Personal Project, or Operation Self-Help

OK, so in light of my most recent breakup, I have decided to embark on a personal journey of self-reflection and fixing. Quick summary of the turbulent relationships of 2011:

In January, I met a guy in the Army who'd served fifteen months in Afghanistan and suffered PTSD. Sexy, tall, amazing in bed, dog-owner, the works. The PTSD should have been a clue but he was seriously sexy so I started dating him, driven once again by the loins and not the gray matter. After a splendid V-Day, his shit came out and he was physically abusive. Yes, I was hit in the face and shoved into a wall by this guy. It has made me stronger, though. Oh, and it ended quickly. We don't speak at all and it was a very easy break-up. I did go through about two weeks wondering "What the hell did I do to deserve that abuse?"

In May, I met Flyboy, an advanced technician at Dish network and a part-time waiter at Macados. Super romantic, very tall and nerdy (my kryptonite), cute smile, big kissable lips, not horrible (though nowhere near excellent) in bed, mostly good things. Here's the thing: he's 26 years old and he flunked out of college. He told me right from the beginning that he wanted to go back to school and/or get a pilot's license; he "just needed to get his life in order." Now, unless you're a physics + aerospace engineering double-major or pursuing some equally difficult academic program, college is easy. Yes, I said it: it's EASY. Everyone faces a setback here and there but to completely flunk out takes skill, or lack thereof. In August, he was fired from Dish and began working full-time at Macados, which was a decision that was not met with admiration. I distinctly remember telling him, "What am I going to tell my parents when they meet you?" In hindsight, I should have ended it right there but instead, I dragged it out thinking it would get better. He decided that I wasn't worth his precious time of drinking until 5 AM every night with his Macafucktard friends and dumped me on Halloween. In costume. Yeah, it's really awesome walking home crying as Indiana Jones's Slutty TA. Then, two days after he broke up with me, he's already dating some fat bitch, or whale, if you will.

Instead of resorting to my slutty days of early 2010-2011 and embarking on a string of one-night-stands, I have taken a sort of celibacy vow. I can't be the one to constantly make the first move anymore. I demand to be courted, and I will not be having any sex until I am in a stable, monogamous, real relationship, and that is only after a reasonable courtship period. It's really fucking weird having that thought process but I know I need to do this.

I also know that I have developed a pattern since I dumped my freshman year boyfriend in the fall of 2009. I say I want a guy who's well-adjusted, successful, ambitious, and a strong man. I fall for, to be perfectly honest, jackasses (sorry bout it not sorry), and end up having quick five-month long flings that indicate nothing except extremely poor life choices. It got me thinking that I need some help in getting back in the "right direction," so to speak. The common denominator in my failed relationships is me. Yes, world: I am ready to have a long term relationship. I do want to get married someday, and married for life, not married until it gets a bit rocky. I will not put up with little boy problems any longer. I need a man, goddammit.

Now, I have returned home from VT for winter break and as usual, one of the first things I do is head to the library and pick up an exhaustive amount of reading material that I finish right before I go back to school (I read really fast). This time, I focused on two things: job hunting and getting my novel ready to go. As I browsed the nonfiction shelves, looking for answers to my impending problems of unemployment and lack of publication, I was hit once again with one of my biggest problems with myself. See, it seems that almost everyone in my sorority is either in a serious relationship or engaged. Cognitive dissonance is a seriously powerful sensation because while I'm extremely happy for them in their happiness, I'm also supremely jealous and constantly look at myself in the mirror asking, "Just what the fuck is so wrong with me? I'm blond with big tits (or so I've been told), clean skin, small waist, pretty smile, sharp wit, educated, and I hate chick flicks. How am I still single?"

And yes, being single has its blessings, and many of them. Some of my favorites are:

1. Waking up at noon to my own snoring and no one else's
   
2. Not being ashamed of shitting in my own home (yes, I have sent boyfriends out of the apartment whilst I use the facilities)
   
3. Having a weekend to myself to catch up on my trashy reality TV shows, read Cosmopolitan or Vogue, or husband shopping in Upper Quad (that's when you go to the area where the Corps boys are, dressed really sexy and pretend they're staring at you)
   
4. Not having to share a damn thing: blankets, pillows, space, time, French fries, beer, wine, cheese, etc.
   
5. Never having to apologize for being with your friends, no matter how secretive/bitchy/weird/sexual tension inducing (Flyboy was supremely jealous of S)
   
6. Having the chance to study without constantly being texted/IMed. Honestly, what part of "I AM STUDYING FOR THE GRE RIGHT NOW LEAVE ME THE CHRIST ALONE" do men not understand?
   

However, it's just that time. And OK, part of this desire to be in a true, long-term relationship with an upstanding man is fueled by the fact that Flyboy, a revirginized, when I met him at least, waiter (I never promised to be nonjudgmental about that), is already getting his dick wet on a routine basis whereas I am dangerously close to not having sex for three months. That may not be healthy but at least I recognize it, which is apparently a start.

But I digress.

Browsing the shelves, I stumbled across the array of self-help books, targeted for sad, desperate women like myself. Yes, the covers profess that "this is targeted for smart, beautiful, successful women who are done dealing with bullshit!" Let's just be honest: we're the ones who have a time limit, the boys do not. However, standing in front of those glossy covers, promising me that if I read the words, absorb the knowledge, and do exactly what this "expert" says, I can and will find the man of my dreams AND have a successful relationship with him that will result in a happy, stable, lifelong marriage. In a frenzy a la Bridget Jones, I grabbed practically every book and have since embarked on an experiment. Operation Self-Help is underway.

In true English-major form, I have been analyzing these texts for rhetoric, target audience, and bias on the part of the author. Christ, even in my down time, I do research. Anyway, here goes nothing!

XOXO
~M