Lately, Sir Deli Man has not wanted to share eye contact. I have great doubts due to this. The other day, we did something stupid: we stood in front of the alcoholic beverage display and purchased a six pack of hard cider and Smirnoff products. Why? All because he was in the soup and salad bar island, busy ignoring us.
I didn’t even want to drink. The last time I drank, I truly regretted it. It was sauvignon blanc, half a bottle, which is what is considered pretty normal for most people who have a glass of wine. My guts hurt so badly after that. I told myself I wasn’t going to drink alcohol anymore. But what do we do, about a year later? Purchase a six pack, bro!
I only regret that six pack because it was packed with sugar. I checked and each and every drink had cane sugar added to it. It’s almost like alcohol tastes bad, yo. It’s almost like it’s not worth it, too. And boy was that six pack a set back I wasn’t planning for. Thirteen dollars, which is just over two dollars a drink. Less than the bar, but more than mixing my own from scratch. I did the math… it’s about one shot (or one ounce) of alcohol per 12 ounces of liquid. That works out to roughly 5% alcohol per volume.
Now I know most of you who see this as a dime saver are going to run out and buy a 2 liter of soda. You’d be better off mixing up Kool-Aid with Swerve, if you want to be healthy after you drink. Now, the only thing with Kool-Aid that I don’t like is the fact that it’s pumped full of artificial colors, like Red 40. It’s in most of them… and causes people who truly have ADHD or even ADD to have an episode of inattentiveness for hours after consumption. Thanks to some girl named Katheryn, I learned that about myself. It is true for me and her nephew both.
You could just get sweet apple cider, but that’s more filling than most drinks because it has apple bits in it. Real food! Whoa!
You could get fresh pressed juice of any sort, really, to mix with an ounce of Smirnoff (or whatever you like… but understand now that rum has extra sugar in it and that’s why it’s so tasty by itself.) What we don’t like about vodka is it comes from potatoes… however, the polysaccharides tend to break down once fermentation occurs.
So now I buy myself a six pack, and why? Because I can’t get into a smiling mood when I am faced with the man. Because I can’t make myself do the flirty things when I see him. Because I don’t even know if he’s single or if I am interesting in that fashion. I am autistic and I do not want to destroy anyone attempting romance with another, so here I am, spinning idly, wondering if this eye contact thing is ever going to mean anything else.
It’s not because I don’t do anything. I don’t put on makeup, I don’t put on seductress clothes, I don’t even consistently send the signal that I’m intrigued. All because I have assholes in my head preaching to me about how he needs to step up to me first. He needs to make the first move. He this, he that. Shut the fuck up and listen to me, for a change, asshole:
It takes two to tango. We are both responsible for appropriate flirting. And the truth of the matter is, he’s made an overture. He has. I nearly ran him over with my cart before Christmas, which if you’ve been paying attention was over a fucking month ago. In response, I dyed my hair blue and cut it short (when purple didn’t work out), and then he stopped looking at me. He stopped being willing to meet my gaze.
I don’t even know what to do other than cry. I want to die again, like usual. I’ll be eating another pizza soon to try again for that effect. It’s not working very quickly, so I’m about to abandon that angle and find something faster. Alcohol sounds like a great plan to me! I nearly drank myself to death in 2012 thanks to all kinds of boy shit then, too, so let’s do it again, boss!
Fuck you to every voice in my head that tells me the following:
- He has a girlfriend!
- He’s not interested in you.
- You’re too fat.
- Nobody gives a shit that you exist.
- He’ll never like me.
- I remind him of an ex-girlfriend, it’s the only reason he won’t talk to me!
- I’m too plain.
- I’m not interesting.
- I’m too sick for a boyfriend.
- Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. I’m going to the garden to eat worms. Big fat slimy ones, short skinny gooey ones, gooey gooey gooey gooey worms!
- Wait, I’m the one singing about worms. Fuck me, too.
- He’s flirting with that cashier! Run away and cry now!
- He’s flirting with the chick in dairy! He’ll never like you compared to her!
- He’s not looking at you anymore. He lost interest.
- He wishes you were somebody else. Anybody else. Why you?! You’re disgusting.
Do you fight this shit in your head? I bet you do. Boys probably have their own unique set of snide remarks, tearing them apart every moment of every day. It’s poison put there by human beings. I told God today that I think ex-lovers are equivalent to a learning disability; all they do is traumatize perfectly good people into railroading themselves into misery.
So let me challenge reality now. Let me tell each of these voices off! I’ve had enough of this shit; it’s time to be ME! Without shame, without guilt. In fact, with pride. There will be no remorse on my side when I die, I tell you.
- I love me.
- I am valuable.
- I am a good person.
- I am worthwhile.
- I am worthy.
- I am okay alone. I don’t need someone else to define me. I define myself.
- I have lots of excellent qualities.
- I have plenty of training and practice to be a worthy partner.
- Despite everything, statistically speaking, at least 4% of the world’s population thinks I am beautiful. That’s 36 million people world-wide.
- I am not a doll. I am a human being with emotions, feelings, hopes, and dreams. I have valid content.
- I do not mistreat others, blaming them for my insecurities, my flaws, or my problems.
- I cherish my time spent on this planet.
- I will lead us into a new era full of joy.
- I will communicate God’s message to all that will listen. The message is consent. Understand it, live it, and admonish those who fail to do the same.
- I am God’s tool. His pet. Her creature. Her angel of love. Their drama queen. Their beloved child. Their therapist in training. Their messenger.