Tag Archives: men

I’M REALLY PISSED AT YOU… JUST GIVE ME A SECOND TO FIND A REASON WHY- bitching without a cause

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Over the weekend, I had a revelation while I was with my boyfriend. It’s something I’ve done before in this relationship and in past relationships. It’s something that many women, and some men, are guilty of in relationships… And most of the time, we rather not admit to it. Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m talking about Bitching Without a Cause/Bitch Without a Cause (BWC); instigating unnecessary drama in your relationship by starting a fight for no good reason. You may be thinking: what the hell kind of ridiculous nonsense is this girl talking about?  I hate drama and I would never start a fight for no reason with my boyfriend/girlfriend, or anyone for that matter.

Well, when I came to this revelation, I was pretty effing shocked myself. I thought I was the kind of person that tries to avoid drama as much as possible. I hate confrontation and I consider myself a very easygoing and tolerant person. That’s not to say I can’t be intentionally bitchy… because I definitely can; however, it’s usually for an extremely good reason… It takes a lot to really piss me off. This proves that you don’t have to be a bitchy person to be at fault of BWC.

Before I continue, it’s important to note that there is a fine line between BWC (irrationally pulling the bitch-card OCCASIONALLY) and just being a plain ole bitch (bitching senselessly ALL THE TIME). If you’re bitching all the time- well, that’s a whole other issue.

From my own experience, I went through four phases of BWC.

It all started when I went to visit my boyfriend in New England for the weekend. It’s important to mention that we just had our one-year anniversary a couple months ago, and everything is going really great; it seems like we’re in the Golden Age of our relationship.

Anyways, on our way to dinner, he was kind of quiet and playing on his phone. I could see he was tired after a long day of work and wasn’t feeling real chatty per say. Usually I would just let him be and give him peace, as an understanding girlfriend would. But for some reason I didn’t leave him be, even though I understood the legitimate reason to why he was the he was.

(1) Dropping the Bombinstigating the pointless drama with the first bitchy comment.

“Babe, I came all the way to visit and spend the weekend with, and you’re on your phone all quiet like I’m not even here. It’s just really rude,” I said.

A part of me knew I was being ridiculous and that bitching him out over something so trivial was obviously wrong and stupid. But I didn’t stop… for some reason I kept going. I didn’t just blow the situation out of proportion- I atomic-bombed it.

“I’m just really tired, babe. I’m not really in a talkative mood.”

(2) The Guilt-Tripmaking the good guy look like the asshole in the situation.

“Well, I’m tired, too, but I still came all the way to see you… We only have a couple of days together before I go away for two weeks. I’ve missed you this past week… All I’ve wanted to do is be with you. Listen, if you’re that tired, I’ll just go home to New York-… It’s okay, really,” I said.

“No I don’t want you to go. I told you, I’m just tired. I’m just not talkative at this very moment in time. I’ll feel better and I’ll have more energy once I get some food in me. Why are making such a big deal? You know that I’m happy you’re here, Babe. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week,” he said.

(3) The Wake-up– that moment you realize you’re not making any effing sense- you’re just being a complete bitch.

“I just- I don’t know… I thought you’d be more excited to see me, I guess. I know you’re tired… I- I don’t know,” I said.

(4) The Apology- taking responsibility/ finding a lame excuse for BWC.

“I’m sorry babe. I guess I have a lot on my mind right now. I’m tired, too. Let’s just have a good weekend,” I said

This wasn’t my worst case of BWC. I’ll admit that I’ve gone overboard. Once, I tried using every wrongdoing of my boyfriend in my arguments (Bitch Ammo), to the point where I completely forgot why I was fighting him in the first place.

So, why do we Bitch Without a Cause? Why do anti-drama queens suddenly act like they have a Black Belt in bitching? I think there are various reasons for BWC, and I still need to give it a lot more thought before I develop my overall theory.

Here is what I have been able to understand about my own BWC experience, which I think might be a very common cause of this behavior:

Like many of you, I’ve been in some pretty crappy relationships and had some traumatizing dating experiences in my day. Undoubtedly, the shitty past has given me numerous insecurities when it comes to being in a relationship. Maybe it’s me being cautious, a way to protect my already beaten-up heart; Regardless, it’s insecurity.  Since my boyfriend and I have reached such an amazing point in our relationship, the cautious/insecure part of me sees it as too good to be true- or maybe that it’s just all untrue. Anyways, I believe I let my own insecurities get the best of me, and used a fight to test my boyfriend and his love for me. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to hurt him before he hurts me, or to prove my strength and equal power in the relationship. I’m still exploring this concept and don’t want to draw any conclusions just yet.

Sure we’re only human; we all have a little bitchy in us. We might BWC out of curiosity. We might do it to get it out of our system. We might even BWC just because we’re bored in the relationship and feel a need to stir things up a bit. Some guys actually like to see the bitchy side of their girlfriends once in a long while; they like the challenge. But for those who BWC like me, we might need to find a healthier alternative when it comes to dealing with those insecurities rather than using our boyfriends as the “punching bag.”


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Are you Batman or Robin in the Relationship?

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He was smart, witty, charming, ridiculously friendly, wildly funny, and a genuine human being. He was everyone’s best buddy. He was the guy everyone wanted at their party because he was always the life of the party. This guy never had a socially awkward moment in his life because he always knew the perfect thing to say to avoid them. He had the best jokes, the best stories, and even had his own hilarious terminology. Not to mention, he was the greatest conversationalist that ever lived. He would talk to anyone that listened, including random strangers- and they loved every minute of him. He was also deep and wise and incredibly inspiring when he wanted to be. Everyone and their mother loved this guy. Oh, and a few years ago, this guy just so happened to be my boyfriend.

My description above is exactly why I fell hard and fast for this guy. The minute I met him, I wanted him to put a ring on my finger. Honestly, I thought I hit the jackpot.

Here’s the thing: I happen to be a very outgoing person myself. I love being the center of attention in a social scene, the leading star in the show. But, in this relationship, my boyfriend was Batman and I was his sidekick Robin.

For the sake of protecting his identity, let’s call my ex Bruce Wayne, which is Batman’s real name… In case you’re wondering, I grew up with a older brother who was a huge comic book nerd. I’ll admit I happen to know way too much about superheroes.

Many girls believe that meeting the boyfriend’s parents is a big deal because we want to make the best impression and get their approval. Yet, I think meeting the boyfriend’s friends is an even bigger deal since many guys value their bro’s approval- sometimes more than their parent’s approval. Also, you hang out with the bros more than the parents, so good relations between the boyfriend’s friends and the girlfriend are super duper important.

This is why I was beyond thrilled when I got Bruce’s friends’ approval. But then again, it seemed like they would approve of me regardless just because of the fact I was dating their favorite friend. It was like they all came to this agreement: Any girl Bruce loves, we love too. Nonetheless, I loved that everyone loved Bruce. I loved being the girlfriend of such an awesome dude.

One summer night, we went to his friend’s house for beers and a bonfire. It was one of many parties we had gone to while dating, and it always went down the same way every time. Basically, as soon as we got to the party, we were surrounded by all of Bruce’s friends/ loyal and crazed fans, anxiously awaiting Bruce to say something funny and entertain for the night.  At the party, it felt like we were being introduced as: “Here’s Bruce and his sidekick Bree.” That night it really hit me… I was the Robin in our relationship, and Bruce was none other than the honorable and kick-ass Batman.

I sat there that night, and saw that all eyes were always on Bruce, and Bruce didn’t hate the spotlight- not one bit. In fact, he basked in it like a huge attention-whore. It’s not that I felt jealous or anything, but I definitely felt invisible, unimportant. I also noticed that Bruce was so busy entertaining and being the awesome guy at the party that he forgot all about me. Suddenly, I was just another person in the audience.

After the party, I loved how he asked: “Babe, how come you were so quiet all night?”

“Maybe it’s because I couldn’t get an effing word in with you talking up a storm and entertaining your loving fans,” is what I wanted to say.

“I don’t know. I talked to Joe’s girlfriend a lot,” is what I really said/lied.

“Well my friends love you, babe. Danny was even saying how awesome you are tonight,” he said.

“That’s bullshit, you’re friends don’t love me. They love you. You’re Batman, everyone loves Batman. I’m not awesome- I’m Robin. And no one cares for the awkward small sidekick in ridiculous tights,” is what I wanted to say.

“Aw they’re all great. That’s sweet of Danny,” is what I really said.

I didn’t let the whole Batman and Robin issue get to me too much. After all, what was I going to say-“Babe stop being Batman and hogging the spotlight all the time”? I loved the guy and I was really his number one fan… so I decided to just let it go.

But then, we hung out with my group of friends (my fan club) and once again he became the star- the star of MY show.

I was going to confront him about it, but then I realized how ridiculously silly I was being. He wasn’t intentionally trying to steal my spotlight or belittle me in front of my friends. It’s not his fault that he’s an outgoing, funny, and charming guy. It’s not his fault that he was truly a cool dude.

Eventually, I embraced being the “dynamic duo;” however, I no longer saw myself as the sidekick Robin, but rather as the other Batman. We were a great a couple and learned how to share the spotlight. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out with Bruce for many different reasons, which I will share later in the future.

Anyways, I learned that when you’re a couple, there doesn’t always have to be the superhero and his/her sidekick. It is possible to have two awesome leading superheroes in a relationship, and together form an incredibly kick-ass and unstoppable force.

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I Didn’t Know Romeo was Russian

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It was a boring winter night during my senior year of college, and my roommates and I decided to go to the local bar and look for some man action. It happened to be “Sangria Sunday” (my favorite).

While I was waiting for the bartender to refill my second pitcher of Sangria, these three guys sat down next to me. The one closest to me was wearing sunglasses… By the way, it was 10:00 pm, inside of a dark bar, and obviously there was no sunshine in sight. This guy kept pushing his shades down, smiling like a pervert, and looked me up and down. He was just staring at me and I’ve never been a fan of guys who blatantly creep.  When I reached the point of being unbearably creeped-out, I finally turned to him

“Can I help you?” I asked in the bitchiest tone I’ve ever had.

“You are vedy bootiful,” he said. He sounded foreign and suddenly the sunglasses at night made sense.

“Thanks… you have an accent, where are you from?”

“Russia.” Score.

“Oh nice, what brings you to New England?”

“Fishing. I’m starting new life here.”

“Nice, well, I’m Briana, by the way.” He grabbed my hand with both of his and kissed it.

I love foreigners, they’re such corny romantics, but it’s absolutely adorable.

“Briana, I am _____. What are you doing tonight? I’m here with my friends. They are American except for one on end. He Irish.”

The Russian was definitely not a bad looker; he had a pretty face with a strong jaw line, he was tall, and pretty muscular. Most of all, his accent turned me on. His friends, on the other hand, were not what most would consider to be “sexy” per say. Yet, I knew if my friends were drunk enough, they would totally be up to hanging out with them… maybe even suck face with one of them.

“I’m here with my friends, maybe we could all hang out after the bar later.”

“Yes, we would like it a lot, to do that,” he said.

We exchanged numbers and I didn’t think the Russian would call, but he did exactly 15 minutes after the bar closed. My roommates and I had some friends over to continue our drunken fun, and when the Russian and his flock walked in, the room went completely silent.

“Ehlow ehvarray buddy, my name is ______ and these are friends of mine”

Once the Russian accent was revealed, everyone welcomed them with open arms. Apparently drunk and stoned college kids get really excited when they meet people with foreign accents…for them it’s thrilling- like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs or something.

Later, the Russian invited me back to his place to hang out with him and some friends… and I accepted. My non-American buddies and I stayed up late, drinking vodka (of course), and talking about our different cultures. The last thing I remember from that night was saying goodnight to the Irish guy, and plopping onto the couch with the Russian.

I woke up the next morning, in my underwear, with the Russian spooning with me. Uh oh. I sprung up from the couch in a panic to find some kind of clothing I could cover up with. The Russian calmly handed me my surprisingly neatly folded clothes. He then grabbed a blanket, held it up in front of me like a curtain and looked away like a true gentleman.  I was confused, embarrassed, and hung-over, but I must say, I was quite charmed by the Russian’s good manners.

The Russian sat in the backseat holding me, while his awkward Pauly D-esque roommate drove me home. “Pauly D” was quiet the whole ride back, but as soon as I was about to get out of the car, he managed to blurt out, “So, what was it like to sleep with a Russian? It sounded like you had a REALLY good time.”

The inappropriate comment made me turn red in the face, and although the Russian was genuinely a really great guy, I still felt like pretty dirty about the whole thing. The Russian ignored the comment and walked me to my front door. Yes, this guy escorted me on my “walk of shame.” What a gentleman! He kissed me passionately on the lips and then gently on the forehead. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a typical morning after a one-night-stand. Maybe this wasn’t a one-night-stand after all?

For the next month, the Russian and I kept in touch via texting. I always got excited when I received a text from him. Here are some actual texts (word-for-word) from him, and you’ll see what I mean:

Hi, beauty, where are you tonight? Today was my Russian friend birthday, I just get back to my house, need only you for perfect weekend.

Honey, I crashed my Mercedes and my Russians gone to their houses. I have day off for next few days. All what I need its only you.

 

Hi, Briana, I’m good, was last couple weeks in Boston, cant meet you, but want to see such desirable woman. . How about you? What are you doing? Me and my Russians friends right now in Boston Russian bathhouse. I want to take you with me next time. You will like Boston, a lot of vodka.

 

Briana, Happy Birthday! Wish you the best, the world is yours! You very beautiful. I very want to be there, just can’t- have work tomorrow. Kiss you baby, sorry.

 

Sweetheart, you always perfect. Happy Valentine baby!

I’m not sure if it was his terrible grammar, misuse of English terms, the unbelievably corny expressions, or the fact that he wanted to take me out on a date to a Russian bathhouse- there was something weirdly adorable and attractive about this guy. He was obviously different from any American guy I’ve ever been involved with… and after some pretty traumatic dating experiences with American guys, I didn’t hate the idea of a Russian romance. In fact, he was a breath of fresh air.

It was one of those Friday nights I decided to take it easy. I had planned on doing laundry, wearing my ugly comfortable pajamas, and catching up on my TiVo-recorded Gossip Girl episodes, while indulging in some Ben and Jerry’s Fish Food, and working on the latest People magazine crossword puzzle. I realized I was running low on the ice cream and decided to run over to the nearest 24-hour convenience store to stock up. Since I wasn’t planning on communicating with the world that night, I left my phone in my car, while I ran into the store. When I returned, I had 10 missed calls and 5 voicemails from my roommates and the Russian. That’s when I knew obviously something shitty had happened.

Voicemail from my roommate: BREE! I don’t know where you are, but your Russian is outside blasting European techno and calling your name. I’m trying to sleep and I’m about to kill this motherfucker. GET. HOME. NOW!

 

Voicemail from the Russian: Briana, my sweet, vedy sweet American friend. In you neighborhood and need to see you right way. Call me. I miss you my sweet.

 

Voicemail from my other Roommate: Bree, seriously? The Russian is here for the second time. Please get home and take care of this. We all needed a good night sleep tonight and the Russian is ruining everything. Bye.

Immediately I called the Russian, completely mortified of what had just gone down.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“BRIANA! My beauty! Where you be? I just went to your house and you not home?”

“Yes, I know. I’ll be home soon. But please, just knock on the door and try to be quiet.”

“You got it babe.”

Shortly after I got home, the Russian tiptoed into my house. He was wearing tight white jeans, a white Harvard t-shirt, and once again, he was wearing sunglasses at night. We went up to my room and start snuggling. He kept stroking my hair and was trying to whisper sweet nothings into my ear in English… except it sounded like Russian mumbo jumbo.

“Breehanna.”

“Yes?”

“You are not like all American girl I meet.”

“Oh yeah? How so, Russian?”

“You are very smart and different. I like you a lot. You are my favorite of American girl.”

“I like you, too, Russian. Thank you. And you’re my favorite Russian.”

He smiled and held me tighter in his big strong arms.

Every girl dreams of a guy pulling the “Romeo.” You know what I’m talking about! When a guy spontaneously throws pebbles gently at your window, and you would either walk out onto your balcony or just simply open your window, as your Romeo professes his love for you. I’m pretty sure this is a fantasy we’ve all shared at one time or another, and almost never happens. Believe it or not, there was one guy who attempted the “Romeo;” except my Romeo wasn’t Italian, but he was Russian, and instead of professing his love, he blasted Russian techno, woke up the neighborhood, drunkenly screaming my name in his heavy Russian accent… Meanwhile Juliet wasn’t even home.

The Russian and I kept in touch. Time and again, we would meet up and have fun together (wink wink). I liked the Russian, but then again I didn’t think he would be any more than just a friendly hook-up. Yeah, it turns out, I was pretty wrong about that… You will see what I mean… later on.

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Stop worrying about finding “the one.” Start enjoying the adventures along the way

ImageJust the other day my friend said to me: “Bree, how do you find the right one?” I sat there, wanting to give her a simple wise answer, but I couldn’t. Why? Well, because I don’t know if I’ve found “the one” yet.

After years of flings and being in and out of relationships, I’ve realized that I’m better off not trying to make the guys I date “the one.” I’m the type of girl who lives in the moment and just enjoys the very notion of romance. I’ve realized that by only searching for love, you miss out on the fun of romantic experiences. Not to mention, it’s the experiences that allow us to see what we want and what we don’t want in our significant others.

On your journey to finding “the one,” I believe it’s important to embrace all the bumps and ditches in the road along the way; never see your exes and failed relationships as wastes of time. Learn from them, grow from them, and be grateful for them. I believe these experiences only help guide us in the right direction to finding our soul mates.

Personally, I’m in no rush, especially at 23-years-old. I rather test the waters, instead of jumping into one shitty pool and swimming in it for the rest of my life. Then again, I don’t plan on taking a dip in hundreds of pools either.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a follower of fate, and I know fate has a plan for me in terms of finding “the one”… when it’s meant to be and I know it’s the real thing, I’ll dive right in.

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“Sure, he treats me like crap… but aside from that, he’s a really great guy.”

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The other day, I met up with a good friend at Starbuck’s, and as we shamelessly sipped our ice caramel macchiatos, she told me about this guy she has been seeing for just a couple of months. Not too long ago, my friend was completely heart broken and utterly depressed, after ending a five-year relationship with a guy she thought was “the one.”  He ended up cheating on her with her old roommate… Gross, I know. It was a complete shocker to everyone since he seemed like a really good guy. Not mention, my good friend happens to be a total knockout- I mean, she has the whole package, and any guy would be crazy to cheat on her. Anyways, I was thrilled to hear she was finally moving on and seeing other guys. But then, she started explaining her new fling to me… Unfortunately, it sounded like she moved on from one asshole and onto another asshole.

Here are some of the things she said about this guy:

“He’s really cocky, which I’m not crazy about… and sometimes he’s can be rude, but I just laugh it off.”

“Many people think he’s a total jerk, but they just need to get to know him.”

“He put me down in front of his friends, but he’s like a totally different guy when we’re alone. I know he’s really not a jerk like that… He just tries to show off in front of his friends.”

… Okay, so now you can see why my douchebag-detector went off like crazy.

I just couldn’t understand it! My good friend is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and she’s one of the sweetest and most wonderful people I’ve ever met. It’s not like she’s dumb either… In fact, she’s incredibly smart, a grad student with a bright future ahead of her. So why was she doing such a stupid thing by getting involved with an obvious jerk?

But then again, who am I to say anything? I’ve been guilty of getting involved with assholes, and being in denial that they were in fact terrible guys. Actually, I’ve been guilty of this crime – not once, not twice, but more times than I’m willing to admit. And I know my good friend and I are not alone… There are many, many girls who go for the assholes and are somehow willing to put up with all the bullshit that comes with it. It’s become somewhat of an epidemic, and it’s a topic I need to address right here, right now.

I would like to carefully point out that this does not apply to all females. I mean there are many women who refuse to put up with the least bit of bullshit, and I would like to applaud them because they are wise and the rest of us can learn a thing or two from them. But for the women who do put up with these guys, I’d like to share some insight on the subject… After all, like I said, I do have a history of being a serial asshole-dater.

So, why do we do it? Why do we find all these excuses for their bad behavior? Why do we go for these guys in first place- is it because nice guys aren’t as fun? Here are just a couple of important points in my theory:

 “Hard to Please”

These guys portray a form of “hard to get” behavior that many girls tend to be drawn to. Instead of acting all “hard to get,” they act all “hard to please,” and they do this by treating us like crap. It’s hard to please them, excite them, etc, so we go over and beyond to make them happy and get their approval of us. Psychology is the dangerous weapon they use to lock us into the relationship and take control. They basically take advantage of our vulnerability in the relationship so they can get what they want. Sounds like an asshole-thing to do, right? Well, that’s because they are A-holes!

“Beauty and the Beast Syndrome”

I’ve heard many girls, including myself, say: “I think I can change him and make him a better person.”

Why is it that we suddenly feel it is our god-given responsibility to help improve these assholes to become better human beings? For some reason, we believe that we can ultimately change them into soft romantic gentlemen. Ladies, it’s not our fault that our maternal/ caretaker instinct comes into play. We have this natural compassion that drives us to help the uncompassionate. Yes, we can’t help but to believe that we are capable of achieving such a difficult task. It’s what I like to call “Beauty and the Beast Syndrome;” the romantic idea that we could be like Belle and teach compassion and love to a big tough ferocious beast.

If you read my previous blog about Disney, you know how mad I am at them for providing unrealistic ideas of romance, love, and relationships. In real life, there aren’t any talking teapots and candlesticks, and most of the time-not all the time- but most of the time we can’t use song and dance to transform our terrible beast into prince charming. There are many beasts out there that will always be beasts. I’m not saying it’s impossible to soften and infect them with more empathy. It has been done- I’m sure. But what I am saying is that trying to transform a ferocious beast can be difficult and it can be dangerous; it’s just not worth it if it’s detrimental to yourself. Even if you think he’s a good guy deep down, you have to consider the fact that he is an asshole on the surface. That means you’ll have to deal with the asshole more than you’ll deal with the nice guy hidden inside.

Anyways, I will tell you what I told my best friend… Every girl deserves a GREAT guy, one that respects her, that’s loving, affectionate, honest, loyal and romantic. Basically, we all deserve a guy who will treat us like the incredible and beautiful women that we are.  Why should we spend so much time and effort trying to transform these beasts into our ideal man when we can just find someone who doesn’t require any alterations because he’s already our ideal man?

There is one final thought I must share regarding this topic…

After I gave my anti-asshole speech, my good friend said this: “Bree, I don’t know what it is… I guess I just like the “bad boy” type.”

Okay, there is a common misunderstanding of the “bad boy” type. The “bad boy” type is sexy; they have tattoos, piercings, ride motorcycles, and may have had a few innocent bar fights in their day. Yet, when it comes to these tough guys and their women, they are a big mushy pile of love. The “bad boy” type should not be confused with the bad guys who treat women like crap- those guys are just assholes.

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The Guy With No Baggage… But He Did Have a Lesbian Carry-on

For most of my junior year of college, I had meaningless fling after meaningless fling. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relationship-hungry. And then I met “Mr. Perfect”… or so I thought.

I first spotted Mr. Perfect (Mr. P) at a Halloween party. He was a construction guy (the sexiest construction guy I had ever seen) and I was a firefighter (a sexy firefighter). The whole night I couldn’t stop staring at him. And who could blame me? He had on this tight white tank, which clung to his washboard abs, and had a pair of big mouthwatering biceps. Not to mention, he had a tool belt wrapped around his waist. I don’t know about you, but there’s something about a guy wearing a tool belt that really turns me on. Besides his ridiculous good looks, I also noticed there was a petite black hair beauty dressed as a sexy devil (truth) following him around all night. I figured it was his girlfriend, so I just continued creeping from a distance.

A bunch of my guy friends soon surrounded me in an attempt to flirt and trade the “friend card” for a “one-night-stand card.” It wasn’t happening. Suddenly Mr. P joined the flirting party. Immediately I stood up straight, propped out my chest, and sucked in my tummy full of beer, which has become somewhat of an involuntary response my body has when hot guys approach. My guy friends were talking about my tatas of course, which was a topic I had grown rather tired of. They were all saying how they thought my “girls” were fake, with the hope that I would let them cop a feel to prove them wrong. Unfortunately for them, I knew the trick all too well and their mission failed.

“I think they’re real. I believe her,” Mr. P said.

“Thank you, I appreciate your support,” I said.

When I turned back, the guys had already disappeared into the crowds of drunken people.

“Do you live here?” Mr. P asked.

“No, my good friends do. Who do you know here?”

“Well, no one really. To be completely honest, my friends and I were walking through the neighborhood just looking for a party to go to, and this house seemed to be hopping. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“Nah, I’m glad you decided on this house.”

He reached into his tool belt, took out his iPhone, and handed it to me.

“Type your number in,” he said.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t think that hot devil you’ve been with all night would appreciate that.”

“She’s just a friend, I promise.”

“Oh. Good. Well, in that case…”

I handed Mr. P the phone.

“And what should I store you as? Sexy firefighter?”

“Bree the sexy firefighter,” I said.

“Bree the sexy firefighter, I’m calling you now.”

“What can I store you as?”

“___________ the sexy version of Bob the Builder.”

For the rest of the party, Mr. P and I hung out. I also met the sexy devil following him around all night. When Mr. P was taking a leak, she took the opportunity to inform me that Mr. P and her once dated. The ex also told me that they were just friends now and didn’t feel anything more than that for each other. I don’t know if it was the way she said it, but something told me she wasn’t quite  over Mr. P yet.

Also, by the look on her face all night, I could tell that the ex wasn’t thrilled Mr. P and I were really hitting it off. I tried my best to get on her good side, and I guess my girl-to-girl charm seemed to work. For a little bit, at least.

That very night had a lifetime experience: I threw my first punch… and no, I didn’t hit Mr. Perfect’s ex. There happened to be a very drunk bitchy girl being nasty to people, acting like she owned the place, but she didn’t. The girls who owned the house happened to be my best friends. The drunken bitch made her way over to me and began running her mouth. I decided violence wasn’t the answer, since she was drunk and probably unaware of how stupid she was acting.

The girl kept spitting insults at everyone in the house, and my blood started to boil. Finally, her and her pathetic posse were almost out the door when the bitch got in my face and called me the forbidden four letter word no girl should ever, ever call another girl. It starts with a “C” and ends in a “T,” and it’s that word that can make a graceful young lady transform into the ferocious Hulk. It was the word that finally pushed me over the edge. Now, I have never believed in violence and I have never gotten in a physical fight with anyone before in my entire life. That night, my beliefs in anti-violence went out the window.

The girl was halfway out the door, when I grabbed her arm and flung her back in the house. At first, I thought I broke her arm because I’m pretty sure I heard a large crack, but it could have been my wishful imagination. When she landed in front of me, I became incredibly excited that I would finally have the opportunity to punch someone in the face (let’s be honest, everyone shares the dream of letting go and giving someone a knuckle sandwich at some point in their life). I drew my arm back and then with all my might I knocked the bitch in the mouth. And yes, there was blood. As soon as I punched her, I then realized I would have to keep fighting this crazy horse, so before she could even get up, I got the fuck out of there, and sought safety on the other side of the room.

The girl looked like a raging bull, with fire and fury in her eyes. My heart sunk when I knew she was going to charge and beat the crap out of me. But suddenly, the unexpected happened: Mr. P’s ex jumped in front of me like a protective mother bear and started attacking the bitch.  She went ape-shit, punching the girl on the head, ripping a huge chunk of her hair out, and stomping on her when she was down on the ground.

Mr. P saw the whole thing go down, and I thought I was going to look like the badass in the situation, but his ex stole my badass spotlight. Finally the fight got broken up and the ex walked away with a whole new kind of respect from everyone in the house. I, on the other hand, had a whole new stew of emotions; of course I was thankful for her to step in and have my back, yet I was scared shitless and didn’t know if I wanted to risk my face getting smashed if I pursued this guy.

Eventually Mr. P convinced me that his ex wouldn’t be hiding in the bushes and attack me if I came to his house. We started hanging out. A lot. We also decided to take things very slow since we really liked each other and we knew rushing sex would screw everything up. For an entire year, we hung out, watched movies, cuddled, and studied for exams together. We had amazing chemistry and had so much in common. It just seemed like this had potential for a serious relationship.

One day, he called me up and asked me out on a beach date. He told me to meet him at his house and we could walk to the beach together, since it was literally right down the street. He even offered to cook me dinner after our day at the beach. The date sounded like flawless romance.

The next day, I got to his house and walked in the front door since it was wide open. In the kitchen was a girl, wearing a bikini and jean shorts, stuffing a beach towel into her bag. She looked up.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said.

My mind was chaotic with confusion and racing with so many questions. I must have looked like I was hit in the head with a brick or in need of some psychiatric attention.

“Oh, hey. I’m good, how are you?” I said like an idiot.

“Good,” she said. “Except _______ is taking forever. You know him though.”

“Yah, “ I said, completely baffled as* to why she was concerned about him taking his time. I started studying the girl and something about her seemed too familiar. Where did I know her from? I heard her yell at Mr. P and suddenly it hit me. It’s the EX! Why is she here?!

I saw her go into the bedroom and slam some drawers. Why was she going through his roommate’s room? Then I started putting the puzzle pieces together: I never met his roommate but Mr. P told me that he lives with a girl. A lesbian. OH MY GOD! COULD HIS EX BE HIS LESBIAN ROOMMATE? AND WHY IS SHE COMING ON OUR “PERFECT DATE”? I felt the walls closing in on me. My stomach was turning into a pretzel and a cold sweat broke out on my face. All I wanted to do was make a run for it, but there was no escaping now.

On our-what felt like a century long- walk to the beach, I had never felt so frustrated, confused, and awkward at the same time. “The third wheel” took on a WHOLE new meaning for me. The two of them had conversations about their friends I didn’t know. They cracked several inside jokes. They even talked about when they dated and how jealous Mr. P always got when guys looked at her. I felt like I was on an episode of “Blind Date,” but I wasn’t on the date; they were. When we got to the beach, I knew I couldn’t leave since I had told him the day before that the realtor was showing my house all afternoon. So, I decided to make the best of it.

Before I even took off my beach cover-up I said, “I could really go for some cold beers right now. I think I’m going to run over to the liquor store.”

“I’ll go with you,” SHE said.

How the hell was I getting out of this one? Well, I wasn’t. The ex and I drove to the liquor store, struggling to make conversation. It was painfully awkward. Painfully. Anxious to get my lips on a much-needed stiff drink, I ran into the liquor store, bought an 18 pack of beer and a flask of vodka. Yes, it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and I’m certainly not an alcoholic, but drinking vodka on this early afternoon seemed like a great and necessary idea.

On the walk back, I whipped out the flask of vodka and said, “Got some vodka. I think I’m going to start working on this puppy now. I mean it is summer, so what the hell, right?”

She responded in a severely uncomfortable fake laugh. I took a couple of solid swigs and offered her some.

“Well, I don’t know. I have to work tonight,” she said.

“That’s the beauty of drinking early,” I explained, “so you can still function later in the night if you want to.”

Now, I’m not one to peer pressure, but I felt like this was the only way I could grab the reins of this situation and relieve it from the awkwardness. The peer pressure worked. She took the flask and took a couple of big swigs. By the time we got to the beach, we were loaded.

“Are you girls already drunk?” Mr. P asked. We both giggled like little schoolgirls.

Then, weirdest part of the whole day happened. I took off my beach dress and the ex was checking out my breasts in my revealing bathing suit.

“Dayamm, now I know what you were talking about. Those are REALLY NICE,” she said.

Wait, wait, wait just a minute! Let me get this straight: I’m on a date with this guy, his bisexual ex-girlfriend, and now she’s checking me out and hitting on me? Was I on Candid Camera? I’m not a hot celebrity, but was I getting Punk’d? Where was Ashton Kutcher at?  I don’t care how drunk she was or how drunk I was- it seemed a little out of line. Was she trying to make me feel uncomfortable? Did she decide to switch teams again and date Mr. P? Did she have some kind of master plan to get me out of the picture?

Recovering from the worsening situation, I began chugging beers, hoping this day would somehow find a way to rebound. After a half hour of baking under the sun and having a serious monologue of questions playing in my head, I heard giggling.

There she was with her perfect toned body, steel-iron abs, tan flawless skin, round bodacious booty, and long dark hair blowing in the breeze. She grabbed a football and took Mr. P by the hand. They didn’t bother inviting me, so I invited myself to their little game of throwing the football. Walking over to them, I started realizing how hard it is to walk on sand in a sexy way. It’s impossible.

The ex was practically a good yard down the beach, throwing the damn football like she was Joe Montana.

“Wow, she’s really good. I mean look how far she’s throwing,” I said, pretending to be impressed, but I was so jealous.

“Well yeah, but then again she’s a lesbian. Lesbians tend to be good at sports,” he said. Lesbian or bisexual? I’m confused.

It was at that moment, the questions came uncontrollably projectile vomiting out of my mouth.

“Isn’t she your ex-girlfriend, though?” and “She’s a lesbian?”

“Yeah, we used to date. But this year she decided to go the lesbian route. I mean, she had a serious girlfriend and everything. They even tried to have a surrogate child,” he said.

Okay, so now I’m thinking: and this is normal?

“Oh. Yeah, I was a little caught off guard when I saw her coming with us today, “ I said, loving the confidence from my liquid courage. Finally I was going to solve the mystery to this awkward and shocking date.

“Here,” he said, as he shoved the football at me. “Let’s see what that arm can do.”

Really? Like Really? He’s going to ignore that last comment? I took the football and realized I was about to make a complete and utter fool of myself. There’s no doubt about it- I looked like the evil, ditsy, princess, handling the football as though it was a diseased. With all my might, I threw the football as far as my arm knew how and it soon landed three feet in front of me. It’s not that I’m a ditsy girl- I’ve actually been pretty athletic most of my life, but football was never my cup of tea.

In the distance, I saw “miss quarterback” covering her mouth as she laughed out loud at my failures.

“Let me try again,” I said. “Can you just show me how to hold it?”

Mr. P stood right behind me, reached over my arm, and placed my hand along the seam of the football. Gently he took my arm and demonstrated a guided throw. As he repeated the demonstration again, I propped my chest out, and knew I had just scored some more attraction points. In the corner of my eye, I saw the “friend” grilling me. I knew the bitch was bisexual, or maybe the lesbian thing was just an act. I knew she still had feelings for Mr. P. I knew it. And now, it was game time.

Once more, I gained some momentum, stepped into my hard jolted throw…. And the ball went over her head. Mr. P started cheering, ran over and picked me up, celebrating my victorious throw. Five seconds later, the ex came over and complained her shoulder was “hurting.” She was done playing catch.

When the sun starting setting, I lied to Mr. P and said that I was going to have to skip dinner since my roommate’s parents were in town and really wanted to take us out. Mr. P was a great guy- it seemed like he had the whole package… yet, in that package, he also had a jealous bisexual girlfriend, which I was something I didn’t sign up for. I said goodbye that day, and I was pretty damn sure it was goodbye forever. I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

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Disney Can Suck It!

An entry I wrote to my diary as a chubby awkward 12- year- old:

Dear Diary,

My first boyfriend is going to be tall, tan, with bright blue eyes. He’ll have a perfect smile that lights up the room, along with a pair of cute dimples. He’s going to have really nice four-pack abs (six-packs are too over-the-top). My boyfriend’s name is going to be Jake Ryan like the babe from Sixteen Candles. Mr. Jake Ryan is going to be outgoing, really smart, wealthy, sexy, caring, and definitely funny. Above all, he will be extremely romantic.

Jake is going to send me flowers everyday when I’m at work. And then, when I come home from a long day on the job, he’ll have a path of rose petals leading to a hundred candles illuminating the room, and a candle-lit dinner ready for me. Jake is going to always tell me I’m so beautiful and that he is the luckiest man in the world to have me in his life. He won’t be able to keep his hands off me. He will try to cut down kissing me on the forehead, but will find it to be the most challenging thing he has ever done in his life. Jake will take me out to dinner at a five-star restaurant and order the kind of champagne only celebs drink. He’ll look at me from across the table, his eyes completely obsessed with me. Throughout our date, he will take my hand and kiss the top of it without taking his eyes off me.

Jake and I will date for a couple years. Then we’ll get in some silly fight, and stop talking for a week. Then on a rainy day in November, I’ll be at the supermarket (where we met) and he’ll come to me begging for my forgiveness, but I’ll try hard to ignore him. As I start walking away from him, he’ll start making a scene and yell out how he’s so in love with me. He’ll say that he won’t give up until he’s got me. At first, other shoppers in the market will stare at him like he’s crazy, and I’ll get embarrassed. But then when he tells the story about our love and how he’ll do anything to get me back, people will find it adorable and really, really romantic. The women shoppers will be jealous that I found such a perfect man.

Then Jake will slowly walk over to me and wipe away the two tears rolling down my cheek. He’ll smile, reach in his pocket, and kneel down on one knee. Mr. Jake Ryan will gently take my hand and propose to me with a (not-too-big, yet not-too-small) princess-cut diamond ring, which will slip onto my ring finger with ease. I’ll start sobbing (gracefully) and say: “YES!” To which he will jump up, gently grab my face and kiss me passionately while everyone starts clapping and cheering. We’ll then have beautiful wedding on the beach. Later on, I’ll pop out two kids and then we’ll grow old together and live happily ever after. THE END. Diary, I seriously can’t wait to meet my Jake Ryan!

Sincerely,

The Hopeless Romantic

I wrote this diary entry when I was just a silly pre-teen and I sincerely thought that one day this cliché chick flick would be the true story of how I found love. Unfortunately, instead of falling in love with Jake Ryan, I have encountered several bumps, ditches, booby-traps, and unexpected turns on the road to finding romance. Had I known the kind of guys I was going to meet and the kind of bizarre experiences I was going to endure, I probably would have chosen the lesbian route. When I look back to this diary entry of a naïve young girl who dreamt of prince charming and living a fairytale, I can’t help but feel envious of her innocence, or delusion- whatever you want to call it.

For years, I have always wondered why girls get the perfect prince charming seed deeply implanted in their minds. I have finally come up with a legitimate answer: I blame Disney. Disney told us finding our prince charming and falling in love and living happily ever after is easy. Aladdin, who is personally the hottest leading male Disney character, took Jasmine for a magic carpet ride around Saudi Arabia for their FIRST DATE. Aladdin never cheated, had a drinking problem, or played video games for days on end! And then there’s Sleeping Beauty; her Prince Phillip found her in the forest one day, and it was love at first sight. This guy was even capable of bringing her out of a serious coma… just by kissing her. Prince Phillip didn’t sleep with her, act cute and all “into her” and then never called again. They were married and lived “Happily Ever After.” Don’t even get me started with Eric from The Little Mermaid… You’d think a guy who is able to fall in love with a mute fish has to have some serious issues in store; but no, he was perfect.

Disney never told us that these guys had flaws and that relationships take work, dedication, and time to improve. Love doesn’t always happen right away, and sometimes love doesn’t end in happily ever after. Disney provided an unrealistic portrayal of love, and for that I have struggled to understand why no one ever warned us that finding true love is incredibly difficult in this day and age. Which is why I present to you my strange version of “fairytales.” My “fairytales” wouldn’t be made into a Disney movie, but they do contain truth and reality… seriously, you can’t make this shit up.

 

 

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