mostly probably

I am bad at dating. I always have been. I’ve been dating for a long time and have no clue how to do it. I’ve always just dated one person at a time and that was good enough for me. My crushes are not harmless. They are destructive and generally hazardous for your health. It’s a mostly unfortunate situation for me but has the potential to be a very good thing for my blog. I’m going to take advantage of that side of human nature that joys in other people’s self-deprecating humor. Since I have never been more self-deprecating than I am now, self-deprecating humor is about the only thing I know very well. Particularly where blogging is concerned, self-deprecation is second only to the joys of eating sesame chicken lean cuisines while watching 30 Rock. Which, I must say, is second to nothing.

I’m going to clear the air for all of you readers who might frown upon my future posts regarding the inevitable topic–the opposite sex. I do want to get married. Not now, not a month from now, not six months from now, not a year from now, but maybe two years from now. Maybe three years from now. Keep this in mind if I ever talk about anything that might even hint at wanting to thing about ever possibly in my wildest dreams walking down the aisle again. That day is a long ways away. It has taken me over five hours (read: five glorious sessions with a licensed therapist) to get to the point where I could admit to wanting to be married again at all, so don’t knock it.

I really don’t want anyone to comment saying, “Oh, you’ll get married. Just give it time.” I wish I had a bucket of popcorn for every time I heard someone tell me to “give it time.” (Popcorn is as good as cash around here.) I’m really not in a hurry. When I tell people that I feel hopeless about my future, I’m not saying I feel hopeless about my immediate future. My long-term future is the one that looks lame. My immediate future is good. I’m dating casually, a thing I have never done before. I am giving it time and I am being realistic.

But I’m realistic and also absurdly stupid, and I have a driving desire to be reckless. My therapist has helped me to recognize this, and has encouraged me to date not to get married, but to date to get over my apparent penchant for breakdowns. Dating has a way of curing the side effects of divorce, even a relatively easy one as mine has been. But dating and divorce come with some common side effects namely: headaches, nausea, confusion, breakdowns, the drive to say things you don’t mean and regret two seconds later, and cravings for expensive name brand foods.

So I’m going to leave it to other people to do the smart and responsible thing. For those people who have kept me grounded (FBR), who have showed me there is indeed such a thing as too much honesty (Beckie), thank you. I thank the people who tell me I shouldn’t stay in Logan just on the off chance that a very specific someone might want to date me after I’m cured (mmmmmmk). And thanks to those who showed me the difference between a rebound crush and a real one. I thank the people I grossly underestimated, who were just being careful and smart when I figured they would be immature and, like me, want to throw caution to the wind and get this relationship thing started already (not mentioning any names).  That’s not what I want.

Well okay, it is what I want. As a matter of fact, it keeps me up until the wee hours of the morning wanting it so badly. Even that is a good sign though, because now I’m at least staying awake because I’m thinking about something, not because I want to jump off or overdose on something. Meanwhile, I’m still going to regale my blog with all of my mutterings and all of the inconsequential and inane goings-on of my life. Because so far I’ve been writing it all in my journal and I’m starting to annoy myself.

I didn’t write the following blog. But I wish I had. And apparently part of it was written with my current situation in mind. I will write more on that later. 

So here’s the thing: dating is so overrated. In fact, I’m pretty glad I haven’t done it much because it mostly just leads to confusion and me overreacting about every little thing.

Just because I like you doesn’t mean you have to propose. I mean, seriously. There are some girls out there that are so marriage hungry you have to watch your back for fear of them jumping you and forcing you to drive them to the temple then and there. I am not one of those people. However, some boys think that any kind of commitment means an eternal commitment. It’s okay to date without getting engaged or married within a month. It’s okay to date without marriage even being in the picture. Not all girls are marriage-hungry. Not all girls need immediate commitment and discussions of children. Some girls just want to like boys and perhaps even date them and leave it at that.

• “Games” are not fun unless they’re Scattegories or Phase 10. Games are for high school. That is all, 
• Relationships need to be defined. Again, defining a relationship does not mean you have to get married. Defining a relationship is really just for the sanity of the girl. As girls, it’s really crappy to constantly be asked, “who is that boy you’re always with?” and have to answer “umm…my friend?” In some way or another, relationships need to be defined. This can be done physically or verbally. Either way, don’t stay in that gray area of “I don’t know what we are” for very long. It’s a very uncomfortable gray area.
• Learn the signs. If a girl always says yes, she probably likes you. If a girl invites you over to her house, she probably likes you. If a girl texts/emails/calls you unsolicited, she probably likes you. If a girl cancels plans with three other people to be with you, don’t stand her up because she probably likes you.
• Be Honest. As I said before in defining a relationship, what’s happening needs to be defined. If you don’t like a girl, don’t lead her on to believe you do. Girls will find “signals” in everything you do. They will analyze every word you say and every look that crosses your face. Just be honest. There’s no point in letting someone believe something that is not true. Also, it’s a lot easier for both parties if it’s done early on.

 Other snippets of advice:

• Don’t make a girl feel like you’d rather date your male roommates than her.
• Don’t lead a girl to believe you’re going to invite her over if you’re not (“So we just got a new pool table…” “So what are you doing tonight?”)
• Don’t make a girl feel like she’s an idiot for contacting you even though it’s totally okay if you’re the one to contact her.
• Don’t be shy. Boys are not supposed to be shy. Two shy people will never have a successful relationship until one of them takes action.

To the person who wrote this, and you know who you are, I would like you to be co-moral advisor. Your partner in this task will be Amanda, who said she would make my decisions for me but so far has not!

I had a blind date last night. I think that this blog is going to take an interesting turn as I enter the world of dating again. I have always had a richly entertaining dating life, simply on the basis that I don’t date very well, am the most cynical person on the face of the planet (and don’t have any qualms about sharing this information within the first two seconds), and have problems with social situations in general. The following is a list of things that I may or may not have said during the course of the evening:

1. I looked you up on Facebook and know pretty much everything about you.
2. You have put those cars in a position I am not entirely comfortable with.
3. It’s true, I do have a cute little bum.
4. You’d rather pray than eat enchiladas?
5. Eff!
6. I have no response for that.
7. I didn’t know they let people go bowling after sixth grade.
8. Yeah, I know where Richfield is. I got a dog there once.
9. Wow, that tootsie roll filled me right up. Thanks. Let’s skip dinner.
10. Yes, you do have permission to haul him to the mountains and beat the living stink out of him.
11. Sometimes I like to watch R rated movies.
12. People still like bowling? Really?
13. You’re old enough to be my grandpa.
14. You only have to know two things about a person before you can stalk them for real.

I’ve come to the concensus that maybe a second date won’t happen. In case you wanted to know, I had a lot of fun. A small dose of awkwardness was involved in the date since the people who set us up know him from work, and so they talked about that quite a bit. I think if given the opportunity to just go out with him by ourselves we might get better results. But maybe not. Based on the above list of things I may or may not have said last night, I may or may not be psychotic. And I’m sure that plays into things a little.

Last night after watching The Office, I went over to my friend’s for some quality time with Claire and the Gang and to do some laundry. It was pretty crucial that I get my laundry done because A) My therapist hasn’t seen my cute new jeans yet, and I’m sure he takes note of everything I wear; and B) I have my second ever blind date today and it’s not acceptable for me to be hiking up my pants every two seconds during dinner.

Anyway, the laundry was done, the unmentionables folded, and my 6′4″ mbff curled up on the chair while 5′4″ me sprawled out on the huge sofa. It just works, okay? In my defense, and polite as I am, I asked if he wanted to trade and he said no on the grounds that being on the comfortable couch that fits his freakishly long frame better would put him right to sleep.

Fair enough.

I discovered over five years ago that I am pretty fond of talking in my sleep. I woke up one morning very early on in my failed marriage to find that the guy I used to be married to had very hurt feelings. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that while I was sleeping he had been rubbing my arm and I had yelled at him. I asked him what I yelled (after apologizing profusely, I’m sure) and he claimed that I had screamed at him that, “You’re rubbing my flesh off!” (Is it any wonder such a marriage would end in tears?)

A couple years ago there was a thunderstorm and the story goes that I sat straight up in bed and called out to the heavens: “Big booms! Big booms!” and promptly went back to sleep. I was given the Most Violent Sleeper Award in girls camp six years in a row because of my propensity to punch, slap, and kick people in the face when I’m sleeping. I could probably find witnesses with a long-lasting grudge to attest if needs be.

So to meet someone who apparently talks in their sleep as much as I do, and is still able to function despite it… well, I’m not going to lie. It was probably the best day of my life. My friend sat on the chair mumbling about pizza for a little while (he was surprisingly coherent during that compelling conversation). Things took a pretty quick and alarming U-turn for the worst when I asked him if he was really awake or if he was just dreaming about pizza (which, let’s face it, is what I do pretty much constantly and would have been excusable). The rest of the conversation follows:

Are you awake right now or are you talking about a dream you’re having?
I’m awake. I had a dream about you.
Oh you did? What did I do? (I thought for sure I would discover something scandalous, but…)
Yeah, I was asleep. And when I woke up you were gone and so was all of my stuff.
Really? What happened.
You stole it.
I’m sorry. What stuff did I steal?
Just a bunch of stuff. So Molly… what kind of stuff do you like to steal?

I’m pretty sure that needs to be his new tagline, and it was at this point that I realized, okay, it’s time to go home. But now I know that I have a kindred spirit in this friend of mine. And Heroes was good for the most part. We’re just going to pretend that Sylar didn’t really say, “I’m back,” in such a way at the end of the episode. It was dorky. Something about burning flesh or big booms would have been more fitting. I’m partial though. I say a lot of awesome stuff. I wish I was awake for half of it.

Today’s edition of Thankful Thursday is brought to you by this cute little bear cub. I spend quite a bit of time googling and looking at pictures of bears and felt like this one in particular needed to be highlighted. I would like to kidnap this cubby-cub-cub and keep him in my apartment. I love him!

1. The Temple! At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I really do not like to think of where I would be mentally and emotionally at this point in my life without being able to go to the temple. We had Ward Temple Night last night and with the divorce all finalized and such, everything had even more significance to me than it ever has before. It was amazing, even though I was a bit of a basketcase.
2. My New Me Resolutions. This is a little more difficult to be grateful for because it’s already caused some problems, but I think overall my new need to communicate with people and tell them how I feel will be better than the alternative I’ve been living with for five years. I was always a bit of a loudmouth but I don’t think I’ve ever taken it to this level before. Most of the people who have had to suffer the wrath of my life change are men. But the plain and simple truth with “Molly: New and Improved” is if I like you, I’m going to tell you. It’s unfortunate but I think I’m grateful for it. Or at least I will be in the long run. Maybe.
3. Prayer. I am so churchy in this blog! I make no apologies. I have turned into a bit of a molly mormon the past few weeks, I’m afraid. But the fact still stands that a combination of praying about everything imaginable (from new jeans to curing yourself of trust issues to letting go of a washer and dryer) really does remarkably improve the quality of one’s life. So there’s that.
4. Therapy. I haven’t been to therapy since Saturday and won’t go back for another week (and then, only if I feel like it). As most of you know, my therapist determined I am normal now and barring any breakdowns I should continue to be normal. I asked him kindly to please tell me how many more breakdowns to expect and he said: “Oh, two… maybe three.” Well I consider my little spat at the temple last night #1 and I think I might be over the whole, “HOLY CRAP I’M SINGLE! FO REAL!” thing. So maybe I have one more left. I don’t doubt that Bryan knows exactly what is happening with me at any given moment and I’m thankful that he prepared me for all of this. I will never again doubt his powers.
5. Baby Bears. When I am not thinking about Lean Cuisine Sesame Chickens, I am thinking about baby bears and usually desiring one. And I’m just thankful that they exist. Period.

Today’s quote of the day is from mmmmmmmmmmmmk:

“ah. marriage ruins lives.”

Wise indeed, friend.

Also, Meg and I went to my ward’s FHE about a week and a half ago, and today I get a funny email from her that says: “My favorite thing about FHE last week was all the glares you gave to the boys. If you are willing to do that every week, then I’ll always come!”

Okay. So I didn’t know (really) that I was giving everyone krusties but it might explain why DeLon (or DelRoy or whatever his absurdly Mormon name is) flipped me off as we were leaving. So you’re welcome to my FHE anytime Meg. Krusties all around.

Today my mom informed me before she left that I did not inherit what has become known as the Asay bubble bum.

Phew.

Double phew.

I always took consolation in the fact that the dude formerly known as husband had no bum and mine was too big, and so our kids would have average sized bums. Now I don’t have a care in the world. Big bum, small bum, or no bum at all–doesn’t matter to me. I just have to hope and pray that my bum genes win out over Real Husband’s and everything will be just fine. Talk about a load off. Anyway, dad will kill me when he reads this but I’m going to write it anyway because let’s face it. It’s an important topic. And bums have been on my mind lately.

I think it started yesterday when we were walking to President Kerr’s fireside (which was good, by the way). I saw this girl who was really thin and really cute but the behind on that girl? Whhhhhhhoooowee! Really sorry but it was forcing her forward and trying to pull her backward at the same time which caused her to walk with a bubble bum limp. It was like a bobble head doll, but this girl bobbled at the waist.

Unfortunate.

Discomfort.

So fat bottomed girl made me wonder about my own derriere and as I walked around in my yoga pants this morning I thought, “I wonder if I have a bubble bum limp.” So it was all kinds of satisfying when my mom paid my tooshie that little compliment. I was ten kinds of confident walking to school this morning, admittedly stealing a glance at my bum profile (bumfile) in car windows as I meandered past.

And then there were the steps walking up Old Main. For those out there who are unfamiliar, USU has a set of steps that take pedestrians on a vertical climbing adventure for what seems like ten miles but is in all actuality only nine. Man, those steps kill me. But I couldn’t help but notice that no part of me jiggled as I took one grueling step at a time. Furthermore, when a gentleman walked up behind me, my first reaction was to pull my shirt down to cover my bum. I’m very sensitive about it. Surprisingly, my second instinct won, and I thought to myself: “Self, you have a pretty hot little butt.” So I walked on and I would be lying if I said I didn’t think this young man had checked out my tiny bum as he walked by.

Last year in our nonfiction class a girl read a memoir she had written about her bum. She showed it to me, complete with illustrations and pictures of her underwear. I thought to myself, “Girl, that’s freakishly weird how proud you are of your bum.” And then I checked her bum out as she walked out of the class, ten page bum essay in hand, and hoped I would never have that much to say about my bum.

Well, turns out I’m a hypocrite. But I am one fine piece of hypocrite A.

As mentioned earlier, Mom is here. I couldn’t believe it for about twenty seconds, and then it was suddenly like she had never left. We were back to our old ways (shopping, going to lunch, going to a movie, eating all of the popcorn before the movie actually started) in no time. Mom is the one person I know who seems to like popcorn as much as I do. We walked to the grocery store and Mom insisted on paying for my month’s allotment of Lean Cuisines. (Yes, these are stacked two–maybe three deep.) I’ll never go hungry again!

It has recently come to my attention that people are getting the wrong idea about things I write on my blog. Despite my Type Awesome personality, I want everyone that is reading this to know that I am generally not purposely a hurtful person. Free-floating hostility, check. Perpetually annoyed about something, check. Random desire to lash out at blind people that walk too slow through campus, check. But in general I am a pretty good person. I find humor in really lame situations and if you can’t laugh about something, if you can’t find what is inherently funny about any given situation you’re in, you’re probably not likely to come out on top like my therapist at least seems to think I will (who fired me yesterday, by the way, based on his grossly misinterpreted assumption that I’m “normal” now).

Oh yeah, and Mom is here! So I’m probably not blogging for the next couple days. Don’t cry your eyes out anymore. I mean it. Stop. You’re annoying me. But not as much as blind girl was annoying me. Seriously, who walks that slow?

What I’m getting at is that in my cause for freedom-slash-making-it-through-this-situation-alive-and-well-adjusted, I will probably say something hurtful. For that I am sorry. And I hope that all of those of you who read my blog will take what I say with a massive grain of salt and know that I’m not out to get anybody. I think if we can all do this, we will all be much happier and well-adjusted individuals. If we can’t do that, I know an AWESOME therapist at LDS Family Services that can help you on the road to “normalcy” who was just released from his regular Friday 1:00 appointments.

Today was good. It started off by going to work, then going to school, then having a small emotional break down in the Maurices dressing room when I tried on a size 8 (read:three sizes smaller than I have worn in FIVE YEARS!) and discovered that I have gone down three pants sizes on the divorce diet.

Yes, that is three pant sizes. In exactly one month.

And that’s what the Divorce Diet can do for you! All you have to do is get your husband to cheat and then don’t eat anything for a month. I still have a long way to go, but the Maurices girl (who worships me, by the way, as I account for half her business) gave me a $10 coupon just because I was bawling my eyes out!

Will someone please notify Mr. Atkins and Mr. South Beach and let them know they just got hosed?