I had been seeing a guy since May. Not seriously. And we had a fight about something dumb and didn't talk for a month.
Yeah, I'm a dick. I was kinda tryin to pull the slow fade, and doing quite well actually. I blame facebook for the rest of what just happened. He noticed I was on, we convo'ed a few times, texts, etc. Then it got finalized. And it hurt.
I really liked him. I still do. I just don't have time for a real boyfriend right now. Especially one that lives an hour away. And especially especially one that doesn't quite get my time constraints. But it hurts. It really really does.
I now understand all those country songs a hell of a lot better.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Worst. Day. Ever.
Todayyyyyyyyy.....kinda sucked. Some of it was a culmination of errors on my part, but the fact that it all fell at once wasn't awesome at all. Neither was walking hither and yon across campus and beyond in vans with no socks (yes, again, my own damn fault but that doesn't make the blisters less....blistery....Shaddup). And I got hit by a bike. Not hard. But still. Not cool.
But it's over. Situation has been fixed mostly, and I did get hit on twice today. Which is two more times than I ever have been in broad daylight before. So that's cool I guess.
One is actually kind of a cool story. This black dude with a hardcore brit accent asked me to stand and listen to a song with him for a moment. A song being sung in front of Al's by a fat man. A song about Jesus. And then, unwisely in my humble opinion, he asked me why I was in such a hurry. So I told him. In great detail, with numerous and vociferous swearing. And he still wanted my number. That man was a foolhardy one.
But apparently being nearly incoherent with rage and exhausted is a good look for me. Huh. Who knows what dudes like...
But it's over. Situation has been fixed mostly, and I did get hit on twice today. Which is two more times than I ever have been in broad daylight before. So that's cool I guess.
One is actually kind of a cool story. This black dude with a hardcore brit accent asked me to stand and listen to a song with him for a moment. A song being sung in front of Al's by a fat man. A song about Jesus. And then, unwisely in my humble opinion, he asked me why I was in such a hurry. So I told him. In great detail, with numerous and vociferous swearing. And he still wanted my number. That man was a foolhardy one.
But apparently being nearly incoherent with rage and exhausted is a good look for me. Huh. Who knows what dudes like...
Morning
Eh, I'm boring. I get up early even though I don't work until 11 for no particular reason. The vague reasoning that I think my subconscious uses is that I have a super early lab next semester so I'm preparing for that I guess? Either way, it means that I have a leeettle too much time on my hands in the morning, so this blog may end up a daily thing out of sheer time-filler-y.
Also, I noticed that I use waaaaaaay too frickin many commas. Look for a reduction in those in the future.
Okay, bored. Gonna go internet now.
Also, I noticed that I use waaaaaaay too frickin many commas. Look for a reduction in those in the future.
Okay, bored. Gonna go internet now.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Don't Call Me Beautiful
Hey. You see the title of this? It's a sentiment that I hold somewhat...well, dear isn't the word. Close? Gingerly? Yeah. Hold somewhat gingerly to my heart. Italics and all.
It's probably not a unique sentiment among girls/women/chicks. Or at least not in essence unique. The word might be different. But I am willing to bet that every female person that has chosen to have a romantic or sexual interaction with another person, male or female, has one flattering descriptor, one nice adjective, one complimentary word that they don't ever want to hear applied to them.
For me, it's the word 'beautiful'.
Some of my close friends know why. It's not a story that sheds the best light on me. Not necessarily a terribly bad light, but one of those lights that makes your skin seem a bit yellow, makes that one stupid scab on your nose that might or might not have come from a pimple or a bug bite(not that you will ever admit that yes, it was a pimple, which you shouldn't get once you exit high school or at least have your first without gagging) show up in high relief like it's a damn spotlight or something.
It starts with an Engineering party. One of the lame ones, but still fun. Watching YouTube videos on a screen in the physics building, laughing at what other people showed you and plotting which video you will show to impress everyone. So very nerdy, but fun.
And it starts with a guy. Not a boy, a guy. A dude even. Cute, with a too-wide mouth and a Justin Bieber haircut (pre-butch Bieber). He was hot. Like, really hot. Cut and fit and he knew it. I knew that he knew it, too. He had the swagger about him that made you know he thought he was hot shit, and was attractive enough that the swagger actually made him more so. It helps that I like a guy with a bit of swagger, even arrogance. I'm not exactly humble about shit that I do well, either, so I can't blame anyone. And he was smart. He knew that, too. An Aerospace major with good looks and a dose of charm? I swooned. Well, more drooled, politely of course, and a bit obviously. I regret that now.
Now, the reason I describe his hotness is this: I am...hell. I hate describing how I look. It comes from a long, bad case of ugly-duckling syndrome, which is another post altogether. I'm kinda short, 5'6", and on the curvy side. I'm fit, and I work out so it's getting better, but my ass is a bit sticky-outy and I have a substantial chest. Unfortunately I also have a bit of a belly and hips to carry all my attributes. Nice legs, though the thighs are a bit large. Muscular. Stocky is probably a good word. My face is interesting. I have high cheekbones, bigish hazel eyes and a slightly cleft chin. Curly brown hair that didn't used to be (perms actually work on me, strange as it sounds). My nose is, ummmm, Roman I think would be the label. A decent package, but no head turner. At least, not in my head. My friends tell me I'm good looking. I don't really trust it still, though I get my fair share of check-outs. And I'm a Mechanical Engineering major, so I have the nerdy tendencies to go with that.
Okay, both our players are described. The scene is an Awkward dance. I went with a group of his guys friends. Mine, too, some of them, but new friends, that-night-friends or that-winter-break ones. So on my own. We flirt, I make my interest too obvious, he kinda digs on stringing me along all night. I see it now, shoot me. At the end of the night, I give him my phone number. I get all the way home, walked by my that-night-friends, and he texts me to come hang out. Back at his dorm. All the way back across campus. I go, like a dumbass. That's why it's in the title, people.
The usual happens. We watch a movie, then start making out. Then his shirt comes off, mine comes off, excreta making out gets heavier. And during this period he calls me "beautiful". Well, surprised the hell out of me. I hadn't thought of my self as attractive at that point, much less beautiful. This was 2nd semester sophomore year. Yeah, self-confidence still isn't really my thing, but I'm gettin better, I swear. It is shocking to me. Me, beautiful. Really. Huh.
Well, he said it, and I thought he meant it. I wasn't looking for a relationship. I'm still not, not really. Just some relatively casual dating, maybe a fling, fwb you know the drill. But it was nice. I got the warm and fuzzies from it.
He did the sensitive song and dance, too. How he's born-again, won't have sex till marriage (oral doesn't count, I guess), he loves helping his female friends, so on and so forth. It was a good time, and I liked him. I wanted us to be friends, with option to fool around. He said that would be cool with him, as he didn't want a relationship either. I go home the next morning, have class, etc. All is gumdrops and starshine in the world.
Well, we text each other. Plan to hang out again. We do, late at night. Same deal. Movie, fooling around. Well, this time he's a bit more cold at the end, but I don't really care. He's just as flirty when I leave that morning as he was the previous time two days before. Tentative plans were made to hang again.
Again, as we had fooled around, he had been complimenting me. Calling me Beautiful. To an outside person, that just sounds like a simple, not even very creative compliment. But it meant something to me. I had never been Beautiful. I was smart. I was funny. I was sympathetic. I gave good advice. Sometimes, on a good day, I cleaned up well. I wasn't Beautiful. So I was just so damn happy to have one person compliment me on my looks, but still seem to like me as a person.
Well, it all fell apart. He canceled our follow up. Stopped responding to texts. The usual pull-away shit. I know it. I've even done it, now. But then, I was confused. Then pissed. I demanded a reason.
"Hanging out three times is too much like a relationship."
I cried. I'm crying now, actually. It hurt me so much. I just wanted a friend to talk to and occasionally fool around with. And this guy seemed like the perfect package. Smart. Funny. Really Fuckin Hot. And he seemed to like both how I looked and who I was.
And then that lovely rug was yanked out. The only guy who had EVER called me beautiful, who had ever (up to that point) seemed to be physically attracted to me had essentially told me it was all a lie. That he hadn't meant a damn word. That it had all been, as my parents warned me, to get into my pants. And it shook me in a way I hadn't been shook before. And it yanked away pretty much every bit of self-confidence that I had managed to scrape up to that point. Basically, it sucked major.
I survived. I moved on. I fooled around with, even kinda dated, a few guys since him. I even believe I am attractive most days now. It's hard at this instant as I just had my wisdom teeth out and I'm kinda puffy. I even know that, academically at least, I am considered to be of slightly above average looks, even.
My friends told me he was an asshole, and he was, at least for that. He may still be an asshole about that kind of thing to other girls. I don't know. We haven't talked since. I would. I have enough pride to pretend it never happened, and move on. I don't know if he knows how much it hurt me. I don't know if he would care if he did know. In fact, I'm almost sure he wouldn't.
But the one lasting thing, besides a few spells of pissed-off-ed-ness that hit ( I hold a grudge like few I know), that stuck from the whole ugly incident was that I don't like being called Beautiful. It always sounds like a lie now. Always sounds in his voice. Always rings false. Always brings back that feeling of being rejected, not for who you are, but for what something is appearing to become.
And it stings like a motherfucker.
So now, Green Guy, if you read this, either because you stumbled upon it, or because I sent it to you, I hope you know I don't hate you. I don't understand why you did it. I resent that you made that word hurt me. I even want to talk to you again, if only to cloud the things that caused me to dislike you either with different, less pathetic reasons to dislike you or reasons to like you or, hell, reasons to feel apathetic toward your very existence. Hell, if you got this far I'll buy you coffee, if only to reward your ability to slog through overly emotional and over written whining. But you should know what you did, so you don't do it again.
I know this was selfish as hell to write. It's catharsis at it's most basic level. But it worked. I feel lighter, though that may be the late hour kicking in.
And Man, is this a long friggin post. And only the second one! This does not bode well for my attention span. Ah well.
It's probably not a unique sentiment among girls/women/chicks. Or at least not in essence unique. The word might be different. But I am willing to bet that every female person that has chosen to have a romantic or sexual interaction with another person, male or female, has one flattering descriptor, one nice adjective, one complimentary word that they don't ever want to hear applied to them.
For me, it's the word 'beautiful'.
Some of my close friends know why. It's not a story that sheds the best light on me. Not necessarily a terribly bad light, but one of those lights that makes your skin seem a bit yellow, makes that one stupid scab on your nose that might or might not have come from a pimple or a bug bite(not that you will ever admit that yes, it was a pimple, which you shouldn't get once you exit high school or at least have your first without gagging) show up in high relief like it's a damn spotlight or something.
It starts with an Engineering party. One of the lame ones, but still fun. Watching YouTube videos on a screen in the physics building, laughing at what other people showed you and plotting which video you will show to impress everyone. So very nerdy, but fun.
And it starts with a guy. Not a boy, a guy. A dude even. Cute, with a too-wide mouth and a Justin Bieber haircut (pre-butch Bieber). He was hot. Like, really hot. Cut and fit and he knew it. I knew that he knew it, too. He had the swagger about him that made you know he thought he was hot shit, and was attractive enough that the swagger actually made him more so. It helps that I like a guy with a bit of swagger, even arrogance. I'm not exactly humble about shit that I do well, either, so I can't blame anyone. And he was smart. He knew that, too. An Aerospace major with good looks and a dose of charm? I swooned. Well, more drooled, politely of course, and a bit obviously. I regret that now.
Now, the reason I describe his hotness is this: I am...hell. I hate describing how I look. It comes from a long, bad case of ugly-duckling syndrome, which is another post altogether. I'm kinda short, 5'6", and on the curvy side. I'm fit, and I work out so it's getting better, but my ass is a bit sticky-outy and I have a substantial chest. Unfortunately I also have a bit of a belly and hips to carry all my attributes. Nice legs, though the thighs are a bit large. Muscular. Stocky is probably a good word. My face is interesting. I have high cheekbones, bigish hazel eyes and a slightly cleft chin. Curly brown hair that didn't used to be (perms actually work on me, strange as it sounds). My nose is, ummmm, Roman I think would be the label. A decent package, but no head turner. At least, not in my head. My friends tell me I'm good looking. I don't really trust it still, though I get my fair share of check-outs. And I'm a Mechanical Engineering major, so I have the nerdy tendencies to go with that.
Okay, both our players are described. The scene is an Awkward dance. I went with a group of his guys friends. Mine, too, some of them, but new friends, that-night-friends or that-winter-break ones. So on my own. We flirt, I make my interest too obvious, he kinda digs on stringing me along all night. I see it now, shoot me. At the end of the night, I give him my phone number. I get all the way home, walked by my that-night-friends, and he texts me to come hang out. Back at his dorm. All the way back across campus. I go, like a dumbass. That's why it's in the title, people.
The usual happens. We watch a movie, then start making out. Then his shirt comes off, mine comes off, excreta making out gets heavier. And during this period he calls me "beautiful". Well, surprised the hell out of me. I hadn't thought of my self as attractive at that point, much less beautiful. This was 2nd semester sophomore year. Yeah, self-confidence still isn't really my thing, but I'm gettin better, I swear. It is shocking to me. Me, beautiful. Really. Huh.
Well, he said it, and I thought he meant it. I wasn't looking for a relationship. I'm still not, not really. Just some relatively casual dating, maybe a fling, fwb you know the drill. But it was nice. I got the warm and fuzzies from it.
He did the sensitive song and dance, too. How he's born-again, won't have sex till marriage (oral doesn't count, I guess), he loves helping his female friends, so on and so forth. It was a good time, and I liked him. I wanted us to be friends, with option to fool around. He said that would be cool with him, as he didn't want a relationship either. I go home the next morning, have class, etc. All is gumdrops and starshine in the world.
Well, we text each other. Plan to hang out again. We do, late at night. Same deal. Movie, fooling around. Well, this time he's a bit more cold at the end, but I don't really care. He's just as flirty when I leave that morning as he was the previous time two days before. Tentative plans were made to hang again.
Again, as we had fooled around, he had been complimenting me. Calling me Beautiful. To an outside person, that just sounds like a simple, not even very creative compliment. But it meant something to me. I had never been Beautiful. I was smart. I was funny. I was sympathetic. I gave good advice. Sometimes, on a good day, I cleaned up well. I wasn't Beautiful. So I was just so damn happy to have one person compliment me on my looks, but still seem to like me as a person.
Well, it all fell apart. He canceled our follow up. Stopped responding to texts. The usual pull-away shit. I know it. I've even done it, now. But then, I was confused. Then pissed. I demanded a reason.
"Hanging out three times is too much like a relationship."
I cried. I'm crying now, actually. It hurt me so much. I just wanted a friend to talk to and occasionally fool around with. And this guy seemed like the perfect package. Smart. Funny. Really Fuckin Hot. And he seemed to like both how I looked and who I was.
And then that lovely rug was yanked out. The only guy who had EVER called me beautiful, who had ever (up to that point) seemed to be physically attracted to me had essentially told me it was all a lie. That he hadn't meant a damn word. That it had all been, as my parents warned me, to get into my pants. And it shook me in a way I hadn't been shook before. And it yanked away pretty much every bit of self-confidence that I had managed to scrape up to that point. Basically, it sucked major.
I survived. I moved on. I fooled around with, even kinda dated, a few guys since him. I even believe I am attractive most days now. It's hard at this instant as I just had my wisdom teeth out and I'm kinda puffy. I even know that, academically at least, I am considered to be of slightly above average looks, even.
My friends told me he was an asshole, and he was, at least for that. He may still be an asshole about that kind of thing to other girls. I don't know. We haven't talked since. I would. I have enough pride to pretend it never happened, and move on. I don't know if he knows how much it hurt me. I don't know if he would care if he did know. In fact, I'm almost sure he wouldn't.
But the one lasting thing, besides a few spells of pissed-off-ed-ness that hit ( I hold a grudge like few I know), that stuck from the whole ugly incident was that I don't like being called Beautiful. It always sounds like a lie now. Always sounds in his voice. Always rings false. Always brings back that feeling of being rejected, not for who you are, but for what something is appearing to become.
And it stings like a motherfucker.
So now, Green Guy, if you read this, either because you stumbled upon it, or because I sent it to you, I hope you know I don't hate you. I don't understand why you did it. I resent that you made that word hurt me. I even want to talk to you again, if only to cloud the things that caused me to dislike you either with different, less pathetic reasons to dislike you or reasons to like you or, hell, reasons to feel apathetic toward your very existence. Hell, if you got this far I'll buy you coffee, if only to reward your ability to slog through overly emotional and over written whining. But you should know what you did, so you don't do it again.
I know this was selfish as hell to write. It's catharsis at it's most basic level. But it worked. I feel lighter, though that may be the late hour kicking in.
And Man, is this a long friggin post. And only the second one! This does not bode well for my attention span. Ah well.
First Post
First!
Might as well get that over with.
I am not gonna pretend that my very first post on a personal blog is gonna be the best thing ever. I've never written for my consumption, let alone that of a broader public. I've pretended to write for myself, sure. Every lame english assignment you get in high school (and college, if you weren't wise enough to sneak those AP credits by, and became an engineering major where writing is less about personal expression and more about describing methods of doing stuff to stuff using fancy equipment) is for the consumption of the teacher, no matter how much you pretty it up with too-long words and what YOU think are clever turns of phrase.
This. This though, is a whole 'nother animal.
I have no illusions. No one will read this but me. Maybe someone will search the wrong thing and find it on Google. Maybe one day I will grow foolhardy and put the link on Facebook, never to be private again. But most people don't care. Hell, I don't care really. If I really cared, I wouldn't put the kind of personal stuff on here that I probably will. That I know I will. Hell, I'm planning a pseudo-nostalgic, fake-eloquent rant about my only college hook up regret (so far) as I type this, my second overly-long sentence (though this time I used Hyphens!). But it might be fun.
So. What the hell. Into the internet this goes, never to be only my own again. But now I can't say I've never blogged. If that's good or bad, well, I'll find out, won't I?
Might as well get that over with.
I am not gonna pretend that my very first post on a personal blog is gonna be the best thing ever. I've never written for my consumption, let alone that of a broader public. I've pretended to write for myself, sure. Every lame english assignment you get in high school (and college, if you weren't wise enough to sneak those AP credits by, and became an engineering major where writing is less about personal expression and more about describing methods of doing stuff to stuff using fancy equipment) is for the consumption of the teacher, no matter how much you pretty it up with too-long words and what YOU think are clever turns of phrase.
This. This though, is a whole 'nother animal.
I have no illusions. No one will read this but me. Maybe someone will search the wrong thing and find it on Google. Maybe one day I will grow foolhardy and put the link on Facebook, never to be private again. But most people don't care. Hell, I don't care really. If I really cared, I wouldn't put the kind of personal stuff on here that I probably will. That I know I will. Hell, I'm planning a pseudo-nostalgic, fake-eloquent rant about my only college hook up regret (so far) as I type this, my second overly-long sentence (though this time I used Hyphens!). But it might be fun.
So. What the hell. Into the internet this goes, never to be only my own again. But now I can't say I've never blogged. If that's good or bad, well, I'll find out, won't I?
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