Tag Archives: dating

I live life backwards.

It’s hard to talk to Dragonette about other women. We’re in this weird place together. I want to be with her, on some level. Even if it’s just casual to get our bearings. And as far as I can tell, she wants that too. I believe her, which I have had trouble with in the past. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is a world away. And we are both meeting people, and deciding to let ourselves like them or not.

The world sent me a sign today. Flower Girl. Leave it to random encounters for enlightenment, eh?
She made me realize that I am being so overwhelmingly paranoid about offending women by liking them without knowing their sexual orientation. We talked about the inherent fluidity of sexuality. People have been sleeping with members of the same sex for centuries. It’s only now that it is categorized. I have to get over the fear of it all.

And I have to let go of Zero. She’s the real reason I haven’t been dating women. When she called me last month as a part of her 9 Step NA program, I was floored. She still has the ability to floor me. After all these years. Which is why dating men is so much easier. I’m just not as emotionally affected by them. Which creates difficult situations because the sexual attraction swiftly fades and I’m left wanting something else (which is a completely different story).
Back on track…I don’t want to feel like that ever again. The way Zero made me feel. So I stopped dating women. I ran away from MF (which I deeply regret), I fled from Skinny (which was a good thing), I passed up opportunity after opportunity, because I refused to let myself fall that sexually, emotionally, mentally, deeply again. And in the middle of it all, I met Dragonette.

I don’t know where most of this is going. I’m sleep deprived and feeling honest, and talking to her makes me want to hug her and date her and hold her hand. Which kind of makes me want to vomit. But mainly makes me scared and delirious. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like holding hands with people.

I’m so freaking gay.
I’ve been kissing girls since pre-school…and now I decide to have a sexuality crisis?
Jesus. I am so backwards. Such is my life, y’all.

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Smoldering Temptress.

I’m really tired of being held back by fear, and by my self-inflicted restrictions.
So I’m going to do a little experiment.

For the end of this month, and for the month of March, I’m going to be flirtatious as hell and gain the confidence I’ve been needing.
How will I do this?
In the wise words of Dragonette,
“Fake it. It will come naturally after that.”
Apparently I already exude sexuality. I’ve just got to recognize it and feel comfortable in my own skin.

Why not, right?

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Spice ain’t always nice.

After my last relationship I asked the universe to spice up my dating life:

What did I get in the past two months?

  • A ginger with a beard (I’m not hating – I’m a ginger lady.)
  • A guy who was into peeing on faces, didn’t have a problem with indirect bestiality, and had his own personal flog.
  • A girl who I want in my bed, but she moved 3,000 miles away.
  • A presumptuous asshole that pretended we were in an intense/serious relationship after a week.

Thanks, world. At least you spiced it up.

Tatuaje does not have a ring on his finger. I’m thoroughly confused.

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And another one bites the dust.

I hate pretentious assholes. 

The Poet is a pretentious asshole of grandiose proportions. 
My life is not a source of inspiration for your desperate attempt at a poetic life.
I am completely shocked at his obliviousness and deplorable inter-personal skills. He has known me for a week. That hardly qualifies as knowing me. And he most definitely does not know my father, the antagonist of his offensive poem. Nor does he know about my mother’s death, my childhood, my sisters, or myself. 

This weekend was awful. I only like music made by men with beards, I do not want to date a beard. 
No, you cannot oddly rub my head,
No, you cannot hold my hand,
No, I do not want to kiss you and your awkwardly bearded face,
No, I do not want you to try and comfort me. I have dealt with a lot, and I’ve held my own hand. Your presence in my life does not make me want to run to you for saving. 
Yes, women are infinitely better.
No, I will not exclusively not date you while I figure my life out. 
And NO, I don’t want you to write about my life as you pretend to know the inner workings of my being.  

He actually asked me if I only feel protected by men. Or if women could also provide that male role.
He was only funny and nice to talk to during the first 12 hours of knowing him. 

I am over it.

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Tumultuous!

Epic, epic fail. 
Tatuaje is married. I should look at hands more often. {and he is married to the hottest of wives – duh}
The Poet has made my life a tad more confusing. I adore his company, but to what extent? 
Dragonette makes me wonder about the past. What if, the summer after my freshman year, we’d actually started dating? Would I have left school that semester? Would my headspace have been any better? 
Driade has too many confines and boundaries. And makes me feel like an idiot, on occasion. I think I have maintained a state of confusion regarding said individual since before I was born.

 

And I am painfully, irrevocably in love with the one person I cannot have. Three years. Fucking fuck. Shit cunting balls. 

Never eat at Jake’s Diner on I-40. Their hash-browns taste like fried bits of butter, and their pancakes are lathered in whipped cream and candied strawberries. 

In conclusion:
I am a whiny bitch.

I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE HE IS MARRIED.

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Poly – who?

I have no idea why I’m starting a blog post instead of studying for my Environmental exam that I have tomorrow. I’ve been in college for three years now! I should know better right? Wrong. Because here I am, typing away.
The good thing about college is that I don’t have the class until 12:45 – fuel for procrastination.

Anywho.

I’ve been rolling the idea of polyamorous relationships around in my head lately. Wondering if they are actually possible. Could I love, say, two people at once, and trust them to love me back? I’m sure jealousy is a factor, and distributing affection equally. But could I ever be in a relationship with two other people? I’m finding that as hard as I think it could be, with my tendencies towards jealousy, I’m not opposed to it. Under the right circumstances it could even be fun, and a healthy experience. Which isn’t to say I’ll ever find the right circumstance to test out my theory. 
Then again, maybe I’m just too much of a jealous bitch for a situation like that. 

Just a thought.

~Hannah Morgan

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Introducing Cry-Baby.

[As in Johnny Depp – not tears.]

cred.

Talk about a confusing woman.
I met her three years ago, outside of our dorm. My first impressions of her were dazzling.
You know the gut-dropping, heart-wrenching, ‘oh my god i want you in my bed,’ feeling?
That’s exactly how I felt.
I think it was sparked by her plaid shirt, gorgeous brown hair, and sweet smile. [Not to mention she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, and everyone falls in love with her when she sings and plays the guitar.]

So we flirted for a portion of freshman year, until somehow we end up hanging out over the summer.
Two bottles of red wine, and a bottle of honey mead later, I got up the nerve to kiss her. Now, from what I can recollect, it was magical and lovely, and nice. We partied like that for about two weeks or so. We’d end up making out, half naked in her bed, drunken and intoxicated by the parties. And then I’d leave before she woke up the next morning.
Which became a pattern until I decided to take a semester off.

When I got back we’d both moved on in our own ways. We started hanging out again, and I fell back into like with her voice and her art and her fucked up personality. But things just didn’t line up. I was still caught up with a chica I’d been pseudo-seeing back home, and I’d started to hang out with the boyo that would become the second person I’ve ever committed myself to for more than 6 months – [sort of].
Cry-Baby and I drifted apart again.

Summer rolled around and I needed a place to live… and Cry-Baby had a free room, a cheap free room. Thinking the distance was enough, I took it. Yes, in reflection, I notice this idea is not the best I’ve ever had.

Flash-forward to today. About 9 months later I’ve moved out, into my own one-bedroom apartment in the clouds, and she’s jetted across the country to “escape.” I moved out because I was allergic to the apartment, and she was passive aggressive. I’m sure I was too, but I got increasingly tired of how she treated me, especially since for the greater part of the 6 months that I lived with her we worked at the same job as well.
Which was a barrel of fun, let me tell you.
So after an apartment hosted party at our entire building, and the underhanded comments, and the hidden tension between the two of us, I packed up my shit and left.
We saw each other occasionally after that, and one night she handed me a letter containing her hidden attraction and “like,” for me. I was still reeling after my break up with the boyo I’d been seeing the entire time I lived with Cry-Baby, and her confusion attached itself to me and wouldn’t let go…again.
We hung out a handful of times after that, a movie here, an awkward party there. Sporadic kisses that made my head spin because I didn’t know if I legitimately liked or hated her. Pasts build up, and I have a tendency to hold on to them.
So, finally she asked if we were “getting anywhere,” which I didn’t have an answer to. Recently heart-broken, and utterly confused, all I could say was that I liked her, but I was too much of a head case to give her an answer. I just couldn’t do serious, and I wasn’t convinced she could either.
And her response? To tell me that she was moving a good 3,000 miles away. She would have stayed if I’d asked.

Right. Problem solved. Confusion is fading, and life is returning to its bizarre level of normal.
Of course I still think about her from time to time, but it’s better this way. I’m not rushed into something potentially volatile and destructive, and she is escaping Asheville – finding a clean slate.

Sometimes it works out that way. Sometimes you dance around people for an extended period of time, trying to find a break in the continuation of horrible timing – just to find that time would match up if it were supposed to.

So, wherever you are, buenas suerte Cry-Baby.

~Hannah Morgan

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