Friday, March 31, 2017

The cure to catching feelings is Alcohol and Xanax.

For those of you who know me personally, even though I have to say I love those of you that read this and don’t know me a little bit more, you’re well aware of my plan to get the fuuuuuuck outta California. Yup. There’s a reason that I’m albino, hate the beach, have never had a bikini body and have never fucked a surfer and that’s because I am not meant to live in California. (In retrospect I probably have fucked a surfer but not at the beach or at a beach related bar so I’m not committing to that as a truth.)

While I try to get my shit together so I’m not one of those assholes that moves to a new state with nothing and then finds themselves giving HJ’s in a Burger King parking lot or showing their tits to high school kids for pocket change (I don’t know if people really do this, but it would make a great scene from a movie), I’m obviously not on the prowl for a man friend. Being in a relationship forces me to expend a lot of time, energy and money. All three of those things are now focused on one goal and no one is gonna fuck that up for me. Seriously. I will paper cut you until you die. Mama’s got a plan and it doesn’t involve any boys, bitches, or babies!  

Side note: I recently had my birth control implant taken out and am petrified that I’m going to get pregnant. This is only an interim issue until I have that blessed IUD shoved into my cervix to ensure I live the life of my dreams. Side note part two: I have not touched a man in a while so this fear is unfounded. Side note part three: I will literally pepper spray and/or taze a penis that comes anywhere near me right now. My male coworker snuck up behind me in the kitchen this morning and I nearly murdered him with a bottle of Ranch dressing. The final side note: I was not actually using the Ranch dressing it was just the closest thing to me and I don’t want to be judged for eating Ranch dressing in the morning.

Dating has been less than a priority for me for a long time anyway. Namely because dudes are fucking lame and my roommates gave birth to me and I just really, really want a dog and can’t commit my affection to anyone else. But since it could be a yearish until I’m actually pulling my uhaul into my sweet new place in Seattle, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with some dudes to remind me why I’ve committed to dying alone. But I don’t want to be accused of being one of those assholes that gets someone’s balls in a twist and then peaces out and causes some man tears. So on my dating profiles I’ve made it very clear that I’m only in California for a little bit longer and then I’m out. And no one is invited to come with me. NO ONE.

Turns out, all these assholes that pretend they don’t want to wife down, ARE FULL OF FUCKING SHIT. I’ve never had people try to wife me so hard since I made it clear ain’t nobody got time for that. Mother fuckers are coming out of the woodwork with weird ass professions of commitment desiring. Seriously? GET AWAY FROM ME. All I’m trying to do right now is not get pregnant, not buy shit I don’t need and stockpile my parent’s medications so I’m good for at least the first year in Washington. I have DREAMS and GOALS people. I thought going the casual route would be smooth sailing. NOPE.  Anyone who doesn’t look like a rapist/pedophile/bunny murderer is super bummed out when I confirm that I’m here for a good time, not a long time. I am so fucking confused.

Is the new trend in 2017 catching feelings? Are we all trying to husband/wife up so when the Tangerine Tyrant gets us involved in nuclear war we have someone to barricade ourselves in a basement with? Did we all give up our medications for lent? Also, should I be trying to nail down one of those doomsday preppers so I have a place to hide and eat canned Spaghetti O’s in? Oh shit. I’ll have to ponder that after a couple of vodka tonics tonight.

But for real. Are all the other assholes like me who are not shitty people, but not trying to find love or commitment, gone? Have they all succumbed to STD's or gotten married or come out of the closet?

I do want to clarify though that I’m not trying to find some douchebag dudes to hang out with. I’m not looking at being named in someone’s 401K disbursement, but I’m not signing up to be treated like a goldfish a kid won at the fair but then got sick of. I’ve been in too many relationships where I’ve tried to mend the wounded bird and then the bird took off and spewed diarrhea all over my car. In my thirties I’m done dealing with little boys that never grew up. Bye Felicia. Bye Ferdinand. Bye all you cunts.

All I’m saying is that I’m a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him not to get attached. Also pay our fucking tab and be nice to your mother.