Tag Archives: Mr. Wrong

Chapter Something

5 Jun

The door opens and as LP enters, I can’t help but stare menacingly at her and take another sip, realizing that the drink in my hand, my third, is probably stronger than I intended.

“Hey, whatcha doing?”

“Michigan proposed today.”

LP stares at me astonished.

“I don’t know what is wrong with me. All I could do was stare and immediately felt like all I wanted to do was drink, curl up in a ball and listen to extremely loud indie music. Something is wrong with me. I mean shouldn’t I be overjoyed and telling all my friends? I just wanted to be happy, say yes and live my life with the guy I know I should be with. Then my brain kicked in and Mr. Wrong and HB flew in and took away my ability to speak. How do I explain that to Michigan, better yet how do I just get over myself and be less….stupid?”

This is a reoccurring fantasy I keep having. I am at the stage I have begun to wonder what I would do if Michigan proposed. I know I am no ready and in reality we aren’t there yet, but what will it take for me to be ready when we are there?

I heard a quote the other day that when we are living in the past we can’t live in the present…or something. Which is true, but what happens when a part of you feels like you need to make amends to your past before you can embrace what is next? Even more complex, what if making amends really isn’t an option and trying to do so may actually just make things worse?

When Michigan and I started, all I could see was him. The joyously bubbly feelings were overwhelming enough to forget. As the air has settled, I find it hard to think about a future with Michigan without remembering the regrets of my past. They may have been necessary for me to become the person I am and form the path I am on, but what about the casualties? Can I really just ignore them and accept them as building blocks I had no choice but to step on?

Not to mention recently a ghost from Michigan’s past reared its ugly head in the form of a Facebook message. His ex, whom I know very little about and have not pressured much to hear about, contacted me out of the blue to “warn” me about their history. I do not believe most of what she said, but it got me to thinking why we have never really discussed her if it was such a huge part of his life.

Then I remember I haven’t gone into detail about my exploits either and have no desire to whatsoever.

I don’t even know how to handle the dichotomy of wanting to share everything with him, and yet not everything. I would never lie if he asked, but I am not in a hurry to discuss the sordid details.

This is what happens when you avoid serious relationships like the plague and keep romance to the surface, you don’t know how to manage when it goes a little deeper.


21 Jan

There are days you just feel bipolar. You know the days I’m talking about. One second you’re smiling and the next you are one sad song away from a complete breakdown. It’s those days I am the most pensive, for better or for worst.

I was walking the malamutes for my last walk of the day, and spaced out into this daydream where I was talking to new work crush about why I was single. Long story short, daydream me said some things real life me rarely says out loud. Being a bipolar day, I’m dwelling.

Sometimes I wonder if in all seriousness I’ll always be single. Most of the time I am positive and chipper, convinced I’m just not willing to settle and one day yada yada. It’s only in the shadowed corner of my heart that the thought clings on and festers. What if I missed it, my chance?

I have only ever had one serious relationship, one boy to call mine (one boy to rule them all, and in the darkness find them…sorry, had to, LOTR geek). It has been just over five years since that relationship ended. Since, I have had my fair share of trysts, but nothing of any merit really. With the exception of HB, of course. Mr. Wrong was, well, wrong, and HB, he was something else. That boy would have given me the world if I could have just taken a moment and gotten over myself.

In all that time I was being self-centered and convincing myself I didn’t need anybody, what if he came in and left again, and I didn’t even notice? I mean it has been five years for God sake. Besides, some people are happy just being there own person, it happens, I could see it. Maybe I’m just going to spend the next decade or so bouncing around from one to the next until I get bored, throw my hands in the air, finally just accept my spinster-hood and get a dog (I still refuse to be the crazy cat lady).

Or maybe I’m just being crazy. However, a fear is a fear no matter how small and sometimes it makes it feel better simply to share. Maybe you are reading this and are totally relating. Maybe it’s something you only allow yourself to admit in a drunken stupor because if you said it out loud in the light of day, you’d want to swallow some pills. That’s ok, I’ve been there, and there’s nothing wrong with thinking positive thoughts instead. Just know you’re not the only one, part of me really thinks all us single people are in the same boat.

In fact, that brings me to that previous post I wrote, you know the one. I really think we need to start a club. We’re single and proud or something less cheesy, A LOT less cheesy. But there would have to be rules. Like no judging the couply people, and no trying to keep someone in it, and no being bitter. Just a thought. Like all the rest of the stuff that comes out of my head.

PS Dear HB,

The Lessons We Learn

29 Dec

Tonight I have been contemplating lessons, specifically those I have learned from my parents. A lot of what we know is what we we have gleaned from those who have birthed us. Whether we come from traditional families, single parent homes, homosexual couplings, adoptive or foster homes, and so on, we take away basic beliefs and values from whatever it is we have as our roots. I was blessed and cursed to have been raised by my two biological parents (as far as I know). They, miraculously, remain married to this day despite the many, MANY ups and downs that have comprised their pairing.

If you haven’t guessed because my sarcasm doesn’t come across via textual portrayal, my parents have not always been able to call their marriage a happy one. In fact, most of my upbringing was marred by arguments and unhappy compromises. This may in fact be because the human brain biologically and infallibly holds onto the negative more than positive (side note: did you know it takes seven positive compliments to counter act one negative remark? Lesson: compliment EVERYONE you meet, even if its to say they have a nice button on their sweater), but regardless, I remember more ways to make a bad marriage last than a good one. Remind me to tell you the story of the Christmas tree being thrown out the window one day (ornaments and all).

I think this post is sounding rather negative right now, but trust me when I say most of the lessons I have chosen somehow turn out positive.

Lessons I have learned from my parents:

1. The real meaning of what love is.

My parents grew up in a faith-based world. Both of them. This has lead to many other contributions to my lifestyle, but the one I want to talk about here is the meaning and value of real and honest love.

Growing up in a society where there are marriages that are based on touchy-feely butterfly-eske  emotions that dictate when we commit “forever” and then later when its justifiable to then leave the one we made that commitment to, I have come from a world where love is a choice we make, an action we take, rather than a whimsical emotion we guess about. I believe that Kim Kardashian and Brittany Spears marriages are avoidable and fake. I don’t aspire to have a Hollywood marriage, I want what my parents had, just better.

Don’t get me wrong here and think that all of my other posts about relationships are made up. I’m still terrified of commitment and run away every time something good comes along, but that’s a me thing I’m working on. Part of me still wants to be Cinderella, part of me still wants to wear a big ol’ white dress and walk down an aisle, there might even be doves, its just the getting to where that can happen that is the problem. BUT, when it does, when I finally make that huge commitment, it will be based on a mutual agreement that isn’t going to fall apart two year down the road. I will make the CHOICE to be with that person, through all of life’s challenges, despite how I may “feel” at any given moment. Real love grows through the bad and reaches new heights in the good, but both are necessary for a beautiful story that we can be proud of. Its not something to be given up on when things don’t go just the way they do in the movies.

2. Credit cards can quickly escalate to crisis situations.

Financially I am a responsible and mature individual. There are times I struggle to pay the bills, but that’s because I chose to be a social worker (who does that?). I started a  budget, planning ahead, and a savings account all before I was 18. I have exactly one credit card which is more often than not paid in full each month. However, all of this was accomplished not because my parents were model financial blueprints, but rather the opposite.

Growing up I never wanted for anything. If I asked, and the request wan’t outrageous, I got. Birthdays, Christmas, and random times during the year were met with a plethora of gifts. When I was young I was unaware that this was an issue. As I grew up I became wiser, or my parents worse at hiding the burden of the debt they were sinking ever quicker into.

It was later in my life I realized my mother had issues beyond compulsive spending habits. That she felt inadequate and felt that if she couldn’t be the perfect mother who could connect with her children,   then maybe she could buy their love. The guilt was something I dealt with before I had this perspective, and somewhere in my early teens I learned the difference between “want” and “need.” This has proved invaluable and I’m glad I have this lesson in my repertoire, I just wish I could give my mother the same lesson.

3. When basic needs are met sometimes you just have to be content with what you have.

We moved A LOT when I was a kid. Many things came as a result of that. Number one is my core desire to have roots. I often stay where I am even if its not perfect because I just don’t want to make the huge changes that I had so often in my childhood. Its like some part of me just wants to be still. Again, not to discount anything else I have said to this point, I still am in my mid-20s and want to live a life of adventure…its just nice to have something stable to come back to when I need to recharge.

Beyond that there is also this feeling of contentment with just having that. I think it connects to the want/need lesson. I’ll always have things that I want, but as long as my needs are met, then I really don’t have much to complain about. The rest can come with time.

4. If and when you have kids, your whole world changes.

My dad had kids at 21 and he’s practically the best dad ever. Of course he has made his mistakes and of course he’s no where near perfect, but he has rarely let me down and I always know I can turn to him and my mom when times get rough. I think I admire him even more knowing that he had me when he was so young. I mean I’m 25 and I can’t imagine having children even now. I panic every time my period is late (and that’s often since I’ve never been very regular…TMI?)

Working in the metal health field, I work with so many families in which the parents weren’t ready. This has so many rippling consequences on the parents, on the children, and society as a whole (well that escalated quickly). Now that doesn’t mean there aren’t parents out there that weren’t ready and managed to step up to the plate, I just don’t get to see them very often. The point is, if you have a kid, you are responsible for developing a new human life. I will grant that some things are out of the parent’s control and there is a very delicate balance to learn around where that line is, but on a basic level your children learn the values and ethics you instill. That is a big deal! I was blessed with parents who taught me to be a caring, loving, hopeful individual and although I may have fucked up elsewhere, that core belief system exists because of their diligence.


5. Once a cheater DOES NOT mean always a cheater.

This is especially important to me considering how my relationship with Mr. Wrong ended and something I constantly have to remind myself.

A few years ago I was devastated to learn that my father had an affair. I was in college and it felt like my world was thrown into an abyss. It hurt us all and made me very unsure of a great many things. I had already been through my bout of infidelity, however, so I was a little more understanding and if I wasn’t convinced everything happens for a reason before that, I was after.

The point is that it wasn’t the end for my parents. My mother found it in my heart to forgive him and my father renewed his devotion to being the best husband he could be. They say that women look for men like their fathers. Not only do I think this is true, but I honestly believe that that is a large part f the reason I am still single.  I just have too high a standard.

My parents frustrate the shit out of me often, but they are solid figures in my life and I am thankful for the upbringing I had despite its shortcomings. Am I who I am with the dreams that I dream because of the family I was blessed with.

Alternate ending to When Harry Met Sally

1 Feb

I met him while I was falling in love with his best friend. I never really saw him because I couldn’t, it wasn’t allowed, off limit in more ways than one. It took me years. Its funny what you can find when you really look though. How much you can realize you have missed.

While I was dating Mr. Wrong, he was a member of the group. When Mr. Wrong lived with him, he was a drinking buddy. After Mr. Wrong broke my heart, he was a shoulder to cry on. Somewhere along the way he became my friend. Then he was a good friend. Then somehow, I woke up one day and realized he was my best friend. Despite the 200 miles, I was seeing him more than I had even seen Mr. Wrong when we were together.

It was a drunken night with SMC when I realized The One that Got Away may in fact be my soul mate. I sent him a text. A TEXT! (just say it, juvenile) and that’s how I told him I liked him. An agonizing 14 hours later, I was granted the gift of hope. Hope that maybe I was right. Hope that I now wish I had never had because that was the moment it all started a downhill spiral that is still making me woozy. I apologize if you were starting to look forward to the happy ending, but that’s the thing with love, sometimes it’s perfect agony.

After the text, hope set its barbs into my heart. I wondered why I had never seen it before, how perfect it could be. Who doesn’t want to fall in love with their best friend? Isn’t it a story we have all seen played out on the silver screen a million times? Tell me you don’t envy Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink when Ducky rescues her at prom. Or Julia in The Wedding Singer who finds the love of her life has snuck up on her when she’s engaged to another man. Hell, I can quote the entire ending monologue of Harry at New Years telling Sally he loves her. However, how often do romantic comedies ever play out in real life? Now that should have been my first question, but it wasn’t.

Nothing happened for four months. I mean nothing. I kept waiting for him to ask me out, or confess his undying affection, kiss me, something, anything. I thought if I was just patient, he would make his move and it would all be worth it. I knew him well enough to know he liked to take his time, and I was willing to wait, but by the time Halloween approached, the falling leaves had tarnished the summer glow I had been feeling.

I went to his place for Halloween weekend festivities. I met his ostentatious roommate I had heard so much about. My yearning heart was charmed into a bitter entanglement and in that moment I hurt TOGA, and not for the last time. I tried to make amends. Tried to convince him it was unintentional, it was the alcohol, I wasn’t thinking. When that wasn’t enough I let disappointment turn into anger. How dare he lead me on for months and then get upset that I made out with another man! He had made no claim on me, what right did he have to judge me like that? You can imagine that this attitude could only make things worse, I’m sure, and that is exactly what it did.

You should know a thing or two about me at this point. I am relationally inept. When Mr. Wrong broke my heart, something else inside me broke. I have yet to fully fix it. Its not my heart, that’s just fine. Its something worse. Something deeper. I can’t even put a name to it, but it makes commitment really menacing. What do girls do that are petrified of commitment? They run in the opposite direction, right into the arms of military boys, bad boys, inaccessible boys, boys that will never ask of them anything more than their first name and who will never meet their mother. Simplicity, however, does not satisfy entirely. It always leaves you wanting, yearning for just a little more. Just one more taste, one more touch, one more moment where you can pretend you aren’t completely terrified. When a man stands in front of me and offers the world, all the things every girl dreams of, stability, love, a future, I cower into myself and make brilliant excuses to convince him I’m not the girl for him. When he pushes, and keeps trying anyway; when there’s a chance he sees past that wall I’ve put up for the world, I push back and prove it. I lie to him, I hurt him, but mostly, I prove it to myself, because its when they don’t just walk away like all the rest I have to convince myself he’s not the guy for me. If he really had the ability to love me, he would fight, right? He could take it all, without tiring, with no encouragement on my part, of course…right?

I can exhaust the most valiant of heroes, only I’m doubting I want to anymore.

TOGA and I are still friends, best friends. My head has given up on him, but my heart can’t. Not yet. I look into those soulful brown eyes and my heart melt. I hang on every word because it comes from his pouty little mouth. Despite everything we have been through he is still there, still supportive, still the one I want to call when things turn out right or I’m just having a really bad day. We fight, we fight really well, but it never seems to keep us from moving forward. Maybe he’ll never trust me enough, maybe we’ll always stay stuck in this relational ditch, but at least we’re stuck in it together. I’ll always love him, even when we both find our rights, I just hope I find mine first. It sucks being in love with your best friend, especially when you realize life isn’t the movies, and sometimes fate has other plans for you, but you still can’t walk away. Its your best friend for crying out loud!

Sexuality…what’s in a label?

13 Nov

The conversation of sexuality is s hot button topic, at least where I come from. I grew up in the Protestant church where intimate sexual experiences were sacred and intended for a marriage between a man and a woman. When I was a teenager and beginning to feel the tingling sensations between my legs when a cute boy walked by, I bought in, practiced self-restraint, made vows to stay a virgin until that ring was on my finger. Of course, I never dated in high school. I said it was because I didn’t know what real love was and didn’t want to run the gambit of failed relationships before my heart could handle it, but lets be honest, I was the shy, awkward girl who no one wanted to date anyway.

College was a different story. I went to a smallish Christian school north of Boston. Freshman year I became the bright, bubbly, outspoken, and at times obnoxious girl I never had been but always knew I could be. My vow of celibacy, however, remained intact, even after I met Mr. Wrong towards the end of my first semester. Mr. Wrong, despite many shortcomings in our relationship, taught me the meaning of love. My heart felt alive and I wanted to sing from the mountaintops and all that jazz. We toyed with the boundaries of intimacy and pushed against the lines we said we wouldn’t cross. Seven months later on the fourth of July, my desire for a closer bond with my companion ousted my vows of purity and we had perfectly boring and awkward sex. [On a side note, I’m convinced two virgins doing this together for the first time is both extremely smart and extremely dumb. Smart in that both of you feel the same amount of awkward. Dumb in that neither of you know what the hell you are doing.]

Since this sexual awakening, I have been through the whole realm of emotions around it. While I was with him, I was convinced I was going to marry him, which made the act, if not justified, excusable. We felt a closer connection and so what if we went a little ahead of schedule. After the break up, the shame I had been taught to feel kicked in. I beat myself up about it for a couple months, until I kicked myself in the hiney and decided it was time to stop moping. I started rebelling against all of it, starting with my guy friends. I don’t know why, but sleeping with guys I had no romantic feelings for, but knew I could trust was a stepping stone I was ok with jumping on, literally. Liquor helped, but that is a whole other story.

I was numb from the relationship still at this point and men were toys. I felt some guilt, but the more it happened, the less I felt. It was a coping strategy and an unhealthy on at that. My male friends didn’t mind so much, but it became a game to them too. It wasn’t until my first one night stand that I started to see how out of control I was getting. I wish I could say that was my wake up call, but it wasn’t that easy. A few more mistakes later and then a morning after where I had to drive a guy home I had picked up in Cambridge [to this day I still do not remember his name and he is dubbed “Clay Aiken” because that is who my roomy swears he looked like] it finally hit me.

I always say I live my life without regrets, but by that point there were a couple things I wished I could take back. Sex had become a toy, a way to feel connected to someone without actually putting in any effort. It became meaningless and easily exchangeable for love. I was not and still am not at the point where I believe sex has to be a sacred act saved for the bonds of marriage, I’m not even positive I want to get married, but sex is also more than what I had turned it into and I wanted to get back some of that magic that made it so special on the fourth of July so long ago. I have come to understand sex in a way I was not raised to understand it, but there is some validation in the things I was taught. As a society we have minimized its importance and meaning, made it something to be thrown around and abused. Even now, I am still culpable in this, and continue to get drunk and horny and make bad choices. It’s a learning curve.

I have veered off my initial subject, however. I wanted you to understand my sexual journey, and that is all the pertinent information, but it did not end there. In the church, we were also taught that man and woman were made for one another. Sex was not only designated specifically for marriage, but specifically for man and woman to experience with one another, and one another alone. In my sexual awakening, as I like to call it, despite how cheesy it sounds, I not only pushed the boundaries of sex outside of love, but sex outside of the designated genders as well. A drunken kiss at a bar with a girl led to full on same-sex make out sessions. My first sexual encounter with a girl was with my roommate and her boyfriend, maybe it felt better having a buffer. Since then, it hasn’t been an issue. I have the unique ability to not really feel shame about my actions these days. I am a pro at just going with the flow. And sometimes the flow leads me into a woman’s pants.

Straight, gay, bi-sexual, bi-curious…labels, for what? Sexual preference? “Hi, my name is ‘Lesbian’, what’s yours?” Does it matter? What if some of us are just sexual? I envision myself, if I ever get there, married to a man in a brownstone apartment in Boston, but right now, I like to have sex, and sometimes I like to have sex with girls. I don’t feel the need to shout this from the mountaintops. “Coming out” has never crossed my mind because I don’t feel there is anywhere for me to come out of. Sex is sex…but I could legitimately date a girl and feel the same way. My parents may never know, but they don’t even know that I smoke, or when I’m dating a new guy. There are things they would not understand about my life because they are of a different generation, a different school of thought, and our relationship does not suffer because there are things I choose not to fight about. I choose not to have a label. I don’t need the bonds of camaraderie that come with sharing in a community of a certain sexual preference. I don’t feel the need to push my values on any other person by the automatic straight/gay debate that is necessary for some people. I am who I am, and I am happy with who that is. I do not feel oppressed or forced into any mold. My friends accept me for who I am and don’t care what gender I bring home from the bar. The ones who do judge me are not my friends and I feel no need to associate with them.

So what is in a label? Why do we feel the need to tack on extras to our name and validate our choices? Are we that uncomfortable just being who we are?

PS I liked this post a lot on a similar subject


17 Oct

I am so bad at beginnings.

Weeks ago I got this amazing idea to start a blog! Yeah ok. Where am I at in this venture? A few half done posts and a lot of procrastination. THAT should have been my major, considering what a pro I am.

Why are beginnings so difficult? What holds us back? I’ve thought a lot about that in my 24 years, well really maybe more the last 4 than the rest, but you can do a lot of thinking in 4 years. Is it because endings more often than not are more difficult than we want to face, in which case, it is just easier to simply not start in the first place? Maybe this doesn’t apply directly to a blog, but possibly we get so scared of the big beginnings that the little ones seem just as daunting.

I have also made the observation that beginnings become harder to begin the more time you let go by after an ending. (And here I will make a huge leap to a similar yet not so similar subject, don’t be alarmed) Four years ago there was an ending that exploded all over my then-present and future. Immediately following, my personal life went into a coma I wasn’t sure I would ever come out of. I managed to fulfill daily living functions, but life felt numb. As I am sure you have guessed, all this was due to a romance gone terribly awry. We’ll name him Mr. Wrong. Mr. Wrong was my Mr. Right for two years, two years I believed with all my heart would end with a proposal. Instead it ended with Mr. Irresistable and a hole in my heart the size of Texas.

After I managed to pull myself from the oblivion I call junior year second semester, I was determined to make up for lost time. There were lots of beginnings for the next three months. Tall beginnings, short beginnings, long beginnings, round beginnings, nameless beginnings…but that was all they were, beginnings. Beginnings without any middle or end are empty and simple. You could fill your whole life with them because there is no danger of bleeding out.

Beginnings without risk is what I needed that summer, but eventually, they weren’t enough. Texas was slowly getting smaller and I started to love beginnings that had a little danger to them. And for a long time those are the beginnings I craved. The first few times you really start getting to know a person, no expectations, no preconceived ideas, just the butterflies and rush of blood to the head. That would be all I wanted though, and once the feelings faded and it was time to get real, I’d get going.

Until 4 months ago.

Four months ago I was stubbornly single and grasping my independence with an iron fist. I did what I wanted when I wanted and the idea of commitment made me want to drink myself stupid. This code of honor is what held me back from what potentially could have been the love affair I wished Mr. Wrong could have been. The missing link that brought me from blindly, but determinedly running from any hint of the “c” word (commitment…get your mind out of the gutter), to breaking down the barbwire fence around my heart. Hunny Bunny (“HB” for short) was infatuated with me and wanted nothing more than to lay the world in my lap. He cared for me so intensely, so sincerely, that it was too much for my shrunken view of what I deserved, or even what I wanted.

It is a long story to be saved for another day, but HB is the reason I am searching for a new beginning. One worth the risk and full of adventure. The reason I want to get past the hollow beginnings I have made my trademark and find the middles full of intimacy and comfortability that only come with time and persistence.

Beginnings are necessary, but we can’t be scared of the endings, because what if, one day, there is a story without one?