This one is for you May 15, 2008

I was an obnoxious child. The kind of obnoxious, where you wonder why the parents don’t beat it out of the kid. At least that’s what I thought as my mother tortured me with home videos this weekend, and I was forced to endure hours of my whiney, bratty childhood self. On the obnoxious front, some things don’t change. I still have my shining moments. However, the difference between now and then is that now I understand how deeply words can stab.   I regret the years where I didn’t know this painful lesson, and I apologize to the one I hurt most.

Dear Godfather,

You left seventeen years ago, but I still think of you everyday. I wish that you could have lived for a just a few more years. You could have seen this changed world and known that you weren’t alone in your pain. I wish I wouldn’t have been so young and blind to your suffering. But I hope you can hear me now…

I hope my vicious, thoughtless words didn’t make you leave…I didn’t understand them, let alone mean them.

I hope you felt the love that I was too childish to express.

I hope our family’s version of right and wrong no longer burdens your soul.  You were right.

I hope you are the star that you always wanted to be (and always were in my eyes).

I hope you can finally see your own beauty.

I hope you know the magical love that escaped you on earth.

When you left, part of me died with you. But at the same time, I know it’s because of you that I won’t settle for anything less than the amazing love you always dreamed of. Being loved and loving wholly is a gift that I promise not to take for granted. When I finally find that kind of love and he gets me to settle down (I swear I’ll go through with it when it’s right), we’ll dance at our wedding (at sunset on the beach in a land far, far away) to your favorite song.

Do you remember that beauty pageant my mom made me do when I was in second grade? During the interview portion of the pageant, I was asked, “Who is your favorite person?” I looked out into the audience and felt overwhelming panic. My mom, dad, siblings, grandparents, etc. were all in the audience. How could I possibly pick one person and not hurt everyone else?  [I was also a very narcissistic child]  So, what did I say? I said my cat. That’s right, I said my stupid cat…who by the way is NOT a person. Well, I lied. I hated that cat. You were my favorite person. You always were and always will be.  So I hope you will please forgive any cruel words I spoke that may have made you think otherwise.

I love you best of all.

All my love forever,

Fanfrickingtastic

A Suede-free Affair May 13, 2008

Glory, glory…date number two was suedeless, fuedeless, and spectacular.  He opted for preppy attire, which I’ll take without complaint [He's a crazy fighter, so he still managed to look toughish].  I continued my reign of door-free, check-free-ness [Love this gentleman bit, it's fascinating].  He listened to the music I sent him, loved it, AND then wanted to discuss it [um...shocking].  We had a ten minute discussion on the genius that is the Starbucks coffee mug collection [They could not dream up a more perfectly shaped/sized cup...it's heavenly].  Now, my gmail inbox is filled with classical music and my calendar is filled with two more dates.

Just one small problem, cause what would be the point of this blog if I didn’t have a problem…the sweeter he was the faster I started stacking fortress walls.  I am officially headed toward shut down city.  Four dates in two weeks…too much [and one small slip, where he said we're never having children after we discovered some shared devilish, genetic trait...we're???  Ruuuuunnnnnn!!!!!!].  I am the reason why girls get a bad name.  Guys can’t win for freaking losing on this blog.

I need to throw in some extra douchebag dates, so that I can remember to breathe easy and be thankful.  I advise myself to chill.

Well played, Universe, well played. May 8, 2008

Fantastically bad shirt. I mean really just horrifically awful. It was black, it was a bit too big, it was entirely unbuttoned…oh yeah, and it was SUEDE. Correction, it was fuede, faux suede. Other than that glaring act of misguided shirt selection, it was a perfect date.

Delicious wine (he traded wine with me, because my first choice was less than delicious). Perfect warm weather with a slight spring breeze. Endless, easy conversation. Laughter, and smiles, and giggles (from me…thank god, he did no giggling). Lots of questions about me (loooove talking about me). Lots of talk about his music (super sexy…“hey jude” is just around the corner, I can feel it). Scheduled second date approximately 3/4 of the way through the first date. Exactly one compliment about my “seriously beautiful” eyes. Exactly one compliment about how refreshing the date has been. Never touched a door knob or a check. Night was sealed with a kiss…on the cheek. Perfection.

Will it lead anywhere? Who knows?! I don’t know and I don’t care. It was just nice…and for the moment that’s all I need.

Dating, schmating… May 6, 2008

Nothing can make you miss an ex-boyfriend faster, than knowing what’s out there on the dating scene. Suddenly, the questionably “little” flaws of an Ex seem downright stellar.

• You drank 9 days a week??? Fabulous, Ex-boyfriend, you’re really committed to your hobbies.
• You failed to mention your lovely wife and children??? Oh, Ex-boyfriend, I’m sorry. Since when is being slightly forgetful such a big flaw?! Never.
• You lied as often as you opened your mouth??? What lies? Ex-boyfriend, you’re just a creative story teller (and you are soooo right, your secretary’s baby looks nothing like you. She’s the liar! Obviously).

The dating world cannot possibly be that bad that anyone would miss an ex-boyfriend of the above caliber. Au contraire, dear reader, it is. It sadly, sadly is.

I’ve had several dates in the last two weeks with men of extremely varying qualities. Yet, somehow, one theme runs through them all. Eventhough I am dressed for these dates in really adorable and modest business attire (love post-work happy hour dates!), I still consistently feel like I am wearing a sign that says “fresh meat.” It’s as if they are only entertaining my hilarious stories long enough to get 3+ glasses of wine in me so that they can suggest, we go “watch a movie at their [shockingly, conveniently located] apartment.” No thanks, losers. I much prefer stumbling home to my roommie, so that we can laugh [and sometimes cry] about how lame men are.

So, Universe, I’m just going to put this out there. Is it possible to go a date with a guy who might actually just appreciate me without “trying to watch a movie with me” on the first night? Any chance that there is a guy out there who might just walk me home to my door and leave happily with only a kiss? Any chance that you could send him in a hurry? [That last request was just plain greedy...I'll take him any time. Well, since I'm being greedy, if he would also sing to me that would be AWESOME. I'll put in my request for "Hey Jude" now so that he can learn the lyrics.] Many thanks, Universe!

Love you lots,

Fanfrickingtastic

Made of Bullshit May 3, 2008

There are only two worthwhile reasons to see Made of Honor:

1. Patrick Dempsey, AND…
2. Patrick Dempsey

The rest of the movie could quite easily be described as fantastical. How so? It’s not intended to be a fairy tale, but when you see a man sacrifice everything (including his pride) to be with a woman, you have to wonder what dream world you have entered. This is just not reality, at least not any reality I have ever experienced.

I am sure my past boyfriends, think they have sacrificed for me. I have put them through some serious stabbing-eyeball-with-pencil situations. For example, my sister’s three hour dance recital…or a road trip with my mother…or moving into my new apartment on the 6th floor with no elevator AND a whole lot of shoes. However, these are not sacrifices. These are examples of simply being in a relationship, they are just things you do (and you hopefully keep the bitching to a minimum)…I suffer your mother, so let’s call it fair. [Note: not all mothers, the more recent ex-mothers have been completely lovely - your sons are a different f'in story]

A sacrifice is quite different, and something I have not experienced. I have never had a man debate, whether he should consider moving to be in the city that I love. I have never had a man wonder whether his career choices matched with “our” dreams for the future. Hell, I’ve never had him consider me in his career choices at all. In fact, I sacrifice even when they are in the wrong (like driving to where they live so they can apologize to me). Sweet, mary mother of god…what was I thinking?

So guess what boys? I’m done giving. Thanks to this stupid, piece of crap movie…I’m out. No more trips, no more time, no more spending, no more picking you up when you fall, no more shower/car/wherever special treats…no more, no more, no more. I’m spent, and I’ve got not more to give. The sacrifice-ship ends here.

If you’re wondering who to blame, follow Michael Jackson’s advice and start with the (lame ass) man in the mirror.

OH and ladies, if you have any inclination toward chick flicks (which I most certainly do), let me save you some cash…skip this one.

Cigarettes and bicycles May 1, 2008

I always wanted to be a smoker. Smoking is the single easiest way to meet people. However, I have to be honest with myself. I am by no means cool enough to be a smoker.

1. I don’t have the all so critical smoker’s voice.
2. I don’t have the wardrobe…I heart dresses and pearls and all things pink.
3. I love to smell pretty.
4. I’ve got too many addictions already…dresses, pink things, flats, heels, mac and cheese, your mom, boys, the list of addictions go on and on.
5. I have an aversion to small, tiny dicks sticks anywhere near my mouth.

In short, I look like a total poser…so no easily attainable cigarette friends for me…boooo.

However, I have good news for all of you non-smoking friend wanna-makers! I have discovered a more powerful friend attracter than any cigarette on the planet. Over the course of a year, it is cheaper than smoking. It is healthier for you and those around you. AND best of all, it’s pink!

EVERYONE LOVES A GIRL ON A PINK CRUISER.

Men, women, children…especially men…can’t help but chat you up when you’re cruising around town on a retro pink cruiser. So I highly suggest that if you live in some city other than DC that you rush right out and purchase a pink cruiser. If you live in DC, you better back the F#$K off this is my pink cruiser territory and I will take you out.

Hugs and Kisses,

Fanfrickingtastic

Oops…rare apology to an ex April 25, 2008

“You’re one of those guys. Those guys who say and do whatever feels easiest at the time to get what they want without regard for how it affects anyone else. Those guys that you hate, because they should be caged and never allowed near women. Well, don’t kid yourself, you are one of them.” - Me to anonymous Ex

I let him have it. A switch in my brain flipped, and there was no stopping me from saying what I knew would hurt him most…and I truly believed it. He was one of those guys. I couldn’t think of any other explanation for his behavior. He loves me. He loves me. He’s not sure. He doesn’t love me. He loves me. He loves me. He’s not sure. Insert a few cross country trips into that sentence and you start to form a clear picture of why the above conversation took place.

So why apologize? Because I’ve been reading some DC Douchebag blogs lately. Here’s a sample from my favorite DC Douchebag, Roissy in DC:

No matter how badly the first date went and how much she doesn’t want to hear from you, if you don’t call a girl for a second date it will leave her confused and less full of herself. You will have lowered her self-esteem and made it easier for the next man to nut inside her. The good karma this selfless act generates will return to you a hundred easy first dates that end the next morning.

———–

I challenge my male readers — particularly my beta readers — who have girlfriends to an asshole experiment. When your GF makes you genuinely angry I want you to yell at her “SHUT THE FUCK UP”. Credibility will be added if you do it in public. This will be tough for you to do, but my presence will be with you, like the unholy spirit. Visualize your balls physically growing larger when she says something that pisses you off…I believe some of you will become intoxicated by the power of asshole.

After reading these…and there are many more from many more male bloggers in DC, I knew my “one of those guys” tirade to anonymous ex was completely misguided.

So anonymous ex, I’m sorry. You are not one of those guys. You aren’t even a B Team bench warmer.

Maybe that last post came off as mean… April 18, 2008

but let me fill you in on some details about Fiance #1 and why no one should feel bad about the spec staring and subsequent wedding calling offing.  The universe was speaking for a good god damn reason.

1. He was never, ever…not one time…sober in front of my extended family.
2. He was never, ever…not one time…sober for an entire weekend.
3. A night of drinking = Half a case of beer.  Minimum.  A full case is always preferable.
4. My friends???  Why would we ever want to hang out with them?  Do they have beer? No?  Well that settles that.
5. He thought I wanted to marry him so that I could get pregnant and have his drunk, devil children.  Ha!  No f’in thanks.
6. After I broke up with him, he wouldn’t quit my family.  He came to Christmas, he came to funerals, and he continues to bring his NEW girlfriend (read not as cute/smart version of me) to MY house to hang out with MY parents.
7. His apartment was in between a gas station, a bar, and a generic grocery store…he considered it the perfect man trifecta.
8. He chewed snuff.

That was pretty much all I needed to peace out.  It’s not mean, when the story is either funny or true.  With my ex boyfriends, it’s usually a very sad, pathetic mix of the two.

On this day: four years ago April 16, 2008

Most of the US is mourning tax day, but not me.  For me, this is the anniversary of the day i realized the universe was much smarter than me, and I needed to shut up and listen.   I’ll give you the bullet points from the day:

• Got engaged to not-quite-love-of-my-life, but he was a seriously long term boyfriend…engagement after five years of dating seems reasonable enough (a fairly good start to the day)
• Drank champagne in celebration (bubbly deliciousness in cute champagne flutes - even better day)
• Grandfather died (Universe Calling - Ring, ring….)
• Happy/sad tearful phone calls (serious downer)
• Freshly minted fiance slices finger while washing cute champagne flutes, requires ER visit and six stitches (Hello, fanfrickingtastic, it’s the Universe - Ring, ring…)
• While waiting in ER, notice tiny spec in the diamond…think to self that tiny spec is similarly reflected in heart.  Awkward pause in mental capacity.  Laugh to self.  Bury terrible thought that I am not truly in love.   Begin planning wedding favors in head.  (Wham!  Idiot!  This is the Universe, this is also strike three…this sham wedding ain’t gonna happen.)

After five months of wedding planning and tiny-spec-in-diamond staring, I finally built up the courage to tell my mother that I was calling the whole thing off.  I decided to wait until she was really happy to tell her.  To this day, she can’t go to the county fair without reminding me how I ruined her day at the fair four years ago.  Blah, blah.  I would feel bad about ruining her day, but this is the same woman that suggested I should just get pregnant and that would somehow solve all of my relationship worries.  Mental illness can be scary.  (Love you, mom!)

Moral of the story:  When the Universe comes calling, listen.  A death, a cut, a spec.  Thank you, Universe.

Secret Agent Man - the Return of the DCD April 13, 2008

So a scary stranger sitting by himself asked me to watch his bag (because it’s “extremely important”), which I guess was an okay way for him to butt himself into my girlfriend giggle-fest at our local slow jam, dive bar. I looked down at the “extremely important” black bookbag beside my feet, nodded slowly wondering to myself if it was bomb-filled (I’m a very trusting soul). Moments later, to thank me for the strenuous task of bag watching, he bought us a round of rum punch drinks (naaaaasty). I half turned toward him and said thanks. At this point in the story, I should have quickly half turned my ass right back and allowed the story to end. But he tricked me…

Just as I was saying thanks for the drink, he interjected that the contents of the bag were very valuable. Curiosity killed the cat, but I found myself watching with sincere interest as he started to unzip the bag and blabbered on about working for an environmental organization. What did he pull out of the bag? Tightly wrapped packs of $100 bills? Tightly wrapped packs of cocaine? Tightly wrapped packs of neatly dissected human body parts? No, no, nothing that exciting. He pulled out a poorly organized manilla envelope of boring ass papers. He even let me read them…ooooh….computers blah, blah…zzzz. I mean, come on, are you seriously trying to seduce me with “top secret” environmental docs about computers? I have bad news, buddy, you aren’t the FBI or the CIA…hell, my diary is more top secret than those docs.

Okay, now that you have read this, you are under a duty to call the police if I go missing. I love my life and kind of don’t want to lose it at the hands of an environmental thug. I’ll leave his business card in my apartment, just direct the police here.