On Moving On

I am desperately trying to move to... anywhere.

I started out entertaining the idea of moving back to Chicago almost immediately after I came back to Ohio at the beginning of 2011, but I knew that I needed to close a few doors and just learn to be for a bit.

Well just being is pretty much all I've done for the last 18 months and I am ready to start doing something. Seriously, I am going to fucking lose it if it doesn't happen soon.

So I started with the idea of moving to Minneapolis, a fabulous city with lots of lakes and a pretty cool, laid back attitude. I feel in love with MPLS when I went there for work a few summers ago, and it sort of felt right. Then I started looking at Chicago again; somehow, it always comes back to Chicago. But then, what about Dallas? My best friend is moving there next week, so how bad can it be? No, it's not unreasonable at all to consider it, regardless of how much I don't like Dallas, or the heat, or pretty much all Texans outside of Austin! Wait... But what about Minneapolis? Chicago? San Francisco, Boston, Seattle?!

My head is going to explode. So I decided to just apply to any opportunity that might seem right for me and let things fall into place. It is taking every ounce of energy for me to not spaz out about this. Too many options make me crazy (crazier).

On Strangers In My Bed

I'm searching through my hard drive in a desperate attempt to locate the file that contains an entire year's worth of writing. And when I say I'm desperate, I mean frantic. A few months ago my computer fucked up and my dad had to restore my drives. It was looking like I didn't lose anything but now? I am not so sure. And I'm sort of panicked.

I did, however, find a few gems hidden in random folders. Things I never published because, at the time, I was worried about hurting or offending someone. This may be one of my favorite bits that I've come across so far. In advance, I am going to say... sorry Mom.

I wake up groggy, grouchy and with a splitting headache. I have no idea what time it is or what happened last night. A classic hangover, but something I never experienced until recently. I guess what they say about getting older is true. I roll over, pull back the covers and am just about to attempt to crawl to the kitchen for ibuprofen (oh miracle worker!) when I realize I’m not alone. There is a beautiful, passed out boy in my bed. Suddenly, I’m concerned; I don’t have a concept of the time, but now I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m confused about the year, too. There hasn’t been a strange boy in my bed in 6 years. Shit.

It’s Easter Sunday and I’m supposed to be at my grandmother’s house for lunch. I guess it’s a good thing my family is laid back, because I’m a train wreck. Stranger boy rolls over and opens his eyes. Hello, awkward. I look at him and give him a half-smile, climbing out of bed to get dressed and get him the fuck out of my apartment. Strange ass is one thing, strange ass that slept over is a whole ‘nother problem in my book. If I wanted to share my bed, I’d still be in a relationship. But I didn’t, and I hadn’t been in a relationship in 4 months.

“Do you want some water?” I say, throwing on a tank top and cropped jeans. I toss him a bottle of water and his shorts… please, please take the hint, dude. I don’t want to get mean.

God, I wish I knew what this beautiful specimen of undergraduate ass’s name is. But I don’t, and I’m honestly only concerned because I’d like to say “Whatever-your-name-is, please get the fuck out.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to still use those exact words, but it somehow seems much less rude when the person’s name is involved. And I’m also slightly worried that this one isn’t a college student. What if he is a local? Oh god, that’s the last fucking thing I need right now.

Four months ago, I moved back to my hometown. I wish I could say that I had a better reason than “I quit my job, moved back to Columbus for my abusive ex-fiance, realized shortly after I moved home that I didn’t actually like him, and ended up living with my parents again.” But I don’t, and here I am. I truly, seriously thought I would never live in this town again. At least I only lived with my parents for a month before moving into my own place, a cute apartment close to the private college located here’s campus. And, apparently, easy access to hot college soccer players… at least, I’m assuming he’s a soccer player. Or at least hoping he is a college soccer player. Seriously, what the fuck have I gotten myself into this time?

Looking back now, I realize what an appropriate kick-off this weekend was to my newly single life. Because my life now? Is what it was previous to nearly making a huge mistake (six years is was more excusable than a lifetime). I love the perspective I've found since moving back to Ohio. So many doors have been closed and new ones are opening up, despite my best efforts at self-sabotage.


I'm also completely ready to take on a new city this time. Get ready, motherfuckers. I won't accept any repeats of a few of the things that happened to Mitch in her time dating in the city... but I guess those are stories best saved for posts made while I am high as a kite on ambien.

The Rules of Internet Dating, Part One

Get a fucking grip. Seriously, you are probably not going to meet The One immediately. Or maybe ever. Fuck, who even made up the rule that there would be one person for everyone? Maybe, there are several people who are meant to come into your life, for a period of time, and make you happy.

And maybe that period of time is just an evening, or a month. Maybe it's a year, or twenty. Who knows? Why are we forcing things? Why narrow your world view so much? I don't fucking understand it.

Anyway, the fact that your whole profile goes on and on (and fucking on) about how you're looking for The One, or someone to take care of, or spoil, or whatever, is 1) pathetic and 2) a huge turn off to any girl actually worth meeting.

Think about it. You say you want a girl to spend your time with, and maybe marry (big mistake, btw) and raise a family with (don't even get me started), and that's fine. If that's what you have decided you want, then ok, I guess I get it. To each his own. But really, what guy wants to fucking take care of their wife for the rest of their life? I mean ultimately, don't you want an independent girl who can go out with her friends while you stay home and look at porn or go over to your buddy's house and do whatever it is you do? Because I sure as shit don't want to date, let alone marry, someone who only has me to give them a reason to be, and I can't say I've met a lot of men who want that, either. Maybe you're inexperienced, and you think you want it? But I guarantee you, as soon as you experience it for, like, an hour... you will change your mind.

Let's just get real here, before I vomit all over my computer at your cheesy, codependent, grossly romantic, unrealistic view of things. State what you're looking for, but please man up and understand that sometimes, it's just not going to happen. We may exchange a few messages; maybe we'll meet, maybe we won't. When I don't return your message after a few days, it's probably because I'm not interested, but it might be because I'm fucking busy.

And ultimately, if you're looking for the kind of girl that I described above (the one whose moon and sun revolve around you so much that it's suffocating), you will be glad that we stopped communicating. And if you're looking for the kind of girl that I am (one who doesn't put too much stock in brief exchanges, and won't be offended if you never text me again... because I'm BUSY, and I have a life), then you'll understand and probably appreciate when it takes me a minute to respond.

But p.s.? If I stop responding... or don't return your initial message? Don't try again, because I'm not fucking interested. And please don't send me a message asking me why I'm not responding, or what it is about you that I didn't like, because you won't like the answer. What don't I like about you? Chances are, the answer is YOU.