu, help me.

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Orgasms

I am superficial.

I like getting compliments just as much as the next person. Especially if the person bestowing the comments is someone I am interested in. Like a boyfriend. Or a crush. Of course I am talking about those little gems like I have the most beautiful brown eyes, I am pretty, I am intelligent, I can pack away a dozen cupcakes like no other woman can. The usual.

These little boosts in self-confidence are nice and let you know that the other person thinks you're the bee's knees. Which is nice in a space where you are highly vulnerable and open. You like some encouragement that there is some mutual infatuation going on.

But....there is a certain point where compliments turn creepy. I would like to share some experiences where the creep line was crossed.

So, in a intimate, sexual relationship with someone it is nice to know you get them hot. Like, you learn the other person enjoys a certain type of touch or a particular kind of kiss. Or that they enjoy seeing you in this one pair of jeans. You know what I am talking about. It's nice to have this secret power inside of you to make the other person drool. Especially when you are sexually attracted to them, it's nice to know it's a mutual passion you share.

Well, in this case the passion and arousal I sparked was not something I needed to know.

Now, I am not a sex bombshell. I am mostly awkward and goofy, not especially "sexy." But when I was dating this guy I felt sexy. It was a nice feeling. He told me I was beautiful and smart and he loved the way I kissed. I enjoyed his cooing and wooing. I was enamored with him, too. One day we were watching television and talking. Nothing worth remembering, just small talk. Then somehow and for some reason I am not sure of, he decides to drop this bomb on me:

I think about you when I masturbate.

Umm........
.......
...........

What is the proper response to that???? There was no sexy context for it. I could maybe see that in a hot and heavy session between the sheets or perhaps a text of something implying that the thought of me made him hard, but to just outright say he jerked it to me...It made me feel beyond dirty and weird. I mean, I guess I figured he might do that and it was kind of nice to know he was thinking of me instead of say my best friend or my sister. But did I really need to know????

No, I did not. Instead of making me feel great, it made me feel sleazy. Because when he thinks about me he touches himself. Which for me means that I get stripped down to a sexual thing. Nothing more. I am purely being seen, in this context, as a sexual agent or fantasy for his pent up sexual tension. I am not being seen as an intimate partner with feelings and emotions that get shared during a sexual encounter with him. I am just a vagina and a hot mouth.

Yet, that wasn't the most awkward part. After I failed to really reply he asked, "Well, don't you masturbate to me?" I am not going to deny giving myself a hand in times of need. I see nothing inherently wrong with it. But I do not generally think of a man in particular. It is a fantasy man who knows exactly what I like and how I like it. We usually share some witty conversation before getting to it, too. Better than trashy romance novels...but probably not much better.

But I digress. I felt bad saying NO, so I fibbed a bit and told him I did occasionally think of him and his immaculate penis. Okay, maybe that was fibbing more than just a bit, but I didn't want him to think that I didn't recognize him as a sexually potent partner. Because he was sexy to me, but since he was the leading man in my reality I didn't need him to be the lead in my fantasy.

He wasn't the only one to say such a thing to me, though. This past year a guy was flirting with me via Facebook Chat. After telling me I needed to visit him the next time I was in Lawrence, he then out of nowhere tells me he was looking at pictures of me on Facebook and getting hard. What. The. Fuck. I ended that conversation abruptly.

After talking with some trusted males, they told me they wouldn't mind if a girl told them that she sought release whilst thinking of him. They would actually be quite flattered. Which is nice...but after talking to my lady friends, they agree that a man saying he rubs one out to the thought of you is creepy. Maybe on some level flattering, but...mostly creepy.

I guess in the end I have a problem with a man telling me he masturbates to me because it does only reduce me to a sexual outlet. Also because I have grown up under the assumption men watch porn and look at Playboy for such a thing. These women are just bodies. You might learn Miss January's favorite color is blue or that the girl in the porn needs her plumbing looked at and would appreciate you inspecting it with your more than adequate equipment, but these aren't real foundations of intimacy. There is a distance between the woman he looks at/fantasizes about and himself. Which makes me think the same would be happening to me if he is jerking it to me. There would be a distance or I wouldn't be a real person. Just a fantasy.

And I like being real. I like my fantasy tryst with a Mr. Darcy like male, but I would always much rather share a real tryst with a real man.

And if you ever want to give me a compliment, feel free. I enjoy the flattery. Just please don't tell me you masturbate to me.

Adventures as Miss Pross

The past weekend I played Miss Pross to my little brother and his friend that is a girl but isn't his girlfriend. (Never make the mistake of calling her his girlfriend. Shit will go down.) As I sat driving them into Wichita to see a movie and have dinner, I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. I mean, there is nothing like being up front and center for viewing ill-equipped high school kids start to venture out into the abyss of relationships to make you feel all the angst, butterflies, and anxiety that defines your teens.

I flashbacked to days of immediacy and urgency that controlled everything. Everything in high school was high stakes and could, like, totally ruin the rest of your life. Heartbreak, a C, a fight with your friend, your parents ignorance of your own unique problems they would never understand. High school was a time that was always in ALL CAPS and accentuated with exclamation marks.

Which got me thinking about the things I did or did not do in high school.

I never thought having a boyfriend was the end all be all. Yes, I felt the pressure to have one. I had hormones racing at the speed of light, so of course I wanted to find a guy to explore those urges with, too. But....I never felt that if I didn't have a boyfriend, I would die. I had a good handful of boys ask me out. I was kind of interested in them, I liked hanging out with them, but I just didn't feel like dating them. So, I said no, to the utter horror of my girlfriends and mother. How on earth could I turn down a man who wanted do take me out in his truck? Didn't I know what I was turning down? Umm....yes, I did. In most of those cases, I knew for a fact the guy was more interested in getting in my pants then getting to know me. I hated the whole basing my value or worth on the caliber of boy I dated.

I quite honestly was more concerned with my grades and going to college. Boy crazy never really fit into a description of me. I had priorities and boys just never were one. Which is probably why I got the prude nickname.

But, prude I was not. There was a brief stint during my sophomore year that I am not necessarily proud of because I looked outside myself for worth or acceptance. I hung out with some girls who used there bodies to get attention from boys. They fascinated me. I just remember thinking that if these girls were all doing it, then it must be normal, and obviously it had great results. So, I joined in for a couple of months. I flashed some guys, made out with some guys, let guys feel me up. I wouldn't go any further, which made me a prude and tease, but I knew from my best friend that if I did go further, I would be a slut. After a couple of months of this, I hated myself. Those boys didn't like ME, they liked my body. I saw my friend get in deeper and deeper, getting hurt emotionally, actually getting hit by her boyfriend, being called names. I got out. I knew that for me, being objectified was not what I wanted. I found myself again, gained more confidence, and decided that my relationship with boys was something I wanted to be based on more than sex and the pursuit of it.

That's not to say that I didn't have the occasional hook-up in high school with guys I was not dating. They were situations where I was good friends with the guy and we ended up making out. It was fun and it was a good way to release some of that pent up sexual frustration.

Now, as a twenty-three year old woman, I feel like those high school experiences have paved the way for my present outlook on life. I like boys. I really do. I like having fun hook ups with guys I feel are on an equal footing with me, i.e. we both are in it to have fun and we both have mutual respect for each other. I like to date, but I don't actively pursue it. I can see myself getting married and having children, but that is not my objective for now. Now, I want to get to know myself better. Travel. Establish a career.

Moving back home has made me think even more about my priorities. Over half my class is married/having kids. I am the only girl in my class not in a serious relationship. Townspeople ask me why I am not engaged at community functions and hoe-downs. Sometimes I feel lonely or pressure from this, but I stop myself for getting to worried. This is the "expected" way of life for me, not the reality of my life.

And, if high school taught me anything it was that I set my own expectations and y=mx+b.

Telephone

Oh, that bitch of technological advancement known as the telephone. How many of us sit around waiting to hear its siren call? You just KNOW it has to be him on the other end, finally calling you back as he said he would. But, no. It was only your mom asking you to pick up some cat food or a friend asking for some help on a paper. The siren has done it again. Led you closer to it, to touch it and respond to it, feeding you visions of your deepest desires, only to dash those desires and your heart to bits.

Sound bitter? A bit.

I spent the weekend on pins and needles waiting for a boy (Jablonski) to call me back as he promised he would. He said that he did want to hang out with me this weekend, but he just had to check out some plans with a friend and that he would call me back to let me know what time we could meet up. I am guessing since he never called me back that time to hang out would be Never In A Million Years.

I knew as I obsessively checked my phone every five minutes that I was being foolish, letting myself invest to much hope. He has a horrible track record for calling me back. I knew it was a long shot, told myself repeatedly that it was, but yet....I checked my phone like my life depended on it. Daring myself to believe that maybe this once it would work out.

In a time after He's Just Not That Into You, I see the signs that he is, indeed, probably not that into me. Not as much as I hoped or willed. Yes, he flirts with me when I see him and makes (empty) promises of dates or hanging out, but he could just be doing that because he knows I am interested. At this point, I don't really care to analyze why he does it or if he really does care about me in any way or if this is just part of some huge game we all end up playing.

What I do care about is how just because my phone fails to ring with his voice on the other end asking me to live a happily-ever-after, I am left crushed.

See, in my mind, him not calling me back is evidence that I am in fact, not lovable. I am not wanted. I am a throw away, something best left alone. Which on most days is not how I see myself, but on days like these, it is. Plus, the sting is worse this time than others. I ran into my ex and his girlfriend last weekend and that threw me for a loop. My ex always makes me feel that way. Disposable. Unwanted. Because of this, I feel this desperate need to validate myself outside of needing him or being with him, and this validation can only be gained through securing the affection of another male. If another man dates me or seems to find something valuable in me, that proves my ex wrong. I am a viable commodity in the dating world.

Which, of course, is so dumb and not true. But, the last couple of years with men (as this blog can attest) has taken its toll on me. I am left weakened and bruised. Moving back home has added to this defeated outlook because I see all my best friends from high school and classmates getting married or starting serious grown-up relationships. Some of which, if I am being honest, I feel don't deserve it. Sounds harsh, but, I did not grow up calling people fat cows and bitches repeatedly like they did so I find it hard to think they should find some sort of happiness or someone who loves them while I am left bitter and alone.

I don't know. I know there is no secret formula for finding someone to love. This is all just bullshit I will have to put up with until I find a guy that makes the bullshit worth it.

But, until Mr. Future comes into my life, I am left cursing my telephone and giving it a good toss across the room. :)

Toilet Usage

Betrayal. It is such a basic component of human misery and tragedy. Intertwined with emotional feelings of passion or attachment, betrayal becomes even more Shakespearean and dramatic. We all deal with ranging degrees of betrayal in our lives. Each betrayal is significant to the way we approach future relationships or in the ways in which we decide which person to trust or confide in. A friend divulges a personal secret to an enemy. A significant other cheats on you. It leaves you weary and wary of relationships in general.

This is the story of my own little Shakespearean play. I would call it a tragedy, but I did not end up murdering anyone or killing myself. Nor will I call it a comedy because it stung so badly. So, let's just classify it as a history for now.

Second semester of my sophomore year I had a class with a super cute guy. After the first few weeks of class, I found out he lived in the same dorm as I did and we shared mutual friends. We established a quick camaraderie based on these facts. He moved to sit with me in the back of the class and we walked back to our dorm after class. With all this time spent together, we talked a great deal. I found out we had very similar taste in music, he had a great sense of humor and that he was a genuine nice guy, which are hard to come by. Based on these facts, I quickly cultivated a crush on him.

I found myself making sure I looked cute on the days I had class with him. I always looked forward talking to him and walking back from class with him. I talked to my roommates about him, sharing that I did have a pretty big crush on him.

As the weeks progressed, I started to think that maybe, just maybe, this guy kind of liked me, too. He knew I liked Kirby and during class he drew me a picture of Kirby. He would also make me little origami stars. I would take those stars back and put them on my desk. They were pretty sweet. He would also flirt with me, which is always a good sign.

Since I had already informed my roommates of him, I began asking for their input. These were girls I shared a confined space with. We were pretty close and I did consider them good friends and valued their opinions. They all agreed that he did sound at the least interested in me. They would tease me about him and ask me about any progress made with him. Things continued in this way for a long time. As time wore on, I let myself really start to believe this guy liked me. The signs were there. It just seemed like a fact.

Then I started to notice something...weird. One night, my roommate I shared a room with was talking to someone on AIM. We were talking and I asked her whom she was talking with. She informed me it was the guy I liked. I didn't really think too much of it though. They had met, and we all did have mutual friends. It did bug me, I am a girl and I was jealous, but I tried to not get too bent out of shape about it. Well, a couple of days later she informs me she is going to a concert with this guy and a group of our friends. It was a last minute invite from her, but I just declined. This one really took me by surprise. I got pretty pissed, but again, I calmed myself down thinking that it wasn't too out of the norm for a group of our friends to go to a concert together. A week later, we were all drinking and I came back to our room to see a small group of people, including him and her, in her bed. This did not settle right with me. So, before we went to bed that night I straight out asked her if she liked him. She protested, No, of course not! He was really cool and cute, but she knew I liked him and would never do that. I told her if she did, that it was fine, I just did not want her to lie to me. She said, No, this was not an issue.

I don't know why I still thought he might like me after this. I just held out hope. It became pretty obvious that he was pretty interested in her, but he still seemed interested in me, too. I was all sorts of confused. I decided to stay optimistic. Which was not the smart move. I should have cut my losses then.

One of my other roommates had a birthday and the girl I shared a room with decided to throw her a surprise party. That was one of the worst/best nights of my life. Best because it pretty much solidified my friendship with Miss Allison Richardson. Worst because: At the party my bedroom roommate and the guy were extra touchy feely, something I took notice of. We left before they did. When they came back to MY dorm room, they were partially clothed, wet, and embracing each other. They had got in the hot tub together. Upon seeing this, I got up, washed my face and brushed my teeth, then went to bed. She came in a bit later to grab some blankets. The next morning I found them on our living room floor together, peacefully sleeping. I wanted to throw water on them or something drastic, but instead I devised a plan to get out of the room for a couple of hours, let them wake up and leave, then come home to them not being there.

That plan did not work. Instead, they stayed in our mutual living space until about 3 or 4 the next afternoon. I heard them kissing a couple of times. I was hurt, humiliated, angry, and sad.

I was so upset that she could do that to me after we spent so much time talking about how much I liked him and if he liked me. She did not have the decency to go to his room to do whatever, but instead came back to our room where she knew I would be. Nor could she have got up early and had him leave, knowing that it was not a good situation. I thought she was a friend, someone I could trust, but that just proved me so wrong.

And him. He knew I liked him. It wasn't a secret. Yet, he had no qualms about hooking up with my roommate in my dorm room. My feelings were obviously no concern of his. That hurt the worst. Knowing that I mattered so little to him. I was such an insignificant being to him that he felt it was fine to lay in my living room all day long with her cuddling and what not. Which was a pretty big equivalent to a huge slap in the face and punch in the gut. He later informed me that he made the wrong choice in that situation and that he did really like me, I wasn't just dreaming it up. But, too little, too late.

This is kind of a debbie downer story. But, it was just too outrageous not to share on here. I mean, it could quite easily be a plot for a teen chick lit book or a teen movie. Except for the part when after the huge betrayal, I did not fall into the arms of a guy who would treat me right. Instead I just learned some valuable lessons about people I thought I knew and myself and went on being alone.

Which is fine by me. I can be mad all I want at those two people, but it will never do me any good. I saw the warning signs, I could have tried to distance myself from him, but I did not. I forgave them and I am still really good friends with the guy.

This little history just taught me that when it comes to love and the pursuit of it, you will definitely be shit on. But, after many showers, the stink and stain will fade away. You can just go on looking for a guy who will not use you as their own personal toilet.

Touched For the Very First Time

I have gone back and forth about posting the story of losing my virginity. Not because it was such an extremely personal, intimate moment I feel the need to keep it private, but because I did not want to offend the other person if he ever read this. I know he would not be happy I was writing about this on the interwebs.

Yet, this story is too comical and too important to my own personal narrative as a person not to share. Plus, I am kind of over making sure I do not hurt some one's feelings who so blatantly hurt mine.

So, here is the story of me being touched for the very first time.

I never really thought of my virginity as a precious flower or jewel or an other material good. I did not think I was going to hell for having sex before marriage. I did not buy into that whole staying pure for my future husband. If I were to stay pure, it would be for myself, thank you very much, not some man.

Yet, I wasn't willing to just have sex to have sex. I mean, of course my hormones had me thinking that that really wouldn't be too bad. I am a normal woman with normal lusty needs. I didn't necessarily build it up either, thinking it would be the most important moment of my whole life. I also did not ever think it would happen to be uber romantic with candles, soft jazz music, claims of deep love, or anything cheesy like that. That just would have been weird.

I did, however, know that I wanted to be in a committed relationship because I have issues with letting people get close to me emotionally and physically, so I knew it had to be someone I was sure cared about me at least on some level. Also I knew that I wanted it to be a part of a connection. Obviously it was a connection of penis to vagina. I just wanted it to be an extension of the connection I had already built with someone. Most of all, I wanted to be sure I was mature enough to deal with it.

To sum that all up...I had some standards.

Enter (is that a bad word choice or what) my first serious boyfriend. It is NoIQ discussed earlier. We had been dating for a while, broken up, then gotten back together. We were both virgins. He had done a little more than me, but we were both pretty inexperienced sexually speaking. He said that he wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, he was super Catholic, and that didn't really bother me.

I never really pushed the whole sex issue with him. We just progressed I guess. Like, when you hit a grand slam. You have to round the bases before you get to home. So we rounded the bases. First, Second, Third, Home. We just naturally worked our way up to the big night.

I remember we had been watching tv before. It was at my apartment. We got done watching a show then moved to my bedroom. We started the usual hanky panky and worked our way to the point of no return, or others might refer to it as just the tip. It just happened after that. I mean, you get to a certain point when it's like, why not? Or at least for me it was like that.

For me, I really liked this guy. I was pretty convinced I loved him. He made me happy and I was so happy to be with him. I had no qualms of doing it with him. He was sweet and caring and it just felt right for me. I thought he probably felt the same way since we started to go at it.

It wasn't uber special or anything. It didn't hurt too bad and after getting use to it, it was kind of enjoyable. I thought as first times go, this wasn't too bad at all.

Well, then something horrible happened. He started to cry while we were having sex. Seriously, no joke. After about five minutes he just breaks down. I wish I could say they were tears of pure ecstasy because I was a natural porn star fucking his brains out, but that was so not the case. They were salty tears of regret.

That brought the baby making session to a halt. He was quietly sobbing while I got dressed. He did that for awhile. I kept asking what was wrong, but he just wouldn't say. So then he announces he was leaving. As he leaves, he informs me that this is between me, him and God. I shouldn't tell anyone about it. He left without a kiss or hug, with tears still in his eyes.

Now, I know why he was so upset. Obviously he felt guilty for having sex with me. He had thought for so long he was going to wait until marriage. I got that.

But....that fucking hurt my feelings. I mean, I thought we were doing something that was an extension of how we felt for each other, building our connection. He was crying about it, feeling guilty. Which made me feel horrible and guilty. Like I had pushed him to do it or something. Like somehow I was Eve forcing him to bite the Forbidden Apple. Plus he kept acting like he wished it never happened.

It was my first time, too. I had feelings invested in this situation just as much as he did. Him crying sent a couple of messages to me: A) He did not want to be with me like that; he was rejecting me, B) He never wanted to be with me, C) I was a horrible person, and D) I was worthless.

Until recently, I had carried around a lot of guilt about that night and carried around a lot of those feelings when it comes to sex.

Now I just think of how comical it was. I mean, really. Of all the things to happen on a night like that, this is what happens. He cries and tells me to keep it a sacred secret between God and us. I was so not down for playing the Holy Spirit in his little Trinity.

What this has taught me though is that when it comes to sex and love, there is always that chance you will be humiliated, hurt, and crushed. But that chance for error leaves room for great stories and learning experiences.

It is also comforting to think of such things after you break up with the guy.