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.

The Great Outdoors

I am not a huge nature fan. Don't get me wrong, I love feeling rays of sunshine on my face and raindrops falling on my head. I am always in awe of giant trees standing tall and am speechless at some of the amazing sunsets I have seen across the wheatfields.

But...I am deathly afraid of serpents and they usually go hand in hand with nature. This is why I am not an avid hiker. Also why I did not pursue my kindergartner dream of growing up to be Ranger Rick. (How bad ass was that magazine, by the way?)

You may ask why I am talking about the great outdoors. What does this have to do with my misadventures in love? It just so happens one of my hottest, steamiest, salacious scandals happened in a backyard, the not-so-great-outdoors.

It also just so happens that this great victory in my quest to achieve non self-critical sexual encounters turned about to be a highly self-critical sexual encounter.

It happened one night. At a huge house party some friends were throwing for a combined birthday celebration. It, to date, is the most outrageous house party I have ever been to and probably the best one I have ever been to. It was a theme party, so everyone was encouraged to dress in Goodwill clothes. I threw together a Goodwill ensemble best described as white trash chic.

Before the party, I was hanging out with a friend and we were talking about how we both wanted to just make out with a random guy, not feel guilty about it, and never have to see this person again. We both had just had some disappointing boy endeavors, so this sounded perfect. Right before we went to the party we made a vow to seek out that fun and fancy free hook up.

Well, luck was on my side. Because when we arrived to the party there was a fair share of people I had never met, people who were just visiting some friends. Even better, some of them were uber cute. One even happened to be blue eyed and tall, my weakness.

So of course I proceeded to talk this individual up, with assistance from drinking a fair amount of alcohol.

Now, I would like to state something before this goes on. You may notice that in a lot of my sexual endeavors discussed on here, I note I was intoxicated. This may make you think, wow, what an booze hound. Which I guess in part my be correct, but there is more. I have a brain that is CONSTANTLY running. It yells extremely self-deprecating things at me. It makes me super cautious, extremely anxious, and highly critical. Sober me has a hard time being vulnerable, and I would say that doing sexual things is a highly vulnerable time. Not to mention, as previous posts have shown, I haven't had the best of luck when vulnerable between the sheets. It is horrible to admit this, but I do like to drink to let myself live a little. Be more daring. More confident.

Okay...so...I was feeling more daring, more confident with this guy. We were sitting on the porch together and we were turned toward each other, inches away. I leaned in and kissed him. He responded by kissing back. There were others on the porch, so I whispered, "Do you want to go out back?" He took my hand and led me out back.

Oh, was a I ever so glad he led me out back....

We started hardcore making out. Like, ravenous, hungry making out. He shoved me up against a fence and we kept making out. There might have been some other hanky panky, too, but I do not care to share details. Well, one of his friends came back to tell him he had to leave. So we kissed some more and we parted ways. I went back inside, sure that I looked composed and innocent. Not so much. One of my friends quickly asked me what I had been doing. I responded, nothing, but then she laughed and asked if that was why I had a huge hickey and my hair was super messed up. Well, after laughing at me, the boy walks back in the house. He states, I don't have to leave after all. He looks at me, walks back out, and I follow him for round 2.

Round 2 is too graphic for sharing. We did not have sex, but let it be known that I did wake up the next morning in a friend's bed alone with twigs in my hair and clothes, scratches all over my back from said twigs, and I looked like a hobo from the dirt found on my person. Let it also be known that I was fully satisfied.

This had been exactly what I wanted. I did not know him, would not see him again. It was hot and sexy and just...yum. I did not feel guilty or anything. I was a happy girl.

Until I got the Facebook message. Later that day I received a Facebook message from this guy. It basically said this: I am so sorry about last night. I am a Christian Man and I should not have done that to you, taken advantage of you in that way. I was drunk, too, but that is no excuse. I should have been protecting you from guys like me instead of doing that, putting you in a position where you compromised yourself. I NEVER do stuff like that and I hope you do not hate me or think ill of me. I am sorry that it happened and hope you forgive me.

So much for not feeling guilty.....

I just like this moment in my history because it is too funny. I want to hook up with a guy looking for no-strings fun only to find the ONE guy who is morally opposed to such a thing and obviously looks down on it. It is cliche, but it was just my luck.

That does not ruin this story for me though. It still ranks in my Top 5 Hottest Moments. I may blush about it, but I swear to Pikachu it was amazing.

Which brings me to this point. I think this serves to teach me a lesson. One, you never get something you really want if you go out and pursue it. Don't get me wrong, in some instances that is what is needed, but I think when it comes to love and sex, letting things come to you naturally and not forcing it is best. At least, for me it would appear that way. A great message being sent from "the universe" through irony and humor.

Also, I think Ranger Rick would have been proud of me, exploring and embracing nature that way. :)

Ice Woman Cometh

I like to consider myself as a warm person. I smile and I am personable. I am loving and caring. I am also literally a warm person. My normal temperature runs more at about 99.1 than a 98.6. This is the precious perspective I have constructed for myself.

But, men seem to feel the need to crush this warm persona and replace it with a cold, Arctic one.

Ice Queen. Cold-Hearted Bitch. Miss Freeze.

All lovely nicknames I have been called or referred to as. This is the story of my Arctic freeze.

My freshman year of high school I went to Winter Formal with this guy I liked a lot. I knew he liked me, too, so I was super excited. I was 15 and had yet to have my first kiss. But, I was thinking that just maybe when he brought me home he would kiss me and I would finally have my first kiss.

Well, like most of my hopes and dreams, this hope died. After the dance, he brought me home, walked me to the door, gave me a hug, and then got back into his truck. I was so confused...why did he not even try????

The next Monday I was talking to my best guy friend about this. He informed me of the following: I guess the guys in my class were talking about me and how "lucky" this guy was to take me to Winter Formal. He was being cocky about it, saying how yeah...he was. Then they asked him about "trying something" and I guess he replied that he was going to try, but he doubted anything would happen because I am an Ice Queen. Well, Monday he told them he tried to kiss me, but I would not let him. So...I was an Ice Queen.

Umm....well, no. I wasn't going to fuck his brains out, but I would have kissed him. IF HE WOULD HAVE EVEN TRIED!!!

Throughout the rest of high school the boys in my class would cat call. They would walk behind me when we got out of class commenting on how nice my ass was. They would comment on my rack. They would ask me to their trucks (which is basically asking a girl to bed). They had debates on whether or not I was wearing underwear under my skirt (for the record, I ALWAYS wore underwear. ALWAYS). My senior year I was told I was #1 on the list of Girls I'd Like to Fuck they guys made for our high school. I put that on my resume. Shining moment, right there.

My senior year was also the year of Jablonski. As discussed before, he asked me to Prom. I had by now had my first kiss, but I had yet to kiss him. Again, I was thinking I could have a kiss on a dance night. Well, honestly I was thinking I would do more than just kiss him, but we do not need to go into my XXX teenage daydreams.

The week before Prom I was reading a book in American Government when I overheard a conversation between Jablonski and some other guys in my class. It was basically the same conversation four years earlier that Winter Formal guy had. But, Jablonski would not answer their questions and he just said, "I don't know." I asked him about it later, and he told me that yes, he would like to kiss me, but was not just going to Prom with me to try to sleep with me, but because I was smart, pretty and he liked me a lot. I was pacified and hopeful.

Well....I got another after dance hug. Not even a try for a kiss.

I just never really understood why I got those nicknames. I did not tell those boys not to kiss me. I did not wear clothing that covered up all my body. I did kiss other boys, and they all knew about it. They obviously all had an urge to do more than just kiss me. Yet, they did not. None of them even asked me out on a date.

Yes, I did not get in their trucks to go parking. I am sorry I was not willing to give it up in a Diesel Chevy on a dirt road listening to country music. Or that I was not willing to blow you behind a hay bale in the dirt in a wheatfield.

Those facts do not make me an Ice Queen. That makes me not a whore.

More importantly that means I have some standards. I was a teenager. I had urges and temptations, too. I just was not willing to get naked just because you told me you liked me ass and rack and you voted me the most fuckable girl at our school. Maybe if you would have added diner and a movie, but that never happened.

To bring this to an end, a couple of years ago I talked to my best friend from high school about this. I was telling her how this still seems to happen to me. She told me it was because I am Chelsea. It is my Chelsea-ness.

A guy friend also told me it was because I put it out there.

I am still struggling to find out what exactly being me means and what I am putting out there when it comes to men and relationships.

Prophetic Utterances

I never called Cleo so she could read some Tarot cards for me. I truly doubt that the promises my fortune cookie makes that the future holds pleasant surprises (in bed) will come true. I think "signs" are usually nothing more than one looking for meaning when they desperately want to believe in something.

I do not take much stock in fortune telling or psychics. Not because I dismiss the possibility of such ability, but because how can you tell the future when each moment we all make a million choices that can alter our reality?

I digress. What I mean to say is I am skeptical of prophetic messages from any one person, Pikachu, or "the universe."

Yet, being the skeptic I am, over my decade or so of romantic relations with males, I have come to fear that two men sealed my fate with statements regarding the future of my (lack of a) love life.

Prophecy #1: Die Alone, Bitch.

This first occurrence was during my sophomore year of high school. This junior guy decided he liked me. I went to Winter Formal with him. I liked him, thought he was cute, funny and he had great taste in music. He was smart, too, which was a big plus for me. He wanted to date me. For awhile I was really excited about the idea of dating him. I thought it would be fun and we both liked each other, so it made sense.

But my sixteen year old psyche was not quite ready for that. The exact moment I decided I could not actually date him was when we where in the back of a friend's car and he had his arm around me and was cuddling with me. I felt really uncomfortable and just weirded out (this issue with space and trust is a can of worms best not opened yet).

So, I was truly torn. First of all I did like the guy and I knew he liked me. Secondly, I felt bad because I knew if I said no, I would seem like a tease and it would appear that I had led him on. Lastly, I did not want to hurt his feelings. He was a sweet, nice, caring person. But, I knew that for myself, I could not date him because dating him meant letting him in not only to my emotional space and life, but more important to me, my personal space.

I said no. Hurt his feelings. And this sweet, nice, caring person turned into a grade-A jerk.

Not saying his anger was unwarranted. It was. warranted. But I feel he was a bit harsh.

He said a lot of things about me. Some of what he said was true. Most of it was exaggerated. Most I have forgotten. Yet, two lines stick out in mind: "I hope someday that stick from your ass falls out so you can fall in love. I hope you're happy dying alone."

It was high school, so of course it was dramatic and blown out of proportion, but even though I know that he probably did not really mean what he said, I cannot erase those two sentences from my mind. After seven years, they stick with me.

I feel like his words were not only a prophecy of me dying alone and unhappy and a confirmation that there is something wrong with me, something that makes it impossible for me to enter a relationship, but also a curse. Like this guy was cursing me to a life of failed relationships, loneliness and heartache.

Prophecy #2: Never Ever

Prophet #2 has already been mentioned in this blog. He happens to be the same guy who made Magic Minute Promise #2. A couple of years after his chivalric offer, we were at another party. We started talking and talking led to touching. And then came more talking about why we should or should not hook up. Ultimately he said we should not because he did not want to ruin our friendship and he did not want to be an ass. I backed off and went back to the party.

An hour or so after this interaction with him, an hour in which I ruined a phone and slept for what I had thought was 30 minutes but was an actual five, I was looking for a friend. I ran into Prophet #2 on my quest. We were in the middle of a parking lot. We both stopped walking and he looks straight at me and states: "Chelsea, it will never happen."

He then walked off to eat some pizza without saying another word.

I cannot help but think this guy was foretelling my future love life. It will never happen. I will never find a guy who loves me. I will never be in love. It will never happen.

I know that is crazy to say, and I do not truly believe that, but sometimes I wonder. I mean, as you can tell from this blog, a lot of things are not working out for me on the love front. It is easy for me to believe him. Easy to agree that for me, it will never happen.

For years I have believed in these prophecies for my love life. I gave these words power, looking for truth in them, blaming them for failed attempts in love, and finding solace in them when I mess up or things go wrong. I gave these men power over how I felt and thought about myself.

But no more. With 2010 comes my new outlook on love. I will no longer look to these statements as truths. My goal for 2010 is to learn from past mistakes and to get back the power I have let past men have over me.

Because I ultimately know that love for me is a possible reality. There is someone to love me. Someone I will love, too. There is not a literal or figurative stick up my ass keeping me from falling in love. I am the only person or thing in the way of falling in love. I will not die alone, because even if I never get married, I have people who love me to surround myself with.

It will happen.