“Sam, you haven’t written in forever.”
OH HOW wrong you are! If you scroll down, you’ll see that ol’ Sam actually pulled the wool over your eyes in a very uncharacteristic move: I posted a rant, and did NOTHING to promote it. “What the heck!” you’re all screaming at your screens, holding up quivering fists of rage. I know, I’ve wronged you, my noble TRIBE. I was just ON ONE that day (as you will see, should you decide to indulge in the shit show that is my rant).
Let me bring you up to speed: Firstly, my fish tragically passed away on the weekend, and when I say tragically passed away, I mean he was murdered, and when I say he was murdered, I mean I killed him, I am a murderer, and I accept the spot I’ve surely claimed in Hell. Long story short, he had fin rot, I went and got him the antibiotics to cure it, regardless of the fact that the fin rot wasn’t even harming the fish, it was just black and weird to look at, and I administrated the antibiotics incorrectly. Fish was dead within the hour! Fortunately, I was out buying a “Bed Of Nails” from Winners, because I read somewhere that it could cure my anxiety/adhd/general malaise/early onset arthritis! I walked in the door a new woman. “Yooohoo!” I hollered as I dropped my keys (and Bed Of Nails) on the mantle. “Honey, I’m hoooome!” (I don’t know if I’ve expressed this enough in my blog, but Fish and I, (when he was alive) used to do a “bit,” where I would pretend he was my husband…and he would pretend I was his wife.) Anyway, he did not respond, because he was dead, and now I have no one to do that kind of role play with. Degrassi’s Annie Clark gave up the 8 month long grudge she was holding against me and moved back in, and despite being a PHENOMENAL ACTRESS, she’s not really down for THAT kind of role play. (But on a hilarious sidenote, she is always surprising me… look at this text she sent me when I told her I was “on the bus”).
As if Fish dying by my hand wasn’t enough, the other night, I woke up in a cold sweat only to see Fish’s GHOST hovering at the end of my bed! Naturally, I screamed bloody murder. “AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! FISH! FISH I’M SORRY, I’VE WRONGED YOU!!!!” He just looked at me. This was not a comforting message from beyond. This was… war. Calmly, he raised one fin to the sky, slightly resembling the Hitler salute. Although Fish was a stark antisemite, this was not the salute of his fallen Nazi brothers…. he was waving me off, as if to say, “FUCK YOU, SAM”. When he dissipated, I ran to Annie’s room sobbing hysterically. “The Ghost of Fish visited me, and used his ectoplasmic GHOST FIN to tell me to go FUCK myself.” Annie stared at me for a moment, maybe two, before responding, “Get out.” So it’s been a rough week.
Furthermore, if anyone was wondering, the dry spell is still going strong. It’s an interesting dichotomy, as I’ve never felt more alive mentally, while being completely dead (much like my fish) in the vagina. I read an article called “How To Know If You Need To Have Sex ASAP!” The symptoms are as followed, for anyone who’s wondering (which I’m assuming with the exception of my infant and geriatric readers, is NO ONE): Forgetting the feeling of being turned on, crude jokes making you laugh way too hard, and addressing your genitals with “You Trusted Me, And I’ve Failed You.”
Seeing as I only do 1/3 of those things (I’ll let you be the judge of which one), I think I’m ok to drag this dry spell out a little longer. If it hits 2018, and the spell is still going, I will take it as a sign from God to follow my destiny, and either a) become the first female Priest in the Greek Orthodox Church, or b) jump into traffic.
As tragic as this dry spell is, it really isn’t that hard to maintain.
When I go to family events, or even just talk to someone who’s slightly older than me, I get this a lot:
“I’m sure you have guys asking you out all the time.”
Ha ha ha ha. It is to laugh.
Let me take you back to 2011. I was partying at Gracey O’Malley’s like the BOGO wearing asshole I was, and I was BALLS DEEP in men. This isn’t bragging. There was a time, in my lifetime, and the lifetimes of other women my age, where you would go to a bar, and if you were a woman, countless men would hit on you. It’s not about how good looking you are, it’s not about anything. That’s just how it was. And it wasn’t always pleasant, in fact, most times it wasn’t. The other day, the Mauro’s (my distant Italian cousins), and I attended a DAY TIME PARTY. I dressed to the NINES, makeup went on nice, hair went up perfectly. We got to the party and Anthony and I were chatting, and I saw a guy I thought was cute, but I didn’t go up to him. And he didn’t come up to me. And that’s when I realized:
“I haven’t been hit on in person in a long time!”
“Woah, self absorbed much?” Said no one.
“No, it’s not a self absorbed thing. There was a time, before tinder, before Instagram (which let me remind you all reading this blog, wasn’t that long ago), where people HAD to hit on you at bars. They didn’t have a choice, because they didn’t have countless women (or men) at their fingertips. They couldn’t just ‘look you up’ later, see if you had a hot Instagram profile, and DM you. They couldn’t send you an unsolicited Facebook message out of the blue. They HAD to talk to you in person.”
“You should go to Europe,” said Anthony, “The men there hit on you mercilessly.”
“ANYWAY, I’m pretty sure this has lead to the death of chivalry in North America. Like NO ONE asks me out! And I’m not saying I’m the hottest girl in Toronto, but I am DEFINITELY not a DOG, and this modern dating society makes me feel like… I am fucking disgusting or something.”
“Deep.” Said Erika while she nursed her Ace Hill like a frat boy.
When I got home, I thought more about this concept. When did showing you care about someone, or even that you’re just INTERESTED in someone, stop being cool? When did seeing something you want, and going for it, stop being admirable? Is everyone just cool with this idea, or, like me, do people realize we are missing out on romance and potential fun nights by trying to seem like the more chill party at all times? Sometimes I think my life is just going, and I’m not actually DOING anything, because I’m posting photos and becoming satisfied ENOUGH, at the idea that guys I think are hot like my posts. But AS SHOWN, this post might as well be called CATFISH, (or DEAD FISH BOO HOO HOO), because all the guys I like, can like all the photos of me in bikinis in the world, and believe it or not, these “exchanges” have YET to land me in a compromising position with ANY OF THEM (as proven, by my FUCKING DRY SPELL!!!!)
Here’s another example:
The other week, my old LOVER uploaded a “Story” to Whats App. WHAT? Who knew about this? Let me answer that for you all: NO ONE. I have 300 contacts on my What’s App, and I have never seen a story on it. So, I watch his story, assuming that’s what he wanted since this is the only medium we have access to each other on. A few days later, to test my theory, I uploaded a video to Whats App. In 24 hours, out of 300 contacts, I got ONE view, from him, because he’s clearly the only person who is aware of this useless function, (assuming most people on Whats App have snapchat and Instagram as well, there is no reason to use this.)
It is OF COURSE possible that he just uploaded a video to Whats App for the first time ever for the hell of it, or alternatively to get the attention of not me, but another girl, or person. But, where’s the FUN in that theory? Operating under the assumption that he was trying to get my attention via Whats App, I discussed this with Annie Clark.
“So, if you want me to see your Whats App story, why don’t you just PICK UP THE PHONE, AND CALL ME?”
She said, “I don’t know. Instead of uploading a What’s App story back, why didn’t YOU just pick up the phone and CALL HIM?”
Touche. Well, I know why I don’t do that. It’s because I don’t want him to think I care more than he does. Possibly, he’s in the same boat, possibly he’s hoping we never speak again, regardless, since it’s 2017, instead of getting to the bottom of this, we’re wasting our lives away, time we could be hanging out with each other, or other people, getting off on the POTENTIAL that we care about each other based on social media views. No one really tries, so no one gets HURT, and we can go on believing that maybe someone still cares about us. And that’s the same with Tinder. People can get the self assurance, and attention they need from the opposite sex, without ACTUALLY engaging with them! Why do you think you have those people that get 50 matches on Tinder, and then never talk to any of them. They get the praise they crave, without any of the work. And then, the whole concept of “putting yourself out there” becomes increasingly irrelevant. And then there’s me, a hopeless romantic in the WRONG ERA, wondering why the crop top I’m wearing and the 20 minutes I spent navigating my false eyelashes isn’t getting me so much as a nod in my direction.
This isn’t really that surprising, considering there was a semi-recent study about procrastination that proved SAYING you were going to do something, gave many people the same sense of accomplishment, as actually doing it. “I’m going to move to Europe next year.” “I’m going to lose 10lbs by Christmas”, and other long term goals articulated aloud were actually enough to sooth the minds of procrastinators EVERYWHERE. Regardless of whether you actually experience the bliss of losing 10lbs before Christmas, or if you actually save up the money and have the MOXY to move to Europe, just SAYING that you will, has the power, to stimulate your brain into feeling ACCOMPLISHED for things you haven’t ACTUALLY experienced. And based on THAT, we can assume that those procrastinators in the dating world, get the same satisfaction from social media interactions, regardless of the fact that HELLO, you’re not ACTUALLY DATING ANYONE! OR EXPERIENCING LOVE! OR AT THE VERY LEAST, HAVING SEX! I’ve had so many guys, ask me out, bail on me, and then ask me out again, months later, just CHECKING IN. Just making sure I’m STILL INTERESTED, because that knowledge alone, feeds their egos enough to stay single. Because someone is interested in them, and with modern technology, they can prove it, and can go on being single. (This is NOT a male specific thing at all. Women have the potential to be the same way).
I mean, this is a whole other conversation, but I’m sure there’s also a commitment phobia component to it as well. It’s not cool to LOCK SOMETHING IN anymore either, which is always an awkward situation because at what point are you allowed to bring up the tabu topic of “What are we?”
2 Months in? 3 Months? When did timing and medium become so COMPLICATED?
ANYWAY! What I’ve decided about this dating game, is that I don’t want to play. I don’t have dating apps, I don’t go out with people I meet on Instagram, I just want to meet someone, anywhere! A bar! A bowling alley! A fucking park if I’m ever in one, and just go out and have fun and not think about “Where it’s going” and “WAIT are there MORE fish in the sea than just this nice person I’m having fun with?” and NOT self sabotage my relationships (even though that’s really IN right now), and not worry about HOW to text them, WHEN is enough time, WHAT medium should I use. At the end of the day, it comes down to this: You either like someone, or you don’t, and all that other stuff in the end, doesn’t matter. You either like spending time with me, or you don’t. You’re either attracted to me, or you’re not. It’s not about anything else. And I’m not about anything else. And that’s why this dry spell persists!!!!!!
Anyway, I gotta go. I don’t really, I just don’t know how to sign off lmao. I’ve GOT to go.
TALK SMACK TO ME! What do you think of this issue? I’m genuinely curious if I’m the only one who feels this way! Lmao! Ok, enjoy your nights lovers! <3 <3 <3