Check out my latest comedy column:
Check out my latest comedy column:
Everything feels a million times magnified when you come out of a breakup. You start noticing your friends are all in relationships, a million new engagements pop up on facebook, here comes the babies, and lets not forget you’ll no … Continue reading
Jesus Herbie Christ, Mary and Joseph. What in the heck kinda rubbish did I publish? I just looked at my last blog, and it just had a random sentence that trailed off it at the end. What in the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was hurt. I was crying loads. I was devastated.
I spent the weekend after my first date since the ‘break-up’ in a haze. I don’t want to date anyone else. I don’t like this feeling of even thinking about being intimate with someone else. How do I ‘move’ on? How do I pull an Elizabeth Gilbert and let go of ‘us’? Send him light and love? Fuck that. I want to punch him in the face, because I haven’t been sleeping thanks to the crappy fucking pillows I let him convince me we needed for the bed.
Do other people have these kinds of problems when it comes to break-ups?
Yeah, her name is Taylor Swift. She has a hella-hot new boyfriend, so there’s hope for me yet. Or not…because this is the kind of messages I’m getting on the dating app now:
My response was sincerely: Are you fucking kidding me?
Why do men think it’s okay to speak to women like that? I mean, I get it. It’s the internet, but still. Unless you’ve bought me a three day weekend in Barcelona, get your penis away from my golden vagina.
He blocked me shortly after, but not before my excellent screen shot skills came into play. That’s when I realized I was missing laughter in my life. No wonder my writing, my general mood, and all that is around me was becoming more and more complacent. I wasn’t laughing through it like I normally do!
Thanks to the Supreme Court, I’ve come to the conclusion:
I’ve never really been a relationship person. I don’t let people in. That’s what hurts so much about this particular break-up. This guy knew all of those things and chose to take me to a place that I have never been, then mysteriously disappeared like mother f’ing Batman. On the plus side, maybe I was dating Batman.
This week my friends have really come through for me, because they know that I don’t do ‘love’ or let people in like that, with words of encouragement and copious amounts of wine.
I’ve stuck myself back into my career, and well you gotta have a hardcore vagina and a boat load of strength to be a female writer, comedian, and general bad-ass. *see Creative Writing below
No more winging about, like a heart-broken lunatic. I was so down in the dumps that I couldn’t see my strengths. I’m not gonna heal overnight. There was even a moment I told the ex that there was no God, and boy did ‘The Big Guy’ knock me down a notch. My whole world came to a halt. This relationship wasn’t a test of my strength. It was a test of my relationship with ‘The Big Guy’. I lost faith in everything including myself. But in the end, we patched things up. I figured it out when God made it abundantly clear:
It’s not my fault some guy hasn’t realized this about me yet:
And until I meet Mr. Right, I’m gonna keep writing the way I want to write, with the kind of comedy I want to put in, no matter who it offends. Because this is about me, not ‘you’.
And yeah, there will be days that I see things like this outside my house:
And my heart smiles thinking of all the reasons I loved this one man, and why this is so special to him.
And with that…I’m getting my sassy groove back. Because it’s gonna be alright.
“I’m just gonna shake it off!” *commence half-naked pants dancing in the living room, and yes my giant bay window faces the very public street.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
This was supposed to be the ‘Summer of Fun’. Instead it has been the Summer of Suck.
‘One thing after another’ has been the theme of the week. Someone kindly reminded me yesterday that my writing was sucking, too. *that comma is there to annoy him. 🙂
I lost sight of who I am. What I want. My drive, my focus, my passion. So, God hit the reset button.
I was fighting ambiguous loss. I lost, the one person, the most important person in my life. I read an article in Elite Daily today, and it all started to make sense. We have to be able to learn from everything, especially the bad stuff. The stuff we don’t want to happen. Things we have no control over. “You don’t need someone who understands you, just someone who wants you,” Paul Hudson says in Dating. He goes on to say,
“If you want to find the right person to spend your life with, then find someone who recognizes you as being important enough to fight for.”
That’s it. When do we convince ourselves to let go of something that was important, and move on? Remember my three day rule from Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…And Get Raped By a Bear? That didn’t apply here. I fought. I fought hard. With blogs, love letters, texts, calls, and an mp3 file via email. LOL. In the end I wasn’t important enough to fight for.
I know. That is a hard thing to admit, but you have to treat people who walk out of your life like the dead ones. You mourn them just like someone who commits suicide because there are no answers. The sooner you quit torturing yourself for them, the faster you can begin to heal. And how does this Sassy Lil’ Biscuit heal? With a new writing gig involving dating–and sex toys! Shit yeah. So, it’s back to online dating. “Hey Girl, looking for something serious?”
Also, it’s back to writing that second book…
A journey of self-discovery, self-healing, learning how to live, and I mean really live. I’d Rather Die Than Eat Thai is a book about ambiguous loss, and how to pull yourself out of self-loathing. I thought this book would end with a true love story, but I’m not Elizabeth Gilbert. Then again, maybe I should be:
I woke up today realizing that I haven’t eat in three days. I’ve been so depressed I just fucking forgot to eat. And I forgot to fucking curse. I forgot who I was…I forgot to moisturize. I can’t get saggy skin. OR bags under my very pretty eyes. I’m single.
So, I’m gonna eat some mother fucking pizza today. Screw weight loss.
I also have a date tonight. No doubt you’ll hear about it soon. Just because someone walks out of your life doesn’t mean that you have to quit living. If they don’t want you, you need to surround yourself with people who do.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
This blog. My other blog. They have both ruined my life.
I started this thing to plug my first novella. A novella that I wanted women to relate to…the blog then carried on as a tale tale of dating. A world where I could share things that may or may not have happened in my life. My boyfriend read my post the other day. The first post I have made since we met. A post that was supposed to serve as an ‘underdog’ tale. One that lets everyone know that life is gonna be okay. No matter what happens.
Well, fuck my life. He didn’t read it that way. He somehow read that I was leaving him at the end of the summer.
Every guy I have ever dated, sorta dated, simply ‘talked’ to has hated my blog. I didn’t have a reason to blog with my boyfriend, and I’ll be damned if the moment I do–shit’s gone sideways.
I have always prided myself on being me: You get me the way I am. Since I met him, and a lot of you know how crazy this is for me, because I don’t get super close to men…I’ve quit smoking (even when I drink), well I’m trying really hard. I got a vape for when I drink. I’ve started being super kind to people even through being mad. I know, no more cynicism. I’ve decided to go on a full-on detox after my friend’s Hen Do this weekend. He didn’t know about that, but I am. I need to lose weight. Plus it’s glamping and there is no stripper. Can almost guarantee…
I’m getting birth control. I know, some of you just fell out of your chair. I’ve never been in a relationship where I thought it was important enough. No one has ever put me in a position where I want to be awesome for both him, our future, and our family. This guy does.
I’m trying to be super understanding, kind to him, supportive of all the things happening. I woke up today thinking, “And once again my blog has ruined my life.”
But maybe it hasn’t…
This guy means the world to me. I’d like the world to show him just how much. I want everyone in my network, my friends, my family, my readers, strangers, amazing people all over the world to help me let him know that I searched the world over for him. I found him. My name is not Elsa. I’m not willing to just ‘let it go’.
I will be patient, understanding, and caring. I will love him even in the dark days. Through the ‘bad’ times, the ‘stupid good’ times…the ‘I need to be alone’ times. The times he sticks his fork in my mashed sweet potatoes, or tries to kiss me when I’m getting ready. The times he isn’t feeling great. The times I really just need to help him pick his nose. What? We’re weirdos.
The weirdo will introduce you to the freak inside you.
You think you know yourself, and then you meet someone who challenges every part of your being.
Weirdos make you rethink your life, your passions and what the hell you’ve been doing this whole time. You go from who you were to who you could be.
Through the highest highs and the lowest lows. I vow to be his best friend, the person he can talk to even if he thinks I might judge him or be upset–I won’t. I will try to understand the situation, and be patient in whatever comes next. I will try very hard not to be up his butt either.
The weirdo will never question when you need to take time for your own adventure.
Not only do weirdos support your personal endeavors, they push them. They don’t just want to be there for you; they want to show you the way. They believe in everyone as much as they believe in themselves, and that support will change your life.
My whole life, every blog, every trial and dating tribulation I have gone through to get right where I am: without you, Baby, it’s a waste of time. People envy what we have. Our love is everything I saw in that stupid set of Prince Charles and Princess Diana paper dolls that drove my dreams to a life in England when I was six years old. You are my fairy tale.
I don’t promise that things will be awesome all of the time, that we won’t have challenges, but I can promise that the love that’s there is real and that it doesn’t have to make sense to be awesome. I promise I will be your rock, always on your team, to help you figure it out–and vice versa. You’re my lobster. My actual lobster. That doesn’t mean I want to take a Rachel and Ross style break, but I’m willing to take a step back so you can breathe.
But who is gonna help me reel in my shit attitude?
Who’s gonna be inappropriately racist with me?
I mean, no one else gets this joke:
Or this one:
Who’s gonna laugh when I’m really funny?
Or make me laugh?
Or give me hope?
Or remind me that this day was the ‘first day’ of my life:
I know you think things are moving fast. But we don’t do things ‘normal’. I know it’s crazy, but it shouldn’t make sense–it’s not right if you haven’t lost your mind. I mean, there is a song about all of this. I guess I just want you to know ‘I love you’. More than any other man I have ever met in my entire life.
The ‘first day of my life’ was built on an eleven hour first date with the most brilliant, kind, sweet, sincere, loving, handsome, talented, funny, intelligent, beautiful man I have ever met.
“You with me, ‘Betty’?”
Yep. I said ‘Betty’. The situation called for it.
xx Brittany (p.s. cue the reminder tunes)
I don’t know where the awful phrase ‘How to Adult’ has come from, but I’ve forgot. No really, I used to be the multi-tasking Queen. I’m now the Queen of “Why didn’t you just check your calendar?” Because half of the time I forget to put crap in my calendar.
I failed so hard yesterday at being an adult that I just binged watched…
You guessed it. The characters are so amazing. I sit there as a writer and actor going: I want to be ‘Crazy Eyes’. Dammit. I’d love to write crazy eyes.
Currently, I am writing a new play. I got sick of the ‘God Complex’ most men in Hollywood Production roles carry around. Yes, I have a vagina. Yes, I am a writer. Yes, I’m probably better than you at script development–because I studied it at one of the top creative writing universities in England. Not because I have a vagina that causes you to throw your toys out your pram.
Reel it back in, please.
I’ve got to the point today where I’m freaking out about baking dessert for my boyfriend parents. Yep. I have a boyfriend. No, I’m not making him up. I suggested dinner with his parents, then suggested that because I’m from the south that I bake something for dessert.
I can cook. I cannot bake. Mostly because all of that fatty, fatty goodness we use in the U.S. is not sold in the U.K. I mean, I can’t even bake a blueberry pie by just buying already made pie crust and filling. You can’t even buy cake mix, really. It’s all dry and shitty. No Moist Betty Crocker up in the England.
Yeah, I know. Thanks, Obama.
I think part of the actual reason I’m failing at life is due to the fact that I am not living my life. I say that as in: I broke my back last summer. I just found out last month that it’s still broken. Before my injury I went to the gym five days a week. I kicked ass too. Yoga, spin, 45 minute runs, an ab workout from hell–I was hot.
Since then, I found that even a 10 minute ab workout, a 20 minute run, 10 minutes of yoga–they are torture. I’ve been working with a physio and hydrotherapist. Five minutes. I’m allowed to work out for five minutes a day.
Yeah. I know. I don’t have the rush of endorphins. The outlet for stress. I’ve gained a stone. I’m not motivated in the mornings. I quit ‘adulting’. And it’s depressing.
Being a creative with an injury sucks. Hell, being anyone with an injury sucks. My Physio has told me to forget about my old life. How? How do we as women overcome the things we have zero control of, and take our ‘selfs’ back? How do we fully ‘adult’?
Any way we can. Haha!
I can’t work for more than three, maybe four hours, at my desk without wanting to lie down. I can’t walk into town for more than an hour before wanting to lie down. My back hurts. And by hurt, my GP gave me NSAID pain relievers that relax the muscles so now I can feel that my L2 is still not fused together. And I refuse to take anything outside of that…hurt or not, I will not become dependent on pain pills to live my daily life.
So how do I ‘adult’ through it? How do we overcome those things that are above and beyond us? Like weight gain. And the people that judge us? Or douchebag doctors that mis-diagnose? Or people that are unnecessarily rude or aggressive toward us in a Walmart?
Did you guys see this? Who does that kind of crap in front of a kid? The sensationalization of ‘girl on girl bullying’ needs to stop. I barely made it out of high school thanks to the ‘Heathers’ that promoted this stuff back in the day. Learn to be adults, Ladies.
We have to concentrate on the positives around us. Focus on what is amazing–in the here and now. Not the past.
I have a new feature column coming out! It’s focused on all my misadventures in travel, fashion and beauty. Yeah, it’s like sex in all the cities! I will so be posting more often now. Sorry for the sabbatical (Erica!).
I’m in Europe for the summer. Kicking ass and taking names in some amazing places. I’m learning how to workout in a pool for five minutes a day. I’m writing. For me. I’ve just been picked up on a killer project that I will eventually tell you about. I love the secret society of writing sometimes.
And well, most importantly, I have an amazing boyfriend that tells me I’m beautiful every day. Because in the words of Amy Shumer: I’m probably like 160 pounds right now and I can catch a dick whenever I want.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
Gotcha! Not a real baby, a metaphorical one. I think in today’s society with media being in your face 24/7 you need to know when to birth the pain in your ass, and sever the bloody umbilical cord. Pun totally … Continue reading