Gossip, bleh. New curtains? FUCK YEAh!

Uh oh, Ambien.

Though this post has been brewing in me for some time I haven’t had the time or the energy to write it out. The joy of Ambien is the creative spurt it gives me just before it knocks me on my ass into a blissful sleep that does not actually rest my body at all. I wake up feeling groggy. But  it’s better than staring at the ceiling for hours on end or getting out of bed and watching episodes of Dance Moms.

Sidetracked….I got all into searching for a clip that properly highlights the sequined child abuse that airs on that show. Done. Terrified? Yup, me too.

Okay, so…Being here and in this healthy relationship where I’m not shrieking and crying or doing some shady flirting on the side has made me realize that I have little to say about men anymore. That’s great right? Yeaaaaah…kinda.

Whenever the BF and I have a blow out, I generally call my dad and talk it through with him. The folks love him and they have no problem telling me that I’m an asshole and they also won’t judge him if he’s the one being the asshole. Occasionally when I’m super troubled I’ll chat it out with my girlfriends. But girlfriends tend to remember the nasty shit you tell them and their impression of your manfriend can be forever altered.

Point being, Ambiensnatch, well the point has very little to do with the above paragraphs. Fucking drugs.

The point of sitting down to write this at all is that I’ve come to realize how so much of what lady friends talk about and center their activities around is men, men, men. When we’re single, we hunt, we flirt, we primp and preen. We plot, dissect, rehash, over analyze and advise each other. We tirelessly carry on about boys. When I was single that’s really all I ever did.

OBVIOUSLY, since this blog started as a chronicle of my dating life in Portland.

I would never get anything useful done because I was always busy fucking some lame ass or plotting to fuck some lame ass or making an ass of myself in front of some lame ass.

That’s a lot of ass. 

I had to be driving a lot of my friends absolutely batshit. It had to be massively irritating. It was fun for me, no doubt. Well okay, terribly depressing but also at times, pants wettingly fun. But I was obsessive.

My point keeps slipping away like a water weenie.

The fucking point is that I have little to say to single friends at this point.

I understand why couples want to hang with other couples. I understand why single people complain that their married friends fall off the radar. I can’t relate to single girl drama anymore. I have no boy gossip and while I will listen to boy gossip, I can’t be as blase about the poor decisions friends make since I’m no longer in their shoes. It pains me to see that obsessive boy behavior that I have exhibited for the vast majority of my life.

Plus, shit…I’m in my 30s. I want to buy a house. I will gleefully paint and decorate and pick out fixtures with the BF while my 15 year old self stands with her mouth open in silent terror at my terrible normalcy. I remember saying to my mother once that if new dishes were the best part of my week to shoot me.

Well guess what? I really like my fucking dishes. Take that 15 year old twatty me. I’m sure my mom laughed her ass off at me behind closed doors.

There will still be benders, dance club nights, girl rages and hangovers galore. But there will also be stability, calm, love and new curtains. 

I’m so very at peace with that. I’m excited to see who I will become once I fully understand that this love shit is solid right now so I can put my attention elsewhere.

This Ambien has done nothing for me. I’m still typing like a champ. I should be babbling about Rick James controlling my mind with a cocaine blanket or some shit. But nope. Pretty coherent. Gonna go read the rest of Russell Brand’s mostly shitty second book. The man’s vocabulary is so broad that it’s borderline offensive.

Tags: ass, blogging, boys, dating, love, Portland, relationships, San Diego, single friends