All posts by mystupidcupid

It’s Christmas… Deck the halls with ex’s crawling out of the woodwork

Sometime you go through life, minding your own business, when your ex from way back appears like the ghost of Christmas past and haunts you. Last year it was my ex Will who wanted me to ditch my boyfriend and come hang out. Awkward! Haven’t heard from you since you dumped me and now you want a “visit” while you are in town. Nothing makes one feel more like a piece of ass. Then comes Chris. Ahhh Chris. Says he’s moving away but we will keep in touch then drops off the face of the earth for two years. Yet here he is, in town for the holiday. Want to get together? You were always so amazing… I remember that about you. Do you also remember that I’m not the type of girl to cheat or fall prey to bullshit from ex boyfriends?

And he’s dating someone! She’s a hedge fund manager. Why in the name of God would you cheat on her? Something must be tragically flawed in these guys! Either that, or I’m the amazing piece of ass that they claim. I’m voting the former.



The under appreciated homemaker

I’ve gone from love-struck dumbass to reality-facing dumbass over the last year. However you look at it, it is disappointing. Those that know me best will attest to my intense dislike of household chores and my jubilation at the approach of the fall holidays. You see, Halloween is my favorite holiday. I have always celebrated with tons of decorations and fanfare. This year has proved a challenge for me. I’ve been working so hard and come home so many nights exhausted, frustrated, and in a horrid mood, that the month has flown by with nary a creepy spider or cobweb. I just haven’t been in the mood. Which also makes me a bad mother because my children love Halloween as much, if not more, than I do. They have asked and asked… And I have blown them off. Well not today. Despite my being jet-lagged from a flight from Seattle and tired from work I came home, cleaned, put up decorations, made everyone’s favorite dinner, completed a diorama with my son, and whipped up a batch of pumpkin cookies from scratch. In the process I skinned my knuckle, hurt my already hurt shoulder and wrist quite a bit, and managed to get royally pissed. My boyfriend, who I love very much but want to throttle every now and again, said I shouldn’t be lifting all the heavy holiday tubs around when I am hurt. I jokingly respond, “so you are going to help next time.” He looks me dead in the eye and says no. That I shouldn’t have decorated and done all this in the first place. Gee thanks sweetie! And also, screw you. How about “thanks” or “looks nice” or “of course I will help you do something that is important to you regardless of its lack of importance to me.” No such luck. I’m now plotting my revenge.

Exotic eyes that feel like home

When I was a child I’d look around and see a sea of people just like me.
Eyes like stormy skies and hair washed in the light of the sun
Now, today, when I stand and glance at the colors of my world I look back at a childhood as whitewashed as Huck Finn’s fence
In my new, rainbow tinged world, I stand alone
In my solitude I think of the home I used to know
Filled with people who looked just like me
Then I look outward and see my new home
The home I built
It is full of people that I love
It’s full of exotic eyes
That feel like home

Where do babies come from?

When my daughter asked me where babies come from,
I lied.

Here’s what I didn’t say.

Babies come from hot nights and too many drinks.

Babies come from poor decisions, conversations with girlfriends in bathrooms packed with other women with makeup slowly running down their faces, and from packed clubs full of sweaty, straining bodies.

Babies come from broken condoms, and “I’m on the pill” and “I’ll pull out” and screams of “Oh God!! Do it!!!”

I won’t tell her that babies are made amidst moans of pleasure and hands sliding over bare skin, and open mouth kisses that taste of toothpaste and lust.

I didn’t mention that babies are created in a moment of fractured ecstasy where you belong to another; body and soul.

A time when a woman’s body is punctured and stroked and strains to join with that of a man.

Babies begin in online dating forums where lonely people look to meet each other for a night or a weekend or a lifetime and you can’t who is worth spending time with and who is going to become your next stalker.

Sometimes babies are made by ticking clocks, charts and graphs and monitors. Injections and schedules. Microscopes and doctors.

Babies can be made of desperation, “don’t leave me,” and empty marriages made of people with empty eyes who look to fill their lives with someone else’s.

Babies can be born of love, hate, loneliness, fear, boredom, and lust.

That’s where babies come from.

Good enough

I have to write today. Thanks keppra for making me a creative tripped out mess seeking redemption or at least a peace that is in short supply.

I’m laying here, boiling in a broth of my own making
Locked in my little corner of the world
Isolated as if this room were an island far removed from the “regular” world
And in this room I look and catalogue my faults
List my should do’s
Alphabetize my failures
And look at a unsure future in which I am terrified and tired of each and every moment of decision
I am paralyzed by my own mistakes
So sure I will face another moment of not being good enough
And what, if there is such a thing, is good enough?
Who has ever attained such an ideal?
Why can’t I accept my flaws and recognize that the lines on my face were earned by surviving happy times… And bitter ones.
I have survived but have I began to live?
Hallmark cards and travel magazines and commercials for penis hardening meds say I haven’t.
I’ve never had a picture perfect family, taken incredible journeys where the tour I take isn’t on any map but was created by knowledgeable 200 year old locals who, by virtue of their foreignness, are way cooler than I, or had a romance where, after a decade together, he still wants to cuddle me in the light of a dying sun.
I am not the girl you see in those ads.
Mine is the face of a single mother who has been perpetually heartbroken for years and sees each moment as another reason I will be heartbroken again.
Afraid of love yet stupidly open to it.
Hopeful in spite of myself… I plunge ahead dodging bullets as they pass.
People say “when will you marry?”
I wonder when it will end.
So sure am I that I am not the one for anyone.
I sigh to myself and move forward because certain death is the end of the story and I’m not going to waste the writing of it… Even if it means surviving the lines and the heartache.

The winds of change

If you haven’t caught on by now, my life is ever changing. I’ve had friends note that my life has more drama than most soap operas… And they weren’t wrong. I try to ride the waves rather than swim against them. Sometimes that’s very hard to do.

I know many of you are from different countries but I’m sure you have heard about the housing issues the US is experiencing. A bit over a year ago, I rented a house and entered into a mutually beneficial if somewhat stressful living situation with my mother. She and I have an interesting relationship dynamic but that is fodder for another post. All was well until we found out that the people we were renting from (thru an agency) weren’t paying their mortgage. Now I have less than a month to find somewhere for myself and the kids to live. My mother has decided to part ways from us and move back to North Carolina. School teaching is not a lucrative position and I have been frantically trying to decide which type of Ramen noodles we will survive off of.

My boyfriend, being the amazing guy he is, has offered to move in with us… All of us. The man has balls of steel to be willing to do that!

Of course I’m totally terrified. I worry that moving in with me is going to break our relationship. There is nothing I would like less than that!

Interracial dating… Yes, we are those people

I grew up in a small town. We weren’t some all white community or anything… But our population consisted of mostly white, black, and Hispanic people. Although there were Asian and Indian (yes, I know India is part of Asia) students, there weren’t very many. I’ve never been shy about interracial dating but dating people of Asian descent is a recent thing for me.

When we are around other Asian families, we get looks. Especially from the older generation. I want to shout- Yes, I’m dating this man! Yes, I love him! We aren’t as interesting as you think so quit staring!

The thing about Asian culture is that it’s much more traditional than white American culture. The concept of a first born, successful son dating someone who is not also Asian is a problem for some families. It’s hard for people who were not raised in that culture to understand. Even harder is the level of respect to parental wishes that Asian children give to their parents.

The reason I tell you this is because my boyfriend told his parents about us today. On the 21st we will have been dating for 5 months. I wasn’t worried exactly… But I was concerned. I don’t know what would have happened if they were against the match. So far they are ok with things… But they don’t know about the kids. Baby steps.