I’ve been MIA for a while because
to be perfectly honest I haven’t felt funny. This blog isn’t about white girls
bitching about other bitches being bitches. I mean I’ve had a few of those
(calling all Cunty Carol’s) but that’s not what this is supposed to be about.
So let’s get our glasses of wine/shots of vodka/beer bongs/champagne
bongs/spliffs/joints/bongs, etc. ready for some real talk.
A couple of weeks ago my best friend/life
partner/partner in crime/life coach/furry child passed away. I had Hercules for
20 years. This is not a joke or an exaggeration, though I know I’m good at both
things. This dog was by my side for literally two decades. He made me laugh.
Like one of his last practical jokes when he took a hot shit on the floor and
conned my friend into stepping in it with her bare feet. Even better was she
was too drunk to realize it had literally encased her foot and woke up the next
morning on my floor with shit still caked in between her toes. I think I burst
some blood vessels from laughing at that. He made me cry. Like when I purchased
a beautiful new rug and he looked me right in the eyes and took a 2 minute piss
on the formerly beautiful new rug. He’d be happy to know that the piss rug
still remains in my apartment. I’m not aging well, perhaps it’ll be covered in
my urine soon.
But best of all he made me get my ass out of bed every morning
even when I felt like I couldn’t and I hated everything and wanted to never
wake up. He relied on me and he needed me and I got my ass out of bed every day
because I didn’t want to disappoint him. If you’ve never had a dog or are a
heartless son of a bitch you probably have no idea what I’m talking about. And to
that I say, GO FUCK YOURSELF.
The past few weeks I feel like Eeyore. And not in the
cute way. Like the super fucked up way where it’s like all the little things
that used to make me happy seem stupid and my life feels heavy and every time I
see a picture of a dog on the internets I want to throw up.
I have my cat. But anyone who has/had a cat and a dog
knows it’s not the same. My pup was obsessed with me. Seriously. Even when he
was an old man and moving around hurt and he was tired, he was at my heels
every step I took. I can’t tell you how many times I damn near lost my life
tripping over him. Now that’s dedication. I am positive my cat has tried to
kill me numerous times. Like when I was in college and my roommate and I lived
in a two story apartment and he hid on the stairs and then attacked me so I
fell halfway down the stairs with my laundry basket and possibly broke every
rib in my body. Attempted murder. Or when he sat on my face as I was sleeping
and tried to suffocate me with his fat ass. Attempted murder. Also I know my
cat doesn’t need me. He may be blind, but he’s a fucking boss ass bitch. I wouldn’t
fuck with him if I was a cat. To be honest I’m a grown ass woman and I’m scared
of him. I’m that dog in the YouTube video tip toeing past the cat because I don’t
want the wrath of Satan. He pretends he needs me, like when he cries into my
mouth when he’s hungry. But the second he gets what he wants, the only thanks I
get is a sneak attack claw to the ass cheek and he’s over me for the next 3-4
hours until he’s hungry again. I am an abused cat mom.
So anyway, I’ve been feeling really rough.
I’m trying to be positive. I mean now that I don’t have
to worry about my furry kid all the time I have more freedom. I don’t have to
rush home to walk him and make sure my cat hasn’t eaten him. If I want to go
out and leave the bar with a 4 I totally can and my dog won’t be there to judge
me. And if I realize outside of bar lighting he’s a 2 I can just let my cat
kill him. (Kidding, sort of.) Spontaneous road trips to the Bay are no problem.
I know I won’t black out and buy weird ass things on Amazon like silicone paw
print baking sheets. (No regrets though to be perfectly honest.) But I can’t
seem to convince myself that these things make up for what I lost.
My little brother, who has become my life
coach/spiritual advisor/voice of reason/sponsor, gave me a pep talk. He told me
that my dog was my excuse for a lot of things. It was harsh, but once I got
past wanting to stab him with a butter knife I realized he was totally right. I
had pretty much given up on serious dating and relationships because I knew
there wasn’t a dude that would ever be as important to me as my dog. And let’s
be real, no dude wants to be second choice to a dog. I don’t blame him. Instead
of working on my shit, I just put all my energy into dog mom life. Which believe
me, when you have a dog that has moved into geriatric years, is a full-time
job. Now that I don’t have that, what the fuck do I do with myself?
Also when you experience a major loss in your life it
makes you re-evaluate EVERYTHING. Your friendships, your lifestyle, who the
fuck you actually are. When people found out about my dog I got texts, phone
calls, flowers, Facebook messages, etc. People that were thousands of miles
away and in a different time zone texted or called me to send me some love. People
frantically called local flower shops to make special requests for cheerful
bouquets to bring some happiness to my sad, sad home. As cheesy as it sounds,
it made me realize that I have some fanfuckingtastic people in my universe. It
also made me realize that the people who couldn’t bother, are irrelevant to me.
I had been holding onto some “friendships” that had long been dead and this
pushed me to let them go completely. Bitching about stupid shit over drinks is what
friends do. But when it gets to the point that every hangout becomes a
negative, woe is me situation, sorry but I’ve got to bow out. I need some
positive energy and if I have to break some ties and look elsewhere for it, I will.
I also realized that Long Beach is not the place for me.
I don’t care about fitting in and being cool and fucking people’s
ex/current/kind of boyfriends to get attention. I’ve lived here off and on for years
and I can say I’ve only created a few solid friendships. And those people don’t
even live here anymore. I’m not blaming everyone else. But it’s become clear
that this is not where my happy place is. If you feel like an outsider in your
own neighborhood, it seems like a clear sign to move the fuck on. I’m actually
looking forward to seeing where my next venture takes me. And the opportunity to
leave behind a lot of dead weight. No matter where I go, I’ll maintain my blue
hair don’t care lifestyle. Never sorry.
Another “adulting” step I took was banning all free
dating websites. Clearly that was not for me. Yeah it was entertaining meeting
some shitshows. But ultimately, I don’t want to wake up next to a shitshow
every morning. I’ve mostly retired from mid-week blackouts and at 31 years old
it’s not cute to show up to work with barf in my hair and a smeared eyebrow. Only
on casual Fridays. And the Monday after a three-day weekend. Obviously. I’m not
done with dating. I mean I still have a functioning vagina and I’m in my prime
or whatever science says. The left side of my bed is also super empty and
devoid of fur now. So I made the sacrifice of not getting the Thai takeout I
really wanted (white girl problems) and signed up for Match.com. I figure if
people pay, they must be at least a little more serious and I know they aren’t
poor. (Sidenote: dudes on okcupid get your fucking life together. If you can’t
afford to meet a girl for a drink at a bar, stop trying to date and get a
fucking job. FUCK.) So far, it’s been kind of an LOL situation. Can someone please
create a dating website for people that are serious but aren’t trying to impregnate
me immediately? For real. I’ve gotten 4 “winks”, I think 2 messages and some
fucking stars or something. But all these dudes want babies. Like tomorrow.
Maybe that’s what I should do with my newfound free time. Create a dating
website, that costs money to weed out some assholes, for people that are looking
for relationships but don’t want kids. Letsboneandnotmakebabies.com. Someone
help me copyright that shit. Although so far match.com has been quite the
disappointment, at least I think it’s taking a step in the right direction. And
it’s kept me from letting my neighbor penetrate me because he has a really cute
puppy I’d like to be stepmom to.
Baby steps guys. Drunk baby steps.
In all seriousness though, thank you to the people that
have helped me try to find some happiness again. The people that have shown up
at my door and dragged me out into the world because they know I would never
ask them to but I needed them to. The people that have stood back and given me space
but make sure I know they’re around. The people that let me ugly cry and then
ugly cry laugh when they brought up a story involving my crazy furry kid. The
people that have forced me to look at myself and make some changes in my life
since what I’m doing right now isn’t working. And the people that did nothing
at all so I feel no guilt about letting them go and walking away.
If you need someone to kill a bottle of booze with you
and talk about poop, call me. I’m ready.
Cheers.
