Dating Resumes

October 7, 2016

I walked in the door of this place, at my neighbor’s behest, and was quite literally handed a job, on what appeared to be a silver platter.

I scrubbed it and cleaned it till my hands bled, literally and…

It was pewter.

6 weeks in, after being mildly misused and treated like a slow child I said, with hope and optimism, “maybe you should look at my resume so you can see what I am capable of, I can do a lot more than you think I can.”

His response? “I don’t need to see your resume, God sent you to me.”

Oh shit.

This can’t be good.

And on the 7th week, I was fired. And I rested.

I caught him in 7/7 of the deadlies.
He needs to get right with God.

So do I.

Once upon a massive crush ago I had the not-so-original idea to have my exes write me a dating resume.

Exactly what it sounds like. Listing my strengths and weaknesses, try to keep it PG etc…

I cannot rightly remember who I was crushing on at the time, and since I’ve taken an oath not to lie, I do so solemnly swear, it doesn’t matter.

On that note, I didn’t come up with idea on my own. I stole it, from Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. A 23 episode Aaron Sorkin series that I love inexplicably. Everything about it makes me happy.

Danny falls in love with Jordan and has a range of famous people send her reference letters.

She says it’s embarrassing and tells him to stop…I won’t spoil the ending, watch the show. Its 23 45 minute episodes, what else you gotta do tonight?

What would my dating resume say?

I cook like angels fuck.
I fuck like monsters fuck.
I make a bed better than Martha Stewart, potentially fuck better than her too, but I dunno, I feel like she’s tricksy.
I don’t talk during football.
Probably blow you at halftime, or grab snacks or both.
I know what tools are what and I won’t leave you alone to change your brake pads in the rain.
I can change my own tires (brakes too)
I squirt.
I swallow.
I clean up nice, in under half an hour usually.
I can hold my own in a room full of your friends and they’ll know without asking who I belong to.
I hate shopping.
I’ll always reach over and unlock your car door.
And I’m loyal.

*References available on request?

I pitched the idea to the Stripper Whisperer, he said yes.

But then I felt a little odd and ill about it.

Once upon a time I left home at age 20, and traveled really fucking far north of the tiny town I grew up in. Reason being, I wanted to escape the rumor mill before it did what mills do, which is crush things into fine powder for easier consumption.

I made it a week or two maybe before my future baby daddy told this nice man named Kevin that I was dateable because “She is smart, funny, nice and she fucks.”

This was on the list of things that have broken me. I am currently exhuming them one by one.

That really fucked me up. I have always wanted to be more than a life support system for my vagina.

I know I gotten jobs and boyfriends because of how I look, I kept them because of how I am. Except I get fired and dumped a lot lately. Probably because I am not suffering fools, or because of Becky with the good hair. I wish I knew.

Now? That moniker/phrasing/accolade doesn’t bother me in the least.
I am smart, funny, nice and I fuck, as often as I can and very well I might add.

I felt strange about the resume idea because…

1.I am not comfortable with compliments.
I hand them out like confetti on New Year’s Eve, with abandon and vigor.
But they make me squirm a bit.

Would I really be comfortable hearing from these men I adore, and shower with praise as regularly as I can, the good things they see in me?

I don’t rightly know.

Things I hadn’t realized or noticed in my insecurity slip past their lips from time to time. And in my way, it takes me a while to really digest what was just said, and I promptly talk myself out of it.

2.If I am so great, where they at? Why are you just in my phone and not at my house for snuggles and pancakes?

If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it…or so sayeth Beyonce, and she has been right lately.

Meh, I have my own rings.

Postal Service wrote a song and one line was one of my worst mantras ever.

I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving.

Anyone else just throw up in their mouth a bit? Just me?

They had to leave, I wouldn’t have. I am stubborn like that.
I have logic-ed most of them out. I get it and wish them well.
We have the occasional hiccup where they come outta nowhere and say they love me and I was the best and stuff.
Nice to hear, but it’s just echoes.

I have to know these things about myself without being told.

(See above where I get told and I can’t believe it anyways.)

I realized something…just today

If the man I am with can’t see these things in me that are good, and soft and wonderful on his own…no one telling him is going to make a bit of difference.

Yes, I have sinned and make mistakes, but I am a good girl, I know this.
I am a generous and loving partner. I am sweet and smart and funny and I really love to fuck.

I don’t need to get right with God. I am okay being me.

And the one I want, just called me his girl.

I guess he figured it out on his own too.







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