DC Douchefriends

I am continually amazed at the level of douche this city produces.  Though it is apparent that no man in the tri-“state” area is eligible dating material, I occasionally think DCDs are amusing friends.  They always have amazing tales of debauchery and generally like to pay for things (plus, they are excellent material for the blog).  Time and again, however, I am proved absolutely wrong.  So DCDs let me help:

HOW TO BE A FRIEND IN 3 EASY STEPS

  1. Don’t try to sleep with me.  I don’t want to sleep with you.  We have established a friendship and I will never be hard pressed enough to want to dabble in your soon to be discovered disease-riddled past.  Not when I’m drunk, not when I’m single, not when I’m in a relationship, not when I’m at work, not when I’m out, not when I stay in, not when you’re lonely, not when I’m lonely, not when my mom is in town, not when I’m sick, definitely not when you’re sick (gross), not when your girlfriend is on a business trip, not when pigs fly, hell freezes over, etc., etc.  No.
  2. Every 20-30 minutes stop talking long enough to see whether I am still breathing.  It can be hard work taking in all that hot air that you’re spewing out.  Be kind, make sure I’m alive, and refresh my drink.
  3. When in doubt about my intentions toward you, see #1 and do #2 (especially the last part).

A note on pride

“Love has no pride.”  True statement.  Just one small, itsy bitsy, insignificant detail – it ONLY applies when both parties are in love.  When one party decides to quit it rather than hit it, then this little saying must immediately be trashed.

I was reminded of this recently while listening to stories about a girl who was dumped by her boyfriend, we’ll call her Princess.  While I feel for Princess, the insanity of her post breakup actions are degrading to the entire female population and she must be stopped.  So my heartbroken little Princess, put on your big girl panties, put DOWN the cell phone, and CLOSE facebook, cause I’m about to drop some knowledge on your pathetic ass.

True facts:

  1. Pathetic is not pretty, happiness is.  Work on it.
  2. Posting about your happiness (or sadness) on facebook is pathetic.  See #1.
  3. Emailing any of his family/friends (virtual or otherwise)/relatives/distant acquaintances is pathetic.  See #1.
  4. Having your mother email your ex, when you’re 35 (or any age for that matter) is TOTALLY pathetic.  See #1.
  5. Driving to his house in the middle of the night is pathetic.  See #1.
  6. Driving to his house in the middle of the night on Valentine’s Day is really pathetic.  See #1.
  7. Driving to his house in the middle of the night on Valentine’s Day while drunk is unbelievably pathetic.  See #1.
  8. Driving to his house in the middle of the night on Valentine’s Day while drunk and running out of gas AND broke is inexcusably pathetic.  See #1.
  9. Driving to his house in the middle of the night on Valentine’s Day while drunk and running out of gas AND broke, then demanding gas money while screaming up to him from the street is delusional.  See a therapist.

When you’re dumped, you have so little control.  You lose a huge piece of your happiness, and you’re powerless to stop it.  BUT the one thing you retain complete authority over is your pride.  So keep that misbehavin’, trash talking, alcohol guzzling, facebook posting, little fucker in check and just focus on happiness.

P.S.  My own irony is not lost on me.  I know that I wrote about facebook destroying my soul, which is not exactly material for a pride parade.  BUT the difference is I worked it out privately on here and not on facebook for him to see.  It’s not a bad thing to break down occasionally, it is a bad thing to have a break down in front of him.    Key distinction.

A new breed

While roaming free in the wild, I came upon a relatively rare breed of boy – the monogamist.  In theory, this should be every girl’s dream guy – the boy who wants to be your boyfriend, wants to introduce you to mom, and wants to stay in on a Saturday night curled up in your bed watching a movie.  Throw in a large bouquet of wild flowers in your favorite colors and this guy is adding up to be perfect.  Then on the fourth date he asks to be your boyfriend (I’m exaggerating, he actually asked if we could “update our facebook statuses” – vomit)…this is where reality pummels theory.

Four dates??? What do you know about me?  You know this tiny little slice of me that is funny and likes to wear dresses.  You probably can’t name my hometown or the location of my favorite city hideaway.  As lovely as the four dates have been, you are working with a superficial sliver of the surface.  Granted,  you picked a great sliver to know, but there is a whole world of mess and ridiculousness that you haven’t even touched. And, I won’t for a minute tolerate another relationship, where someone makes me feel bad about who I am.  It took a long time to get to this level of imperfection, and I’m going to rock it.  You better learn to love it.

So while I loved the very sweet gesture, it was actually a big, giant red flag that you don’t want to be my boyfriend, you just want to be a boyfriend.

Facebook (and social media in general) are destructive to the soul

You have to delete.  Deleting ex-boyfriends/whatevers/etc. is the only way to save your precious little soul from being attacked by relentless, unexpected tidbits of information that storm into your consciousness through the “internets.”  The bastards.

For example, you’re having a perfectly happy Friday…like a really wonderful, sun-shiney, doing no work, happy Friday.  It’s the kind of day, where worries aren’t something you can fathom and your most pressing concern is what kind of delicious treat you will have for lunch.  It’s THAT kind of luscious happiness.

Then since you aren’t really doing any work, you decide to login to facebook.  (This seems innocent enough.)  You read your emails, read everyone’s latest status updates, peruse some random photos of people you don’t know, then suddenly you can an itch.  (This is where things go wrong.)  You quietly ask yourself…I wonder what such-and-such ex is up to?  Involuntarily, your curiosity transports you to their page.  Within seconds, you are staring at the casual flirtations of some lovely new face that you have never seen before.  (This is where your day gets ruined.)

Who is this trick?  When did she show up?  Is her body as cute as her face or is this some deceptive photography?  There is only way to answer these questions.  Google.  (Damn you, google, damn you.)

So I googled.  She’s a [insert really awesome job that makes me jealous], she’s a recent addition to his life, and she’s really adorable.  A “this sucks” feeling stabs me repeatedly.  I allow myself to wallow in the fact that she’s probably effortlessly wonderful at all the things I suck at…she probably never has chipped nail polish and always has expertly applied makeup, she probably has a really clean bedroom, and can’t stand to miss a work out, she’s probably always on time, and can’t wait to get married, she probably doesn’t google/facebook stalk, she’s probably perfect and wonderful and charming…whoa.  Deep breath.  Punch self in face.  Come back to reality.

Who cares about her?  I’m pretty bad-ass myself.  So what if I can never keep my nails perfectly polished?  I’m pretty damn cute and I have great hair.  I’m not thin and I hate the gym, but I’ve lost ten pounds this month.  My room is a mess, but it’s filled with adorable dresses.  My job is amazing and every single day I get to help people and change the world (it’s a very small piece of the world…but it’s mine) and someday it will reward me handsomely.    Did I mention that I have fabulous hair?  I also have a PINK frickin cruiser bike, and I’m super witty.

So…no tears for me, no wallowing, no feeling like just because I’m not a size 2 that I’m not good enough…and no letting anyone make me feel bad about myself (especially me – preventing abuse starts at home, after all).   You know what this calls for???  Oh yeah, I’m going there…

Subject: You’re a Douchebag (DCD Trick of the Week)

Dear DC Douchebag,

Email subject lines are for the general subject of the email – they are NOT for the actual text of your email.  For example, the following is a flagrant abuse of the subject line:

Email

Now, I know this doesn’t seem like such a terrible crime (and in the grand scheme of your DCD tricks – it’s pretty low).  However, it’s a flag – a big red, DCD, waving flag that the recipient of said email is warned…they are walking in DCD territory – be alert.

This email says several special things about you, my little DCD friend:

  1. You are lazy
  2. You think you’re too important to send actual proper emails with a REAL subject, greeting, message, and closing (not that tricky, I promise)
  3. You don’t think your potential companion is important enough to even bother with an actual full email – you didn’t even write “hey” in the subject line.  C’mon boys, it’s three extra frickin letters and a tap on the return key.  (Your potential date is TOTALLY worth a tap on the return key).
  4. If this is how little effort you’re putting in at the beginning of the “relationship” – sweet Christ – imagine how terrible you will be when you actually feel comfortable!!!

So, buck up – take five extra seconds and write an actual email…OR…and I know this is going to sound crazy, but stick with me.  Why don’t you just CALL the girl???  She’ll appreciate it and you’ll avoid this doucher mistake.

Love always – your guide to living a douchebag-free life,

fanfrickingtastic

Living a douchbag-free existence requires constant vigilance…

…much to my own detriment, I forgot this rule.  More than a year ago, I met this guy and I was pretty sure I hated him.  My DCD-senses were tingling something fierce, but I figured worst case scenario he would be good blogging material.  He was.

The only reason I even entertained his foolishness last year is because I was going through a “low” period, and he smelled blood in the water.  Quickly having come to my senses, I have spent a solid year ignoring him.  However, you know life comes in waves and the past few weeks have been crashing against the rocks.  In a moment of weakness, I didn’t ignore him…stupid girl.  The convo went something like this:

Snarky shark:  Can I take you out this week?

Fanfrickingtastic:  Sure, let me check my schedule at work tomorrow.

Snarky shark:  So are you single or am I just buying you drinks to buy you drinks?

Fanfrickingtastic:  F*ck you.

Snarky shark:  Be careful or you won’t get invited on the boat.  (fft sidenote:  like I care) You should call in sick and come out on the boat (like I don’t have actual work to do).

Fanfrickingtastic:  …

Snarky shark:  You going to bring a bathing suit or just let the girls hang out?  (vomit)

Fanfrickingtastic:  Ridiculous

Snarky shark:  So what are you wearing?

End of convo.

How old am I?  15???  Are we in a yahoo chat room?  Who does this shit work on?  Seriously, this is my own damn fault.  I am embarrassed that I even allowed the conversation to get that far.

I’m going to take a shower to get this feeling of ick off me.

Waiting to want

Most of my friends in relationships want and are waiting to get engaged (and/or recently have gotten engaged – so excited for all of you). But for me, I am waiting to WANT to get engaged. Granted this is probably the result of calling off two engagements, and then promptly having my heart broken by a guy that I would have married in a heartbeat. So now, I’ve just lost all motivation for the sport, and I am content to be contractually bound to myself (and several credit card/student loan companies) only.

In theory that is good…I won’t rush into anything.

In reality this is bad…I am totally going to be that old crazy aunt to all of my friend’s children. You know the “aunt” I’m talking about – she’s not actually a blood relative. She shows up to events with two bottles of wine (one for everyone else, one for herself). She gets drunk and starts talking about inappropriate subjects regardless of who can hear. She has a string of live-ins that you can remember only through nicknames (“the one that never had a job”, “the one who is going to leave his wife,” etc.). She offers to watch your children but you fear they would end up watching her – and they would likely never fully recover from the experience. That’s going to be me.

Looking forward to it. I am available to babysit anytime.