For accidentally flirting with people. And then they kiss me. Which I mean I like kissing, so it would be okay…if they weren’t horrible kissers with eat-your-face syndrome. Then I just feel bad because I’m so not feeling it and they apparently are. 

And then we go to the outside portion of the bar…and I can see where you normally stand. At your bar. And you didn’t respond to my last drunken heartfelt and honest message. So I’m trying so hard to glimpse you at your bar, and I think I may see you…so I text you. Keep it simple. Just “Talk?” And you respond that you want to but you’re at a bar on the other end of town. Well ok, so I just am seeing things. Truth. And then I get another text from you.

“I got your message. I just don’t know what to do about you.”

What does that even mean? I don’t know what to do about you? You were the one who decided to tell me you were in love with me, after we’d reconnected 3 days before, and freak me out. I even kept talking to you! I didn’t want it to be weird. But then you stood me up on Mill and I freaked. And now I’m the one apologizing and you’re the one who “has to figure things out.” 

I’m so confused.

I’m supposed to be swearing off the male species for a while. 

I utterly fail. 

Wow.

So let’s say you’re the type of person who likes cake. But you don’t eat it very often. Or if you do, you only have very small portions. A couple bites each time. Don’t want to overdo it. 

Well let’s say that one day you look in the mirror. You don’t exactly like what you see. You’re unsatisfied with the image looking back at you, as you stare so hard at yourself it’s like you’re trying to stare into your own soul. 

So you decide that cake is the problem. You decide to swear off cake for a while. 

And for a few days you’re fine. You’re feeling better about yourself when you look in the mirror. But only for a few days because as soon as you realize that you’ve sworn off cake…suddenly ALL YOU WANT IS CAKE. It’s all you can think about. You look at every cake you see, every picture of cake you see, even the cupcakes…and you just want that cake. You want the cake so bad your tummy wrinkles up and makes you ache. Cake. Sweet, satisfying cake. 

But you’re determined. 

Oh…sad day…why are you so stubborn? All you want is cake! Cake isn’t bad…in fact, cake makes you a happier person. It fulfills that longing in your tummy. It makes your soul happy. In some ways you feel like cake completes you.

No cake. You have to wait until you find just the right cake…and wait long enough so that when you finally get your cake…you can just have it and eat it and it will be like heaven descending. Wait for the right cake Zoe. Wait.

Dreams of “burners”, people struck by some mysterious force that made them have special powers…dreams that these burners are somehow getting stronger. Dreams riding in big cars to big houses I’ve never been to. Dreams of fields surrounded by fences, running through them to escape something…and suddenly ending in a field playing intramural baseball with my group. Pointing out that all the burners are stronger…not just ours. Seeing Boesen watching over the team like a big brother. 

I didn’t watch Misfits last night…I wasn’t talking to any brothers…I have no clue why these dreams would pick last night to poke their heads. It’s odd.

A woman can be the most confident person in the world. A woman can think that she has her whole life figured out in front of her. A woman can be strong. A woman can be all these things and still be crushed by the smallest of blows. 

You may think a woman is beautiful. You may think that she can carry the world on her shoulders and still have time to flirt for a free drink. You may think the biggest problems she has to deal with are PMS and cramps. 

You’d be wrong. 

Maybe a woman can carry the world. She carries it when she spends a day deciding to trust someone. Decides to go out and meet them. Decides to risk herself and her sanity. She puts her self esteem on the line every time she gets dressed and leaves the house. But picture this same woman, this confident, well dressed and made-up woman, an hour later. She has spent fifteen minutes circling the block looking for a parking space. She has walked as confidently as she can down the dark street, headed towards the bar trying to avoid eye contact with the groups of men she passes, knowing that if she were a man there would be no fear, no trepidation. She has waited in long lines, to get inside and be standing in an unfamiliar place, looking at the strangers’ faces and hoping to see the smile she recognizes. She wanders in circles, checking the tables, the bar, the dancing bodies for one that is waiting for her. She holds her phone, clutching it desperately hoping that it will vibrate in her hand, signaling her that someone has found her, that someone is looking for her too. She passes some people twice, recognizing them as they look at her questioningly. They recognize her too, have seen her circle, see that she’s alone. She stops next to a wall, hoping that he will come to her, and hoping that no one will notice she is awkward and alone. She wants to be part of one of the laughing groups, hopes that someone will notice and ask her to join, but she also feels anxiety choking her as man after man walks by and evaluates her.  She feels like meat and dreads one of them talking to her. She just wants her man to be there, holding her and leading her onto the dance floor to make her smile and sway. The phone finally buzzes - they aren’t here. They moved. They have been at a different bar the whole time and she almost collapses. She has to do this all over again. She has to walk down the street, she has to pass the bicycle men, who leer and call out to her.  She has to wait in line, trying to look like she owns the world and trying to make it move faster. As she waits she gets angry. She feels abandoned, she feels drained. She feels like her whole night is in waiting and searching and all she wants is a drink and to be home on her couch, cuddled up and away from the eyes and the laughter, everything that feels like a judgement on her skin. The anger crawls…she finally gets in and has the nerve, the audacity, the foolishness…to yell. Just once. To explain why she’s upset. And she doesn’t have that right. So he leaves. He abandons her again. He stoops answering his phone and he flies away. 

The worst part is…this isn’t the first time this has happened. She meets men, they tell her they’re different, that they’re worthy. She spends time with them and they do everything they can to validate these claims. Until she comes back and they desert her. 

Men. When you were little, and in elementary school, middle school, high school…there were programs in your education telling stories of how a single put-down could be the tipping point that would cause someone to go home and try to kill themselves. There were stories, of people who had had terrible lives, terrible days, terrible self-images, and all it took was one person being rude, to make them decide that it wasn’t worth it. Well you may think, this is a beautiful woman. She won’t notice one man being an ass. You may think that this is a woman who won’t even notice when I’m gone. She’ll simply move on with her night and start flirting with someone else. This is a woman who wants drinks and dancing and will jump over my absence like an annoying little pothole. Well you’d be wrong. That woman has just been crushed. She feels you leaving her like an iceberg crashing into her flesh. She feels wounded. A beer in her hand and every man who looks at her now feels like a dead weight, sinking to the bottom of a river. AND no matter how drama free that woman may like to keep her life normally, this is a hard moment to move past. Your face feels like poison in her mind and every thing she can possibly associate with you she does, and it feels like knives, twisting into her heart. 

You may have known her a year, a day, or only an hour. But when you abandon a woman, you never know what has happened to her in the year before. In the day before. In the hour before. You don’t know how many men have abandoned her, left her standing alone in bars she doesn’t like or feel comfortable in. You don’t know how many days she has taken to get over the last man who broke her heart. You don’t know how many hours it took her, deciding whether or not to trust you, getting herself ready, trying to make herself look beautiful when she is so tired she wants to go to sleep and leave every weight of the world behind. 

Maybe she can hold the weight of the world on her shoulders and still have the time for a flirt and a drink. But a single doubt can make all that weight come crumbling down, crippling her and making her want to swear it all off. 

So men, while you’re out flirting and lying and trying to prove yourself…just remember - it only takes a second to tell a woman you’re moving bars through a text - do it before you leave. Or better yet, wait for her to get to you, then move. Or even better - find out where she’s heading, hop in the car and find a parking spot with her, so she doesn’t have to walk anywhere alone. Sometimes the scariest part of a woman’s life is walking down the street. A fear that a man will probably never have to face.  Remember too - when she comes towards you looking hurt and anxious and confused - don’t leave. Don’t engage fight or flight. Grab hold and kiss her until she forgets why she’s mad. Let her hit you once, and then buy her a drink and let her move on. She won’t stay mad unless you do something stupid to keep her that way. Like running away.

And for Christ’s sake - if someone is driving out to meet up with you - keep your damn phone in your hand so you can know when she’s trying to communicate!!!! Don’t dare give the excuse that “it’s loud in here and I can’t hear my phone.” FUCK HEAD. 

Respect the women in your life.

isn’t supposed to make you cry. It’s supposed to make you happy. It’s supposed to make you flirty. It’s supposed to make you lusty and dance with hot men. 

It’s supposed to make me have fun and go home with Jordan. 

I’m not supposed to get left wandering around the Mint by myself for 20 minutes. Feeling the sense of abandonment rise up and choke around me. I’m not supposed to get furious, and you’re not supposed to get mad at me when it’s YOUR fault. You’re not supposed to just walk out, and leave. You’re supposed to stay, you’re supposed to hug me and kiss me until I forget why I’m mad. You’re supposed to be the sweet guy that talked to me for hours and understood why I was hesitant to do anything more. 

Maybe I’m so damn good at being single because I’m so damn good at screwing things up.

The opportunities are just disappointments in disguise.