Five Things that Happen When You’ve Been Single for Years

I have never been the type of girl that feels the need to be in a relationship. I know people that jump from boyfriend to boyfriend and it boggles my mind. Not only do I not understand how they can be emotionally ready for another relationship that soon after the previous one ended but I seriously don’t get where these guys come from?? It’s a personal victory each time I can get a guy to ask for my phone number…

I haven’t been in a serious relationship since I was in high school and looking back, it wasn’t that serious. I’ve had flings here and there and even fallen in love since then, but I haven’t actually had a boyfriend since my first one. I just don’t get how so many girls can just get guys to commit while the most I’m getting is a guy trying to sext me while I’m eating spaghetti and watching Pretty Little Liars.

1. You Become Too Comfortable with Your Loneliness:
When a cute boy texts you and says, “Hey what are you up to?” and you reply with, “I’m eating my body weight in chocolate ice cream and watching makeup tutorial videos.”, you’ve probably been single for a few minutes. I have found that I have lost my filter when it comes to making people think I’m sexier than I am. When you’ve been single for an extended period of time, it’s easy to forget that maybe that cute boy doesn’t want to know that you just found Chef Boyardee sauce on your forearm from hours earlier.

2. No Ones Asks You for Relationship Advice:
I used to be overwhelmed by the amount of relationship advice people asked of me when I was dating my ex. I was the go-to gal for shitty relationships. Now I can’t remember the last time someone asked me for any type of relationship advice. If someone starts to bring something up, I get all weird and try to bullshit some answer to make it sound like I know what they’re going through but I guess starting off by saying “Yeah that reminds me of when I had a boyfriend 2 years ago…,” that sort of invalidates my opinion. I just don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.

3. You Can No Longer Relate to Taylor Swift:
This is probably the most positive outcome from being single for too long but Taylor Swift just used to GET me, you know? She just knew what being in love felt like and she just knew how it felt when boys were just being SO stupid~~~
I find myself listening to T-Swift and being confused. I don’t know what she’s talking about and I don’t feel her feelings anymore.
“Why can’t you see that you belong with me?”
Sorry, Taylor, but if you’re not singing about getting felt up in an ally or drinking apple juice straight from the jug, I don’t want to hear it.

4. You Question Yourself:
I’m ugly. I’m fat. I smell bad and I have the personality of a cardboard box. No one likes me and I don’t like myself. I’m going to die alone. I’m going to kill myself.
Okay, no. That’s NOT true. I’m not the most confident bitch on the block, but I’ve come to realize that I’m a lot cooler than I give myself credit for. I have days where I think I look a little chubbier than I would like and days where my skin is so bad I’m jealous of the Before pictures on the Proactiv commercials. It might take some getting used to, but eventually you will learn that your happiness and self worth is not defined by your relationship status. You don’t need a boyfriend or girlfriend to make you feel as if you’re worth something. Stop questioning yourself because you aren’t going to like the answers you receive and eventually you’ll start going down a dark path of self doubt and begin questioning things like your sexuality and identity.

“Hmm, boys don’t like me. Maybe I’ll date a girl. I could be into boobs.”

But then you realize girls don’t want to date you either and then you’re back where you started with double the rejection. So just love yourself and be patient.

5. The Idea of a Date Makes You Want to Die:
I’ve been asked on plenty of dates within the year. I’m not a troll and I know how to have fun and I have a lot in common with a lot of different people so I’m not saying that no one wants to date me, it’s just I don’t know how to date anymore. The idea of going out on a date is enough to make me bite my nails down to the bone and drown in a pool of my own sweat. I’m just disgustingly awkward and maybe I’m alone on this one but I just can’t imagine going on a date with someone and having them leave thinking “yeah this girl is what I want.” I’ve been alone for so long that I literally can’t carry on a normal conversation without bringing up awkward stories about that one time I pissed my pants or how my mom asks me for alcohol. This brings me back to the filter thing. I don’t possess one and it’s becoming a major cock block.

Dating is a two way street. You have to put yourself out there and hope someone thinks your psychotic tendencies are charming and your ability to eat an entire pizza by yourself is a necessary quality in a mate. Maybe being single for so long has given me the life lesson to always be myself and to wait for the person that is going to love me for me rather than pretending to be a sexy goddess that farts glitter and eats lettuce leaves until it’s too late and I’ve trapped them. Or maybe I’m just destined to spend the rest of my days throwing Ramen Noodles at my computer screen when the cute boy kisses the quirky girl in that romantic comedy I’ve watched too many times. Either way, I’m pretty content in my loneliness but I still find myself preferring someone to sleep with rather than a stuffed animal given to me by a man that only gives me the time of day when it’s convenient for him.

For all of you kiddos out there that are falling asleep with your significant others, take a moment and kiss them on the forehead and say, “Thank God I have you because I could be sitting at home writing a blog about being alone.” And if you’re single, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors because no one likes a thirsty hoe but let me tell you, when all you’ve been drinking for the past two years is Mountain Dew, sometimes all you want is a glass of water.

Bye, beeshes.

MBN

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Lipstick: A Love Affair

Lipstick: A Love Affair

I was decently impressed with myself for coming up with the title “Lipstuck” for my blog because it sums up my life by combining the two words that apply to me the most: lipstick and stuck. Stuck applies because I’m … Continue reading

How to Spend Father’s Day Without a Father

It’s a little after midnight so Father’s Day is finally over but I figured I would go ahead and make a post regarding this “holiday”. I tried to write something last night but everything I wrote ended up sounding either depressing, insensitive or just plain psychotic.

So I’m going to take you all through a Father’s Day spent with a fatherless family.

I spent the majority of my day at work. I’m a waitress and sometimes I’m overwhelmed by how passionate I am about my job…

Sunday is the worst day of the week to work for me because I’m normally too tired to function. I’m too cranky to want to refill Grandma’s decaf coffee and then awkwardly avoid your table while you pray over your pancakes. All of this to be left a 10% tip stuffed inside a pamphlet explaining exactly what I must do in order to get into Heaven.

I just…I just can’t with Sundays.

And with it being Father’s Day I got to deal with teenagers paying for their fathers’ meals and leaving me NOTHING. UGH. DID YOUR FATHER’S NOT TEACH YOU ANYTHING? Since I grew up without a father, maybe I’m oblivious to the teachings of dads but I thought tipping your waitress was one of the major fatherly lessons? No? Well, it fucking should be.

So I’m at work and I put lipstick on which means I actually woke up with enough time to put effort into my appearance. I’ve been kind of lazy when it comes to doing my makeup for when I go to work because I really don’t care anymore if anyone finds me attractive because at this point I just want to go to work and then go home and nap forever. The first thing one of my managers said to me when I walked in the door this morning was “Marki, I’m proud of you. You’ve managed to do your makeup every day this week.” Kthanxbye.

I go through my shift and I smile and avoid the awkward “How’s your father’s day?” question that always comes with this holiday.

“Oh it’s great! I’m going to go drink a beer at my dad’s grave later and then smoke a cigar at my stepdad’s grave after that.”

I’m kidding. I would never say that to someone…although my mood fluctuates throughout the day and I can only smile and nod so many times in order to make other people feel comfortable. I mean, why should the fact that every male figure in my life has kicked the bucket make anyone feel uncomfortable? I’m the one with the dead dads, okay. I’m the one that’s uncomfortable. But there’s a certain “dead parent social etiquette” one must follow.

I get off of work and head over to my sister and brother-in-law’s condo to get ready for the season finale of Game of Thrones (!!!!!!!!!!!). It’s a Sunday ritual. They live right next to my mom so I make my family rounds and eat a home cooked meal and spend some time with my family.

I get to their house and am immediately greeted by their two massive pitbulls. I have to fight my way to the couch and basically sit there and let them smother me before I can lay down and take a nap before the show starts. I check my phone and talk to my other sister for a few minutes. She struggles with Father’s Day a little more than I do because she was far older than I was when Dad died so she remembers him very clearly. I find myself feeling more sad about not having a Dad rather than not having MY dad, if that makes sense? I just don’t remember him that well.

Finally, I fall asleep until my sister gets home from work and I have to resurrect myself from the couch. To get food. Because let’s face it: I’m twenty years old and I live on my own…not much is going into this stomach except for a few margaritas and chocolate ice cream.

I politely go through the motions of asking my sister how her day had been and if she was thrilled to be home and blah blah blah but all I can think is “what are you going to cook and when are you going to start?” So I ask.

The bitch has nothing planned for dinner. My heart hurts just thinking back on the moment I realized I wasn’t getting a home cooked meal. I die a little inside each time I miss an opportunity to eat my sister’s food. She’s a damn good cook.

I pitch a little fit and decide to go see my mom because my mother never fails to feed me when times get tough.

I stroll on up to her condo and say hello. First off, she’s wearing a skirt pulled up to her chest in order to make some sort of strapless dress??? No, Mom. That’s not how it works.

“Hi, Mom. I’m hungry plz feed me.”

She replies by telling me that she’s making steaks and I’m like HELL YEAH LET’S GO. But then she informs me that she’s not making them for a while so I had to settle for a chicken salad sandwich which I happily had as a pre-steak snack.

I go into her bedroom and talk to her for a few minutes. She asks how I’m doing and I ask the same and we’re both so dramatic that we don’t believe each other when we both say we’re doing fine. She goes onto saying that I’m too skinny and my hair is so long and pretty and then offers me money that I don’t accept because I know she doesn’t really have any to actually give me. Then her phone rings and she talks on the phone while I sit and play with our dog I grew up with. He’s a little rat dog named Thor. He rules.

After she had been on the phone for fifteen minutes I began to get irritated because she’s always bitching at me because I don’t call or visit her enough yet here I am eating a sandwich and wanting attention. So I make some sort of gesture and tell her to get off the phone.

“I have to go. My daughter is here.”

I’m assuming whoever was on the phone asked how old I was and my mother, oh so politely replied, “Oh hell, I don’t know. 19 or 20? Is it too late for an abortion?”

My mom has my favorite kind of sense of humor: quick witted and politically incorrect.

She gets off the phone and tells me to come back up after my show to retrieve my steak and baked potato (!!!!!!!!)

I return back to my sister’s house and watch an awesome episode of GoT. My sister, Charli, is sitting at the kitchen table eating and playing on her phone because she doesn’t really like GoT because she was raised in a barn and doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life. I take this opportunity to text her from across the room and tell her that she smells bad which results in her getting up and trying to hit me. We’re very close.

After the episode I go back up to my mom’s to eat dinner and I sit there and listen to her boyfriend talk about…I don’t even know. I basically just sit there and count the minutes until he stops talking. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy. I just don’t understand anything he’s talking about and it’s really exhausting trying to keep up.

My mom comes out with some sort of milky concoction which she later informs me is her take on a “White Russian” which basically consists of .01% milk and the rest is just straight up FIRE. I took a sip and almost fell out of my chair.

“Damn, Mom, it’s 10:00 at night! Are we shooting for a nice alcohol induced coma to help us go to sleep?” to which she responds “If you can’t drink with the big dogs then get out.” Lol.

I sit and eat my food that ~my mommy~ made for me and I sit and listen to her talk about nothing of importance and just think about how lucky I am to have her. She lost the love of her life and still manages to feed me whenever I whine which is pretty damn often. She makes me laugh harder than anyone I know, granted most of her jokes are morbid as hell and usually leave me questioning her sanity. As the years go by and Father’s Day comes and goes, I find myself being less and less sad about the fact that my dads are dead because really I have nothing to really compare it to. I can’t remember my life before my dad died so really it’s nothing out of the ordinary for me.

Sometimes I get sad and even a little jealous looking at the Instagram pictures of girls with their dads and reading paragraphs of how lucky they are to have such a strong and supportive male figure in their lives but then again, they probably all have just as many daddy issues as I do.

But while they’re making memories and Facebooking pictures, I’m out searching for love in all the wrong places just trying to desperately fill the void that living without a father has left me with…

I hope you all had a great day and to those of you who share my fatherless experience I hope you had fun in some sort of way.

Bye, beeshes.

MBN

Tinder’d: It Could Happen to You

Now is the time to be alive. We have unlimited access to all sorts of information just by getting on our phones or computers. I can tell you the capital of Fiji in a matter of seconds (Siri just informed me it’s Suva with a population of 88, 271). I’m an internetaholic. If I’m not on my phone, I’m on my laptop. I don’t know what it is but ever since I got my laptop, I’ve been glued to it. I know there are a lot of mixed opinions about my generation being too dependent on technology but I think I’m better off being addicted to tumblr rather than crack cocaine, but then again, I’ve never tried crack cocaine so maybe I don’t know what I’m missing.

There’s a buzz going around the social media world. It’s a little app called Tinder. I know you’ve heard about it because it’s funny and depressing and a little frightening. Basically, it’s a “dating” app that you download onto your phone and it matches you with people in your area. It’s anonymous until you and another person have both “liked” each other and then you are notified and you have the option of messaging each other. Cute idea, right?

Wrong.

First off, I’m not going to defend why I downloaded this app. I could sit here and try and tell you that I downloaded it because I think it’s funny and I like to laugh at everyone on there. I could tell you that I like it when people tell me I’m pretty and they want to do me or that I truly feel like I could meet my soulmate via Tinder. Believe what you will.

Let me share with you some of my Tinder experiences:

“If you don’t call your group of friends the Funky Bunch I will be severely upset.”

“Nice tits. I mean smile.”

“You and I’d make some sexy babies, Marki.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

And here’s a real winner:

“Sorry I’m going to be a complete ass, but I’m not interested in dating. But I’d love to just go down on you for a few hours.”

………………I guess I appreciate his cut-to-the-chase attitude, but no thank you.

Anyways, you get the idea of the sort of shit that goes on this thing.

So today, like most days, I got bored and started flipping through the fellas and I’m seeing the typical pictures which consist of group fraternity photos, mirror selfies and dramatic sideshots of bearded men playing the guitar.

And then I see it.

Or rather, it sees me.

A penis.
Staring at me.

And not just any penis…a small, flaccid penis. Pubes included.

I did not invite this penis into my life. I did not ask for it to present itself to me. I did not ask for this. I did not.

I could say “there’s a time and a place” but I’m sorry…I don’t think there is a time and a place for dick pics. I don’t want to see a picture of anyone’s penis. Ever.

Sexting is a thing people do. I’m aware of this trend. I’m not against it. Sexy texts? Okay cool whatever.
Maybe it’s just me, but there is nothing visually appealing about a penis to me. I don’t want to see it on my phone. If it’s in front of me, that’s a different story. I’ll make eye contact with it. But when I’m flipping through my phone casually and a flaccid dick pops up, I’m going to be a little upset.

Now if you’re into that sort of thing and you’re texting some dude and you say “hey bby lemme see that dick” and he sends you a private photo, do your thing. Go to town. I actually received a dick pic for the first time recently and I literally didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it…like, thanks for showing me your penis, how was your day???

Maybe I’m just awkward and naïve but I just can’t with dick pics.

Moral of the story is don’t put your penis as your profile picture on a phone app. Please.

Because now instead of seeing beards and guitars, all I can see is a tiny floppy wiener. My eyes are burning and I’m afraid to pick up my phone because with shit like that, virtual STDs are going to become a reality.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by this because it’s basically an app for people to hook up with each other but I figured everyone was going to be a little more subtle about it.

Be careful out there, ya’ll.

A flaccid penis might just get you next.

Bye, beeshes.

MBN

Third Time’s a Charm?

I know what you’re thinking: Here comes Marki with another blog that she more than likely won’t keep up with…

It is true that I have started several blogs in attempts to impress the world with my uncanny ability to change the world with my words but let’s face it: I’m lazy and mildly insane.

I like to think I have something called “multiple blog disorder” (not to be confused with multiple personality disorder which is a serious condition [Watch/Read Sybil]). I find that each of my blogs displays only one aspect of my personality when really I’m ~~so much more #complex~~

For starters, my first blog, which I started awhile back was to…actually, I really don’t remember its purpose. All I remember is that it was disgustingly depressing. I mean Jesus Christ…

I’m naturally depressive. It’s something I sometimes struggle with but I also believe it has given me my charming cynicism. Either way, my depression has never and will never define me. Or my blog. Which is why I have chucked that one out of a metaphorical window.

Next, I started an anonymous sex blog. *Pauses for laughter* I won’t get into much detail about that because it was anonymous but just know that I am an official sex blogger with, might I add, over 20 followers. No paparazzi please.

Anyways, my point is that I have gone through some sad and obviously awkward stages in my writing and I only plan on getting more awkward but hopefully a little less sad.

I find I only write when I’m feeling all of the feelings and then my writing tends to be very “Dear Diary, I want to dieeee” and I really want to convey more of myself in my writing. So I guess the point of this blog is to help myself become a more well-rounded writer.

In all honesty, it’s more than likely still going to be very “Dear Diary, I want to dieeee” but hopefully with a few laughs thrown in.

I don’t know how often I’ll post or what I’ll even write about. I’ll try to keep it as painless and entertaining as possible but I make no promises.

What I do know is that I’m not on some spiritual journey that I am dying to share with my closest friends. I’m not backpacking through Europe or trying new foods or starting a fashion advice column. I’m just letting you all know upfront that most of my life consists of work, Netflix, and the occasional margarita. I’m not trying to fool anyone here.

But with that being said,  I have a feeling that the only people that are going to be reading this are those awkward kids I knew in middle school and I’m still friends with on Facebook for some reason…but either way, I appreciate any support or whatever is thrown my way.

I’ll be in touch.

Bye, beeshes.

 

MBN