Greetings and salutations peoples.
I hope everyone is recovering from the holiday revelry.
My Christmas has turned out to be very cheese intensive - cheesy potatoes, cheesy eggs, cheesy tv.
So, basically the best holiday evah.
Me this holiday
MOVING ON
So today I have NEWS. Today's Doozy is really about ME. Well, all the Doozy's are about me, but this is about a a stupid boy and my reaction to him.
THIS IS IMPORTANT SHIT, PEOPLE.
THE TALE OF KANDY KANE
Imagine, if you will a crisp Monday right before Christmas. Easy, because it was just last week. I'm sitting at work, doing my work stuff when out of the blue a text pops up from a number I do not know.
Remember how a few weeks ago I mentioned that dudes keep numbers of women for, like EVER?
Yeah.
This.
So, anyways, y'all remember the Great Craigslist Experiment of 2014? Remember it was my foray in the meaningless hookup world, that the youngs are doing nowadays - whatever the fuck that is?
That was a total failure for me ala Wesley.
SNORTLES.
Well, Kandy Kane was one of the randos that I'd hooked up with for awhile back then.
He was a decent enough guy - not skeevy, clean, had a job (I guess) drove a nice car, I didn't get any hinky vibes off him - like Kandy didn't secretly have a fetish for rolling around in kiddie pools filled with pudding while wearing diapers.
BUT
Annnnnnd this is a big but, he was separated at the time.
OF COURSE HE WAS.
Again though, this was just a hookup sitch, so we both knew the dealio. The rules were clear from the get-go.
No emotional entanglements.
No relationship.
No strings.
Just sex.
Okay.
The sex was good. I'll give Kandy that. We connected there, which was the bare minimum, since that's why we both signed up.
BUT
Kandy Kane wasn't even his real name. I never did find out what his real name was. Frankly, in the end I didn't give two shits.
STRIKE ONE
Listen, I get it. It's the Internet, and I of ALL people know what kind of weirdo fucking freaks inhabit that wretched hive of scum and villainy. But in the scheme of things as a single woman, I have MUCH more to worry about that Kandy ever did.
Kandy didn't give me his cell number. He only contacted me via a Yahoo messenger SMS number.
STRIKE TWO
Whatever dude.
First off, he was still using Yahoo messenger. People still use Yahoo?
What? Was he still in middle school?
Wait. I take that back. Even middle schoolers are using Snapchat. For fuck sakes dude.
YAHOO?
Secondly, my spidey senses were starting to flare up BIGTIME (looking back - I'm calling it the "Bronto Effect")...that feeling that, in this case, a man says he's "separated" but all behaviors point to being married and probably cheating.
Mindless hookup sex is one thing. Hookup sex with a married man is another.
I'm not a whore.
And it pissed me off.
So, when Kandy, one day vanished in a puff of testerone and Armani cologne, I was miffed and a bit stung, but in no way was I the slightest bit crushed.
Well now. You can imagine my utter surprise then with Kandy texted me last Monday. Almost a year later.
"Hi! This is Kandy Kane and I just want to wish you a Merry Christmas!"
(I deleted the first two texts, not thinking that this would become a Doozy. I really should know better by now. Sigh...optimists...."
My response: "The hell? Uh..erm..Merry Christmas to you as also. I hope you are well."
This is where I must still be really stupid about men sometimes. I blindly assumed that our convo was done and went about my busy day.
Ahhhh, Doozy.
Silly girl.
Shit.
We were off to the races peoples.
But now, here's where something amazing happened. Something that the ring of power did not intend.
I know I mentioned in my sadface ennui post about Bronto that I was starting therapy.
I have.
AND IT'S THE BEST THING EVER!
I'm so fangirling this shit.
For realz peoples.
I mean, I admit, it's kinda weird to be all "into" therapy, cuz it's painful and hard and shit's getting real yo. However, I've learned more about myself in the last month than I have in the last 20 years.
IT'S ALL STARTING TO MAKE SENSE
Certain aspects of the menz are making sense - but that's for another post.
Anyhoozles - moving on.
Kandy tried really, really, really, really hard to get me back in hookup mode. Back into le sack...
LET'S LOOKIE, SHALL WE?
 |
| Ed note: he had a decent wang- but it wasn't anywhere NEAR 9". Nice try. |
Uh huh.
Kandy was hoping that I would touch his wiener again.
Make amends my ass.
Delicious, isn't it?
Can't you just FEEL the desperation rolling off him in waves?
Here's the thing:
With the exception of having the audacity to expect me to just drop everything for his cock, like I'm a mindless sex toy, Kandy didn't really do anything wrong. Sure, Kandy tried hard to make me change my mind, including copious amounts of sex talk, as if almost a year later that's all it would take for me me to drop my panties.
DENIED
AS IF.
I'M NOT WHERE KANDY LEFT ME.
I'M NOT WHERE ANY OF THEM LEFT ME.
Back in the day, probably even as recently as Bronto I would have shrugged and gone
"Sure, let's see where this goes" at Kandy's proposition - knowing in my soul exactly where it would go. Knowing that I would hurt myself and my resentment and self loathing would grow with every encounter, but not knowing WHY I said yes in the first place.
Then if Kandy would have turned out to be a buttmunch like all the rest of the boys I've tangled with, I would have beat myself up, and whined and cried and gotten all pissy with him and myself.
FUCK
THAT
NOISE
Turns out that Kandy is my type - just like Bronto and Triton and Skip and Berengarius
and all the other boys I've dated.
Love avoidant
Emotionally unavailable
Ready to run away
Not into me
The difference this time is that I KNOW THIS NOW.
I'm learning what my type is.
I'm learning what my relationship fallacies are.
And I'm learning that I search for love and affection like church goers at an Old Country Buffet - it's a deep seated NEED...regardless of the damage it does to me in the process.
I KNOW THIS NOW.
This time I could easily see Kandy for who he was and I could easily take a pass from his "rock hard 9" cock".
Because really, this isn't about Kandy at all.
This is about me.
It was like the Universe was testing me (James was testing me too - yeah I'm looking at you pal); beginning to test what I'm learning in therapy.
And fuck if I didn't pass with flying colors.
I'm not just some trash bucket here to serve the men of the world. Some pretty girl waiting for whatever scraps are leftover that they throw at me; emotional or otherwise.
Fucking avoidant fuckers.
But more importantly, I am so goddamn proud of myself.
IT'S LIKE I'M FINALLY BEING GOOD TO MYSELF AND SHIT.
FUCK
YEAH.
I
DESERVE
BETTER
THAN
I
HAVE
GOTTEN.
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