Wow, Miracles Really DO Happen

As some of you may know from my posts on Facebook, I am currently dating a man. I know, I know. As Em says on Facebook all the time: I am a dating machine. I can't help it. I refuse to give up. I feel like so many others have already given up on me, that I refuse to do it to myself.

Anyway, this guy (I have no nifty nickname for him yet) is great. There for a second I thought this other guy might have been interested in me, and I thought I made it known I was interested in him, but either he didn't get the hint or he was interested in me. Either way, he never made his move, and the new guy did, so c'est la vie.

New guy. Mr. No Nickname. He is not perfect. But he is super interesting. And most importantly, he accepts me (and others!) for who they are. He appreciates the fact that I do not immediately judge people at first glance and only dislike others once they have wronged me, and even then I forgive most of my friends for previous wrongdoings. (You know who you are.)

Doin' Good

For the first time in a very long time, I am doing well after a breakup. I know I made the right decision, and I am really happy with it. Sure, I get a little sad sometimes when something reminds me of him, but then I just remind myself (sometimes not so gently) that I do not miss him, I just miss what I thought he could have been.

And I think that has been a lot of my problem in my life. I miss a variety of things, but did they ever actually exist? Or is it all a figment of my imagination? Did I imagine that one boyfriend in college really liking me as much as I thought he did? Did I convince myself of that at the time because it was more interesting and (a lot) more fun? Of course, I am willing to admit that there is always a bit of exaggeration in all memories. (That was my focus of my master's comp exams, so of course I know it better than most.) But I have finally came to the conclusion that my biggest disappointments are my own fantasies.

I have blamed Hollywood for quite some time, despite my fascination with everything movie-land. From the time I realized that not ALL girls get the guy, I was in for a world of disappointment. It has only taken me 32 years to realize that world doesn't exist. Except for in my head.

Alas, It Is True

Odd, seeing this post is right after a picture of us together, but as of today, the dude in the picture below and I are no longer.

I know. It came as a shock to me too when I realized I was happier thinking about us breaking up than staying together. Here's the skinny.

One day last week, yours truly was not feeling so well. I had a headache; I was tired. I was on the phone with Mr. Smarty Pants and he made fun of me one too many times. I requested that he stop making fun of me. He persisted. I explained how I didn't feel well and could he please stop making fun of me. He persisted. I explained that I WAS P.M.S.ING and he needed to stop or I was going to hang up. He replied, "You need to stop being so sensitive. I'm not making fun of you to be mean. I making fun of you to make myself laugh."

Now, this "man" has been married before and had a child with a different woman. He knows the workings of a menstrual cycle. And perhaps the reason he is not with the other two women any longer IS BECAUSE HE IS A MORON WHEN IT COMES TO WOMEN.

So, I was angry. I didn't say anything, nor did I hang up. I let him have his little "funny" attack on me. I politely said good bye and hung up. I calmed down the next day, and I called him to explain why I was upset the day before. I calmly (mind you: this is ALL NEW to Micaela. Micaela doesn't do calm angry. She does Angry angry) told him that it bothered me that he didn't respect my wishes when I asked him to stop making fun of me, and that it made me feel like he didn't like me at all. He laughed and said I had anger issues and that I needed to talk to my therapist about it. Can we say Master Deflector?

Oh, anger issues, huh? He hadn't even SEEN anger issues yet! Had he talked to some of my exes? Some of my friends? Someone who had actually SEEN me angry? No. He just didn't want to talk about it. When I said that we could talk about it later, he said, "No, I don't want to. I only want to talk about fun things."

I, trying my hardest not to scream profusely at him at the top of my lungs, decided I would try to use my new anger-management skills. I thought about it. And I thought about it. And I thought about it some more.

I came to the conclusion that if this person is 40 years old, he will never change. He will always push my buttons when I am "sensitive" even when I request him not to. I also realized I am a communicator and he is not, and that I could not live with someone like that for the rest of my life. I decided that rather than suffer through a grueling three months to see if "we can work it out" I would just break it off now.

The immense sense of satisfaction I got from that realization was profound. I knew I had made the right decision when all of a sudden I felt at ease with everything. Nothing was bothering me. Everything seemed right with the world again. And now I am off to update my online dating profile.

You Asked For It!

Here is proof that he exists.

Hey, Kids!

Well, after a very nice and relaxing weekend in Idaho (thanks Mom & Dad!) I am back in Reno. Getting ready to move at the end of July. Where to? Who knows? I am trying not to stress out about finding a place, but thanks (again!) to Mom & Dad, I am now stressed about it. But I am feeling good: I got a couple of boxes from work today and started packing my books. Man! I have a lot of books. But the conclusion I came to is that I always feel better after some cleaning.

When I was in college and living in a giant house right on 4th St. in Pocatello, I used to clean all the time. One time I gassed myself and my roommate out of the bathroom because I used too many different cleaners at the same time and the window wouldn't open! Another time, the same roommate came home to find me frantically cleaning out the spice cabinet (which in our house, was not a pretty sight). Immediately, she asked, "What's wrong? What happened?" My response: Oh, nothing, just broke up with my boyfriend and the only thing that makes me feel any better is cleaning the shit outta something.

This weekend, Mom and I watched many, many hours of a show called Clean House, which I usually cannot watch because it is on the Style Network, and alas, Dish does not provide that with the basic service. So, I got my fill of the show while I could. I realized while watching this amazing show (which is about a team that goes to people's houses and cleans the clutter out) that other people do not get that same satisfaction that I do of cleaning that I do.

So now I am going through all of my magazines and keeping what I need and recycling the rest. Things I need: pictures of Bono. Pretty much all I have found so far. But even doing that brings such a sense of calm to my mind, that I sometimes wonder why I don't clean all the time? Why don't I do this for a living? I would be really good at sorting through other people's stuff!

Dear Anonymous

You are exactly the reason I don't like to write about my happiness. People who complain about my complaints I have no beef with. But people who call me an idiot and not cool on my own blog I do have a beef with. If you say nasty things about me when I am complaining, then I can only imagine what you will say about my happiness, and that, my dear, I simply cannot abide.

Hi There! Long Time, No See!

I have heard it all before.

"You don't blog anymore."

"You aren't writing anymore."

But I have a good excuse. I'm happy!

I know it seems odd, but when I am happy, I can't write about it. I just can't do it. Everything I have to say seems so lame and cute and trite, that writing, well, makes me hate how happy I am.

For some reason, I feel I can express myself better with words only when I am angry. But when I am happy, all I feel like saying is stupid driveling shit that makes me want to puke on any other given day.

For instance, "I like him." Oh, God, I am making myself sick. Who cares? Who honestly cares if I like this guy or not? No one wants to hear me go on and on about how fantastic he is, and what other funny thing he said the other day. No one. And I don't blame you! Not at all! And my friends have to put up with it when I am talking because I adore talking. And I want to make myself puke then, too.

When I am happy and I sound like a teenage girl with a crush, I feel so dumb. I just simply don't know what to do with myself. So, rather than write, I wallow in the cheesy, boring to everyone else but me, lovey-dovey world that I am in right now. Suffice to say, I am happy! And having a good time.

And I won't bother you with it.