Heather L. Barmore
No Pasa Nada Heather Barmore Elsewhere About
Heather L. Barmore
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Heather Barmore
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    Change In Action at Babble Voices


    She's Come Unhooked

    “Soul-mates are people who bring out the best in you. They are not perfect but are always perfect for you.” ~Author Unknown

    Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ok, let me back up and preface this all with something I’ve been pretty adamant about. I don’t like to date. Call me crazy, but I just do not enjoy it. It’s nerve racking and riddled with drama and I have always felt that I have enough drama in my life. My last relationship couldn’t have come at a more unfortunate time and after that experience I almost started in with another suitor and was smart enough to stop myself. Which, thank God, because the latter person ended up being a liar and an asshole, so now I think of it as a preemptive strike of sorts. Since then – 3 years(ish) – I’ve pretty much shied away from those with an XY chromosome. I’ve continually said that until I have my shit together and have done what I really want to do, then I’m not going to add another person to my life. By this I didn’t mean to say that if the right person were to come and sweep me off of my feet, then I’d kick his ass to the curb, but I’m less inclined to throw myself at the mercy of some male and beg him to hook up with me.

    For the most part my crushes have been few and far between and mostly reserved for the extra special. Not short bus special, but I would give anything to marry him special. But this isn’t about that person, who does in fact exist. This is about now, while my friends are in some pretty serious relationships, I feel like the last man standing. In a Darwinian world, I’d probably be dead because my chances of procreation right now, are pretty slim to none. That said, my perpetual single status never really comes into play, at least not until recently. So when Larissa suggested The Unhooked Generation: The Truth about why We're Still Single by Jillian Strauss, I scoffed at the idea. But when I was told that it would be free, then who the hell gives up free shit? Though there was still much scoffing and incredulous beliefs as to what this book would actually do for me.

    In short, the book did nothing. It consisted of chapter after chapter of reasons why people in their late 20’s to early 30’s were single. The use of IM to make relationships turned one woman off, detailed lists as if made to interview someone for the Pentagon were being used as guidelines to find one’s perfect mate, general stupidity of one gentleman who wanted a pseudo date before the real date turned another woman off…on and on and on. I didn’t need 200 pages of someone telling me what not to do; I know what not to do. The fact that people go on dates with such an exhaustive list of what their perfect person must have is what irked me the most. Half of the time, as Jillian Strauss pointed out, the items on the list were contradictory. One man wanted a woman who needed him, but was also independent. He wanted to feel like ‘the man’ in the relationship but wanted her to be able to pay for things herself. Half Carol Brady and half Murphy Brown. Even if one believes that women can be both (though I’m not saying whether or not I can agree or disagree with that), the fact is no one can live up to such meticulous standards.

    My standards for potential mates are pretty simple: goal oriented, wants children (and not adverse to the ideas of adoption and/or midwifery), must be willing to be supportive of whatever I would like to do, College educated (Though I would make exceptions for this)…and that’s all I can think of for now. But honestly, I’m not too picky. Part of me thinks that my cynicism and dubious attitude toward this book was because I’m just now contemplating throwing myself into the dating gauntlet. With the interview type questions and the doubt and worry to whether or not I’m choosing the right person.

    JB tells me that one day I’ll just bring all of my friends together and introduce them to my boyfriend and say “This is Joe, we’ve been dating for three months. The end.” There will be no questions from them, but JB says that I’m the type to be sure of who I find. I’m not too sure how correct that is, I know that part of the dating ritual is to go through the jackasses before getting to the Prince. But then again, we’ll see about that. The one thing I’m damn sure of is no more dating books. I’m already insecure and unsure about dating as it is, I don’t need a book to keep me up all night wondering if I’m dating correctly. But then again, that’s just me.


    A few weeks ago, during one of my forays into New Jersey, I was driving around with my aunt and we saw a woman walking across the street who was just a wee bit out of it. Rachel pointed out that this woman was in fact a crack head, in which I responded with a hearty laugh and a “how do you know?” I suppose Rachel can just sense a crack head like a dog can sense bacon. I wonder if she can sense me now, all riled up and semi spastic, from 250 miles away.

    My body has developed an aversion to cherry blossoms – horrid motherfuckers that they are – and so now I’m reduced to a sometimes manic, sometimes not state of Claritin. The goodness cannot be denied though, because breathing is truly a wonderful thing and my eyes don’t feel like they might burn up in their sockets. Nevertheless I’m sitting here rocking and last night taught me that drugs and alcohol don’t mix. Who knew?!? I’m also wavering between giddy super happiness for trips and decision making and also an eerie all too familiar feeling of dread. But I think it’s just the drugs that are making my chest feel tight. It’s like something bad is going to happen, but I’m not sure what.

    I was thinking of going to get a Latte, but I feel a latte might knock me the fuck out or I might knock someone the fuck out. The first person to knock me off of my high gets one to the face. But I swear, that’s just the drugs speaking. I’m already begging forgiveness for later when I’m half assed on the floor at Lauriol Plaza in a pool of swirly margarita goodness and the after effects of Claritin.

    I wrote this an hour ago when at the peak of my high and now? Now, the Claritin has turned me into a lethargic little girl who is currently having quite the difficult time with this whole typing phenomenon.

    Just can't fight that feeling

    “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.” ~Jim Davis

    Being a child with no friends turned an adult with a substantial amount of friends, can lead one to develop an acute case of Sociophobia as well as a deep fear of making friends. One minute things could be just fine and the next kapow! Everyone hates me and probably wants me dead. Call be crazy, neurotic, psychotic, whatever, that’s just how I feel and I’m growing perfectly OK with it. Ok, not really, because if it were perfectly ok, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to come to grips with it via the written word. Because that’s what happens right? We’re more apt to write when something really good or something really bad happens. When trying to work something out, it’s easier if I get it all out in writing first and then get to tackling the matter at hand. That’s just what works for me. Regardless, I’m still completely neurotic and will inevitably think that someone hates me even if how that person feels is far from that. I need validation and the occasional “HB I heart you” to make me not feel like the worst person in the world.

    To this day, I have no idea what made people dislike me through the 8th grade. It’s not like I was the most hated person at Farnsworth Middle School but probably just Jr. High politics, but that was bound to happen as Cheerleading wasn’t exactly my forte. Instead I played the clarinet and soccer and pretended that a particular group of girls were actually my friends. This included bribes of gum and doling out the occasional dollar just so I could say that Jane spoke to me that day. So very sad, yet so very true.

    All of this came up because I’m awaiting a response from someone I had emailed this morning about something pretty fucking minor and insignificant, and yet I’m sitting here thinking that this person probably dislikes me. Because obviously this person doesn’t have a job or other more important things to think about and it’s all ME ME ME! So yes, I’m crazy and yes I need to get a grip and yes I need to realize that my neuroses is getting the best of me. Also? No, I cannot really understand how I went from the girls in 7th grade hated me so now everyone hates me, including the mailman. It’s just a sad and pathetic truth that you and I will both have to live with. And if you hate me, feel free to tell me.