Chapter IV

After being dumped for the 2^nd time in six months, I've started to believe that there is, in fact, something wrong with me. Friends and family are supportive and they swear that there's nothing wrong with me. But, really – twice in 6 months? If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

I've tried to pull back and look at myself from another person's point of view. Am I too short? Too fat? Too ready to commit? Too light in conversation? Too dramatic? Not dramatic enough? After all of this pointless self-analysis (even tried a counselor), I've determined that I have one of those diseases where I can't see what's wrong with me. Everyone else can but they won't say it. Like that genetic disease where someone can fully see and feel half of their body or their face, but not the other half. So you end up shaving one half of your beard or only doing the make-up on your right-side of your face. I'm pretty sure that's what is going on. No one will tell me though. They're much too kind. Hell, I could have an extra appendage dangling from the middle of my face or chest and they could truly believe that I'll still meet someone who will be amazing and kind and overlook that fact. Not that I am complaining about such a supportive network of family and friends!

This time I was dumped in person. At a party. At the end of a party that I was hosting. It was a double birthday bash for the roommates. Granted, I had been drinking champagne and beer for a good portion of the day. Then I had the brilliant idea that me and 3 friends should split 2 muscle relaxers. Bad idea. When it came time for the guy to break the news, I tried to focus but he was swimming in front of me. I told him to wait, thinking I'd rally and head back for a real conversation, and I ran to my bathroom to puke. And puke again. And again. And dry heave. I was in there for about an hour before my friend sent him home. In a sick way, I'm glad he witnessed my puking. It served him right. Who dumps someone at a party when they're wearing glitter eye-liner? Doesn't anyone have any sense of decency anymore??

I get that people don't work out. Not everyone has to like me – I get that. But why pretend so fiercely in the beginning that this is IT. “IT” being the thing I've been waiting for. This guy wanted to break down my “barriers” and talked about the future and my having his last name and whether or not I wanted kids...And then out of the blue, he stops pursuing... No more voicemails, no more emails, just the occasional text message spaced out so long from the time you sent the first one that you're convinced that he won't reply at all. And when he does reply, you think “Oh, I'm just over-analyzing!” or “Jeez, I must be emotional or something!” I need to trust my gut feelings more. I wasn't important enough to respond to. I wasn't important enough to break up with until he feels absolutely pushed into it during a social gathering.

As I ventured out one evening, I realized that this would be the first night I would have to see the ex. Is he really an 'ex' after 2 months (one of which wasn't really dating; rather, it was a month of him avoiding me)? Either way, I was nervous. I tried not to be. I had a beer when I got to the destination. I took a swig off of the bottle of cheap whiskey that was passed around, reaffirming that it is, in fact, as horrible as I remembered. It didn't warm my soul or bring me sweet relief; instead I felt ill. Fear bolted through me. What if I puke? This guy is gonna think all I do is puke now! When he thinks of me, all he'll picture is my backside, huddled over a porcelain toilet!

I managed to avoid him. He showed up and I acted extremely interested in a conversation that I quickly began with someone next to me, turning my head so I wouldn't have to look at him.

*If this were some sort of annoying myspace page, I'd somehow cue up The Dead Milkmen's “Tiny Town” here*

I curse this tiny town sometimes. In a span of 3 nights, I managed to sit next to 3 different guys I'd made out with in the past. The first night occurred at at a local Mexican food restaurant while celebrating Cinco de Mayo with friends and my brother. I noticed the guy in the next booth over and I recognized him from the dorms. 14 years ago, I'd made out with this guy. I remembered his name, where he was from, that he played the trumpet, and that he was cute. He was still cute. I left without saying anything to him.

The next night, I sat down at my favorite bar to wait for friends and noticed the guy I'd made out with in December sitting next to me. He was clearly on a date. Awkward... This awkwardness was compounded by the fact that my friends never showed up – at least, not during the hour and 30 minutes I waited and chatted off and on with the bar tender. And the adjacent date continued. I got to sit there and watch and listen to this giggly, excited little exchange with twinges of jealousy. Not over this particular guy – he's too young and not looking for what I'm looking for. But a twinge of jealousy over the fact that I wasn't date-worthy in his eyes. This was one of those guys who texted me from a bar and I ended up meeting him for a drink and some making out. After 2 or 3 make-out sessions, he never called again.

To top it off, the third day I sat next to someone else I'd made out with 2 years ago on New Years' Eve as I was grabbing some food at a local sandwich shop. He's actually a friend so he almost doesn't count in this set of examples...unless you're actually counting like I was during this small time frame. So I'm either a whore-of-the-mouth (keep it clean people – kissing only) or this town is too god- damned small. As a matter of self-preservation, I'm going with the latter.

I suppose this is a somewhat hypocritical chapter since I started off moaning about how something must be wrong with me, yet I'm ending it while noting all of the “action” I've managed to get in this town. But that's all that's out there: a meaningless sea of action. If you've seen the show “Californication,” you get an idea of what's out there. Hook-ups, texting, messaging, and alcohol are the staples of today's dating life. Communication is a thing of the past. Now you just stop texting or calling. Unless you have a group of mutual friends – then you HAVE to break it off officially due to social pressure and the overriding belief that it's the right thing to do when one is in a relationship. But that brings about a whole new topic: what defines a relationship today? A certain number of dates? A title? Perhaps one of you thinks it's a relationship while the other person thinks it's casual. Hell if I know. I'm still waiting for that special text message.

Chapter 3

I had a dog for 5 months. I wanted to try something new. I actually went to the shelter to get a kitten. I'm not a dog person. But my roommate convinced me to at least look at the dogs. And there he was. He picked me. He locked eyes with me and dogs don't usually do that with me. There's usually an unspoken/unbarked policy – don't mess with me and I won't mess with you. We visit in peace. This was different though. This dog was sweet, fun, playful, smart. A fairly good-sized dog. He was a Belgian Malinois mix – the type of dog bred for police work. The ones you see on videos where they run full speed, jump, and clamp their jaws onto the arm of some poor schmuck in a fat-suit, pretending to be a robber or rapist. The entire time the dog is attacking, its tail is happily and voraciously wagging back and forth. He was the kind of dog I could take on walks and no one would mess with me. I had such big dreams for me and this dog. The shelter had found him somewhere up in Paso I think and they suspected he was somewhere between 3 and 4 years of age. They had dubbed him “Hudson” but I didn't really like that name so I changed it to “Jackson” figuring it was similar enough. Although that never felt quite right. A part of me believed that a single girl with a dog named “Jackson” should be driving a Subaru and camping outside, forgoing showers and working on a wicked set of dreadlocks.

Jackson was a great excuse to ditch the holiday events when things got to be a bit much. Give me a break, after all it was my first Christmas, birthday, New Years, and Valentine's Day as a single person in 8 years. Not exactly where I'd pictured I'd be at the ripe age of 30/31. So Jackson provided an excellent "out." I'd excuse myself from events, promising to return as soon as I let him out of the house to relieve himself or as soon as I took him for a walk. On Valentine's Day, I bailed on the downtown scene to go home and frost hideously bright pink heart-shaped cookies that I'd made for the roommates and neighbors. Just me and the dog and some loud music. We had a really good time and there was no need to pretend I was having a good time amidst all the happy couples. I was able to frost freely while listening to whatever music I liked (I don't recall exactly but I doubt I was rocking out to love songs) and drink a couple of glasses of wine.

Unfortunately, I no longer have Jackson as an excuse to bail on such festivities. He had a bit of a biting problem. I tried training classes, treats, kennels, positive reinforcement, and even, sadly enough, a shock collar. He kept biting visitors. Mostly when they'd get too close to me. And eventually, if they got too close to my roommates. He was a good dog – our household was just too busy for him. He bit my Mom, my Dad, my roommate's dad, dates, friends.... He was ensuring me a long life alone.

I truly started to get paranoid. Here I was, putting myself out there yet again, only to adopt this creature that was supposed to provide unconditional love. I mean, they make movies about this shit – have you seen A Boy and His Dog? A true classic, one of Don Johnson's earlier movies (1975).

Side note – a worthwhile “cult classic” in my opinion. A post-apocalyptic science fiction film involving a telepathic dog, an underground society, and harvesting sperm from men. In a nutshell, it's pretty entertaining and the ending makes it all worthwhile.

Instead of a life-time companion, I got a psychotic biting beast who, in addition to the biting antics, had horrific, nose-hair curling gas no matter what food I gave him. Another failed relationship with a male. Although, this time it was a dog. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: was this a sign that I am destined to wander this earth alone??