Heartbreak and the Rain (This Title Could not be More 8th Grade)

Dammit! I was doing such a good job updating regularly on Sundays. I thought I was going to go 4 weeks in a row and then reward with myself with a big cookie. But alas, I failed. (I will still probably eat a big cookie though). I am trying to get this done as soon as possible by putting off animation homework, because who needs that? It's not like it is my major or anything. Unfortunately work has made me into a zombie who is pretty certain she will pass out standing up any time someone tries to talk to her for more than 30 seconds at a time. It's been pretty rough.

My excuse is that I got pretty busy with work and the Colorado Pole Championships/workshops this past weekend (which were awesome, by the way!) Although I also got a little self conscious. A friend from the pole studio I've been attending discovered my blog and shared it on her lovely blog: Vivienne's Process of Elimination, which has a lot more followers than mine does, because she actually updates consistently and is a real writer and stuff. When she told me she shared it, I actually started to feel slightly dizzy. On top of that, people really liked my last two posts. Especially the one about butt holes. Which amazed me. I mean, I thought it would be pretty hit or miss, but wow. People aren't disgusted and weirded out by me? It's a dream come true... Except for my friend Dylan Thomas who told me it was "over sharing." I am pretty sure he is just uncomfortable with the thought of my butt hole. He can get over it.

The real problem is when people start paying attention to you and liking what you write, suddenly you have to have standards.

Ew.

Most importantly though, for some reason, writing this particular entry has been a lot scarier for me than writing about my own butt hole. It is really difficult to make this story sound entertaining instead of whiny and indulgent in my own melodrama. Mostly it is just hard to admit to being vulnerable. Yea, I know I have an awesome butt hole of steel and soul unicorn magic, and I can brave any despicably offensive OKCupid message, but sometimes I cry and want someone to hold my hand as well. Let me tell you, only a real badass can admit that.


...

Not really.

I'm just a pansy.

(We're working on that.)

Ok. Here is the real entry. That is almost irrelevant now because it is a week overdue. Oh well.

Yes, it has rained a lot in my hometown in the past week or so. More than it ever has before, in fact. We received more rain than we normally get in a year, set multiple records, and in the process a lot of homes were damaged or washed away. In short, it flooded.

Big time.
See?

Proof!

I never overreact. Never. 

It was exactly like that, by the way

My own family has been fortunate in only losing the not-so-beautiful-anyway carpets in our basement from the few inches of water the seeped in from the walls. But there was definitely a few moments  hours of panic that Wednesday night where we stayed up til the wee hours of the night trying to bail water out of our basement with a tiny shop-vac. It was basically like trying to save a sinking ship with a thimble. Puzzle Pirates never prepared me for such a thing, either. It was nothing like Bejeweled. I was lied to!

The bilging I have always known was not quite the same. (Not my actual basement, by the way. Don't worry.)

I've always been crossed between a like and dislike of the rain. It really depends on which of my many multiple personalities is driving the steering wheel. If Love-Filled, Earnest Meri is at the helm, then she wants all sunshine and blue skies, usually because she has the motivation to like, actually go outside or whatever. But if Cynical, Angry Meri is in charge, it's a very different story. Guess which Meri has been in charge a lot lately?

All of the rain caused a lot of damage. It drowned the town in a literal sense and also an emotional sense. Everyone can feel the heaviness. I can feel the heaviness. I've felt like I've been drowning along with Colorado. I have anxiety over two jobs, anxiety over being in school for something that isn't “lighting my flame,” and anxiety over heartbreak.

Yes. I said the H-word. I'm officially calling it. The events that occurred this past summer broke my heart.

I've written so much about what happened already that I will spare the details for your sake, even though the further out I get from it, the more perspective I gain. Which is good because it makes me that much more wise, but it also is bad because it makes Past Meri look really, really stupid, and I have this blog as a lovely record of all my stupidity. Yay.

But here is the very, very short version for those of you just joining us:

All these events somehow led me back here, where for the past few weeks I have been flopping around like a fish out of water, my heart gasping for life. Being back home is like living in a broken time machine. I grew up here, left, came back, left again, and so on and so forth. Being in Boulder is like re-living multiple years of my life all at the same time. I am learning all sorts of fun things about myself by drawing parallels between the various years of my life. Being in the throes of boy sadness has forced me to revisit: DUN DUN DUN! The first and only other time I've ever truly felt like my heart was broken. AKA The Jaws Story: A MapleStory Affair. Catch it on the Lifetime channel this coming winter.

Here is the part I don't like to talk about much. It is a very silly story. And also really embarrassing. But what would this blog be if not a place to embarrass myself? I mean, I just blogged about butt holes for goodness sake. Being embarrassed is good for me, right? I hate to admit any of it happened, but it did. It is a part of me, I cannot deny that. I've tried my best to condense this story into the happy-fun-time-kids-book version for you. I don't want to bore you with too many excessive details and also it looks a lot cuter than it actually was this way.

The story goes like this:

.

----

It's a really beautiful coming of age story, am I right?

(I know I didn't give him a fun poet nickname like Lord Poopypants, but it has and always will be Jaws. It sounds pretty mysterious anyway, right?)

Even though it is has been a very long time now (almost a third of my life, which is just stupid), if I am being totally honest with myself, I still miss him. Even after it all came crashing down, even after I grew up and realized how dumb it was, even after I grew up even more and realized I never actually had what I thought I had... I miss that feeling of comfort I felt. It was intoxicating. It got to me, straight under my skin. I thought about him every. Single. Damn. Day. For five years straight. I felt as if there was a hole inside of me (not a butt hole) that would never be repaired. My heart was destroyed. I somehow ended up going all the way to Canada in part to discover if I could ever fix it. And what did I find? I could not.

When I ended up going there, I found a way to meet him. And he was sweet and polite. But he was not present, not like I wanted him to be. He was not there and was not the friend I had known. When I finally mustered up the courage to tell him everything I had ever thought and felt about him in five years, every thought and feeling I kept pent up inside me like a monologue just waiting for a super narcissistic actor to storm the stage and deliver it, he had nothing to say in response. Nothing.

That is precisely when my heart stopped feeling broken. It finally healed into a simple scar that I could see and touch but it no longer hurt. It unfortunately wasn't cool and/or across my eye or warranted an eye patch of anything badass. Alas. But it did make me wiser.

Or so I thought.

Because somehow I have ended up letting a relatively short friendship with a boy ruin me once more. I never thought I'd let that happen to me again, but I was wrong. And here I am. In the same boat again. Almost literally, after all the rain that just fell. Sad and with a million pent up thoughts and speeches just waiting to be unleashed.

Why or how this happened? I don't know. I have my theories. I'm still working on those. The point is that it did, and I can't stand the thought of letting someone who doesn't give me a second thought consume me for another five years. I have to get out.

Before it started raining in Colorado, I rained upon myself with a million criticisms. I poured on the self hate like a fat person puts ranch dressing into their “salad,” which is really more like meat lovers pizza with a couple of green things thrown on top and called good enough. I kept telling myself how stupid I was for letting these things happen to me and letting myself get so upset about them. How was I not stronger? Why did I care so much? So I had been used. So I was lied to. So I felt disposable. So someone made me feel like a worthless, shitty person...

Ok, yes, I know those things are a legitimate reason to be upset. However I was still annoyed that I couldn't just brush it off like everyone else in the situation. I tried everything to find a peace: Attempting my best not to care, being angry, wallowing in my sadness... One night I discovered this song, put it on repeat, and let myself sob for half an hour straight:

It helped a little? I think? Maybe? Probably not.

Just when I thought I was going to drown and die in my self pity, self hate, and melodrama, the real rain came.

 It kicked in the adrenaline of “ohmygodletsjustmakesuremyhousedoesntcollapseandeveryoneIloveisstillaliveandokay” and distracted me from feeling anything else which in a way was cleansing. That feels like a terrible thing to say after the rain destroyed so much, and I am deeply sorry for those who were affected, but I think for me it was just what the doctor ordered. Cynical, Angry Meri welcomed the rain with open arms and then when she watched it hurt so many things that she liked, she remembered that she actually liked things again.

Also! During the flood time I went on a date that by some magical forces I only felt mildly anxious before and then! Lo and behold, I actually enjoyed the date, maybe even a little too much-- something that I didn't think was possible anymore. Now, I don't know if THAT is going to go anywhere and I am certainly terrified at the thought of “liking things and/or people” again, but there is a certain sliver of hope. Hope pie. Which I hear is delicious.

I mean just overall...

Liking things > Not liking things.

So this is good, right?

I think I am making it sound simple even though it isn't really, but there is just a little bit of relief. The rain didn't fix things automatically. I still have moments of sadness sometimes, I still hate thinking about what happened over the summer. But it did wash away a little of my hurt and a little of my history with it, I think, and perhaps I will be stronger for that. I hope I better darn well beat my previous five-year-heartbreak stand this time. And if that doesn't deserve a scented “good job” sticker, I don't know what does.

Pumpkins. Because it is Fall now. 

How I Became Best Friends with my Butt Hole

Yea. You read this title correctly. I am gonna talk about butt holes.

I don't mean men this time (for once). I mean real butt holes. Anuses! Where da poop comes out! It's going to get pretty graphic, I am just warning you.

...Sometimes I think, "Meri! You should clean up your language and make your blog content more family friendly. That way people might actually, yknow, share it with each other or something." But then, that just wouldn't be my blog now would it? It also wouldn't be as much fun (for me). So you can get over it or get out. Now is your chance.

*Also of note, I have no idea if butt hole is one word or two so if I got it wrong and that bothers you, I deeply apologize. I tried googling butt holes for reference and then got horribly traumatized so I stayed away as much as I could*

----

I've always been really grossed out by butt holes. I mean seriously. That is our poop flume right there. And the only thing grosser than poop is vomit which *thank god* doesn't come out the same hole as our poop. Otherwise it'd be way too much to handle. The only reason I give our mouths any credit is because that is where our tongues are kept and we use those to french kiss and eat delicious food and such. So those are ok. But butt holes though? That's another story.

...Especially the thought of anal intercourse. Like. No. Just no. You can't put a penis up there. There are poop remnants and other gross shit (literally) up there. Ow. No. Ew. Gross. Bleck. Stop. Just stop talking about it. Never mention it again.

Actually there are going to be a lot more butt holes beyond this point. I'm such a rebel. 

In general, I just regarded my butt hole as an awful place of desecration that should never be spoken or thought of. I shamed it. Until one fateful day.

When I was living in Lake Forest, I lived in a house built in the 60s or 70s that was just covered in mirrors. It was mirrors abound! It was kind of awesome because there was this huge empty room I put my pole up in and one wall was entirely mirrors. It was almost the perfect pole space, if the ceiling had not been slightly slanted. My room was also 25% mirrors. One wall was entirely a sliding closet with doors of mirrors. So I got to stare at my beautiful self laying depressed in bed all day long. It was awesome.

One day I was changing after a shower. I was in my birthday suit, looking for some clothes or something, who the fuck knows. Well, I bent over looking for something on my bed and in that exact moment I did two things at once that has no explanation. It was just fate. I turned around to see myself in my wall of mirrors bending over and I also farted at the very same time. It was a moment that changed my life forever. For in that tiny moment I saw something beautiful and magical and so mysterious about nature. I saw myself fart. Straight out of my butt hole.

Everything changed from that moment on.

I don't know how to describe it to you, but it was possibly the closest thing I've ever had to a bonafide spiritual experience (not really). These tiny little flaps in between my butt cheeks just opened up to this dark little hole that puffed out like it was saying "hello" in the nicest, kindest, gentlest way anything ever could. It is like it said me, "Hello friend. I see you and you see me and we are a part of each other. We know each other on the most intimate level. And I am here. And you are there. And we are one."

It was very deep.

The moment, I mean. Not the butt hole. Although I guess it kind of was deep, too.

I fortunately fart a lot (little known fact! I have very good muscle control and an extremely talented at hiding it. Hm maybe I should put that on my dating profile...?) so I had the opportunity to watch myself do it again. And again. And again. And I just kept watching myself fart! Why was it so fascinating?? Didn't I still find butt holes and poop to be gross? Yes. Yes, I did... But there was something about it. My butt hole was trying to tell me something. Something important. And I had to listen.

That day changed my life. Well, ok. It at least changed my perspective on my butt hole. But doesn't that at least say something about life? About how things we previously thought we hated can actually be a very meaningful and dear thing to us? About how we can find beauty in the worst parts of the world, even butt holes? That the unexpected can give us joy and comfort? After all, I still think taking a really big poop when you have been holding it in for awhile feels better than any orgasm I've ever had.

...

Ok. That really only just speaks to the people I've slept with. Shit is literally better than the sex I've had.

Hm.

Well.

At least I have my butt hole to comfort me.

Online Dating: The Saga Continues

Believe it or not, I've still got an online dating profile up on OkCupid. I have yet to run into anyone I know yet, but I assure you that as soon as I do I will take my profile down out of embarrassment. Until that day, however, I shall continue to torture myself with the depressing online dating world. 

It's fine. I just avoid the whole dating part of things and life goes on. You know. 

It's been a couple of months, so I thought I'd grace you with some of the nuggets of joy I've discovered and received on this site. It's so great when I stumble across these sorts of things because most of the site is just one big depressing and boring pot of genericness. No one knows how to write about themselves so they all just blend into one, personality-free blob of "man-profiles." I feel so sad because I think some of them are probably genuinely very nice or interesting, but I have no idea and thus will never talk to them because of it. Not that it really matters because even when I do start a conversation with someone who has managed to make themselves interesting, if I get even remotely excited or like "I could maybe stand meeting this person," it always somehow dies out right then. But I will talk more about this in an upcoming blog. For now, just sit back and enjoy this ride. 

First of all, I've noticed there are two main types of guys on OKC. One being the poetic, dramatic, and emotionally complex guy: 

And then this guy: 

They are both such gems! How would I ever choose? 

Honestly, I kind of have to swing towards the emotionally complex men. They are just more fun. Less predictable. Take this guy, for example.

 I mean gee. A dreamer. A social experiment. EYELASHES?!? Hold the goddamn phone. It's almost like he is a 13 year old female unicorn. Or something. I don't know. I do know I am fascinated. 

(Do you ever look at someone and immediately notice their eyelashes? I don't think I've ever looked at someone and noticed their eyelashes) 

Actually, there are an AMAZING amount of men who claim that they spend the majority of their time thinking about philosophical questions and concepts. Like, A LOT. 

We all know this is bullshit because men really only spend their time thinking about two things: sex and food. They're human. It's natural. Actually, women do too, it's just less socially acceptable for us to talk about it. I actually had the balls to admit to these things in my "I spend a lot of time thinking about" section. Because I am a real man. 

While we are still talking about poetic drippy men, I'm just going to leave this here. I found it one day and spent the next 45 minutes smiling with glee. It was the only thing on the profile. 

I bet he gets a lot of dates with this bad boy. I have something similar written in a notebook I kept when I was 14 years old. 

Oh! And speaking of men who like poetry: 

 I can't decide if I like the fact that there is a typo in "Iambic Pentameter" OR the fact that he randomly capitalizes OR more. Also just the material in general. I like movies and music! We're probably meant for each other then, huh?

This guy really had his priorities straight.

Needless to say, I did not message him. Because I clearly think of myself as god's gift to man. I'm glad I didn't waste HIS time. 

Here are some men that did message ME, though. 

LOOL. How funny that he asked me what I was up to in broken english. Hilarious. 

I love this one. It's like he forgot he messaged me something crude and offensive two weeks earlier. Yea, I am sure he thinks I am just chalk FULL of style and class. 

Also, note the username. A wee bit terrifying if you ask me. Just a little. 

THERE ARE ONLY TWO KINDS OF ART AND YOU MUST DO ONE OR THE OTHER AND I HAVE TO KNOW THE FATE OF THE WORLD RESTS ON THIS. 

He actually had a really good point. 

If I was also in Dubai I'd probably be thrown in jail for pole dancing or just wearing booty shorts in public... But at least I'd have a boyfriend?

I don't know why. But I just love this. Like, so fucking much. 

I do like "macaronies," stranger. No one ever asks me that. How thoughtful of you. I am touched.

Multiple men comment on how I look like some chick from Game of Thrones. I was first told this when I worked at Nerd Camp last summer and we were all sorted into Quidditch Houses or something and everyone was like "Oh, you're that wild-thang girl who hooked up with a snowman. She has red hair and you red heads are basically all the same, right?" 

Or something like that. 

I don't watch Game of Thrones, so yea. 

Actually, one guy on the site rejected me because of this. No joke. The transcript is below: 

I would have been offended, but after getting multiple messages like this: 

I dunno, I guess your standards just go down. Like, at least he is speaking to me like I have values. Kind of. 

Some guys try really hard to make this sort of thing ok. 

"I just want to have meaningless sex with you because I think you are hot but don't value anything else about you like your personality or your intellect or anything that you have accomplished or basically are except for a vagina, some boobs, and a nice round ass. I'm not going to give you any respect or any of my valuable free time. Let's just hook up so I can use you for your body and nothing else. BUT NO DISRESPECT OR ANYTHING." 

It's like when two guys suck each other's dicks and then say "no homo" afterwards to make it all ok. 

No. Just no. 

I like this one because he gave me so much to respond to:

He greeted me four slightly different ways. I mean, how could I not say hi back?!!?

If you could write children's books, you could also probably spell "meals" properly. 

Actually he was the first. And so far the only. 

Definitely a serial killer. Or maybe just a plain ol' rapist. If you're lucky. 

He sold himself so well. It's like walking into a job interview, sitting down and saying, "To be honest I have no experience in this field or have ever had a job in general. I am awkward and smell weird, I don't know how to interact with people, and don't have the slightest clue as to how to use a word processor. But I think this job would be fun! Will you hire me?" 

Um. What. 

The commas. Oh the commas. 

I am scarred for life. 

(Also what does it mean that my personality is "inclusive??")

I asked him if he used this line on multiple women. He admitted that he did. De-nied. 

Last but not least, this was one of the best. This is only just a paragraph from a several page long "proposal." It was copy and pasted from a man who admitted to sending it out to thousands of women in hopes that the right kind of woman would see it and go for it. It went on about who he was, his relationship history, and what he was looking for. It was his fourth version of the proposal, by the way. Yea, he'd sent it out that many times. It even had a FAQ section. I kid you not. It has been far and away the most fascinating thing I have seen on the site yet. 

So yea. I've gotten quite a few, uh, interesting messages and most of them I do not respond to. Especially the scary ones. But sometimes, I just can't help myself. Like this time, for example:

Or this one: 

And finally, I shall leave you with a collage of only a fraction of the guys who ask me about pole dancing and what got me into it. I am sure it a fascinating subject for them, but you can only give the "I was bored and wanted to work out and I took a class and liked it a lot" speech before you just want to scream and punch things in the face. 

I should make it a game and start making up a different story for everyone who asks.

"Well, I was hunting savage dildo-monsters in the jungles of Sweden when..."