“We would literally go to Palm Springs just to black out all weekend at Margaritaville”
My sister and I are sitting around the mid-century dining table that belonged to our grandmother. It’s late and I’m pretty sure we woke up our mom laughing, tears streaming down our cheeks.
“No, seriously me and Clay did that all the time. Then he would force me to meet people he’d befriended and we’d go on these side quests and in those moments I wondered who, exactly, I had married”
At least you’re married.
“We went back last year during our phase of not drinking and we just like ‘wow this place is an actual shithole’”
I told her I felt the same way when I look back all the men who disappointed me over the past 18 months. Their dumb (cute) faces and wildly insensitive behavior (there were lots of red flags I ignored) burned into my memory forever (I still think about them with a deep yearning). Pathetic.
“Those dudes are your Margaritaville”
And so they are.
Nostalgic, not quite regrettable, and full of I-told-you-so’s. Part of me embarrassed, the other part proud I endured such horrors (being ghosted).
If I weren’t so delusional I would think there is something wrong with me. The truth is, I think dating is simply a high-stakes numbers game that you don’t win until you find “the one”. The more you date, the more disillusioned you become, the greater the disappointments, until one day you meet someone and remember what it feels like for someone to look into your soul… and to feel safe.
My standards are *much* higher than they were when I was drinking and hated myself, making disappointment more visible and frequent. I am also more unhinged, like I will literally just say what I feel right off the bat which is utterly terrifying for a lot of men. I’m sorry, but I just refuse to play the “I like him, but don’t want to text him first game” anymore.
This strategy has not served me well, mind you, but it will. It HAS to.
Until then, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing, I guess (being a lovergirl).