Oh I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite, so don't let me have any rights

Last year I lost approximately 28 kilograms. So basically I lost the equivalent of an Olsen Twin…. Or Donald Trump’s head. At first it was great, I liked being more active and limber, I liked feeling healthy, I liked clothes again and getting dressed wasn’t this torturous exercise of choosing between one frumpy black outfit or another frumpy black outfit. I liked a lot of things about losing weight but I didn’t like how important my weight loss seemed to be to everyone else. I hadn’t heard so many backhanded compliments since high school. “You look great! It’s like you’re a completely different person!” a ‘friend’ once said to me. I thought “Really? That can’t be right.” Because I am not a different person, I’m still me. I’m still a little anxious around new people. I still get too passionate about the injustices I see in the world and rant a little too loudly at times. I still write every day and re-read my favourite books more than I should. I still have the same friends and look for the same things in my potential partners. I still love my parents and spend more time with them than someone my age generally would. I still cry when I watch or even think about the movie ‘the Land Before Time’. I still worry about not achieving my goals. I still fear a life of regret. I still see sisterhood as gospel. In fact nothing about me has really changed except the size of my body, the clothes I wear and admittedly the slight boost in my confidence. But as a person, I am the same. And it hurts to have my defining characteristic be my size. Because I am more than how I look, we all are.

The other thing that I really don’t like about losing weight is the attention I’m receiving from men now compared to the attention I was receiving before. I get yelled at from cars, I get unwanted advances from customers at work, I get leered at and I get groped and I get touched by strangers who think I should feel flattered by their molestations and I quite often feel uncomfortable and unsafe. The other day I was thinking that if I put the weight back on then I’d be left alone. A stupid fleeting thought that ultimately inspired me to think deeper about this whole business. When I thought back over my life I realised that size only alters the frequency of the occurrences but not the act of them occurring. I have been a big girl from the age of 16 through to last year. That’s over a decade of being ‘fat’. Was I left alone during this time? Heck no. On closer inspection I actually endured some of the worst treatment from men I have ever experienced during that period. Turns out size plays so small a part in being objectified and degraded. How lovely to know (insert sarcastic eye roll here).

This issue has come to ahead because of a combination of things. Of course Hurricane Hate (AKA Donald Trump) plays a part in this because how can he not? Right now, there are millions of women all over the world who are still trying to make sense of this ordeal. Most of the things Trump says make me so goddam angry that I want to stomp around the place smashing things up. I don’t, because I’m a woman and I’m able to control my urges. But when he was boasting about assaulting women with such self-satisfaction it didn’t make me angry, it made me sad and it made me very scared. This is because the lack of shame associated with reducing women to commodities speaks to a larger more universal perception that I thought was mostly eradicated or at the very least on its way out. In light of this and the fact that Trump won the election it would appear that a lot of people still think you can do what you want to women when you want because we aren’t really people, at least not in the same way men are. And the other reason this issue is seemingly controlling my brain space right now is that I am experiencing this in real life too on a very unsettling level.

Recently I was put to work as a concierge for a short period of time. The whole idea was that I just greet and farewell customers, and occasionally help them find things they can’t locate. It wasn’t the most stimulating of roles and I found myself finally understanding the term ‘bored to tears’ in a way I never have before. The only relief was when someone would actually speak to me, engage with me or acknowledge how tedious my job was. These things happened rarely. Day two of my wearisome role however, saw me meet a new ‘friend’. I won’t say his name because I fear saying it even once will produce a Beetlejuice type result where he just appears, and I’m certainly not dressed to receive (molestation) right now. But at first I just thought he was an overly friendly, perhaps too lonely, slightly simple man. Maybe he got too close to me and maybe he looked at me a little too intensely and maybe he tried to touch me more than I was comfortable with but he was ‘harmless’ I thought, and it had been hours since someone spoke to me so I was happy for the distraction. He hovered and asked me a lot of questions about myself and seemed very resistant to leave but when he finally did I felt relieved. And then I immediately felt guilty because how cruel of me to relish the departure of the one person who had shown me kindness. I resolved to be nicer and more open to people from then on. And when he came back a couple of hours later with a card he had made for me I thought “oh how sweet, he’s such a kind man” and chatted to him for a bit longer.

I won’t go into too much detail because this thing went on for weeks, and because I feel nauseous and anxious whenever I think about it. But he came in to see me almost every night. You’d think it progressed slowly, but it didn’t. It was only the third time I saw him that I started to feel overwhelmingly unsettled and vulnerable. It then moved quickly to repulsed and terrified. He brought me laminated poems he’d written about me. It was like he predicted how gross these things would make me feel and knew my first instinct would be to tear it up and throw it away so he made sure I couldn’t. He kept asking for my number, he kept asking to see me outside of work, he kept trying (and despite my best efforts, quite often succeeding) to touch me, he refused to listen when I told him he was making me uncomfortable and he didn’t care that I had a boyfriend. In the end I felt so at risk around him that I would keep a keen eye out for his car and would run and hide in the office whenever he came in. I’d watch him on the cameras searching the building for me before approaching my coworkers to ask where I was. He’d memorised my schedule and was angry when told I wasn’t there because in his words “I KNOW she works on Thursdays from 8 til 4 so WHERE IS SHE?” In short, it got scary.

I consider myself a strong woman even if my strength isn’t of the obvious, in your face variety. I believe in standing up for yourself and making your voice heard. I don’t take shit from people anymore. Due to a long stint of always being the target for bullies I resolved to never again be a victim and worked hard to be more assertive and self-respectful. But during this tribulation it became quite apparent to me how limited I actually am and how vulnerable too. Even saying that makes me feel like a traitor to my sisters, because we are so often made to feel weak and inferior because of our gender. But I’m not talking about strength of character or strength of mind or any of those things. I’m just talking facts. This man is in his late fifties and has a good fourty kilograms on me. He’s also unhinged. If I were to go up against this man, just me and him, it wouldn’t matter how strong my will is, or how much of a fight I would put up… he would win. That thought was a very sobering one. I am at risk no matter what I do. Because I am a woman.

Living with fear is not a new concept to me. My dalliance with anxiety began in my teens and because anxiety was ever so fond of me it flat out refused to leave my brain space. After a couple years it was all like “Dude, I’ve been living here for ages now. And I don’t know if you’ve heard of this thing called squatters rights? But basically I own this house, bitch!” Now we have the sort of relationship an elderly couple who grew to despise each other might have. We coexist, we do our own thing but we never ever allow an opportunity to regain the power in the relationship pass by. After years of attempting to manage my situation, I feel like I’ve got to a good place now, or at least a better place. Mostly I’m the one in control and anxiety is just tagging along complaining the whole goddam way, but then at times the roles will flip and I’ll be completely at its mercy. Especially if there is a real, honest to god threat out there, then my anxiety will stand up and say “I got this one”. Right now it’s all anxiety all the time.

What is going to happen to us all now that the leader of the ‘free world’ is someone who believes the only people that matter are rich, white men and the rest of us are just here to be played with or discarded or used as pawns in some grander, more evil scheme? What about all those other people out there who are angry, jaded and maybe a little mentally unstable? The ones who want to do and say bad things but don’t because society, the law, and our leaders tell them that it’s wrong and there are ramifications. What are they all going to do now that they have a solid excuse for doing terrible things? Are they going to do them and say something like “Well the president of the United States said it’s okay so it MUST be”? Should I be worried that instead of just being grabbed on the ass by strangers when I go out on the town at night, that there is now a bigger risk of being full on raped by strangers? I mean, this all probably seems a little crazy. And yeah, I guess I am a little crazy. But isn’t what’s happening in the world right now WAY more crazy than these anxiety driven fears visiting me? I wonder a lot if the reason Trump was elected is as simple as this; too many people still think that a woman simply cannot do the same job as well as a man. There has to be good people out there who know Trump is evil and that he is not the right person for the job, but voted for him anyway because “Well, you know…. Hilary is probably better but what happens when she gets her period or someone calls her fat or her favourite contestant on The Bachelor is eliminated? Emotions, you guys! There’s just too many messy emotions with these broads.” Or maybe I’m wrong about this whole thing and I’m just bitter and angry now like the rest of them. That’s probably the biggest crime in this whole ordeal, they’ve both been so mean and nasty that it now doesn’t seem weird or out of place to say hurtful things to people. Slowly I’ve noticed a change in the people around me, and within myself too. I feel like there’s this toxic bath bomb in my stomach and it’s just sitting there spreading and dousing everything else with its hatred and deep fear. So I’m getting it all out of me, putting it here and hoping that some of the weight upon my shoulders is lessened. I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll wake up and not immediately think “why bother being a good person. No one likes the good people anymore. And the good people never get ahead.” Because that is an incredibly morbid thought for five in the fucking morning. And because through it all, through the depression and anxiety, through the heart breaks and the tragedy, I have always managed to pick myself up, dust myself off and believe that tomorrow will be a better day. Deep beneath my dark sense of humour and my inability to suffer fools, way down underneath my occasional superiority complex and my flirting with narcissism is an optimistic sweetheart who has always been there and hopefully always will. But then, she’s never had to deal with a blow quite this big before so…. Let’s wish her luck. 

Say it like you mean it!

Sorry is such an empty word nowadays. We use it for any other reason than its true definition and sometimes we use it to appease ourselves rather than the person we've done wrong. Sorry can sometimes be the worst thing to hear, especially if it's a hollow sorry. And on that note, I'd like to talk a little today about bullies. If you have never met a bully, then you're either really lucky or you are the bully. Either way, think of James Spader's character in 'Pretty in Pink' or Eddie McGuire in.... life, and you'll be able to visualize the type of jerk whom embodies this title. Today my bully came into my work, engineered a pained expression and interrupted me during a transaction to say the all too late, and all too hollow 'Sorry' she thought I needed to hear. Bullies think their targets are too dumb to realize their game. But that's because bullies misunderstand kindness as weakness and stupidity. Good. Keep thinking like that, bullies. It provides me with the upper hand you stole from me when you started your toxic tirade. Her 'Sorry' was like a punch in the face, because I knew and she knew that I couldn't say what I really wanted to say when I was at my place of work. I am nothing if not professional. So that bitch got to ease her guilt, perhaps even give herself praise for going out of her way to ambush me, and all I got was another horrible interaction with a self-serving meanie, that I will undoubtedly think about for weeks to come. These bullies aint messin around, ya know?! 

The thing is, I needed this bully to come along when she did. In a way I should be thankful to her. I am a target for bullies, because I am kind and friendly and (to my detriment) a total people-pleaser. Bullies love people like me because they can slowly and systematically break us down in a way that is not obvious or even noticeable at the start but builds to the point where it feels normal to be humiliated and intimidated and in a constant state of fear. I never realize until it is too late. But I am getting better at recognizing the warning signs, which is a pro, but the real silver lining is that this whole experience has been too overwhelming and too heartbreaking for it to ever happen to me again, so much so that I can barely keep my hands from shaking enough to bring wine to my lips, this is NOT the life for me. No wine aint fine. This experience is just too similar to oh so many past experiences, and enough is enough. No one can make me the victim if I don't want to be the victim, and just like mi gorang noodles... I am SOOO over that whole business. 

Bullies feed on insecurities, of which I admittedly have many, but they are also operating like this because of their own much bigger and much deeper insecurities. Their lives are generally so horrible that they need to tear other people down just to feel a moment of pleasure. The old me would say that we should feel sorry for these poor unfortunate souls (nothing like a Disney quote to really lend credibility to my blog, right?!) but the new me says "Fuck that! It's not my job to fix their shit, and I don't take out my anger and sadness on other people so no sympathy here, yall! Can't they just get a hobby like booze or drugs or binge-watching 'Broad City' and push their problems down like NORMAL people?!" and I'm sticking by it. It is so easy for me to make excuses for people's terrible behavior, because I really want to believe that deep down we're all good at heart and can be better if we try, maybe some of us have just lost our way, but that's not the reality. Some people are just Spaders or McGuires and they will ALWAYS be, no matter how much consideration they are allowed. It's like that time I was ordering mojitos but the bartender kept giving me margaritas. No matter how hard I tried to explain that the drink I wanted was not the drink I was given, it didn't matter, on and on I got margaritas. You can't make someone or something anything they are not. Sure, in this particular instance I was terrifically drunk and was actually ordering margaritas thinking I was ordering mojitos and so maybe it's not the best example, But I will not be bullied into thinking of a better analogy. See how far I've come?! #KillingIt

The usual suspects, carbon copies and other dating dangers.

I believe that the person I end up with is going to be someone very unusual. I believe this because I know it will take a very unique individual to appreciate my own particular brand of neurosis. I also believe this because I don't really rate the basic bitches. I don't want someone I can easily swap for another someone without causing too much of a disruption to my life. I want someone so special that if they were to exit my life, I would feel a great void. I don't want someone who does and says things that I've heard and seen a trillion times before. I want the exception not the rule. And because of that I have very little patience for generic player behavior. I don't think it's my job to accept callous disrespect simply because dating etiquette has diminished rapidly. I don't think it's my responsibility to compromise my self-esteem and self-worth in the hopes that eventually it'll be built back up, you know... when that douche-bag guy realizes I'm worth his time and starts behaving like a human being. Nope, I don't think any of that bollucks is worth my participation. And so I always bow out when the smoke and mirrors have faded and the truth is drunkenly heckling me from the front row. I end my set, I take stock of what I've learned and I begrudgingly move on. It sounds great and rational and logical and it is definitely on the newer side, this perspective of mine. If a guy treats you like airplane headphones, by which I mean he sees your immediate use but knows he'll be discarding you at the end of his travels, then you definitely shouldn't be hoping he'll slip you into his bag for the next flight he takes. I mean, he's not a good egg ladies. He will never be. Maybe one day he'll meet someone who makes him see the importance in treating women like human beings, but probably not. Maybe he'll find the perfect little doormat to walk all over and save his designer loafers from too much hardship, which is still disturbing because we know there are so many girls out there begging to fill that role. And that is heartbreaking. But either way, you will not be either of those girls to him. Good GOD girl I HOPE you won't be!! Because you and I know, compassion can not be taught, and integrity can not be bought, and goodness exists or it doesn't. End. Of. Story.

These facts remain, but the hurt caused in finding out someone you naively thought was the unicorn of single men isn't really anything other than your standard, heartless, self-serving player; doesn't diminish in light of these facts. It still hurts to be wrong, it still hurts to be reminded how well men lie and with such little guilt, it still breaks you when you think about the things you gave up in your pursuit of true intimacy, those things you will inevitably need to gain again before starting the journey aaaalllll over. Knowing that he just wasn't right for you and the guy who is will never make you feel this way, doesn't always calm your agony. In fact, it rarely does. 

It seems sometimes like we're all fucking insane. It feels like we're the definition of insanity; doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result. Feeling insane can cause insanity. But unfortunately relationships, or ill-fated relationships at least, are all the same. They masquerade as being different each time, but the basic thesis doesn't alter. If it's right, you'll behave right. If it isn't, you'll fuck each other up and not really understand why. And eventually someone will decide that what you're doing isn't healthy and they'll end it, hoping the next foray into dating will be more fortuitous. Sometimes the other person is still sure they can overcome all the hurdles and can't understand why you've decided to give up so easily. This sucks. Obviously. But eventually we all reconcile the breakup with the shitty relationship it freed us from, and then get back up, dust ourselves off and try yet again. Sure, the next one might be the same, and the next and the one following that, but if you want real love and you don't want to settle, this is the road you have to follow. I guess we all need to work out how much and the breed of pain we're willing to endure for the end result we're hoping to achieve. Some people don't really need an exceptional coupling to be happy, they just need any sort of companionship that keeps the loneliness at bay. Some people don't see love as a priority. Some people care too much about it, and let each wound get infected and spread and turn into scar tissue and then let that define who they are rather than any other factor. Some people just give up. Some people, like me, get trigger happy and always have the kill shot waiting for any sign of trouble. Some people find what they're looking for. Some people never do.

I try to understand why people do the things they do. I think that if I can comprehend their motives, then I can atone for them and still maintain a positive outlook on life. But my pursuit to understand every horrible thing done to me has proven to be the most horrible thing anyone has ever done to me... and at my own hands, none the less! this is deplorable! Understanding doesn't make it better. Sometimes, it makes it worse. I realize more and more each day that letting go is literally the only sane option. We can't change the past, we can't make a bad person good no matter how loudly we yell at them or how desperately we plead with them. We can't make someone love us, they either will or won't. The only thing we have complete control over in a relationship is our participation in said relationship. It's not easy to hear, it's not nice to think about, but the truth is that if you feel like you're the only one abiding by the 'common-decency' rule book in your relationship, then he/she has already chosen not to participate. And you deserve to be with someone who doesn't need to read the rule book at all, they just know what a goddess/squire/winner like you does and doesn't deserve and would never test those boundaries for fear of losing you. And you know what, kittens?! I deserve that too. So I'm going to wait for that. And in the interim, I'm going to read a lot of Sylvia Plath. That'll inspire optimism, right?! 

And now we play the waiting game....

Not one to be easily discouraged, I am persevering with this online dating endeavor. There are two reasons for my absolute refusal to give up on romance at any cost. Number one; Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks fell in love on the internet in 'You've Got Mail', and I've always said what's good enough for Megs and Hanksy is good enough for me. Two; I'm a bit of a glutton for punishment. People always throw around the word 'masochist' in relation to me, which is unsettling, but just as my queen did quote 'Haters gon hate'. Whatever the reasons for my charging forward through thick forests of disappointment and deep, murky pools of disillusionment, the point is that I'm not giving up just yet. But there are so many reasons why I should. Let's list them all, shall we?! No.... no we shan't. Aint nobody got time for that.

The thing I've found most harrowing about this process is that even when you think you've finally won the game, you find out there's yet ANOTHER level to conquer with all new rules and obstacles and oh so much fresh confusion. Even when you think maybe, just maybe, you've found that one illusive block of gold in a bin of rubble, even then it's not really a win. There are so many other tests you're put through and you have to do it all perfectly and be perfect to begin with, which alas I am not. AND I'm a highly anxious person, which I'm sure is a mad shock to the (imaginary) smattering of followers I have. I seem so stable, riiiight?! Yes, anxiety is my M.O. and with this gorgeous gift comes some delightful bonus features, like intense sweating if it's a tiny bit warm and my stress levels are high, inability to get words to come out in a cohesive way or to come out at all, and severe shaking of the hands, to name a few. So when I did actually meet a guy from tinder who was smart, funny, interesting, unique, cute and seemingly really kind, the date suddenly propelled to insane stakes. For the first time in a while I had something to lose that actually meant something. I was so excited for the date but as it approached it started to dawn on me how different this one would be, and I started freaking out. I was terrified, and it showed. OH did it show. It was this giant throbbing purple penis in the room. Yeah I went there, Elephant is sooooo old hat, y'all. And so I failed the third level of tinder. The levels I've reached go as follows:

Level One: Weed out the serial killers, drug dealers, sociopaths (if possible, those guys are tricky), plain weirdos, players (refer to sociopaths) and all out bad guys.
Level Two: Find one you like, set up a date, see if you get along.
Level Three: Find out you do get along, have heaps in common, same moral values, same sense of humor (soooo important, even if you personally have no sense of humor, then you need to find someone who also has no sense of humor. Otherwise baby, that dog just won't hunt), similar goals, etc. Then win them over. 

Failed the last one, it seems. Ugh! it's so much work this dating app thang. I though the whole pitch of Tinder was it was fast dating? Can't I just click and select and settle into a nice relationship with the occasional, totally tolerable, hiccup? When's that app coming out, ammirite?! :) 

In my world, if you don't hear from someone, then they aren't interested. End of story. No complications. no 'but what if...'s, no 'he has to wait 3 days and some guys even wait longer' exemptions, in the words of Bernard Black "No mobiles, no walkmans..... None of that.... OR ANY OF THE OTHERS". I just don't think it needs to be that complex, I want to date a person not a fucking sudoku puzzle. And I think that anyone that's right for me and visa versa, wouldn't want to play those games either. 

But now I have something else to add to my list of 'deal breakers'. Waits to text after a date, gone. along with....
- Gym pics
- Shirtless pics
- All sunglasses photos (If I can't see your eyes I can't trust you, or trust that you do indeed have eyes. Eyes are kinda essential for me, even if they don't work. I'm just shallow like that.)
- Photos in front of cars (I know nothing about cars, and really don't want to know more than my current knowledge.)
- Any mention of 'DTF'
- (new addition) Photos in front of large, some would say 'human sized' cages, where the subject of the photo looks like he's hungry for blood.
- etc (covers all other things I can't handle, like rats tails or mullets, croc-wearers (shudder), poor spellers, Trump followers, Elijah Wood fans, you get the drift.) 

And I know I talk a big game, about deal breakers and not needing any complications, but the really pathetic truth is that I still want to believe in love. I still want to keep my hope, I'll cling to, I'll walk through fire for it, I'll withstand the beatings and the psychological torture for it, I'll throw a lot away in favor of keeping the one thing I have left in me that makes getting back up and trying again possible. These boys can take a lot of things away from me, but hope is not one of them. And I still have my wildly vivid imagination. So sometimes for a little while I can have everything I want. Until the real thing comes along, that will be enough for me and my little puddle of hope. 

How dare you bring Oprah into this!

It was recently brought to my attention, in just the darn cutest of ways, that my online personality is not a desirable one. I have to say I'm surprised it took this long for reality to catch up. I had one hell of a run though. But I jest. Here's how it went down; met a guy on tinder (because in 2016 this is what passes for romance) started chatting, got along quite well, set up a date, then out of the blue he cancelled. Initially I was a little disappointed because he did seem really nice. I know right?! Girl, when you gon learn guys are never as nice as they seem?! But we'd just met, I wasn't invested yet and these things absolutely happen. I just said that's cool, best of luck and he felt the need to TELL ME like he wasn't just unashamed of it, but almost PROUD of it, that he googled me and read this here blog, the very same one, and 'didn't want to hurt me'. Okay, great cover mate. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed with the smoke screen he conjured, when really he just didn't like the person he met via stalking. I don't come off great on this blog, I know it. Y'all, I know it! But this has never been about serious writing for me. This blog is my therapy. Sometimes I think that maybe I write this stuff publicly because I need to know that I'm not all alone in the world, because this world can be mighty isolating at times. I mean, I'm on tinder for fucks sake! That would never be how I'd play it if we all just met people in the real world like the olden days. But putting this out there on the internet makes it real for me, and somehow it makes all those bad thoughts and all those obsessive antics subside. I also hate being a downer around my friends and family. I do when it is unavoidable to but after all those years drowning in depression and being choked by anxiety, I was ALWAYS a downer and I don't want to be that girl again. Putting all my neurotic thoughts on the internet means my beloved people only have to hear the CliffsNotes in real life, so really, this is like charity. But more so it's like purging the bad to make way for the good. But why am I defending myself? This guy was actually pretty toxic. I've never seen someone go from nice to nasty in under a minute. Kidding! Of course I have. You guys know my ex, right?! :) 

See the thing is that I'm not even surprised anymore with the lack of civility involved in dating. But then thinking about that makes me very disturbed. I remember a time when it was considered really inappropriate to online stalk someone before meeting them. It was like saying "I want to meet you, but not in person. I want to meet you from the comfort of my sofa, ideally sans pants and con nachos. And I want to judge you superficially rather than respect you and meet you and draw my own conclusions." Apparently being a creeper and a coward is super acceptable these days, and not something anyone seems embarrassed by. All this business created by the internet-obsessed age should make us more tolerant right? The fact that we don't seem ashamed of most things anymore should mean that we make room for other people to be their true selves, right? wrong. If anything it's made us less tolerant. It's now so much easier and safer for people to do and say horrible things to whomever they want whenever they want for literally no reason whatsoever. It's made bashing minority groups into a goddam sport and it's also leaked into our real lives because people in general are slowly but surely losing that voice in their head that used to say 'that's not a good thing to do. Don't say that! Be civilized!' honestly, whatever happened to civility? 

But this guy was clearly not right for me, nor me for him and I'm really glad we worked that out before meeting. However, I do wonder if we'd met at a concert or bumped into each other in the street and had that awkward apologizing at the same time thing, while helping each other pick up our respective belongings (so very meet-cute I know, but this is my imagination so I'll fabricate whatever fantasy I like) if we might have got along. Maybe we would have still been nice to each other, maybe that fiery nature translated into great sex and great debates, maybe we would have had a good run for 6 months then torn each other to shreds, maybe we would have walked away from each other and never met again. Who knows?! But I tell you this for nothing, that sort of exciting mystery in dating doesn't really exist anymore. And for me, that feels like a shame. It feels like we're being robbed of one of the best bits of dating someone new. 

Ultimately, I'm always going to have trouble with this whole internet dating thing. I love truly great 'how we met' stories, I love when you meet someone and you feel that jolt that tells you 'hmm there's something special here', I love awkwardness that turns into warmth, basically I just love the real thing. But I am learning a lot and it's a pretty interesting study in human behavior, this whole dating app biz. In the mean time though, this blog will remain as it is, the scary rambling of a messy idealist who knows when to shut up but WILL NOT ABIDE! I am who I am, and one day I'm going to meet someone who loves this person just as she is. We all deserve that, even the creepy stalkers and the messy idealists.