Guys. I can’t help it. I have a massive camel toe.
I’m sorry. Well not really. #sorrynotsorry
I’ve tried different pants. Different gitch. Different heights. There’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve even dubbed the nickname “toes” from it.
My life is a mess, but one consistency is me having that toe.
Tonight I spent over three hours on the phone with my best friend. She’s been my ride or die since I was three, we are now twenty four. But enough background on that, here are some reasons why.
1. She initiated and closed the deal on a booty call while on the phone with me.
2. She pooped while on the phone with me.
3. She kept me company while I bought light bulbs, went grocery shopping, and got dinner.
4. She put up with me ignoring her while I attempted to catch a Jynx on Pokemon go (fact: it got away after wasting 5 balls)
5. She let me call her ugly (even though she’s a solid 13/10 on a bad day).
6. She didn’t call me a complete moron when I casually dropped that I’ve talked to my ex somewhat recently.
7. She gave me great dating advice (it was, if you only have time for one thing, brushing your teeth or shaving your legs before a date always pick brushing your teeth).
8. She talked to me for over three hours, and I feel like half the time we weren’t even talking but she didn’t hang up.
9. She lets me send her all my tinder matches and confirms whether he’s cute or not (some pictures are deceiving).
Reasons why she’s not my best friend
1. She wouldn’t let me just stay on the phone while she hooked up with this guy.
Honestly I kind of get that one but still…
I’ve accepted it.
And hopefully not soon. But it’s a high chance. With the amount of hours I’m working, plus the hour drive each way, plus the amount of time I need to sleep, unless I meet someone at my work or in my apartment complex, it’s just not going to happen.
So stalkers. Hit me up.
That’s how my employee described me today. Ice in my veins. Cold hearted. I talk a big game about how I don’t care about things. And things don’t bother me. They do; but I’ve gotten really good at shrugging them off.
The truth is, I’m a little bitch. I’ve shut myself down because I get too emotional. And I write about it and release it all at a more appropriate time.
But that aside, I’m an idiot. I’ll always be the first to admit it. I’m an absolute fucking moron.
I’m trying this whole friendship thing with my ex. And I think it’s only working because I now live two hours away and he no longer knows where I live so I can’t just ask him to come over and he can’t just pop by.
And I know I shouldn’t. But when you spend over five years with someone (I’ll do a post about our relationship another day) it’s hard to let that go to nothing. If we can’t date, and we can’t because I know it won’t work, then we should be able to be friends, right? He knows my ins and my outs. My self proclaimed flaws and my weaknesses. He knows what I strive on and what makes me tick. And sometimes he reminds me of things I’ve forgotten about myself. But it’s hard. Because it’s easy to fall back into a routine. Back into someone you know who is familiar. And maybe I’m starting to get a little scared that I work so much that I don’t have time to meet new people and I have yet to make a friend here in the city. But I think maybe it’s one of those weeks.
I know next week I’ll — hopefully — remind myself of all the great things I’ve done since we split. And all the great things I’m continuing to do. But at night, when I’m laying in bed solo it’s hard not to want someone here. And maybe I don’t miss him, but the idea of someone… I guess I’ll figure it out eventually.
So tonight I come to you with a broken heart.
It’s a tragic love story – almost as tragic as Romeo and Juliet, but without the trick-suicide.
I met this guy just over a year ago in Amsterdam. And he was so kind, and friendly, and he bought me dinner. We spent three days somewhat together, sleeping in the same bed frame (although technically he was in the top bunk, but details), and then we parted way – him to France, me to England. And I didn’t even get his name.
However, I social stocked the shit out of him, and managed to find him one very little knowledge (and his name was Andrew, and he lived in LA – that was pretty much the extent of it. FBI, if you’re looking for someone to find people, I’m your girl). And throughout the past year, I’ve added (and slightly obsessed over) him on Insta and Twitter.
Any time he likes anything I post I assume it’s because he loves me. And I fantasise about him telling his friends all my funny posts and showing them pictures of me and how I’m so adorable.
But tonight – I drank the poisoned drink.
I happened upon his instagram page (I got a push notification that he posted to his story – I swear I wasn’t out creeping), and I looked through it, and he has a girlfriend.
This is the guy I’ve jokingly told my friends that we’re in love – he just didn’t know it. And any time he liked my things I’d screenshot it and send it to my girlfriend who would almost always reply “marry him”. My heart aches tonight.
Another one lost before it was even found.
Hold onto him girl. Harder than I never got the chance to.
Sleeping alone is something that I’m still getting accustomed to again. After being in a relationship for six years it’s hard to go from sleeping next to someone (sharing their warmth and getting used to their breathing noises) to nothing. So when I first became newly single it was a struggle. I mean it still is. But in my earlier days if I was falling asleep before four am it was a good night. Now I’m usually out by two. But, that being said, there are definite perks.
Firstly, I can sleep like a starfish without either being woken up with a “can you move over” or hearing about it the next day.
Secondly, I can fart all I want in bed and I’m not worried about being polite or grossing anyone out.
Thirdly, no one to have the classic blanket tug of war with.
Fourthly, no one to keep me up with their snoring.
And finally, which admittedly I still miss once in a while, no more of the night time “are you still awake” thrust. Or the “good morning” boob pawing.
They say let sleeping dogs lie. This bitch too.
Today I went to Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up a few essentials. In that I included a laxative, because I think with stress of daily life things just aren’t doing what they should be doing. So I bought some laxatives. No big. It happens. And my usual routine for that is to go to the old lady cashier when I’m buying something that someone may find embarrassing. Unfortunately for me that’s when the only cute guy in the store decides to walk up and serve me.
So should out to the guy who kept constant eye contact with me while ringing up my laxatives.
Yes I’ll have a great night.
Let me start out by saying I hate the term friends with benefits. Mostly because of the first word. You can’t be friends with someone you have sex with, and if you are, chances are you’re in love, and if you’re not in love, chances are the other person is. I’m a believer in seeing the best in people. But I also know that I can’t have guy friends. It always leads to something beyond friendship and it ends up hurting one of them (usually not me because I’ve learned not to get attached to anyone).
So why friends with benefits? Honestly? You’re not my friend. I’m not going to tell you when I have a flat tire. I’m not going to call you when I want someone to hang out with and not have sex. No. You have one purpose in my life. That’s it.
So here are my rules to ensure your benefits doesn’t catch feelings.
1. Never stay past 2AM. Okay. Maybe I took this one from How I Met Your Mother but it’s relevant all the same. It sets boundaries. Like sure I don’t mind to cuddle for 4 minutes after sex. But I want to go home and sleep in my bed where I can pass gas with comfort. Ladies, if you’re thinking “I don’t do that” stop lying to yourself.
2. No goodbye make out sessions. I tend to make goodbyes as awkward as they come. Usually not intentionally but sometimes it is. This makes them want to leave, or makes them want you to leave that much quicker.
3. Do not meet their family. Not even siblings. Just don’t do it. They’re going to ask what you are and no one wants to answer that question. Not only do we not want to answer it, we don’t want to think about it and then question the status of “us” as well. Just avoid that all together.
4. Keep it on a need to know basis. They don’t need to know that Jim from work is being a pretentious ass. They don’t need to know that Carla from back home is knocked up again by her third dude. No. Keep it simple.
5. If you start catching feelings. Talk to them. If they tell you it’s not like that, walk away. And don’t try to say you won’t let it effect the sex. Because it will. Spare yourself the pain and embarrassment on chasing something or someone who has no interest in being caught. Walk away before it gets worse.
When boys are cute.
When I find boys attractive. Because I should know better. They’re no good for me. But the girl can’t help it. I’m a sucker for boys who seem kind and have a nice smile.
All. Of. Them.
If you’re reading this and you’re thinking “not my guy”, you’re in denial and you’re an idiot. It’s okay. I’m that idiot too.
The worst ones are the ones that make you think there is no way you’re a fuck boi. You’re way too kind/sweet/polite.
No. Especially him. He’s the ultimate fuck boi. Because he knows exactly what to say to convince you that he can’t be. He’s done this so often that its second nature to him.
Fuck that guy. Figuratively. Or literally, but don’t expect a call back.