Have you ever met someone and wondered, ‘How do you have someone and I don’t?’ As I’ve said before, I’m painfully aware of what I look like. I’m never going to be a 100% happy with my appearance–but who is?
I know it’s incredibly shallow to base everything on looks–but let’s face it; you’re not going to sleep with someone you’re not sexually attracted to. Even when you hate-fuck someone, there is the tiniest bit of attraction there. But I’m talking about complete shit bags. Just miserable assholes, that look like castaways from the Mutter Museum (if you haven’t been there – I highly recommend it!).
I have a friend who is dating a guy and he makes my skin crawl. Now, she’s obviously not that good of a friend. If she was, I wouldn’t be writing about her and she doesn’t know about my little soapbox–so she’s fair game. She has high self-esteem; she’s successful, she’s a kick-ass human being with a good job, an active social life, and a great family. But her fiancée looks like Nat Nerd from the Garbage Pail Kids & has the personality of stomach cancer.
So if you didn’t figure it out already, he’s a catch. No…not really.
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He works occasionally or when he feels like it (is it wrong that I’m jealous?), he’s just nasty, rude to everyone, and he’s obviously not a looker. But she loves the guy. I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder and opposites attract or whatever nonsense MC Scat Cat rambled on about before trading meth for sexual favors (sorry to ruin your childhood memories). But he’s not even a ‘fixer upper.’ He’s a pigheaded douche and she thinks he’s perfection.
I know I’m an asshole (but I can keep it inside most of the time and I’m adorable *blink blink*) and once again Kate Upton I’m not–but are you kidding me? I know there’s supposedly someone for everyone,
but there’s no excuse for me to be alone and that leaking sack of bile to be dropping his seed inside of someone on a regular basis.
Do you understand my frustration?
I get it, I’m not going to find perfection immediately and the whole cliché about kissing a lot of frogs before you find Prince Charming blah blah. I know that. But I just want one good guy. I’m tired of the one-time tools I’ve been set-up with.
And yes, the only way I’m going to meet the right guy is putting myself out there and meeting new people. But here’s the thing -- I hate meeting new people. It’s awful. Are you kidding me? I would rather sit through a 3-hour conference call at 5am and then work an entire day, than meet a new person. New people are evil. They make me paranoid or it’s my former fatty-self that’s lingering inside of me still. But you know new people assume the worst and the judge. Who are they to judge me?
(Said the most judgmental ass out there, but that’s different.)
When I judge, I have good reason to judge. Don’t ask me the reason why I can judge and they can’t, I’m still trying to figure that out myself. But I’m sure it makes sense and you would agree with me.
Christ, I really do sound like a mental case sometimes.
So yeah…I had a boo-hoo after my last date this weekend. He was just an ass hat. He made me feel like crap and was rude to everyone at the restaurant– it was so uncomfortable. Minor OT (off topic) question for you–if ‘Smize’ is smiling with your eyes – is ‘Frize’ frowning with your eyes? Well it is now! Every time our waitress came over, I would ‘frize’ (trademark that shit, Chief!) at her. I was hoping she would get the hint, poison or shit in his food and set me free, like a majestic creature of the night.
But Beulah wasn’t familiar with the art of ‘frizing’, so I sat there and contemplated stabbing myself or him repeatedly. But since I don’t have the money for a good lawyer and I (once again) look awful in orange–I sat there quietly, spoke when spoken to, and prayed to whatever dude that’s out there, would end the evening for me. But the dude did not abide.
So I did the second best thing I could do, I excused myself to the bathroom and got the hell out of there.
Yeah, I know it was a shitty thing to do and I should have said: “You know what *insert name here*, I’m sure you’re a nice guy…when you want to be. But I don’t see this going anywhere. We’re too different. I’m a somewhat decent and caring human being and you’re the human equivalent of stercoraceous vomiting.”
By the way, don’t Google ‘stercoraceous vomiting’ if you’re eating or if you have a weak stomach.
I don’t want to be the cause for anyone to start projectile vomiting at their desk. Plus, what would the neighbors say? They’re such judgmental asses. They don’t know your pain!
Anyways, after all that and when I climbed into bed–I had a bit of a boo-hoo. I know I admit too much and I should probably keep the great Oz hidden more, but honesty is the best policy and like you haven’t been there! I know what you’re going to say, I’ve said it to all of my friends when they’ve had these moments -- Rome wasn’t built in a day! Good things come to those who wait! Don’t shit where you eat. Wait…what? No. But I get it. Things take time. But sometimes you don’t want to wait.
We’re all about instant gratification and we want what we want and I want it now. I know there are far worse situations to be in. I could be weighing 448 again, at another shitty job, miserable, blogging about sports, and hiding behind the computer. It’s no way to live your life. I might have told people I was happy–but I wasn’t. You can’t be.
If you are, God bless. You’re a better person than me. But I want more from life and I’m going to do whatever I can to get it.
I’m sorry; Stuart Smalley took over my brain for a moment there. I won’t let that happen again. But seriously, I deserve to be happy. I spent the majority of my life hiding in the background and unhappy. So that could be why I had the breakdown. You get almost use to being down all the time, when it finally switches–it’s overwhelming. It’s a lot to take in. But once you start getting used to it, you want to feel like that more and you expect that happy high all the time. It’s really easy to be miserable all the time and I don’t want to be like that anymore.
I’m sorry; I suddenly went into Chicken Soup for the Soul mode. I don’t know what came over me, why should I expect to be happy? As Louis C.K. said, ‘Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?’ I mean, there’s wars going on, people are dying and I’m some asshole who lost the weight equivalent of football player and I want some jerk to love me, listen to me, and makes me laugh. *bangs head*
So yeah, I should probably end it here. There’s not much more to say after a pity party and ‘stercoaceous vomiting’ is brought up. It’s just a minor speed bump and I’ll be back in the saddle on Saturday. I just needed to vent and whine. I promise it won’t happen all the time.
Oh and feel free to give my number to Louis C.K. next time you talk to him. Thanks, sugar snatch!
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Jesus H. Fuck. This mindless babble needs to end. A frumpy heavyweight gal loses a chunk of weight, starts to date, and talks about how guys suck and how she’s still unfulfilled. This has NEVER been done before. It’s like Sex and The City and I Use to be Fat had a retarded love child. Or even better, a thalidomide baby.
We all get it. You’d like nothing better than to curl up with some poor sap, while you watch reruns of Clarissa Explains it All and he watches you get fat again. But thanks to the gastro surgery, you can’t even do that anymore. And you’re not an asshole. You’re just awkward. Please, stop.
Ok. You hate my column – why else would you complain? And yet, you read it? And obviously you’ve read it numerous times, if you are so familiar with my work. I love having fans & return readers – it makes me want to keep going! You, my little princess, are the reason I write. Thanks, Sugar Scrotum.