Crazy Beautiful

… a term I’ve heard that’s been used to describe me. 

I have no concept of my own looks in the eyes of others although I do find beauty when I look in the mirror.  My only long term girlfriend once looked at me and said “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” And, she was probably just in love, but she was also right. I have no clue. 

Guys never called me beautiful. I was cute… or, omg, fuck-able.

Because that’s what a girl wants to hear, right?!?!

Anyway, I know I’m fuck-able. And cute. And innately beautiful in a non-barbie kind of way. And… incredibly smart, too.

Well, about some things. I ran over my bare foot with the weed whacker two weeks ago. And my finger tips are smooth from all the dishes I’ve grabbed out of the oven with out mitts.

Anyway. 

Crazy Beautiful. 

There’s a reason I’m crazy. Especially about relationships. I watched the only man who has ever really loved me, die suddenly. 

It’s traumatic to say the least, and maybe it doesn’t excuse the callous way I treat men but the pain is truly unbearable. I’ve never gotten over it. 

Maybe I never will. 

I know now that I start throwing bricks on my figurative wall as soon as I start liking a guy. And then the first time they screw up, even if it’s something really trivial and stupid, I start flinging those bricks up on that wall as fast as my 44 year old arms will go. 

And I intuitively know exactly what will drive that romantic relationship into the dust, and I do it. 

I can’t stop it once it starts. 

It’s an unending panic attack until I either pass out from exhaustion or we somehow work it out. But if we work it out, it usually just starts the vicious cycle over again. 

I’m broken. 

It sucks. 

Anxiety Girl

Have you ever been out in public with someone who has social anxiety?

I’m, like, stealth, ninja bomber, zipping in between isles… trying to hide out behind the end caps and various other pop up displays. The object of the game is to avoid making eye contact with other human beings at all costs. 

Like a cat who thinks hiding her head under the sofa means no one can see her. 

Or the ostrich who buries her head in the sand… although, she’s really looking for food, which, coincidentally, anxiety girl is too.

Because that’s me. Anxiety Girl. One of many.

Able to jump to conclusions in 0 to 30 seconds.

Able to second guess every thought, word, and action until they mean something utterly different than what was intended. 

That’s my super power. 

And… it’s especially difficult with a social butterfly of a 6 year old daughter in tow, who tells her life story to anyone who will listen.

Trouble Ahead, Trouble Behind

… And you know that notion, just crossed my mind. (Casey Jones, GD)

I’ve been listening to the Dead for years and, almost 30 years later, I still remember the very first Grateful Dead song I heard.

I was at a local pool hall that served beer and allowed cute young girls to hang out and shoot pool as long as they stayed away from the bartenders. Which I did, mostly… 

Anyway, Casey Jones came across the loud speaker and I was entranced. Completely. I couldn’t move. 

My body was twisted tightly into the melodic jam of a band that I’d never heard before, but one I’d grown to love by the end of that song. 

I truly believe that there are two universal languages that cross all other language and cultural boundaries here on Earth… math and music. With music having the most enjoyable and deepest impact on most human beings… of course. 

I’ve recently met a man who is attentive and responsive and loves telling me how gorgeous I am, almost daily, and loves not only taking me out but making certain that when we stay in that it is still a date with some nice food and drink, some wonderful chats and massages, and just all around attentiveness.

When he comes over, it’s a stay home date not just a booty call. 

He is not poly, but loves that I am. He is very supportive and not at all jealous. He is not ready for a longterm commitment and in fact, was not even dating, until he met me. 

Or until I introduced myself anyway. 

I broke my rule of never saying hi first because there was just “something” about him. And I’m so glad I did. 

He communicates with me. He doesn’t lie or with hold his thoughts and feelings because he thinks I’m a fragile piece of glass that needs to be protected. He doesn’t avoid important conversations because he’s too much of a coward to tell me the truth. 

It’s very refreshing. Especially with what I’ve dealt with the last two months from men. They either show apathy or ownership. It’s nice to date someone who respects me… finally. 

So these are the new dating rules I’ve incorporated into my life… with his support and help, btw. 😉 

1. Must love music (except rap, it’s all degrading to women especially Christian Rap). I react especially favorable to gifts of music… personalized mixed tapes in particular. 

2. Must love animals, come on, unless you’re severely allergic, you better have a pet or I won’t date you. 

3. Must read. Something. I don’t care what you read, but there better be a few favorites you can tell me about when I ask. 

4. I won’t make the mistake of introducing anyone other than a committed partner/boyfriend to my daughter ever again. You don’t get the chance to break her heart. 

4. Must not break more dates than you show up for, especially booty calls. I have a black book full of men who have given me amazing orgasms so I’ll definitely call one of them next time if your lack of skills in the female orgasm or your constant breaking of dates leaves me dissatisfied. Only my boyfriend gets a second chance.  

And, now it’s time for a little GD…

Promises

I know I promised you some juicy dating stories but tonight’s story is really about something I’ve only just realized about myself. 

I suck at communication with human beings. 

Seriously. I’m terrible at it.

So many times, things I say are misinterpreted and, especially my texts, leave the reciprocant in a quandary as to what I meant. And if I don’t add a smile, I get called bitchy. 

I’m quite proficient at communicating with computers, though… they’re really very simple in the fact that they only understand two things… OFF and ON. 

And that’s really kind of how my brain works too. 

The signal is either OFF or ON. When it’s between, or not specifically OFF or ON, my brain enters flight or fight mode and, much like a computer, starts sending inappropriate messages and erroring out.

Maybe it’s a personality disorder. Maybe it’s the PMDD, PTSD, and OCD. Maybe my brain only understands clear messages and not mixed ones. 

It sends my brain into emotional turmoil that is like a boulder traveling at massive speeds down an alpine slope only to crash and explode into millions of tiny pieces as it slams against a tree… unable to put itself back again. 

Full of unstoppable anxiety that usually ends in a full fledged panic attack. 

Either way… I truly suck at communication with human beings. Almost all of them. 

My real friends understand that I’m sick. And that I have almost no social skills. 

And that anytime I’m not at home, or in a couple of close friend’s houses, I’m experiencing anxiety. Sometimes debilitating. 

And I’m sorry to all I’ve afflicted. 

An Experiment 

I’m going to conduct a little experiment… a dating experiment. This may also help me increase my dic pic collection too, because I’m hoping to publish that coffee table book someday. 

I’ve always had a rule that men don’t end up here, until I’ve realized that the “relationship” is over. I use that term very lightly. 

Those are the posts that get the most traffic here… my dating horror stories. So I’ve changed up my online dating profiles to “Casual Sex” and bought out the local 7 eleven of condoms. (Can you believe I can use my flex card for all the condoms in the world, but I can’t buy a single tampon with it?)

So if you really want to know what dating as a single mom is like, stay tuned. I’ve got lots of stories for you. 

And maybe I’ll soon have enough dic pics to get that photo book published after all…