I am siren, I am ivy

Let’s be friends, he says. So now we’re friends.

But here’s the thing. If you want to be my friend, then you’re gonna be my friend. After everything he and I went through, all we shared, he isn’t just a random dude in my phone that I maybe say hi to every couple of weeks. He knows this. Or he should know this anyway. WE TALK EVERY SINGLE DAY. I talk to him more often than anyone else in my life right now.

So yeah. He is a FRIEND friend. And I tell my FRIEND friends about all the things bothering me, in an open and frank manner. That’s just the way I am. And if I can’t be myself with my friends, then what is the point?

Tonight though… this fckn guy. He tells me that he’s not the “target audience” for some of the things I tell him. He literally used that phrase. Target audience. Like I’m a brand manager relaying a message to their customer base. Jesus fúcking christ.

So he says that to me, right? And immediately, IMMEDIATELY, the embarrassment sets in. Deep, deep heart-squeezing, stomach-clenching embarrassment. Taking over every ounce of my being. Godddddd. As if my ego wasn’t already bruised and battered.

Here I am thinking I’m talking to a good, safe friend about my struggles with this hysterectomy thing, but nope. While I’m being vulnerable and raw about a very emotional subject for me, seeking some measure of comfort from someone I care about, he’s over there feeling uncomfortable and awkward, thinking how he is merely a “male friend” that I keep mistaking for a girlfriend. Whatever that means.

Where is an earth-destroying asteroid when you need one.

It’s obnoxious of course, because he’s not wrong. He is allowed to be uncomfortable and not want or like that level of friendship or the sorts of details I often provide (in a very hilarious way might I add). And he’s allowed to express that to me, subtly at first, and then, when I keep ignoring his signs, become much more direct.

So now I feel bad. And silly. I tell him I’m sorry, that I’m embarrassed. And then I assure him that I see and understand his boundaries and I will try harder to respect them.

His response? He thanks me and says, “It’s okay. Sometimes it is just a level of graphic or explicit or female that I feel is not appropriate for our dynamic.”

Oh really erik? I’m too graphic or explicit or, sin of all sins, TOO FEMALE? what does that even mean, too female? He didn’t seem to mind me being graphic or explicit or female when he was on the receiving end, but when it’s about someone or something else, he’s apparently above such trash. He is too sophisticated for my low life. His pristine and delicate sensitive nature can’t handle it. my graphicness. My explicitness. my femaleness,

And let me ask you, male friend, what exactly IS our dynamic? Because you keep changing the boundaries, leaving me to blindly test those lines, so I can know where I stand. And I keep getting it wrong in your eyes.

After laying here for a bit feeling bad and kind of ashamed, something switched over inside. I started thinking about it and realized that I didn’t actually do anything wrong. I just talked to him about things I’ve been talking to all my friends about.

He just doesn’t care is all. Did he ever?

So I’m not embarrassed anymore. I am prickly.

Here we are mr tinder. I can’t communicate with you on a romantic or sexual level anymore. Okay. Fine. And now I can’t communicate with you on a close friendship level. Okay. Fine.

Then please please just tell me what I can do. Tell me exactly. What is appropriate for you, my target audience, my delicate little flower? What subject matter is acceptable? What topics are off-limits? What is too explicit and graphic and female? And what can I discuss that doesn’t strain or challenge or disrupt your perfect little life?

I did ask him. To give me a list of what is okay and what isn’t. But he didn’t answer me.

Because of course. he’s an arrogant, self-righteous, selfish prick. Why would he answer that.

I don’t know why I even bother with him. He has zero interest in me for dating. It now appears he has zero interest in a friendship. Or at least the kind of friendship I would like. Since everything has to be on his terms, that leaves no room for me. I guess I don’t get a say.

Fuck that noise. I’m a funny, smart and awesome friend. Some people actually like me and like being my friend. I am a strange poetic earthy spice. And he is just another average, boring, grumpy, self-absorbed rigid old white man who prides himself on those qualities. And yet he sees himself as a guy who shits golden turds.

It’s a surprise he ever liked me to begin with. Maybe he never really did. Maybe I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I am not going to beat myself up over it. He was charming and swept me off my feet. He had it on full blast, brightest light. Of course I couldn’t see. And even after he pulled it all away, I was still blinded.

But you know something? My eyes have started to adjust finally, I’m starting to get some function back again, things are getting clearer and more defined. I am seeing shapes and shadows, seeing dimension and empty space.

I am siren. I am ivy. But I’m gonna be alright.


Three dots and uterus-free sex

I tell myself I’m getting over him, slowly but surely, but damn if this is not one of my favorite things still. Those three dots.

Sooooo… I have less than six weeks to have all the sex I can get, because after Oct 17, I can’t have sex for like 2+ months and who knows if it will ever be the same again anyway. No-uterus sex can’t possibly be the same as with-uterus sex. Six weeks left for the only kind of sex I’ve ever know.

The internet says I can “relearn” how to have orgasms again and it should make me feel happy but instead it makes me mad. Not just mad. Like enraged. I want to break things.

I am very angry about this.

But seeing as I’m about to be on my fúcking period again for like the 25th time in the past month, maybe I’ll be less angry soon.

I do like feeling sorry for myself though.


A tinder tale: I’m not real I guess

I had what I thought was a promising date lined up for this weekend. while I wasn’t purposely going below my station, I definitely wasn’t going above my station, you know what I’m saying?

Anyway I thought he was cute enough. and he was funny, he made me laugh. Making me laugh is like half the battle to win my affections. And he seemed nice. I enjoyed his time. It was all great. the plan was to meet on Sunday up in the mountains (near his house) for a cute little mountain town date. It sounded fun and I was looking forward to it.

So all week long we have been chatting and laughing and getting to know each other a little better, waiting for the weekend and our date.

But then suddenly tonight he gets all weird with me. says I’m a ghost. He can’t find me on the internet. He has searched my name and my phone number and there is “no trace.” I laughed and thought he was just being goofy. but he was serious! he was actually mad about it! then he basically told me to kiss off. he came back a little later and asked me to “explain” why he can’t find me on the internet. For real!

I didn’t respond to him at all. Because like what the hell am I supposed to say to this? So I just ignored him. But then then get this. HE CALLED ME! Like some kind of lunatic. What. The. Hell. WHO DOES THAT.

I immediately blocked him and unmatched with him on tinder.

I don’t need this kind of grief in my life. He’s stalking me on the internet and gets mad because he can’t find anything? And then demands I give an explanation?

What the fuck is wrong with men.

I mean seriously. what is wrong with them?

Yes yes you’re right dude. this short chubby middle aged single mom of two is trying to seduce you with my below average body, all so I can go on a date with you and then… do what? I don’t even know. Steal your drum kit?

As Jenny Lewis says in her classic hot heaux summer jam: I’m not a psycho, I’m just trying to get laid.

This guy had a legit shot at my AP and he blew it.

There is maybe a date with a pilot on Saturday but probably not. He asked me some questions the other night in our chat that seemed innocuous on the surface, but actually gave me the creeps. I haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t know the secret key to unlocking top tier tinder. but I am learning to trust my instincts. so if a guy gives me a weird vibe then I’m gonna pay attention to that. This pilot is giving me weird vibes. Just like that surgeon doctor (who I also had to block).

Here is my advice. Don’t say weird shit.


Transitioning into fall

I need a name for fall. Hot heaux summer was so good. I need something equally good for fall.

I’m not sure if I wanna be slutty christa or solemn christa or looking for love christa or alone christa. shameful christa? Magical christa? Owning my sexual power christa? Crying christa?

I won’t have my uterus anymore so maybe I’ll just be wombless christa and eat candy on the couch while watching Christmas movies.

I’m okay with this.

So let’s see. What can we call it.

Figuring it out fall?

Fall and Flailing

Frenetically frantic in fall

Fairy fall. No wait fairy tale fall.

I guess it doesn’t need to start with an F

This fall I want to be the dark crone vampire. bring all my boys into my web and see which ones come out on the other side. not as boys, no sir, but as men. Real men with the dexterity, with the strength, with the fingers, to dip deep into my honey power and stir it up, slow, sweet, make it swirl and tremble, over and over, and then… set me loose upon the world. Where I can flow thick and warm through the black streets, devouring more and more.

What do we call that fall?