You Won’t Believe This

I couldn’t even make this shit up if I wanted to – mostly because I try to steer away from things that are considered to be painfully cliché. 

I know I haven’t posted anything in a while, especially about the wonderful life game I like to call, Adventures in Dating When You’re in Your 20’s. You guys, there’s so much shit I haven’t told you, mainly because life gets in the way of writing about life experiences. But this one, oh, this one is way too good not to share. 

So, I’ve fucked with Tinder and Hinge in the past; I’ve never fucked with Bumble simply because I hate the name and think it’s Fucking stupid. However, about 2 months ago I took the plunge and downloaded it. Why not? In total, I’ve met 2 guys off of Bumble. 1 was named Sam and we went to a cemetery on our first date (it was my idea and he was super cute and weird and totally all for it). It went really well, the only problem was that he lived like an hour away, AND there would be no second date for a while considering I was going to Florida. This was back in May. Well, as per usual, in Florida I got drunk and I said something to him, but it wasn’t offensive or anything, I swear. And he wrote back saying he didn’t want anything serious, *eye roll*, and that I was too complicated.             Now, he was super fucking cute, weird, and tall, and a good kisser, but it was whatever. Nothing I haven’t heard before. Sam, if you ever read this, stay weird, my friend. 

But this post isn’t about Sam. It’s about a guy that I talked to for a week via text and Snapchat, and we finally got drinks this past Friday. His name is Daniel; everyone, say hi to Daniel. Daniel is a 28 year old ‘man’ that works as a paramedic. He’s 5’9 and Puerto Rican, however, I spoke more Spanish than him. He was interesting looking and had a nice smile. He was also funny and seemingly sweet. All great things.                                 So, Daniel and I text throughout the week; of course things end up getting sexual because, hi, I’m Colleen and I’m the fucking worst. But that wasn’t all it was; he knew I was weird, that was the whole point of him being interested in me…or so I thought. And honestly, I can’t even talk shit about him because I’m pretty sure he might have a video or something of me that I’ve been meaning to send to Shannon because I’m sure she’d enjoy it. Anyway, not the point.             So, Friday comes. Need I mind you, he seemed super psyched to hang out and get to know each other. He gave me no signals of fuckboy to the highest degree. So, I get to the bar, and then he gets to the bar. We’re talking and everything seemed fine. He told me I was hard to read, which everyone says that: I personally think that’s awesome, but guys don’t like challenges and shit. We order 2 beers. We finish them while talking about some things we touched on during our texting conversation. We order 2 more beers. We get into the topic of religion, to which I told him I was Catholic, but satanism is actually quite fascinating and is totally misunderstood, but I’m not a satanist. He was fine, and was interested with what I was saying about it. Then I told him I had a black cat. He said, Lemme guess, you named him Salem like the cat from Hocus Pocus? First of all… Salem is the name of the town. Thackery Binx was the name of the Cat. Salem the cat is from Sabrina the teenaged witch. God. Then he got warmer and said Damian. And then he said Lucifer. I said yes – he laughed; everything was totally cool. He then told me he’d be right back, cool. Whatever. Meanwhile I checked my phone and I was texting Kevin. 10 minutes goes by. Nothing. I told Kevin and he’s like, wait another 10 minutes. I waited another 15 minutes. Nothing. Was this really happening? No way. He’s probably taking a shit or something. There’s no way he just pulled that; that’s way too Fucking cliché, and that would never happen to me.                                                        Well…it Fucking happened. I texted him, but the messages weren’t going through; I know he blocked my number because he had an iPhone and the messages weren’t showing up in blue, but they were when I was texting Kevin. I go to Facebook and see he deleted me. I go to Bumble and see he deleted me off there, too. So…I got up, went to the bathroom, fixed my eyeliner, came out, and asked the waitress for the bill. She told me, ‘oh, don’t worry, he got it!’ Well fucking gee. At least he had the decency to pay. I mean, it’s the least he could fucking do after Fucking leaving me alone at a bar in a neighborhood 35 minutes away from mine. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried. Not in the bar, but on the way home. Kevin came to get me. It was very -beginning of  a rom com where a girl always dates shitty guys and then meets the love of her life somewhere like Barnes n Noble, or the total opposite by getting hammered the next night- It was crazy, you guys. I didn’t know this shit happened in real life. To just leave like that… I don’t fucking understand why guys can’t be straight up. Bro, you could’ve told me I weirded you out or something. I came to the conclusion that it was either because he thought I was ugly and fat, OR, the whole talk about me thinking satanism is interesting, EVEN THOUGH I’M FUCKING CATHOLIC, freaked him out. Everyone thinks it’s the latter. I should’ve seen the warning signs. He said he’s never sent out dick pics (yeah, okay), and he liked Halloween, but he wasn’t like, in love with it. You know who I think about in times like this? Dale. Dale liked that I was weird. Dale also liked my blowjobs and was a fucking fuckboy and that earned him #1 or #2 on Maria’s shitlist. She had a legit list: it’s of all the guys that have fucked me over…but not just fucked me over, like, Fucking royally, no lube, no warning FUCKED. Its actually quite hilarious and I’ve been meaning to make a post about it. In fact, I’m gonna text her and see her in like, 20 minutes so we’ll figure this out, don’t worry.  

Anyway, thought you guys would enjoy that story. I’m still shook, to be honest. Not even trying to flatter myself. I just didn’t know guys were such pussies. He probably thought I was gonna drug him and sacrifice him to ‘my dark lord and savior, Satan’. My cat’s name is Lucifer. It’s cute as fuck so stop being a little fucking bitch. So you can go shave your back now, bye Daniel. 

Girlationality

Group message:
C: You guys, he didn’t respond to my last message. He usually does. What the fuck?
M: Is he working?
J: He’s probably working.
C: But like even so, he still does.
C: It says read 9:18 am
J: He’s at work!
C: I don’t care. . .
M: OH MY GOD I’M GONNA SMACK YOU.
C: Am I ugly?
J: NO YOU’RE NOT UGLY!
C: But why hasn’t he replied?
M: He’s. At. Work.
C: But like I still feel as if that’s not a valid enough excuse.
M: OMG
J: Just give it a couple hours.
C: Fuck that. I’m deleting the message thread and deleting his number.
J: Well. . . don’t do that unless you haven’t heard from him in a day or two.
M: C! Don’t do that!
C: But like why?
M: Because. Just because he hasn’t responded doesn’t mean he’s not going to.
C: Wait, does that even make sense?
J: M’s right. He’s just busy, he’ll text you.
C: I don’t think so.
J: Can we just talk about how _ always leaves me on read and doesn’t reply?
C: But he’s your boyfriend. . .you know that he’s into you regardless.
J: Um, that doesn’t mean anything.
J: At least he responds a majority of the time, right?
C: I mean, yeah. . .
J: So why are you worried?
C: It’s like, I’m not worried.  I’m just psychic and I know what’s gonna happen.
M: What’s gonna happen?
J: And what’s that?
C: We’ve talked for a while. He seemed super into me, like I’m amazing. Then he meets me. And then it dwindles down. And then I give my award-winning advice about blowjobs.
J: Now I’m gonna smack you.
M: C you can’t always keep thinking that. That obviously hasn’t worked in the past.
C: Ugh you know who the biggest fuckboy is?
M: ?
C: Dale.
M: Fucking Dale. Fuck him. I can’t stand him.
J: That’s the guy from the video, right?
C: Yeah
M: Yeah.
J: Yeah he’s not cute.
C: Anyway, so yeah, shit like that, situations like that seem to happen a lot.
M: That’s because you expect it and you can’t let yourself be fucking happy!
C: You sound like my mom.
J: LMAO
M: I’m serious lol.
J: _ said you were pretty.
M: SEE!
C: Aw, tell him I said thanks.
J: We love you, you just don’t see how amazing you are.
C: My mind is telling me to ruin it before it even has a chance to begin.
C: It’s like I’m stuck on this one level of my life, and I’ve been trying so hard to get to the next level and it just isn’t working. Like, I’m almost there, and then I fucking fall off a ledge or something. And have to start back to the beginning of the level.
J: Well, it’s time to beat that fucking level.
M: That was deep as fuck.
C: Like my throat skills.
M: Oh my God C. Lmao
J: *crying face emoji*
C: You guys, I have to shit.
M: I’m shitting now lol
J: Oh my god.

 

This is a girl conversation in a nutshell.

This Just Needs to be Said

I want to know what exactly it means to be in love. To love someone and be in love with them are two completely different things. As I’ve said, for something that should bring such light and happiness, it is very gray; it is neither black nor white. It’s quite interesting when you ask someone what love means to them. Everyone interprets it differently. I thought I knew what it was, and I think I did to an extent. I don’t believe that bullshit when people say you only get one true love in your life. I mean, maybe you do – maybe everyone before that person was just a facade of love – draped in flesh and potential heartbreak, all to prepare you for that one person. I believe in love. I believe that it is possible to find someone, that you are so in love with, and you spend the rest of your lives together. That may be foolish, I’m aware. Especially since I’m so cynical. But is it so bad and so foolish to want someone that looks at you like you are the greatest person in the entire world? To find a man that’s like, damn, I’m so lucky to have her. Because, if she’s a good woman, she’ll show him that she’s just as lucky. Is it so awful that I don’t want to accept the fact that all modern-day romance is completely fucked: like, no lube no warning fucked. Is it so bad to want that person that is so enamored by you, and so in awe of you.

Okay, I’m just gonna say this: I know most of what I write probably makes it out to seem like Nick was an awful piece of shit boyfriend. He was not, he was a wonderful boyfriend, and because of him, I know certain things and qualities that I deserve when it comes to being in a relationship. I also know what I don’t deserve. I was very, very fortunate to have him as a first boyfriend. I will never deny him of that, I will never intentionally bash him on here out of spite or hatred or bitterness. We are both two completely different people now, and that’s what happens. But I can say, that way back when, he was great. However, I used to take full responsibility for whatever issues we had going on. But I’ve realized that it wasn’t entirely my fault. I thought I was the luckiest fucking girl in the entire world, because there was this guy, whom of which I loved very deeply, that seemed to somehow love me despite the flaws that I had, internal and external. But he really didn’t. He did, but he didn’t. He was not the type of person who liked conflict. He wasn’t the kind of person that did well with confrontation. He could be selfish sometimes. As was I. Let me tell you something, though. One of the most harrowing feelings is wondering when that person is going to tell you that you’re the one. I know, how ridiculous and crazy of me to say that. How ludicrous to assume we’d end up together forever. But every time it got quiet, I had always hoped that that would finally be the moment that I was going to be told something. Is it that preposterous to think everyone in a relationship should feel so loved, and so wanted? For him to just stare at you, while you’re cooking, while you’re brushing your teeth, and think that you are the most exquisite thing he has ever laid eyes on. Why settle for anything less than that? I want to ask, why is it so bad to want that when the time comes and when you’re ready for it? Do people just love differently, and sometimes it doesn’t match up, or it becomes too intense for one person, because the other loved too deeply? Is that the goal? To find someone whose love matches up with yours? To find someone who cares just as much as you do? Why are guys settling for girls who treat them like shit, and don’t appreciate them? Why are girls settling for guys who don’t deserve them and take them for granted? Why? Why is it so fucking difficult to find two people to be mutually so disgustingly happy in love with each other. Why would it be so difficult to find someone that thinks you’re incredible? Because being the kind of person that you are, you think they’re incredible, and you can easily give them 10 reasons why. Do other people not think the same way? Have relationships and happiness become that jaded and cynical?

If you have a man that looks at you like you’re a prized possession, that goes to great lengths to cheer you up, that tells you how amazing you are, that loves taking you out, that’s proud when he takes you out, that thinks damn, that’s mine, why do anything to fuck that up? Because I’ll tell you that there are millions of men who won’t look at you like that after you’ve just helped them with something, or after you worked hard to make them something, or after you look at them because for whatever reason, you think they’re amazing. Instead, you get one-worded replies, shifting eyes – shifting mindsets.
Is it so bad to want something like that? For someone to want to count every freckle that I have, because they love them. For someone to not say it’s okay when I apologize for being me, but instead make me feel even more loved than I ever have? For someone to be so enthralled by what I think, and how I do. For someone not to take me for granted. For someone to make me feel like I’m not a burden, or I’m not hard to love. For someone to feel lucky, honored, and proud that I write about them. Or excited that they’re able to make me smile, because that’s rare, or make me laugh out loud. I know life isn’t a Nicholas Sparks novel, and it is certainly not a John Green novel. Oh, god, I would not want it to be. But there have been so many instances with girls regarding guys and it’s like, damn, bitch can’t even get a text back?

Don’t you want someone that you wake up to, and through their half-opened eyes while you’re putting a shirt on to make breakfast think, she’s so sexy; she’s amazing. Do people just not think about these things? Is this not a common thing because girls don’t take the time to reciprocate? Are things really that depressing when you find yourself in a relationship in your early to mid twenties? Or have I just been out of the game too long. . .? Or was Nick just incredibly rare? As we all know, I have a lot to say about a lot of things. What happens is this: I meet a guy, he says something about my hair, complimenting me. He asks what I do. Then he asks what I’m in school for. I tell him I write. He asks what I write about, or he’ll say I’d love to read your blog (only like 1 out of 10 actually do). He’ll say he thinks it’s so cool that I write, he’ll say he thinks the fact that I’m so open and straightforward is attractive. He’ll tell me I’m not like most girls and it’s intriguing. he’ll say he’s not looking for a hookup. He’ll tell me I have nice boobs. He’ll tell me I give good head. The talking dwindles down because he got what he wanted. Or he’ll try and keep it going, in turn, to get more blowjobs. But it’s my bad, because that’s all he sees me as now. A nice girl, who gives good head. And the one or two that ‘like me’ don’t care to ever date me. Why would they take me out? Just hang at their place. Gee, I wonder why. They don’t pay attention to how I think or what I have to say. They say I’m interesting. But they don’t listen, really listen. They don’t care to ask how I’m doing, how I’m really doing. Why would they? Why should they? They don’t care about the insane amount of freckles that I have. They might think they’re cute, but they don’t care to study them. Or inspect them. I might have a decent body to them. But it’s just a body. They don’t care to stare at it, or talk about it, or examine it. That would require more time. I’m not worth that time. Or, making any effort for, for that matter. And for once. . .I would like it to go differently.

I’ve said this before because, though I am not a confident person, I know whoever I end up with will be extremely lucky.

Homes, Houses

You’re beautiful. You’re angelic. You’re not like other girls. How are you so perfect? How are you still single? I’m making you my girlfriend. I don’t know why guys stop talking to you. I’d love to read your blog. You’re amazing. You have a great body. You have amazing boobs. You’re cute. You’re a good woman. You’re different. You’re a redhead, awesome. I love your freckles – they’re sexy. I love your skin. Who wouldn’t want to date you? I’m not immature like most guys. I’m different. I’m not into hookups. I like you. I don’t want to stop talking to you. You’re so sexy. I’m not just going to stop talking to you out of nowhere. I’m definitely interested in you. I want to see where this can go. I don’t want to fuck this up. I like your mentality. I want that.

I’ve let many men into my home – perhaps too many. I have not only felt the physical weight of them, but the mental weight as well. Each and every one of them have all taken, even if the tiniest, a piece of me. It is a sad thing when you give and people take. We give to the wrong people, and they happily take. Will there be anything left for the right person? That is hard to say. Your body is your home. People walk in, and they walk out. They visit when there is vacancy. Sometimes their visits are 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 years. Sometimes you welcome their visit – other times people walk in, unwelcome. Because of this, you’re more cautious and you leave the door locked. . .always. You have been fooled before. You have been conned into unlocking your door, even if it’s to peek your head out. But, it ends the same – they leave your house trashed. You let them stay there for free, you allow them to come and go as they please. They do not respect your rules, and they do not have manners. They have absolutely no regard for your home and what’s inside. They are not grateful, they are not worthy. They see your house as a place to crash for a while until a better offer presents itself. Your home is not where they want to be, it’s where they need to stay for the time being. However, you being you, that isn’t a concern. You gut out your walls to accommodate them, to make more room for them. You change your decor in a way that pleases them. You make your home as comfortable as possible for them to stay, because you have somehow convinced yourself that that is where they want to be. But, it doesn’t work. Sometimes they tell you that your house is not where they want to be anymore. Other times they will just leave without saying a word, so you’re left there wondering what was so wrong with your home? You start to think about your house. It isn’t the biggest, and it isn’t the smallest. It can be quaint, but also confusing. The wood is scuffed up, the paint is chipped. The hinges on some of the doors are loose. The stairs are creaky. The faucet leaks. The foundation is that of no other. It is not always sturdy, or precise. It is not immaculate, but it is your home. You have lived there for 23 years. But I will give you a piece of advice, darling: you cannot bring someone into your home thinking that they’ll repair the damages. They do not care to. Having them there only makes you feel better because someone has decided to stay in your house, despite the scuffed up wood; despite the chipped paint; despite the loose hinges; despite the creaky stairs; despite the leaky faucet; and despite the poor foundation. But it is only temporary. And once they leave, you are alone. So, what do you do? Buff out the scuffs; touch up the paint – possibly a new color; tighten up the hinges on the doors; insert the screws and threads to fix the creaks on the stairs; tighten up the pipes of the faucet; But your foundation is fine – it is you. And if you decide to let a man step inside, and he tells you the foundation is not as stable or secure as it should be, as other houses are – let him leave. You should be proud of the home you’ve built. You should be okay with living in your house alone first, before you let someone else stay there. Explore every room, every corner, every area. Appreciate the decorum. Know that your house is amazing. And once you are at peace in your home, with your home, only then should you unlock the door. Because soon enough, you’ll see; you’ll know what it feels like to have someone want to be at your house. And though it is quite possible that neither of you know why, your house is perfect to them, and it is, indeed, what they have been looking for – where they want to be. 

 

Worth the Fight

If you’re a single male and reading this, feel free to let me know what you think, for this might be a little too emotional for you.

To be completely honest, I could cry right now and not entirely know the exact reason why. I’m gonna clue you guys in if you ever find yourself falling for a girl who society might deem hard to love: run. Run as fucking far and as fast as you can. Because if you don’t run now, she’ll give you reasons to soon enough. As annoying as it may seem to those who read my posts, I will never stop talking about this aspect of relationships and love. Sorry, not sorry. Yes, I am aware that everyone gets hurt – it’s a part of life. What makes my life any different, or different enough to read about? Well. I guess that’s for you to find out. Talking to someone who I respect and love, it’s made me wonder certain things. She’s gorgeous, her body is bomb, she’s smart: why would she have to worry about her relationship? It just goes to show you it doesn’t matter who you are. I once thought that I was indestructible when it came to guys and relationships. I thought I was hurt so badly, that no man, no being could ever hurt me as bad. Therefore, I could handle anything and survive. To some extent that is undeniably true. Aw, I’ve talked to you for 5 seconds and you want to call me an ugly slut because I won’t suck your dick? How nice. True story, by the way. Shout out to Johnny. But really, I feel bad for guys in general because women are so complicated as it is. Guys can be, too, but we’re complicated as fuck. Throw some self-loathing in there and you have yourself a potentially destructive human. So, talking to this person a couple days ago, she came to the conclusion that I think some girls do: she realized what she does, but not the full reason as to why she does. And, I do the same thing.

Everyone, and I mean every fucking one, for over 3 years, even when I was with Nick has said:
Colleen, you can’t always be so open. You can’t tell guys everything. You can’t let them know what you’re thinking all the time. Colleen, you’re gonna scare him off. Colleen, don’t do that. Colleen he’s not gonna take you seriously. Stop talking about blowjobs. Stop being so straightforward. 
I’ve heard it all before. And I never learn my lesson. Ever. You think I would, right? No. Because of course I rationally know that guys don’t wanna deal with all your shit right up front, especially if they’re first getting to know you. Because your emotions don’t always define you as a person, and you’re letting them see that side of you. But we do it because it’s better you realize you can’t deal with it now, then in 3 years. And let me tell you. . .what an awful way to live and view relationships. How can that be fair? It’s not, it’s not at all. If a guy blatantly gave me reasons not to like him, it’d be annoying as fuck. And when I’m doing it to a guy, even if they don’t think it’s annoying at first, I talk about it and talk about it and then they’re like yeah no bye. And I get it; I get it, I do. I’m the first person to get it, even before they do. And having this mentality has gotten me nowhere. First and foremost, I will say that girls aren’t fucking stupid. I’ve talked about this SO many fucking times, but we can tell when a guy is pulling away. If you’ve been talking to someone for a couple weeks, and there’s a routine that’s been formed, and, whatever, it’s like science. Like we know. And no offense but guys are pussies and they don’t want to tell you that they’re not into you, so they try and sugarcoat it or you have to be the one that’s like, okay dude what’s going on.

I wrote a post a while back entitled, For Anyone Who Dates Me, or some shit. Like, yes, there are aspects of myself that I think would make me a great catch. And I’m a super caring person, and to be honest I feel like whoever makes that decision or thinks, damn, I really want this girl as my girlfriend – she’s amazing, is gonna be super lucky. Not even because of how I feel about sex and domesticity, but like, if someone could just get past the fact that I don’t mean to push people away or give them reasons not to like me, then it would be worth it. Something I’ve heard from multiple people, not even just Nick, that makes me cringe every time is, why do you have to be the way that you are? Why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you just be? I don’t have answers to those questions. And I’m not sure if I ever will, unfortunately. If someone I like reads what I write, they probably find out more about me than they should a potential prospect. And they’ll tell you they like it, that it’s different in the best way possible. But they honestly don’t know what you’ve experienced, what you’ve heard, what you’ve seen, how you’ve felt, how you hurt. And until someone says, tell me, I want to know, then, it’s probably not going to work. It doesn’t matter what someone has going on in their life – if you like them and want to be a part of it, you help however you can.
I tried SO hard. . . SO fucking hard to be there for Tony, when he was sick, or when he was in the hospital, or when he felt upset. And sure, he appreciated it. Sure he cared about me as a person. Sure he thought I was a nice girl. Again, I know my faults. I am the first one to say what they are. I know he still reads this, but damn. Like, some of the shit that went down, I really didn’t deserve. I remember one time we were at the gas station, and he was upset about something and I asked if he was okay and he said no, and whatever else he said. Now, I don’t know why I do this, but I ask if someone’s okay more than once no matter what they tell me. It’s subconscious, it’s just what I do sometimes. And he went off on me. Something along the lines of, ‘what’s wrong with you, are you dumb, why the fuck would you ask that when I just told you I wasn’t, etc.’ and I just remember thinking I didn’t deserve that. I remember wondering how I got there, why I liked this person so much when he had absolutely no intention of being in an actual relationship with me. And he could say that he ‘was taking the time to see where things go’, but after six months, it’s like. . .okay. And after he moved and said what he said to me and made me feel so shitty, it was just, like, why Colleen? He told me I had no self-respect. That’s not the point right now, though.

This sounds like, ‘boohoo oh my god so sad blah blah blah’. That’s not what I’m trying to convey. At all. I realize it sometimes comes across that way. Most times it comes across that way. I thought to myself a long time ago that I just wanted someone to accept all of me. To say, it’s okay, I’m going to keep trying. But that is not that person’s job – it is incredibly selfish to ask that of someone. It is so selfish. And I’m starting to realize that it doesn’t fucking matter whether you love yourself or not. You’ve spent years trying to love yourself. It was hard. It was difficult. And you expect another human being to accept all of you? Your body, your mind, your spirit, your soul? There’s a reason why I stopped writing about guys that I like or want it to go somewhere. Now I just write about assholes and failed prospects. It’s easy for guys to tell me I’m different, because I am. And I like that about myself. But, like we all know, it’s just never right. They’ll say it’s cool that I have a blog, and they ask what it’s about. But only a handful have read it, and for those who have, I greatly appreciate it. I’ve been told that I’d be an ideal girlfriend. And I’ve also been told that I would not be. Life isn’t a fucking John Green or Nicholas Sparks novel. No guy in his right mind is going to want to be with a girl who’s difficult. Guys want a girl who’s easy, and simple; a girl who’s not complex or whatever she is. My mom tells me that constantly. But I will say that those are the ones with the basic white girl names who probably don’t even give amazing head. But this isn’t even about blowjobs for once. My mentality on a lot of things is my mentality. It comes from my mind. It has its pros and cons. It’s just not fair to have to worry most of the time if the person you love finally had enough. If that last anxiety attack was the one that made them leave. If that one irrational thought was enough to push them over the edge. It mind fucks me.
Going back to what was stated earlier, this person is a wonderful person. And it’s not fair to let her anxiety define her. Just like it’s not fair to let my shit define me. However, at the same time, it is what it is. It is unfortunately a part of me. And like I’ve said before, it was instilled in my brain that it was not a desirable part. I was ‘loved’ for everything but that. Jesus. And I can’t even blame him because I don’t. I understand. But we have to wonder, if parts of us are hard to love and accept, does that mean we find someone that isn’t afraid of a challenge? One that works harder in general? I honestly don’t know. And it’s terrifying. Since when did it become a thing where it doesn’t matter if I’m witty, or funny, or pretty, or nice, or whatever. . .those get overrun by the things a woman should not be. This post has become all over the place. And the more I write, the more I stop to reevaluate my choices and what I’m doing.

I guess I’ll leave it off at this: for anyone who dates me, who really dates me, who would want a relationship with me, you must have some balls. You also must be an incredible human if you want to call me your girlfriend.

And I want J to know this: love is incredibly messy and gross and disgusting and wonderful and cliche and beautiful and good and evil – it is everything. And if you’re lucky enough to find a man willing to cross the tattered, old rope bridge with the possibility of falling into a fiery pit of hell, climb the oldest, highest guarded tower in the land, in the darkest of night, not to banish your beasts and demons, but to help tame them, you are lucky. Some step outside, only to see that it’s far too dark to go anywhere. Some get to the bridge, only to see that it’s not worth crossing, for it’s far too dangerous. Some get to the tower, only to realize that it’s too high and that the chances of them falling to their death are higher than the tower. Some climb the tower, only to get overrun or eaten by your beasts and demons. And then there’s one that has completed every obstacle, every challenge – has come face to face with the monsters inside of your head, and does not flinch. And I would imagine that that would be the most beautiful thing, because you, my dear, are worth the fight.

Good Luck Colleen

I’ve developed this. . .complex, I suppose, if that’s the right word, that I have become like Good Luck Chuck. If you aren’t aware of what that movie’s about, it stars the lovely Dane Cook and Jessica Alba. I’m not the biggest fan of Dane Cook, he’s just like whatever to me. But anyway, so what happens is this: he sleeps with a girl, I can’t remember if he then breaks up with them or what happens, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but after the girl has sex with him, the next man she meets is the love of her life and they get married. It never fails. So he meets Jessica Alba who’s like, the unluckiest girl ever, and he falls in love but then she meets someone and he tries to avoid her sleeping with him so she doesn’t become enamored by him on a work thing, I don’t know. Reviewing movies is totally not my thing. But the concept is similar.
I share a similar concept to this, except I don’t necessarily have to have sex with someone for it to come into play. I couldn’t tell you when I first noticed this, but it’s happened an alarming amount of times. This is what happens: I talk to a guy, I like him, he ‘likes’ me, it’s cool, whatever. We hang out, or maybe ‘talk’ for a couple weeks, and then he spins the line that he’s not ready to be in a relationship, or he doesn’t want anything serious. Cliche, but whatever. So I do what I do, give them my award-winning advice telling them not to settle for mediocre blowjobs, and then proceed to delete their number and everything else. Some aren’t like that though, sometimes it becomes established that though they might have liked me, we’re better friends. Although there have been 2 or 3 guys in my entire lifetime that tell me a cliche line like that, and then will contact me months later telling me that they were wrong and that they made a mistake. It’s flattering, and I’m naive, so it soon becomes prevalent that they just made the mistake of not getting head. Others that have done it though, like this guy Zach, which he texted me last year drunk on St. Patrick’s Day wanting to ‘hang out’ and ‘see how I was doing’, bitch bye. Okay. Back to the point of this story. Tinder is definitely a place for good sources of material. I’ve met a lot of interesting people on Tinder. This might be surprising to some people, but it takes a lot for me to give out my phone number, or, as some people know, text back. A lot of people are boring, and I’m not one for small talk. But there was this guy named Joe. Joe, no offense if you’re reading this, looked like a typical fucking asshole. Like, a frat boy if there ever was one. And one of the only reasons why I even swiped right on him was because he had something in his bio about scary movies. He has a fucked up sense of humor like me, so it wasn’t too long before we started sending each other fucked up memes. And then we actually started talking about shit, and I realized he was into the same fucked up shit as I was, he loved to drink, and it was set that he was my soulmate for these reasons. Now I realize I’ve said that once before regarding Dale, but that was more so a joke. And even now I don’t really believe in soulmates except when it comes to your best friends. No guy has been able to make me think differently thus far. So, Joe and I talked and snapped for a couple weeks, but he’s from Indiana. It was soon established that nothing would really come out of this, because of distance. He also had other stuff going on. I’m gonna pause here for a second. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not, but I’ve been told I’m really easy to talk to. Even if it’s a guy that’s a friend of a friend at a bar, and he opens up to me about his ex. Like, I’m a good listener and shit. I think that has its pros and cons. Back to Joe. He felt really comfortable talking with me about certain things that he doesn’t particularly like to talk about, or that other people would find weird. After it was established that we would be good buddies, we talked about exes, and how life and timing affects everything. We still send memes to each other here and there. However, this morning, after I sent him something I wrote on Facebook 7 years ago about wanting to see SAW 6, he texted me this verbatim:
. . .soooo Your good luck Chuck thing worked on me….
And I was like aw you met a girl that you liked? And he said:
No, im back with the girl that I broke up with when I found out about __….I’ve regretted it since….so thank you I guess lol.

I’ll tell you guys what I told him. Girls have bomb ass intuition. . .trust. So we can always tell when a guy isn’t over a certain person or situation that happened, or if it’s preventing him from talking to you in a ‘romantic’ way, despite his efforts to deny it. I will admit that I’m irrational as fuck so sometimes I just always think shit like that, but it’s typically right.

Anyway, I’m super happy for him. I’m glad I could help whether it’s a real complex, or just my advice.

Some day it’d be nice to be the girl. Not the girl before the girl. Glad I could help, though. Good luck everyone.

The Vagina Chronicles: Taste Testing

Liz’s Vagina:

I’m offended. I can’t believe she would betray me like this. She acts like this is all my fault or something. You guys, I’m sorry, I’m just really upset right now, and need some time to think. I just don’t understand how someone could do that to their vagina, their best friend, essentially. Bitch I have the power to push out humans. The fuck. Okay. Calming down now. Here’s what happened:
We recently started seeing a new guy. He’s no one special, just someone Liz has tricked herself into liking because deep down, despite her good looks, she’s deathly afraid of being alone and having nothing to show for her life besides her ceramic bunny collection and the twelve cats that never went hungry because they ate her 400lb body after she died from a heart attack while reaching for more chicken in the KFC bucket. His name is Troy. Now I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right: Troy kind of sounds like a douchebag name. It does, and it is. Though Liz and I are…conjoined at the cervix, we are two totally different beings. I’m more relaxed and not as uptight, whereas she has to be prim and proper all the time. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with keeping me properly groomed, but I don’t particularly like when hair gets ripped out of me. Does anybody? No, Liz.
I’ll give credit where credit is due, Troy is really good at going down on me. Like, probably one of the best we’ve ever had. His dick game is also so strong, that I can get past the fact that he tears up after he cums, and feels the need to shower right after. Weird. Whatever.

So, it was a particularly blah Monday evening. We had just gotten done with dinner, when Troy and Liz started making out. After a couple glasses of wine, it turns out that Troy is extra frisky. Liz was conveniently wearing a dress when he started making his way down to me with his hand. I was super wet because, hello. So he starts fingering me, and it feels really good. He then takes his fingers out of me, puts them up to Liz, and says, “Taste yourself for me, baby.” He said it in a really attractive way, it wasn’t tacky at all either, so I’ll give him that. To my astonishment, however, Liz replies, “Sorry, I don’t do that.”
Um. First of all, no guy has ever wanted her to taste me before, so like, it was never an issue, you know? But. . .the fact that my wetness is presented before her on his index and middle finger, and she won’t taste me. . .? How fucking rude. I could tell that both Troy and me were slightly turned off. So, he did what every guy would do: he said, “Not even for me?”
Troy, I’m just as disappointed and hurt as you are. After he realized that she wasn’t going to do it, he put them in his own mouth and said, “You taste so fucking good.”
Aw, thanks Troy. Maybe you’re not so bad after all.
Then he proceeded to pound the fuck out of me. Literally. I was so sore.

But back to the real issue here…how could she not trust me to taste okay? Like, she takes care of me and I’m a better vagina for it, but damn. I just…can’t even look at her right now. I’m kind of embarrassed, to be completely honest. I’m embarrassed. It’s embarrassing. What are we, 16? No, bitch. You know, I partly blame myself; I should have seen the signs. Every time a guy has eaten me, she won’t kiss him. She makes them wipe their mouth and pop an Altoid. Liz’s best friend Morgan’s vagina is lucky. Morgan will do absolutely anything a guy says because she’s even more pathetic than Liz, so she tastes her vagina. I mean I know I should feel lucky that at least I’m well taken care of, but I just don’t know how I’m gonna get past this. Can we come back from this? If bitch keeps acting like a prude, she is gonna die at 37 with her 12 cats and cold bucket of KFC.

Eating Ass

Yes, the time has come for me to touch on this topic due to the increasing amount of popularity I’ve seen from a guy’s perspective. So guys, let me ask you this: you like eating ass, right? Cool. But do you like it done to you?
If you just thought to yourself oh my god that’s fucking disgusting, of course not that shit’s gay, then get the fuck off my blog. Because you’re ignorant. Do you not realize that if that is done to you, you have the ability to have an even more intense orgasm? Here’s my story:
I was about to start the story off with me being in high school, but I wasn’t even in high school, I was already 18-19 at the time. Anyway, one of my best friends had told me that her boyfriend at the time had eaten her ass. I thought oh my god that’s crazy, poor him. And then she told me she did it to him and I thought, oh my god that’s crazy, is he gay?

I know, I know: 18-19 year-old Colleen was dumb and inexperienced and ignorant as fuck. Plus, at least people around our age that I knew never really talked about that being a thing, and if it was a thing in someone’s relationship, they kept it behind closed doors because ‘it’s embarrassing’. I was with my ex boyfriend at the time, and I remember telling him this. His reaction was surprised and a little disgusted (I should’ve known then) at the fact that either one would do that. Now, I can’t remember if this was before or after we had anal sex for the first time. I would imagine before. But either way, he was always super afraid of letting me near his ass, even if it was just as a joke. Now, clearly I’ve had more experience in the 2 1/2 years that I’ve been single, but I’m not even sure if I gave his balls much attention. Which is crazy to me. But more on that later.

So, you guys know the story of him hating period sex, right? But I can’t talk shit because I’m not the biggest fan of it either, at least no one has been able to change my mind. And that’s when anal became apart of our relationship. It wasn’t until maybe year 2 when I was on my period, and he was really horny and wanted to do anal, but also wanted to eat my ass. At this point, the only reason why I was in opposition to it was because I was insecure as fuck. And like, even though I showered that day, what if it tasted awful? But he did it, he seemed into it, so cool. At that point I wanted to do it back to him, but that was shut down. There might have been a time where he let me try it, but maybe I’m making that up.

Fast forward a bunch: everyone knows how I feel about blowjobs. Love ’em. Whatever.

I started actually paying attention to balls in that sense probably only about 15 months ago. It was then when I would actually lick them and suck them and put them in my mouth. And actually it wasn’t until I started seeing Tony that I would go even further down while giving a blowjob. It wasn’t always like, full on, but almost. If that makes sense. And I’d always get the sounds. Girls, you know the sounds. The sounds a guy makes when you’re going down on him – it’s great.

Okay, skipping ahead to Dale. Dale. A fucking fuckboy if there ever was one. For a hot second, this is how pathetic I was lol, I was like oh my god this guy has to be my soulmate. He was fucking weird and wasn’t turned off by my irrationality and weirdness. But he was an ‘actor’, and at the time I was like, “yeah, this is so good!” It was mediocre. His acting, I mean. But hey, he acted like he wanted to be my boyfriend the whole time, and then he did and said what he did. So. It’s all good though, he gave me good material…in more ways than one. And only the people that I’m close to know what that other source of material is. Anyway. I won’t deny that I like…really fucking liked him and was super into him. And sex with him was like really fucking good. But that could also be because he made it a point to play ‘Tear You Apart’ by She Wants Revenge, because I told him I always wanted to have sex to that song. It’s my favorite song. It really puts me in the mood. Anyway. He LOVED my blowjobs. And I’m not even trying to be conceited. Like, even though he’s an actor, and guys have claimed that they’ve faked orgasms before, the shit that went down when I was going down, you can’t fake or act. Dale wasn’t the first guy that I’ve had a conversation with about their love for anal. And everything ass related. I know he liked anal because of the tightness, of course. And I feel like he liked eating ass more than eating a vagina. And he liked it done to him. Now, it’s very easy to keep going further down when giving someone head. You hear the noises, sounds, responses and it’s all very sexy. You keep inching further down and before you know it, you’re licking his asshole. And that’s okay. And if you’re in that area, their dick is wet and you’re stoking it while going back and forth between his ass and his balls, I would imagine it’s great. Clearly I’m not a guy. But the sounds have always been positive. Needless to say, Dale was super into that. Both ways. I’ve never pegged a guy, or stuck my finger in his ass, that’s different, right? One of my friends does it with her boyfriend. They’re into that. I don’t think I could ever fuck a guy with a dildo, but I respect their relationship and their ability to go beyond being sexually adventurous.

So, I had a sexual encounter with this guy who was my friend back in October. Probs a mistake but whatever. So like, I’m sure to some guys it’s bad, and to others it’s good, but when I give someone a blowjob, it’s always really fucking wet. Like I make that shit wet. Not really on purpose, it’s just what happens after all the gagging, as I’m sure most girls can relate to. I know I probably gave his balls attention, but I didn’t get the sense that he’d be into like, me being all up in his gooch and or ass. I mean, he enjoyed the blowjob, and it had been 2 years since I’ve given him one, but I think all the saliva from his balls being in my mouth went down his ass and that, didn’t really freak him out per say, but after I came out of the bathroom, I saw him in the kitchen wiping with a paper towel from the base of his balls, all the way up to his ass crack. This really happened, guys. Totes norms. I laughed and I was like I wish I had this on snapchat right now. I asked him, though, if he’d ever let a girl give him a rimjob and he was like fuck no. And then I asked if he’d do it to a girl, and he said he’d have to think about it. Understandable, I suppose.
As for me, do I like getting my ass eaten? I mean, sure, why not, I feel about it how I feel about someone going down on me in general: it’s whatever. It’s kind of funny, maybe more so sad, but I’ll give a guy a blowjob because I don’t really care and I’m confident about myself in that sense. But when it comes to them wanting to eat me out, I feel like that’s only something I could do with someone I’m comfortable with. Like, yeah I’ve tasted myself before, I feel like every girl should, but I’m still insecure about my vagina.
All in all, I’m gonna give blowjobs how I give them. You never know if a guy is gonna freak the fuck out if you try and lick his ass. But that’s just a risk we should be willing to take. 

To The People Who Care & Love Me: Please Read

To my family and all of my friends, 2016 has been one of the worst years of my life since 2008-2009. I don’t want any sympathy, that’s not why I’m writing this. A lot of things have happened in 2016: I found out some interesting news a couple weeks in that would change my perception on not only myself, but what I knew for the past 4 years; I’ve jeopardized friendships for reasons that I am in no way proud of, even to this day; My grandfather died; My 3 month old niece died not too long after; I started a new school that I don’t particularly care for, at least not last semester; I got promoted at work, which is not a bad thing because it is what I wanted, however that mixed in with a new school was rough; The depression was prevalent in early 2016, and has progressed into something far more sinister that I truly cannot fully explain; I thought I had gone through the worst pain in my life a few years prior, but pain and who gets to feel it is not picky; I have encountered so many people that are just. . . not good, they’re not genuine people; I feel as if I myself have become one of those people; I have jeopardized my morals, and it wasn’t all for the sake of new material or experiences; I have caused pain to those who truly care about me; I have done bad things to my ‘self’ and my body; My cat died 2 months ago; I’m pretty sure I failed most of my classes at my first semester at this school.
I am drowning, and there are moments in which I am able to submerge and gasp for air, but then the current overtakes me and the waves pull me under. How I feel is not easily explained. I am fully aware that to the outside person, maybe even to the people that care about me, this sounds overdramatic. I am not writing this for people to feel sorry for me – that’s the last thing I need. 

I am writing this to apologize to the people who I care so deeply about, and you all know who you are. I was never really bad at texting, I did it frequently just like any normal person. But within this past year, maybe even a bit longer, I have been terrible at responding to people. To anyone. And everyone. And I know how much of a shitty friend that makes me… but especially within the past 10 months, I just don’t care. Let me clarify: I care about the ones I love. I just don’t care about life. I simply do not care. I don’t care to get up in the morning. I don’t care to hang out all the time. I don’t care to study. I don’t care to see anyone. I don’t care about myself. I do not care. I am so fucking numb right now. If I could shut myself off, or shut the world off for a while, I would. But that’s not possible. Which is why I have decided to do what I want to do. 

Essentially, the point of this post is to say I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry to the people I love and care about in any way, shape, or form, that love and care about me. I’m so sorry. I know it has been a long year. But all I ask if that you please bear with me. Please. I haven’t been the greatest friend to any of you. And I’m sorry. I’m shitty at responding. I’m shitty at making plans. I’m shitty at following through with them. Just, please: if you love and care about me, bear with me a little while longer. A lot of you know how I am. And know that I want to please everyone. Essentially someone ends up getting put on the back burner. I don’t mean for that to happen. I am in a fucking horrible place. I don’t have the drive or momentum. And I just don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to deal with life. And I know I’m an adult and that’s what happens, we have to deal with life. But it is to the point where if I don’t seek the proper help that I need, there will be no life to deal with. Period. 

I write everything. I write everything on here. I never do it to draw attention to myself, or to make people feel a certain type of way towards me. Though people might be thinking that those are my intentions, and if you do, then all I have to say is that you don’t know me very well at all, so why read this post to begin with? 

I’m not where I want to be, or where I thought I’d be. I am at war with my mind and my body every single day. I am at war when I have to go to school or work. My mind hasn’t been completely there. And I can’t do it anymore, I cannot do it anymore. I love you all. Just please bear with me. 

No Self-Respect.

She has no self-respect,

She goes from guy to guy.

She lets them in her home,

She lets them feed her lies.

She wakes before the sun,

And looks what’s in the mirror.

She doesn’t know it’s her,

She cannot see that clear.

She lets them use her body,

She lets them in her soul.

If only someone told her,

That’s not how love should work.

She has no self-respect,

She might be just a hole.

This poor, pathetic girl,

Is stupid, I should know.

She cannot love herself,

So she lets them love her down.

And though it’s just a moment,

She cannot fathom how:

How she got this far,

she wasn’t raised like this.

Her heart and all her scars,

are deeper now, like his.

She’s looking for her love,

in all of the wrong places.

She can’t come back from this,

her self is non-complacent.