I'm So Sick of Pickles

Okay, so now that I’ve gotten my #pussypower rant out of the way (for now), let’s have ourselves a laugh. So, these said “men,” I have met… let me tell you a little bit about them. These guys still buy paper plates to avoid doing dishes. They leave their black, coarse pubes or beard or whatever-the-fuck hair in the sink and on the counter (and then complain when our hair SHEDS-as if that’s in our control). These “men” have empty refrigerators with the exception of a few beers and a jar of pickles. (I swear-pickles are a huge common denominator here… lol… get it? Pickles?) No, but actually. Dudes love pickles. These men read a couple of Malcolm Gladwell books and think they have mastered life. They’ve got it all down. Their Bumble profiles boast about how they “love to travel!” But shortly after getting to know them, you learn that their last trip out of the country was in 2016 on a college study abroad trip. These said “men” are on the same playing field as my fifteen-year-old brother. Actually, that’s insulting. My little brothers, while they are immature as shit, THEY are men. Okay… not totally… but in the sense that they were taught respect. My parents didn’t abide by or enforce heavy gender norms (which was pretty rare in the 90s, so that was rad of them), so we shared Barbies AND Hot Wheels. I loved doing my brothers makeup (and they are SAINTS for letting me) but I also loved watching Monster Trucks with them. Alec, the older of the two, fucking loved playing with Polly Pockets. And in return... he let me come with him to Boy Scouts because he knew I despised hanging out with the girls. Uh… also… girl scouts literally fucking sell cookies. And I just googled where that money even goes to? I’m still unsure. Okay-anyway. Despite my brother being a total shithead, that sensitive little boy will always be there. And the ladies LOVE him for that! THE POINT: it isn’t a nicely trimmed beard and some bulging muscles that make you a man. It all boils down to just being a decent fucking human being.

In my later entries, I’ll discuss more details of specific dates and how tragic they have been, but tonight (or this morning? Idk, it's 4 AM), I’m feeling totally passionate about this boys vs. men rant... so I’ll ride that wave for now.

In all seriousness, I learned something this evening. One of my most recent “prospects” (LOL, that is awful of me to refer to them as after I just went on a tangent about respect-look at me objectifying men oh god), turned out to totally suck. Which sucks because he’s actually awesome and genuinely intelligent and funny… but he sucks. So it all sucks. I bring him up because a few weeks ago he told me I’d never been with a man. I initially laughed at that because like, alright, we get it… this is you insinuating that you’re going to show me what it’s like to have a real man, huh, babe? But then when I asked him to define “man,” his description matched mine. Well, mostly. Great sign, right? Wrong. This is a lie we know all too well. It’s the same as: “I’m not like the others.” SOMEHOW, even though we know better, it’s like we are conditioned to just fucking believe it until we’re proven otherwise. This is going to sound ridiculous. It is so incredibly obvious. But I realized that I started to accept that “man” can be defined with words. NO SAM COME ON. Being a man is shown through actions. I mostly feel defeated. I trust too easily. I wanted to so badly believe that it was my turn to be treated right. My turn to be treated with respect. My turn to feel like someone gives a SHIT about me. So, in sum—my expectations aren’t high. I don’t expect these glorified TV characters to be a realistic depiction of a man in any way. I don’t want that faux Instagram relationship that is seemingly SO perfect. What I ask seems so feasible… so why is it so rare?

I woke up this morning, put on my favorite matching athletic outfit that I’ve maybe worn twice? Ever. I BLASTED rap at 5 AM (payback for my bitch ass neighbors having sex all night—but also—good for you guys). I walked my ass to the gym and as I ran on that dreadful thing you people call a treadmill, I recited “I love myself” over and over again. Sounds crazy, huh? No. It’s cliche and the design is still flawed—but I do believe that you cannot truly expect anyone to love you until you learn to love yourself. One of my ex-boyfriends told me, “Just watching and listening to you struggle with all of your insecurities is tiring for me, I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.” He then followed that statement with, “I’ll tell you one thing… it’s incredibly unattractive and no one is going to want to deal with that.” Real gem, right? There is a lot of validity to what he was saying though. Confidence is SUCH a sexy quality. I want to exude that. So fuck your definition of “MAN.” I don’t need it, I don’t care to hear about it, and I don’t crave your love. (although you know, it would be a little nice).

I’m going to continue cooking meals for myself and cleaning my apartment even when I don’t have guests over. I’m going to play MY favorite music when I’m getting ready, and I’m going to watch MY favorite shows. I’m going to use a hammer and a power drill (after watching youtube tutorials), and hang up all my decorations. When my hair falls out in the shower, I’m going to do that little thing where you just wipe the strand on the wall. Ladies, do you know what I’m saying? It won’t come off your hands after conditioning so you just make a little swirly hair and stick it to the side of the shower. I KNOW you know what I mean. I’m going to vacuum four times a day because crumbs make me cringe. I’m going to stay up late and eat goldfish in bed (attempting to avoid any spillage of crumbs). I’m going to cry when I want to. I’m going to Facetime my mom six times a day asking her how long I should keep my chicken in the oven for, and what cleaner is the most useful and safe… but most importantly… I am going to disregard my quest of looking for a “man” right now because I just found the definition of a woman. She radiates kindness and independence. Love, for herself and for others. She is humble yet confident. She knows that she needs to begin to make herself a priority before she can truly help anyone else. She just fucking loves herself. What a liberating concept.

So, point of all of this: adios, boys!

Over and out.