Put in Work

I just got home from a late night at work. It was a personal record, I left the office at 11:35 pm. I volunteered to work on projects we needed completed out of nowhere overnight.

I gave up my time because my coworkers have ladies and wives to go home to, they don’t need to stay if I can handle it. 

I know that role. I was that fiancé/wife, constantly texting him, asking what his ETA was, trying to keep dinner warm, twiddling my thumbs—waiting, because seeing him completed my day and since his was so rough, I wanted to be there to welcome him home.

So I volunteer, cause I know what its like to be the one waiting at home.

But somewhere during my cab ride home on the Williamsburg bridge, in the rain at midnight, I fucking lost it. Tears started streaming down my face. 

FUCCCCK. STOP. NOW.

I held it together up until the second I got into the shower, then I cliché sobbed pretty fucking hard. It was my turn to sacrifice part of my personal life to supplement my career and there was no one waiting for me. No one was texting me about my whereabouts, figuring out if I still needed dinner… nothing.

I came home to no one. I know this, thats why I volunteered anyway.

But for a minute, I remembered… Listening for him to turn the key to the door, putting down my laptop and acting like I fell asleep on the couch (it never fooled him), then getting up super fast and putting his meal in the microwave while he changed out of his work clothes. I never considered myself super domesticated, but I was. I was just a good fucking wife. Then I let him vent for however long he needed to, it was always some bullshit at work…

He had me.

But now its my turn… and well… I’m solo.

These tiny fucking violins need to go away. Wahhhhhhh.

Man Hiatus

The last dude to go on a date with me pretty much took my last shred of patience/faith in NYC men. Everyone put this guy on a pedestal because he called me on the phone to have a legit conversation (who does that these days?), he was good about texting and made plans far enough in advance. On paper he seemed pretty promising. In the end he just wanted to get me into bed, ASAP. I feel as though I am missing parts from this story, but excuse me—I'm exhausted.

I haven't been on a date since. I'm sleeping on all of my OKC messages. I go through the motions of checking my account out of sheer curiosity, but I have absolutely no motivation to respond to anyone or act on any invitations to do anything.

Why? 

Cause I give zero fucks right now.

I am way too productive with my everyday routine while saving space for those already proven worthy of my time. I’m tired of this “active search.” I never really thought this was the proper way to go about things anyways, but hey… everyone was telling me I wasn’t doing my part of being available. 

I tried folks, I really did.

Its hiatus time.

I'd rather...

Things I'd rather do than go on dates right now:

• Go to the gym 3-4x a week
• Go to Tahitian 1-2x a week
• HH w/ my coworkers
• Try new restaurants & bars with the girls
• Hang out with my room mates
• Read books
• Write
• Cook
• Catch up on Mad Men
• Finish Breaking Bad
• Catch up on Walking Dead
• Watch Giants Baseball
• Take a course on Skillshare
• Continue to explore NYC
• Catch up on my sleep
• Facetime w/ the homies
• Watch grass grow

Want vs. Get vs. Deserve

Today I told Olivia something I rarely admit out loud: "You know what… After everything I've been through, I feel entitled. I feel entitled to an amazing reward. I know its wrong to think that I'm owed anything because there are no guarantees in life. But Olivia… I really fucking deserve something good."

Ohh and if you need clarification by "reward" and "something" I really mean "someone."

What I Want (for now)
I'm simple. I want to experience what dating is, I don't think I've legitimately dated anyone. I want a little consistency. I want to get past a third date. I want "Good morning / Good night / I miss you" texts. I want someone who wants to spend an entire Saturday with me, instead of just a Friday night. I want butterflies. I want to wake up in the morning with deserving company.

What I Get
I get dumb fucks sending me initial messages explaining that they're interested in me but would like to formally state that they smoke a lot of weed. Yeah, that's an initial message. I get dudes trying to figure out how to get me into bed rather than figuring out where to take me on a second date. I get guys with dick pics trying to holler. I get guys offering to send me dick pics. I get "what are you up to" texts after three months of no communication. I get nothing of value, nothing worth pursuing and when I finally find one interesting... I still hit a dead end.

What I Deserve
The fucking world.

It doesn't matter if you can actually give it or not (this is a ridiculous request and I know it), I just want someone willing to try.

Catch a Break

I realize I was given a good life, despite all the bullshit I've dealt with for the past few years, I have a good fucking life. I have two healthy parents who taught my sister and I excellent values and how to hustle for ourselves. I have a well-paying job and I'm constantly learning, even though I complain about the stress and disorganization from time to time. I live in an amazing house with extra-considerate room mates. I've built up an amazing social circle in New York just out of a few connections. I have my die-hards back in California counting the days until I'm ready to purchase a one-way ticket back to SFO.

I count my blessings.

But just when I navigate myself out of one storm there are more clouds looming in the distance.

My marriage fell apart.
Fuck. I dealt.

Ex-Mr and his chick got prego while our divorce wasn't even final.
Fine. I dealt.

The child was born and I have to witness the joy of this life through various outlets.
Ok. I'm dealing.

Now... Now everyone is currently tiptoeing around the fact that they will have to deal with this woman they have zero respect for, because she is the mother of my exes child. They're just addressing the inevitable. Eventually grudges and hard-feelings will fall by the wayside and they want me to be prepared for that.

Alright then. I saw this on the horizon. We'll take this one day at a time, no one is becoming BFFs overnight.

But, fuck...

Dear Lord, can I please catch a break?

Please? I'm honestly only built for so much, and I do it—ALL. BY. MYSELF.

Biding My Time

I realize I could turn a corner and run into the next great love of my life. I could walk into a random bar and all he has to do is look up at a tv, turn to me and say "Are you seeing this game right now?" Or maybe he drops his credit card while buying coffee and I pick it up for him. IDK, some corny shit. And for all I know… maybe I actually know this dude already, but the stars just haven't aligned or whatever.

So I live off of these ideas to get me through my days. I wait patient as fuck for this solo chapter to finish. I can't rush it, the timing is by no means under my control.

So I bide my time.

I take opportunities to work on the more elaborate projects at work, which involve longer hours, because no one is waiting at home anyway. I still have time to kill, so I go to the gym and I spend an hour or two there. By the time I get home its 10, I eat a super late dinner and I write down whatever is on my mind.

I'm not trying to avoid my alone time, I actually love/require large amounts of it. But I figure I might as well be productive… career, body and mind.

Not gonna lie though, I'll happily give up the time when a deserving man comes around wanting my body AND mind.

Work in Progress

Yo, so this blog is blowing up to be much more than I anticipated. I just paid for another year on my domain name and Squarespace account. I'm also trying to continually keep up with new content.

I'm getting tired of referring to certain people as "my girl" or "my coworker" when I know for a fact that you all read this and I can call you out directly. These vague titles could be a variety of different individuals, I'd like to be much more specific. I'm adding a "Cast of Characters" to the navigation so we can all become familiar with the people in my life. PLUS, I find it hilarious that some of you directly ask and get excited at the mention of a shout out. I'm not famous people, calm down. Still—I love the enthusiasm. 

I'm adding a "Bucket List" under my MISC nav, because:
1. Lists help get shit done, and this is my liiiiffeeeee.
2. I love lists, they keep me organized and prioritized.

I'm adding category tags to blogs, to keep relevant posts together. If one night all you want to read about are my fictional lady daydreams (more to come, BTW) then you will be able to do so.

Lastly, I'm adding an OKC/dating section because when I show some of you my messages you respond with: "you need to blog this shit" type of comments. I don't want to dilute the main content of my blog, so they are going to get their own dedicated section/side-blog. Really though—you need to see these. 

…stay tuned...

Your kid has a fat face

If you're wondering… I still haven't cried. I'm more upset that only a few of you checked up on me. Half-serious. Half-joking.

If you caught me alone today I kept doing that thing where I take a deep breath, sigh extra-fucking-loud and proceed to blow the loudest raspberry out my lips possible. 

I have been bracing myself for my social media feed to ensue with photos of this newborn child. (Note: I am not friends with my ex on FB, nor do I follow his Instagram. Although he follows/comments my account.) It started today… It was going to happen eventually. We still share our circle of mutual friends and I've managed to maintain close relationships with a lot of his family. I saw the first photo when I woke up this morning, on IG. Then at lunch I saw tags and tags on FB. 

*Click the likes* *Click the comments* Cause I like to torture myself...

I'm not one to put off these feelings, so I dealt… right then and there. I stared at this kid, that my ex created with some other woman.

I realized I wasn't bitter when I texted him: "Your kid has a fat face." Between the two of us, this is a compliment.

Naturally I still had a pretty rough day. I kept trying to remind myself that the support this new family receives is NO REFLECTION on me. Its not about choosing sides, this is about our shared friends and his family being supportive of this new life. So I swallowed the fact that all my closest friends brought this post to the top of my feed. Cause if it was them in this situation, regardless of the story, I'd probably do the same.

I also had to continually tell myself… "someday that will be me." Although that feels light fucking years away… someday that will be me. I set this on repeat, on loop, in my head… until I no longer need the reassurance.

Lastly… it was just another reminder of how far I am from sharing something good with another human being. I am alone over here. He has two. I have none.

I deserve at least one, right? Yeah, I do.

*heaviest fucking raspberry sigh inserted here*

Q & A

I have a tendency to ask questions of which I already know the answers to. Its not insecurity, its just a bad habit of trying to go against my own intuition. I don't know why I do it. No, I know. Sometimes I want you to tell me I'm wrong, so I can live in Fantasy-land. I'm better than that though. I'm so practical. I know the answer before you respond because I've over-analyzed every situation in my head. The jadedness helps too, bitch always creeps up in my business.

The questions are really (really) fucking stupid sometimes, and most of them are regarding dating/men, but I need to hear answers from someone else's mouth—if only to validate my own assumptions. 

Is he going to text me? 
- Its the weekend.
- Its too soon.
- How many days has it been?
- He would've already.

Are they going to care I'm divorced?
- No.
- No.
- Maybe.
- No, the right one won't give a fuck.

Glasses or contacts?
- Glasses.
- Contacts.
- Glasses.
- Contacts
You're never any help with this one… I swear.

Would you find me intimidating?
- No. Yes. Wait, it depends. Give me context.
- Yes, what'd you do?
- No, that's just your swag.
- No. Sometimes, yes.

Are they going to care about _____, _____  or _____?
General response: - Kate, if he likes you—none of that will matter. He won't care. Stop forgetting this.

I'm also selective of who I ask. When it comes to situations regarding men, I usually only ask their fellow species. Ladies tend to give me fluffy answers and coat everything in sugar. I don't need the extra sweetness, although I do appreciate the girl talk. 

Lessons learned from Q & A: Trust your intuition, but ask a dude (or three anyway).

NEXT Mr > Ex-Mr

Today I was told that I "haven't moved on" and I "am not over my ex." These two opinions are from one person, given to me as a statement. After getting over my initial feelings of wanting to sock Bill in the face for being completely wrong (Bill, if you're reading this—I wanted to sock you in the face. Don't worry, we're still friends), I realized these are probably much more common opinions of the greater public.

"You were together so long. Not that much time has passed. How do you still talk to him? Blah blah blah blah blah."

I can see how everyone in the world gets this twisted. 

Allow me to clarify: You're all wrong. 

First of all, my dynamic with ex-Mr is unique because I have super-human tolerance for the mother fucker. I always have. I don't expect anyone to understand this. Just because I'm not holding grudges and manage to keep a friendship with him does not mean I have any interest left in him romantically. I don't torture myself with the memories of what we used to be. I don't reminisce on our past life. I don't fantasize about him flying to New York, begging for me back and sweeping me off my feet. I have closed that chapter of my life. As I have previously stated, I found a way to separate the man who broke my heart and the friend I've known since I was 13 years old.

I get that 99% of everyone I know doesn't understand how I managed to stay friends with him. That confuses all of you, but can we discuss this for a moment?

Would me cutting him out of my life and holding a grudge be a better indicator of moving on? Think about it. No. Whatever the fuck makes him happy is cool with me. I get it, I'm super unconventional. But this is also called maturity. Right?

Dude brought his baby into the world today. He texted me.

Did I shed tears? No.
Did I wish I was the mother instead? No.
Did I envy any part of the situation at all? No.

I genuinely and whole-heartedly congratulated him on this milestone in his life. Swear to God.

SO, RIDDLE ME THIS… How the the fuck could I have not moved on? 

I understand a majority of you do not agree that he deserves my friendship. After what I've been through, who would? But let's all be crystal clear—my ability to be grown about my business does not equate to any type of inability to be over my ex. 

Also, and not to confuse anyone even further, I will always love him in some capacity. I shared a decade of my life with him. This is NOT the same as saying I am not over him. Can we emphasize this? Can we write it with permanent marker somewhere? These are two separate arguments—the first of which anyone who has ever been in love can agree with, the second is just a majority of you misinterpreting my levelheadedness about a past love.

To be perfectly honest, the idea of Next-Mr is ten-folds more exciting than trying to recreate the past with Ex-Mr. In conclusion, do not tell me that I haven't moved on when the prospect of my future is much more enticing than my past.

*Drops mic again and walks off stage*

Stage Fright

If you've noticed, I don't allow comments on individual posts. I could, but the possibility of negative commentary makes me uncomfortable. Although, I haven't received any, so I don't know what I'm so afraid of.

You all manage to slide in the fact that you have found/read this blog in a variety ways, random ways. You have told me while we're both drunk, you comment on unassuming Instagram posts, you write it on my Facebook wall, you tell me in the middle of the day while chatting—and I internally freak the fuck out, each and every time. 

Why?

Because aside from dancing I'M FUCKING TERRIFIED of being in front of an audience. The way I see it—I am monologuing throughout this entire site. When I realize you are "listening" I basically I get stage fright, and I freeze.

By admitting to me that you read this I am now aware of the people on the other side of their screens reading about my life in the raw (but entertaining) manner I choose to present myself.

When I began this particular blog I was only planning to give the URL to my inner circle, they encouraged me to write again, but after more positive feedback I decided to put it on my Instagram profile. I thought: "Fuck it, I have a good story to tell." Now I get anywhere between 30-60 unique IP hits a day. Who the fuck…?

Initially I expected about a dozen people to read this, but there you all are. Also, being personally aware of my audience makes me increasingly self-conscious. You range from personal to professional connections, complete strangers to intimate friends (no, like literally), and sometimes you can't even have a real conversation with me because of the fear I might put you on blast. 

"Yo. You can't blog this. Promise me you won't blog this."
"Yeah yeah, off the record. This is off the record. I won't." 

SO… I keep you all in mind when I continually think of material to write, how much I use "fuck" (ehh, I honestly don't care), how much slang I can get away with using before you have to try to figure out on Urban Dictionary, and if I know you personally—how much I actually include you. Someday I will legitimately date a dude and he's going to serve as major subject matter, as long as he can handle it.

But again, thanks. I'm terrified as fuck that you're all here, but you keep me motivated. Real talk.

The D

I'm currently stuck in a desert right now, this is a prime example of a dry spell. Today I thought to myself for a second and I realized… "I could've gotten D two weekends in a row, from two completely separate dudes."

Did I? Nope. 

So why did I refuse?

In Weekend Scenario 1 my date obviously tried to go home with me. Mind you, it was our first date. Had I been super attracted to him I might have considered it for a minute. But I realized pretty quickly into the evening that I wasn't into him. He still tried and I rejected him when I wouldn't let him "split a cab with me and drop me off first." I kind of laughed in his face at his logic, cause geographically it made zero sense. I see your game, you lose homeboy. 

In Weekend Scenario 2 I got a random text from "Mr. Make-loose-plans-with-you-and-then-flake." I looked at my phone like I was seeing things. WTF? Really? This one has managed to hit me up almost quarterly with his "its been a while/what are you up to" texts. I ignored his last one so I was extra surprised when I saw his name show up on my phone. After the first "feeler" text (months ago) I asked for two perspectives. I don't know why I asked for a female opinion cause it would obviously be wrong: "he must really like you." *BUZZER SOUND* Wrong answer. Then I asked my dude roomie and he gave me three possibilities: 1. He does like you. 2. He sent out multiple texts to multiple girls that night. 3. He doesn't like to close down doors, no matter what. Ding. Ding. Ding. Correct. I'll accept the last two answers. Anyways, so I contemplated to myself, "Do I really want D? All I have to do is respond…" Turns out—I didn't want it that bad.

I'm not always this strong-willed when it comes to the prospect of D. The experience can either be disappointing, which makes you feel like you need to have good "redeeming" sex OR it can be so good you go batshit insane. A wonderful intelligent women can get weak in the knees (literally) for some good D. We make stupid decisions, irrational choices and throw our friends out the window for good D. Trust me, in Scenario 2—this would've been the outcome (dude provides). However, these men and their offers just weren't worth it. I value myself too much. You gotta do work and they attempted with minimal effort. 

Yes, I am totally rationalizing my dry spell, but personally I feel empowered as hell. Its not about the ability to "get it"—its the power to know I can, and still refuse.