Dating Portlandia: The Worst Date Ever (The Sequel)

I think this may be the first time I actually got up and left a date. 

Without a word. 

Just. 

BUH-BYE.

It was THAT awesome. 

I had already gone on the worst date ever a year ago. 

(If you'd like to see the comedic horror of me reenacting said date check out my Youtube video, Dating Portlandia: The Worst Date Ever. Youtube.com/ResaStarXO)

We connected through Facebook. 

That's right. 

I cheated on Tinder with Facebook. 

Which I'm actually gonna go out on a limb here and tell you that you should never do that!

He showed up under 'People You May Know.'

We had some random, artsy friends in common and I thought he was kinda cute. 

So sure. 

Why not. 

Let's be 'friends.' 

Well, like any good 'friend' he started giving me lots of Facebook love. 

Nothing says I think you're pretty like lots of thumbs up on selfies. 

And my Tinder account had been fairly inactive as of late and I felt like going on a date. 

So I used that stupid messenger app Facebook made us download if we wanted to send messages to each other without ex girlfriends reading them and I asked him if he wanted to get a drink sometime. 

I used a winky face emoticon and everything. 

Which is emoticon-speak for I'm flirting with you. 

And he said YES. 

(It should also be noted that I NEVER ask guys out. I've found that the best dates are the ones where the men are interested enough to ask me out. I don't know why I broke my own rule. Don't break your own rules! Unless it might get you laid. Ok. I guess that's why I broke my own rule. Carry on, Reese.)

So I ASSUMED that the only reason a guy would accept a drink invitation was because he was interested. 

*Cough*

But let me continue. 

So we exchange numbers and begin texting. 

He suggests a myriad of swanky bars around town to choose from--the only good thing to come from this wretched experience was the list of bars I will be checking out WITHOUT him--

So I choose a new bar in the oh so posh Pearl District called Hamlet. 

I walked in and he was already seated at the bar. 

As you know (Or maybe you don't--we should really be better friends) I have an aversion to sitting at the bar on dates. 

Some men get preoccupied and distracted sitting at the bar. 

They forget they're sitting next to a Goddess. 

Priority Me, darlings. 

So I sat down and we chatted a bit. 

And he was handsome enough. 

A little older. 

Which seemed a nice change. 

Very knowledgable about whiskey and cocktails. 

(A man after my own heart.)

And then after a few minutes of that, I spent the following hour BEING IGNORED.

My date was more interested in talking to the couple sitting on his left, talking to the bartender, talking to Siri. 

He would occasionally say something to me, but it was so infrequent you'd have thought I just showed up at the bar uninvited like some crazy stalker. 

Ok.

Let's get one thing straight. 

I am AMAZING. 

I looked lovely. 

I'm a charming conversationalist. 

I'M FUCKING ADORABLE.

But I was feeling like Cher in 'Clueless' when her date just wasn't that into her and she said, "What happened? Did my hair go flat? Did I stumble into some bad lighting?"

And then my ego wanted to shout, EXCUSE ME, DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO I AM?!?

When he wasn't ignoring me talking to everyone else in the bar, he was constantly messing with his phone. 

So much so that I finally asked, "Do you have somewhere else you need to be?"

He said no. 

And I began to grow more and more annoyed. 

Honestly I just felt so CONFUSED. 

Why would a guy agree to meet me for drinks if he wasn't interested in talking to me?

The couple on his left he'd been so preoccupied with was finally leaving and I thought, Maybe he'll be more attentive now. 

And shortly after thinking that a girl walked up to him. 

They clearly had plans to meet up. 

NOW. 

On. My. Date. 

I was introduced but with such casual indifference, like I was the house pet. 

That's our dog, Fluffy. 

Oh, how cute. 

T H A T was the last straw. 

I had given him time to redeem himself and the more time I gave him, the worse he behaved. 

So. 

I'd had it. 

And I stood up and walked out.  

Actually I found the bartender on the way out and paid for my drinks. 

I wish I would have just walked out. 

That would have been so much cooler. 

But I was in such shock. 

The classy lady in me wanted to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible. 

Shortly after I received a text from him, You left?

I wasn't going to respond and then I thought, No, he needs to be told he was a cad. 

So I wrote back, That was the worst date I've been on in years. The bartender was more attentive than you and I'm fairly certain he's gay.

His response?

I didn't realize that was a date. I thought you just wanted to meet to discuss drinks. I'm seeing someone. Sorry. 

What?

Seriously?

You thought I wanted to meet to merely "discuss drinks?"

Why the fuck would you think that?

I had never met this guy. 

And he'd seen from my incessant Facebook posts the kind of woman I am. 

NO ONE would ever think I'd ask a stranger out for drinks without any amorous intent. 

Come on. 

So I didn't respond. 

I just deleted his number. 

Deleted him from Facebook. 

The whole thing felt ridiculous. 

Even if it had been a platonic interlude, he was TERRIBLE company. 

Do not ignore me. 

When I was five I took my Grandpa's face in my hands and said, "You're not paying enough attention to me."

If I ever have a date ignore me like this again I'm doing that. 

And MEN OF THE WORLD---

If you have a girlfriend, a fiancé, a wife, it is your job to make that clear to buxom, sassy redheads you know who are wildly single and inviting you to cocktails. 

I mean the relationship status wasn't on his Facebook. 

So. 

How the fuck would I know?

A Midsummer Night's Awakening

I was curled up in bed, watching tv and assuming I'd go to sleep fairly soon. 

But then my phone beckoned.

It was my Puppet, the Hermia to my Helena, inviting me to join her and another friend for drinks. 

It was already almost tomorrow and the practical thing would have been to stay in. But she told me our friend was bugging her to ask me to join. 

And there's something irresistible about a cute friend anxious to see me. 

Of course it was probably partly the juxtaposition of drunkenly reaching out to The Phantom of the Opera the night prior and though remembering little of the actual conversation, definitely feeling there was no desperation from him to see me. 

I will also confess that the adorable friend I was to join could have been the little brother of The Phantom. 

Same style. 

Same artistic sweetness. 

How could I not want to be around that?

I hadn't seen Hermia in ages either. 

And there are several girlfriends in my life who I need to see with consistency because when I don't I feel out of balance. 

So of course I had to join them. 

Even if it would be tomorrow by the time I got there. 

We drank and we talked and we pondered on all things artistic. 

There's something magnetic when artists are together. 

I don't even realize how much I crave that until I'm around it. 

The three of us having too much fun decided to carry on at The Phantom Jr.'s place.

More wine & more conversations. 

Love, life and the universe. 

And then Hermia fell asleep and The Phantom Jr. and I snuck out to adventure around. 

The old building he lives in felt like the set for some old movie.

Antique vases decorate a table in the hall. 

The doors to each room looked like some bed and breakfast that would be run by an elderly couple who called everyone "Dear."

There was a short bookshelf in one corner overflowing with books for borrowing.

And then he took me to a room with shelves of all random delights and told me that it was all free for the taking. 

The shelves were lined with perfectly placed trinkets and tokens like some sort of garage sale. 

Jars and a ghost figurine. 

A hat and a pair of earrings. 

A deck of tarot cards. 

A jewelry box. 

I laughed because for someone like me it was extra special. 

I'm terribly sentimental and love keepsakes, memories from a time or place or some dear person. 

And it's something I can actually see and hold onto, even if the moment's long gone. 

I reached for a small cordial glass with tiny white flowers and smiled at it. 

"I want this," I said. 

And I held onto it with the kind of tender care a small child holds their first stuffed animal. 

We made our way outside and to our surprise it was already morning. 

The sun had danced pink and orange across the sky and the moon still hung beside it, waving adieu.

The night lamps were still lit in the street but the birds flying tree to tree painted morning over the night. 

The Phantom Jr. looked at me with a sleepy grin on his lips, 'Thank you for sharing this with me,' he said. 

I drove my tipsy, tired self home as the clock reminded me it was nearly 6am, and thought what a lovely evening that had been. 

My heart felt full. 

And my soul was smiling. 

When we'd hugged each other goodbye I'd wanted to lean in and kiss him. 

But not in a romantic way, simply because a hug didn't feel meaningful enough to communicate my appreciation. 

I had looked at that smiling face, his eyes nearly closed in a drunken sleep, and I thought how for weeks, and then months, I'd longed for a night like this with The Phantom of the Opera, the simplicity of doing nothing together but just being together, the delight in who one another was, as we are, the spontaneity of the unexpected duration of our night. 

Here was someone I barely knew who preferred time with me over sleep and solace. 

That was something the Phantom had never given me. 

And my dear friend had reminded me that it did exist. 

And I was eternally grateful. 

So I kissed him on the cheek with all the ardor of a woman with a recently stitched up heart.

I don't know if he even realized how much love I poured into that goodbye.

But he'd made me feel seen when I'd spent the last three months trying to make a broken man see me. 

He had when he first met me. 

And I thought buried somewhere inside the shadows was the flame he felt for me, blindingly bright if he'd merely let it resurface. 

I still don't know the details of what I want or what it would even look like. 

But I do know that I want to find a man who would stay up all night just to hear me talk and thank me for sharing in a beautiful sunrise. 

My phone stared blankly at me as I realized the drunken conversation the Phantom and I shared would be a hazy moment stuck in the past. 

My night had been spent in intimacy. 

Pure, platonic intimacy that I hadn't felt since I was 17 whiling away the summer hours with the boy I met in Midsummer. 

That play holds in it a bit of magic. 

And I hoped somewhere a Puck would be casting a spell over my future lover so he could at last find his way to my eager arms. 

Drunk Dials & Other Jazz

I was having one of those days where NO ONE was free. 

Why is it the times I crave social stimulation everybody is busy washing their hair?

I discovered this jazz trio in Portlandia while on a date earlier this year. 

Boy & Bean. 

They were the Bee's Knees. 

They played great. 

They looked great. 

And the venues they played at were some of my favorite bars in town. 

So on this particular eve they were playing at The Box Social, who hands down makes the best old fashioneds in town. 

The Phantom of the Opera may make the best sazerac. 

But the old fashioned at Box Social had my heart. 

I hadn't been there since last summer, the last night I saw Ireland. 

I glanced at the table where he'd been sitting when I'd walked in and remembered the way a stunned smile had danced on his lips. 

I smiled myself and then caught the bartender and who I'm assuming was the cook huddled together glancing my way. 

I lifted my drink and nodded in approval. 

I love feeling SEEN by men. 

It makes me feel so pretty. 

Like I'm going to the Prom. 

And I was glad I took myself out. 

There are times when I love being alone and then there are times when it makes me feel lonely. 

But I'd slipped into one of the new fabulous dresses I hadn't yet worn and sipping one of my favorite drinks, hearing one of my favorite bands, it didn't even matter that no one was sharing the moment with me. 

I delighted in it. 

And that was quite enough. 

After my two decadent old fashioneds I ordered a sazerac because I wanted one. 

I wanted to keep drinking.

And maybe part of me wanted to be drunk in my pretty dress. 

Fashion. And music. And intoxication. 

My passions. 

After my saz, the band still playing the night away, I got up, ready to go home. 

I was a happy little drunk and the evening had been a swell success. 

And then I decided I was going to call The Phantom of the Opera. 

Right Now. 

There is one problem with the iPhone.

It's TOO smart. 

It won't ACTUALLY let you delete someone's number from its phone memory. 

You can delete it from your contacts. 

You can delete all the texts. 

Which I'd done because enough was enough and he'd been a big meanie face and I didn't want to play with him anymore. 

(I mean, Ok, part of me did, obviously, because some men are just so good at what they do you just can't be bothered with the fact they're a perfectly poor match because, you know, well--PENIS.)

Anyway, despite my resolve to never talk to him or his penis again, there I sat, starting to compose a text so I could type in his name and my damn iphone would recall his number. 

And then I could call it. 

Because. 

You know. 

I'm good at Life Choices. 

Me drunk dialing him and leaving a rambly brambly message would have been one thing. 

I'm sure that's what I expected would happen. 

But to my absolute S H O C K 

HE ANSWERED THE PHONE. 

Gasp. 

And you know the most incredible part?

I don't remember the conversation. 

I don't remember what he said. 

I don't remember what I said. 

My call log says we talked for ten minutes and I remember like, two sentences. 

That's so not fair!!!

We hadn't talked for WEEKS, then we have an actual conversation and I don't remember it?! 

I can't even remember his tone or how it ended. 

I remember he sounded better and he was working again so that made me happy. 

But the next morning when I woke up I felt really weird about drunk dialing him (and forgetting whatever the fuck I even said) so I called and left him a sober message. 

Thinking, ok, well he answered, so I guess that means we're cool. 

I haven't heard anything since. 

My life needs to stop being a tragic comedy. 

I finally hear from him and I don't even know what I heard. 

And that's likely all I'll hear for who knows how long. 

And all I keep thinking is

Why did he answer?

I thought we were done with each other. 

And yet I surprised myself by dialing. 

And maybe he surprised himself by answering. 

Surprise. 

Your life doesn't know what the fuck is going on. 

(And I secretly love that.)

Tara Lipinski Liked My Video

I don't know about you all but my love for Instagram is directly related to my need for constant validation, immediate gratification and my girl crush obsessions that border on the 'Talented Mr. Ripley' level of creepy. 

I want to BE her. 

Or sometimes I just like the way she styles her hair. 

One or the other. 

My main use for my IG, other than sheer vanity, is to promote my Youtube channel and my Blog.

I even joined Vine to promote my Youtube. 

It's ResaStarXO if you haven't subscribed yet. Go. Do it. You know you want to!

Vine was at the suggestion of Ireland--the notorious lover-damn him & his ways-who moved away to Dublin & may or may not have had a girlfriend the whole summer he was making me moan his name.

Interestingly enough, Ireland is also the reason I met The Phantom of the Opera.

(You thought it was Tinder that brought us together but actually we'd met last summer--GASP!)

Anyway. I digress. What was I saying?

Oh yes. VINE. 

Vine was a great suggestion by the not as great Ireland because I could turn clips from my Youtube videos into vines & hopefully gain more subscribers that way. 

WELL.

You can also post those same 6 second vine videos on IG because you can fucking post videos everywhere!

SOooOoo....

Back to the title of this blog.

The wonderful thing about Instagram is that it connects all kinds of random people. 

I could do a search for #pinup and discover all kinds of kindred spirits- pinup obsessed girls around the world who share my love for pin curls & red lipstick. 

Or any of my other random interests-#mua #rockclimbing #sorrynotsorry #frozen

Whatever the hashtag was that brought the Olympic medalist to my page, one day I checked my notifications & saw that Tara Lipinski had 'liked' my photo. 

I looked at her account because I assumed it wasn't really THE Tara Lipinski. 

But sure enough, it was the real her. 

In the world of emoticons I was colon capital O.

Are you SERIOUS?!

Someone with 100K followers likes MY lil old picture?

I feel so freaking cool!!!

And THEN she liked several MORE pictures!

In the world of emoticons I was colon capital O add jazz hands Macaulay Culkin 'Home Alone' style. 

I feel cool when ANYbody likes my photos. 

But for it to be someone I watched win a gold medal on tv when we were both 15?

That's pretty fucking fantastic. 

I wondered if she might ever watch any of my Youtube videos or even subscribe to my channel. 

So I commented on one of her photos and asked if she'd had a chance to check out my channel. 

Later in the day she liked one of my Vine videos, one promoting my latest Youtube video.

Gah!

I was so excited!

I don't know if she ended up watching the actual video or any of my other videos. 

But I still felt like the Bee's Knees. 

And because life has a wicked sense of humor the vine she liked was for the video I made, 'I Don't Wanna Fuck Your Boyfriend', which was a response to all the STUPID drama that stemmed from Sheldon's psychotic girlfriend. 

Of course she watched the video and I found out from Sheldon she wasn't happy about it. 

In the world of emoticons, colon capital D.

And Sheldon tried to make me feel guilty for expressing my anger through one of my videos stating he "didn't like the way things were handled."

And that's fine. 

Because I didn't like being stalked and judged by someone who melodramatically told him she "wanted nothing to do with" me and "never wanted to talk to" me & blackmailed Sheldon into banishing me from ever playing Mariokart or eating food cart together "or else" she was going to dump him. 

I think that kind of emotional maturity deserves a video response where I call her an ugly bitch. 

I just didn't like the way she handled things.

SO.....

The fact that a STAR found my little clip of a little video worthy of an IG 'heart' when I'd been getting backlash from Sheldon & his prison ward felt poetic. 

It was validating on a totally different level. 

And that was awesome. 

Because my art is an expression of ME.

And if people don't accept it then we probably shouldn't be playing Mariokart together anyway. 

I'd rather play Mariokart with Tara.

THAT would be an awesome video. 

Dear Nioanna

That's what your boyfriend told me your name was when he first mentioned you. 

I heard him wrong and thought he said "Nioanna."

He let me go on thinking that was your name for weeks. 

Hahaha.

He's such an ass. 

I knew he loved you long before he ever told you. 

I was concerned about the relationship. 

Understandably so. 

The circumstances surrounding it were unusual, meeting online, thousands of miles apart from each other.

He already spends nearly all his time alone.

So having a relationship with a girlfriend he never saw made me worry his needs wouldn't be met. 

Quality Time is really important to him.

And I knew having none with you would be hard on him. 

The girl he dated after me rarely made time to see him. 

And it broke his nerdy heart. 

So one night hanging in his apartment, probably after playing Mariokart or eating food cart, I asked him what it was he liked about you. 

Now normally, asking him a personal question or even bringing up anything serious, would result in silence. 

When he doesn't want to talk about something he doesn't talk. 

It drives me bananas. 

But on this night, he opened up like some inspired poet. 

I always sass him, interrupt him, give him a hard time like he's my annoying little brother. 

But this time, I was so stunned by his overflow of words that I just sat there. 

Silent. 

I don't remember exactly what reasons he gave.

He liked how supportive you are.

He said you possessed some of the qualities he would find desirable in a partner. 

But whatever words he used to describe his feelings for you, it was the tone I heard. 

Love. 

The way he talked about you I realized he loved you. 

And that was when I knew I wanted to meet you. 

Because anyone that meant that much to my friend would be someone I'd want to know. 

That's how much I love my friend. 

As things progressed between you two, I remember one day he brought up that you'd talked about marriage. 

I remember driving home that night and feeling like him and I were really in a good place as friends, because I was genuinely happy for him. 

It was a little strange because years ago I thought I might want to marry him. 

But we'd grown a lot together over the last three years. 

And we had come to accept what we meant to each other and what we weren't. 

Around that same time, he came to a performance of mine. 

Two of my best friends went too and they each told me afterwards how they could see how much he cared for me and that he really was a good friend. 

Later he went out for drinks with us and when I had too much to drink my girlfriend said he helped take care of me. 

He talked about you with us and she said I must be important for him to share about his relationship. 

I was upset because this guy I really liked had been pushing me away. 

But he was supposedly going to see my show and I hoped we would work things out because I thought I could love him. 

Your boyfriend texted me after he left us that night and said, "I hope things work out for you."

It made me feel really loved. 

My girlfriend said she could see that we each wanted the other to be happy even if it wasn't with each other and that was a rare and wonderful thing. 

The friendship I've had with your boyfriend is a rare and wonderful one. 

So understandably when I found out you were coming to visit for several weeks I couldn't wait to meet you!

I wanted to tell you not to be nervous about meeting his family because his Mother was going to be so thrilled just to be a part of what was going on his life, she would love you. 

I wanted to tell you that one time when we were climbing and he couldn't get the dyno to save his life (he tried like, 6 or 7 times & failed) and then I yelled, cheering him on, "Do it for Nioanna!" (I actually did say your name right that time) and he DID it. 

I had taken a video of him making the climb and I told him he should text it to you. 

"Send her that and tell her you weren't able to do it until I said do it for her."

I thought it was really sweet. 

What we do for love. 

But of course he didn't share it with you. 

It's pretty clear he didn't share anything about me with you. 

So then you visit and although I ask several times he doesn't want me to meet you. 

Or you don't want to meet me. 

And I am super bummed because I'm happy for my friend and I wanted to share in his excitement. 

I told him he should tell you that he loves you because I knew he did. 

I was in support of you as soon as I realized he loved you. 

And so I don't get to see my friend for weeks. 

I was frustrated and my feelings were hurt but we made plans to meet to climb and grab dinner. 

I picked him up and as he walked to the car a smile stumbled on his lips. 

He never wants me to see how happy he is to see me but he was. 

We've been friends forever. 

I'm the Penny to his Sheldon. 

At dinner he shared with me about your visit. 

And I was happy to hear the visit went well. 

I was also happy to know that it wasn't personal that you didn't want to meet me but that it was probably just a little overwhelming because sometimes things overwhelmed you. 

And that was fine. 

I knew I'd meet you someday. 

I felt inspired by how much better I felt after talking to my friend that I chose to write a blog. 

The guy I was still hung up on still hadn't contacted me and I was furious about being ignored. 

I just wanted to know the truth. 

And I felt like my friend had given me the truth, so I deserved to hear it from this guy. 

So I wrote the blog out of frustration toward HIM. 

The only reason I shared any of what your boyfriend told me was to illustrate how important communication is. I certainly never thought in a million years that 1) You would ever read it or 2) That if you did read it you'd be so offended. 

I felt the things I wrote about you were very supportive. 

I called you his Amy Farrah Fowler and said you were a better match than I ever was. 

After I found out the blog had upset you I went back and reread it several times and couldn't figure out what it was you were so upset about. 

But your boyfriend asked me to remove the parts about you from the blog and I DID.

BUT THEN -I found out you gave my friend an ultimatum. 

You told him you'd break up with him unless he stopped being my friend. 

Because of a blog that was about the man I was still in love with and because I had "too many pictures" of your boyfriend. 

Whose my best friend. 

Who I've spent COUNTLESS HOURS with over the last three years. 

You hateful, judgemental bitch.

Your boyfriend HATES pictures. 

I have fought, since I met him, to try and get photos of him or with him where he wasn't frowning like he was constipated THE WHOLE TIME I'VE KNOWN HIM. 

But this year, for some miraculous reason, he had started actually taking decent photos with me. 

That is something I'd been fighting for YEARS to have!

Then you come along, with your psycho stalker obsession, and create some scenario in your head that it's improper of me to have photos with him, like How DARE She.

F U C K  Y O U.

I have been through HELL and back with this man. 

We have been there for each other through death and unemployment, he lived with me for months so he wouldn't be homeless, we've cried to each other and screamed at one another, and you're going to sit there, miles away on your fucking computer and decide you know who I am and the intentions of my heart when I wasn't even worth a fucking hour of your life to sip a beer with.

The amount of time you've spent pouring over my social media could have been spent talking to me face to face. 

And then NONE of this shit would have happened and I wouldn't have lost my best friend because he's scared shitless of surviving life alone. 

I have every right to express whatever I want, however I want. 

THAT'S THE POINT OF A BLOG, BITCH.

YOU'RE the one who chose to participate in it. 

Why the fuck were you stalking me in the first place?

Do you know your boyfriend has slept with countless women since we dated?

Are you gonna do a search on all those vaginas as well?

Your boyfriend meant the world to me. 

You're not even here to spend time with him. 

And being alone all the time isn't good for him. 

ASK HIM.

It makes him depressed. 

Why would you not want him to be around someone who adores and supports him when you're not even here to give him a fucking hug?

You think it's better he spend all his hours in his tiny apartment alone playing WOW waiting for texts from YOU?

SHAME on you. 

Shame on your selfishness, your insecurities, your hate and your judgment. 

You think so little of your boyfriend to believe he'd be close friends with someone if she wasn't worth his time?

YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM.

The longest you've spent TOGETHER is a few weeks. 

The longest we've been APART is a few weeks. 

For the last 41 months. 

Congratulations on removing the one person from your boyfriend's life who loves him as much as his Mother and who is the only person living close enough to be there for him if he needed anything in a heartbeat.

ANYTHING.

But a text from Italy is far more meaningful.

You know what's best. 

After all, you two have been through hell and back together. 

Oh wait. 

No you haven't. 

YET.

Sometimes You Gotta Be A Bitch

I have always believed that you should love your enemies.

Fight hate with love. 

Kill them with kindness. 

My favorite proverb says Loving your enemies is like heaping hot coals on their head. 

Makes me think that God has a sense of humor. 

Because there are some people who I would 

LOVE to heap hot coals on their head.

Or down their pants. 

You know. 

Whatever. 

Like, oh, let's just say for instance, The Phantom of the Opera. 

I had reconciled my feelings for him--the anger & the heartbreak, the confusion & the acceptance--and I was finally FINE.

Better than fine, I was GOOD.

I wasn't hurt anymore. 

I was content. 

Happy Little Pinup ready for her next adventure. 

I knew things would never be as they were or as I'd hoped them to be, but I knew I'd see him again and that he'd come to my show in August. 

And maybe we'd even be the kind of friends who saw each other every once in a blue moon. 

Pretty fucking loving of me considering how damn wishy washy he had been the last several months. 

So all was well. 

And then I HEARD from him again. 

I REALLY HATE it when men send me goodbye forever messages and then contact me again. 

One-You're losing credibility as a writer. (You fucking liar. 'Fare Thee Well,' my glorious arse.)

TWO-It is yet another way for you to be fucking inconsistent. 

I said I was smitten with you then I said I never wanted to see you again. 

Then I said I wanted to see you then I didn't wanna talk to you for two weeks. 

Then I said goodbye forever then I sent another fucking text. 

I don't MIND that he texted.  

Like I said, I figured we were gonna remain friends because we obviously cared about each other. 

(Obviously. Ha. The only thing obvious about the Phantom was that his pants were too tight.)

His text was rude. 

It was condescending and presumptive and totally unnecessary. 

I'd sent him a fucking SNAPCHAT (I knew that app was stupid) of me smiling on my run to send P O S I T I V I T Y his way because I'm a decent human being. 

And even though he's hardly texted me at all about anything for the last two months he felt the need to respond to a fucking snap and tell me that he didn't need me to smile for him. I should smile for myself. 

There was more to it than that, more self loathing & assumptions that because I sent him a selfie I must want to rush into his arms & stay there forever when there was "nothing to miss" & "I told you & meant it."

Ok.

OKAY.

First of all, I sent that selfie to my BROTHER. My DAD & my MO-THER.

They all had a normal response.

Things like, Aw, thanks for thinking of me.

You look adorable.

And Emoticons.

The Phantom, however, had to take a shit on my smiling face and make me feel like the weird bright spot on a baboons ass (What the fuck is that doing there??) just for THINKING OF HIM.

Ooh.

Was I fucking pissed. 

So you know what I did?

I let him have it. 

I had been so insanely, ridiculously, overwhelmingly kind & supportive & understanding despite the fact that I would have been justified in setting his dog on fire after the things he's done to me (Sorry, pup. No offense. Dog lovers, it's just a metaphor. Calm the fuck down.)

The problem with being loving is people think they can do or say ANYTHING and you'll ALWAYS be loving. 

Because you always have been.  

So I decided enough was enough. 

And I let out every vile and wicked HONEST thought that had been dancing in my mind since all of this started. 

I wasn't mean. 

I told the truth. 

And sometimes the truth is really fucking harsh when you've been setting the heart of a goddess on fire. 

I'm just as much of a poet as that fucker. 

And poetry doesn't always have to express love. 

I didn't sugar coat my words in hope or encouragement like he was used to. 

I showed him what a real bitch I could be. 

And it felt AMAZING. 

Because sometimes people don't deserve the Sunshine and rainbows and sparkly Unicorns version of me. 

They deserve the Fuck with me and see what Happens version. 

It felt like I FINALLY stood up to the monster who'd been trying to rape me of my joy.

Of course he didn't respond. 

What could he say?

You're right?

I'm sorry?

I have used you and not given a fuck?

It freed me. 

From the need to ever see him again. 

Or care if he sees me light up the stage this summer. 

I no longer give a fuck what he does. 

I only have room for Love in my life. 

And he can be haunted by the realization that I will never look at him with adoring eyes as I did the last time we saw each other. 

These eyes won't even SEE him. 

Love is Letting Your Friend be a Dumbass

There are times I wish I wasn't single. 

And then I get mixed up in someone else's dysfunctional  relationship and I think--

I am so fucking thankful I'm not dealing with THAT.

My friend is dating a wackadoo. 

Don't get me wrong I'M fucking crazy. 

But it's a real eye opener when I encounter another female who makes me look catatonic by comparison. 

I went to Vegas once with a girlfriend and  her friends were all so insanely insane that I was the wallflower of the group. 

ME!!

Can you fucking imagine?

I felt like I was in an episode of the Twighlight Zone. 

It was so bizarre I couldn't handle it. 

I'M THE LOUD OBNOXIOUS ONE, PEOPLE!!!

I've heard stories from girlfriends dating controlling men who forbid them from seeing certain friends or from doing certain activities. 

But this is the first time in my life I've known of a controlling WOMAN forbidding her boyfriend from seeing his friend. 

If there was any doubt he certainly loves his wackadoo (that sounds like a euphemism for his penis--Teehee! Penis!) because only LOVE would make somebody stupid enough to agree to such a request. 

I don't really blame him because I know love has made me blind to blaringly obvious red flags. 

(SEE It's unhealthy when your girlfriend wants you to have no friends except for her.)

But everyone is free to make their own choices. 

(Even if it's the wrong choice.)

Just as I am free to write about whatever the fuck I want. 

Like, I retract my previous statement that my friend, Sheldon, found his Amy Farrah Fowler. 

Amy was never threatened by Penny's rocking body or afraid that Sheldon would trip and land penis first inside her. Amy never felt the need to banish Penny from their tiny circle of friends. 

No, this dear nut bar is like the crazy undergrad student that wouldn't let Sheldon do anything with anyone except work with her by his side. 

Mean Mommies are definitely the sexy sirens all men dream of marrying. 

I said you can't play with him anymore! His Mommy wears low cut shirts and uses words like 'orgasmic!' I don't want you around someone like THAT!

Eventually, because Sheldon is a smart man, he will realize he doesn't want to spend his entire life with an immature little girl who doesn't believe in giving him the freedom or respect to be who he really is and have the people who matter to him in his life. 

I love my friend enough to let him make his own mistakes. 

Because I RESPECT his choices.

Unlike the Wackadoo of Wackylvania.

Hey, we all make stupid choices. 

I thought I was supposed to get back together with Sheldon after I broke up with him all those years ago. 

And I was fucking mistaken. 

But I had to figure that out myself. 

No one could tell me otherwise because I was convinced we were meant to be. 

But we weren't.

And I want Sheldon to end up with his Amy Farrah Fowler. 

He just has to realize he hasn't found her yet. 

Because the real Amy will trust Sheldon. 

Not try to control and isolate him. 

And when he does, when Sheldon figures it out, we will go to Santeria and laugh about it, like we do over all the wrong people we date. 

Because there have been a lot. 

For both of us. 

And we've both been there through all of it. 

I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE. 

I've been there for Sheldon for years, we've been through so much together. 

And this, THIS shit is not going to destroy all that. 

I know that. 

And he does too. 

I  T R U S T  H I M.