Mean Girls, Drag Queens, and a Sad Walk in the Rain

Hello!
A few weeks ago, an acquaintance invited me to her drag show for her birthday. She had invited me several times, but I often couldn’t go because of scheduling or just because I rather stay at home and watch Netflix. I’m a huge introvert and would prefer to hang out with a select group of people with some brews and a movie going on. Sometimes I go out with my sister to a small bar, but it’s mostly her friends that go. I don’t go to clubs and certainly not by myself.

She told me a few days before the event that some people have flaked out on her. I flashed back to my 23rd birthday… nobody showed up. After all, nobody likes you when you’re 23 but my feelings were really hurt. It was a time where I was really understanding that friends I had in high school were growing apart. I didn’t want her to feel that way, so I told her I’d go. I was trying to challenge myself to try new things and put myself out there. I didn’t want to be the lonesome girl again on a Friday night hanging out with cat (it’s sad but true – I’ll own it.)

The night of the event, the sky was rumbling with thunder and the clouds threatened a downpour any second. I was in bed, watching Star Wars, and in true form, contemplating if I truly wanted to go. Then I got a text from her reminding me of the event. So I went all out – I dug heels out of my closet and a dress I bought two years ago but never wore because, truth be told, I’m a jeans and tee kinda girl. But fuck it, right? I was going OUT that night and I was going to look good.

Y’all. I mastered the smokey eye, my eyeliner was evenly winged, and my brows were on fleek. This is a rare occurrence. It happens only once every 3 years and usually on a day I don’t see anybody. I felt confident. I felt like I could take over the world.

I plug in the address and it’s downtown. On my way there, it starts pouring and in a panic, I question again turning back and going home. Heels were a bad choice. But, damn it, I was determined! I made it downtown and it stopped raining. Although it took me 30 minutes to find parking in an unsafe neighborhood behind the club, I made it.

I walk in and I realize that literally nobody is dressed up. Everyone is in jeans and regular shirt. I over dressed. By a lot. I wonder to the back area and find the woman of the night and see some other acquaintances. Before I could get over to them, a guy steps in my way and says in a drunken stupor, “Hellooooo, beautiful!” And then proceeds to put his face between my breasts and motorboats me.

I’m shook. I have no idea how to react. Is this normal in a gay club? If I react negatively, will I be a bitch? I’m humiliated by the attention it draws, but I realize this guy is trashed. I gently pushed him towards his friends and chuckle.

I finally make it over the people I semi know and they were floored to see me there. I got a lot of surprised, “OMG YOU LOOK SO DIFFERENT” exclamations. Then, she walks in. By she, I mean awful she-devil that hates me for no apparent reason. We’ll call her Brittany. She doesn’t out right say anything rude directly to me, but she makes backhanded compliments and always tries to make feel less than my worth. My heart deflates.

Everyone greets her and she looks at me up and down and smirks. I suddenly feel completely ridiculous. I feel like I’m right back in high school when Lauren Busybody decided she didn’t like my hair parted a certain way, so she tore down my homecoming locker decorations and kicked them as I tried to pick them up.

My temper flared. I’m an adult, damn it. I’m nearly 30, damn it. I wasn’t going to go down like that. I tried to interject myself into conversations and a few of the others were trying to include me, but she faced her back toward me and stepped in front of me anytime she could. I was losing confidence fast and try as I might, I wasn’t wanted there. I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t going to give up and I wasn’t going to let Brittany get the best of me.

When it’s time for the show, we go inside and I’m trying really hard to fit in but feel silly as I’m in a short dress and heels. She steps in front of me one more time and I had it. I had to get away before I made things even that much more awkward and snapped. I asked if anybody needed anything from the bar. They shook their heads and I went to get another drink. At that point, I couldn’t muster up the strength to get back over there. I stayed by the bar and lasted only long enough to see the performance. It was GREAT! She did wonderful! All the queens were so nice too. Once that was over, I said my goodbyes and left.

I still had to walk like 2 blocks back to my car, so I started the slow trek over there. I had my keys between my fingers prepared for any possible attackers, but my mind was racing. What should I have done? Should I have spoken up and told her to quit her shit? No, I think, that would’ve just given her all the more satisfaction of knowing she got to me. I was half way to my car, when it starts pouring.

Yep. This is appropriate. As I’m walking, a truck slowly passes me and the guy rolls down his window. He waves at me and I wave back all the while whispering to myself, “Please don’t think I’m a hooker… please don’t think I’m a hooker…”

As I cross the street to go down the last street to get to my car, he turns around and pulls up next to me. He asks me if I needed a ride. I shook my head vigorously and pointed to my car. I’ve seen this movie – spoiler: I die at the end. He stayed on the road and flipped on his brights, so I can cross the street (which is the most kindness anybody had shown me that night.)

I’ve seen this movie – spoiler: I die at the end.

It is then that I see there is about 8 inches of water over the street and I’d have to wade through it. In heels. I get across and into my car. I wait until the guy in the truck leaves (just in case he was a creeper) and I look at myself in the mirror. I’m drenched. My shoes are probably ruined. My make-up is running down my face. I just start bawling.

When I compose myself, I start the drive home and mull over the night. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I put myself out there. I chatted with a friend of mine later on and they said sometimes we really have to look it from a biblical standpoint. If that’s the type of person she is and they’re the type of people to let her be that way, then I’m better off without them. I was there to show support for someone who wasn’t even there the entire time and I’m sure she would not have let that fly. Additionally, if being a mean girl to someone else is what makes Brittany feel better, then you really have to feel sorry for her.

I won’t stop trying to put myself out there. I have lost touch with my social life and I really need to put myself out there. While the friendships I have are good and pure, I don’t really allow more opportunities for it and that’s to my own fault. How do you know if you don’t try? Root for me, y’all.

I’m still pissed about my shoes though.

-NTAJ

TMONJ: What I Learned Third-Wheeling My Own Date

I kept OkCupid around for awhile after I finished my blog research. Honestly, it was more to pass the time. After straight stomping on some fuckboys, I actually found a decent person to chat with. Funny, ambitious, and can carry a good conversation. If anything, I figured I would have a witty friend from it. Let’s call him Sure Thing Sal*.

We had plans to hang out last night, but it ended up pouring all day and I hate being out in it. I invited him over to my house for video games and he said he’ll bring over pizza (made it clear I didn’t have sucia tendencies). Just before he came over, my sister came home from work. She came in the house with her shoulders slumped, facial expression still tugging worries from the day. She had a rough day.

She had launched into full story mode when he finally arrived. They both work in the restaurant industry (both managers) and immediately were bonded over work grievances, lazy people, and restaurant quirks that you wouldn’t get unless you worked in that business (hint: I didn’t).

I sat there in between them quietly and listened to my sister and the guy I’m semi-interested in swap stories and tell tales of restaurant horror. They even knew the same people.

At first I felt very much like the kid sister and slightly pissed that my night of innocent flirtation and getting to know this guy more was out the window and then it dawned on me. My sister is one of the few people in my life that I love more than anything. Every guy I’ve ever brought around has always shyed away from her. You think I’m intimidating? Meet my sister. Her very presence commands respect because she’s a bad bitch with her head held high. Not only did he hold his own, he bonded with her. Earned her respect. That’s not something easily won over.

I may have been bored to tears about whatever the hell acronyms they were throwing out, but by the end of it, I had some sort of weird satisfaction that I’m learning how to pick em and what kind of standards I need in place for Mr. Right. I don’t know if Sure Thing Sal will be that person and it’s okay if he’s not, but at least I know that I am growing as a person and bringing around people to my family worthy of their time.

forever awkward,
nj

TMONJ: OkCupid? More Like No Way, Stupid

Forgive me for that cheesy ass title, but I couldn’t help it.

It’s good to be back. I kind of lost some inspiration and a lot of things have been going on. I also had to put in some research for this post today and future posts.

We’ve all pretty much experienced with internet dating at some point, either if it was a personal thing or a friend ventured into it. The big apps out there for our generation are OkCupid, Plenty of Fish, and Tinder. If you’re mega serious about finding someone to marry (yikes), you splurge for fancy sites like eHarmony or Match.com, but c’mon… There’s something a twinge bit more desperate about paying for your membership. Sure, they have better “matching” criteria and algorithms, but is our generation that serious at this point in our lives to pay $19.99 a month to find love? Nope. We pay $11.99 for commercial-free Hulu and call that bae.

I started this research with the intent of learning more about what kind of people are drawn to these sites. I opened accounts with all three sites mentioned above and set some ground rules:

1) I must not tell lies.
I must be completely honest with every person who messages me as well as convey on my blog posts my true feelings. If I do feel like I could potentially be serious about someone, I must tell them about my blog.

2) I must respond to every* message.
Except super creepy dudes (you’ll see).

3) I will not sleep with anybody and if enjoying a few beers, I could only have 3 max.

This post will be about my experience on OkCupid. Here is what my online account looks like:

Pretty standard profile so far. OkCupid also makes you fill out other areas that I was 99.99% sure nobody was going to read.

This things are all true. Redbox…. Ugh.

To be fair, those were things I was thinking about in that moment of time.

So there you have it. My personality captured in a few characters broken down by some different categories. Would you send me a message?

I have tried OkCupid before with no luck. I was skeptical about this experience, but I told myself to look at it with a new perspective. #fortheblog

Here is to the first round cuts 🍻:

Some really tried to earn that beer and we bonded over dirty jokes:

Some opted for a line as old as time:

A few were a bit aggressive:

Some came out of left field with something disgusting:

What a gem:

A couple asked me a random and never responded back:

Am I not on a dating website? I broke a rule and didn’t respond because… C’mon!

There were a few that advanced to the next level simply by being able to carry a decent conversation.

One in particular is Mr. Dramatic. You’ll find out why I call him that later. At first, I thought he was really awesome. The first time we talked on the phone, I talked to him for 5 hours. FIVE HOURS. Who has that much to talk about? It was a good conversation though. We met shortly after that and hung out once. The second and last time we hung out (after two weeks of knowing each other), we sat on his brother’s porch and drank a few beers while the rain poured down. I was sweaty as fuck. It was humid as hell and dumbass me wore a Merino sweater thinking we wouldn’t be kicking it outside. I thought, well maybe I look like Beyonce… Sultry and misty. Um. No. This is what I looked like:

We got along pretty well though and I thought to myself that we could be really good friends. I felt compelled to tell him about the real reason I was on OkCupid and he was surprisingly cool with it. I am huge on honesty and I let him know that I try to be as honest as I can be and I hoped he can do the same with me, but after asking him some questions about his living situation and car, I began to get this suspicious feeling he wasn’t being completely honest. Throughout the night, he kept making references to us having a long future. It was funny at first, but then it was a little too much.  At the end of the night, he looked at me deep in my eyes and said the words that completely ruined everything for me, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

At that moment, I had a fight or flight situation at hand. I’ve seen this guy twice and something seemed off. I told him that freaked me out and needed to think about it. The next day, I talked about it with my sister and best friend. They both felt like it was a little weird that he went there that quick, but hey, maybe it’s been a while for him too. Maybe he didn’t remember what it was like to date and begin something like that. I barely do. Then I didn’t hear from him for two weeks. Turns out he was lying about the things I suspected (wasn’t where he said he was in life which wouldn’t have been an issue, but red flags to lie about). When confronted, he told me that he’s a weak person and he understands if I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I just said, “Okay, bye.” I’ve known this guy for a month and he was dramatic. #GirlBye

In the end, I rate OkCupid a place for maybe one conversation with a person and a place you could possibly meet a friend – 4/10 stars on the romantic journey. Join me next week for my adventure with Tinder!

forever awkward,
nj

The Misadventures of Norma-Jeane: Let’s Talk About Mean Girls

Sorry I suck and haven’t posted anything in two weeks. I moved and work has been kinda crazy…

As much as I L-O-V-E the movie Mean Girls, I can’t stand mean girls in real life. In really dissecting it, I think I like the movie so much because A) it’s hilarious and I’ll probably quote it for the rest of my life and B) it pokes fun at the mean girls who use to bully me in school shoving their vapid behinds into the light.

The thing about mean girls is that they just don’t disappear once you graduate high school. They’re everywhere. At work, at your favorite bar, social gatherings, etc… Then, all of a sudden, you’re back in 7th grade gym and you find your clothes wet in the shower while Penelope Hamilton* snickers with her friends.

Kids were mean and as adult, people suck – no doubt. Of course, you rise above it because you’re a grown up. But sometimes… Sometimes you just gotta stick up for yourself!

I ruthlessly defend and protect those I love. Bitches be warned, fuck with my family or friends, I will tear you apart. I can go toe-to-toe with a mean girl when it’s concerning those around me and I like to think of myself as a no-bullshit kinda person and to, an extent, I am. But sometimes I need a lesson in standing up with myself and I think we all get there every once in a while where we just don’t know what to do. Whether we’re trying to maintain our professionalism, respect others we care about, or are just trying to be the bigger person in not provoking a fight.

Here is why this is bullshit:

YOU ARE NOT A DOORMAT. Yes, there are battles you pick to fight and those you choose to leave alone. However, you shouldn’t have to defend yourself against someone you work with. They’re jealous of you and hating? Fuck them. There is a reason why they are and it almost always has nothing to do with you, sweetheart. Call them out on their bullshit… in a diplomatic and tactful way. It all has to do with the delivery.

Someone in your social circle causes issues? Drop them. Sorry – nothing in life dictates you have to interact with someone that isn’t where you work or in your immediate family. That’s where you drop the #byefelicia and peace out.

I know sometimes it’s a bit more complicated than that because what if that person has ties to another person you care about? Just because they are tied to them makes them tied to you. You don’t have to “fit in” with them because they already discount your opinion. If you tried it once and it actually worked out – awesome. More often than not, it doesn’t. Don’t kill yourself trying to be liked by mean girls or just shitty people in general. Be cordial for those you care about it, but make it clear you don’t tolerate simple bitches.

The point is that you don’t have to endure it and we should focus on things that help us grow as people. Negativity in your life is like an anchor tethering you down in the same spot no matter how much the current tries to sway you forward.

I know it can be tiring to defend yourself constantly, but the point is, standing up for yourself isn’t defending an action or choice. It’s defending your character and worth. It’s powerful to stand with your feet planted and know what and who you are.

Most people don’t.

forever awkward,
nj

The Misadventures of Norma-Jeane: My Dream Self is a Dick

He stood there staring at me across the bonfire. I looked at him wide-eyed, feet frozen in place and heart pounding in my chest. A smile curled at the corners of his lips and he began his way around the fire and towards me. I felt the blood pumping in my ears, my fingers were numb, and I had to remember to breathe. As he approached closer, my hands clenched the red Solo Cup filled with luke warm beer.

“Hey there.”

My mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. I tried again. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“How did you find me?”

He just smiled and reached out to me. My heart fluttered and my stomach did back flips. Me? I heard the noise around us fade away. In that moment, it was just him and me.

“Close your eyes.” Eyes shut, I could hear the blood pulsing in my eyes. I felt him move closer and just before his lips could brush mine…

My alarm went off. It was a dream! Just a dream! I shut my eyes as fast as I could and tried my damnedest to go back to sleep to pick up where we left off. Alas, I don’t have such luck. I laid there pouting and trying to remember every detail of the dream, so I wouldn’t forget it. I could smell the fire and the roasting marshmallows, hear the song playing the background, see the people around, and taste the sweet, heavy air of the summer night… But I can’t remember his face. I remember his mischievous smile and twinkly, bright blue eyes, but I can’t put it all together.

It’s infuriatingly annoying. I once read that people in your dreams aren’t just figments of your imagination. They’re real people you’ve seen: passing by at the mall, glancing at them at a grocery store, or awkwardly trying not to stare at each other while you pump gas. Your brain catalogs this information and pulls it out to use it as filler for your dreams.

This guy has popped up in several of my dreams. It always catches me off guard and I wake up struggling trying to remember what he looked like. I can still feel his touch and smell him – clean, manly, woodsy, with a hint of tobacco. I’ve also read a study where they found that if a man smells good to a woman, the woman is more attracted to him. It has to do with hormones and science, so read that article if you want the specifics.

I don’t know who this guy is, but I have come to a conclusion. My dream self has a way better love life than my awake self. Maybe it’s some type of sign. Maybe I do know this guy and my dream self is trying to hint at me to pick up his hints. Well, dream self, it’ll be pretty damn helpful if you let me remember his face. My dream self is a dick.

Sure, maybe I’m an idiot for not picking up clues, even blantant clues. Do you know how bad and awkward I am with that? A long time ago, a friend I had a crush on came over so I could help him work on a paper for school. I was showing him some music on my phone because he likes the same music I do and sitting on the floor leaning against a couch adjacent to where he was sitting. After listening to an epic remix of Liztomania by Phoenix, he leans over and says, “You know, you’re really pretty.” I looked into his big, brown beautiful eyes and said, “Yeah, so I have a lot of other music on here…” and grabbed my phone from the coffee table whilst turning a bright shade of red. I looked back up and he leaned back in the chair with his hand over his face, like he blew it.

So, mystery dream guy, if you’re out there, real, and have been trying to subtly drop hints that you like me, please realize that I am clueless. It doesn’t have to be a dramatic display of affectionate. Just buy me a shot and tell me you like me, so I can down the shot to avoid saying something stupid and have 3 seconds to be able to formulate the appropriate response.

If works out, I can say, “Stick that in your juice box and suck it, dream self.” You suck.

The Misadventures of Norma-Jeane: The Most Horrible, Awful Date

Something I learned recently was that you should never, ever force anything that you’re not into, especially if that something is a someone and you’re not attracted to them. At all.

In my defense, I had to have a serious conversation with myself. I’ve dated this guy before (we’ll call him Chip*, because he was a chip off the ol’ block… Lemme tell you…) and there wasn’t any chemistry, but Chip had displayed he could be a nice guy and he had his shit together. I at least needed to give him a fighting chance before tossing him over to the friend zone, right?

Wrong!

I agreed to another date literally a year later after being worn down. He played a coy game of “Where do you want to go? I don’t care – you just pick.” He thought he was being cute. I thought he was being insufferable. First of all, I like someone to at least put some effort in deciding on where to go together. Maybe throw a suggestion or two around? No. He didn’t do that. “Just pick. Come on… you know what I like,” he said. No, I didn’t, but whatever. He was beginning to show a very needy type of personality that I was not okay with nor did I want to deal with on a regular basis.

I ended up picking Buffalo Wild Wings because it seemed like a safe bet – beer, wings, big TVs… what could wrong? Oh, little did I know what was about unfold here…

We were seated and he was instantly peeved with our server (Good Guy Server*) for no reason. I come from a family that comes from the restaurant industry as servers, cooks, etc. You don’t fuck around with people who have something to do with your food. I honestly do believe that it is telling of character when a guy is rude to servers or people that in positions like that.

I was already dreading the rest of the evening, so I ordered a tall beer and he said, “Oh, so we’re drinking now? I didn’t know it was going to be that kind of night.” He then ordered a small beer… A Corona poured into a glass.

Poor, kind-hearted GGS came back to the table to take our order. He had already tried several times, but Chip would just sigh and continue to stare at the menu without so much of a glance at our server. It would leave me to awkwardly say, “Oh… Just a few more moments please,” every time and then I’d mouth sorry and he’d nod. It was quickly becoming a routine we both didn’t want. I do have to selfishly admit that I was semi-thankful for not having to suffer through the evening alone. I know, that’s terrible, but I did agree to write this blog honestly. FINALLY after the GGS’s 6th visit to our table, he had decided. He wanted the spicest wings they had. Of course.

By the time our food came out, GGS was dropping off my second tall beer. Ol’ Chip was still struggling through the first one. Hey, if you’re not a big drinker, that’s completely fine. I happen to be a drinker, but that doesn’t obligate you to drink with me and certainly doesn’t imply you have to keep up. I rather you be comfortable in your skin, than feel like you have to prove a point. He, however, made it a point to tell me how much he use to party “back in the day” and I couldn’t possibly keep up. Side bar: Belittling women in an attempt to “mind fucking” them into thinking they have something to prove to you is transparently lame and seldom works on smart girls.

At this time, I’m excited to eat and get the fuck out of there. He tries one wing and it’s too much for him. Good cop in me said, “He’s just trying to impress you! Be nice!” Realistic cop in me said, “This guy is a fucking tool.”

I breathed, counted to five, and right when I was about to offer some of my wings to him, he REACHES OVER AND GRABS THE WINGS FROM MY PLATE. Pre-offer! I was going to offer and be courteous, of course. You know, home training and all… But he didn’t pick up on the social cue to wait for the offer. I ended up with a total of THREE wings out of TEN. All I could do is sit in silence and finish my third beer (GGS was the real MVP that night), desperately trying to distract myself with golf highlights (that’s how you know I was really not feeling it), while he slurped all over the wings.

The time had arrived. The GLORIOUS check had arrived and I was never so pleased to see GGS’s face. He had a slight look of triumph as well. You know, the I-made-it-and-I-never-have-to-see-this-dbag-again face. I envied him in that slight moment and kicked myself when I realized Chip still had to drop me off at home.

He made a big show of paying the check and I realized he hadn’t left a tip. “Oh, I think you forgot the tip,” I suggested helpfully.

“No,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’m not leaving one.”

He then gets up and walks out. I sat there stunned. I shook my head, took out my wallet, and slapped a $20 on the table. Buy yourself a beer, GGS, I thought, you’re going to need it after that. As I was walking out the door, GGS comes running up.

“Thanks so much. I saw you do that.”

Chip whirled around, “Do what?”

GGS squinted his eyes and said, “She left me a generous tip.”

I shrugged, “You weren’t going to leave one. He was a great server.”

It was a silent walk to the car. If it wasn’t so awkward, I would’ve enjoyed it.

“Uh, so thanks for taking me out,” I began awkwardly, but he cut me off.

“Let’s go see a movie.”

“But, you know, I actually have a headache…”

“Come on!”

“Fine.” I pulled out my phone and browsed movie times. After suggesting comedy to him, he decides we should watch a scary movie. I love scary movies, but I’m a pansy and I certainly did not see me jumping into his arms willingly at scary parts. I begrudingly bought the tickets and said, “Alright, so we just have to pick up the tickets there.”

He just about braked in the middle of the highway. “Did you buy them?”

I felt like a child being reprimanded. “Um…yeah! You got dinner. The least I could do is get the movie and it’s opening weekend and it may have sold out.” And there was no way in hell I was making the evening longer by waiting for a later showing, I thought.

We get to the Drafthouse and he gets out of the car and walks ten feet ahead of me. I grab the tickets from the ticket counter and he is halfway towards the theater. I drop my shoulders and take my sweet ass time walking across the lobby to the theater. I was in heels, damn it. I was not about to be running after a pouty dude. When I finally join him, I look over the seats and say, “Hey let’s sit in the middle of the theater. I don’t have my glasses and
I’m blind, hah.”

He starts up the stairs and says, “No, I like sitting up top.”

We get up to the top and sit semi in the middle of the row. There was a group of guys next to me. Chip apparently didn’t like that and made me switch him spots. Two seconds later, another group of guys plopped down next to me. Haaaaa.

If you haven’t been to the Drafthouse, you’re missing out. It’s basically heaven. It’s laid out similarly to a regular theater, but there is a small bar in front of you with a walkway, so servers can come and bring you booze, pizza, and popcorn. You never have to miss part of your movie to go to the concession stand!

I digress, I am pretty irritated at this point and order another beer. He orders an Angry Orchard that he gingerly sipped on the entire movie. I drank about 3 beers because I was trying to black this all out. Throughout the movie, there were some jumpy parts. The guys next to me were more sympathetic to me than Chip was. He verbatim told me, “Quit being such a pussy.”

I’m glad it was dark in there because I’m pretty sure I gave him a murderous look. The guys on both sides of us stared with their mouths gaped open. It was like time stopped. I can roll with the punches, but at that particular moment, the first thing that popped in my mind was, “You don’t know me like that!” Before I could say anything, he held up his warm, gross cider and said, “Finish this for me.”

I was so done with that night. I leaned back in my seat, with my arms crossed and lips pierced. I was trying to decide if I wanted to walk out of there and call a cab when the movie ended. He sighed, got up, climbed over me and said, “That sucked.” He then left me up top. By myself.

When we get back to my apartment complex, I didn’t even want him to come in the gate. I told him to drop me off outside the gate and I’d walk. Of course he didn’t listen. As he parked, I thank the Lord for the precious seconds that were away that I will be away from him. I half-assed thank him for taking me out. As I go to get out of the car, he grabs my hand and yanked me toward him. He then proceeded to give me the most disgusting kiss of my life. I pull away and he tries again. I hold up my hand and he gets mad, “What? I take you out and you don’t invite me in?”

Yes. Yes, he did go there. I got out of the car and my childish side took over. Chip just got a new car and treated it like a baby, so I slammed the car door as hard as I could. In my complete defense, I’m as strong as a hamster, so it wasn’t as hard nor as satisfying as I wanted it to be.

When I get in the house, I flopped on the couch with my fathead cat Yoda, heels still on and hoped to be sucked into the cushions and forget about everything about the last few hours. Then there was a knock at the door. Yoda hissed, time stopped, the earth opened up and sucked in all the sinners. Kidding. Unfortunately.

I yanked open the door and he was standing there. “You going to invite me in or…?”

I slammed the door right on his face and grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge on my way to my room.

forever awkward,
nj

The Misadventures of Norma-Jeane: The Great White Buffalo

There’s that girl that can walk into the middle of a room and everybody’s gaze follows her as she makes her way through like they’re in a trance by such a graceful human being – that girl is not me. Then there’s that girl who is nervously on the outskirts of that same room, dropping pretzels on the floor and downing beer in an attempt to make the social anxiety go away – that girl is me.

I am a dork.

You know this. I know this. My coworkers know this. The random guy sitting behind me at Starbucks know this with his judgy eyes and furrowed brow. You would think by now after living with my dorky self for my whole life I would just embrace it. And I do.

My friends literally sigh when I make a joke, but to my credit, I laugh so hard after making the joke, they can’t help but to laugh with me.

I’m not just saying this to appear like I’m easy to relate to and non-threatening. I’m a hot mess. Knowing this is who I am makes me consider what kind of “better half” would suit me. Someone grounded and serious? Probably not. I’ll drive them crazy and they’ll bore me to tears. Someone as whacky as me? Hmm… We’d never get anything productive done. I have no idea who would be up for the challenge.  The fact that I refer to it as a challenge is telling.

A year ago, I decided I wanted to date someone different. I had just been through a horrible relationship a year and half before (it’s a sad story – I’ll spare you) and I was finally ready to date around and see what else was out there. This how I met Eddy*. Eddy was in the first year of owning his own business and doing extremely well for himself. He was a few inches taller than me, had long eyelashes with rich brown eyes, and was a stocky build. Not my typical type, but that was the point! Our first date was a lunch date at a cute Mexican restaurant and we had instant chemistry. We talked about work, dreams, and ex lovers. I told him my sob story and he told me his. She broke up with him when he started his business. She didn’t feel that he would do well and didn’t want to stick around for it. She didn’t believe in him, but he had fire about what he wanted to do with his life and I loved that.

I started seeing him more and after a few times, I invited him over to my apartment to chill. We watched movies and ordered pizza, but we spent the most of the time talking. I could talk to him all night and we wouldn’t run of topics. When he kissed me for the first time, it was a like someone lit fireworks in the background. The second to the last time I saw him, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was excited and told him that I’d like to take it slow. We made plans to see each other the next day.

Then he ghosted.

I was pissed. I called him a few times and then I just stopped. I was mad about putting my faith in something and thought it’ll be different. I was upset at myself about thinking things like the following:

Maybe it’s because you didn’t sleep with him.

Maybe you were too much… You.

Maybe he didn’t think you were invested because you told him that you wanted to take it slow.

I hated myself for thinking those things. You do not need to sleep with someone to earn their affection and you SHOULD be yourself and speak your mind.

About a week later, he finally called me. His voice was distant. This is it, I thought, this is where he tells me that I’m too whatever and doesn’t want to see me anymore.

That didn’t happen. He told me the next day after he saw me, he received a call from his ex-girlfriend. He had messed around with her 4 months prior and she was now pregnant. My throat closed up. I couldn’t speak. He took my silence as tacit compliance and continued. He felt that he needed to do the right thing and try with her for his unborn child. I understood, but was so mad. I was mad at the universe for dangling a carrot in front of me and yanking it away. I was mad at him for being a good guy and not questioning her story which is irrational and mean, but I couldn’t help but go there – she wasn’t there when he started and now that he was doing well,  she tells him 4 months into the pregnancy that she was having his kid? Nah, bro – I wasn’t believing it.

“But we can still be friends.”

Reader, he is a good guy and genuinely hated that he had to have that conversation with me. However, the “we can still be friends” line is salt in the wound. Avoid it. I told him that I couldn’t be friends with him in the moment. I needed to get in the right mindset before that. He was trying to do the right thing and I needed to respect that.

A few months later, he got in touch with me and let me know they weren’t together any more and wanted to try with me when it was a good time. Then just ghosted on me again.

Fuck that. I didn’t let it go. The first time he did it, wasn’t his fault. It was something that just happened and he had to be a man and do what was right. The second time, however, was completely his fault. How fucked up is it to get somebody’s hopes up a second time, who is willing to be in the trenches with you with all the things happening in your life, and then ghost AGAIN.

I’m not going to lie and say I was above sending him a “don’t ever talk to me again” message. I did and he respected it. We got in touch recently and we spoke for a little bit. We had a really good conversation and while we’re not friends, we’re good.

I now see it was for the best. Whatever I felt about him initially was nice, but it was nice in the moment only. While I believe he is a genuinely good person that was in messy situation, I don’t think it was him that made me upset. I put too much into it at such a early stage and that isn’t okay. I respect him for trying to do the right thing when most men wouldn’t. What I didn’t appreciate was the flight method he chose to deal with it. I get it though. Sometimes when you’re in the middle of something like that, you got to let the non-priorities slide and deal with what’s in front of you.

Reflecting back on this makes me see how I’ve grown. It was just a wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time thing and it wasn’t meant to be.

forever awkward,
nj

The Misadventures of Norma-Jeane: An Introduction

Hello!

My best friend is up my ass right now about writing a book about the shit that happens to me because “Only this would happen to YOU” is her response to every story I tell her. My sister was kind enough to think up a name.

This is partially true. I am subjected to many weird and uncomfortable situations that only happen to those unlucky few because we are big freaking magnets that say, “LOOK HERE! Perfect person to ruin their day!”  I do have to say that it does take a special person to be confronted with such situations and be able to laugh it off. Also… Alcohol helps. Just kidding. But really.

I was opposed to writing a book because really? Who wants to read this? So I settled on a blog to fade on the abyss of the internet, hoping someday someone stumbles upon it to say, “Damn, that bitch cray.” Here are some ground rules for this blog…

1) I must write honestly. It’s hard not to write in our own favor, but I need to give you a 360 view. It’s only fair and that’s how it’ll remain relatable.

2) Some names of people and places will and can be changed to protect the innocent.

3) While I’ll write honestly, I’ll write from the heart. This is pretty intimate, reader. Be prepared for me to start leaving a tooth brush at your place and then want to meet your parents.

Also… Alcohol helps. Just kidding. But really.

I’ll depart this intro with this shining example of how my dating life is the best (aka the sad) material to write about.

My sister, Leslie, and I frequent a bar close to us. We’ll call this bar Cheers* since it has a very Cheers-esque vibe. The bartenders are friendly and the patrons are regulars that are also friendly albeit a stone cold pack of weirdos. I had taken a hiatus from drinking for a while (like two whole months – I know. Impressive, right?) and had missed out on some of the ongoings at Cheers.

Leslie met this guy from Dubai there one weekend. She told me about him in passing, saying he was in the Air Force and a nice guy. We recently got new vape pens (yes, we’re one of those people) and she had shown Air Force Dude* the pen. He was like soooo amazed at this portable hookah pen. Please hold your jokes.

I ended up breaking my hiatus and went the following weekend after a relatively tough week at work. AFD was there and we invited him to our corner of the bar. This guy is super muscular. Like too muscular, ya know? He had gorgeous, brown eyes though with long lashes. However… There was one part of his face that you couldn’t look past… His nose. His nose was so big, it reminded me of Nigel from The Wild Thornberries. It was distracting, but he was nice. After a few shots turned into lots of shots, the details get a little fuzzy, but I remember the conversation being pretty indepth for a bar conversation. I remember Leslie getting up to go to the bathroom and with beer googles in full force, AFD and I got a little cozy and before you know it…. We’re sucking face and he kept hitting me with his nose. It was… Not very attractive. But, hey, yolo right?

Making out is as far as we got and we all left shortly after. A few weeks later we visit back and he’s there AGAIN. At this point, I’m embarrassed because everybody at the bar witnessed me make out with this guy a couple weeks ago and it wasn’t the first time I had made out with a random (that is a whole other story). I kept it light and polite and then he asked me if I wanted to go smoke hookah with him. At first I said no and then he tells me that it’s his last week in town before going back to Dubai. We ended up going and on the way there, he tells me he has a fiancee who moved to Dubai for him. I should have been pissed, right? But I vaguely remembered something about a girlfriend being mentioned a few weeks prior, but he had said it wasn’t working out (because we all haven’t heard that one before). I say that it’s okay, we can be friends because I wasn’t interested in pursuing it further that night and he was driving. If anything, I can always knee him and call my sister.

We get to this hookah bar and I’m immediately on edge. First off, the bar is open until 4am and you can bring your own beer. These places are sketch and usually places where someone gets stabbed. He’s pretty friendly with the workers there and speaks Farsi to everyone. I’m just there looking at the ground because I don’t know where to look. These men gesture towards me and talk OBVIOUSLY about me in their language. Then he plops himself right next to me and puts his hand in my hair, stroking my face and then tells me, “I like women like you. My fiancee is not like you.” Whoa. I’ve heard this before. I ask what does he mean to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d say, “A smart woman!” Or, I don’t know, “A nice person.” But no. He said, “Like you! A woman to grab.” Reader, this is a guy’s way to tell you that you’re not his normal type because you’re packing junk in the trunk and a little more weight in your midsection. He thinks that it’s flattery, but helloooo, it makes you immediately self-conscious.

I pull away and he grabs my head to pull my closer. I dodge his attempt and say I have a headache. Which I did. But it pisses me off that I used one of those tactics instead of just saying what I meant demanding him to take me home. I consider myself a strong female with a good head on her shoulders, but at that particular moment, I never felt more like an outsider. I remind him he has a fiancee and I’m not in the business of being a homewrecker. He slumped back in the chair and says he doesn’t know why he’s with her and this will be his second marriage. Como? Second marriage? From the puzzled look on my face, he devulged more…. “You Americans find this disgusting…but my first wife was my first cousin.”

Reader, at this moment, I got an instant flashback to Mean Girls, “You know… You have your cousins and then first cousins.” Then… I laughed.

But he wasn’t kiddingI Apparently it’s an honor in Dubai to be able to take your cousin’s hand in marriage.  According to JustLanded.com, “Traditionally, the ideal marriage was tribal, related families encouraging their offspring to marry cousins or other relatives in order to increase and strengthen the tribe, or occasionally to marry into another tribe in order to heal rifts between families. Another reason for such marriages was that families knew the background of the partner.” (Hell yes, I googled that shit later – western culture is FASCINATED by things we find taboo…)

He said he divorced her because he never loved her and now his mom won’t forgive him. Then the first thing I say, being as ever so sensitive as I am, is, “But… Doesn’t that cause birth defects?”

As soon as I said, I felt like a major asshole. I just couldn’t stop it. It was pure word vomit. He shrugged, “Sometimes.” After a while, I asked him to take me home. We get to my hood rich apartments and I take off my seatbelt. Home training kicks in and I say, “Thanks so much for taking me out. I hope you have a safe trip back to Dubai.” aka “Have a nice life.” I go to get out of the car and AFD locks the doors and I couldn’t figure out how to open his space car door. He then reaches over me and pulls the lever to lay my seat back and climbs his big ass over me. I tell him to stop and he says no. I bring my knee up to his groin and lock eyes with him. “Stop.” He sighs and climbs back off. He unlocks the door and I jump out without so much as a glance back. The next morning, I wake up to a voicemail from him just saying that he wants to own me and he wishes he could’ve taken me.

So, let’s recap – made out with dude, dude ends up having fiancee, dude also married his cousin previously, dude tells me I’m not his usual type but when in Rome…, dude tries to plow me, and then after all that, references me as an object to own.

forever awkward,
nj