Bitter Town, Population: Me

My Spotify is overwhelmed with a recent binge of angry, “he’s a fucktard” music, with an occasional throw in of “I don’t need him” music, with sporadic clamors of “Im going to go out and get some because I’m way hot!” music. None of it changes much of anything but it’s good to have variety!

I thought at almost 29 years old, I’d be leaning towards a more mature set of men, of people in general!

But what if the immature one is me?

Eleven am on a Saturday morning I wake up and craft a plan to seduce a boy 7 hours after sleeping with another.

The “another” is The Dancer, and my date with him the night before was magical. If magic is intrigue with myself for why I stayed on the date and then had sex with him. Maybe I was put under a spell, or better yet a curse with fire and a stone and pieces of hair!

I named him The Dancer because we met while dancing at a club, our eyes lock across a crowded room (six feet away) and me leaving the guy I was dancing with to go to him (my friends had been trying to get him away from me anyway). Love and convenience was in the air!

A week from our first “eye lock” (and dance floor make out session) our now first date comes to a blurry end at 4 am as he made a last grab for my breasts before stumbling into a lyft outside my parents house. Modern romance.

Putting clothes back on and room to order, I pass out and wake up that Saturday morning thinking of Boy Next Door and the limited time I have to make something happen with him before he moves out.

I put on three different lotions but not perfume because I want to smell like a fucking garden exploded but not like I expect to see anyone.

My outfit that took me an hour to put together was the perfect blend  of “I don’t give a shit” and “Yes, I have always been this sexy.”

I take a seat in a comfy chair, kick my legs out relaxed onto the arm of the other sofa, and lie in wait, looking as casual as one can look when trying way too hard to sleep with someone.

Casual reminder, I have literally just slept with someone.

This all feels minor in comparison to what I did the previous morning.

Boy Next Door was mentioning wanting a party to happen, so I made one up.

Yes I am now the patheticness of Season One Ted Mosby (if you haven’t watched How I Met Your Mother by now, there’s no hope for you) throwing three parties in a row in hopes Robin would show.

I’ve always despised that episode interestingly enough. I always wondered how someone could put their friends through that just for the prospect of someone.

Everything has come full circle and I do understand it now and I did contemplate blackmailing my friends into ditching their other plans to come to this party that doesn’t exist, and yes my end goal for that party was me and Boy Next Doors drunk hook up.

So back to the “casual” allure of me and my three scented lotions, eleven am has turned into midnight ( I did not stay there on the couch waiting for him, I went out and did things OKAY) when finally he comes home.

As he comes towards me my whole body faces him, our eyes meet and we begin to speak as we slowly walk towards each other, and that’s when he says it:

“Where’s Keith?”

My brothers name.

As he walks on past me towards my brothers room and as I hear the two of them laugh about things unrelated to me, I stomp back into my own room to pout myself to sleep.

Since that anti-climactic Saturday, The Dancer has stopped all contact with and blown off our plans for our second date and Boy Next Door is going forward with all plans to move out and not hook up with me.

In an effort to find out why my life is this way, I decided to ask myself a series of questions as if I were on a game show, about to win a car or a really expensive set of plates, and here’s what I got

Game Show Host: Why did you go out with the Dancer?

Me: It seemed like we clicked, got along, thought the same things were funny

GSH: Did you want to date him?

M: Well uh maybe like if things were-

GSH: Why didn’t you want to date him? Is he not good enough for you?

M: No uh of course not I was just not sure-

GSH: So there is someone else!!!!??

M: Well no err like I mean I’m not dating anyone at all so

GSH: So you’re saying you’re dumping The Dancer for no one, no one at all

M: Uh well technically yes but

GSH: Well maybe if you had acted a little more interested I would have texted

M: Uh wait

GSH: No I mean HE, HE would have texted

M: Omg

GSH: no no

M: fucking seriously

GSH: listen-

This is about as far as I got. Maybe game shows aren’t the way to self actualize, so I looked at the “G” word,

Guilt.

I felt guilty in my lyft on my way to meet the Dancer for our date. My lyft driver had put on this instrumental music which started to fuck with me, and got me thinking, which is never a good idea before a first date.

I had texted Boy Next Door an hour before getting into this lyft, to let him know:

“everyone is busy so no party tomorrow night ”

Leaving out of course that there had been no party to begin with.

Sitting in this lyft that was now starting in on the rythyms of the flute, I got real sad that he wasn’t even going to text back to say “bummer” or “ok” and that’s when I started thinking about turning back.

I mean maybe this date isn’t such a good idea because I’m clearly too upset over the lack of reply about a party I lied about in the first place?

But I didn’t turn back, I knew Boy Next Door would be out of the house soon and I would be able to focus on the Dancer then. Why should I lose out on such a great guy?

During an Oreo binge last night, I realized something – as we all do because oreos are great carriers of wisdom – maybe the Dancer didn’t end up being a great guy, but maybe also I’m not such a great girl?

I’ve done a fair share of lying and manipulating this week and maybe that’s what I’m attracting….

I am 100% still bitter and jaded and listening to songs about the heart pangs of sleeping with fuck boys, but I do shed some light on my own behavior, my own responsibility, maybe I don’t always get to play the wronged and wounded victim?

Maybe I need to own that I’ve also got a manipulative bitch in me who wants what she wants and is pissed when she doesn’t get it.

Maybe I should also let her have more Oreos? I mean if I’m not going to let her jump people’s bones, I better give her something.

Till next time my friends, don’t fuck with fuck boys but when you do make sure you got your Spotify playlist ready!

I’m Awake

While you stay sleeping.

Is the start of my most recent sad/pathetic poem I wrote, because I am nothing if not a stereotype.
Some other recent pieces of work have titles such as:

“The Walls that Say Nothing”
“That Night”
To call it cringe worthy would be an understatement.
Funny that my poems mention nothing about almost peeing in my neighbors bushes, which is the true highlight of the whole thing.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have fallen for The Boy Next Door.

No, but like literally his door is right next to mine and he sleeps feet away in the room next to mine.

I didn’t see it coming and had you told me that one day I’d wake up, devestated that he doesn’t want to discuss the foundation of our blossoming relationship, I would have LAUGHED and told you that you were the dumbest shit person alive.

Two weeks ago at a packed bar one night me and Boy Next Door have the most PG drunk hookup you’ve ever been bored enough to consider.

Like we’re talking long hugs and hand holding, which was  hotter than a drunk and  sweaty make out sesh, yes it’s baffling.
Then there’s me the next day, waking up with all the feels for a boy that I think I ignored the day before. Because i was eating?

We cross paths for the first time since “the night” and I watch myself  in slow motion putting my hand on his shoulder and saying “hey” as sultry as I know how.

Because it’s totally mutual right? I mean he hugged me,  held hands with me and was all about me, so…….

It’s like I’ve learned nothing from my own god damn blog.

In short, there was nothing returned and it was never spoke of again.  A Very Short Tale of Two People Who Never Had Sex. The End!

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. Every peaceful YouTube video of harps and piano chords could not drown out the overwhelming anger I had at the person lying feet away.

I was also pretty angry with myself truthfully. To become such an idiot in such a short amount of time, I basically realized he was alive two days ago, how about we calm down.

The next night I decided to come at my inability to sleep with a new strategy. Sleeping pills and and cough syrup usually lend me down the road to obscure and terrifying nightmares, so I went with beer.

Arrived at a bar and requested  ever so daintily “whatever has the most alcohol”
and drank whatever she gave me pretty damn fast.

I am at a liquor store not even an hour and a half later picking up the biggest bottle of the highest percentage IPA there is in the store, it’s time to stop fucking around.

My new plan is to chug it in my car outside my house, because I can’t let Boy Next Door see me openly binge drinking, he’ll want to drink with me because we’re just two bros, having a cold one.
Hmm large beer, no bottle opener. I try and fail and now have two forever scars on my right index finger.

Buy a bottle opener because none of my friends are awake or helpful or as panicked about sleep as me, and get into my car and then drive it just down the block a little bit to comfortably sit in the dark next to a not too lit up neighbors house, thinking here we go I’ll just get to enjoy my beer and listen to some tunes.

What I didn’t know was how soon into this I’d have to pee.
Imagine being so determined that you have to pound a beer in order to sleep, but also  that your bladder is equally as determined not to drown. This is a battle of wills!

 

Now in reality I have peed in public probably five times. I’ve peed outside a bar at 3am, the front lawn of my college, a back alley and what my hazy memory tells me was the side of a hookah shop.

Needless to say I’m no stranger to it, but on a quiet residential? I’m technically not even drunk yet and never peed outside while stil in full reign of my mental faculties. I like to think that if I was trying to recall peeing somewhere in the open, that at least I could claim having very little memory of it. Oh the parking lot of jack in the box! That was the other one.

So anyways I circle some neighbors bushes for two minutes before realizing that I’ am way too sober for this, drive my car back down the street up to the house, chugged  the remaining 3/4 of the beer and ran.

When I was unlocking the front door, in the most pain of life, I remember being grateful that all the appeal that he had had for me was dead probably  the second he had walked back to his room that night, because me peeing my pants on our porch was only going to help solidify the fact that we’d never have sex in this lifetime.

Made it into the house, peed for an abnormally long period of time, tiptoed to my room and passed out probably from the exhilaration of being the biggest “badass” ever, if the term badass has changed over the years,  and now means “drinks alone in cars” then yes I am a poster child of that.

One positive that has come out of this, I was catalyzed to officially end things with One Night Stand Guy, who I’ve slept with a handful of times over the past few months while wishing on stars that I could develop feelings for him, but then failing  to remember to text him back for the sixth time that week.

Part of ending things with him last week was that  I didn’t want to be a shitty person and string him along anymore, since now I was feeling strung along and equally shitty.

The other reason is simply this: I could not  make feelings happen by sheer will of wanting them to.

In the span of one night I had now uncontrollable infatuation for Boy Next Door, yet I’ve been hoping crazy attraction for One Night Stand guy would one day just appear because he is cute and smart and super into me.

This for me was more of a you-can’t-control-who-you-are-attracted-to-even-though-it-would-be-way-fucking-easier-kind of lesson. And it’s annoying.

I will now return to the poem I was writing about soap and crying trees, wish me luck!

The Temp Job

Jim Halperts face of reluctant contentment spasms across my eyes and interrupts my daydreams and I hear him say, “This was supposed to be a temp job.”

I’m at a coffee shop enjoying a banana chocolate chip muffin and I see Jim Halperts face. 

I’m at a pub with a cold beer, biting into a bacon burger and I see Jim Halperts face. 

Basically my food experiences are being ruined. 

Behind the face – if you haven’t watched The Office than you’ll understand nothing about the imagery and real world comparisons I’m providing – of course is a heap of self loathing because Jim finds himself at his “temp” job for years upon years, never having  planned on his career being that of a paper salesman. 

Every day at this temp job I’m reminded of The Office. People really do gather at the water cooler! I wasn’t sure if you were aware, it’s a real phenomenon. 

The break room is like a cold dead silence where people with no affect congregate and mention terms I don’t understand and then when I ask I instantly regret doing so. 

Then I promptly return to creating alternate universes in my mind where I never knew those terms existed or they were found to be obsolete in my cat infultrated jungle where Jane Austen is alive and the cast of Friends roams about searching for coffee beans and Meryl Streep owns a bar on the outskirts of the beach called Fuck the Patriarchy and all is well, so well. 

My “temporary” job has suddenly shifted however, and I am now being expected to take over the next level position in a matter of months, planting me firmly into a full time employee with their company. 

Cue panic. 

Anyone who knows me has been forced to endure my griping about this job and nearly almost everyone has said back to me “it doesn’t seem that bad” and/or “it’s only temporary.”

They are right first of all, it really isn’t that bad! You look past the boredom and unfulfilled sense of purpose and you think about the coffee cart at the building across the way that has four different medium roasts at any given time, the many compliments about your new slacks, your boss brought in sandwiches for everyone just because! 

You meld into the flow of a temp job until you are in a conversation with a friend years later and hear yourself explaining investment opportunities, and then remember “this was supposed to be a temp job.” Cue Jim Halperts face. 
(Spoiler Alert) Jim Halpert eventually did get out to pursue his dreams, which I know I will also. In the moment though, you can feel trapped, like you were meant to do more but it seems too far away. 

I was sitting in this conference room with my bosses and one of their associates and that associates employees and it felt surreal. How did I get here? How have we been sitting here for two hours talking about THIS? Also did we go back in time where men talk and the women jot down notes? Coming from progressive work environments, rooted in activism and inclusivity, this all feels like a far cry from where I have been and many steps backwards.

Nevertheless I proceed in pressing my new pants and telling office coworkers that they were 40% off, sipping on my medium roast, talking to my stapler about who I want to be when I grow up, making Jim Halpert faces out the window since there is no camera for me to do it too and thinking about if all my female heroes still lived. 

Maybe next time Jim Halperts face crosses my mind I’ll remind myself FREE SANDWICHES! 

In this story, 2017 is totally the villain.

Greetings all, it’s sure been awhile, possibly several years? 

Well the major highlights are me working 80 hours a week, falling asleep at my desk and then falling asleep later at the bar. Great you’re all caught up! 

2017 is doing this thing right now where it’s trying to “win.” I don’t know if I ruffled its feathers in 2016 when I may have said “2017 is going to fucking suck” a lot around November. I don’t know if it took my statements as a challenge and it’s doing its best to live up to its estimation?

I’m a little unsure what “winning” looks like to a year. Do years receive medals or promotions or polite nominations for how many people it convinced to jump off a bridge or leave civilization to dwell in a cave? I figure there has to be an attainable form of award or recognition, otherwise it’s just working very diligently to break me for its own personal reasons. 

This is a small breakdown of how 2017 has attempted to do a shut down (is that basketball?) over just a two month period: 

January

-Oh my god Trump is going to be the president.

– I quit my job.

– Romantic relatonship ended with female coworker that hadnt even started yet.

– Everyone in friend group coupled off, with each other. 

– Started drinking before any event that required talking to people. Became acquainted with same lyft drivers, lead to confidancy about all issues regarding the plights of parenthood. 

– Downloaded 4 dating apps. 

– Began ordering champagne at bars to feel celebratory, about something. 

February 

– Zero job hits or interviews.

– Trump is really the president now.

– Oh my god can he do that? 

– No that’s gotta be illegal. 

– Attempted to make out with guy I’ve had a long term crush on. 

– Actually made out with guy I detest. 

– Experienced worst hangover of life and crushing regret. 

– Recieved call from younger brother stating that I did in fact kiss long term crush guy but only because he was not able to run away fast enough. 

– Began to eat shredded cheese straight from the bag without even putting it in my hand first.

– Recieved notice that our house is being sold and we have 60 days to move out.

– Saw La La Land in theatre and cried during, and then in the bathroom.

– Job hunting continued on laptop.

– Laptop died.

– Applied for old job at coffee shop.

– Saw La La Land again in theatre, this time cried while singing with Emma Stone, “Here’s to the ones who drrreeaaammm” 

– Completed two interviews at two different law firms, began pros and cons list to decide which one to accept.

– Received rejections from both and began preparation to go back to work at coffee shop. 

– Attempted to do artsy things like drawing, gave up after trying to draw an elephant that looked like a tired possum.

– Received call about interview for job at a non-profit.

– Learned that non-profit has not been started yet, resumed preparation to go back to work at coffee shop.

– Had one night stand to convince self that I’m still desirable. 

– Began to have wine with lunch. 

While that list is daunting, 2017 will not break me because of all these factors: 

– Cheese is delicious.

– I bought the La La Land soundtrack so I can cry in my car and not in public. 

– I’ve moved on from naming my future cat “Roger” because I’ve discovered the name Marlen.

– Champagne is often times on sale at Target.

– I bought a coloring book so I can still be “artsy” underneath the direction of someone else’s actual creativity.

– The apartment complex might have a pool and I haven’t been outside in years! 

– A guy who follows me on Twitter retweeted me the other day, so yeah it’s getting pretty serious.

– Recently discovered how good crepes are.

Is 2017 making a dent? Sure. Has it won? Absolutely not! Am I drunk right now? Nah, just tipsy.

lets call her Kyla

A name I made up for the girl who ripped out my heart after buying me a beer.

This isn’t true actually, she’s actually extremely lovely and extremely hot and really should be dating more of an Instagram model type so I bare no hard feelings because I’m pretty sure my gym membership is just decoration for my key chain, is my credit card even on file over there?

I will say that the several weeks of texting Kyla and the one date we had was so great that I can’t even be mad that it’s over, because I’m just so glad it happened.

After that one amazing date of extreme attraction (my end) and some minimal attraction (her end) and a lot of similar interests/topics (feminism, saving animals, roommates who don’t know proper wine etiquette, lack of time for reading, and of course lastly, parents who would rather tell their friends that you dropped out of school to start a jewelry shop on Etsy then explain that you date girls now), we wrapped up our date that had started at a restaurant and migrated to a bar, and I told her I would text her tomorrow.

Kyla and I texted for two more days before ultimately she never responded, but within that two days my brain was going haywire. I was so into her and I started secretly PLANNING little dates (in my head) that we could go on.

These weren’t like good plans like where you have venues, and people hiding, and where I have to show up an hour before, but the kind of planning where you’re thinking about the time of day you should take her, would it be too cold to take her there at night? Should it be a surprise? Like on Hitch where he provides a wetsuit for her when he takes her to that island? How hard would it be to bring up in conversation what size she wears? And then you’re kind of shocked with yourself even that you want to do this many activities willingly AND that you are excited about them. I thought of six different dates I could take Kyla on and it’s just so crazy this all coming from the person who takes so little action in relationships ever, and let me just tell you about these six dates, please?

1. A hike on the trail near my house. I would tell her to wear running shoes and I would bring water bottles for us and pack a bowl of chopped up fruit for us to nibble on underneath a tree for a break that we both (me) need.

2.Finding a place to go wine tasting in her neck of the woods, near where she is going to grad school. I would take her there and then that could become a spot we might go to when I come out to her area so she doesn’t have to drive as far but we have a place to hang out.

3. I actually recently obtained a picnic basket and blanket and was like um hello third date starter pack.

4. Going to the nearby park to kick around a soccer ball and and then afterwards go to the little restaurant around the corner for a late lunch, this girl is pretty outdoorsy I don’t know if you’re picking up on that.

5. Getting a tiny bit fancy and going to a play downtown. Preferably something with some feminist undertones or maybe even written by a lesbian!

6. This last plan came to me from the far crevasses of my most mushy romantic self, I call it “Candle Lit Everything” which is essentially taking the notion of a candle lit dinner and adding cocaine and you have no actual lights used because everything is candles, and then you make the food you’re serving her look like candles, and then you ask her if you want to celebrate her birthday early because um hello candles, and then you sing “beeeee my guest, be my guest…” such as the candle sings from beauty and the beast and then your date excuses herself to the bathroom and you hear her calling a cab outside.

All this to demonstrate, sometimes you just wanna woo a girl, ya know?

So anyways yes she is gone, yes I am sad, but more then that I am excited by the idea that another date could be as good as this one. Maybe I could even become good at dating? I think that’s kind of a stretch seeing as how I just confessed to fantasizing about singing this girl a Disney song surrounded by small flames, but who knows! Maybe I’ll learn to sing!

“I’m just like, really open.”

Apologies followers for the time lapse in posts here, I was dealing with two major situations.
1. The situation of realizing I ALSO like women,
2. Mostly that.

I felt it an appropriate time to tell you all, seeing as how it was #NationalComingOutDay and all, and because I have new dating apps to tell you about that have had about as much success as the ones that came before them (so basically I’m still dating my wine glass) and because now that my new sexuality information is floating out around town and getting people all awkward, I ALMOST forgot to open this up for more awkward with you guys!

First things first, you might have questions. Have I always known, how do you define yourself, have you adopted an Ethiopian child with your wife, yada yada.

Well first no, I did not always KNOW. I had suspicions. That I could usually justify.

My common phrase was “I’m just really open” – I could see myself liking someone of the same sex because I’m just such a forward thinker but ask me if I’m gay and I’ll say “Nope” and then kind of sort of want to never talk to you again.

In college I worked with a girl named Lena and quickly realized I couldn’t stop thinking about her.  I even told friends I had this little crush on her because I couldn’t keep myself from mentioning her name in any conversation it would allow, and you know I’m just so “open to things” but when asked if I could see myself WITH her (meaning all the sex) I said no I didn’t (I did. I absolutely did. And it was dirty.)

Before Lena, I had actually already had several sexual experiences with different girls when I was in middle school/freshmen in high school. My preteen self decided that those experiences were simply “experimenting” and nothing more, though funny that for something I told myself over and over was “not a big deal” it’s interesting that I never told anyone until now, hmm weird..

Growing up in a VERY christian household made the reality of me facing any of these experiences that much more unrealistic. My focus in middle school really trying to get down the members of Nsync and the Backstreet Boys because I had failed many times trying to pretend I knew who the Spice Girls really were, until being over at a friends house and looking at the poster in her room and saying ohhh okay that’s them, must take mental note that Posh is brunette and Sporty is blonde so I don’t mess this up tomorrow at recess. I mean I knew one of their songs at least,  I can sneak my friends cassette player into bed with me just like any other kid. All this to say that trying to navigate any feelings or experiences when I was just trying to get a foothold in non-christian culture was already a lot.

My crush on Lena and and my early “experiments” really started coming to the forefront in the past year. A couple of times I questioned my own signature line, “I’m just a really open person” and was like what does that even fucking mean? Luckily I could always hollow safely back into whatever crush I had on whatever guy at the time and be good.

But as I started to question my signature phrase, I started getting mad. Like really fucking mad.

People who questioned my sexuality were like my new enemies. Poor timing because people just naturally become more curious about your sexual orientation when you’re 26/27 and don’t at least hook up with a guy somewhat regularly.

I got on Eharmony and really began looking to get into a long term relationship with a guy. I needed to be dating and quickly. I wanted to go on more dates to show me how straight I was and to make comments that anyone was making about me irrelevant because I’m with a guy! I’m dating a guy now!

That was the scariest part for me. The part where you know you’re trying to date people to make a point and you KNOW it. You know it’s purposeful, you know it’s to avoid something else, you know it and you can’t un-know it and you need to get into a relationship pronto before this “progresses” like it’s fucking cancer, and basically, YOU KNOW.

When Megan entered my workplace I spent at least three months hating her before I began to think about her romantically, because then it started to become very illogical. If I hate her so much then why do I want to see her? If she’s so awful then why do I wish other people would go away so it can be just us two? If she is the worst like I tell everyone she is, then why do I think about her and I making out in the parking lot after work?

I could sense all the time now that there was something I wasn’t telling people, and I began to shift a small bit of focus on a new line for myself: “I’ll come out whenever the fuck I want to.”

After that I started to become angry if I  felt someone pushing me to do anything really. Even though I hadn’t technically told anyone about this at all, it felt like walls were closing in and everyone was trying to warp me, make me say it.

Finally one day at a training for work, talking about resources for marginalized groups of people, my director places me into a group discussing barriers that members of the LGBTQ community face in getting resources. I was so mad I was shaking.

THIS BITCH IS TRYING TO MAKE ME COME OUT

Which of course was entrenching on my new barely formulated phrase of: “I’ll come out whenever the fuck I want to”

So I joined the group to chat about barriers that members of LGBTQ community faced and heard nothing and focused on nothing and was secretly wishing death upon my director when then she comes around to our table, looks to me, and told me that I would be the one presenting what we had discussed.

I’m sure you can imagine the rage. I’ll summarize:

• fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou
• white hot blazing light searing from my eyes
• I will literally not present this and you can go to hell

Luckily this all went on in my head and I still have a job. I left the training within four minutes of her telling me I would present. I went to my parents house because they were having a huge birthday party, and my panic was still rising. I said I had a work call to make, got in my car, called my coworker and began to yell. I yelled and yelled until I said “I want to come out whenever I fucking want to come out!!!”

Instantly she got what all this was and she said yes absolutely that is your right. And that was when I began to tell people.

Told my roommate that same night. I had made silent war with him and this coworker I had called earlier because they had been the two making offhanded comments about my sexuality that I had taken as personal attacks/threats, and I had hated them secretly for months, but now they were the people I talked to first.

It’s been so much easier since then. I come out to most people as simply bisexual because it’s easier than explaining what Pansexual is, which is the term I identify with and just fyi I came out as Pans before Miley for the record.

I don’t share this with you guys to get some release, I’ve already been releasing this off of me to people that I love for at least a month now and it’s been wonderful. I took #bivisibilityweek and ran with it!I also don’t share it with you for the joy of receiving uber religious hate mail though I’m sure that will be amusing.

I share this because not only is looking back at how angry I was kind of funny now (especially when you tell your director that you wanted her dead for at least 5 min and she laughs because she put you in that LGBTQ group because the groups were uneven) but I also tell you this in the case that one of you has experienced or is experiencing any small piece of my story.

Whether it’s not knowing who the Spice Girls were either because your parents only let you listen to Amy Grant, or maybe you’ve had experiences like mine and not wanted to ever find the meaning in them, or maybe you see yourself coming out in the future and that’s just really fucking terrifying. All I can say is that it gets better, it really really does get better.

is my instagram hot enough?

Words I never thought I’d utter. Well technically I didn’t utter them I thought them, but I suppose writing it down here for the viewing of others could be considered an utterance? Ugh now I’m thinking about cows.

I suppose I’ll say that I never thought that I’d be taking a deeper look into my own social media, and  myself asking the question: is this hot enough?

It hadn’t occurred to me that my Instagram account or any social media platform could sway the odds of getting texts from a boy (I really want to quote the Hunger Games here, but notice my restraint) and I’m still not sure it really does but….

Regardless, I’m concerned.

I found evidence of this theory by way of the new Jordan Sparks song “Double Tap” which illustrates the importance of a “hot Instagram”, and her video provides a quick guide on obtaining boyfriends by taking videos of yourself smiling, and then laughing, and then smiling.

Perhaps I could make myself a second Instagram account in which I compile masses of only the best pictures of myself, so boys know that yes my hair does shine like gold whether I’m inside or outside (thanks IG filters) and I can look to the side, or straight! I’m so complex and symmetrical.

In reality I’m not going to do anything at all and I’ll be changing zero things about my Instagram or any other form of social media because trying to impress a guy at the bar that night and then taking a picture and posting it the following morning to keep him impressed makes me feel tired.

And how do I keep that up? Eventually he would see me without makeup right? I’m just assuming, maybe there is actually a way to blind him temporarily each night until you put your foundation on in the morning, maybe like a flashlight that you shine in his eyes and that also deletes his memory, of you shining a flashlight in his eyes.

Anyways back to how this Instagram stuff all came up, I met a boy at a club, we exchanged numbers, talked the next day, he asked what my Instagram account was, I told him, and then,

radio silence.

Suddenly he has a car problem now and ends his text with “maybe next time”

Message received my friend.

I guess pictures of my breakfast, cats, books, and that one where I’m in the back of that car in a beanie just didn’t do it for him. Ugh why didn’t I post more pictures of dogs, ALL IS LOST

Luckily I have a delicious breakfast plus the Instagram feeds of many cat lovers to catch up on and you know that Jordan Sparks song is actually quite catchy, try watching the video too maybe, but don’t video yourself doing the smiling, laughing and than smiling again because that’s hers.