I'll Have One McDoucheBag and a Diet Coke, Please

I was going to go on a date with the Snowboarder. Really.

Well, technically we were going on a hike. So I guess it was more of an activity likely to include flirting…then again, if one of us turned out to be significantly more beastly than the other, likely not.

I stalled until the very last moment to get ready. Of course. That’s my ingenious way of ratcheting down the pressure. Don’t think about the date, don’t fuss over it. Which works well until the very last moment when I realize I have forgotten about it and am about to be late. Then pressure hits critical mass and I fly around the house trying on layered clothing, random beanies from 1995, and other bizarre items that have no place on a first date – or really anywhere in 2008. All the while I frantically send text messages that I’m stuck in traffic, whilst chugging down coffee, and hunting for the last lint-covered piece of gum in my purse. Makeup happens in the car (sorry fellow drivers! I'm that woman!). By the time I arrive I’m flushed red, getting honked at and flipped the bird by other drivers, and I’m a complete mental circus.

Yet somehow, this whole routine persists.

My sister said something profound to me the other night. Profound in the way only a sister can say, in the way you immediately tell her to fu@k off, but then realize she’s right and you’re an idiot and you’d better pay attention. I lamented my struggle with Mr. Ohio, to which she said, “Hang on, Mr. Ohio? I thought we were done with him?”

I sighed and relayed the new developments. Told her about my epiphanies and revelations. “He’s a great guy and I like him. Do you know how rare that is? Can’t it work out for me, just this once? Why does it have to be so difficult and painful?”

I could literally hear the roll of her eyes. It was as if I was a kindergartner, she was my teacher and I was eating Playdough. Again. “When you’re ready to be done with this, you will be. You’ll stop wasting time. You’ll spend 6 seconds on Mr. Ohio and realize he’s a douche bag…not 6 months.”

Hey, screw you. It’s not as simple as that…I really LIKE him, and we click…

Oh.

Shit.

Hang on a minute. Something got caught in my mental wheels - a little fiber of good sense. I don’t like it, but nonetheless, it glows with real-ness like the headlights of an oncoming truck. Just because I like him, it doesn’t mean he’s not a douche bag. Or at least acting like one, which might as well be the same thing.

Awww crap.

Oprah’s “Aha! Moment" happens. I see flashes of the things I’ve been doing, putting up with, and perpetuating for 6 months. No, for 28 years. Everything becomes so clear. I’ve been choosing this? Well of course I have, or it wouldn’t be happening! I'm free to walk away and date a nice guy who’s totally into me at any moment. But what am I doing? I'm hanging on to this box of broken parts.

Fortunately, once beyond the shame, these thoughts are incredibly empowering. Unfortunately, these thoughts are the precursor to actually having to do something about your shit.

There’s a platitude about holding on to destructive things because they serve a purpose in our lives. It’s not my favorite platitude but, if you’re noticing the trend here, grownup thinking never is. It's the mental and emotional equivalent of eating my vegetables…and I’ve been on a McDonald’s drive-thru diet. Wish me luck, it’s not gonna be fun.