He had texted me a while back and we met a couple of times strictly as friends. But then something in me just got tired of being mature and using my head…so instead I used something a little farther south ;) And we’ve been having fun ever since.

As he and I both know this “relationship” has an expiration date, it’s a little strange. I have my days where I could care less if I see him and then I have other (rarer) days where I flip out on him. I’ve yet to decide if these mood-swings are hormone-induced by my birth control, heartbreak-induced by my last “relationship”, or if they’re actually legit. My bet is on all three.

Anyway, the more fun part of the story: How I Met the Mechanic’s Mother.

In order to receive my visa, I needed to get an apostille on my criminal background check (in order for the Korean government to recognize it as an official document issued by the US government). Doing this required a trek down to the Secretary of State’s office and to avoid a meaningless trip, I called the office to confirm the procedure.

Office: Oh, you can just come on in with the document. It’ll take about ten minutes

Sweet. Off to downtown San Diego I went. Upon arrival…

Office: Our system’s actually been down for the last couple of days. You’ll have to come back on Monday.
Me: Uhh, but I called this morning to check.
Office: Well, it’s down. You’ll have to come back.
Me: Wonderful. Thanks (…Bitch*)

To which I angrily proceeded to tell friends&family what happened. That night, I was sharing the story with the Mechanic, when he interrupted me.

Mechanic: Wait, where did you have to go?
Me: The Secretary of State’s Office.
Mechanic: Isn’t that downtown, like on Front St?
Me: Yeah, it’s on Front & Ash.
Mechanic: Did a black lady help you?
Me: Yeah…
Mechanic: With glasses?
Me: Yeah…
Mechanic: (laughing) That’s my mom!

As in holyyyyy shit, I not only MET THE MECHANIC’S MOM but I also CALLED HER A BITCH. Not to her face, BUT STILL. AND I HAD TO GO SEE HER AGAIN. (Only, thank goddd, she was in a meeting!)

And that, ladies and gents, is the crazyyyyy-ass story of How I Met the Mechanic’s Mother.

And because sharing is caring, I give you a craptastic list of things I hope you never have the misfortune of experiencing. Never again will I date a guy:

• Who is a drug dealer.
• Who has his baby mama move in with him and calls you over when she’s out of town.
• Who emails you about a potential STD he had “but probably didn’t have it way back then” – I call whore.
• Who wants to do it while his roommate is sleeping on the top bunk.
• Who throws a shit fit about buying flowers for my Graduation day and turns a blind eye when my sister decides to buy 2 bouquets for him to give to me&mymom (first time he was meeting her).
• Who throws a shit fit about paying for my sister (with my money) at the county fair and says “know that I will never spend a dime of my own money on your sister”
• Who wants to meet my parents but won’t let me meet theirs.
• Who drives my car and takes my cash and walks around like they’re his.
• Who moves away a month after dating…and doesn’t tell you.
• Who is an elitist and believes that immigrants should not be coming to the United States because “really, their countries can’t be that bad”
• Who doesn’t understand or recognize the poverty and heartbreaking horrors going on in North Korea and Haiti – and is okay with it.
• Who would rather point out the holes in your argument than apologize.

And while that’s a sad, depressing list, I want to state that I am not a male-hater. Not at all. I love men, guys, and muchachos.

I’m just a relationship-hater. As in guns cocked and ready to blow because I hate this idea of The One and marriage and commitment. I’m all for falling in love again but I am decidedly against falling into another relationship.

Over it.

Super Bowl Weekend and I really should’ve made plans to watch it with friends.

Instead, I’m home attempting to hide from the world but still trying to dodge my emotions. Result: 6 hours of brainless television.

And I’ve been drowning my brain cells in meaningless shows to keep myself from thinking this thought:

I could be sleeping in his arms right now. Without these tears, without this pain, without this aching feeling of loneliness, I could be sleeping blissfully in his arms. Happy, full off sex, and loved.

I know why I did this and hey, my brain is right there with you. But my heart is being a little irrational at the moment.

It wants to be loved. To be held. To be appreciated. To be someone’s number one.

And tonight, I don’t even feel like my own number one.

[EDIT 2:02am: After a thirty minute session of balls-out bawl-out, I stumbled upon this beauty. This shit is so going down tomorrow night]

I never listen to Jack Johnson whilst I’m in a relationship – it’d be a sad, sad day if this beautiful man were to be tainted with thoughts of ugly ones.

Therefore: Jack Johnson = on replay. Ne-Yo = kicked off the goddamn island.

I’m telling you guys again, women notice the small stuff. They notice the gentleness/gentlemenliness more than if you use the right fork at dinner. I’m a very lucky man, Garance notices every little kindness I offer her, she doesn’t miss a thing. Knowing that makes it so much more rewarding to do even more little things for her. I’ll be honest, my biggest obsession in life right now is not better shoes, more suits or a bigger career but, to simply be a more graceful man for my graceful woman.
- Scott Schuman, The Sartorialist

So since I’m not your everything
How about I’ll be nothing
Nothing at all to you
[Beyonce: Irreplaceable]

What makes a relationship? Where do you draw the line between something amazing on the brink of happening…and something amazing that will never come?

What is love? What is the difference puppy love and all-fire-consuming love? Where do you draw the line between giving everything to love someone…and giving nothing to love yourself?

How will I ever know? How did I fall out of love with you in the last couple of days? How did I lose enough respect for you to question the foundation of our relationship?

I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I knew you, me, we. I thought I knew whose arms I wanted to wake up in. I thought I knew who I completed and who completed me. I thought I knew who would always treat me with respect and treat me like I was something when others didn’t.

But you triggered something in me when you said those words. Words implying that my life wasn’t as important as yours because you were in school and I wasn’t. Words implying that your studying was far more important than mine was when I was in school…you know, when you had me rearrange a final, a paper, and skip out on work to fly out to see you because you didn’t check with me before you booked my ticket. Words implying that although I could do all that for you without much complaint, I was still not important enough for you to give up one weekend of studying to spend time with me before I left the country for a year.

But I think what gets under my skin most is how you acted when I laid out why I was upset with you. Pointing out the holes in my arguments in order to refute everything was immature…but so was not apologizing. Even if you didn’t view it as anything to apologize for (which you should have), you should have loved me enough to apologize for hurting me. Because you did.

And I could still stay. I could still stay, settling for a guy who will always call when his life is easy but is MIA when his life is difficult. Because that is what comes of a long-distance relationship.

And I could still ignore these negative issues and focus on the positive. Because I don’t think we’ve fought this hard to stay together to end it like this.

And I could still make this work, swallowing my pain. Because I love you and that’s what you do when you love someone.

And I could go about life, turning down the more deserving guys because ‘they got nothing on you’ and keep living this life of giving and giving and receiving on occasion. Even if you view your life as more important. Because for the last two years, you have been The One and I should trust in this.

I could. But I can’t.

Because we will always come back here. Because I didn’t realize it until that conversation that I always walked away from you because you didn’t treat me the way I deserved to be treated. You were a wonderful gentleman – your mom taught you well in that – but in your life, I never ranked. I was a pleasant trophy to have around and play with when you had the time. I should have recognized this so much sooner; I should not have let you treat me this way.

You may not want to be in a relationship that lives in the past, but I don’t want to be in a relationship with as many past unresolved issues like ours. I don’t want to be in a relationship where I have to ask for an apology, ask for a weekend to spend with you, ask for you to appreciate the sacrifices I make for you.

I deserve more. I deserve so, so much more.

• How, through my eyes, my silences, and my voice, you are able to sense what my heart wants you to know but my brain doesn’t.
• How you encourage me to pursue my dreams, even if it means putting our relationship on hold, because you would never hold me back.
• How you make me feel so beautiful, as if I have no physical flaws, as if you wouldn’t change a thing about me.
• How you will simultaneously rag on my favorite sports team while still giving me a shoulder to cry on when they lose.
• How you will stop and force me to share my day because I have a tendency to breeze through stories I truly care about, afraid people don’t care enough.
• How you will check to make sure my “love tank” is full before we hang up…and how you even remember what I said about our “love tanks”.
• How you so gracefully deal with my klutzy and awkward self.
• How you will argue and challenge me about the stupidest things. Not about who was supposed to text whom but about things like construction workers for goodness sake.
• How you will let me vent, dry my tears, listen to my worries, live through my dark days…and still love me on the other side.
• How you put such care into caring for me. My warmth, my energy, my rest, my stomach…none of these require my attention when I’m with you.
• How you do not like cuddling but you will with me. Same goes with picture-taking and celebrating the holidays.
• How I feel so connected to you when we sit “breathing each other’s air”.
• How you know not only how to bring the bizness to the bedroom but you can bring it to the dance floor too.
• How you have such faith that we will make this work, that this connection will not die, that our relationship and our love will survive.

And while I recognize that this list is amazing and that you hold many of the attributes I desire in a man….tonight, this list is not working. Tonight, I cannot shake this disappointment.

Because, in the same way that you would never hold me back, I understand your need to excel and focus on your academics. I would never hold you back from get-get-getting it.

But.

While stilted and sporadic communication during midterms and finals I expect, because I’ve been there…During your less stressful weeks, I need you to stop putting this relationship on pause. I need you to stop making me feel as if I don’t rank.

Because this relationship should not cease to exist when our lives hit a little turbulence.

You and I are better than this.

Which is retarded and so unhealthy and so irresponsible – I know. Trust, I’ve been on the giving-end of those safe-sex and unplanned-pregnancies-ruining-your-life lectures. I’ve dragged girls by their hair to Planned Parenthood even!

So I don’t know how this happened. Because I used to be so. damn. good about keeping myself fetus-growing-in-my-belly-free.

See, it starts with you being absolutely fed up with your birth control because your doctor switches you to a non-estrogen pill because of your “aura” migraines that you get ONCE a year. Because, estrogen pills put you at a higher risk for stroke and hey, so do aura migraines! So let’s not put the two together and kill you, okay? Great! Let’s make the switch!

But then, hold up. Because non-estrogen pills are also 4% less effective and OH YEAH, you don’t get your rag either, so while you’ve been great about taking those pills daily at 8pm, you’ll still end up sitting on your bathroom floor bawling to your boyfriend-at-the-time about how you might be pregnant and you can’t do this because you haven’t even graduated yet and you can’t handle a kid right now and OH WAIT, your doctor says JUST KIDDING.

So, you’re frustrated because there’s pretty much no point in taking the goddamn pills anymore and, instead, you try going for an IUD per your doctor’s suggestion but then OH WAIT, you no longer have your student health insurance and you can’t afford it. And then you find a job with health insurance and still can’t afford it but are going to do it anyway but then you quit your job, because HEY, why not.

And, by now, you’re swearing off all men and forgoing sex completely because they are all worthless pieces of shit who just fuck with your lives and your uterus and they’re the whole reason you’re in this goddamn mess until OH SHIT, you’re back with your boyfriend and AT THIS POINT YOU HAVE BECOME SO DEPENDENT ON PLAN B THAT THEY SHOULD GIVE YOU A VALUED CUSTOMER REWARD. LIKE A FUCKING CAR.

So, yay. I am not pregnant.

But I am still retarded and irresponsible and one of these days, I won’t be so lucky, so I need to get my ass to Planned Parenthood because I’m 24, not 16. There are no excuses for this kind of behavior. Ever.

The type of day that starts off with you waiting for twenty minutes to return something at Hollister only to find it not worth the return (or the twenty minutes).

The type of day that sees you getting yelled at by a grandfather of a 16 year old who just purchased a non-returnable-but-fully-exchangable “hideous” dress. Yelled at, because you see, “even if your policy is displayed, you CANNOT have a binding contract with a sixteen year old, because THAT IS NOT LEGAL AND I WILL TAKE YOU TO SMALL CLAIMS COURT”. Good god, sir. WHY DO YOU LET HER OUT OF THE HOUSE?

The type of day that has you arguing with a boyfriend who should’ve just stayed asleep if he was going to be a cranky-ass-man over something YOU DON’T EVEN REMEMBER anymore. Albeit, he does this every conversation because he loves to argue and loves to see me riled up and loves to say ILLOGICAL and IGNORANT things ON PURPOSE to gauge my reactions. Wait, why is that an albeit?

And the type of day that has you constantly answering phone calls from your parents about your upcoming teaching-in-korea contract because they keep calling EVERY MOFO they know who in turn, give them EVERY HORROR STORY they know which in turn FREAKS my parents out, thus the phone calls. I’m tired of the fussing and fretting. Give me one solid freak out and let’s be done with this.

ENOUGH. To the Batmobile, Robin. Let the anger out in the gym.

Seriously.

Every guy I have dated has always been momentarily interrupted by a previous fling – without fail. Every guy I have deleted from my phone has given me a surprise phone call and/or sent me an email after months of silence. Every guy. EVERY GUY.

And while a part of me (the narcissistic side) is pleased knowing I still cross their mind, the rest of me is PISSED. I don’t believe that you can be friends with people you’ve done the horizontal tango with. I’m sure some people can, but I don’t view it as a healthy choice. So when I am done with a guy, I am done. As in, peace out, motherfucker…you had your chance.

(Sidenote: I clearly recognize that this was not the case with S. But…*trails off* // Sidenote2: my sister and I are trying to start a movement for “grandmagrandpa” as a new profanity, derived from “motherfather” derived from “motherfucker”. Yes, we like to dork it up)

And though I instantly regretted answering the phone call today, this time the fury was a little muted by…something else. While talking to Mr. Weed (who is also known as Constantine #2 and ‘the one with the kid’ to friends), I realized with shock how much I have grown in the 3 years since we first met…and how little he has.

I am in a happy (albeit longdistance and difficult) pseudo-relationship with S, secure in his love. I am a proud graduate who is moving forward with her life and her career.

And the more I move forward, the more it pains me to think of me-three-years-ago. Because the me-now would have nothing to do with Mr. Weed. I’m past my days of thinking drug-runs are “cool” and that fucking on your living room couch while your girlfriend and son are out of town is okay, as long as the sex is good.

And thank god for that. Even if the sex was damn good.