dear jerks, I love your drive-thru syndrome

If I have learned anything since last year it's that there is a time to cry and there's a time to refuse to show any emotion for something that pales to deserve credit. Since I have gotten divorced I've witnessed what I am coining as drive-thru syndrome. People meet each other with the notion that they have ordered an individual of the opposite sex, made to order, and if this person fails to meet the standards they set in their mind, it's back to the restaurant, with the notions of trying a new place all together in the future. Although, maybe we should look at it this way: they get the woman burger and dissemble her based on her unique traits, and if the lettuce is iceburg instead of romaine, then by God it's bad news, not what was expected. People are lately it seems less and less accepting and more and more likely to drop and run as fast as they can in a more appeasing direction.

So when I meet rejection I stare it down, and I have to roll my eyes a little. Especially when someone tries to console me and reassure me that I am "an amazing girl." I know that already. It's as if people think their words are the frosting of confirmation I need to put one foot in front of the other. I have survived the grand slam of breakups, and I have a brain that works and a body that obeys my commands. I'm not dying, and I'm not dying for acceptance either. If I stare at my face in the mirror five years from now, and I'm not looking behind me for someone in the room with me, then I'm going to be just fine with myself.

I've run across this type of guy too often in my life and in the stories my friends tell me. They are concerned about whether or not they hurt your feelings, yet they proceed to lay on the unnecessary garbage about the "it's not you, it's me, but it's really you" sentiments.

I understand that everything I write may be incriminating, but if someone really wants to judge me for my honesty, then so be it. I'm here to be real, starkly real, and that's it.