Sex and the City ruined my life

You know that episode where Berger tells the ladies "he's just not that into you"?

And you know how it became a national phenomenon, with a book and Oprah appearances and a fucking media tsunami?  And then ten years later, there was a dumb movie?

Well, "he's just not that into you" can FUCK RIGHT OFF.

I feel like, if I didn't know about that, I might find some small comfort in still thinking that Mike might want me, or that he's just scared to approach me, or some bullshit fairy tale that would let me sleep at night.

HOWEVER.

Having been exposed to "he's just not that into you" is like being punched in the face every day with the reality that he is, in fact, just not that into me.

"If he wanted to be with me, he'd be with me," I tell well-meaning friends who try to give excuses for his [lack of] behavior.  Empirically, I acknowledge that Berger is right, and I am wasting my time wallowing in what-could-have-been.

That I am denied the tiny pleasure of daydreaming that Mike is as miserable without me as I am without him makes me angry, and for this, I blame Sex and the City.

FOREVER.

I don't believe in magic after all

I went out with a magician.

I feel like this puts me in a whole different dating bracket, like I've leveled up.  The number of people who can say they've dated a magician has to be very small.

I realize that my data is anecdotal, but seriously:  magicians are kind of lame.  Like, there is nothing you can do to make magic cool.  You can dress it in leather and make it wear eyeliner, but at the end of the day, it's still basically your grandpa pulling a quarter out of your ear.

My opinions, of course, are affected by the fact that the one magician I know, who also happens to be the one magician I've dated, turned out to be kind of a pompous horse's ass, and worthy only of being the butt* of endless jokes.

I did not enjoy the date, but I have enjoyed making fun of him and, by extension, myself, for going out with him, so at least I got something out of it.

And really, that's the only thing I got out of it, because he gave me a hug at the end of the night and said, "I don't kiss on the first date."  And I was like, "Your loss," but also, "WHEW."

The magic officially ended when, the next week, he texted that he missed me, which creeped me the fuck out, and I told him we were looking for different things and good luck to him.  I didn't even tell him I hoped we could be friends, because he didn't even reach Friend Potential; that's how bad it was.

I'd had a fairly pleasant relationship with magic before him, but now I am not a fan.

He ruined magic.  Fuck him.



* see what I did there?

Relapse, part 2

I didn't talk about him except in passing, but I went out with a guitarist for a minute before I got hung up on my stupid feelings and shit.

We didn't really talk that much after, but not because of anger or anything, just because it was clear that we weren't going to be anything other than fuck buddies, and we were both fine with that.

So I "revisited" him, and it was fine--better than the Bad Speller--and I'll probably hear from him in another couple of months.

I cannot believe who I am right now.

Relapse

Sometimes it becomes necessary to revisit the past, so I revisited the past with the Bad Speller.

It was not great, but that won't keep me from doing it again.

I feel like I've sunk really low, but I can't be bothered to care, because I've stopped caring about everything.

He must be new

I was talking to a magician* on the phone, and he said, "You sound like you're just a cute little blonde."

And I was like, "Boy, are you in for a surprise."




*Yeah, bitches.  I date MAGIC guys.

Writing out loud

Indulge me for a minute while I run through some of my shit in an attempt to pull it all together.

I mean, obviously Mike and I are not, well, ANYTHING anymore, and it has broken my heart in a thousand ways.  It feels weird to say that, particularly as I embarked on this dating thing without intending to be emotionally involved, and certainly not expecting that I COULD be anyway.  But shit happens, and some of it's awesome and some of it sucks so hard that you wonder what it would be like to just sit on your couch and cry for days and weeks.

Mike is the first guy that made me really, really forget about Zack--yeah, him, way back from the beginning--and that was a huge step for me.  And if we had been together for even another two weeks, I would have been dead in love with him, 100% no question.  I mean, I am--was--almost there as it was.  It tears me up to know that I had the potential to be part of something amazing, then to have it pulled away.

I maintain, still, that fear is the main reason we aren't together, but that is his issue, and I can't control it, as much as I might want to.   I conceded and compromised as much as I could, but it became obvious that he was not willing to risk as much as I was.  To have that feeling, even for a little while, of belonging (even if he didn't feel it too), of knowing this is who I want to BE with makes it really hard to go back to a world without it.  It feels different.  It feels ... not right.

At any rate, even though it took a little bit, I've finally gotten to the point that I don't cry every time I go on a dating website.  Sometimes I do, I admit, but not every time.  Baby steps.

So that's where I'm at: acknowledging that I need to move on, even if I haven't fully accepted that he is not going to be part of my life.  I'm only just beginning to look through profiles without just dully scrolling through names, shrugging off page views and messages and winks.  

Most days I just log off, because I look through pictures and favorites and I don't give a shit because nobody is HIM.  But then, some days, I convince myself to make more of an effort, and I put on a happy face and act like everything is normal, everything is Pre-Mike, and I'm just looking for a good time again.

I just need to get back on the horse* again, if you will.  I'm not trying to forget him--as if I could anyway--but I am trying to at least file him away with the others, so the memory is there when I want it, but it doesn't keep hanging out in the front of my mind and fucking me up on a daily basis.

I feel dumb for spending so much time grieving when we weren't even really together for very long.  I don't care, though, because I'll be done when I'm ready to be done, and not before, and side-eye-ers can fuck right off.

I'll cry as long as I need to, and then I will pick myself up and wipe my face and my nose, and then I will kick some ass.


*and by "horse," I mean "dick," obviously

Me