Happy (Non) Wedding Anniversary?

I was busy writing all my cheerleading practices and football games on the calendar when I realized something. Saturday would be my 11th wedding anniversary. What am I supposed to do with that? Laugh? Cry? Eat an entire Publix birthday cake by myself? I'll probably do all three. I will laugh because I'm happier than I've been in years.I don't want to cry because it's over, I just want to cry for the wasted years and the pain and the sorrow. I have my boys and that is worth everything. I'll eat cake because that's how I deal with every emotion.

With my non-wedding anniversary looming on the horizon, I've been thinking about love a lot. The love I got, the love I wanted, the love I gave too freely. Maybe I'm a fool, but when I love you, I love you. I love you when you're happy or sad, fat or skinny, loud or quiet, funny or serious. I go all in. Not in a crazy stalker way, but I'm all about unconditional love. Love should never have stipulations attached to it. I used to joke with my ex, who LOVED returning things to the store, that at least he never returned me. Well, he kind of did. My love comes with no strings. I don't expect you to bend over backwards for me or buy me jewelry. Just love and support me. That's all I want.

But if you betray me, my love is gone, replaced by distain.

I'm a passionate person. I either love you completely, or I ignore your existence. I don't really hate, for hating is not an emotion within my heart. I have never understood hatred. I never will. This is one of the gifts the Lord bestowed upon me. For love is stronger than magic or heartache or pain. J.K. Rowlings taught me that. Love can overcome evil. Love is all you need. The Beatles taught me that.

I was never loved like I deserved, and I accepted that love because I thought that was all I could get, but I hold out hope for a grand love. A love someone will write poetry about. That person will probably be me. But can that epic love existed here in the real world? I don't know. But I do know that no one is ever going to love me like Peeta loved Katniss, Logan loved Veronica, or Cassel loved Lila, or Perry loved Aria, or Eric loved Sookie, or Damon loved Elena. (I read a lot.) I'll be loved differently that that's okay. I just want someone to love me for who I am--for my strengths and my weaknesses--and not want to change me in anyway. I want to be enough, just how I am.

I have the love of my little boys and they think I'm pretty great. In fact, I know exactly how I'm going to celebrate my non-wedding anniversary. I'm taking them out on a date to a restaurant I was never allowed to go to. I'm taking them to the SJCDS football game because my ex-husband hated sports. We're going to eat dessert for breakfast and have a grand old time.

A bicycle, a man, and a fish: I've Made a Terrible Mistake.

 

There is something you must understand about me. I am a feminist. This does not mean I have hairy armpits or hate men. Oh, contraire, mon frère. My armpits are smooth and I like men. I love them. Their biceps and brawn and brains. Yes, please! Feminism is simply the belief that I can do anything a man can do (maybe even better). I can run a household. I can work. I can change a tire. I can rule the world. Feminism is simply the idea that women deserve equal rights. Nothing more. That's it. Do you have a mother, a sister, an aunt, a granny, a cousin? Do you think they deserve the same inalienable rights as every other human being on the planet? You're a feminist, too.

I talk about feminism because I don't believe I need a man. Sure, a bike would be great. It could be fun. But I can swim just fine without one. There's this quote I keep seeing around Pinterest. "One day, someone will hold you tight enough to put all your broken pieces back into place." This sounds lovely, doesn't it? Some day, he will come along on his white steed and rescue me from myself. Nope. I saved myself, thank you very much.

The guys online seem so phony. All I get is stuff like, 'Hey, beautiful. Great picks.' This is a line. This doesn't mean anything to me. Don't you sweet talk me because the devil can talk pretty, too. If you want me to talk back, say something intelligent. Try. As you know, I have very specific tastes, so I did a search on my online dating site and one guy showed up in the entire Jacksonville area. One guy! You might think I'm closing myself off by being picky, but I know what I want. I know what I like. I know who I am. Opinions and sarcasm scare most guys. I need a man who finds self-confidence and passion and strength attractive. It's okay for women to be strong, because they already are. In today's world, I don't think he exists. This is why I wrote him into a book. (Read all about Abram once my book is finished and published.)

So I'm shutting it down. I deactivated my account. I can't do it. I don't need a man to make me feel pretty, or worthy, or loved. I have the power to give myself all those things. I decide how I feel about myself. I am a friggin' catch, and I don't need a man to tell me that.

I would like a guy friend, but I don't know how to go about it. Is there an opposite-sex-friendship website out there? So many of the people I went to high school and college with are married now, so they're out, and I do have single friends, but what do I say? "Hey, I'm in the market for a platonic friendship. Do you want to hang out sometime? No pressure. I promise I don't want to date you." Then I feel like I'll offend them when I tell them I don't want to date them. It's such a fine line with male and female friendship. I would never close off the possibility of something more, but I don't want the guy to think I want to marry him and make him my boys' daddy. I just want to swear in a normal conversation and not worry about offending anyone. I want to get dirty and sweaty while hiking in the woods. I want to talk about comic lore. I want a boy friend.

But don't you dare forget that I don't need one. I'm the best friend a girl could have.

Super Superficial: A Tale of Online Dating

I joined an online dating site. I'm not so sure about it. The real problem is that there are -7 single Mormon men in my area. There are other LDS guys in the state of Florida, but nobody is floating my boat.

I'm going to come out and say it. I'm superficial. At least at first. I have a very specific type. I like dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a little height. I like big biceps and abs and rounded butts. (Tina knows what I'm talking about.) I also like boys who venture out in the woods or take a swim at the beach in the middle of a storm. Who can fix things and look good while mowing the lawn. I need someone who would go ghost hunting and fishing with me. Someone who can swing an ax or command a surfboard or wield a hammer. I need someone who won't lie or cheat. I need someone who has a good work ethic, but not a workaholic. I need a man who will accept me the way I am, and someone who will love my boys. I like things besides biceps. I find brains and bravery very sexy. And if you've read poetry or fallen in love with a book in the last few years. Have mercy.

But all I find on the LDS dating sites are guys like these. And weirdos.

 

I feel bad when I click No, No, No, on my daily matches. I'm not perfect and I don't want people judging me by only by looks because I'm no super model. But this time I have to be attracted to my mate. Last time, the attraction was pretty forced. I need someone I can't keep my hands off of. I need a lot of things, and I'm scared I won't get them. It all makes me want to retreat into my yoga pants and date Netflix for life. I don't even know why I'm trying online dating. I'm not into chasing guys, and I don't talk back to anyone who contacts me. Maybe I'm just a big scaredy cat.


Do any men read this blog? Do I stand a chance in today's dating market? Would you want to date me? Do guys really pick a girl based on her personality? I don't have blond hair and stick-thin, spider-like legs. I was blessed with boobs, and muscles, and curves. I also have wrinkles on my forehead and dark under eye circles that make me look a little bit like I was punched. (I wear makeup to cover this up) I have a lot of opinions. I have a sugar addiction. I hate working out, but think it's important for everyone to do. I have sass and a sense of humor. But is that enough? Do guys have these types of insecurities? Am I alone in my neurotic self-assessment?


So now I've signed up for the free 7 day trial on another, non-Mormon dating site, and let me tell you, all the hot guys are over there. And they are talking to me and I'm scared of them. I think everyone is a Catfish and probably going to dismember me if I meet them for dinner. I just don't like the whole getting-to-know-you-over-the-internet thing. I need references and background checks and a guarantee that you won't murder in the bathroom of the local Chili's.

I used to be really good with guys. I had a giant map on my bedroom wall at college. I used it to mark the state's where the boys I kissed were from. I aimed to get all fifty states. I got most of the states (Alaska I was the most proud of), but I had a lot of fun. Like this one time I met a guy who I swear to you could have been a model. I told him I thought he was cute, and that was that. I got another pin in my map. I used to know how to flirt, but now I mainly know how to stutter and spill my drink.

Maybe it's time I turn to my internet to find a date. Does this make me desperate? I don't know, and I'm done caring. I am a badass single mother, a teacher, a tutor, a cheerleading coach, and an author. I don't have time to find guys on my own. I can't hang out at coffee shops or go to the bar or dance at a club. I need help. I'm not saying I want to get married again. I just want to go on a date, hold someone's hand, and get a good night kiss. I'm so out of practice. Does anyone know a hot, single, nonmurderer guy out there that they think I'd hit it off with? Am I sounding desperate again? Whatever. If I never put myself out there again, I'll never make out again. And I really, really miss making out. Really. 

 

 

 



Panic! In The Cat Food Aisle

A few years ago, whenever I heard stories about abuse, I'd think, 'Why is the woman staying? Why is she putting up with it. I wouldn't stand for it. I would be strong enough to leave.' The thing is, you think you'll never be that girl, but then you wake up one morning, terrified to make too much noise or in a panic because you think you might have left your towel on the bathroom floor. You are that girl. You're living a life of madness without even knowing it. Sometimes you can't see the mistreatment until you're out of it.

And I'm out of it. I moved myself, my boys, and our little trailer of stuff across the country. I found a job. I found an apartment. I found freedom from the constraints of control. But other weights are still there. Weights that took years to place on my shoulders, ounce by ounce, pound by pound, so slow that I couldn't feel it until it immobilized me.

 

Control works its way into your soul. It eats away until you don't remember who you once were. You question your every move because you're still waiting for someone to come tell you that you're doing everything wrong. I find myself still doing things "the way I'm supposed to", and suddenly I realize I can wash the dishes however the F I want. In fact, I don't have to wash them at all. They can sit in the sink for a week and no one can tell me any different. Like today, I had the sudden epiphany that I can take off the stupid seat covers in my car that I hate. I never wanted them to begin with, and now they are in the dumpster behind our apartment. I might have even ripped them to shreds.

As you all know, I'm in the process of rebuilding. During the time the boys were away from me, I had a lot of time to myself. I sat by the pool. I read. I exercised. I ate lunch alone. I painted my nails. I walked on the beach. I actually got to write like a writer. I know who I am, and I love myself, but then those weights start stacking up again. Self-doubt will always be louder than confidence. Just when I start to feel good about myself, I'm reminded that I'm a bumbling idiot.

Like the other day, I was at a store and thought I saw a cute guy I went to high school with (it wasn't him). I nearly had a panic attack. Seriously, I almost died in the cat food aisle. And why? I was worried that I would stutter or the guy wouldn't remember me or he would remember and wonder why the heck I thought I was cool enough to talk to him. This is what happens when, for the last several years, you are told you aren't good enough. Eventually you believe it. You keep quiet. You keep the peace because living in the delusion is easier than dealing with reality.

Rome wasn't built in a day. Neither was Lauren. The problem is that I'm kind of obsessed with personal perfection, though I know I'll never get there. Perfection is what I think I need for people to like me, but Maragreg Moore reminds me that the boy who gave me heart palpitations farts and picks his nose. I also need to remember that perfection is unattainable, and I am enough, even in this broken state. I'm no hero. I put my bra on one boob at a time, just like any other woman.

I have flaws and that's why you like me. It's why I like myself. I do. I promise. I've just been repressed for far too long. This will be The Year of Lauren. I will be awesome. I will get my book published. I will make others nervous to talk to me because I will have a radiant confidence that will be envied by Kanye West. But I won't be a jerk. I will be kind of others. I will love myself. I will be okay.