I’m Over Him

I’ve said it before. I never knew if I truthfully, wholeheartedly, 100%, without a doubt meant it. But for some reason, today, I know I can say it. Hell, I can even blog about it. These three words.

 

I’m Over Him. 

 

I’ve juggled with the idea for a while, for years even. That he was no longer significant to me. That I’ve even loved someone more since him. That I wasn’t subconsciously hoping it would work out in the future. Truth is, I don’t think I was over him then. I think I was over it. 

Experiencing a long-term breakup at the age of 17 was the hardest thing I ever had to do. It ruined who I was for years. I know that’s dramatic, but it’s really true. It affected my everyday life. I didn’t know it was possible for one person’s change of feelings to also change nearly everything in my life. I’m not just talking about my upbeat personality or my freakin’ hair color. I’m talking about the biggest decisions I’ve ever made. This event affected every single part of it. Every one told me that when I looked back on it, I would laugh at how upset I was because it would later become so insignificant. They were partially right, he has become insignificant to me. But I’ll never label what I went through silly. I suffered the heartache of losing my first love — a love I thought I would never even have the chance to have. A love that I still am unsure can exist again with someone else. 

I stayed in touch with him for years, wrestling with the thought to continue to keep talking to him or not. Was it hurting me? Was I gaining the upper hand by him contacting me? Was his apology, ill-timed and far too late, making anything better? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. 

Less than a week shy of the 4 year mark of our break up, I cut ties. Not because I was still suffering. I had moved on. He did not consume my actions and he sure as hell did not consume my thoughts, but he was still there, and I did not see a reason for him to be anymore. His presence was poisoning and holding me back from who I needed to become. I deleted his phone number. I defriended him on Facebook. And I did so painlessly and confidently. It’s a strange feeling knowing that there is a great chance I will never speak to him again. It’s a stranger feeling knowing that I’m okay with that possibility.

So, if I have all this emotion tied to this accomplishment of being over him, am I really over him? This post makes me seem so incredibly wrapped up in his memory. But I’m not.

I can no longer hear his voice saying he loves me.
I can no longer hear his voice saying he doesn’t love me anymore.
I cannot remember the most precious of memories I used to hold dear to my heart.
I don’t want to know who he’s dating.
I don’t want to know if he’s home for the Holidays.
His name no longer sends chills down my spine.
There is not a song on Earth that I still associate with him. 
Or any kind of anything.
I have yet to find a need to bring him up in conversation with friends.
The scare of running into him is no longer a scare.
Or even something that crosses my mind.

However, I hope he’s happy.
I hope he can say the same about me.
I hope he doesn’t have to.
And I hope we both find love in a different way. A better way. A forever way. 

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Why I Like My Neighbor’s Cat More Than My Friends

First things first, I’m not even a cat person. In fact, I’m extremely allergic. I know a shit load of people claim they are allergic to cats, and they’ll like die if they go near one, but lets just talk about my past experiences with cats real quick. When I was 7, I spent the night at a friend’s house with a cat thinking I’d only be sneezing when in reality I couldn’t breathe halfway through the night and developed a form of temporary asthma. Also, just two years ago I spent the night at my friend’s house with a cat because I thought my allergies were a lot better, but I ended up getting cat hair in my eye and it was swollen shut for 4 days. SO I’M ALLERGIC TO CATS, OKAY! I even SNEEZED while writing this post. God Bless Me. 

I digress. I can still touch cats and wash my hands. The opportunity doesn’t present itself much but my neighbor has a black cat. His name is Huggie. Which is totally a girl’s name or a dirty diaper so I feel like he might have self-esteem issues, which directly makes him more likable. 

I like my friends. That’s why I call them my friends. I’m extremely extroverted, but there is the rare occasion my friends make me want to become this huge introvert that drinks hard liquor alone in bed, read books, and write blog posts at 9:38 on a Friday

So I made up a list of reasons why I like my neighbor’s cat more than my friends. 

1. He doesn’t talk. Inconsiderate comments cannot flow out of his mouth. His whiskers are sealed. 

2. He isn’t conceited. He doesn’t think he’s the hottest piece on the block because he’s pretty. He’s very humble and I like that about him.

3. He has good taste in music.  He doesn’t like Ellie Goulding, so we get along.

4. He’s housebroken. He pees where he needs to pee, and if he needs to throw up, he doesn’t make you hold his hair. He just eats his own throw up which normally consists of mice hair but he eats it after he regurgitates it so it’s fine 

5. He’s monogamous. He doesn’t make his way around the block and then brag about it indirectly. Probably because he can’t talk but he’s also faithful to his mate (who I haven’t met – he won’t tell me who it is. I just know)

6. He’s not a picky eater. He likes mice. My mom brought him over to our house because we had a mouse. He ate him. Good, Huggie.

I like my friends, but I like my neighbor’s cat more. If he didn’t make me sneeze and excessively wash my hands, I don’t think I’d ever leave home. 

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My Grown-Up Christmas List

  1. No more lives torn apart
  2. Wars would never start
  3. Time would heal all hearts

….Wait, this is what Kelly Clarkson wanted. Or Michael Buble (whatever you’re into). Not that I don’t want these things, too, but my Grown-Up Christmas List is a tad bit more materialistic and more importantly, plausible.

1. Fossil ‘Heather’ Bracelet Watch in Rose Gold. It’s beautiful. The dainty band combined with the chunky clock: gimme, gimme, gimme. And, Michael Kors did tweet that Rose Gold is the new nude, and looks good on every complexion.Image

 

2. Urban Decay Naked 2 Eyeshadow Palette. Perfection. I’m about out of my last year’s Christmas Present, the Day-to-Night Tarte palette, and I am sacrificing wearing old Avon eyeshadows from high school until December 25th FOR THIS!

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3. Faux Fur Vest. I’m not even gonna be picky about it. I want one. I want a lighter colored one. I mean this BCBG one will do… but I’ll take almost anything

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4. Urban Outfitter’s Animal Ear Warmer. I want the Panda. Or the gray kitten, but probably the panda. Actually, I think I’m just going to purchase this now because it’s on sale for $14. I can’t wait until Christmas, I’ll get frost bite

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5. Fluxus Nomad Scarf. They sell this at my favorite boutique, Inbox, in Iowa City. However, I am determined to find it online and cheaper, so my relatives have access to this purchase. I love Fluxus’ comfort and style, and this huge comfy Nomad scarf is the cutest solid scarf I’ve ever tried on.

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6. iPod Speakers. Why don’t I even have these?

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7. Lola by Marc Jacobs Perfume. I’ve wanted this forever. And much like my Tarte eyeshadow, my Dolce & Gabanna Light Blue is running extremely low. Come on, Mom and Dad, I don’t want to smell bad.

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Yeah, I had to end on Lola. It’s ironic because I wish my name was Lola. That’s not why I want it though. Have you ever smelled it? It’s heavenly. Probably because it’s named Lola. So, mom and dad, because you didn’t name me Lola, you have to buy me this Marc Jacobs perfume.

I’m sorry God that I am materialistic and do not have the same hopes and dreams as Kelly Clarkson. But if we are going to be realistic, Kelly’s rich. She has a net worth of $25 million. I think I have a net worth of $100. She buys my Christmas List on a daily basis to make herself feel better, so when Christmas comes along, she can wish for things like for every one to have a friend, that right would always win, and love would never end. I can’t because I’m a broke college senior that plans on moving to LA and has to start saving my money. (Or win the lottery – I better start banking on that)

Sing it, Kelly. Amen

Shoe Shopping

For someone who loves to shop as much as I do, I don’t have enough shoes to prove it. I normally tend to splurge on, well, everything else. Lately though, I seem to have caught the infectious disease they call shoe obsession. I think that’s how you say it. 

I want black shoes, red shoes, brown shoes, nude shoes, stone shoes, since when is stone a color, blue shoes. I want shoes. So, I went shoe shopping. Particularly for black suede booties that would be cheap enough to not break the bank (A.K.A. my mom offered to pay.) but also not too cheap that they would hurt (My last year’s lace up black booties from Target are the bane of my existence) or not last. I try on shoes at H&M (No, I don’t know why.) I try on shoes at Macy’s. I try on shoes at ALDO. I try on shoes at the ALDO outlet. What do I find? My honking size 9s cannot fill the shoes I try on. I began trying on 8s and 8 1/2s… this has never happened. If anything, I go up a size. My conclusion? MY FEET SHRUNK!!!!

I am sorry that this is a miniscule problem, and it is not really a problem at all except maybe medically. This just does not add up. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not in my seventies. I’m still the same height. I’ve tried to do research, and I’ve got nothing. And by research, I mean I typed “my feet shrunk” into the Google search bar and found others on Yahoo answers who have coped with something similar. All I got is weight loss. Which, I have accomplished recently but nothing drastic enough to make MY FEET SHRINK! 

I had to share it with someone besides my mom and the very confused sales associates I bothered. So I thought I’d start a blog. 

Nonetheless, these are my lovely shoes I got for $45 dollars at the ALDO outlet. The ALDO store was selling them for $90 at Oakbrook. I don’t get it. Image