Posts Tagged ‘crying

I’m at a age and a point in life where I fucking hate everyone. And that includes family.

Ok, hate is a harsh word. Irritated by everyone may be more truthful.

My parents 50th anniversary is coming up, and it really bothers me that my sister can’t compromise on vacation plans to celebrate it. She says she can’t take the kids out of school for a cruise my parents want to take because “they (sister/her husband/kids) are thinking of going to India at Christmas.”

They’ve been “thinking of going to India” since my niece was born….seven years ago. So now, all of a sudden, the year that she should use their vacation for my parents anniversary, she can’t, because they *might* go to India.

I love my sister, and her kids, but jesus christ that’s the fucking stupidest thing I’ve heard in forever.

And they can’t take the cruise we want to take in April because that’s tax time, and when her husband’s business does the most money.

Here’s the thing – I get that it’s their business and I get that that’s how they make ends meet. However, missing ONE tax season won’t kill them financially.  Not even close. I know it won’t.

I think (and I understand that what I think doesn’t matter one fucking bit) it’s more important for those children to understand what family is about, and what family vacations are like, and what kind of fun they can have outside of their stupid city they live in. And what that would mean to my parents, their grandparents.

And that’s what kills me most is I would do anything for my parents. And it makes me mad they won’t. I guess I can’t expect them to, but they’re so selfish – and so up their asses of their in-laws (both my sister and my brother, respectively) – that it physically disgusts me.

In Indian culture, all pregnant women should want a boy. It’s thought that having a boy is better for the family as the boy will take care of the parents later in life.  It’s why I’m the middle child – because I was the second girl, so my parents tried again, to have a boy.

My brother exists because I was a mistake.

I should’ve been a boy. I’ve been disappointing my parents since the day I was conceived, which is ironic because, years ago, when my sister was pregnant with my niece (and had had trouble conceiving prior to her pregnancy), my parents and I were driving to my brother’s place (this was before my brother was even thinking of getting married) and this is the conversation we had in the car:



“Your sister should have gone to a fertility clinic and selected to have a boy. They can do that now, you know.”

Me (after some quiet because I was so pissed he said that – they’d just spent a few days in MY condo, and we were driving in MY car, and he was talking about how a BOY would better):

“What?? WHY?!”


“Because a boy will take care of them when the get old.”


“Daddy…. let me tell you something. Your eldest daughter is useless – she’s so into her in-laws and that family, she’ll never take care of you. Your son… he’s also useless. He’s gonna marry some white girl and she’s not going to take care of you at all.

You know who’s going to take care of you? I am. It’s going to be me. I’m going to do everything for you, and I’m not a boy.”

Dad was silent for a bit and then Mom, from the back seat, spoke up:

“She’s right you know. It’s going to be her.”

Sure enough, it’s all true. My sister is so into her own life and her own family, she can’t plan beyond that. And my brother did marry a white girl.

So it will be me that takes care of my parents. And the thing is, I’m happy to do it because honestly, I think I can do it best. I don’t trust my siblings to take care of our parents the way I think they should and I know that’s a shitty thing to say – and it’s not like they’d beat them or starve them or anything like that – but they, our parents, would never be first. And I think they should be. I think they should always be first.

My dad left India in his 20’s. And because he left, there are, literally, generations of our family that are beyond better off than anyone would have ever imagined. GENERATIONS. And I think that means something, even if no one else does.








“She has such a big house – 7 bed and 7 bath!”

That’s what my mom told me today about this daughter of a family friend. I know her – we were on the marriage circuit together years ago, but she caught the diamond ring and got off the dating carousel.

And in my mom’s defense, she wasn’t saying “SHE has a SEVEN bedroom HOUSE and YOU LIVE BY YOURSELF IN A SMALL FLAT. LIKE A LOSER.”

That’s just my own interpretation of what I heard, because that’s how *I* feel. I don’t even want a house that big. Anyway, Mom was just catching me up on this girl’s life.

And it’s not a competition… but it is. It totally is. And that could have been me, but it’s not. And I know my parents wish it was me, and it fucking kills me, for them and me, that it’s not.

A few years back, my friends tried to set me up with the same guy that SHE eventually married. I never even met the guy – I’d already moved to Atlanta, and there wasn’t a clear cut way to get us to “bump into each other” and have it work out.

SHE met him at a bar because they lived in the same town. And they got married and she just had her second kid, probably delivered by him because he’s a doctor.


It’s not fair that WordPress just sent me my “Congrats on two years of blogging” note because NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.

And this New Year is coming, and like every New Year it holds so much promise for everyone else. But I don’t think for me. And that’s not being fatalist, it’s being real. I can’t keep hoping/trying to get things to change, because I’m so fucking disappointed when they don’t.

So these are my resolutions: Be truly happy without someone. Don’t let the pressure get to me. Realize that this might be it – me, myself and I forever. And learn to be ok with it, even though it’s not what I ever wanted.


EDITED TO ADD: Ok, I was going to leave it there and just post that. But I can’t. It’s fucking depressing and I do believe you get what you put out in the world. So I’m not going to start 2014 so negatively. I have to have hope and I have to believe and I’ll keep playing this numbers game of dating, and I’ll keep writing about it. So, Dear Readers, Happy New Year to you. I hope 2014 is nothing but the best, and that it only gets better – for all of us.










I finally got off my lazy ass today and decided it was time to do some spring cleaning in winter. I have so many clothes, and with the weight gain, there are tops/bottoms/dresses that haven’t seen the light of day in a long time.

I got to the part of my closet that held my “club wear” –  cheap stuff that looks good under strobe lights and with beer goggles. Truthfully, it wasn’t THAT bad, I’ve seen worse walking around now. Some of it is embarrassing, but most of it was just in line with what everyone else wore too.

I haven’t worn the stuff in years, but held on to it for some dumb reason so it wasn’t that hard to put it all in the donate pile — but only after trying it on and being amazed at how small I used to be and cursing myself for not appreciating the body I had. Youth is definitely wasted on the young.

And then I came to the shirt pictured below. There’s nothing special about it – but I remember the day I bought it, I remember it catching my eye on the overcrowded racks at Forever 21, I remember feeling pretty when I put it on and I remember The First Boyfriend’s face when I wore it to go out with him.

And today, when I put it on (which was supposed to be just for fun), I cried.

I wasn’t expecting that to happen – it caught me completely off guard. It’s not like it’s a wedding dress or something I wore to someone’s funeral, but it still affected me.  It doesn’t fit like it used to, there are many more rolls and bumps, but that didn’t matter – I remember how I felt. And I remember how he made me feel when I put it on and he looked at me.

And I guess I’m crying because I haven’t felt like that in over 10 years now – and that’s reflected in this fruitless search for someone to love, and someone to love me back. And that’s combined with the frustration of all the online dating that goes nowhere, which is combined with the frustration of my parents trying so hard to introduce me to boys that turn out to be useless. And all of that is combined with the utter sadness of thinking things are going well with someone, only to have it taken away.

If you asked  me what I wore with British when we climbed Arthur’s Seat – I couldn’t tell you. I managed to block out most of those memories, even though that was just a couple of years ago.

But, this shirt, with it’s aquas and blues and whites, this shirt that made me think of the beach even when I first bought it, this shirt holds so much for me.

And I know I should let it go and put it in the donate pile, because it’s not really the shirt and I’ll never wear it again – in fact, even though it moved with me to Atlanta, I don’t think I’ve ever worn it here.

But I can’t get rid of it. I can’t let someone else wear my memories. So it’ll go in a box, that will go on a shelf, and it’ll hold my memories there — until I’m ready to let it go for good.







Called home tonight after a fun weekend and one of the first things Mom asked was, “Did that boy call?”

I told her he hadn’t and she asked if I called him and I said I hadn’t, I’m not that interested in him and reminded her that he doesn’t even have a job.

And then she says:

You can’t be like that with everyone. Maybe he could move to Atlanta! You should tell him that – he can look for a job there, if you both meet and like each other. You need to think about this – what about all these boys that live in other cities and you don’t want to move there. This may be good.

So basically, I should marry him because he’s jobless and easily relocatable? Talk about lowered standards.

I told her how he said he doesn’t want to just marry someone in months – that he wants to take a few years.

That made her think a bit.  SO THEN, she asks,

Do you even want to be married?

I was silent for a few seconds. I really wanted to say, “No,” just to see what happened. But that’s not true.

Before I can answer, she says,

Why don’t you try to find someone in Atlanta?

Oh. My. God. Why haven’t I thought of that for the ten fucking years I’ve lived here?!?!?!!?

I cannot even put into words how much of  a loser she unintentionally made me feel like – I never thought I’d be nearing 36, single, no kids, no change in my life from the years past.  I never thought it’d be THIS fucking hard. Never.

I didn’t WANT this life, and I accept that some of the choices I’ve made have led me here. But I don’t know what to change about myself to change things.  I wish I did – I would change it in a heartbeat.

It SUCKS to not have someone to talk to about my day. It SUCKS to not have someone to love, who loves me back. it SUCKS to sleep alone, night after night. It SUCKS every time I get my period to know that my chances of having kids is getting smaller and smaller. It SUCKS to have to come to terms with the loneliness and the life that may exist in front of me – one that’s different to what I had expected.  And it SUCKS to be reminded of all that by my parents, who mean well, but whose questions stab my little heart time and time again.

As much as they worry about me, don’t they think I worry about myself the same way? Do they think that this is what I want? And I guess I don’t tell them about all the nights I’ve cried, and all the boys I’ve loved, and all the guys I know that cheat and how that worries me… and I don’t tell them because I don’t want them to worry even more than they already do.

And as a spectacular ending to this story, the douchey British boy did call, right after I hung up with my mom. I was so annoyed, I didn’t answer. So her little lecture did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to.











So when I was visiting my sister, my mom called me into the other room and asked me to sit down. Whenever she says to sit, I know I’m not gonna like what she has to say, so I was already defensive and annoyed.


“I talked to your cousins in India. They went to a Joshi.” {Joshi = ‘seer’ – not a psychic, really, but someone who reads astrological signs based on birth-date/time.}

Me (more annoyed than I started): “And…”


“Well, he told your cousin and his wife what to do, and if they listened, they’d be pregnant in 6-months. And 4 months later they were pregnant.”

Ok… let’s look at this logically. My cousin and his wife, who were both nearing 40, went to someone and told this person that their goal was to get pregnant. So this guy told them to do some religious stuff and they’d be guaranteed to be with-child in 6-months.

DID HE NOT HAVE A 50-50 CHANCE TO GET THIS RIGHT? Either they were gonna be pregnant or not. Holy F.U.C.K.

So then she says,

“I asked them to take your information and he said you have to to do ‘ek-vaar’ {eat only once a day/fast the rest of the day} on Saturdays and Sundays and you’ll be married by May.”

I just looked at her.  Then I said this:

“Mom. Are you INSANE???? You want me to fast on the weekends when I should be out with my friends??? NO. I am NOT doing it.”

And then I felt bad for calling her insane and was super nice to her the rest of the day. And luckily, she didn’t cry like I thought she was going to… and I just walked away.

Turns out she’d already had this talk with my sister and my sister, THANK GOD, prepped her for my refusal.

Here’s the thing:

  • As my friend, F, noted – my food groups on the weekends are liquor and cheese. HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GIVE THAT UP?!?!?!
  • Also, I have a better chance of meeting a guy in a bar than I do starving myself at home.
  • And… I DO NOT BELIEVE IN IT. Why does God want me to be hungry so I can find a husband? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF LOGIC IS THIS?
  • If all it took to get what you wanted was to do some fasts, wouldn’t all of Syria be on a hunger strike right now?
  • AND… May is a few months away. Does she think, with or without these fasts, that I would be getting married that quickly? Does she know me at all?

I’d ignored all of that until now – I just got off the phone with both my parents and mom says: “Oh, they’re making your ring.”

Me: “Umm….. what? What ring??”

Mom: “The ring you have to wear with the red stone. It’ll help you.”

Look. I’m not atheist (though every guy I’ve dated the last few years has been)… but I don’t believe THAT much. To me, my religion is much more cultural thing than it is a religious one. Is wearing this ring really going to help me find the love of my life? No, it’s not. Unless he’s gay and super into jewelry….

I obviously did not say any of this and just said, “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.”

So then mom says, “Try do ek-vaar this weekend if you can.”

And I got pissed:

“MOM! I’m NOT DOING IT. What am I supposed to say when my friends call and want to hang out? That I can’t go? That I’m trapped in my place because I don’t want to hang out if I can’t eat or drink anything? That’s not fun!”

And Dad stepped in, laughing to help diffuse the tension: “That’s fine, we’ll do them for you.”

And then he changed the subject.

I’m sorry I don’t believe. And it KILLS me that I hurt her/them, but I do not believe that if there is a God that he/she wants me to give up my life in order to just get married. I could’ve been married a few times by now, and I’m not for a reason and that reason is ME. I haven’t found what I’m looking for or what I want, and when I have, it hasn’t worked.

And I worry about having kids and being alone and all those things that come with getting older, but I sure as fuck do not think that limiting my weekend activities so I can sit at home and be hungry is EVER going to help me find someone.

And if it would’ve and if I fucked it up, well… I’m sorry. But I guess the expected pay-off of marriage wasn’t worth the sacrifice to me.

So, per our last date, me and “the bod” (as a friend calls him) had slept together. He had told me how surprised he was at how much he liked me, how he thought I was so pretty, how he couldn’t wait to hang out again and how we’d meet up soon.

Spoiler alert: It’s all bullshit.

We texted back and forth a bit for at the beginning of the week, but he never proposed getting together, so I didn’t either. Last night, I decided to be bold and just ask if he wanted to get drinks today – he responded immediately to say yes, and that he was going to be hiking but would keep me posted on what time he thought he’d be back in town. Great, right?

He called just now, at 3pm and said he was literally just heading out to go hiking. So I asked if he was saying he wanted to meet up later tonight or just postpone?

Him: “Well, I’ll be back late and I’m leaving Tuesday for a work trip and still need to do laundry and pack and I’m just trying to figure out when I can do all that. Especially since I have to play dodgeball tomorrow. Maybe I should cancel that… ”

Me: “That’s fine. We can try to meet up after you get back. Bye.”


Secondly, obviously the hiking and the laundry and the dodgeball are all more important than hanging out with me AND the (100%) possibility of having sex again.

Thirdly, this brings up those feelings of not being good enough for British all over again. So now I’ll try to figure out why he didn’t want to see me – was the sex not good? Was I not pretty enough? Smart enough? Did I say or do something wrong? Why would he rather go hiking than see me? Why would he rather play dodgeball than see me?

My friend, T, thinks I avoided a bullet – that he’s clearly got issues, as demonstrated by his ‘jerky behavior.’   I think I just got played by someone who knew all the right things to say.

I deleted his number. And, I hope a fucking bear eats him.




Last year at this time, I was nervously sitting on a plane next to a half-naked Russian, on my way to Edinburgh. I didn’t know if British would remember to come get me or what I was getting myself into.

This year, I left work, got about two blocks, heard a “thump…thump…thump” as I drove and realized there was a nail in my tire. I sat at the gas station waiting for my roadside assistance and bought a lottery ticket while I was there. (Wouldn’t that be an even better story for next year??? Keep your fingers crossed.) And then went to the mall to spend money I shouldn’t be spending. I just didn’t want to come home and be alone.

I hate that I still open my email and sometimes, out of nowhere, I get this thought that I’ll have an email from him. Spoiler alert: I never do. It’s now a year to the day of the only time we ever met. He never put the effort or time in to coming here – and that still hurts, a lot, mostly because it’s a reminder of what an idiot I was. Possibly still am.

He left me with so much doubt about myself – Why wasn’t I good enough for him? Why didn’t he love me enough? What was missing in me that he would rather end it on Facebook than try to make it work? Why didn’t he want to give us a second chance?

And I know that it was never me… it was always his issues, and nothing I could’ve said or done would’ve changed any of that. And I know that if we’d stayed together beyond last Christmas, the outcome was going to be the same, just delayed and more hurtful. He had given me enough signs and flat out told me things that I chose to ignore because I didn’t want to believe him. I wanted to believe I was different, stupid girl that I am. UGH.

Honestly though, I don’t think I’m crying over him anymore. It’s everything else. It’s a year later and NOTHING is fucking different, except we’re not together. But, given that we were never really together, even that’s not so different. I haven’t met anyone new that I’ve sparked with. My job hasn’t turned out the way I thought it would. I am completely underwater on the mortgage for my place. (I actually just wrote out my property-tax check…. it’s so devalued, it’s worth less than a Port-a-Potty. Fucking awesome.)

I have never felt so stagnant in my life and it’s killing me. I look at my friends who are married and raising their kids and I’m nowhere near being in the same place. 30. My magic number had been 30: Married, 3 kids, great job. All by 30. Nope. Didn’t happen.

But, even with all of that, I know I don’t have it bad. At all. My job, regardless of how I feel about it, more than pays my bills and takes me to exotic destinations that I would have never otherwise seen. My friends, who I love, listen to me and put up with my bullshit and are amazing. My family, who drive me nuts in the best possible way, loves me and wants the best for me. I have more than a lot of people ever do and ever will.

When I was waiting for the auto-repair guy, I watched a man – very skinny, 80’s looking jeans that were barely staying up, a strange “crop-top” button down shirt that seemed like it was for a kid, big bushy hair in a ponytail, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I decided in the 3 seconds that I watched him that he’s a meth-addict. He went in and I was curious to see what he would buy… nothing. He came out with a black bag, some papers, and then went through the trash and left.

So fuck it…  At least I’m not going through trash for food, or money or anything else.

But still, this is how I feel for now (and here’s hoping something changes, soon):


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