Haven't Been Date Raped Yet But There's Still Hope

I've been thinking, trying to figure out why Tall Blonde Alcholic broke up with me [for real this time] to spend the last two months of his summer alone before he moves to New Jersey. The obvious occurred to me recently, he doesn't want to spend them alone, he just doesn't want to spend them with you. 

Then my mind drifted to his mouse-y new love interest. I guess he's kind of cute in a Joseph-Gordon-Levitt-I-will-never-age-Peter-Pan sort of way. But I inwardly hope to run into him somewhere in public so I can break him. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially lonely, I wonder if they are together at that very moment, laughing about my pathetic idiocy. I wonder a lot of things about them, but I know that answers to these questions won't quell my pathological interest and will only make things worse.

There was one night I couldn't fall asleep. I kept having short and vivid dreams about TBA in relationships with new people. In the last dream, he was dating a girl named Hannah Ruth and I was so infuriated that I slept with this hot black guy only to find out that he didn't want to be exclusive, which was crushing. When your dreams start to piss you off, you really know that you need to make a few life changes. So I decided to go on a few dates and find a new man. Because you know those losers that whine about how they don't know how to be alone and they need a man to feel fulfilled? Yeah I'm one of them.

Date #1

This was my first real date considering Tall Blonde Alcoholic and I kind of threw ourselves into the relationship immediately since we had already known each other for about six years. I met PR on OKCupid and we found that we had matching eating and body dysmorphic disorders. Somehow, we decided this was enough to meet up. 

He was much cuter than he let on. He had beautiful eyes, light brown hair, and a great butt, but the compliments kind of end there. Throughout the entire date, he talked about his Twitter account and his mom and his personal problems, many of them involving dating other guys. At one point, I had to walk him through how he should approach the cashier at Crumbs that he had a crush on but was ignoring him. Towards the end of the date, I was desperately searching for ways to get out. So I told him it looked like it was going to thunderstorm and he should get back to his place lest he get caught in the rain. My parade, had already been rained on.

Date #2

I met JB on manhunt recently, (yes I exhaust every internet dating option). Originally, he told me he had just gotten into a relationship and that he was looking to develop that. I didn't ask how still being on manhunt was part of the grand scheme of couples development and just assumed he was lying. Less than a week later, he messaged me telling me he liked my profile and thought we should meet up. This more or less confirmed he was lying and also that he was kind of dumb for not remembering who I was. But I agreed because he's totally an otter and I'm kind of into that in a weird, self-destructive way.

Since he is one of those happy to be alive gays with supportive parents and a job in human rights, I couldn't really tell if he was having a good time or not because there was a permanent, idiotic smile plastered across his face. I, on the other hand, felt really awkward. He was kind of high strung, (an otter on speed), and he kept talking about being gay in a triumphant and pretentiously intellectual way. During the middle of the date, he literally yelled "I am gay!" in Chinese inside a Chinese restaurant. He is white.

After lunch he basically ran off to meet another friend. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to take this as, "I am a super busy, popular person," or "this is me dismissing you immediately," but I was super relieved to have it be over. I can only stomach so much awkwardness in one day before the pain becomes visceral.

Later that night, he sent me this, "Although I don't feel we have chemistry in the sexual or romantic sense, I enjoyed lunch and I wish you the best of luck in both your personal and professional pursuits."

This was annoying because I had just assumed we were going to ignore each other and pretend the date had never happened. How is he the one to tell me that I didn't exude a sexual attractiveness? YOU EAT LIKE A HOMELESS PERSON AND NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR FORMER BISEXUALITY. So it's settled. You can go shave your back hair now.

Date #3

My date with CM has yet to occur but it appears to be the most promising. He is 6'3" and blonde and super cute and already calls me "babe," which I LURVE. He sent me this extremely serious text confessing that he is kind of a fanboy and into KPop. I thought to myself, this is perfect; people mistake me for a Korean all the time. But nothing is perfect; he lives in Virginia and I'm in Maryland. Also, he'll go days without saying anything to me and then randomly he'll send me a "Good night babe :)" text. I can't tell if he's seriously interested or not. I really don't know how men work, but of course you all know this by now.

Time To Reactivate Manhunt

I don't know if I have the clear mind to write about what has just happened but a vague and angsty twitter comment pretty much obligates me to write a follow up post.

In my sophomore year of college, one of my roommates taught me how to hack passwords on a computer. Giving this kind of power to a person with not one, but two True Life ailments ["I have trust issues." and "I'm addicted to social media."] is similar to giving an addict a brick of cocaine the size of the Pyramid at Giza.

I don't know what possessed me to check up on Tall Blonde Alcoholic's Facebook but it probably had something to do with the fact that he has seemed distant in our conversations while I've been in Europe and I wanted to know what was going on in his life. You can choose to read this as: I'm a creepy, jealous stalker that wants to make sure somebody I'm not even "with" isn't "with" somebody else.

It's a strange sensation to find something you are looking for but inwardly didn't want to exist. In my case, I found a string of messages between him and another guy. They talk about exchanging numbers and dinner dates and catching up as soon as he gets back, (coincidentally he is also in Europe). Tall Blonde Alcoholic sends him messages full of flirty smiley faces about how he will be totally free to hang out and look at his "cute pictures." Reading the excitement in his words to start something new with somebody else makes me feel hurt. He used to talk to me that way.

Side note: Tall Blonde Alcoholic met this new guy at a party that we both went to. I left early. On the way out, I was casually involved in a fight with this new guy and his two fag hags. Hopefully this is one of those funny coincidences that I can look back on and laugh about...

In some sense, I can't complain because we are not technically together. And what do I know about social propriety, I hack Facebook accounts. Regardless, I feel like a fool who has been holding onto nothing while he has been making plans otherwise for quite some time now.

The vengeful beast in me would like to do something to retaliate but the most I can do is to stop speaking to him; which only gives him an even more perfect opportunity to move on with his new guy. But callousness and being neurotic (dad's side, mom's side, inherited respectively) is probably what got me to this point to begin with. And I'm pretty sure that finding out about all of this is only going to further my emotional hangups. So maybe I should take a different route in dealing with this. Thus far, nothing comes to mind except the occasional fantasy of shoving them both off of a cliff.

Just a few hours ago, I thought that I would go home at the end of the week and spend two months with a person that I loved and I thought loved me. Now, my mind is filled with strange and morbid thoughts about the nonexistence of true love and how anybody can wake up one day and decide they don't love you anymore. I wonder if he will think of me when he takes his new guy to the places we used to go to and does the things we used to do. I wonder if his new relationship will mean more to him than the last. And I wonder if the new guy will be better for him than I was. My life has devolved into an Alanis Morissette song.

I don't really have any regrets about what I did. My moral compass may be seriously misguided but I believe snooping around is only wrong if you don't find anything. I certainly deserved to know about this, one way or another. This may be a good way for me to get the final push to let go. For the past six months I've been that idiot girl trapped in a Lifetime movie who just doesn't get that her relationship is doomed to fail. In some ways, I kept caring about us because I thought he cared too. So if ever there was an indication that things would not work out, I think this is it.

Oh, Hey Losers

I haven't been on here in a while. I actually forgot my password. I've been really busy with emotional lapses and losing 30 lbs. Also, I feel utterly incapable of stringing together one long and thoughtful post, so I will present a series of vignettes.

I graduated. All during college I had this lurking fear that I would snap unexpectedly and become incapable of going to class or studying and I would have to drop out and be the new homeless man, (as if there is only one), on the corner of H and 7th street. That didn't happen. Graduation was decidedly anticlimactic, the proverbial kthnxbye moment. The nostalgia is inside of me though and it will probably hit me in a massive wave while I'm riding the Metro and I will just start bawling in front of everyone who is on the train between Columbia Heights and National Archives.

I went to New York City this past weekend. I met up with an old family friend that I hadn't seen in ten years. He turned out to be flamboyantly gay (hence, living in Manhattan). He took me to a "club" that turned out to be emphatically gay. This was kind of awkward because I had to act nonchalant about the 360 degree views of exposed penises. His gay friend hit on me the entire night. He kept commenting on my lips and at one point told me he was imagining my lips in dirty places. I didn't really know how to react to that so I just took his comment "as is" and applied some chapstick.

My boss at my old job used to write me really mean emails telling me how inept and fat I was. Then she would end every message with a :) as if that was an appropriate substitute for social propriety. I kind of miss that about working in an office. I finally got a job. It's in DC so thank god I don't have to come up with a new name for this blog. Starting September 15 you can expect the bulk of my posts to be about how work is slowly draining my soul.

On Monday, I'm going to Europe for a month. I fly into London and fly out of Athens (LP <3) and will be visiting 13 countries in between. I bought tickets for the French Open but I'm scared of French people and I'm worried that I'll get beaten up and robbed on the metro while local Parisians watch, laugh, and ridicule my clothes. So I'm looking forward to that with equal parts excitement and extreme worry.

I'm still seeing Tall Blonde Alcoholic. Our relationship has taken on a strangely cyclical pattern where we fight about how he doesn't love me, we get drunk, I end up in bed with him, and I wake up and eat something really oily and dense. And then we do it all over again. He is going to Princeton in the fall. It's kind of depressing to think that one of these days my go-to melodramatic drunk rant, "Goodbye, I will never see you ever again" is actually going to stick.

I feel like every aspect of my life is changing and I am in a constant state of free fall. While I look forward to Europe, and upon my return, my new life as a young professional in DC, I worry about the uncertainty of it all and I wonder if reality will meet my conservatively low expectations. Like a book I don't want to end, I cling desperately to the last few pages of college life, not wanting to say goodbye to the familiar characters yet. Who, if anyone, is going to be a part of the next chapter in my life? Should I make an okcupid account?

I have a friend who graduated one year early to start working. She came home for the weekend and I met up with her for lunch today at New Big Wong in Chinatown. Talking to her made me feel like no time had passed at all since high school, giving me hope that the connections we make with real friends will last. But undoubtedly, she has changed, now a part of the corporate world and with a new boyfriend who leaves messages for her in the morning by putting blueberries on her laptop keyboard.

The Best Stuff Happens To Me When I Wear V Necks

Out of the three people in my sophomore year triple, Chris Colfer was definitely the most flamboyant. He also had the voice of a wattled crane. So everyone kind of suspected that he was gay and it was funny and sort of awkward that the other two roommates were actually the ones having sex with each other. Chris Colfer assured everyone he was straight and I was pretty much convinced. I assumed he was one of those guys that likes musical theater and vagina at the same time. Well, not the exact same time.

So I'm at my roommate's party [not the one I was casually having sex with, the other one] in my blue v neck. I don't know anybody there so I went straight to the kitchen to "do my thing" aka take shots of vodka and chase with water. The vodka is blue, so it's like, meant to be.

Chris Colfer says he has to tell me something and pulls me into a closet [ironic]. At this point, I am standing in a dark closet with a flamboyant junior with an entire party watching from the outside and I am wearing a blue v neck. And then he leans in to kiss me. I'm not sure if I expected this and went into the closet just to confirm my suspicions and flatter myself. But I'm not interested at all; I prefer the Darren Criss type. So I turn my face away and ask, "So what do you wanna talk about..."

"I think I'm in love with you."

This is the first time I've seen Chris Colfer in two years. So either his love grew from afar or maybe he was sitting on this bomb for the past two years or maybe he was just trying to feed me lies to get me to sleep with him. Regardless, I wanted to kill myself. This was the worst closet I've ever been in, hands down. I manage to respond with a feeble, "Thanks. But I'm one of those guys that likes Mariah Carey and vagina at the same time."

So I tell him I have to go to the bathroom but go to his room instead. I close the door, open the window, and leave.

In case you're keeping track, this means all three of the guys living in my sophomore triple were/are gay.

Nothing Tastes As Good As Cam Gigandet Feels

I am good at doing two things.

I am really really good at pouring the exact right amount of water into a rice cooker on the first try. This helped me in AP chemistry and Orgo to a certain extent. Mostly it helps me make really really good mixed drinks.

I am also really really good at losing weight fast. One time when I was 13, I got pneumonia and lost 15 pounds in two weeks because the only thing I ate the entire time was a clementine. When I came back to school, my friends formed a group and went to the counselor because they were worried that I was anorexic. To this day, the thought that somebody would believe that I was anorexic still flatters me and makes me smile.

My crash-break-up-crash-diet comes pretty close. So far, I've lost 17 pounds in three weeks. I don't know if it's the euphoria of being skinny or the lack of nutrients reaching my brain, but I am swooning with satisfaction.

Before you point your finger and warn me about the perils of depression, realize that is not the case here. Usually when I'm depressed I eat a ton of Chinese takeout, lie absolutely motionless in bed, and watch America's Next Top Model marathons for DAYS. Wendy from Shanghai Cafe and Tyra Banks are literally my therapists. So I don't really know what the motivation for this sudden weight loss is. My parents think it's because I have a new girlfriend, *giggle*. But I just want to look good. Mostly, to win over a new boyfriend. (Cam Gigandet, if you are reading this, I'm available.) Subconsciously, I'm sure, to get the old one back. 

On top of the diet, I've also been going to the gym 5-6 times a week. Mostly, to build muscle. Subconsciously, I'm sure, to snare a bro. The second part hasn't really worked. Gay college guys don't go to the gyms. They are still "figuring themselves out" or whatever.

Side Note: On every single treadmill there is a little red sign warning about "Exercise Bulimia" because February was National Eating Disorder Month and nobody bothered to take them off.

Working out to purge a meal? Check
Working out more than 45 minutes more than 5 times a week? Check
Exercising instead of spending time with friends? Check
Feeling guilty for not working out? Check

I was at a bar last week, dancing my heart out, when one of those "happy to be alive" gays with those really broad smiles that reveal all 32 teeth came up to me and told me I was a really good dancer. Then he just stood there, expecting me to give him a lapdance for telling me something I already know. I said, "My girlfriend thinks so too," and I pointed to an Asian girl in the crowd that I've never met before.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I didn't look terrible to begin with and I've found most of the changes have been subtle. But considering how vain and narcissistic gay people are, it has definitely made a difference. Even so, the new found attention doesn't give me the satisfaction that I thought it would. I still feel as if no matter what I look like, it will never be enough. And I will eternally have another 17 pounds to go.

I Don't Eat Solid Food, I'm Single Again

One of the worst parts of ending a secret relationship is when people who kind of knew about the both of us all along ask, "Why isn't Tall Blonde Alcoholic here with you?" I have to come up with a way of saying, "I don't know what he's up to and I don't give a fuck," without sounding too vitriolic.

I also have to suppress the urge to tell people how idiotic I feel. For the past six months, I've been taken for granted while he chased memories of his friends from his summer internship and made new friends outside of our circle. I was the one left alone all the times he felt like he'd rather be with his engineering friends. I sat in my room alone the night of our one-year anniversary because he was doing an assignment he had procrastinated on for a week. He didn't even make any effort to see me on his birthday, opting to go to a friend's friend's apartment instead and asking me if wanted to tag along.

Meanwhile, he and his gay summer roommate who lives in Miami have the same profile picture of the two of them together. His spring break plans, which I was conveniently not included in, happened to put him in, not only Miami, but in his gay summer roommate's apartment. If that wasn't enough, I distinctly remember a text from the gay summer roommate asking him, "Are you gay?" And I'm pretty sure that, "because I want to have sex," was where that conversation was going. I suppose I will never understand his desire for his gay summer roommate, who lives thousands of miles away, to keep him warm at night when I was in front of his face all this time. But they are both moving to the same area in New Jersey next year. So that question more or less resolves itself.

My belief is that if he really wanted our relationship to work he could have put forth the effort. But he couldn't, and more importantly, he didn't want to. I've spent weeks considering how I was going to tiptoe around discussing the breakup so as to not make myself seem like a self-absorbed and embittered victim. But I honestly consider the demise of our relationship less my failure than his. Either he was too spineless to tell me he didn't love me or he was too selfish to care about anybody's happiness but his own. 

But the unbearable unfairness sets in when I realize that all his shit ends up placing him in a position to move on, finally do what he wants to do, and be with the people he wants to be with. And I, the one who is theoretically better off without him, am the one who is alone, without anywhere to go on spring break.

I would liken being single again after a long relationship to going through physical therapy. More than not enjoying being alone, I don't know how to be alone. I feel like I have to relearn how to function without the constant companionship and support of another person. For the most part, I've grown accustomed to eating alone in my apartment. I've accepted only being able to share my witty comments to my pathetic followers on Twitter. [Just kidding. I love you all. Follow me here, here, and here.] The one thing I have yet to get used to is lying alone in bed at night. That is when I feel the most lonely, exposed, and vulnerable to the girl from The Ring. 

Previously, three days of debilitating loneliness was my limit and I inevitably went crawling back [I did this twice] under the false hope that things would be different [they never were]. This time, instead of waiting for him to change, I think it's time for me to change. This is the part where I flip my curly, blonde hair back and walk down the streets of Manhattan, alone yet triumphant a la Carrie Bradshaw. In reality, this will probably involve more, "Table for one, please," and spending Friday nights rabidly refreshing my Twitter page. The triumphant and liberating feelings have yet to materialize. 

After all this, I still feel like there is more to say, but I can't put into words how crushing it feels to listen to him tell me that I'm not worth the effort when I see him doing it for other people all the time. The most painful aspect is that he was the best thing I've ever had; having him made me feel lucky despite my otherwise shitty life. But he ended up disappointing me more than anybody ever has before.

I never thought I'd be in this position during the last semester of college. As time runs out, I feel like all the pieces of my life are falling away, leaving me without any plan for the future, without anybody to turn to, and without an understanding of who I am anymore.

My Job Is Unhealthy On Several Levels

Before Julie Powell made awkward obsessions with cooking and lesbian haircuts trendy, I was a foodie with a lesbian haircut. Listening to everyone talk about "depth of flavor" and "herbaceousness" now makes me want to vomit. That's my niche

I got a job in a restaurant kitchen two years ago. This was equal parts me trying to pursue my culinary dreams and me trying to spite my parents for wanting me to become a doctor or supreme court justice or engineer or accountant or drug addict or teacher or nurse or chef, in that order.

But I had a romanticized vision of what working in a kitchen would be like and I didn't know what I was getting myself into. 

1) Nobody uses copper pans or wears toques. Maybe they do in Le Bernadin or in France.

2) Nobody actually knows how to cook. 

3) Cooking the same thing every single day turns your brain into red-skinned mashed potatoes.

All of this is fine, I couldn't care less about toques and my brain. And the fact that nobody knows how to cook actually works to my benefit because I was promoted after a few months to a sous. Now, I mostly stand there like a limp noodle and boss people around.

The real issues I have with my job are:

A) It makes me fat.

When you're surrounded by food all day and it's all free and it's all made with massive quantities of butter, it's really hard to maintain my incredible, supermodel figure.

B) It makes me a massive bitch.

One time a perpetually irritable waitress forgot to put in an order for an 8-person table and would not stop complaining about how long her food was taking as if none of this was her fault. I pointed to the door and told her to "Get the fuck out of my kitchen." This was wrong on my part. I should have said, "Get the fuck out of the kitchen," lest I let all this power get to my head.

Recently, one of the cooks was working extremely slowly and decided to strike up a conversation about indie rock instead. I asked another cook to take his place and he responded, "Why don't you worry about yourself." I turned around, pointed my finger at his face, and said, "Watch the way you talk to me," and turned back around. I'm pretty sure he is going to quit soon. Then again, so am I.