I'm alive

and now have a new blog!  Continue to read my nonsense at I'm Not a Girlfriend.

I'm back and the first order of business is...

I would like to take a moment to retract all negative comments said about "T", "Perfect Arms", and "The Punisher." (To clarify this is the same person).  This was requested by higher authority and I have chosen to oblige due to current circumstances.  Perfect Arms is indeed a friend, a good guy, and maybe even a damn legend in my black book. 
With that said, if you don't hear from me in two weeks, there is a possibility he threw me off the cruise ship.  Call the police.

I don't look like trouble...anymore

I was just told that I look like trouble.

In the past, this would make me happy.  I would say "Thank you.  That was the look I was going for."

However, it's a new year.  It's a new Kate.  A new Kate that shouldn't look like trouble anymore.

Since my new years resolution of growing up and taking life a bit more seriously, I've done the following;

1.  I took on a different position at my company that requires more responsibility and commitment.  This sounds awful.  I swear I love it.

2.  I signed up for every boot camp class that Groupon, LifeBooker, and DailyCandy inboxed my way.  I've never been so sore in  my life.

3.  I cut all the dramatic relationships out of my life; the frenemy, the complainer, the narcissist, the child, the booty call that I tried to turn into something more, the friend who was only my friend when he was girlfriendless.

4.  I've created a stronger relationship with my brother than ever.  He is on his way to visit me this very second. :)

5.  I take a multi-vitamin every day...every single day.

6.  I reached out to old friends that I've lost touch with because I simply suck at "staying in touch."

7.  I bought all 21 books on my Amazon Wish List....and I'm actually reading them.

8.  I buy groceries.  I don't even know what seamless web is anymore.

9.  I pay my bills on time.  Wait, that's a lie.  I pay them early.

10.  And finally...I've been successfully staying away from trouble; men that call me trouble and men that are trouble.

But this guy is a freakin' cutie.  And he called me trouble.  Dammit.

I don't remember 95% of my dreams, but when I do...I really do

So my recent desire to stop dating men that aren't right for me came about from a number of events; one of the more stupid ones being a dream...

I was living somewhere exotic and tropical.  This made me happy.  I was also living with my ex-boyfriend.  This made me nervous and anxious; especially since my fuck buddy was living right down the street, in the same small Caribbean village.  

I was tormented with whether I was ready to commit to one man or if I should continue the casual fling.  Unable to sleep, I take a walk at dawn through the village.  Obviously, the village children are awake at dawn and riding their bicycles.  

One young, tan girl points at me and says "you're the white girl."  She said this in a way that made me believe I was some sort of mystical creature.  Apparently, I was the only white girl in the entire village thus given the name "the white girl."  

Then, this same girl blatantly states, "You and my mommy go out with the same boy."  I hold my breathe for a moment and utter the name Brad, my live-in boyfriend.  "No, Kyle.  Kyle dates all the women on our block."  Knowing that my FB is "making his way around the block" apparently makes me burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

Three very hideous and obnoxious men are walking down the street and stop at me.  One obscenely plump, dirty one takes away a stress ball that I have in my hand and begins to poke me with his pointer finger.  Suddenly, I have this distinct sense of fear for my life.  I begin to scream at the top of my lungs.  The crazy thing...I'm screaming my boyfriend's name, Brad.  Guess what happens next?  Brad comes running to my rescue.

Now why did this particular dream have a factor in contributing to a change in my life?  Why did it make a dent at all?  Well, I don't necessarily think Brad is really Brad.  Let's face it.  The real Brad is a total nut-job that I don't want to touch with a 5,000 mile long pole.  I'd prefer him to think I was a living in a convent in Zimbabwe selling cookies or better yet...dead.  But, Brad is also the only guy I have ever called my boyfriend. 

In my dream, I think he represents committed relationships in general.  I think Kyle and the three disgusting pigs represent casual dating.  They are the men that are wrong for me.  I know they are wrong for me.  They know I'm wrong for them.  But no one cares enough to do anything about it.  We distract each other for the short time we are present in one another's lives.  Distractions can be good.  Distractions can be dangerous.

My stress ball is taken away and what do you know!?  It stresses me out.  The funny thing...I don't typically get stressed out in life.  Ask anyone.  Stress is somewhat foreign to me...kind of like figure skating.  I know it exists but I don't really care for it and I prefer not to witness it.  I guess I can say that I keep men around for my entertainment reasons...like I said earlier; distractions.  Distractions, entertainment or better yet, unnecessary drama.  They are one in the same.  Unnecessary drama takes me away from what is really important in life.  Sure, it taught me a great deal of lessons.  But maybe those types of fun, games, and entertainment are overrated now.  They are just like that fatty poking me with his pudgy finger...not wanted here anymore.

I would make an excellent shrink.  Did I ever tell you about my dream with the spaceship, my brother, and the slip and slide pool?  The meaning I got from that one was genius.

Brotherly Love

I love having a twin brother...especially at this age.  We have begun to trade dating advice.  When we were younger, this was a taboo topic for us.  We wouldn't dare speak of having a crush, a fling, or whatever else happens as puny teenagers or foolish twenty somethings.

It's nice to have a guy's perspective on my outlandish ideas on men and why the guys I date do the things they do.  And I think he appreciates my assurance that all women are nuts and you have to love them anyway.

Yeah, so it's nice having a male to talk to that will be brutally honest with me.  Too bad both of us are complete lost causes when it comes to relationships.  I finally understand that saying about the blind leading the blind.

Lesson #1404

I learned another great lesson this week.  If you do not want to be treated like a vagina, you should probably keep your clothes on and the vagina undercover...at least until he learns your birthday, how you got that three inch scar on your shin, and maybe even the weird fact that you sing "Waterfalls" by TLC every time you get stressed out.  

I'm going to be brutally honest with myself and admit that I kind of liked the idea of this guy.  I know that we had an unspoken agreement that this was "just sex."  I had no expectations other than that he would treat me like a friend.  Oops...my mistake.  He really had zero interest in getting to know me. He didn't have much respect for me either.  

Little things made me believe he was a nice guy and we were friends.  He fed me steak.  He let me use his toothbrush.  He introduced me to his cats even after I showed my disgust for the species and then I actually warmed up to the little boogers.  He turned me on to the best gum on the planet (which I am forever grateful for).  He nicknamed me Poo.

All the while, he treated me like a vagina.  I'd love to blame him and say he's a cold-hearted douche.  That this was his way to keep his distance and to ensure that I don't fall for him.  I'd love to tell him congratulations.  You did a fantastic job. I immensely dislike you.  

But, I can't.  This was my mistake and I take all the responsibility for it.  I let him treat me like a vagina...and this isn't the first guy to do it.  Shocker, right?  It all lies beneath my pathetic attempt to not get close to a guy...to continue my reputation as "Kate Carnage."  I think I've finally learned though.  It finally has sunk in.  I'm completely responsible for how I let people treat me and for how people see me.  

I let him see my vagina and then he treated me like a vagina.  I can't be mad at him.  But, I also don't have to let him call me fecal matter anymore.

"Poo" has signed off.

I don't look good in orange

I always thought my childhood was normal.  Then, last week I was sharing a story with friends about my dad telling me (numerous times) as a young adult to get a job at Hooters.

They looked at me with eyes as wide as Flick's in the Christmas Story when he got his tongue stuck to that flagpole.

Anyways, I never worked at Hooters.  Orange wasn't my color...even as a Gator student.  Instead, I got a job at a bikini bar.  My dad would come in all the time, along with my brother.  They would sit at the end of the bar and have staring matches with every guy that came in.