You know that feeling you get after several failed connections for potential relationships? You feel like a total loser and ask those pathetic questions like why me? What did I do wrong? Am I not pretty enough? Then you smear all of that snot across your face and dry up your cheeks while that classic song comes on in your head…like “Here I go again on my own, Goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone. An’ I’ve made up my mind, I ain’t wasting no more time.” You think you’re only singing that in your head but you’re really belting it aloud while simultaneously putting on pants and heading to the nearest animal shelter to adopt another puppy and feel like nobody can stop you because your true calling is to be a single dog mom forever.
You’ve just poured your heart out and justified actions that weren’t even necessary but you were trying to salvage whatever could be left to rekindle a spark of some sort. You even stoop to the level of slightly begging and apologizing so much as you hang from the bottomless cliff of insecure emotions. Thinking how the hell did I get here? And why do I not have a rope or parachute of some sort? But then you realize life is unsure, people are heartless, and a life earned is a lesson learned. I understand each person has their counterpart, the other half to their Oreo, and the person who completes them but it’s struggle city finding that special gem in a sea full of egotistical assholes.
I thought I had finally found someone who could tame the beast, I’m not saying there is a panel of judges or even Simon that British dude from American Idol, when applying to win my heart over but there are definitely a few hoops, tests, and circles to be done and let’s just say this lucky guy scored above average. After only a few short days I did something a little out of my comfort zone and met him immediately, didn’t think we’d really hit it off so I didn’t do the normal prep for a date like shaving my legs, picking out a flirty outfit or even wearing that much make-up. I wanted him to be attracted to a semi-polished woman who doesn’t care if she has sweaters for legs in the summer time heat. I thought this date wouldn’t even last the duration of time it took my BFF to come back from the bathroom and even had my safe word pre-wrote in a text, ready to send. Good thing I didn’t accidently send the word ‘pineapples’ because our date was jam-packed with battleship, Michael Phelps, dark secrets, witchcraft, and the cure for cancer in a solid 4 hour span.
Call me crazy for damn sure but I saw a future for this man. Scheduled appointments to look at apartments together, naming our first-born, and argued over what kind of puppy would have more rights than him, it was a whirlwind of milestones in moments. Some people wait a lifetime for this and I must have literally stumbled upon a bottle of wine that a genie was crashing in and got 3 wishes and then some. I was even experiencing actual emotions that people feel when they like someone and backed it up with the late night phone calls, anticipating morning texts, and even doodling my future monogram on notepads at work. I had this overwhelming interest in a man who I barely knew but constantly wanted more from him. I mean he went from phone number to full name including the middle in my phone kinda status.
Since our first encounter went beyond my expectations and I was learning more and more about him, I could potentially get a spot on newlyweds, crush that game show and leave with a car, vacation, and vacuum. We decided to take the next huge step and the final deciding factor if there was any hope of a future together by introducing him to my 3-year-old niece who makes all of my important decisions for me. I mean she fully supports not wearing panties, ice cream for breakfast, and probably would be okay with me running for president. All jokes aside this little girl is a huge part of my life and if he couldn’t hang with us ladies then he needed to hit the road. To my surprise the visit was a huge success and he won over not only me but the 3-year-old as well. After being on cloud 9 for a couple of hours we drove back to the place we were staying and spent more time getting to know each other (wink wink). Literally wishing the night didn’t have to end, we went to bed a tad bit earlier than expected and unknowingly would never see each other again.
Now I know all good things must come to an end and well mine was short-lived but I let some of my insecurities get the best of me and I guess he did as well. We had a slight miscommunication which turned ugly and words were exchanged. Thinking he just needed time to cool off, I gave him space but this space turned into more and I was questioning why I was blocked on certain social media or why he didn’t respond to my texts or calls. Finally letting the pimple of bullshit explode, it was goosing, disgusting, and downright horrible to witness. Merely 24 hours after hanging out, I questioned one small thing and just like that I was kicked to the curb like I was a trashy, no good hussy, I was completely ghosted. Eventually getting my 15 minutes of fame from him and attempting to find the popcorn I left to track back where my mistakes were made. I open the floor for honesty and he dropped several bombs on me:
- “Honestly, I think you’re a whore.
- I’m totally not cool with you posing nude..published or not
- You haven’t accomplished anything in your life
- You’re a party girl
- We’re just not compatible for another”
I now am a survivor of war games and earned myself a black heart, gold star for promiscuous behavior, and a medal of honor in stereotyping. As I sat on the phone letting that sink in, I tried to hold back my tears of frustration but I just couldn’t and broke down. I felt more than foolish to rush into something with someone who saw me so raw and vulnerable; he took my truths and turned them into flaws. I don’t regret my past or even care for that matter but to stab someone so deep with words they can’t even validate just hurt. The definition of a whore is a prostitute, so if we want to be politically correct on the matter than call me a slut since that’s in reference to having casual sexual encounters. I love how others find it empowering to demoralize someone due to their actions when let’s say the opposite sex will get that slap on the ass and a high-five for taking broads to pound town. I’m still laughing that a man who is judging me had his ex-wife cheat on him, call other men during their honeymoon, and she isn’t even home a week and is fucking someone in their home. And she didn’t come clean about it until she was caught; I on the other hand was open and honest because I believe everyone deserves the unforgivable truths and we weren’t even in a relationship quite yet. Please don’t get me started on the party girl lifestyle because if celebrating Sunday Funday a couple of times over the summer and putting on my armor for full fledge weekend warrior festivities for my BFF’s birthday is indicating that I still do body shots, fling my panties across the bar, and write my phone number in a bathroom stall for a good time then please, find my number and call me for that good time.
Last time I checked I wasn’t mass produced, pre-packaged, and stuffed on a grocery store shelf with a label slapped on my back. No matter what society endorses and the labels passed around; derogatory or not, they won’t ever define me. I was once told by a close friend that I own up to who I am but not everyone deserves to know the ‘real’ you. Let them criticize who they think you are. Call me what you want but don’t call me late to dinner.