I couldn’t stop feeling bad for myself last night, so the only solution was to get embarrassingly trashed. Clearly. Dozens of soul searching conversations with friends, exes, and family cannot possibly make you feel as good as 7 shots of tequila. No just kidding, friendship and conversation are great for discovering yourself blah blah blah…but seriously, let’s call it for what it is, nothing makes you feel instantly sexier and more confident than Jose Cuervo. I can say this, because I’m not writing a self help book. I’m writing about how I’m a hot mess, so really, this all fits.
But yeah, I ended up hugging my toilet bowl all night before finally collapsing into bed and waking up tasting like gin and hot wings. I however, made great progress. Not with my alcoholism, that’s still rampant, but with my male interaction.
Last night this fellow, let’s call him Seth, who is the kind of guy you don’t know in real life but always see at bars and parties actually acknowledged me. And I mean he is usually is only talking to the most gorgeous girl in the room (read: Not. Me.), but maybe he ran out of exceptionally beautiful women that night. So anyways he comes up and picks me up, and starts talking about how beautiful my eyes are, and how we should get to know each other better over a bottle of wine, and how he wants to take me to dinner.
And because I am a girl and stupid, my mind immediately races to our first date, and then our wedding, and then raising our dark haired gorgeous babies. But then the logical side of me (it’s quiet but there) FINALLY spoke up, damn’t. He probably just wanted to hook up that night. So I said to him the single greatest thing a woman can say to a man, “Oh sure. You can just look me up.” And I walked away. Because I am awesome. That felt far better than any sloppy public make out, even if it was with a hottie bad boy. Because I got to go home alone and have ugly sleep AND my pride. Seth was immediately buying shots for a gaggle of blondes 5 minutes later, so I doubt it fazed him. But hey, at least I didn’t have to feel bad. And I think that’s what I’m starting to see as the important part…how I fucking feel about it. Not how he feels! No!
See, us women who feel every emotion like it’s our dog’s funeral, assume men are the same way. But most of them are not. They have three emotions: happy, pissed, and horny. Of course there are sub emotions, such content, agitated, and mega-horny. Yet we waste all this time to try and force new emotions on guys constantly. We want them to be enamored, jealous, regretful…all things too complex for their black hearts to fathom. Okay that was a little cruel. But seriously, you can’t force people to feel things, you just can’t. You’re only going to end up disappointed and stupid when you realize that they’ve made up their mind about you, and flirting with their roommate or looking like a goddess won’t fix it. So stop trying to turn the bad boy into a soft little puppy. His momma couldn’t do it, and neither can you.
At least I'm on the board now,
Ivy
No comments:
Post a Comment