Epistle to Bradshaw-Preston

Hello? Welcome?

As I sit here, looking at blank white space with nothing but a blinking curser, I realize, starting to blog again is not like riding a bike. I can't just simply hop right back onto this uncomfortably-seated website, know exactly where my center of gravity is, begin to move the gears in my mind, and words effortlessly spill out of my fingertips and onto this page. Suppose I knew this. It's probably why I've waited about six months to hit that pretty orange "Publish" button. My previous two blog posts below this one were just sitting pretty in my drafts box for months. Why I chose to let them stay hidden from the public, I do not know.
It seems as though I've lost my blogging etiquette. I'm not even sure how to begin again.

I've become a master of binging: binge-blogging, binge-drinking, binge-chipotle-eating.
It's very typical of me to decide the appropriate time to begin blogging again is now, knowing that have other obligations to attend to. I have job interviews to prepare for, shoots, alterations on clothes I've been meaning to make, and some garments I have yet to put up and sell on Etsy. So naturally, I've decided to abandon all responsibilities and blog.

I want to do everything I can't do, and I want everything I can't have.

2014
This year has been a roller coaster of emotion and experiences. Lucky for me, I enjoy this kind of lifestyle. I've accomplished a lot, laughed a lot, cried a lot, learned a lot, won some, and lost some. And all of this has happened before I could even reach the half-way mark of the year. The experiences I've gone through - good and bad - have led me to exactly where I am now. I've gotten past the tribulations that were weighing me down and I have yet to see what else the universe has in store for me.

To: Carrie Bradshaw
As Bradshaw's insightful monologues play in the background as I type this blog post, I seem to feel a sort of parallel in lifestyles as the four women in the show.
Growing up watching Sex and the City taught me a few valuable lessons:

Smoking is cool
I admit, Carrie Bradshaw played a huge role in my addiction to cigarettes a few years ago.

"The universe may not always play fair, but at least its got a hell of a sense of humor."
I've always thought of the universe as a random & unexplainable mix of occurrences. Not everything has a reason. But a lot of the time, it does feel like there is a force out there creating arbitrary signs seemingly directed right at you.
Turning 23 has changed me to no longer be afraid of being afraid. Although, despite knowing that, I am scared all the time. If you're not scared, are you doing something meaningful?

What is life without the best outfits, amazing shoes, and an incredible and interesting dating life?

My sibling is leaving for New York in about a month and one thing I seem to be repeating to her four to five times a week: Dating is fucking hard. Knowingly submitting yourself into the dating world is truly a test of patience, endurance, and mostly, there is an incredible amount of mind-fucking unknown information at which neither party may get all the answers they crave. As an indecisive, commitment-challenged, young woman in my early twenties, the events I've gone through have led my mind and heart to callus into an untrusting sceptic. I absolutely love the excitement and fun of romance but I never trust any one person I'm giving all that attention to.

"Good guys screw you, bad guys screw you, and the rest don't know how to screw you."
Do men have an innate aversion to monogamy?
Has monogamy become too much to expect?
I swan dive into the dating pool assuming any single guy I come across probably has about seven other women they're seeing. (In turn, assuming I'm also dating seven other men might be smart as well...) With this mentality, putting all your eggs in one basket seems stupid. Surely, everyone's been in the position where they've felt like an idiot.

"I had gone so far out on a limb with my feelings,

that I didn't realize I was standing out there alone (Carrie Bradshaw)."

I can admit that my tactic is a defense mechanism. Plenty of the guys I date hold little to no interest to me. Am I more realistic about human nature? Or am I just setting my expectations exceedingly low as not to get disappointed? 

"He's not my boyfriend, he's just somebody I'm trying on."
Most of the time, all these boys kind of blend together; no one really sticks out. It's all still fun.
There isn't anything wrong with the nice guys I date. In the end, though, there's also nothing right with them. I've gone on many of the cliché dinner & movie dates and although they weren't bad, when there's nothing there, there's nothing there.
I recently went on a seemingly romantic date with a nice fellow who invited me out to Santa Monica. We ate and went shopping on 3rd St. Promenade and walked along the beach. Why I never spoke to him again was simple: even though he was very nice, I could tell he wanted to kiss me but was nervous and unsure if it would be okay. (Honestly, just fucking do it - it's much sexier.) When he finally kissed me, it was awful. I could feel the uncertainty in his lips, saying, "is this okay? does she like this? i'm too nervous to be in control." Being an avid supporter of making out as much as possible, this was a problem.
I decided to "forget" to answer his calls and text messages after that.
One of my most memorable dates constantly had me thinking the host of "Disaster Date" on MTV would appear from behind the corner with a camera crew clapping for my misery, indicating it was all over now. It started in a dive bar where I was told to give him quarters to pay for a game of pool. (it's not that i have a problem with paying - i'll always offer to pay, but i don't want to be ASKED to.  I don't think the guy should pay for everything because it IS 2014 but it's still nice when they want to.) He spun me some bullshit about how the placement of the rings I was wearing correlate to Greek mythology and indicates different things about my personality. Granted he has no idea I'm obsessed with Greek/Roman mythology so when he said Apollo was the god of war, I couldn't help but tell him I know everything he's saying is bullshit. Sparing you all from the excruciating details, in the end, we got separate checks and I most definitely never spoke to him again.

"He was smart, he was sexy, just totally screwed up. He was playing all these games, and I didn't know the rules."
I was having a conversation with a romantic interest and he said something to me that stuck: "Why do you hate guys so much?"
Not having known him for a long time, I found this quite interesting. I know I have my guards up since I've been that girl to fall for it simply when a [cute] guy says he likes you. Of course, things like that don't end well. You're stuck in the sex haze.

"The sex haze: You know, where the sex is really great, you start acting like a crazy person, then you start to imagine the relationship is something it's not.

You're not having a relationship, you're having multiple orgasms (Carrie Bradshaw & Miranda Hobbs)"

I've been hurt, and I've also hurt plenty of other people. It's a vicious cycle.

Is it possible I was just being a cynic? I learn from experience.
What surprised me, though, was this guy's talent to scope out this trait about me so quickly. Perhaps he's had some experiences of his own.
Everyone has a story. The most recent lesson I've learned is that I can't compete if I'm up against history. Honestly, I'm still coping with that newly learned experience and it's not easy. But unfinished business is unfinished business. I was blatantly lied to, strung along, and led to believe something that is now so obviously not there.

It seems to me the answer to the question of why I hate guys so much is painfully clear right now.

"He treated you like shit! Why would you want to go out with him again?"
"Because he treated me like shit."
These guys are like... french fries.
They're all delicious and look good, until you find that accidental curly fry in your batch.
And that curly fry is so yummy and seasoned and you think to yourself, "This curly fry was so different and so much more amazing than all the other fries I got!" But you didn't order curly fries. You got straight fries. And sure, they're still just as good as you remember.. but now that curly fry is gone. You're left with so many normal fries.
Do you even want to eat those anymore, knowing you could eat something better? But of course, as the universe would so amusingly decide: The surprise accidental rare curly fries are the ones you want, but you can't have them. And they hurt you. But you still have your other straight fries - so you won't be hungry, you'll just.. be settling.
Then there are those fries that always fall out of the container - those bottom of the bag fries. I don't ever know what to do with those. Eat them first? Eat them last? Put them back into the container where they belong?

BUT- I DIGRESS.

"Life gives you lots of chances to screw up which means you have just as many chances to get it right."

Once in a while, there are those rare occasions when I think one single guy has everything I want. But that's extremely scary, especially for someone who can't commit to anything. A huge part of me freaks out, pushing my body into overdrive and flirting with as many boys as possible just to leave a sort of - cushion, KNOWING I'm about to get hurt.
When it happens, (cynic mentality level 100 because I used the word "when") I pretend all those "hey beautiful"'s and "you're gorgeous"'s make me feel better - but honestly they don't.
It doesn't mean anything unless it comes from someone that matters.
I must be a masochist (in more ways than one).

"...there is a fine line between pleasure and pain. In fact, it's a common belief that a relationship without pain is a relationship not worth having. To some, pain implies growth. But how do we know when the growing pains stop, and the pain pains take over? Are we masochists or optimists if we continue to walk that fine line? When it comes to relationships, how do you know when enough is enough? (Carrie Bradshaw)"

Did I really like this person or was I just addicted to the pain? The exquisite pain of wanting someone unattainable. 

"Has fear of being alone suddenly raised the bar on faking? Are we faking more than orgasms? Are we faking entire relationships? Is it better to fake it than be alone?"
I've lost my mind a few times but it got me here.

I'm not saying what I'm doing is what anyone should do. I'm definitely not even saying it works for me. Actually, I might be saying the exact opposite! But I realize as I type this, I'm not in denial.. I just don't know what to do.
I guess in the end, you're going to get hurt. A guy/girl that hurt you is just one out of the many guys/girls that will hurt you.
You deal with it, and cope, and you move on and you do it all over again because that is life.

No one knows what the fuck they're doing, nothing ever makes sense, and you won't get all the answers you crave.