lastmandystanding

Mother. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Blogger. Aspiring writer. Smartass. Sometimes I say funny things.

Archive for the tag “dating”

A short poem… deep in the feelings tonight.

I want so badly to hate you for what you did to me. To us.

I want to scream and throw things.

I want to curse your name.

I want to hate you.

I want to go back to the night we met and un-fall for you.

I want to go back to every time I found myself falling even more in love with you and stop myself from doing it.

I want to feel the sun on my face and not immediately think of you.

I want to go to a beach someday and not be heartbroken that your feet aren’t in the sand next to mine.

I want to see an eagle and not feel sadness for what it meant to us, which is now all but lost.

I want to cook while listening to music and not ache for the many times we did that together, stealing kisses…flirting.

I want to be cooking in the kitchen in my underwear, dancing, moving my hips to the music, sipping wine, oblivious to the fact that you’re staring at me, completely in my zone, and have that moment when I catch you, catching me, and have that moment of “hey… I see you… where have you been all my life?”

I want to go back and un-believe everything I ever believed about you.

I want to forget you, as if that would somehow make the hurt stop.

I know that it won’t.

I can’t un-remember.

I can’t un-feel.

I can’t turn off my feelings, as much as I wish I could.

I want to un-plan our future.

I want to un-dream our dreams.

I want to un-need you.

I want to un-want you.

I want to un-love you.

But I can’t.

Not today.

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Starting Over and Stopping.

I’m going to apologize now for the (very uncharacteristic) serious tone of this particular post, and for the delay since my last post.  This one has been in the works for a couple weeks.  I promise the next one will be more like my usual comedic self. So, without further ado…

I was reminded recently by my 8 year old daughter just how simple love really is, or rather, should be.  With timing that couldn’t have been more perfect, she gave me a little handmade card that said “I love you” on the front, and on the inside, it said “I love you because…” and she put the following: “you help me get through problems, you make supper, and you love me.” Nowhere in there did it say “because you buy me cool things and take me places all the time” – just the basic needs:  kindness, food, and love.

Do you even remember when it was that simple? When it used to be as easy as “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” When people said “I love you” – and meant it, in every sense of the word.  A time long before a rampant divorce rate. Long before social media. Long before societal pressures reached a fever pitch. I’m talking about way back when…like when your grandparents fell in love, and even though they went through some really awful times, they stayed together, no matter what, until the day they died.

Somewhere between the innocence of an 8 year old and becoming an adult, we (grown-ups, collectively) have royally screwed things up when it comes to love and relationships.

When you break it down to its simplest form, the basic needs haven’t really changed. We all need a little kindness – both to have it and show it to others, and to receive it from others.  We all need “food” – as in, “to be fed” – to have every part of our being taken care of.  To be fed emotionally, physically, spiritually, socially, professionally, etc.   And we all need LOVE. Plain and simple.

So how did it get so damn complicated?  Why is it so hard for two human beings to make it work? Do we get caught up in infatuation and idealism? Do we expect too much? Do we put too much pressure on each other? Do we get strangled by envy? By selfishness? Are we consistently fooled by the proverbial “grass is greener on the other side” syndrome?  Do we just give up too easily?

I think it’s all of the above.

As a woman who’s been through a divorce with young children involved, I speak from the heart when I say there have been times in my life over the last few years when I honest-to-God thought that the heartache just might do me in.  I’ve dropped to my knees in utter despair, cried until I gagged, thrown my fists up in anger as I cried and screamed through clenched teeth, re-lived every second of my failed marriage to try and find an answer for what happened, cried to my mother/sister/best friend that I just didn’t think I could survive it. It was the worst heartache I have ever been through. And mine wasn’t just an “over and done” type of pain. It was a long, drawn-out, holding on out of desperation – kind of pain. The kind that leaves scars.

I tried to limit my heartache to when my girls weren’t with me, and keep it together when they were around, but when the waves of emotion come, sometimes you just have to ride them.  I recall one particular night when everything just got the best of me all day long, all week long, and culminated with a gallon of milk dropped on the floor only to splatter all over every square inch of my little apartment kitchen.  I was literally crying over spilled milk…and a failed marriage, and feeling sad for my girls to have to go through all this, and feeling broken and alone and exhausted in every sense of the word.  Once I got the milk cleaned up, I just collapsed in a heap of sobs and was consoled – in the very same tender, loving, motherly manner in which I do them – by my two young daughters. 

That was a sort of wake-up call for me.  I told myself then and there that I would never allow them to see me that upset ever again – at least not if I could help it. And certainly not when a man was the source of my hurt.

I know that pain and heartache is not unique to me.  It is universal.  And no matter the source of the pain and heartache, the thought of making yourself vulnerable to ever being put through the same situation again is nothing short of terrifying. Becoming serious with someone new is hard.  It’s hard not to think they are going to do the same crap to you that the one before them did.  It’s hard not to group them into the same categories that everyone before them has been grouped into.  Starting over is hard and it sucks. But it’s a necessary part of living and growing.

I certainly have said “never again” more times than I care to discuss — I’ll never let someone in my heart like that again. I’ll never trust someone like that again. I’ll never believe another man.  If this relationship fails, I’m done for good, I swear it. I will never do it again. Ever.  I say that, but I know myself too well, and know that I won’t actually give up on finding the right person for me. I like the good parts of an honest, healthy relationship far too much to say “never again” and actually mean it.

Often times, when I am at my lowest of lows as far as loneliness, it’s usually in a crowded room full of people – surrounded by people, but not that ONE who just gets me. The one who knows what makes me tick, and can read my face from across that crowded room – and either shoot me a wink and a smile that speaks volumes, or know from my expression that it is time to wrap things up so we can go home. The one that looks at me across the room and just feels content in the idea of me being his girl – whatever that means. The one who would walk across that crowded room just to give me a kiss on my forehead. The one that I can trust – trust with my heart, trust with my mind, trust to let into my life – and know that, no matter what the day brings each of us, at the end of it, I can rest assured in the fact that I’m the only woman he wants to be with, and that he cares what I do and how I feel.  And vice versa. I don’t want someone perfect.  I want someone perfect FOR ME.   

I’m not foolish enough to think that available men my age aren’t going to have some of the very same wounds I have. Most are going to be divorced, and from what I have observed in the men I’ve dated or talked to, a large number of them were cheated on.  That wasn’t an issue in my marriage, but I have experienced it in my dating life. And I absolutely hate – no, I detest – that feeling.  The feeling when you first find out about it.  And then every time you think about it afterward (and get re-pissed, re-hurt).  Even if it happens before the relationship has been clearly “defined”.  It still hurts. It takes awhile to come back from that. But WANTING to come back from that is key to being successful at it.  If you want to move past it, you will.  But it may take time.

If you’re wondering what my point is, don’t feel bad – I’m wondering the same thing.  I know what’s in my heart and my head, but sometimes, getting it all to come out of my fingertips onto this keyboard is difficult to do.

I guess what I’m getting at, is that we all just need to STOP.  Stop over-complicating everything.  Stop taking people and things for granted.  STOP passing up something or someone really great because we think it might be just a teensy bit better on the other side.  I’m not saying we need to become stagnant in life and settle or lower our standards.  I’m saying that, if you find yourself sitting back in your life or your relationship and thinking “man…this is pretty damn good.  I’m not sure what I did to deserve this, but I like it” – then just stop.  Stop there.  Stop and take it all in and just…let it be. 

Don’t run when things are going good just because “that’s what you do.”  Don’t walk away for a possible “what if?” Stay right where you are and just take it all in for a bit. And whatever it is – a relationship or something else – if it’s working, do everything in your power not to screw it up.  And if you do, then do everything in your power to fix it and make it right. Because the person you hurt may have put everything in his/her entire being on the line in letting you in in the first place. It’s not easy, but in my heart of hearts, I have to believe that in the end, it’s going to be worth it.  

I read something the other day that kind of stuck with me. I’ve already forgotten where I read it, but I can’t forget what it said: 

“Everything will be alright in the end. If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end.”

Catman Don’t

Another online dating tragedy of mine has literally become a party favorite. I’m asked to tell this story repeatedly. It’s also probably the only dating story of mine that comes with a “P.S.”

I started chatting with Catman through an online dating pond from which I am proudly no longer fishing. He. Was. A. Charmer. He was a musician and “small business owner”. And an animal lover. And a vegetarian. Each of those things are perfectly fine. All of them together…should’ve been a red flag.

We did the typical cycle of online chats, then texts, then phone calls. There was always plenty to talk about, and we flirted a bit. This went on for the better part of two to three weeks. We decided to meet in person.

Call me foolish (I was), but I had developed a sense of trust with Catman after talking regularly for a few weeks. I’m a pretty good vibe-catcher, and he hadn’t thrown any psycho ones, so we decided that I would drive to his place, leave my car there, and we would go to dinner. Unless I know him (ie. an old classmate, etc.), I never have a man come to my house, or even know approximately where it is. And I called my sister to tell her his name, where he lived and what he drove, in the event he chopped me into kitty kibbles.

I arrived to his house, which seemed nice enough from the curb, parked and walked up to the door. A bit nervous, I knocked, and was rather pleasantly surprised by the face (and body) that greeted me.

Until I stepped into the foyer.

In hindsight, I should’ve just gone with my immediate desire to puke, and just ended the evening there. But, no. I was invested in this, dammit. That, plus I tend to be overly cautious not to hurt someone’s feelings, and I thought ‘oh, what the hell. He’s a nice guy, and it’s just dinner, right?’ Yeah. Right.

Now…I’ll do my best to paint a multi-sensory picture for you of what I encountered when I stepped inside:

*Sight: (aside from an attractive man) layers of dust and cat hair. And boxes upon boxes upon more boxes of his “small business owner” stuff, which loosely translates into “I sell crap on the internet.” …up the creepiness factor here by him handing me a tiny little blue box with a white bow on it (picture a Tiffany-esque attempt) that had pierced, dangle-y “emerald” earrings in it (one of the hodge-podge assortment of items he sold online). I tried to refuse, but he insisted. Yes, I still have them. No, I have not/will not wear them. Ever.

*Smell: While HE smelled very nice (which is shocking, considering it all), I was slapped in the face by the smell of cat. Cat everything. Cat pee. Cat poop. Cat…i don’t know…saliva? Just…cat-ness. And lots of it. (Ever the optimist, I thought ‘welllll… maybe the cat, like, JUST took a dump and a whiz, like two seconds ago. It’s possible, right?’) No. If he had a jungle cat and it took a dump on my upper lip and I dabbed feline urine behind my ears – it wouldn’t smell much worse.

*Sound: Nothing. No meows. No purring. No kitty-sounds whatsoever.

(Side note: I seriously wanna know how his house stunk so bad and yet HE smelled so good. Because I can’t fry a piece of freaking bacon without me and everything in my house smelling like it for 3 days)

But anyway…

Catman: “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

Me: “I don’t care…whatever you’d like.” (standard chick answer)

Well…that was like, mistake #87 on my part. I should’ve suggested a place. I should’ve definitely CARED. Because where we ended up for Friday night, first-date DINNER…was IHOP. Yep. The International House of Freaking Pancakes. (IHOFP…it’s a midwest thing) Now don’t get me wrong. I’m a breakfast-all-day kind of girl. It’s my favorite meal, favorite food. But it’s not a first-date Friday night dinner. I ordered a breakfast with two types of sausage (sausage gravy and sausage links) and had to listen to him make a little squealing sound representative of my obvious murdering of an innocent pig for the sake of my appetite, while he enjoyed these freaking tater tot things with cheese on them. Wussy.

The conversation was flowing as much as it could on a first date at IHOP on a Friday night between two people. Topics drifted to his animal-loving…specifically, CATS and how he liked to rescue them.

 What’s this? A redeeming quality?

Then, the more I listened, the more it became clear that he wasn’t a “rescue, rehab, release” kind of guy, but rather…a collector. So I asked. “So how many cats do you have?” I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had said “five”. That’s a reasonable degree of kooky for a guy like him. I was, however, surprised when he replied “thirteen” – very proudly, I might add.

I know ME. And I know that I should NEVER play poker because of my inability to hide facial expression in the face of, well…anything. So I can only imagine what my facial expression must’ve looked like if it matched my inner thoughts.

Me: “wow…that’s a lot of cats. Are they outside cats, or…?”

Catman: (boastfully) “Nope! All inside…they’re like my kids”

Me: “hmmm”

I survived our breakfast-dinner, and we made our way back to his house where I intended to run like a scaredy-cat (pun intended). When we got there, he asked if I wanted to come infor a drink and keep him company while he “fed all the cats”.

Well now… here’s a little conundrum for a girl like me. I’m beyond convinced that there is no love connection here. But this night has been such a damn train wreck, I’m in it for the long haul, because this is one of those things that only happens to yours truly. There is some comedic gold here. I’m sure of it.

Me: “sure, I’ll come in for one drink” (and to see exactly how one goes about feeding thirteen cats)

I sat, with hesitation, on his couch – only because it was leather and I felt the disease risk was minimal. Still not a kitty in sight.

He was making all kinds of racket in the kitchen, while I just sat on the edge of the couch taking about 16GB worth of mental pictures and notes.

He came out with four styrofoam plates with cat food on them. Still no cats. Then he went to door #1, and out trotted four little kitties. Awww…. Wait, what the hell is he doing…?

He proceeded to talk…literally CHAT…with each and every feline on a more personal level than some humans will ever experience. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. And yes, I’ve talked to my pets….but not like this. It was as if he was getting responses that only he could hear. Trust me, I tried to hear them. Nothing.

This group of kitties finished their dinner and conversation, and were escorted back to their room. Repeat this process three more times until all thirteen of them had been satiated. (One cat had to dine at a table for one, as it seems he was a bit of a troublemaker.) Yes, I got a personal introduction and bio on each of them. I fully believe that I was the topic of conversation at their next meal. (“so what did you guys think of her?”)

The timeline for this whole process? One hour, thirty-seven minutes. You might think I would’ve downed a 6-pack while viewing this, but I didn’t even finish my one beer. I was literally stunned most of the time, unable to drink, speak, or take my eyes off this fantastic display of a freakshow.

I quickly hopped up after the last feline foursome had gone back to their living quarters, and thanked him and got the hell out of dodge. I went home and thought about just deleting his number from my phone. But then I thought “no…this guy isn’t going away…and I want to know if it’s him on the other end”, so I kept his number, but changed his name…to CATMAN DON’T.

As good as I am at picking up vibes, I’m even better at throwing them out there. So imagine my surprise when he called me the next day wanting to meet up, which I declined. I didn’t contact him anymore, and didn’t hear from him either. About a month later, I got a Saturday night text from him asking how I’d been. I contemplated whether or not to reply. I wanted to reply with “who is this?” I mean, it was totally feasible that I would’ve deleted his number. But I pegged him as a “give him an inch, he’ll take a mile” kind of fellow, so I just ignored it…something I personally despise, but felt the situation called for it. His profile disappeared from the dating site.

The P.S. to this story:
Fast forward about a year and a half. I reopened my dating profile in attempt #382 to find someone. I was getting several messages a day and would read each of them. And there in my inbox was a message from Catman Don’t…same profile picture, different profile name. Mind you, MY profile name was the same, although I did change my picture, but it was still ME. I was almost afraid to open it, for fear of a verbal assault for my disappearance and lack of response.

But what I got was even better. It was something like this: “wow, that’s some profile you have there! I think we would have a lot in common, what do you like to do, wanna chat?, etc.” Whaaaatttt??? He had NO CLUE who I was, or the fact that we went on one of MY most memorable dates that has been talked about more times than he’s had fleas. My inner comedian toyed with the idea of replying also as if I had no clue who he was, but I chickened out in fears that my inability to be anything other than myself would throw a memory back to him and my cover would be blown. I fancy myself a fairly memorable chick, so my ego has blamed his lack of memory on some sort of amnesia associated with feline fecal poisoning. Yep. That’s definitely it.

The “Houdini” – #1 of a multi-part series. (I’m totally calling you out, Mr. Magic Man)

Single ladies – beware of the Houdini – he wears many faces.

 

Single men – If this is you, KNOCK IT OFF.

 

This is the first in a series of introductions to the men that are out there in the dating pool. I’m sure there’s a female equivalent for most of these, but I don’t date them, so I can’t talk about them.  

 

I like to call this first guy “Houdini”.

 

This is the guy who starts out being super attentive, calling, texting, etc. He is blowing up your phone with all his contact.  Mr. Totally Into You.  You’ll have a few dates, maybe even several.  Things are really clicking with this guy.  If you’re like me, you’re (almost) cautiously optimistic at this point. By this time, you’ve likely become Facebook friends, but have kept it very casual. Your friends keep catching you with a bad case of perma-grin whenever you read one of his texts, etc.

(*note: this Houdini might also be someone you’ve known for a while but never really in a dating capacity, and he suggests the two of you should date and you actually buy into it)  

 

This is right about the time when (hesitantly) you start to tell friends and family about how great things are. “This guy is different”.  When someone asks if you’re seeing anyone, you probably answer with “well…kinda, sorta…maybe…?” You might even start psyching yourself up to the fact that there might actually be some potential here. You start envisioning lazy Sunday afternoons being spent together swinging in a hammock in the summer breeze, movie night, snuggled up with popcorn and your favorite candy (which he has memorized and sweetly keeps stashed for you at his place).

 

Just when you’ve got a little extra pep in your step, a little more wind in your sails, the corners of your mouth take a turn upward….

 

POOF!! – he disappears.

And you’re left feeling like an audience of one waiting for his mind-boggling re-appearance.

 

Here’s a little breakdown of how this plays out (at least for ME):

 

My first instincts are very motherly (and self-preserving): (“Oh my God – I hope he’s ok…what if he got in a wreck? I haven’t met his friends yet so no one would know to call and tell me! How would I know? Oh, I hope Mr. Wonderful is alright. It figures – I meet the perfect guy and now he’s dead.”) <– There’s the self-preservation. That’s the only logical explanation for someone to stop talking to me suddenly and without warning. Death. It’s the only thing that makes any kind of sense (and ultimately, perhaps the better alternative for him).

 

Then (if we’re friends on Facebook) — I see that dreaded post/comment/”like” —  or recent new friendship. With another female.  

 

Ok…he’s not dead. Mildly comforting, but it confuses me and pisses me off at the same time.

 

It makes sense now.  Is my freaking phone working?!? Maybe I look like the a-hole! Maybe he’s been texting me and I haven’t gotten them, so I haven’t replied, and he’s wondering the same thing! (Admittedly, I have called or texted my sister and said “text me” – to make sure I can send and receive one.)

 

Dammit. Phone works.

 

Because I’m female and have an impeccable memory, I replay the mental DVR that is everything I have said and done throughout the entire course of this pseudo-relationship. Sure, I’m a little bit crazy (good crazy). Every good chick is. But I haven’t even scratched that surface yet, so that’s not it. And I’m cool as $hit. Who wouldn’t want to talk to me?

 

The pep has left my step. The wind has left my sails. The corners of my mouth are no longer turned upward.

 

I fancy myself a very intuitive, insightful type.  I can detect BS-ery from a mile away. So when I am caught off-guard by such magic tricks, it really pisses me off.

 

For the sake of closure, of course I would like to know WHY.  I might even ask him WHY. — Nothing. No reply at all.

 

I will then inevitably (and rather quickly) reach the point of not giving a damn WHAT he has to say, and just wish he would find his testicles and the decency to just SAY IT. I would accept any of the following:

  • ·        I don’t like you.
  • ·        I really do like you but I’m scared of how I feel.
  • ·        I can’t stand you.
  • ·        You’re not skinny/pretty/rich enough.
  • ·        I found someone better.
  • ·        I just can’t see anyone right now.
  • ·        Go to hell, Mandy.
  • ·        I’m an immature a-hole.

 

My whole shock/denial/anger/acceptance/moving on to better things process is a few days, tops. Unless I really, REALLY like him…then I am allowed to re-visit every stage as often as I’d like.  

 

Unless and until the time that this magic man offers up some shred of an explanation – he will remain dead…just like the real Houdini.  But I am an extremely forgiving person. If an apology is offered, an apology I will accept.

 

Aside from the fact that people find this kind of behavior (with anyone) to be acceptable, the thing I find most interesting in all this, is that for every instance in which this has happened to me – the guy NEVER un-friends me on Facebook. Not once. And just to keep things interesting, I don’t usually un-friend them either. I relish in the moments when I can bask in the glory of being the bigger person.

 

I have since adopted a strict policy against dating magicians. I have also adopted the “it’s your loss” philosophy. I’ve shortened the shock/denial/anger/acceptance/moving on to better things process down to mere hours instead of days.

 

Ladies – there’s no real way to see this one coming. You just have to know how to deal with him. If he wants to disappear – LET HIM.

 

Guys – please know that if you do this, it really only makes you look cowardly and legitimately a little insane. You want to do some magic? Make us feel like the only woman in a crowded room of people.

 

 

 

 

 

When I’m in charge of Facebook…

As a life-long people watcher and mental note-taker, I am endlessly entertained by some of the crap people say and do on Facebook. However, I would like to make just a few little tweaks here and there – you know, keep it real, spice things up a bit, up the entertainment factor. This is just scratching the surface, but I would institute the following changes – pronto.

1. Everyone* will be limited to 3 posts per day – MAXIMUM.

This is being extremely generous. Some people should be limited to 3 per week or calendar month.

 {*I am exempt from this rule, because a) I have a lot of cool stuff to say, and b) I hypothetically run Facebook, I can do whatever I want.}

2. If you make 3 consecutive posts about all of your self-imposed drama/turmoil in your life or you‘re having a private argument in the most public of places, posting privileges are revoked for 1 week so you can cool your jets.

Deal with your personal stuff, personally – out of the public eye. The status update window says “What’s on Your Mind?” – NOT “Dear Diary…”

3. Posting between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. will be strictly prohibited.

Anything good going on between those hours should be kept to yourself. Everything else – you’ll regret in the morning.

4. There WILL be a dislike button. There will also be all of the following buttons:

  • Don’t care.
  • I call BS.
  • Liar
  • This was funnier the first time…when it was MY status.
  • I’m so vain, I really think this post is about me.
  • I like your status only because I like YOU but I’m a chicken and this is my way of flirting.
  • I like your status only because if I don’t, you’ll ask me why I didn’t.
  • I like your status only because I know you’ll ask me why I like it.
  • I only like this because someone else is going to see that I did.
  • That’s what she said.
  • I’m dumber after reading this status.
  • Thanks for looking like the a-hole for actually saying what everyone else is thinking.

5. Relationship statuses: There are currently 11 options. I would add the following:

For the men:

  • Emotionally stunted so this will never be serious, but I like (insert name) because she has boobies.
  • Rebounding like Rodman with (insert name)
  • (insert name)’s Sugar Daddy (and proud of it)
  • About to screw things up with (insert name) (wait – what?? How did this end up on the guys’ list??)
  • (Insert name)’s baby daddy

For the women:

  • In in for the money with (insert name)
  • (Insert name)’s mid-life crisis
  • (Insert name)’s baby mama

Single…with a twist:

  • One bad date away from switching teams*
  • Making single look GOOD*
  • A cougar on the prowl (would read like this: Susan is “a cougar on the prowl”)
  • Carefully selecting the next victim
  • Happily divorced*
  • Bringing sexy back*

(* = this may or may not describe me)

For anyone:

  • Because I didn’t get to in high school with (insert name)
  • Pretending with (insert name)
  • Flavor of the week is: (insert name)
  • Pissing off my parents with (insert name)
  • Using (insert name) to get back at my ex.
  • In it for the sex with (insert name)
  • Changing my relationship status way too soon with (insert name)
  • Having Casual Sex with (insert name) {probably followed by: and (insert name) and (insert name), etc.}
  • Disappointing my mother with (insert name)
  • Moving way too quickly with (insert name)
  • About to rush into something stupid with (insert name)
  • Home-wrecker to (insert name)
  • Making one bad decision after another with (insert name)
  • Lowering my standards with (insert name)
  • In a Relationship with (insert name) but secretly in love with (insert different name)
  • Admiring (insert name) from afar
  • Answering (insert name)’s booty calls – (probably multiple names here)
  • Calling (insert name) for booty – (same as above)
  • Fooling no one but myself with (insert name)

 6. I would also spice up the “sex” question. More than just male/female.

I would also add:

  • How Often?
  • With: (option to tag people) ß and watch the fur fly.

Oh. My. Gawd. I have schoolgirl giddiness just imagining this social utopia.

I could go all day with this. I can already tell this is a work in progress.

I’ll keep working on this one…may have enough for a volume 2. Would love to hear your suggestions for any of this too.

Thanks for reading. My next blog will be posted much sooner than this one was. (I’m a bit of a perfectionist) – that just might be the death of a baby blogger like me.

 

Ohhhh… almost forgot. Since we’re talking about Facebook… go there and “Like” the LastMandyStanding page!

 

The Wheat Thins Incident

Have you ever been so damn tired that you really cannot and should not be held responsible for anything that comes out of your mouth? I am soooo very guilty of this when I get to my delirious and ridiculously exhausted stage.  I’m pretty sure I possess the ability to carry on (albeit incoherent) conversation in the “awake” world while having a dream in the “sleep” world. I imagine it must be like watching an outgoing, attention-deficient, narcoleptic, multi-tasker fight with herself. (I SO want to keep talking and stuff but I also need to sleep – look, I can do both!)

 Even though he has re-told this story himself, for the sake of anonymity, I will call the guy in this story “Trek”.  Trek has been very encouraging and supportive of me starting a blog, so I told him last week that I thought the only obvious starter story for this would be the infamous “Wheat Thins” incident. He may hesitate admitting so, but he’s pretty pumped to be the first feature story, even if it is under the cloak of anonymity.

 Trek and I had been dating for a couple months, and because of our schedules at the time, much of our quality time was later in the evening, usually just watching a movie with a glass of wine or something. Sounds boring, but it was very “us”. We never required constant going places and doing things to enjoy each other’s company. But I digress.  Back to the story.

 This particular evening, I was exhausted.  We were watching a movie or TV or whatever, and I think I had probably had a glass of wine, which undoubtedly added to my sleepiness. So…Trek and I were on the couch, kissing.  Eyes closed, of course.

 Super tired + glass of wine + late at night + relaxed on the couch + kissing with my eyes closed = in the middle of kissing, I mumbled “wheat thins” – then went back to kissing as if that didn’t just happen.

 In my defense, I wasn’t yet aware that it had actually happened. I was aware that I suddenly had a freaking SNACK CRACKER in my head, but was resting all comfy in the thought that it was just that – a thought. An inside-my-head THOUGHT.

 Here’s where Trek gained infinity bonus points for going back to kissing me (for a second) after that, and not sending my crazy ass packing right then and there. I’m pretty sure the delay was the time it took for him to process what just happened. And process, he did. 

 Trek pulled back slightly and said (very kindly, I might add) “what did you just say?” – and then it hit me. NOT an inside-my-head thought. I just said that out loud.

 My inner dialogue at that moment went a little something like this: “OH. MY. GOD. You are an idiot. Freaking WHEAT THINS?!? When was the last time you even BOUGHT or ATE a Wheat Thin?!? Nice knowing you, Trek. Remember the good times. I’ll show myself to the door, thanks.”

 And with this realization, I instantly felt like an under-age juvenile who was stoned, had been consuming gallons of alcohol, and had just been approached by the police, the DEA, the FBI, my grandparents, my pastor, and a camera crew and was trying desperately to sober up at warp speed.

 So naturally, I did the only thing I could at that moment.  I buried my head in Trek’s chest and burst into cackling laughter.  Tears streaming down my face, I tried several times to explain myself best I could. I tried to explain that earlier that day at work someone in the office was trying to remember the name of this snack cracker: “you know, not Triscuits, but the other…” and I offered up my wisdom “Oh, you mean Wheat Thins?” – By the way, that part NEVER happened. That was the little micro-dream I was having at the time of my now infamous utterance. But I only realized it was just a dream after questioning one of my friends at work. 

 I have to add (mostly as a self-esteem booster) that this incident was not the end of me and Trek.  He kept me around a little while longer, and we are still great friends to this day. And we still share a laugh over this incident, and always will.

 As timing would have it, there is now a Wheat Thins commercial on TV with Brian and Stewie from ‘Family Guy’.  Brian is eating Wheat Thins and Stewie asks for some but Brian doesn’t like the way Stewie says “Wheat Thins”.  If you haven’t seen it, go watch it on YouTube.  And if you can ever watch that commercial, eat, or even look at Wheat Thins the same way after reading this story, you’re better than me.  At the end of the commercial, it says “DO WHAT YOU DO.”  

Yep. Works for me.

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