Dating, Memories, Social Media, Thoughts, You're Fine

How You Should View Your Ex

The other day, my ex of almost six years posted on Instagram for his girlfriend’s birthday. She’s a relatively new girlfriend, although I’ve been aware of her for a while. It’s only been a recent thing that my ex has actually posted anything with her. I’ve done some creeping and some stalking (I think we can all officially agree that we do this, mostly out of boredom), and she genuinely seems like a sweet person, and I really am happy for him. But the birthday post bothered me for just a minute.

I stopped for a second, reading his post about her birthday and calling her his “Partner in crime”, and realized he never once posted for my birthday. There was one year he posted on my birthday, but it was about the uniform he received in the mail for the Boston Marathon. I had that moment of weakness where I thought, “Why did he post for her and not for me?” And then I slapped myself in the face. My friend Helen sent me a text message and I brought up the birthday post. She wrote, “Isn’t it interesting to see what your exes are willing to do for other people and what they didn’t do for you?”

Now, I realize the Instagram post is a petty and fairly small thing to complain about. It really isn’t all that important. But when you break up, you tend to go over in your head not just the big things, but the small things that matter too. Like how every year, I posted on our anniversary and he didn’t. Or that one year I threw him a surprise birthday party. Or how every gift he gave me was so impersonal and lacked interest, which in a way showed how much he didn’t know me. The little things matter because those are the things that show the other person you care.

My response to Helen was simple: It’s a good thing that I’m seeing these changes because it tells me he learned something from all of this. You’re supposed to see changes in your ex, so rather than being mad and upset because what they’re doing now is something they didn’t ever do for you is ridiculous. You should be happy that they’re changing their ways, otherwise the next girl doesn’t stand a chance. Both my ex and I were too selfish to be considerate to one another, which is why he’s my ex. We were young, so we were supposed to be selfish.

This, I believe, is how every person should view their ex. Unless they tried to stab you or steal from you, you shouldn’t look at them with hatred simply because it didn’t work out. Especially once your ex has moved onto someone else and is treating them the way they are supposed to be treated, you should be happy about this because it means they actually listened to you.

I don’t hate any of my exes, even the shady, cheating ones. I’m not buddy-buddy with any of them, but if I were to run into them walking down the street, I’d offer to grab a coffee and catch up. I’ve grown a lot when it comes to relationships. No matter what I experienced, bad or good, or what I’ve been through, I am who I am. I will never be the jealous girlfriend, or the controlling girlfriend, or the clingy girlfriend. I have my own life and so do they. If they screw up, I will always give them a chance to properly explain themselves, but if they need to explain themselves every single week, then it’s time to call it quits. I’ve learned my time is precious, and I’m no longer going to waste it with anyone who can’t reciprocate those feelings.

So the next time you see your ex, whether it’s in-person or through social media, be the bigger person. No longer sit and stew over what you see, and walk along.

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Awkward, Dating, Girls, Humor, Internet Things, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

I Don’t Want to Be a Princess

We can go ahead and consider this a new Single Schmingle installment since I’ve discussed this very topic with Myka and Meghan. Bear with me here.

I always thought Mia Thermopolis was crazy. Who wouldn’t want to wake up one day and find out they’re a princess? The girl got a full blown makeover for free, a millions beautiful ball gowns, a tiara she got to wear occasionally, and full service at her disposal. Granted, if you’re introverted like Mia, all of that attention can make you feel like you have a thousand tiny ants crawling all over your body. You’re uncomfortable nearly all the time. You might even feel guilty. And I am exactly like that.

Something Colleen said to me last week struck a chord with me and I can’t shake it off. After I told her the complete switch in enthusiasm from Navy Man when I told him I wanted to be casual and friendly, she said, “You shouldn’t have said anything. You should have just let him treat you like the princess you are.”

“But I don’t want to be treated like a princess,” I said.

“Why the hell not?”

I thought about this for the past few days. I can’t be the only girl out there who feels uncomfortable using a guy to feel special, only to know that I’m not actually interested in him. I’m shocked that girls actually do this. They let these guys take them out to fancy restaurants, buy them presents, and then whisper to their girlfriends that they don’t really like him, they’re just waiting out the storm.

I feel weird if a guy even pays for me all the time. I just don’t think it’s necessary. I’m the type that if a man brings me to a fancy restaurant, I’ll order the cheapest item on the menu. I’m more of a hot-dog-cart-with-a-side-of-cheesy-fries kind of girl. But I know that’s just how my mom raised me. She always said, “Never depend on a man. Learn how to take care of yourself.” I think a mother with three daughters has to feed them that mindset nowadays. Especially a single mother.

Of course, it’s always nice to get pampered every once in a while. Some flowers or an ice cream run when I’m feeling down. But nothing major. I’ve been in relationships where I never got those things, mostly because we grew too comfortable with each other that we forgot how to appreciate one another. And even if those small gestures did happen, I was so surprised by the event that I was asking a million questions to figure out why it was happening.

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the roles were reversed. What if was the one to ask a guy out on a date? What if was the one to court the guy around and pay for the date? This isn’t some feminist, all mighty woman power post. It’s just a thought. How would the date turn out in the end? Would it be the same? I feel like with every date, the guy is the one who is trying to impress, meanwhile, I think the girl should be equally impressive. We don’t give men enough credit. Some women out there might roll their eyes at that last statement but I’m serious. It takes a lot of guts to ask someone out. And then you have to take that person out and all of the pressure is on them to impress them, and make sure they’re having a good time. Here I am, nervous for nearly every single date, when it seems all I really have to do is stand there and look pretty, maybe laugh at his jokes, and share an anecdote or two. That’s my only job.

I’ve never laughed over a guy asking me out on a date. I’m always flattered, no matter who they are. But men get rejected all the time. For women, it’s once in a blue moon. And when it happens, it doesn’t feel good, does it? Let’s face it, ladies. When it comes to casually dating, we’re kind of spoiled. Even if you never make it to date number 2, you still got a free meal.

However, after discussing this with Myka and Meghan why we may perhaps feel weird about going on dates, no matter how long we’ve been doing it, it could be the slight chance that men have kind of given up. In 2017, a typical date is “Netflix and Chill”. We could have done that in the comfort of our own home. You invite us over to “watch a movie”. We know what that means, gentleman. We suddenly feel like they don’t want to actually get to know us, because who discusses life, hobbies, and family in the middle of a movie?

Of course, this post is all over the place. A lot of it may be contradicting. But that’s just because I’m another crazy woman who doesn’t know what she wants.

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Dating, Girls, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

Little Bird

A little bird gave me a wonderful piece of advice and wisdom recently that I’m trying to hold onto dearly.

But first, I’ll explain how my date went with Navy Man on Monday. He was a gentleman, for sure. He held the door open for me. He paid for me the entire evening. He made good conversation with rare moments of silence that didn’t really feel awkward. However, I did find out within the first 30 minutes that he turned 21 in March. Instantly I knew, this guy is too young for me. I was confused because he explained that he went to culinary school for 2 years, and then has been in the navy for the past 2 years, which is why I thought he was more in the age 24 range. Did this guy graduate from high school at 16?
I accepted his age in that moment and decided to just enjoy myself. After dinner, we went to another bar, tried a few weird cocktails called a Jimlet, which tasted exactly like a gimlet, and listened to a Beatles cover band.

On Wednesday, he texted me saying that he had an amazing time and hopes that this wasn’t a one time thing. He said he really enjoyed my company and wants to get to know me more. Now, I don’t like hurting people’s feelings. After a couple of days, I decided I really wasn’t interested in this guy anymore for various reasons, and not just the slight age difference. I politely said that I really appreciate what he has said and I had a great time and would like to hang out again sometime on more casual friendly terms. I told him I’m not looking for anything serious or long term, which in hindsight, is true. Suddenly, he pulled a 360 on me. His response was, “I could be on the other side of the planet in 6-7 months. I don’t know where my job is going to take me. I’m just looking to have a little fun while I’m still here…”

Oh, so now I’m an escort. Or a Geisha. I’ve been downgraded. Immediately, I was even more turned off by this guy than before. I know he responded that way because I kinda sorta rejected him. He said all of these nice things and now he’s considered me his party animal. Oh, okay.

To be fair, I did tell him I wanted things to be casual and light hearted. But he could have responded in a better way.

After that comment, I don’t have an intention of seeing him again. Which brings me back to what my little bird friend said to me a few weeks ago. To sum it up, they explained that dates are kind of pointless. People treat them more like a checklist, which is not the way to find your potential partner. You should find your future someone when you’re comfortable with them and nothing is forced. If you have to force conversation simply because you “matched” on Bumble, then it’s kind of doomed from the start. Everything should come naturally.

Which brings me to my question: if what I said to Navy Man is actually true, that I’m not looking for anything long term right now, then what the hell am I dating for? To pass the time? To seek out attention when I’m feeling the most vulnerable? Writing that out makes me feel like I’m wasting my time and I’m already annoyed with myself.

So, how can you just accept yourself for who you are, without the needs of someone else? I’m getting there, slowly but surely. Especially a few weeks ago when that guy made the cute comment and I shut it down immediately. I’m tired. I’m tired of the same conversation over and over again. I’m tired of the same compliments. I’m tired of trying to find a way to let people down gently. It’s all very exhausting.

I need to stop dating out of boredom. I need to learn how to take myself out on dates, and be content with myself. I’ve been told you can’t fully love someone unless you love yourself first. But that’s easier said than done.

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Awkward, Dating, Girls, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, You're Fine

It’s Just a Date

You know it’s been a while when you log into your WordPress account and find 17 spam comments you need to delete.

How has everyone been? Good? Cool? Solid? Wonderful.

I would devote some time to reading blog posts by all of you glorious bloggers but I don’t simply have the time. I’ll try, though.

But I have finally plopped a seat in my kitchen with a hot cup of coffee watching the sun shine through my window on this day. It’s supposed to be 89 degrees today. The heat has already kicked in rather rapidly here in Charleston, and I’ve been melting. Only slightly.

I’m about to share with you some funny stories over the last few weeks, some updates, and maybe ask for a little advice too, if you’d like to give it.

The job in the gallery is going pretty well. Of course, there are some aspects to the job that aren’t wonderful, but the shoe always drops, doesn’t it? I’m not going to be a millionaire anytime soon but at least I’m gaining valuable experience.

I’ve been “dating” or rather, “seeing” one guy in particular. My Girl Gang group chat with Meghan and Myka like to call him Southern Man. He’s born and raised in Charleston. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s sweet. In a weird yet comforting way, he reminds me of my dad. He’s fun to be around and he brings me nachos late at night after he works. We’ve been seeing each other for over a month and I’m having serious doubts about the whole thing. I told him after our first date that I wanted this to be casual for now. I just wanted to keep spending time with him before committing to anything serious. However, after our first date, he made it very known how MUCH he likes me. I feel like I should have been happy with this but I wasn’t. It actually kind of freaked me out. But I wanted to give him a fair chance and still hang out with him in hopes that it would change. It did change slightly. I actually do really like him, but there’s one major con standing in the way. He absolutely despises kids.

He has no intention of having children at all. The first few times he mentioned it, I let it slide. But he’s brought it up on numerous occasions to the point where it concerns me and I’m realizing he’s not joking. I completely respect his decision to not want kids, but I made it known that I actually do want kids in the future. This doesn’t seem to phase him, though. So I keep thinking, where does it go from here? Here’s my answer: it doesn’t. I am fully aware that us hanging out, casually, is as far as it’s going to go. Unfortunately, I know he doesn’t see it that way.

Southern Man left for a cruise on Saturday and will be back on Thursday. I plan to have a chat with him when he’s back to clear the air and see what he’s thinking. I hate having those conversations, especially when it’s about something that is so far off in my future that the whole conversation sounds a little insane. But the way I see it is if I’m going to get serious with someone, we need to want the same things in life.

On a less serious note, I went out for a ladies night on Saturday. I have found a very colorful and crazy group of girlfriends whom I love. We sat in an Irish bar and listened to Irish folk music and danced. Here is the part where I may need some advice from you fellow bloggers but read the entire situation, and take into consideration what I had just previously shared with you.

I’m sitting at the bar, drinking my Michelob Ultra, and noticed a guy at the bar kept smiling at me. He interacted with me from across the bar a couple of times in a joking manner. After a little while, the bartender handed me a shot of whiskey. I asked her where it came from and she pointed to the man. I started laughing and he yelled, “You’re in an Irish bar and you’re drinking a Michelob. Have a whiskey!”

I hate whiskey. But I took the shot anyway and made sure to give him the most disgusted face after, in which he laughed. So then I followed along and asked the bartender to pour two rumplemintz shots. I had never heard of rumplemintz until I moved to Charleston. It tastes like toothpaste but at least you’re minty fresh after. I asked her to hand one over to the guy. As the bartender is pouring them, another guy comes up to me and asks to buy me a drink. I was like a lost doe in the woods. Here I was, buying a man a drink while another man is trying to buy ME a drink. It was a very confusing 10 seconds of my life. I looked down to read this new guy’s t-shirt and it read the name of the same restaurant Southern Man works at and I nearly had a heart attack. Charleston is small, y’all. So I instantly said, “No, I’m good. Thank you.” If I had said yes, I would have had to change my name.

The whiskey guy at the bar took his shot of rumplemintz and yelled, “Thanks for the Colgate!” After a little while, he got up to leave and slipped a piece of paper with his number on it.

Smooth.

What I liked about this guy was how classy and old school he was. He didn’t try to come over and talk to me because he could see I was with my friends. That’s already a good sign in my book. He didn’t ask if he could buy me a drink, he did it anyway. Another good sign. And the fact that he slipped me his number on a piece of paper like it was 1997 made me a happy camper.

I sent him a text, and we’ve been talking on and off since Saturday. Then he wrote to me, “This may seem a little forward, but would you like to have dinner sometime?” <— Another wonderful sign that he doesn’t want to push boundaries. He actually seems like a proper gentleman. And he’s in the Navy, which might explain his good manners. I said yes and now I have a date tonight at a pretty classy, expensive restaurant that apparently people try to get reservations at months ahead of time. This guy means business.

Of course, a part of me feels a little shitty because I’m still technically seeing Southern Man. I keep trying to justify it in my head by saying, “You told him casual, Jess!” or “You’re not doing anything wrong!” I’m monogamous at heart, so going on multiple dates tends to weird me out. I know deep down I’m not actually doing anything wrong or shameful but I can’t shake the feeling either. It’s just a date. It’s just a date. It’s just a date.

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Family, Girls, Home, Humor, Thoughts

The Love Of My Life

I stole this title from Cheryl Strayed. If you want to read her personal essay, you can find it here: The Love of My Life. We may have the same title, but it’s not the same story.

I didn’t realize before how bland my life really was. It wasn’t always bland, but only for a brief time. I’ve been living with Colleen for two months now, and I feel warm inside. I’m convinced it’s the twintuition. It’s been wild, tame, stressful, and celebratory all at the same time. I’m going to punch myself in the face for saying this, but you know that Taylor Swift song “22”? It’s kind of like that. It’s horrible, yet fun. It’s confusing, yet care-free. Now that I’ve said that, please forget I ever said that.

Any person who steps foot in our apartment is freaked out not by me, and not by Colleen, but by both of us.

Together.

We make bird calls from the next room. I cook her dinner and she tells me she loves me. I try to teach her how to cook dinner and she yells, “WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE DOING THIS?!” We FaceTime even though she’s in the living room and I’m in my bedroom. She pulls a seat next to my bed and we talk for hours. I buy her Wasabi Peas when I think she’s running low and she buys me green apples. In the middle of the night, I hear her crashing around in her room and then she takes off. I don’t know where she’s going but I know she’s fine. I find her in her room with all of the lights on and the TV blasting, and she’s passed out with Ragnar on her chest. We go to yoga together and I admire her headstand. When I clean up, she rearranges everything. We can relate to Anne Perkins and Leslie Knope. We can relate to Idgie Threadgoode and Ruth Jamison. When we both got the jobs we wanted, we stood in the kitchen and screamed. Some nights, we crawl into bed together with our cats and watch Moulin Rouge and Big Fish. We tell each other about our casual dates. I paint something and she wants to buy it. She rants about her liberal views and I sit and listen because I know she just needs to vent.

We fight too. But it’s not average fights where we say mean things and don’t talk for two days. Our fights are more like heated discussions where she angrily tells me how wonderful I am and that I’m acting stupid, and I tell her she’s reading too much into it and I don’t agree with what she’s saying. Then we make jungle noises and throw the middle finger around and yell, “I HATE YOU BUT I LOVE YOU”, or “I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING BUT YOU’RE BEING WEIRD ABOUT IT.”

Or the heated discussion looks a little like this:

Colleen: GAHHHHHHHH You’re just so wonderful but you’re being dumb about this.

Me: I know I am but you’re being a bitch about it!

Colleen: I KNOW I AM!!!

If we get mad at each other, it’s never for selfish reasons. After a couple of hours, we laugh and grab a bite to eat.

We go to an Irish pub and listen to an Irish folk band. We dance, we sing, we clap, and we don’t care. We do each other’s laundry. We both avoid the dishes. We sometimes feed the cats four times a day without knowing it, those greedy bastards. She buys silly string, and there’s no telling when she’s going to use it. We like tequila. When she’s stressed out, she’ll rearrange her room for the 500th time. We FaceTime her friends back home, and one of them decided to impregnate me with a boy and name him Benjammin’. We talk about books and world history. She tells me she wants to marry a Russian. And then she gags over marriage. We run into Sephora and walk out broke. We wear matching kitty t-shirts in case we lose each other in a crowd. She eats my leftover pizza and takes selfies with it to let me know she’s done the crime. We eat crap, talk about how we need to lose weight, and then eat more crap because we are twenty-six and too young to abandon all good things. We invite everyone we ever knew to our apartment just because we like the company.

So, the point in this post is this. Whether I do meet someone new, get married, and eventually live a life expected, Colleen will always be my soulmate.

Who wants to come over?

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Awkward, Dating, Girls, Humor, Thoughts, You're Fine

Single Schmingle: Conversations with Hey Meghan

I did kind of a sad thing yesterday. I googled “How to Casually Date”. Some of you may be on the same train. If so, welcome aboard the Casually Dating Express. There are no Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, or Cauldron Cakes on this express. Instead, there are the Traumatizing Truffles, Confusing Cookies, and Humiliating Hobbob’s (I don’t know what a Hobbob is. I made it up. Why am I not a famous novelist yet for such brilliant creativity?).

I found a wonderful article on Thought Catalog titled “24 Thoughts Every Chronic Over-Thinker Has While Attempting To ‘Casually Date’”. I found it hilarious and a little heart-warming considering the entire list was filled with my very thoughts. I related way too much to number 5.

I want to be on Tinder, it feels like Tinder is a place I should be, and yet there’s some part of me that is convinced someone I’ll know will be on there and they’ll know I’m actively seeking love and I won’t look cool I’ll look thirsty and they’ll go home and say to their friends, oh I saw them on Tinder guess they’re lonely. Oh my god I can’t do Tinder.

I’ve been single for three months and I’m not sad about it. In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m being a basic bitch and sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop Carrie Bradshawing it because I needed to get out of the apartment and explore my new town. And guess what? I can stay in this very seat for as long as I want. I have nowhere to be after this, and it feels nice. I’ve always been extremely monogamous. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but if you were to ask me what my type of man is, I’d have no answer for you. I have no idea because I’ve never dated around. I’ve also never been the type of person to cut someone out over something small. For instance, if I was to meet someone and they were like, “I hate travelling and I have no interest in it”, that would normally not be a deal breaker for me even though I absolutely love to travel. But maybe it should be. There’s a difference in being picky and being a brat. If I want to travel to a new country every year, I want to date someone who wants to do that too.

So, I found myself googling “How to casually date” because I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to “dating”. I think the fact that I gave my number to three different men in the last week proves that because I wasn’t entirely interested in them in the first place. But I sat in bed and realized that with all three men, I had the exact same conversation over and over again.

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“Where did you grow up? What do you do? How old are you?” Blah, blah, blah. Boring. It’s like a broken record. It’s to the point where I can’t even remember what their answers were because it’s all the same.

As soon as a man starts talking to me, I forget how to human. My intelligence is gone, I have nothing of importance to say, and I get tongue-tied. I’m fully aware that I’m acting like an idiot, but I don’t know how to turn it off.

Let’s turn to my blogger friend Meghan (go follow her blog if you haven’t already). I texted her explaining my awkwardness and since she is newly single (well, kind of), we decided to collaborate a series of blog posts consisting of our weird interactions with the opposite sex. Is this a dating blog? No, not really. If this blog turned into a dating blog, just go ahead and unfollow me now because I have nothing concrete to say and you’ll probably end up an old, battered person with not just cats, but parrots, geese, chickens, and maybe a llama.

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This is what Meghan has to say about her predicament:

Oh hi there is it my turn?! Well for those who know I just got “dumped” Aka the guy I had been casually seeing for the last year said he no longer saw a future with me. OUCHHHH. If you want to punch someone in the heart tell them that. Instant ouch. I was already “single” but now I’m SUPER SINGLE. I don’t really think I’m ready to mingle yet. At this point I’m just waiting for my secret fantasy to come true. What is that you ask?!?!
WELL:
I’m at a concert and some super hot rocker guy is on stage and see’s me in the crowd and instantly falls for me. He hunts me down after their set and the rest is history. He will write cute but slightly emo songs about how much he loves me and will have cute little kids with mohawks and converse.

YEAH…..okay I’m just embarrassing myself right now. That will never happen.

Being in your mid 20’s and dating is weird. I have friends getting married and having kids. I on the other hand can’t even keep a cactus alive and would eat dino nuggets every night for dinner if I had the choice. I guess we are all at different stages of life??

J: I’d eat Dino nuggets all day every day.

M: Dude I just bought more. They are great.

J: So you basically want to marry Tony Hawk?

M: More like Kellin Quinn. Tony Hawk is old. 

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J: My aunt told me to find someone 10-15 years older than me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that.

M: Ewww. I have a five year limit. 

J: Is your dream to go back in time to 2003?

M: Maybe…

J: My dream is to find a man casually wearing a Doug t-shirt. Is that weird?

M: Bwahahahaha. Slightly but very you. 

J: It would match my Reptar t-shirt. I feel like I’m not asking for much.

M: I was just thinking that. I have a Legends of the Hidden Temple t-shirt. 

J: STOP IT. I forgot about that show. I should just start wearing my Reptar shirt when I go out. See how many suitors comment on it.

M: DO IT. DO IT NOW.


So it’s official. Next Single Schmingle post will reveal if Meghan has found her 2003 lover and switched over to different nuggets, and I will attempt to wear my Reptar shirt out to a bar to see if men either think I’m weird as hell or think it’s absolutely amazing. There’s only one way to find out, right?

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Poems, Thoughts, Writing

Because

I’m waiting for my time to pass by

Because darkness is slowly eating me.

Store me in your mind for just a moment

Even a second, would be nice.

Like Nanna sings,

“I should eat you up

And spit you right out.”

But I still have faith in you.

You may never think of me

And that’s okay.

I’ll wander the world sleeplessly anyway.

Like Nanna sings,

“I should not care

But I don’t know how.”

I sit on my side of the tub

The warm rain trickling down on me

And I watch the dripping faucet

Waiting for something magnificent

To happen

Because I still have faith in you.

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Awkward, Girls, Humor, Memories, Thoughts, You're Fine

A Letter to My Pants

Hey ladies,

I’m sure for the last year, my closet has felt like Buckingham Palace compared to my last one. You have so much space to just hang around while Mumford tortures you from time to time with his claws when he’s feeling feisty. You’re also completely separated from those asshole t-shirts and blouses in the next closet over. You no longer have to mingle with them, thank goodness.

I’m sure the feeling is mutual when I say that we are frenemies. Some of you are just so wonderful, shaping my body ever so nicely while the rest of you, I’m certain, are trying to kill me.

I’ll start off with you lovely sweatpants. There are just so many of you: the Catalina Island Sweatpants, the Old-Navy-Random-Purchase Sweatpants, the Forever-21-And-It-Only-Cost-2-Dollars Leggings, the Yoga-Pants-I-Bought-When-I-Was-A-Size-Zero-And-No-Longer-Fit-In. You are all my buds. We’ve had so many cuddle sessions together, and I wouldn’t trade them in for the world. I’m sorry to many of you for the accidental coffee spill from time to time when I was startled or got excited about something. We’ve watched the entire series of Mad Men together, and you’re definitely the type I would like to die in a plane crash with, if the situation were to occur. Sorry, jeans. At least I would die comfortable. You’re the first pants I reach to when I get home from work.

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You’re the perfect attire to eat in. You allow me to be a bottomless pit and I love you for it. Cashews? Screw cashews. Give me french fries.

Back to the jeans. You guys are terrible friends. The only thing I like about you is the fact that you make my legs seem long and lean, but it’s a complete lie. In reality, my legs are short and look like stubby fingers. Let’s just push that pro to the side and go over the cons:

  • The daily struggle every morning pulling you over my thighs. It’s like wrestling a bear.
  • Praying they are going to zip up without that awkward opening as if I went to the bathroom and forgot to zip my pants back up.
  • That uncomfortable and painful scar you leave across my stomach every day as if I fell asleep on a butcher knife for 6 hours.

^^^ This is why I prefer sweatpants.

But I have news for some of you. Since I have officially shed 12 pounds from my body, I’m gonna have to go Hunger Games on your asses and remove you from the premises. No, Olive Jeans. You can’t volunteer as tribute. You still fit perfectly fine.

Some of you, on the other hand, now fit me so awkwardly I feel like one of those tweens who’s old enough to shop in the juniors section but risk wearing khaki’s that bubble up at the thighs, but will only fit in the Little Miss section and risk wearing jeans with flower patches on the knees like they’re in third grade. I can’t be having that at the age of 25. Sahry.

I’m not going to name names, but some of you will have to say your goodbyes because you’re being stored in a box somewhere for later use. I’m realistic of the fact that I’m sure I’m going to need you again at some point.

We are also moving to a much warmer place, full of sunshine and horrible humidity. Even the ones who are dear enough to stick around, your services will not be needed nearly as much. I’m going to have to start buying more shorts and dresses. I know, I know. Shorts scare you. They are basically you, but with your limbs cut off. Do you want to be covered in my sweat?

I didn’t think so.

This isn’t to say I don’t love all of you. I know what I said before, jeans. But I didn’t mean it. You are there for me when the seasons change and I feel my inner girl freak out at the sight of a dead leaf. I throw you on when the temperature drops to 60. You cover my legs on the days I don’t feel like shaving. You keep me warm and cozy. You give me more confidence than any other piece of clothing.

I’ll be sure to give you the love and respect on the days you are needed. We will do something fun together. Like jump in a pile of leaves or bond with some boots if it gets really cold. I know you’ll miss the boots too.

So, this isn’t goodbye now, or forever. This is a “I’ll catch you on the flip side.” Until then, you do you. Never lose heart.

Yours truly,

Momsicle

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Awkward, Connecticut, Girls, Humor, I'm not a mommy blogger, You're Fine

I Don’t Like the Term Yolo, So I’m Gonna Go with Solo

I’ve been trying to wrap my brain over the last few days as to what I used to do before my relationship. And then I realized, I’ve never been alone. And I mean, alone alone. Even before Mr. Jess, I was focusing on getting out of California, and then I lived with my mom for a short period of time. Someone has always been there. And this past week, I’ve been feeling like this:

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I officially do not know anyone in the state of Connecticut other than co-workers, and they live in New York. So each night, I’ve come home from work and twiddled my thumbs, thinking about how to pass the time before bed.

Luckily, the group chat with Paul, Chris and Meghan has kept me sane. As soon as I receive a message from any of them, I instantly feel better and cheerful. I also tend to have nightly Snapchat dates with Meghan by playing with filters and sending videos telling each other what’s happening. We could just FaceTime, but what’s the fun in that? I have wonderful friends who entertain me through text and I’m doing my best to fill my weekends up with adventure so that I don’t end up in the corner of my apartment eating my hair by Sunday evening.

I got a good dose of how dangerous it is to be alone all of the time without a solid head on my shoulders. Yesterday I had an eye exam at the mall. The eye exam took a whole ten minutes to complete and then my lonesome self was released into the wilderness of the mall. Very bad idea.

I remembered that I ran out of body wash. So I decided to stop inside Bath & Body Works and found a holiday Sugar Plum wash that smells just delightful. Then I saw Victoria’s Secret across the way and remembered I needed to update some under garments.

Let’s just halt right there for a second because I can’t be the only one who does this:

You walk in to search for bras or whatever the hell it is you’re looking for. An attendant comes up and asks if you need any help. Only it happens at least 5 times while you’re in the store. So you keep nodding your head “No, thanks” with a slight annoyance because you are so confident that you can find your own damn bra yourself, only to find out months, maybe even years later, that you’ve been wearing the wrong size bra. Stubbornness at its finest.

Anyways, $50 later and I stumbled across a Sephora. I looked at the time and it was only 6:15.

sdsads

I strolled in and started playing with the samples of makeup. I found Bare Minerals, which I forgot how amazing the product is, a bronzer, some eye shadow and blush, and I was having a ball. I walked in looking like Charlize Theron in Monster, and came out looking like Natalie Portman. I contoured the shit out of my face.

$70 in Sephora later and I was home.

dfdsf

Needless to say, this cannot turn into a habit of mine. I’m going to need to find other things to occupy my time. For instance, this evening, on a raging Friday night, I will be home doing laundry, cleaning, and probably watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the second time this week.

dfssdfsd

Who wants to chat with me?

 

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Thoughts, You're Fine

This is Not a Romcom

Go ahead and watch a romcom, or any type of movie for that matter, and analyze the breakups that occur in the movie. It’s the same formula every time.

The couples look at each other with a deep understanding that it’s not working out. Very little has to be said. Maybe the girl says, “I just, I just don’t know what I want.” And the guy nods his head, accepting the situation, maybe he kisses her on the forehead, and then he leaves. There have been very few movies I’ve watched where it’s a big blowout of a fight where harsh words are said, but it still only lasts about thirty seconds before each of them realize it’s over. Each on screen breakup is rather clean, like ripping a band-aid off that was covering a paper cut. For once, I’d like to see a real breakup, one that’s true in a film. The only one that was remotely close to being true was Amy Schumer’s movie Trainwreck, which I applauded her for. Maybe I wouldn’t have all of these expectations.

My breakup with Sam extended to about a month and a half. And it definitely was not clean. I recently broke things off with Mr. Jess as well, which got me thinking about my annoyance for on screen breakups. Everyone always talks about what it’s like to get dumped, but never about the dumper.

In reality, there’s a lot of pacing. There’s the anticipation of that person coming and knowing what you have to do. There’s the empty, caved feeling in the chest with a whirlwind of anxiety because you don’t actually want to do the act of breaking up, but you know it must be done for various reasons. Either the person arriving knows what’s about to happen, or they have no idea. Maybe you start hyperventilating, sweating through your shirt, because you’re of course not sure if you’re making a mistake or not. And then when they show up, you can’t seem to spit the words out because you know it’s going to hurt them, and you don’t actually want to hurt anyone, ever, so then you start spinning around the reason for the talk, hoping they are going to get it. It’s the part in those movies you are hoping for: the deep understanding when looking at each other, knowing things aren’t working out and you don’t have to even say it. But reality is, you do have to eventually say it because chances are, they are not going to understand just by looking at you.

*Cue the tears*

Yes. There is a lot of crying between the two people. There are a lot of comments like, “Why?” or, “I can’t believe this.” There are a lot of promises made by the person that you know fully well are not realistic, or could even be potentially damaging in the future. You know they are just saying those things to get you to stay. Then, several hours later, after many tissue boxes, the person leaves and you’re left in your own silence.

I hate breaking up with someone. I don’t get a kick out of it like some people think dumpers do. When I broke up with Sam, I got a lot of girls storming in months later telling me I inspired them. I took a stable lifestyle and smashed it to pieces with a baseball bat. They couldn’t believe I did such a thing, so they started looking at their life and what they wanted, and I somehow made them realize they could change it. But to the girls I inspired, just know, there is a lot more below the surface that many people don’t know about. It’s like looking at an ocean. The top of the ocean looks magical and beautiful. Even when you go underwater, you see wonderful things like seashells and fish, maybe even dolphins. But as you keep going, and going, and going, and it gets so dark to the point where you can’t even see, and you search for more creatures that maybe have never been identified, you might eventually drown. Just because a couple looks happy, healthy, and beautiful on the outside, doesn’t mean they are like that on the inside.

I am a very flawed person. I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I’m never 100% confident in everything I do or say. I just learned that if something doesn’t seem right, you have to go with it no matter how painful it is.

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firstdate

Cartoons, Food, Girls, Humor

First Date

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Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, You're Fine

4 Methods On How to Handle a Fight You Weren’t Originally a Part Of

I’m in a bit of a predicament that I’ve haven’t been entwined in since my middle school days, so I’m a bit rusty when it comes to handling the situation. Let me do my best to paint the picture for you while brainstorming some methods I learned from catty middle school girls.

A couple of months ago, I was part of a group chat with four other co-workers. We mostly goofed off, sent each other silly gifs, and discussed the next after-work cocktails night we should have. It was all fun and games until something extraordinarily awkward happened.

Meet Don. He’s a bit of a grump with some serious mood swings. He acts like he hates you, and then the next day, says “Good Morning” and asks about your weekend. He’s a confusing, angsty soul.

Meet Katie. She’s sassy, firey, and has no problem letting you know how much she hates her job.

Katie said something sassy in the group chat, and Don fired back. With my clear eyes, it seemed like he was being sarcastic, which that is a language Katie doesn’t speak. Katie took offense to his comment, which started a very short mini argument between the two of them. The other two chatters were silent, and so was I. What do the kids call it? Ghosting? Yes. I did my best to ghost the conversation.

Within minutes, Don left the group chat. Since then, Katie hasn’t really spoken to him. Nothing has changed on my part because I barely spoke to him before the group chat anyway. Fast forward a few weeks, and one of the silent chatters mentioned how Don wanted to go out for after-work drinks, but without Katie…and apparently me. Fast forward to last night, and I found that Don unfollowed me on Instagram, along with Katie.

Needless to say, this guy doesn’t like me, and it’s clear that it’s by association. I’m friends with Katie. I talk to her, and eat lunch with her everyday. Therefore, since Don doesn’t like Katie, he MUST not like me too.

I’ve never dealt with something like this in “adult world”. Especially by a thirty-something-year-old man. What bothers me about this situation is that 1. Katie and I are nothing alike, and 2. this person has made up his mind about me without actually getting to know me, and 3. I’ve done absolutely nothing.

And now I’m left wondering how on earth I got dragged into a fight I was never originally a part of.

So here are some petty mean girl tactics that I haven’t pulled out of my closet since 2005.

1. The Silent Treatment

As adults, we have learned the art of keeping a straight face, smiling, and acting like nothing is wrong, especially in front of someone we don’t particularly like. In teenage girl world, you test out the silent treatment. The person you are in a brawl with asks for a pencil, you stare straight ahead without even a head nod to acknowledge the slight breeze in the air.

dsfsdfs2. The Stink-Eye

Any time they make eye contact with you, just act like they have a booger on their face.

gfdgg

3. Be Overly and Obnoxiously Nice

I don’t mean hold the door open for him or offer the last office doughnut. I mean being so nice that he knows everything about it is sarcastic.

“HEY DON. HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND? I LOVE THAT SHIRT ON YOU. YOUR WIFE IS SO NICE. LIKE OMG.” – Valley Girl Voice

erew4. Take the High Road

Raise your hand if you’re over the age of eighteen and simply have other things to worry about? SAME.

Ignore methods 1-3 and just “take the high road”. I simply unfollowed him and will continue to move on from this invigorating friendship we once shared.

Feel free to share your methods on handling catty situations as an adult. I could use all the help I can get.

*Names have been changed to protect the semi-innocent.

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Anecdote, Cats, Humor, Manic Monday

Jess vs. Kitty (Location: The Bathroom)

There was a news story last year about a family who called the police on their house cat because it became so vicious and locked them inside the bathroom. THE CAT PHYSICALLY LOCKED THEM IN THE BATHROOM. The cat ripped his own family to shreds.

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I remember listening to the news story one morning with my cup of coffee and giggling like a maniac because the whole thing sounded so ridiculous. How does someone call the police on a cat? In the end, they quarantined the cat for various reasons before returning him to their owner. When I googled the news story, this apparently happens more often than we think since I found three separate events with the same idea in Connecticut, Oregon, and Florida.

I never thought I would experience something similar until it splashed right in my face, literally.

Some of you may remember that I took in a stray back in August and we’ve had him ever since. He’s an adorable 6 month old black kitten and for now, we are fostering him, taking him to little kitty events where people play with him and then walk away forgetting all about him. I already own a orange tabby cat named Mumford, and in comparison to Shitty Kitty (we are terrible foster parents, clearly), they are vastly different. Shitty Kitty is named Shitty Kitty for a reason. He smells all the time. He’s a bottomless pit when it comes to food, and he always makes a mess when he goes to the bathroom. After some observation, I’m convinced Mumford has OCD or something since he is constantly cleaning himself, and he takes little nibbles when he eats as opposed to mowing down.

Last night, I decided to give Shitty Kitty a bath. The first time I tried it, he had been in our apartment for a whole two hours and it was a struggle. I figured it has been two months since then, maybe he will be better.

I was sadly mistaken. I placed Shitty Kitty nicely in the tub of warm water and he immediately freaked out. He splashed, flailed, meowed the deepest cry I’ve ever heard, and practically climbed up the tiled wall like Spiderman. I let him scurry out and began laughing hysterically at how silly he was being. I placed him in the tub once more, only this time, he stuck one of his claws deep into my arm. He was attached to my limb and wouldn’t let go. I began screaming, trying to pry his little paw out of my skin when he went insane and began biting down on my hand.

It was his planned murderous plot to get rid of the hand that would unhook his claw out of my vein. I swear we wrestled for a whole 5 seconds before Sam busted into the bathroom to break up the feud. I imagine all Sam could hear behind the closed door was splashing water, low deep meows, and screaming. What was once a loving relationship turned sour very quickly. Sam grabbed Shitty Kitty and basically tossed him into the tub a couple of times. We figured the only way to bathe him was to lather him up in soap and toss him in the tub to wash off a few times like he was stir fry.

We finally found a way to stick him in the sink, Sam holding him down like Shitty Kitty owed him money, while I dropped a few cups of water over his body to get the soap off. The look on his face was terrifying, like he was going to get me back somehow.

Afterwards, my bathroom looked a little something like this:

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It took a couple of hours, but Shitty Kitty finally made his way back into my lap to cuddle, but I’m a bit wary. I feel like I need to sleep with a knife under my pillow.

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