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.