Tantrums.

I don’t know how else to describe what I’ve been going through except a psychic tantrum on all fronts.

I feel unmoored, terrified, emboldened, devastated, excited, powerful, overwhelmed, gleeful and lost.

Yeah….

It started when Pey left town with my ex for the two-week trip they usually do each year together at the end of June.  If one week without my baby is bad, two is exponentially worse.  Simultaneous to the separation, I embarked on a six-month-long side project at work, that if I pull it off, has the potential to completely change my life forever and those of everyone I care for and love.

Additionally, I have continued to process the enormous revelations related to my childhood trauma and the hole in my heart that ceaselessly demands my attention.  Peter, The Golfer, The Vet, random dates here and there, The Neighbor, powerful articles that sear my heart; drawing boundaries and gaining clarity in my life.  This all seems to be the name of the game for my 2019.

And I am a fucking wreck.

I am smoking again, drinking in excess, not exercising, procrastinating on almost all levels, and I’m going to bed at either 8:30 or staying out way too late with anyone I can get to spend time with me.

The funniest part of all of this is that I doubt anyone would have a clue.  Nothing but Me is falling through the cracks.

Everyone at work thinks I’m doing a bang up job, Peyton adores me as always and things are better than ever, my family are proud of me, my very best and closest friends don’t hate me and continue to support me, my animals are all fat and happy and get lots of scratches and pats and even the plants aren’t dead or even wilting.

I am living in an upside down world where shit smells like roses and the pretty things make me sick.

I’ve never been a “successful” person.  I have never dated anyone who really got and understood me, loved me wholly and rooted for me in all ways.  I have never been deeply vulnerable and connected to anyone.  I have never been financially stable.  Ever.  I have never treated my body like a temple – I’ve always been more partial to a Caligula type of lifestyle.

Yet, I am in the midst of casting aside everyone in my life who treats me like I am worth about as much as a pack of bubblegum: fun to chew for a little while, but ultimately disposable.  I have distanced myself from friends who aren’t caring about my heart and time and done the same with the men.  I am listening to my inner voice for the first time in my life and embracing the awesomeness of that: I get to choose whom I share Me with.  I’m not interested in just anyone anymore.

Still, I’m horny, lonely, and terrified.  I cum each morning and then cry as I whisper to no one, “Leave marks on me.  Please.”  Who would?  I don’t know.  But I yearn for that person in all of this all the same.

I’m allowing my tantrums to play out and watching myself carefully.  Yes, I am making poor decisions, but I think what would be worse would be to beat myself up for them.  I am a steady ship – always have been – I will course correct eventually.  I just may be fat and asthmatic by the time I do, but so what.

One of the most powerful things I’ve realized this year is that seducing someone and getting something from them is not actually love, affection or validation.  It is a nutrition-less elixir that keeps me high and distant from what I need most: grounding.

I look at all of my relationships – from those that involve throbbing cocks to those that include bottles of wine and confessional hearts – and I can see how much I hold back and how impenetrable I really am.  Everyone thinks I’m so open and I still can’t understand why.  No one knows my heart; I never show it.

I’m never brave enough to draw lines and demand better and more and different.  I accept – sheepishly, gratefully – and live on emotional scraps.  I send all the wrong messages that this is ok.  But I actually want people who are as strong as me.  After all, I could handle a boundary set on me and to be asked for better, more or different from someone.  I’d jump at the opportunity to show my love and loyalty.  If a relationship crumbles because I express my needs then so be it; let it scatter in the wind.  Good riddance.

Good riddance to the men who say they want a strong and sexy woman, powerful in who she is, but when she expresses herself shut down and retreat, taking their ball with them.  Fuck the men who say all they want is casual, never showing up to see what’s beyond the playgrounds of our bodies and eliminating the joy of more.  Screw the people who are so fragile they can’t reach beyond their own fingertips to be careful with others’ tender hearts, tromping on everyone on their little private, selfish trail of tears.

I’m tired and cranky and flipping the fuck out.  Excited and enormous in my hope, equalled only by my terror to fail by not trying.

My life is waiting for me just around the corner.  I swear I can feel it.

Fuuuuck.  This is so scary.

 

 

It’s time for quiet now.

The Golfer ignored this.

Just a few things running through my mind today:

Working out for three months, moving, shopping for new furniture, my career, friends, Mens, sex and losing it, drinking, loneliness, excitement, determination, hope, warmth, longing, anger that I keep seeing my fucking ex-boyfriend everywhere I go on my apartment property, why I care that The Golfer won’t text me back and why Peter is being a dipshit, my dog might be too fat like me, how I caught two women at the party saying complimentary things about my looks so I must not be a troll, smoking again a little, the married British man trapped on a Fourth of July holiday hahaha, becoming friends with The Vet, chatting with my mom like a normal person, missing my baby who’s so far away, only one more week to go!, tomorrow is the beginning of the second half, a fresh start, that curry makes my belly ache, I can’t wait to be done with Cheers and move on to Frasier, I am both lonely and ok.

Thank you for being here with me and for me, guys. Internet Boyfriends are really the only boyfriends worth having anyway.

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It’s time for quiet now.

The Golfer ignored this.

Just a few things running through my mind today:

Working out for three months, moving, shopping for new furniture, my career, friends, Mens, sex and losing it, drinking, loneliness, excitement, determination, hope, warmth, longing, anger that I keep seeing my fucking ex-boyfriend everywhere I go on my apartment property, why I care that The Golfer won’t text me back and why Peter is being a dipshit, my dog might be too fat like me, how I caught two women at the party saying complimentary things about my looks so I must not be a troll, smoking again a little, the married British man trapped on a Fourth of July holiday hahaha, becoming friends with The Vet, chatting with my mom like a normal person, missing my baby who’s so far away, only one more week to go!, tomorrow is the beginning of the second half, a fresh start, that curry makes my belly ache, I can’t wait to be done with Cheers and move on to Frasier, I am both lonely and ok.

Thank you for being here with me and for me, guys. Internet Boyfriends are really the only boyfriends worth having anyway.

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Worth the 20 bucks.

Pooh-pooh Amazon dresses all you want, but this dress delivers.

I wore it last night for drinks with The Vet and it ended up in a pool on his bedroom floor next to his. It was like The Rapture.

We didn’t have sex – he had whiskey dick and I passed out – but apparently the dress was a good choice.

Also, The Golfer will be too busy with end of Q2 craziness for the next two weeks to see me.

But let’s get back to The Vet. Despite the naked debauchery, I think I found a friend, and that feels nice.

Now I’m going to put my phone down and rejoin the 31st birthday party I’m at.

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We’re all just here to hurt one another.

I’m in a mood.  A bad mood.

I spent another magical night with The Golfer last night – our eighth since February.  He’d texted to confirm that morning that he would be too busy to hang out and said he didn’t want to disappoint me by making plans.  Two hours later he took it all back and asked me to come over at 4.  He apologized again.

Suddenly it all made sense.  He was actually thinking of me all week, worried about letting me down.  He wasn’t being a dick; I found it a kind gesture and agreed to come over at 6.

He met me at the door with a giant, sparkly smile and wrapped his arms around me from behind and filled his hands with my breasts.  He may have nibbled on my neck.  He told me his plan to talk to me, bathe me, tease me, feed me, then fuck me and that’s just what he did.

We took a shower together then fit ourselves together like a puzzle in the Japanese soaking tub and he massaged my chest and breast bones and watched me intently as my head lolled and my eyes pinched shut from the attention.

We sucked and fiddled with each other and both came close to cumming before we remembered The Plan.  Sushi arrived, we dove in to the food, me wrapped in his monogrammed robe, and then we went at it.

I clawed and bit him as he ravaged me with his perfect cock.  He rained down blows on my ass and hips and twisted and bit my nipples until I cried.

I came so hard I hiccuped my ecstasy and when he finally came buried deep in my ass I sobbed and laughed as eveyr cell I have seemed to fuse into one giant ball of molten feels.

We took another shower and fell asleep an arms reach apart.

I didn’t sleep again.

I dreamt that Dream TG callously dismissed me the next morning with a brushing away motion of his hand as he looked at important papers.  Go, Hy.  I won’t be walking you out.  Bye.  I was devastated and humiliated.

I awoke with a headache and sense that I’d only been asleep for an hour or two.  I got some water and went back to bed and hoped we’d fuck again in the morning.  We didn’t.

He quietly got up and let his dog out and got in the shower.  I took that as my cue to leave and got dressed while he casually watched from the shower.

“Do you want me to help you with the bed?” I asked him.

“No, that’s ok,” he answered, looking me up and down with a hungry look.  That was new.  Usually it’s just a look.

“Ok.  I gotta get home to the dog.  Thanks for everything last night.”  I opened the shower door to kiss him goodbye.

“Thank you,” he replied and gave me my usual peck on the corner of my mouth.  I’d hoped using his mouthwash might encourage a real kiss, but I was wrong.

I drove home listening to Lizzo with the windows down.  The post-dawn roads mostly empty, my body and mind still.  So this is how it is.

We smoked pot and drank wine and laughed so hard I cried.  We flirted and fucked and talked about what I don’t know.  Then the sun rose and it was all over.  Poof.

And as much fun as it all was I spent a tremendous amount of time processing our interactions: why don’t we touch when we sleep?  why don’t we fuck in the morning?  why won’t he kiss me on the mouth?  why has he said stupid things to me about other women?  why don’t we see each other more often if he knows what we have is so rare?  I was completely emotionally exhausted and couldn’t wait to see Peter for our Sunday pool date, to fill up on his sweet, loving energy.

I needed a hug and I knew he’d wrap me in his arms, kiss me, tell me how much he loved hanging out with me and hang on every word I said.

Home and still warm and buzzing from TG I texted him before 8 asking if he’d like to come over around noon or 1. At 10 he texted back to say he’d just woken up, but wasn’t feeling that well.  He was hungover; he’d be over at 1.

At 1 he texted to say he was freaking out – he’d found blood when he went to the bathroom -and he was en route to an emergency clinic and he’d call me as soon as he could.  I haven’t heard from him since and am not all that surprised.

I also don’t believe any of it.

I think he’s hungover and wanted to hang out with his new lady and I couldn’t quite argue against blood in his urine, now could I?  Short of emergency surgery or death, there’s no reason he couldn’t text me an update or answer any of my worried follow up texts.  None.

But the point is: I don’t trust him.  And if I’m honest, I don’t trust anyone.

People are dangerous, men even more so: they take and use and discard.  They’re precious and weak.  They’re selfish, unenlightened, and fragile.  And I bear it all like blisters on my skin, suffering, but still able to function and hike the mountain.

The Vet answered some recent veterinarian questions for me the other day and we briefly caught up.  I called him on his offer to be friends, but I know that was just bullshit.  He’s done nothing to foster a friendship since he said that’s what he wanted.  And despite saying he couldn’t handle even something casual I can see his online activity in search of such a thing.

My loneliness hit a peak as I sat on my couch, my makeup recently touched up for Peter’s imminent arrival, and my child’s absence palpable.  I put my head in my hands and cried.  Why does no one want me?  Why am I so bad at this??

Then I thought of the wife of the married man I’m talking to and how she thinks her life is perfect.  She thinks she has a loving and devoted husband – and she does – but he is also duplicitous and conniving.  She would be obliterated with the knowledge of what her husband does for his survival.  She’s “got someone” and it’s about the cruelest kind of fantasy one can have.

And I thought of the friend with a lifelong partner who’s a raging alcoholic who’s nearly lost his job because of it and only miraculously not killed anyone when he’s wrecked his car during blackouts.

And of the friend who’s cheated on her husband over the years as she’s dealt with his neglect and battled her depression and sense of unworthiness.

And of the friend whose baby daddy comes and goes as he pleases and isn’t reliable.

They’ve all “got someone” and I wouldn’t want what they have just so I wasn’t so alone on a sunny Sunday afternoon in June.  But I’m still sad.  I’m still lonely.

I swiped a thousand times on my reloaded dating apps and lazily browsed through Instagram when I came across this:

View this post on Instagram

 

I have such a crush on this guy. He repeatedly shows me how big his heart is and that it’s the little things that make up the best part of a relationship. After replacing my license plate covers at 5:30 in the morning because I forgot to the night before a road trip, and then setting out a beer in ice for when I returned from said road trip after being stuck for HOURS without snacks and a bathroom break (and not letting me enter till I had a few sips to relax), I’m reminded how lucky I am to have him as my sidekick through this life. He constantly makes me want to be a better version of myself and to continue to grow in love, patience and kindness ❤️ now I just gotta find some creative ways to repay him 😉

A post shared by Becca Kufrin (@bkoof) on

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  Everything this reality tv star wrote is what I have longed for my entire life: to be seen.

I’ve never had a boyfriend or husband do anything remotely close to this.  I’m so starved for attention that when anyone does the absolute minimum that would constitute human decency I feel softened from the inside out.  It’s nothing short of pitiful.

I haven’t lost sight of my two big epiphanies, either: I have long entangled getting something from a man with him loving me; I do things for others in order to make myself feel special to them – they don’t make me feel special to them.

These broken survival skills are most obvious in my dating life, but easily apply to my life in general.  I don’t feel seen by my friends, either.  They overlook me and fit me in when convenient, even when I’m explicit in my need for help or caring.

It’s like we’re all just here to hurt one another.  Take one look at the news and it’s confirmed: babies crammed in rooms with no beds, separated from their families, my rights to my body being stolen away, one state at a time, more assault victims being panned and crucified.

And in my pocket, my little corner of the world, wives are being lied to, burdened and hurt, men are stifled and stunted.  I’m constantly being slighted and cast aside.

I’ve come at it from every angle.  Caring, not caring, hard, soft, all ages, all attractiveness levels.  I’ve abstained, I’ve indulged.  I’ve paid for dating services and done all the free ones, I’ve done nothing, too.  I’ve been Me across the board and all I feel I have elicited is an erasure of myself.

No matter how hard I try to draw the outlines of myself to the world I seem to remain hidden.  Except here.  Here I am seen, here I am real, here I am heard.

I’ve never needed Hy more.  I’ve also never needed someone more.  Looks like it’s gonna have to be me…

 

 

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A quiet night.

It’s only Wednesday and I’m exhausted.

I’m meeting a married man at 8 am for coffee.

I have no plans this weekend. With anyone.

The Vet texted me this morning and we had another inane, short chat.

I’m still angry at the 20 lbs I’ve gained since 2015. Wtf.

Im sipping white wine and watching the third season of Black Mirror and am terrified.

I wish I was obsessed with something that hid me from the rest of the world. Like golf.

The pic from Saturday night that never saw the light of day.

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You teach people how to treat you.

Peter and I met today at a little pizza house down the street from my office. I kicked off my Calvin Klein pumps for my battered Chucks and walked under rain-heavy clouds, my laptop in my tote. I was immersed in my work and a glass of white wine when he arrived all long legs, lean hips and a shy smile.

He looked worried which kept me rooted to my seat. What was he here to tell me? Were we going to say goodbye? I wasn’t sure what would happen; I have no experience telling people they can’t treat me a certain way.

We made pleasantries and I marveled at his dashing good looks. “So, why did you want to meet besides showing off how pretty you are?” I said breaking the ice, smiling slyly.

He made a coiffing motion with his hand and smiled back, laughing.

He explained the circumstances that prevented him from coming over Sunday and apologized again for hurting me. “You deserve to hear from me in person and not over text,” he said. He’s disoriented and lost since ending his relationship last month and he’s been couch surfing. He’s also somehow already gotten entangled with another woman who wants him to move in with her. He looked hurt as he told me.

“I don’t want to repeat my past,” he said. “But she seems to think we’re a thing and it’s not what I want.” I did a little probing and discovered she’s a woman I noticed on his Instagram despite no social media trail I could see. (“I’m psychic,” I told him.)

“Get out, Peter, you can’t keep staying there with her. You don’t seem to realize your effect on women. You are so pretty and so kind and so sweet and we are all so horribly treated that just the most minimal humanity shown us is seen as interest or intention to commit. You need to be sensitive to this about you and be responsible for it. Get the fuck out of there before you hurt her.”

“This is why I love talking to you,” he said. “You’re so mature and respectful and straight forward. I believe everything you say.”

“We’ve known each other for years now and I care about you. C’mere.” I moved my purse and patted the seat next to me. He moved closer and we embraced. I nibbled on his lips and he stroked my hair and back.

I told him about The Golfer and The Vet and how his flakiness has been coinciding with their whatever; I wanted to show him what a woman typically deals with.

“All my friends who date experience similar things: men are fucking awful to us. Please, you can stay with me when Pey is gone, sleep on that bed, you don’t have to share mine. We’ll get high and watch cooking shows and I’ll play with your penis.” I pulled him down to my lips again as I laughed. “It’ll be like a slumber party!”

He laughed into my kiss. “Thank you, and I may…” he hesitated. “It’s just I’m never jealous of you and all the men you go out with, but I’m jealous of her.”

“That’s your gut telling you to get the fuck out. You have got to end it now before you hurt her more. Look at these men I’ve been dealing with: yeah, it hasn’t been awesome for me, but they’re being honest and setting boundaries. They’re not interested in a relationship with me and they’re being very clear; I’m free to leave if I wish. You need boundaries.

“I was in a 3-year long relationship with someone who loved all I offered him, but didn’t really want me and it was devastating. Don’t do that.”

“I heard that “you teach people how to treat you,'” he replied.

“Yes, exactly. That’s why I called you out yesterday for hurting me and why I called The Golfer out for ignoring me for 3 weeks. If I decide to accept less than I deserve or want it’s on me, but I have to set the boundaries. We all do.”

I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a losing campaign with Peter. He’s catnip to women and he doesn’t know how to be on his own. I don’t know why I care, but I do. I just really don’t want to see him ‘shipped up so soon.

I also feel something – that this one-month chick is being so damn nutty and capturing his attention and being rewarded – What about me?? Why is her fucking ridiculous behavior attractive?? Am I chopped liver? It kinda sorta feels like it. I’m in the Sex Silo, but not the Girlfriend one. Maybe if I were clingy and inappropriate I’d have a boyfriend by now, maybe Peter would want me – except I don’t want Peter, he lies. It’s all so fucking fucked up. I’m fucked up.

But whatever.

I “taught him” not to treat me like that and I was rewarded with a warm smile and a kiss of friendship. It wasn’t half bad. And hopefully I’ve spared some idiot chick years worth of heartache loving a man who was “too nice” to hurt her to her face and instead cheats on her for relief behind her back.

I paid for my glass of wine and he walked me out. A line of cars on the street waited for the light to turn green as we kissed on the sidewalk in front of them; I cupped his buns and pulled him closer and we smiled into our kiss at the little show we were giving. I walked back to my office and the clouds let loose little kisses of rain along the way.

I’ll see Peter again soon.

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I’m, like, over everyone.

I’ve been in California with Peyton since Thursday night watching my sister’s three kids and their new 9 month old rescue dog. If there’s one thing I’ve [re]learned about myself it’s that I’m mother fucking amazing.

I gave up 3 days of income to do this and went full throttle with all the kids. I hit all the school pick ups, all the dietary needs, all the bathing, curls-combing, dog-training, basketball playing, refereeing, loving, cuddling, book reading, cooking, bed-making, and kitchen cleaning with almost no guidance whatsoever.

My sister kept texting me from NY with little things to do, but I was already on top of it. “I’ve got this,” I texted more than once.

Twice I had to say, “No, I’ll do it my way and however I can manage it,” but largely I did it the way the two of them would with only 3 kids in tow. No, dear sister, I will not walk the dog with 3 children while the 4th is at swim practice because that’s what her husband does.

This is the kind of sister I am. The kind of person and woman: someone needs me and I show the fuck up 100%.

I remember the night I moved out of my house in December 2010. I was devastated and terrified and so I’d made arrangements for my best friend to stay the night with me. She bailed hours before because she hadn’t spent that much time with her husband that week.

I remember the night I was heartbroken and bereft about The Neighbor and I asked another best friend if I could come over and talk, I’d bring the wine. She said she wasn’t drinking during the week anymore, so no, I couldn’t.

I remember telling my group of friends in February, emotional and through tears, about this blog and my trip to London and what a huge deal all this was and how scared I was to share it with them and then they never even asked me about my trip, let alone said anything about my writing.

I used to show up for all of these people like I did this weekend for my sister, but I don’t anymore. I kind of just hang back in the periphery. I reserve my efforts for my family, but it hurts. I can’t help but wonder if they even love me*.

I’ve syphoned off a lot of my giving nature in the form of sexual contact with men over the years – they’ll appreciate my efforts, right?? – but looking back at the data they’ve all just been opportunistic and not really all that interested in me either.

I still haven’t heard from anyone in 8+ days. Not Peter, not The Golfer, and not not surprisingly, The Vet. I matched with an interesting prospect on OKC last night and I quickly lost interest in the conversation when he only responded to my questions and never asked me one fucking thing in 6 messages, save for my thoughts on fucking crawfish.

I don’t give a fuck about crawfish.

I’m beginning to feel more and more panicky about my future. No one is remotely treating me humanely. I’m an afterthought, a good time when convenient and when horny. Necessary in a pinch, but not worth any effort.

I’ll end this with a non-sequitur: my new love is white Bordeaux.

Are these marks on my bottom imperfections or just the truth?

 

*This isn’t some passive aggressive message to my friends. The one who bailed on me that first night away from home knows how I feel. We had our only big rift because of that night and we made it though to the other side [mostly] intact, albeit altered. The others, the ones who encouraged me to share the URL for my blog with them, I truly believe they haven’t read me and really don’t care to. Not in a malicious way, just lack of interest way. I must not have made it clear what a big deal it was to share this with them and that I wanted their feedback.

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I’m not interested.

Fuck ’em.

This past week was a great big, fat downer in my World o’ Mens.  I summed it up in my last Instagram post:

Let me tell you about the last week of my life in relation to men. On Monday The Golfer ignored my text about our previous night (blog post; link in profile). On Wednesday he told me he’d “let me know” about getting together this weekend. Meanwhile, The Vet and I made and confirmed plans for Sunday afternoon – day drinking, bike riding, pool, dinner, and banging – and we texted a little every day. Peter asked to see me Friday, but I had my kid. Saturday I texted TG a sexy pic and said to “Win golf!” He ignored the pic and said he was losing. He never did get back to me about seeing each other. I deleted our thread, but he’s programmed in my phone. Then at 10 am Sunday The Vet texted to say he’d had dinner with his exgf the night before – and while they didn’t talk about reuniting – he realized he couldn’t even handle something casual so he same-day cancelled on me. I told him to hit me up when the timing was right for him, then deleted the thread without ever programming in his number. I actually don’t give a shit about a jerk who can’t handle himself. I’ll never hear from him again. I texted Peter hoping he could pinch hit, but he never replied. I figured he was dead, but he texted yesterday, Monday, to say he’d been camping. I invited him over, but he was busy, so he suggested he could come over tonight. I gladly accepted his offer. This morning he texted me how excited he was to see me and then at 4, two hours before we were to get together, he texts that he’s “in a mood” and needs to reschedule. I told him it’ll be a couple of weeks and I’ll let him know, but the truth is I won’t. I deleted his thread, too. If he texts me, great, but I’m not chasing anyone down. So then I reopened all my dating apps and got to swiping only to run into my ex, TN, and two old lovers. Time for a new batch, I suppose; hopefully with men who respect me, my time, and my little broken heart. 💔

So I’m currently just gonna chill and not reach out to anyone.  It just doesn’t seem right.

And I was wrong about The Vet; he texted me yesterday.  An image of the back of his cat’s head looking out over the river from his balcony with the caption “Chillin’ with my villain.”  I responded with “Dragon kitty!” and he lol’d.  That was it.  Not sure what the fuck he wanted [from me].

I ended up grabbing a drink with another fella named Peter (Peter 2.0) the night Peter late-cancelled, but I didn’t feel a thing other than total wonderment that he asked me so many questions about my life; deep, meaningful questions.  He lost me when he said people have described him as Eeyore… this Tigger doesn’t have time for a project like that.

I suspect Peter thinks I’m pissed so he’s avoiding me.

And The Golfer… I don’t even know what to say about that dude.  I haven’t heard boo from him.  I’m just trying to get to California with my kid despite cancelled flights and thunderstorms.  I don’t have time for any of this bullshit.

Oh!  And I almost forgot!  Remember “Early Afternoon Lunch” guy??    He was this guy back in February that I chatted with a bunch for about two weeks. I gave him my Saturday night on a custody weekend (those are extra precious to me) and then that morning he texted simply, “Early afternoon lunch.”  Uh….

I didn’t appreciate the downgrade to a fucking brunch so I asked for clarification.  I never heard from him again… until yesterday when I noticed he’d liked me on OKC so I swiped right, too, to see what the fuck he wanted.  The chat went like this:

Him: Hey Hyacinth

Me: Hey Early Afternoon Lunch Guy

H: How you been?

M: Good, you?

H: I’m off today
M: Ah. Good for you. So what’s up? Do you remember me? We met on The League, texted for a couple of weeks, set a date for a Saturday night then that morning you switched it up to a “late breakfast” then never texted me again when I tried to clarify what was going on.
H: I apologize about that. I wasn’t quite ready to get back into dating, and I should’ve told you
M: Yeah, you should’ve. It was super inconsiderate of you, particularly since all you had to do was tell me how you were feeling. I’d have still been bent out of shape about the late cancellation, but it’d have been better than ghosting on me like that. I lost a whole night of *something* because of that since I couldn’t scrounge up anything to do on such short notice. Not to mention being treated like that didn’t feel all that great.
H: I understand and you’re right. I’m sorry I was so inconsiderate
M: Thank you

H: No problem

Should I leave you alone?
M: Lemme think on it
H: That’s fair. Lemmeno
M: Sure. I need to know – from you – why I should let you back in
H: I’ve been working on myself the last few months. Trying to get to a better place mentally and financially. I feel I’m getting there…not fully realized yet, but I’m doing the work and going in the right direction
M: Do you want to get to know me? Will you not pull that shit on me again?
H: Yes. On both accounts
M: I gotta say I’m a little underwhelmed by your answers! I mean, I was at least hoping for something about how awesome I am and how you regretted fucking shit up before because of said awesomeness 💁🏼‍♀️
Well, I’m sorry but I was with my son yesterday afternoon and wasn’t able to expand appropriately
Just another way of saying, “I’m sorry you’re such a bitch for being unimpressed with my lukewarm and apathetic responses, but I was with my son and how dare you expect more of me even though you had absolutely no way of knowing I was with a child under 5 all day to the extent that I couldn’t possibly give you the attention you deserve and which you so graciously gave me the opportunity to give.. twice.”
I wanted to write back, “I’m sorry you’re such an idiot Man Baby.”  But I didn’t; I have nothing to say.
I’m so fucking done with men who leave me to do all the emotional lifting.  Fucking done.  Where are the adults who say “I’m sorry I can’t do what I promised, but how about [this alternative that lets you know I think you’re important and worthy of respect]”?  Or, “God, Hy, I’m so sorry for being a twat.  You really didn’t deserve that and I’d really love the chance to start over with you.”  Or, “Hy, I’m really sorry for not getting back to you; I won’t do that again.”
The thing is, these men are adults and I’m just not that important to them or their lives are a mess or they’re stunted or they’re whatever, and that’s the real message.  They don’t seem willing or able to communicate that to me with anything other than neglect. 
So, ok.  I hear y’all.  I’m not the woman for you, but mostly, you’re not the man for me.
[Ed. Note: Peter is lumped in here mostly due to proximity to all the douche-baggery I’ve experienced this week.  He’s a different bean on the scale and I hope we can get back on track soon.  I genuinely care about him.  But I meant what I said: he’ll have to reach out to me.  I can only make everyone else’s life so easy before I just call myself a doormat with a pussy.]

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Friday, May 24th, is Boobday!

I am suuuuper pumped about Every Damn Day in June! Don’t ask me why, I guess I just love a good excuse to write every day and to give others the same opportunity.

My accountant emailed me today to tell me he missed something on my 2016 return and I’ll be getting nearly $2500 back! Something to do with the Healthcare Marketplace. I’m kinda still in disbelief, to be honest, but I’ll take it! Mama could use the extra cash!

I still haven’t heard back from The Golfer, but I am way beyond worrying about it. The Vet and I are chatting about our Sunday and I’m looking forward to seeing him.

Happy Boobday, y’all! I forgot to include Anonymous Aussie last week, so she’s gracing us with her lovely titties this week.

If I ever don’t post your pic it’s either because it went to spam or I misplaced it. I don’t make judgment calls as to who gets posted; everyone is welcome here!

[Ed. Note: And forgive any formatting issues: I did this all on my phone.]

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

This got The Golfer excited last Sunday.

NOT my tits:

Miss B shares more of her gorgeous lingerie.

This bra is not hand-made, but has the look and feel of hand-made; fits the breasts “just right”. 

::

@rhubarbginn kills it with her very first Boobday pic!!

When I took this picture I’d had a bad day at work but it made me feel good about myself. I like the softness and curve of my tits and my little belly.

::

My beautiful sister from Down Under, Anonymous Aussie!

Weather is cooling down under, with winter just around the corner, can’t resist snuggling up under the covers! 

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