Poster of a Girl

Portrait of a lady.

My fingernails rip and bleed as I try to claw my way into the concrete wall that surrounds your soul. I am not a wrecking ball. I am your wet cement.

Scars.

These scars on my skin remind me of you.  A piece of you that is always with me. Embedded within the deep layers of my porcelain dermis. A line for those times you didn’t call.  A pit for all the times you stood me up.  Marks for making me feel something that wasn’t real.  Every day when I look in the mirror it is a constant reminder of how I let you make me feel.  It is a constant reminder that I will never let anyone make me feel that same way again.  Never again will I pick and scratch at my face in worry. Anxiety flooding in and out of my soul, like angry tides hitting at a solid surface. Worry that you lost interest.  Worry that I am not good enough.  Worry that you don’t care about me. You didn’t care about me. You never did. I lost my light. But I found it again without you.

I need Jesus.

I need Jesus. I need Jesus after St. Patrick’s Day weekend. I need Jesus and a 10 ft rock to lie under.  This was the weekend that I hooked up with two boys that I didn’t even know and guess what? They were roommates.  How did I accomplish these acts with my ninja ways you ask?? No idea. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Man, I can feel the dread and humiliation rewash over me as I write this.  This is how it happened.  One of my friends had invited me to a “party” that Thursday night. I should have made the quotation marks size 40 font because it was nothing of the sort.  We arrive at this kid’s house.  My friend and I walk in and it is just two kids sitting on the couch. Was it a fun party you ask? My friend is a shady mother fucker. Plotting my revenge as we speak.

The awkwardness set in as we all had a beer and asked each other what we were studying; you can only talk about school for so long.  One of the two suggested we play a drinking game called “Tits”. “WTF is Tits?” I thought. I don’t have on a cute bra and said bra is super padded. They will know my secret.  How fast can I chug this beer without the searing burn of my lips?

"Tits" is a game where you stand across from your partner and your partner bounces a ping pong ball and then you must bounce your ping pong ball off your chest into the cup in front of you. A lot of bounces and chests I know.  I lost this game if you couldn’t have already guessed. I am not good at sports or competition and according to (Fourth of July) that means I am not good at life.​  Good thing he didn’t see me play darts the other night at the bar. I missed the board every time. I am sure he would’ve sent me to the corner and made me eat those darts if he saw me.

As the game started wrapping up they decided it would be fun to go to the bar as a four-something.  Okay…fine.  The bar was okay.  It had potential to be a really good time but was pretty dead for a Thursday night. We all got pretty lit shooting the shit and me and one of the guys had a pretty decent time quoting Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm. 

We got picked up from the bar and went back to their place.  We all hung out for a bit drinking and watching Dumb and Dumber.  Then out of nowhere my “friend” and one of the guys got up without saying a word may I add, and went downstairs. To presumably fuck, leaving me defenseless with the other guy.  There was no getting out of this one.  This dude darted at me like a bat out of hell. A tuck and roll off the couch couldn’t even save me.  I wasn’t into it at all might I add, but he was so persistent and I was so… blah, that I just threw my hands up.  I didn’t dare touch him but he felt me up a bit. He wanted more and said I was going to give him blue balls. I wish his balls would’ve turned navy and I could go to sleep.  He finally got the hint and went to sleep on the other couch. But the snoring!!!!! As if this night wasn’t already a living nightmare.  Somehow some way I fell asleep and woke up to him asking me the next morning if I wanted to cuddle in his room. How sweet. I reluctantly agreed because I know have a $250 dollar realization that I have trouble saying no to things I don’t want. (Therapist). The whole time this was going on I had to keep my boiling rage down to a minimum because I wanted to kill my friend. Abandoning me for her own pleasure…jerk.  I hope his fingers felt like needles in her vagina.  We then made it to this guy’s room and the whole time he wouldn’t stop touching me and grabbing my face.  Who did I piss off I thought? Can my friend wake up?  Finally the seas parted and my friend and all her glory walked into our room. “Let’s leave”, I said.  “But I want breakfast”, she announced. Brat. There is a drive thru open until 10:30 a.m. that can satiate all of your needs. I do not want to be here anymore. 

Finally, she got all of my overwhelming hints and we left. 

The next night I went back like a fool because we all made plans to go to the city for St. Patrick’s Day. “It would be fun”, she said. “What are you just going to sit at home and do nothing?” she teased.

We get to the city and a bunch of us, yes there is more than four of us this time thank the heavens, squeeze into a cab.  “I have to pee”- announces my annoying hook-up.  “Well you have to wait.” says one dude. “But I can’t”- annoying hookup.  There is nothing worse than having to hear someone complain about having to pee, especially when you have a good buzz going on.  I literally wanted to kick this kid out of the car.  We finally stopped in an alley way so he can do his business after 20 minutes of incessant whining. 

We get to the bar finally and there are lines galore.  Who would’ve thought Wrigleyville would’ve been packed on St. Patrick’s Day?? The bars were pretty fun. I danced and laughed and had a good time while I sipped on my green beer.  Annoying hook up didn’t offer to buy me any drinks but wouldn’t leave me alone.  Outside of one of the bars the alcoholic fog cleared and I noticed one of annoying hookups roommates.  He was very cute but in a squirrely kind of way.  He was also a lot nicer than annoying hook up. Letting me cut him in line and even bought me a drink.  We danced and laughed.  I glanced over at annoying hookup sitting at one of the tables, and I knew then and I know now, that if he had a gun he would’ve blown both of our heads off.  I felt kind of bad but why am I not allowed to have fun?

As we were leaving the bar and walking back to McDonald’s, I ran into (Fourth of July) mind you, this was way before me and him had anything.  I shouted his name and he acknowledged me, and my friend yelled to me to keep walking.  I knew in my heart and I say this with a heavy heart that we would have something one day when the time was right.  I should’ve burned this thought from my memory and just spit at him on the corner of Clark St. 

We get to McDonald’s where we are supposed to get picked up. I’m reeling from that encounter. “He looked really good” I thought.  I will definitely be texting him. I would love to punch my past self in the face right now.  “But no more of that”, I thought, “I need to keep my eye on the prize”.  New hookup came and sat down by me.  New hookup also promised to keep annoying hookup away from me.  Apparently annoying hookup and new hookup are roommates but hate each other. Could this night get any better?

Man I was in for a treat!! We got off of our party bus and new hookup and I took a different way home.  We held hands and talked and giggled and even made out a little bit.  Our birthdays are even a few days apart!! Wow I wonder if I will use calligraphy on our wedding invitations. We get back to the house and my friend and her hookup are on the couch. Magic Mike is on. I am in heaven.  New hookup even ordered us all pizza. New hookup even has the IMDB app on his phone. I can finally delete Facebook. Annoying hookup kept coming upstairs to see what we were doing but I knew he was spying and secretly scorned.  I can already envision the text he will send to my friend the next morning. “Your friend is a slut”. Let’s not jump to conclusions.

As the rest of the night started to wind down, my friend and her hookup silently left again.  But this time it was a good abandonment.  “Want to go upstairs?” asked new hookup.  I was already racing him there in my mind.  We hop onto his bed and start kissing and doing some other stuff. He tells me that me rubbing his back turns him on.  We finally pass out and I wake up the next morning feeling so happy.  I gave him my number in hopes that he will text me.

Several days go by and I hear nothing.  I feel worse and worse about myself and wallow while blasting John Mayer on my way back to school.  John knows all types of pain. 

When I got back to school I did the unthinkable.  I messaged new hookup on Facebook and asked him why he hasn’t texted me.  This is a huge NO NO. 

He told me he tried to text me and I didn’t respond. Yeah, ok guy. I have heard that one before. He then sent me the number I gave him. Apparently in my drunken state I gave him the wrong number.  Like a completely wrong number. A number that didn’t even resemble anything close to my actual number.  OH SILLY ME! I gave you the wrong number. I then gave him the right number. I could feel the adrenaline in my veins. I FINALLY FOUND SOMEONE!

We chatted for about a week but things started to dwindle down when he told me he was leaving the next week for Spring Break.  I was worried he would cheat on me.

We chatted for a little while longer but he kept taking longer to respond and then he quit responding altogether. 

We didn’t ride off into the sunset together. I can take those wedding invitations and turn them into place cards for the single’s table. I was sad for a whole three days.

I still see annoying hookup around and when he goes into hug me I shiver because he reminds me of a creepy uncle.

Silly me to think that I could hookup with two boys in one weekend and get something out of it but I guess that is just the romantic in me. Karma is a bitch and I have a feeling I should go back and resend all those chain letters.  Also, my friend is a bitch for telling everyone.

24 | 50 (x) moments of Eric Northman

Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)

— Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl (via puisquecestjoli)

There’s a difference between really loving someone and loving the idea of her.

—Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl (via sunst0ne)

(via sunst0ne)