DATING MYSELF: A LOVE STORY - Guest Post #6 (Wallaine Sarao)

I went to a fancy-shmancy art school...

The walls are made of ground doubloons and the elevators smell like privilege.

That masquerades on weekends as a Cheesecake Factory.

The walls are made of cheesecake and the elevators smell like cottage cheese thighs.

It's the kind of place that has an emergency, on-site Coffee Bean -- just in case. (AKA the best years of my life.)

"Oh guuurl, pumpkin scones are half price. Let's skip that Mad Men class, I can't even with that Pete guy anyway."

It's also the kind of place that has a class that requires you to 'network' by going to a bar and meeting other people who've survived the battlefield your program.

"Didn't finish your screenplay about fairies? Go, go, go! I'll tell the professor that I saw you get hit by a car."

Well, you may not be able to guess this about me, but I'm a horrifically awkward human being who prefers the company of cats and cake to humans, because when I have to talk to humans I forget how to keep my voice at an appropriate volume and am constantly worried that I'm going to suddenly smell like pickles.

Even when I didn't eat pickles.

(I picked this gif because I assume Pete Wentz always smells like pickles.)

Long story short, it was at this event that I met Wallaine Sarao, an angel who talked to me long enough for my armpits to dehydrate and who pretended she didn't notice. 

Never stopped smelling though. I've got that perpetual natural, musky fear scent.

Ever since, we've been internet friends and I've thoroughly enjoyed her blog about her saga of a dating life. So without further--

--penis eating starfish clouds.

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DATING MYSELF: A LOVE STORY

Yes, I'm dating myself.

Yes, I'm okay with it.

No, I'm not afraid to be alone.  

Let me explain.

Whenever I tell someone I'm dating myself I get this look that screams, "Oh, I get it.  You've given up, Bitter Betty."  

I hate that.  

No, I haven't given up.  

Yes, even after a rough break up, and 30 terrible online dates (read the blog:  wallaineisnotdating.tumblr.com), I still believe love is out there for me.   

I guess I love to believe in impossible things like becoming a writer, and falling in love and staying in love.  Or maybe it's because a part of me, the part that isn't dead yet, thinks there has to be someone out there for me.  Well, I hope he's out there.  I hope the reason he's not here is because I just haven't met him yet.  It's either that or he's taking his sweet time becoming a butterfly because, you know, he's not ready for me, so he's in a metaphorical cocoon still.  

So I'm dating myself, which pretty much means I'm spending a lot of time being alone, eating alone, watching movies alone, getting coffee alone ... you get the gist.  When I first broke up with the Ex-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I'd panic when I was alone.  I'd feel this sense of utter loneliness, a black hole, and I'd want to distract myself and fill it with something, anything.  That feeling of utter panic is really scary.  You had something once, and now, it's gone.  There's nothing you can do about it, either.  You're alone.  You know when that changed for me?  When I actually sat with it, and felt it.  I realized I'm not going to die from loneliness, and that being alone is something I shouldn't fear.  After accepting that, and initially being uncomfortable with being alone, well, it got better.  I don't even think about it now.    

And yes, it wasn't easy.  It sucked.  A lot.  There have been times in my life where I haven't sat with that feeling, where I've refused to feel it and filled it with anything that could distract me:  food, alcohol, men.  You know, the trifecta.  I'm happy this time I chose to feel.  I chose to be angry.  I chose to cry.  I'm happy I did that because I came out of it okay.    

Being on this journey of dating myself, and just doing me, for lack of a better term, has been really great.  So I'm not afraid to be alone.  I'm not afraid to be alone because I'm busy being fucking awesome.  I'm not afraid to be alone because I'm busy creating stuff. 

Recently, I turned my dating blog into a web series called Wallaine Is Dating.  Watch the latest episode here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-g9--bqGs8

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Wallaine Sarao graduated from SDSU with a BA in English and USC with a MFA in Writing.  In 2009, she won the Grand Prize in the Minority Category for an all Asian feature she wrote titled, "Past Due."  In 2010, she optioned a hour-long pilot with Fox through Fox Writers Initiative.  In 2014, she produced and directed part of a 1/2-hour comedy she wrote called, "Post."  She is currently working on a web series based on her dating blog called Wallaine Is Dating.  She loves wine, her cat, and warm socks.

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I'm a Jealous Snoop (Part 1) - Taboo Tuesday #15

I'm not known for a great many things. But if I am known for anything, it's a being a jealous wretch of a human being.

I don't know why exactly. Maybe it's because I grew up involved in the roughest, cruelest, most competitive sport there is.

Musical. Theater.

Maybe it's because I live in a city where most of the women walk down the street like...

And I only leave the house when there's Monopoly at McDonalds.

Or maybe I'm just a terrible person. 

Regardless of the reason, this is an issue I've had to battle with since the boy I liked in the fourth grade asked out that bitch who was wearing a bra already.

"I pray every night that you get fat."

I find this phenomenon primarily extends to three areas of my life: dating, my career, every time I leave the house. So for those of you facing similar issues, I've put together a handy guide for how to be less of a hot mess. In this week's blog we'll just go with just one.

1) Dating

When I started dating I was the perfect girlfriend, a paragon of vagina.

... until I realized that my boyfriend had had sex with other women.

At first you gotta be like, "Oh her? She's fabulous! I want to be besties with her! Gorgeous, she looks like she was wearing a bra in the fourth grade!" While on the inside, you're like...

She looks like she was wearing a bra in the fourth grade.

But you can't say that, because that's crazy. Instead, you have to ask her to lunch and put butter in her diet soda so she gets fat faster.

Cut out the middle man.

And, of course, if your boyfriend does have a past sexual history, you have to snoop on him.

Because if he didn't want you to check his phone every time he left the room or fell unconscious, he shouldn't have ever looked at another woman.

Got to plan ahead with these things.

Oh man, with my first boyfriend, the jealousy came on fast and strong, like a tidal wave of self-loathing. It built up so quickly that I had to check his phone approximately... always.

But not in a crazy way, just in a 'I just have to know every single person you're talking to and why' way. 

The thing about snooping though, is once you pop, you just can't stop.

In fact, very well respected studies...

From my life.

Have shown that snooping is perhaps the most addictive thing known to man.

Not even once.

It makes your heart pump, your adrenaline spike, and your fear of God reach an all-time high -- AKA, the closest I'll ever feel to committing murder. 

It's a rush. But that rush doesn't stay, You've got to do it again... find something more salacious. Because it's never going to be enough. Oh, when you start, you think:

"I'll just check! Make sure everything's okey-dokey. Just ensure he isn't sticking his dipstick in that dirty bitch from work who keeps liking his cover photos."

You start by checking just one text, but it's so easy, so you end up checking all of them from the last five years. Then you go through Facebook messages, and emails, searching for terms like "sex meetup," "that bitch from work" and "other things that lower my self-esteem."

And then later, you two will be talking, and he'll be like, "Oh my ex once said..." and you want to cut him off right there and be like--

It's maddening.

When I snooped, I only found bits and pieces of questionable behavior at first: calling an ex-girlfriend "babe" or planning a dinner with that new girl from work.

But I kept digging and eventually did uncover evidence of secret sex-having!

WHICH, of course, I kept as a secret for the next six months.

As it gradually destroyed me from the inside out.

Why the fuck, you ask, would I keep that a secret?

Cause I felt the horrible guilt of having been a snoop.

Here's the bottom line: there's nothing worse than being a snoop. 

Except for being a Lucy, man. Fuck Lucy.

I mean, yeah, definitely him having sex with a bunch of randos and hiding it from me was super shittier -- definitely shittier than snooping. But being a snoop is different than just doing a bad thing.

Being a snoop means you violated someone's privacy -- and in a relationship, you don't necessarily get a whole lot of that, so privacy is sacred.

Are you listening Mr. Government?

Being a snoop also means that you straight up don't trust the person you're snooping on. 

And either that means they aren't trustworthy:

In which case, kick them to the mother fucking curb. You ain't got time for that.

Or it suggests that you, for whatever reason, aren't able to trust. And that might just mean taking some "you time" and figuring out why that is. You don't want to be putting that on yourself or people you care about. Because you know what sweetheart? You better that.

And I'm also like, shit... how hard is it just to ask people things? Just ask! It isn't that bad! I had to ask a man at CVS for a pregnancy test, yeast infection cream, clinical strength deodorant, AND if they carried Wonder Balls yet in the same goddamn day. And you know what?

Bitches still don't have Wonder Balls.

It's just not that difficult. If you put someone's genitals in and/or around your mouth, you can ask them whatever the fuck you want. In fact, do it when they're genitals are in and/or around your mouth! Studies show that they'll probably be in a good mood.

But if that doesn't convince you, let me get real for a second -- in all my many four years of dating experience--

--if I'm snooping on somebody, it means I shouldn't be in that relationship. It's not fair to either person.

It's ESPECIALLY not fair to you.

It's like -- when I'm snooping, I'm just miserable. There is no good outcome. Either I'd get momentary relief from seeing nothing... but it only built the curiosity until the next time. Or, I'd find something, big or small, and then I'd just feel shitty about that all day.

Plus some things are secret for a reason. I figure if I have things that I want to keep to myself...

Like that secret cake in my closet.

Then you probably do to. It's just common decency to give people that respect. 

And love means not being a huge fucking dick to each other.

Right Oprah?

Thanks Oprah.

Plus, you know what? I stopped snooping. I did it. It was hard work not being a huge asshole... but I managed.

I would have thought it would be so much worse, that I'd be more curious, but I wasn't.

Without anything feeding it, that curiosity dissipated, as did the heavy responsibility of feeling like I had to know everything. 

Now I feel so much better.

I'm proud that I became a non-snooper.  In fact, a later boyfriend threw a hissy because one time, when passing him his phone, he got a text and I read it. And I'm like... bitch. You have no idea.

But that's not everything. I made a decision a couple of weeks ago. I made a decision while talking to my dad.

Yeah, that classy motherfucker.

He and I had a long discussion that resulted in my realization that envy is not a useful emotion.... which might not SOUND like a brilliant revelation--

But it was for me. I just hadn't thought about it before. When I did think about it, I remembered that girl who wore a bra in the fourth grade.

Then I took a second and calmed all the jelly in my belly.

And I realized that she's just living her life. Me being envious of what she has doesn't help anyone.

She doesn't have huge, glorious tits to hurt me. She has huge, glorious tits because that's where some of her fat is stored. And that's okay.

Plus she's probably equally envious of my sweet, lower-thigh fat deposits.

Then I realized, damn, you know what, if I want to be like her, then probably she's someone I would want to spend time with.

If I can't appreciate cool things about other people, then it's no wonder that I feel inadequate about myself. I just got to remind myself sometimes:

So in short, I'm taking on a new perspective, and I already feel so much better about it. 

No murder today.

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I think next time I'll talk about jobs or something, and how I hate everyone who has one.

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