Sunday, July 18, 2004
Superstitions, revisited
If you're not in the mood for whining, don't continue....
It's no secret that I'm neurotic beyond belief. As a matter of fact, and I say this in all seriousness, if you know of a good, cheap shrink, or would be willing to give me money to see one, I would be deeply appreciative. Really, I desperately want therapy. I'm psychotic, and someone needs to stop me before I go postal. But that aside...
This weekend, I got stood up. I finally gathered up the courage to ask that guy (we'll call him Diet Coke) out from work. Much to my disbelief he said yes, and even called me to confirm late the night before. But the day of, no word. I left two messages, but no response. I shouldn't be surprised though. It's not like this is the first time something like this has happened. In fact, by now, I should be pretty used to this routine.
Of course I went through the whole, "I'm not pretty enough/not skinny enough" BS like I normally do. And of course I went through the whole, "well, maybe he got into an accident or something." But then I thought, "No, you fool. He just wasn't that into you." It's funny because people wonder why in the hell my self-esteem is so f***ing low. It's sh** like this, that's why. Yeah, yeah, there's more to life than guys, but it's hard to see that when everyone around you is being banged or loved or admired, what have you. I should be happier than I am. I'm alive, my parents are alive, I have a good job, etc. But man, does this dating sh** suck.
Michelle and I were sitting there at the Demo Derby on Saturday night, watching Erica from afar and admiring how cute she was looking. And I said, "Look at that dude checking her out." Michelle said it was because she was confident. I said it was because she's skinny and pretty. Sure, confidence plays a part. But I'm sorry, if she were confident but beaten by every branch in the ugly tree, the guy wouldn't have given her a second look. And every single one of you reading this knows I'm right.
Anyway, to get to the superstitions part. I once blogged about not finshing my breakfast in the morning before work because if I did, it meant I would have a bad day. I'm happy to report that that superstition no longer applies. It has been replaced by even better ones.
I can no longer buy lingerie before any kind of date. This started way back in 1999. I bought an "outfit" resembling a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader before I was supposed to go to Texas. What happened (for those who don't know the story) he cut off all contact two weeks before my flight.
In February I bought some really pretty bras before one of the Canadian's lacrosse games. If you don't know what happened with that, then you haven't been reading this blog.
Finally, I recently purchased an outfit on sale at Fredrick's of Hollywood, not anticipating to wear it anytime soon, but because it was pretty and cheap. And as you can predict, I was once again stood up as a result.
Also, I happened to have my car washed on Saturday at the same gas station that I had it washed at on the day I was supposed to meet the Canadian. Coincidence? I think not.
So this is why I need therapy, folks. I'm so conflicted inside trying to figure out if I can't find romantic happiness because I'm not the size of Mary-Kate Olsen, or because my car is caked in dirt. Are there drugs out there for this type of thing?? Because if there are, please get me some, stat. In addition, please get me some will-power pills, pills to prevent procrastination, self-esteem building pills and throw in some optimism pills while you're at it. I'll wash them all down with a bottle of Absolut.
It's no secret that I'm neurotic beyond belief. As a matter of fact, and I say this in all seriousness, if you know of a good, cheap shrink, or would be willing to give me money to see one, I would be deeply appreciative. Really, I desperately want therapy. I'm psychotic, and someone needs to stop me before I go postal. But that aside...
This weekend, I got stood up. I finally gathered up the courage to ask that guy (we'll call him Diet Coke) out from work. Much to my disbelief he said yes, and even called me to confirm late the night before. But the day of, no word. I left two messages, but no response. I shouldn't be surprised though. It's not like this is the first time something like this has happened. In fact, by now, I should be pretty used to this routine.
Of course I went through the whole, "I'm not pretty enough/not skinny enough" BS like I normally do. And of course I went through the whole, "well, maybe he got into an accident or something." But then I thought, "No, you fool. He just wasn't that into you." It's funny because people wonder why in the hell my self-esteem is so f***ing low. It's sh** like this, that's why. Yeah, yeah, there's more to life than guys, but it's hard to see that when everyone around you is being banged or loved or admired, what have you. I should be happier than I am. I'm alive, my parents are alive, I have a good job, etc. But man, does this dating sh** suck.
Michelle and I were sitting there at the Demo Derby on Saturday night, watching Erica from afar and admiring how cute she was looking. And I said, "Look at that dude checking her out." Michelle said it was because she was confident. I said it was because she's skinny and pretty. Sure, confidence plays a part. But I'm sorry, if she were confident but beaten by every branch in the ugly tree, the guy wouldn't have given her a second look. And every single one of you reading this knows I'm right.
Anyway, to get to the superstitions part. I once blogged about not finshing my breakfast in the morning before work because if I did, it meant I would have a bad day. I'm happy to report that that superstition no longer applies. It has been replaced by even better ones.
I can no longer buy lingerie before any kind of date. This started way back in 1999. I bought an "outfit" resembling a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader before I was supposed to go to Texas. What happened (for those who don't know the story) he cut off all contact two weeks before my flight.
In February I bought some really pretty bras before one of the Canadian's lacrosse games. If you don't know what happened with that, then you haven't been reading this blog.
Finally, I recently purchased an outfit on sale at Fredrick's of Hollywood, not anticipating to wear it anytime soon, but because it was pretty and cheap. And as you can predict, I was once again stood up as a result.
Also, I happened to have my car washed on Saturday at the same gas station that I had it washed at on the day I was supposed to meet the Canadian. Coincidence? I think not.
So this is why I need therapy, folks. I'm so conflicted inside trying to figure out if I can't find romantic happiness because I'm not the size of Mary-Kate Olsen, or because my car is caked in dirt. Are there drugs out there for this type of thing?? Because if there are, please get me some, stat. In addition, please get me some will-power pills, pills to prevent procrastination, self-esteem building pills and throw in some optimism pills while you're at it. I'll wash them all down with a bottle of Absolut.
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