Anger Management

I have written a lot lately about finding the silver lining in things. Just two nights ago, I wrote about turning my anger into opportunity. (There was a sexual innuendo in there, as there is in nearly everything I write.) Today, I’m writing to tell you I have lost my battle with anger management. I’m pissed off and not afraid to say it. And no, I’m not talking about my anger towards anti-vaxxers or even Proud Boys. I’m here to tell you I’m angry at the world.

If you have been following my posts, you know I have been dating… a LOT! That’s about to stop. I’m announcing that I have disabled my online dating accounts. I cannot bear to go on another date with a guy who lives with his parents, doesn’t have a job, is a stalker, has zero conversational skills, asks me to call him, “Daddy,” has bigger boobs than me, bites me, or opens the door of my parked car into an oncoming city bus and totals my car in the process. (Yeah, that just happened.) My best option right now is an unavailable alcoholic who drives a Bentley and took away my plate of truffle fries before I was done.

I used to look on in horror as some of my friends have put their lives on hold while waiting years for their boyfriends to get a divorce. But you know what? My friends haven’t been nearly as disappointed with their semi-available boyfriends as I have been with my dates. And, their vehicles haven’t been held up for ransom by an insurance fraud crime ring. (This is also actually happening). So perhaps they know something I don’t? I have certainly spent a lot of time trying to hold myself up to some high standard that I’m starting to believe might not exist. Should I give up and accept that men with messy situations are better than men who are just a mess? To put it in context, when speaking about my last partner (the pathologically lying cheater), I remarked: “What does it say about the state of the market that this guy is the best product on the shelf?” I suppose a bit of ambiguity is better than total anarchy.

Incidentally, I once said I loved Mazdas but I’m now a Subaru fanatic. It is shocking that my last sexual encounter caused me more bodily harm than a city bus tearing off half my car while I was sitting inside of it. As for the woman who passed by the scene of the accident and decided to lecture me that I was lucky it was only my car that was destroyed, I have this to say: “Fuck you.”