Happy Freakin New Year

My year in review:

January - ended relationship with religious fanatic
February - saw a violinist for a while
March - found out I was going to Israel
April - not applicable
May - went to Israel
June - almost died in Israel
July - decided to get a new job
August - quit my job
September - started my new job
October - met another guy
November - had a boyfriend take me to dinner for my birthday for the first time ever
December - broke up with said boyfriend and started baking bread -> see new blog: colorandcrisp.blogspot.com

January 2017? Maybe I'll pick up writing my novel(s) again. I think 2017 is going to be about doing what I enjoy much more often. Meanwhile, while I type, I hear a rather not faint at all tink tink of my dog's collar. It's rather distracting.

Crisp and Color

I caved and bought a few Craftsy classes this past week. I've had this idea about Craftsy, that it's a thing for people looking for things to do that they have zero to amateurish knowledge of to begin with. Judgmental? Yes, I'm aware. Anyhoo, I bought a bread baking course with Peter Reinhart, and from noon till five yesterday, I was making dough for the most part, and then baking it. Peter talks about the 12 step baking bread process, and describes bread making as metaphor; life and death. Activating the yeast, essentially bringing it to life, and let's be honest, what do I know about yeast in the first place. I thought it might be an animal with how he described it. I googled it. Yeast is classified as a fungi, so it's not an animal. *sigh of relief*



You, being reader, may not know, but I went off the deep end, I mean vegan/vegetarian back in March 2016. For those that are looking for an argument, go elsewhere. I'm not about to peg myself into a figurative hole and give up Triple Creme Brie for the rest of my life, or give up honey, or if I want a freakin' egg with my Brie once in a blue moon, or give up my leather and bags. It's diet only, and I don't pretend otherwise. Although, I could get used to not shaving body hair as it is practically winter...

So, as I was saying, I made and baked bread. I ended up with three French baguettes and a baby boule, which I don't have the heart to pierce and slice, decapitating  it's cute little button frame, yet. What am I saying; I can't wait. Especially with some vegan butter, it's going to be delicious. Just as the French bread was supposed to turn out, each loaf had great crisp and color. They even had some larger(er), irregular holes as artisan bread is supposed to have. There was a certain high to the day, in part due to the fact that I was doing something I enjoy. To be frank, I find there's a certain serenity in baking and cooking, which I don't find elsewhere. Getting my fat ass out of bed at 7AM, an ungodly hour, five days a week is a constant challenge. Corporate work feels like work, and ultimately, it's boring. It's not that I don't have work to do, it's that it's not "fun." At least for my brain anyway.

Take for today as example. It's cold and dreary and my pants are not as loose as they once were--like last week. I'd rather be stretching and folding dough, in my horrid Roots Canada sweatpants, than be sitting in a grey cube. *existential moment: how did I end up here* Did I mention I recently turned 25?

Life as it is seems

Reality is perceived, and solely by the mind. I was wondering if we literally live multiple lives through one physical medium. I know for myself, I can get caught up in ruminating thought which affects me physiologically. Often I wonder if imagination is just a secondary, or tertiary, or whatever level, life plane in/on which we live. It's like the end of The Magic Mountain. Did he even go to the sanitarium or while he was lying, dying, on the war field, did he escape into his mind and live another seven years? Was he living at all in the physical world? When we sleep, who is to say that we are just dreaming and not living? Sometimes I think we may be most self authentic in dream, because the physical world allows for serious physical consequence and constraints. With that said, is living living? I've found I am happier when I'm in my mind, on occasion. There's a sense that we have the ability to travel in time through the mind, and are trapped in the present, cut off from loved ones "stuck" in the past. Is death freedom from this constraint? There is much loneliness and nostalgia for what was, and in the mind we have complete and individual control over everything: the past, the present, the future. In this physical world, we have no control, and the little control we perceive ourselves to have, may be an illusion as well. Maybe everything has been written, and we are living out our narratives as one reads a novel, line by line, page by page, etc. There are books and people that say we are responsible for our thoughts, and thoughts are often said to be one behavior that an individual has total control over. But do we? How is it that I'll be going about my day and a thought pops up into my mind, seemingly from nowhere? Why do I hear the ticking of my grandfather's clock in my left ear when I meditate and am solely focusing on my breathing? Why is it that I'll be driving to work, belting out a song and suddenly, I experience fear and irrationality from, again, nowhere? 

From meditation I've learned I am responsible for giving power and emotion to memory, i.e., reliving events and being present in that past moment, for memory is just a mental picture. For those that experience and feel the way I do, about ideas I've presented in this post, does that mean that we all have post traumatic stress disorder (if you want to put a label on it)? Is it a fact of life? Our first experience coming into life is traumatic, hence a newborn's cry. It seems to me that we are mere automata, life breathing (whatever that means...), but that we are brought into the physical world experiencing fear and it is fear (the most primitive form of change) that propels us through life. Fear, in a sense, is life in the physical world. So what would it be or to mean to live freely? 

Time Travel

I So far, this year has been like, whoa. I'm coming up to my one year mark at work; over three months have passed since Tia has passed; it's been almost three months since I started meditating; almost two years since I was in Europe; it's been a long time since I worked on either novel/story I started over years ago (I did write a few poems); and I could continue with a bunch of miscellaneous items that are superfluous. 

The one thing holding these items I listed together is time. Time is fleeting, it's effervescent, and that's how it feels to me. The twelve years I had with Tia feel like nothing; no amount of time would feel enough. In fact, no relationship or friendship I've had has felt long enough. Well, there was that one...

If given the choice, I'd choose to be able to travel backwards. My family is there; my dogs and cats are there, and the past is how I choose to remember people. The most difficult part of life is watching family and friends get older or die. I've been grappling with Tia's death on a daily basis. I begin my meditations with a mantra of sorts, and she is in it. She is my wallpaper on my phone, iPad, and laptop. For goodness sake, she's printed on a blanket. Tia is everywhere, except physically beside me. The ache I feel daily has gotten to me the past few days. It's funny to think how I felt like I was dying when a boy rejected me, and now, I feel a part of me actually died and the one thing that comforts me is that when I die, I hope she is there waiting for me, as with everyone else I've loved. Tia's death was has been the most poignant moment of my life thus far, and at the same time is was the quickest moment I've ever experienced. 

Am I looking for something that doesn't exist?

Is it improbable, and/or just plain selfish of me to ask for exactly what I want? Let's define what I'm looking for in a dating context:

Employed, kind, funny, and smart with a charismatic personality. In addition to these qualities, I'd like to find the guy adorable and/or handsome. Granted, the superficial is less important, but it is still important. Engaging conversation isn't a good measurable factor; I've become great at starting and maintaining interesting conversation, and I have no problem with not so awkward, awkward pauses. I'm not desperate either; in no way do I need a guy--except to rid places of bugs--especially to complete me. I'm already complete; just continuing to update the firmware so to speak. 

I'm arguing, with myself, whether or not I'm asking for too much or I'm just being impatient. I'm thinking it's the latter; I'm hoping so.  

Tis the end of year

What makes tonight different than all the other nights? Well, it's the first New Year's Eve I'm spending with Benny. Tia, my beloved chihuahua, died in my arms on the twenty second of December. I feel sorta empty, while consumed with jitters, which I believe is anxiety. It's overwhelming at times. At this very moment, I'm sitting in a porch in a valley between two mountains listening to a stream. The air is crisp and fresh, and my eyelids feel heavy, even though I slept eight hours and thirty-one minutes. Benny has jumped on my lap, after swallowing a dead cricket from the bathroom floor, and promptly jumps off. Wherever he goes, I hear the quiet tinking of his collar charms. Tia would have enjoyed this day. 

Think Like A Dog

I'm reminded that most of things I worry about are in fact, utter bullshit. I know logically that it is absurd to be anxious, yet emotionally, suffering from anxiety is a chronic issue for me. I'm not controlling, nor am I interested in controlling every. single. thing., I just happen to have unexpected panic attacks, like when I'm sitting at my desk, or driving in the car alone whilst singing, horribly, to Adele's Hello. 

I like to think of myself as a pragmatic individual. A friend of mine seems to generally agree that I'm logical and reasonable, while still retaining an emotional side. I do believe I am in touch with my feelings. But, my emotions seem to be becoming rather controlling. Granted, I recently learned that my beloved, my soul mate, my baby (dog) has cancer. I'm kind of sort of devastated. It's not that I thought she'd live forever--I certainly hoped she might just turn out to be an immortal one--it's just the fact that I'm confronted with potentially losing the little big love of my life at any time. We've been together for almost half my life. She's my shadow, literally and figuratively. We've snuggled every day. She's been my personal heater during winter, and my road trip companion. She's my heart. 

I've thought of myself as a spiritual being, but I'm becoming to think I have a lack of faith. I've learned to keep my expectations and hopes low over the years. With my dog, we have a super cosmic-soul connection. The beauty of her spirit is that she doesn't have fear or anxiety, unless I do and then I feel like crap because I influenced her negatively. She's basically a little biofeedback machine. Logically, I understand and completely admire the dog model of thought; now. As a human, said to be a higher functioning being, I struggle with implementing that same model. My mind has great difficulty focusing solely on the present. Is this a survival technique? It can't be because dogs, domestic and or wild, have survived without thinking about the future. Maybe this is an Occam's razor moment; the simplest answer is the best. The simplest function is superior to the convoluted one. 

I haven't even mentioned yet how selfless she is--I've been too busy writing about me--but I digress. There's not a narcissistic bone in her little body. Maybe narcissism is just another form of anxiety. More importantly, a learned behavior. All humans are guilty of it--except a few--I know I'm generalizing, but not one dog I've ever known or heard of suffers from narcissism. Dogs are simpler creatures, which would mean dogs are the better and more highly functioning beings. Maybe dogs, let's say dog equals nature, are more in tune with faith. If we say nature has full and enduring faith, since tragedy doesn't stop them in their tracks, that eliminates anxiety (about death). Moral of the story--I should think like my dog--and love unconditionally like my dog--but act like a lady. 

Hello...again...

I may have forgotten I blog, or write, or both. Or maybe, just maybe, I've avoided this. The last time I checked in, it was April. Now, it's August and I've been working for almost for months. I've had a hard few last months, because I'm naturally an anxious person, but because I'm feeling tired, again. Why does it seem like if things are going poorly, they get progressively worse? Why not just better? Is this the universe's way of creating chaos? What is chaos anyhow? Is chaos why we get old and our bodies fail us? Does that mean that chaos and time are synonymous? 

All I know is that I have a headache, my group of friends, (which some make me feel that I'm an inconvenience for them, wanting to be a friend and talk to them, thereby taking up their time with frivolous and superfluous bullshit because I'm just insignificant now) feels like it has dwindled (which makes me sad), and I kind of want a Moscow Mule right now...I've been forcing myself to write diary entries, but I haven't written much in the way of fiction or poetry. Sometimes I feel like I have to write, but I'm so afraid that nothing good will come out and I'll be totally lost and I'll no longer have talent and then I'll have a life crisis because writing is what I've done since I was four and it's what I love and if I lose that then who am I? 

Five year plan

I was asked today what my five year plan is. At this moment, I don't have one. Every time I have a plan, or think I have one, it doesn't work out that way all, no resemblance to what I had envisioned whatsoever. When I think back, seven years ago, I had four possible plans, and then two, and now, no plan. Things that have happened, I would never have expected. I'm not lost, but I don't know where I'm going. The feeling is a bit uncomfortable, but I've got to just deal with it one day at a time, I suppose. 

Looking for a flower in a garden of weeds

I am beyond perturbed. I am pissed. I am disgusted with women treating themselves like a cheap commodity. In the past two weeks, I've been told by guys that they'd really like to fuck me. Flattering, romantic, sweet, eh? These men are not even that good looking, they wear ridiculously shrunken and inappropriately fitting argyle sweaters, or they're from North Africa visiting on a tourist visa. And they get laid. Or so they say. I've had enough of men devaluing women. I've had enough of being tested by men who think I do not mean what I say. Casual sex, promulgated by social apps like Tinder, are just a symptom of the bigger issue. My generation of fellow men and women, are, for lack of a better expression, fucked up. Where are old-fashioned values? I'm not making absurd statements, like premarital sex is a sin. I'm asking, where have an individuals self-worth gone? Don't women value themselves? And, how is it that an entire generation of men, with some exceptions that have yet to appear, finds objectifying and using women completely and undeniably okay?

It's impossible to state that women that participate in meaningless casual encounters with partners they won't ever see or speak to again, all suffer from low self-esteem, patriarchal childhood, or abandonment, issues. What does that mean for the men? Do you ever hear the excuse that men have low self-esteem, have father issues, have abandonment issues? No, you don't. Everyone has experienced some form of loss, so if one of these three possible reasons are acknowledged as a the culprit, that's still not an acceptable excuse. It's become quite clear that many men feel they are owed sex, for any type of time, or money, spent on a woman. An eight dollar drink equates to sex. Dinner and a movie means the girl should put out. Wanting a guy to hold off and get to know a woman before sex, well, that's just absurd. I've also heard the excuse that men become too old for masturbation. Uh, what?! If you believe that, there's something in your water turning your brain to mush.

Here are my key points, summarizing my thoughts on this issue:

(1) It is absolutely so disappointing to see people I know, or don't for that matter, that are so smart, so worthy of good things, choosing to participate in harmful activities, whether it be alcohol, drugs, or casual sex.
(2) Romance is dead. So is intimacy. Men cannot even fathom the concept of courting a woman. They have no idea what courting is, or how to do it.
(3) Parents should be held responsible. Mothers and fathers have not raised their sons to be good men, to have respect for women, to be courteous and loyal, nor have they raised their daughters to value themselves, and to expect to be treated by men with dignity.
(4) Women are not receptacles.

I'm tired of people allowing bad behavior to slide. I want women to expect better, expect more, and to not feel guilt about not giving in to a man's request for, or pressuring for, sex when they have not earned the privilege of being intimate with you. If a woman wants nothing more than a one-night stand, so be it. For those that want to foster a relationship, to build a friendship and intimacy, it shouldn't be a crusade.

Self-disclosure

Hallmark movies are my thing. While I'm not ashamed to admit it, I am slightly embarrassed. I've taken great care to create a certain facade--one in which I appear to be practically stoic, pragmatic and unemotional--but I'm actually quite the opposite. I'm the overly sentimental, daydreamy type. You could even say I'm a borderline romantic, considering my love of sappy Hallmark movies (especially around the Holidays) and affinity for eighteenth and nineteenth literature. I identify with the protagonists in many, if not all, of Austen's work. The women are strong, emotionally and mentally, and confident about there abilities and skills, rather than their superficial aesthetics. Yet, interestingly, the protagonists seem to admire and fall in love with handsome men whom are more attractive aesthetically than the women themselves. Maybe it's the inevitability of the plot that attracts me; the fact that a union between protagonist and the handsome and accomplished, not to mention morally sound, man is destiny. Is it the fact that such a dashing man could overlook superficialiries and love and admire a woman for more than just her appearance? Nowadays, men and women put much emphasis on looks, less on personality and values, or so it seems. This is besides the point. I identify with these female character, and I deeply desire an outcome much like theirs, despite the fact (I'm capable of acknowledging) I'm not the same homely, plain type aesthetically. However, I am sentimental and somewhat of a mystic underneath my, occasionally, icy exterior. I guess I'm just that emotional, secretly sensitive, writerly type. Why though do I find it distasteful and difficult to admit my preoccupation with these holiday movies? Admitting it is like being mauled by a bear with your innards spilling out. Actually, I described a horrific scene, when I'm just expressing the idea of vulnerability. It's difficult to be vulnerable. Just yesterday I experienced vulnerability, needing to self disclose personal information on a coffee date. No matter how often and simple it is to talk about oneself, it's somewhat scary to divulge information. Fear of rejection? Or fear of disapproval? Fear of over sharing; tmi, colloquially speaking? Maybe, like many things, the answer is a convoluted mixture of nonsensical things that are really quite simple.

Discovery: Fascinating Phenomena of the Male Mind

November, also known as my favorite month, has flown by rather quickly. Naturally, interesting things have happened since my last post. Previously, I was committed to "winning" NaNoWriMo...that is until I didn't write one day, and then I didn't write the following day, and, of course, a pattern ensued. I have been writing a poem here and there, as well as adding small additions to my novellas I'm working on. I also took a part time job. I never expected to be working in the wonderful world of retail, but hey, it's temporary. Actually, everything is temporary. Dating is temporary, or so I make it so.

I dated a guy for two weeks this month, but I was never exactly interested. In fact, after the first time I met him, I was watching a Sex and The City episode where Carrie goes out with a guy that just isn't her type. She refers to dating him as if she's trying him on like a dress. As I was watching the episode, a light bulb, figuratively, of course, appeared above my head. Well, after a second date, I couldn't take any more so I promptly ended it. Phew. My special friend in Hungary, whom I'm not sure I've mentioned, has proven himself to be quite the animal. He has been exhibiting a complete lack of self-control, as well as possessing no morals whatsoever. As a stereotypical representation of the contemporary man, I have to say I'm kind of, if not completely, disgusted with his behavior. This guy isn't the first Capricorn (yes, I did just make an astrological reference) I've come across. From my observations, they prove to be shitty long-term partners and share similar characteristics that I find to be savage and downright annoying. They have a need for speeding things up, and from the two I've encountered, both contend with an incompatibility between woman and commitment. Honestly though, what's the point in a guy 'buying' when he can get so much for free?

I've figured out my friend's pattern of behavior, so kudos to me, right? Generally, we talk or text or video chat on a daily basis, but every so often, he disappears for a few days. Well, I've done some investigative reporting (I've won an award for this for real) and the results are fascinating. Alright, so there are a little more than four thousand miles, and a decade in age difference, between us, and he's single. Putting that to the side, I've discovered that when he ceases to exist in my reality, he's sleeping around. I asked bluntly to which he confirmed my suspicions. What's so interesting is that we're friends, maybe a little more than your average friend definition, but he disappears every time he has sex with some woman (the last one being old, according to his own words). It seems he experiences some sort of guilt or else he'd be talking to me, after he's finished with whatever woman he's used as a receptacle. We entered into an argument, well, I started it when I told him he uses women. He sees his behavior as a positive where I see it as the objectification and commodification of women. He doesn't care for or about these women--he just uses them. He complains the women he dates are not bright enough, not well-travelled enough, not sophisticated enough, blah blah blah... for him. Of course, I am all of those things (grin to self). He has no desire to know the women, be friends with them, just nothing outside of the sheets, yet he disagrees with my stance. He thinks he's living an authentic life as part of counter culture: not letting rules limit his options and or choices, freedom of sexual expression, etc. Naturally I told him he is the culture of our time, he is the contemporary man promulgating this era of sex with no strings attached. It's casual, he says. There is no such thing as casual, but we're talking about a man, and men, that don't enjoy feeling feelings. I think his argument is bullshit. Absent from his behavior and mindset are morals. He says he has values, but who knows. Seriously, luring a married woman into a potentially compromising situation, just because sex is natural, doesn't speak sainthood to me. Parasitic amoebae are natural too. I think comparing him to a potentially deadly single cell organism is actually a well fitting paradigm for his character. Still, I'm drawn to his charismatic, charming, extroverted personality. Is he a caring, kind, sweet guy? Yes, yes he is. Can he be faithful, committed or loyal? He says so, but he has yet to prove his abilities.

Do you think I'm right (I doubt I'm wrong) about his behavior being stereotypical for a majority of men in our society/culture today? I'm not going to generalize and say all men are like my friend, but I've come in contact with many who share similar traits. I do think many men view women as things to be used, as if a woman is commodity, and I think my friend is trying to spin his behavior in a positive light when in reality, he's as far from being a gentleman.

NaNoWriMo: Challenge Accepted

So I've made an executive decision. I will be participating in NaNoWriMo. I've already completed day one successfully with the addition of 2042 words to one story. I wrote for two hours and completely lost track of time. I'd like to prove to myself I can write fifty thousand words. I want to be a novelist so one must do novelist things.

I'm in a creative mood, as you can tell, so, I've also started a new self-portrait series. I don't know what to call it, but I'm playing with the idea of something being hallow and hollow at the same time. Blasphemy isn't the right word to describe it, but it's closer than anything else I can think of. 

It's Fall and things seem to be falling apart, so that's a good thing...

It's my favorite time of year, Fall, and things seem to be falling apart (but they're bound to come back together sometime!). Career, friends, relationships--everything is temporary even if they seem long term. I seem to be choosing the wrong men, but each new specimen is a drastic improvement over the previous, so I'm learning something. I try to have an open mind, I'm flexible about differences, and I'm trying to move past superficial bullshit as soon as possible. The latest guy, who lasted a whole three weeks, was rigid, ontologically focused on some nonsensical thing(s), and had a restrictive mindset. Although cute and intelligent, he's emotionally immature and confused. But…whatever. I'm just still trying to figure out what I'm supposed to learn from this experience.

Dating update, check. Career update, let's forgo that topic until a later date. Friends, yes lets discuss this. I loathe when 'friends' don't want me to know something, especially when it's about me. I can only take my friend(s) being arrogant, gossiping asses on a rare basis. Maybe it's a Southern thing, to talk about you to a mutual friend behind your back about some ludicrous thing, and when confronted, take offense. It's alright though, I have a Hungarian guy that I've become close friends with. We just clicked; we can talk about anything; and we can be honest with one another. So on the friend front, I've hit the jackpot.

I haven't written much lately, which could possibly be why I've felt anxious and moody. Or it's just me (probably). I've thought about writing, but my internship is time consuming. The drive, which is an ineffable experience, is mentally draining, and not sustainable or green, at all. It'll be ok though. At least I keep telling myself that...

It's just that kind of day...

I started this poem (see below) days ago but only wrote the draft down today. The first four lines feel right--I cannot say that for the rest of the work in progress (I guess that's why I say it's a work in progress). I'm not thrilled with this work. Some of it feels right, but overall it doesn't express what I really want. So illogical. Anyway, this day feels like the end of The Dark Night Rises except Batman doesn't come back and all hope is lost. I just want things to get better…I'm gonna go cry now…while, probably, he, in his own world, doesn't even remember me...

The truth is

I said never
but didn't really mean it.
I said ever
but I didn't really mean it either.
The truth, I wished it would be
like the movies--
I'd get out of the car
you'd see me
walk towards me
and with your arms
wrapping around me,
you'd hold me.
The reality, much simpler.
Emptiness, a fullness,
enveloped me
when I saw you
standing there
saying nothing,
except it was nice to see me.
It was still nice to see me.
Do you remember,
do you remember saying that?
I'm mad at you.
I'm mad at you
for what you did and didn't do,
for what you said and didn't say.
I told you
not to say it was nice,
not to say it was nice to see me,
not to think of me anymore.
Okay. It's clear.
I've been punished.
When he kissed me
I wished it was your kiss.
When he held my hand
I wished it was your hand.
When he brushed his fingertips
over my face-I closed my eyes
and you were there
like you never were.
He's gone now,
but you never,
never left my mind,
just like the last
sweet moment
before the end.

AAC ©2014

Another poem in progress

Why

I have nightmares when I wake up. 

My heart beats too fast my cheeks pink up I can’t breathe.

It feels just like you just left me again. 

Stupid and foolish, that's how I feel, thinking you'd want me this time. 

Sometimes I think you don't care, did you, about me.

You came back to me cobbled together, but weren’t really there.

Over and over I put myself into your life just to be pushed away and pulled back.

Unimportant I felt, though you said you changed, you made an effort, you tried.

Just be the man and honest with me with us.

I can’t not think of you in the morning first and last at night and all the time in-between.

No point in fighting to forget you; I’m strong, but I’m still just a girl stuck in love.

New Poem, work in progress: Calm Before the Storm

Calm Before the Storm

You parked your car and walked towards me for the last time

when I shivered from the air, icy, and your glare.

You, dressed in khakis and a pleather jacket,

adjusted your aviators, chrome colored, and looked down at me.

My reflection in your lenses looked small and my expression,

turned from pale and placid to blank stare.

Your eyes you repeatedly refused to reveal

cut through me when you yelled

you betrayed me, you broke my trust.

I stood there with each word stabbing me,

and I spoke nothing of value, I offered nothing but exhaustion

while, in silence, the trees dressed in green stood

and people walked by watching.

Only when you puffed up all six feet two inches of yourself—

your teeth showing, your neck erect, your shoulders broad,

your arms out, your legs stiff and feet firmly placed in the gravel,

did you feel comfortable in your skin for the first time.

For the first time you asked me if I was afraid of you.

Each word you spewed at me softened when I said no.

Your body deflated and I heard air expel from your lips,

the ones I wanted to kiss so badly before,

and with fists stuffed in your pockets,

you said see you later.

©AAC 2014

Online Dating: Worst Experience Ever

I want to preface this piece by stating I'll be taking my profiles off sites in the near future. And to my parents, for all the anger/annoyance I've caused, I'm sorry.

I've tried Okcupid. I've tried Jdate. I've tried PlentyOfFish. And I've had a horrible, and occasionally terrifying,  experience with online dating. I signed up with Okcupid (Okc) in February of 2013 one night when I was bored and couldn't fall asleep. It was fun and flattering at the beginning to receive messages from guys within thirty seconds of creating a profile. With just my photo alone I had guys proposing...haha. The first guy I met was in his mid twenties and his tag line was that he was a 'British Jew.' He was born and raised in Georgia, and had a pretty thick southern accent (ick). I hadn't realized I just met the first category of man I'd be meeting over and over: the (not too bright) liar. A few weeks later I met a guy I'd end up falling for. Again, I met the second category of common man: this is difficult for me to say...the (intelligent) mentally unstable. I should have known I was getting myself into trouble when I thought my deceased grandfather, a psychiatrist, would have found him to be fascinating and intelligent. 

Along the way, I met an engineer that wrote code and had a hair cut resembling a phallic object (you know what I'm saying), an insecure UGA grad, a pilot (that I set up with my best friend and she liked him, I knew she would), a Feeder with a fat fetish, a lawyer with a really annoying laugh, a Falafel restaurant and food truck owner, a Vanderbilt civil engineer that looked like a skinny ass chicken, an accountant that said guys don't get raped in Panama (I told him to watch Deliverance before his bro-trip), an incredibly shy in person/assertive online film guy, a dog food salesman that wouldn't call me to ask me out, and I'm forgetting the countless others. The one with the penis hair was most definitely the creepiest. He was polite enough to ask me if I'd like a ride home, but I felt it would be safer to walk myself home, in midtown, in the dark, than to get in the car with him. The award for rudest guy is split between the Falafel guy and the civil engineer. Falafel guy looked me up and down, sighed, and when the cashier asked if our Starbucks order was together, he responded with, "sort of, but not really." Civil engineer got to Starbucks early and offered to stand in line with me while I bought my drink. Civil engineer asked me out, for the record, and he was really quite skinny. I ended up going out with a talented musician for six weeks after we met a second first time. He fell asleep on the 'first date' (I don't call vodka and coke zero a date), had a habit of snorting a certain substance because, as his mother said, working over 120 hours a week isn't enough, and he was always exhausted. I ended it after continually being asked "when will you love me??" (I never intended to...) and being told he had already chosen a replacement even before he met me. Nice guys, nice guys...

Despite the bad coffee dates, many of the messages I received were quite entertaining. I took the opportunity to respond to these guys truthfully, which means I called them out on their shit. Most recently, I was named a Facebook stalker. (1) The guy messaged me his Facebook link. (2) His Okc profile stated he was single and looking for friends, dating, and sex. (3) His Facebook says he's in a relationship. (4) He's a poor bullshitter aka liar when confronted, and blocked me when I called him out! I was also accused of looking pretentious by one guy because I use "big words," to which I replied "one cannot 'look' pretentious. You either are or you're not." Let's just say he regressed and his next two messages were infantile. Clearly he doesn't handle blatant rejection well. Another guy messaged me and I found out he was expelled from high school for grand larceny at 15. When I responded with "that's a felony," he followed up with "yes but I was 15 so I'm not a felon. Do you smoke [pot]?" 

From these websites I've met guys that use substances for reasons they shouldn't, have a history of criminal activity, lie conspicuously, aren't intelligent, and most often, they tell me my expectations are too high. I've given it a lot of thought and you're probably thinking, well you're the common denominator. You're correct, but it took quite a bit of time to uncover the truth in certain instances. I guess I was too nice in a way (which if you know me sounds like the punch line of a joke). I did give certain guys second, even third, chances. I learned I'm pretty damn good at expressing myself (who knew?), I can love, I am accepting and nonjudgmental, I'm interesting, I'm intelligent, and of course my high expectations are causes of great disappointment (a different civil engineer said I was disappointing after refusing to send selfies). 

Things I say to guys:

-Don't tell me something I like (TV show, movie, music, etc.) is stupid in your initial message. It's rude and putting someone down isn't a way to get someone to like you. 

-If you preface your statement with "my my," I take it my expectations are too high for you. 

-If you don't know what a word I use means, LOOK IT UP.

-Never ask me if you can ask me a question (I delete your avatar and message from my inbox). 

-Never discuss anything sexual, it's creepy, crude, and immature. 

-Be a man and plan a date. This is where feminism has destroyed the definition of masculinity. I've come to the conclusion I'm more masculine (confrontational/courageous) than some of these men. 

At first glance, it seems I've wasted time dealing with, messaging, meeting, and talking with all these guys. It's not. It is exhausting, but like I know what type of job I don't want, I know exactly what type of guy I don't want in my life. 

Melancholy Monday

Ugh. That's right. You guessed it. Heartbreak. Cliché. I know.

It happened again, for the second time. There's one thing in this world I cannot stand: lies. Why I even write about this here, I do not know. All I can say is I'm so disappointed. The odd thing is I'm not mad at him, at all. In fact, I just feel angry, hurt, and sad. I may just have a complete book of poetry from this experience.

All I've been doing is writing; poetry on paper, on my laptop, or in my head. At least I have loved someone; I didn't get much in return, just a hint that he really cared: "You have to have loved someone in order to hate them." I guess that's as close I was ever going to get from him about how he felt towards me.

I accept people where they are, the problem was he didn't want someone to accept him, or he was just playing me the whole time. That's the sad part. Maybe one day he'll feel that I loved him, accept it or appreciate it. Everyone is worthy of someone caring about and loving them, no matter what. You can argue with me about that, but let's just agree to disagree.

I don't know how long it will take for me to get over this. It feels like it will take a lifetime.

Work in progress

Pain

I’m in the beginning of the end of being in love and pain.

Nothing else except cliché causes pain like this—

clear enough that the thinnest paper soaks it up

like invisible ink, staining nothing but scratching marks

upon my scarred soul, hiding between breathable air that’s left

and the miniature molecular structures of cellulose that house

what’s left of my faulty memory.

I think of you first when the sunshine crawls across my face

in the morning; the warmth on my skin reminds me

of what I wanted from you but will never receive.

With you, I wanted something shared,

but now with a sadness and shyness set in,

something is too sad to explain. I have heard

before I am instantly replaceable

with the smart girl with dark hair down the street

and the uncertainty of that statement as truth

is replaced with the certainty that I am

in fact replaceable. I am reminded of the first end,

the sense of loss nearly destroying me, but like the first,

a feeling of finality is missing from my experience.

I asked you if that moment at the park

in front of the trees when I saw myself

reflected in your sunglasses was goodbye.

You shrug—

unresponsive, you cannot, nor do you want,

to break us completely
I am left to assume. 

I have heard I am quick to move on, 

just not this time.

©AC 2014