Yes, yes- I know. I promised you when this fabulous site first launched that I would be open and honest about my own personal love life. And I think now is the perfect time to begin that process.
You see, a very large motivating factor for this very site is my perpetual habit of choosing men that are SO wrong for me. Like, really wrong. Like, so wrong that my own Mom gave up any kind of hope a long time ago. And lets be honest- if I made logical decisions on whom I dated, I doubt I would be nearly as interesting. Or scarred (literally). And think of all the awesome experiences I would have missed out on. Like finding out the guy you’ve been dating for a month is married. Or being bit by an overly intoxicated date (I really wasn’t joking about the scar). And then there’s the closet Jesus freak that compared me to a prostitute (thank you POF!). How about the guy that freaked out on me, and then blamed it on his preventative hair-loss medication…
By now, I have enough experience to supply complete storylines for at least 3 movies. Except none of them come with Fairytale endings. Yet. No, they’re probably more like horror films. And clearly I’m like the dumb, slutty blonde character that always dies in the end because she runs the (very obvious) wrong way.
You would think I’d learn by now…
Which brings me to my topic.
After years of dating, and with no real relationships to really show for it, it makes me wonder- Are we all willing to keep putting ourselves out there because we’re addicted to love? Or just the rush of dating to find someone better?
Lets go back to the old boring way people used to do it. There was no internet, no texting, no Joe Manganiello. I mean, that’s enough right there for me to hate things. But yet, I think people were at their happiest when it came to dating. They didn’t have a whole world of potential partners to choose from- they had their hometown. They didn’t initiate contact with weeks of texting before “hanging out”. They went on actual dates. Together. Without any prior knowledge of each other that they gathered from Facebook and Google. Like, whoa.
And for those still not quite sure what this mythical term means, “Dating” was considered a formal act of courtship. A clear first step in determining if you guys were going to get hitched down the road. They went to places like drive-ins. Probably because the only action they could even hope for HAD to take place during the actual date itself- because going home with the other person at the end of the night wasn’t even an option. Hence why you actually had to GO TO PLACES SPECIFICALLY TO MAKEOUT. Where other couples were making out around you (Ew…). And then you waited for a phone call. Like, really waited. By a phone that was connected to a wall. For days (which would be like weeks today). And that was code for “You are now in consideration for future hitching”.
Take my parents, for instance- they met at a party… and never left each others side. They grew up in the same town. Met through mutual friends. Fell in love. And STAYED in love. As a bonus, they even got me out of the deal. Again- Awesome.
And since we’re on that note, lets look at me. It seems the fact that I have remained single is so unexplainable to my friends. No one can understand it. Or when I meet someone new…..
I often get stared at in wonder by family the same way people probably look at crop circles. How? Why? Should we be afraid?? After all, I come from a good, balanced family. My childhood was almost TOO perfect. There are no tragic incidents from my past to report. I have a college degree. A great career. BAD shopping habits (it cant all be sunshine and roses…). I’m healthy… Intelligent… Happy…
So…. whats wrong with me?
The answer- Absolutely nothing.
I’m just an example, or by-product even, of dating by today’s standards. Or rather, lack thereof. I’m an example of someone addicted to the thrill of the hunt and driven by personal challenge. Men are trophies. Sex is power. And feelings, if you even have any, are disposable. Terrified at the thought of missing out on someone better, I never want to get too attached.
Okay, so I’m not totally ALL of those things. Not all together. Because that would make me a frigid bitch that’s incapable of love. If anything, I’m the exact opposite. I look for it so hard that I ignore all the signs that are screaming for me to run. And yet I don’t. Because I’m the dumb blonde that always runs the wrong way, remember? But I can probably directly link one or more of those reasons to most of, if not all, of my past relationships.
And speaking of which, lets look at some of those, shall we?
*As a side note to the men of my past who might find themselves reading this- relax. Your identity is safe. This isn’t a Burn Book, and you’re not that special. But it IS my honest opinion. So deal with it.
Now, I cant possibly write about all the great
loves of my life in one post. I feel like I would be cheating you from some pretty epic examples of “Oh no he didn’t!!” moments. And those moments are exactly what you came here for. And just to set the record straight- I’m no angel myself. But most of you probably already guessed that.
So instead, I’ll share these stories with you individually. In the form of “Confessions”. Confessions to my past addictions (also known as “men”), and the lessons that came with them. Because like any good drug, they all had some euphoric hold on me. And then eventually left me strung out and exhausted. Some even left me ashamed. Others craving another hit. Some I went multiple rounds with. Some I hope to never lay eyes on again. Ever.
So get ready. Because honesty is always the best policy….
Sorry I’m not sorry.
“There’s nothing wrong with getting dirty when you clean up well.”