I am BACK BITCHES. Ya’all probably thought I was dead. Or
happy. Or married and pregnant. NOPE. Still a fucking mess and trying to wade
through the dickheads and douchebags of the world. I’m just doing it in Seattle
now instead of LA. It’s taken me a while to move into my Stella Got Her Groove
Back phase since moving my entire life and two fur babies to a new state. I
haven’t had much news to report except that the bus I take to work is a mother
fucking shitshow, my neighborhood smells like human urine on a warm day, and my
dog hates everyone in the world except for me. Also, I drink less and take more
Xanax because I am a GOD DAMN ADULT.
This blog has never been about boring you with the mundane
existence of the conductor of a trainwreck/bang bus. I knew eventually
something would happen to write about. And guess what, SOMETHING FUCKING
HAPPENED.
After making a trip home and being publicly shamed by all of
my friends (fuck you all. Also, I love you) for having a vagina that has
basically become a haunted house that only ghosts of semen that never found an
egg and cobwebs live, I decided that I should maybe try to see what the dudes
here are about. SPOILER ALERT: dudes everywhere are generally the same. The
only difference here is dudes are super into rock climbing and dolphin riding and
shit with ropes and it’s fucking terrible. I take Pierre on “hikes”, but we get
tired and sweaty very quickly and spend most of the time sitting under a shady
tree and judging the people challenging themselves by running and all that
nonsense. Calm down bro, we’re all just trying to live.
I’ve also had to deal with the shock that a lot of people
identify as Christian (does that mean I have to marry you to find out if you
know what the clitoris is? Because NO.), have children, or own like 3 dogs that
my dog would absolutely want to fight with. Pickings are very, very slim here
guys. And I haven’t had a summer body since infancy, so the struggle is pretty
fucking real. Flexibility used to be my selling point but at this point my
fucking knees creak and my hip is about one vigorous sexcapade from needing to
be replaced. Tik fucking toc.
Nonetheless, I threw some pictures up on a Bumble account to
lessen the amount of sexual harassment and verbal abuse I would have to deal
with (Tinder you can seriously go fuck yourself.) and soon it felt like I was
being pummeled by a bag of dicks. It was honestly overwhelming. But I’m pretty
sure everyone responds to your message because of the weird passive aggressive
politeness people feel like they need to maintain here. One dude within 7
minutes of starting a conversation said he was going to get on a ferry and come
to my neighborhood on the off chance I’d want to meet up. Dudes in LA won’t
even text you back if they realize an Uber ride to your house will take more than
10 minutes. GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER GUYS. While that turned my true crime phobia
of being murdered into high gear (I did not leave my apartment that night for
fear he would be lurking in my alley with a boombox), it was an impressive
gesture of dedication.
After wading through the potential stalkers (which I’m not
completely ruling him out yet because we know ladies LOOOOOVE attention) and
dudes who couldn’t engage in conversation if their life depended on it, I
finally connected with a guy who seemed cool. He was funny, handled my sarcasm
and bluntness well, and threw out meeting up quickly so things didn’t get stuck
into a texting trap for 6-8 years. I was having some cat mom drama, but
eventually shit came together and we decided to meet up for drinks after work.
I knew he lived in my neighborhood, but my neighborhood is
huge with like 800 apartment complexes and surrounding areas. I have literally
not put on a dress since maybe 2016, so I figured I could make an effort and
put on a pretty dress and ya’all I looked hot. I’ll say it and I’m not sorry.
But I was also physically hot because it was 80 degrees in my apartment and I
was nervous and chugging wine and trying to look dewy, not sweaty. Thank you
bangs for being the best at hiding forehead sweat and potential eyebrow
smearing from sweating. I appreciate you more than you know.
I made my way to a little dive bar down the street. Kinda
felt like I was gonna vomit, kinda debating going back home and finishing the
bottle of wine, and kinda wondering if I should have shaved my legs and if he
had any roommates. Still probably sweating a little by the way. I walked in and
picked him out right away since he looked exactly like his photos WHICH IS WHAT
SHOULD HAPPEN. Dudes, please stop putting up pictures from your glory days in
high school or college if you are now 56 YEARS OLD AND HAIRLESS LIKE A NEWBORN MOUSE.
The conversation flowed decently with little to no
awkwardness. Things were going well. Then I started describing where I lived.
He got a weird look on his face. I mentioned something that made him lean
toward me and say, “Where do you live?”. I panicked because you’re not supposed
to tell strangers where you live because that is not how to STAY SEXY AND NOT
GET MURDERED (Karen and Georgia I’m so sorry I fucked this up) but needed to
know where this was going. And guys. You fucking guys. WE LIVE IN THE SAME
APARTMENT BUILDING.
I legitimately wanted to scream and jump out the window. He
lives two floors above me. His parking spot is across from mine. It is like a
bad rom com and I want to get the fuck out of it. Also, I was HUGELY
disappointed. He is absolutely someone I would want to hang out with more and
see where it goes. But my longtime readers will have read about the time I
dated my neighbor and it went south and I had to leave my cutey baby apartment
and nothing was the same after that. I left California to leave my bad choices
behind and not shit where I eat. This would be shitting all over my dinner
table. And I can’t do it.
So, I did what any rational adult in this situation would
do. I drank my fucking ass off until I couldn’t have given one shit about
anything. I barfed out all my childhood trauma at him. I obsessively talked
about my dog and cat. I revealed those deep, dark, dirty secrets that you don’t
share with any dudes, ever. I figured the best thing to do was scare this guy
so bad that he would only ever awkwardly wave at me if we happened to get on
the elevator together. Sometimes life hands you a free cocktail, and sometimes
life teabags you. Well I paid for all of my own drinks so you can guess which
one I got. #blessed
Needless to say, I can’t help but laugh about this. In a
huge city filled with a shit ton of people, I am the only one who would go on a
date with their neighbor. All I can do is send more messages and change the
distance of who my interests are to AT LEAST 10 miles away. Or, I’ll just get
blacked out and hump my neighbor and sleep in my car until May.
Till next time, if I’ve taught you anything, please, DON’T
FUCK YOUR NEIGHBOR.
