The Road to Recovery Has Unsolicited Dick Pics

So it’s been a week since Day Three Drunk and I have to say it worked like a charm. I’m not mad, I’m not sad, in fact – I’d say I’m a little grateful. Had I not caught Boy Band the way I did there’s a solid chance I would have fallen for the guy, and that’s always a bad scene. Falling for a guy who isn’t strong enough to break up with someone before seeing someone else. I’ve done it before, I hope to never do it again, and I narrowly escaped it this time around.

“Guarded, she shall now be.” ~Yoda

So the road to recovery has been fun. Lots of interesting guys out there to talk with. One guy made some cool new way to create marijuana extract, another owns a halfway house and has INCREDIBLE taste in music. All quite accomplished, none of them really carrying the spark. Sadly, it’s my decision to keep talking with a fella I like to call Vlad the Impaler that is convincing me I’m definitely not ready for a relationship. Texting for a week and I’m not sure I’ve seen a single complete sentence but OH MY GOD have I seen his dick. A lot.

I’ll be perfectly frank, there’s a reason I call him Vlad the Impaler. It’s not because he’s Romanian or that he’s particularly vampire-like. Rather, through this adventure in unsolicited dick picks, I’ve discovered he has probably the longest dick I’ve ever seen. He is the impaler.

I actually specifically told him not to send unsolicited dick pics. He did promise, but he also (as far as I can see) has some weird body issues and he’s constantly in need of some kind of validation. I’ll give him as much as I can without leading him on (I’m probably not going to sleep with him, emphasis on “probably”) but give credit where credit is due. If I had a body part that perfect I’d like the compliment too. Nothing wrong with being honest, right?

But I wasn’t comfortable with all the dick pics. I certainly wasn’t ok with them showing up while I was at work, but I suppose I had to learn the lesson of syncing messages between multiple iOS devices one way or another. No time like the present to make that adjustment. But I learned two pretty important things here.

First, there are good and bad angles to a dick. A good angle shows off any specific curve or shape that would be advantageous to a woman. A bad angle just looks like a rod sticking up from fleshy mounds. It’s a lot like those memes you see on the internet where a woman tries to make a cake that looks like the Eiffel Tower and it comes out looking more like the railing an old hiking trail. “Nailed it.” (Pun intended)

Second, there may be room to consider the value of a female spank bank. Now really, let’s all just ditch the gender normative assumptions we have about the spank bank. Women are horny too, and lots of women find a nice piece really sexy – some are pretty fixed firm (pun intended there too) on a “nothing less than” approach to size. In these situations, I’m told these dick picks are more of an introduction. A handshake. Having said that, does admiration of a man’s unit necessarily mean we want to screw the guy who owns it? No, we’d probably be just as happy with a replica dildo. Having said that, is there really anything wrong with a woman taking care of business to the memory of her favorite cock?

Vlad; I’ll miss you when you’re gone. And when I say “you” I really mean your impaler. There’s some good news though. That is, I’m sure one or more unsolicited pics are still stored somewhere in my cloud drive will surface at the least opportune moment long after I’ve forgotten your real name.

Day 3: The Conclusion

Day Three of a Three Day Drunk is critical. Let me make this perfectly clear to you. You MUST have three days, in a row, all drunk.

To recap, the first was really emotional. Shit just comes out. You’re confused, you’re sad, a tiny bit angry maybe, but largely just in shock. Day one snaps you out of it.

Day two is a bridge day. You’re a little hungover from Day One so the hair of the dog is nice, and it lets you slip into the drunk a little faster than in Day One. It’s good to destroy something of your ex’s in Day 2, or at least work on getting whatever exists of them out of our physical space forever. Maybe you cut them out of social media, or maybe you burn their clothes. Whatever. Day Two is about transition.

Day Three is THE MOST critical day of a Three Day Drunk.

It’s like quitting smoking with Chantix and not taking it for that extra month. If you don’t commit, if you don’t go the distance, you won’t ever succeed. I write to you today in memory of Day Three, rather than in the throes of it, because of that reason. It needed my full and undivided attention.

Day Three is acceptance and rationalization. Not about your ex – Day Three is about you remembering who you fucking are. And you, you sexy bitch, are fucking amazing.

For me, Day Three had several ingredients.

  1. Booze (obviously) – but not from inside my own home.
  2. Distractions – I collected a primary and a secondary for good measure.
  3. A willingness to do something you would probably be embarrassed about later.

Last night was no exception. I picked up a guy on a dating site, two if I’m being honest (remember, backups are critical and you’ll see why soon). One I made plans with, the other just sent me unsolicited photos. He was in my back pocket.

Sidebar: this was my first unsolicited naked photo. Not full frontal, but there was some ass and they gave me a good, overall understanding that he has a rockin’ body. I doubted my first choice for the evening after I got those photos. Seriously. A fucking hot body.

Primary distraction and I went on an evening hike to a pretty popular place for such activities (little to no chance he’d rape and murder me there). We came equipped with booze-filled metal containers and we sat at the top of that butte and he gave me all his insane right-wing theories about Antifa, Obama, and the left-wing media (which, evidently, includes NPR). I had no idea the world was in such peril, or that there was a single person out there who honestly thought it was ok for a man to say “grab her by her pussy”, but here we were.

I persisted. He was hot. Great shoulders, put my ex to shame with those shoulders. He was about a solid foot taller than me and had probably 200lbs on me in sheer mass. He carried me when I had trouble making it down a hill, and he gave me a piggy back ride just for fun. He has crazy political beliefs but for the most part was sweet. He had a purpose, he served it well.

We got to have a fun tipsy make out sesh, which was nice. Just was not feeling it, though. I consider myself to be pretty middle of the road when it comes to most political topics, which means I can normally stomach the furthest reaches of either side. But this just was a little too much for me last night.

So I climbed off him and we parted ways, I immediately called the gentleman in my back pocket who, sadly, was a little farther than I wanted to drive. So we talked for a few hours, exchanged a few flirtatious comments, and went to bed.

Here is what last night gained me:

  1. Even over 40 I can still get several really hot guys to spend time with me with less than 24 hours notice.
  2. I never wanted to realize it but my ex lied to me for weeks (he was with her for weeks before I found out, and he never actually told me… I discovered it). All I ever wanted was brutal honesty, and that was the very first thing he couldn’t give me.
  3. I’m also realizing he was also pretty far right, but too polite to talk about it. Last night I remembered seeing photos of him and his ex-wife outside a Trump hotel sending the POTUS well wishes. I must have compartmentalized that for the sake of self-preservation.

In the end, the night allowed me to realize that I only saw what I wanted in him, I never actually saw him. I put too much faith in people too quickly as well. He never proved to me he could be trusted the way I trusted him, it was ultimately my own fault when he lied. But he did allow me to realize I need to date a man, not a boy. And he allowed me to figure out what I was doing wrong all these years, and what I can do better next time.

So once again, for the umpteenth time since my friend introduced me to The Three Day Drunk, it saved me once again.

It’s a process, and you must absolutely be committed. But by the time you close out Day Three you are on the road to recovery OR, at the very least, in a solid position to tell that ass hole to fuck off should s/he try to slide back into your life. You can do better. Seriously. You can.

Day 2: It’s all in the planning

The second day of a Three Day Drunk requires strategies, especially if it falls on a school night. Tonight I’ve opted for the White Claw he left in my fridge the last time he was here. Feels somehow cathartic. Work today was a bit easier on everyone in that I was too tired to be too bitchy, and too busy to think about why I’m so upset.

Side note: at 100 calories per drink I’m set to consume my entire day’s caloric intake through these stupid White Claw cans. Do these things remind anyone else of Zima? How do grown men end up with this shit anyway?

Whatever. Back tot he story. The Three Day Drunk is working as planned. I’m already starting to think less and less of the things that made me sad, and when I do think of them they don’t actually make me as sad either. At some level they make me mad, maybe disappointed in myself, but not really sad. Stages?

Here’s the thing: I never wanted to be in a relationship. I never asked for it, one day he just said we were in one and I simply didn’t argue. Could I have prevented this whole pile of bullshit? Probably not. I’m over 40, my libido is pretty stereotypical of my age and gender, and he is pretty hot. I wanted to sleep with him… a lot… and I was going to do and say what I needed to in order to accomplish this number 1 objective. Did I expect to get my heart involved? Absolutely not. And who knows, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I just think I did because my hormones are all up in this shit like a teenage girl watching a boy band.

There’s also something to be said for his ambition. With an ex-husband who literally sat around the house for more than a few years, it was really exciting to be with someone at the other end of the spectrum. Perhaps too far on the other side of that spectrum, to be quite frank. This guy is pretty extreme. He’s 120% invested in whatever he is into, and zero if he’s not into it. By “it” I mean quite literally anything – people, places, things, events, jobs, whatever. Go big or go home, he would say.

He also made me glad I never went for my MBA because I have got to tell you – that degree is probably more common than herpes among people in our age bracket. Everyone and their uncle has a MBA, and I’ll honestly never understand why. I might also wager the majority of people with an MBA aren’t using it at all. It’s not to say I’m going to make great use of my masters degree in political science, but at least it’s not yet another MBA out there in the wild.

So boy band and his MBA are still somewhat on my mind, but we’re progressing through the stages at a good pace. I only did a little facebook stalking today, and with school starting back up I’ll barely have time to consider any of this. His shit drinks will be out of my fridge by the end of this post, and I’ll finally have blocked him from basically all social media. Maybe.

Another key element to the Three Day Drunk includes distractions – boys who you probably wouldn’t actually date but will give a whirl simply because you have an empty space where a human used to be. So I went back on that dating site where we met, just to see what’s out there. The good news about those sites is that they have no shortage of distractions. Distraction 1: He’s more than twice my size, has shoulders you could stand on, but has questionable work ethic and trouble with words that have more than 3 syllables, but he’s nice enough to keep me busy. More on that later…

The key here is actually in Day Three. The last drunk of my recovery. That’s the moment when I shake this guy for good. It’ll be awesome, and I’m really looking forward to it. Now… back to my canned Zima and new boy. Catch you all tomorrow.

Stay tuned for more…

Day 1: So What if I’m Drunk?

You would be too…

It’s Wednesday at 5:30 PM and I’m drunk. You got a problem with that? I’m starting a Three Day Drunk and I’m doing it right the fuck now.

Here’s the thing. I’m over 40, my health is arguable, I’m seemingly anorexic levels of stress-induced skinny, my job is unreasonably challenging, and I’m more single than any of you can possibly imagine.

But none of those are the reason I’m drunk. That’s a bit more complicated.

To get to the brass tacks I’m both recently divorced and, bonus, I just got dumped.

Not just dumped, dumped by a guy that wasn’t really even my type, got back together with this chick with whom he cheated on his wife, and never actually told me… just kind of went away. I found out on Facebook. Still not sure if he knows I know, or if he cares.

Am I perfect? Absolutely not. Did I deserve that? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

So here I am. Drinking to numb the pain. Pain, or embarrassment? I can’t say I know the difference at the moment.

I have to say, on the surface I’m not the worst choice ever. I spend 5 hours a week at the gym, I eat healthy, I have a bachelors degree, I’m less than 15% body fat at 5’4″, I’m a DD cup , and I have a pretty decent ass. I like to think I have a fun personality and I’m a better than average dancer.

I have a fucking thigh gap for christ sake.

But evidently there was someone better. She lives in Mexico, and she has history with him that I never actually wanted but in which (with my current perspective) I can see the value. Want to watch a tattooed democrat vote for a wall? Here it is.

I’m not big on sulking, I don’t do despair or depression well. These aren’t my style. The solution was simple: A Three Day Drunk

A friend of mine once told me “there’s no breakup that should ever take more than 3 drunks to get past.”

Simple on the surface, but there’s a strategy.

Drunk 1: The introduction to the issue. You’re honest with yourself, you uncover everything that needs to be addressed, and you embrace that shit. All of it.

Drunk 2: This is a bridge drunk, here you can be embracing or you can be rationalizing, or you can be something in the middle. Drunk 2 is a great drunk for destroying his/her things, or setting all his/her social feeds so that you don’t see them automatically when you open up your app.

Drunk 3: This drunk is the most critical drunk of them all. This is when you remember who the fuck you are.

So today, just like I did all the way through my 20s and 30s, I was putting the Three Day Drunk to the test.

This is Drunk One. On one of the busiest days of the work year a good friend and coworker, seeing I was a bit in the dumps, took me out for a drink after our last meeting of the day.

Until that 2nd manhattan I guess I wasn’t really ready to admit I miss this guy. He was my Captain America, I (regretfully) trusted him, though I knew better. I gave into my deepest desire to give up control without so much as a litmus test to discover if he could handle it.

Even now, in the throes of drunk number 1, I’m starting to realize I just miss the company. There’s something about having a person to talk to – a person with whom you can share that one thing, or even just the person who will smile at you and make you forget about that shitty thing that happened just hours earlier.

I think the divorce is key to this. My divorced husband was there, every day, all day. He was unemployed for… well… years before I kicked him out. But what I didn’t acknowledge at the time was that part of my life that ex-husband actually did fulfill.

I mean, he soaked up my money, my energy, and created a shit ton of debt… he ruined my house, threatened to take everything I own, and made me hate the idea of marriage. That being said, he was also constantly there. He was someone for me to talk to, and he at least tried to empathize with my bullshit comments and complaints. He hated the people I hated, and often made me think twice about the people I wanted to trust.

During Day One drunk I realized my ex-husband wasn’t so bad after all. My Day One drunk allowed me to accept I have some shit lingering in that spot where my ex existed and I need to tidy it up.

As I close out my Day One drunk I thank my starter boyfriend… thank you for helping me remember this sting, this feeling. I appreciate the opportunity to reflect and get better.

But also, fuck you, starter boyfriend. You’re a dick.

Stay tuned for Day Two.