Expiration Dating

Dating

Dating with an end point in mind is complicated. It’s a mind fuck. Because as real as the emotions are, there is almost a sense of falsehood in every word. They’re laced with a timed anthrax that will inevitably wreck havoc on your psyche.

I mean maybe that’s a little bit of a strong metaphor, but dammit I like this boy a lot.

When I first started dating The Hillbilly (I realize the risk of using this nickname may conquer up images of men in coveralls. Which, incidentally, is partly accurate. However, he’s hot and doesn’t have a beard or gray hair, so there’s that) I was attracted to him for a number of reasons. He was funny, he was so damn cute, liked live music, and most of all was extremely laid back. So I wanted to keep things casual. We liked each other and we hung out. At some point I would leave for Austin and essentially we would shake hands and walk away.

Sometimes I think I may be constantly drunk, because even in a perfect world that would never fucking work out. Which it didn’t.

A friend recently called to my attention that despite my bro-like tendencies, I am a hopeless romantic deep down. Accurate as she may be, I hope and wish and pray that I could stop. I root for the happy endings. I want the couple to end up together or get back together. I think we should tell each other our feelings. I know there’s someone out there for everyone. Basically, like every girl in America, I overdosed on Disney movies as a kid, coming of age movies as a teen, and romantic comedies as a young woman.

Damn you media.

I’ll admit a small part of me had high hopes for the Hillbilly. But when we told me that at the end of the summer he is moving out West (I’m seriously not kidding about the country boy thing) that small part sank deeper than Jack from the Titanic.

I came face to face with the inevitable end of the relationship. No matter what I say or do within the coming months, we will shake hands and walk away. In a split second, his potential to become something more than just a memory vanished. I’m caught at a crossroads. Do I continue down this road, steadily increasing my miles per hour towards a crash I knowingly find myself hurtling towards? Or conversely, do I abruptly stop, get the fuck out of the car, and aimlessly try to hitchhike, knowing that I prematurely altered my destination.

I know this whole decision is making for some great metaphors, but in my head I’m at a loss for words.Although, I’ve had it argued to me that relationships end for a myriad of reasons and distance shouldn’t be one of them, I learned my lesson about distance last year. Distance can and does end budding romances, no matter how strong the feelings (or the accents) may be. Hell, distance ends grounded relationships too.

Timing becomes something more than the intangible, it becomes a force in your life, coming into a direct collision with your plans. It begins to decide for you, without your consent, raping you a choice in a matter you feel you should have a say in.

Was raping too strong of a word? My apologies. Timing is bitch with a sick sense of humor.

In a Relationship with Myself

Dating, Personal

Time for the utterly shocking news that I am once again single. If that is in fact shocking to you, read further for clarity.

I thought I was ready for a new relationship. I truly thought that after 5 blissful months of bar hopping, single girl swag, and celebrating my fabulous self that I was at a place in my life where I would be ready to commit to someone else and accept their commitment to me.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

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I was excaping myself through my friends and my short-lived crushes. Numbing myself from actually exploring who I am with internships and shots of tequila after work. I wasn’t growing, I was just adjusting. Right when I was at the peak and beginning to accept myself while learning to embrace who I actually am without someone else molding me, I met The Bartender. Then poof. I was right back where I started. Spending time with him instead of working on myself. My thoughts and concerns centered around him and his feelings instead of my own. My rickety self-esteem collasped on me, enduring insufferable blow after blow. Yet I accepted this because I was happy with him.

What I realize now though is that I was unhappy with myself and I wanted to be with someone who found joy through me because that gave me purpose.

Once I came to this conclusion I had no other choice but to conclude my relationship with The Bartender. I hated having to hurt someone again using the same rhetoric of finding myself and still being unable to reconcile with them that it wasn’t their fault but my own.

But onward and upward. It’s a new year and I finally understand that in order to become who I’m meant to be, I need to be on my own and face myself for the first time, without the hope that another man is going to come and rescue me from…well…me.

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Just for the sake of the new year, here’s my resolutions if you’re interested. Hopefully the more people that read them, the more of a reality they will actually become:

1. Treat others how you want to be treated.

2. Don’t let others define your happiness.

3. Start believing that everything will work out and stop stressing about what could happen.

4. Have the courage to trust myself and be confident in myself. Commit to actions that push me forward, instead of holding me back.

5. Be happy and healthy.

And lose weight. But everyone says that.

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