Category Archives: sarcasm

Dec30

Bring on the Backbone.

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backbone blog2017 has been one hell of a rollercoaster year. For growth, personally and professionally, mentally and physically.

When I began the year, I was coasting primarily at about 120lbs., unable to keep my weight consistently up to a comfortable number, annoyed when people I hadn’t seen in years told me I looked great when I felt weak most days. Skinny, I can assure you, is not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m a size zero damn near a double 0. It’s a pain in the ass to find jeans or leggings that fit me, most shirts fit awkwardly, and I only buy from the junior department at Kohl’s. I can’t shop women sections anywhere—seriously, most don’t make them small enough for me. That all being said, I’m self-conscious of the slightest weight change, loss or gain. It’s one topic I despise: weight. Doesn’t matter if they’re talking about themselves, me, or someone else. I don’t mind giving healthy eating habits or exercising tips but anything beyond that I’m quickly annoyed by.

Skinny isn’t everything, it’s hardly anything. Fit not skinny is my goal and motto.

Yet, I’m constantly asking folks around me at work to lift shit or open shit for me. Let’s not talk about my stamina on the soccer field—pretty sure the asthma is back and here I thought I had outgrown it. The year started off well on working out regularly and at some point life happened and I couldn’t fit it in as well anymore.

My overall health is on the up, however. I found out I can’t have dairy, a symptom of being “diagnosed” with Celiac Disease so late in life and not going gluten free until I was 25 that lead so such an allergy. I’m sick less, fatigued less, and awake more. Not being able to work out, I focused more on my eating habits. As if my diet couldn’t become more high maintenance. I might be slightly neurotic when it comes to eating some days…or most days, whatever.

And I have to be crazy because when it comes to dating, my radar for finding great guys is impeccable…and I continue to blog about my dating life that has turned into a horror sitcom. The male species have taken everything out of me. I have let them run me down. Played for a fool a number of times. Gave a guy a second chance only to find out the reason he didn’t know what he wanted to do for New Years was because he was hoping for someone else to come along for him to spend it with. Seriously, his dating profile says, “be my new years kiss that sticks around.” Yeah, it came across my attention while I was visiting him. I was only a place holder for him—that’s a really great feeling to have. And if any of my blogs from this past year have proven anything, it’s that I’ve completely lost my backbone and self-respect.

At least when it comes to dating.

Professionally, I have a lot going for me. My boss is like the older brother I never wanted, and I work in an environment where I’m pushed to get better every day. I’ve grown a lot in my capabilities, expanded HFG on a new scale socially. All because of the support I’m provided at work, and that is a really great feeling, knowing I’m surrounded by team members who do care about the success of each other in addition to the company’s. While I’ve watched the company more than triple its size, I’ve also seen my baby (our social media) grow and expand. And yes, it’s seriously like my baby.

I have written enough poetry 2018 can be the year I seek publication. I’m not talking about in competitions or in magazines, I mean as an author of a compiled body of work. Wow. Blowing my own mind there—and you should blow your own damn mind once in a while.

My kid blows my mind every day, though. Being a mother has been the highlight that never fades, making the hard days easy. Knowing I’m a good mom is another great feeling, the fact that I can tune out any noise from anyone who thinks otherwise is assuring—I haven’t lost my self-respect there. In the last year, Evelynn has turned three, played in the ocean for the first time on her first vacation to Florida (yes, we actually took a vacation), started pre-preschool, and has come a long way in her speech. She’s advanced for fine motor and solving problems, doing puzzles. She’s also advanced in the act of being stubborn, fairly certain she might be the boss in this household.

Which brings me to 2018, the year we might move out and into our own place. Oh, you can definitely say I’m excited for next year. Bring it on.

Maybe I’ll even find that backbone.

Nov28

Raise You 74 Miles.

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When did being a single mom become a cry of desperation? It’s not.

“Single mom” has always been a label I wear with pride. Partly because some look poorly on an unwed mother, some have no hesitation to tell me my daughter should have both gender roles in her life (2017: Gay marriage: Get with the times: Argument null you close-minded bastard). Partly because it is difficult to do it on one’s own–I burn with that challenge. Call it the rebel in me flipping the bird to all the haters. #sorrynotsorry I got a fire in me that thrives on misperception.

But it has never been an invite for dick pics and sugar daddy applicants. It never ceases to amaze me the gull some boys–I use this term intentionally–have. 2017 and women are still objects, just a plaything.

And I’m so tired of being seen as just a body, a means for pleasure, a shiny trophy, a nice accessory, a pretty face to stare at. When did I become any of those?? I’ve been told I should lower my standards or expectations but I can’t.

Not when I’ve had a taste of what I want in someone.

Not when I’ve had a guy fully accept my daughter and be the kid with her to make her happy.

But maybe I should not be so willing to make an effort.

The last guy hurt me when he uttered, “I want you but I also want to see what else is out there.” He wanted me to stick around as he had the freedom to be with other girls. Newsflash: you don’t get to be part of my daughter’s life and not make me the only woman you’re with–we’re a packaged deal. Exclusivity. He also found that switch I had been looking for when he said, “If you lived out here or closer, maybe I’d have tried harder and given you what you wanted.” It took that one sentence for me to be done and move on. He also mentioned how if I ever moved out there and asked him out, of course he would say yes. I had 74 miles of drive-time left after that phone call ended to think how if a guy doesn’t want me when it’s hard, then I sure as hell don’t want him when it’s easy.

Seventy-four miles to drill that rejection into my head.

Seventy-four miles to completely let go & flip that switch to turn the feelings off.

It always seems I’m too willing but I’ve always thought life was short so why not make the change and take the risk if I’m able to. I don’t regret being the one to do so but I do regret being the only one to do so. To drive the distance, to rearrange my schedule, to change plans. I’m so tired of guys who are so unwilling to give me the same respect.

People think I’m tight-knit and private, and in some ways I am. I’m an open book if you take the time to read me–hell this blog is proof of my willingness to broadcast my insanity, it seems. I’ll answer any question–I’ve been known for being the “realist bitch around”–and I’ll lay my feelings out there one last time, a take it or leave it ordeal.

I refuse to let them win, let them change that part of me.

I never intended to wear the “single mom” label long term but I’ll be damned if I lower my standards simply to meet a man.

Maybe I’ll simply raise them, instead.

“Darling, you are much too whole to be loved in halves.” — Pavana

Oct10

Portland Here I Come.

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I don’t know how to halfass anything. I’m known for being laid back & nonchalant but I’m also an all-in or forget it kinda girl.

Work. School. Dating. Parenting. Health.

I’m either jumping head first & drowning in the commitment or it’s not registering on my radar. I hold on for the long haul. On the rare occasion I decide to quit, I’m a bit dramatic: going all in with the sudden cold turkey, no looking back method.

Why? It works.

All three times I dropped out of college were snap decisions. (Don’t worry, I do have my degree.) It was like waking up to a blinking neon sign & that was all the clarity I needed. Forget the $20K in extra student loans I may have racked up in the process—regrets aren’t in my nature.

Quit gluten to test Celiac disease? No problem. Absolutely did not think that one through. I could have used a week to pig out on cheap greasy pizza & cinnamon twist donuts (not the rolls, come on). Okay, so I might regret that gung-ho approach some days.

Broke up with the baby daddy on a New Year’s Eve because I had to start the new year off right and I couldn’t be bothered to be with someone another second when I wasn’t into him. Not the most sensitive or considerate way I could have done it, maybe.

Wasn’t kidding about the dramatics.

Found out I was pregnant & “other options” didn’t mean jack to me. EJ may have been a complete shock & unplanned but an abortion never entered my mind. That second line appeared and I balled the Grand Rapids Grand River into flood zone—I was going to be a mom. A 180 would take place with my life & that excited me—committing wholeheartedly to the unknown.

Dating is the hardball of the group, though. I’ve never understood the dating multiple people at once unless it’s just in fun. I’ve always believed that if you meet someone worth your time, you don’t fuck it up. You don’t chase other guys. You don’t look for attention elsewhere. You don’t waste time & dates with guys you’re not really interested in. But maybe that’s because I value my time & hate wasting it. At the same time, I’ve always thought that if you aren’t willing to give up “the others” for someone, that person isn’t enough for you. It won’t last. If you have to think about your feelings—convince yourself—there’s a 99.8% chance he’s not going to last and keep your attention after another few months.

It’s your subconscious telling you you’re already bored.

I’ve always thought hesitation speaks volumes. You can find more truth in the silence.

& there’s a lot of hesitation when dating a single mom. You can imagine how I handle that.

Yet I committed wholeheartedly to accepting dating as a single mom would be no paradise and would rain hesitation. I should move to Portland.

Aug7

Watch Me: A Rant.

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Dating is one big game of hypocrisy and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’d love to say the games are done but I’m notoriously played and I’m a hypocrite to whine about anything if I also turn down guys—I do. Knowing this hasn’t stopped me from wondering why I’m hard to love, if I’m legitimately crazy (these blogs prove I am), and knocked down my self-esteem.

I’ve always been the one who didn’t care about my body, didn’t give guys more than one chance—I’m not a fan of apologies to the point where I don’t believe in “I’m sorrys”—and never questioned my worth. Somehow that’s changed. And that’s hard to admit.

In the last year or so, I’ve questioned everything: career, dating, self-worth, independence, strength, body, health, happiness, location.

The only thing I haven’t questioned: motherhood. And it’s so devastating to me to know the one thing that brings me the most happiness, the one thing that grounds me, is also the one thing that turns many guys away. In the last two weeks, I have been asked multiple times, “How hard is it do date with a kid?”

It’s not easy.

There’s three turnouts:

  • Guy stands me up right before the first date because he can’t handle the idea of a kid involved.
  • Guy bails because he met a girl “who doesn’t have a kid.”
  • Guy bails because he’s scared of losing both me and my daughter in the breakup—remind me again why you’re thinking of a breakup already? Talk about Doomsville.

Oh wait, but there’s a fourth: I have high standards (aka shallow as all hell) and don’t waste time “playing the field” to get to know guys I’m not attracted to. As in, I cut the cord.

Dating with a kid is something of an entirely different ballpark. I’m a hypocrite because single dads turn me off—I question how honest they are about the relationship with the mom. Often times, it eventually comes out the guy complains about not having their kid enough but then turnaround and complain about not doing anything when he has their kid. No thanks.

This weekend I went to a wedding out in Grand Rapids, the city I need to call home again one day. Every time I hit the city limits, my heart clenches—it’s where Evelynn and I belong—but that’s a story for another time. Two things happened: I got hit on because I have the absolute cutest/beautiful/adorable kid—yes, I was shocked too—and the guy wanted me to know that—yes, I’m aware I make cute babies—and I felt really good about myself for the first time in a long time. I’m not a fan of getting dressed up—I like knowing I feel comfortable and good in my own, natural skin when I’m dressed down but that hasn’t been reality lately. But there was something about being in Grand Rapids, my kid having an absolute blast and soaking up the attention, and being with my two best friends and great people that had all the bullshit melting away. It’s amazing what a simple change of location did to me. And I want more of it.

I’m often told I’m too tiny, I’ve heard the cracks about having eating disorders or how I’m like a twig. It’s amazing to me how people think it’s entirely okay to make these comments but turn around and tell me I’m not allowed to talk about how I want to hit the gym more or how I need to work more on my health. I’m not complaining about being fat—I don’t think I am—and I’m not allowed to admit that or comment on it—that would be conceited—but others are allowed to comment on my body. I’m not allowed to feel self-conscious in a bathing suit even if it’s not a weight issue. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves: I can’t comment on how I want to be stronger and fitter without being told to stop talking. I can’t even say that I like my body which I would consider a triumph after questioning my body over the last few years. I’m skinny (derogatory term!) and I’ve let people chip away at my armor, making me wonder about my body image and not liking how I look. Well fuck that.

I’ve also had numerous guys want me only for my body. And that is where the real self-worth and body perception issues lie. No girl wants to be treated or thought of as a toy. It amazes me how guys can call a girl a prude or a tease simply because we won’t send them nudes or sexual photos. Or we won’t bang them on cue. WHAT?! News flash: no girl owes you anything.

But I owe it to myself to wake the fuck up. I owe it to Evelynn to set a better example. Evelynn might be what grounds me but I lay the platform for how she sees the world, how she views herself. So goodbye chips. Goodbye low self-esteem. Goodbye judgments. Goodbye assholes. Hello Grand Rapids? A girl can dream but I’d rather make it happen. Watch me.

May12

Still Got It.

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I got stood up again this past weekend. Well, to be accurate, the guy just flaked out on me but I consider the two to be the same thing. And yes, it’s that same guy who stood me up back in February. Apparently, I’ve lost my backbone at some point in the last year. That’s depressing and intolerable.

That same weekend I also got my hair chopped and colored for the first time in my life. Whenever I end it with a guy or need to make a change, it seems I have to change my hair. It’s a statement. It’s an “I’m sorry I can’t talk to you anymore, I had a different hair style then.” Is that acceptable? Yes. Is that childish? Likely. Blame it on the estrogen. Girls need a physical change to represent an attitude or emotional change. Makes the mindset more permanent. A reminder.

And my bullshit meter just maxed out.

Online dating is the norm. There’s no bush to beat. People say they don’t want to meet someone in a bar. What do you think the norm was 20 years ago? The bar. The restaurant. The beach. The coffee shop. A mutual friend. Anything that wasn’t the internet.

Last summer I got asked out by a stranger at Reed’s Lake. The guy was kind of a creep about it; told me I was absolutely stunning and that he couldn’t help but stare, and would I mind if he took me out to dinner right then. I turned him down. I’m a hypocrite—this was the day after I asked a friend, “whatever happened to getting asked out at the bar?” Yes, I would prefer the bar over the internet. Turns out, guys are even creepier online. And more flakey.

Enter last weekend and my attitude adjustment. Or should I say return?

I’ve been known among my girlfriends as the one who doesn’t put up with shit from guys. Who doesn’t tolerate disrespect or guys thinking they’re going to control me. Who doesn’t give second chances. I have this firm belief that by mid-twenties, people are 98% set in their ways, character and habit wise.

I’ve always been someone who knows who I am.

Hell, whenever my boss asks me, “How’d you know to do that?” or “That’s actually pretty smart, where’d that come from?” It’s almost a guarantee I respond with, “Because I’m fucking awesome.”

So where did that badass chick go? Because I haven’t been her in months. I have questioned my worth multiple times, asked myself what is wrong with me? Why I’m not enough. Ugh. Again, so depressing and intolerable.

I’ve given this dude countless chances, let him flake out on me multiple times. I’m to the point where I’m more disappointed in and upset with myself than him.

Whatever happened to the assertive man? The guy who knows what he wants (and it’s more than just sex) and knows how to ask a girl out and make plans. But like I said I’m a hypocrite. I’ve knack of going for the wrong guy. I keep meeting and talking with boys and it’s just pushing me more and more in the direction of wanting to be a career woman who buys sperm and makes it as a single mom. (Yes, I am in fact fully aware of how crazy this makes me sound.) I can live with not finding a guy to have by my side but I can’t give up on wanting more kids. I don’t have it in me.

I hate when people ask me why I’m still single. It’s a choice. And I’ve still got it.

Apr25

Swinging Puppet.

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There are two types of people in this world: those who swing when backed into a corner and those who cower. Every weekend I have a near breakdown. It’s supposed to be the time to unwind but instead it’s the time to get myself ready for the next week and come Sunday evening I want to cry. Why? I seem to think I’m not good enough.

At 27-years-young I’ve become a puppet. Work and living with the parents have my hands tied while my daughter has my feet firmly planted and unwavering. My days are spent pleasing everyone but myself and the idea that I have come to let life pass me by is terrifying. I constantly feel like I can never dedicate enough time to Evelynn while maintaining my work. Social life? You can forget it. One of the most dreaded questions I’m asked is, “So what do you do for fun?” I pause. I stare at my phone, I stare blankly at the person asking me, I stare off into space, I look around me dazed. The question never ceases to make me simply stop. Fun? Fun?? My kid is my fun; or my health (gym, yoga). Both of which I love…which makes it so much more irritating when they come back at me with, “No, like what do you do in your spare time?” Damnit, I don’t have spare time then. (Yes, I have been known to snap.)

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen friends in the last year.

Yes, it gets lonely. And depressing. And so I wonder, what’s wrong with me? I think I’m not good enough. If other people can make it work, why am I struggling so much? Why do I feel like I’m drowning?

I can’t handle whining and that’s exactly what it sounds like, right? Enter breakdown mode.

I have always had this mindset or philosophy that no matter how bad it gets for someone, it’s worse for someone else. And let’s face it, I have a constant reminder having grown up with a brother who can’t talk, walk, eat, or even roll over in his own bed. Whenever I felt backed into a corner or life was knocking me down, I came back swinging and hellbent on taking a stand. I’m not one to cower.

Friday night on the news was this story of a young boy, Jamarion, who had no arms but a dream to play basketball. On his first day in middle school, his coach took a chance on him—couldn’t deny a boy with such passion and drive from being on the team. As expected, the kid was a benchwarmer. He was ok with that. He just wanted to be part of a basketball team. Then he got a chance to play and scored two three-pointers, one of which was at the buzzer.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it gets better.

Interviewer: “If I could wave a magic wand right now and give you your arms back, would you want them?”

Jamarion: “I don’t need them.”

Amazing.

…remember my feet? They’re firmly planted and unwavering, with Evelynn wrapped around them. She’s the only one I worry about pleasing. My hands? The tie can be unbound, the strings snipped and fashioned into new ropes. I’ll wrap my hands in them to protect from bruising—what can I say? I’m a swinger.

Mar25

Rummy Queen. 

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Today’s workout was tough. Actually, it seems to have been a rough week for me, and people noticed. I’ve been in an odd funk the first few days this week; though I woke up refreshed today only to find it again this evening. And yes, it does partially have to do with dating….or lack of. 

The past few weeks of not dating were refreshing. Somewhat. I got back into fitness way more than I have been in months, migraines mostly went away, I gained some weight (all muscle), and I did the 4:50am multiple wake ups to get into the office. Basically, I kicked ass. 

But this week I realized I’m letting them win. By giving up, I’m letting it all get to me in the worst way. I might be focusing on better things but if I’m turning all guys down and refusing to date anyone because I was hurt or don’t want to face another rejection, I’m letting myself down. 
I kept thinking, what is wrong with me? 

Am I not pretty enough? (Oh god, I seriously wondered that.) 

Am I boring? (Awkward I got in the bag, I know.) 

Am I crazy? (Highly likely on that last one considering I’m willing to blog about this shit….but you can’t be a writer if you aren’t willing to be vulnerable <– best advice I was given in college.) 

Is it the single mom thing? (Okay, bye now.) 

Why do I keep going for these dudes who stand a girl up without notification–until weeks or months later–or lie about what they want? Am I such a terrible person my karma is that bad? (I thought karma and I were tight.) 

It’s not wonder: I’ve always been one to live in my head. I’m constantly thinking–I blame the writer in me. But I’ve also always had an immense belief in will power: if I was scared of dating a guy because I was scared of them hurting me, I’d tell the fear to go to hell and if I get hurt then I’d pick myself back up. That was my philosophy. It’s one thing to stop seeing someone because you’re not into them or it’s not what you’re looking for; it’s something entirely different to quit seeing someone because you’re scared of falling deeper for them, or falling at all for them, and them not returning those feelings. I’m sick of hearing the latter as the excuse told to me when guys flip a sudden switch to not see me or they stand me up. 

(But like hell I’ll quit being awesome 😉.) 

Do they think it’s believable? Is it ever? It’s like saying “I’m really scared of someone stealing all my money so I’m going to turn down the well paying career job for a less than minimum wage temporary gig.” No. Doesn’t happen. I’m calling bullshit. 

Just like I’m calling bullshit on me refusing to date. I’m dabbing. I’m open to the concept. I refuse to let this all get me, let them tear me down. I don’t lose. 

Life is one big risk, right? It’s like rummy, you don’t have to show your full hand, you don’t even have to go all in to win. But I always do and I always win–that’s why they call me the rummy queen.

Mar18

Green Grass.

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Recently I was informed, again, how “easy” my life is and how lucky I am. Usually I can shrug off these comments but this is a week where I’m just not in the mood to accept idle judgments.

Let’s get one thing straight: I am lucky but my life only appears easy because I have great people in my corner and I have an unbeatable will power.

I don’t think there’s a single person on this earth who has had it “easy.” They may deny tragedy or refuse to face hardships, but everyone at some point has faced a battle we likely know nothing about.

Robin Williams made millions laugh but committed suicide.

My brother lies in a hospital bed but we’ve never heard him moan or scream or cry.

There are two sides to the coin of life, some of us wear tragedies on our sleeves while others hide them behind steel doors.

It’s true, I have it easy with my mom providing daycare but reality is I couldn’t afford daycare if she weren’t able to do so. And it makes it harder to go out to see friends or go out on a date or even go to the gym because that’s just more time my mom is watching Evelynn. (Not to mention that’s more time away from Evelynn.)

It’s also true how I have it easy not having to pay for rent or a mortgage. Trust me when I say if Evelynn could live within city water limits I would rent my own place or if I had the finances to finagle purchasing a home, I’d jump on the opportunity in a heartbeat. There is nothing exciting about being 27 years old and living in your childhood bedroom—it’s a shot to your independence and ego. (& it really improves my dating life–we’re not even going to go there in this blog.) But racking up debt or making my daughter bathe in chlorinated water is not in her best interest—everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

It’s also very true that my boss is understanding and supportive of my situation to allow me to work from home whenever I want. I don’t have set office hours. I choose to make it into the office 3-4 days a week and work long hours so I can work a “normal” day from home the rest of the week. (Let’s not get me started on my commute, one reason I want to move.) Evelynn hates these hours. On working from home days, she likely lays in my bed next to me while watching a movie or playing with puzzles. She doesn’t leave my side. She even eats her lunch in my bedroom sometimes. Good thing she knows to behave so I can work or she gets booted.

It’s also so very true I’m skinny (dear lord I hate that term, it’s derogatory). I used to be about 20 pounds heavier, give or take depending on the day, but I’m not proud of how I lost it—from a difficult pregnancy not hard work in the gym. I’ve had a hard time gaining muscle back. I don’t overeat and I eat about 85% healthy—no artificials, no preservatives, mostly veggies—and that’s how I stay….skinny.

It’s also so very unbelievably true that my daughter is fucking sunshine, but her father and I don’t have a good relationship and I’ve dealt with plenty of snide comments from “friends” who thought they knew the story between the two of us. They don’t—I’m not the type to gossip. There are very few people I confide in, for others they must pull teeth. I have to deal with recognizing this will likely always be the case.

There is nothing easy about being the one who holds your daughter’s stars and feeling like you let her world crumble just because you must leave for work or you just need to get in the shower or you’re not there when she wakes up. It breaks my heart that she can be with me uninterrupted for an entire day and still will not let me use the bathroom alone. “Mommy is coming right back” doesn’t work. We do distractions—a movie in my bed, a couple m&m’s, a snack in her uncle Tay’s room, a diaper change, etc.—for me to be able to sneak out of the house or into the shower without a meltdown. Half the week she sleeps in my bed. And on those nights, she throws a fit to sleep on the outside of my bed (it’s flush to the wall) as if to barricade me in.

It’s not even a little bit easy.

I’ll never understand parents who WANT their child to be sad over them leaving or walking away. Who purposefully instigate a negative reaction just to make themselves feel wanted or to boost their own ego.

I want Evelynn to be independent enough to know she will be okay and that I’ll come back. I love how she loves me…I don’t love how I can’t be there whenever she wants me. The doctor warned me of the clingy stage but that doesn’t make it easier.

I got lucky in my will power to stand up and fight for what I want in my life, and for those in my corner: parents that will watch my kid so I can work and not have 60 percent of my paycheck go to daycare; a boss who, if I tell him I’m offline Friday mornings because it’s Operation Evelynn Social (a weekly playgroup), accepts my kid is my number one priority; & a daughter who brings the sun.

I won’t deny the luck—I don’t want to.

But I have never met a single person who has had an easy life. And if they do, it’s because they were determined to make it that way.

My life is “easy” because I have an indomitable will to make it the best life I could have ever lived—I water my own damn green grass.

Feb25

High On Me.

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I ate my feelings two weeks ago for the first time in my lifetime. It was the equivalent of one full pint of Hagen-Dazs coffee ice cream (as if there’s any other option) over a Criminal Minds episode and no fucks given. About that decision, at least. Can’t say the same about the event leading up to it, though.

I blame my boss for jinxing me: A couple days before, I had off-handedly mentioned to my boss, “well it’s this or The Bachelor.” He seems to find my dating life hilarious. At this point, I do, too. I’m not sure what had brought the topic up but he was definitely against the idea despite my telling him it would be free publicity for the company. And I’m not sure why it came up because Lord knows I’d never agree to such a thing—dating a guy who is dating 24 other women. I might watch the show and have for years—it makes me feel sane!—but I would never subject myself to such treatment. 1) I don’t get along with most women. 2) I’d end up committed in an insane asylum or wearing orange for the rest of my life. 3) I’m not that sociable. 4) Not trying to be famous—I go by a penname! 5) I don’t do airplanes. 6) I prefer to think that if a guy likes me, he’s not going to make out with some other chick 3 minutes later. No thank you, I’ve got a little bit more self-respect than that would require.

Moving on.

I know I’m a smart girl, I don’t need the affirmation, but my god am I a fool. Trending: me finding guys who don’t respect me. That night of the Hagen-Dazs tongue drowning marked yet another episode of getting stood up. I had passed double digits sometime back in early fall. It was a low low despite expecting little. Also trending: me getting stood up.

It’s hard not to make the jump and wonder what is wrong (yes, I’ve wrote about this before & more in-depth) but it was more than that. It was the accumulation of consistently putting myself out there, being the one who travels the 40-90 minutes to meet a guy (one way) only for the guy to be a complete asshole within a couple days.

The being lied to—an implication of complete disrespect—constantly by different guys has drained me. That’s the part: consistently, by multiple guys. It’s made me question my ability to read guys. How do I keep putting myself out there? How can I continue to believe any guy in the future? I try like hell not to bring previous fears and issues into any dating and relationships, but my god is it difficult.

And my god do I have the worst guy radar.

A couple days later I spent 48 hours or so in bed sick. Talk about forcing you to live in your head. The worst part of being sick is how it can trigger overthinking. Naturally, I got to sleeping, but then I got to a whole hell of a lot of thinking when I couldn’t sleep no more.

A lot.

Too much.

And I realized I don’t want to date. I’m so sick of guys, so turned off by everything, the idea of dating is depressing. A nightmare. A clusterfuck.

A living hell.

I’m at a point where I don’t believe promises and hate making plans with a guy. I make back-ups. Half the time I don’t even plan on someone watching Evelynn.

Yeah, definitely think I’m done.

I want more kids but after everything that’s gone down with Evelynn’s dad, I’m not sure I want a man beside me in the future. (Lord Jesus, please don’t let me be crazy.) It’s not that I want to make a career out of being a single mom, the hardships and loneliness are a total drag some days and nights, but I would choose to stick with my fierce independence for a lifetime than be mistreated for three seconds.

Enter our company meeting one week after the piglet episode, where we were asked to come up with at least one personal goal and one professional goal. I love my daughter, I love my career, but I’m not in love with where I’m at in life. So I got to thinking about becoming a fucking ninja at social media and creative and marketing, and how I could set myself up for making the whole single mom thing work really well.

And then I kicked ass all week.

A coworker kept asking me why I was smiling—I was happy. I stopped trying. I got off the dating sites—flipped those fuckers the bird. (Seriously, why do guys think it’s okay to be entirely inappropriate. I could gag.) I put everything this week into three things: Evelynn, work, health (fitness).

It’s weird. I’ve been on a high all week and it has everything to do with me. It’s true what they say: fall in love with you and your life. Maybe the rest will come but I’ve got other dreams to chase, dating can catch up to me later.

Jan1

Will Power, Baby.

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I’m not supposed to lift weights. I’m not “supposed” to do a lot of things but Friday I happened to get on the scale to find out that I’ve lost almost 10lbs. in one week. Since I accidentally had gluten a couple weeks ago, I’ve been suffering from severe and chronic migraines more often than not. If anyone has ever had one, then you know the struggle to eat. Food—the smell, the sound, the act—is a ticket to Pukedom. Not my ideal holiday destination.

Yesterday I got back into the gym for the first time since just before Thanksgiving. I died and it felt amazing…somewhat. I made it in again this morning for the second day in a row and hit play harder. I decided to do weights after running and was forced to cut it short. Lifting isn’t supposed to be on my fitness agenda. Not yet, anyhow.

I started physical therapy sometime in middle school. When my last physical therapist moved out of state a year after Evelynn was born, she recommended yoga. I’m not just flexible, I’m loose-jointed and hypermobile. It’s easy for me to do harm to my joints without knowing it, hence why the only body weight I’m currently allowed to lift is my own. But I’m a firm believer in mind over matter, the power of will power, and pushing limits.

Before Evelynn, I was about 25lbs. heavier and it was mostly all muscle. When I started physical therapy back in the day, it came with strict workout regimens and a hell of a lot of modifications. If I wanted to keep playing soccer, I didn’t have a choice. I worked daily to build muscle to control my hypermobility. But I lost all of that after my pregnancy. And as amazing as it feels to be back in the gym, it is equally frustrating. I can do a 60- to 90-minute intense yoga flow but can’t last in the gym. Yes, frustrating. Inhale the good, exhale the bullshit….Namaste.

Today I ran two miles for a warmup, and likely for the second time in my life, I’m guessing. First off, you have to know getting on a treadmill and running is an accomplishment for me every time. I hate treadmills. They freak me out and give me anxiety. Yes, that’s right, I have a fear of treadmills. Kind of like my fear of elevators. (Don’t judge.) Secondly, I hate jogging. I hate going slow. I’m fast. I’m a sprinter. I’ve always been one of the fastest players on the field but I can’t run for shit. So I cranked that baby to 7.0 setting and with every step I told myself “Do [step] not [step] touch [step] that [step] butt [step] on.” I didn’t move it up, I didn’t touch it. Fucking will power baby and I made it two miles. Hashtag winning. Third, I felt it—the exhilaration, the triumph, the exertion…and the shakiness.

When I moved on to lifting, I about fell over. I had to cut it short, skip to lunges, and get dizzy during abs. By the time I was done, I was ready to pass out and fall in a grave. And I don’t mean to sleep. The scariest thing about working out for me right now is knowing I’ve fainted before overexerting myself and I have a habit of not just pushing the boundary line but passing it so far it’s in the distant horizon behind me.

I need a workout buddy to force me to quit before I get to the death stage.

Why am I even talking about any of this? Because of how much my social news feed is filled with resolutions to a skinnier you. Size shouldn’t matter. Don’t support products pushing you to get skinny. Take it from a girl who is skinny: its overrated and a derogatory term. If you want to get and stay fit and healthy, that’s something entirely different. And 98 percent of individuals won’t even keep with their resolutions. It’s a fad. A temporary trend more temporary than those 7-day quick diet fixes. Who says you have to start getting better in the new year or on a Monday. Stop waiting and wasting time. If you really want something, you’ll start it now and keep at it. Hence why only 2 percent stick with their resolutions—they likely started early, had a plan, and knew their destination.

If you hit the gym, go in with a goal and two plans in case the first one is too much to handle. Listen to your body. Know your limits. Push them by inches. Know that by pushing inches you’ll last longer and go miles. You won’t get injured or over exerted. More importantly, don’t do it because it’s trending or a resolution. Do it because you want to make a healthy change, whether you start it Wednesday or in two months. Just make sure you get that will power on check first, it’s half the battle.