Tag Archives: friends

He’s No Item. Please Don’t Like Him.

I’ve been a bad friend. I’ve gone against girl code. I’ve hushed the rules of feminism. I have literally driven people to the brink of unfriending me (IN REAL LIFE). All because I possess this pesky little thing called feelings. They’re of the lustful variety. The absolute worst kind to have. But, you know, I can’t help them.

There is nothing more frustrating than knowing something is bad for you and not being able to help yourself. But, it’s the feels. They come around when you’re with your cuddle buddy on the low. They tell you that everything is perfect and magical. Then, before you know it, said cuddle buddy is back to their typical douchebaggery and you’re forced to face the friends that you have disappointed. They say they aren’t judging. They say “do you.” But every interaction with them becomes much harsher. You can see them getting bored with you.

So who do you listen to? Ultimately, you listen to yourself. And, if you’re anything like me, that little voice inside is saying to put distance between yourself and the situation. It’s saying to run away to another continent for an extended vacation. It’s saying to travel across the country and set up shop… permanently. There’s only one problem. There’s a possibility that those pesky little feelings will most certainly follow.

Are You Gonna Write About Me?

If you’re dating, sexing, casually talking to, accidentally looking at or breathing in the general direction of a writer, odds are… they’re gonna write about you. And they’ll either record your encounter in painstaking detail or compose a fictionalized version of you. Regardless, you’re gonna get put in print. It’s a fact of life. We don’t mean to, but more often than not, we write what we know.

So ever since I became a little less shameless and decided to publicize my life on the Internet, I often get the question, “are you gonna write about me?” Usually, this is asked by someone that is ABOUT to do something incredibly shady or just has. What I’ve learned is that people love to see themselves in the spotlight. Whether it’s positive or negative coverage, they have no fucks left to give as long as they’re being written about.

Lately, however, I’ve been getting confronted by the people I’ve ALREADY written about. The ones I never thought I would see again. Which, my fucking bad. Because Miami is literally the size of my abuela’s house and everyone knows everyone’s business. Also, I legit hang out at the same three places, so I don’t know why on Beyoncé’s green earth I thought I’d be in the clear. So, instead of “are you gonna write about me?” it’s slowly morphed into, “so… you wrote about me.” The question is then followed by an ever-so-brief moment of embarrassment, which is mostly just me acting painfully awkward and the other person thinking they deserve an explanation. Honestly, what am I supposed to say? “You acted a damn fool and it was my duty to put you on blast.” Actually, I should TOTALLY be saying that instead of responding with a half-hearted shoulder shrug.

As much as I hate to admit it, I fancy myself as a literary Taylor Swift. Someone with an insatiable need to write about their long list of ex-lovers (see: not that long at all, actually). So, consider this my final declaration on the subject. YES, I’m going to write about you. YES, I did write about you. BUT, you’re in great company. Jake Gyllenhaal, John Mayer and Harry Styles have been written about, too.

 

And That, My Friend, Is What They Call Closure

I’ve never been a big fan of unfinished business. But on the flip, I also despise confrontation. So, it’s an internal struggle of epic proportions when someone ~wrongs me~ and I’m left to decide what to do. Usually, I make like Frozen and let it go. I seethe for a hot minute and then just ignore whatever happened for as long as humanly possible. I’ll write them a letter and never send it, instead opting to throw it in the ocean in a real dramatic gesture. Or I’ll make passive aggressive comments about them, because that’s also a totally healthy and mature way to handle things.

But something changed for me recently. Come February, it was no holds barred. Maybe I listened to “I Don’t Fuck With You” one too many times. Maybe becoming another year older made me care less. Maybe I suffered a minor brain aneurysm. Whatever it was, it had me setting out for closure from situations that were weighing me down. Finally, I had the ovaries to say what was bothering me. And once I did, it made me realize that I should’ve been putting people on blast FOR YEARS. Instead of tormenting myself wondering why things always go wrong, I should’ve simply acted like a grown woman. What a concept!

Some people don’t care much for closure, but I’m just not one of those people. I probably have an unnecessarily optimistic view about the entire thing, actually. As if closure is this magical cure to hurt feelings. It might be because I don’t see it as a close; I rather see it as a continuance. A second chance at making something right between two people. Or at the very least, just making things right with myself.