“The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson just hit my ITunes. I like this song. Nope, correction, I used to like this song. You know how you associate songs with certain people, and then you just can’t listen to them anymore? I did that with this lovely little ditty. Except I have dedicated “The Way I Am” to about 17 guys in my head.

So I guess it’s more the feeling associated with it that bothers me. The play count is at 293. That’s a lot of fucking plays, and that doesn’t even count the times I stopped it in the middle just because I wanted to go back and replay it four more times.

Which gets me thinking…Christ, how many times can I have legitimately believed I was falling for someone? 293, apparently. To tell the truth, falling for someone feels the exact same, every single time. You get giggly around them. You get antsy when they haven’t called, and then can’t hide your annoying smile when their number finally pops up. You don’t eat because joy and snuggles are fulfilling enough, and no one likes you anymore. At least I don’t like you anymore.

And to tell the truth, it all ends the same way, and if you are a serial dater, 99.8% of them will end the same way. In tears. And if not in tears, in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s mixed intermittently with shots of vodka. So how, how, how is it that I have not learned yet? I don’t mean hole myself up in my apartment and avoid eye contact with all potential suitors. I mean how is it I have not learned to keep my feet on the ground, and to not blast Ingrid Michaelson whilst thinking of what our children will look like? Is someone secretly erasing my memory after every goddamn relationship?

I’ve heard of loving like you’ve never been hurt, but come on, that’s ridiculous. Why would you take all of your experiences and shove them out of your mind just so you can date with all the wisdom of a libidinous sixteen year old? There’s a reason no one wanted to sit with you at lunch in high school, by the way. That’s terrible advice, loving like you’ve never been hurt.

Especially cause it’s not advice. It’s what I stupidly do every single time anyways. It’s like telling me to drink like I’ve never thrown up; It’s a bad idea that I already planned on. I know people cheat. I know people fall in and out of love faster than I can decide which panties to wear that day. I know people fall for the banging hottie at the local coffee shop while I’m still dedicating “Hey There Delilah” to them on the Mix (No wonder no one likes me). But every time a new flame’s hand brushes mine and those sparks fly, I just FORGET. It’s like I have dating amnesia.

What I would rather do is learn to love like I have been hurt. You know why? Because I HAVE, and something should probably come from that. As in some discretion, wisdom, any sort of benefit at all. And maybe the next time a puppy eyed boy asks me for coffee, I won’t immediately run home and facebook stalk his photos, then photo shop us together to make sure we look good as a couple. Not that I actively do that…

I don't love the way you call me baby,

Ivy