What Happens When I’m Called a Slut…

I recently received an email from The Mad Hatter. It read…

 “JBlondie has become quite the Jslut.”

 I haven’t responded…until now.

 Dear Mad Hatter,

First of all, I’d just like to say, thanks for the continued patronage to my blog! I truly appreciate my fans who have been there since the beginning. The fact that you still spend your time reading about my little, insignificant life is well…kind of sad, but also just as entertaining for me as I hope my stories are for you.

If I’m being completely honest, your words stung. I allow myself to be a vulnerable human being with emotions, and therefore my feelings get really fucking hurt sometimes. Too bad you don’t have any, maybe then you’d realize how absolutely unnecessary and inappropriate your email was. I truly regret allowing you to have that kind of power over me (and the fact that you’ve seen me naked makes it so much worse) but everything happens for a reason. Maybe some unknown girl somewhere will read this post one day and decide to just say “fuck him,” if one of the men she’s dated calls her a slut.

So in case that girl is reading right now, I’d like to take a minute and talk about the verbal vomit you felt compelled to throw my way.

Urban Dictionary:

Slut: A Woman with Morals of a Man

Webster Dictionary:

Slut:

1. Chiefly British: A slovenly woman

2. A promiscuous woman

Now Mad Hatter…we both know my morals have been a tad shaky in the past. Sometimes I make bad decisions. Sue me. But overall, I’d like to think I’m a good person who believes in the good in other people. I chose a profession in which I hopefully can do some good to the world. But I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. However, unlike you…I take absolute responsibility for mine. I regret my actions, I apologize (which you’ve NEVER done), and I ask for forgiveness from the individual I’ve wronged. Too bad you refuse to do the same. Vis-a-vis, I suspect my morals are higher then yours, hence why we can negate Urban Dictionary’s poor excuse for a definition.

Next, let’s address the word “slovenly.” I am neither messy or dirty. I enjoy a daily shower and I take pride in my appearance. I’m sure you can remember that from our time together, so let’s cross out that second definition as well.

I suppose the third and final definition could be rather tricky as promiscuity is highly subjective. An individual could read my blog and ASSUME that I’m promiscuous. They could ASSUME that sex means nothing to me, and I sleep with whomever, and whenever I want to with extreme impulsivity or without regard for real emotions. However, my dear Mad Hatter, they would be wrong wouldn’t they? I don’t do “casual.” Sex involves every emotion I possess…and anyone who’s slept with me would know that.

In all actuality, the fact that you use this word to describe me not only makes me think you’re uneducated and should review your vocabulary, but it also shows how little you got to know me during our time together. (If you need a refresher you can read about that here)

Mad Hatter, there could be a thousand reasons why you felt it necessary to pop back up into my life. Maybe you wanted to make me feel shitty about myself…maybe you miss my friendship…or mayhaps you were just bored one day and decided you wanted to fuck with someone and I was the lucky winner. (Since you’re dead inside, I’d go with the latter)

But take note: After this cathartic release, I refuse to waste a single second of my time thinking about you. I refuse to accept the term “slut” simply because I enjoy sex. I’m looking for my soulmate…not casual sex and anyone who has read this blog would CLEARLY know that. Sex is an amazing thing in this life, and I REFUSE to be someone who takes it for granted. I do not fit the definition Mad Hatter, so stop trying to force my square peg self into your round hole. (No pun intended).

 When will society stop dishing out double standards like yesterday’s leftovers?

 When will women embrace their sexuality, but at the same time respect themselves for everything else they have to offer?

But most importantly, when will men stop the name-calling? All you’re doing is reinforcing what society has always told us…that we’re not your equal. Stop. Build us up. Don’t break us down. We are capable of deep concentrated love. Why would you ever want to hinder that?

Mad Hatter I hope you realize I don’t need your advice. I want nothing of what you have to offer me. You are a toxic human being and your numbness is contagious. Have you had enough attention yet?

Sincerely,

JBlondie (The Big ‘Ol Slovenly woman who’s promiscuousness is out of control…let’s all pray for her soul)

P.S. Remember that time you sent me a video of you playing with an anonymous girls breasts in order to simply crush my sense of self worth? That was special. I’ll always treasure the memories you’ve provided.

P.P.S. A huge thank you to Ann St. Vincent who provided me with a moment of lightening during a dark cloud

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 Reasons to Let Yourself Go…

1. You’re Closer to Death Everyday.

Listen, some people see this as a chance to grab life by the horns and ride that wild bull. I see it as a reason to drink too much, eat whatever I want, and adopt the daily attitude of “I don’t give a fuck.” Just let it all out…let that ugliness stun those around you. Unleash your freak flag, have a no pants party in holy underwear, and decide to not care.

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2. True Love is a Fallacy.

Now usually I’m a crusader for Love. However, on a day such as today I’ve decided to call Bullshit on Cupid. That Chubby Cherub wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the ass. So stop exercising, stop giving a shit what you look like naked, and just sit on your couch while eating too many Cheetos for one sitting. I’m giving you full permission to eat the entire bag, and then rummage through your freezer looking for that forgotten fudge bar you hid in case of emergencies.

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3. You’re not going to change the world.

It’s come to my attention lately that most people think they’re pretty special. Guess what? You’re not. In fact, most of us are rather unexceptional. We can try to be unusual, remarkable human beings, but in reality…NOPE! Accept this fact and move on. Maybe when people realize their impact on the world is far less then they imagine it to be, we’ll start getting closer to a World Peace Treaty.

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4. Everyone has their ugly days.

You’re not that hot. You should probably be shooting to take that 6 out on a date rather than the 9 you’ve had you’re eye on all month. The 9 will just hurt you in the long run. Trust me. 6’s are safe…and usually much nicer. (But who wants “nice?” …see #2) Today is the only day in the history of time I will ever say this…settle. Settle before you end up ugly, fat, and alone. We really need to stop demanding perfection…

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5. Your Dog is NOT your best friend.

…because he’s a dog and he does not have feelings. Learned behaviors? Sure! But he doesn’t love you. Get over yourself.

 

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6. Everyone uses everyone else.

I’m sure some of you will be shocked and horrified at this statement…and to that I say? I don’t give a fuck. Reality is we use everyone around us to fulfill SOME wanting or need we have. Mayhaps we want love. Maybe we need a promotion…or maybe we just want the cashier in the grocery store to be behind the register because we’re feeling too lazy for the self-checkout today.

7. No One Cares.

Have a Pity Party. It’s your party, you can cry if you want to. Why don’t you just cover your head back up under the covers because sending whiny text messages to your significant other isn’t going to help. They may bring you home some chicken noodles soup, but since we grew up…your bad days really don’t matter to other people. I wish mom’s kisses still helped your boo-boos. But since they don’t, I suggest “boo-fucking-hooing” until the cows come home because no one owes you anything.

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8. Tomorrow will come.

(Unless of course it’s your time, then see #1 above) The sun is going to shine again. There is light at the end of the tunnel. It’s one I won’t be appreciative of…but it’s there none-the-less. And since tomorrow is already on it’s way….you should let yourself go. Today!

…you’re welcome to come on over…I’m just sitting on my couch day drinking and eating too many Cheetos.

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Sunday Sex…Kinda Like Church

As the steamy shower called my name I took an assessment of myself in the bathroom mirror. I slowly counted the black and blue splotches covering what was once my perfect, pink flesh. I turned around to view my backside and immediate attention was drawn to the thick, red lines scrolling down my spine.

A sudden flashback of last night played in my brain and I let out a quick gasp. I looked up at my face and there it was…my crooked smile. The one The Psychopath had created, The Mad Hatter had let out of it’s cage, and the one The Racist was now delighting in.

I was no longer the girl next door. I was no longer Jessica the innocent blonde. I wasn’t a role model, and while I still respected myself, I no longer respected other people’s opinions of me. Zero Fucks were given and I was enjoying the moment.

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I closed my eyes and replayed the previous night’s activities like a silent movie (well…not really silent).

His hands grabbed tightly around my thighs causing my sensory neurons to trigger pain. Every time Kurt touched my body it was with force. He was anything but gentle.

 “There will definitely be bruises there in the morning,” I thought to myself.

He yanked my body closer to his while simultaneously leaning down to kiss me. I closed my eyes and let go.

A sudden inhale escaped my mouth as he pulled my hair back, slipping his finger inside of me with his other hand. The Racist’s ability to immediately find my g-spot was impressive.

 Reading my reaction he knew what chord he had struck, and he decided to play it until I came.

Once my body unclenched, he placed his hands on my hips and holding onto me he rolled to his back placing me on top.

 Leaning over to his left ear I whispered,

“What do you want?”

 “Do whatever you want to,” he responded.

Hmmmm. Not the response I was looking for, but I’ll take it.

As I licked my way down to his dick I grabbed a hold of it tightly and tasted him until I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to cum again.

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Straddling him I sat upright and placed him inside of me. I began moving my hips slowly, enjoying how he felt, taking in all of him. Our bodies fit perfectly together. He knew it, I knew it, but neither of us were going to admit it just yet. No one had ever felt this good before.

I leaned over him once again with one hand on his chest for balance, and the other by his left ear. I moved my ass up and down adding a slight curve.

Right as I began to move faster Kurt let out a loud groan.

 “Ahhh I fucking hate you,” he bellowed.

I smiled my crooked smile, and kissed him hard with my tongue slowly pulling out of his mouth.

 “No you don’t,” I answered back.

…Smack!

 “Oww!” I involuntarily screamed.

Kurt’s eyes popped open and he smiled as he smacked my ass again.

…definitely going to be a bruise there too.

The Racist growled at me. I liked his playful anger, but I wanted more.

Just then he placed his hands on my shoulders digging deep into my skin with his nails. He mauled his way down my back as I arched in pain.

Intensity grew as I returned to my vertical position on top. I rolled my hips faster, and harder. I could tell Kurt was holding back just for me now, so I began to touch my clit as the ride continued.

With each movement of our bodies suspense began to build. My legs began to twitch, my fingers clenched his stomach, and  The Racist let out a loud…

“Fuck!”

I began to cripple on top of him from weakness. My entire body seemed to be tingling from an overdose of Dopamine.

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 This memory will forever serve as a reminder of the moment I decided exactly what I wanted sexually. Looking at myself in the mirror that morning I knew The Racist was certainly not my soul-mate, but more than that he couldn’t fully offer me what I wanted in the bedroom either. This type of sexual encounter took a lot out of him. A few bruises and some scratches were his limit. …but I wanted more.

Domination is possessed naturally. It cannot be forced, and it cannot be taught. I want my body to be claimed as much as my heart. I want pain AND ecstasy. I want to submit myself entirely not only to my soul-mate, but to my “Sir.”

On certain mornings I want to wake up with my body so sore from the previous night that each time I touch something I’m reminded of him. Skipping off to work, trying to make the world a better place one person at a time but then returning home to my love. The one who still sees me as a precious soul…despite our dirty little secret.

Delicious or Demented?

 …either way…it’s what I want.

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Seventeen

From August 2013 to August 2014 there have been Seventeen First Dates

Seventeen outfits picked out accordingly

Seventeen pairs of shoes carefully chosen

Seventeen glances at my bank account to check the balance in case he made me pay

Seventeen prayers sent up into the clouds requesting that the person I was about to meet would NOT turn out to be a serial killer

Seventeen Hellos

Seventeen drinks shared with a complete stranger

Seventeen explanations of what I do for a living

Seventeen voices I listened to

Seventeen backgrounds I inquired about

Seventeen reasons to “call it a night”

Seventeen Goodbyes

Seventeen drives home

Seventeen responses to Kristyn’s “How did it go?”

Seventeen face washes

Seventeen changes into pajamas

Seventeen phone numbers I would soon discard

Seventeen disappointments because I knew, deep down, in my heart of hearts, he was NOT my soul-mate

Seventeen men and One Catfish

…take a wild guess on which one I miss the most

Here we are with #18 already over with–and no soul-mate in sight

Dear Love Gods,

Who’s next? …Bring it on

Sincerely,

Jblondie

What (Most) Women Want

After reading Paul Thomas Bell‘s post on what a man in his late 20’s THINKS women want…I decided to take it upon myself and explain what women ACTUALLY want. Now granted his post “What Women Want” was funny and sarcastic, but I thought I’d make mine a little more serious with a bit of Jblondie flavor. :)

So here we go…let’s fall down the rabbit hole and into the mind of a vertically challenged 27 year old blonde. (Are you scared yet? …you should be)

We want…

1. To have sex… to be fucked…and to make love. We WANT it ALL. We don’t always need to cum to enjoy it, and we like being naughty so teach us something we don’t know. We’ll be putty in your hands. Lick us…lick us every chance you get. Make sure you know what you’re doing (if you don’t ask us) and then make us melt.

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2. You to embrace EVERY inch of our bodies. Find something specific on us that most men wouldn’t compliment and then choose to adore it. Tell us we’re beautiful, hot, pretty, adorable, cute…and mean it. Every.Single.Time. We want to love our bodies…and we want you to love them too. Slap our butts, grab our breasts and tell us you would NOT change one fucking thing about us.

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3. To be Valued. We want you to ASK for our opinion on things. We have a brain and we like to use it. Asking us about world events, books, television etc. shows you’re interested in all we have to offer, not just our boobs.

4. To be challenged. Don’t give us everything we want (I know, ironic right?) We don’t want you to agree with us 24/7…talk about snooze fest! Disagree with us, make us think. Question our stance on a few issues, and you’ll immediately have our interest. Define that fine line between chasing and being chased…stay there.

5. To be Danced with. And I don’t mean in Da Club grinding up on us. NO. We want you to ASK us to dance. You might be an awful dancer. WE might be an awful dancer…but none of that matters. Ask us to dance right before we go to bed…in the dark. Hold her while you both sway back and forth to the song. Kiss us softly, tell us how beautiful we are, and then lightly graze your fingers down our side. It’s something we want and may not even know it. Oh! And ALWAYS ask us to dance at weddings. It’s a requirement.

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6. FUN! If you’re a couch potato you’re going to bore us. Women need excitement. We love when men have their own hobbies and can teach us new things. Take us to a football game but make sure we know the rules. Show us why you love cars so much because we want to love them too. It doesn’t matter how weird your hobby is…we’re going to be interested if we’re interested in you.

7. Intensity. When we are together it’s YOU and ME. No one else matters. Sure we could be out with a group of friends, but women still need those personal glances. We still want you to whisper in our ear telling us how you can’t wait to get us home and rip off our clothes. We want to have our friends and you should have yours, but at the end of the day help us realize that it’s just us…and you’re more than ok with that. In fact, “just us” is exactly what you want.

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8. Genuine Love. We ask you to love us on our good days, our bad days, and those truly insecure moments. You don’t need to be overly affectionate, but we need to know what you’re thinking. We ask you to love our random ideas, our snoring habits, and yes…our bed head. Love us while you can’t stand us in that moment. Love us when we’re sick and can’t stop complaining. And when you start to question if we still love you…talk to us, but love us anyway.

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Ladies I’m sure I have forgotten some things so feel free to leave them below. And Gents? …take notes.

 

 

 

 

My Date With The Racist

I was in trouble. I immediately wanted to sleep with him. He was exactly my type. Tall, cute as fuck, and his dimples made my panties wet. Not only that, but within the first fifteen minutes of looking into his brown eyes, I knew he had switched his emotions off about six months prior.

 Screw the tacos in front of me. I wanted to taste him.

 Two and a half months after realizing my soul-mate was NOT Peter James Turner, I was sitting in car with a man named Kurt.

Kurt was my first date after I had almost drowned from chasing my Catfish. I also tend to believe these days he was a test.

The gods had provided me with Kurt for a reason. They wanted me to prove to them that I now possessed the ability to make better choices when it came to men.

He picked me up in a silver Subaru Impreza WRX SPT. I know what you’re thinking. “Man that’s a nice car,” (yeah, it is). I’m also sure your next thought was “Jesus Jblondie is stupid.” Who gets into a stranger’s car, late at night, letting him know where she lives and giving him full range to drive her anywhere he wants to?

…What can I say? After The Catfish I no longer cared what happened to me. My safety wasn’t a large concern anymore. That’s what happens when Jblondie is broken…I become reckless.

And as he rolled down his tinted window to say hello I realized I no longer had that rush of anxiety. The sensation of excitement for a first date was non-existent. I was numb once again…

As Kurt headed south, he began telling me about his job, and the crew he worked with. Before I knew it, he had let it slip that plastered to his Jeep Cherokee back at home, was a Confederate Flag license plate. I began to question him on this fact, and he agreed to the statement that if given the chance he would absolutely live in a place filled with hillbillies and entitled “Whitesville.”

My humanistic heart began to cry. Racists still existed? Who knew? I thought that once Obama claimed office everyone just kind of got over themselves and started to love each other better. Guess not. I tend to be highly naïve regarding the human condition. Please do not take offense to my idiocy. tumblr_inline_nbgic4AO3j1rfm9z0inline2

He took me to a Mexican restaurant that was open past midnight and upon our arrival two large black men were sitting at the counter. We sat down at a table next to the front window and I could sense Kurt’s tension immediately. His entire body was rigid. I quickly realized his anxiety had nothing to do with me but rather the boisterous male counterparts just three feet away.

I began to ask Kurt a simple question regarding his racism and I will never forget his answer because his tone of voice sent a chill down my spine.

 “You need to stop it with that. Right Now,” he snapped.

In that moment Kurt gave me a gift. After his response above I knew what Kristyn had always meant regarding flashing red lights. Every direction I looked Kurt was flashing red and anything regarding him required warning signs for a girl like me. I was suddenly sick to my stomach.

He was annoyed by my cheerfulness. He was bothered by my energy. My usual route of asking questions didn’t work because he refused to share personal details about himself. I was at a standstill. Kurt needed to be in control and he certainly wasn’t going to relinquish it to a girl like me…one he had no desire for.

After we finished our tacos Kurt took me for a drive. We started off roaming through his childhood neighborhood and we ended up on the highway. I LOVE speed. It’s on my bucket list to one-day drive on the Autobahn. I requested we go as fast as possible and he complied with more than 130 mph. I loved every second of it.

He dropped me off and we said good night with a hug. Kurt had been a gentleman despite his racist downfall AND despite the fact he didn’t really like me as a person. Thank you Kurt-I needed your kindness more than you realized that night.

Would you be surprised to know that I saw Kurt several times after our Mexican meal?…. but it certainly wasn’t to talk. The Racist would soon come to be known as the best sex of my life. Raw…emotionless…and fun as fuck. You’ll be reading about our sex-capades shortly.

 

P.S. …that test? I passed with flying colors. Jblondie now has no problem turning down emotionally barren men.

 

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Move to Trash

There it was. A garbage bag filled with Him. The notebooks he had written to me in…pages filled with lies, two t-shirts with his scent on them, the white dress, the pair of camo boxers…everything was being trashed.

I sat down and wrote a note to Kristyn so I wouldn’t have to make the final decision. I couldn’t throw him away. My heart wouldn’t let me.

 “Do with it as you see fit. I just can’t.”

 Dramatic? Yes. But in drama there is art and in art there is beauty.

It had been exactly two months since I had heard fake Pete’s voice. I still thought about him on a daily basis, but I no longer cried. Most of my thoughts centered around his lies. They were so detailed. He had portrayed all of his multiple personalities so well. He was the best friend, the brave soldier, and the soul-mate.

 Kristyn’s only response these days is “but he isn’t real.” And while I understand this, I also have to actively remind myself there is no such thing as perfect love.

I hope for the day a man’s love will be my kind of perfect though. I hope that one day I will be loved despite my flaws.

And on my lonely nights, when I’m craving him…I still read the emails. Sifting through 1,423 emails about work, love, life…Charlie…it’s heartbreaking to know that none of it, not a single word was honest.

I’m ashamed to say I still hope for an email from him. It’s embarrassing to admit that I miss his laugh. The vocabulary he emitted so naturally from his deceptive lips was music to my ears. His darkness was parallel to mine, and the light he portrayed was something to envy.

I know deep down there is some part of me that will always be reserved for him…my Catfish

Sometimes I imagine his voice telling me goodnight. And then suddenly I have a resounding mental note: for all you know Jessica it could’ve been a butch lesbian with a voice box…

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My Deaf Victim

His lips met mine as we sat on his couch and I knew with each kiss that I was going to end up making a bad decision. I had been doing that a lot lately. My impulsive choices were a daily occurrence and I wondered when I would choose to stop making them.

My heart was not what it had been before The Psychopath, and I feared it never would be again. Riker was sweet, fucking hot as hell…and I felt…Nada…Zip…Zero…Nothing. Some of you will simply chalk this up to lack of chemistry, but it was much more than that. If my soulmate had walked into my life at that point I would have never been able to recognize him. I’m glad he stayed away.

I started to kiss Riker faster. I could tell he began to feel uncomfortable but I was getting wet. I needed him. Well, I didn’t need Riker…I needed anything to help me start to feel again. I needed his hands on my ass, his breath on my neck and his emotions. I was a straw sucking up any feelings that he may have been having for me, and using them to temporarily band-aid the open wound which had been left on my heart.

Well aware of the consequences of losing my “good girl” image, I leapt forward straddling Riker’s lap. My “good girl” image was a joke anyway, because that night I was thinking dirty, dark thoughts.

I wanted to be bruised. I craved the pain I had felt with The Mad Hatter. If I couldn’t feel on the inside, I wanted to feel everything on the surface. I was no longer looking for my soulmateI wanted to be fucked. Hard. ball

Before The Psychopath, I had slept with a total of three people. While I had not been in love with all three of these men they had each made an impression on my heart. They had changed me for the better. But after The Psychopath I realized that the bad people in this world have a much larger effect on us than the good ones.

Sitting back on Riker’s knees I smiled at him and took my shirt off. Immediately I returned to kissing him, harder and faster then before.

 And that’s when it happenedDeaf Riker took my small face in his seemingly giant hands and shook his head “no.”

 “Not tonight,” he said as clearly as he could.

Riker was telling me he did not want to have sex. ….WHAT?…..

He slowly signed so that I might pick up what he was spelling out.

“It’s too soon,” he signed. “I want to know you better.”

This was the first time a man had refused me. And while I’d like to say that I was angry because he didn’t give me what I wanted….Riker gave me what I needed afterall.

I needed to feel precious again. I needed to feel important. It was sad that these feelings were so foreign to me, because all women deserve to feel as if they are being treasured. The PsychoPath and The Mad Hatter had used me. They had forgotten that women are valuable. We are capable of deep, concentrated love. But Riker remembered this fact, and he wasn’t going to let me use him as they had used me.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable with my shirt off. I put it back on and he taught me a few new signs before I headed home.

Eventually Riker and I did sleep together. There was no passion to speak of (obviously because I was numb inside), and he was much too passive in the bedroom for my taste, but it didn’t matter. I led Riker on and he deserved none of it. Riker should have been acknowledged for his kindness, and his slapstick sense of humor. A good woman would have appreciated him for the amazing father he is, and the natural teacher within him. Instead he was my victim. It was the first time I was with someone not because of who he was, but how he made me feel.

 Thankfully Riker and I are still friends to this day. He has forgiven me for my selfishness and he told me last week he thinks he may found his soulmate. She’s apparently very lovely, and appreciates him in all the right ways.

 

Dear Riker,

 From the deepest part of my heart, I couldn’t be happier for you.

 

P.S. To All the Riker’s of this world, may you realize that the women who have used you have been used themselves, and while that is not an excuse for our behavior, I urge you to end the greedy cycle of Lust and Selfishness.

 

Go Fuck Yourself

REJECTION. We have ALL been there. Girl likes boy or boy likes girl, and instead of having those feelings returned, we are left standing alone on the sidelines yet again with the “picked last” sensation from 7th grade gym class.

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I recently hit an all time low this week when I was rejected before he even met me in person. …sometimes you just have to laugh at how pathetic you are. It heals the imaginary pain.

Originally, I had planned on wallowing in self-pity for at least two days solid, but I’ve opted for the healthier route of day drinking and cupcake eating. I also have the fuck-buddy on standby. It would probably be important to note that this was NOT the only rejection I have received in the last seven days. …I’m on a roll.

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But this post isn’t about me…it’s about how we’re all losers. So let’s get back to the subject.

These days it’s as if rejection is literally around every corner, especially in the dating world.

In the last three days alone I have talked to four different people who have all been recently rejected by the opposite sex.

 What the hell is happening out there?

Well I’ll tell you. Rejection is actually an important part of the evolutionary process. Turns out, back in the days of cavemen and cave-ladies, being ostracized from our hunter/gatherer group was pretty much a death sentence. We had to stick together in order to survive. Therefore, we have learned that “fitting-in” is important, and being “wanted” is a necessary quality to possess. When rejection takes place, it affects us to the point where our brains actually send out the same type of response we experience during physical pain.

 So in other words, the next time you tell someone they’re too ugly for you, you might as well just go ahead and kick them in the shin too.

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 Now the level of pain associated after being rejected is always proportionate to our level of emotional investment.

For instance, when the guy you’ve been seeing casually for two weeks doesn’t respond to your texts, it’s going to hurt a lot less than stalking your ex via Facebook only to view picture after picture of him and his new “soulmate.” (I highly recommend that by the way…does wonders for weight loss).

At this point I know you’re all rolling your eyes because most of this is common knowledge. So let’s get to the heart of the subject.

How are we suppose to cope with being told time and time again that we are not enough?

I don’t know. Jesus. Stop looking at Jblondie for answers. The Red Cross made it official this week…my life has been declared a disaster zone.

Coping with rejection can be made easy though if you think about it the way I do.

…that person was NOT your soulmate. He/She is still out there looking for you too, and someday you’re going to be MORE than enough for them. You’re going to meet them and everything will suddenly make sense. The world will seem brighter and although it may not be easy, you will always be willing to make it work with the right person.

Accepting rejection and then moving on is a sign of adulthood. We no longer have to be that wallflower waiting for someone to ask us to dance. We can dance on our own while looking for the other weirdo who won’t be embarrassed to be seen with us.

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It also helps to remember that we all do our own share of rejecting. At some point each one of us has told someone else that they are not worth our time. They are not worth our love. And that’s ok too. Settling for anything less than extraordinary in love should be illegal.

This week I reached a conclusion regarding rejection. We can either allow it to crush our hope, or we can use it as fuel for our fire. I accept rejection as a sign that I’m one step closer to finding him. I’m another dick down…and maybe the next one will feel “just right.” (I like to imagine myself as the 21st Century version of Goldilocks, because I’m searching for the perfect fit)

In my opinion, the hardest part of rejection is remembering that we are no longer cavemen. We are capable of exploring this world on our own. Accepting that we are a square peg which will never fit into a round hole is difficult but it can be done.

That being said…I will NEVER stop hoping for Love. I will jump into Love any time I come across someone worth falling for. I will always choose a chance of rejection rather than missing a chance for Love.

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Call me unrealistic, call me crazy, say that I’m an idealist who’s expectations are too high…and I will call you afraid. My soulmate is out there. He is real. And I am enough for him.

 P.S. You’re a fucking cunt Karma…well played.

Can We Change Our “Type?”

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…Yes They Most Certainly Do….

A couple months ago I accompanied my mother to a work related event she had organized. I chatted with all of her associates, regaled them with my tragic dating stories for entertainment, and had them rehash their old college party days with me.

It was a lovely evening filled with a lot of laughs and plenty of alcohol. Also…the crab cakes were delish!

Anyway…

The next day I popped by my mother’s house to gossip about the night before and commend her on her excellent party planning skills. We began talking about conversations we had during the event and out of nowhere my mother stated bluntly…

 “You know Jessica, the way you listen to people and the look on your face when you’re doing it would have everyone believing that you had fallen in love with them, which is probably why almost everyone falls in love with you.”

Huh.

I laughed at her ridiculous comment at that moment, but on my drive home I got to thinking…was my mother right? (Fuck, I hate when that happens)

 Do I present myself as though I’m in love with everyone?

 The truth is…I usually AM in love with everyone at first. People fascinate me. I can’t get enough of them…even if they’re a complete asshole. If I don’t know you, I want to. And sure I find certain people annoying just like everyone else…but they still interest me. What makes you tick?

When I ask people how they’re doing, it’s not out of politeness; I truly want to know what they’re thinking about.

Most people don’t understand this about me. In fact, several men I’ve dated have found it severely annoying. They just don’t get it. It has nothing to do with being a people pleaser or wanting to be everyone’s friend…no no…I have enough friends…it’s more along the lines of curiosity.

This little quirk tends to make me really good at my job. HOWEVER it has made dating VERY complicated.

Think about it. When someone is sitting in front of you, listening to you intently, asking questions and showing genuine interest in what you’re saying…what starts to happen? You connect with that person.

Now I’d ask you to add a horny male into that mix and the cute (albeit spastic with a tiny bit of fluff) blonde is the one who is listening intently. Let’s imagine what takes place.

Needless to say, I’ve made a lot of connections in my life.

Men begin to connect with me and that’s when it happens. They begin to build me up in their heads. Then I start talking about my longing to find something real. I romanticize the idea of soulmates.

If they have been burned by a woman in the past, they tend to crave my emotion.

They want to feel something…so they do.

…but unfortunately…what they’re feeling has little to do with who I am. They’re not interested in what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling (except in the bedroom of course…then they’re obsessed with knowing what I’m feeling). No. They are enjoying the opportunity I’m giving them. They love the freedom to be who they are without judgment or consequence.

It’s not uncommon for the man to do most of the talking on first dates with me. …and you’d be shocked at the number of times I’ve heard…”Why am I telling you all of this?” I usually smile and just say “because I’m interested.”

This emotional intake I do with people is not on purpose. I genuinely want to get to know them. …but then here’s the thing…usually I know EVERYTHING about them and when they finally start learning things about me…their interest fades.

That initial rush they received from exposing themselves to me is gone. They realize it’s their turn to intake the information. …and they usually don’t want to. They rather I remained a mystery.

They think it’s cool I play guitar…but they don’t want to know much about it. They know I’m an only child…but that’s about it. They recall asking me why I chose my profession but they certainly don’t want to hear me talk about my job everyday (even though it’s one of my favorite topics).

So when I find a man who asks me questions on the first date (not out of politeness but complete interest) I immediately feel for him. If we get through the second date and I’ve exposed even the tiniest bit of myself…I want to sleep with him.

Therefore, I’m usually attracted to emotionally closed off men…because they usually turn the focus on me. I have realized that I cannot be emotionally intimate with someone unless they are emotionally with holding from me. …pretty fucked up right?

This fact has also led me to a lot of awkward situations. For example, are you friends with most of the people you’ve dated in the past? I am. I still talk with ear licker, Riker, my old college boyfriend, and my first love on a regular basis. The only reason I’m not friends with The Psychopath is because he moved to South Carolina with his Ex and the only reason I don’t continue to speak with The Mad Hatter is because well…he’s a lunatic.

Finally realizing this though it’s about time I began to change the way I date. I’m taking all of this insight and actually doing something with it. So from here on out Jblondie has a new “type,” …or DO I? Is it possible to change our “type?” Let’s see how this goes….

Stay Tuned For Next week’s post…. My LUST for deaf Riker goes to a whole new level….and THEN quickly shrinks…(foreshadowing) ;)